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P | VED l f Para t w: Sate Pasa eae ona mas a ; z é ; : : a erioee aa My ues ry ae gk » eee ea ee ee te f eee Menta ONT SEE > ry ao re ee rr -, v ONC oe Oe - a ity tS is be Hs oe Se Se Fo Fe eis 2 Ss SQ Se a et ? > ee ee eee Se i Pe eee ee ee < i‘ - The Baldwin Library University RmB 2 Florida | | WHAT To D9, HOW. TO DO IT: MORALS AND MANNERS - ace BERAMPLES. BY PETER PARLEY. ; bd NEW EDITION, NEW YORK: HED BY JOHN WILEY, 18 PARK PLACE. 1852. PUBLIS Entered, according to Act of Corigress, in the year 1844, By S. G. GOODRICH, . in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, for the District of Massachusetts. a é * - . e. a a = ¥ an 2 gy CONTENTS.” t * “e ch ni 3 Cnur. I. Everything is made to be Happy : + Crap. IT, Doas you woald"be done unto : " & Cuap. III, Truth . Cuar, IV. The Choice, or Good aut Evil ; Cuar. V. What)Kind of Heart have > you got ? Cuar. Vi. What Kind of Heart have Fou got? = Cuap. VII.» Charity” Cuap. VIII. Chatity Cuar. IX. Charity ~ « Cuap. x, Charity . Crap. XI. Selfishness # Cuar. XII. The Value of Chatacter Cuap. XIII. Cuar. XIV. Humility Cuar.&V. Mildness - Cap. XVI. Candour Cuapr. XVII. Prejudice . Justice ° sa ee. * 9g yy ‘ie 16 31 34 4) 51 57 59 61 63 65 67 70 IV CONTENTS. Cur. XVIII. Mery + * * ° Cuap. XIX. Courage .- . ik. ¢ Cuar. XX. Patience and Impatience j Cuar. XXI. Cheerfulness and Gloom. PAGE Cuap. XXII. Good Habits and Good Manners taught ee a Cuap. XXIII. Obedience a ee Cuarp. XXIV. How to settle a Dispute Cuap. XXV. Politeness ° ° Cuar.XXVI. Boasting «+ + © * Cuar. XXVII.. Weakness of Character Cuar. XXVIII. Self-reliance—Perseverance Cuar. XXIX. Gratitude eo. % ° Cuar. XXX. Amusement 7 ow Cuar. XXXI. Do not be too positive Cuar. XXXII. Attention ec: Ao Cuarp. XXXIII. Vanify . + «+ * e 84 87 89 92 95 . = 108 a> a 18 ~ 126 . » 133 ~ 138 . 142 - 150 « « 153 . 156 » oe . . 166 Cuar. XXXIV. “Do notbe discouraged by Difficulties 169 WHAT 10 DO,” AND HOW TO DO IT. Dies saa ; i] : ye > Bg re WE P La for WA SE ee LD \ ifr bw _ ge We b Wg a, wg, oD «th = CHAPTER I. EVERYTHING IS MADE TO BE HAPPY Ir any one of my young frends will get up early in the morning and go forth among the birds, the insects, the four-footed beasts, he will see that they all seem*made to be happy. PPY 1 2 EVERYTHING IS MADE The robin in singing its song, the .spar- row in building its mest, the swallow in pursuing its insect prey, the doves in their fond interscurse with each other, the busy crow in feeding its young—all seem made to enjoy their existence, and all seem to ac- complish the design for which they were created. The busy bee in storing away its honey, the bustling ants in carrying on the various affairs of the hill, the grasshopper in playing his little fiddle, the butterfly in his search of: the sweetest flower, even the beetle in rolling his ball, the cricket in chirping beneath a heap of stones, and the spider in making or mending his net—all appear to be in pur- suit of happiness, and all seem to obtain it, And the squirrel, skipping from tree to tree, the mouse in gnawing a hole to get at _ the meal, the frog in the brook, the toad in his burrow of earth, the wild deer in the forest, the sheep upon the grassy hill side, the cows in the meadow, the dog at his mas- ter’s side—these all declare that they are in pursuit of enjoyment, and that they find what they seek. TO BE HAPPY. 3 Happiness, then, is the end and object for — which these creatures were made: and they all, taken in a general view, attain.it. _ Life to them is a blessing. It was given them by a good and loving Creator, ‘who meant that they should enjoy it. ~ And were not human beings made for happiness too? Yes—andefor even greater happiness than these birds, and insects, and quadrupeds. We are made not only to enjoy the pleasures of animal life, but those of the heart and of the mind: we are not only made to eat and drink, and perceive heat and cold, but to feel the beauty of virtue, and the grace of’ goodness; to enter the fields of knowledge, and enjoy the boundless plea- sures of thought. The Creator, then, intended us for happi- ness, but in giving us nobler endowments than those of mere animals, he has bestowed upon us liberty, or the power to act as we please. Here, then, he made a great dif- ference between us andthe beasts: he laid them understhe laws of instinct: he placed in each of them certain wonderful aptitudes, habits, and powers, which g6vern and con- trol them. Thus, obeying these laws, they 4 EVERYTHING IS MADE fulfil the designs of God, and attain the end of their existence. Man has good and evil placed before him, and he may choose which he pleases: it is God’s will that man should choose the good, and thus be happy: but still, having made us free, he leaves us to choose-evil and suffer sorrow, if we will. While God, therefore, guides the birds and fishes and insects and four-footed beasts, by their instincts, to happiness, He has left us to our own choice. Jt-is for us to decide whether we will be happy or not. God has given us reason in the place of instinct, and if we will obey that reason wisely, and follow the paths which it points out, happiness is ours, not only for this world, but for that which is to come. — Now we do not send animals to school, and give them books, for God is their teacher: their instincts are all they need. But human beings are to be educated, m- structed, and by a gradual progress, elevated to that high destiny for which they are qua- lified. Instruction is the means by which we are to be taught our duty, and by which we may accomplish the end for which we were created. _T0 BE HAPPY, 5 But instruction will not make us happy, unless we listen to it, and obey its teachings. We must not only know what is good and right, but we must pursue and do what is good and right. . We all desire to be happy: -no one can by any possibility desire to be tniserable. And how can we be’-happy? The answer is « easy, to do good, and to do it in the right way. We must not only take care to have our hearts right, but our manners must be right: we must not only be honest, true, charitable, virtuous, but we must be amiable, kind, * cheerful, agreeable. We must not make it our sole object to be happy ourselves, but we | must constantly try to make others happy also. And how can we make others*happy, if our manners, our looks, our words, our mode of speaking, are disagreeable? Now proceeding upon the certainty that all my young friends desire to be happy, I * write this book, to.assist them in becoming so. I intend it to be a pleasant book, full of” truth, but full of amusement also. My pur- pose is to teach young people the great art of life—that of doing rightin the right way + that of being not only good, but agreéable. 1§ 5 DO AS YOU WOULD - - ts os ~ = naplininan? he _—> ~ * e a . I 1 ’ Oo sonal wong ast —_— rr CHAPTER II. DO AS-YOU WOULD BE DONE UNTO. Ts sentence contains the substance of the moral law, that law which points out our duty to our fellow-men. Now what do we wish of our fellow-men—how do we desire that others should treat us? We wish them to treat us kindly, justly, charitably: we wish them to be polite, affectionate, cheerful, pleasant. Let us then be kind, just, charitable, po- lite, affectionate, cheerful, pleasant to others. If all would observe this beautiful rule; which Christ himself has given us, how happy BE DONE UNTO. 7 should we be, and how happy should we make all around us! What a delightful world this would become, if every one would look about and do to his neighbour, as he would wish his neighbour to do to him! To show how pleasantly this rule would work, let me tell you a story,—a true one: The horse of a pious man happening to stray into the road, his neighbour put him into the pound. Meeting the owner soon after, he told him what he had done; “and if I catch him in the road again,” said he, « J will do it again.” “Neighbour,” replied the other, * not long since I looked out of my, window in the night, and saw your cattlerin my meadow, and I drove them out and shut them intoyour yard, and I will do tt again”? Struck with the reply, the man liberated the horse from the pound, and paid the charges himself. And let me tell my little readers, if they wish their playmates and companions to be kind to them, théy can best secure their object by being kind themselves. Kindness begets kindness ; doing good to others is the best way of doing good to ourselves. CHAPTER III. TRUTH. Trurs is conformity to fact, in a states ment or representation. IfI say that London is the largest city in the world, my statement conforms to fact, and is therefore true. If I say that Boston has more inhabitants than New York, my statement does not conform to fact, and therefore is not true. There is one thing more to be considered, which is, that the statement must conform to fact in the sense in which it is meant to be understood. If I say a thing which is lite- TRUTH. g rally true, but which is not true in the sense in which I mean it to be understood, then I am ‘guilty of falsehood, because I intend to deceive. The following story will illustrate this : Two boys, who had been studying geo- graphy, were walking together one evening, when one of them exclaimed, “How brightly the sun shines!” The other boy immedi- ately replied that, as it was evening, the sun did not shine. The first boy insisted that it did shine; whereupon a dispute arose, one of the boys insisting that the sun did shine; the other that it did not. At last, they agreed to leave the point to their father, and ac- cordingly they went to him and stated the case. They both agreed that it was nine o'clock at night; that the stars were glitter- ing in the sky; that the sun had been down | for nearly two hours; and yet John, the elder of the boys, maintained that, at that moment, the sun was shining as brightly as at noon-day. When the father demanded :an_ explana- tion, John said that the geography he had just been studying, stated that when it was %, > 10 TRUTH. night here, it was day in China—“and now,” said he, “ of course the sun is shining there, though it is night here. I said that the sun shines, and so it does.” To this the father replied as follows: ‘What you say now, John, is true, but still, what you said to James was a falsehood. You knew that he understood you to say, that the sun shone..ere—you meant that he should so understand you; you meant to convey a statement to his mind that did not conform to fact, and which was therefore untrue. You had a reservation in your own mind, which you withheld from James. You did not say to him that you restricted your statement to China—that was no part of your assertion. “Truth requires us not only to watch over our words, but the ideas we communicate. If we intentionally communicate ideas which are false, then we are guilty of falsehood. Now you said to James that which ‘was untrue, according to the sense in which you knew he would, and in which you intended he should, receive it, and therefore you meant to violate the truth. I must accord= TRUTH. ll ingly decide against you, and in favour of James; you were wrong, and James is right! The sun did not shine as you said it did, and as James understood you to say it did.” Ht WH ; | AM ne = - — a — — — —— —— ——— —— There are many other cases which illustrate this “ truth to the letter and lie to the sense.” Some years since, when the laws against travelling on the Sabbath were in force, a man was riding on horseback near Wor- cester, in Massachusetts. It was on @ Sun- day morning, and the traveller was soon 12 TRUTH. stopped by a tythingman,* who demanded his reason for riding on the Lord’s day, and thus violating the law. “My father lies dead in Sutton, said the —. “and I hope _ will not de- tain me,” “Certainly not,”. said’ the’ tythingman, “under these circumstances ;” and accord- ingly hevallowed the man to proceed. About two days after, the traveller was returning, and»iappened to meet the tythingman in ‘the road. The two persons recognized ach other;’ and the following conversation ; ensued : ' “You passed here. on Sunday morning, I think, sir,” ‘said the ‘tythingman: . “Yes, sir,” said the traveller. “And you told me you were going to your father’s funeral—pray when did he die?” “I did not say I was going to my fa- ther's funeral—I said he lay dead in Sutton, and so he did; but he has been dead for fifteen years.” * The word /ythingman, in New England, is the title of a town officer, who sees to the observance of certain laws relating to the due observance of the Sabbath. < a ae TRUTH. 