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Title: The golden gems of life
or, Gathered jewels for the home circle

Author: Smith C. Ferguson
Emory Adams Allen

Release date: March 6, 2016 [eBook #51374]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51374

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN
GEMS OF LIFE ***

Transcriber's Note.
Apparent typographical errors have been corrected.
The use of hyphens has been rationalised.

Engraved & Printed by Illman Brothers.

T HE HO ME CIRCL E .

OR,

BY

S. C. FERGUSON
AND

E. A. ALLEN.

CENTRAL PUBLISHING HOUSE,
CINCINNATI.
1884
COPYRIGHT BY
S. C. Ferguson and E. A. Allen,
1880

HE design of this work is to rouse to honorable effort those
who are wasting their time and energies through indifference
to life's prizes. In the furtherance of this aim the authors have
endeavored to gather from all possible sources the thoughts of
those wise and earnest men and women who have used their
pens to delineate life and its possibilities, its joys and its
sorrows. They do not claim to have furnished more than the setting in which
are placed these "Gems" of thought gathered thus from sources widely
different.
Their hope is, that they may be able to rouse in the minds of the careless
a sense of the value of existence. To those who are striving nobly for true
manhood or womanhood, they would fain bring words of encouragement.
They trust that many may derive from its pages inspirations which will
serve to make real their hopes of success and happiness.
Cincinnati, January 1, 1880.

Page

Life.
Life ill spent—Life's Real Value—A Triumph or a Defeat—Power over Life—
What True Life Means—Prospective View of Life—The Journey Laborious—Man
does not live for himself—Failure of Success—Possibilities of Life—Steady Aim
Necessary—Life a Struggle—Duty of Right Living, 21

Home.
Thoughts of Home—We never forget Home—Power of Home Thoughts—
Home Memories—Home the Fountain of Civilization—Influence of Home—
Home Experiences—Home a Sensitive Place—Qualifications of Home—Home
Affections—In what a Home consists—Home Happiness composed of Little
Things—Home a Type of Heaven, 29

Home Circle.
Home Circle a Delightful Place—The Nursery of Affection—The Heart's
Garden—Importance of Home Affections—Requisites of Home Love—
Importance of Home Language and Habits—Home Circle the Center of Affection
—Love an Important Element of Home Happiness—Children in Home Circle—
Influence emanating from Home Circle—Home Circle soon broken, 39

Father and Mother.
Care of Parents for Children—Children should return Parents' Love—Dangers
of Forgetfulness on Part of Children—Duty of writing to and visiting Parents—
Children should try to make Parents Comfortable and Happy—The Love of
Mother to Son—Son's Duty to a Mother—Loss of a Parent—The Grave of a
Mother, 47

Infancy.
Infancy the Morning of Life—Parental Anxiety during Infancy—Parental
Responsibility—Parental Duty—Influence of Infants—Infants the Poetry of the
World—Infancy and Death—Graves of Infants, 54

Childhood.
Childhood the Happiest Time—Child's Soul without Character—Power of
Imitation with Children—Children incited by Example—Praise of Children—
Reproving Children—Parents' Duty to make Childhood Happy—Children the
Ornament of Home—Fleeting Period of Childhood, 60

Brother and Sister.
Love between Brother and Sister Pleasing—Power of a Sister's Love—Depths
of a Sister's Love—Love for a Sister a Noble Thing—Power of a Sister's Influence
—Sister's Duty in this Respect—Each Necessary to the Other's Welfare—The Ideal
Girl—The Ideal Boy, 67

Manhood.
Manhood the Isthmus between Two Extremes—Pursuits of Each Age—Early
Manhood Potential for Good—Claims of Society on Young Men—Young Men's
Duty in this Respect—Young Men should cultivate their Intellect—Thinking
makes True Manhood, 74

Womanhood.
True Womanhood a Noble Thing—Error Women make—Womanly Power—
Woman's Moral Influence—Source of Woman's Happiness—A Good Woman
never grows old, 80

Home Harmonies.
An Important Theme—Parents' Duty to make Happy Homes—Influence of a
Happy Home—In what a Happy Home consists—Business Man's Home—Pictures
in a Home—Conversation at Home—Parents should study Children's Character, 89

Home Duties.
Duty ever at Hand—One Danger of Home Life—Children trained at Home—
Home Language—Happiness of Children—The Domestic Seminary—Education
of Children—Children's Duties to Parents, 97

Aim of Life.
An Aim Essential—Danger of an Aimless Life—Daily Need of Life—All can
accomplish Something—All must labor—Choice of an Occupation—Must do your
own deciding—A Second Profession—Manhood the Most Noble Aim, 104

Success or Failure.
All Desirous of Success—The Two Ends of Life—Success only won by Toil— 111
Danger of overlooking this Fact—Earnestness the Secret of Success—Traits of

Character Necessary to Success—All can accomplish Something—In what True
Success consists,

Dignity of Labor.
Labor the Lot of All—Labor a Glory—Civilization the Result of Labor—Life
necessarily Routine—Labor not an End of Life—Victories of Labor—All Honest
Work Honorable, 118

Perseverance.
Value of Perseverance—One Man's Work Compared with the Total Amount—
All Excellence the Result of Perseverance—Example of Gibbon—Results of
Human Perseverance—Nature's Lesson—Perseverance and Genius, 125

Enterprise.
Enterprise distinct from Energy—Seeks for Novelty—Necessity for Enterprise
—Enterprise an Inheritance—Value of Self-reliance—Demands of the Hour, 132

Energy.
Energy is Force of Character—Resolution and Energy—Energy and Wisdom—
Man's Duty—Value of Energy—Success the Result of Energy, 138

Punctuality.
Value of Punctuality—Punctuality a Positive Virtue—Punctuality the Life of the
Universe—The Value of Time—Punctuality gives Force to Character, 145

Concentration.
Necessity of Concentration—Must concentrate Energy for Success—Evil of
Dissipation—Concentration not One-sidedness—You must pay the Price of
Success, 151

Decision.
Quality of Decision—Necessity of Decision—Courageous Action necessary—
Foster's Remarks on Decision—Unhappy Results of Indecision—Decision of
Character a Necessity of the Present Age—Decision not Undue Haste, 159

Self-Confidence.
Value of Self-confidence—Difficulties a Positive Blessing—Reliance on Good
Name—Great Men have been Self-reliant—We admire Self-reliant men, 166

Practical Talents.

What is meant by Practical Talents—Difference between Practical and
Speculative Ability—Knowledge of Men Indispensable—Intellectual Knowledge
—Education—Perfect Knowledge of Few Things, 172

Education.
Value of Intellect—Education a Development—Education covers the Whole of
Life—Education Right or Wrong—A Just Appreciation of Wisdom—Importance
of Exact Knowledge, 179

Mental Training.
Necessity of Mental Culture—Power of Trained Intellect—Mental Training
Pleasant and within Reach of All—Importance of Reading—Train the Judgment—
Thought, 187

Self-Culture.
In what Self-culture consists—Necessity of Physical Culture—Necessity of
Mental Culture—Educating Influence of Every-day Life—Moral Culture—Self-
culture ever pressing its Claims, 194

Literature.
Influence of Literature—Literature and Encouragement—Consolation of
Literature—Literature the Soul of Action—How to choose Books—Influence of
Reading on Personal Character—Power of the Press, 201

Mental Power.
Intellectual Triumphs—How shown—What Necessary for its Attainment—Best
Results obtained by training All the Faculties—Obtained by Years of Exertion, 207

Choice of Companions.
Influence of Associates—Character shown by the Company you keep—No One
can afford to associate with Bad Company—Power of Bad Associates to debase
you—Persons whom Society has most to fear—Why Evil Associates debase us—
Influence of Good Company—Rank in Society determined by Choice of
Companions, 211

Friends.
Value of Friendship—Language of Friendship a Varied One—All need Friends
—Test of Friendship—Friendship a Tender Sentiment—Poverty a Test of
Friendship—Death of a Friendship—Old Friends, 217

Power of Custom.

Power of Custom—Likes and Dislikes—Creatures of Custom—Habit man's
Best Friend or Worst Enemy—How Habits grow—Evil Habits must be conquered
—Importance of Good Habits—How to form Good Habits, 223

Influence.
Nature of Influence—Influence Immortal—Solemn Thought—Every Thing
exerts Influence—Examples from Nature—Influence of Great Men—Your
Influence for Good or for Evil—Influence of Human Actions—Duty of exerting a
Good Influence—Responsibility for our Influence, 229

Character.
Character a Great Motive Power—Value of Good Character—Character is
Power—Difference between Character and Reputation—Character of Slow
Growth—Character our Own—Character always acting—Character a Grand
Thing, 237

Prudence.
Value of Prudence—Difficulty of defining Prudence—The Tongue of Prudence, 244

Temperance.
Beauty of Temperance—Danger of Impulse—Temperance and Health—
Temperance dwells in the Heart—Temperance consists in Self-Control—Must be
Temperate to make the Most of Life, 247

Frugality.
In what Frugality consists—Frugality and Liberality—Frugality necessary to
Acquisition of Wealth—The Danger of going beyond the Income—Influence of
Economy on the Other Emotions, 252

Patience.
Patience the Ballast of the Soul—Necessity of Patience—Examples of Eminent
Men—Patience an Element of Home Happiness, 259

Self-Control.
Self-control a Form of Courage—Importance of Mental Faculties—Government
and Progress—Composure Highest Form of Power—Strong Temper not always a
Bad One—Man born for Dominion, 264

Courage.
In what Courage consists—Courage not confined to the Battlefield—Occasion
for Courage in Domestic Life—Courage of Endurance for Conscience's Sake, 270

Charity.
Charity like Dew from Heaven—Charity a Lovable Trait—The Spirit of Charity
always doing Good—Universal Charity—Death and Charity, 275

Kindness.
Kindness the Music of Good-will—Kindness makes Sunshine—Should never
feel ashamed of Kindness—Kindness not necessarily shown in Gifts—Kindness
shown in Little Things—Influence of Unnoticed Kindness—Showing Kindness a
Noble Revenge—Kind Words and their influence, 280

Benevolence.
Doing Good a Happy Act—No Excess of Good Deeds—Benevolence necessary
to a Perfect Life—Liberality not Profuseness—Benevolence during Life, 286

Veracity.
Truth always Consistent—Falsehood Perplexing—Strict Veracity has regard to
Looks and Actions—Lying a Cowardly Trait—Danger of too close Adherence to
Truth due to Lack of Caution, 292

Honor.
Honor a Glorious Trait of Character—Honor shown in Little Acts—Honor and
Virtue not the Same, 296

Policy.
Policy of the Nature of Cunning—Extent of this Principle—A Characteristic
Trait of the Age—Policy not Prudence or Caution—Policy not Discretion—Danger
of judging from Appearance, 299

Egotism.
Egotism a Disagreeable Trait—Egotism, how shown—Why We dislike Egotism
in Others—Danger of Self-love—The True Line between Egotism and Self-
conceit, 303

Vanity.
Vanity requires Skill in the Management—Danger of Love of Applause—Vanity
attacks Every Thing—Deception of Vanity—Vanity not wholly Bad—Vanity ever
present, 307

Selfishness.

Nature of Selfishness—Selfishness destructive of Happiness—Selfishness a
Narrow Quality—Selfishness contracts the Mind—Selfishness shows itself in
Many Ways—Last Hours of a Selfish Life, 311

Obstinacy.
Obstinacy a Trait of Low Minds—Peculiar Property of Obstinacy—Obstinacy a
Barrier to Improvement—Obstinacy not Firmness—Necessity of sometimes
yielding—Be not in a Hurry to change Opinion, 315

Slander.
Nature of Calumny—Slander never tired—Slander loved only by the Base—
Slander can not injure a Good Man—Slander easily started—Your Own Character
shown in describing Another's—Speak kindly of the Absent, 319

Irritability.
Irritability an Unpleasant Quality—The Source of Envy and Discontent—Sin of
fretting—Fretting easy to indulge—Evidence of a Moral Weakness—Evidence of
Littleness of Soul, 324

Envy.
Envy Born of Pride—Envy a Foolish Trait—Envy destroys One's Own
Happiness—Envy seeks to pull down Others—Envy Cruel in pursuit—Envy grows
in All Hearts, 328

Discontent.
A Discontented Man wretched—Discontent at Times wicked—Universality of
Discontent—Contentment Felicity—Duty to enjoy God's Blessing—Contentment
abides with Little Things—Contentment not Supine Satisfaction—Folly of
Discontent, 332

Deception.
Deceit an Obstacle to Happiness—Deceit in Friendship Most Detestable—
Deceit Inimical to Society—Deception and Hypocrisy—Deception assumes Many
Forms, 338

Intermeddling.
A Busybody disliked by All—Allied to Envy and Slander—The Source of Many
Troubles—Mischief wrought by an Intermeddler—Beware of Curiosity—A
Meddler not moved by the Spirit of Charity, 342

Anger.

Anger an Impotent Quality—Anger unmans a Man—Fit Occasions for
Indignation—Anger always Terrible or Ridiculous—Strong Temper not of
Necessity a Bad One, 346

Ambition.
Ambition a Deceptive Quality—Ambition fatal to Happiness—Ambition fatal to
Friendship—Ambition a Shadowy Quality—Ambition not Aspiration—Ambition
an Excessive Quality—Ambitious of True Honor a Grand Thing, 350

Politeness.
Importance of Politeness—Manner influences Worldly Opinion—Fascinating
Manners not Politeness—Politeness does not depend on National Peculiarities—
Politeness is Kindness—Description of a Gentleman—Politeness comes of
Sincerity—Politeness a Noble Trait of Character—Business Value of Politeness—
Good Manners can not be laid aside, 354

Sociability.
Mutual Intercourse necessary to Happiness—Society the Balm of Life—Duty of
doing Something for Society—All Social Duties Reciprocal—Society the Spirit of
Life—Anomalies of Society explained—Happy Influence of Society, 361

Dignity.
Dignity defined—Dignity not Dependent on Place—Dignity the Ennobling
Quality of Politeness—Three Kinds of Dignity—Dignity not Conceit—Dignity not
Hauteur and Pride, 367

Affability.
Affability an Ornament—Affability of Value—Why Affability promotes Success
—Not well enough acquainted with Each Other—Duty of cultivating Affability—
Whom to be Affable with, 371

The Toilet.
Dress denotes the Man—Duty of Dressing—Love of Beauty right—Mental
Qualities shown by the Toilet—Beauty of Simplicity—The Style of Dress—Dress
need not be Costly—Dress of a Gentleman—Dandies Ridiculous, 375

Gentleness.
Gentleness a Pleasing Quality—We do not sufficiently value Gentleness—
Power of Gentleness—Gentleness belongs to Virtue—Great Power always Gentle
in Expression—Power in Gentle Words—Foundation of True Gentleness, 382

Modesty.

Modesty a Mark of Wisdom—Modesty a Beautiful Setting to Talents—All Great
Events complete themselves in Silence—Modesty not Bashfulness—Modesty
Different from Reserve—Modesty Crowning Ornament of Woman, 387

Love.
Love a Ruling Element—Love a Need of the Heart—Power of Love—Love a
Proof of Moral Excellence—Love elevates Life—Duty to study the Nature of Love
—Love founded on Esteem and Respect—Love Dependent on Etiquette—
Woman's Love Stronger than Man's—Love purifies the Heart, 391

Courtship.
Importance of the Question—Mistaken Notions as to Time—Courtship and
Wedded Love—Happiness Dependent on Love—All Jest out of Place—Duty of
Careful Thought on Courtship—Marriage should be made a Study—Courtship a
Voyage of Discovery—The True Companion must be sought for—A Critical Point
in a Woman's Life—Must be an Equal—Courtship Beautiful, 400

Marriage.
Marriage a Solemn Spectacle—Human Happiness ever accompanied by Sorrow
—Loving Trust of Woman—Importance of the Act—Marriage the Entrance to a
New World—Influence of a Wife's Moral Character—Discipline of the Affections
—Marriage a Necessity—Marriage should be made a Study—Why
Disappointments arise—Marriage a Real and Earnest Affair, 408

Single Life.
Marriage universally expected—Happiness of Single Life—Matrimony brings
Cares as well as Joys—Marriage not the Chief End of Life—Marriage the More
Preferable State—Jeremy Taylor's Contrast of the Two States—Early Marriages
Injudicious—Why Some remain Single, 416

Married Life.
Marriage the Bond of Social Order—Influence of a Good Wife—Nature of the
Marriage Tie—Gold can not purchase Love—Unhappy Marriages—Human to see
the Good Side of Things past—Happiness found in consulting the Happiness of
Others—Elevating Influence of Marriage, 422

Duties of Married Life.
Duty of Married Life can not be shaken off—Marriage does not change human
Nature—Love not the Only Requisite of Domestic Felicity—Chance to make or
mar Life—Danger from Familiarity—Patience demanded—Must expect
Imperfections—Must seek the Happiness of Others—Duty of forgetting Self, 429

Trials of Married Life.
Trials to be expected—Death of Wedded Love—Daily Life the Test of Married
Love—Domestic Happiness reached through Trials—Must learn to bear with the
Faults of Each Other—Imperfections of Character make the Strongest Claims on
our Love—Many Trials arise from Mistaken Notions as to Economy—Necessity of
having a Home, 436

Husband and Wife.
True Marriage the Growth of Years—There must be a Mutual Self-sacrifice—
Keep Faults to yourself—Constant Tenderness and Care necessary—Proofs of
Affection should be granted—Duty of Husbands—Duty of Wives—Man desires
Woman's Sympathy and Love—Wives should consult Husbands' Taste, 443

Jealousy.
Baseness of this Passion—Distinction between Jealousy and Envy—Jealousy
preferable to Envy—Jealousy assumes Many Forms—No One willing to
Acknowledge Jealousy—Jealousy a Deadly Thing—Suspicion an Enemy to
Happiness, 449

Regret.
Regret a Sad Word—All have felt it—The Profoundest Sorrows self-wrought—
Death an Occasion of Much Regret—Shadowed Lives—How to escape regret, 454

Memory.
Memory the Noblest Gift of Providence—Memory the Golden Cord—Treasure
of a Good Memory—Memory of Past Days—Slight Things suffice to recall Past
Memories—The Reminiscences of Youth—Memory sometimes Painful—Memory
crowds Years into Moments, 458

Hope.
Hope accomplishes All Things—Moderate Hope Helpful—Sustaining Power of
Hope—Should only hope for Probable Things—Hope ever with us—Hope lives in
the Future—The Morality of Hope—A True Hope ever Present—Hopes and Fears
—Rise above Trouble, 465

Prosperity.
Prosperity the Test of Character—A Degree of Prosperity to be reasonably
hoped for—Continuous Prosperity not a Good Thing—How to prosper—
Prosperity and Happiness not Identical—Early Adversity the Foundation of Future
Prosperity—Hardships a Good Thing, 472

Trifles.
Details Important—Trifles make Success—No Such Thing as Trifles in Life—
Trifles make the Difference between First and Second Class Work—Unhappiness
of Life caused by Trifles—Trifles make an Influence, 477

Leisure.
Spare Moments the Gold-dust of Time—Time our Estate—What can be done in
Leisure Time—Busiest Persons have always the Most Time—Time can not be
recalled—Effort required to employ Time Rightly—Death teaches the Value of
Time, 482

Happiness.
Happiness the Principal Thing—Deceitfulness of Happiness—Happiness like
To-morrow—Wealth and Fame not Necessary to Happiness—Can not control our
Outward Surroundings—Circumstances not essential to Happiness—Disposition to
enjoy Life what is wanted—Enjoy Present Surroundings—Content is Happiness—
Must seek for Happiness in the Right Way, 488

True Nobility.
True Nobility often counterfeited—Man not rated by his Possessions—
Greatness often Obscure—Some Great in Evil—Influence of Noble Principles—
True Nobility Modest in Expression—Nobility of Character Reverential—True
Nobility within Reach of All, 494

A Good Name.
A Good Name the Richest Possession—Based on Permanent Excellence—The
Result of Individual Exertion—Influence of Youth on Life—Rewards of
possessing a Good Name—Evil of being devoid of it, 501

Meditation.
Meditation the Soul's Perspective Glass—Must learn to subdue the Impulses—
Meditation the Counselor of the Mental Powers—Guard against Impure Thoughts
—Duty of Thinking, 507

Principles.
Principles the Springs of our Actions—Danger of Loose Principles—Good
Principles ever acting—False Principles, 512

Opportunity.
Must Rightly use Small Opportunities—Opportunity and Ability—All have a
Few Opportunities—Must not wait for Opportunity, 516

Duty.
Duty ever Present with us—Duty based on Justice—We must will to do our
Duty—Duty and Might—Duty does not fear Censure, 520

Trials.
Life Full of Trials—Joy and Sorrow near together—Trials sent for our Good—
Wisdom won by Trials—Man like a Sword—Never meet Trouble Half Way—
Sorrow should remind us of God, 524

Sickness.
Sickness draws us near to God—Sickness softens the Heart—Sickness renders
us All Equals—The Blessings of Sickness—Sickness and Health—Discipline of a
Sick-bed, 529

Sorrow.
Sorrows gather around Great Souls—Sorrows make the Mind Genial—Life
abounds in Sorrowful Scenes—Sorrow the Noblest of Discipline—Christianity a
Religion of Sorrow—Suffering must be patiently submitted to—Sorrow sometimes
too Sacred to be spoken of—Must not give way to Causeless Sorrow, 532

Poverty.
Poverty a Valued Discipline—Evils of Poverty Imaginary—Genius a Gift of
Poverty—The Advantages of struggling with Poverty—Poverty the Test of Civility
—Real Wants of Mankind but Few—Misfortune of beginning Life Rich—Poverty
of the Mind Most Deplorable, 539

Affliction.
The Elasticity of the Human Mind—Affliction a School of Virtue—Adversity
the Touchstone of Character—The Uncertainty of Human Life—Suffering
Divinely appointed—Thought when Death comes, 545

Disappointments.
Disappointments Divinely appointed—Disappointments the Lot of Man—
Shadowed Lives—Many disappointed because they do not look for Happiness in
the Right Way—Must meet Disappointments Bravely—Must be accepted with
Resignation—Disappointments sometimes arise from Undue Expectations—Time
disappoints our Cherished plans—Life a Variegated Scene, 552

Failure.
Ultimate Success attained through Present Failure—Failures for our Own Good 557
—The True Hero perseveres in Spite of Failure—Do not give Way to Despair—No

One succeeds in All his Undertakings—Many ruined by Early Success—How to
view Past Mistakes—Sorrows of Mankind traced to Blighted Hopes—The Brave-
hearted Man rises Superior to Present Difficulties,

Despondency.
Dark Hours as well as Bright Ones—Dire Effects of Despair—Influence of
Hope—Duty of resisting Despondency—Despondency a Failure of Duty—To give
Way to Despair not Manly—Lesson from Nature—Causeless Depression of Spirits
—Human Nature to see the Dark Side, 565

Faith.
Faith the Prophet of the Soul—Faith a Necessity—Faith a Reasonable Thing—
Faith ever with us—Difference between Morality and Faith—Faith expands the
Intellect—Must not judge the Outward Manifestations of Faith—Faith and Works, 570

Worship.
Necessity of Prayer—Prayer arises from the Heart—Prayer and Outward Action
—Prayer the Password to Heaven—Family Worship—Necessity of Daily Worship
—Family Prayers knit together the Home—We often pray Improperly—What God
looketh at in Prayers—The Lord's Prayer, 575

Religion.
Religion binds Man to God—True Religion a Noble Thing—Effect of Religion
—Religion Full of Joys—Religion a Natural Thing—Religion not established by
Reason—Sorrow for Sin—Three Modes of bearing Ills of Life—Surrounded by
Motives to Religion—Religion a Refining Influence—Religion teaches the Dignity
of Common Life—Religion enforces the doing of Common Duties, 581

God in Nature.
"The Heavens proclaim the Glory of God"—The Gospel written on Nature—
Distinguishing Features of God's Works—Study of Nature leads to True Religion
—Plan running through Nature's Works—Wondrous Natural Scenes conduce to a
Proper View of God, 588

The Bible.
Eulogy of the Bible—The Bible the Oldest Monument Extant—The Bible
Adapted to Every Condition—The Bible the Foundation of our Religious Faith—
The Bible our Constant Attendant—The Bible a Tried Book—The Scriptures
Adapted to All Times of Life—The Bible gives us a Sure Foundation to stand
upon, 592

Future Life.

Importance of this Question—Changes of the Seasons proving Future Life—
Men at All Times have pondered the Question of Death—Tenable Ground for the
Hope of Future Life—Visions on Death-beds, 596

Time and Eternity.
Insignificance of Man as compared to Eternity—The Hour-glass Emblematical
of the World—The Closing Year of our Life—Transitory Period of Human Life—
The Vanities and Contentions of Life viewed from the Stand-point of Eternity, 599

The Evening of Life.
The Beauty of Age—Different Ages of Life contrasted—In the Realities of Life
we lose Sight of the Dreams of Youth—Age should present the Grandest Thoughts
—Age has no Terror to those who see it near—The True Man does not wish to be a
Child again—Death the Transition Stage to a More Glorious and Perfect Life—In
Death we are All Equal—Should Cultivate Cheerful Thoughts about Death—Poem
on Death, 602

E can conceive of no spectacle better calculated to lead the mind to
serious reflections than that of an aged person, who has misspent a
long life, and who, when standing near the end of life's journey,
looks down the long vista of his years, only to recall opportunities
unimproved. Now that it is all too late, he can plainly see where he passed
by in heedless haste the real "gems of life" in pursuit of the glittering
gewgaws of pleasure, but which, when gained, like the apples of Sodom,
turned to ashes in his very grasp. What a different course would he pursue
would time but turn backwards in his flight and he be allowed to commence
anew to weave the "tangled web of life." But this is not vouchsafed him.
Regrets are useless, save when they awaken in the minds of youth a wish to
avoid errors and a desire to gather only the true "jewels of life."
Life, with its thousand voices wailing and exulting, reproving and
exalting, is calling upon you. Arouse, and gird yourself for the race. Up and
onward, and

"Waking,
Be awake to sleep no more."

Not alone by its ultimate destiny, but by its immediate obligations, uses,
enjoyment, and advantages, must be estimated the infinite and untold value
of life. It is a great mission on which you are sent. It is the choicest gift in
the bounty of heaven committed to your wise and diligent keeping, and is
associated with countless benefits and priceless boons which heaven alone
has power to bestow. But, alas! its possibilities for woe are equal to those of
weal.
It is a crowning triumph or a disastrous defeat, garlands or chains, a
prison or a prize. We need the eloquence of Ulysses to plead in our behalf,
the arrows of Hercules to do battle on our side. It is of the utmost
importance to you to make the journey of life a successful one. To do so

you must begin with right ideas. If you are mistaken in your present
estimates it is best to be undeceived at the first, even though it cast a
shadow on your brow. It is true, that life is not mean, but it is grand. It is
also a real and earnest thing. It has homely details, painful passages, and a
crown of care for every brow.
We seek to inspire you with a wish and a will to meet it with a brave
spirit. We seek to point you to its nobler meanings and its higher results.
The tinsel with which your imagination has invested it will all fall off of
itself so soon as you have fairly entered on its experience. So we say to you,
take up life's duties now, learn something of what life is before you take
upon yourself its great responsibilities.
Great destinies lie shrouded in your swiftly passing hours; great
responsibilities stand in the passages of every-day life; great dangers lie
hidden in the by-paths of life's great highway; great uncertainty hangs over
your future history. God has given you existence, with full power and
opportunity to improve it and be happy; he has given you equal power to
despise the gift and be wretched; which you will do is the great problem to
be solved by your choice and conduct. Your bliss or misery in two worlds
hangs pivoted in the balance.
With God and a wish to do right in human life it becomes essentially a
noble and beautiful thing. Every youth should form at the outset of his
career the solemn purpose to make the most and the best of the powers
which God has given him, and to turn to the best possible account every
outward advantage within his reach. This purpose must carry with it the
assent of the reason, the approval of the conscience, the sober judgment of
the intellect. It should thus embody within itself whatever is vehement in
desire, inspiring in hope, thrilling in enthusiasm, and intense in desperate
resolve. To live a life with such a purpose is a peerless privilege, no matter
at what cost of transient pain or unremitting toil.
It is a thing above professions, callings, and creeds. It is a thing which
brings to its nourishment all good, and appropriates to its development of
power all evil. It is the greatest and best thing under the whole heavens.
Place can not enhance its honor; wealth can not add to its value. Its course
lies through true manhood and womanhood; through true fatherhood and

motherhood; through true friendship and relationship of all legitimate kinds
—of all natural sorts whatever. It lies through sorrow and pain and poverty
and all earthly discipline. It lies through unswerving trust in God and man.
It lies through patient and self-denying heroism. It lies through all heaven
prescribed and conscientious duty; and it leads as straight to heaven's
brightest gate as the path of a sunbeam leads to the bosom of a flower.
Many of you to-day are just starting on the duties of active life. The
volume of the future lies unopened before you. Its covers are illuminated by
the pictures of fancy, and its edges are gleaming with the golden tints of
hope. Vainly you strive to loosen its wondrous clasp; 'tis a task which none
but the hand of Time can accomplish. Life is before you—not earthly life
alone, but life; a thread running interminably through the warp of eternity. It
is a sweet as well as a great and wondrous thing. Man may make life what
he pleases and give it as much worth, both for himself and others, as he has
energy for.
The journey is a laborious one, and you must not expect to find the road
all smooth. And whether rich or poor, high or low, you will be disappointed
if you build on any other foundation. Take life like a man; take it just as
though it was as it is—an earnest, vital, essential affair. Take it just as
though you personally were born to the task of performing a merry part in it
—as though the world had waited for your coming. Live for something, and
for something worthy of life and its capabilities and opportunities, for noble
deeds and achievements. Every man and every woman has his or her
assignments in the duties and responsibilities of daily life. We are in the
world to make the world better, to lift it up to higher levels of enjoyment
and progress, to make the hearts and homes brighter and happier by
devoting to our fellows our best thoughts, activities, and influences.
It is the motto of every true heart and the genius of every noble life that
no man liveth to himself—lives chiefly for his own selfish good. It is a law
of our intellectual and moral being that we promote our own real happiness
in the exact proportions we contribute to the comfort and happiness of
others. Nothing worthy the name of happiness is the experience of those
who live only for themselves, all oblivious to the welfare of their fellows.

That only is the true philosophy which recognizes and works out the
principle in daily life that—
"Life was lent for noble deeds."

Life embraces in its comprehensiveness a just return of failure and
success as the result of individual perseverance and labor. Live for
something definite and practical; take hold of things with a will, and they
will yield to you and become the ministers of your own happiness and that
of others. Nothing within the realm of the possible can withstand the man or
woman who is intelligently bent on success. Every person carries within the
key that unlocks either door of success or failure. Which shall it be? All
desire success; the problem of life is its winning.
Strength, bravery, dexterity, and unfaltering nerve and resolution must be
the portion and attribute of those who resolve to pursue fortune along the
rugged road of life. Their path will often lie amid rocks and crags, and not
on lawns and among lilies. A great action is always preceded by a great
purpose. History and daily life are full of examples to show us that the
measure of human achievements has always been proportional to the
amount of human daring and doing. Deal with questions and facts of life as
they really are. What can be done, and is worth doing, do with dispatch;
what can not be done, or would be worthless when done, leave for the idlers
and dreamers along life's highway.
Life often presents us with a choice of evils instead of good; and if any
one would get through life honorably and peacefully he must learn to bear
as well as forbear, to hold the temper in subjection to the judgment, and to
practice self-denial in small as well as great things. Human life is a watch-
tower. It is the clear purpose of God that every one—the young especially—
should take their stand on this tower, to look, listen, learn, wherever they go
and wherever they tarry. Life is short, and yet for you it may be long
enough to lose your character, your constitution, or your estate; or, on the
other hand, by diligence you can accomplish much within its limits.
If the sculptor's chisel can make impressions on marble in a few hours
which distant eyes shall read and admire, if the man of genius can create
work in life that shall speak the triumph of mind a thousand years hence,
then may true men and women, alive to the duty and obligations of

existence, do infinitely more. Working on human hearts and destinies, it is
their prerogative to do imperishable work, to build within life's fleeting
hours monuments that shall last forever. If such grand possibilities lie
within the reach of our personal actions in the world how important that we
live for something every hour of our existence, and for something that is
harmonious with the dignity of our present being and the grandeur of our
future destiny!
A steady aim, with a strong arm, willing hands, and a resolute will, are
the necessary requisites to the conflict which begins anew each day and
writes upon the scroll of yesterday the actions that form one mighty column
wherefrom true worth is estimated. One day's work left undone causes a
break in the great chain that years of toil may not be able to repair.
Yesterday was ours, but it is gone; today is all we possess, for to-morrow
we may never see; therefore, in the golden hour of the present the seeds are
planted whereby the harvest for good or evil is to be reaped.
To endure with cheerfulness, hoping for little, asking for much, is,
perhaps, the true plan. Decide at once upon a noble purpose, then take it up
bravely, bear it off joyfully, lay it down triumphantly. Be industrious, be
frugal, be honest, deal with kindness with all who come in your way, and if
you do not prosper as rapidly as you would wish depend upon it you will be
happy.
The web of life is drawn into the loom for us, but we weave it ourselves.
We throw our own shuttle and work our own treadle. The warp is given us,
but the woof we furnish—find our own materials, and color and figure it to
suit ourselves. Every man is the architect of his own house, his own temple
of fame. If he builds one great, glorious, and honorable, the merit and the
bliss are his; if he rears a polluted, unsightly, vice-haunted den, to himself
the shame and misery belongs.
Life is often but a bitter struggle from first to last with many who wear
smiling faces and are ever ready with a cheerful word, when there is
scarcely a shred left of the hopes and opportunities which for years
promised happiness and content. But it is human still to strive and yearn
and grope for some unknown good that shall send all unrest and troubles to
the winds and settle down over one's life with a halo of peace and

satisfaction. The rainbow of hope is always visible in the future. Life is like
a winding lane—on either side bright flowers and tempting fruits, which we
scarcely pause to admire or taste, so eager are we to pass to an opening in
the distance, which we imagine will be more beautiful; but, alas! we find
we have only hastened by these tempting scenes to arrive at a desert waste.
We creep into childhood, bound into youth, sober into manhood, and
totter into old age. But through all let us so live that when in the evening of
life the golden clouds rest sweetly and invitingly upon the golden
mountains, and the light of heaven streams down through the gathering
mists of death, we may have a peaceful and joyous entrance into that world
of blessedness, where the great riddle of life, whose meaning we can only
guess at here below, will be unfolded to us in the quick consciousness of a
soul redeemed and purified.

"Home is the resort
Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where,
Supporting and supported, polished friends
And dear relations mingle into bliss."

OME! That word touches every fiber of the soul, and strikes every
chord of the human heart with its angelic fingers. Nothing but death
can break its spell. What tender associations are linked with home!
What pleasing images and deep emotions it awakens! It calls up the
fondest memories of life, and opens in our nature the purest, deepest, richest
gush of consecrated thought and feeling.
To the little child, home is his world—he knows no other. The father's
love, the mother's smile, the sister's embrace, the brother's welcome, throw
about his home a heavenly halo, and make it as attractive to him as the
home of angels. Home is the spot where the child pours out all his
complaint, and it is the grave of all his sorrows. Childhood has its sorrows
and its grievances; but home is the place where these are soothed and
banished by the sweet lullaby of a fond mother's voice.
Ask the man of mature years, whose brow is furrowed by care, whose
mind is engrossed in business,—ask him what is home. He will tell you: "It
is a place of rest, a haven of content, where loved ones relieve him of the
burden of every-day life, too heavy to be continuously borne, from whence,
refreshed and invigorated, he goes forth to do battle again."
Ask the lone wanderer as he plods his weary way, bent with the weight of
years and white with the frosts of age,—ask him what is home. He will tell
you: "It is a green spot in memory, an oasis in the desert, a center about
which the fondest recollection of his grief-oppressed heart clings with all
the tenacity of youth's first love. It was once a glorious, a happy reality; but
now it rests only as an image of the mind."

Wherever the heart wanders it carries the thought of home with it.
Wherever by the rivers of Babylon the heart feels its loss and loneliness, it
hangs its harp upon the willows, and weeps. It prefers home to its chief joy.
It will never forget it; for there swelled its first throb, there were developed
its first affections. There a mother's eye looked into it, there a father's prayer
blessed it, there the love of parents and brothers and sisters gave it precious
entertainment. There bubbled up, from unseen fountains, life's first
effervescing hopes. There life took form and consistence. From that center
went out all its young ambition. Towards that focus return its concentrating
memories. There it took form and fitted itself to loving natures; and it will
carry that impress wherever it may go, unless it becomes polluted by sin or
makes to itself another home sanctified by a new and more precious
affection.
There is one vision that never fades from the soul, and that is the vision
of mother and of home. No man in all his weary wanderings ever goes out
beyond the overshadowing arch of home. Let him stand on the surf-beaten
coast of the Atlantic, or roam over western wilds, and every dash of the
wave or murmur of the breeze will whisper home, sweet home! Let him
down amid the glaciers of the north, and even there thoughts of home, too
warm to be chilled by the eternal frosts, will float in upon him. Let him rove
through the green, waving groves and over the sunny slopes of the south,
and in the smile of the soft skies, and in the kiss of the balmy breeze, home
will live again. Let prosperity reward his every exertion, and wealth and
affluence bring round him all the luxury of the earth, yet in his marble
palace will rise unforbidden the vision of his childhood's home. Let
misfortune overtake him; let poverty be his portion, and hunger press him;
still in troubled dreams will his thoughts revert to his olden home.
If you wanted to gather up all tender memories, all lights and shadows of
the heart, all banquetings and reunions, all filial, fraternal, paternal,
conjugal affections, and had only just four letters to spell out all height and
depth, and length and breadth, and magnitude and eternity of meaning, you
would write it all out with the four letters that spell Home.
What beautiful and tender associations cluster thick around that word!
Compared with it, wealth, mansion, palace, are cold, heartless terms. But

home,—that word quickens every pulse, warms the heart, stirs the soul to
its depths, makes age feel young again, rouses apathy into energy, sustains
the sailor in his midnight watch, inspires the soldier with courage on the
field of battle, and imparts patient endurance to the worn-out sons of toil.
The thought of it has proved a sevenfold shield to virtue; the very name
of it has a spell to call back the wanderer from the path of vice; and, far
away where myrtles bloom and palm-trees wave, and the ocean sleeps upon
coral strands, to the exile's fond fancy it clothes the naked rock, or stormy
shore, or barren moor, or wild height and mountain, with charms he weeps
to think of, and longs once more to see.
Every home should be as a city set on a hill, that can not be hid. Into it
should flock friends and friendship, bringing the light of the world, the
stimulus and the modifying power of contact with various natures, the fresh
flowers of feeling gathered from wide fields. Out of it should flow benign
charities, pleasant amenities, and all those influences which are the natural
offspring of a high and harmonious home-life.
The home is the fountain of civilization. Our laws are made in the home.
The things said there give bias to character far more than do sermons and
lectures, newspapers and books. No other audience are so susceptible and
receptive as those gathered about the table and fireside; no other teachers
have the acknowledged and divine right to instruct that is granted without
challenge to parents. The foundation of our national life is under their hand.
They can make it send forth waters bitter or sweet, for the death or the
healing of the people.
The influences of home perpetuate themselves. The gentle graces of the
mother live in the daughter long after her head is pillowed in the dust of
death; and the fatherly kindness finds its echoes in the nobility and
character of sons who come to wear his mantle and fill his place. While, on
the other hand, from an unhappy, misgoverned, and ill-ordered home, go
forth persons who shall make other homes miserable, and perpetuate the
sorrows and sadness, the contentions and strifes, which have made their
own early lives miserable. In every proper sense in which home can be
considered, it is a powerful stimulant to noble actions and a high and pure
morality. So valuable is this love of home that every man should cherish it

as the apple of his eye. As he values his own moral worth, as he prizes his
country, the peace and happiness of the world; yea, more, as he values the
immortal interests of man, he should cherish and cultivate a strong and
abiding love of home.
Home has voices of experience and hearts of genuine holy love, to
instruct you in the way of life, and to save you from a sense of loneliness as
you gradually discover the selfishness of mankind. Home has its trials, in
which are imaged forth the stern struggles of your after years, that your
character may gain strength and manifestation, for which purpose they are
necessary; they open the portals of his heart, that the jewels otherwise
concealed in its hidden depths may shine forth and shed their luster on the
world. Home has its duties, to teach you how to act on your own
responsibilities. Home gradually and greatly increases its burdens, so that
you may acquire strength to endure without being overtasked. Home is a
little world, in which the duties of the great world are daily rehearsed.
He who has no home has not the sweetest pleasures of life. He feels not
the thousand endearments that cluster around that hallowed spot, to fill the
void of his aching heart, and while away his leisure moments in the
sweetest of life's enjoyments. Is misfortune your lot, you will find a friendly
welcome from hearts beating true to your own. The chosen partner of your
toil has a smile of approbation when others have deserted you, a hand of
hope when all others refuse, and a heart to feel your sorrows as her own. No
matter how humble that home may be, how destitute its stores, or how
poorly its inmates may be clad, if true hearts dwell there, it is still a home.
Of all places on earth, home is the most delicate and sensitive. Its springs
of action are subtle and secret. Its chords move with a breath. Its fires are
kindled with a spark. Its flowers are bruised with the least rudeness. The
influences of our homes strike so directly on our hearts that they make
sharp impressions. In our intercourse with the world we are barricaded, and
the arrows let fly at our hearts are warded off; but not so with us at home.
Here our hearts wear no covering, no armor. Every arrow strikes them;
every cold wind blows full upon them; every storm beats against them.
What, in the world, we would pass by in sport, in our homes would wound
us to the quick. Very little can we bear at home, for it is a sensitive place.

If we would have a true home, we must guard well our thoughts and
actions. A single bitter word may disquiet the home for a whole day; but,
like unexpected flowers which spring up along our path full of freshness,
fragrance, and beauty, so do kind words and gentle acts and sweet
disposition make glad the home where peace and blessing dwell. No matter
how humble the abode, if it be thus garnished with grace and sweetened by
kindness and smiles, the heart will turn lovingly towards it from all the
tumults of the world, and home, "be it ever so humble," will be the dearest
spot under the sun.
There is no happiness in life, there is no misery, like that growing out of
the disposition which consecrates or desecrates a home. "He is happiest, be
he king or peasant, who finds peace at home." Home should be made so
truly home that the weary, tempted heart could turn towards it anywhere on
the dusty highways of life, and receive light and strength. It should be the
sacred refuge of our lives, whether rich or poor.
The affections and loves of home are graceful things, especially among
the poor. The ties that bind the wealthy and proud to home may be forged
on earth, but those which link the poor man to his humble hearth are of the
true metal, and bear the stamp of heaven. These affections and loves
constitute the poetry of human life, and so far as our present existence is
concerned, with all the domestic relations, are worth more than all other
social ties. They give the first throb to the heart, and unseal the deep
fountains of its love. Homes are not made up of material things. It is not a
fine house, rich furniture, a luxurious table, a flowery garden, and a superb
carriage, that make a home. Vastly superior to this is a true home. Our ideal
homes should be heart-homes, in which virtue lives and love-flowers bloom
and peace-offerings are daily brought to its altars. It is made radiant within
with every social virtue, and beautiful without by those simple adornments
with which nature is every-where so prolific. The children born in such
homes will leave them with regret, and come back to them in after life as
pilgrims to a holy shrine. The towns on whose hills and in whose vales such
homes are found will live forever in the hearts of its grateful children.
How easy it is to invest homes with true elegance, which resides not with
the upholsterer or draper! It exists in the spirit presiding over the apartments

of the dwelling. Contentment must be always most graceful; it sheds
serenity over the scenes of its abode; it transforms a waste into a garden.
The house lighted by those imitations of a nobler and brighter life may be
wanting much which the discontented may desire, but to its inhabitants it
will be a palace far outvying the Oriental in beauty.
There is music in the word Home. To the old it brings a bewitching strain
from the harp of memory, to the middle-aged it brings up happy thoughts,
while to the young it is a reminder of all that is near and dear to them. Our
hearts turn with unchangeable love and longing to the dear old home which
sheltered us in childhood. Kind friends may beckon us to newer scenes, and
loving hearts may bind us fast to other pleasant homes; but we love to
return to the home of our childhood. It may be old and rickety to the eyes of
strangers; the windows may have been broken and patched long ago, and
the floor worn through; but it is still the old home from out of which we
looked at life with hearts full of hope, building castles which faded long
ago. Here we watched life come and go; here we folded still, cold hands
over hearts as still, that once beat full of love for us.
Even as the sunbeam is composed of millions of minute rays, the home-
life must be constituted of little tendernesses, kind looks, sweet laughter,
gentle words, loving counsels. It must not be like the torch blaze of natural
excitement, which is easily quenched, but like the serene, chastened light,
which burns as safely in the dry east wind as in the stillest atmosphere. Let
each bear the other's burden the while; let each cultivate the mutual
confidence which is a gift capable of increase and improvement, and soon it
will be found that kindness will spring up on every side, displacing
unsuitability, want of mutual knowledge, even as we have seen sweet
violets and primroses dispelling the gloom of the gray sea-rocks.
The sweetest type of heaven is home. Nay, heaven itself is the home for
whose acquisition we are to strive most strongly. Home in one form or
another is the great object of life. It stands at the end of every day's labor,
and beckons us to its bosom; and life would be cheerless and meaningless
did we not discern across the river that divides it from the life beyond
glimpses of the pleasant mansions prepared for us. Yes, heaven is the home
towards which those who have lived aright direct their steps when wearied

by the toils of life. There the members of the homes on earth, separated
here, will meet again, to part no more.

HE home circle may be, ought to be, the most delightful place on
earth, the center of the purest affections and most desirable
associations, as well as of the most attractive and exalted beauties to
be found this side of paradise. Nothing can excel in beauty and
sublimity the quietude, peace, harmony, affection, and happiness of a well-
ordered family, where virtue is nurtured and every good principle fostered
and sustained.
The home circle is the nursery of affection. It is the Eden of young
attachments, and here should be planted and tended all the germs of love,
every seed that shall ever sprout in the heart; and how carefully should they
be tended! how guarded against the frosts of jealousy, anger, envy, pride,
vanity, and ambition! how rooted in the best soil of the heart, and nourished
and cultivated by the soul's best husbandry!
Here is the heart's garden. Its sunshine and flowers are here. All its
beautiful, all its lovely things are here. And here should be expended care,
toil, effort, patience, and whatever may be necessary to make them still
more lovely. It is around the memories of the home circle that cluster the
happiest and sometimes the saddest of the recollections of youth. There is
the thought of brother and sister, perhaps now gone forever; of childish
sorrow and grief; of the mother's prayer and the father's blessing. Do you
wonder that these memories, both bitter and sweet, linger in the chambers
of the mind long after those of the busy years of maturity have faded away
before the approach of age? With what assiduity ought all who have arrived
at the years of maturity strive to make their homes pleasant—and especially
is this true of parents—so that its members when they go from thence will
carry with them thoughts that through all the weary years that are before
them will afford a pleasant retreat for them when well-nigh wearied with
the care which comes with increasing years.

