{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_20932/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_20932","id":"gutenberg_20932","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20932","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: History - Schools & Universities","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Teaching & Education","University of Oxford -- Students","Young men -- Conduct of life"],"text":"Produced by Irma \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  LETTERS,\n  &c.\n\n\n\n\n  ADVICE TO A YOUNG MAN\n\n  UPON\n  FIRST GOING TO OXFORD,\n\n  IN\n  TEN LETTERS,\n\n  FROM AN UNCLE TO HIS NEPHEW.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  BY THE\n  REV. EDWARD BERENS, M.A.\n  LATE FELLOW OF ORIEL COLLEGE.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  LONDON:\n  PRINTED FOR J. G. & F. RIVINGTON,\n  ST. PAUL'S CHURCH YARD,\n  AND WATERLOO PLACE, PALL MALL.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  1832.\n\n\n\n\n  LONDON:\n  GILBERT & RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,\n  St. John's Square.\n\n\n\n\nI have long thought that a book was wanted, of the nature of that which\nI have here attempted. How far I have succeeded in the attempt, the\npublic will determine.\n\nI have had,--have at present,--and (if I live,) expect to have\nhereafter,--several nephews at Oxford; all having to make their own way\nin the world, and all, consequently, having abundant reason for being\neconomical, both of their time and of their money, during their\nresidence at the University. These Letters were not addressed to any one\nof them in particular, but are intended, like some official documents,\n\"for all whom they may concern.\" Perhaps I had more especially in view,\nthose of them who are destined for my own profession.\n\n  E. B.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n  LETTER.                                              PAGE.\n\n     I. Sense of Religion                                 1\n\n    II. Choice of Friends                                13\n\n   III. Conversation                                     27\n\n    IV. Against yielding to the Influence of Numbers     45\n\n     V. Improvement of Time                              55\n\n    VI. Punctuality                                      72\n\n   VII. Amusements                                       85\n\n  VIII. Expenses, and running into Debt                  99\n\n    IX. Temperance                                      114\n\n     X. English Reading                                 137\n\n\n\n\nLETTER I.\n\nSENSE OF RELIGION.\n\n\nMY DEAR NEPHEW,\n\nIt gives me sincere pleasure to hear that you have actually become a\nmember of the University of Oxford. This satisfaction, perhaps, may in\nsome degree be attributed to the pleasing recollection of my own Oxford\nlife, but certainly it arises principally from anticipation of the\nsubstantial benefits which you, I trust, will derive from your connexion\nwith that seat of learning. At the same time, I will own that my\nsatisfaction is not entirely unmixed with something like apprehension.\nAn University education has many and great advantages, but it also is\nattended with many temptations;--temptations to which too many young men\nhave yielded, sometimes to the great injury of their character, and the\nutter ruin of all their future prospects.\n\nIn fact, you are now entering upon the most important period--the\n_turning point_--of your whole life. You have become, in a great\nmeasure, your own master. For though you will be under a certain degree\nof discipline and _surveillance_, yet in a multiplicity of cases you\nwill have to act for yourself--to take your own line. You will have to\ncontend against the allurements of pleasure and dissipation, and you\nhave just reached the age when the natural passions and appetites become\nmost impatient of restraint. At the same time, you will be exposed to\nthe influence both of the example and of the solicitations of lively\nyoung men, who will try to carry you along with them in their career of\nthoughtlessness and folly, and who will think it strange, and _show_ you\nthat they think it strange, if you run not with them to the same excess\nof riot. Against all these moral trials and temptations, your best\nsafeguard will be found in a strong sense of religion, kept habitually\npresent to your mind. You must endeavour, according to the language of\nScripture--(and in writing to you I shall always gladly make use of the\nvery words of Scripture, when they suit my purpose, as having a force\nand an authority which no other words can possess)--you must endeavour\nto _set the Lord always before you_. Never for a moment forget that you\nare continually in the presence of that awful Being, who can, and who\nwill, call you to a strict account for all that you do amiss. Nothing\ncan excuse your forgetting Him.\n\nIf you at all believe in a Supreme Being, the Creator and Governor of\nthe world; if you believe that God is, and that he is a rewarder of them\nthat diligently seek him, and at the same time an avenger to execute\nwrath upon every soul that doeth evil, the least particle of common\nsense or common feeling will tell you, that nothing should be put in\ncompetition with his will. When his will is clear, it _must_ be obeyed\nwithout hesitation. I am sure that you will assent to this. If religion\nis any thing, it is _every thing_. It is, indeed, the one thing needful,\nin comparison with which every thing else sinks into insignificance,\ninto nothingness.\n\nEndeavour, then, to keep up in your mind and heart this habitual sense\nof religion by every means in your power. It will require from you\nconsiderable care and attention. The lively spirits natural to your time\nof life, and the thoughtless levity of some of the young men into whose\nsociety you will be thrown, will have a tendency to make you think less\nof religion, if not to induce you entirely to forget it. Be ever on your\nguard against thus swerving from your allegiance to your Creator.\n\nNothing will contribute more to preserve you from this danger than\nregularity and earnestness in your private devotions. When you rise in\nthe morning, seek from God spiritual strength to enable you to resist\nand overcome the temptations to which you may be exposed during the day.\nEvery night implore his forgiveness for your many failings and\ntransgressions, and his protection against the dangers which surround\nyou. Suffer nothing to induce you to neglect private prayer.\n\nYou will of course be required every day to attend chapel. Consider\nsuch attendance not as an irksome duty, not as a mere matter of routine\nand college discipline, but try to regard it as a privilege, and to take\na real interest and pleasure in it. Acquire the habit of joining\nfervently in the prayers, and of constantly deriving from the lessons\nand other portions of Scripture, the doctrinal and practical instruction\nwhich they were intended to convey. Many college chapels are furnished\nwith Greek Testaments and Septuagints. You will judge from experience,\nwhether following the lessons in the Greek assists in fixing your\nattention, or whether it diverts it from the matter to the language. My\nown opinion is in favour of the practice.\n\nMake a point of giving to Sunday as much of a religious character as\nyou can. I am not recommending a Jewish strictness. Let Sunday be a day\nof cheerfulness; but let your reading and your thoughts, as far as may\nbe, partake of the sacred character of the day.\n\nThe study of the Scriptures constitutes an important part of your\npreparation for your degree. This study will furnish an appropriate\nemployment for a considerable portion of the Sunday. Always attend the\nUniversity Sermons. I recommend this not merely as a branch of\nacademical discipline, but as a means of religious and intellectual\nimprovement. The sermon will generally, I believe, be worth attending\nto. The select preachers are chosen, for the most part, from the ablest\nmen in the University; men, several of whom are likely hereafter to fill\nthe highest stations in the Church. You will seldom be driven to have\nrecourse to the advice of the pious Nicole in his Essay, \"_des moyens de\nprofiter de mauvais sermons_.\" The various modes in which different\npreachers enforce or illustrate the same great truths, and the\ndiversities of their style and manner, may afford you matter--not of\nill-natured criticism--but of useful reflection. Some colleges require\ntheir under-graduates to give every week in writing a summary of the\nsermon which they have heard at St. Mary's. If you adopt this practice,\nyou will find it contribute greatly to fix your attention, and to give\nyou a habit of arranging and expressing your ideas with facility and\nreadiness. Of course, some preachers deserve this steadiness of\nattention much more than others.