13 “Thus you perceive that while the words of the traveller were literally true, they con- veyed an intentional falsehood to the tything- man, and therefore the traveller was guilty of deceptions I know that people sometimes think these tricks» very witty, but they are very wicked. ‘Truth would be of no value, if it might be used for the purposes of de- ception ; it is. because truth forbids all de- ception, and requires open dealing, that j it is so much prized. _ «It isalways a poor bargain to give away truth for the sake of a momentary advantage, of for the purpose of playing off an ingenious trick. To barter truth for fun or mischief is giving away gold for dross. Every time a person tells a lie, or practises a deception, he inflicts an injury upon his mind, perhaps not visiblésto the eye of man, but as plain to the eye of God as a scar upon the flesh,. By repeated falsehoods, a person may scar*over his whole soul, so as to make it offensive in — the sight. of thate Being whose*love and favour we should seek, for his friendship is the greatest of all blessings: Truth is the great thing to be sought, and 2 14 PRUTH. falsehood the chief thing to be avoided. Truth is the foundation of .most ‘other vir- tues—of honesty, justice, and fidelity. No character is so much prized as that of a lover of truth, none so much despised as the liar and the deceiver, for falsehood lies at the bottom of almost every vice. The Horse and his Groom. A groom, whose business it was to take care of a certain horse, let the animal go loose into the field. After a whiley he wanted to catch him, but the brute chose to run about at liberty, rather than be shut up in the stable; so he aera about the field and kept out of the groom’s way. The groom now went to the granary, and got the measure with which he was wont to bring the horse his oats, When the horse saw the measure, he thought to be sure that the groom had some oats for him; and so he went up to him, and was instantly qaugus and taken to the stable. Another day, the horse was in the field, and refused to be caught. So the groom TRUTH. 15 again got the measure, and held it out, in- viting the horse, as before, to come up to him. But the animal shook his head, say- ing, “ Nay,"master groom; you told me a lie the other day, and I_am not so silly as to be cheated a second time"by you.” “But,” said the groom, “I did not tell you a lie; I only held out the measure, and you fancied that it was full of oats. I did not ¢e// you there were oats in it.” “Your excuse is worse than the cheat itself,” said the horse. ‘ You held out the measure, and thereby did as much as to say, ‘I have got somevoats for you.” Actions speak as Well as words. Every deceiver, whether by words or deeds, is a liar; and nobody, that has been once de- ceived by him, will fail to shun and despise him ever after. ' : 16 THE CHOICE; CHAPTER IV. - THE CHOICE, OR GOOD AND EVIL. TusRE are few persons who do precisely as they ought to do. Itis very seldom that any one, even for a single day, discharges every duty that rests upon him, at the same time avoiding everything that is wrong: There is usually something. neglected, de- layed, oF postponed, that ought to be done to-day. ‘There is usually some thought en- tertained, some feeling indulged, some deed committed, that ;s sinful. If any person doubts this, ‘let him make the experiment 5 let him closely watch every thought and action for a single day, and he will perceive that what we say ‘3 true—that all fall far short of perfect obedience to the rule of right. And yet, if a person can once make up his mind to do right, +t is the surest way t0 » i . 4 OR’ GOOD AND EVEL “17 obtain happiness, « I stall ‘endeavour to illustrate this by an — ? a * The Gorden of Peaces v7 an ang¢ient city of the Kast, two , Feuths Were passing a beautiful garden. It was inclosed by a lofty trellis, which prevented their entering; but, through the openings, they could perceive that it was a most en- chanting spot. It was embellished by every object of nature and art that could give beauty to the landscape. There were groves of lofty trees, with winding, avenues between them: there were green lawns, the grass of which seemed like welvet: there were groups of shrubs, many of them in bloom, and scattering delicious fragrance upon the atmosphere. ~ 4 24 @ ea LS a: . eer ee * 2 sa - . 18 THE CHOICE,” Between these’ pleasing, objects there were fountains sending their silvery. showers into the air; and a stream of water, clear as crystal, woundwith gentle murmurs through the place. The charms of this Jovely scene were greatly heightened by the delicious music of birds, the hum of bees, and the echoes of many youthful and happy voiees: The two young men gazed upon the scene with intense interest ; but as they could only see a portion of it through the trellis, they» looked out for ‘some “gate by which they might enter the garden. At a little distance, _ they perceived a gateway, and they went to the spot, supposing they should find an en- trance here. There was, indeed, a gate; put, it was locked, and they found it impos- sible to gain admittance. While they were considering what course they should adopt, they perceived an inscrip- tion over the gate, which ran as follows 6 Pere till taatiorrow’s light velap WAhat may as (well be Vone to-Vay ; Pe'er Vo the thing pou Wivish unvons, Pie's by temorrow’s rising gun. Mbserbe these Mules a single pear, And you map freely enter Here” OR GOOD AND EVIL. 19 The two youths were much struck by these lines; and, before they parted, both agreed to make thé experiment by trying to live according to the inscription. I need not tell the details of their progress im the trial: both found the task much more difficult than they at first imagined. To their surprise, they found that an observance of the rule they had adopted required an almost total change of their modes of life; and this taught them, what they had not felt before, that a very large part of their lives ——a very large share of their thoughts, feelings and actions—were wrong, ,though : they were considered virtuous young men by the society in which they lived. ; After a few weeks, the younger of_ the two, finding that the scheme put too many restraints upon his tastes; abandoned the trial. The other persevered, and, at the end of the year, presented himself at the gateway of the garden. > To his great joy, he was instantly admit- ted; and if the place pleased him when seen dimly through the trellis, it appeared far more lovely, now that he could actually tread 20 THE CHOICE, its pathways, breathe its balmy air, and mingle intimately with the scenes around. One thing delighted, yet surprised him — which was this: it now seemed easy for him to do right; nay, to do right, instead of re- quiring self-denial and a sacrifice of his tastes and wishes, seemed to him a mailer of course, and the pleasantest thing he could do. While he was thinking of this, a person came near, and the two fell into conversa- tion. After a little while, the youth told his. companion what he was thinking of, and asked him to account for his feelings. “This place,” said the other, “7s the Garden of Peace. It is the abode of those who have chosen God’s will as the rule of their lives. It is a happy home provided for those who have conquered selfishness ; those who have learned to conquer their passions and do their duty. This lovely garden is but a picture of the heart that is firmly established in the ways of virtue. Its ways are ways of pleasantness, and all its paths are peace.” While they were thus conversing, and as they were passing near the gateway, the youth saw on the other side the friend who OR GOOD AND EVIL. a) | ‘had resolved to follow the inscription, but who had given up the trial. Upon this, the companion of the youth said, “ Behold the young man who could not conquer himself! How miserable is he in comparison with yourself! What is it makes the difference ? You are in the Garden of Peace; he is ex- cluded from it. This tall gateway is a bar® rier that he cannot pass; this is the barrier, interposed by human vices and human pas- sions, which separates mankind from that peace, of which we are all capable. Who- ever can conquer himself, and has resolved firmly that he will do it, has found the key of that gate, and he may freely enter here: If he cannot do that, he must continue to be an outcast from the Garden of Peace.” 22 WHAT KIND OF HEART CHAPTER V. WHAT KIND OF HEART HAVE YOU GOT? Many people seem to think only of their external appearance, of their personal beauty, or their dress. If they have a handsome face, a good figure, and a fine attire, they appear satisfied; nay, more, we often see persons showing vanity and pride merely because they have beautiful garments on, or because they are called pretty or handsome. Now I am not such a sour old fellow as to despise these things, it is certainly desir- able to appear well, indeed it is our bounden duty to make ourselves agreeable ; but I have remarked that those persons who are vain of outside show, forget that the real character of a person is within the breast, and that it is of vastly greater importance to have a good heart than a handsome person. The heart within the body is of flesh, but HAVE YOU GOT? © - 23 it is the seat of life: upon its beatihgsour life depends. Let the heart stop, and death immediately follows. Beside this, the heart is influenced by our feelings. If “one is suddenly frightened, it beats more rapidly. Any strong emotion, or passion, or sensation, quickens the action of the heart. It is for these reasons, because the heart is the seat of life, and because it seems to be the centre or source of our passions and feelings, that we often call the soul itself, the heart. Thus the heart of flesh is a sort of emblem or image of the soul. When I ask, therefore, what sort of heart have you got? T mean to ask what sort of soul have you got? We often hear it said that such a person has a hard heart, and such a one has a kind or tender heart. In these cases we do not speak of the heart of flesh, but of the mind and intention. A hard heart, in this sense, is a soul that is severe, harsh, and cruel; a kind and tender heart, is a soul that is re- gardful of the feelings of others, and desirous of promoting the peace and happiness of others. You will see, therefore, that it is very im- 24 WHAT KIND OF HEART portant for every ‘ ndividual to assure himself that he has a good heart. The reasons why it is important, | will, endeavour to place before you. In the first place, “ God looketh on the heart”? He does not regard our dress, oF our complexion, or our features. These do not form our character; they haye nothing to do with making us good or bad. If God looks into the breast and finds a good heart there, a tender, kind soul, full of love toward Him and all mankind,—a heart that is con- stantly exercised by "feelings of piety and benevolence,—he approves of it, and *he loves it. | God does not care what sort of garment covers’ such a heart, or what complexion or features a person With such a heart has gots He looketh on the heart, and finding that good, he bestows his blessing, which is worth moré than,all the wealth of this wide world. | Personal appearance is of no value in the» sight of God. It is only because men value it, that it is to be regarded. But upon the character of the heart, the favour or displea- HAVE YOU GOT > 25. sure of God depends. It is. of the greatest © importanee, thetefore, for each person to see what kind of ‘heart he has got. If he loves to do mischief; if he loves to say or do harsh and unkind things; if he loves to wound the feelings of others; if he loves to see another suffer; if he wishes, in any way, to injure andther in his mind, body, or estate, then ‘fie has a bad heart; and God looks on that bad heart as we look upon a malignant and wicked countenance. Before God, every heart has a character. We cannot see into thé bosom, but God can. All things are transparent to Him, and he looketh on the heart as we do upon one an- other’s faces: and to Him,*every heart is as distinctly marked as men’s countenances are to us. A wolf hasya severe, harsh, and cruel expression m nis countenance. A bad heart has as distinct an expression in the sizght of God, as the wolf’s face to human eyes. 7 © The second reason for having a good heart is, that it not only wins the favour of God, but of men. However we may fancy _that mankind think only of outside appear- 3 ke 26 WHAT KIND OF HEART ancéj they do +n fact think more of internal goodness. Mankind, in all ages and countries, love, réspect, and revere the person who has a good heart; the person, whose soul is habi- tually exercised by piety toward God and love toward mankind, is always esteemed and loved in return. Such a person is almostsure to be happys even if he is destitute of money, he has that which in this world is of more value, the good will, the sympathy, the kind wishes and kind offices of his fellow-men. If a