We can not honor with too deep a reverence the home affections; we can
not cultivate them with too great a care; we can not cherish them with too
much solicitude. There is the center of our present happiness, the springs of
our deepest and strongest tides of joy. When the home affections are duly
cultivated all others follow or grow out of them as a natural consequence. If
any would have fervent and noble affections, such as give power and glory
to the human heart, such as sanctify the soul and make it supremely
beautiful, such as an angel might covet without shame, let him cultivate all
the feelings that originate, as from a radiant point, in the home circle.
The true flower of home love requires for its development the aid of
every member of the home circle. The tears of sympathy as well as the
sunshine of domestic affection bring it to its glorious maturity. Ofttimes
there are families the members of which are, without doubt, dear to each
other. If sickness or sudden trouble fall on one all are afflicted, and make
haste to help and sympathize and comfort. But in their daily life and
ordinary intercourse there is not only no expression of affection, none of the
pleasant and fond behavior that has, perhaps, little dignity, but which more
than makes up for that in its sweetness, but there is an absolute hardness of
language and actions which is shocking to every sensitive and tender
feeling. Between father and mother, brother and sister, ofttimes pass rough
and hasty words, and sometimes angry words, even more frequently than
words of endearment. To judge from their actions they do not appear to love
each other, nor does it seem to have occurred to them that it is their duty, as
it should be their best pleasure, to do and say all that they possibly can for
each other's good and happiness.
It is in the home circle where we form many, if not the most, of our
habits, both of action and speech. These habits we carry into the world.
They cling to us. The vulgarities which we use at home we shall use abroad
—the coarse sayings, the low jest, the vulgar speeches, the grammatical
blunders. All the lingual imperfections which go to form a part of our home
conversation will enter into our conversation at all times and in all places.
The home circle should be held too sacred to be polluted with the
vulgarities of languages, which could have originated nowhere but in low
and groveling minds. It should be dedicated to love and truth, to all that is
tender in feeling and noble and pure in thought, to holiest communion of

soul with soul. In order that such a communion may be enjoyed it is
requisite that language should there perform its most sacred office, even the
office of transmitting unimpared the most tender and sacred affections that
glow in the human heart.
If the dialects of angels could be used on earth its fittest place would be
the home circle. The language of home should be such as would not stain
the purest lips nor fall harshly on the most refined ear. It should abound in
words of wisdom which are at once the glory of youth and the honor of age.
The home circle, what tender associations does it recall! How deeply
interwoven are its golden filaments with all the fiber of our affectionate
natures, forming the glittering of the heart's golden life! Here are father,
mother, child, brother, sister, companions, all the heart loves, all that makes
earth lovely, all that enriches the mind with faith and the soul with hope.
What language is most fitting for home use, to bear the messages of home
feeling, to be freighted with the diamond treasure of home hearts? Should it
be any other than the most refined and pure? any other than that breathing
the sacred charity of affection?
Home is the great seeding-place of every affection that ever grows in the
heart. Hence all should tend well to it, watch, prune, and cultivate with all
prudence and wisdom, with all fervency of spirit. Let the music of the heart
swell its notes here in one perpetual anthem of good will. Let praise and
prayer and fervent good wishes and words and works hallow its sacred
shrine. Let offices of love go round like smiles at a feast of joy. Let the
whole soul devote its energies to making happy its home, and its rewards
will be great.
If there be any tie formed in life which ought to be securely guarded from
any thing which can put it in peril it is that which unites the members of a
family. If there be a spot upon earth from which discord and strife should be
banished it is the fireside. There center the fondest hopes and the most
tender affections.
The great lever by which the heart is moved is love; it is the basis of all
true excellence, of all excellent thought. How pleasing the spectacle of that
home circle which is governed by the spirit of love! Each one strives to

avoid giving offense, and is studiously considerate of the others' happiness.
Sweet, loving dispositions are cultivated by all, and each tries to surpass the
other in his efforts for the common harmony. Each heart glows with love,
and the benediction of heavenly peace seems to abide upon that dwelling
with such power that no storm of passion is able to rise.
There is no pleasanter sight than that of a family of young folks who are
quick to perform little acts of attention towards their elders. The placing of
the big arm-chair for the mother, or kindly errands done for father, and
scores of little deeds, show the tender sympathy of gentle, loving hearts.
Parents should show their appreciation of these kindly acts. If they do not
indicate that they are appreciated the habit is soon dropped.
Little children are imitative creatures, and quickly catch the spirit
surrounding them. So, if the father shows kindly attention to the mother,
bright eyes will see the act, and quick minds will make a note of it. By
example much more than by precept can children be taught to speak kindly
to each other, to acknowledge favors, to be gentle and unselfish, to be
thoughtful and considerate of the comfort of the family.
The boys, with inward pride of the father's courteous demeanor, will be
chivalrous and helpful to their sisters; and the girls, imitating the mother,
will be patient and gentle, even when brothers are noisy and heedless.
In the homes where true courtesy prevails it seems to meet you on the
threshold. You feel the kindly welcome on entering. No angry voices are
heard up stairs, no sullen children are sent from the room, no peremptory
orders are given to cover the delinquencies of housekeeping or servants. A
delightful atmosphere pervades the house, unmistakable, yet indescribable.
Such a house, filled by the spirit of love, is a home indeed, to all who enter
within its consecrated walls.
Members of the home circle lose nothing by mutual politeness; on the
contrary, by maintaining not only its forms, but by inward cultivation of its
spirit, they become contributors to that domestic feeling which is in itself a
foretaste of heaven. The good-night and the good-morning salutation,
though they may seem but trifles, have a sweet and softening influence on

all its members. The little kiss and artless good-night of the smaller ones, as
they retire to rest, have in them a heavenly melody.
Children are the pride and ornament of the family circle. They create
sport and amusement and dissipate all sense of loneliness from the
household. When intelligent and well trained they afford a spectacle which
even indifferent persons contemplate with satisfaction and delight. Still
these pleasurable emotions are not unalloyed with solicitude. It is an
agreeable but changeable picture of human happiness. Time in advancing
carries them forward, and erelong they will feel like exclaiming, with the
older and more sad and serious ones around them, that their youth exists
only in remembrance.
There is probably not an unpolluted man or woman living who does not
feel that the sweetest consolations and best rewards of life are found in the
loves and delights of home. There are very few who do not feel themselves
indebted to the influence that clustered around their cradles for whatever
good there may be in their character and condition. The influence preceding
from the home circle is either a blessing or a curse, either for good or for
evil. It can not be neutral. In either case it is mighty, commencing with our
birth, going with us through life, clinging to us in death, and reaching into
the eternal world. It is that unitive power which arises out of the manifold
relations and associations of domestic life. The specific influence of
husband and wife, of parent and child, of brother and sister, of teacher and
pupil, united and harmoniously blended, constitute the home influence.
From this we may infer the character of home influence. It is great, silent,
irresistible, and permanent. Like the calm, deep stream, it moves on in
silent but overwhelming power. It strikes root deep into the human heart,
and spreads its branches wide over our whole being. Like the lily that
braves the tempest, and the "Alpine flower that leans its cheek on the
bosom of eternal snow," it is exerted amid the wildest scenes of life, and
breathes a softening spell in our bosom, even when a heartless world is
freezing up the fountains of our sympathy and love. It is governing,
restraining, attracting, and traditional. It holds the empire of the heart and
rules the life. It restrains the wayward passions of the child and checks the
man in his mad career of ruin.

But all pictures of earthly happiness are transient in duration. Where can
you find an unbroken home circle? The time must soon come, if it has not
already, when you must part from those who have surrounded the same
parental board, who mingled with you in the gay-hearted joys of childhood
and the opening promise of youth. New cares will attend you in new
situations, and the relations you form and the business you pursue may call
you far from the "play-place" of your youth. In the unseen future your
brothers and sisters may be sundered from you, your lives may be spent
apart, and in death you may be divided; and of you it may be said:

"They grew in beauty side by side,
They filled one home with glee;
Their graves are severed far and wide,
By mount and stream and sea."

OW can children repay parents for their watchings, anxieties, labors,
toils, trials, patience, and love? Think of the utter helplessness of the
long years of infancy, of the entire dependence of succeeding
childhood, of the necessities and wants of youth, of the burning
solicitude of parents, and their deep and inexhaustible love; think of the
long years of unwearied toil, of their deep and soul-felt devotion to the
interests of their offspring, of the majesty and matchless power of their
unselfish affections—and then say whether it is possible for youth to repay
too much love and gratitude for all this bestowal of parental anxiety.
Oh, what thankfulness should fill every child's heart! What a glorious
return of love! Every day should they give them some token of love. Every
hour should their own hearts glow with gratitude and holy respect for those
who have given them being, and loved them so fervently and long. Nothing
will so warm and quicken all the affections of the parent's heart as such
respect. Who feels like trusting an ungrateful child? Who can believe that
his affection for any object can be firm and pure? The child who has loved
long and well his parents has thoroughly electrified his affections, has
surcharged them with the sweet spirit of an affectionate tenderness, which
will pervade his entire heart, and will make him better and purer forever.
The affections of such a child are to be trusted. As well may one doubt an
angel as such a one.
There is always a liability, where sons and daughters have gone from the
home of their childhood, and have formed homes of their own, gradually to
lose the old attachments and cease to pay those attentions to parents which
were so easy and natural in the olden time. New associations, new thoughts,
new cares, all come in, filling the mind and heart, and, if special pains be
not taken, they thrust out the old love. This ought never to be. Children
should remember that the change is in them, and not with those they left
behind. They have every thing that is new, much that is attractive in the

present and bright in the future; but the parents' hearts cling to the past, and
have most in memory. When children go away, they know not, and never
will know until they experience it themselves, what it cost to give them up,
nor what a vacancy they left behind.
The parents have not, if the children have, any new loves to take the
place of the old. Do not, then, heartlessly deprive them of what you still can
give of attention and love. If you live in the same place, let your step be—if
possible, daily—a familiar one in the old home. Even when many miles
away, make it your business to go to your parents. In this matter do not
regard time or expense. They are well spent; and some day when the word
reaches you, flashed over the wires, that your father or mother is gone, you
will not regret then the many hours of travel spent in going to them while
they were yet alive.
Keep up your intercourse with your parents. Do not deem it sufficient to
write only when something important is to be told. Do not believe that to
them "no news is good news." If it be but a few lines, write them. Write, if
it be only to say, "I am well;" if it be only to send the salutation which says
they are "dear," or the farewell which tells them that you are "affectionate"
still. These little messages will be like caskets of jewels, and the tear that
falls fondly over them will be treasures for you. Let every child, having any
pretense to heart, or manliness, or piety, and who is so fortunate as to have a
father or mother living, consider it a sacred duty to consult, at any
reasonable personal sacrifice, the known wishes of such a parent until that
parent is no more; and, our word for it, the recollections of the same
through the after pilgrimage of life will sweeten every sorrow, will brighten
every gladness, will sparkle every tear-drop with a joy ineffable.
There is no period of life when our parents do not claim our attention,
love, and warmest affections. From youth to manhood, from middle age to
riper years, if our honored parents survive, it should be our constant study
how we can best promote their welfare and happiness, and smooth the
pillow of their declining years.
Nothing better recommends an individual than his attentions to his
parents. There are some children whose highest ambition seems to be the
promotion of their parents' interest. They watch over them with unwearied

care, supply all their wants, and by their devotion and kindness remove all
care and sorrow from their hearts. On the contrary, there are others who
seem never to bestow a thought upon their parents, and to care but little
whether they are comfortably situated or not. By their conduct they increase
their cares, embitter their lives, and bring their gray hairs with sorrow to the
grave. Selfishness has steeled their hearts to the whispers of affection, and
avarice denies to their parents those favors which would materially assist
them in the down-hill of life.
Others, too, by a course of profligacy and vice, have drained to the very
dregs their parents' cup of happiness, and made them anxious for death to
release them from their sufferings. How bitter must be the doom of those
children who have thus embittered the lives of their best earthly friends!
There can be no happier reflection than that derived from the thought of
having contributed to the comfort and happiness of our parents. When
called away from our presence, which sooner or later must happen, the
thought will be sweet that our efforts and our care smoothed their declining
years, so that they departed in comfort and peace. If we were otherwise, and
we denied them what their circumstances and necessities required, and our
hearts did not become like the nether millstone, our remorse must prove a
thorn in our flesh, piercing us sharply, and filling our days with regret.
There is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to her son that
transcends all other affections of the heart. It is neither to be chilled by
selfishness, weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will
sacrifice every comfort to his convenience; she will surrender every
pleasure to his enjoyment; she will glory in his fame, and exult in his
prosperity. If misfortune overtake him, he will be the dearer to her from
misfortune; and if disgrace settles upon his name, she will still love and
cherish him in spite of his disgrace. If all the world besides cast him off, she
will be all the world to him.
A father may turn his back on his child, brothers and sisters may become
inveterate enemies, husbands may desert their wives, wives their husbands;
but a mother's love endures through all. In good repute, in bad repute, in the
face of the world's condemnation, a mother still lives on and still hopes that
her child may turn from his evil ways and repent; still she remembers his

infant smile that ever filled her bosom with rapture, the merry laugh, the
joyful shout of his childhood, the opening promise of his youth; and
thinking of these, she never can be brought to think him all unworthy.
Young man, speak kindly to your mother, and ever courteously and
tenderly of her. But a little while and you shall see her no more forever. Her
eye is dim, her form bent, and her shadow falls grave-ward. Others may
love you when she has passed away—a kind-hearted sister, perhaps, or she
whom of all the world you chose for a partner—she may love you warmly,
passionately; children may love you fondly; but never again, never, while
time is yours, shall the love of woman be to you as that of your old,
trembling mother has been. Alas! how little do we appreciate a mother's
tenderness while living! How heedless are we in youth of all her anxious
tenderness! But when she is dead and gone, when the cares and coldness of
the world come withering to our hearts, when we experience how hard it is
to find true sympathy, how few love us for ourselves, how few will befriend
us in misfortune, then it is that we think of the mother we have lost.
The loss of a parent is always felt. Even though age and infirmities may
have incapacitated them from taking an active part in the cares of the
family, still they are rallying points around which affection and obedience,
and a thousand tender endeavors to please, concentrate. They are like the
lonely star before us: neither its heat nor light are any thing to us in
themselves, yet the shepherd would feel his heart sad if he missed it when
he lifts his eye to the brow of the mountains over which it rises when the
sun descends.
Over the grave of a friend, of a brother or a sister we would plant the
primrose, emblematical of youth; but over that of a mother we would let the
green grass shoot up unmolested; for there is something in the simple
covering which nature spreads upon the grave which well becomes the
abiding place of decaying age. Oh, a mother's grave! It is indeed a sacred
spot. It may be retired from the noise of business, and unnoticed by the
stranger; but to our heart how dear!
The love we should bear to a parent is not to be measured by years, nor
annihilated by distance, nor forgotten when they sleep in dust. Marks of age
may appear in our homes and on our persons, but the memory of a beloved

parent is more enduring than that of time itself. Who has stood by the grave
of a mother and not remembered her pleasant smiles, kind words, earnest
prayer, and assurance expressed in a dying hour? Many years may have
passed, memory may be treacherous in other things, but will reproduce with
freshness the impressions once made by a mother's influence. Why may we
not linger where rests all that was earthly of a beloved parent? It may have a
restraining influence upon the wayward, prove a valuable incentive to
increased faithfulness, encourage hope in the hour of depression, and give
fresh inspiration to Christian life.
The mother's love is indeed the golden cord which binds youth to age;
and he is still but a child, however time may have furrowed his cheek or
silvered his brow, who can yet recall with a softened heart the fond
devotion or the gentle chidings of the best friend that God ever gave us.
Round the idea of mother the mind of a man clings with fond affection. It is
the first deep thought stamped upon our infant heart, when yet soft and
capable of receiving the most profound impressions; and the after feelings
of the world are more or less light in comparison. Even in old age we look
back to that feeling as the sweetest we have known through life.
Our passions and our willfulness may lead us far from the object of our
filial love; we may come even to pain their heart, to oppose their wishes, to
violate their commands. We may become wild, headstrong, or angry at their
counsels or oppositions; but when death has stilled their monitory voices,
and nothing but silent memory remains to recapitulate their virtues and
deeds, affection, like a flower broken to the ground by a past storm, lifts up
her head and smiles away our tears. When the early period of our loss
forces memory to be silent, fancy takes her place, and twines the image of
our dead parents with a garland of graces, beauties, and virtues, which we
doubt not they possessed.

NFANCY, the morning of life! How beautiful it is! How filled with
great responsibilities! An immortal soul commences its existence. A
life, beginning in time, but capable of growing brighter when time is
ended and eternity begun, commences to note the passing hours.
We welcome the infant with joy, and congratulate the parents, and
we do well; but to an angel, who can clearly understand the infinite value of
the life just commenced, the heights of happiness to which it may ascend,
the depths of misery to which it may be brought, it must seem a moment so
deeply freighted with solemn meaning as to dispel all expressions of joy,
save only of a subdued and chastened kind.
Infancy has its hours of anxiety and trials for the parents, but it has also
its hours of compensating joys. When sickness is in the midst, and it seems
as if the cradle song would be exchanged for a dirge, what utter
wretchedness of heart is the parent's portion! A mother watching the
palpitating frame of her child as life ebbs slowly away evokes the sympathy
of the sternest. A child dying dies but once, but the mother dies a hundred
times. A mother mourning by the grave of her first-born, and strewing
flowers over a coffined form instead of kisses on a warm brow, is one of the
deepest spectacles of human woe. These are the dark shades, the night
scenes of the parents' experience; but it has its richer, deeper, and more
inspiring history, its seasons of comfort and delight, when the little child,
insensibly, perhaps, draws the parents into a higher and a better life. What a
sense of delicious responsibility fills the parents' hearts as they realize that
in their hands and under their influence is to be molded a character, that
they are the ones to carefully watch the unfolding of a human life, the
development of a human soul.
How earnestly should they seek to set a watch over their lips, to guard
well their thoughts and actions, to surround the child with such an air of
refined, intelligent, loving kindness that its young life shall as naturally

grow into a youth of beauty and a noble manhood or true womanhood as
that the bud on the rose-bush expands to the gorgeous flower that excites
universal admiration. Welcome to the parents the puny struggler, strong in
his weakness, his little arms more irresistible than the soldier's, his lips
touched with persuasion which Chatham and Pericles in manhood had not.
His unaffected lamentation when he lifts up his voice on high, or, more
beautiful, the sobbing child—the face all liquid grief, as he tries to swallow
his vexation—soften all hearts to pity and to mirthful and clamorous
compassion.
The parent's duty commences at the birth of the child. There is
importance even in the handling of infancy. If it is unchristian it will beget
unchristian states and feelings. If it is gentle, even patient and loving, it
prepares a mood and temper like its own. Then how careful to banish the
cross word, the impatient gesture! Let kind and loving tones only fall on its
ears, and only gentle hands assist it in its little wants. There is scarcely
room to doubt that all most crabbed, resentful, passionate characters—all
most even, lovely, firm, and true ones—are prepared in a great degree by
the handling of the nursery. The biography of many persons, faithfully
written, would ascribe to the training of early years the molding not only of
youthful character, but the more matured forms of mental and moral
development of after years. The influence thus exerted in the early days of
infancy is often the almost hopeless "casting of bread upon the waters"—
often not found in any of its favorable developments until after "many
days." The cares of the world and the evil example of others often choke the
word of a good mother, and destroy its vitality; but not unfrequently it will
be found, like seed long buried in the earth, to spring up to remembrance in
active life, and the counsels imparted to the "infant of days" be found to
influence and control the whole destiny of the man of mature years and gray
hairs.
As it is a law of our being that all, even the most feeble and insignificant,
exert a reciprocal influence on all around them, then an infant exerts a great
modifying influence on the elder men and women around it. It recalls them
from the contemplation of the stern realities of life to its innocent phases,
from disdainful, self-reliant pride to trustful confidence. Hearts that but for
the smile of innocence on the prattling lips of infancy had grown callous

beat once more in sympathy with the distressed around them. The feeble
clasp of well-nigh helpless hands is sometimes powerful enough to turn
strong men from the road to ruin. An infant in his cradle is king, and wields
his power over all who come near him.
Infants are the poetry of the world; the fresh flowers of our hearts and
homes; little conjurers, with the magic of their natural ways, working by
their spells what delights and enriches all ranks and equalizes the different
classes of society. Every infant comes into the world, like a delegated
prophet, the harbinger and herald of good tidings, whose office it is to make
young again hearts well-nigh wearied with the cares of years. A child
warms and softens the heart by its gentle presence; it enriches the soul by
new feeling, and it awakens within it what is favorable to virtue. An infant
is a beam of light, a fountain of love, a teacher, whose lessons few can
resist. They recall us from much that engenders and encourages selfishness,
that freezes the affections, roughens the manners, and indurates the heart.
They brighten the home, deepen love, invigorate exertion, infuse courage,
and vivify and sustain the charities of life.
An infant finds a place in the hearts of all people. The selfish and proud
open their hearts to its silent influence. The aged, who are standing near the
end of the journey of life, have the scenes of their younger days called up
afresh by the child's artless ways, and in its company grow young again.
The disconsolate seem to catch a fresh gleam of hope when they see the
confiding ways of the little child, and take heart again.
It would seem fitting that nature should exempt little children from
sickness and death, but, alas! impartial fate, which,

"With equal pace,
Knocks at the palace as the cottage gate,"

is no respecter of age. What a great hush falls on the ear, like a pall, and an
untold sadness settles over the heart when the little child is sick. Is it not
strange that such a wee bit of a thing should have the power to change every
thing, making the sunshine that but yesterday played in and out of the
windows so merrily and bright seem such a mockery to-day, changing the

joyous tones of the other children into funeral notes? Why is it that the soft
winds, which but lately seemed burdened with joy, and came softly
whispering of pleasant dells, of flowing streams, of flowery banks, to-day
seem strangely sighing, to have exchanged its joy for sorrow?
But such is the spell that baby has woven, knitting itself into the very
meshes of our hearts in such a quiet, subduing manner that we scarcely
know how dear it is until the little form lies still and prostrate. Great as is
the influence of the little child while living it has also a sweet and sacred
influence when its brief life is over and the solemn "dust unto dust" and
"ashes unto ashes" has been said over the little mound in the church-yard.
Sweet places for pure thought and holy meditation are these little graves.
They are depositories of the mother's sweetest joy, unfolded buds of
innocence, humanity nipped by the frosts of time ere yet a canker-worm of
corruption has nestled among its embryo petals.
Callous, indeed, must be the heart of him who can stand by a little grave-
side and not have the holiest emotions of the soul awakened to thoughts of
purity and joy, which belong alone to God and heaven. The mute preacher
at his feet tells of a life begun and ended without a stain; and surely if this
be vouchsafed to mortality, how much more pure and holier must be the
spirit-land, enlightened by the sun of infinite goodness, from whence
emanated the soul of that brief sojourner among us! How swells the soul
with joy when standing by the earth-beds of lost little ones, sorrowful
because a sweet treasure has been taken away, joyful because that sweet
jewel glitters in the diadem of the redeemed.
Such, then, is infancy. 'Tis the brief morning hour which precedes the
busy day. It may be grand and beautiful, while its after life may but be dark
and lowering, going out at last with wailing winds and weeping storms. Or
it may be bleak and dreary, only at last to break forth into the full glory of
the beauteous Summer day. But whatever its present state care and trouble
and sorrow are sure to await it. So train it, then, that it shall expect them and
look to the only true source for aid and assistance for the trials that lie in
store for it.

HILDHOOD, after reason has begun her sway, seems to us the
happiest season of life. It is also the critical period. At this time they
receive those impressions and contract those habits which impel
them towards the good and true or towards the evil and false.
The child's soul is without character. It is a rudimental existence, pure as
the driven snow—beautiful as a cherub angel, spotless, guileless, and
innocent. It is the chart of a man yet to be filled up with the elements of a
character. These elements are first outlined by the parents. With what
delicacy should they use the pencil of personal influence! The soul is soft,
and the lines they make are deep and not easily erased. It is a man they
form. Responsible work! It is an immortal soul they work upon, destined to
survive the wreck of matter and the crush of worlds, and to show in its
character forever some distant trace, at least, of their work.

Engraved & Printed by Illman Brothers.

MO T HE R A ND CH IL D.

Never believe any thing that concerns children to be of no importance. A
hasty word is of consequence. The little things that they see and hear about
them mold them for eternity. Observe how very quick the child's eye is to
perceive the meaning of looks, voices, and motions. It peruses all faces,
colors, and sounds. Every sentiment that looks into its eye is reflected
therefrom, and plays in miniature on its countenance. The tear that steals
down the cheek of a mother's suppressed grief gathers the little infantile
face into a sob. With a wondering silence it studies the mother in her
prayers, and looks up with her in that exploring watch which signifies
unspoken prayer. If the child be tended with impatience, or coolly and with
a lack of motherly gentleness, it straightway shows by its action that it, too,

feels the sting of just that which is felt towards it. And thus it is angered by
anger, fretted by fretfulness, irritated by irritation, having impressed upon it
just that kind of impatience or ill-nature which is felt towards it, and
growing faithfully into the bad mold as by a fixed law.
However apparently trivial the influences which contribute to form the
character of the child, they endure through life. Those impulses to conduct
which last the longest and are rooted the deepest always have their origin
near our birth. It is there that the germs of virtue or vice, of feeling or
sentiment, are first implanted which determine the character for life. It is in
childhood that the mind is most open to impression, and ready to be kindled
by the first spark that flies into it. The first thing continues always with the
child. The first joy, the first failure, the first achievement, the first
misadventure, paint the foreground of life.
Influence is as quiet and imperceptible on the child's mind as the falling
of snowflakes on the meadows. One can not tell the hour when the human
mind is not in the condition of receiving impressions from exterior moral
forces. In innumerable instances the most secret and unnoticed influences
have been in operation for months, and even years, to break down the
strongest barriers of the human heart, and work out its moral ruin while yet
the fondest parents and friends have been unaware of the working of such
unseen agents of evil.
Children are more easily led to be good by examples of loving kindness
and tales of well-doing in others than threatened into obedience by records
of sin, crime, and punishment. Then strive to impress on the child's mind
sincerity, truth, honesty, benevolence, and their kindred virtues, and the
welfare of your child, not only for this life, but for the life to come, will be
assured. What a responsibility it is to form a creature, the frailest and
feeblest that heaven has made, into the intelligent and fearless sovereign of
the whole animated universe, the interpreter, adorer, and almost
representative of Divinity!
There is much mistaken kindness in the management of children. The law
of love is great, but it showeth not its full strength, save when united with
kindness. Make your children helpful and useful, and you make them

happy. Let them early form habits of neatness, and when you are weary you
will not have to wait on their carelessness.
Teach them to give you courteous speech and manners, and they will live
to honor you. Take pains to have the home attractions stronger than can
come from outside influences. It is a sad fact that few children confide in
their parents. The parents must take an interest in them, and draw them to
their hearts instead of repelling them away. There is no mystery in attaching
children to one's self. If you love them, they will love you. If you make
much of them, they will make much of you. They can readily pick out the
children's friend among many. They have a quick way of discerning who
really love them and who care for them.
Parents do not think how far a word of praise will ofttimes go with
children. Praise is sunshine to a child, and there is no child who does not
need it. It is the high reward of one's struggle to do right. Many a sensitive
child hungers for commendation. Many a child, starving for the praise
which parents should give, runs off eagerly after the designing flattery of
others. To withhold praise where it is due is dishonest, and, in the case of a
child, such a course often leaves a stinging sense of injustice. One may as
well think to rear flowers in frost as to think of educating children
successfully in rebuff and constant criticism. Judicious flattery is almost
one of the necessities of existence with children. Indiscriminate flattery is,
of course, bad. When it becomes necessary to reprove children, use the
gentlest form of address under the circumstances. Reproof must not fall like
a violent storm, breaking down and making those to droop whom it is
meant to cherish and refresh. It must descend as the dew upon the tender
herb, or like melting flakes of snow. The softer it falls, the longer it dwells
upon, and the deeper it sinks into, the mind.
Never reprove the little ones before strangers; for children are as
sensitive, if not more so, than older persons, and wish strangers to think
well of them. When reproved before any one with whom they are not well
acquainted, their vanity is wounded. They have self-respect, and such
mortification of it is dangerous. Praise spurs a child on to earnest effort;
blame, when administered before visitors, takes away the power of doing
well.

It is the parents' duty to make their children's childhood full of love and
childhood's proper joyousness. Not all the appliances that wealth can buy
are necessary to the free and happy unfolding of childhood in body, mind,
and heart. But children must have love inside the house, and fresh air and
good play and companionship outside; otherwise young life runs the danger
of withering and growing stunted, or, at best, prematurely old and turned
inward on itself. There is something in loving dependent children, in tender
care for them, which bestows upon the soul the most enriching of its
experience. They make us tender and sympathetic, and a thousand times
reward us for all we do for them. We are indebted to them for constant
incentives to noble living; for the perpetual reminder that we do not live for
ourselves alone. For their sake we are admonished to put from us the
debasing appetite, the unworthy impulse; to gather into our lives every
noble and heroic quality, every tender and attractive grace. We owe them
gratitude for the dark hour their presence has brightened; for the
helplessness and dependence which have won us from ourselves; for the
faith and trust which it is evermore their mission to renew; for their kisses,
wet with tears, placed on brows that, but for their caressing, had furrowed
into frowns.
The gleeful laugh of happy children is the best home music, and the
graceful figures of childhood are the best statuary. They are well-springs of
pleasure, messengers of peace and love, resting-places for innocence, links
between angels and men. Their eyes, those clear wells of undefiled thought,
—what is more beautiful? Full of hope, love, and curiosity, they meet your
own. In prayer, how earnest; in joy, how sparkling; in sympathy, how
tender! The man or woman who never tried the companionship of a little
child has carelessly passed by one of the greatest pleasures of life, as one
passes a rare flower without plucking or knowing its value. A home, and no
children,—it is like a lantern, and no candle; a garden, and no flowers; a
vine, and no grapes; a brook, and no water gurgling and gushing in its
channels.
Nature affords striking proofs of foresight and wisdom in making the
bonds of parental sympathy so invincibly strong and lasting. During
childhood and youth, and even afterwards, when these charming epochs of
life have passed away, the ties of constancy and attachment continue to

prevail. Were not the chords of love thus strengthened, they would
frequently be snapped asunder; for the severest trials which the world
knows are those which assail the parental heart and pierce it with the
deepest sorrows.
How fleeting are the happiness and innocent guilelessness of childhood!
The years as they come bring with them intelligence and experience; but
they take with them, in their resistless course, the innocent pleasures of
childhood's years. Then deal gently, patiently, and kindly with them. You
may be nearly over the rough pathway of life yourselves; make the only
time of life that they can call happy as pleasant as possible. "Our children,"
says Madame de Stael, "who are tenderly reared by us, are soon destined
for others than ourselves. They soon stride rapidly forward in the career of
life, while we fall slowly back. They soon begin to regard their parents in
the light of memory and to look upon others in the light of hope."
They will not trouble you long. Children grow up; nothing on earth
grows so fast as children. It was but yesterday and that lad was playing with
tops, a buoyant boy. He is a man now. There is no more childhood for him
or for us. Life has claimed him. When a beginning is made, it is like a
raveling stocking; stitch by stitch gives way till all are gone. The house has
not a child left in it; there is no more noise in the hall; no boys rush in, pell-
mell; it is very orderly now. There are no more skates or sleds, bats, balls,
or strings left scattered about. There are no more gleeful laughs of happy
girls, or dolls left to litter the best room. There is no delay for sleeping
folks; there is no longer any task before you lie down. But the mother's
heart is heavy, and the father's house is lonely.

HE affections that exist between the members of the same family
afford a pleasing spectacle of human happiness. That which exists
between brother and sister should be assiduously cultivated. It is a
beautiful and lovely feeling, and seems to be wholly angelic in its
thoughts and feelings. It must necessarily be a pure, spiritual love. It arises,
not from a sense of gratitude, or for favors received, or from any thing save
the endearing relationship of family. It rests not on any thing but a spiritual
affinity of soul. It should be cultivated as one of the sweetest plants in the
garden of the heart. It should be watered every morning and evening with
the dews of good nature, and sunned all day with the light of kindness. It
should hear nothing but loving and tender words, even the dulcet music of
home; see nothing but smiles and the tokens of confidence and sympathy,
and know nothing but its own spirit of tenderness and unity.
How large and cherished a place does a good sister's love always hold in
the grateful memory of one who has been blessed with the benefit of this
relation! How many are there who, in the changes of mature years, have
found a sister's love their ready and adequate resource! With what a sense of
security is confidence reposed in a good sister, and with what assurance that
it will be uprightly and considerately given is her counsel sought! How
intimate is the friendship of such a brother and sister not widely separated
in age from one another!
What a reliance for warning, caution, and sympathy has each secured in
each! How many are the brothers who, when thrown into circumstances of
temptation, have found the thought of a sister's love a constant, holy
presence, rebuking every wayward thought! How many brothers are there
from whom death separated the sister years ago who yet feel her influence
thrown around them like sweet incense from an unseen censer; who are
arrested, when just about to take a downward step, by the memory of a
reproving look from eyes that have long been closed; who have pursued

their weary path of duty, cheered by the remembrance of a smile from lips
that will never smile again!
Who can tell the thoughts that cluster around the word sister? How ready
she is to forgive the foibles of a brother! She never deserts him. In adversity
she clings closely to him, and in trial she cheers him. When the bitter voice
of reproach is poured in his ears she is ever ready to hush its hard tones, and
to turn his attention away from its painful notes. Let him move in pleasant
paths, she hangs clusters of flowers about him.
In watching his favored career and listening to his eulogy she feels the
purest satisfaction. The cold grave can not crush her affections for him—it
outlives her tears and sighs; and hence she often wanders to the spot where
he reposes with the fragrant rose-bush and creeping honeysuckle, and plants
them on his tomb; and who will dare to affirm her love perishes when she
passes away from earth? May it not live far off in the glorious land,
increasing in fervor and intensity as the years of eternity pass away?
Affection does not beget weakness, nor is it effeminate for a brother to be
firmly attached to a sister. Such a boy will make a noble and brave man.
The young man who was accustomed to kiss his sweet, innocent sister night
and morning as they met shows its influence upon him. He will never forget
it, and when he shall take some one to his heart as his wife she shall reap
the golden fruits thereof. The young man who is in the habit of giving his
arm to his sister as they walk to and from church will never leave his wife
to find her way as best she can. He who has been trained to see that his
sister was seated before he sought his own will never mortify a neglected
wife in the presence of strangers. And the young man who frequently
handed his sister to her chair at the table will never have cause to blush as
he sees some gentleman extend to his wife the courtesy she knows is due
from him.
The intercourse of brother and sister forms an important element in the
happy influence of home. A boisterous or a selfish boy may try to domineer
over the weaker or more dependent girl. But generally the latter exerts a
softening influence. The brother animates and heartens; the sister modifies
and refines. The vine-tree and its sustaining elm are the emblems of such a
relation; and by such agencies our "sons may become like plants grown up

in youth, and our daughters like corner-stones polished after the similitude
of a temple."
Sisters scarcely know the influence they have over their brothers. A
young man is pretty much what his sister and young lady friends choose to
make him. If sisters are watchful and affectionate they may in various ways
lead them along till their characters are formed, and then a high respect for
ladies and a manly self-respect will keep them from mingling in low
society.
Girls, especially those who are members of a large family, have a great
influence at home, where brothers delight in their sisters, and where parents
look fondly down on their daughters. Girls have much in their power with
regard to those boys; they have in their power to make them gentler, truer,
purer; to give them higher opinion of woman; to soften their manner and
ways; to tone down rough places, and shape sharp, angular corners. They
should interest themselves in their pursuits, and show them by every means
in their power that they do not consider them and their doings beneath their
notice.
But few sisters realize how much they have to do with the welfare of
their brothers—how much it is in their power to win them to the right
modes of thoughts and actions by little acts of sisterly attentions. If they
would but spare an hour now and then from their peculiar employment to
their boyish sports, and not turn contemptuously away from the books and
amusements in which they delight, they would soon find how a gentle word
would turn off a sharp answer; how a genial look would effectually reprove
an unfitting expression; how gratefully a small kindness would be received,
and how unbounded would be the power for good they would obtain by a
continuance of such conduct.
Fortunate is the family that possesses such an elder sister. The mother
confides in her, the father takes pride in her ability to aid and cheer the
household, and the younger ones lean upon her. By her counsels, her
example, her influence, she may do as much as the parents to give to the
family life. She is at once companion and counselor for the younger
members, since separated by only a brief interval from the sports of
childhood she can sympathize easily with the little wants and little griefs

that fill the child's heart to overflowing, and show it how to compass its
desires and forget its sorrows. A short girlhood is usually the allotment of
the oldest daughter; but this is more than made up to her in the long and
delightful companionship she has with her mother, in the sense she is made
to have of her own importance in the family, and the unusual capability she
is obliged by the force of circumstances to acquire and display.
It is a law of our being that no improvement that takes place in either of
the sexes is confined to itself; each is the universal mirror to each, and the
refinements of the one will always be in reciprocal proportion to the polish
of the other. The brother and sister should grow up together, be educated at
the same school, engage in the same sports, and, as far as practicable, in the
same labors. Their joys and sorrows, tastes and aims, should be mutual as
far as possible. The same moral lessons, obligations, and duties should bear
upon them. It is an error that the youths of our land are separated in so
many of the most important duties of life.
Much evil is caused by mistaken opinions on this point. The girls are
taught that it is not pretty to be with the boys and the boys that it is not
manly to be with the girls, while at the same time the society of each is
necessary for the best development of character in the other. When they do
meet it is only for sport and nonsense, to cajole and deceive each other.
Hence the good influence they should have upon each other is in a great
measure lost. They are unacquainted with each other, know not each other's
natures, and have but little interest in each other's business and duties.
We want the girls to rival the boys in all that is good, refined, and
ennobling. We want them to rival the boys, as they well can, in learning, in
understanding, in all noble qualities of mind and heart, but not in any of the
rougher qualities and traits. We want the girls to be gentle—not weak, but
gentle—and kind and affectionate. We want to be sure that wherever a girl
is there should be a sweet, subduing, and harmonizing influence of purity
and truth and love pervading and hallowing from center to circumference
the entire circle in which she moves. It is her mission to instruct the boys in
all needful lessons of neatness and order, of patience and goodness.
We want the boys to be gentle, courteous, and considerate towards their
younger sisters; to be the protector and emulator of their virtues. We want to

be sure that where there is a boy there will go forth the influence inspired
by the courage of manly self-respect—a respect that keeps him from
mingling in low society. We want him to be every whit a man, a fit friend
and companion for true womanhood. We want to see them both enjoy the
Spring-time of life, for this is the season of joy, of bliss, of strength, of
pride; it is the treasury of life, in which nature stores up those riches which
are for our future employment and profit. Youth is to age what the flower is
to the fruit, the leaf to the tree, the sand to the glass. Hence we want to see
them both so using the golden age of youth as to be able to reap a rich
harvest in the years of maturity.

ANHOOD is the isthmus between two extremes—the ripe, the
fertile season of action, when alone we can hope to find the head to
contrive united with the hand to execute.
Each age has its peculiar duties and privileges, pleasures and pains.
When young we trust ourselves too much; when old we trust others too
little. Rashness is the error of youth, timid caution of age. In youth we build
castles and plan for ourselves a course of action through life. As we
approach old age we see more and more plainly that we are simply carried
forward by a mighty torrent, borne here and there against our will. We then
perceive how little control we have had in reality over our course; that our
actions, resolves, and endeavors, which seemed to give such a guiding
course to our life,

"Are but eddies of the mighty stream
That rolls to its appointed end."

In childhood time goes by on leaden wings,—ten, twenty years, a life-
time seems an endless period. At manhood we are surprised that time goes
so rapidly; we then comprehend the fleeting period of life. In old age the
years that are passed seem as a dream of the night, our life as a tale nearly
told. Childhood is the season of dreams and high resolves; manhood, of
plans and actions; age, of retrospection and regret.
There is certainly no age more potential for good or evil than that of early
manhood. The young men have, with much propriety, been denominated the
flower of a country. To be a man and seem to be one are two different
things. All young men should carefully consider what is meant by manhood.
It does not consist in years simply, nor in form and figure. It lies above and
beyond these things. It is the product of the cultivation of every power of
the soul, and of every high spiritual quality naturally inherent or graciously
supplemented. It should be the great object of living to attain this true

manhood. There is no higher pursuit for the youth to propose to himself. He
is standing at the opening gates of active life. There he catches the first
glimpse of the possibilities in store for him. There he first perceives the
duties that will shortly devolve upon him. What higher aim can he propose
to himself than to act his part in life as becomes a man who lives not only
for time but for eternity? How earnestly should he resolve to walk worthily
in all that true manhood requires!
There are certain claims, great and weighty, resting upon all young men
which they can not shake off if they would. They grow out of those
indissoluble relations which they sustain to society, and those invaluable
interests—social, civil, and religious—with all the duties and
responsibilities connected with them, which are soon to be transferred to
their shoulders from the venerable fathers who have borne the burden and
heat of the day. The various departments of business and trust, the pulpit
and the bar, our courts of justice and halls of legislation, our civil, religious,
and literary institutions, all, in short, that constitute society and go to make
life useful and happy, are to be in their hands and under their control.
Society, in committing to the young her interests and privileges, imposes
upon them corresponding claims, and demands that they be prepared to fill
with honor and usefulness the places which they are destined to occupy.
Young men can not take a rational view of the station to which they are
advancing, or of the duties that are coming upon them, without feeling
deeply their need of high and peculiar qualifications.
Every young man should come forward in life with a determination to do
all the good he can, and to leave the world the better for his having lived in
it. He should consider that he was not made for himself alone, but for
society, for mankind, and for God. He should consider that he is a
constituent, responsible member of the great family of man, and, while he
should pay particular attention to the wants and welfare of those with whom
he is immediately connected, he should accustom himself to send his
thoughts abroad over the wide field of practical benevolence.
There is within the young man an uprising of lofty sentiments which
contribute to his elevation, and though there are obstacles to be surmounted
and difficulties to be vanquished, yet with truth for his watchword, and

relying on his own noble purposes and exertions, he may crown his brow
with imperishable honors. He may never wear the warrior's crimson wreath,
the poet's chaplet of bays, or the statesman's laurels; though no grand,
universal truth may at his bidding stand confessed to the world; though it
may never be his to bring to a successful issue a great political revolution;
to be the founder of a republic which shall be a distinguished star in the
constellation of nations; even more, though his name may never be heard
beyond the narrow limits of his own neighborhood, yet is his mission none
the less a high and noble one.
In the moral and physical world not only the field of battle but also the
cause of truth and virtue calls for champions, and the field for doing good is
white unto the harvest. If he enlists in the ranks, and his spirits faint not, he
may write his name among the stars of heaven. Beautiful lives have
blossomed in the darkest places, as pure, white lilies, full of fragrance,
sometimes bloom on the slimy, stagnant waters. No possession is so
productive of real influence as a highly cultivated intellect. Wealth, birth,
and official station may and do secure an external, superficial courtesy, but
they never did and never can secure the reverence of the heart. It is only to
the man of large and noble soul—to him who blends a cultivated mind with
an upright heart—that men yield the tribute of deep and genuine respect. A
man should never glory in that which is common to a beast; nor a wise man
in that which is common to a fool; nor a good man in that which is common
to a wicked man.
Since it is in the intellect that we trace the source of all that is great and
noble in man it follows that if any are ambitious to possess a true manhood
they will be men of reflection, men whose daily acts are controlled by their
judgment, men who recognize the fact that life is a real and earnest affair,
that time is fleeting, and, consequently, resolve to waste none of it in
frivolities; men whose life and conversation are indicative of that serious
mien and deportment which well becomes those who have great interests
committed to their charge, and who are determined that in so far as in them
lies life with them shall be a success, who fully realize the importance of
every step they may take, and, consequently, bring to it the careful
consideration of a mind trained to think with precision.

The man who thinks, reads, studies, and meditates has intelligence cut in
his features, stamped on his brow, and gleaming in his eye. Thinking, not
growth, makes perfect manhood. There are some who, though they are done
growing, are only boys. The constitution may be fixed while the judgment
is immature; the limbs may be strong while the reasoning is feeble. Many
who can run and jump and bear any fatigue can not observe, can not
examine, can not reason or judge, contrive or execute—they do not think.
Such persons, though they may have the figure of a man and the years of a
man, are not in possession of manhood; they will not acquire it until they
learn to look beyond the present, and take broad and comprehensive views
of their relations to society.
As we often mistake glittering tinsel for solid gold, so we often mistake
specious appearances for true worth and manhood. We are too prone to take
professions and words in lieu of actions; too easily impressed with good
clothes and polite bearings to inquire into the character and doings of the
individual. Man should be rated, not by his hoards of gold, not by the
simple or temporary influence he may for a time exert, but by his
unexceptionable principles relative both to character and religion. Strike out
these and what is he? A savage without sympathy! Take them away, and his
manship is gone; he no longer lives in the image of his Creator. No smile
gladdens his lips, no look of sympathy illumes his countenance to tell of
love and charity for the woes of others.
But let man go abroad with just principles, and what is he? An
exhaustless fountain in a vast desert! A glorious sun, shining ever,
dispelling every vestige of darkness. There is love animating his heart,
sympathy breathing in every tone. Tears of pity—dew-drops of the soul—
gather in his eye, and gush impetuously down his cheek. A good man is
abroad, and the world knows and feels it. Beneath his smile lurks no
degrading passion; within his heart there slumbers no guile. He is not
exalted in mortal pride, not elevated in his own views, but honest, moral,
and virtuous before the world. He stands throned on truth; his fortress is
wisdom, and his dominion is the vast and limitless universe. Always
upright, kind, and sympathizing; always attached to just principles, and
actuated by the same, governed by the highest motives in doing good; these
constitute his only true manliness.

T should be the highest ambition of every young woman to possess a
true womanhood. Earth presents no higher object of attainment. To
be a woman is the truest and best thing beneath the skies. A true
woman exists independent of outward adornments. It is not wealth,
or beauty of person, or connection, or station, or power of mind, or
literary attainments, or variety and richness of outward
accomplishments, that make the woman. These often adorn womanhood, as
the ivy adorns the oak, but they should never be mistaken for the thing they
adorn.
The great error of womankind is that they take the shadow for the
substance, the glitter for the gold, the heraldry and trappings of the world
for the priceless essence of womanly worth which exists within the mind.
Every young man, as a general rule, has some purpose laid down for the
grand object of his life—some plan, for the accomplishment of which all his
other actions are made to serve as auxiliaries. It is to be regretted that every
young woman does not also have a set purpose of life—some grand aim,
grand in its character. She should, in the first place, know what she is, what
power she possesses, what influences are to go out from her, what position
in life she was designed to fill, what duties are resting upon her, what she is
capable of being, what fields of profit and pleasure are open to her, how
much joy and pleasure she may find in a true life of womanly activity.
When she has duly considered these things, she should then form the
high purpose of being a true woman, and make every circumstance bend to
her will for the accomplishment of this noble purpose. There can be no
higher aim to set before herself. There is no nobler attainment this side of
the spirit-land than lofty womanhood. There is no ambition more pure than
that which craves this crown for her mortal brow. To be a genuine woman,
full of womanly instincts and power, forming the intuitive genius of her
penetrative soul, the subduing authority of her gentle yet resolute will, is to

be a peer of earth's highest intelligence. All young women have this noble
prize before them. They may all put on the glorious crown of womanhood.
They may make their lives grand in womanly virtues.
A true woman has a power, something peculiarly her own, in her moral
influence, which, when duly developed, makes her queen over a wide realm
of spirit. But this she can possess only as her powers are cultivated. It is
cultivated women that wield the scepter of authority among men. Wherever
cultivated woman dwells, there is refinement, intellect, moral power, life in
its highest form. To be a cultivated woman she must commence early, and
make this the grand aim of her life. Whether she work or play, travel or
remain at home, converse with friends or study books, gaze at flowers or
toil in the kitchen, visit the pleasure party or the sanctuary of God, she
keeps this object before her mind, and taxes all her powers for its
attainment.
Every young woman should also determine to do something for the honor
and elevation of her sex. Her powers of mind and body should be applied to
a good end. Let her resolve to help with the weight of her encouragement
and counsels her sisters who are striving nobly to be useful, to remove as
far as possible the obstacles in their way. Let her call to her aid all the
forces of character she can command to enable her to persist in being a
woman of the true stamp. In every class of society the young women should
awaken to their duty. They have a great work to do. It is not enough that
they should be what their mothers were—they must be more. The spirit of
the times calls on women for a higher order of character and life. Will they
heed the call? Will they emancipate themselves from the fetters of custom
and fashion, and come up, a glorious company, to the possession of a
vigorous, virtuous, noble womanhood, that shall shed new light upon the
world and point the way to a divine life?
Woman's influence is the chief anchor of society, and this influence is
purifying the world, and the work she has already accomplished will last
forever. No costly marble can build a more enduring monument to her
memory than the impress she makes on her own household. The changing
scenes of life may hurl the genius of man from eminence to utter ruin; for

his life hangs on the fabric of public opinion. But the honest form of a true
mother reigns queen in the hearts of her children forever.
Man's admirers may be greater, but woman holds her kindred by a silken
cord of familiar kindness, strengthened and extended by each little courtesy
of a life-time. Man may make his monument of granite or of marble,
woman hers of immortality. Man may enjoy here, she will enjoy hereafter.
Man may move the rough crowd by his eloquence, woman will turn his
coarseness into a cheerful life. Man may make laws and control legislatures,
woman will mold their minds in the school-room and be the author of their
grandest achievements. Cruelty she despises, and it lessens at her bidding;
purity she admires, and it grows in her presence; music she loves, and her
home is full of its melody; happiness is her herald, and she infuses a world
with a desire for enjoyment. Without her, cabins would be fit for dwellings,
furs fit for clothing, and all the arts and improvements would be wanting in
stimulus and ambition; for the world is moved and civilization is advanced
by the silent influence of woman.
This influence is due not exclusively to the fascination of her charms, but
to the strength, uniformity, and consistency of her virtues, maintained under
so many sacrifices and with so much fortitude and heroism. Without these
endowments and qualifications, external attractions are nothing; but with
them, their power is irresistible. Beauty and virtue are the crowning
attributes bestowed by nature upon woman, and the bounty of Heaven more
than compensates for the injustice of man. The possession of these
advantages secures to her universally that degree of homage and
consideration which renders her independent of the effect of unequal and
arbitrary laws. But it is not the incense of idol-worship which is most
acceptable to the heart of woman; it is the courtesy, and just appreciation of
her proper position, merit, and character. Woman surpasses man in the
quickness of her perception and in the right direction of her sympathies; and
thus it is justly due to her praise that the credit of her acknowledged
ascendency is personal amidst the increasing degeneracy of man.
Woman is the conservator of morality and religion. Her moral worth
holds man in some restraint, and preserves his ways from becoming
inhumanly corrupt. Mighty is the power of woman in this respect. Every

virtue in woman has its influence on the world. A brother, husband, friend,
or son is touched by its sunshine. Its mild beneficence is not lost. A virtuous
woman in the seclusion of her home, breathing the sweet influence of virtue
into the hearts and lives of its loved ones, is an evangel of goodness to the
world. She is a pillar of the external kingdom of right. She is a star, shining
in the moral firmament. She is a priestess, administering at the fountain of
life. Every prayer she breathes is answered, in a greater or less degree, in
the hearts and lives of those she loves. Her heart is an altar-fire, where
religion acquires strength to go out on its mission of mercy.
We can not overestimate the strength and power of woman's moral and
religious character. The world would go to ruin without her. With all our
ministers and Churches, and Bibles and sermons, man would be a prodigal
without the restraint of woman's virtue and the consecration of her religion.
Woman first lays her hand on our young faces; she plants the first seeds; she
makes the first impressions; and all along through life she scatters the good
seeds of her kindness, and sprinkles them with the dews of her piety.
A woman of true intelligence is a blessing at home, in her circle of
friends, and in society. Wherever she goes she carries with her a health-
giving influence. There is a beautiful harmony about her character that at
once inspires a respect which soon warms into love. The influence of such a
woman upon society is of the most salutary kind. She strengthens right
principles in the virtuous, incites the selfish and indifferent to good actions,
and gives to the light and frivolous a taste after something more substantial
than the frothy gossip with which they seek to recreate themselves.
Many a woman does the work of her life without being noticed or seen
by the world. The world sees a family reared to virtue, one child after
another growing into Christian manhood or womanhood, and at last it sees
them gathered around the grave where the mother that bore them rests from
her labors. But the world has never seen the quiet woman laboring for her
children, making their clothes, providing them food, teaching them their
prayers, and making their homes comfortable and happy.
A woman's happiness flows to her from sources and through channels
different from those that give origin and conduct to the happiness of man,
and in a measure will continue to do so forever. Her faculties bend their

exercise toward different issues, her social and spiritual notions demand a
different aliment. Her powers are eminently practical. She has a rich store
of practical good sense, an ample fund of tact, skill, shrewdness,
inventiveness, and management. It is her work to form the young mind, to
give it direction and instruction, to develop its love for the good and true. It
is her work to make home happy, to nourish all the virtues, and instill all the
sweetness which builds men up into good citizens. She is the consoler of
the world, attending it in sickness; her society soothes the world after its
toils, and rewards it for its perplexities. They receive the infant when it
enters upon its existence, and drape the cold form of the aged when life is
passed. They assuage the sorrows of childhood, and minister to the poor and
distressed.
Loveliness of spirit is woman's scepter and sword; for it is both the
emblem and the instrument of her conquest. Her influence flows from her
sensibilities, her gentleness, and her tenderness. It is this which disarms
prejudice, and awakens confidence and affection in all who come within her
sphere, which makes her more powerful to accomplish what her will has
resolved than if nature had endowed her with the strength of a giant. As a
wife and mother, woman is seen in her most sacred and dignified aspect. As
such she has great influence over the characters of individuals, over the
condition of families, and over the destinies of empires.
How transitory are the days of girlhood! The time when the cheerful
smile, the merry laugh, and the exulting voice were so many expressions of
happiness,—how quickly it passed! How time has multiplied its scores, and
accumulated its unwelcome effects against the charms and attractions of
youth! But if the heart be chilled, if the cheek be more pale, and the eye less
bright; if the outward adornment of the temple of love have become faded
and dimmed, there may be yet inwardly preserved the shrine where is laid
up the sacred treasures of loveliness and purity, gentleness and grace, the
attempered qualities of tried and perfected virtues: as if the blossoms of
early childhood had ripened into the mellow and precious fruits of autumnal
time.
But in another and better sense a good woman never grows old. Years
may pass over her head, but if benevolence and virtue dwell in her heart she

is as cheerful as when the spring of life first opened to her view. When we
look at a good woman we never think of her age; she looks as happy as
when the rose first bloomed on her cheek. In her neighborhood she is a
friend and benefactor; in the Church, the devout worshiper and exemplary
Christian. Who does not love and respect the woman who has spent her
days in acts of kindness and mercy, who has been the friend of sorrowing
ones, whose life has been a scene of kindness and love, devotion to truth
and religion. Such a woman can not grow old; she will always be fresh and
beautiful in her spirits and active in her humble deeds of mercy and
benevolence.
If the young lady desires to retain the bloom and beauty of youth, let her
not yield to the way of fashion and folly; let her love truth and virtue; and to
the close of her life will she retain those feelings which now make life
appear a garden of sweets ever fresh and green.