\n\nIt is, I trust, unnecessary to remind you of the duty of receiving the\nLord's Supper, whenever it is administered in your college chapel. In\nsome colleges, nearly all the under-graduates partake of this ordinance;\nin others, I believe, almost all neglect it: at least this was the case\nformerly. In such and similar cases, you must be guided, not by common\npractice, not by the example of numbers, but by what you know to be your\nduty. If you feel any doubt or difficulty, frankly mention it to your\ntutor. There are, I am persuaded, few tutors now in Oxford, who would\nnot be able and willing to assist you with their advice.\n\nThis attention to your religious duties need not be attended by any\npreciseness or austerity of manner. On the contrary, I should wish you\nto be at all times cheerful and good humoured, ready to take part in any\ninnocent gaiety. My object is to impress upon you the absolute necessity\nof always putting religion in the _first place_. If you really believe\nwhat you profess to believe, do not hesitate as to shewing it in your\nconduct. Never be so weak as to be ashamed of doing what you know to be\nyour duty. Never be guilty of such unmanly cowardice as to be ashamed\nof avowing your allegiance to your Creator and your Redeemer.\n\n  I remain,\n  My dear Nephew,\n  Your affectionate Uncle.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER II.\n\nCHOICE OF FRIENDS, AND BEHAVIOUR IN SOCIETY.\n\n\nMY DEAR NEPHEW,\n\nAmong the many advantages of an University, few rank higher, both in\ngeneral estimation and in reality, than the opportunity which it affords\nof forming valuable and lasting friendships. Indeed this advantage can\nhardly be rated too highly. I look back to the intimacies which I\ncontracted at college, as among the greatest blessings of a life, which\nhas been eminently blessed in various ways. I still hold intercourse\nwith many of my Oxford friends, whose characters and attainments do\nhonour to the place where their education and their minds were matured.\nAnd even the recollection of most of those, who have been removed from\nthis lower world, is attended with a soothing melancholy, which partakes\nmore of pleasure and thankfulness for having enjoyed their society, than\nof pain. _The memory of the just is blessed[14:1]._\n\nI hope, my dear nephew, that you will improve this advantage to the\nutmost. In your intimacies, however, endeavour to be guided rather by\njudgment than by mere fancy. Sameness of pursuits, similarity of\ndispositions and inclinations generally contribute much to throw men\ntogether; but be careful not to attach yourself to any man as a\n_friend_, unless he is a man of moral worth, and of real religious\nprinciple. Intimacy with a man who is unrestrained by religion, _must_\nbe attended with great danger. Your own natural appetites will\ncontinually solicit you to forbidden indulgences, and will not be kept\nin due subjection without difficulty. If their solicitations are\nseconded by the example and by the conversations of an intimate\nassociate, your peril will be extreme. Intimacy with a man of bad\nprinciples and immoral character, may utterly blast all your prospects\nof happiness both in this world and the next.\n\nYou will of course have the greater power of _selection_, if your\ngeneral acquaintance is pretty extensive. I acknowledge, that my opinion\nis rather in favour of your forming an extensive acquaintance, provided\nthat you never suffer it to encroach upon your time, or to lead you into\nany compromise of religious principle. Going to the University\nconstitutes a sort of entrance into the world, an introduction to manly\nlife; but this advantage is lost if you seclude yourself altogether from\nsociety. In order, however, to acquire or to retain such an\nacquaintance, your manners and general demeanour must be acceptable or\npopular.\n\nOne of the first requisites, in order to be thus acceptable, is the\nneglect, the forgetfulness of _self_--a readiness to put _self_ in the\nback-ground. Any obtrusion of self, any appearance of self-love,\nself-interest, self-conceit, or self-applause, tends to expose a man to\ndislike, perhaps to contempt.\n\nOne way in which this disregard, this abandonment of self, must show\nitself, is real unaffected humility. Most of the external forms and\nmodes of modern politeness, its bows and obeisances, its professions of\nrespect and service, its adulations, are nothing but an affectation of\nsuch humility, and bear witness to its value when it exists in reality.\nWhen it does so exist, and still is free from any servility of manner,\nany unworthy compliances, nothing contributes more to make a man\nacceptable and popular in society. It inflicts no unnecessary wounds on\nany one's pride or self-love. And, you will observe, that it is the\ntemper and behaviour, inculcated by the general spirit and by the\nparticular precepts of religion, which bids us _in honour to prefer one\nanother_; and says, _in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better\nthan himself_.\n\nAnother requisite is, a willingness to please and to be pleased. Some\nmen seem to think it beneath them, and a mark of littleness of mind, to\nwish or to try to please any body, and wrap themselves up in a cold\nsuperciliousness. Others seem determined never to be pleased with any\nthing or any person, but are always finding fault. They have no eye\nfor, no perception of, merits or beauties, either external or internal,\nbut are keen and quick-sighted in detecting blemishes, and eloquent in\nexaggerating them[20:1]. If any person's good qualities, or any work of\nart or of genius is commended, they are sure to throw in some\nobservations calculated to depreciate and disparage them. And with\nrespect even to the works of Nature, and the dispensations of\nProvidence, they are more ready to see and to point out evils, than to\nacknowledge advantages. This temper--this habit of disparagement--is\ncertainly very unamiable; and justly offensive, not only to those who\nare run down by it as its immediate objects, but to all who witness it.\nA man who consults his own comfort, or the comfort of those with whom he\nassociates, should be disposed to make the best of every thing. I would\nby no means wish him in the slightest degree to compromise truth, or to\nmake the remotest approach to flattery; but I would have him see every\nthing in the most favourable point of view, and disposed to pursue and\nto dwell upon what is good rather than upon what is bad. Too much of\nthat which is bad is sure to be forced upon our attention, without our\ntaking any pains to look out for it.\n\nBe always on your guard against hurting the feelings, or even shocking\nthe prejudices, of those with whom you associate. A little observation,\nand some attention to your own feelings in similar circumstances, will\nsoon teach you what is likely to be annoying to others. Make every\nallowance for their self-love, and for attachment to their own opinions.\n\nNever give unnecessary pain or mortification. It is _unnecessary_, when\nit can be avoided without compromising the consistency of your own\ncharacter, or hazarding the interests of religion and of truth.\n\nIn short, my dear nephew, if you will study St. Paul's account of the\nnature and properties of charity, and regulate your temper and your\nbehaviour accordingly, you will want little in order to be a perfect\ngentleman, in the highest sense of the word. I will not enter upon this\naccount in detail, but must refer you to Fenelon's excellent book on\nthis subject, if it should come in your way, or even to my own\nSermon[22:1]. Give me your attention, however, for a minute or two, to a\nfew slight remarks upon charity--merely as it bears upon our conduct in\nsociety.\n\n_Charity suffereth long_--\u03bc\u03b1\u03ba\u03c1\u03bf\u03b8\u03c5\u03bc\u03b5\u03b9--it bears patiently with other\nmen's defects of temper, discourteousness of behaviour, and awkwardness\nof manner; and is _kind_, gentle, and obliging--\u03c7\u03c1\u03b7\u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03c5\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9.\n\nCharity envieth not--\u03bf\u03c5 \u03b6\u03b7\u03bb\u03bf\u03b9. It is free from those little jealousies,\nand rivalries, and emulations, which, where they are admitted, sometimes\ngive sourness to the temper, and bitterness to the behaviour.