per- gon wishes success in life, therefore, there is no turnpike road to it like a good heart. A man who seeks to extort, to require, to com~ mand the good-will of the world, will miss his object. A proud person, who would force men to admire. him, is resisted; he 1s ‘Yooked upon as 4 kind of robber, who de- mands what is not his own, and he is usually as much hated as the person who meets you on a by-road at night, and, holding a pistol in your face, demands your purse. The proud person, the person who de- mands your respect, and tries to force you into good will toward him, turns your feel- HAVE YOU GOT? 27 ings againsthim; «he gentle, the humble, and the kind-kearted, appeal to the breast with a power we cannot resist. The person, therefore, of real power, is the person with a good heart. He wields a sceptre which men would not resist if they could, and could not if they would. The third reason for having a good heart is, that while the exereise of a bad heart is painful, the exercise of a good heart is bliss- ful. A heart that indulges in envy, malice, anger, reveng2, jealousy, covetousness, be- * comes unhappy and miserable; a heart that exercises piety, love, charity, candour, peace, kindness, gentleness, becomes happy. The exercise of piety and good feelings brings pleasure and enjoyment to the soul, as cool, fresh water does to a thirsty lip: bad ~ feelings bring pain and misery to the souly™ as bitter and poisoned water does to the palate and the stomach. A person, there- fore, who indulges in bad feelings, is as un- wise as one who refuses pure water and drinks poison. The fourth reason for having a good heart is, that it is the surest way to be handsome. | ia 28 WHAT KIND OF HEART A person with a good heart is almost always » good-looking ; and for this reason, that the’ soul shines through the countenance. If the heart is angry, the face is a tell-tale, and shows it. If the heart is exercised with piety, the countenance declares it. Thus the habits of the soul become written on the countenance; what we call the ex- pression of the face is only the story which the face tells about the feelings of the heart. If the heart is habitually exercised by malice, *then a malicious expression becomes habi- tually stamped upon the face. The expres- sion of the countenance is a record which sets forth to the world the habitual feelings, the character of the heart. | I know very well that some persons learn to put a false expression upon their faces : “Shakspeare speaks of one who “can smile and smile and be a villain still.” This false veil, designed to hide a bad heart, is, how- ever, generally too thin to answer its pur- pose. Mankind usually detect the veil of hypocrisy, and as flies see and shun a spider’s web, so mankind generally remark andavoid the hypocrite’s veil. They know * HAVE You Gor? * 99 ‘that the spider, the dastardly betrayer, is “behind it, ready to make dupes and victims of those whom he ean deceive. , The only true way, therefore, to have a good face, a truly and permanently hand~ some face, is to have a good heart, and thus have a good expfession. There cafit be no genuine and abiding beauty without it: complexion and features are of little conse- quence. ‘Those whom the world call hand- some, have frequently neither regularity of features nor fairness of complexion. It is*® ~» that indescribable thing called expression, the pleasant story which the countenance tells of the good heart within, that wins favour. ° There are many other good réasons for having a good heart; but I have not room to, tell them here. I must say a word, how- ever, as to the means of curing a bad heart and getting a good one. The first thing is, to find out what a good heart is, and what a bad heart is; and in making this inquiry it will much help you to read carefully the account given of Jesus Christ in the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. There are no pages like 38 30 WHAT KIND OF HEART these so full of instruction, and that so | readily impart their meaning to the soul of the reader. : They give us a portrait of our Saviour;— and what a portrait! How humble, yet how majestic ! how mild, yet how dignified ! how simple, yet how beautiful! He is repre- sented as full of love toward God, and to- ward mankind; as going about doing good ; as having a tender and kind feeling for every human being; as healing the sick, giving sight to the blind, and pouring the music of sound upon the deaf ear. Love to God, which teaches us to love all mankind, evi- dently filled the heart of Jesus Christ ; and his great desire seems to have been, that all mankind should have hearts filled with the same feeling that governed his. A good heart, then, is one like Christ’s ; a bad heart ‘5 one that is unlike Christ’s. A good heart is one that is habitually exercised by love to God and charity to man; a bad heart is one that is exercised by selfishness, covetousness, anger, revenge, greediness, envy, suspicion, or malice. HAVE YOU GOT? _ $i CHAPTER VI. WHAT KIND OF HEART HAVE YOU. GOT? Havine learned what is meant by a good and bad heart, the next thing is to look into our own breast8 and see what kind of a heart we ourselves have got. This is of first-rate importance, and therefore it is that-I ask the question—* What sort of heartthave — got, reader ?” Having, by careful examination, found out what sort of’ a heart you have got, then you are prepared to act with good effect. If you find that you have a good heart, ‘a heart like Christ’s, filled with the leve of God and feel- ings of obedience to God, and with love and charity to all mankind, evinced by a desire to promote the peace and happiness of all; then be thankful for this best of gifts, and pray Heaven that it may continue to be yours. An immortal spirit, with the.prin- 32. . WHAT KIND OF HEART ciple of goodness in it, is yours—and how great a blessing is that ! But if you discover that you have a bad aeart, pray set about curing it as soon as possible. An immortal spirit with a prin- ciple of badness in it, is surely a thing to be dreaded; and yet this is your condition, if you have a bad heart. In such a case, re- pentance is the first step for you to take. Sorrow, sincere sorrow, is the condition upon which past errors are forgiven by God; and this condition must be complied with. There is no forgiveness without repent- ance, because there is no amendment with- out its. Repentanée implies aversion to sin ; and it is because the penitent hates sin, that the record of his offences is blotted out. While he loves sin, all his crimes, all his transgressions must stand written down and remembered against him, because he says that he likes them,—he vindicates, he ap- proves of them. Oh take good care, kind and gentle reader—take good care to blot out the long account of your errors, before God, speedily! Do not, by still loving sin, say to God that you are willing to have those HAVE YOU GOT? . 33 that you have committed, and those you may commit, brought up in judgment against you. Draw black lines around the record of your transgressions, by repentance. * And having thus begun right, continue to go on right. At first, the task may be difii- cult. To break-in a bad heart to habits of goodness, is like breaking a wild colt to the saddle or harness; it resists, it rears up, it kicks, it spurns the bit, it seeks to run free and loose, as nature and impulse dictate and as it has been wont to do before: but master it oncé,.and teach it to go in the path, and it will soon be its habit, its pleasure, its easy and chosen way to continue in the path. To aid you in this process of making a“ good heart out of a bad one, study the Bible, and especially that which records the life and paints the portrait of Christ. Imitate, hum- bly, but reverently and devoutly, his exam- ple; drink at the fountain at which he drank, the overflowing river of love to.God. This is the way to keep the spark of good- ness in the heart; and to cherish this, to keep it bright, exercise yourself in good deeds, in good thoughts, in good feelings. CHAPTER VII. CHARITY. Cuariry is that kindness of heart which makes us desirous of rendering others happy. It is one of the greatest of virtues, and with- out. it, no one can be good. It is a pure love of mankind, and of all things that live, and breathe, and feel. It isa beautiful sen- timent, and in the sight of God is of more value than all the gold and silver of this world, It is indeed the pearl of great price: * CHARITY. ¢ 36 one who has it is rich in the: sight of God; one who has’ it not, is poor indeed, though he may have lands and money in abundance. The most common form of charity is that of giving alms to the poor: and every one who loves his money so well that he cannot part with a portion of what is not necessary for his own comfort, or, that of his family, to aid the needy and the helpless, in the sight of God and true wisdom, is worse than a beggar. Rich in the things‘of « this world, he is pinched with selfishness, which, implies a miserable dearth of true. riches. . Another form of charity is that of putting kind and favorable constructions upon the conduct of others. A person who is harsh in Judging and. severe in speaking of others is destitute of charity. I am» afraid that some of my young friends, who are apt to Say unpleasant things of their companions, are in this condition. Think a moment of it, my gentle reader; —why should you desire to wound the heart of another—to tear his character to pieces ? Have you any better right to injure the wf 36 ‘ CHARITYs feelings or reputation of another, than to wound his person? Is it not as bad to destroy his good name, as to break his bones? In the sight of God, one is as bad as the other; they both’ show a want of that love which we call charity, and this every good heart possesses. There are many persons who think that it is witty to be severe ; that it shows talent to find fault; that it displays superiority to be dexterous in picking out and showing-up _the follies and foibles of others. This is a great mistake, for of all kinds of vulgarity and meanness, that of fault-finding is the most easy and the most common. Who is there so weak, so dull, as not to be able to make another appear wicked, unamiable, or . ridiculous, if he will watch his actions and be resolved fo attribute them to bad motives? It is easy to draw a caricature likeness of another: you have only to represent the prominent features, with a little absurd ex- aggeration, and any body sees at once the ridiculous resemblance. Thus a caricature of even a handsome person excites laughter: but it is a very poor vocation—this of draw- bd , CHARITY. | 37 + ing caricatures—because a very stupid person can succeed in it; because it is a species of lying, for.it violates the truth and inculcates falsehood ; because it cultivates bad habits in him who executes and him who sees the false picture ; and because it wounds the feel- ings of the subject of the caricature, and does him as gross injustice as if you robbed him of his money ; and . because it stirs up enmity and strife in society. The true art of the painter is to seize upon the agreeable expression of the person he would represent, and to portray it so that all will know it at once as a likeness. The art of doing this is a noble art, and it requires ability and genius to excel in it. % Now, these remarks may be fairly ap- plied to moral painting: it is easy, in speaking of others, to draw caricatures of them and to make them seem ridiculous. I am afraid, it is because the thing is so easy 4 ~~ 38 CHARITY. that it is socommon. Why is so much of our conversation made up of uncharitable talk about our neighbours, companions— perhaps those we calkour friends? Is it not because the heart is wrong and loves scandal —-caricature—ridicule—and the tongue finds it easy to exercise itself in this way ? Perhaps my readers may think that they wiil become duli and uninteresting, if they only speak of pleasant things. It is not So, my dear young readers. Nothing can better show good sense—a goo! heart—good taste —good talents, than the habit of perceiving and pointing out the good qualities of others. Which shows the best taste—going forth ‘ato the fields to gather noxious weeds and offensive plants; or going forth to gather sweet-scented flowers and lovely blossoms? Which is most lovely—one who is addicted to making and exhibiting nosegays, gathered and grouped from the pleasant things*in the characters of their friends; or one who is in the habit of treasuring up the unpleasant things they can discover in those around them, and retailing them for the poor com- pensation of a smile or a laugh? > CHARITY. 