AN there be a more important theme to claim the attention of
thinking parents than that of home harmonies, how to make the
home life so pleasant and full of kindly courtesy that its members
will look to it as the pleasantest spot on earth, and find their highest
enjoyment in advancing the innocent pleasures of home? Is it not the duty
of parents to make their homes as pleasant as they possibly can for their
children and their mates? Should they not strive to have them resound with
the fun and frolic of childhood, and enlivened with the cheerfulness of
happy social life? For too many homes are like the frame of a harp that
stands without strings. In form and outline they suggest music, but no
melody arises from the empty spaces; and thus it happens that home is
unattractive, dreary, and dull.
And do you, fathers and mothers, you who have sons and daughters
growing up around you, do you ever think of your responsibility of keeping
alive the home feeling in the hearts of your children? Remember that within
your means the obligation rests upon you of making their homes the
pleasantest spot on earth, to make the word home to them the synonym of
happiness. Go to as great length as you consistently can to provide for them
those amusements, which, if not provided there, entice them elsewhere. You
had better spend your money thus than in ostentation and luxury, and far
better than to amass a fortune for your children to spend in the future. The
richest legacy you can leave your child is a life-long, inextinguishable, and
fragrant recollection of home when time and death have forever dissolved
the enchantment.
Give him that, and on the strength of that will he make his way in the
world; but let his recollection of home be repulsive, and the fortune you
may leave him will be a poor compensation for the loss of that tenderness
of heart and purity of life, which not only a pleasant home, but the memory
of one would have secured. Remember, also, that while they will feel

grateful to you for the money you may leave them, and will think of you
when gone, they will go to your green graves and bless your very ashes for
that sanctuary of quiet comfort and refinement, to which you may, if you
possess the means, transform your home. The memory of the beautiful and
happy homes of childhood will in after years come to the weary mind like
strains of low, sweet music, and in its silent influence for good will prove of
infinite more value than houses, stocks, and money.
Too frequently the effect of prosperity is to render the heart cold and
selfish; but the heart will never forget the hallowed influence of happy
home memories. It will be an evening enjoyment to which the lapse of
years will only add new sweetness. Such a home memory is a constant
inspiration for good, and as constant a restraint from evil. A constant
endeavor should be made to render every home cheerful. Innocent joy
should reign in every heart. There should be found domestic amusements,
fireside pleasures, quiet and simple they may be, but such as shall make
home happy, and not leave it that irksome place that will oblige the youthful
spirit to look elsewhere for joy.
There are a thousand unobtrusive ways in which we may add to the
cheerfulness of home. The very modulations of the voice will often make a
wonderful difference. How many shades of feeling are expressed by the
voice! What a change comes over us by a change of tones! No delicately
tuned harp-string can awaken more pleasures, no grating discord can pierce
with more pain. It is practicable to make home so delightful that children
shall have no disposition to wander from it or prefer any other place. It is
possible to make it so attractive that it shall not only firmly hold its own
loved ones, but shall draw others into its cheerful circle. Let the house all
day long be the scene of pleasant looks, pleasant words, kind and
affectionate acts; let the table be the happy eating-place of a merry group,
and not simply a dull board where the members come to eat. Let the sitting-
room at evening be the place where a merry company settle themselves to
books and games, till the round of good-night kisses are in order. Let there
be some music in the household, not kept to show to company, but music in
which all can join. Let the young companions be welcomed and made for
the time a part of the group. In a word, let the home be surrounded by an air

of cozy and cheerful good-will. Then children will not be exhorted to love
it; you will not be able to tempt them away from it.
To the man of business home should be an earthly paradise, to the
embellishment of which his leisure time and thoughts might well be
devoted. Life is certainly a pleasanter thing if the inevitable daily drudgery
be relieved by a little lightness, brightness, and intelligent enjoyment. The
craving for amusement is a natural one, and within proper bounds it ought
to be gratified. And there is surely no better entertainment for the spare
hours of an intelligent man than the embellishment of his home, so that it
will be an agreeable place for himself and his family to dwell in, and for his
friends to visit. He may be assured that his children as they grow up will
become better men and women, and more useful members of society, if
they live in a home which is itself a work of art, and in which they are
surrounded by objects stimulative to the intellect, the imagination, and to all
the better feelings of their natures.
This making home a work of art is not a piece of sentimentalism, but it is
one which ought to address itself in the strongest manner to the minds of all
practical people. There is nothing better worthy of adornment than the
house we live in; and a home arranged and fitted up with taste will be better
cared for, it will beget habits of greater neatness, it will inspire nobler
thoughts, it will exert a pleasanter influence, not only on its inmates, but on
the whole neighborhood, than one fitted with the costliest objects selected
with indiscrimination, without plan, and merely for the purpose of
ostentatious display.
It has been said that there is sure to be contentment in a home in the
windows of which can be seen birds and flowers, and it may also be said
that there will be the same conditions wherever there are pictures on the
walls. A room without pictures is like a room without windows. Pictures are
loop-holes of escape to the soul, leading to other scenes and other spheres.
They are consolers of loneliness, they are books, they are histories and
sermons which we can read without turning over the leaves. The sweet
influence of flowers is no less than that of paintings. At all seasons of the
year they are gladly welcomed. They are emblematic of both the joys and
sorrows of life, and religion has associated them with the highest spiritual

verities. Faded though they may sometimes be, they have the power to
wake the chords of memory and make us children again. At the sick-bed
and marriage feast, on altar and cathedral walls they have a meaning, and
the humblest home looks brighter where they bloom.
Many a child goes astray, not because there is a want of prayers or virtue
at home, but simply because home lacks sunshine. A child needs smiles as
much as flowers sunbeams. Children look little beyond the present moment.
If a thing pleases them they are apt to seek it, if it displeases they are prone
to avoid it. Children are great imitators, and are never so happy as when
trying to do what they see other people do. Their plays consist in copying
actual affairs of the older ones, and these amusements often really prepare
the children for the actual business of life, so that they may sooner become
helpful to their parents. They should be watched and encouraged, therefore,
in their plays to habits of thoughtfulness and self-reliance. It is to be hoped
that games of skill, which shall try the wit and patience of both parents and
children, will become the fashion of the times, until every home in the land
shall be supplied with these accessories of pleasure, until every child shall
have in his father's house, be it humble or costly, such appliances and helps
for his entertainment that he shall find his amusements under his father's
roof and in his father's presence.
Among home amusements the best is the good old habit of conversation,
the talking over the events of the day in bright and quick play of wit and
fancy, the story which brings the laugh, and the speaking the good, kind,
and true things which all have in their hearts. Conversation is the sunshine
of the mind, an intellectual orchestra where all the instruments should bear
a part. Cultivate singing in the family. The songs and hymns your childhood
sung, bring them all back to your memory; and teach them to the little ones.
Mix them all together, to meet the varying moods as, in after life, they come
over us so mysteriously. Is it not singular what trifles sometimes serve to
wake the memories of youth? And what more often than snatches of olden
songs not heard for many years, but which used to come from lips now
closed forever? Thus the home songs not only serve to make the present
home life happy and agreeable, but the very memory of it will serve as a
shield of defense in times of trial and temptation. At times, amid the
crushing mishaps of business, a song of the olden time breaks in upon the

weary thoughts and guides the mind into another channel—light breaks
from behind the cloud in the sky, and new courage is given us.
Parents do well to study the character of the younger ones. The majority
of parents do not understand their children. They are kept under restraint,
and are not properly developed; they live a life of fear rather than of love,
which should not be. Home should be the bright sanctuary of our hearts, the
repository of all our thoughts. Have confidence in each other, and the seeds
properly sown will spring forth with fruits that will bud and blossom, but
never die. What is comparable to a well regulated, happy home? It is our
heaven below, where each thought will vibrate in perfect unison.
In the great majority of cases it will be found that the frequenters of
saloons and places of low resort have not pleasant homes. It should be the
duty of all to strive to make home so happy that each evening will furnish
pleasant memories to lighten the load of another day. Make it so happy that
you do not tire of it, but long for the hour when your day's toil is over, and
you desire to reach it as the happiest and dearest place on earth. Parents
should more earnestly consider the importance of home culture, home
happiness, home love. The latter should be the ruling element, for all the
household is moved by the surrounding influences, and when a spirit of
love broods over the household, how kind, gentle, and considerate do all its
members become!
There are some persons who apparently live more for the admiration of
others than for their own household, and have a smile for all but those who
should be the nearest and dearest. This is almost criminally wrong; they
could take no surer course to make a complete wreck of their own
happiness and the home happiness. Whatever vexatious troubles parents
meet in their daily life, it is their duty no less than it should be their chief
pleasure to strive, as far as possible, to throw around the home an
atmosphere of joy and happiness, to make home the dearest spot on earth,
so that when, with the passage of years, the children go from thence to new
and untried scenes, the memory of home will bring to the heart a thrill of
joyful recollections, and thus give them a new courage to take up the
burden of life.

"And say to mothers what a holy charge
Is theirs; with what a kingly power their love
Might rule the fountains of the new-born mind;
Warn them to wake at early dawn and sow
Good seed before the world has sown its tares."
—Mrs. Sigourney.

UTY embraces man's whole existence. It begins in the home, where
there is the duty which children owe to their parents on the one
hand, and the duty which parents owe their children on the other.
There surely can be no more important duties to ponder over long
and earnestly than those relating to the home, the duty of patience,
of courtesy one to the other, the interest in each other's welfare, the duty of
self-control, of learning to bear and forbear.
One danger of home life springs from its familiarity. Kindred hearts at a
common fireside are far too apt to relax from the proprieties of social life.
Careless language and careless attire are too apt to be indulged in when the
eye of the world is shut off, the ear of the world can not hear. There should
be no stiffness of family etiquette, no sternness of family discipline, like
that which prevailed in olden times—the day for that is passed. But the day
for thorough civility and courtesy among the members of a home, the day
for careful propriety of dress and address, will never pass away. It is here
that the truest and most faultless social life is to be lived; it is here that such
a life is to be learned. A home in which true courtesy and politeness reigns
is a home from which polite men and women go forth, and they go out
directly from no other. It should be remembered that it is at home, in the
family, and among kindred, that an every-day politeness of manner is really
most to be prized; there it confers substantial benefits and brings the
sweetest returns. The little attentions which members of the same household
may show towards one another, day by day, belong to what is styled "good

manners." There can not be any ingrained gentility which does not exhibit
itself first at home.
Children should be trained to behave at home as you would have them
behave abroad. It is the home life which they act out when away. If this is
rude, gruff, and lacking in civility, they will be lacking in all that constitutes
true refinement, and thus most painfully reflect on the home training when
in the presence of strangers. In the actions of children strangers can read a
history of the home life. It tells of duty undone, of turmoil and strife, of
fretful women and impatient men; or, it speaks of a home of love and peace,
where patience sits enthroned in the hearts of all its members, and each is
mindful of his or her duty towards the other.
Let the wives and daughters of business men think of the toils, the
anxieties, the mortification and wear that fathers undergo to secure for them
comfortable homes. Is it not their duty to compensate them for these trials
by making them happy at their own fireside? Happy is he who can find
solace and comfort at home. And husbands, too, do not think enough of the
thousand trials and petty, vexatious incidents of the daily home life to which
wives are subject. True, they themselves feel the harassing incidents of
business, which may be of more immediate importance than the cares of
home. But one large worry is preferable to many small ones. Thus it is the
duty of each to remember these facts, and strive to make the home life
happy by mutual self-sacrifice.
Something is wrong in those homes where the little courtesies of speech
are ignored in the everyday home life. When the family gather alone around
the breakfast or dinner table the same courtesy should prevail as if guests
were present. Reproof, complaint, unpleasant discussion, and sarcasm, no
less than moody silence, should be banished. Let the conversation be genial
and suited to the little folks as far as possible. Interesting incidents of the
day's experience may be mentioned at the evening meal, thus arousing the
social element. If resources fail sometimes little extracts read from evening
or morning papers will kindle the conversation. Scolding is never
allowable; reproof and criticism from parents must have their time and
place, but should never intrude so far upon the social life of the family as to
render the home uncomfortable. A serious word in private will generally

cure a fault more easily than many public criticisms. In some families a
spirit of contradiction and discussion mars the harmony; every statement is,
as it were, dissected, and the absolute correctness of every word calculated.
It interferes seriously with social freedom where unimportant social
inaccuracies are watched for and exposed for the sake of exposure.
Never think any thing which affects the happiness of your children too
small a matter to claim your attention. Use every means in your power to
win and retain their confidence. Do not rest satisfied without some account
of each day's joys or sorrows. It is a source of great comfort to the innocent
child to tell all its troubles to mother, and the mother should haste to lend a
willing ear. Soothe and quiet its little heart after the experience of the day. It
has had its disappointments and trials, as well as its plays and pleasures; it
is ready to throw its arms around the mother's neck, and forgetting the one
live again the other. Always send the little child to bed happy. Whatever
cares may trouble your mind give the little one a good-night kiss as it goes
to its pillow. The memory of this in the stormy years which may be in store
for it will be like Bethlehem's star to the bewildered shepherd, and the heart
will receive a fresh inspiration of courage at the thrill of youthful memories.
The domestic fireside is a seminary of infinite importance. It is important
because it is universal, and because the education it bestows, woven with
the woof of childhood, gives color to the whole texture of life. Early
impressions are not easily erased; the virgin wax is faithful to the signet,
and subsequent impressions serve rather to indent the former one. There are
but few who can receive the honors of a college education, but all are
graduates of the heart. The learning of the university may fade from
recollection, its classic lore may be lost from the halls of memory; but the
simple lessons of home, enameled upon the heart of childhood, defy the rust
of years, and outlive the more mature but less vivid pictures of after days.
So deep, so lasting are the impressions of early life that you often see a man
in the imbecility of age holding fresh in his recollection the events of
childhood, while all the wide space between that and the present hour is a
forgotten waste.
Those parents act most wisely who have forethought enough to provide
not only for the youth, but for the age of their offspring; who teach them

usefulness, and not to expect too much from the world; to become early
familiarized with the stern and actual realities of life, and never to be apes
of fashion nor parasites of greatness. Parents, then, should educate their
children not merely in scholastic acquirements, but in a knowledge of the
respective positions they are to occupy when they become men and women.
Educate them to the duties that the world will require of them when they
arrive at that long looked for period when they will have reached maturity,
and enter into the game that every person must play during his existence in
the world. Educate the girl to the intricate duties that will be required of her
as a wife and mother, and to the position she is to occupy in society, and
that it rests with herself whether it shall be exalted or whether it shall be
debased and lowly. Educate the boy to a knowledge of what the busy world
will require of him; teach him self-reliance and all manly attributes.
A knowledge of the world is more than necessary to enable us to live in it
wisely, and this knowledge should commence in the nursery. It must be
remembered that the largest and most important part of the education of
children, whether for good or evil, is carried on at home, often
unconsciously in their amusements, and under the daily influence of what
they see and hear about them. It is there that subtle brains and lissome
fingers find scope and learn to promote the well-being of the community.
One can not tell what duties their children may be called to perform in after
life. They must teach them to cultivate their faculties, and to exercise all
their senses to choose the good and refuse the evil.
Above all things, teach children what life is. It is not simply breathing
and moving. Life is a battle, and all thoughtful people see it so,—a battle
between good and evil from childhood. Good influence drawing us up
toward the divine, bad influence drawing us down to the brute. Teach
children that they lead two lives, the life without and the life within; that the
inside must be pure in the sight of God, as well as the outside in the sight of
man. Educate them, then, to love the good and true, and remember that
every word spoken within the hearing of little children tends toward the
formation of character. Teach little children to love the beautiful. If you are
able, give them a corner in the garden for flowers, allow them to have their
favorite trees. Teach them to wander in the prettiest woodlets, show them
where they best can view the sunset. Buy them pictures, and encourage

them to deck their rooms in their childish way. Thus may the mother weave
into the life of her children thoughts and feelings, rich, beautiful, grand, and
noble, which will make all after life brighter and better.
The duties of children to parents are far too little considered. As the
children grow up the parents lean on them much earlier than either imagine.
In the passage of years the children gain experience and strength. But with
the parents! The cares of a long life bow the form, and the strong are again
made weak. It is now that the duties of children assume their grandest
forms. It is not sufficient to simply give them a home to make their
declining years comfortable. While supplying their physical wants, their
hearts may be famishing for some expression of love from you. If you think
they have outgrown these desires, you are mistaken. Every little attention
you can show your mother—your escort to Church or concert, or for a quiet
walk—brings back the youth of her heart; her cheeks glow with pleasure,
and she feels happy for such a dutiful son. The father, occupied and
absorbed as he may be, is not wholly indifferent to the filial expressions of
devoted love. He may pretend to care but very little for them; but, having
faith in their sincerity, it would give him pain were they entirely withheld.
Fathers need their sons quite as much as the sons need the fathers; but in
how many deplorable instances do they fail to find in them a staff for their
declining years!
You may disappoint the ambition of your parents, you may be unable to
distinguish yourself as you fondly hoped; but let this not swerve you from a
determination to be a son of whose moral character they need never be
ashamed. Begin early to cultivate a habit of thoughtfulness and
consideration for others, especially for those you are commanded to honor.
Can you begrudge a few extra steps for the mother who never stopped to
number those you demanded during your helpless infancy? Have you the
heart to slight her requests or treat her remarks with indifference, when you
can not begin to measure the patient devotion with which she bore your
peculiarities? Anticipate her wants, invite her confidence, be prompt to offer
assistance, express your affections as heartily as you did when a child, that
the mother may never have occasion to grieve in secret for the child she has
lost.

T is the aim that makes the man, and without this he is nothing as far
as the utter destitution of force, weight, and even individuality
among men can reduce him to nonentity. The strong gusts and
currents of the world sweep him this way and that, without steam or
sail to impel, or helm to guide him. If he be not speedily wrecked or
run aground, it is more his good fortune than good management. We
have never heard a more touching confession of utter weakness and misery
than these words from one singularly blessed with the endowments of
nature and of Providence: "My life is aimless."
Take heed, young man, of an aimless life. Take heed, too, of a low and
sordid aim. A well-ascertained and generous purpose gives vigor, direction,
and perseverance to all man's efforts. Its concomitants are a well-disciplined
intellect, character, influence, tranquillity, and cheerfulness within—success
and honor without. Whatever a man's talents and advantages may be, with
no aim, or a low one, he is weak and despicable; and he can not be
otherwise than respectable and influential with a high one. Without some
definite object before us, some standard which we are earnestly striving to
reach, we can not expect to attain to any great height, either mentally or
morally. Placing for ourselves high standards, and wishing to reach them
without any further effort on our part, is not enough to elevate us in any
very great degree.
Some one has said, "Nature holds for each of us all that we need to make
us useful and happy; but she requires us to labor for all that we get." God
gives nothing of value unto man unmatched by need of labor; and we can
expect to overcome difficulties only by strong and determined efforts. Here
is a great and noble work lying just before us, just as the blue ocean lies out
beyond the rocks which line the shore. In our strivings for "something
better than we have known" we should work for others' good rather than our

own pleasure. Those whose object in life is their own happiness find at last
that their lives are sad failures.
We need to do something each day that shall help us to a larger life of
soul; and every word or deed which brings joy or gladness to other hearts
lifts us nearer a perfect life; for a noble deed is a step toward God. To live
for something worthy of life involves the necessity of an intelligent and
definite plan of action. More than splendid dreamings or magnificent
resolves is necessary to success in the objects and ambitions of life. Men
come to the best results in every department of effort only as they
thoughtfully plan and earnestly toil in given directions. Purposes without
work is dead. It were vain to hope for good results from mere plans.
Random or spasmodic efforts, like aimless shoots, are generally no better
than wasted time or strength. The purposes of shrewd men in the business
of this life are always followed by careful plans, enforced by work. Whether
the object is learning, honor, or wealth, the ways and means are always laid
out according to the best rules and methods. The mariner has his chart, the
architect his plans, the sculptor his model, and all as a means and condition
of success. Inventive genius, or even what is called inspiration, can do little
in any department of the theoretic or practical science except as it works by
a well-formed plan; then every step is an advance towards the
accomplishment of its object. Every tack of the ship made in accordance
with nautical law keeps her steadily nearing the port. Each stroke of the
chisel brings the marble into a clearer likeness to the model. No effort or
time is lost; for nothing is done rashly or at random.
Thus, in the grand aim of life, if some worthy purpose be kept constantly
in view, and for its accomplishment every effort be made every day of your
life, you will, unconsciously, perhaps, approach the goal of your ambition.
There can be no question among the philosophic observers of men and
events that fixedness of purpose is a grand element of human success.
When a man has formed in his mind a great sovereign purpose, it governs
his conduct as the laws of nature govern the operation of physical things.
Every one should have a mark in view, and pursue it steadily. He should
not be turned from his course by other objects ever so attractive. Life is not
long enough for any one man to accomplish every thing. Indeed, but few

can at best accomplish more than one thing well. Many—alas! very many—
accomplish nothing. Yet there is not a man, endowed with ordinary intellect
or accomplishments, but can accomplish at least one useful, important,
worthy purpose. It was not without reason that some of the greatest of men
were trained from their youth to choose some definite object in life, to
which they were required to direct their thoughts and to devote all their
energies. It became, therefore, a sole and ruling purpose of their hearts, and
was almost certainly the means of their future advancement and happiness
in the world.
Of the thousands of men who are annually coming upon the stage of life
there are few who escape the necessity of adopting some profession or
calling; and there are fewer still who, if they knew the miseries of idleness
—tenfold keener and more numerous than those of the most laborious
profession—would ever desire such an escape. First of all, a choice of
business or occupation should be made, and made early, with a wise
reference to capacity and taste. The youth should be educated for it and, as
far as possible, in it; and when this is done it should be pursued with
industry, energy, and enthusiasm, which will warrant success.
This choice of an occupation depends partly upon the individual
preference and partly upon circumstances. It may be that you are debarred
from entering upon that business for which you are best adapted. In that
case make the best choice in your power, apply yourself faithfully and
earnestly to whatever you undertake, and you can not well help achieving a
success. Patient application sometimes leads to great results. No man
should be discouraged because he does not get on rapidly in his calling
from the start. In the more intellectual professions especially it should be
remembered that a solid character is not the growth of a day, that the mental
faculties are not matured except by long and laborious culture.
To refine the taste, to fortify the reasoning faculty with its appropriate
discipline, to store the cells of memory with varied and useful learning, to
train all the powers of the mind systematically, is the work of calm and
studious years. A young man's education has been of but little use to him if
it has not taught him to check the fretful impatience, the eager haste to drink
the cup of life, the desire to exhaust the intoxicating draught of ambition.

He should set his aim so high that it will require patient years of toil to
reach it. If he can reach it at a bound it is unworthy of him. It should be of
such a nature that he feels the necessity of husbanding his resources.
You will receive all sorts of the most excellent advice, but you must do
your own deciding. You have to take care of yourself in this world, and you
may as well take your own way of doing it. But if a change of business is
desired be sure the fault is with the business and not the individual. For
running hither and thither generally makes sorry work, and brings to
poverty ere the sands of life are half run. The North, South, East, and West
furnish vast fields for enterprise; but of what avail for the seeker to visit the
four corners of the world if he still is dissatisfied, and returns home with
empty pockets and idle hands, thinking that the world is wrong and that he
himself is a misused and shamefully imposed-on creature? The world,
smiling at the rebuff, moves on, while he lags behind, groaning over
misusage, without sufficient energy to roll up his sleeves and fight his way
through.
A second profession seldom succeeds, not because a man may not make
himself fully equal to its duties, but because the world will not readily
believe he is so. The world argues thus: he that has failed in his first
profession, to which he dedicated the morning of his life and the Spring-
time of his exertion, is not the most likely person to master a second. To this
it might be replied that a man's first profession is often chosen for him by
others; his second he usually decides upon for himself; therefore, his failure
in his first profession may, for what he knows, be mainly owing to the
sincere but mistaken attention he was constantly paying to his second.
Ever remember that it is not your trade or profession that makes you
respectable. Manhood and profession or handicraft are entirely different
things. An occupation is never an end of life. It is an instrument put into our
hands by which to gain for the body the means of living until sickness or
old age robs it of life, and we pass on to the world for which this is a
preparation. The great purpose of living is twofold in character. The one
should never change from the time reason takes the helm; it is to live a life
of manliness, of purity and honor. To live such a life that, whether rich or
poor, your neighbors will honor and respect you as a man of sterling

principles. The other is to have some business, in the due performance of
which you are to put forth all your exertions. It matters not so much what it
is as whether it be honorable, and it may change to suit the varying change
of circumstances. When these two objects—character and a high aim—are
fairly before a youth, what then? He must strive to attain those objects. He
must work as well as dream, labor as well as pray. His hand must be as
stout as his heart, his arm as strong as his head. Purpose must be followed
by action. Then is he living and acting worthily, as becomes a human being
with great destinies in store for him.

ANKIND every-where are desirous of achieving a success, of
making the most of life. At times, it is true, they act as if they little
cared what was the outcome of their exertions. But even in the lives
of the most abandoned and reckless there are moments when their
good angel points out to them the heights to which they might ascend, that a
wish arises for
"Something better than they have known."

But, alas! they have not the will to make the necessary exertions.
We are confronted with two ends—success or failure. To win the former
it requires of us labor and perseverance. We must remember that those who
start for glory must imitate the mettled hounds of Acton, and must pursue
the game not only where there is a path, but where there is none. They must
be able to simulate and to dissimulate; to leap and to creep; to conquer the
earth like Cæsar; to fall down and kiss it like Brutus; to throw their sword,
like Brennus, into the trembling scale; or, like Nelson, to snatch the laurels
from the doubtful hand of victory while she is hesitating where to bestow
them. He that would win success in life must make Perseverance his bosom
friend, Experience his wise counselor, Caution his elder brother, and Hope
his guardian genius. He must not repine because the fates are sometimes
against him, but when he trips or falls let him, like Cæsar when he stumbled
on shore, stumble forward, and, by escaping the omen, change its nature
and meaning. Remembering that those very circumstances which are apt to
be abused as the palliatives of failure are the true tests of merit, let him gird
up his loins for whatever in the mysterious economy of the future may
await him. Thus will he rise superior to ill-fortune, and becoming daily
more and more impassive to its attacks, will learn to force his way in spite
of it, till, at last, he will be able to fashion his luck to his will.
"Life is too short," says a shrewd thinker, "for us to waste one moment in
deploring our lot. We must go after success, since it will not come to us, and

we have no time to spare." If you wish to succeed, you must do as you
would to get in through a crowd to a gate all are anxious to reach—hold
your ground and push hard; to stand still is to give up the battle. Give your
energies to the highest employment of which your nature is capable. Be
alive, be patient, work hard, watch opportunities, be rigidly honest, hope for
the best; and if you are not able to reach the goal of your ambition, which is
possible in spite of your utmost efforts, you will die with the consciousness
of having done your best, which is after all the truest success to which man
can aspire.
As manhood dawns and the young man catches its first lights, the
pinnacles of realized dreams, the golden domes of high possibilities, and the
purpling hills of great delights, and then looks down upon the narrow,
sinuous, long, and dusty paths by which others have reached them, he is apt
to be disgusted with the passage, and to seek for success through broader
channels and by quicker means. To begin at the foot of the hills and work
slowly to the top seems a very discouraging process, and here it is that
thousands of young men have made shipwreck of their lives. There is no
royal road to success. The path lies through troubles and discouragements.
It lies through fields of earnest, patient labor. It calls on the young man to
put forth energy and determination. It bids him build well his foundation,
but it promises in reward of this a crowning triumph.
There never was a time in the world's history when high success in any
profession or calling demanded harder or more earnest labor than now. It is
impossible to succeed in a hurry. Men can no longer go at a single leap into
eminent positions. As those articles are most highly prized to attain which
requires the greatest amount of labor, so the road that leads to success is
long and rugged. What matter if a round does break or a foot slip; such
things must be expected, and being expected, they must be overcome.
Rome was not built in a day; but proofs of her magnificent temples are still
to be seen. We each prepare a temple to last through all eternity. A structure
to last so long, can it take but a day to build it? The days of a life-time are
necessary to build the monument mightier than Rome and more enduring
than adamant. It is hard, earnest work, step by step, that secures success;
and while energy and perseverance are securing the prize for steady
workers, others, sitting down by the wayside, are wondering why they, too,

can not be successful. They surely forget that the true key is labor, and that
nothing but a strong, resolute will can turn it.
The secret of one's success or failure is usually contained in answer to the
question, "How earnest is he?" Success is the child of confidence and
perseverance. The talent of success is simply doing what you can do well,
and doing well whatever you do, without a thought of fame. Success is the
best test of capacity, and materially confirms us in a favorable opinion of
ourselves. Success in life is the proper and harmonious development of
those faculties which God has given us. Whatever you try to do in life, try
with all your heart to do it well; whatever you devote yourself to, devote
yourself to it completely. Never believe it possible that any natural ability
can claim immunity from companionship of the steady, plain, hard-working
qualities, and hope to gain its end. There can be no such fulfillment on this
earth. Some happy talent and some fortunate opportunity may form the
sides of the ladder on which some men mount; but the rounds of the ladder
must be made of material to stand wear and tear, and there is no substitute
for thorough-going, ardent, sincere earnestness. Never put your hand on any
thing into which you can not throw your whole self; never affect
depreciation of your own work, whatever it is.
Although success is the guerdon for which all men toil, they have,
nevertheless, often to labor on perseveringly without any glimmer of
success in sight. They have to live, meanwhile, upon their courage. Sowing
their seed, it may be in the dark, in the hope that it will yet take root and
spring up in achieved result. The best of causes have had to fight their way
to triumph through a long succession of failures, and many of the assailants
have died in the breach before the fortune has been won. The heroism they
have displayed is to be measured, not so much by their immediate
successes, as by the opposition they have encountered and the courage with
which they have maintained the struggle.
Among the habits required for the efficient prosecution of business of
any kind, and consequent success, the most important are those of
application, observation, method, accuracy, punctuality, and dispatch. Some
persons sneer at these virtues as little things, trifles unworthy of their
notice. It must be remembered that human life is made up of trifles. As the

pence make the pound and the minutes the hour, so it is the repetition of
little things, severally insignificant, that make up human character. In the
majority of cases where men have failed of success, it has been owing to the
neglect of little things deemed too microscopic to need attention. It is the
result of practical, every-day experience, that steady attention to matter of
detail is the mother of good fortune. Accuracy is also of much importance,
and an invariable mark of good training in a man—accuracy in observation,
accuracy in speech, accuracy in the transaction of affairs. What is done in
business must be done well if you would win the success desired.
Give a man power, and a field in which to use it, and he must accomplish
something. He may not do and become all that he desires and dreams of,
but his life can not well be a failure. God has given to all of us ability and
opportunity enough to be moderately successful. If we utterly fail, in the
majority of cases, it is our own fault. We have either neglected to improve
the talents with which our Creator has endowed us, or we fail to enter the
door that has opened for us. Such is the constitution of human society, that
the wise person gradually learns not to expect too much from life; while he
strives for success by worthy methods, he will be prepared for failure. He
will keep his mind open to enjoyment, but submit patiently to suffering.
Wailings and complainings in life are never of any use; only cheerful and
continuous working in right paths are of real avail. In spite of our best
efforts failures are in store for many of us. It remains, then, for you to do
the best you can under all circumstances, remembering that the race is not
always to the swift nor the battle to the strong. It is by the right application
of swiftness and strength that you are to make your way. It is not sufficient
to do the right thing, it must be done in the right way, at the right time, if
you would achieve success.
Young man, have you ever considered long and earnestly what you were
best capable of doing in the world? If not put it off no longer. You expect to
do something, you wish to achieve success. Have you ever thought of what
success consisted? It does not consist in amassing a fortune; some of the
most unsuccessful men have done that. Remember, too, that success and
fame are not synonymous terms. You can not all be famous as lawyers,
statesmen, or divines. You may or may not accumulate a fortune. But is it
not true that wealth, position, and fame are but the accidents of success, that

success may or may not be accompanied by them, that it is something
above and beyond them? In this sense of the word you only are to blame if
you fall. It is in your power to live a life of integrity and honor. You can so
live that all will honor and respect you. You can speak words of cheer to the
downhearted, a kindly word of caution to the erring one. You can help
remove some obstacle from the paths of the weak. You can incite in the
minds of those around you a desire to live a pure, straightforward life. You
can bid those who are almost overwhelmed by the billows and waves of
sorrow, to look up and see the sun shining through the rifts in the dark
clouds passing o'er them. All this can you do, and a grand success will be
your reward. Away, then, with your lethargy. You are a man; arise in your
strength and your manhood. Resolve to be in this, its true sense, a
successful man. And then if wealth or fame wait on you, and men delight to
do you honor, these will be but added laurels to your brow, but the gilded
frame encasing success.

ABOR, either of the head or the hand, is the lot of humanity. There
are no exceptions to this general rule. The rich who have toiled early
and late for a competence find their present ease more unendurable
than their past exertions, and the round of pleasures to which, in
other days, they looked for a reward of their toil in actual
realization, resolve themselves into drudgeries, often worse than those from
which they vainly fancied they had escaped. The king on his throne is beset
with cares, and the labor he performs is ofttimes far heavier than any borne
by the poorest peasant in his dominions. The high and low alike
acknowledge the universal sway of labor. That which is thus the common
lot of mankind and reigns with such universal sway can not be otherwise
than honorable in the highest degree.
Labor may be a burden and a chastisement, but it is also an honor and a
glory. Without it nothing can be accomplished. All that to man is great and
precious is acquired only through labor. Without it civilization would
relapse into barbarism. It is the forerunner and indispensable requisite to all
the sweet influence of refinement. It is the herald of happiness, and makes
the desert to blossom as a garden of roses. It whitens the sea with sails, and
stretches bands of iron across the continent. It is labor that drives the plow,
scatters the seed, and causes the fields to wave in golden harvests for the
good of man. It gathers the grain and sends it to different regions of the
earth to feed other millions toiling in less favored channels there. Labor
gathers the gossamer web of the caterpillar, the cotton from the field, and
the fleece from the flock, and weaves them into raiment soft, warm, and
beautiful. The purple robe of royalty, the plain man's sober suit, the fantastic
dress of the painted savage, and the furry coverings of arctic lands are alike
the results of its handiwork, and proofs of its universal sway and honor.
Labor molds the brick, splits the slate, and quarries the stone. It shapes the
column and rears not only the humble cottage but the gorgeous palace, the
tapering spire and stately dome.

It is by labor that mankind have risen from a state of barbarism to the
light of the present. It is only by labor that progression can continue. Labor,
possessing such inherent dignity and being the grand measure of progress, it
is most fitting that man should not taste life's greatest happiness, or wield
great influence for good, or reach the summit of his ambitious resolves,
save only as the result of long and patient labor. Life is a short day; but it is
a working day, and not a holiday. Man was made for action, and life is a
mere scene for the exercise of the mind and engagement of the hand—a
scene where the most important occupations are, in one sense, but species
of amusement, and where so long as we take pleasure in the pursuit of an
object it matters but little that we secure it not, or that it fades when
acquired.
Life to some is drudgery; to some, pain; to some, art; to others, pleasure;
but to all, work. Let none feel a sense of sore disappointment that life to
them becomes routine. It is a necessary consequence of our natures that our
work and our amusements, our business and our pleasures, should tend to
become routine. The same wants, the same demands, and similar duties
meet us on the threshold of every day. We look forward to some great
occasion on which to display ourselves, some grand event in which to give
proof of a heroic spirit, and complain of the petty routine of daily life. On
the contrary, it is this succession of little duties—little works apparently of
no account—which constitute the grand work of life; and we display true
nobility when we cheerfully take these up and go forward, content to
"Labor and to wait."

Alas for the man or woman who has not learned to work! They are but
poor creatures. They know not themselves. They depend on others for
support. Let them not fancy they have a monopoly of enjoyment. They have
missed the sweetest pleasure of life, even the pleasure of self-reliant feeling,
born of vanquished difficulties. They know not the thrill of pleasure
experienced by him who carries difficult projects to a successful
termination. Each rest owes its deliciousness to toil, and no toil is so
burdensome as the rest of him who has nothing to task and quicken his
powers. They do not realize, in their blind pride, what labor has done for
them. It was labor that rocked them in their cradle and nourished their
pampered life. Without it the very garments on their back would be unspun.

He is indebted to toil for the meanest thing that ministers to his wants, save
only the air of heaven, and even that, in God's wise providence, is breathed
with labor.
Labor explores the rich veins of deeply buried rocks, extracting the gold
and silver, the copper and tin. Labor smelts the iron, and molds it into a
thousand shapes for use and ornaments, from the massive pillar to the
tiniest needle, from the ponderous anchor to the wire gauze, from the
mighty flywheel of the engine to the polished purse-ring or glittering bead.
Labor hews down the gnarled oak, shapes the timbers, builds the ship, and
guides it over the deep, bringing to our shores the produce of every clime.
But mere physical, manual labor is not the sole end of life. It must be
joined with higher means of improvement, or it degrades instead of exalts.
The poorest laborer has intellect, heart, imagination, tastes, as well as bones
and muscles, and he is grievously wronged when compelled to exclusive
drudgery for bodily subsistence. It is the condition of all outward comforts
and improvements, whilst, at the same time, it conspires with higher means
and influences in ministering to the vigor and growth of the mind. Not only
has labor inherent dignity, but it is almost a necessity for mind as well as
body. Man is an intelligence, sustained and preserved by bodily organs, and
their active exercise is necessary to the enjoyment of health. It is not work,
but overwork, that is hurtful; it is not hard work that is injurious so much as
monotonous, fagging, hopeless work. All hopeful work is healthful; and to
be usefully and properly employed is one of the great secrets of happiness.
Most interesting is the contemplation of the victories achieved by the
hand of labor—victories far grander than any achieved by physical force on
the field of battle; for its conquests are wrested from nature. The very
elements are brought under subjection, and made to contribute to the good
of man. It displays its triumph in a thousand cities; it glories in shapes of
beauty; it speaks in words of power; it makes the sinewy arm strong with
liberty, the poor man's heart rich with content, crowns the swarthy and
sweaty brow with honor, dignity, and peace. It is one of the best regulators
of practical character. It evokes and disciplines obedience, self-control,
attention, application, and perseverance, giving a man deftness and skill in
his physical calling, and aptitude and dexterity in the affairs of ordinary life.

Work is the law of our being, the living principle that carries men and
nations onward. Manual labor is a school in which men are placed to get
energy of purpose and character—a vastly more important endowment than
the learning of other schools.
The laborer is placed, indeed, under hard masters—the power of physical
elements, physical sufferings, and want. But these stern teachers do a work
which no compassionate, intelligent friend could do for us, and true wisdom
will bless Providence for this sharp necessity. Labor is not merely the grand
instrument by which the earth is overspread with fruitfulness and beauty,
the ocean subdued, and matter wrought into innumerable forms for comfort
and ornament; it has a far higher function, which is to give force to the will,
efficiency, courage, the capacity of endurance and of devotion to far-
reaching plans.
We must ever remember that it is the intention only that disgraces; that
all honest work is honorable; and if your occupation be not so high-
sounding as you would like, still it is better to work faithfully at this until
opportunity opens the door to something higher. Because you do not find
just what suits you, to refuse to labor at all, to play the drone, is to act
unworthy of yourself and your destiny. Neither is it beneath you to make
yourself useful, regardless of what your position and wealth may be. A
gentleman by birth and education, however richly he may be endowed with
worldly position, can not but feel that he is in duty bound to contribute his
quota of endeavor towards the general well-being in which he shares. He
can not be satisfied with being fed, clad, and maintained by the labors of
others, without making some suitable return to the society that upholds him.
It matters not what a person's natural gifts may be, he can not expect to
attain in any profession to a high degree of success without going through
with a vast deal of work, which, taken by itself, would rightly be called
drudgery. That quality in man which, for want of a better name, we call
genius, does not consist in an ability to get along without work, but, on the
contrary, is generally the faculty of doing an immense amount of work.
Young men sometimes think that it is not respectable to be at work, and
imagine that there is some character of disgrace or degradation belonging to
toil. No greater mistake could be made. Instead of being disgraceful to
engage in work, it is especially honorable. The most illustrious names in

history were hard workers. No one whom posterity delights to honor ever
dreamed or idled his way to fame. To be idle and useless is neither an honor
nor a privilege. Though persons of small natures may be content merely to
consume, men of average endowments, of manly expectations, and of
honest purpose will feel such a condition to be incompatible with real honor
and true dignity.
The noblest man on earth is he who puts his hands cheerfully and proudly
to honest labor, and goes forth to conquer honor and worth. Labor is mighty
and beautiful. The world has long since learned that man can not be truly
man without employment. Would that young men might judge of the
dignity of labor by its usefulness rather than by the gloss it wears! We do
not see a man's nobility in dress and toilet adornments, but in the sinewy
arm, roughened, it may be, by hardy, honest toil under whose farmer's or
mechanic's vest a kingly heart may beat. Exalt thine adopted calling or
profession. Look on labor as honorable, and dignify the task before thee,
whether it be in the study, office, counting-room, workshop, or furrowed
field. There is equality in all, and the resolute will and pure heart may
ennoble either.

T is only by reflection that we derive a just appreciation of the value
of perseverance. When we see how much can be accomplished in
any given direction by the man or woman of but average ability who
resolutely perseveres in the course of action adopted as the ruling
purpose of their lives, we then arrive at a just estimate of the value
of perseverance as a factor in success. The old fable of the hare and
the tortoise only exemplifies a truth which we are all ready to admit when
we once stop to admire those stupendous works of nature and art, which
proclaim in no uncertain tones the triumph of perseverance. All the
performances of human art, at which we look with praise or wonder, are
instances of the resistless force of perseverance. It is by this that the quarry
becomes a pyramid; it is by this the Coliseum of Rome was built; and this it
was that inclosed in adamant the Chinese empire.
One man's individual exertion seems to go for nothing. If a person were
to compare the result of one man's work with the general design and last
result, he would be overwhelmed by the sense of their disproportion. Yet
these petty operations, incessantly continued, in time surmount the greatest
difficulties. Mountains are elevated and oceans bounded by the slender
force of human beings. How many men, who have won well-nigh
imperishable renown in the world of literature, science, or art, owe all their
greatness to persevering efforts? How many of those whom the world calls
geniuses can exclaim with Newton that they owe all their greatness to
persevering efforts, and whatever they may have been able to accomplish
more than ordinary has been solely by virtue of perseverance? They were
the sons of unremitting industry and toil. They were once as weak and
helpless as any of us, once as destitute of wisdom and power as an infant.
Once the very alphabet of that language which they have wielded with such
magic effect was unknown to them. They toiled long to learn it, to get its
sounds, understand its deeper fancies, and longer still to obtain the secret of
its highest charm and mightiest power, and yet even longer for those living,

glorious thoughts which they bade it bear to an astonished and admiring
world.
Their characters, which are now given to the world and will be to
millions yet unborn as patterns of greatness and goodness, were made by
that untiring perseverance which marked their whole lives. From childhood
to age they knew no such word as fail. Defeat only gave them power;
difficulty only taught them the necessity of redoubled exertions; dangers
gave them courage, and the sight of great labors inspired in them
corresponding exertions. Their success has been wrought out by persevering
industry. It has been said by shrewd observers that successful men owe
more to their perseverance than to their natural powers, their friends, or the
favorable circumstances around them. Genius will falter by the side of
labor, great powers will give place to great industry. Talents are desirable,
but perseverance is more so. It will make mental powers, or at least
strengthen those already made. This should teach a great lesson of patience
to those who are so nearly ready to sink in despair, and have grown weary
in their strivings for better things. For one who faints not, but resolutely
takes up the work of life and perseveringly continues his exertion, it is
possible for him to reach almost any height to which his ambition may
point. Some of the great works of literature, in which are stored away great
masses of information, are the results of persevering efforts, before which
many minds would have quailed.
Gibbon consumed nineteen years in writing his masterpiece. How many
would have had the courage to persevere that length of time, though certain
of success at last? Courage, when combined with energy and perseverance,
will overcome difficulties apparently insurmountable. Perseverance,
working in the right direction and when steadily practiced, even by the most
humble, will rarely fail of its reward. It inspires in the minds of all fair-
minded people a friendly feeling. Who will not befriend the persevering,
energetic youth, the fearless man of industry? Who is not a friend to him
who is a friend to himself? He who perseveres in business, amidst hardships
and discouragements, will always find ready and generous friends in time
of need. He who will persevere in a course of wisdom, rectitude, and
benevolence, is sure to gather round him friends who will be true and
faithful.