\n\nCharity _vaunteth not itself_--\u03bf\u03c5 \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03b5\u03c5\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9; it is not rash or over\nhasty; it is not overbearing, positive, and peremptory, in language or\nmanner; _is not puffed up_--\u03bf\u03c5 \u03c6\u03c5\u03c3\u03b9\u03bf\u03c5\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9; is not inflated with an\nopinion of its own worth or consequence; and, that being the case, it\ndoth not behave itself unseemly--\u03bf\u03c5\u03ba \u03b1\u03c3\u03c7\u03b7\u03bc\u03bf\u03bd\u03b5\u03b9; it does not treat\nother men with disdain and superciliousness.\n\nCharity _seeketh not her own_--\u03bf\u03c5 \u03b6\u03b7\u03c4\u03b5\u03b9 \u03c4\u03b1 \u1f11\u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03b7\u03c2--that is, she is not\n_selfish_. Charity neglects not altogether her own concerns, or her own\ninterests, but does not attend to them exclusively; does not _so_ attend\nto them, as to be unmindful of, or inattentive to, the interests and\nwelfare of others.\n\nCharity is not easily provoked--\u03bf\u03c5 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03bf\u03be\u03c5\u03bd\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9. Nothing more\ndisturbs the peace and comfort of society than the being easily\nprovoked. When a man is touchy and waspish, he is always looking out\nfor, and catching at, occasions of offence.\n\nCharity rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; it does\nnot take pleasure in hearing of misdoings and evil conduct, but\ndelights in accounts of praiseworthy actions, and in the spread of sound\nreligious principles.\n\nCharity _beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things,\nendureth all things_; \u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1 \u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03b3\u03b5\u03b9, \u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1 \u03c0\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03c5\u03b5\u03b9, \u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1 \u03b5\u03bb\u03c0\u03b9\u03b6\u03b5\u03b9, \u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1\n\u1f51\u03c0\u03bf\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03b5\u03b9.\n\nI will not, my dear nephew, lengthen a long letter, by endeavouring to\npoint out the precise meaning of these expressions. You may understand\nfrom them, that charity is patient of ill-usage; that instead of being\nsuspicious and disposed to cavil and carp at every thing, it is open and\ningenuous, ready to give men credit for speaking the truth, when there\nis no good reason to think otherwise; and that it is disposed to hope\nthe best, to think as favourably as it can of those with whom it comes\nin contact; and if it cannot actually think well of them at present, to\n_hope_ for their amendment and reformation.\n\nI think you will agree with me, that a man influenced by this spirit\nwould be an acceptable man in society, and that the best practical\nChristian would be the best gentleman[26:1].\n\n  I remain,\n  Your affectionate Uncle.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[14:1] Prov. x. 7.\n\n[20:1] See Numbers 72, 74, and 98, of the Rambler.\n\n[22:1] See Village Sermons.\n\n[26:1] See Jones's Letters from a Tutor to his Pupils.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER III.\n\nCONVERSATION.\n\n\nMY DEAR NEPHEW,\n\nI take it for granted, that upon first going from school to Oxford, and\nentering into society different, in many respects, from any that you\nhave hitherto been accustomed to, you feel some of that shyness which\nbelongs to the character of most Englishmen. I should be sorry if you\ndid not. You probably feel diffident, too, of your ability to bear your\npart in general conversation, and an apprehension of being, on that\naccount, set down as a stupid fellow. But don't be uneasy. More young\nmen, I am persuaded, hurt themselves by talking too much, than by\ntalking too little. When a fresh-man, at first starting, is quite at his\nease, and talks readily upon any subject that happens to be uppermost,\nsome of his companions may be amused at his coolness, but most of them\nwill be disgusted. If, by your look and manner, you show that you are\nalive to what is said by others, and now and then throw in a remark, not\ndestitute of meaning, you will be more generally popular than one of\nthose random talkers. Men of a certain standing, qualified by their\nliveliness or by their information to bear a leading part in\nconversation, do not like to see an undue share of it engrossed by\nothers, especially by a mere youngster. They greatly prefer a good\nlistener to a ready talker.\n\nYoung practitioners in Doctors' Commons have, I believe, to pass through\ntheir year of silence, before they are allowed to speak. During the\nperiod of silence, they quietly observe, and become acquainted with, the\nusages and practice of the court. Something similar to this period of\nquiet observation, might not be inexpedient for a noviciate in society.\nAt all events, never talk for talking's sake; never speak unless you\nhave something to say worth attending to.\n\nYou will, I am sure, my dear nephew, take it in good part, if I point\nout a few of the conversational faults, of which young men are apt to be\nguilty. It is natural that we should talk most of that in which we are\nmost interested. Now, of all things in the world, a young man feels most\ninterested in _himself_. But if, in consequence of such feeling, he\nventures to talk much of himself, of his own habits, his own pursuits,\nhis own feelings, his own achievements, he will very soon be set down as\na bore and a conceited coxcomb. A young man naturally feels a strong\ninterest, an interest increased by separation, in his own immediate\nfamily. This feeling, with some young men, is so deep, that they shun\nthe mention of any thing closely connected with their _home_ as a sort\nof profanation, a desecration of things sacred. With others, this\nfeeling takes the opposite direction, and leads them--_celebrare\ndomestica facta_--to introduce the concerns of their own nearest\nrelations into the conversation of a mixed party. Take care that you\nnever are guilty of such a violation of good taste and correct judgment.\nInteresting as your home and its inmates are to _you_, nothing can well\nbe less interesting to those, who are unacquainted with them. It will be\na stretch of courtesy and good-nature, if they tolerate the mention of\nthem without some expression either of ridicule or of distaste. If you\nspeak of your home-concerns at all, let it be only to one or two\nintimate friends, who, from the regard which they feel for _you_, may be\nsupposed to take an interest in all belonging to you.\n\nBe on your guard against getting into the habit of telling long stories:\nthey generally are tiresome. Many circumstances, in addition to the\nfeeling that you have them to tell, may give them a consequence in your\neyes, which they do not in reality possess. Lively anecdotes, or short\nnarratives, told with spirit, are among the most amusing ingredients in\nconversation; but even with them, if you often meet the same company,\nthere is considerable danger of falling into repetition.\n\nNever be guilty of falling into the too common practice of indulging in\nscandal, the practice of talking of men disparagingly, of running down\ntheir character behind their backs. I by no means wish you to flatter\nany man, whether present or absent, or to speak favourably of character\nor of conduct which does not deserve it. But beware of _detraction_.\nNothing is more unamiable in any man, especially in a _young_ man; and,\nwhat is of infinitely more consequence, nothing is more opposite to the\nspirit and the precepts of religion, which repeatedly enjoins us to\n_speak evil of no man_. Bear in mind the advice of one of the most\nsagacious and penetrating observers of human nature:--_Whether it be to\na friend or foe, talk not of other men's lives; and if thou canst,\nwithout offence, reveal them not[34:1]._ _If thou canst without\noffence_;--circumstances may require that the truth should be\nrevealed,--that the real truth should be spoken and made known, even\nthough it should be injurious,--though it should be absolutely fatal to\nanother man's character. But do not take pleasure in telling any thing\nto another's prejudice; do not make the tearing of a character in pieces\na matter of amusement. By such conduct you would not only be guilty of a\ngross violation of Christian charity, but will probably bring yourself\ninto many scrapes in a worldly point of view. In a mixed company, there\nmay chance to be some friend or connexion of him, whom you are running\ndown; or, at all events, what you say will be repeated,--_a bird of the\nair will carry the matter_,--till it comes to the ears of the injured\nperson. And what will be the consequence? A feeling of aversion and\ndislike, a spirit of hostility to you, will, not unnaturally, be\nengendered, both in him and in such of his friends and connections as\nare acquainted with the circumstance.