39 we 5 To illustrate the advantages of dealing in the good things which we, may see in others, if we will only seek for them, let me tell you a matter of fact. I have the pleasure to know a lady, whois one of the most agree- able, the most gifted, and the most famous in America, and though I have known her intimately for years, I never heard her say an unkind word of any living being! This lady has written many books—some of prose and some of poetry, and her name is honoured as well in the Old World as the New; yet you cannot find in them a page ot satire, or a sentence of misanthropy. All is charity—all is a display of the beautiful in nature and the lovely in character; she is enamoured of beauty and virtue wherever they dwell, and her books as well as her conversation are but exhibitions of that holy affections What a glorious thing it is to * have a heart to admire and a genius to dis- play the loveliness which God has scattered over the landscape, and made to flourish and bleom in the human bosom! Though I have said a good deal more than I intended on charity, stili there is 40 CHARITY. much more to be said of it. The Bible tells us that it covers a multitude of sins, which means, that a person who has true charity » will seek rather to hide than to display the faults of others. Alas, how unhappy should we be, if God, who looketh on the heart; and sees all our motives, were not more kind and charitable to us, than we are to our fellow-men! If we would hope for mercy above, let us prac- tise it here below. CHAPTER VIII. CHARITY. History of the Two Seekers. THERE were once two boys, Philip and Frederick, who were brothers. Philip was a cheerful, pleasant, good-natured fellow ; he had always a bright smile on his face, and the mere sight of him made everybody feel an emotion of happiness. His presence was like a gleam of sunshine, peeping *into a dark room—it made all light and pleasant around. ae Beside this, Philip had a kind heart; in- deed, his face was but a sort of picture of his bosom. But the quality for which he was remarkable was a disposition to see good things only in his friends and companions : he appeared to have no @ye for bad quali- ties, If he noticed the faults, errors, or 48 42 CHARITY. vices of others, he seldom spoke of them. He never came to his parents and teachers, exaggerating the naughty ‘things that his playmates had done. On the contrary, when he spoke of his friends, it was gene- rally to tell some pleasast thing they had said or done. When he felt bound to notice another’s fault, he did it only from a sense of duty, and always with reluctance, and in mild terms. Now Frederick was quite the reverse of all this. He loved dearly to tell tales. Every day he came home from school, giving an account of something wrong that had been done by his playmates, or brothers and sis- ters. He never told any good of them, but took delight only in displaying their faults. He did not tell his parents or teacher these things from a sense of duty, but from a love * of telling unpleasant tales. And, what was the worst part of it all, was this: Frederick’s love of tale-bearing grew upon him, by in- dulgence, till he would stretch the truth, 2: make that which was innocent in one of his little friends.appear to be wicked. He seemed to have no eye for pleasant and good THE TWO SEEKERS. 43 things—he only noticed bad ones: nay, more, he fancied that he saw wickedness, when nothing of the kind existed. This evil pro- pensity grew upon him by degrees ; for you know that if one gets into a bad practice, and keeps on in it, it becomes at last a habit which we cannot easily resist. A bad habit Mh = j Fa TY een, SSH INDY 5 St iy 2 Sh Mig is like an unbroken horse, which will not mind the bit or bridle, and so is very apt to run away with his rider. It was just so with Frederick: he had got: into the habit of looking out for faults, and telling of them, and now he could see no- thing else, and talk of nothing else. The mother of these two boys was 2 44 CHARITY. good and wise woman. She noticed the traits of character we have described in her sons, and while she was pleased with one, she was pained and offended on account of the other. She often talked with Frederick, told him of his fault, and besought him to imitate his amiable brother: but as I have said, Frederick had indulged his love of tell- ing tales, till it had become a habit, and this habit every day ran away with him. At last the mother hit upon a thing that cured Frederick of his vice—and what do you think it was? . I do not believe that any of you can guess whatit was that cured master Frederick. It was not a pill, or a poultice; no, it was a story—and as I think it a good one, I will relate it to you. “There were once two boys,” said the mother, “who went forth into the fields. One was named Horace, and the other was named Clarence. The former was fond of anything that was beautiful—of flowers, of sweet odours, of pleasant landscapes. The other loved things that were hideous or hateful—as serpents and lizards—and his rie @wO SEEKERS 45 favourite hdunts were ‘slimy swamps and dingy thickets. «One day the two boys returned from their rambles ; Horace bringing a beautiful - and fragrant blossom in his hand, and Clarence bringing a serpent. They rushed up to their mother, each anxious to show the prize he had won. Clarence was:so forward, that he placed*the serpent near his mother’s - hand: on which the reptile put forth his forked tongue, and then fixed his fangs in her flesh. : “In a moment a painsdarted through the mother’s frame, and her arm began to*swell up: she was in great distress, and sent for the physician. When he came, he mani- fested great alarm, for he said the serpent was an adder, and its bite was fatal, unless he could find a rare flower, for this alone could heal the wound. While he said this, he noticed the blossom which Horace held ‘i his hand. He seized upon it with joy, saying—‘ This, this is the very plant I de- sired? He applied it to the wound, and it was healed in an instant.” But this was not the whole of the story ¥ 46 CHARITY. “While these things were taking place, the adder turned upon the hand of Clarence, and inflicted a wound upon it. He screamed aloud, for the pain was very acute. ‘The physician instantly saw what had happened, and applying the healing flower to the poor boy’s wound, the pain ceased, as if by en- chantment,, and he, too, was instantly healed.” , Such was the story which the mother told to her two sons. She then asked Frederick if he understood the meaning of the tale. The boy hung his head, and made no answer.» The mother then went on as follows: “My dear Frederick—the story means that he who goes forth with a love of what is beautiful, pleasant, and agreeable, is sure to find it: and that -he who goes forth to find that which is evil, is also sure to find what “he seeks. It means that the former will bring peace and happiness to his mother, his home, his friends; and that the latter will bring home evil—evil to sting his mother, and evil that will turn and «sting himself. The story means that we can find good, if we seek it, in our friends, and that this good ” THE TWO SEEKERS. 47 ¢ is like a swéet flower, @ healing plant, im- parting peace and happiness to all around. é The ‘story means that we can find or fancy ‘ evil, if we seek for it, in our friends; bute © “% that, like an adder, this only wounds others, and poisons those who love to seize upon it.” Frederick took the story to heart; he laid it up in his memory. When he was tempted to look out for the faults of his companions, and to carry them home, he thought of the adder, and turning away from evil, he looked out for good ; and it was not long before He was as successful in finding it as his brother Philip. : . | , . > 3 CHAPTER IX. CHARITY. In the southern part of France is a large city called Marseilles: here there once lived a man by the name of Guizon;, he was always busy, and seemed very anxious, to get money, either by his industry, or in some other way. Hé was poorly clad, and his food was of the Simplest and cheapest kind: he lived alone, and denied himself all the luxuries and many of the comforts of life. He was honest and faithful, never taking that which was not his own, and always per- forming his promises; yet the people of THE SUPPOSED MISER. — ~ 49 Marseilles thought he was a miser, and they held him in great contempt. As he passed along the streets, the rich men looked on him with scorn, and the poor hissed and hooted at him. Even the boys would cry out, “There goes old Skinflint.” Rut the old man bore all this insult with gentleness and patience. Day by day, he went to his labour, and day by day, as he passed through the crowd, he was saluted with taunts, and sneers, and reproaches. Thus time pxssed on, and poor Guizon was ow. more than eighty years of age. But he still continuéd"the santé sperseycring industry, still lived in the same saving, Sini- ple manner as before. Though he was now bent almost double, and though his hair was thin and as hite as snow; though his knees tottered as he went along the streets; still the rude jokes and hisses of the throng pursued him wherever he went. : But, at length, the old man died, and it was ascertained that he had heaped together in gold and silver, a sum equal to forty thousand pounds. On looking over his ; 5* _-— “. 50° CHARITY. papers, his will was found, in which were the following words: «‘T was once poor, and I observed that the poor people of Marseilles suffered very much for the/want of pure, fresh water. I have devoted my life to the saving of a sum of money sufficient to build an aqueduct to 0. ply the city of Marseilles with pure water, so: that the poor may have a full supply.” - ‘ Let us be careful how we judge others uncharitably, in denouncing, ridiculing, per- secuting those who live differently from what we do—who seem to us to be narrow-minded and selfish—it may be that we are doing them great injustice, and injuring those who are in reality far better than ourselves.’ Let us, rather, be charitable, for this is always safe. . CHAPTER X. CHARITY. One evening as I was passing along @ street in Boston (in America,) I saw a poor ragged fellow, known by the nante of Simple Simon. He had in his face a look of melan- choly, and. his clothes bespoke at once poverty and neglect. He was in fact a harm- less, helpless creature, having hardly common sense, . and living for the most part upon. charity. — 52 CHARITY. As I came near him, a finely-dressed young man passed him by. According to his habit, Simple Simon held out his hand to the youth, as if asking for alms. The latter turned his head aside with unconcealed dis- gust, and making no other reply to the beggar than this look of aversion, went his way. As I was curious to see the effect of this rudeness upon poor Simon, I went up to him, and after a little conversation, I spoke of the youth in a manner to draw out his feelings. “You say he is a handsome fellow, and so he is,” said Simon: “and he is a good young man, too, fer aught I know; but he cannot condescend to speak to me: and why should he? Iam nowa poorcreature and unfit to be spoken to by one who wears a good coat and kid gloves, and is the son of a great man. Why.should he speak to Silly Simon?” “Then you know him, do you?” said I. —” “ Yes, I did,” said the mother. “ Well, he did pick one yesterday.” “T did not,” said Tim. “TI say you did!” said little Ben. “] say I did not !” said Tim. “ Oh, mother, he did, for I saw him picw it: it was a beautiful red rose ; and when he had picked it, he smelt it; and then pulled it to pieces.” Here Tim began to ery. “Well,” said he, “you picked one too!” ie 112 OBEDIENCE. «“ Oh!” said Ben. “JT say you did; you picked one first, and if you had not picked one I should not.” ' Here Ben began'to cry. “I see how it is,’ said the mother. “ It is too often so, my dear Ben; it is too often so. You re- member very well'what I tell Tim, but you forget what I tell.you. Now I forbade you both to pick the roses, and it seems you were the first to disobey; and in this you were more to blame than Tim, for ‘you led the way to disobedience, and thus, by a bad ‘example, made Tim disobey also.” « But, what is worse than all, your love of telling tales induced you to tell of Tim, when you were more to blame yourself. This is very wrong; for as you are the elder you ought rather to shield your little brother from blame than to bring it upon him.” . Poor Ben was in tears, and his little heart was very sad, and he could not be comforted till his mother forgave him, and took him to her bosom, and said she hoped he would never do so again. This he promised, and then he brightened up, and the two children went to their play. BEN AND TIM. 113 Now I suppose that Ben was really sorry for his fault, and no doubt his promise not to do so again was very sincere ; but when once a child has got a@bad habit, it is very hard to get rid of it. It was, therefore, a long time before he could remember what was said to him, better than what was said to his brother Tim. He, however, mastered this difficulty, and at last, when his mother laid her commands upon him, he was su to take them to heart, and obey them. Now I recommend it to all blue-eyed, and black-eyed, and gray-eyed children, to think of this little story, and to take care that they remember better what their parents tell them, than what they tell any one else. 10 § "CHAPTER XXIV. "JOW TO SETTLE A agrore “© The first thing,” says the old cookery- books in the recipe for cooking a turbot, “is to catch a turbot.” Before you enter upon a discussion, settle it clearly in your mind, what it is you propose to discuss: How many vain disputes, how many angry con- troversies would be prevented, if the parties would start with a definition,—if, before beginning to cvok a turbot, they would catch a turbot. Some few years since, an American gen- tleman, who did not understand the French language, being in Paris, wished to go to Bourdeaux. Accordingly he’wentdown to the diligence office, and 1 g suchjin- | quiries as he was able, paid his fare, entered the diligence, and set off, as he supposed, for Bourdeaux. Four days and_four nights he’ won Je “ . — = LL SS eS ” HOW TO SETTLE A DIspuTS. 