Go to the men of business, of worth, of influence, and ask them who shall
have their confidence and support. They will tell you "the men who falter
not by the wayside, who toil on in their calling against every barrier, whose
eyes are 'upward,' and whose motto is 'excelsior.'" These are the men to
whom they give their confidence. But they shun the lazy, the indolent, the
fearful and faltering. They would as soon trust the wind as such men. If you
would win friends, be steady and true to yourself. Be the unfailing friend of
your own purposes, stand by your own character, and others will come to
your aid.
Almost every portion of the earth teems with works which show what
man has been able to effect in the physical world by means of perseverance.
Calculate, if you can, the efforts required to build the pyramids of Egypt.
Can you conceive of a more enduring monument to the triumph of
perseverance than that? Look at nature. She has a thousand voices teaching
lessons of perseverance. The lofty mountains are wearing down by slow
degrees. The ocean is gradually, but surely, filling up, by deposits from its
thousand rivers, and by the labors of a little insect so small as to be almost
invisible to the naked eye. Every shower that sweeps over the surface of the
country tends to bring the hills and the mountains to the level of the plains.
Nature has but one lesson on this subject, and that is, "Persevere."
More depends upon active perseverance than upon genius. Says a
common-sense author upon this subject: "Genius unexerted is no more
genius than a bushel of acorns is a forest of oaks." There may be epics in
men's brains, just as there are oaks in acorns, but the tree and the book must
come out before we can measure them. Firmness of purpose is one of the
most necessary sinews of character, and one of the best instruments of
success. Without it, genius wastes its efforts in a maze of inconsistencies. It
gives power to weakness, and opens to poverty the world's mark. It spreads
fertility over the barren landscape, and bids the choicest fruits and flowers
spring up and flourish in the desert abode. There is, perhaps, nothing more
conducive to success in any important and difficult undertaking than a firm,
steady, unremitting spirit. In seasons of distress and difficulty, to abandon
ourselves to dejection is evidence of a weak mind. Opposing circumstances
often create strength, both mental and physical. Opposition gives us greater
power of resistance. To overcome one barrier gives us greater ability to

overcome the next. It is cowardice to grumble about circumstances. Instead
of sinking under trouble, it becomes us, in the evil day, with perseverance to
maintain our part, to bear up against the storm, to have recourse to those
advantages, which, in the worst of times, are always left to integrity and
virtue, and never to give up the hope that better days may come.
It is wonderful to see what miracles a resolute and unyielding will can
achieve. Before its irresistible energy the most formidable obstacles become
as cobweb barriers in the path. Difficulties, the terrors of which cause the
irresolute to sink back with dismay, provoke from the man of lofty
determination only a smile. The whole history of our race, all nature,
indeed, teems with examples to show what wonders may be accomplished
by resolute perseverance and patient toil. How many there are who,
thinking of the immense amount of work lying between them and the object
of their desires, are almost ready to give up in despair! But do they not,
when they view the work thus in mass, forget that there is time enough, if
only rightly improved, to suffice for each effort?
One step after another, perseveringly continued, will enable you to arrive
at your journey's end, however long it may be. It is only when you come to
reckon up the aggregate number of steps that you are ready to sink under a
feeling of despair. But you are not required to take them all at once; there is
an allotted time for each individual step. Thus, in viewing any work that
you may have marked out in life, only remember that you are not obliged to
do the work all at once; that the regular daily portions performed quietly
and systematically, day after day, will enable you to achieve almost any
desired result. When we reflect on the wonderful results that perseverance
has accomplished, we are led to believe that the man who wills, resolves,
and perseveres can do almost any thing.
Every one, then, regardless of his condition in life, should set his aim
high, and resolve to remit no labor necessary for its realization, but
cheerfully take up the trials and burdens that life has in store for him, and
carry them forward, be the discouragements what they may, to a glorious
consummation. Only learn to carry a thing through in all of its details, and
you have measured the secret of success. Only learn to persevere in
carrying out any plan of work which an enlightened judgment decides is the

best, and you will force life to yield you its grandest triumphs. There is
almost no limit to what you can achieve if you thus govern your actions,
and make all your exertions contribute to the fulfilling of some great
purpose of life, which you took up with a brave heart, and with a
determination to persevere therein until success crowns your efforts.

LOSELY allied with the qualities of self-reliance and energy is that
characteristic quality which so much conduces to success in life, and
is generally expressed by the word "enterprise." It is distinct from
energy, inasmuch as it is constantly active in discovering new fields
for energy to exert itself in. We are familiar with examples of men who
have won fortunes or gained renown, not because they pursued better or
wiser courses, but because of some originality in their aims and methods,
by which they were enabled to command the attention of the busy world
long enough to wrest from it the special object of their choice.
True enterprise is constantly on the alert to discover some new want of
society, some fertile source of profit or honor, some unexplored field of
business, and is ready to supply the one or to take advantage of the other. It
is nearly an indispensable element in these days of fierce competition.
Every avenue of business is crowded, and as soon as it is known that one
party has made a success by one method there are scores of eager aspirants
ready to try the successful plan, so that straightway it, too, ceases to be
unique, and, in becoming common, loses the power it formerly possessed of
compelling success. Hence the late-comers in the field are doomed to
failure, while they may at the same time be the better fitted for the peculiar
work in hand. What they should do is to aim at success by new plans and
methods. Every one knows the enthusiastic glow that animates the whole
being of him who feels the ardor of an explorer, who surmounts difficulties
by new and, before, unthought-of expedients, who plans and projects
enterprises that had previously escaped the active minds of his fellow men.
It is by virtue of this very enthusiasm that the man of enterprise, who is
so ready to adopt new measures, plans, and projects, is enabled to carry into
his business or profession an energy and inspiration which is totally lacking
on the part of those who are followers. Hence the latter ofttimes fail of
success which their talents might almost be said to have promised them.

Therefore, those who enter the lists to win life's battles must expect, if they
would reach their goal, to wage the fight not only by the old methods but by
the new. To use only those tactics which are sanctioned by usage is to invite
defeat. Throw open the windows of your mind to new ideas, and keep at
least abreast of the times, and, if possible, ahead of them. Nothing is more
fatal to self-advancement than a stupid conservatism or a servile imitation.
The days when a man could get rich by plodding on without enterprise and
without taxing his brains have gone by. Mere industry and economy are not
enough; there must be intelligence and original thought.
Whatever your calling, inventiveness, adaptability, promptness of
decision, must direct and utilize your force, and if you do not find markets
you must make them. In business you need not know many books, but you
must know your trade and men. You may be slow at logic, but you must
dart at chances. You may stick to your groove in politics, but in your
business you must switch into new tracks, and shape yourself to every
exigency. We emphasize this matter because in no country is the red-tapist
so out of place as here. Every calling is filled with bold, keen, subtle-witted
men, fertile in expedients and devices, who are perpetually inventing new
ways of buying cheaply, underselling, or attracting custom; and the man
who sticks doggedly to the old-fashioned methods—who runs in a perpetual
rut—will find himself outstripped in the race of life, if he is not stranded on
the sands of popular indifference. Keep, then, your eyes open and your wits
about you, and you may distance all competitors; but, if you ignore all new
methods, you will find yourself like a lugger contending with an ocean
steamer.
It is enterprise that oils the wheels of energy and industry. Industry
gathers together, with a frugal hand, the means whereby we are enabled to
develop our plans and purposes. Energy gives us force whereby we gather
the courage to persevere in the lines decided on, bids us put on a bold mien
and go forth to do valiant battle against opposing circumstances. But it is
enterprise that suggests ways and means to overcome difficulties that
threaten to overwhelm us. It is enterprise that bids us explore entirely new
fields, discovering expedients that enable us to change what, by the force of
circumstances, was fast becoming a failure into a glorious victory, bringing
to us wealth, position, and fame. It is to enterprise that we are indebted for

those rich discoveries in scientific fields by which we decipher the records
of past ages, and unravel the secrets which nature surrounded with mystery,
compelling them to serve us.
It was enterprise that harnessed steam, teaching it to do our bidding, and
brought the lightning down from the heavens to carry our thoughts to the
uttermost parts of the earth. It is the spirit of enterprise driving curious
minds to work in new directions that has given us all those useful and
curious inventions, which have done so much to make this nineteenth-
century civilization to shine with so lustrous a light. In short, it is enterprise
that lifts the man of but mediocre abilities and attainments into the foremost
ranks of the successful ones.
Enterprise is an inheritance and not an acquisition. But it can at the same
time be improved by cultivation, the same as bodily strength or any mental
faculty. He who would excel as a swimmer must be often in the water, and
the gymnast does not spare himself long and fatiguing exertions. So of an
enterprising spirit. Some men seem born with an overflow of this, while
others possess it in a slight degree only. But if any would be known as
enterprising men, they must not hesitate to show by their every-day actions
that they rely upon themselves in cases of emergency, and the greater the
necessity the better means of surmounting it are constantly discovered.
They must not hesitate to try plans because they are new; but if sober
judgment can discover no objection to it, they must seize upon the very
novelty of the plan as an inducement, and be only the more eager to put it to
the test. There is no life so routine but that it constantly affords scope for
the exercise of enterprising energy. The very fact that you are finding it
routine and commonplace should at once set you to work to devise some
new way to change this.
Do not stand sighing, wishing, and waiting, but go to work with an
energy and perseverance that will set every obstacle in the way of your
success flying like leaves before a whirlwind. A weak and irresolute way of
doing business will shipwreck your plans as readily as effects follow
causes. You may have ambition enough to wish yourself on the topmost
round of the ladder of success; but if you have not the requisite energy to
commence and enterprise enough to push ahead even when you know you

are off the beaten track, you will always remain at the bottom, or at least on
the lower rounds. Providence has hidden a charm in difficult undertakings
which is appreciated only by those who dare to grapple with them. But this
can only be true when you, by your own exertions and the strength of your
own self-reliance and enterprise, have achieved the results. Nothing can be
more distasteful than to see men of apparently good abilities waiting for
some one to come and help them over difficulties.
Be your own helper. If a rock rises up before you, roll it along or climb
over it. If you want money, earn it. If you want confidence, prove yourself
worthy of it. Do not be content with doing what has been done; surpass it.
Deserve success and it will come. The sun does not rise like a rocket or go
down like a bullet fired from a gun; slowly and surely it makes its rounds,
and never tires. It is as easy to be a lead horse as a wheel horse. If the job be
long, the pay will be greater; if the task be hard, the more competent you
must be to do it. We must apportion our strength and exertions to the
requisite tasks and duties. He who weakly shrinks from the struggle, who
will offer no resistance, who will endure no labor nor fatigue, can neither
fulfill his own vocation, nor contribute aught to the general welfare of
mankind.
The spirit of the times demands that all who would rise in life shrink not
back from labor, but it also demands that they exert themselves
understandingly; that they spare no effort to master all the intricacies of the
business or vocation in which they are engaged; that they be alert to
discover new ways by which they may reach the desired goal easier than the
old; that they bear in mind that sticking to the old ruts is only the right
policy so long as no better way presents itself, and when that way is
discovered, be not at all slow to improve it. If you do not, others more
enterprising will rush forward to reap the profits it promises, and you will
be left behind in the race. No matter what your position in life may be or the
conditions which hem you in, there will be a "tide" in your affairs, "which,
taken at its flood, leads on to fortune." But you must be ready to accept the
chance. While you are hesitating and deliberating the occasion goes by, in
most cases never to return again. Therefore, be prompt to seize it as it flies.
Cultivate as far as possible the spirit of enterprise, for on that in a great
degree depends your success or failure.

NERGY is force of character, inward power. It imports such a
concentration of the will upon the realization of an idea as to impel
it onward over the next gigantic barrier, or to crush every opposing
force that stands in the way of its triumph. Energy knows of nothing
but success. It will not hearken to the voice of discouragement; it never
yields its purpose. Though it may perish beneath an avalanche of
difficulties, yet it dies contending for its ideal.
There is, perhaps, no mistake of a young man more common than that of
supposing that, in the pursuits of life, extraordinary talents are necessary to
one who would achieve more than ordinary success. There is no greater
genius than the genius of energy and industry, It wins the prizes of life,
which appeared destined to fall to those brilliantly constituted minds, who,
to an artificial observer, seemed to be the favored sons of fortune. But they
lacked energy, and in that want lacked all. Energy of temperament, with a
moderate degree of wisdom, will carry a man farther than any amount of
intellect without it. It gives him force, momentum. It is the active power of
character, and, if combined with sagacity and self-possession, will enable a
man to employ his power to the best advantage in all the affairs of life.
Hence it is that men of mediocre power, but impelled by energy of purpose,
have often been able to accomplish such extraordinary results.
The men who have most powerfully influenced the world have not been
so much men of genius as men of strong convictions and enduring capacity
for work, impelled by irresistible energy and invincible determination.
Energy of will, self-originating force, is the soul of every great character.
Where it is, there is life; where it is not, there is faintness, helplessness, and
despondency. There is a proverb which says that "the strong man and the
waterfall channel their own path." The energetic leader of noble spirit not
only wins a way for himself, but carries others with him. His very act has a
personal signification, indicating vigor, independence, and self-reliance, and

unconsciously commands respect, admiration, and homage. Such intrepidity
is the attribute of all great leaders of men.
There is a difference between resolution and energy. Resolution is the
purpose, energy is the quality, and it is possible to possess much resolution
with comparatively very little energy. Energy implies a fixed, settled, and
unswerving purpose; but resolution may vary its inclination a thousand
ways and embrace a thousand objects, keeping up, perhaps, an air of
steadiness and determination, while, in reality, nothing may be
accomplished. There is observable the same difference between resolution
and energy as there is between kindness and goodness—kindness being
displayed by occasional acts of good-will, whilst goodness exists always,
by a principle of love. Do not make the mistake of confounding energy with
rashness. Energy is a Bucephalus, guided by the hand of an Alexander.
Rashness is a Mazeppa's fiery steed, unbridled and unrestrained, bearing its
rider over hill and dale to probable destruction. The former is power guided
by wisdom; the latter is power goaded to action by blind impulse.
Energy, to reach its highest development, must be controlled by wisdom.
Many men now pining under discouragement have expended energy
sufficient for the highest success. But they have failed of their reward
because they have not sought counsel at the lips of wisdom. Rash
enterprises impetuously begun hurry them on to ruin. True energy is ever
the same; but the energy of many men is impulsive. It is to-day a
destroying, roaring torrent; yesterday it was a stagnant pool. An accidental
circumstance will call out every power of their soul, and for a season they
will excel themselves and startle their friends. But they speedily expend
their force, and lapse into stupid somnolency, till aroused by some bugle-
blast of excitement. Such minds accomplish but little. They lose more in
their slumbers than they gain in their fitful hours of action. The calm, steady
energy of the snail, slow as are its movements, is better calculated to
produce results than the spasmodic leaps of the hare. Hence, in the
formation of character, it is of the utmost importance to cultivate a steady,
uniform, unyielding energy. The quiet energy that works to accomplishment
is what rules the world. There is more energy shown in quietly doing your
duty through years of patient toil than to rush with great clamor at the
obstacles of life, only to relinquish the attempt if success does not

immediately crown the effort. The game of life is won less by brilliant
strokes than by energetic yet cautious play.
Energy of character has always a power to make energy in others. The
zealous, energetic man unconsciously carries others along with him. His
example is contagious, and compels imitation. He exercises a sort of
electric power, which sends a thrill through every fiber, flows into the
nature of those about him, and makes them throw out sparks of power. But
such men are but few; and for one man that appears on the stage of human
affairs that can rule events there are thousands who follow. The earnest men
are so few in the world that their very earnestness becomes at once the
badge of their nobility; and as the men in a crowd instinctively make room
for one who seems to force his way through it, so mankind every-where
open their ranks to one who rushes valiantly toward some object lying
beyond them.
Man is but a feeble being, but he belittles his high estate unless he puts
forth his exertion, and forms a commendable and heroic resolution not to
permit life to pass away in trifles, but to accomplish something in spite of
obstacles. At difficulties be not dismayed. We may magnify them by
weakness and despondency, when an heroic spirit would have put them to
flight. There are cobble-stones in every road and pebbles in every path. All
have cares, disappointments, and stumbling-blocks. It were well to
remember, though, that sobs and cries, groans and regrets are of no avail,
but that high resolves and courageous actions may with safety be relied on
to do much to lighten life's load. He who never grappled with the
emergencies of life knows not what power lives in the soul to repel the rude
shocks of time and destiny, nor is he conscious how much he is

"Blest with a kindly faculty to blunt
The edge of adverse circumstances."

All traditions current among young men that certain great characters have
wrought their greatness by an inspiration, as it were, grows out of a sad
mistake. There is no inspiration so potent for good as the inspiration of
energy. There are none who wrest such conquests from fame as those
earnest, determined minds, who reckon the value of every hour, and rely on

their own strong arm to achieve their ambitious resolves. You can not dream
yourself into a character; you must hammer and forge yourself one. But
remember, there is always room for a man of force, and he makes room for
many. It is a Spanish proverb that "he who loseth wealth loseth much; he
who loseth a friend loseth more; but he who loseth energy loseth all." It is
folly for a man or woman to sit down in mid-life discouraged. True, it is a
severe test of character calmly to reflect that life has thus far proved a
failure, but it does no good to abandon one's self to despair. With energy
and God's blessing it is possible they may yet win a glorious victory. God in
his wisdom has seen fit to so ordain that life with all shall be a scene of
labor. To make the most of it, it is necessary to make the aim high and
noble, the energy unflagging. No matter how apparently solid the
foundations on which we stand, it often happens that by the remission of
labor and energy, poverty and contempt, disaster and defeat steal a march
upon prosperity and honor, and overwhelm us with remorse and shame.
It is energy that makes the difference in men. It is the genius of
persevering energy that carries so many men straight to the goal of success.
It is energy that sheds the light of hope on pathways that had been lost save
for that, and thus enables so many men and women to persevere therein. It
is energy that calls upon all—and calls upon you—to rouse yourself. Would
you make a success of life? Would you acquire fortune or renown? It bids
you take heart and hope for the best. It bids you walk in the paths of
patience, to do with all your might what you have marked out as necessary
to do. It bids you pursue it with resolution and vigor.
A young man is, in the true sense of the word, the architect of his own
fortune. Rely upon your own strength of body and soul. Remember that the
man who wills it can go almost anywhere or do almost any thing he
determines to do. You must make yourself, or come to nothing. You must
win by your own exertions, and not wait for some one to come to your
assistance. Take for your star self-reliance, faith, honesty, and industry.
Keep at the helm, and, above all, remember that the great art of
commanding is to do a fair share of the work yourself. The greater the
difficulty the more the glory in surmounting it. Skillful pilots gain their
reputation from storms and tempests. The soul of every great achievement
is energy; but enervation and indolence sap its life, and doom the man to

obscurity and ill-success. Men of feeble action are accustomed to attribute
their misfortune to what is termed ill luck. They envy the men who climb
the ladder of eminence, and call them lucky men and men of peculiar
opportunity. This is a vain and foolish imagination. Energy produces good
fortune and success, while enervation breeds misfortune and ill luck.
Fortune, success, fame, position are never gained but by determinedly
and bravely persevering in any course until the plans are finally
accomplished. In short, you must carry a thing through if you want to be
any body or any thing, no matter if it does cost you the pleasure of society,
the thousand pearly gratifications of life. Stick to the thing and carry it
through. Believe you were made for the matter, and that no one else could
do it. Put forth your whole energies. Be awake; electrify yourself; go forth
to the task. Learn to carry it through, and you will be a hero. You will think
better of yourself. Others will think better of you. The world in its very
heart admires the stern, determined doer. It sees in him its best sights, its
brightest objects, its richest treasures. Proceed with energy, then, in
whatever you undertake. Consider yourself amply sufficient for the deed,
and you will succeed.

MONGST the elements which conduce to success in life there is one
of rare value, which, by some strange oversight, is classed as of little
account. We refer to punctuality. We regard it as a virtue. To be
punctual in all of your appointments is a duty resting upon you no
less obligatory than the duty of common honesty. An appointment is a
contract, and if you do not keep it you are dishonestly using other people's
time, and, consequently, their money. "Punctuality," says Louis XIV, "is the
politeness of kings." He need not have confined his remarks to blood royal;
it is politeness in every body; and know that whenever you fail to meet an
engagement promptly, which by exertion you might have done, you are
guilty of a gross breach of etiquette.
It is certainly impolite to do a wrong to others and when you have made
an appointment with another person you owe him punctuality, and you have
no right to waste his time if you have your own. Success and happiness
depend in a far higher degree on punctuality than many suppose. It is not
sufficient to do the right thing, nor in the right way, but it must be done at
the right time as well, if we would reap the rewards of our labor. But when
so done its effect in the problem of success is great and efficacious. Lord
Nelson attributed all his success in life to his habit of strict punctuality.
Many of our most successful business men date their success from the time
they commenced to practice this virtue. Thousands have failed in life from
carelessness in this respect alone. Nothing inspires confidence in a business
man sooner than this quality; nor is there any habit which sooner saps his
reputation as a good business man than that of being always behind time.
Lack of punctuality is not only a serious vice in itself, but it is also the
parent of a large progeny of other vices. Hence he who becomes its victim
is the more and more involved in toils from which it is almost impossible to
escape. He who needlessly breaks his appointments shows that he is as
reckless of the waste of other people's time as of his own. His acquaintances

readily conclude that the man who is not conscientious about his
appointments will be equally careless about his other engagements, and
they will refuse to trust him with matters of importance. To the busy man
time is money, and he who robs him of it does him as great an injury, as far
as loss of property is concerned, as if he had picked his pockets or paid him
with a forged or counterfeit bill.
It is a familiar truth that punctuality is the life of the universe. The
planets keep exact time in their revolutions, each as it circles around the sun
coming to its place yearly at the very moment it is due. So, in business,
punctuality is the soul of industry, without which all its wheels come to a
dead stand. If the time of a business man be properly occupied every hour
will have its appropriate work. If the work of one hour be postponed to
another it must encroach upon the time of some other duty, or remain
undone, and thus the whole business of the day is thrown into disorder. If
that which is first at hand be not instantly, steadily, and regularly dispatched
other things accumulate behind, till affairs begin to accumulate all at once,
and no human brain can stand the pressure.
Punctuality should be made not only a point of courtesy but a point of
conscience. The beginner in business should make this virtue one of the
first objects of professional acquisition. Let him not deceive himself with
the idea that it is easy of attainment, or that he can practice it by and by,
when the necessity of it shall be more cogent. If in youth it is not easy to be
punctual, then in after life, when the character is fixed, when the mental and
moral faculties have acquired a rigidity, to unlearn the habit of tardiness is
almost an impossibility. It still holds a man enthralled, though the reason be
fully convinced of its criminality and inconvenience.
A right estimate of the value of time is the best and surest foundation for
habits of punctuality, for you are not likely to economize time, either for
yourself or others, unless you fully realize how valuable it is, and when lost
how utterly irreclaimable. The successful men in every calling have had a
keen sense of the value of time—they have been misers of minutes. Hence
you must try and realize the value of time. Each hour, as it passes swiftly
away, is gone forever. Lost wealth may be replaced by toil and industry; lost
friends may be regained by consideration and patience; lost health may be

recovered by medical skill and care; even lost happiness and peace of mind
may be restored; but lost time, never. Whilst you read these lines it is being
numbered with the dead past and dying present. There is no recalling it;
there is no regaining it; there is no restoring it. You must make the most of
time as it flies. You have no right to waste your own, still less, then, that of
others, by your lack of punctuality.
Not only should a person be thus punctual in all his express engagements
and appointments, but in all his implied ones as well. If he has a regular
hour for his shop or office, let it find him there, at his desk and at work.
Punctuality in the performance of known duties other than the keeping of
appointments is also one of the chief promoters of success in life. If a
certain work or other duty is to be performed, we are too prone to put it off
for a more convenient season. Such delays are often a fruitful source of
after troubles. How many business men have been brought to bankruptcy
and ruin by the failure of one man to meet his obligations promptly! How
many times are we put to great work and expense because we neglected, or
put off, the performance of admitted duties! It is easy to say, "Wait awhile;"
so easy to let the burden of to-day's work and duties fall on to-morrow. But
when to-morrow comes it has its own peculiar duties, and the result is, we
simply have extra burdens to meet when the time finally comes that our
work can no longer be delayed.
Punctuality is a virtue that can give force and power to an otherwise
utterly insignificant character. Like charity, it covers a multitude of sins. It
were easy to show by examples from the lives of great men that their
success in life was owing in a large measure to their habits of punctuality.
All great commanders have possessed this faculty in an eminent degree.
The reason punctuality is such an invariable element of success is not hard
to determine. The punctual person, one who always lives up to his
engagements, and is prompt in fulfilling his implied duties as well, is just
the person whose business is conducted after the most approved forms and
methods. They are the ones who have time at their disposal to cast their
eyes over the field of legitimate enterprise, and at once adopt whatever may
seem to them to possess real excellence. Having met all their engagements
promptly, their word is as good as their bond, their credit unshaken; in
short, every avenue of success is open to them.

But with those persons who are habitually behind in the fulfillment of
their duties, their business is generally in a very unsettled state. They have
not that freshness and business vivacity and life which is always observable
in the man who drives his business instead of allowing it to drive him. What
wonder, then, that they sink beneath the load of accumulated cares, give up
the great battle of life in despair, and are content to fill a subordinate place
in the economy of the world? Would that young men thought more of what
is involved in punctuality! It is not merely the "being on time," but it
imports such a habit that, carried into life, it is one of the main instruments
in making real youthful dreams of success. It is that which makes business a
pleasure instead of a drudgery. It is that which goes so far in building up a
reputation of sagacity, skill, and integrity.
No one can have a high opinion of a person who is so regardless of
punctuality, even in small matters, as to be continually breaking his word,
under the impression that "it is of no consequence," as so many often say, to
excuse their habit of being false to their word. There are some persons who
seldom, or never, do as they promised. We know persons, who in other
respects are worthy people, who can scarcely command confidence,
because they are so slack in fulfilling their engagements and meeting their
obligations in small matters. We know young men of promise who are daily
losing ground among their acquaintances for a similar reason. A man will
soon ruin himself this way. In all business transactions, in all engagements,
let all do exactly as they say,—be punctual to the minute; even a little
beforehand is far preferable to being a little behind time. Such a habit
secures a composure which is essential to happiness.

N this day, when so many things are clamoring for attention, the first
law of success may be said to be concentration. It is impossible to
be successful in every branch of business, or renowned in every
department of a professional life. We must learn to bend our
energies to one point, and to go directly to that point, looking neither
to the right nor to the left. It has been said that a great deal of the
wisdom of a man in this century is shown in leaving things unknown, and a
great deal of his practical ability in leaving things undone. The day of
universal scholarships is past. Life is short, and art is long. The range of
human wisdom has increased so enormously that no human brain can
grapple with it, and the man who would know one thing well must have the
courage to be ignorant of a thousand other things, however attractive or
interesting. As with knowledge, so with work. The man who would get
along must single out his specialty, and into that must pour the whole
stream of his activity—all the energies of his hand, eye, tongue, heart, and
brain. Broad culture, many-sidedness, are beautiful things to contemplate;
but it is the narrow-edged men—the men of one single and intense purpose
—who steel the soul against all things else, that accomplish the hard work
of the world.
The great men of every age who have had the arduous task to shape
human destiny have been men of one idea impelled by resolute energy. Take
those names that are historic, and, with the exception of a few great creative
minds, you find them to be men who are identified with some one
achievement upon which their life force was spent. The great majority of
men must concentrate their energies upon the complete mastery of some
one profession, trade, or calling, or they will experience the disappointment
of those whose empire has been lost in the ambition of universal conquest.
A man may have the most dazzling talents, but if they are scattered upon
many objects he will accomplish nothing. Strength is like gunpowder: to be
effective it needs concentration and aim. The marksman who aims at the

whole target will seldom hit the center. The literary man or philosopher may
revel among the sweetest and most beautiful flowers of thought, but unless
he gathers or condenses these in the honeycomb of some great thought or
work, his finest conceptions will be lost or useless.
The world has few universal geniuses who are capable of mastering a
dozen languages, arts, or sciences, or driving a dozen callings abreast.
Beginners in life are perpetually complaining of the disadvantages under
which they labor; but it is an indisputable fact that more persons fail from a
multiplicity of pursuits and pretensions than from a poverty of resources.
"The one prudence in life," says a shrewd American essayist, "is
concentration, the one evil is dissipation; and it makes no difference
whether our dissipations are coarse or fine, property and its cares, friends
and a social habit, politics, music, or feasting. Every thing is good which
takes away one plaything and delusion more, and drives us home to add one
stroke of faithful work." The gardener does not suffer the sap to be driven
into a thousand channels merely to develop a myriad of profitless twigs. He
prunes the branches, and leaves the vital juices to be absorbed by a few
vigorous, fruit-bearing branches.
While the highest ability accomplishes but little if scattered on a
multiplicity of objects, on the other hand, if one has but a thimbleful of
brains, and concentrates them upon the thing he has in hand, he may
achieve miracles. Momentum in physics, if properly directed, will drive a
tallow candle through an inch board. Just so will oneness of aim and the
direction of the energies to a single pursuit, while all others are waived,
enable the veriest weakling to make his mark where he strikes. The general
who scatters his soldiers all about the country insures defeat; so does he
whose attention is diffused through innumerable channels, so that it can not
gather in force on any one point. The human mind, in short, resembles a
burning-glass, whose rays are intense only as they are concentrated. As the
glass burns only when its rays are converged to a focal point, so the former
illumes the world of science, literature, or business only when it is directed
to a solitary object. What is more powerless than the scattered clouds of
steam as they rise to the sky? They are as impotent as the dew-drop that
falls nightly upon the earth; but concentrated and condensed in a steam

boiler they are able to cut through solid rock, to hurl mountains into the sea,
and to bring the antipodes to our doors.
It is the lack of concentration and wholeness which distinguishes the
shabby, half-hearted, and blundering—the men who make the mob of life—
from those who win victories. In slower times success might have been won
by the man who gave but a corner of his brain to the work in hand, but in
these days of keen competition it demands the intensest application of the
thinking faculty. Exclusive dealings in worldly pursuits is a principle of
hundred-headed power. By dividing his time among too many objects, a
man of genius often becomes diamond dust instead of diamond. The time
spent by many persons in profitless, desultory reading would, if
concentrated upon a single line of study, have made them masters of an
entire branch of literature or science. Distraction of pursuits is the rock
upon which most unsuccessful persons split in early life. In law, in
medicine, in trade, in the mechanical professions the most successful
persons have been those who have stuck to one thing. Nine out of ten men
lay out their plans on too vast a scale, and they who are competent to do
almost any thing do nothing, because they never make up their minds
distinctly as to what they want or what they intend to be.
We are often compelled to a choice of acquisitions, for there are some
things the possession of which is incompatible with the possession of
others, and the sooner this truth is known and recognized the better the
chances of success and happiness. Much material good must be resigned if
we would attain the highest degree of moral excellence, and many spiritual
joys must be foregone if we resolve at all risks to win great material
advantages. To strive for a high personal position, and yet expect to have all
the delights of leisure; to labor for vast riches, and yet to ask for freedom
from anxiety and care, and all the happiness which flows from a contented
mind; to indulge in sensual gratifications, and yet demand health, strength,
and vigor; to live for self, and yet to look for the joys that spring from a
virtuous and self-denying life—is to ask for impossibilities.
If you start for success you must expect to pay its price. It can not be won
by feeble, half-way efforts, neither is it to be acquired because sought for in
a dozen different directions. It demands that you bring to your chosen

profession or calling energy, industry, and, above all, that singleness of
purpose which is willing to devote the energies of a life-time to its
accomplishment. Mere wishing and sighing brings it not. Many little calls
of society on your time must pass unheeded. You can not expect to live
tranquilly and at your ease, but to be up and doing, with all your energies
devoted to the one point kept constantly in view. Cultivate this habit of
concentration if you would succeed in business; make it a second nature.
Have a work for every moment, and mind the moment's work. Whatever
your calling, master all its bearings and details, all its principles,
instruments, and applications. We have so much work ahead of us that must
be done if we would reach the point desired that we must save our strength
as much as possible. Concentration affords a great safe-guard against
exhaustion. He who scatters himself on many objects soon loses his energy,
and with his energy his enthusiasm—and how is success possible without
enthusiasm?
It becomes, then, of importance to be sure we have started right in the
race for distinction. Every beginner in life should strive early to ascertain
the strong faculty of his mind or body fitting him for some special pursuit,
and direct his utmost energies to bring it to perfection. There is no
adaptation or universal applicability in man; but each has his special talent,
and the mastery of successful men is in adroitly keeping themselves where
and when that turn shall need oftenest to be practiced.
Though one must be wholly absorbed to win success, still singleness of
aim by no means implies monotony of action; but if we would be felt on
this stirring planet, if we would strike the world with lasting force, we must
be men of one thing. Having found the thing we have to do we must throw
into it all the energies of our being, seeking its accomplishment at whatever
hazard or sacrifice. But that does not prevent us from participating in the
enjoyments of life. If you are sent on business to some foreign land, though
bent on business, still you can admire, as you hurry along, the beautiful
scenery from the car windows; you can note the strange places through
which you pass; you can observe the wondrous sublimity of the ocean
without being distracted from the main objects of your travels. So it is not
to be inferred from what has been said that concentration means isolation or

self-absorption. There may be a hundred accessories in life, provided they
contribute to one result.
In urging the importance of concentration, and of sticking to one thing,
we do not mean that any man should be a mere lawyer, a mere doctor, or a
mere merchant or mechanic, and nothing more. These are cases of one-
sidedness pushed too far. There is no more pitiable wreck than the man
whose one giant faculty has drowned the rest. Man dwarfs himself if he
pushes too far the doctrine of the subdivision of labor. Success is purchased
too dear if to attain it one has subordinated all his faculties and tastes to one
master passion, and become transformed into a head, a hand, or an arm,
instead of a man. Every man ought to be something more than a factor in
some grand formula of social or economical science, a cog or pulley in
some grand machine.
Let every one take care, first of all, to be a man, cultivating and
developing, as far as possible, all of his powers on a symmetrical plan; and
then let him expend his chief labors on the one faculty, which nature, by
making it prominent, has given a hint should be especially cultivated. There
is, indeed, no profession upon which a high degree of knowledge will not
continually bear. Things which, at first glance, seem most remote from it
will often be brought into close approximation to it, and acquisitions which
the narrow-minded might deem a hindrance will sooner or later yield
something serviceable. Nothing is more beautiful than to see a man hold his
art, trade, or calling in an easy, disengaged way, wearing it as the soldier
does his sword, which, once laid aside, the accomplished soldier gives you
no hint that he has ever worn. Too often this is not the case, and the shop-
keeper irresistibly reminds you of the shop, and the scholar, who should
remind you that he has been on Parnassus only by the odors of the flowers
he has crushed, which cling to his feet, affronts you with a huge nosegay
stuck in his bosom.
One can make all his energies bear on one important point and yet show
himself a man among men by his interest in matters of public concern. He
can endear himself to the community by kindly acts to the distressed, as
well as completely mastering, in all its bearings, the one great work which
he has taken upon himself as his life's work. Then take up your task.

Remember that you must marshall all your forces at one point, and move in
one direction, if you would accomplish what your desires have painted; but
also remember that you are a human being, and not a machine, and that as
you pass on the journey of life you should, as far as possible, without
insuring defeat, take note of the wonders which nature has spread before
you, should ponder on what history says of the past, should muse over the
solemn import of life, and thus, while winning laurels for your brow, and
achieving your heart's desire, develop in you the faculties which go to
make, in its complete meaning, a man or woman.

HERE is one quality of mind which of all others is most likely to
make our fortunes if combined with talents, or to ruin them without
it. We allude to that quality of the mind which under given
circumstances acts with a mathematical precision. With such minds
to resolve and to act is instantaneous. They seem to precede the march of
events, to foresee results in the chrysalis of their causes, and to seize that
moment for exertion which others use in deliberation. There are occasions
when action must be taken at once. There is no time to long and carefully
calculate the chances. The occasion calls for immediate action; and the call
must be met, or the time goes by, and our utmost exertions can not bring it
back. At such times is seen the triumph of those who have carefully trained
all their faculties to a habit of prompt decision. They seize the occasion, and
make the thought start into instant action; they at once plan and perform,
resolve and execute.
It is but a truism to say that there can be no success in life without
decision of character. Even brains are secondary in importance to will. The
intellect is but the half of a man; the will is the driving-wheel, the spring of
motive power. A vacillating man, no matter what his abilities, is invariably
pushed aside in the race of life by one of determined will. It is he who
resolves to succeed, and at every fresh rebuff begins resolutely again, that
reaches the goal. The shores of fortune are covered with the stranded
wrecks of men of brilliant abilities, but who have wanted courage, faith, and
decision, and have therefore perished in sight of more resolute, but less
capable adventurers, who succeeded in making port. Hundreds of men go to
their graves in obscurity who have remained obscure only because they
lacked the pluck to make the first effort, and who, could they only have
resolved to begin, would have astonished the world by their achievements
and successes.

To do any thing in this world that is worth doing we must not stand
shivering on the bank, and thinking of the cold and the danger, but jump in
and scramble through as well as we can. The world was not made for slow,
squeamish, fastidious men, but for those who act promptly and with power.
Obstacles and perplexities every man must meet, and he must either
conquer them or they will conquer him. Hesitation is a sign of weakness, for
inasmuch as the comparative good and evil of the different modes of action
about which we hesitate are seldom equally balanced, a strong mind should
perceive the slightest inclination of the beam with the glance of an eagle,
particularly as there will be cases where the preponderance will be very
minute, even though there should be life in one scale and death in the other.
It is better occasionally to decide wrong than to be forever wavering and
hesitating, now veering to this side and then to that, with all the misery and
disaster that follow from continual doubt.
It has been truly said that the great moral victories and defeats of the
world often turn on minutes. Fortune is proverbially a fickle jade, and there
is nothing like promptness of action, the timing of things at the lucky
moment, to force her to surrender her favors. Crises come, the seizing of
which is triumph, the neglect of which is ruin. It is this lack of promptness,
so characteristic of the gladiatorial intellect, of this readiness to meet every
attack of ill-fortune with counter resources of evasion, which causes so
many defeats of life.
There is a race of narrow wits that never succeed for want of courage.
Their understanding is of that halting, hesitating kind, which gives just light
enough to see difficulties and start doubts, but not enough to surmount the
one or remove the other. They do not know what force of character means.
They seem to have no backbone, but only the mockery of a vertebral
column made of india-rubber, equally pliant in all directions. They come
and go like shadows, sandwich their sentences with apologies, are
overtaken by events while still irresolute, and let the tide ebb before they
feebly push off. Always brooding over their plans, but never executing
them. It is scarcely possible to conceive of a more unhappy man than one
afflicted with this infirmity. It has been remarked that there are persons who
lack decision to such a degree that they seem never to have made up their
mind which leg to stand upon; who deliberate in an agony of choice when

not a grain's weight depends upon the decision, or the question what road to
walk upon, what bundle of hay to munch first; to be undetermined where
the case is plain and the necessity so urgent; to be always intending to lead
a new life, but never finding time to set about it. There is nothing more
pitiable in the world than such an irresolute man thus oscillating between
extremes, who would willingly join the two, but does not perceive that
nothing can unite them.
Indecision is a slatternly housewife, by whose fault the moth and rust are
allowed to make such dull work of life. "A man without decision," says
John Foster, "can never be said to belong to himself, since if he dared to
assert that he did the puny force of some cause about as powerful, you
would have supposed, as a spider, may make a seizure of the unhappy
boaster the very next minute, and contemptuously exhibit the futility of the
determinations by which he was to have proved the independence of his
understanding and will." He belongs to whatever can make capture of him;
and one thing after another vindicates its right to him by arresting him while
he is trying to proceed, as twigs and chips floating near the edge of a river
are intercepted by every weed, and whirled in every little eddy. Having
concluded on a design, he may pledge himself to accomplish it, if the
hundred diversities of feeling which may come within the week will let
him. His character precludes all foresight of his conduct. He may sit and
wonder what form and direction his views and actions are destined to take
to-morrow, as a farmer has often to acknowledge that next day's
proceedings are at the disposal of its winds and clouds.
A great deal of the unhappiness and much of the vice of the world is
owing to weakness and indecision of purpose. The will, which is the central
force of character, must be trained to habits of decision; otherwise it will
neither be able to resist evil nor to follow good. Decision gives the power of
standing firmly when to yield, however slightly, might be only the first step
in a down-hill course to ruin. Calling upon others for help in forming a
decision is worse than useless. A man must so train his habits as to rely
upon his own powers, and to depend upon his own courage in moments of
emergency. Many are the valiant purposes formed that end merely in words;
deeds intended that are never done; designs projected that are never begun;
and all for the want of a little courageous decision. Better far the silent

tongue, but the eloquent deed; and the most decisive answer of all is doing.
There is nothing more to be admired than a manly firmness and decision of
character. We admire a person who knows his own mind and sticks to it,
who sees at once what is to be done in given circumstances, and does it.
There never was a time in the world's history that called more earnestly
upon all persons to cultivate a firm, manly decision of character, to be able
to say No to the seductive power of temptation. There is no more beautiful
trait of character to be found than that of a determined will guided by right
motives. To talk beautifully is one thing, but to act with promptitude when
the time of action has fully come is as far superior to the former as the
brilliant sunlight surpasses the reflection of the moon. To train the mind to
act with decision is of no less consequence than of acting promptly when
the decision is reached. Of all intellectual gifts bestowed upon man there is
nothing more intoxicating than readiness—the power of calling all the
resources of the mind into simultaneous action at a moment's notice.
Nothing strikes the unready as so miraculous as this promptitude in others;
nothing impresses him with so dull and envious a sense of contrast with
himself. This want of decision is to be laid on the shelf, to creep where
others fly, to fall into permanent discouragement. To possess decision is to
have the mind's intellectual property put out at fifty or one hundred per
cent; to be uncertain at the moment of trial is to be dimly conscious of
faculties tied up somewhere in a napkin. Decision of mind, like vigor of
body, is a gift of God. It can not be created by human effort; it can only be
cultivated. But every mind has the germ of this quality, which can be
strengthened by favorable circumstances and motives presented to the
mind, and by method and order in the prosecution of duties or tasks.
But with all that has been urged in favor of decision and dispatch, we
would not be understood as advising undue haste. There are occasions when
caution and delay are necessary, when to act without long and careful
deliberation would be madness. But when the way is clear, when there is no
doubt as to what ought to be done, then it is that decision demands that an
instant choice be made between the two—not to hesitate too long as to
which, but to decide promptly, and then move ahead. Even in cases where
deliberation and caution are necessary, decision demands that the mind acts
quickly. In a word, decision finds us engaged in a life-battle. If the victory

is ours, success and fortune wait upon us; if we are overthrown, want and
misery stare us in the face; it is well to make our movements only with
caution, but when we see a chance we must at once improve it, or it is gone.
Occasions also arise when we must rouse our forces on an instant's warning,
and to make movements for which we have no time to calculate the
chances. Then is seen the triumph of the decisive, ready man. To falter is to
be lost; to move with dispatch is the only safety.

OTH poetry and philosophy are prodigal of eulogy over the mind
which rescues itself, by its own energy, from a captivity to custom,
which breaks the common bonds of empire and cuts a Simplon over
mountains of difficulty for its own purposes, whether of good or of
evil. We can not help admiring such a character. It is a positive relief
to turn from the contemplation of those relying on some one else for a
solution of the difficulties that surround them to those who are strong in
their own self-reliance, who, when confronted with fresh trials and
difficulties, only put on a more determined mien, and more resolutely apply
their own powers to remove the obstacle so unexpectedly put in their way.
There is no surer sign of an unmanly and cowardly spirit than a vague
desire for help, a wish to depend, to lean upon somebody and enjoy the
fruits of the industry of others.
In the assurance of strength there is strength, and they are the weakest,
however strong, who have no faith in themselves or their powers. Men
often conquer difficulties because they think they can. Their confidence in
themselves inspires confidence in others. The man who makes every thing
that conduces to happiness to depend upon himself, and not upon other
men, on whose good or evil actions his own doings are compelled to hinge,
has adopted the very best plan for living happily. This is the man of
moderation, the possessor of manly character and wisdom. By self-reliance
is not meant self-conceit. The two are widely different. Self-reliance is
cognizant of all the ills of earthly existence, and it rests on a rational
consciousness of power to contend with them. It counts the cost of the
conflict with real life, and calmly concludes that it is able to meet the foes
which stand in frowning array on the world's great battle-field. Self-conceit,
on the other hand, is a vainglorious assertion of power. It knows not the real
difficulties it has to contend with, and is too supercilious to inquire into
them. It rejects well-meant offers of counsel or assistance. It feels above

taking advice. The unhappy possessor of such a trait of character is far from
being a self-reliant man.
It has been said God never intended that strong, independent beings
should be reared by clinging to others, like the ivy to the oak, for support.
The difficulties, hardships, and trials of life—the obstacles one encounters
on the road to fortune—are positive blessings. They knit his muscles more
firmly, and teach him self-reliance, just as by wrestling with an athlete who
is superior to us we increase our own strength and learn the secret of his
skill. All difficulties come to us, as Bunyan says of temptation, like the lion
which met Sampson, the first time we encounter them they roar and gnash
their teeth, but once subdued we find a nest of honey in them. Peril is the
very element in which power is developed. Don't rely upon your friends,
nor rely upon the name of your ancestor. Thousands have spent the prime of
life in the vain hope of help from those whom they called friends, and many
thousands have starved because they had a rich father.
Rely upon the good name which is made by your own exertions, and
know that better than the best friend you can have is unconquerable
determination of spirit, united with decision of character. Seek such
attainments as will enable you to confide in yourself, to rise equal to your
emergencies. Strive to acquire an inward principle of self-support. Help
yourself and heaven will help you, should be the motto of every man who
would make himself useful in the world or carve his way to riches and
honor. It is an old saying, "He who has lost confidence can lose nothing
more." The man who dares not follow his own independent judgment, but
runs perpetually to others for advice, becomes at last a moral weakling and
an intellectual dwarf. Such a man has not self within him, and believes in
no self, but goes as a suppliant to others and entreats of them, one after
another, to lend him theirs. He is, in fact, a mere element of a human being,
and is borne about the world an insignificant cipher, unless he desperately
fastens to other floating and supplementary elements, with which he may
form a species of incorporation resembling a man. Any young man who will
thus part with freedom and the self-respect that grows out of self-reliance
and self-support is unmanly, neither deserving of assistance nor capable of
making good use of it.

Hardship is the native soil of manhood and self-reliance. Opposition is
what we want and must have to be good for any thing. Men seem neither to
understand their riches nor their own strength. Of the former they believe
greater things than they should; of the latter, much less. Self-reliance and
self-denial will teach a man to drink of his own cistern, and eat bread from
his own kitchen, and learn to labor truly to get his living, and carefully to
expend the good things committed to his care. Every youth should be made
to feel that if he would get through the world usefully and happily he must
rely mainly upon himself and his own independent energies. Young men
should never hear any language but this: "You have your own way to make,
and it depends upon your exertion whether you starve or not. Outside help
is your greatest curse. It handicaps efforts, stifles aspirations, shuts the door
upon emulation, turns the key upon energy." The custom of making
provisions to assist worthy young men in obtaining an education is often a
positive evil to the recipient. The germ of self-reliant energy, which else
would have done so much for his material good, is stifled in its growth by
the mistaken kindness of benevolent beings. And no mental acquisitions can
compensate any young man for loss of self-reliance.
It is not the men who have been reared in affluence who have left the
most enduring traces on the world. It is not in the sheltered garden or the
hothouse, but on the rugged Alpine cliffs, where the storms beat most
violently, that the toughest plants are reared. Men who are trained to self-
reliance are ready to go out and contend in the sternest conflicts of life,
while those who have always leaned for support on others around them are
never prepared to breast the storms of adversity that arise. Self-reliance is
more than a passive trust in one's own powers. It shows itself in an active
manner; it demonstrates itself in works. It is not ashamed of its pretentions,
but invites inspection and asks recognition. Because there is danger of
invoicing yourself above your real value, it does not follow that you should
always underrate your worth. Because to be conspicuous, honored, and
known you should not retire upon the center of your own conscious
resources, you need not necessarily be always at the circumference. An
excess of modesty is well-nigh as bad as an excess of pride, for it is, in fact,
an excess of pride in another form, though it is questionable if this be not

more hurtful to the individual and less beneficial to society than gross and
unblushing vanity.
It is true, we all patronize humility in the abstract, and, when enshrined in
another, we admire it. It is a pleasure to meet a man who does not pique our
vanity, or thrust himself between us and the object of our pretensions. There
is no one who, if questioned, would not be found in the depths of his heart
secretly to prefer the modest man, proportionally despising the swaggerer
"who goes unbidden to the head of the feast." But while such is our
deliberate verdict when taken to task in the matter, it is not the one we
practically give. The man who entertains a good, stout opinion of himself
always contrives somehow to cheat us out of a corresponding one, and we
are too apt to acquiesce in his assumption, even though they may strike us
unpleasantly. Nor need this excite our surprise. The great mass of men have
no time to examine the merits of others. They are busy about their own
affairs, which claim all their attention. They can not go about hunting
modest worth in every nook and corner. Those who would secure their good
opinion must come forward with their claims, and at least show their own
confidence by backing them with vigorous assertions.
If, therefore, a man of fair talents arrays his pretensions before us, if he
duns and pesters us for an admission of his merits, obtruding them upon us,
we are forced at last to notice them, and, unless he fairly disgusts us by the
extravagance of his claims, shocking all sense of decency, we are inclined
to admit them, even in preference to superior merits, which their possessor
by his own actions seem to underrate. It is too often cant by which indolent
and irresolute men seek to lay their want of success at the door of the
public. Well-matured and well-disciplined talent is always sure of a market,
provided it exerts itself; but it must not cower at home and expect to be
sought after. There is a good deal of cant, too, about the successes of
forward and impudent men, while men of retiring worth are overlooked.
But it usually happens that those forward men have that valuable quality of
promptness and activity, without which worth is a mere inoperative quality.
The conclusion of the whole matter is, that in this busy, bustling period of
the world's history self-confidence is almost an essential trait of character in
one who means to get along well and win his way to success and fortune.

This may exist entirely independent of self-conceit, the two being by no
means necessarily concomitant. He must remember that he can not expect
to have people repose confidence in his ability unless he displays
confidence in them himself. If poverty be his lot, and troubles and
discouragements of all kinds press upon him, let him take heart and push
resolutely ahead, cultivating a strong, self-reliant disposition. By so doing
he will rise superior to misfortune. He will learn to rely on his own
resources, to look within himself for the means wherewith to combat the ills
that press upon him. By such a course of action he takes the road which
most surely leads to success.