\n\nOne of the most unwarrantable kinds or forms of detraction, is the\nattributing of any man's conduct to corrupt or unworthy motives. A man's\nreal motives are known only to God and to himself; indeed, very often\nto God _alone_, as from the deceitfulness and intricacy of the human\nheart, a man himself is sometimes ignorant as to what his real motives\nactually are. Certainly it is rash and presumptuous for any other man to\npretend to decide upon them, and most uncharitable and unjust to\npronounce them to be corrupt, when they are capable of a favourable\ninterpretation. Express your disapprobation of unworthy actions as\nstrongly as you please; but beware of rash and uncharitable censure, and\nespecially beware of the presumption of imputing to any corrupt and evil\nmotives.\n\nAs I have cautioned you against violating Christian charity in\nconversation, so I must warn you against infringing on Christian\npurity. You have arrived at a period of life, when your utmost care and\nvigilance will be requisite, to keep your natural passions and appetites\nwithin proper bounds. Indeed, all your care will be ineffectual unless\nassisted by Divine grace. Do not take part in conversation which is\ncalculated to add to their importunity or to their strength. Thoughtless\nyoung men, under the influence of these feelings, sometimes indulge in\n_foolish talking and jesting_[37:1], of most pernicious tendency, and\nmost inconsistent with the Christian character. Avoid and discourage\nconversation of this nature, so far as you possibly can. Do not add\nfuel to a flame which already burns but too fiercely. _Fools make a mock\nat sin_[38:1]; and none but _fools_ should be capable of making a joke\nof temptations and vices, which in themselves are awfully serious, which\nlead on to eternal ruin.\n\nI hope you will never be so unfortunate, as to fall much into the\ncompany of men, who make a jest of religion, or of any thing connected\nwith religion. Those who are bent upon following the guidance of their\nown appetites, and their own wills, naturally dislike that which would\ncheck and restrain them. They are consequently apt to become\n_scoffers_, and to attempt to turn religion and its sanctions into\nridicule. Avoid the society and conversation of such men, as you would\navoid the plague. If unhappily thrown among them, discountenance them to\nthe utmost.\n\nDo not indulge yourself in a habit of raillery or banter. Raillery is a\ndifficult thing to manage well, and very apt both to give pain to him\nwho is the object of it, and to reflect discredit on him who attempts\nit. Sometimes you see one or two young men, of more liveliness than\nsense, picking out some quiet person in company as a _butt_, at which\nthey may point their wit, and carrying on an attack of banter and\nridicule. This is, probably, not only annoying to him, but tiresome and\npainful to all the right feeling men who chance to be present.\n\nI am glad to join in, or to witness, a honest hearty laugh, when any\nthing really calls for it. Beware, however, of the practice of laughing\nwhen there is nothing to laugh at. Some people fall into a way of giving\nthe accompaniment of a laugh to almost every thing that they utter,\nespecially if they have any direct intention to be jocular. This habit\nis disagreeable to most of those who witness it. It proceeds, I believe,\ngenerally from a sort of shyness and awkwardness contracted in early\nyouth, and is, as I know from experience, difficult to get rid of. It\ncertainly is inconsistent with the manners and habits of good society.\nBe always the last to laugh at your own jokes, or your own _good_\nstories. If they are really worth laughing at, the company will find it\nout, and by premature or excessive laughter you will mar their effect.\n\nAs you get on in society, you will probably often fall into discussion\nand argument. When this is the case, take care not to be too positive or\nperemptory in your manner. Be solicitous to allow their full weight to\nthe arguments of your antagonist. Do not suffer the impression of the\nforce and correctness of your own reasoning, to render you blind to what\nis urged against you. Above all, keep your temper. If you lose your\ntemper, victory will be deprived of its credit, and defeat will be more\ndisgraceful. At the same time you will run a double chance of being\ndefeated, without having the wit to see, or the manliness to own it.\nBelieve me, my dear nephew, (to adopt the very words of one of the most\nsagacious and distinguished of modern statesmen) \"that the arms with\nwhich the ill dispositions of the world are to be combated, and the\nqualities by which it is to be reconciled to us, and we reconciled to\nit, are moderation, gentleness, a little indulgence to others, and a\ngreat deal of distrust of ourselves; which are not qualities of a mean\nspirit, as some may possibly think them, but virtues of a great and\nnoble kind, and such as dignify our nature as much as they contribute to\nour repose and fortune; for nothing can be so unworthy of a\nwell-composed soul, as to pass away life in bickerings and litigations,\nin snarling and scuffling with every one about us. Again and again, my\ndear,--we must be at peace with our species; if not for their sakes, yet\nvery much for our own[43:1].\"\n\nBut my letter grows long, and I must hasten to conclude it. Read\nrepeatedly Cowper's lively poem on conversation, which seems to me to\nhave much of the spirit and accurate moral taste of Horace, with the\nelevation derived from Christianity. Read, too, if you can lay your hand\non it, Bishop Horne's paper on conversation, in the Olla Podrida. In\nthese two essays you will find many of the sentiments which I have\nexpressed, only given in a much more engaging manner. In the 78th and\n83d Numbers of the Idler, many common faults in conversation are exposed\nwith a degree of humour, in which our great moralist did not very\nfrequently indulge.\n\n  I remain,\n  My dear Nephew,\n  Your affectionate Uncle.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[34:1] Ecclus. xix. 8.\n\n[37:1] Ephes. v. 4. and Coloss. iii. 8.\n\n[38:1] Prov. xiv. 9.\n\n[43:1] Prior's Life of Burke, p. 215. Second edition.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER IV.\n\nAGAINST YIELDING TO THE INFLUENCE OF NUMBERS.\n\n\nMY DEAR NEPHEW,\n\nWhen I advised you to fall in, so far as you reasonably can, with the\nwishes and inclinations of those with whom you associate, you\nunderstood, I trust, that compliance should never go so far, as to\ninvolve the slightest sacrifice of truth or of principle. When carried\nto this culpable extent, it becomes an instance of weak and unmanly\ncowardice.\n\nOne of the greatest dangers to which young men are exposed upon their\nfirst entrance into the world, is that which arises from their readiness\nto be swayed by the example or by the persuasion of their companions.\nThe example, and still more the persuasion, of a single individual, is\nsometimes not without difficulty resisted, and the difficulty of\nresistance is greatly increased by the influence of numbers. A young man\ndreads the imputation of singularity. He cannot bear to stand out\nagainst the example, perhaps the solicitations, of those among whom he\nlives. He suffers himself, therefore, to be carried along by the stream,\nand led into conduct, of which, in his conscience, he utterly\ndisapproves.\n\nNever, my dear nephew, do you be guilty of such weakness. Avoid\nsingularity, whenever it can be avoided with innocence: an affectation\nof singularity for singularity's sake, generally proceeds from conceit\nor self-sufficiency. But where the path of duty is clear, let no example\nor persuasion induce you to swerve from it. Keep ever impressed upon\nyour mind the admonition of Scripture, _Thou shalt not follow a\nmultitude to do evil_.\n\nNever suffer yourself to be laughed out of what is right. Never be\nashamed of adhering to what you know to be your duty. In matters of duty\nkeep in mind the words of Scripture, _Fear ye not the reproach of men,\nneither be afraid of their revilings_. Never expose yourself to the\ncensure justly cast upon those who value the praise or the approbation\nof men,--of giddy, thoughtless, sensual men, more than the praise of\nGod. Remember, my dear nephew, the solemn warning of our Lord: _If any\nman shall be ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful\ngeneration, of him shall the Son of man be ashamed when he cometh in his\nglory with his holy angels_.