116 travelled very patiently, not dreaming that he was in the wrong coach. , At last he reached the termination of his journey, and having taken a dong night’s repose, he dressed himself carefully, selected his letters of introduction, and, calling the waiter, showed, him the inscriptions of these letters, and intimated that he wished to go to the persons to whom they were ad- dressed. _ The man stared in the traveller’s face, and uttered a good deal. of incomprehensible French. The American talked English, but all to no purpose. At last the waiter left the traveller in despair, and called his master. He was as’ much puzzled as the servant, and finally, as the only resort, sent out for an Englishman living in the town, to come and see an American gentleman who was out of his mind. The Englishman came, and the American stated his grievance. “ Here,” said he, showing his letters, “are some letters of in- uction to several gentlemen in this city, ‘and Iwant these stupid people to take me sto them: biit}they only gaze in my face, ws . Je a ae = ~~ —— =“. = —_ 4 116 HOW TO SETTLE A DISPUTE. shrug their shoulders, and make unmeaning explanations.” The Englishman stared at the American, as if he, tooy thought him out of his mind. At last he said to him, “ Sir, these letters are addressed to gentlemen in Bourdeaux : where do you suppose you are?” “In Bourdeaux, to be sure,” said the American. . ‘ ‘Not so,” said the Englishman: “ you are in the city of Lyons, 700 miles from Bour- deaux.” The simple explanation of the whole scene was, that the traveller had entered the wrong coach, and instead of proceeding to Bourdeaux, had gone 400 miles in the oppo- site direction. This story shows the im portance of looking well to the outset of a journey ; or, if you please, to the commence- ment of a discourse, or a dispute. In the one case, be sure to enter the right coach ; in the other, start with a clear understanding. If, unluckily, you should ‘by any chance get into a dispute, the best way is to’stop short, and ask your antagonist te enter into a consideration of what the point of Jebate is. This is apt to have a cooling effect upon both, ' %- 2 "genes * aow TO SETTLE A DISPUTE. 117 parties, and to result ina clear understanding of the real question. , A few years since, I happened to be tra- velling in a stage-coach, where, among half a dozen passengers, there were a Frenchman and an Englishman. There seemed to be a sort of cat-and-dog feeling between them; for if one opened his lips to speak, the other was sure to fly at the observation with the teeth and claws of dispute. As we were driving along, the Englishman spoke of a sheep he had seen in some foreign land, with a tail so long as to drag upon the ground. Thereupon, the Frenchman shrugged his shoulders, curled up his lip, lifted his eye- brows, and took a pinch of snuff. “ What do you mean by that?” said the. Englishman, not a little nettled at the con temptuous air of his rival. “Vat do I mean said the latter; “] means dat a sheap has not got von tail at all.” | « A sheep has not got a tail, ha?” said the Englishman. « No, not von bit,” said the Frenchman. “Well, this comes of eating frogs,” said we” i 118 HOW TO SETTLE’A DISPUTE. the John Bull. “What can you expect of a man who eats frogs? You say a sheep has not got a tail. I tell you, mounseer, a sheep has got a tail.” “ Pardon, monsieur,” said the other, with a polite bow, yet with a very sneering ex- pression; “ you say de sheap has von tail: I say de sheap has no tail, not von bit.” By thistime the parties were greatly excited, and Icannotsay _=> what might s=——= == pened, had === =_— not one of —S=S— the passengers asked the Frenchman’ what he meant by a “ sheap?” “Vat I mean by sheap? vy I means von big larsh ting, with sails and rudder, that go upon de sea.” . ’ «Oh ho!” Said the Englishman, “ you mean a ship.” “Qui, monsieur,” was the teply; “I ; * 7 HOW TO SETTLE A DISPUTE, 119 mean von sheap, that has de captain and de sailors, and goes on de vater.”, “Very well,” said the Englishman: “1 meant a sheep, a creature with four legs, and covered with woe.” «Ah, you mean yon sheap vit de vool !”’ said the other; “oh, oni, monsieur 5 de sheap vit de vool has de tail. Oui, oui.” This incident taught me a jesson, and I give it to my readers;—if they ever get wo a controversy, let them consider whetner one of the parties does not mean a SHIP, ana tne other @ SHEEP. ee CHAPTER XXV. POLITENESS. Tuts is doing to others as we would have others do to us, in the familiar intercourse of life. Politeness is, therefore, not only a mark of refinement, of good breeding, but it isa duty. It consists in paying a deference to the feelings of others, in trifles; whether we eat or drink, or whatever we do, we should avoid coarseness, vulgarity, and every- thing in looks, movements, words and actions, that may offend those around us. We should.adopt the best manners ‘of the so- ciety in which we live; if certain rules, even supposing them to be arbitrary or artificial, are in force there, we are bound, as far as we understand them, to follow them when- ever they are not wrong. There is no surer mark of a coarse and ill-regulated mind, than a refusal to observe « * POLITENESS. | 121 the courtesies, civilities, and decent cere- monies of the society in which a person lives. All these are soon learned, and there is no excuse for their neglect. Politeness forbids rude words, rude looks, and everything that betokens a lack of re- spect to the company present: politeness would carry the gentle and kind spirit of christianity imto all the intercourse of society, Let no one, who would desire the character of a Christian lady, or a Christian gentleman, or a Christian at all, refuse to practise politeness. A person is as much bound to be just in little matters as in great matters ; and he who will offend in things of taste, feeling, and decency, is very likely to offend in the weightier matters of the law. Can aman who sins in pence be honest in pounds ? There ‘is no greater mistake than’to sup- pose that politeness means hypocrisy, or that bluntness means sincerity. Why should a delicate regard to the feelings of others, a desire to be merciful and just, even in those invisible things which can only be weighed in the delicate balance of the bosom, be 11 a 122 POLITENESS. called duplicity? Why should the rough, careless, footstep trampling upon roses, be thought to display an honest regard to the proprietor of the garden? No, no, bluntness is vulgarity, call it what we may; and though Politeness may be adopted as the hypocrite’s mask, it is because he knows it to be a virtue, and would assume its image and su- perscription. There is nothing which does more to de- grade a person than to forget his breeding, to’ be tempted by a flaw of ill-humour into some rude, offensive, or insulting look, word or “action. When once politeness is put on, and the character of the lady or the gentleman is assumed, like the armour of the ancient knight, it is ever to be worn, and ever to be kept bright. If you meet with a person who is sometimes polite, and some- times rude, you may safely set him down as a sham gentleman or a sham lady, as the case may be. One serious thing have I to say to my friends of the sterner sex; a man who will on any occasion be guilty of a breach of politeness to one of the gentler portion of THE MOUTH. 123 éur species is no gentleman, but a dastardly counterfeit. The position of woman, the . character of woman, give*her an inviolable claim to that protection which the encircling boundaries’ of politeness “are calculated to afford; and he who breaks them down, or overleaps them, is a cowardly trespasser«: The Mouth. \ The mouth® was made to eat and speak with. It is therefore a convenient and useful thing, and we could not do without it. But the mouth, like almost everything else, needs to be taken care of. Sometimes the mouth will pout, and make a person look very disagreeable. Sometimes the mouth will eat very fast, and get too much in at a time. Do not let . your mouth do any such things as these : I had almost forgotten to tell you another very curious thing about the mouth, and that is, that it laughs. I believe dogs, and cats, and pigs, and hens, and geese, never laugh; but children laugh, and old people too, sometimes. 124 | POLITENESS. % It is ‘well enough to laugh, at proper * times. TI love to see children laugh in their play. I love to see them laugh when I tell an amusing story. But I never ltke to see any one a at the misfortune or fault of another. Tell me, reader, did your.mouth ever laugh at another childbecause he was poor? or because he was poorly dressed? or because he fell down and,hurt himself? or becatise he happened to know less than you do? If your mouth has-ever done any of these naughty things, I pray you, teach your mouth better manners. The Tongue. Every one has in his mouth a thing to talk with, called the tongue. This is made to tell the truth with. When the tongue tells a lie, % does that which is very wrong. The tongue is made to say kind and plea- sant things to our friends. When it says a saucy thing to anybody, it is a naughty tongue. "When the tongue says a disobedient word ® THE TONGUE. 125 to a father or mother, it isa wicked tongue. _ When it says an unkind word to a brother or sister, it is a very bad tongue indeed. When the, tongue: swears, it does that which God has expressly forbidden. When the tongue speaks bad words, it is a vile tongue. What boy orygirl would like to carry abotit such a tongue in his mouth? Now, my young reader, let me ask you a few. questions. What Sort of a tomgue have you? Does it always speak the truth? does that tongue_of yours ever say Saucy words? | ’ Does your tongue ever say disobedient words to your parents? does it ever say « unkind words to a brother or a sister? does it ever swear? does it ever utter vile words? . O,.my friend, if your tongue ever does anything wrong, what shall be done? Can you tell me how to correct an evil tongue ? I can tell you. Take care of your heart and think right thoughts, and you will be sure to sneak right words. ‘ ng A ° 126 POLITENESS. The Hand. Every limb and member of the body is made for some good purpose. The eye is made to_see with; the ear is made to hear with ; the nose is made to smell with; the mouth is madeto eat and speak with. The feet are made to run and walk with ; the hands are made to work with, to write with, and to do many other things. But do you think children’s hands were ever made to strike their brothers, or sisters, or playmates? Were your hands ever made to snatch away things from each other? Who gave you hands? God gave them to you. © Did he give you hands to steal with? DidGod give you hands that you might throw stones at geese, or dogs, or hens, or cows, or any other innocent animals? DRESS. 