T is a common saying that the man of practical ability far surpasses
the theorist. Just what is meant by practical ability is, perhaps, hard
to explain. It is more easy to tell what it is not than what it is. It
recognizes the fact that life is action; that mere thoughts and
schemes will avail nothing unless subsequently wrought out in
action. It is an indescribable quality which results from a union of
worldly knowledge with shrewdness and tact. He that sets out on the
journey of life with a profound knowledge of books, but with a shallow
knowledge of men, with much of the sense of others, but with little of his
own, will find himself completely at a loss on occasions of common and
constant recurrence.
Speculative ability is one thing, and practical ability is another; and the
man who in his study or with his pen in hand shows himself capable of
forming large views of life and policy, may in the outer world be found
altogether unfitted for carrying them into practical effect. Speculative
ability depends on vigorous thinking, practical ability in vigorous acting,
and the two qualities are usually found combined in very unequal
proportions. The speculative man is prone to indecision; he sees all sides of
a question, and his action becomes suspended in nicely weighing the
arguments for and against, which are often found nearly to balance each
other; whereas the practical man overleaps logical preliminaries and arrives
at certain definite convictions, and proceeds forthwith to carry his policy
into action. The mere theorist rarely displays practical ability; and,
conversely, the practical man rarely displays a high degree of speculative
wisdom. If you try to carve a stone with a razor, the razor will lose its edge,
and the stone remain uncut. A high education, unless it is practical as well
as classical, often unfits a man for contest with his fellow-man. Intellectual
culture, if carried beyond a certain point, is too often purchased at the
expense of moral vigor. It gives edge and splendor to a man, but draws out
all his temper.

In all affairs of life, but more especially in those great enterprises which
require the co-operation of others, a knowledge of men is indispensable.
This knowledge implies not only quickness of penetration and sagacity, but
many other superior elements of character; for it is important to perceive
not merely in whom we can confide, but to maintain that influence over
them which secures their good faith and defeats the unworthy purpose of a
wavering and dishonest mind. The world always laughs at those failures
which arise from weakness of judgment and defects of penetration.
Practical wisdom is only to be learned in the school of experience. Precepts
and instruction are useful so far as they go; but without the discipline of real
life they remain of the nature of theories only. The hard facts of existence
give that touch of truth to character which can never be imparted by reading
or tuition, but only by contact with the broad instincts of common men and
women.
Intellectual training is to be prized, but practical knowledge is necessary
to make it available. Experience gained from books, however valuable, is of
the nature of learning; experience gained from outward life is wisdom; and
an ounce of the latter is worth a pound of the former. Rich mental
endowments, thorough culture, great genius, brilliant parts have often
existed in company with very glaring deficiencies in what may be called
good judgment; while there is a certain stability of judgment and soundness
of understanding often displayed by those who have not an extensive
education. The old sailor knows nothing of nautical astronomy. Azimuths,
right ascensions, and the solution of spherical triangles have no charm and
little meaning to him. But he can scan the seas and skies and warn of
coming danger with a natural wisdom which all the keen intellect and ready
mathematics of the young lieutenant do not afford. The man who has
traveled much accumulates a store of useful information, and can give hints
of practical wisdom which no deep study of geological lore or of
antiquarian research could afford. The student of life rather than of books
gains an understanding by experience for which no store of erudition can
prove an adequate compensation. The true order of learning should be, first,
what is necessary; second, what is useful; and third, what is ornamental. To
reverse this arrangement is like beginning to build at the top of the edifice.
Practical ability depends in a large measure on the employment of what is

known as common sense, which is the average sensibility and intelligence
of men undisturbed by individual peculiarities. Fine sense and exalted sense
are not half as useful as common sense. There are forty men of wit for one
man of sense, and he that will carry nothing but gold will be every day at a
loss for readier change.
The height of ability consists in a thorough knowledge of the real value
of things and of the genius of the age we live in, and could we know by
what strange circumstances a man's genius becomes prepared for practical
success, we should discover that the most serviceable items in his education
were never entered in the bills his father paid for. That knowledge of the
world which inculcates strict vigilance in regard to our individual interests
and representation, which recommends the mastery of things to be held in
our own hands, or which enables us to live undamaged by the skillful
maneuvers and crafty plots of plausible men on the one hand or
uncontaminated by the depravities of unprincipled ones on the other, is of
daily acquisition and equally accessible to all.
The most learned of men do not always make the best of teachers; the
lawyer who has achieved a classical education is not always the most
successful. The men who have wielded power have not always been
graduates. Brindley and Stephenson did not learn to read and write until
they were twenty years old; yet the one gave England her railroads, and the
other her canals. The great inventor is one who has walked forth upon the
industrial world, not from universities, but from hovels; not as clad in silks
and decked with honors, but as clad in fustian and grimed with soot and oil.
It is not known where he who invented the plow was born, or where he
died; yet he has effected more for the happiness of the world than the whole
race of heroes and conquerors who drenched it in tears and blood, whose
birth, parentage, and education have been handed down to us with a
precision proportionate to the mischief they have done. Mankind owes more
of its real happiness to this humble inventor than to some of the most acute
minds in the realm of literature.
Education, indeed, accomplishes wonders in fitting a man for the work of
success, but we sometimes forget that it is of more consequence to have the
mind well disciplined rather than richly stored,—strong rather than full.

Every day we see men of high culture distanced in the race of life by the
upstart who can not spell. The practical dunce outstrips the theorizing
genius. Life teems with such illustrations. Men have ruled well who could
not define a commonwealth; and they who did not understand the shape of
the earth have commanded a greater portion of it. The want of practical
talent in men of fine intellectual powers has often excited the wonder of the
crowd. They are astonished that one who has grasped, perhaps, the
mightiest themes, and shed a light on the path to be pursued by others,
should be unable to manage his own affairs with dexterity. But this is not
strange. Deep thinking and practical talents require habits of mind almost
entirely dissimilar, and though they may, and often do, exist conjointly, and
while it is the duty of all to strive to cultivate both, yet such is the
constitution of the human mind that it is apt to go to extremes. And he who
accustoms himself to deep prying into nature's secrets, to exploring the
hidden mysteries of the past, is too apt to forget the practical details of
every-day life, to pass them by with disgust, as altogether beneath his
attention. This is an error, and none the less reprehensible on that account
than is the conduct of those who become so engrossed with the practical
affairs of their calling or profession as to forget that they have a higher
nature, and sink the man in the pursuit of their ambitious dreams.
A man who sees limitedly and clearly is both more sure of himself and is
more direct in dealing with circumstances and with men than is a man who
has a large horizon of thought, whose many-sided capacity embraces an
immense extent of objects, just as the somnambulist treads with safety
where the wide-awake man could not hope to follow. Practical men cut the
knots which they can not untie, and, overleaping all preliminaries, come at
once to a conclusion. Men of theoretical knowledge, on the other hand, are
tempted to waste time in comparing and meditating when they should be up
and doing. Practical knowledge will not always of itself raise a man to
eminence, but for want of it many a man has fallen short of distinction.
Without it the best runner, straining for the prize, finds himself suddenly
tripped up and lying on his back in the midst of the race. Without it the
subtlest theologian will live and die in an obscure country village, and the
acutest legal mind fail of adorning the bench. The man who lacks it may be
a great thinker or a great worker. He may be an acute reasoner and an

eloquent speaker, and yet, in spite of all this, fail of success. There is a
hitch, a stand-still, a mysterious want somewhere. Little, impalpable trifles
weave themselves into a web which holds him back. The fact is, he is not
sufficiently in accord with his surroundings. He has never seen the
importance of adjusting his scale of weights and measures to the popular
standard. In a word, he is not a man of the world, in a popular sense.
While it may be very difficult to define this practical ability, which is so
all-important, yet the path to be pursued by him who would advance therein
is visible to all. It requires a shrewd and careful observance of men and
things rather than of books. It requires that the judgment be strengthened by
being called upon in apparently trivial affairs. The memory must be trained
to recall principles rather than statements. All the faculties of the mind must
be trained to act with decision and dispatch. Education must be regarded as
a means and not as an end. By these means, while admitting that practical
talents are, in their true sense, a gift of God, still we can cultivate and bring
them to perfection, and by education and experience convert that which
before lay dormant in the rough pebble into a dazzling diamond.

ROM time immemorial intellectual endowments have been crowned
with bays of honor. Men have worshiped at the shrine of intellect
with an almost Eastern idolatry. Men of more than an average
endowment of intellect have been regarded as superior beings. The
multitude have looked upon them with wonder. With reverent hands the
world at large has crowned intellect with its richest honors. Its pathway has
been strewn with flowers; its brow has worn the loftiest plume; it has held
the mightiest scepter of power, and sat upon the proudest throne. Evidence
mightier than the plaudits of admiring multitudes is every-where found in
the universe proclaiming the worth and power of the human intellect. There
can not be a grander theme to engross the attention of all classes than that
subject which has to do with the training of the intellect. The subject of
education is fraught with a deep interest to all who have a just appreciation
of its merits. It should be of interest to all within the pale of civilization,
inasmuch as the happiness of all classes is connected with the subject of
education.
Education is development. It is not simply instruction, facts, and rules
communicated by the teacher, but it is discipline, a waking up, a
development of latent powers, a growth of the mind. It finds the child's
mind passive; it trains it to think independently; it awakens its powers to
observe, to reflect, to combine. It aims to bring into harmonious action all
the powers of the mind, not, as some suppose, a cultivation of a few to the
neglect of all the rest. Education should have reference to the whole man—
the body, the mind, and the heart. Its object, and, when rightly conducted,
its effect, is to make him a complete creature of his kind. To his frame it
would give vigor, activity, and beauty; to his heart virtue; to his senses
correctness and acuteness. The educated man is not the gladiator, nor the
scholar, nor the upright man alone, but a well balanced combination of the
three. The well-developed tree is not one simply well rooted, nor with giant
branches, nor resplendent with rich foliage, but all of these together. If you

mark the perfect man you must not look for him in the gymnasium, the
university, or the Church exclusively, but you look for the healthful mind in
the healthful body, with a virtuous heart. The being in whom you find this
union is the only one worthy to be called educated.
Education, strictly speaking, covers the whole area of life. It is the word
which means all that God asks of us, all we owe the world or ourselves. It
expresses the sum total of human duty. Nor is it confined to the present
period of life. For aught we know education may be continued in heaven.
Reason may continue to widen its powers and deepen its sanctities there.
The affections may grow in beauty and fervor through innumerable ages.
Mind may expand and intensify through eternity. Education is a work of
progress. It begins in life, but has no end. Death does not terminate it. We
learn the elements of things below; above, we will study their essence. We
progress only by efforts. Whatever expands the affection or enlarges the
sphere of our sympathies, whatever makes us feel our relation to the
universe, to the great and beneficial cause of all, must unquestionably refine
our nature and elevate us in the scale of being.
It requires extensive observation to enable us even partially to appreciate
the wonderful extent to which all the faculties are developed by mental
cultivation. The nervous system grows more vigorous and active, the touch
is more sensitive, and there is greater mobility to the hand. Men are often
like knives with many blades. They know how to open one and only one;
the rest are buried in the handle, and from misuse become useless.
Education is the knowledge of how to use the whole of one's self. He is
educated who knows how to make a tool of every faculty, how to open it,
how to keep it sharp, and how to apply it to all practical purposes.
Education is of three parts,—from nature, from man, and from things. The
development of our faculties and organs is the education of nature; that of
man is the application we learn to make of this very developing; and that of
things is the experience we acquire in regard to different objects by which
we are affected. All that we have not at our birth, and all that we have
acquired in the years of our maturity, shows the need and effect of
education. The power of education is shown in that it hath power to give to
children resources that will endure as long as life endures, habits that time
will ameliorate but not destroy, in that it renders sickness tolerable, solitude

pleasant, age venerable, life more dignified and useful, and death less
terrible.
Education may be right or wrong, good or bad. Reason may grow strong
in error and revel in falsities. The heart may grow in vice, and the passions
expand in misrule. It has been wisely ordained that light should have no
color, water no taste, and air no odor; so knowledge should be equally pure
and without admixture. If it comes to us through the medium of prejudice it
will be discolored; through the channels of custom, it will be adulterated;
through the Gothic walls of the college or of the cloister, it will smell of the
lamp. It is not what a man eats, but what he digests that makes him strong;
not what he gains, but what he saves that makes him rich; so it is not what
he reads or hears, but what he remembers and applies that makes him
learned. He who knows men and how to deal with them, whose mind by
any means whatever has received that discipline which gives to its action
power and facility, has been educated.
We can not be too careful to have our education proceed in the right
direction. It is almost as difficult to make a man unlearn his errors as to
acquire his knowledge. Error is more hopeless than ignorance, for error is
always the more busy. Ignorance is a blank sheet, on which we can write,
but error is a scribbled one, from which we must first erase. Ignorance is
content to stand still without advancing towards wisdom, but error, more
presumptuous, proceeds in the contrary direction. Ignorance has no light to
guide her, but error follows a false one. The consequences are that error,
when she retraces her footsteps, has a long distance to go before she is in as
good condition for the acquiring of truth as ignorance.
A right conception of the value and power of wisdom is a great incentive
in stimulating us to proceed in the work of educating ourselves. It is
knowledge that has converted the world from a desert abode of savage men
to the beautiful homes of civilization. Human knowledge is permitted to
approximate, in some degree and on certain occasions, with that of the
Deity—its pure and primary source. And this assimilation is never more
conspicuous than when from evil it gathers its opposite good. What, at first
sight, appears to be so insurmountable an obstacle to the intercourse of
nations as the ocean? But knowledge has converted it into the best and most

expeditious means by which they may supply their mutual wants and carry
on their intimate communications. What so violent as steam, or so
destructive as fire? What so uncertain as the winds, or so uncontrollable as
the wave? Yet wisdom has rendered these unmanageable things
instrumental and subsidiary to the necessities, the comforts, and even the
elegancies of life. What so hard, so cold, so insensible as marble? Yet the
sculptors can warm it into life and bid it breathe an eternity of love. What so
variable as color, so swift as light, or so empty as shade? Yet the painter's
pencil can give these fleeting fancies both a body and a soul; can confer
upon them an imperishable vigor, a beauty which increases with age, and
which will continue to captivate generations. In short, wisdom can draw
expedients from obstacles, invention from difficulties, remedies from
poisons. In her hands all things become beautiful by adaptation, subservient
by their use, and salutary by their application.
Since, then, intellectual attainments are so precious and wisdom so grand
in its achievements, he who neglects to improve his mental faculties, or
fails to train all his powers of mind and body, is not walking in those paths
that, under God's guidance, conduce most surely to happiness and content.
This can be done by all, since education is within the reach of all, even the
most humble. The youth who believes it is impossible for him to get an
education is deficient in courage and energy. Too many have imbibed the
idea that to obtain a sufficient education to enable a man to appear
advantageously upon the theater of public life his boyhood and youth must
be spent within the walls of some classical seminary of learning, that he
may commence his career under the banner of a collegiate diploma, and
with it win the first round in the ladder of fame. That a refined, classical
education is desirable all will admit; that it is indispensably necessary does
not follow. He who has been incarcerated from his childhood to majority
within the limited circumference of his school and boarding room, though
he may have mastered all the classics, is destitute of that knowledge of men
and things indispensably necessary to enable him to act with vigor and
dispatch either in public or private life.
Classical lore and polite literature are very different from that vast
amount of practical intelligence, fit for every-day use, that one must have to
render his intercourse with society pleasing to himself or agreeable to

others. Let boys and girls be taught first what is necessary to prepare them
for the common duties of life; then all that can be gained from fields of
classic lore or works of polite erudition is of the utmost value. In this
enlightened age ignorance is a voluntary misfortune, for all who will may
drink deeply at the fountain of knowledge. By the proper improvement of
time the mechanic's apprentice may lay in a store of information that will
enable him to take a stand by the side of those persons who have grown up
in the full blaze of a collegiate education.
Learn thoroughly what you learn, be it ever so little, and you may speak
of it with confidence. A few well-defined facts and ideas are worth a whole
library of uncertain knowledge. We are frequently placed in position where
we can learn with scarcely an effort on our part, and yet we hang back
because it takes so long to acquire a mastery of any thing. Let the end
alone! Begin at the beginning, and though, after all, it prove but a mere
smattering, you are informed on one point more, and your life will be
happier for making the effort. By gaining an education you shall have your
reward in the rich stores of knowledge you have thus collected, and which
shall ever be at your command, more valuable than material treasures.
While fleets may sink, storehouses consume, and riches fade, the
intellectual stores you have thus gathered will be permanent and enduring,
as unfailing as the constant flow of Niagara—a bank whose dividends are
perpetual, whose wealth is undiminished, however frequent the drafts upon
it. How wise, then, to secure, as far as possible, a complete and lasting
education.

HE mind has a certain vegetative power which can not be wholly
idle. If it is not laid out and cultivated into a beautiful garden, it will
shoot up in weeds and flowers of a wild growth. From this, then, is
seen the necessity of careful mental cultivation—a training of all the
faculties in the right direction. This should be the first great object in any
system of education, public or private. The value of an education depends
far less upon varied and extensive acquirements than upon the cultivation of
just powers of thought and the general regulation of the faculties of the
understanding. That it is not the amount of knowledge, but the capacity to
apply it, which promises success and usefulness in life, is a truth which can
not be too often inculcated by instructors and recollected by pupils. If
youths are taught how to think, they will soon learn what to think. Exercise
is not more necessary to a healthful state of the body than is the
employment of the various faculties of the mind to mental efficiency. The
practical sciences are as barren of useful products as the speculative where
facts only are the objects of knowledge, and the understanding is not
habituated to a continual process of examination and reflection.
It is the trained and disciplined intellect which rules the world of
literature, science, and art. It is knowledge put in action by trained mental
faculties which is powerful. Knowledge merely gathered together, whether
in books or in brains, is devoid of power, unless quickened into life by the
thoughts and reflections of some practical worker. But when this is supplied
knowledge becomes an engine of power. It is this which forms the
philosopher's stone, the true alchemy, that converts every thing it touches
into gold. It is the scepter that gives us our dominion over nature; the key
that unlocks the storehouse of creation, and opens to us the treasures of the
universe. It is this which forms the difference between savage and civilized
nations, and marks the distinction between men as they appear in society. It
is this which has raised men from the humblest walks of life to positions of
influence and power.

The lack of mental training and discipline explains, in a large measure,
why we so often meet with men who are the possessors of vast stores of
erudition, and yet make a failure of every thing they try. We shall at all
times chance upon men of profound and recondite acquirements, but whose
qualifications, from a lack of practical application on their owners' part, are
as utterly useless to them as though they had them not. A person of this
class may be compared to a fine chronometer which has no hands to its dial;
both are constantly right without correcting any that are wrong, and may be
carried around the world without assisting one individual either in making a
discovery or taking an observation. Every faculty of the mind is worthy of
cultivation; indeed, all must be cultivated, if we would round and perfect
our mental powers as to secure therefrom the greatest good. Memory must
be ready with her stores of useful knowledge, gathered from fields far and
near. She must be trained to classify and arrange them, so as to hold them in
her grasp. Observation must be quick to perceive the apparently trivial
events which are constantly occurring, and diligent to ascertain the cause.
The judgment must pronounce its decision without undue delay; the will
move to execution in accordance with the fiat of an enlightened
understanding.
This work of mental training, apparently so vast, is really so pleasant and
easy that it sweetens every day's life. There is no excuse for the youth who
is content to grow up to mature life and its duties with a mind whose
powers are untrained, and which has not received the advantages of a
practical education. Some may think they are excused by poverty; but lack
of means has not robbed them of a single intellectual power. On the
contrary, it sharpens them all. Has poverty shut them out from nature, from
truth, or from God? Wealth can not convert a dunce into a genius. Gold will
not store a mind with wisdom; more likely it will fill it with folly. It may
decorate the body, but it can not adorn the soul. No business is so urgent but
that time may be spent in mental training. One can not well help thinking
and studying; for the mind is ever active. What is needful is to direct it to
proper objects and in proper channels, and it will cultivate itself. There is
nothing to prevent but the will. Whoever forms a resolute determination to
cultivate his mind will find nothing in his way sufficient to stop him. If he
finds barriers they only strengthen him by overcoming them. Whoever lives

to thirty years of age without cultivating his mind is guilty of a great waste
of time. If during that period he does not form a habit of reading, of
observation, and reflection, he will never form such a habit, but go through
the world none the wiser for all the wonders that are spread around him. A
small portion of that leisure time which by too many is given to dissipation
and idleness, would enable any young man to acquire a very general
knowledge of men and things. One can live a life-time and get no
instruction; but as soon as he begins to look for wisdom it is given him.
Even in the pursuits of practical, every-day life numberless instances are
constantly arising to aid in mental training. There are few persons so
engrossed by the cares and labors of their calling that they can not give
thirty minutes a day to mental training; and even that time, wisely spent,
will tell at the end of a year. The affections, it is well known, sometimes
crowd years into moments; and the intellect has something of the same
power. If you really prize mental cultivation, or are deeply anxious to do
any good thing, you will find time or make time for it sooner or later,
however, engrossed with other employments. A failure to accomplish it can
only demonstrate the feebleness of your will, not that you lacked time for
its execution.
It is impossible to overestimate the importance of reading as a means of
training the mental faculties. It is by this means that you gather food for
thoughts, principles, and actions. If your books are wisely selected and
properly studied, they will enlighten your minds, improve your hearts, and
establish your character. To acquire useful information, to improve the mind
in knowledge and the heart in goodness, to become qualified to perform
with honor and usefulness the duties of life, and prepare for immortality
beyond the grave, are the great objects which ought to be kept in view in
reading.
There are four classes of readers. The first is like the hour-glass, and,
their reading being on the sand, it runs in and runs out, and leaves no
vestige behind. A second is like a sponge, which imbibes every thing, and
returns it in the same state, only a little dirtier. A third is like a jelly-bag,
allowing all that is pure to pass away, retaining only the refuse and the
dregs. The fourth is like the slaves in the diamond-mines of Golconda, who,
casting away all that is worthless, obtain only pure gems.

We should read with discrimination. The world is full of books, no small
portion of which are either worthless or decidedly hurtful in their tendency.
And as no man has time to read every thing, he ought to make a selection of
the ablest and best writers on the subjects which he wishes to investigate,
and dismiss wholly from his attention the entire crowd of unworthy and
useless ones. Always read with your thoughts concentrated, and your mind
entirely engaged on the subject you are pursuing. Any other course tends to
form a habit of desultory, indolent thought, and incapacitate the mind from
confining its attention to close and accurate investigation. One book read
thoroughly and with careful reflection will do more to improve the mind
and enrich the understanding than skimming over the surface of a whole
library. The more one reads in a busy, superficial manner, the worse. It is
like loading the stomach with a great quantity of food, which lies there
undigested. It enfeebles the intellect, and sheds darkness and confusion over
all the operations of the mind. The mind, like the body, is strengthened by
exercise, and the severer the exercise the greater the increase of strength.
One hour of thorough, close application to study does more to invigorate
and improve the mind than a week spent in the ordinary exercise of its
powers. We should read slowly, carefully, and with reflection. We
sometimes rush over pages of valuable matter because at a glance they
seem to be dull, and we hurry along to see how the story, if it be a story, is
to end.
At every action and enterprise ask yourself this question: What shall the
consequences of this be to me? Am I not likely to repent of it? Whatever
thou takest in hand, remember the end, and thou shalt never do amiss. Take
time to deliberate and advise, but lose no time in executing your resolution.
To perceive accurately and to think correctly is the aim of all mental
training. Heart and conscience are more than the mere intellect. Yet we
know not how much the clear, clean-cut thought, the intellectual vision,
sharp and true, may aid even these. Undigested learning is as oppressive as
undigested food; and, as with the dyspeptic patient, the appetite for food
often grows with the inability to digest it, so in the unthinking patient an
overweening desire to know often accompanies the inability to know to any
purpose. To learn merely for the sake of learning is like eating merely for
the taste of the food. To learn in order to become wise makes the mind

active and powerful, like the body of one who is temperate and judicious in
meat and drink.
Thought is to the brain what gastric juice is to the stomach—a solvent to
reduce whatever is received to a condition in which all that is wholesome
and nutritive may be appropriated, and that alone. Learning is healthfully
digested by the mind when it reflects upon what is learned, classifies and
arranges facts and circumstances, considers the relations of one to another,
and places what is taken into the mind at different times in relation to the
same subjects under their appropriate heads, so that the various stores are
not heterogeneously piled up, but laid away in order, and may be examined
with ease when wanted. This is the perfection of mental training and
discipline,—memory well trained, judgment quick to act, and attention
sharp to observe. We invite and urge all to turn their attention to this subject
as something worthy of those endowed with reasoning powers. It is not a
wearying task, but one which repays for its undertaking by making much
more rich in its joys and inspiring in its hopes all the after-life of the man or
woman who went forth bravely to the work which heaven has decreed as
the lot of all who would enjoy the greatest good of life.

AN is a wonderful union of mind and body, and to form a perfect
being a high degree of cultivation is required for each component
part. Those who cultivate the mental to the exclusion of the mere
bodily, or at least carelessly pass by its claims, are no less in error
than those who cultivate the bodily faculties to the exclusion of the mental.
The aim of all attempts at self-cultivation should be the highest and most
appropriate development of the entire being—physical, intellectual, and
moral. It comprehends the health of the body, the expansion of the intellect,
the purification of the heart. It guards the health, because a feeble body acts
powerfully on the mind, and is a clog to its progress. It cherishes the
intellect, because it is the glory of the human being. It trains the moral
nature, because if that is weak and misdirected a blight falls upon the soul
and a curse rests upon the body. As each faculty reacts upon all the others,
true self-culture attends with a due proportion of care to each. It strives to
retain one power whose action is too intense, and to stimulate another
which is torpid, until they act in delightful harmony with each other, and the
result is the healthful progress toward the highest point of attainable good.
Self-culture includes a proper care of the health of the body. To be
careless of your health is to be stunted in intellect and miserable in feelings.
You might as well expect to enjoy life in a dilapidated and ruined
habitation, which affords free admission to the freezing blast and the pitiless
rain, as to be happy in a body ruined by self-indulgence. The body is the
home of the soul. Can its mysterious tenant find rest and unmixed joy
within its chambers if daily exposed to sharp and shivering shocks through
its aching joints or quivering nerves? How many bright intellects have
failed of making any impression upon the world simply because they
neglected the most obvious of hygienic laws! If God has bestowed upon
you the inestimable gift of good health and a good constitution, it is your
duty, as a rational creature, to preserve it. To expect vigorous health and the
enjoyment which it brings, and at the same time live in open defiance of the

laws of health, is to expect what can not take place. Not only is good health
thus of value and one of the most important ends of self-cultivation, but we
would impress on all the fact that the body is just as important a factor as
the mind in the work of success, that it is just as worthy to be cultivated, so
as to grow in strength and beauty, and the development of all those faculties
which go to make a physically perfect man or woman.
It is a sad sight to see a brilliant mind that has dragged down a strong
body, because it has been so imperious in its demands, leaving its
companion to suffer for lack of attention to some of its plainest wants. It
reminds one of a crazy building, tottering under its own weight, yet full of
the most costly machinery, which can be run, if at all, only with the greatest
caution, or the entire fabric will crumble to ruins. The lesson can not be too
soon learned that, while the human body is most wonderfully complex in its
organization, still such is the perfection of all nature's works that all that is
demanded of us is compliance with simple rules, to enable us to enjoy
health. That it is our duty as well as our privilege to so train and cultivate
the body that it will answer readily all demands made upon it by an
enlightened mind, and will perform all its appropriate functions in the great
work of life.
Self-culture also implies suitable efforts to expand and strengthen the
intellect by reading, by reflection, and by writing down your thoughts. The
strength and vigor given to the mind by self-culture is not materially
different from that expressed by the term education in its broad and
comprehensive meaning. Intellect being the crowning glory and chief
attribute of man, there can be no nobler aim to set before one's self than that
of expanding and quickening all of its powers. Rightly lived our every-day
life and actions conduce to this result. Our education is by no means
entirely the product of organized schools. Our hired teachers and printed
books are not all that act on our powers to develop them. Life is one grand
school, and its every circumstance a teacher. Society pours in its influence
upon us like the thousand streams that flood the ocean.
Scholastic men and women speak of book education; there is also a life
education—that great, common arena where men and women do battle with
the forces around them. Our duty is so to guide and control these influences

as to be educated in the right direction. We should recognize the fact that we
are educating all the time, and the great question for us to settle is, "What
manner of education are we receiving?" Some are educated in vice, some in
folly, some in selfishness, some in deception, some in goodness, some in
truth. Every day gives us many lessons in life. Every thought leaves its
impression on the mind. Every feeling weaves a garment for the spirit.
Every passion plows a furrow in the soul. It is our duty as sentient, moral
beings so to guide and direct these thoughts, feelings, and passions that they
shall educate us in the right direction. We are lax in duty to ourselves to let
the world educate us as it will, for we are running a great risk to yield
ourselves up to the circumstances life has thrown about us, to plunge into
the stream of popular custom and allow ourselves to drift with the current.
But aside from the practical education of everyday life we are to
remember, in our efforts after self-culture, that it is also obligatory upon us
to seek the discipline afforded by books and study. In the pursuit of
knowledge follow it wherever it is to be found; like fern, it is the product of
all climates, and, like air, its circulation is not restricted to any particular
class. Any and every legitimate means of acquiring information is to be
pursued, and all the odds and bits of time pressed into use. Set a high price
upon your leisure moments. They are sands of precious gold; properly
expended they will procure for you a stock of great thoughts—thoughts that
will fill, stir, invigorate, and expand the soul. As the magnificent river,
rolling in the pride of its mighty waters, owes its greatness to the hidden
springs of the mountain nook, so does the wide, sweeping influence of
distinguished men date its origin from hours of privacy resolutely employed
in efforts after self-development.
We should esteem those moments best improved which are employed in
developing our own thoughts, rather than in acquiring those of others, since
in this kind of intellectual exercise our powers are best brought into action
and disciplined for use. Knowledge acquired by labor becomes a possession
—a property entirely our own. A greater vividness of impression is secured,
and facts thus acquired become registered in the mind in a way that mere
imparted information fails of securing. A habit of observation and reflection
is well-nigh every thing. He who has spent his whole life in traveling may
live and die a thorough novice in most of the important affairs of life, while,

on the other hand, a man may be confined to a narrow sphere and be
engrossed in the prosaic affairs of every-day life, and yet have very correct
ideas of the manners and customs of other nations. He that studies only men
will get the body of knowledge without the soul; he that studies only books,
the soul without the body. He that to what he sees adds observation, and to
what he reads, reflection, is in the right road to knowledge, provided that in
scrutinizing the hearts of others he neglects not his own. Be not dismayed at
doubts, for remember that doubt is the vestibule through which all must
pass before they can enter into the temple of wisdom; therefore, when we
are in doubt and puzzle out the truth by our own exertions, we have gained
a something which will stay by us and serve us again. But if to avoid the
trouble of a search we avail ourselves of the superior information of a
friend, such knowledge will not remain with us; we have borrowed it and
not bought it.
But man possesses something more than a mere body and intellect; he is
the possessor of moral faculties as well. A true self-culture will be none the
less careful to have the actions of these refined and pure than it is to possess
physical health on the one hand and mental vigor on the other. Indeed, since
your happiness depends upon their healthful condition more than upon the
state of your body and intellect, your first care should be devoted to giving
careful attention to your moral nature. With disordered moral faculties you
will be as a ship without a helm, dashed on bars and rocks at the will of
winds and waves. It is the vice of the age to substitute learning for wisdom,
to educate the head, and to forget that there is a more important education
necessary for the heart. Let the heart be opened and a thousand virtues rush
in. There is dew in one flower and not in another, because one opens its cup
and takes it in, while the other closes itself and the drop runs off. God rains
his goodness and mercy as widespread as the dew, and if we lack them it is
because we know not how to open our hearts to receive them. No man can
tell whether he is rich or poor by turning to his ledger. It is the heart that
makes a man rich. He is rich or poor according to what he is, and not what
he has. Cultivate your moral nature, then, as well as bodily strength and
mental vigor. The heart is the center of vitality in the physical body; so the
moral senses seem to give vitality to all the various faculties of the mind. If
the moral nature becomes stunted in its development the mind is apt to

become chaotic in its action. How often we meet with examples of this
character in the common walks of life! Many lose their balance of mind and
become wrecks from want of heart culture. Is the head of more importance
than the heart? It is true that wealth is the child of the one, but it is equally
true that happiness is the offspring of the other.
Such, then, is an outline of the great problem of self-culture. We can not
escape its claims; from the time reason dawns until death closes the scene
they are pressing upon you. Much of the happiness of life, both here and
hereafter, depends on how you meet its demands. You can, if you but will it,
grow apace in all that is manly or womanly in life; or, by neglecting the
claims of your manifold nature, as utterly fail of so doing as the stunted
shrub fails of being the stately tree with waving branches and luxuriant
foliage.

HE influence of literature upon a country is well-nigh incalculable.
The Druid warriors were incited to deeds of desperate valor by the
songs of their bards; and in modern times victories are achieved by
the writers of books no less important than many won on tented
fields. The literature of a nation molds the thoughts of a whole people,
guides their actions, and impresses its indelible mark upon the lives and
conduct of its citizens. Who can estimate the effect of Voltaire's writings on
the French people? The results for which many philanthropists toiled in
vain were achieved by the works of Dickens. The power of books and
literature is no less marked in the individual than in the mass. To the weak,
and to the strong in their times of weakness, books are inspiring friends and
teachers. Against the feebleness of individual efforts they proclaim the
victory of faith and patience, and against the uncertainties and
discouragement of one day's work they set forth the richer and more
complete life that results from perseverance in right actions. It sets the mind
more and more in harmony with the noblest aims, and holds before it a
crown of honor and power.
There is a certain monotony in daily life, and there are those whose aims
are high, but who lack the inherent strength to stand true to them amid
adverse influences, and so gradually drop out of the ever-thinning ranks of
those who would wrest from Fame her richest trophies. They are conquered
by routine, and disheartened by the discipline and labor that guard the
prizes of life. Even to the resolute, persevering ones there are hours of
weakness and weariness. To all such literature comes with its helping hand
in hours of discouragement. It revives hope in the minds of those almost
discouraged, and brings the comforts of philosophy to the cast-down. Books
are a guide to youth and an inspiration for age. They support us under
solitude, and keep us from becoming a burden to ourselves. They lessen our
cares, compose our passions, and lay our disappointments asleep. When

weary of the living, we may, by their aid, repair to the dead, who have
nothing of peevishness, pride, or design in their conversation.
In books we live continually in the decisive moments of history, and in
the deepest experience of individual lives. The flowers which we cull
painfully and at long intervals in our personal history blossom in profusion
here, and the air is full of fragrance which touches our own life only in its
happier times. In our libraries we meet great minds on an equality, and feel
at ease with them. We come to know them better, perhaps, than those who
bear their names and sit at their tables. The reserve that makes so many fine
natures difficult of access is here entirely lost. No carelessness of manner,
no poverty of speech or unfortunate personal peculiarity, mars the
intercourse of author and reader. It is a relation in which the exchange of
thought is undisturbed by outward conditions. We lose our narrow selves in
the broader life that is open to us. We forget the hindrance and limitation of
our own work in the full comprehension of that stronger life that can not be
bound nor confined, but grows in all soils, and climbs heavenward under
every sky.
Literature is the soul of action, the only sensible articulate voice of the
accomplished facts of the past. The men of antiquity are dead; their cities
are ruins; their temples are dust; their fleets and armies have disappeared;
yet all these exist in magic preservation in the literature which they have
bequeathed to us, and their manners and their deeds are as familiar to us as
the events of yesterday. Papers and books are really the teachers, guides,
and lawgivers of the world to-day. Their influence is very much like that of
a companion to whom we are attached. Hence it is of more consequence to
know what class to avoid than what to choose; for good books are as scarce
as good companions, and in both instances all we can learn from bad ones is
that so much time has been worse than thrown away.
We should choose our books as we do our friends, for their sterling and
intrinsic merit, not for the accidental circumstances in their favor. For, with
books as with men, it seldom happens that their performances are fully
equal to their pretensions, nor their capital to their credit. As we should
always seek the companionship of the best class of people, so we should
always seek the companionship of the best books. He that will have no

books but such as are scarce evinces about as correct a taste in literature as
he would do in friendship who should have no friends but those whom the
rest of the world have discarded. Some books we should make our constant
companions and associates; others we should receive only as occasional
acquaintances and visitors. Some we should take with us wherever we go;
others we should leave behind us forever. Some, of gilded outsides, are full
of depravity, and we should shun them as we would the actual vices which
they represent. Some books we should keep in our hands and lay on our
hearts, while the best we could dispose of others would be to throw them in
the fire.
You may judge a man more truly by the books and papers that he reads
than by the company which he keeps, for his associates are in a measure
imposed upon him; but his reading is the result of choice; and the man who
chooses a certain class of books and papers unconsciously becomes more
colored in their views, more rooted in their opinions, and the mind becomes
trained to their way of thinking. All the life and feeling of a young girl
fascinated by some glowing love romance is colored and shaped by the
page she reads. If it is false and weak and foolish, she is false and weak and
foolish too; but if it is true and tender and inspiring, then something of its
truth and tenderness and inspiration will grow into her soul, and will
become a part of her very self. The boy who reads of deeds of manliness, of
bravery and noble doing, feels the spirit of emulation grow within him, and
the seed is planted which will bring forth fruit of heroic endeavor and
exalted life.
In literature our tastes will be discovered by what we give, our judgment
by that which we withhold. That writer does the most who gives his readers
the most knowledge and takes from them the least time, for that period of
existence is alone deserving the name of life which is rationally employed.
Those books are most profitable to read which make the readers think most.
Diminutive books, like diminutive men and women, may be of greater
value than they seem to be; but great tomes are greatly dreaded. It is a
saying that "books file away the mind." Much reading is certainly not
profitable without much meditation, and many vigorous and profound
thinkers have read comparatively little, though it must be admitted most
great minds have been very devout and ardent readers. There is scarcely any

thing that is not to be found in books, but it does not follow that we shall
find every thing in them unless we handle them with great care.
A beautiful literature springs from the depths and fullness of intellectual
and moral life, from an energy of thought and feeling. It deals with
questions of life in a plain, practical manner. It holds up the past for your
inspection. It brings to light the secrets of nature. It enables us to discover
the infinity of things, the immensity of nature, the wonders of the heavens,
the earth, and the seas. Works of fiction are the ornamental parts of
literature and learning. They are agreeable embellishments of the edifice,
but poor foundations for it to rest upon. The literature of the day is largely
composed of newspapers and periodicals. No one can too highly appreciate
the magic power of the press or too highly depreciate its abuse. Newspapers
have become the great highway of that intelligence which exerts a
controlling power over a nation, catering the every-day food of the mind.
Show us an intelligent family of boys and girls, and we will show you a
family where newspapers and periodicals are plenty. Nobody who has been
without these private tutors can know their educating power for good or for
evil. Think of the innumerable topics of discussion which they suggest at
the table; the important public measures with which the children thus early
become acquainted; of the great philanthropic questions to which,
unconsciously perhaps, their attention is called, and the general spirit of
intelligence which is evoked by these quiet visitors. This vast world moves
along lines of thought and sentiment and principles, and the press gives to
these wings to fly and tongues to speak.

"My mind to me a kingdom is;
Such perfect joy therein I find
As far exceeds all earthly bliss.
Though much I want that most would have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave."
—Sir Edmund Dyer.

HE triumph of cultivated intellect over the forces of nature is indeed
a wonderful subject for contemplation. The most deadly poisons are
made to conduce to human health and welfare. Electricity does the
writing and talking, and annihilates space. Steam and iron are made
to do the work of nerves and muscles, and lay the four corners of the world
under contribution for our benefit. In view of these and many similar facts,
how full of meaning becomes the old saying, "Knowledge is power!"
Reason, like the magnetic influence imparted to iron, may be said to give to
matter properties and powers which it did not possess before; but, without
extending its bulk, augmenting its weight, or altering its organization, it is
visible only by its effects and perceptible only by its operations.
Unlike those of the warriors, the triumphs of intellect derive all their
luster, not from the evil they have produced, but from the good. Her
successes and her conquests are the common property of the world, and
succeeding ages will be the watchful guardians of the rich legacies she
bequeathes. The trophies and titles of the conqueror are on the quick march
to oblivion, and amid that desolation where they were planted will decay.
As the mind must govern the hand, so in every society the man of
intelligence must direct and govern the man of ignorance. There is no
exception to this law. It is the natural sequence of the dominion of mind
over matter—a dominion so strong that for a time it can make flesh and
nerves impregnable, and string the sinews like steel, so that the weak
become strong. Some men of a secluded and studious life have sent forth
from their closet or cloister rays of intellectual light that have agitated

courts and revolutionized kingdoms, as the moon, that far removed from the
ocean, and shining upon it with a serene and sober light, is the chief cause
of all those ebbings and flowings which incessantly disturb that world of
waters.
The triumph of mind is shown in various ways. It enables us to surmount
difficulties with facility. Like imprisoned steam, the more it is pressed, the
more it rises to resist the pressure. The more we are obliged to do, the more
we are able to accomplish. Perhaps in no other respect is the power of mind
more signally shown than when it opens to our view avenues of pleasure
before unthought of. Happiness is the great aim of life. In one form or
another we are all striving for it. There are no pleasures so pure as mental
pleasures. We never tire of them. A lofty mind always thinks loftily. It easily
creates vivid, agreeable, and natural fancies, places them in their best light,
clothes them with all appropriate adornments, studies others' tastes, and
clears away from its own thoughts all that is useless and disagreeable.
Mental force or power is not the inheritance of birth, nor the result of a few
years' spasmodic study; it is only acquired as the result of long and patient
exertion. There is no age at which it can not be increased. There is
absolutely no branch of literature which, when properly digested and
stowed away in the mind, will not show its effect in after life by increased
vigor in the whole mind. Those intellectually strong men and women who
have left their influence on the world's history are almost without exception
found to be those who have possessed broad and deep acquirements; who
have permitted no opportunity for obtaining information to pass
unimproved; who have been content for years to store away knowledge,
confident that in the fullness of time they would reap the reward.
If any one would be the possessor of mental power he must be willing to
do his duty in obtaining it. There is a tendency to make the acquisition of
knowledge, at the present day, as easy as possible. The end proposed is
good, but the means employed are of doubtful utility. Instead of toiling
painfully on foot up the rugged steeps of learning the student of to-day flies
along a railway track, finding every cliff cut through and every valley
bridged. In this world nothing of value is to be obtained without labor. So
there are some who will question the value of that education which is not
born of patient perseverance and hard work. As in the exercises of the

gymnasium the value consists in the exertions required to perform them, so
that knowledge and mental power acquired by arduous exertion is of the
most lasting and real value. Let patient toilers find a lesson of
encouragement in this. What you thus painfully acquire will prove of lasting
benefit to you.
Mental power is seen in its best form only when all of the mental
faculties have been properly drilled and disciplined. The mind can not grow
to its full stature, nor be rounded into just proportions, nor acquire that
blended litheness, toughness, and elasticity which it needs, if fed on one
aliment. There is no profession or calling which, if too exclusively
followed, will not warp and contract the mind. Just as if, in the body, a
person resolves to be a rower, and only a rower, the chances are that he will
have, indeed, strong arms, but weak legs, and eyes blinded by the glare of
water. Or, if he desires to become an athlete, he may be all muscles, with
few brains. So, in the mind, if he exercises but one set of faculties and
neglects the rest, he may become a subtle theologian or a sharp lawyer, a
keen man of business, or a practical mechanic, and though the possessor of
power it is not power in its highest and best form.
But for those who are anxious to obtain mental power, and for that
purpose devote the years of a life-time to patient study and reflection, the
rewards it offers are full compensation for all the hours of weary, self-
denying labor. Not only does it afford the best assurance of success in life's
battles and point out to its possessor means of happiness denied to others,
but it is so peculiarly the highest form of power to which men can aspire
that it commands the homage of all, and reposes as a jewel in the crown of
the true man or woman.

HE chameleon changes its color to agree with that of surrounding
objects. We all of us by nature possess this quality to such a degree
that our character, habits, and principles take their form and color
from those of our intimate associates. Association with persons
wiser, better, and more experienced than ourselves is always more or less
inspiring and invigorating. They enhance our knowledge of life. We correct
our estimate by theirs, and become partners in their wisdom. We enlarge our
field of observation through their eyes, profit by their experience, and learn
not only by what they have enjoyed, but—which is still more instructive—
from what they have suffered. If they are stronger than ourselves, we
become participators in their strength. Hence companionship with the wise
and energetic never fails to have a most valuable influence on the formation
of character—increasing our resources, strengthening our resolves,
elevating our aims, and enabling us to exercise greater dexterity and ability
in our own affairs, as well as more effective helpfulness in those of others.
Young men are in general but little aware how much their reputation is
affected in the view of the public by the company they keep. The character
of their associates is soon regarded as their own. If they seek the society of
the worthy and the respectable, it elevates them in the public estimation, as
it is an evidence that they respect themselves, and are desirous to secure the
respect of others. On the contrary, intimacy with persons of bad character
always sinks a young man in the eyes of the public. While he, in intercourse
with such persons, thinks but little of the consequences, others are making
their remarks. They learn what his taste is, what sort of company he prefers,
and predict, on no doubtful ground, what will be the result to his own
principles and character. It is they only who are elevated in mind, character,
and position, who can lift us up; while the ignoble, degraded, and debased
only drag us down. We may be deprived of the advantages of better and
superior associations at some time or another, but, unless we seek for them,
we shall not profit by them, nor be acknowledged to be worthy of them.

No man of position can allow himself to associate, without prejudice,
with the profane, the Sabbath-breaking, the drunken, and the licentious; for
he lowers himself, without elevating them. The sweep is not made the less
black by rubbing against the well-dressed and the clean, while they are
inevitably defiled. Keep company with persons rather above than below
yourself; for gold in the same pocket with silver loseth both of its weight
and color. Nothing elevates us so much as the presence of a spirit similar,
yet superior, to our own. What is companionship where nothing that
improves the intellect is communicated, and where the larger heart contracts
itself to the mold and dimensions of the smaller? In all society it is
advisable to associate, if possible, with the highest; not that the highest are
always the best, but because, if disgusted there, you can at any time
descend; but if we begin at the lowest, to ascend is impossible. It should be
the aim of the young man to seek the society of the wise, the intelligent, and
the good. It is always safe to be found in the society of those who, with a
good heart, combine intelligence and an ability to impart information. If
you wish to be respected, if you desire happiness and not misery, associate
only with the intelligent and good. Once habituate yourself to a virtuous
course, once secure a love of good society, and no punishment would be
greater than, by accident, to be obliged to associate, even for a short time,
with the low and vulgar.
He that sinks into familiarity with persons much below his own level will
be constantly weighed down by his base connections, and, though he may
easily sink lower, he will find it hard to rise again. Better be alone than in
bad company. "Evil communications corrupt good manners." Ill qualities
are catching as well as diseases, and the mind is at least as much, if not a
great deal more, liable to infections than the body. Go with mean people
and you think life is mean. Society is the atmosphere of souls, and we
necessarily imbibe something which is either infectious or salubrious. The
society of virtuous persons is enjoyed beyond their company, and vice
carries a sting even into solitude. The society you keep is both the indicator
and former of your character. In company, when the pores of the mind are
all opened, there requires more guard than usual, because the mind is then
passive. In vicious company you will feel your reverence for the dictates of
conscience wear off. The name at which angels bow and devils tremble you

will hear contemned and abused. The Bible will supply materials for
unmeaning jests or impious buffoonery. The consequences will be a
practical deviation into vice—the principle will become sapped and the
fences of conscience broken down.
It is not alone the low and dissipated, the vulgar and profane, from whose
example and society you are in danger. These persons of reputation will
despise and shun. But there are persons of apparently decent morals, of
polished manners and interesting talents, but who, at the same time, are
unprincipled and wicked, who make light of sacred things, scoff at religion,
and deride the suggestions and scruples of a tender conscience as
superstition,—these are the persons whose society and influence are most to
be feared. Their breath is pollution; their embrace, death. Unhappily there
are many of this description. They mark out their unwary victims: they
gradually draw them into their toils; they strike the deadly fang, infuse the
poison, and exult to see youthful virtue and parental hope wither and expire
under their ruffian example. Many a young man has thus been led on by his
elders in iniquity till he has been initiated into all the mysteries of
debauchery and crime, and ended his days a poor, outcast wretch.
Live with the culpable and you will be apt to die with the criminal. Bad
company is like a nail driven into a post, which, after the first or second
blow, may be drawn out with little difficulty, but, being driven in to the
head, it can only be withdrawn by the destruction of the wood. Be you ever
so pure-minded yourself you can not associate with bad companions
without falling into bad odor. Evil company is like tobacco smoke—you
can not be long in its presence without carrying away a taint of it. "Let no
man deceive himself," says Petrarch, "by thinking that the contagions of the
soul are less than those of the body. They are yet greater; they sink deeper
and come on more unsuspectedly." From impure air we take diseases; from
bad company, vice and imperfections. Avoid, as far as you can, the
company of all vicious persons whatsoever, for no vice is alone, and all are
infectious.
Good company not only improves our manners, but also our minds, and
intelligent associates will become a source of enjoyment as well as of
edification. Good company is that which is composed of intelligent and

well-bred persons, whose language is chaste and good, whose sentiments
are pure and edifying, whose deportment is such as pure and well-regulated
education and correct morals dictate, and whose conduct is directed and
restrained by the pure precepts of religion. When we have the advantages of
such company it should then be the object of our zeal to imitate their real
excellencies, copy their politeness, their carriage, their address, and the
easy, well-bred turn of their conversation; but we should remember that, let
them shine ever so bright, their vices are so many blemishes upon their
character which we should no more think of endeavoring to imitate than we
should to make artificial warts upon our faces because some distinguished
person happened to have one there by nature.
Water will seek its level. So do the various elements of society. Tell us
whom you prefer as companions and we can tell who you are like. Do you
love the society of the vulgar? Then you are already debased in your
sentiments. Do you seek to be with the profane? In your heart you are like
them. Are jesters and buffoons your choice companions? He who loves to
laugh at folly is himself a fool. Do you love and seek the society of the wise
and good? Is this your habit? Had you rather take the lowest seat among
these than the highest seat with others? Then you have already learned to be
good. You may not make very rapid progress, but even a good beginning is
not to be despised. Hold on your way, and seek to be the companion of
those that fear God. So shall you be wise for yourself and wise for eternity.