\n\nIn your steady adherence to the dictates of conscience, you will always\nfind some who will respect you for it; or, even if you should stand\nalone, like Abdiel, \"among the faithless, the only faithful,\" you will\nbe supported by the testimony of your own heart, and by an humble\nconfidence in the approbation of the Almighty. One or two instances may,\nprobably, make my meaning more clear.\n\nPerhaps a few joyous spirits have devised some scheme of irregular,\nsensual gratification,--of Bacchanalian revelry;--or, perhaps, two or\nthree dunces, whose intellects and moral feelings are of such a stamp,\nas to render them rather impracticable subjects for academical\ndiscipline, have contrived some plan of impotent resistance to the\ncollege authorities, or some plot of petty and vexatious annoyance, in\norder to give vent to their mortification, when such silly resistance\nhas been proved to be ineffectual. Wishing for the screen or protection\nof numbers, they will try to persuade their companions, that they will\nbe wanting in manly spirit, or in social feeling, if they refuse to join\nthem. And is there, after all, any thing so very _spirited_, any thing\nof high-minded and noble daring in behaviour, which seeks to screen\nitself by concealment and subterfuge, and which, if detected, braves,\nnot any personal danger or suffering, but merely the terrors of an\nimposition? If the offence is so aggravated as to entail the heavier\npenalty, rustication, or expulsion, such punishment inflicts, indeed,\nsevere grief upon the parents and friends of the offender; but he\nhimself, with the short-sightedness of folly, perhaps almost enjoys the\nidleness and the freedom from academical restraint, to which rustication\nconsigns him. A young Oxonian is apt to feel very indignant if not\ntreated by deans and tutors, as a man and as a gentleman; but has he any\nright to expect to be so treated, if he condescends to adopt the\npractices of a mischievous or a truant school boy?\n\nI am no friend to the unnecessary imposition of oaths; but, I own, I do\nnot see how any thing like deliberate and systematic opposition to\nacademical authority, can be reconciled with the oath of academical\nobedience taken by every freshman. I know well that the usual\nconstruction of that oath,--(I doubt not the legitimate\nconstruction)--is, that the person who takes it will obey the statutes,\nor submit to the penalty imposed upon the infraction of them. I am\naware, too, that the violation of the strict letter of many of the\nstatutes is acquiesced in, and almost sanctioned, by those in authority;\nbut surely a _deliberate_ and _contumacious_ contravention of the\nstatutes, accompanied by a natural endeavour to evade punishment, is\nhardly consistent with the spirit of the oath. Certainly it is\ninconsistent with the spirit of Christianity, which everywhere\ninculcates a dutiful submission to the constituted authorities; a\ncompliance, in all things lawful, with the regulations of the place in\nwhich we are, and of the society which has received us among its\nmembers. No man is compelled to go to the University; but if he does go\nthither, he should make up his mind to comply with its rules, during the\nshort period of his residence.\n\nPerhaps, my dear nephew, you may think that I have all this time been\ncombating, or, rather, seeking to _lay_, a phantom of my own raising;\nthat I have been making mole-hills into mountains; or, like Don Quixote,\nturning wind-mills into giants: but, in my long Oxford life, I have\nheard of so many instances of the silly behaviour of which I have been\nspeaking, that I wish to put you on your guard against it. True\nmanliness consists in adhering to what you think to be right. In\nkeeping steadily to the path of duty, notwithstanding the solicitations,\nor the taunts, or the ridicule of your associates, there is more proper\nspirit and moral courage, than in braving the rebuke or the impositions\nof a dean or a proctor.\n\n  I remain,\n  My dear Nephew,\n  Your affectionate Uncle.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER V.\n\nIMPROVEMENT OF TIME.\n\n\nMY DEAR NEPHEW,\n\nI trust that you are now hard at work. I can figure you with your\nHerodotus before you, your Scapula on one side, and your maps on the\nother, _setting-to_ in good earnest. You have, I am sure, fully\ndetermined to make the most of your time. The time which you must\nnecessarily pass in Oxford, in order to take your bachelor's degree, is\nbut little after all. Your whole actual residence, during the three\nyears, will probably not much exceed a year and a half. Certainly, of\nthis _modicum_ of time you cannot afford to waste any portion. Make a\npoint of devoting it to real study, to real strenuous exertion. You owe\nthis to yourself--to your own credit and character; you owe it to your\nparents, who have probably put themselves to some pecuniary\ninconvenience, in order to give you the advantage of an Oxford\neducation; you owe it to God, to whom you are responsible for the\nemployment of your time, as well as for the proper use of your other\ntalents. Fix in your mind and memory the lesson taught you by the\nsun-dial in the Quadrangle at All Souls--\"_Pereunt et imputantur_;\" or\nthat of another similar monitor--\"_Ab hoc momento pendet \u00e6ternitas_.\"\nTake time for exercise; take time for relaxation; but make steady\nreading your object and your business. Do not be so weak, or so unmanly,\nor so vain, as to be ashamed of being known to read. You went to Oxford\non purpose to study; why should you be ashamed of keeping that purpose\nin view?\n\nIn the choice of your studies, be guided implicitly by the advice of\nyour tutor. Very likely you may not see the use of some branches of\nscience, or of reading some particular books. But do not fancy that in\nsuch matters you are wiser than older men, who have maturely considered\nthese things again and again. If you mean to be your own guide and your\nown teacher, you had better have staid away from Oxford altogether. It\nis one great advantage of academical education, that a definite course\nof reading is marked out for you. When a young man,--indeed, when _any_\nman,--is left entirely to his own choice, he is apt to be distracted by\nthe many different branches of study, the many different books, which\npresent themselves, and to fall into a habit of desultory reading,\nproductive of little lasting benefit. You are saved from this\ndistraction and perplexity, throwing upon other shoulders the trouble\nand responsibility of making a proper choice.\n\nI believe almost every tutor now in Oxford, will direct his pupils to\ndevote a certain portion of their time to the highest of all\nstudies--the study of religion. Some knowledge of religion is absolutely\nindispensable, in order to pass your examination for your degree. But\nindependently of all academical objects, you cannot help feeling\nsatisfied that time so employed, is employed well and wisely. Such\nstudy, with the blessing of God upon it, will be beneficial to you\nthrough the whole of your future existence, both in this world and the\nnext.\n\nAmong the many advantages of an university education, must be reckoned\nthe opportunity of attending public lectures, such lectures especially,\nas are illustrated, by an expensive philosophical apparatus, or by the\ninspection of actual specimens. The experiments conducted by means of\nsuch apparatus, and the handing round of specimens, are not only\nabsolutely essential, oftentimes, to the comprehension of the science to\nwhich they belong, but contribute powerfully to fix it in the memory. If\nyou can spare the time from your severer studies, and if your tutor does\nnot disapprove, I should strongly advise you to attend in succession the\nlectures on natural philosophy,--on chemistry,--on mineralogy,--and on\ngeology. Some acquaintance with these sciences, is in itself so\ninteresting and useful, and is now so general, that you ought not, I\nthink, to miss your present opportunity of acquiring it: so favourable\nan opportunity you will hardly meet with again.\n\nMuch may be done by a judicious distribution of your time. When you have\nmade such a distribution, keep to it steadily. Be peremptory with\nyourself in adhering to it, and be peremptory in preventing others from\nencroaching upon it,--from encroaching upon it, at least, unnecessarily.\nI suppose that, upon the average, you may get four or five hours' steady\nreading before dinner, and three or four after. This will leave you\nabundant time for exercise, for relaxation, and for society. Certainly\nit will not spare you any for mere _lounging_; either for lounging\nyourself, or being lounged upon by others. If you cannot avoid the\nlatter by any other means, you will be reduced to the alternative of\nshutting your door, or, if that term is still in use, of _sporting oak_\nagainst them. If they reproach you, set them, as their punishment, to\nread the paper in the Idler on the robbery of time[62:1].