127 Did God give you hands to injure or wound any of the creatures he has made ? Take “care of your hands, then, my children! Take care that the hands which God has given, do nothing that God dis- approves. Dress. There is nothing in which mankind dis- play more caprice, than in dress ; and it is curious to remark, that this caprice is most conspicuous in the more civilized countries. In London and Paris, the fashions of dress change every year, and in some things, every few weeks. There is a new style of bonnet in Paris almost every month. But in China and India, and indeed over all. Asia, the fashions of dress are unchange- able. _The people now wear almost exactly the same garments, of the same colours and the same forms, as were in use a thousand years ago. The Chinese gentleman of our day probably has almost the same appearance as one of the age of Confucius. The country people of Europe, generally, 128 POLITENESS. have a fixed costume, which continues, with little change, from generation to generation ; but in the great cities, all is variety and vicissitude. In America we copy European fashions, and there are some silly people whose greatest desire is to be dressed in the Parisian style. Now when we are told of the Chinese ladies, who have their feet bandaged in order to make them small, until they can hardly walk,— thus rendering themselves miserable and useless, and all this to be thought gen- teel,—we think them very absurd. Yet tell DRESS. 129 me, do. you not think some of our ladies are _about as foolish ? But we must not laugh at the ladies only, for the other sex deserve a share of our notice. Foppery is not confined to any country. A young savage of the western woods has often the ambition to figure as a gay fellow, as well as the New York or Boston dandy. He does not go to the tailor, to be made a man of, but he relies upon his own skill. He paints himself over with clay, of various colours, mixed with bears’ grease. One side of his face is made blue, and another yellow... On his breast, a ser- pent is figured; on his back, a buffalo or a wolf. On his head, he wears the feathers of an eagle; around his neck, the claws of the grisly bear ; on his back is a bundle of scalps, and on his arms the skin of a polecat. Over his shoulder is a buffalo-robe decorated with a frill of quills, and ornamented with beads. Such is your dandy of savage life. © But, as we are not writing an article on the fashions, it is our duty only to lay down a few simple rules touching this affair of dress. Without enlarging upon the subject, 130 POLITENESS. I may embrace what I have to say in the five following suggestions : 1. Dress according to your condition. 9. Avoid singularity in dress. §. Neatness and cleanliness are indispensa- ble. Even the finest and most costly things, as Brussels lace, soiled and tumbled, would fail to please, and may be compared to ill flavoured custards or other delicacies. 4. That dress is best which is least re- marked; which makes the person appear well, without provoking the observation— “he or she is finely dressed.” When the dress is remarked for beauty, and the person for ugliness, the toilette is ill performed. 5. What is fashionable, is not always right. The Sparrow and Robin. A robin was one summer evening sitting upon a tree and singing its cheerful song right merrily. A critical sparrow was near by, and when the robin had done, he ex- claimed, “ What a miserable song! Why, it really seemed as if it would split my ears. How can you, robin, pretend to sing, when - —_ THE SPARROW AND ROBIN. , 131 there are those around who understand mudle so much better ?” “Why, dear sparrow,” said the robin, “T only sing simple songs, such as natulfe has taught me; and here is my pretty at my side, and she says my song gives her pleasure.” “The more fool she,” said the sparrow, smartly, “to be captivated with such hum- drum stuff. If you want to hear music, you must listen to the catbird,* who hasybeen to foreign countries, and the macatys; that are denned so fine. They have®introduced a new style of music, and it, is all the fashion ; and your lackadaisical songs are now out of vogue, and none but the vulgar can bear them.” “Very well, if it be so,” said the robin . quietly. “I know my songs are of a very humble kind, but they are still pleasing to me and mine; and I doubt not that | my sim- ple melodies give more true pleasure than the more fashionable airs of these foreign min- strels. One thing proves it, and that is this: * The catbird is a noisy American songster, much given to imitating other birds, % * & 132 POLITENESS. when any one of the birds sings our ‘ native wood-notes wild, there is @ silence all around, and every one has a look of delight. But when one of the fashionable musicians 1s singing, though the birds roll up their eyes and say, ‘exquisite ? and ‘enchanting!’ and all that, they look, all the time, as if they were in the greatest distress. It seems to mie very silly for people to praise a thing they dislike or do not understand, merely because it has come into fashion.” This fable may show, that what is merely fashionable may be, and often is, praised by a certain set of people; but that most per- sons prefer what is simple and natural, and founded in nature and good taste. CHAPTER XXVI. BOASTING. I can hardly tell the reason, but the fact seems to be, that the ass, an honest and somewhat stupid animal, appears to have given rise to more fables than any other beast, except the fox. I have myself told some fables in which this long-eared person- age is made to utter a great many wise things, but I am now going to tell two fables, in which the creature is represented as talking rather foolishly. A man was once going along the road with an ass, whom he treated somewhat roughly, upon which the beast first whisked i2 134 BOASTING. his long tail, and then groaned, and finally spoke outright. “It seems to me, sir,” said the honest creature, “ that you use me very ill, particularly as I belong to a race of great antiquity, and one that has»been honoured above all four-footed beasts ris « Why, how is that? said the man. “¢ How is that? indeed |” said the ass. “if you had read the Bible as much as you ought to have done, you would remember that it was one of my ancestors which con- versed with a prophet, and stood in the pre- sence of an angel on a certain occasion. This is an honour which belongs exclusively to the ass family, of which I am one, and therefore it seems meet that you should treat me with proper respect.” «Well done!” said the countryman ; «well done! poor brute. This is ever the way. It seems to be with asses as with men: when one has no merit of his own, he always boasts of the dignity of his family, or the virtues of his ancestors. For my part, I know of nothing that sinks a beast or 4 man lower, than to see him attempt to cover up his own vices, oF weakness, or folly, by oe. THE LION AND THE ASS. *13& showing off the dignity of his pedigree, or the respectability of his connections.” Then, giving the ass a somewhat contemptuous push, the man passed on. The Lion and the Ass. An ass was one day travelling with a lion, who wanted the assistance of his bray in frightening the animals he was hunting. The ass felt very proud of his company, and did not like to speak to his old acquaintances. As they were travelling along in this man- ner, the ass met an old friend, of his own race, who very civilly bade him a good morn- ing. The ass started back with a stare, and said, “really; you are very impudent; I do not know you !” “Why not ?” replied his friend: “ because you are in company with a lion, are you any better than I am,—anything more than an ass ?” Those narrow-minded people, who, in prosperity, forget the friends of their hum- bler days, are about as wise as the ass in the fable. | CHAPTER XXVII. WEAKNESS OF CHARACTER. TuEReE is a beautiful story in the fifth chapter of the second Book of Kings, about a famous person named Naaman. He was captain of the army of the king of Syria, and was. a great and mighty man. But he was afflicted with a loathsome disease, called leprosy; which is common in the eastern countries. Now the Syrians had gone to war, and had brought away from the land of Israel a young maiden as a cap- tive, and she waited on Naaman’s wile. The story in the Bible goes on as follows : “ And she said unto her mistress, Would to God my lord were with the prophet that iS in Samaria, for he would cure him of his leprosy. And one went in and told his lord, saying, Thus and thus said the maid that is of the land of Israel. And the king of Syria * ¢ t WEAKNESS OF CHARACTER. 137 said, Go to, go, and I will send a letter unto the king of Israel. And he departed, and took with him ten talents of silver, and six thousand pieces of gold, and ten changes of raiment. And he brought the letter to the king of Israel, saying, Now, when this letter is.come unto thee, behold, I have therewith sent Naaman my servant to thee, that thou mayest recover him of his leprosy. And it came to pass, when the king of Israel had read the letter, that he rent his clothes, and said, Am I God, to kill and to make alive, that this man doth send unto me to recover a man of his leprosy? wherefore consider, I pray you, and see how he seeketh a quarrel against me. < And it was so, when Elisha, the man of God, had heard that the king of Israel had rent his clothes, that he sent to the king, saying, Wherefore hast thou rent thy clothes? let him come now to me, and he shall know that there is a prophet in Israel. So Naaman came with his horses and with his chariot, and stood at the door of the house of Elisha. And Elisha sent a messenger unto him, saying, Go and wash in Jordan seven times, 12 § 1388 WEAKNESS OF CHARACTER. and thy flesh shall come again unto thee, and thou shalt be clean. But Naaman was wroth, and went away, and said, Behold, I thought, he would surely come out to me, and stand, and call on the name of the Lord his God, and strike his hand over the place, and recover the leper. Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? may I not wash in them, and be clean? So he turned, and went away in a rage.” Now this beautiful story may afford in- struction to young people of our time; for, like the Syrian captain, we all of us like to do things in our own way ; and furthermore, we like to perform certain duties rather than others. ) The truth is this, that in almost all our conduct, we permit our pride, our likes and’ dislikes, our tastes and aversions to govern us, rather than our sense of duty. We very seldom ask ourselves “what ought I to do and how ought I to do it?” implicitly and cheerfully acting according to the reply which conscience gives. Even those who mean to be governed by duty, are very apt * WEAKNESS OF CHARACTER. 139 to look over their list of duties, pick out those which are most agreeable, and perform them, neglecting or delaying all others ; and evensin performing duties, we are likely to do them in the way most agreeable to our- selves, and often not in the best way. Now all this is weakness and folly: it is yeal and practical disobe- dience; it shows that the heart is not right, that we are selfish, self-willed, self- seeking, rather than ho- nest, sincere, faithful fol- lowers of duty. Let us suppose a case. Anna is sick, and her mo- ther wishes her to take some medicine, and pro- poses that she shall take castor oil, ee “Oh, mother,” observes Anna, castor oil.” “So does everybody,” says the mother. “ But is it not better, my dear child, to take a little disagreeable physic than to continue sick, and run the risk of having a fever 2” # 140 WEAKNESS OF CHARACTER. « But, mother, will not something else do as well?” is the reply. « No, not as well,” says the mother, “the best thing for you is castor-oil; and sick or well, it is always right to do the best thing we can.” | “Qh, mother,” retorts the thoughtless child, “I cannot take castor-oil ; anything but castor-oil; but really I cannot take that.” Now this little girl is very much like Naaman. She wants to get well, but she wishes to do it in her own way. She dislikes castor-oil particularly, and really feels willing to take the risk of being very sick, rather than to swallow a little medicine which disgusts her. So it was with Naaman: he wished to get well, and he was willing to take a bath, but he was a proud man,-and he did not like the idea of giving a preference to a river of Judea over the beautiful rivers of Damascus; and so he refused, and went away in a rage. Thus it is that the little, as well as the great, are very apt to find some difficulty in the performance of duty, even where it would WEAKNESS OF CHARACTER. 