Engraved & Printed by Illman Brothers.

F RI ENDS HIP.

"There are a thousand nameless ties,
Which only such as feel them know,
Of kindred thoughts, deep sympathies,
And untold fancy spells, which throw
O'er ardent minds and faithful hearts
A chain whose charmed links so blend
That the bright circlet but imparts
Its force in these fond words—'My Friend!'"

RIENDSHIP is the sweetest and most satisfactory connection in life.
It has notable effect upon all states and conditions. It relieves our
cares, raises our hopes, and abates our fears. A friend who relates his
successes talks himself into a new pleasure, and by opening his
misfortunes leaves a part of them behind him. Friendship improves
happiness and abates misery, by doubling our joys and dividing our griefs.
Charity is friendship in common, and friendship is charity inclosed. It is a
sweet attraction of the heart towards the merit we esteem or the perfection
we admire, and produces a mutual inclination between two or more persons
to promote each others' interests, knowledge, virtue, and happiness.
The language of friendship is as varied as the wants and weaknesses of
humanity. To the timid and cautious it speaks words of encouragement. To
the weak it is ready to extend a helping hand. To the bold and venturesome
it whispers words of caution. It is ready to sympathize with the sorrowing
one, and to rejoice with those of good cheer. Friendship is not confined to
any particular class of society or any particular geographical locality. No
surveyed chart, no natural boundary line, no rugged mountain or steep
declining vale puts a limit to its growth. Wherever it is watered with the
dews of kindness and affection, there you may be sure to find it. Allied in
closest companionship with its twin sister, Charity, it enters the abode of
sorrow and wretchedness, and causes happiness and peace. Its influence
dispels every poisoned thought of envy, and spreads abroad in the mind a

contentment which all the powers of the mind could not otherwise bestow.
True friendship will bloom only in the soil of a noble and self-sacrificing
heart. There it enjoys perpetual Summer, diffusing a sweet atmosphere of
love, peace, and joy to all around.
No man can go very far with strength and courage, if he goes alone
through the weary struggles of life. We are made to be happier and better by
each other's notice and appreciation, and the hearts that are debarred from
those influences invariably contract and harden. Here and there we find
persons who, from pride or singularity of disposition, affect to be altogether
independent of the notice or regard of their fellow-beings; but never yet was
there constituted a human heart that did not at some time, in some tender
and yearning hour, long for the sympathy of other hearts. Instead of striving
to conceal this feeling, it should be regarded as one possessing true nobility.
True friendship can only be molded by the experience of time. The
attractive face, the winning tongue, or the strong need of some passer-by, is
not the permanent test of the union of hearts. We want a more substantial
proof than any of these. A thousand transitory friends meet us along the
crowded thoroughfares of life; but when we come to try their durability in
the sieve of experience, alas, how many fall through! There have been times
in the life of every man when he has been willing to stake reputation, credit,
all, on the true friendship of some companion; but he turns to find his idol
clay, the gold but dross. Few persons are so fortunate as to secure in the
course of life the happiness and advantages of one efficient and devoted
friend. It is all that many aim at, seek, and ask to have, and is worth a whole
caravan of those lukewarm and treacherous souls who, indeed, profess to be
attached to us, but whose affection is so uncertain and unstable that we fear
to put it to the test of trial lest we lose it forever.
Concerning the one you call your friend, tell us, will he weep with you in
your hours of distress? Will he faithfully reprove you to your face for
actions for which others are ridiculing and censuring you behind your back?
Will he dare to stand forth in your defense when detraction is secretly
aiming its weapon at your reputation? Will he acknowledge you with the
same cordiality and behave to you with the same friendly attention in the
company of your superiors in rank and fortune as when the claims of pride
do not interfere with those of friendship? If misfortune and loss should

oblige you to retire into a walk of life in which you can not appear with the
same liberality as formerly, will he still think himself happy in your society,
and instead of withdrawing himself from an unprofitable connection, take
pleasure in professing himself your friend, and cheerfully assist you to
support the burden of your afflictions? When sickness shall call you to
retire from the busy world, will he follow you to your gloomy retreat, listen
with attention to your tale of suffering, and administer the balm of
consolation to your fainting spirit? And, lastly, when death shall burst
asunder every earthly tie, will he shed a tear upon your grave, and lodge the
dear remembrance of your mutual friendship in his heart? If so, then
grapple him to your heart with hooks of steel; and you shall know the
privilege of having one true friend.
Friendship is a vase which, when it is flawed by violence or accident,
may as well be broken at once; it never can be trusted after. The more
graceful and ornamental it was, the more clearly do we discern the
hopelessness of restoring it to its former state. Coarse stones, if they are
fractured, may be cemented again; precious ones never. It is a great thing to
cover the blemishes and to excuse the faults of a friend; to draw a curtain
before his stains; to bury his weakness in silence, but to proclaim his virtues
upon the housetop. Prosperity is no just scale; adversity is the only true
balance to weigh friends in. True friendship must withstand the shocks of
adversity before it is entitled to the name, since friendships which are born
in adversity are more firm and lasting than those formed in happiness, as
iron is more strongly united the fiercer the flames. One has never the least
difficulty in finding a devoted friend except when he needs one. Real
friends are wont to visit us in prosperity only when invited, but in adversity
they come of their own accord. A friend is not known in prosperity, but can
not be hidden in adversity. If we lack the sagacity to discriminate wisely
between our acquaintances and our friends, misfortune will readily do it for
us. Prosperity gains friends, and adversity tries them. False friends are like
our shadows—keeping close to us while we walk in the sunshine, but
leaving us the instant we cross into the shade. False friendship, like the ivy,
decays and ruins the walls it embraces; but true friendship gives new life
and animation to the object it supports.

The hardest trials of those who fall from affluence to poverty and
obscurity is the discovery that the attachment of so many in whom they
confided was a pretense, a mask to gain their own ends, or was a miserable
shallowness. Sometimes, doubtless, it is with regret that these frivolous
followers of the world desert those upon whom they have fawned; but they
soon forget them. Flies leave the kitchen when the dishes are empty. The
parasites that cluster about the favorites of fortune to gather his gifts and
climb by his aid, linger with the sunshine, but scatter at the approach of a
storm, as the leaves cling to a tree in Summer weather, but drop off at the
breath of Winter. Like ravens settled down for a banquet and suddenly
scared away by a noise, how quickly at the first sound of calamity the
superficial friends are up and away. Cling to your friends after having
chosen them with proper caution. If they reprove you, thank them; if they
grieve you, forgive them; if circumstances have torn them from you,
circumstances may change and make them yours again. Be very slow to
give up an old and tried friend. A true friend is such a rare thing to have that
you are blessed beyond the majority of men if you possess but one such.
The first law of friendship is sincerity, and he who violates this law will
soon find himself destitute of that which he sought.
The death of a friendship is always a tragical affair. Sometimes it cools
from day to day, warm confidence gradually giving place to cold civility,
and these in turn swiftly becoming icy husks of neglect and repugnance.
Sometimes its remembrances touch us with a pang, or we stand at its grave
sobbing, wounded with a grief whose balsam never grew. The hardest
draught in the cup of life is wrung from betrayed affection, when the
guiding light of friendship is quenched in deception, and the gloom that
surrounds our path grows palpable. Let one find cold repulse or mocking
treachery where he expected the greeting of friendship, and it is not strange
that he feels crushed with the discovery.
Old friends! What a multitude of deep and varied emotions are called up
from the soul by the utterance of these two words! What thronging
memories of other days crowd the brain when they are spoken! Oh, there is
magic in their sound, and the spell it evokes is both sad and pleasing. When
reverie brings before us in quick succession the scenes of by-gone years,
how do the features of olden friends, dim and shadowy as the grave in

which many of them are laid, flit before us! How they carry us to other
scenes and other places! The thoughts which fill the mind when thus
musing on the past are always of a chastened kind. In the scenes of the past
we behold a type of the future. The fate of our friends shadows forth our
own, and we are indeed dull if we fail to arise from fancied communication
with old friends wiser and better men and women.

HERE are many who find themselves in the toils of an evil custom
who would most willingly give money and time to be free from its
control. Montaigne says, "Custom is a violent and treacherous
school-mistress. She, by little and little, slyly and unperceivedly
slips in the foot of her authority; but having by this gentle and humble
beginning, with the benefit of time, fixed and established it, she then
unmasks a furious and tyrannic countenance, against which we have no
more the courage or the power to lift up our eyes." Custom is the law of one
class of people and fashion of another; but the two parties often clash, for
precedence is the legislator of the first and novelty of the second. Custom,
therefore, looks to things that are past, and fashion to things that are
present; but both are somewhat purblind as to things that are to come. Of
the two, fashion imposes the heaviest burdens, for she cheats her votaries of
their time, their fortune, and their comforts, and she repays them only with
the celebrity of being ridiculed and despised—a very paradoxical mode of
payment, yet always most thankfully received.
It is surprising to what an extent our likes and dislikes are creatures of
custom. Our modes of belief, thoughts, and opinions are molded and shaped
by what has been the prevailing mode of thinking heretofore. Though we
are, indeed, not so given to the worship of past institutions as some people,
yet we all acknowledge the prevailing power of custom, of personal habits,
and of fashions. We dare not stand alone in any matter of concern, but wish
to be in company of those similarly minded. The law of opinion goes forth.
We do not ask who promulgates it, but fall into the ranks of its followers
and worshipers. We are whirled in the giddy ranks and blinded by the
dazzling lights. Novelty is the show, conformity is the law—and life a
trance, until at last we awake from it to find that we have been the victims
of a fatal folly and a bewildering dream.

Habit is man's best friend or worst enemy. It can exalt him to the highest
pinnacle of virtue, honor, or happiness, or sink him to the lowest depths of
vice, shame, and misery. If we look back upon the usual course of our
feelings we shall find that we are more influenced by the frequent
recurrence of objects than by their weight and importance, and that habit
has more force in forming our character than our opinions. The mind
naturally takes its tone and complexion from what it habitually
contemplates. "Whatever may be the cause," says Lord Kames, "it is an
established fact that we are much influenced by custom. It hath an effect
upon our pleasures, upon our actions, and even upon our thoughts and
sentiments." Habit makes no figure during the vivacity of youth, in middle
age it gains ground, and in old age governs without control. In that period
of life, generally speaking, we eat at a certain hour, take exercise at a certain
time, all by the direction of habit; nay, a particular seat, table, and bed
comes to be essential, and a habit in any of these can not be contradicted
without uneasiness. Man, it has been said, is a bundle of habits, and habit is
a second nature. Metastasio entertained so strong an opinion as to the power
of repetition in act and thought that he said, "All is habit in mankind, even
virtue itself."
Beginning with single acts habit is formed slowly at first, and it is not till
its spider's thread is woven in a thick cable that its existence is suspected.
Then it is found that beginning in cobwebs it ends in chains. Gulliver was
bound as fast by the Lilliputians with multiplied threads as if they had used
ropes. "Like flakes of snow that fall unperceivedly upon the earth," says
Jeremy Bentham, "the seemingly unimportant events of life succeed one
another." As the snow gathers so are our habits formed; no single flake that
is added to the pile produces a sensible change; no single action creates,
however it may exhibit, a man's character. But as the tempest hurls the
avalanche down the mountain and overwhelms the inhabitant and his
habitation, so passion, acting upon the elements of mischief which
pernicious habits have brought together by imperceptible accumulation,
may overthrow the edifice of truth and virtue.
The force of habit renders pleasant many things which at first were
intensely disagreeable or even painful. Walking upon the quarter-deck of a
vessel, though felt at first to be intolerably confined, becomes, by repetition,

so agreeable to the sailor that, in his walks on shore, he often hems himself
within the same bounds. Arctic explorers become so accustomed to the
hardships incident to such a life that they do not enjoy the comforts of home
when they return. So powerful is the effect of constant repetition of action
that men whose habits are fixed may almost be said to have lost their free
agency. Their actions become of the nature of fate, and they are so bound by
the chains which they have woven for themselves that they do that which
they have been accustomed to do even when they know it can yield neither
pleasure nor profit.
Those who are in the power of an evil habit must conquer it as they can,
and conquered it must be, or neither wisdom nor happiness can be obtained;
but those who are not yet subject to their influence may, by timely caution,
preserve their freedom. They may effectually resolve to escape the tyrant
whom they will vainly resolve to conquer. Be not slow in the breaking of a
sinful custom; a quick, courageous resolution is better than a gradual
deliberation; in such a combat he is the bravest soldier who lays about him
without fear or wit. Wit pleads; fear disheartens. He who would kill hydra
had better strike off one neck than five heads,—fell the tree and the
branches are soon cut off. Vicious habits are so great a strain on human
nature, said Cicero, and so odious in themselves that every person actuated
by right reason would avoid them, though he were sure they would always
be concealed both from God and man and had no future punishment
entailed on them. Vicious habits, when opposed, offer the most vigorous
resistance on the first attack; at each successive encounter this resistance
grows weaker, until, finally, it ceases altogether, and the victory is achieved.
Such being the power of habit all can plainly see the importance of
forming habits of such a nature that they shall constantly tend to increase
our happiness, and to render more sure and certain that success the attaining
of which is the object of all our endeavors. We may form habits of honesty
or knavery, frugality or extravagance, of patience or impatience, self-denial
or self-indulgence. In short, there is not a virtue nor a vice, not an act of
body nor of mind, to which we may not be chained by this despotic power.
It has been truly said that even happiness may become habitual. One may
acquire the habit of looking upon the sunny side of things, or of looking
upon the gloomy side. He may accustom himself, by a happy alchemy, to

transmute the darkest events into materials for hopes. Hume, the historian,
said that the habit of looking at the bright side of things was better than an
income of a thousand pounds a year.
Habits which are to be commended are not to be formed in a day, nor by
a few faint resolutions, not by accident, not by fits and starts—being one
moment in a paroxysm of attention and the next falling into the sleep of
indifference—are they to be obtained, but by steady, persistent efforts.
Above all, it is necessary that they should be acquired in youth, for then do
they cost the least effort. Like letters cut in the bark of a tree, they grow and
widen with age. Once obtained they are a fortune of themselves, for their
possessor has disposed thereby of the heavier end of the load of life; all the
remaining he can carry easily and pleasantly. On the other hand, bad habits,
once formed, will hang forever on the wheels of enterprise, and in the end
will assert their supremacy, to the ruin and shame of their victim.

"I shot an arrow in the air;
It fell on earth, I knew not where.
· · · · · · ·
I breathed a song into the air;
It fell on earth, I knew not where.
· · · · · · ·
Long, long afterwards, in an oak,
I found the arrow still unbroke,
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend."
—H. W. Longfellow.

NFLUENCE is to a man what flavor is to fruit, or fragrance to the
flower. It does not develop strength or determine character, but it is
the measure of his interior richness and worth, and as the blossom
can not tell what becomes of the odor which is wafted away from it
by every wind, so no man knows the limit of that influence which
constantly and imperceptibly escapes from his daily life, and goes out far
beyond his conscious knowledge or remotest thought. Influence is a power
we exert over others by our thoughts, words, and actions; by our lives, in
short. It is a silent, a pervading, a magnetic, a most wonderful thing. It
works in inexplicable ways. We neither see nor hear it, yet, consciously or
unconsciously, we exert it.
Your influence is not confined to yourself or to the scene of your
immediate actions; it extends to others, and will reach to succeeding ages.
Future generations will feel the influence of your conduct. We all of us at
times lose sight of this principle, and apparently act on the assumption that
what we do or think or say can affect no one but ourselves. But we are so
connected with the immortal beings around us, and with those who are to
come after us, that we can not avoid exerting a most important influence
over their character and final condition; and thus, long after we shall be no
more—nay, after the world itself shall be no more—the consequences of

our conduct to thousands of our fellow-men will be nothing less than
everlasting destruction or eternal life. What we do is transacted on a stage
of which all in the universe are spectators. What we say is transmitted in
echoes that will never cease. What we are is influencing and acting on the
rest of mankind. Neutral we can not be. Living we act, and dead we speak;
and the whole universe is the mighty company, forever looking and
listening; and all nature the tablets, forever recording the words, the deeds,
the thoughts, the passions of mankind.
It is a high, solemn, almost awful thought for every individual man, that
his earthly influence, which has a commencement, will never through all
ages have an end! What is done, is done—has already blended itself with
the boundless, ever-living, ever-working universe, and will work there for
good or evil, openly or secretly, throughout all time. The life of every man
is as the well-spring of a stream, whose small beginnings are, indeed, plain
to all, but whose course and destination, as it winds through the expanse of
infinite years, only the Omniscient can discern. God has written upon the
flower that sweetens the air, upon the breeze that rocks the flower upon its
stem, upon the rain-drop that swells the mighty river, upon the dew-drops
that refresh the smallest sprig of moss that rears its head in the desert, upon
the ocean that rocks every swimmer in its channel, upon every penciled
shell that sleeps in the caverns of the deep, as well as upon the mighty sun
which warms and cheers the millions of creatures that live in its light,—
upon all he has written, "None of us liveth to himself."
The babe that perished on the bosom of its mother, like a flower that
bowed its head and drooped amid the death-frosts of time,—that babe, not
only in its image, but in its influence, still lives and speaks in the chambers
of the mother's heart. The friend with whom we took sweet counsel is
removed visibly from the outward eye; but the lessons that he taught, the
grand sentiments that he uttered, the deeds of generosity by which he was
characterized, the moral lineaments and likeness of the man, still survive,
and appear in the silence of eventide, and on the tablets of memory, and in
the light of noon and dewy eve; and, though dead, he yet speaketh
eloquently and in the midst of us. Every thing leaves a history and an
influence. The pebble, as well as the planet, goes attended by its shadow.
The rolling rock leaves its scratches on the mountains, the river its channel

in the soil, the animal its bones in the stratum, the fern and leaf their modest
epitaph in the coal. The falling drop marks its sculpture in the sand or the
stone. Not a foot steps into the snow or along the ground but prints, in
characters more or less lasting, a map of its march. Every act of man
inscribes itself in the memories of its fellows, and in his own manners and
face. The air is full of sounds, the sky of tokens; the ground is all
memoranda and signatures, and every object covered over with hints which
speak to the intelligent.
The sun sets beyond the western hills, but the trail of light he leaves
behind him guides the pilgrim to his distant home. The tree falls in the
forest; but in the lapse of ages it is turned into coal, and our fires burn now
the brighter because it grew and fell. The coral insect dies; but the reef it
raised breaks the surge on the shores of great continents, or has formed an
isle on the bosom of the ocean, to wave with harvests for the good of man.
We live and we die, but the good or evil that we do lives after us, and is not
"buried with our bones."
The career of great men remains an enduring monument of human
energy. The man dies and disappears; but the thoughts and acts survive and
leave an indelible stamp on his race. And thus the spirit of his life is
prolonged, and thus perpetuated, molding the thought and will, and thereby
contributing to form the character of the future. It is the men who advance
in the highest and best directions who are the true beacons of human
progress. They are as lights set upon a hill, illuminating the moral
atmosphere around them; and the light of their spirit continues to shine
upon all succeeding generations. The golden words that good men have
uttered, the examples they have set, live through all time; they pass into the
thoughts and hearts of their successors, help them on the road of life, and
often console them in the hour of death. They live a universal life, speak to
us from their graves, and beckon us on in the paths which they trod. Their
example is still with us, to guide, to influence, and to direct us. Nobility of
character is a perpetual bequest, living from age to age, and constantly
tending to reproduce its like.
It is what man was that lives and acts after him. What he said sounds
along the years like voices amid the mountain gorges, and what he did is

repeated after him in ever multiplying and never ceasing reverberations.
Every man has left behind him influences for good or evil that will never
exhaust themselves. The sphere in which he acts may be small or it may be
great, it may be his fireside or it may be a kingdom, a village or a great
nation, it may be a parish or broad Europe—but act he does, ceaselessly and
forever. His friends, his family, his successors in office, his relatives are all
receptive of an influence, a moral influence, which he has transmitted to
mankind—either a blessing which will repeat itself in showers of
benediction, or a curse which will multiply itself in ever-accumulating evil.
We see not in life the end of human actions. Their influence never dies.
In ever-widening circles it reaches beyond the grave. Death removes us
from this to an eternal world. Every morning when we go forth we lay the
molding hand on our destiny, and every evening when we have done, we
have left a deathless impress on eternity. "We touch not a wire but that it
vibrates to God."
Since we all have a personal influence, and our words and actions leave a
well-nigh indelible trace, it is our duty to make that influence as potential
for good as possible. In order to do this you must show yourself a man
among men. It is through the invisible lines which you are able to attach to
the minds with which you are brought into association that you can
influence society in the direction of the greatest good. You can not move
men until you are one of them. They will not follow you until they have
heard your voice, shaken your hand, and fully learned your principles and
your sympathies. It makes no difference how much you know, nor how
much you are capable of doing. You may pile accomplishments upon
acquisitions mountain high; but if you fail to be a social man, demonstrating
to society that your lot is with the rest, a little child with a song in its mouth
and a kiss for all and a pair of innocent hands to lay upon the knees shall
lead more hearts and change the directions of more lives than you.
A just appreciation of the power of personal influence leads to a sense of
duty resting upon all to see to it that their influence is exerted in inculcating
a proper sense of right in the community in which they live; to be sure that
their weight is constantly cast in the scale of right against wrong; that they
be found furthering all matters of enlightened public concern. They should

as far as possible walk through life as a band of music moves down the
street, flinging out pleasures on every side through the air to all, far and
near, that can listen. Some men fill the air with their presence and
sweetness, as orchards in October days fill the air with the perfume of ripe
fruits. Some women cling to their own homes like the honeysuckle over the
door, yet, like it, sweeten all the region with the subtle fragrance of their
goodness. Such men and women are trees of righteousness, which are ever
dropping precious fruits around them. Their lives shine like starbeams, or
charm the heart like songs sung upon a holy day.
How great a beauty and blessing it is to hold the royal gifts of the soul, so
that they shall be music to some and fragrance to others, and life to all! It
would be a most worthy object of life to make the power which we have
within us the breath of other men's joys; to scatter sunshine where only
clouds and shadows reign; to fill the atmosphere where earth's weary toilers
must stand with a brightness which they can not create for themselves, but
long for, enjoy, and appreciate. There is an energy of moral suasion in a
good man's life passing the highest efforts of the orator's genius. The seen
but silent beauty of holiness speaks more eloquently of God and duty than
the tongues of men and angels. Let parents remember this. The best
inheritance a parent can bequeathe to a child is a virtuous example, a legacy
of hallowed remembrance and associations. The beauty of holiness beaming
through the life of a loved relative or friend is more effectual to strengthen
such as do stand in virtue's ways, and raise up those that are bowed down,
than precept or command, entreaty or warning.
Shall our influence be for good or for evil? For good? Then let no act of
ours be such as could lead a fellow mortal astray. It is a terrible thought that
some careless word, uttered it may be in jest, may start some soul upon the
downward road. Oh, it is terrible power that we have—the power of
influence—and it clings to us. We can not shake it off. It is born with us,
and it has grown with our growth and strengthened with our strength. It
speaks, it walks, it moves; it is powerful in every look of our eye, in every
word of our mouth, in every act of our lives. We can not live to ourselves.
We must be either a light to illumine or a tempest to destroy. We must bear
constantly in mind that there is one record we can not interline—our lives
written on others' hearts. How gladly we would review and write a kind

word there, a generous act here, erase a frown and put in a loving word, a
bright smile, and a tender expression. Harshness would be erased, and
gentleness written. But, alas! what is written is written. Clotho will not
begin anew to spin the threads of life, and our actions go forth into the
world freighted with their burden of good or evil influence.

HARACTER is one of the greatest motive powers in the world. In
its noblest embodiments it exemplifies human nature in its highest
forms, for it exhibits man at his best. It is the corner-stone of
individual greatness—the Doric and splendid column of the majestic
structure of a true and dignified man, who is at once a subject and a king.
Character is to a man what the fly-wheel is to the engine. By the force of its
momentum it carries him through times of temptation and trial; it steadies
him in times of popular excitement and tumult, and exerts a guiding and
controlling influence over his life.
There are trying and perilous circumstances in life which show how
valuable and important a good character is. It is a strong and sure staff of
support when every thing else fails. In the crisis of temptation, in the battle
of life, when the struggle comes either from within or without, it is our
strength, heroism, virtue, and consistency—our character, in short—which
defends and secures our happiness and honor. And if they fail us in the hour
of need—in the season of danger—all may be irretrievably lost, and nothing
left us except vain regrets and penitential tears.
Character is power, character is influence, and he who has character,
though he may have nothing else, has the means of being eminently useful,
not only to his immediate friends, but to society, to the Church of God, and
to the world. When a person has lost his character all is lost—all peace of
mind, all complacency in himself, are fled forever. He despises himself; he
is despised by his fellow-men. Within is shame and remorse; without,
neglect and reproach. He is of necessity a miserable and useless man, and
he is so even though he be clad in purple and fine linen, and fare
sumptuously every day. It is better to be poor; it is better to be reduced to
beggary; it is better to be cast into prison, or condemned to perpetual
slavery than to be destitute of a good name, or endure the pains and evils of
a conscious worthlessness of character. The value of character is the

standard of human progress. The individual, the community, the nation, tell
of their standing, their advancement, their worth, their true wealth and
glory, in the eye of God, by their estimation of character. That man or
nation that lightly esteems character is low, groveling, and barbarous.
Wherever character is made a secondary object sensualism and crime
prevail. He who would prostitute character to reputation is base. He who
lives for any thing less than character is mean. He who enters upon any
study, pursuit, amusement, pleasure, habit, or course of life, without
considering its effect upon his character is not a trusty or an honest man. He
whose modes of thought, states of feeling, every-day acts, common
language, and whole outward life, are not directed by a wise reference to
their influence upon his character is a man always to be watched. Just as a
man prizes his character so is he.
There is a difference between character and reputation. Character is what
a man is; reputation is what he is thought to be. Character is within;
reputation is without. Character is always real; reputation may be false.
Character is substantial and enduring; reputation may be vapory and
fleeting. Character is at home; reputation is abroad. Character is in a man's
own soul; reputation is in the minds of others. Character is the solid food of
life; reputation is the dessert. Character is what gives a man value in his
own eyes; reputation is what he is valued at in the eyes of others. Character
is his real worth; reputation is his market price. A man may have a good
character and a bad reputation; or, a man may have a good reputation and a
bad character, as we form our opinion of men from what they appear to be,
and not from what they really are. Most men are more anxious about their
reputation than they are about their character. This is not right. While every
man should endeavor to maintain a good reputation, he should especially
labor to possess a good character. Our true happiness depends not so much
on what is thought of us by others as on what we really are in ourselves.
Men of good character are generally men of good reputation, but this is not
always the case, as the motives and actions of the best of men are
sometimes misunderstood and misrepresented. But it is important, above
every thing, else that we be right and do right, whether our motives and
actions are properly understood and appreciated or not. Nothing can be so
important to any man as the formation and possession of a good character.

Character is of slow but steady growth, and the smallest child and the
humblest and weakest individual may attain heights that now seem
inaccessible by the constant and patient exercise of just as much moral
power as, from time to time, they possess. The faithful discharge of daily
duty, the simple integrity of purpose and power of life that all can attain
with effort, contribute silently but surely to the building up of a moral
character that knows no limit to its power, no bounds to its heroism. The
influences which operate in the formation of character are numerous, and
however trivial some of them may appear they are not to be despised. The
most powerful forces in nature are those that operate silently and
imperceptibly. This is equally true of those moral forces which exert the
greatest influence on our minds and give complexion to our character.
Among the most powerful are early impressions, examples, and habits.
Early impressions, although they may appear to be but slight, are the most
enduring, and exert a great influence on life. The tiniest bit of public
opinion sown in the minds of children in private life afterwards issue forth
to the world and become its public opinions, for nations are gathered out of
nurseries. By repetition of acts the character becomes slowly but decidedly
formed. The several acts may seem in themselves trivial, but so are the
continuous acts of daily life.
Our minds are given us, but our characters we make. The full measure of
all the powers necessary to make a man are no more a character than a
handful of seeds is an orchard of fruits. Plant the seeds, and tend them well,
and they will make an orchard. Cultivate the powers, and harmonize them
well, and they will make a noble character. The germ is not the tree, the
acorn is not the oak; neither is the mind a character. God gives the mind;
man makes the character. Mind is the garden; character is the fruit. Mind is
the white page; character is the writing we put on it. Mind is the metallic
plate; character is our engraving thereon. Mind is the shop, the counting-
room; character is our profits on the trade. Large profits are made from
quick sales and small percentage; so great characters are made by many
little acts and efforts. A dollar is composed of a thousand mills; so is a
character of a thousand thoughts and acts. The secret thought never
expressed, the inward indulgence in imaginary wrong, the lie never told for
want of courage, the licentiousness never indulged in for fear of public

rebuke, the irreverence of the heart, are just as effectual in staining the heart
as though the world knew all about them.
A subtle thing is character, and a constant work is its formation. Whether
it be good or bad, it has been long in its growth and is the aggregate of
millions of little mental acts. A good character is a precious thing, above
rubies, gold, crowns, or kingdoms, and the work of making it is the noblest
labor on earth. A good character is in all cases the fruit of personal exertion.
It is not an inheritance from parents; it is not created by external
advantages; it is no necessary appendage of birth, wealth, talents, or station;
but it is the result of one's own endeavors. All the variety of minute
circumstances which go to form character are more or less under the control
of the individual. Not a day passes without its discipline, whether for good
or for evil. There is no act, however trivial, but has its train of
consequences, as there is no hair, however small, but casts its shadow.
Not only is character of importance to its possessor as the means of
conferring upon him true dignity and worth, but it exerts an influence upon
the lives of all within its pale, the importance of which can never be
overestimated. It might better be called an effluence; for it is constantly
radiating from a man, and then most of all when he is least conscious of its
emanation. We are molding others wherever we are. Books are only useful
when they are read; sermons are only influential when they are listened to;
but character keeps itself at all times before men's attention, and its weight
is felt by every one who comes within its sphere.
Other agencies are intermittent, like the revolving light, which, after a
time of brightness, goes out into a period of darkness; but character is
continuous in its operations, and shines with the steady radiance of a star. A
good character is therefore to be carefully maintained for the sake of others,
if possible, more than ourselves. It is a coat of triple steel, giving security to
the wearer, protection to the oppressed, and inspiring the oppressor with
awe. Every man is bound to aim at the possession of a good character as
one of the highest objects of his life. His very effort to secure it by worthy
means will furnish him with a motive for exertion, and his idea of manhood,
in proportion as it is elevated, will steady and animate his motives. The
pursuit of it will prove no obstacle to the acquisition of wealth or fame; but,

on the contrary, not only is the attainment of a good character an almost
indispensable thing for him who would make his mark in the world, but
such is the nature of character that the control over the acts and thoughts of
an individual, which must be acquired before character can exhibit inherent
strength, conduces, in a very great degree, to the very condition which
produces success.
Character is the grandest thing man can live for; it is to have worth of
soul, wealth of heart, diamond-dust of mind. He who has this aim lives to
be what he ought to be, and to do what duty requires. To him comes fame,
delighted to crown him with her wreaths of honor. Sum it up as we will,
character is the great desideratum of human life. This truth, sublime in its
simplicity and powerful in its beauty, is the highest lesson of religion, the
first that youth should learn, and the last that age should forget.

"Prudence, thou virtue of the mind, by which
We do consult of all that's good or ill."

MONGST the milder virtues which contribute to round out and
perfect life is to be found Prudence. It is a mild and pleasing quality.
It counsels moderation and guidance by wisdom. It is practical
wisdom, and comes of the cultivated judgment. It has reference in all things
to fitness, to propriety, judging wisely of the right thing to be done and the
right way of doing it. It calculates the means, order, time, and method of
doing. Prudence learns from experience quickened by knowledge. It seeks
to keep the practical path rather than that which, indeed, promises brilliant
results, but takes the traveler along dangerous precipices and through places
where there is a risk of his losing all.
The most brilliant attainments are rendered nugatory for want of
prudence, as the giant deprived of his eyes is only the more exposed by
reason of his enormous strength and stature. Prudence is the perfection of
reason, and a guide to us in all the duties of life. It is invariably found in
men of good sound sense, and is, indeed, their most shining quality, giving
value as it does to all the rest, sets them to work in their proper time and
places, and turns them to the advantage of the person who is possessed of
them. Without it learning is pedantry and wit impertinence; virtue itself
looks like weakness. The best parts only qualify a man to be more sprightly
in errors and active to his own principles. Prudence is a quality
incompatible with vice, and can never be effectually enlisted in its cause,
and he who deliberately gives himself over to the power of vice and evil
habits can never be said to be acting according to the dictates of the highest
reason, wherein prudence is always distinguished.
It is difficult to define wherein prudence doth consist, inasmuch as the
rules of prudence in general, like the laws of the stone tablet, are for the

most part prohibitive. "Thou shalt not," is their characteristic formula. It is
easier to state what is forbidden under certain circumstances than what is
required. It is shown in practical every-day life by thoughtful actions on the
thousand petty questions which are constantly claiming attention. It is
hesitating and slow to believe what is not sanctioned by past experience,
and prefers not to run any very great risks in testing new plans for gaining
the great object of life, preferring the sure to the doubtful, even though the
latter may seem to have many advantages. It recognizes that there is a
necessity for a certain amount of caution in all the transactions of business;
hence the old saying, "Prudent men lock up their motives, letting familiars
have a key to their hearts as to their garden." It weighs long and carefully
the reasons for or against any proposed line of conduct, and calls upon the
will to act only in accordance with the result of such reasoning.
In nothing does prudence display itself more than in relation to the little
affairs of life. There are those who in the confidence of superior capacities
or attainments neglect the common maxims of life. But this is a fatal
delusion, as nothing will supply the want of prudence in the ordinary
vocations of business, no matter how superior the other qualities.
Negligence and irregularity long continued will make knowledge useless,
wit ridiculous, and genius contemptible. The merchant may, indeed, win
thousands by speculations; but the only sure way of attaining to fortune,
place, or honor is by obedience to well-known laws of business prudence,
which discountenance speculation unbased on substantial facts.
Such are the vicissitudes of human life that, whatever the calling may be,
scarcely a day passes that does not call upon all to exercise this quality in
some of the common every-day occurrences, as well as in the unexpected
emergencies which fate is constantly presenting to us. The triumph of its
long exercise is to be seen in those moments when to come at a wrong
decision means disastrous defeat, the fatal overthrow of the hopes of a life-
time. It by degrees forms for itself a standard of duty and propriety,
accumulates rules and maxims of conduct, and materials for reflection and
meditation.
The tongue of prudence knows when to speak and when to be silent. It is
not cowardly; it dares to say all that need be said, but it does not tell all that

it knows. It is careful what it speaks, when it speaks, and to whom it speaks.
When you have need of a needle you move your fingers delicately with a
wise caution. Use the same prudence with the inevitable affairs of life; give
attention, and keep yourself from undue precipitation, otherwise it will fare
hardly with you.

HERE is beauty in temperance like that which is portrayed in virtue
and in truth. It is a close ally of both, and, like them, has that all-
pervading essence and quality which chastens the feelings,
invigorates the mind, and displays the perfection of the soul in the
very aspect. Like water from the rill, rain from the cloud, or light from the
heavenly bodies, the thought issues pure from within, refreshing, unsullied,
and radiant. There is no grossness, no dross, no corruption, for temperance,
when effectually realized, is full of loveliness and joy, and virtue and purity
are the lineaments in which it lives. Temperance is a virtue without pride,
and fortune without envy; the best guardian of youth and support of old age;
the preceptor of reason as well as of religion, and physician of the soul as
well as the body; the tutelar goddess of health and universal medicine of
life.
Temperance keeps the senses clear and unembarrassed, and makes them
seize the object with more keenness and satisfaction. It appears with life in
the face and decorum in the person. It gives you the command of your head,
secures you health, and preserves you in a condition for business.
Temperance is a virtue which casts the truest luster upon the person it is
lodged in, and has the most general influence upon all other particular
virtues of any that the soul of man is capable of; indeed, so general is it that
there is hardly any noble quality or endowment of the mind but must own
temperance either for its parent or its nurse; it is the greatest strengthener
and clearer of reason, and the best preparer of it for religion; it is the sister
of prudence and the handmaid to devotion.
Pleasure has been aptly compared to a sea. Intemperance is a maelstrom
situated in the very center of this great sea. Not one path alone leads to this
gulf of woe; not one only current, as too many have supposed, hurries down
this dark abyss, but all around, on every side, the waters tend downward.
There are a thousand currents leading in. Some, it is true, are more rapid

than others. Some rush in quickly and bear down all who ride upon their
waters to quick and certain ruin. Others glide more slowly, but none the less
surely, to the same end. The streams of intemperance are legions. The
allurements that lead downward are equally numerous. Every appetite, lust,
passion, and feeling holds out various allurements to intemperate
indulgence. There is not a power of the mind, affection of the heart, nor
desire of the body that may not dispose to some form of intemperance
which may injure the physical being or paralyze the energies of the mind.
All forms of intemperance are evil and destroy some function of mind or
body—some member or faculty, the disease of which spreads inharmony
through the whole. The dangers from this source are imminent and fearful,
and spread on every hand.
Temperance conduces to health; indeed, it may be said that health can
only be acquired or maintained by temperance. This is the law primary and
essential which every youth should know, and know by heart. Bodily pains
and aches tell of intemperance in some directions. Pain means penalty, and
penalty means that its sufferer should reform. The most of our pains are
occasioned by intemperance. This is the fruitful mother of nine-tenths of the
diseases that flesh is heir to and the sins that the soul doth commit. We sin
by excess of anger, lust, appetite, affection, love of gain, authority, or
praise. Few, if any, are the sins that grow not out of intemperance in some
form. Intemperance means excess. A thing is good as long as it is necessary.
All beyond necessity, or what is necessary, is evil. Money is good; more
than what is necessary to the ends of life is evil. Food is good; too much is
evil. Light is good; too much will put out our eyes. Water is good; too much
will destroy us. Heat is good; too much will burn us. The praise of men is
good; too much will ruin us. The love of life is good; too much will make
us miserable. Fear is good; too much hath torment. Prayer is good; too
much cheats labor of its life and is evil. Sympathy is good; too much floods
us with perpetual grief. Reason is good; too much pressed with labor it
dethrones the mind and spreads ruin abroad. Any excess in the use or
activity of a good thing is intemperance and, therefore, evil, and to be
avoided.
Temperance as a virtue dwells in the heart. It consists in a rigid
subjection of every inward feeling and power to the rule of right reason. He

who would be thoroughly temperate must master himself. His passions
must be his subjects obeying his will. From the heart he must be temperate.
He must remember that the intemperance slope is an almost imperceptible
one, and that he may be gliding down it when he dreams of naught but
safety. He must remember, too, that the field of temperance is a broad one,
covering the whole area of life. It is not simply against one form of appetite,
one species of indulgence that he is to guard, but against all. There are other
species of intemperate indulgence, of which we are all more or less guilty,
than indulgence in drink. Indeed, the indulgence of appetite carries away
more victims from the earth than does drunkenness, and spreads a wider
devastation and a more general blight.
All species of intemperance grow of a want of self-control. To be a
temperance man a man must master himself, must be a brave, noble
conqueror of every enemy within his own bosom. It is no small matter. It is
the masterpiece of human attainments. The laws of temperance can never be
broken with impunity. The excess is committed to-day, but the effect is
experienced to-morrow. The law of nature, invariable in its operation, is,
that penalty shall follow excess. The punishment is mild at first, but
afterwards more and more severe, until, when nature's warning voice has
been unheeded and her punishments disregarded, the final penalty is death.
If an admonitory sign-board were hung out for the benefit of the young,
there should be inscribed upon it in prominent characters "no excess." It is
to be remembered that the best principles, if pushed too far, degenerate into
fatal vices. Generosity is nearly allied to extravagance; charity itself may
lead to ruin; the sternness of justice is but one step removed from the
severity of oppression.
If one would make the most of life he must be temperate in all things. It
is the application of reason to all the daily acts of life. It is the highest and
best form of life that one can attain to. It leads not only to the greatest
happiness, but also to honor and position. By abstaining from most things it
is surprising how many things we enjoy. To establish thoroughly and widely
the principles of temperance we must begin with the youth. They have a
high aspiration to be good and true. They see a glory in the path of right.
Freedom is a word of power in their ears. Virtue has many charms not only
for their hearts, but for their imaginations. They have health, competency,

and happiness. They are ambitious of every good. When the true principles
of temperance are established in early life and made the controlling power
through life, they insure health, freedom from pain, competency,
respectability, honor, virtue, usefulness, and happiness—all for which true
men have or hope in this life. Happy would it be if they were general and all
youths would practice them. Then would religion assert her mild and gentle
sway, peace plant her olive wreath in every nation, wisdom, divine and
time-honored, shed every-where her glorious light. A race of men and
women, full of rosy health, strong, active, symmetrical, beautiful as the
artist's model: pure, virtuous, wise, affectionate, full of honor and lofty
principles, would grow up into communities and nations, and make the
earth bloom and rejoice in more than Eden gladness. A new heaven and a
new earth would surround us with beauty and arch us over with glory, for
the old would have passed away.

RUGALITY may be termed the daughter of Prudence, the sister of
Temperance, and the parent of Liberty and Ease. It is synonymous
with economy, and is a sound understanding brought into action. It
is calculation realized; it is the doctrine of proportion educed to
practice. It is foreseeing contingencies and providing against them. Its other
and less reputable sisters are Avarice and Prodigality. She alone keeps the
straight and safe path, while Avarice sneers at her as profuse, and
Prodigality scorns at her as penurious. To the poor she is indispensable; to
those of moderate means she is found the representative of wisdom. Joined
to industry and sobriety, she is a better outfit to business than a dowry. She
conducts her votaries to competence and honor, while Profuseness is a cruel
and crafty demon, that gradually involves her followers in dependence and
debt.
Frugality shineth in her best light when joined to liberality. The first
consists in leaving off superfluous expense; the last is bestowing them to
the benefit of those that need. The first without the last begets covetousness;
the last without the first begets prodigality. There is ever a golden mean
between frugality and stinginess, or closeness. He that spareth in every
thing is an inexcusable niggard; he that spareth in nothing is an inexcusable
madman. The golden mean of frugality is to spare in what is least necessary,
and to lay out more liberally in what is most required in our several
circumstances. It is no man's duty to deny himself every amusement, every
recreation, every comfort, that he may get rich. It is no man's duty to make
an iceberg of himself, and to deny himself the enjoyment that results from
his generous actions, merely that he may hoard wealth for his heirs to
quarrel about. But there is an economy which is especially commendable in
the man who struggles with poverty, and is every man's duty—an economy
which is consistent with happiness, and which must be practiced if the poor
man would secure independence.

When one is blessed with good sense and fair opportunities, this spirit of
economy is one of the most beneficial of all secular gifts, and takes high
rank among the minor virtues. It is by this mysterious power that the loaf is
multiplied, that using does not waste, that little becomes much, that
scattered fragments grow to unity, and that out of nothing, or next to
nothing, comes the miracle of something. Frugality is not merely saving,
still less parsimony. It is foresight and combination. It is insight and
arrangement. It is a subtle philosophy of things, by which new uses, new
compositions, are discovered. It causes inert things to labor, useless things
to serve our necessities, perishing things to renew their vigor, and all things
to exert themselves for human comfort.
As the acquisition of knowledge depends more upon what a man
remembers than upon the quantity of his reading, so the acquisition of
property depends more upon what is saved than upon what is earned. The
largest reservoir, though fed by abundant and living springs, will fail to
supply their owners with water if secret leaking-places are permitted to
drain off their contents. In like manner, though by his skill and energy a
man may convert his business into a flowing Pactolus, ever depositing its
golden sands in his coffers, yet, through the numerous wants of unfrugal
habits, he may live embarrassed and die poor. Economy is the guardian of
property, the good genius whose presence guides the footsteps of every
prosperous and successful man.
Either a man must be content with poverty all his life, or else be willing
to deny himself some luxuries, and save to lay the base of independence in
the future. But if a man defies the future, and spends all that he earns,
whether it be much or little, let him look for lean and hungry want at some
future time; for it will surely come, no matter what he thinks. To economize
and be frugal is absolutely the only way to get a solid fortune; there is no
other certain mode on earth. Those who shut their eyes and ears to these
plain facts will be forever poor. Fortune does not give away her real and
substantial goods. She sells them to the highest bidder, to the hardest, wisest
worker for the boon. Men never make so fatal a mistake as when they think
they are mere creatures of fate; it is the sheerest folly in the world. Every
man may make or mar his life, whichever he may choose. Fortune is for

those who, by diligence, honesty and frugality, place themselves in a
position to grasp hold of fortune when it appears in view.
Simple industry and thrift will go far towards making any person of
ordinary working faculties comparatively independent in his means. Almost
any working-man may be so, provided he will carefully husband his
resources and watch the little outlets of useless expenditures. A penny is a
very small matter, yet the comfort of thousands of families depends upon
the proper saving and spending of pennies. If a man allows the little pennies
—the results of his hard work—to slip out of his fingers he will find that his
life is little raised above one of mere animal drudgery.
One way in which true economy is shown consists in living within one's
income. This is the grand element of success in acquiring property. To carry
it out requires resolution, self-denial, self-reliance. But it must be done, or
grinding poverty will accompany you through life. We urge upon all young
men who are just starting in life to make it an invariable rule to lay aside a
certain proportion of their income, whatever that income may be.
Extravagant expenditures occasion a large part of the suffering of a great
majority of people. And extravagance is wholly a relative term. What is not
at all extravagant for one person may be very much so for another.
Expenditures, no matter how small in themselves they may be, are always
extravagant when they come fully up to the entire amount of a person's
income.
On every hand we see people living on credit, putting off pay-day to the
last, making, in the end, some desperate effort—generally by borrowing—
to scrape the money together, and then struggling on again with the canker
of care eating at their hearts; but their exertions are vain; they land at last in
the inevitable goal of bankruptcy. If they would only be content to make the
push in the beginning, instead of the end, they would save themselves all
this misery. The great secret of being solvent and well-to-do and
comfortable is to get ahead of your expenses. Eat and drink this month what
you earned last month, not what you are going to earn next month. It is
unsafe to draw drafts on the future, for hope is deceitful, and your paper is
liable to go to protest. When one is once weighed down with a load of debt
he loses the sense of being free and independent. The man with his fine

house, his glittering carriage, and his rich banquets, for which he is in debt,
is a slave, a prisoner, dragging his chains behind him through all the
grandeur of the false world through which he moves.
In urging a course of strict economy we admit that it is hard,
embarrassing, perplexing, onerous, but it is by no means impracticable. A
cool survey of one's expenditures, compared with his income; a wise
balancing of ends to be gained; a firm and calm determination to break with
custom wherever it is opposed to good sense, and a patience that does not
chafe at small and gradual results, will do much towards establishing the
principle of economy and securing its benefits. Economy has, however,
deeper roots than even this—in the desires. It is there, after all, that we
control our expenditures. As a general rule we may be sure that we shall
spend our money for what we most earnestly crave. If it be luxury and
display then it will melt into costly viands and soft clothing, handsome
dwellings and rich furniture. If, on the other hand, our desires are for higher
enjoyments, or for benevolent purposes, our money will flow into these
channels. Every one, then, who cherishes in himself, or excites in others, a
desire more pure and noble than existed before, who draws the heart from
the craving of sense to those of soul, from self to others, from what is low,
sensual, and wrong to what is pure, elevating, and right, in so far
establishes, on the firmest of all foundations, a wise economy.
A true economy appears to induce the exertion of almost every laudable
emotion; a strict regard to honesty; a laudable spirit of independence; a
judicious prudence in providing for the wants, and a steady benevolence in
preparing for the claims of the future. Such an economy can but appeal to
the good sense of all who candidly ponder over life and its realities. To
spend all that you acquire as soon as you gain it is to lead a butterfly
existence. Were you always to be young and free from sickness and care,
and life were to pass as one perpetual Summer, it would do no harm to so
live; but care will come, sickness may strike you at any time, and, if you
escape these, yet you know life has its Autumnal and Winter seasons as well
as its Summer. And, alas! for the veteran who finds himself obliged to learn
in his latter years the lessons of strict economy for the first time, having
lived in utter defiance of them in the season of youth and strength.