\n\nEither of your time, or of your money, waste as little as possible upon\nnewspapers. I admit, that of all periods of history, the time in which\nwe actually live is, _to us_, the most interesting. I admit that, both\nwith a view to your taking part in the conversation of general society,\nas well as upon other accounts, some knowledge of passing events is\ndesirable, or even necessary. For such purposes, a rapid glance at the\nnewspaper, or even what is picked up by hearsay, will, generally\nspeaking, be sufficient. While reading for your degree, however, you\nreally cannot spare time to read the newspapers _through_. The most\nimportant portions of them are, perhaps, the debates during the session\nof parliament, and the trials. Of the debates, a considerable part is\nvery trifling and unprofitable; and, in order to read with real\nadvantage those speeches which are most deserving of attention, it is\nnecessary to be possessed of a considerable portion of that knowledge of\nhistory, of legislation, of political economy, of mercantile and\nfinancial transactions, the _foundations_ of which you are at Oxford\nengaged in laying. It is not to be wished that an under-graduate should\naffect to be an experienced politician, prepared to give a strong and\ndecided opinion upon subjects, upon which able and experienced men,\npossessed of ten times his knowledge, find a difficulty in making up\ntheir mind. In the reports of trials, many curious facts, and much\ninteresting information are to be found. In order to understand many of\nthem, however, it is requisite to have a more intimate acquaintance with\nthe rules of English jurisprudence, and with the practice of the courts,\nthan can be expected in a young man as yet hardly set free from the\neggshell of school. Upon the subject of newspapers, however, I will say\nno more. I well know, that in merely touching upon it, I tread upon\ndelicate and debateable ground.\n\nTake sufficient time for relaxation; but let your relaxations, as far as\nyou can, be intellectual and improving.\n\nOxford now presents opportunities, both of acquiring some knowledge of\nnatural history, and of cultivating a taste in the fine arts, which it\nby no means possessed when I was an under-graduate. For these we are\nprincipally indebted to those two admirable brothers[66:1], who have so\nlong devoted their time, their money, their distinguished talents, and\ntheir various attainments, in the first place, to plans of beneficence,\nand in the next, to the advancement of science and the cultivation of\ntaste. It is to them that we owe the enlargement, the arrangement, and\nin fact the greater part of the contents, of the Museum, which now\ncontains a very interesting collection of specimens, particularly in\nBritish ornithology. To them we are indebted for the excellent casts (in\nthe Radcliffe Library) from the most perfect specimens of sculpture, and\nfor the beautiful models (in the Picture Gallery) of the most celebrated\nremains of ancient architecture. The Picture Gallery itself contains\nmany paintings, which, if not of any great excellence as works of art,\nyet are well deserving of attention on very many accounts; and the\ncopies from the Cartoons, especially if you can be assisted with a few\nhints from Richardson or Sir Joshua Reynolds, are most interesting\nobjects of study and contemplation. I am surprised that the young men in\nOxford make so little use of these advantages. Many of them seem hardly\nto be aware of their existence.\n\nAmong other modes of relaxation, not unconnected with intellectual\nimprovement, I should advise you to make yourself a little acquainted\nwith our early English architecture. If you can buy or borrow either\nBentham's Essay on Gothic Architecture, or Milner's accurate and elegant\nTreatise on the Ecclesiastical Architecture of England during the middle\nages, you will need no other assistance, excepting, indeed, a friend\ndisposed to go along with you in this pursuit. Oxford and its immediate\nneighbourhood will furnish you with many interesting specimens from the\nSaxon and Norman, in the cathedral, St. Peter's in the East, and Iffley\nchurch, down to the utter depravation of the art, or rather the total\nchange of style, in the time of Henry the Eighth.\n\nThese interesting pursuits, however, I mention, as you must follow them,\nif you follow them at all, merely _by the by_. They must not be suffered\nto interfere with your severer studies. When engaged in those studies,\ngive them your whole undivided attention. _Whatsoever your hand, or your\nhead, findeth to do, do it with all your might._\n\nThe habits of study and of intellectual improvement, which you acquire\nat Oxford, you should carry with you into the vacation. During the\nvacation, you may, perhaps, take more time for society--the society\nespecially of your own immediate family--and more for relaxation; but\nstill do not _waste_ your time; still consider yourself as responsible\nfor the right employment of it. Make sure of the ground which you gained\nduring the term, by going over by yourself, what you then read with your\ntutor. Improve your acquaintance with the standard writers of our own\ncountry, and acquire some knowledge of modern history. In short, make\nthe most of your leisure. Read Bishop Home's sermon on redeeming the\ntime, and the papers in the Spectator and the Rambler to which he\nrefers. Read, _and learn by heart_, what is said on the loss of time in\nthe second of Young's Night Thoughts:\n\n    \"Part with it as with money, sparing; pay\n    No moment but in purchase of its worth.\"\n\nBut my letter grows long, and (you will say) tedious.\n\n  I remain,\n  My dear Nephew,\n  Your affectionate Uncle.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[62:1] Vol. I. No. 14.\n\n[66:1] John Duncan, Esq. and Philip Duncan, Esq. of New College.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER VI.\n\nPUNCTUALITY.\n\n\nMY DEAR NEPHEW,\n\nI ventured to give you some advice respecting the employment of your\ntime; perhaps I ought to follow up that letter with a few remarks upon\nPUNCTUALITY. Unless you acquire the habit of punctuality, you will be\napt, not only to lose your own time, but to make unjustifiable inroads\nupon the time of other persons.\n\nEndeavour, therefore, to _keep to your time_ in every appointment,\nwhether the appointment be made by yourself or by others, (the college\nauthorities for instance,) whether it be with a superior, an equal, or\nan inferior. Whether it be in a matter of business or in a matter of\npleasure, try always to be true to it. Let this be your system and your\nhabit. Some deviations from punctuality may now and then be unavoidable;\nbut do not let them occur unless they _really are_ unavoidable in\nfairness and reason. If you have yourself made an appointment, your word\nis, to a certain degree, pledged to your keeping to it. The case is in\nsome measure the same, when, though the appointment is actually made by\nothers, you have acceded to it.\n\nWant of punctuality seems to proceed either from pride and\nsuperciliousness, or from some infirmity, some weakness of character.\nMost men try to be punctual in any appointment with a man of rank\nsuperior to themselves, especially if they have any object, any\ninterest, in conciliating his favour. And, on the other hand, too many\npersons seem to feel themselves at liberty to be unpunctual in an\nappointment with an inferior. It is not worth while, they think, to care\nabout being exact with one so much beneath them. \"Let him wait till I am\nat leisure to attend to him,\" exclaims such a man, in the proud\nconsciousness of superiority; and, perhaps, some trifle, or mere\nindolence, is all that he has to plead for his neglect.\n\nYou, my dear nephew, have, I trust, long since learned, that you have no\nright to treat any man, however low his rank may be, with\ndisrespect,--with any thing approaching to contempt. You well know, that\nboth reason and religion require us to regard all men as our brothers,\nand that one of the golden rules of the latter is, _in lowliness of\nmind, let each esteem others better than himself_. Whatever a man's rank\nin life may be, he has a right to punctuality as he has a right to\ntruth; and you have no right, by your unpunctuality, to rob him either\nof his time or his patience. Certainly you have no right to give him by\nsuch means the painful feeling that he is neglected, and neglected\nbecause he is despised.