141 benefit themselves. Almost every person finds something, every day of his lifes which he cannot, or rather which he will not do, but which at the same time he ought to do. Now this is a very important matter ; and the reason is this, that if we cannot do the right thing at the right time, and in the right way, though we may be very actives industrious, and energetic, still we shall find ourselves really weak, inefficient and unsuc- cessful in life. But how shall we cure such a fault as this, if we happen to have it? I will tell you. Watch yourselves carefully, and when you find yourselves saying mentally, “ That thing I cannot do:” consider whether it be a duty, and if it be so, do it immediately, and do it as it ought to be done. Remember that when Naaman repented of his folly, and bathed in Jordan he was healed. CHAPTER XXVIII. SELF-RELIANCE—PERSEV ERANCE. Ler the distrustful man look about him, and watch the progress of children learning to walk, or to run, to swim, or to ride; then let him lift up his eyes and watch the pro- gress of all beginners in business, the vast business of life. Beginners are always timid; yet, in business, beginners are almost always successful. And it is mostly after they have become in a degree successful, when they have enlarged their business, when they have lost their timidity and become over- confident in themselves, or presumptuous, x PERSEVERANCE. | 143 that their credit is questioned, and their downfal foretold and expected. Watch their progress nevertheless, and as they cure themselves of their timidity, do you cure yourself of yours. The rash»child begins to run too early, and gets beaten into a more just opinion of him- self. He is soon cured. But though cured,” he is by no means sure of beating the timid, self-distrustful child in the long run, Mere animal courage is almost worthless. The courage of the soul is what is to be de- pended upon. And what is the courage of the soul? It is a fixed and holy confidence in God. | The timid child, instead of rising up from his little stool, and walking off at once, to be caught by his mother, sits still and trembles and whimpers, or faces about and drops down by little and little, and for a long time cannot be coaxed into trusting himself. But watch him, and by and by you find. him holding on a chair, then standing alone, then trying to walk, led by both hands, then by a single finger. Study him well, and remem- ber the lesson. Or watch the sailor-boy 144 PERSEVERANCE. when he first goes aloft, how timidly the bravest feel their way; how bravely the most timid mount the dizzy mast after awhile! And then, which is the better sailor, will de- pend not so much upon their animal courage, as upon their common sense, and their habit of reasoning with themselves. The first plunges at once, and would he persevere, and think, and reason with himself, he would keep ahead all his life; but he seldom does, and © for that reason is often outstripped by the self-distrust- ful but persevering. === The second feels his ‘way, gathers confidence, and by little and little begins to overlook danger, to forget himself, and to see nothing but one great object be- fore him, duty. Take another example. A five-barred gate is before yous You are on horseback, Me PERSEVERANCE. 145 and have a pretty good seat, but for the world youywould not venture to take such a leap! Yet others, no more accustomed to leaping than yourself, ride at ‘the gate; and while some clear it with a triumphant cheer, others are left in the mud. If you are timid and self-distrustful, what should be your course? You are urged to try, you are told there is no danger,—what others have done you can do. Do not believe a word of it. With your present feelings, if you try you will be sure either to Stick by the way and spoil your horse, to pull him over backwards upon yourself, or to break your neck. What, then, should you do? LKither go ‘to a riding-school, or betake yourself to an open field, and practise by yourself, or with a 13 146 PERSEVERANCE. friend, beginning at one bar, then trying at two, three, four, and finally at five, if you think it seriously worth your while, and know your horse. Perhaps you are learning to swim. Peo- ple about you are jumping off from high places; or diving, head first, with their legs straight and feet close together. You would give the world to be able to do it. But you are surrounded by injudicious friends. “Try, try, you can do it!” they say. Not for your life: if, you are self-distrust- ful, you will be sure to fall flat, or to turn over, as you dive, and pretty sure to be dis- couraged, or stopped for ever in your pro- gress. What, then, should youdo? Begin moderately: go where you know you are safe. Do what you know you can do, for that you will do boldly, and that will give you confidence. One thing at.a time, and but one. Begin as a little child: be teach- able and patient. And mark me, if you are faithful to yourself, you may be sure of outstripping the over-confident in the long run. Do you know that Curran, the great orator, PERSEVERANCE. 147 broke down in his first speech, and, as some said, made a fool of himself? It is often the case that a man whose first speech is wonder- ful never makes another worth listening to: of such men there is little hope. Do you know that Frederick the Great ran away in his first battle? It is said, and it is not un- likely, that the Duke of Wellington showed the white feather in India! Have you ever heard the storysof two young officers who were sent, under Wellington’s own eye, to make a charge upon a body of Freneh cavalry in Spain? As they rode together, one grew pale, trembled, and his feet shook in his 148 PERSEVERANCE. stirrups. His companion, a fine, bold fel- low, observed it, and reproached him. “You are afraid? said he. “ That is very true,” said the other, “I am afraid; and if you were half as much afraid as 1 am, you would turn your horse’s head and ride back to the camp.” As _ they had not advanced far, the other, indignant, returned to Wellington to tell the story, and to ask for a worthier companion. “ Clap spurs to your horse, sir,’ was Wellington’s reply, “or the busi- ness will be done by your cowardly com- panion before you get there2? He was right: the business was done; the coward swept down upon the enemy like a whirlwind, and scattered them like chaff. Which of these two was the braver man? ) «J will try,” said Miller; and trying, he did what an over-confident man would have promised to do, but might have failed in performing. | | So with all the business of life. Try, try, keep trying. You will most assuredly suc- ceed at last, if you persist. And if you do not succeed, it is not your fault. Begin cautiously, as cautiously as you PERSEVERANCE. 149 please. Try your strength by little and little, and after a few years, not months, nor days, but years, you will be astonished at your progress, and be cured of your self- distrust. Persevere.—Think well before you begin. But having once begun, persevere through good report and through evil report, and you shall have your reward. * Wy rr , Wi. th = ‘a ae) $ SS 13 § CHAPTER XXIX. GRATITUDE. Gratirupk is the feeling which acknow- ledges kindness: it is a sentiment, which is alike agreeable to him who exercises it, and him who is the object of it. Itis a source of much of the happiness of life, and is given to mankind by God, as one of the sweetest blessings. Yet, I am sorry to say, that in- gratitude is not uncommon : there are those who refuse to acknowledge kindness which they have received. This exhibits a shock- ing state of heart, and perhaps displays more GRATITUDE. 151° meanness and turpitude than almost any other single vice. Let my readers beware how they indulge it, even in the most trifling affairs of life. 1 will tell you a story, which shows that one of the most savage of brutes is not insensible to kindness. Will you take a lower moral standing than,a wild beast ? In the famous days of ancient Rome, it was a custom to have a circus where lions and tigers were kept, and human beiags were thrown into them and devoured, in punishment of offences they had committed against the government. | The exhibition 0 these bloody scenes was one of the favorite public amusements of the Romans. It chanced that upon a certain time @ slave, by the name of Androcles, had escaped and fled to the forests of Africa. He took refuge in a cave where he found a lion, whick having got a thorn in his foot, was in grea agony from the swelling and festering of th: wound. Androcles extracted the thorn, anc® dressed the wound, and the lion and he parted. rs After some years Androcles, venturin; back to Rome; was seized, and condemne 152 GRATITUDE. to be thrown into the circus, where a large and fierce lion, just brought from the wilds of Africa, was in readiness to devour him. There was a large audience to witness the scene; judge of the surprise of all present, when the lion which rushed upon Androcles at first, no sooner put his paws upon him, than his rage abated, and he crouched fawn- ing at his feet! It was the very lion whose wounded foot Androcles had healed. The lion knew his benefactor, and displayed his gratitude. Alas, alas! this untutored savage of the forest showed a better feeling than has sometimes been exhibited by human beings toward their benefactors, even in cases where they have enjoyed the light of Christianity. CHAPTER XXX. AMUSEMENT. A waggoner, whose business it was to transport goods from one town to another, had a fine horse, upon whose saddle he was accustomed to carry several bells, which kept up a cheerful jingling as he trudged along the road. The horse got used to these bells, and was so much pleased with them, that he seemed dull and out of spirits when, for some reason, they were left off. The waggoner, perceiving that his horse did not work so well without the bells, restored them to their place, remarking that his horse was 154 AMUSEMENT, like himself, he liked music and merriment, and even hard work came more easy for a little recreation by the way. There was much truth and good sense in the observation of the waggoner. “ All work and no play,” says the proverb, “ makes Jack a dull boy.” It is right and proper that we should devote some part of our time to amusement, for by means of it we are cheered and enlivened, and qualified to en- gage in our severer duties with good effect. But we should be careful of two points: first, that we choose innocent amusements ; and second, that we do not permit our recre- ations so far to engross our thoughts or our time, as to interfere with the sober business of life. The Lion and the Mouse. A lion was once going to war; he had buckled on his sword, and gathered his forces, and, with the monkey arid the bear supporting his long robe, behind, he was proudly marching over the plain at the head of his army. As he was proceeding, it THE LION AND MOUSE. 155 chanced that his majesty encountered a mouse, dancing merrily over the ground. The king paused, and observed the little dancer with a grim smile of satisfaction. At this the bear grumbled, and the monkey sneered, for his majesty being in a warlike humour, they thought it meet that everybody else should be so too: but they were both speedily silenced by the lion, who spoke as follows : « Why do you grumble at this pretty little fellow? See how graceful his movements are, and how cheerful is his countenance ! Remember that everything has its use, and nothing is more useful than that which makes us Cheerful, provided it is innocent. Even we warriors have need of cheerful ex- citement, for by this means we are better fitted to discharge our solemn duties. Let us not despise, then, even such sports and trifles as come in our way; provided always that they are as harmless as the frisks and frolics of this little dancing-master of the meadow; and provided, too, that we never neglect business for pleasure.” CHAPTER XXXI1. DO NOT BE TOO POSITIVE. THERE are many young persons who are very positive even when they are mistaken. “There goes Jerry Smith,” said Philip. “Where? I do not see him,” said John. “Why yonder, at the top of the hill.” * Qh, that is not Jerry Smith !” “Yes it is.” “No it is not; it is Seth Mead.” “JT tell you it is Jerry Smith; if it is not I will eat him.” Such is the dialogue, but pretty soon the boy comes along; and behold! it is Seth Mead, and not Jerry Smith. “There!” says John, “now you must eat him, Phil.” “Where is the hammer, Peter?” says his father. DO NOT BE TOO POSITIVE. 