ATIENCE is the ballast of the soul, that will keep it from rolling and
tumbling in the greatest storms. All life is but one vast
representation of the beauty and value of patience. Troubles and
sorrows are in store for all. It is useless to try to escape them, and,
indeed, it is well we can not, as they seem essential to the perfection
and development of character into its highest and best form. But their
disciplinary value arises from the great lesson of patience they are
constantly inculcating.
Either patience must be a quality graciously inherent in the heart of man,
or it must be acquired as the lesson of years' experience, if he would enjoy
the greatest good of life. Without it prosperity will be continually disturbed,
and adversity will be clouded with double darkness. The loud complaint,
the querulous temper and fretful spirit disgrace every character. We weaken
thereby the sympathy of others, and estrange them from offices of kindness
and comfort. But to maintain a steady and unbroken mind amidst all the
shocks of adversity forms the highest honor of man. Afflictions supported
by patience and surmounted by fortitude give the last finishing stroke to the
heroic and virtuous character. Patience produces unity in the Church,
loyalty in the state, harmony in families and societies. She comforts the
poor and moderates the rich; she makes us humble in prosperity, cheerful in
adversity, unmoved by calumny, and above reproach; she teaches us to
forgive those who have injured us, and to be the first in asking the
forgiveness of those whom we have injured; she delights the faithful, and
invites the unbelieving; she adorns the woman and approves the man; she is
beautiful in either sex and every age.
Patience has been defined as the "courage of virtue;" the principle which
enables us to lessen the pains of mind or body; an emotion that does not so
much add to the number of our joys as it tends to diminish the number of
our sufferings. If life is made to abound with pains and troubles by the

errors and the crimes of man, it is no small advantage to have a faculty that
enables us to soften these pains and ameliorate these troubles. He that has
patience can have what he will. There is no road too long to the man who
advances deliberately and without undue haste. There are no honors too
distant for the man who prepares himself for them with patience. Nature
herself abounds with examples of patience. Day follows the murkiest night,
and when the time comes the latest fruits also ripen. Its most beneficent
operations, and those which take place on a grand scale, are the results of
patience. The great works of human power, achieved by the hand of genius,
are but eloquent examples of what may be achieved by the exercise of this
virtue. History and biography abound with examples of signal patience
shown by great men under trying circumstances.
In the pursuit of worldly success patience or a willingness to bide one's
time is no less necessary as a factor than perseverance. Says De Maistre,
"To know how to wait is the great secret of success." And of all the lessons
that humanity teaches in this school of the world, the hardest is to wait. Not
to wait with folded hands that claim life's prizes without previous effort, but
having toiled and struggled and crowded the slow years with trial to see
then no results, or, perhaps, disastrous results, and yet to stand firm, to
preserve one's poise, and relax no effort,—this, it has been truly said, is
greatness, whether achieved by man or woman. The world can not be
circumnavigated by one wind. The grandest results can not be achieved in a
day. The fruits that are best worth plucking usually ripen the most slowly,
and, therefore, every one who would gain a solid success must learn "to
labor and to wait." What a world of meaning in those few words! And how
many are possessed of the moral courage to live in that state? It is the
tendency of the times to be in a hurry when there is any object to be
accomplished. In the pursuit of riches it is only the exceptional persons who
are content with slow gains, willing to acquire wealth by adding penny to
penny, dollar to dollar; the mass of business men are too apt to despise such
a tedious and laborious means of ascent, and they rush headlong into
schemes for the sudden acquisition of wealth. Or, in the field of
professional life, we are too prone to forget there is no royal road to great
acquirements, and feel an unwillingness to lay broad and deep, by years of

patient study and laborious research, the foundation whereon to build an
enduring monument worthy of public credit and renown.
The history of all who are honored in the world of literature, arts, or
science is the history of patient study for years, and its final triumph. Elihu
Burritt says: "All that I have accomplished, or expect or hope to
accomplish, has been, and will be, by that patient, persevering process of
accretion which builds the ant-heap, particle by particle, thought by
thought, fact by fact." Labor still is, and ever will be, the inevitable price set
upon every thing which is valuable. Hence, if we would acquire wisdom,
we must diligently apply ourselves, and confront the same continuous
application which our forefathers did. We must be satisfied to work
energetically with a purpose, and wait the results with patience. All
progress, of the best kind, is slow; but to him who works faithfully and in a
right spirit, be sure that the reward will be vouchsafed in its own good time.
Courage must have sunk in despair, and the world must have remained
unimproved and unornamented if man had merely compared the effect of a
single stroke of the chisel with the pyramid to be raised, or of a single
impression of the spade with the mountain to be leveled. We must
continuously apply ourselves to right pursuits, and we can not fail to
advance steadily, though it may be unconsciously.
In all evils which admit a remedy impatience should be avoided, because
it wastes that time and attention in complaints that, if properly applied,
might remove the cause. In cases that admit of no remedy it is worse than
useless to give way to impatience, both because of the utter uselessness of
so doing as well as that the time thus spent could be better employed in the
furtherance of useful designs. Since, then, these two classes of ills comprise
all to which human nature is subject, why not make a determined struggle
against impatience in every form? It accomplishes nothing that is of value,
divides our efforts, frustrates our plans, and generally succeeds in making
our lives miserable not only to ourselves, but to all around us.
How much of home happiness and comfort depends upon the exercise of
patience! Not a day passes but calls for its exercise from those who sustain
the nearest and dearest relations to each other. Let patience have her perfect
work in the home circle. Let parents be patient with their children. They are

weak, and you are strong. They stand at the eastern gate of life. Experience
has not taught them to speak carefully and to go softly. What if their plays
and amusements do grate upon your nerves. Bear with them patiently. Care
and time will soon enough check their childish impulses. Be patient with
your friends. They are neither omniscient nor omnipotent. They can not see
your heart, and may misunderstand you. They do not know what is best for
you, and may select what is worst. What if, also, they lack purity of purpose
or tenacity of affection; do not you lack these graces? Patience is your
refuge. Endure, and in enduring conquer them; and if not them, then at least
yourself. Be patient with pains and cares. These things are killed by
enduring them, but made strong to bite and sting by feeding them with your
frets and fears. There is no pain or cure that can last long. None of them
shall enter the city of God. A little while, and you shall leave behind you all
your troubles, and forget, in your first hour of rest, that such things were on
earth. Above all, be patient with your beloved. Love is the best thing on
earth; but it is to be handled tenderly, and impatience is the nurse that kills
it. Try to smooth life's weary way each for the other, and in the exercise of
the heaven-born virtue of patience will you find the sweetest pleasure of
life.

ELF-CONTROL is the highest form of courage. It is the base of all
the virtues. It is one of the most important but one of the most
difficult things for a powerful mind to be its own master. If he reigns
within himself, and rules passions, desires, and fears, he is more
than a king.
Too often self-control is made to mean only the control of angry
passions, but that is simply one form of self-control; in another—a higher
and more complete sense—it means the control over all the passions,
appetites, and impulses. True wisdom ever seeks to restrain one from
blindly following his own impulses and appetites, even those which are
moral and intellectual, as well as those which are animal and sensual. In the
supremacy of self-control consists one of the perfections of the ideal man.
Not to be impulsive, not to be spurred hither and thither by each desire that
in turn comes uppermost, but to be self-restrained, self-balanced, governed
by the joined decision of the feelings in council assembled, before whom
every action shall have been fully debated and calmly determined,—this is
true strength and wisdom.
Mankind are endowed by the Creator with qualities which raise them
infinitely higher in the scale of importance than any other members of the
animal world. They are given reason as a guide to follow rather than
instinct. But if men give the reins to their impulses and passions, from that
moment they surrender this high prerogative. They are carried along the
current of their life and become the slaves of their strongest desires for the
time being. To be morally free—to be more than an animal—man must be
able to resist instinctive impulses. This can only be done by the exercise of
self-control. Thus it is this power that constitutes the real distinction
between a physical and a moral life, and that forms the primary basis of
individual character. Nine-tenths of the vicious desires that degrade society,

and the crimes that disgrace it, would shrink into insignificance before the
advance of valiant self-discipline, self-respect, and self-control.
It is necessary to one's personal happiness to exercise control over his
words as well as his acts, for there are words that strike even harder than
blows, and men may "speak daggers," even though they use none. Character
exhibits itself in control of speech as much as in any thing else. The wise
and forbearant man will restrain his desire to say a smart or severe thing at
the expense of another's feelings, while the fool speaks out what he thinks,
and will sacrifice his friend rather than his joke. There are men who are
headlong in their language as in their actions because of the want of
forbearance and self-restraining patience.
Government is at the bottom of all progress. The state or nation that has
the best government progresses most; so the individual who governs best
himself makes the most rapid progress. The native energies of the human
soul press it to activity; controlled they bear it forward in right paths;
uncontrolled they urge it on to probable destruction. No man is free who has
not the command over himself, but allows his appetites or his temper to
control him; and to triumph over these is of all conquests the most glorious.
He who is enslaved to his passions is worse governed than Athens was by
her thirty tyrants. He who indulges his sense in any excesses renders
himself obnoxious to his own reason, and to gratify the brute in him
displeases the man and sets his two natures at variance. We ought not to
sacrifice the sentiments of the soul to gratify the appetites of the body.
Passions are excellent servants, and when properly trained and disciplined
are capable of being applied to noble purposes; but when allowed to
become masters they are dangerous in the extreme.
To resist strong impulses, to subdue powerful passions, to silence the
voice of vehement desire, is a strong and noble virtue. And the virtue rises
in height, beauty, and grandeur in proportion to the strength of the impulses
subdued. True virtue is not always visible to the gaze of the world. It is
often still and calm. Composure is often the highest result of power, and
there are seasons when to be still demands immeasurably higher strength
than to act. Think you it demands no power to calm the stormy elements of
passions, to throw off the load of dejection, to repress every repining

thought when the dearest hopes are withered, and to turn the wounded spirit
from dangerous reveries and wasting grief to the quiet discharge of ordinary
duties? Is there no power put forth when a man, stripped of his property—
of the fruits of a life's labor—quells discontent and gloomy forebodings,
and serenely and patiently returns to the task which providence assigns? We
doubt not that the all-seeing eye of God sometimes discerns the sublimest
human energy under a form and countenance which, by their composure
and tranquillity, indicate to the human spectator only passive virtues.
Individuals who have attained such power are among the great ones of
earth.
Strength of character consists in two things,—power of will and power of
self-restraint. It requires two things, therefore, for its existence,—strong
feelings and strong command over them. Ofttimes we mistake strong
feelings for strong character. He is not a strong man who bears all before
him, at whose frown domestics tremble and the children of the household
quake; on the contrary, he is a weak man. It is his passions that are strong;
he, mastered by them, is weak. You must measure the strength of a man by
the power of the feelings he subdues, not by the power of those that subdue
him. Did we ever see a man receive a flagrant injury, and then reply calmly?
That is a man spiritually strong. Or did we ever see a man in anguish stand
as if carved out of solid rock mastering himself, or one bearing a hopeless
daily trial remain silent and never tell the world what cankered his peace?
That is strength. He who with strong passions remains chaste, he who,
keenly sensitive, with manly powers of indignation in him, can be provoked
and yet restrain himself and forgive, these are strong men, the spiritual
heroes.
A strong temper is not necessarily a bad temper. But the stronger the
temper the greater is the need of self-discipline and self-control. Strong
temper may only mean a strong and excitable will. Uncontrolled it displays
itself in fitful outbreaks of passion; but controlled and held in subjection,
like steam pent up within the mechanism of a steam engine, it becomes the
source of energetic power and usefulness. Some of the greatest characters in
history have been men of strong tempers, but with equal strength of
determination to hold their motive power under strict regulation and
control. He is usually a moral weakling who has no strong desires or strong

temper to overcome; but he who with these fails to subdue them is speedily
ruined by them.
Man is born for dominion; but he must enter it by conquest, and continue
to do battle for every inch of ground added to his sway. His infant exertions
are put forth to establish the authority of his will over his physical powers.
His after efforts are for the subjection of the will to the judgment. There are
times which come to all of us when our will is not completely fashioned to
our hands, and the restless passions of the mind hold us in sway—seasons
when all of us do and say things which are unbecoming, unseemly, and
which lower and debase us in the opinion of others and also of ourselves.
Self-control, however, is a virtue which will become ours if we cultivate it
properly, if we strive right manfully for its possession; fight a bitter warfare
against irritability, nervousness, jealousy, and all unkindness of heart and
soul. But it must be cultivated properly. One exercise of it will not win us
the victory. We must, by constant repetition of efforts, obtain at last the
victory which will bring us repose, which will enable us to say to the raging
waves of passion, "Thus far canst thou come, and no farther." We must be
faithful to ourselves, faithful in our watch and ward over tongue, eye, and
hand. It is only by so doing that man comes to the full development of his
powers. It is alike the duty and the birthright of man. Moderation in all
things, and regulating the actions only by the judgment, are the most
eminent parts of wisdom. "He that ruleth his own spirit is greater than he
that taketh a city."

"Prithee, peace!
I dare do all that may become a man.
Who dares do more is none."
—Shakspeare.

OURAGE consists not in hazarding without fear, but being
resolutely minded in a just cause. The brave man is not he who feels
no fear—for that were stupid and irrational—but he whose noble
soul subdues its fears, and bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.
True courage is cool and calm. The bravest of men have the least of a
brutal, bullying insolence, and in the very time of danger are found the most
serene and free. Rage can make a coward forget himself and fight. But what
is done in fury or anger can never be placed to the account of courage.
Courage enlarges, cowardice diminishes resources. In desperate straits
the fears of the timid aggravate the dangers that imperil the brave. For
cowards the road of desertion should be kept open. They will carry over to
the enemy nothing but their fears. The poltroon, like the scabbard, is an
incumbrance when once the sword is drawn. It is the same in the every-day
battles of life: to believe a business impossible is the way to make it so.
How many feasible projects have miscarried through despondency, and
been strangled in the birth by a cowardly imagination! It is better to meet
danger than to wait for it. A ship on a lee shore stands out to sea in a storm
to escape shipwreck. Impossibilities, like vicious dogs, fly before him who
is not afraid of them. Should misfortune overtake, retrench, work harder;
but never fly the track. Confront difficulties with unflinching perseverance.
Should you then fail, you will be honored; but shrink and you will be
despised. When you put your hands to a work, let the fact of your doing so
constitute the evidence that you mean to prosecute it to the end. They that
fear an overthrow are half conquered.

No one can tell who the heroes are, and who the cowards, until some
crisis comes to put us to the test. And no crisis puts us to the test that does
not bring us up, alone and single-handed, to face danger. It is comparatively
nothing to make a rush with the multitude, even into the jaws of destruction.
Sheep will do that. Armies can be picked from the gutters, and marched up
as food for powder. But when some crisis singles one out from the
multitude, pointing at him the particular finger of fate, and telling him,
"Stand or run," and he faces about with steady nerve, with nobody else to
stand behind, we may be sure the hero stuff is in him. When such crises
come, the true courage is just as likely to be found in people of shrinking
nerves, or in weak and timid women, as in great, burly people. It is a moral,
not a physical trait. Its seat is not in the temperament, but the will.
Some people imagine that courage is confined to the field of battle. There
could be no greater mistake. Even contentious men—unavoidably
contentious—are not by any means limited to the battlefield. And there are
other struggles with adverse circumstances—struggles, it may be, with
habits or appetites or passions—all of which require as much courage and
more perseverance than the brief encounter of battle. Enough to contend
with, enough to overcome, lies in the pathway of every individual. It may
be one kind of difficulties, or it may be another, but plenty of difficulties of
some kind or other every one may be sure of finding through life. There is
but one way of looking at fate, whatever that may be, whether blessings or
afflictions,—to behave with dignity under both. We must not lose heart, or
it will be the worse both for ourselves and for those whom we love. To
struggle, and again and again to renew the conflict,—this is life's
inheritance. He who never falters, no matter how adverse may be the
circumstances, always enjoys the consciousness of a perpetual spiritual
triumph, of which nothing can deprive him.
Though the occasions of high heroic daring seldom occur but in the
history of the great, the less obtrusive opportunities for the exercise of
private energy are continually offering themselves. With these domestic
scenes as much abound as does the tented field. Pain may be as firmly
endured in the lonely chamber as amid the din of arms. Difficulties can be
manfully combated, misfortune bravely sustained, poverty nobly supported,
disappointments courageously encountered. Thus courage diffuses a wide

and succoring influence, and bestows energy apportioned to the trial. It
takes from calamity its dejecting quality, and enables the soul to possess
itself under every vicissitude. It rescues the unhappy from degradation and
the feeble from contempt.
The greater part of the courage that is needed in the world is not of an
heroic kind. There needs the common courage to be honest, the courage to
resist temptation, the courage to speak the truth, the courage to be what we
really are, and not to pretend to be what we are not, the courage to live
honestly within our own means, and not dishonestly upon the means of
others. The courage that dares to display itself in silent effort and endeavor,
that dares to endure all and suffer all for truth and duty, is more truly heroic
than the achievements of physical valor, which are rewarded by honors and
titles, or by laurels, sometimes steeped in blood. It is moral courage that
characterizes the highest order of manhood and womanhood. Intellectual
intrepidity is one of the vital conditions of independence and self-reliance
of character. A man must have the courage to be himself, and not the
shadow or the echo of another. He must exercise his own powers, think his
own thoughts, and speak his own sentiments. He must elaborate his own
opinions, and form his own convictions.
It has been said that he who dares not form an opinion must be a coward;
he who will not must be an idler; he who can not must be a fool. Every
enlargement of the domain of knowledge which has made us better
acquainted with the heavens, with the earth, and with ourselves, has been
established by the energy, the devotion, the self-sacrifice, and the courage
of the great spirits of past times, who, however much they may have been
oppressed or reviled by their contemporaries, now rank among those whom
the enlightened of the human race most delight to honor.
The passive endurance of the man or woman who for conscience' sake is
found ready to suffer and endure in solitude, without so much as the
encouragement of even a single sympathizing voice, is an exhibition of
courage of a far higher kind than that displayed in the roar of battle, where
even the weakest feels encouraged and inspired by the enthusiasm of
sympathy and the power of numbers. Time would fail to tell of the names of
those who through faith in principles, and in the face of difficulties,

dangers, and sufferings, have fought a good fight in the moral warfare of
the world, and been content to lay down their lives rather than prove false to
their conscientious convictions of the truth.
The patriot who fights an always losing battle, the martyr who goes to
death amid the triumphant shouts of his enemies, the discoverer, like
Columbus, whose heart remains undaunted through years of failure, are
examples of the moral sublime which excites a profounder interest in the
hearts of men than even the most complete and conspicuous success. By the
side of such instances as these, how small by comparison seem the greatest
deeds of valor, inciting men to rush upon death and die amid the frenzied
excitement of physical warfare.

"The primal duties shine aloft like stars,
The charities that soothe and heal and bless
Lie scattered at the feet of man like flowers."
—Wordsworth.

HARITY, like the dew from heaven, falls gently on the drooping
flowers in the stillness of night. Its refreshing and revivifying effects
are felt, seen, and admired. It flows from a good heart and looks
beyond the skies for approval and reward. It never opens, but seeks to heal,
the wounds inflicted by misfortune. It never harrows up, but strives to calm,
the troubled mind.
Charity is another name for disinterested love—the humane, sympathetic
feeling—that which seeks the good of others; that which would pour out
from the treasures of its munificence gifts of good things upon all. It is that
feeling that gave the world a Howard, a Fenelon, a Fry. It is that feeling that
leads on the reformer, which inspires the philanthropists, which blesses, and
curses not. It is the good Samaritan of the heart. It is that which thinketh no
evil, and is kind, which hopeth all things, believeth all things, endureth all
things. It is the angel of mercy, which forgives seventy and seven times, and
still is rich in the treasures of pardon. It visits the sick, soothes the pillow of
the dying, drops a tear with the mourner, buries the dead, cares for the
orphan. It delights to do offices of good to those cast down, to relieve the
suffering of the oppressed and distressed, to proclaim the Gospel to the
poor. Its words are more precious than rubies; its voice is sweeter than
honey; its hand is softer than down; its step as gentle as love.
Whoever would be respected and beloved; whoever would be useful and
remembered with pleasure when life is over, must cherish this virtue.
Whoever would be truly happy and feel the real charms of goodness must
cultivate this affection. It becomes, if possible, more glorious when we
consider the number and extent of its objects. It is as wide as the world of

suffering, deep as the heart of sorrow, extensive as the wants of creation,
and boundless as the kingdom of need. Its spirit is the messenger of peace,
holding out to quarreling humanity the flag of truce. It is needed every-
where, in all times and places, in all trades, professions, and callings of
profit or honor which men can pursue. In the home life there is too often a
lack of charity; it should be considered as a sacred duty to long and well
cultivate it, to exercise it daily, and to guard well its growth. The peace and
happiness of the world depends greatly upon it. Nothing gives a sweeter
charm to youth than an active charity, a disposition kind to all. Who can
properly estimate the powers and sweetness of an active charity?
He who carries ever with him the spirit of boundless charity to man often
does good when he knows not of it. An influence seems to go forth from
him which soothes the distressed, encourages the drooping, stimulates
afresh the love of virtue, and begets its own image and likeness in all
beholders. Without the exercise of this grace it is impossible to make
domestic and social life delightful. Deeds and words of conventional
courtesy grown familiar are comparatively empty forms. The charitable soul
carries with it a charmed atmosphere of peace and love, breathing which all
who come within its benign influence unfold their noblest qualities, and
develop their most amiable traits. Inharmonious influences are neutralized,
the harsh discipline of life is changed to wholesome training, the crooked
places are made straight, and the rough smooth.
The uncharitable and censorious are generally found among the narrow
and bigoted, and those who have never read the full page of their own heart
or been subject to various and crucial tests. How can a man whose temper is
phlegmatic judge justly of him whose blood is fiery, whose nature is
tropical, and whose passions mount in an instant, and as quickly subside?
How can one in the seclusion of private life accurately measure the force of
the influence those are subjected to who live and act in the center of vast
and powerful civil and social circles? The more you mix with men the less
you will be disposed to quarrel, and the more charitable and liberal will you
become. The fact that you do not understand another is quite as likely to be
your fault as his. There are many chances in favor of the conclusion that
when you feel a lack of charitable feeling it is through your own ignorance
and illiberality. This will disappear as your knowledge of men grows more

and more complete. Hence keep your heart open for every body, and be sure
that you shall have your reward. You will find a jewel under the most
uncouth exterior, and associated with comeliest manners and the oddest
ways and the ugliest faces you will find rare virtues, fragrant little
humanities, and inspiring heroisms.
How glorious the thought of the universal triumph of charity! How grand
and comprehensive the theme! The subject commands the profound
attention of good men and of angels. Under the direful influence of its
antagonistic principle man has trampled upon the rights of fellow-man, and
waded through rivers of human blood, to satisfy his thirst for vengeance. Its
footsteps have been marked with the blood of slaughtered millions. Its
power has shivered kingdoms and destroyed empires. When men shall be
brought into subjection to the law of charity the angel of peace will take up
its abode with the children of men. Wars and rumors of wars will cease.
Envy and revenge will hide their diminished heads. Falsehood and slander
will be unknown. Sectarian walls will crumble to dust. Then this world will
be transformed into a paradise, in which every thing that is beautiful and
lovely shall grow and bloom. Disinterested and benevolent acts will
abound. Sorrow and disappointments will flee away, and peace, sunshine,
and joy will beautify and adorn life.
Death always makes a beautiful appeal to charity. When we look upon
the dead form, so composed and still, the kindness and the love that are in
us all come forth. The grave covers every error, buries every defect,
extinguishes every resentment. From its peaceful bosom spring none but
fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can look upon the grave even of
an enemy and not feel a compunctious throb that he should ever have
warred with the poor handful of dust that lies moldering before him?
Charity stowed away in the heart, like rose leaves in a drawer, sweetens
all the daily acts of life. Little drops of rain brighten the meadow; acts of
charity brighten the world. We can conceive of nothing more attractive than
the heart when filled with the spirit of charity. Certainly nothing so
embellishes human nature as the practice of this virtue; a sentiment so
genial and so excellent ought to be emblazoned upon every thought and act
of our life. This principle underlies the whole theory of Christianity, and in

no other person do we find it more happily exemplified than in the life of
our Savior who, while on earth, "went about doing good."

INDNESS is the music of good-will to men, and on this harp the
smallest fingers in the world may play heaven's sweetest tunes on
earth. Kindness is one of the purest traits that find a place in the
human heart. It gives us friends wherever we may chance to wander.
Whether we dwell with the savage tribes of the forest or with civilized
races, kindness is a language understood by the former as well as the latter.
Its influence never ceases. Started once, it flows onward like the little
mountain rivulet in a pure and increasing stream. To show kindness it is not
necessary to give large sums of money, or to perform some wonderful deed
that will immortalize your name. It is the tear dropped with the mother as
she weeps over the bier of her departed child; it is the word of sympathy to
the discouraged and the disheartened, the cup of cold water and the slice of
bread to the hungry one.
Kindness makes sunshine wherever it goes. It finds its way into the
hidden chambers of the heart, and brings forth golden treasures, which
harshness would have sealed up forever. Kindness makes the mother's
lullaby sweeter than the song of the lark, and renders the care-worn brow of
the father and man of business less severe in its expression. It is the water
of Lethe to the laborer, who straightway forgets his weariness born of the
burden and heat of the day. Kindness is the real law of life, the link that
connects earth with heaven, the true philosopher's stone, for all it touches it
turns into virgin gold; the true gold, wherewith we purchase contentment,
peace, and love. Would you live in the remembrance of others after you
shall have passed away? Write your name on the tablets of their hearts by
acts of kindness, love, and mercy.
Kindness is an emotion of which we ought never to feel ashamed.
Graceful, especially in youth, is the tear of sympathy and the heart that
melts at the tale of woe. We should not permit ease and indulgence to
contract our affection, and wrap us up in a selfish enjoyment; but we should

accustom ourselves to think of the distresses of human life and how to
relieve them. Think of the solitary cottage, the dying parent, and the
weeping child. A tender-hearted and compassionate disposition, which
inclines men to pity and to feel the misfortunes of others as its own, is of all
dispositions the most amiable, and though it may not receive much honor, is
worthy of the highest. Kindness is the very principle of love, an emanation
of the heart, which softens and gladdens, and should be inculcated and
encouraged in all our intercourse with our fellow beings.
Kindness does not consist in gifts, but in gentleness and generosity of
spirit. Men may give their money, which comes from their purse, and
withhold their kindness, which comes from the heart. The kindness which
displays itself in giving money does not amount to much, and often does
quite as much harm as good; but the kindness of true sympathy, of
thoughtful help, is never without beneficent results. The good temper that
displays itself in kindness must not be confounded with passive goodness. It
is not by any means indifferent, but largely sympathetic. It does not
characterize the lowest, but the highest classes of society.
True kindness cherishes and actively promotes all reasonable
instrumentalities for doing practical good in its own time, and, looking into
futurity, sees the same spirit working on for the eventual elevation and
happiness of the race. It is the kindly disposed men who are the active men
of the world, while the selfish and the skeptical, who have no love but for
themselves, are its idlers. How easy it is for one benevolent being to diffuse
pleasure around him, and how truly is one fond heart a fountain of gladness,
making every thing in its vicinity to freshen into smiles. Its effect on stern
natures is like the Spring rain, which melts the icy covering of the earth,
and causes it to open to the beams of heaven.
In the intercourse of social life it is by little acts of watchful kindness
recurring daily and hourly—and opportunities of doing kindness if sought
for are constantly starting up—it is by words, by tones, by gestures, by
looks that affection is won and preserved. He who neglects these trifles, yet
boasts that, whenever a great sacrifice is called for, he shall be ready to
make it, will rarely be loved. The likelihood is he will not make it, and if he
does, it will be much rather for his own sake than for his neighbor's. Life is

made up, not of great sacrifices or duties, but of little things, in which
smiles and kindness and small obligations, given habitually, are what win
and preserve the heart and secure comfort. The little unremembered acts of
kindness and of love are the best portion of a good man's life. Those little
nameless acts which manifest themselves by tender and affectionate looks
and little kind acts of attention do much to increase the happiness of life.
Little kindnesses are great ones. They drive away sadness, and cheer up
the soul beyond all common appreciation. They are centers of influence
over others, which may accomplish much good. When such kindnesses are
administered in times of need, they are like "apples of gold in pictures of
silver," and will be long remembered. A word of kindness in a desperate
strait is as welcome as the smile of an angel, and a helpful hand-grasp is
worth a hundred-fold its cost, for it may have rescued for all future the most
kingly thing on earth—the manhood of a man.
It should not discourage us if our kindness is unacknowledged; it has its
influence still. Good and worthy conduct may meet with an unworthy or
ungrateful return; but the absence of gratitude on the part of the receiver can
not destroy the self-approbation which recompenses the giver. The seeds of
courtesy and kindness may be scattered around with so little trouble and
expense that it seems strange that more do not endeavor to spread them
abroad. Could they but know the inward peace which requites the giver for
a kindly act, even though coldly received by the one to be benefited, they
would not hesitate to let the kindly feelings, latent in us all, have free
expression. Kindly efforts are not lost. Some of them will inevitably fall on
good ground, and grow up into benevolence in the minds of others, and all
of them will bear fruit of happiness in the bosom whence they spring. It is
better never to receive a kindness than not to bestow one. Not to return a
benefit is the greater sin, but not to confer it is the earlier.
The noblest revenge we can take upon our enemies is to do them a
kindness. To return malice for malice and injury for injury will afford but a
temporary gratification to our evil passions, and our enemies will only be
rendered more and more bitter against us. But to take the first opportunity
of showing how superior we are to them by doing them a kindness, or by
rendering them a service, is not only the nobler way, but the sting of

reproach will enter deeply into their souls, and while unto us it will be a
noble retaliation, our triumph will not unfrequently be rendered complete,
not only by beating out the malice that had otherwise stood against us, but
by bringing repentant hearts to offer themselves at the shrine of friendship.
A more glorious victory can not be gained over another man than this, that
when the injury began on his part the kindness should begin on ours.
The tongue of kindness is full of pity, love, and comfort. It speaks a word
of comfort to the desponding, a word of encouragement to the faint-hearted,
of sympathy to the bereaved, of consolation to the dying. Urged on by a
benevolent heart, it loves to cheer, console, and invigorate the sons and
daughters of sorrow. Kind words do not cost much. They never blister the
tongue or lips, and no mental trouble ever arises therefrom. Be not saving of
kind words and pleasing acts; for such are fragrant gifts, whose perfume
will gladden the heart and sweeten the life of all who hear or receive them.
Words of kindness fitly spoken are indeed both precious and beautiful; they
are worth much and cost little.
Kind words are like the breath of the dew upon the tender plants, falling
gently upon the drooping heart, refreshing its withered tendrils, and
soothing its woes. Bright oases are they in life's great desert. Who can
estimate the pangs they have alleviated, or the good works they have
accomplished? Long after they are uttered do they reverberate in the soul's
inner chamber, and, like low, sweet strains of music, they serve to quell the
memory of bitterness or of personal wrong, to lead the heart to the sunnier
paths of life. And when the heart is sad, and, like a broken harp, the chords
of pleasure cease to vibrate, how peculiarly acceptable then are kind words
from others!
Who can rightly estimate the ultimate effect of one kind word fitly
spoken? One little word of tenderness gushing in upon the soul will sweep
long-neglected chords and awaken the most pleasant strains. Kind words
are like jewels in the heart, never to be forgotten, but perhaps to cheer by
their memory a long, sad life, while words of cruelty are like darts in the
bosom, wounding and leaving scars that will be borne to the grave by their
victim. Speak kindly in the morning; it lightens all the cares of the day, and
makes the household and other affairs move along more smoothly. Speak

kindly at night; for it may be that before dawn some loved one may finish
his or her space of life, and it will be too late to ask forgiveness. Speak
kindly at all times; it encourages the downcast, cheers the sorrowing, and
very likely awakens the erring to earnest resolves to do better, with strength
to keep them. Always leave home with kind words; for they may be the last.
Kind words are the bright flowers of earthly existence; use them, and
especially around the fireside circle. They are jewels beyond price, and
powerful to heal the wounded heart, and make the weighed-down spirit
glad.

OING good is the only certain happy action of a man's life. The very
consciousness of well-doing is in itself ample reward for the trouble
we have been put to. The enjoyment of benevolent acts grows upon
reflection. Experience teaches this so truly, that never did any soul
do good but he came readier to do the same again with more
enjoyment. Never was love or gratitude or bounty practiced but with
increasing joy, which made the practicer more in love with the fair act.
If there be a pleasure on earth which angels can not enjoy, and which
they might almost envy man the possession of, it is the power of relieving
distress. If there be a pain which devils might almost pity man for enduring,
it is the death-bed reflection that we have possessed the power of doing
good, but that we have abused and perverted it to purposed ill. He who has
never denied himself for the sake of giving has but glanced at the joys of
benevolence. We owe our superfluity, and to be happy in the performance
of our duty we must exceed it. The joy resulting from the diffusion of
blessings to all around us is the purest and sublimest that can ever enter the
human mind, and can be understood only by those who have experienced it.
Next to the consolation of divine grace it is the most sovereign balm to the
miseries of life, both in him who is the object of it, and in him who
exercises it.
In all other human gifts and possessions, though they advance nature, yet
they are subject to excess. For so we see, that by aspiring to be like God in
power, the angels transgressed and fell; by aspiring to be like God in
knowledge man transgressed and fell; but by aspiring to be like God in
goodness or love neither man nor angels ever did or shall transgress, for
unto that imitation we are called. A life of passionate gratification is not to
be compared with a life of active benevolence. God has so constituted our
natures that a man can not be happy unless he is or thinks he is a means of
doing good. We can not conceive of a picture of more unutterable

wretchedness than is furnished by one who knows that he is wholly useless
in the world.
A man or woman without benevolence is not a perfect being; they are
only a deformed personality of true manhood or womanhood. In every heart
there are many tendencies to selfishness; but the spirit of benevolence
counteracts them all. In a world like this, where we are all so needy and
dependent, where our interests are so interlocked, where our lives and
hearts overlap each other and often grow together, we can not live without a
good degree of benevolence. We do most for ourselves when we do most
for others; hence our highest interests, even from a purely selfish point of
view, are in the paths of benevolence. And in a moral sense we know "that it
is more blessed to give than to receive." Good deeds double in the doing,
and the larger half comes back to the donor. A large heart of charity is a
noble thing, and the most benevolent soul lives nearest to God. Selfishness
is the root of evil; benevolence is its cure. In no heart is benevolence more
beautiful than in youth; in no heart is selfishness more ugly. To do good is
noble; to be good is more noble. This should be the aim Of all the young.
The poor and the needy should occupy a large place in their hearts. The sick
and suffering should claim their attention. The sinful and criminal should
awaken their deepest pity. The oppressed and downtrodden should find a
large place in their compassion.
Woman appears in her best estate in the exercise of benevolent deeds.
How sweet are her soothing words to the disconsolate! How consoling her
tears of sympathy to the mourning! How fresh her spirit of hope to the
discouraged! How balmy the breath of her love to the oppressed! Man, too,
appears in his best light and grandest aspect when he appears as the
practical follower of Him who went about doing good. He who does these
works of practical benevolence is educating his moral powers in the school
of earnest and glorious life. He is laying the foundation for a noble and
useful career. He is planting the seeds of a charity that will grow to bless
and save the sufferings of our fellow-men.
Liberality consists less in giving profusely than in giving judiciously, for
there is nothing that requires so strict an economy as our benevolence.
Liberality, if spread over too large a surface, produces no crop. If over one

too small it exuberates in rankness and in weeds. And yet it requires care to
avoid the other extreme. It is better to be sometimes mistaken than not to
exercise charity at all. Though we may chance sometimes to bestow our
beneficence on the unworthy it does not take from the merit of the act. It is
not the true spirit of charity which is ever rigid and circumspect, and which
always mistrusts the truth of the necessities laid open to it. Be not
frightened at the hard word, "impostor." "Cast thy bread upon the waters."
Some have unawares entertained angels.
A man should fear when he enjoys only what good he does publicly, lest
it should prove to be the publicity rather than the charity that he loves. We
have more confidence in that benevolence which begins in the home and
diverges into a large humanity than in the world-wide philanthropy which
begins at the outside and converges into egotism. A man should, indeed,
have a generous feeling for the welfare of the whole world, and should live
in the world as a citizen of the world. But he may have a preference for that
particular part in which he lives. Charity begins at home, but it may and
ought to go abroad; still we have no respect for self-boasting charity which
neglects all objects of commiseration near and around it, but goes to the end
of the world in search of misery for the sake of talking about it.
Generosity during life is a very different thing from generosity in the
hour of death. One proceeds from genuine liberality and benevolence; the
other from pride or fear. He that will not permit his wealth to do any good
to others while he is living prevents it from doing any good to himself when
he is gone. By an egotism that is suicidal and has a double edge he cuts
himself off from the truest pleasures here, and the highest pleasures
hereafter. To pass a whole life-time without performing a single generous
action till the dying hour, when death unlocks the grasp upon earthly
possessions, is to live like the Talipat palm-tree of the East, which blossoms
not till the last year of its life. It then suddenly bursts into a mass of flowers,
but emits such an odor that the tree is frequently cut down to be rid of it.
Even such is the life of those who postpone their munificence until the close
of their days, when they exhibit a late efflorescence of generosity, which
lacks the sweet-smelling perfume which good deeds should possess. And
when it appears, like the Talipat flower, it is a sure sign that death is at
hand. They surrender every thing when they see they can not continue to

keep possession, and are at last liberal when they can no longer be
parsimonious. The truly generous man does not wish to leave enough to
build an imposing monument, since there is so much sorrow and suffering
to be alleviated. They enjoy the pleasure of what they give by giving it
when alive and seeing others benefited thereby.
A conqueror is regarded with awe, the wise man commands our esteem,
but it is the benevolent man who wins our affection. A beneficent person is
like a fountain watering the earth and spreading fertility; it is, therefore,
more delightful and more honorable to give than to receive. The last, best
fruit which comes to late perfection, even in the kindliest soul, is tenderness
towards the hard, forbearance towards the unforbearant, warmth of heart
towards the cold, philanthropy towards the misanthropic.

ERACITY, or the habitual observance of truth, is a bright and
shining quality on the part of any one who strives to make the most
of life's possibilities. It irradiates all of his surroundings, making
plain the path of duty, and hence the path which leads to the most
enduring success. It is the bond of union and the basis of human happiness.
Without this virtue, there is no reliance upon language, no confidence in
friendship, no security in promises and oaths.
Truth is always consistent with itself, and needs nothing to help it out. It
is always near at hand, and sits upon our lips, and is ready to drop out
before we are aware; whereas a lie is troublesome, and sets a man's
invention upon the rack; and one trick needs many more to make it good. It
is dangerous to deviate far from the strict rule of veracity, even on the most
trifling occasions. However guileless may be our intentions, the habit, if
indulged, may take root, and gain on us under the cover of various
pretenses, till it usurps a leading influence. Nothing appears so low and
mean as lying and dissimulation; and it is observable that only weak
animals endeavor to supply by craft the defects of strength which nature has
given them. Dissimulation in youth is the forerunner of perfidy in old age.
Its first appearance is the fatal omen of growing depravity and future
shame. It degrades parts and learning, obscures the luster of every
accomplishment, and sinks us into contempt.
The path of falsehood is a perplexing maze. After the first departure from
sincerity, it is not in our power to stop. One artifice unavoidably leads on to
another, till, as the intricacies of the labyrinth increase, we are left entangled
in our snare. Falsehood is difficult to be maintained. When the materials of
a building are solid stone, very rude architecture will suffice; but a structure
of rotten materials needs the most careful adjustment to make it stand at all.
The love of truth and right is the grand spring source of integrity. The study
of truth is perpetually joined with the love of virtue. For there is no virtue

which derives not its original from truth; as, on the contrary, there is no vice
which has not its beginning in a lie. Truth is the foundation of all
knowledge and the cement of all society.
Strict veracity requires something more than merely the speaking of
truth. There are lying looks as well as lying words; dissembling smiles,
deceiving signs, and even a lying silence. Not to intend what you speak is to
give your heart the lie with your tongue; and not to perform what you
promise is to give your tongue the lie with your actions. Deception exhibits
itself in many forms—in reticency on the one hand or exaggeration on the
other; in disguise or concealment; in pretended concurrence in others'
opinions; in assuming an attitude of conformity which is deceptive; in
making promises, or in allowing them to be implied, which are never
intended to be performed; or even in refraining from speaking the truth
when to do so is a duty. There are also those who are all things to all men,
who say one thing and do another. But those who are essentially insincere
fail to evoke confidence, and, in the end discover that they have only
deceived themselves while thinking they were deceiving others.
Lying is in some cases the offspring of perversity and vice, and in many
others of sheer moral cowardice. Plutarch calls lying the vice of a slave.
There is no vice, says Lord Bacon, that so covers a man with shame as to be
found false and perfidious. Every lie, great or small, is the brink of a
precipice, the depth of which nothing but Omniscience can fathom.
Denying a fault always doubles it. All that a man can get by lying and
dissembling is that he will not be believed when he speaks the truth. A liar
is subject to two misfortunes, neither to believe nor to be believed. If
falsehood, says Montaigne, like truth, had but one face, we should be upon
better terms; for we should then take the contrary of what the liar says for
certain truth.
We are not called upon to speak all that we know; that would be folly.
But what a man says should be what he thinks; otherwise it is knavery. No
wrong is ever made better, but always worse, by a falsehood. Even when
detection does not follow, suspicion is always created. Wrong is but
falsehood put in practice. The Chinese have a proverb which says, "A lie
has no legs, and can not stand;" but it has wings and can fly far and wide.

You never can unite, though you may try ever so hard, the antagonistic
elements of truth and falsehood. The man who forgets a great deal that has
happened has a better memory than he who remembers a great deal that
never happened.
After all, the most natural beauty in the world is honesty and moral truth;
for all beauty is truth. True features make the beauty of a face, and true
proportions the beauty of architecture, as true measure that of harmony and
music. In poetry, truth still is the perfection. Fiction must be governed by
truth, and can only please by its resemblance to truth. The appearance of
reality is necessary to agreeably represent any passion, and to be able to
move others we must be moved ourselves, or at least seem to be so upon
some probable ground. Falsehood itself is never so susceptible as when she
baits her hook with truth, and no opinions so fatally mislead us as those that
are not wholly wrong. No watch so effectually deceives the wearer as those
that are sometimes right.
Such are the imperfections of mankind that the duplicities, the
temptations, and the infirmities that surround us have rendered the truth,
and nothing but the truth, as hazardous and contraband a commodity as a
man can possibly deal in. Colton says that "pure truth, like pure gold, has
been found unfit for circulation;" and another has said, "It is dangerous to
follow truth too near lest she should kick out your teeth." The trouble
consists not in obeying the behests of strict veracity, but in lack of prudence
and ordinary caution. While all we tell should be the truth, it is not always
necessary to tell all the truth, unless the other one have a right to know.
Silence is always an alternative with truth. Remember that the silken cords
of love must ever be linked with those of truth; otherwise they will but gall
and irritate, instead of guiding into paths of rectitude.

MAN of honor! What a glorious title is that! Who would not rather
have it than any that kings can bestow? It is worth all the gold and
silver in the world. He who merits it wears a jewel within his soul
and needs none upon his bosom. "His word is as good as his bond,"
and if there were no law in the land one might deal just as safely with him.
To take unfair advantage is not in him. To quibble and guard his speech so
that he leads others to suppose that he means something that he does not
mean, even while they can never prove that it is so, would be impossible to
his frank nature. His speeches are never riddles. He looks you in the eye
and says straight out the things he has to say, and he does unto others the
things he would that they should do to him.
He is a good son and a good brother. Who ever heard him betray the
faults and follies of his near kindred? And with his friends he proves
himself true, and will not betray the trust friendship imposes on him. And
with strangers you do not find him too curious about the affairs of others, or
too eager to impart information accidentally gleaned by him. Real honor
and esteem are not difficult to be obtained in the world. They are best won
by actual worth and merit rather than by art and intrigue, which runs a long
and ruinous race, and seldom seizes upon the prize at last. Clear and round
dealing is the honor of man's nature, and mixture of falsehood is like alloy
in coin of gold and silver, which may make the metal work the better, but it
embaseth it.
Honor, like reputation and character, displays itself in little acts. It is of
slow growth. Anciently the Romans worshiped virtue and honor as gods;
they built two temples, which were so seated that none could enter the
temple of honor without passing through the temple of virtue, thus
symbolizing the truth that all honor is founded on virtue. He whose soul is
set to do right finds himself more firmly bound by the principle of honor
than by legal restraints—much more at ease when bound by the law than

when bound by his conscience. He who is actuated by false principles of
honor does not feel thus. True honor is internal, false honor external. The
one is founded on principles, the other on interests. The one does not
ostentatiously proclaim its lofty aims; it prefers that its conduct and actions
demonstrate its purposes. He who is moved by false honor is constantly
worried lest some one should doubt that he was a man of honor. He is so
busily engaged in sustaining his reputation against fancied attacks on his
honor that he finds but little time to devote to the exercise of those acts
which a fine sense of honor would impel him to do. Such a one may be a
libertine, penurious, proud—may insult his inferiors and defraud his
creditors—but it is impossible for one possessed of true honor to be any of
these.
Honor and virtue are not the same, though true honor is always founded
on virtue. Honor may take her tones and texture from the prevailing
manners and customs of those around us; this renders her vacillating unless
allied to virtue, which is the same in both hemispheres, yesterday as to-day.
When honor is not founded on virtue she becomes essentially selfish in
design, and is unworthy of her name. She is then unstable and seldom the
same, for she feeds upon opinion, and will be as fickle as her food. She
builds a lofty structure on the sandy foundation of the esteem of those who
are, of all beings, the most subject to change. Combined with virtue she is
uniform and fixed, because she looks for approbation only from Him who is
the same at all times. Honor by herself is capricious in her rewards. She
feeds us upon air, and often pulls down our house to build our monument.
She is contracted in her views, inasmuch as her hopes are rooted on to
earth, bounded by time, and terminated by death. But, when directed by
virtue, her hopes become enlarged and magnified, inasmuch as they extend
beyond present things—even to things eternal. In the storms and tempests
of life mere honor is not to be depended on, because she herself partakes of
the tumult; she also is buffeted by the waves and borne along by the
whirlwind. But virtue is above the storm, and gives to honor a sure and
steadfast anchor, since it is cast into heaven.

HAT is called policy is sometimes spoken of in the same sense as
prudence, but its nature is cunning. It is a thing of many aspects and
of many tongues; it can appear in any form and speak in any
language. It is sometimes called management, but is not worthy of that
good name, inasmuch as it is but a compound of sagacity and deceit, of
duplicity and of meanness. It puts on the semblance of kindness and
concern for your good, but its heart is treachery and selfishness.
This principle, strange as it may seem, is of very extensive influence. It is
adopted and acted upon by multitudes, who claim to be respectable and
intelligent men, and is not confined to the few or those of the baser sort. Its
devotees may not be aware that this is their ruling principle of action. They
mistake its meaning by giving it a wrong name. They call it prudence,
discretion, wisdom. Alas! it is not guided by the high principles of integrity,
which beautify and adorn those noble attributes of perfect manhood. Its
appropriate name is policy, the sister of cunning, the child of deception and
duplicity.
This principle of double dealing, of artful accommodation and
management, is eminently characteristic of the present age. It meets every
man on his blind side, and by stratagem makes a tool of him to accomplish
its own wily and selfish purposes. If he is weak, it deceives him by its
artifices; if he is vain, it puffs up his vanity by flattery; if he is avaricious, it
allures him with the prospect of gain; if he is ambitious, it promises him
promotion; if he is timid, it threatens him. Its leading maxim is, "The end
justifies the means," and, in pursuing its end, it sticks at nothing that
promises success. It may be traced in all departments of business and
through all grades of society, from the grand councils of the nation to the
little town or parish meeting. Instead of acting in open daylight, pursuing
the direct and straightforward path of rectitude and duty, you see men
extensively putting on false appearances, working in the dark, and carrying

their plans by stratagem and deceit; nothing open, nothing direct and
honest; one thing is said, and another thing is meant. When you look for a
man in one place, you find him in another. With flattering lips and a double
heart do they speak. Their language and conduct do not proceed from fixed
principles and open-hearted sincerity, but from a spirit of duplicity and
selfish policy.
Prudence, caution, and business management are not only a necessity, but
are commended as the price of success in worldly affairs. They have the
sanction of our best judgment, and offend no moral sense of right. But
against mere policy every young man who has any desire of lasting
respectability and influence ought most carefully be on his guard. Nothing
can be more fatal to reputation and success in life than to acquire the
character of an artful intriguer, one who does all things with the ulterior
design of furthering his own ends. He may succeed for a time; but he will
soon be found out, and when found out will be despised. He who acts on
this principle thinks that nobody knows it; but he is wretchedly mistaken.
The thin disguise that is thrown over the inner man is soon seen through by
every one, and while he prides himself on being very wise and keeping his
designs out of sight, all persons of the least discernment perfectly
understand him, and despise him for thinking he could make fools of them.
People often mistake policy for discretion. There is a wide difference
between the two traits. Policy is only the mimic of discretion, but may pass
current with the mass in the same manner as vivacity is often mistaken for
wit and gravity for wisdom. Policy has only private, selfish aims, and stops
at nothing which may render these successful. Discretion has large and
extended views, and, like a well-formed eye, commands a wide horizon.
Policy is a kind of short insight that discovers the minutest objects that are
close at hand, but is not able to discover things at a distance. The whole
power of policy is private; to say nothing and to do nothing is the utmost of
its reach. Yet men thus narrow by nature and mean by art are sometimes
able to rise by the miscarriage of bravery and openness of integrity, and,
watching failures and snatching opportunities, obtain advantages which
belong to higher characters.