\n\nAnd thus, also, with men of your own age and your own rank in life; in\nall the little engagements and appointments, whether of business or of\npleasure, which occur in the common intercourse of society, endeavour\nstill to maintain the habit of punctuality. As every man wishes to have\nthe character of being true to his word, so it will be to your credit to\nhave the character of being true to your engagements, whether those\nengagements relate to great matters or to small.\n\nBut though want of punctuality is sometimes occasioned by pride, it\nmust more frequently proceed from a certain degree of weakness of\ncharacter, or from mere indolence. A man acknowledges punctuality to be\nright and desirable, but cannot muster up sufficient energy and\nresolution. He cannot prevail upon himself to quit his bed, or his easy\nchair, or his fire-side, or the employment by which he chances to be\noccupied, till the time fixed on has passed away. His friends are kept\nwaiting; those who have business to transact with him lose their temper;\nthey, again, are perhaps disappointing others, and all because he had\nnot sufficient decision of character, sufficient command of himself, to\nbe punctual.\n\nYou may remember seeing at my house my friend Mr. M.[78:1] He was at\nOxford a very good-humoured fellow, and every body liked him; but he\nnever could contrive to be in time for any thing. He got imposition upon\nimposition for being too late for chapel; he came to dine in hall when\nother men were going away; and his friends were almost afraid of making\nan appointment with him, either for business or for amusement, because\nthey knew beforehand that he would not keep it. When, after leaving\nOxford, he established himself as a country gentleman in his paternal\nmansion, the same habit still clung to him. No time was fixed for any\nthing, or if it was fixed, it was never kept. Neither his guests nor his\nservants knew at what hour either breakfast, or dinner, or any other\ndomestic arrangement, would take place. Consequently, their time and\ntheir spirits were wasted in uncertainty. When engaged to dine at a\nneighbour's, perhaps he would forget the engagement altogether; or, if\nhe chanced to remember it, would not arrive till the master of the feast\nhad given him up in despair, after allowing possibly an extra half hour,\nduring which, the solemn pause which sometimes takes place before\ndinner, had become more solemn, from the annoyance of seeing a whole\nparty kept waiting by the unpunctuality of one person. The servants,\nmeanwhile, were yawning and fidgetting backwards and forwards in the\nlistlessness of expectation; the cook perplexed with the sore dilemma of\nseeing all the productions of her skill, either chilled with cold from\nbeing kept back, or burnt to a cinder; and the temper even of the lady\nof the house a little out of tune, from the certainty that the dinner\nwould be spoiled. Of all these various vexations, the sole cause was to\nbe found in Mr. M.'s want of energy. He could not bring himself,\nperhaps, either to shorten a pleasant ride, or to lay down a book which\ninterested him, or to quit his own chair by the fire-side, in order to\ndress. The convenience and comfort, and for a time the good humour, of a\nwhole company, were to be sacrificed to his indolence, his _vis\ninerti\u00e6_, and unpunctuality.\n\nNever permit yourself, my dear nephew, thus to trifle with the time or\nthe temper of any persons, whether high or low, with whom you have any\nintercourse. Make a point of always being in time. I think it is said of\nLord Nelson (though I cannot hit upon the passage in his life), that\nwhen some friend was fixing an appointment of importance at a certain\nhour, the hero added, \"Say a quarter _before_--to that quarter _before_,\nI have owed all my success in life.\" I do not advise you actually to be\n_before_ the time of an engagement, which some people will complain of\nas being worse than being too late, but be so much beforehand as to be\nmaster of your time, or to have it in your power to be punctual almost\nto a minute. When you are received as a guest in a friend's house,\nconsider compliance with the hours and habits of the family, as a\nnatural return for the hospitality which is shown to you. There is\nsomething incongruous in seeing a young person deranging, by his\nunpunctuality, the economy and regularity of a whole household. And do\nnot suffer the kindness and indulgence of your parents to induce you,\nwhen with them, to be less attentive to punctuality than you are, when\nwith other persons of superior age or rank to yourself. Never let them\nwait for you; make a point of being always ready. An excellent friend of\nmine lays it down as a maxim, that _habitual unpunctuality is positive\nincivility_.\n\nI have alluded to the unpunctuality of one of my college friends: I will\ncontrast it with the punctuality of another. The latter when at Oxford\nwas distinguished for lively talents, and for an exuberance of spirits\nbursting forth into every possible variety of fun. He is now the owner\nof a spacious and splendid mansion, with a large establishment of\nservants, and often a considerable number of guests, attracted by his\nmany amiable and excellent qualities. He still retains his playfulness\nof wit, but his domestic arrangements are a model of punctuality. Family\nprayers, and every meal, are to a minute. His guests and servants,\nconsequently, know exactly what they have to depend on, the arrangements\nof the day, whether for business or for amusement, can be made with\nprecision, and every thing is done at its proper time. This is\npunctuality on a greater scale. You and I, my dear nephew, must attend\nto it in smaller matters.\n\n  I remain,\n  My dear Nephew,\n  Your affectionate Uncle.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[78:1] Mr. M. is imaginary.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER VII.\n\nAMUSEMENTS.\n\n\nMY DEAR NEPHEW,\n\nIn a former letter I recommended to you certain modes of relaxation,\nhaving some connection with intellectual improvement. You will, perhaps,\ntell me that you want relaxation more entire and complete; that the\nintellect requires perfect rest; that you must have _amusement_ in the\nstrict etymological sense of the word. You may be right. I have already\nadvised you to take sufficient time for _exercise_, and the exercise of\nthe body will generally give rest and refreshment to the mind.\n\nIn your choice of amusement, however--amusement, I mean, as combined\nwith exercise--you must have strict regard to economy, both of money and\nof time. Do not think me an old woman, if I add, that regard for _both_\nshould keep you from any excessive bodily exertion, such as will unfit\nyou for study, or seriously affect your health. I am told that the\nlatter effect has of late, not unfrequently, been the result of over\nfatigue in _rowing_; that many young men have died at an early age; that\nothers live on with all their powers debilitated, from having\noverstrained their nerves, and their whole muscular system, in\nboat-races. Rowing is in itself a salutary and delightful species of\nexercise; and the facility of practising it, is one among the many\nadvantages of Oxford; but when carried to the excess which I have\nalluded to, it is foolish and culpable.\n\nI would have a young man regardless of danger, willing to risk limbs,\nhealth, or life itself, for the benefit of his fellow-creatures. He\nshould, like Hamlet, \"hold his life at a pin's fee,\" when any adequate\nobject is to be answered by putting it in jeopardy. But a man has _no\nright_ to risk either his life or his limbs for a bravado, in mere idle\nvanity and ostentation. Such wanton risk is cruelty to his parents and\nfriends, and a presumptuous tempting of Providence.\n\n_Riding_, for riding's sake, must, with your finances, be out of the\nquestion. The utmost that you ought to allow yourself, is a hack once or\ntwice a term, for some specific purpose--to visit a distant friend,\nperhaps, or to see some interesting object lying beyond the range of a\nwalk. What I have said of riding, applies, with ten-fold force, to\nhunting, which entails expense--(the hire of a hunter, the hire of a\nhack probably to take you to cover, sundry ostlers and helpers, and very\nlikely a jovial dinner at an inn)--utterly inconsistent with an average\nallowance; which entails, also, a waste of time, which, in the short\nperiod of an Oxford residence, can ill be spared.\n\nWhat shall I say of _cricket_? I have great respect for cricket, as a\nnational and a manly game. The demand which it makes upon your Oxford\ntime is confined to the short term between Easter and the long vacation,\nand it does not require a very large portion of the day. It is not\n_necessarily_ attended with any expense. Whether the incidental expenses\nof _uniform_ (if you belong to a club), tent, dinner, &c. &c. are such\nas you can fairly afford, is for your consideration. They need not be\nhigh, and, in my good will to the game, I am anxious that they should\nbe kept down.