157 ‘¢T do not know, sir,” is the reply. “ But you had it last.” “No, I had not, sir.” * Yes, you had; you took it-yesterday.” “Oh, yes, I remember; I took it; but I put it in the drawer again, where I took it from.” « Are you sure ?” “ Yes, sir.” “] think you are mistaken; for if you had put it there, it would have been there still.” “T am certain I put it back.” ‘¢ Well now, my son, I found it out on the grass, where you had been at work. Did you not leave it there ?” “Oh, yes, I believe I did! Yes, I re- member, I did leave it there.” “ Well, now take a lesson from this; do not be so positive, when you are not sure. In two instances you have been mistaken: you first said that you had not taken the hammer out, and you were quite positive; you then said you had put it where you got it trom, and you were again quite positive. But remember that in both cases you were 14 ~* 158 © DO NOT BE TOO POSITIVE. mistaken. Let this teach you to be more modest and careful in future ; and, instead of saying you are sure, say, I think so and so; or, I believe so and so. No person ought ever to say that he is positive of a thing, when there is the least chance of mistake.” “Mamma,” said Ellen, “may I go and see Jane Hanson? she asked me to come.” ‘When did she ask you?” said her mamma. “ Yesterday, yesterday afternoon.” “ Not yesterday, my dear.” “Yes it was yesterday, inetoaia'* I saw her on the green by the church. “ Do not be posites Ellen ; it could not have been yesterday.” “Yes it was yesterday; I am certain it was yesterday; I met her on the green, and she asked me to come. y, mamma, how could I be mistaken? I know it was yes- terday.” “That cannot be, Ellen, for I have just been at Mrs. Hanson’s; and Jane went to Providence in the coach, which set out at seven, yesterday morning.” a DO NOT BE TOO POSITIVE. ~*~ 159 “Oh! well, it must have been the day before yesterday; yes, now I recollect, it was the day before yesterday !” “Well, my child, I am sorry to see you so positive, when you are really not sure, and when, in point of fact, you are mistaken. Pray be more careful in future. You may go to see Jane, but as you go along, say it over in your mind, till you cannot forget it, Do not be too positive.” CHAPTER XXXII. ATTENTION. To enforce the necessity of practising attention, particularly. in study, I offer to my readers the following dialogue between Charles and his mother: Charles. Mamma, it is almost school-time ? Mother. No; you have full half an hour to spare. C. Only half an hour! Will you hear me try to say this lesson again? M. No; for I am sure you will say it no better than before. , , . 7 7 ? . . « > e R ATTENTION. 16] <. C. Why, mamma? | M. Beéause you have not been studying. I have been looking at you from time to time, and have scarcely once seen your eyes fixed on your book. C. I was only watching Jerry, for fear he should weed up my young balsams. M. I fancy Jerry knows what he is about. C. Well; I will study now. M. Do you generally whistle when you study, Charles ? C. Was I whistling? M. Yes, and with your eyes fixed on my canary bird. C. Well, mamma, I cannot help it. This is the hardest and most stupid lesson that ever was. M. And yet you told me your cousin Richard learned it, yesterday, in twenty minutes. C. Then it is I that am stupid, I suppose. M. I rather think not. I believe your memory is as good as Richard’s. C. Oh, mamma! he always learns his lessons quicker than I do, 14 § 162 ATTENTION. M. And doés that prove that his leprae | is better? C. To be sure it does. : » M. When you are at play, does he re- member things better than you do? C. Why, no, I believe not. M. Did not you tell us as much about the lecture the other night, when you came home, as he did? C. Yes, and more too; papa said I did. M. That required memory, certainly. I do not think you have any right to lay the blame on any natural defect. C. Oh, I did not mean to say that! but all I know is that Richard gets his lessons quicker than I do; and what can the reason be? He is not three weeks older than I am, and does not seem more clever than I am about other things. M. Did you ever happen to sit near him when he was studying ? C. Yes, I have; and I would rather sit next any boy in school. M. Why? C. Oh, I do not know! there is no comfort in it. He is as cross over his books as a dog ® ” = wv . ATTENTION. * 16> ” . is with a bone: he will not let anybody speak to him. . M. What, not to ask areasonable question? .C. Oh! as to that, hevhelps me some- times, when I cannot get on; but what I mean is, if I ask him to look at anything funny, or want to talk to him about any of our plays for one minute, he says that I disturb him, and take off his attention. “4 M. He complains that you take of his ~ attention, does he? C. Yes, mamma. ‘ M. Richard has learned a very important secret, I see. , ' C. A secret. What! one that helps him to get his lessons ? M. Yes. C. I wish J could find it out. “ M. I can tell it to you in one word whieh you used just now. It is as good as “ Open Sésamé,” in the play of the Forty Thieves, which you read the other day. C. What'can it be? M. Attention, Charles; attention! that will open the door of your mind arid let the lesson in. e 164 ° ATTENTION. C. Oh dear! I wish ‘calling the word out aloud would answer the purpose: ’ M. I cannot say*that it will, so my com- parison is not a perfect one ; but I wished to fix your attention, and-referred to something that had amused you © But, in good earnest, Charles, the only reason why Richard learns more quickly than you do is, that he never allows himself to think of anything else while he is engaged with his lesson. You speak of yourself as studying—as long as you are holding the book in your hand, though in fact you are not studying one quarter of the time. i CHAPTER XXXII. . ' VANITY. The King fisher and Nightingale.” A-meeting once took place betwee a © kingfisher and a mocking-bird.* The latter, being dressed in very plain feathers, at first » felt a little humbled by the brilliant plumage of his neighbour. The kingfisher, perceiving the admiration of the mocking-bird, jerked his tail and tossed his head, so as to show off all the changing hues of his feathers to great adyantage. While this was going’on between the two birds, a sportsman chanced to be passing by, and seeing them, paused to watch: their proceedings. Readily understanding the scene, and disgusted with the conceit and * The mocking-bird is a famous American songster, and is perhaps equal in its song to the nightingale of Europe. 166 VANITY. . vanity of the kingfisher, he drew up his gun, and shot him. As he went to pick up the fallen bird,. he made the following reflections: ' “ This silly kingfisher is like a person who is vain of his dress or his outward beauty. His skin, when stuffed with tow, is just as valuable as when the bird’s flesh and bones, and life, are in it; his outside is all there is of him. But themodest mocking-bird is ~ ike a person who contributes to our pleasure or our instruction, and relies upon the good he does to others for his standing among mankind. How contemptible is pride; how amiable and attractive is modesty united with merit !” The Fox and Raven. A raven was once sitting upon a tree with a nice bit of cheese in his mouth” A fox, being hungry, approached near to the raven ‘with the design of getting the bit of cheese, if he could. “ So he began to speak as follows : > a ‘ jood morning, Mr. Raven ' How fine, - THE FOX AND RAVEN, 167 you iook to-day! I never saw your coat sovrich and glossy before. Pray give mé a bit of that cheese; I am very fond of cheese. * “Hem!” said the raven, taking care not to open his mouth, and seeming to think that he was not such a ninny as to be flat- tered out of his cheese by a fox. But rey- nard is a sort of natural lawyery who knows the weak points of people, andshas a faculty, as well as a disposition, to turn them to account. He thought to himself, “ Now the raven has a hoarse, croaking voice, and the way to flatter any one is to praise that in which he is most deficient ;” so he began : “Well, my dear raven, I told you I wanted the cheese; but, in point of fact, I care little about it.. I kate cheese, for it ‘spoils the breath ; but I really wanted, to hear you sing; and the cheese stops up your mouth, I beg of you to sing me a little French or Italian air; you execute, those things so deliciously” - * The raven, like some silly people who haye odious voices, fancied that he sang 168 VANITY. divinely; so he dropped the cheese and began: whereupon the fox picked up the cheese, and holding his sides for laughter, ran away, saying, “Flattery, oh flattery, thou art the key that unlocks all vain hearts ! we have only to use the right kind, and we can enter where we please: let him, ‘there- fore, who would cheat, or rob, or steal, use flattery, and he will seldom fail of his object !” ’ HH _ 7," TT ny uy" ill ii AN A Mt Nh | CHAPTER XXXIV. DO NOT BE DISCOURAGED BY DIFFICULTIES. WE must not expect always to go smoothly * forward in life, without opposition, reproach, or suffering; if we do, we shall be almost sure to meet with disappointment, and to be depressed by discouragement. Wherever there is anything worth possessing, there we shall find many persons striving for it, and in the competition we shall of course meet with difficulties. This truth is beautifully told in the following little poem written by 15 170 DO NOT BE DISCOURAGED ~ an English clergyman who lives in America, and entitled, “Briars and Berries.” The moral of the tale is, that where there is any- thing good, there we shall find a mixture of evil ; that even the,rose is allied to the thorn ; that “ briars will be where berries grow.” *T was on a cloudy, gloomy day, (If rightly I the date remember— , For certainly I cannot say,) — About the middle of September, When I, astride my,pacing gray, Was plodding on my weary way, To spend the night and preach the word To people who had scarcely heard The gospel; or, to say the least, Had never viewed it as a feast Of fat things full of marrow. In sadness as I rode along And crossed the silver Uuadilla, The robin sang a plaintive song, And faintly .drooped the fading lily ; The smoky sky, no longer blue, Assumed a dim and dusky gray ; And autumn, o’er my feelings threw The colouring of its own decay; And filled my heart with sorrow. BY DIFFICULTIES. 171 I, in my mind, was pondering o’er The miseries that beset the preacher ; The persecutions which he bore— (The scoff and scorn of every creature ;) His heated brain—his frame worn down, Emaciated and dyspeptic,— The hardened bigot’s iron frown ; The jeers and satire of the sceptic— One mocking revelation’s page— The other ridiculing reason ; . And then the storms we must engage, And all th’ imclemencies of season..: In this desponding, gloomy mood, I rode perhaps a mile or two— When lo! beside the way there stood A little girl, with eyes of blue, Light hair, and cheeks as red as cherries ; And through the briars, with much ado, She wrought her way to pick the berries. Quoth I, “ My little girl, it seems To me, you buy your berries dear; For down your hand the red blood streams, And down your cheek there rolls a tear.” “‘O, yes,” said she, “‘ but then, you know, There will be briars where berries grow.” 172 BRIARS AND BERRIES. These words came home with keen rebuke To me, who mourned life’s little jostles, And called to mind the things that Luke Has written of the first apostles, Who faced the foe without a fear, And counted even life not dear. And since, from that good hour to this, Come pleasant or come stormy weather, I still reflect that human bliss And human woe are mixed together : Come smiling friend or. frowning foe “ There will be briars where berries grow.” A NEW SERIES OF BOOKS, BY PETER PARLEY, InLusTrRaTED BY SAMUEL. WILLIAMS. In demy 18mo, fancy cloth, price 2s, 6d. each. | 1. Mined and Prosran; or, the Life of a Sable Hunter. e ” Il. Cueerrut CueErey ; or, Make the Best of it. Ilk Wir Bouaart; ™ the Life and Adventures of Robert Merry. IV. Wuat to Do anp How ro Do Ir; or Men and Manners. | To be followed by others, (ee the Advertisomert on the neat page) ADVERTISEMENT. As the juvenile works which have appeared under the name of PeTer Paruey have obfained great celebrity,in this country, the Publishers, havé accepted a proposal from Mr. GoopricH, of Boston (Amerita), the author of the books originally published under that name, to bring out a series of new works expressly adapted for English readers. The following letter from, Mr. Goodrich expresses his views and intentions in regard to, this undertaking. z ‘Gentlemen—lI think it is now understood between us that I am to preparé’a series of books, of which you are to be » the Publishers. L ndertake this, taskqwith pleasuré, be- -catise it is my wish to, be judged in England by what I do write, and not by what has been written for me. 1 bave been much vexed, since my arrival in this country, to see the name of Parer Party attached to a number of books published in London, which I never saw or heard of, and which contain: much of whieh I wholly disapprove, and con- sider to be contrary to good morals. 1 have also seen my books mutilated and altered so that I could. scareely recog= ~ nize anything in as my own, except the title, and some disfigured fragments. eee oo It is therefore a real satisfaction to me, that my future works ure to make their appearance in England in a genuine form, and with the advantage of Mr. S. Wi.1aMs’s il- lustrations. I shall not fail to keep in view that I am now writing for English readers, and I trust I may thereby render what I write more worthy of the kind reception which, with all their disadvantages, my previous works have met with. 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