The observant man will not calculate any essential difference from mere
appearances. The light laughter that bubbles on the lips, often mantles over
brackish depths of sadness, and the serious look may be the sober veil that
covers a divine peace. The bosom may ache beneath diamond broaches, or a
blithe heart dance under coarse wool sacks. By a kind of fashionable
discipline the eye is taught to brighten, the lip to smile, and the whole
countenance to emanate the semblance of friendly welcome, while the
bosom is unwarmed by a single spark of genuine kindness and good-will.
Grief and anxiety lie hidden under the golden robes of prosperity, and the
gloom of calamity is often cheered by the secret radiations of hope and
comfort, as in the works of nature the bog is sometimes covered with
flowers and the mine concealed in barren crags. Beware, so long as you
live, of judging men by the outward appearance.
But nothing feigned or violent can last long. Life becomes manifest. It
will declare itself, and at last the worthless disguises are worn off. Hence,
the lesson that the wise man should learn is to guard against mere
appearances in others, but for himself to pursue the straightforward, open
course, and in a world of deceit and intrigue show himself a man that can be
relied on. Thus will his life be influential for good, and after he is gone his
memory will be revered as that of an upright man.

HERE is one quality which brings to its possessor naught but
ridicule, or, what is still worse, positive dislike: it is sometimes
called self-conceit, but more commonly and more forcibly expressed
by egotism.
Egotism and skepticism are always miserable companions in life, and are
especially unlovable in youth. The egotist is next door to a fanatic.
Constantly occupied with self, he has no thoughts to spare for others. He
refers to himself in all things, thinks of himself, and studies himself, until
his own little self becomes his ruling principle of action. The pests of
society are egotists. There are some men whose opposition can be reckoned
upon against every thing that has not emanated from themselves. He that
falls in love with himself will have no rivals. The egotist's code is, Every
thing for himself, nothing for others. Hence it is by reason of their
selfishness that they find the world so ugly, because they can only see
themselves in it.
An egotist is seldom a man of brilliant parts. A talented or sensible man is
apt to drop out of his narration every allusion to himself. He is content with
putting his theme on its own ground. You shall not tell me you have learned
to know most men. Your saying so disproves it. You shall not tell me by
their titles what books you have read. You shall not tell me your house is the
best and your pictures the finest. You shall make me feel it. I am not to infer
it from your conversation. It is a false principle, because we are entirely
occupied with ourselves, we must equally occupy the thoughts of others.
The contrary inference is but the fair one. We are such hypocrites that
whatever we talk of ourselves, though our words may sound humble, our
hearts are nearly always proud. When all is summed up, a man never speaks
of himself without loss; his accusation of himself is always believed, his
praises never. This love of talking of self is a disease that, like influenza,
falls on all constitutions. It is allowable to speak of yourself, provided you

do not continually advance new arguments in your favor. But abuse of self
is nearly as bad, since we can not help suspecting that those who abuse
themselves are, in reality, angling for approbation.
Ofttimes we dislike egotism in others simply because of our own. We feel
it a slight, when we are by, that one should talk of himself, or seek to
entertain us with his own interests instead of asking us ours. He who thinks
he can find in himself the means of doing without others is much mistaken.
But he who thinks others can not do without him is still more mistaken.
Conceit is the most contemptible and one of the most odious qualities in the
world. It is vanity drawn from all other shifts, and forced to appeal to itself
for admiration. It is to nature what paint is to beauty; it is not only needless,
but it impairs what it would improve. He who gives himself airs of
importance exhibits the credentials of impotence. He that fancies himself
very enlightened because he sees the deficiency of others may be very
ignorant because he has not studied his own. In the same degree as we
overrate ourselves we shall underrate others; for injustice allowed at home
is not likely to be corrected abroad.
It is this unquiet love of self that renders us so sensitive. It is an
instrument useful, but dangerous. It often wounds the hand that makes use
of it, and seldom does good without doing harm. The sick man who sleeps
ill thinks the night long. We exaggerate all the evils which we encounter;
they are great, but our sensibility increases them. Man should not prize
himself by what he has; neither should others prize him by what he
professes to have, or what he by vigorous talk constantly lays claim to
possess. We should seek the more valuable qualities which lie hidden in his
true self. He mistakes who values a jewel by its golden frame, or a book by
its silver clasps, or a man by reason of his estates or profession.
The true measure of success always lies between two extremes. Egotism
and overweening self-conceit are indeed deplorable blemishes in any
character; but we, perhaps, forget that he who is totally destitute of them
presents but a sorry figure in the world's battle-field. He lacks individuality,
and lacks the courage to push forward his own interests. In this aggressive
age it will not do to be destitute of a right degree of self-confidence.
Lacking this, men are too often deterred from taking that position for which

their talents eminently fit them, and at last have only vain regrets as they
contemplate life's failures. Egotism is as distinct and separate from a manly
self-confidence in one's own powers as the unsightly block of marble is to
the finished statuette, which consists, indeed, of the same materials as the
former, but so softened and modified as to be an object of admiration to all.
Nor is it difficult to draw the dividing lines. Egotism exultingly proclaims
to all, "Look at me. What strength, what ability, what talents are mine! Who
so graceful? who so gifted? who so competent to be placed in position of
honor or authority as I? I am sure of success. Behold my triumph!" The man
who is withal modest, yet feels that he possesses acquisitions and gifts,
says: "True, the way is long, the time discouraging, but what has been done
can be done. I can but make the effort, and go forward to the best of my
ability; and if so be I fail, with a brave heart and a cheerful face I will do
what duty points out; but if success crowns my efforts, I will so use my
advantages that all may be benefited."

HERE is no vice or folly that requires so much nicety and skill to
manage as vanity, nor any which, by ill-management, makes so
contemptible a figure. The desire of being thought wise is often a
hindrance to being so, for such a one is often more desirous of
letting the world see what knowledge he hath than to learn of others that
which he wants. Men are more apt to be vain on account of those qualities
which they fondly believe they have than of those which they really possess
Some would be thought to do great things who are but tools or instruments,
like the fool who fancied he played upon the organ when he only blew the
bellows.
Be not so greedy of popular applause as to forget that the same breath
which blows up a fire may blow it out again. Vanity, like laudanum and
other poisonous medicines, is beneficial in small, though injurious in large,
quantities. Be not vain of your want of vanity. When you hear the phrase, "I
may say without vanity," you may be sure some characteristic vanity will
follow in the same breath. The most worthless things are sometimes most
esteemed. It is not all the world that can pull an humble man down, because
God will exalt him. Nor is it all the world that can keep a proud man up,
because God will debase him.
Vanity feeds voraciously and abundantly on the richest food that can be
served up, or can live on less and meaner diet than any thing of which we
can form a conception. The rich and the poor, learned and ignorant, strong
and weak,—all have a share in vanity. The humblest Christian is not free
from it, and when he is most humble the devil will flatter his vanity by
telling him of it. On the other hand, it is with equal relish that it feeds upon
vulgarity, coarseness, and fulsome eccentricity,—every thing, in short, by
which a person can attract attention. It often takes liberality by the hand,
prompts advice, administers reproof, and sometimes perches visibly and
gayly on the prayers and sermons in the pulpit. It is an ever-present

principle of human nature—a wen on the heart of man; less painful, but
equally loathsome as a cancer. It is of all others the most baseless
propensity.
O vanity, how little is thy force acknowledged or thine operations
discerned! How wantonly dost thou deceive mankind under different
disguises! Sometimes thou dost wear the face of pity; sometimes of
generosity; nay, thou hast the assurance to put on the robes of religion and
the glorious ornaments that belong only to heroic virtue. Vanity is the fruit
of ignorance. It thrives most in those places never reached by the air of
heaven or the light of the sun. It is a deceitful sweetness, a fruitless labor, a
perpetual fear, a dangerous honor; her beginning is without providence, but
her end not without repentance. Vanity is so constantly solicitous of self that
even where its own claims are not interested it indirectly seeks the aliment
which it loves by showing how little is deserved by others.
Charms which, like flowers, lie on the surface—such as preserve figure
and dress—conduce to vanity. On the contrary, those excellencies which lie
down, like gold, and are discovered with difficulty—such as profoundness
of intellect and morality—leave their possessors modest and humble. Vanity
ceases to be blameless, even if it is not ennobled, when it is directed to
laudable objects, when it prompts us to great and generous actions. Vanity
is, indeed, the poison of agreeableness, yet even a poison, when skillfully
employed, has a salutary effect in medicine; so has vanity in the commerce
and society of the world.
Some intermixture of vainglorious tempers puts life into business, and
makes a fit composition for grand enterprises and hazardous endeavors; for
men of solid and sober natures have more of the ballast than the sail. Vanity
is, in one sense, the antidote to conceit, for, while the former makes us all
nerve to the opinions of others, the latter is perfectly satisfied with its
opinion of itself. A vain man can not be altogether rude. Desirous as he is of
pleasing he fashions his manners after those of others. Therefore, let us give
vanity fair quarter wherever we meet with it, being persuaded that it is often
productive of good to its possessor, and to others who are within its sphere
of action.

Vanity pervades the whole human family to a greater or less degree, as
the atmosphere does the globe. It is so anchored in the heart of man that not
only in the lower walks of life but in the higher all wish to have their
admirers. Those who write against it wish to have the glory of writing well,
and those who read it wish the glory of reading well. Vanity calculates but
poorly on the vanity of others. What a virtue we should distill from frailty!
what a world of pain we would save our brethren, if we would suffer our
weakness to be the measure of theirs!
We would rather contend with pride than vanity, because pride has a
stand-up way of fighting. You know where it is. It throws its black shadow
on you, and you are not at a loss where to strike. But vanity is such a
delusive and multified failing that men who fight vanities are like men who
fight midgets and butterflies. It is much easier to chase them than to hit
them. Vanity may be likened to the mouse nibbling about in the expectation
of a crumb; while pride is apt to be like the butcher's dog, who carries off
your steak and growls at you as he goes. Pride is never more offensive than
when it condescends to be civil; whereas vanity, whenever it forgets itself,
naturally assumes good humor.
Extinguish vanity in the mind, and you naturally retrench the little
superfluities of garniture and equipage. The flowers will fall of themselves
when the root that nourishes them is destroyed. We have nothing of which
we should be vain, but much to induce humility. If we have any good
qualities they are the gift of God. Let every one guard against this all-
pervading principle, and teach their children that it is the shadow of a shade.

HERE is nothing in the world so malignant and destructive in its
nature and tendency as selfishness. It has done all the mischief of
the past, and is destined to do all the mischief of the unseen future.
It has destroyed the temporal and eternal interests of millions in
times past, and it is morally certain that it will destroy the interests of
millions yet to come. It is the source of all the sins of omission and
commission which are found in the world. We shall not see a wrong take
place but that the actor is moved by his own private, personal, and selfish
nature.
Selfishness is a vice utterly at variance with the happiness of him who
harbors it, for the selfish man suffers more from his selfishness than he
from whom that selfishness withholds some important benefit. He that
sympathizes in all the happiness of others perhaps himself enjoys the safest
happiness, and he who is warned by all the folly of others has perhaps
attained the soundest wisdom. But such is the blindness and suicidal
selfishness of mankind that things so desirable are seldom pursued, things
so accessible seldom attained. The selfish person lives as if the world were
made altogether for him, and not he for the world; to take in every thing,
and part with nothing.
Selfishness contracts and narrows our benevolence, and causes us, like
serpents, to infold ourselves within ourselves, and to turn out our stings to
all the world besides. As frost to the bud and blight to the blossom, even
such is self-interest to friendship, for confidence can not dwell where
selfishness is porter at the gate. The essence of true nobility is neglect of
self. Let the thought of self pass in, and the beauty of a great action is gone,
like the bloom from a soiled flower. Selfishness is the bane of all life. It can
not enter into any life—individual, family, or social—without cursing it. It
maintains its ground by tenacity and contention, and engenders strife and
discord where all before was peace and harmony.

Few sins in the world are punished more constantly or more certainly
than that of selfishness. It dwarfs all the better nature of man. It takes from
him that feeling of kindly sympathy for others' good, which is one of the
most pleasing traits of manhood, and in its stead sets up self as the one
whose good is to be chiefly sought. It makes self the vortex instead of the
fountain, so that, instead of throwing out, he learns only to draw in. These
withering effects are to be seen not only in the high roads and public places
of life, but in the nooks and by-lanes as well. Not alone among conquerors
and kings, but among the humble and obscure; in the dissembling artifices
of trade; in the unsanctified lust of wealth; in the devoted pursuit of station
and power; confederated with the worst feelings and most depraved
designs.
In proportion as we contract and curtail our feelings, so do we confine
and limit our minds. If all our thoughts, plans, and purposes tend only to the
advancement of self, we may be sure they will become as insignificant as
their object, and instead of embracing in their scope the welfare of many,
rendering us an object of endearment to others, they will become dwarfed
and conceited, and fall far short of the liberality and public spirit by which
we attach others to our cause. Unselfish and noble acts are the most radiant
epochs in the history of souls, points from which we date a larger growth of
thought and feeling. When wrought in earliest youth, they lie in the memory
of age, like the coral islands, green and sunny, waving with the fruits of a
southern clime amidst the melancholy waste of water.
The vice of selfishness displays itself in many ways. In an extreme form
it is termed avarice, and shows itself in an insatiable desire to gather wealth.
As heat changes the hitherto brittle metal into the elastic, yielding, yet
deadly Damascus blade, so, when the demon of avarice finds lodgment in
the heart of man, it changes all his better nature. It may find him delighting
to do good and relieving the wants of others; it leaves him one whose whole
energy and power are turned to the advancement of self alone. This is the
grand center to which all his efforts tend. There is no length to which an
avaricious man will not go in his mad career. In order that wealth may be
his he will run almost any risks, stand any privation, and will sacrifice not
only his own comfort and happiness, but that also of his friends and
associates, or even of his own family circle. His mind is never expanded

beyond the circumference of the almighty dollar. He thinks not of his
immortal soul, his accountability to God, or of his final destiny. Selfishness
in its worst form has complete possession of his heart. It is the ruling
principle of his life. One strange feature about this form of selfishness is
that it ultimately defeats its own ends. Its possessor is an Ishmael in the
community. He passes to the grave without tasting the sweets of friendship
or the comforts of life. Striving for wealth in order that he may have
wherewith to procure happiness, he ends with the sacrifice of all the means
of enjoyment in order that he may augment his wealth more rapidly.
The closing hours of a life of selfishness must be clouded with many
painful thoughts. Chances for doing good passed unimproved. In order that
some slight personal advantage might be gained kindly feelings were
suppressed. The heart, which was intended to beat with compassion for
others, has become contracted to a narrow circle, and life, that inestimable
gift of Providence, instead of drawing to its close a rounded and complete
whole, has been stinted and dwarfed, and passes on to the other world but
illy prepared for the great changes wrought by the hand of death.

BSTINACY and contention are common qualities, most appearing
in and best becoming a mean and illiterate soul. They arise not so
much from a conscious defect of voluntary power, as foolhardiness
is not seldom the disguise of conscious timidity. Obstinacy must not
be confounded with perseverance; for obstinacy presumptuously declines to
listen to reason, but perseverance only continues its exertion while satisfied
that good judgment sustains its course. There are few things more singular
than that obstinacy which, in matters of the highest importance to ourselves,
often prevents us from acknowledging the truth that is perfectly plain to all.
There is something in obstinacy which differs from every other passion.
Whenever it fails it never recovers, but either breaks like iron or crumbles
sulkily away like a fractured arch. Most other passions have their periods of
fatigue and rest, their suffering and their care; but obstinacy has no
resources, and the first wound is mortal. Narrowness of mind is often the
cause of obstinacy; we do not easily believe beyond what we see. Hence it
is that the more extensive one's knowledge of mankind becomes, the less
inclined is he to the vice of obstinacy; and an obstinate disposition, instead
of denoting a mind of superior ability, always denotes a dwarfed, ignorant,
and selfish disposition. An obstinate, ungovernable self-sufficiency plainly
points out to us that state of imperfect maturity at which the graceful levity
of youth is lost and the solidity of experience not yet acquired.
Obstinacy is not only a result of a narrow, illiberal judgment, but it is a
barrier to all improvements. It casts the mind in a mold, and as utterly
prevents it from expanding as though it were a material substance encased
in iron. A stubborn mind conduces as little to wisdom, or even to
knowledge, as a stubborn temper to happiness. Whosoever perversely
resolves to adhere to plans or opinions, be they right or be they wrong,
because they have adopted them, raises an impassable bar to information.
The wiser we are the more we are aware of the extent of our ignorance.

Those who have but just entered the vestibule of the temple of knowledge
invariably feel themselves much wiser than those who meekly worship in
the inner sanctuary. Positiveness is much more apt to accompany the
statement of the superficial observer than him whose experience has been
vast and profound. Sir Isaac Newton, who might have spoken with
authority, felt as a child on the shore of the great sea of human knowledge.
Doubtless many of his followers feel as though far out on the tossing
waves; for they act as if their opinion could by no possibility be wrong.
Sometimes obstinacy is confounded with firmness, and under this
misnomer is practiced as a virtue. But the line between obstinacy and
firmness is strong and decisive. Firmness of purpose is one of the most
necessary sinews of character, and one of the best instruments of success.
Without it, genius wastes its efforts in a maze of inconsistencies. Firmness,
while not suffering itself to be easily driven from its course, recognizes the
fact that it is only perfection that is immutable, but that for things imperfect
change is the way to perfect them. It gets the name of obstinacy when it will
not admit of a change for the better. Firmness without knowledge can not be
always good. In things ill it is not virtue, but an absolute vice. It is a noble
quality; but unguided by knowledge or humility, it falls into obstinacy, and
so loses the traits whereby we before admired it.
Society is often dragged down to low standards by two or three who
propose, in every case, to fight every thing and every idea of which they are
not the instigators. There is nothing harder for a man with a strong will than
to make up his mind not always to have his own way; to submit, in many
cases, rather than to quarrel with his neighbors. One must certainly make up
his mind to lose much of happiness who is not willing to give way at times
to the wishes of others. We must learn to turn sharp corners quietly, or we
shall be constantly hurting ourselves.
But we must not, in decrying obstinacy, overlook the fact that, while it
certainly is a great vice and frequently the cause of great mischief, yet it has
closely allied with it the whole line of masculine virtues, constancy, fidelity,
and fortitude, and that in their excess all the virtues easily fall into it. Yet it
is ever easy to determine the line of demarkation where these virtues end
and obstinacy begins. The smallest share of common sense will suffice to

detect it, and there is little doubt that few people pass this boundary without
being conscious of the fault. The business of constancy chiefly is bravely to
stand by and stoutly to suffer those inconveniences which are not otherwise
possible to be avoided. But constancy does not adhere to an opinion merely
for the sake of having its own way, wherein it differs from obstinacy.
There are situations in which the proper opinions and modes of action are
not evident. In such cases we must maturely reflect ere we decide; we must
seek for the opinions of those wiser and better acquainted with the subject
than ourselves; we must candidly hear all that can be said on both sides;
then, and then only, can we in such cases hope to determine wisely. But the
decision once so deliberately adopted we must firmly sustain, and never
yield but to the most unbiased conviction of our former errors. But when
such conviction is secured, it is the part of true manliness to acknowledge it,
and of true wisdom to make the required change. There is no principle of
constancy or of perseverance or of fortitude that requires us to continue in
our former course when convinced that it is wrong.

HERE is nothing which wings its flight so swiftly as calumny;
nothing which is uttered with more ease; nothing which is listened
to with more readiness, or dispersed more widely. Slander soaks into
the mind as water soaks into low and marshy places, where it
becomes stagnant and offensive. Slander is like the Greek fire, which
burned unquenched beneath the water; or, like the weeds which, when you
have extirpated them in one place, are sprouting vigorously in another; or, it
is like the wheel which catches fire as it goes, and burns with fiercer
conflagration as its own speed increases.
The tongue of slander is never tired; in one form or another it manages to
keep itself in constant employment. Sometimes it drips honey and
sometimes gall. It is bitter now, and then sweet. It insinuates or assails
directly, according to circumstances. It will hide a curse under a smooth
word and administer poison in the phrases of love. Like death, it "loves a
shining mark," and is never so available and eloquent as when it can blight
the hopes of the noble-minded, soil the reputation of the pure, and break
down or destroy the character of the brave and strong.
No soul of high estate can take delight in slander. It indicates lapse,
tendency toward chaos, utter depravity. It proves that somewhere in the soul
there is a weakness—a waste, evil nature. Education and refinement are no
proof against it. They often serve only to polish the slanderous tongue,
increase its tact, and give it suppleness and strategy.
He that shoots at the stars may hurt himself, but not endanger them.
When any man speaks ill of us we are to make use of it as a caution,
without troubling ourselves at the calumny. He is in a wretched case that
values himself upon the opinions of others, and depends upon their
judgment for the peace of his life. The contempt of injurious words stifles
them, but resentment revives them. He that values himself upon conscience,
not opinion, never heeds reproaches. When ill-spoken of take it thus: If you

have not deserved it you are none the worse; if you have, then mend. Flee
home to your own conscience, and examine your own heart. If you are
guilty it is a just correction; if not guilty it is a fair instruction; make use of
both; so shall you distill honey out of gall, and out of an open enemy create
a secret friend.
That man who attempts to bring down and depreciate those who are
above him does not thereby elevate himself. He rather sinks himself, while
those whom he traduces are benefited rather than injured by the slander of
one so base as he. He who indulges in slander is like one who throws ashes
to the windward, which come back to the same place and cover him all
over. To be continually subject to the breath of slander will tarnish the
purest virtue as a constant exposure to the atmosphere will obscure the
luster of the finest gold; but in either the real value of both continues the
same, although the currency may be somewhat impeded. Dirt on the
character, if unjustly thrown, like dirt on the clothes, should be let alone
awhile until it dries, and then it will rub off easily enough. Slander, like
other poisons, when administered in very heavy doses, is often thrown off
by the intended victim, and thus relieves where it was meant to kill. Dirt
sometimes acts like fuller's earth—defiling for the moment, but purifying in
the end.
How small a matter will start a slanderous report! How frequently is the
honesty and integrity of a man disposed of by a smile or a shrug! How
many good and generous actions have been sunk in oblivion by a distrustful
look, or stamped with the imputation of proceeding from bad motives by a
mysterious and seasonable whisper! A mere hint, a significant look, a
mysterious countenance, directing attention to a particular person, is often
amply sufficient to start the tongue of slander.
Never does a man portray his own character more vividly than in his
manner of portraying another's. There is something unsound about the man
whom you have never heard say a good word about any mortal, but who
can say much of evil of nearly all he is acquainted with. Never speak evil of
another, even with a cause. Remember we all have our faults, and if we
expect charity from the world we must be charitable ourselves. Most
persons have visible faults, and most are sometimes inconsistent; upon

these faults and mistakes petty scandal delights to feast. And even where
free from external blemishes envy and jealousy can start the bloodhound of
suspicion—create a noise that will attract attention, and many may be led to
suppose there is game where there is nothing but thin air.
A word once spoken can never be recalled; therefore it is prudent to think
twice before we speak, especially when ill is the burden of our talk. Give no
heed to an infamous story handed you by a person known to be an enemy to
the one he is defaming; neither condemn your neighbor unheard, for there
are always two sides of a story. Hear no ill of a friend, nor speak any of an
enemy. Believe not all you hear, nor report all you believe. Be cautious in
believing ill of others, and more cautious in reporting it.
There is seldom any thing uttered in malice which returns not to the heart
of the speaker. Believe nothing against another but on good authority, nor
report what may hurt another, unless it be a greater hurt to others to conceal
it. It is a sign of bad reputation to take pleasure in hearing ill of our
neighbors. He who sells his neighbor's credit at a low rate makes the market
for another to buy his at the same rate. He that indulges himself in
calumniating or ridiculing the absent plainly shows his company what they
may expect from him after he leaves them.
Deal tenderly with the absent. Say nothing to inflict a wound on their
reputation. They may be wrong and wicked, yet your knowledge of it does
not oblige you to disclose their character, except to save others from injury.
Then do it in a way that bespeaks a spirit of kindness for the absent
offender. Evil reports are often the results of misunderstanding or of evil
designs, or they proceed from an exaggerated or partial disclosure of facts.
Wait, learn the whole story before you decide; then believe what the
evidence compels you to, and no more. But even then take heed not to
indulge the least unkindness, else you dissipate all the spirit of prayer for
them, and unnerve yourself for doing them good.
On many a mind and many a heart there are sad inscriptions deeply
engraved by the tongue of slander, which no effort can erase. They are more
durable than the impression of the diamond on the glass, for the inscription
on the glass may be destroyed by a blow, but the impression on the heart
will last forever. Let not the sting of calumny sink too deeply in your soul.

He who is never subject to slander is generally of too little mental account
to be worthy of it. Remember that it is always the best fruits that the birds
pick at, that wasps light on the finest flowers, and that slanderers are like
flies, that overlook all a man's good parts in order to light upon his sores.
Know that slander is not long-lived, provided that your conduct does not
justify them, and that truth, the child of time, erelong will appear to
vindicate thee.

EW characteristics are more unfortunate in their effects on the
character of their possessor than irritability, few more repulsive and
annoying to those with whom circumstances bring him in contact.
Irritable people are always unjust, always exacting, always
dissatisfied. They claim every thing of others, yet receive their best efforts
with petulance and disdain. This habit has an unfortunate tendency of
growth, until it renders a person wholly incapable of conferring happiness
upon others. As the morning fog renders the most familiar objects uncouth
in appearance, so it distorts the imagination and disorders the mental
faculties, so that truth can not be distinguished from falsehood or friendship
from enmity.
It is one great spring-source of envy and discontent, poisoning the
fountain of life; it is a moral Upas-tree, scattering ruin and desolation on
every side. Its origin is not difficult to trace; activity and energy are its
correctives. Those who habitually occupy their minds about things
serviceable to others and to themselves are seldom peevish or irritable; but
those whose powers are enervated by inertia, whose mental pabulum is
fiction generated in a disordered fancy, become misanthropic or grumblers,
and speedily give way to incessant fault-finding, as annoying as it is unjust.
Did irritable people know or could they feel the effect of their conduct upon
others, they would doubtless seek to refrain from the habit; but the
possessor of such a turn of mind is as selfish as he is unjust, and cares for
no one but himself. For others he cares nothing. While he claims the
greatest deference for himself, he will not defer to the wishes of others in
the slightest degree.
The personal sin of fretting is almost as extensive as any other evil, and if
not universal, it is at least very general. It is as vain and useless a habit as
any one can harbor. It is a direct violation of the law of God, and its direful
effects are fearful to contemplate. Nothing so warps a man's nature, sours

his disposition, and, sooner or later, breaks up the friendly relationship of
the domestic circle. It is sinful in its beginning, sinful in its progress, and
disastrous in its results. Such a spirit in the family, in the school or Church
is sure to become contagious, and result in great injury.
A fretting, irritable disposition will not fail of finding frequent
opportunities for indulgence. It is not particular as to time, place, or cause.
Occasions literally multiply as the habit increases in strength. Nothing
seems to go right with its possessor. Instead of conquering circumstances
they control and conquer him. Fretting weakens one's self-respect,
dissipates the regards of others, and breaks asunder the bonds of affection.
If a scolder should, through deception and ignorance of his true character,
be for a time loved, still the canker is there, the mine is sapped, and, sooner
or later, the affections will be sundered. Such a habit too frequently
indulged in has drawn the best of husbands into dissipation, rendered the
most affectionate of wives miserable, and estranged members of the same
family circle. It ruins all the relationships of life, it is a most pernicious
disposition, a dreadful inheritance.
It is ever the disposition of human nature to pattern more easily after the
evils by which we are surrounded than the good. There is also an
unfortunate disposition on our part to criticise the faults of those around us
which displease us. Did we always do this in a spirit of true kindness it
were well; but a confirmed grumbler is at heart so thoroughly selfish that
the spirit of charity is utterly foreign to his complaints. Instead of earnest
endeavor to discover and pattern after the perfection of those by whom they
are surrounded, they seem bent only on learning the faults of others, and to
take positive pleasure in making them public. Such a spirit only displays
our own weakness; it shows to all keen observers that we have not patience
enough to bear with our neighbor's weakness. It defeats its own ends, and
instead of exposing the faults of our neighbors, serves only to call attention
to our own irritable, peevish, unlovable disposition.
It is an unfailing sign of moral weakness to be constantly giving way to
fitful outbreaks of ill-temper. Fools, lunarians, the weak-minded, and the
ignorant are irascible, impatient, and possess an ungovernable disposition;
great hearts and wise are calm, forgiving, and serene. To hear one perpetual

round of complaint and murmuring, to have every pleasant thought scared
away by this evil spirit, is a sore trial. It is, like the sting of a scorpion, a
perpetual nettle destroying your peace, rendering life a burden. Its influence
is deadly, and the purest and sweetest atmosphere is contaminated into a
deadly miasma wherever this evil genius prevails. It has been truly said
that, while we ought not to let the bad temper of others influence us, it
would be as reasonable to spread a blister upon the skin and not expect it to
draw, as to think a family not suffering because of the bad temper of any of
its inmates. One string out of tune will destroy the music of an instrument
otherwise perfect, so if all the members of a family do not cultivate a kind
and affectionate disposition there will be discord and every evil work.
To say the least, such a disposition is a most unfortunate one. It bespeaks
littleness of soul and ignorance of mankind. It is far wiser to take the more
charitable view of our fellow-men. Life takes its hue in a great degree from
the color of our own minds. If we are frank and generous the world treats us
kindly. If, on the contrary, we are suspicious, men learn to be cold and
cautious toward us. Let a person get the reputation of being touchy, and
every body is under more or less restraint in his or her presence. The people
who fire up easily miss a deal of happiness. Their jaundiced tempers
destroy their own comfort as well as that of their friends. They always have
some fancied slight to brood over. The sunny, serene moments of less
selfish dispositions never visit them. True wisdom inculcates the necessity
of self-control in all instances. Much may be affected by cultivation. We
should learn to command our feelings, and act prudently in all the ordinary
concerns of life. This will better prepare us to meet sudden emergencies
with calmness and fortitude.

NVY is the daughter of Pride, the author of murder and revenge, the
beginner of secret sedition, and the perpetual tormentor of virtue.
Envy is the slime of the soul, a venom, a poison or quicksilver,
which consumeth the flesh and dryeth up the marrow of the bones. It
is composed of odious ingredients, in which are found meanness, vice, and
malice, in about equal proportions. It wishes the force of goodness to be
strained, and that the measure of happiness be abated. It laments over
prosperity, pines at the visit of success, is sick at the sight of health. Like
death, it loves a shining mark; like the worm, it never runs but to the fairest
fruits; like a cunning bloodhound, it singles out the fattest deer in the flock.
Envy is no less foolish than it is detestable. It is a vice which keeps no
holiday, but is always in the wheel and working out its own disquiet. It
loves darkness rather than light, because its deeds are evil. Scorpions can be
made to sting themselves to death when confined within a circle of fire.
Even such is envy; for when surrounded on all sides by the brightness of
another's prosperity it speedily destroys itself. He whose heart is imbued
with the spirit of envy loseth much of the pleasures of life. The envious man
is in pain upon all occasions which ought to give him pleasure.
It were not possible for one to adopt a more suicidal course as far as his
own happiness is concerned. The relish of his life is inverted, and the
objects which administer the highest satisfaction to those who are exempt
from this passion give the quickest pangs to those subject to it. As when we
look through glasses colored all objects partake of the glasses' color, so one
moved and influenced by envy sees not the perfection of his fellow-
creatures, but that they are to him odious. Youth, beauty, valor, and wisdom
are, to their perverted view, but objects calculated to provoke their
displeasure. What a wretched and apostate state is this—to be offended with
excellence, and to hate a man because we approve him! Were not its effects
so disastrous to personal character, the fit weapon wherewith to meet it

were the ridicule of all sensible people. But the evil is too deeply seated to
be spoken of lightly. As its cause is situated deep in the character of the
individual, so its effects are far-reaching in his life.
He that is under the dominion of envy can not see perfections. He is so
blinded that he is always degrading or misrepresenting things which are
excellent. This brings out strongly the difference between the envious man
and him who is moved by the spirit of benevolence. The envious man is
tormented, not only by all the ills that befall himself, but by all the good
that happens to another; whereas the benevolent man is better prepared to
bear his own calamities unruffled, from the complacency and serenity he
has secured from contemplating the prosperity of all around him. For the
man of true benevolence the sun of happiness must be totally eclipsed
before it can be darkness around him. But the envious man is made gloomy,
not only by his own cloud of sorrow, but by the sunshine around the heart
of another.
Other passions have objects to flatter them, and seem to content and
satisfy them for a while. There is power in ambition, pleasure in luxury, and
pelf in covetousness; but envy can give nothing but vexation. Envy is so
base and detestable, so vile in its origin, and so pernicious in its effects, that
the predominance of almost any other quality is to be preferred. It is a
passion so full of cowardice and shame that nobody ever had the confidence
to own it. He that envieth maketh another man's virtue his vice, and another
man's happiness his torment; whereas he that rejoiceth at the prosperity of
another is partaker of the same.
Envy is a sentiment that desires to equal, or excel, the efforts of its
compeers, not so much by increasing our own toil and ingenuity as by
diminishing the merits due to the efforts of others. It seeks to elevate itself
by the degradation of others; it detests the sound of another's praise, and
deems no renown acceptable that must be shared. Hence, when
disappointments occur, they fall with unrelieved violence, and the
consciousness of discomfited rivalry gives poignancy to the blow. Whoever
feels pain in learning the good character of his neighbors will feel a
pleasure in the reverse; and those who despair to rise to distinction by their
virtues are happy if others can be depressed to a level with themselves.

Envy is so cruel in its pursuit that, when once hounded on, it rests not till
the grave closes over its victim. There is a secure refuge against defamation,
and one redeeming trait of human nature is that there every man's well-
earned honors defend him against calumny. Honors bestowed upon the
illustrious dead have in them no admixture of envy; but these are about the
only kind of honors administered free from envy. Though the fact is to be
deeply lamented, it is unfortunately true, that such is the perversion of the
human heart that ofttimes the only reward of those whose merits have
raised them above the common level is to acquire the hatred and aversion of
their compeers. He who would acquire lasting fame, and would be
remembered as one who did his duty well, must resolve to submit to the
shafts of envy for the sake of noble objects.
Envy is a weed that grows in all soils and climates, and is no less
luxuriant in the country than in the court. It is not confined to any rank of
men or extent of fortune, but rages in the breast of those of every degree.
We are as apt to find it in the humble walks of life as in the proud; as much
in the sordid, affected dress as in all the silks and embroideries which the
excess of age and folly of youth delight to be adorned with. Since, then, it
keeps all sorts of company, and infuses itself into the most contrary natures
and dispositions, and yet carries so much poison and venom with it that it
ruins any life in which it finds lodgment—alienating the affections from
heaven, and raising rebellion against God himself—it is worth our utmost
care to watch it in all its disguises and approaches, that we may discover it
at its first entrance, and dislodge it before it procures a shelter to conceal
itself, and work to our confusion and shame.

"Thinkest thou the man whose mansions hold
The worldling's pomp and miser's gold
Obtains a richer prize
Than he who, in his cot at rest,
Finds heavenly peace a willing guest,
And bears the promise in his breast
Of treasures in the skies?"
—Mrs. Sigourney.

HE lot of the discontented is, indeed, wretched; and truly miserable
are those who live but to repine and lament, who have less
resolution to resent than to complain, or else, mingling resentment
and complaint together, perceive no harmony and happiness around
them. They discover in the bounty and beauty of nature nothing to admire,
and in the virtues and capabilities of man nothing to love and respect. A
contented mind sees something good in every thing, and in every wind sees
a sign of fair weather; but a discontented spirit distorts and misconstrues all
things, resolutely refusing to see aught but ill in its surroundings.
The spirit of discontent is very unfortunate; it is even worse, for it is
wicked as well as weak. The very entertainment of the thought is
enervating, paralyzing, destructive of all that is worthy of success, in the
present business of the entertainer. To accomplish any thing beyond what
the common run of business or professional men perform requires the
utmost concentration of the mind on the matter in hand. There is no room in
the thoughts for repining over the misfortunes of one's self, or wishes for an
exchange of places with another. Indeed, it might be truthfully predicated
that the indulgers of such wishes would fail utterly in the new sphere, could
they achieve their desires.
Nearly every one we meet wishes to be what he is not, and every man
thinks his neighbor's lot happier than his own. Through all the ramifications
of society all are complaining of their condition, finding fault with their

particular calling. "If I were only this, or that, or the other, I should be
content," is the universal cry. Open the door to one discontented wish and
you know not how many will follow. The boy apes the man; the man affects
the ways of boyhood. The sailor envies the landsman; the landsman goes to
sea for pleasure. The business man who has to travel about wishes for the
day to come when he can "settle down," whilst the sedentary man is always
wanting a chance to flit about and travel, which he thinks would be his
greatest pleasure. Town people think the country glorious; country people
are always wishing that they might live in town.
We are told that it is one property required of those who seek the
philosopher's stone that they must not do it with any covetous desire to be
rich, for otherwise they shall never find it. But most true it is, that
whosoever would have this jewel of contentment (which turns all into gold;
yea, want into wealth), must come with minds divested of all ambitious and
covetous thoughts, else they are never likely to obtain it. The foundation of
content must spring up in a man's own mind, and he who has so little
knowledge of human nature as to seek happiness by changing aught but his
own disposition will waste his life in fruitless efforts, and multiply the
griefs which he proposes to remove.
Contentment is felicity. Few are the real wants of man. Like a majority of
his troubles they are more imaginary than real. If the world knew how much
felicity dwells in the cottage of the poor, but contented, man—how sound
he sleeps, how quiet his rest, how composed his mind, how free from care,
and how joyful his heart—they would never more admire the noises and
diseases, the throngs of passions, and the violence of unnatural appetites
that fill the houses of the luxurious, and the hearts of the ambitious.
Enjoy the blessings if God sends them, and the evils of it bear patiently
and sweetly, for this day is ours. Always something of good can yet be
found, however apparently hopeless the situation. There is scarcely any lot
so low but there is something in it to satisfy the man whom it has befallen,
Providence having so ordered things that in every man's cup, how bitter
soever, there are some cordial drops—some good circumstances—which, if
wisely extracted, are sufficient for the purpose he wants them—that is, to
make him contented and, if not happy, resigned.

Contentment often abides with little, and rarely dwells with abundance.
"Peace and few things are preferable to great professions and great cares."
Such was the maxim of the Stoics. Nature teaches us to live, but wisdom
teaches us to live contented. Contentment is the wealth of nature, for it
gives every thing we either want or need. A quiet and contented mind is the
supreme good; it is the utmost felicity a man is capable of in this world; and
the maintaining of such an uninterrupted tranquillity of spirit is the very
crown and glory of wisdom. The point of aim for our vigilance to hold in
view is to dwell upon the brightest parts in every prospect, to call off the
thoughts when running upon disagreeable objects, and strive to be pleased
with the present circumstances surrounding us.
Half the discontent in the world arises from men regarding themselves as
centers instead of the infinitesimal elements of circles. When you feel
dissatisfied with your circumstances contemplate the condition of those
beneath you. One who wielded as much influence as was possible in this
republic of ours says: "There are minds which can be pleased by honors and
preferments, but I can see nothing in them save envy and enmity. It is only
necessary to possess them to know how little they contribute to happiness. I
had rather be in a cottage with my books, my family, and a few old friends,
dining upon simple bacon and hominy, and letting the world roll on as it
likes, than to occupy the highest place which human power can give."
Some make the sorry mistake of confounding under the term contentment
that fatal lack of energy which repels all efforts for the improvement of
one's condition. Improvement can only be won by continuous efforts for
advancement, and a true contentment is not to rest satisfied, to hope for
nothing, to strive for nothing, or to rest in inglorious ease, doing nothing for
your own or other's intellectual or moral good. Such a state of feeling is
only allowable where nature has fixed an impassable and well-ascertained
barrier to all further progress, or where we are troubled by ills past
remedying. In such cases it is the highest philosophy not to fret or grumble
when, by all our worrying, we can not help ourselves a jot or tittle, but only
aggravate an affliction that is incurable. To soothe the mind to patience is,
then, the only resource left us, and thrice happy is he who has thus schooled
himself to meet all reverses and disappointments.

When ills admit of a remedy it is the veriest sarcasm upon contentment to
bid you suffer them. It is a mockery of content not to strive to improve your
condition as much as possible. True contentment bids you be content with
what you have, not with what you are; not to be sighing and wishing for
things unattainable, but to cheerfully and contentedly accept the facts of
your position, and then, if the way opens for improvement, to accept it at
once; not to sit moping over your ill luck and many misfortunes, but, having
done the best you can, rest content with the result; not to be murmuring
because your lines are not cast in as pleasant places as your neighbor's, but
strive to discover the pleasures and happiness to be found in your present
condition, and with a manly and contented spirit dwell therein until
providence opens a more excellent way, when it is your duty to embrace it.
But do not make the fatal mistake of hiding behind the word contentment
your lack of energy and pluck.
Contentment is the true gold which passes current among the wise the
world over, while supine satisfaction is but the base counterfeit of the
nobler metal, and brings its possessor into scorn and contempt.

ECEIT and falsehood, whatever conveniences they may for a time
promise or produce, are in the sum of life obstacles to happiness.
Those who profit by the cheat distrust the deceiver, and the act by
which kindness was sought puts an end to confidence. Nothing can
compete with human deceitfulness. Its origin is always to be found
in the motives of those who are actuated only by a spirit of thorough
selfishness. When men have some personal end to accomplish, then is seen
the full flower of deceit. When they have some enemy, opponent, or rival to
punish, then deceit puts on its most sturdy appearance.
That form of deceit which is cunningly laid and unworthily carried on
under the disguise of friendship is, of all others, the most detestable. There
can be no greater treachery than first to raise a confidence, and then deceive
it. A man can not be justified in deceiving, misleading, or overreaching his
neighbors. Still less, then, is he justified in inspiring confidence by smooth
words and a gracious manner, only that he may further his own selfish end
by breaking the trust placed in him. Nothing can be more unjust than to play
upon the belief of a confiding person, to make him suffer for his good
opinion, and fare the worse for thinking you an honest man.
A course of deception always defeats the true end of society. Society is a
great compact designed to promote the good of man, and to elevate him in
dignity, refinement, and intelligence. But too often it is understood solely as
a cunning contrivance to palm off unreal virtues and to conceal real defects.
Dignity is too often only pretension, refinement an artificial gloss, and
intelligence only verbal display, based upon knowledge barely sufficient to
make a show. All is vanity and disguises, empty mockeries and hollow-
hearted nullities. But the heart of man is such a sorry mixture of good and
bad that we are only too willing to urge on the race, striving to see who can
be the most deceitful of all. Those whom we live with are like actors on a

stage; they assume whatever dress and appearance may suit their present
purpose, and they speak and act in keeping with this character.
Man is as naturally set on ambition as the bee is to gather honey. In the
mad haste to stand well in the eyes of the public and third parties, they are
prone to assume any disguise or counterfeit any virtue by which they may
accomplish their selfish ends. They are afraid of slight outward acts which
will injure them in the eyes of others, but are utterly heedless of the tide of
evil, of hatred, jealousy, and revenge, which throb in their souls to their own
condemnation and shame. They are more troubled by the outward and
external effects of an evil course of life than by the evil itself. It is the love
of approbation and not the conscience that enacts the part of a moral sense
in this case.
Though a man may never give them outward expression, still, if he
harbors in his breast all manner of evil thoughts, they will be potent in
shaping his character. Though he may disguise them by artful words and a
gracious bearing, still they are there, and their effect is as direful as though
their expression was open and plain to all. Society at large may be less
injured by the latent existence of evil than by its public expression; but the
man himself is as much injured by the cherished thoughts of evil as by the
open commission of it, and sometimes even more. For evil brought out
ceases to disguise itself, and appears as hideous as it is in reality; but the
evil that lurks and glances through the soul avoids analysis and evades
detection.
Hypocrisy and deception are so near akin to each other that you can not
wound the one without touching the sensibilities of the other. A hypocrite
lives in society in the same apprehension as the thief who lies concealed in
the midst of the family he is to rob, for he fancies himself perceived when
he is least so; every motion alarms him; he is suspicious that every one who
enters the room knows where he is hid and is coming to seize him. Thus, as
nothing hates so valiantly as fear, many an innocent person who suspects no
evil intended him is detested by him who intends it.
This multitudinous vice of deception takes on many forms. Hypocrisy is
but one, though it is perhaps as much detested as any. But it is a lamentable
fact that scarcely any thing is really what it is represented to be. As there are

so many strange anomalies in human nature, we are not surprised when we
discover the shallowness of so many apparently sincere pretensions, the
worthlessness of what appears so fair. When it is all carefully summed up, it
is found always easier to be than merely appear to be. He who pretends to
great acquirements is worse put to it to conceal his ignorance than would
have sufficed to have made him master of many sciences.
Those who strive by outward appearances to carry an impression of
wealth and station beyond their real income are compelled, by their lavish
expenditures in aid of the deception, to a strict economy in seclusion,
whereas, were they content to exercise a judicious economy at all times,
they would soon be placed in that position they so much long for. As for the
hypocrite, surely this is the most foolish deception of all, since the
hypocrite is at pains to put on the appearance of virtue, he pretends to
morality, to pure friendship and esteem, and is more anxious that his
outward walk and conversation shall savor of these virtues than if he were
at heart possessed of them.
Since, then, a course of deception puts us to more straits than ever the
open course, is it not true, then, in every-day life as well as individual acts,
"honesty is the best policy?" Why purchase the base imitation of noble
virtues, and derive from them naught but ridicule and dislike, when no
greater outlay would procure for us the true metals, which bring peace of
mind and the honor and esteem of all.

E all of us scorn a busybody, and scarcely have words of contempt
strong enough to express our feelings towards one who is constantly
meddling in what in no way concerns him. There are some persons
so unfortunately disposed that they can not rest easy until they have
investigated their neighbors' business in all of its bearings, and even neglect
their own to attend to his.
This trait of character is directly allied to envy on the one hand and to
slander on the other. Envy incites in us a desire to possess the good fortune
that we discover falling to others. Meddling is satisfied when it discovers all
the minutiæ of others' affairs, and may be so utterly devoid of energy as to
care but little whether it can acquire the good or not. Meddling is directly
incited by egotism; for that unfortunately leads not only to undue
confidence in one's own abilities, but, what is worse, to a feeling that you
are a little better able to attend to the affairs of others than they themselves.
Slander, too, oft takes its rise in the curious busyings of those who are
interfering where there is no call for their services. There is such a tendency
in human nature to flaunt abroad the faults of others, that no sooner does
one who systematically intermeddles, discover some failing—and he or she
is sure to do this, since it is human to err—than they straightway hasten to
lay before others the fruits of their investigations. And thus is given to the
public the petty defects of some home life, which, by constant repetition,
soon assumes gigantic size, as snow-balls rolled over and over by boys; and
so, at length, the happiness of some home circle is destroyed by the
malicious and poison-giving officiousness of busybodies.
Neglecting our own affairs and meddling with those of others is the
source of many troubles. Those who blow the coals of others' strife may
chance to have the sparks fly in their own face. We think more of ourselves
than of others, but sometimes more for others than ourselves. People are
often incited to meddling by the desire of having "something to tell;" but, if

you notice, they are but narrow-minded and ignorant people, who talk about
persons and not things. Mere gossip is always a personal confession either
of malice or imbecility, and the refined should not only shun it, but by the
most thorough culture relieve themselves of all temptation to indulge in it.
It is a low, frivolous, and too often a dirty business. There are
neighborhoods in which it rages like a pest. Churches are split in pieces by
it; neighbors are made enemies by it for life. In many persons it degenerates
into a chronic disease, which is practically incurable. Be on your guard
against contracting so pernicious a habit.
A person who constantly meddles means to do harm, and is not sorry to
find he has succeeded. He is a treacherous supplanter and underminer of the
peace of all families and societies. This being a maxim of unfailing truth,
that nobody ever pries into another man's concerns but with a design to do,
or to be able to do, him a mischief. His tongue, like the tails of Samson's
foxes, carries firebrands, and is enough to set the whole field of the world in
a flame. To meddle with another's privileges and prerogatives is vexatious;
to meddle with his interests is injurious; to meddle with his good name
unites and aggravates both evils.
There is, perhaps, not a more odious character in the world than a go-
between, by which we mean the creature who carries to the ear of one
neighbor every injurious observation that happens to drop from the mouth
of another. Such a person is the slanderer's herald, and is altogether more
odious than the slanderer himself. By this vile officiousness he makes that
poison effective which else would be inert; for three-fourths of the
slanderers in the world would never injure their object except by the malice
of go-betweens, who, under the mask of a double friendship, act the part of
a double traitor. The less business a man has of his own, the more he attends
to the business of his neighbors.
Do not cultivate curiosity; every man has in his own life follies enough,
in his own mind troubles enough, in the performance of his own duties
difficulties enough, without being curious about the affairs of others. Of all
the faculties of the human mind, curiosity is that which is most fruitful or
the most barren in effective results, according as it is well or badly directed.
The curiosity of an honorable man willingly rests where the love of truth