\n\n_Tennis_ is an animated game, of much variety in itself, and requiring\ngreat variety of muscular exertion. It is connected with many historical\nand chivalrous recollections, and carries the mind back to our Henry the\nFifth and the \"mocking Dauphin\" of France. As it cannot be played\nwithout a spacious and expensive edifice, it is altogether an\naristocratic game, and demands an aristocratic purse. It is a game which\nrequires a good deal of practice, and, consequently, a good deal of\nexpenditure, in order to acquire a tolerable degree of skill; and your\nskill will seldom have an opportunity of showing itself after you have\nquitted Oxford, as you will seldom fall in with a tennis-court. I have\nno hesitation in saying, that you, my dear nephew, have no money that\nyou have a right to spend upon yourself in this manner.\n\nYou will never, I trust, annoy any of the neighbouring country\ngentlemen, by attacking their game. You know how tender a point this is,\nand how susceptible most landed proprietors are upon the subject; and\nyour own good feeling, and sense of propriety, and common fairness, will\nprevent you from trespassing in this manner. You can imagine how\nindignant you would yourself feel at such an invasion, and will not be\nguilty towards another of a wrong, of which you would complain loudly\nif it were offered to yourself.\n\nAfter all, _walking_ is the cheapest exercise, and, perhaps, the best.\nIf you wish to give it variety, you will find plenty of ditches to leap,\nsteeps to ascend, and hills to run up or down. And, dull as are most of\nthe great roads leading into Oxford, the country round abounds in\ninteresting objects within reach of a walk. There is much natural\nscenery, possessed of a good deal of variety and picturesque character;\nand there are many buildings, and remains of buildings, which either\nfrom something in themselves, or from adventitious circumstances, well\ndeserve to be looked at. The church at Cumnor, for instance, not only\nhas within itself much to interest a man fond of architectural or\nantiquarian investigation, but, in common with the remains or site of\nCumnor hall, and the village of Dry Sandford, have acquired a sort of\nclassical notoriety from the magical pen of Sir Walter Scott. The\npicturesque ruins of the kitchen, and other buildings at Stanton\nHarcourt, the slight vestiges of Godston Nunnery, the Town Hall, the\nGaol, and the two churches at Abingdon, may all become, each in its\nturn, the object of a pedestrian expedition. The residence of the\nSpeaker, Lenthall, at Bessilsleigh, may deserve notice, from historical\nrecollections, though for no other reason. The Saxon church in Iffley I\nhave already mentioned. The recently-built Saxon chapel at Kennington is\ndone in excellent taste, and is a most gratifying instance of the\nmunificence and piety of an individual clergyman, devoting, I believe,\nalmost all his resources to the work. The church at Wytham will show you\nthat a church very lately erected may, by correct judgment, be made to\npresent the appearance of having been built five hundred years ago. But\nI must not go on in this way, or you will think that you have got hold\nof an Oxford guide. Most of the villages and village churches in the\nneighbourhood, have some character of their own worth examining.\n\nSo much for amusements connected with exercise, which has led me into\nsomething like a repetition of some of the sentiments in a former\nletter.\n\nA few words on sedentary amusements.\n\nIf you read _in earnest_, and are bent upon making the most of your\ntime, you will have little of it left for amusements of a sedentary\nnature.\n\nThe less you have to do with cards the better. Young men can have no\noccasion for the assistance of cards in order to pass their time; and\nthere seems to be something almost incongruous in the idea of _their_\nsitting down to a rubber. Nor do they need the excitement: if they wish\nfor it, that very wish is a reason why they ought not to have it. If\nthey play for money--or, at all events, if they play for such sums as\nmake the winning or losing an object of any degree of consequence--they\nbecome gamblers; and of the many bad passions which gambling sometimes\ncalls into activity, and of the destructive consequences which it\nentails, no one is ignorant. If you once get into the habit of playing,\nyou will, perhaps, not know when to stop. Cards are very seductive, and\nyou may find yourself become a gambler almost before you are aware of\nit. Perhaps the best plan is _not to know_ how to play, which furnishes\nan answer always ready.\n\nChess is a game of elegance and interest, and the being a good\nchess-player, carries with it a certain impression of general ability\nand of intellectual activity and resource. Perhaps I may allow that\nplaying at chess adds a certain degree of interest to the perusal of the\nhistory of a campaign, whether ancient or modern, with its various\nmoves, its checks and counter-checks, its retreats and _castlings_. But\nchess is a fascinating game, and will be apt to make larger demands upon\nyour time than you can afford. If you indulge in it at all, you must be\nperemptory with yourself in resisting its tendency to incroach either\nupon your time or your _temper_. Sometimes, too, it requires so much\nexertion of thought,--is such a strain upon the mind,--that it hardly\ncan answer the purposes of relaxation. If you play, by all means read\nFranklin's Essay on the Morals of Chess. For clearness of head, for\ntruth-telling simplicity and honesty of purpose, and for perspicuity and\nliveliness of style, Franklin has, perhaps, no superior.\n\nAlways recollect that improvement, moral and intellectual, is the great\nobject for which you were sent to Oxford. With that object nothing must\nbe suffered to interfere.\n\n  I remain, &c. &c.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER VIII.\n\nEXPENSES, AND RUNNING IN DEBT.\n\n\nMY DEAR NEPHEW,\n\nI do not know exactly what allowance your father has been able to give\nyou, but whatever it may be, I trust that you are resolutely determined\nto keep within it. This will, of course, require a good deal of care and\nattention. Many young men, when, upon going to the University, they find\nin their pockets a much larger sum than they ever possessed before,\nfancy themselves rich, and at liberty to allow themselves various\nunnecessary indulgences. The consequence is, that they become entangled\nin debts, from which they can never extricate themselves during their\ncontinuance at Oxford. Be on your guard against getting thus hampered.\nTake it for granted, that the regular and necessary claims upon your\nfinances will leave but little over for the indulgence of pleasure or\nfancy.\n\nThe expenses of an University education are often most unfairly\nexaggerated by writers and speakers, who are fond of running down all\nold institutions. These carpers affect to set down to the score of the\nUniversity all the money that is spent by the young men who reside in\nit. They seem to forget that, wherever a young man may be, he must eat\nand drink, and must purchase clothes suitable to his station in society.\nI was myself, as you probably know, at Christ Church, where I took my\ndegree, and afterwards became a Fellow of Oriel. At Oriel, (which may\nprobably be taken as a fair average of the rest of the University,) the\n_necessary_ annual expenses of a commoner are from 70l. to 80l., or\nthereabouts[101:1]. This includes room-rent, batels, (that is,\nbreakfast, dinner, &c. _exclusive_ of tea and sugar), tuition,\nUniversity and College dues, coals, letters, washing, servants. The\nUniversity dues are less than 1l. per annum. There are, perhaps, few\nplaces in England, where a gentleman can be comfortably lodged and\nboarded at a much cheaper rate. Still there will always be many\nincidental expenses, and you must put in practice a pretty severe\neconomy in order to meet them.\n\nIn the manner in which you spend your money, as in every thing else,\naccustom yourself to a certain degree of self-denial. Do not buy any\nthing merely because it hits your fancy, and you think you should _like\nto have it_, but consider whether you cannot easily _do without it_. Be\nas liberal as you can reasonably afford to be in assisting others,\nespecially the poor, but spend as little as you can help upon yourself.\nAbove all, never buy, or order, any thing which you are unable to pay\nfor.\n\nThe habit of running in debt is pregnant with evil and misery of every\ndescription. It often--perhaps generally--amounts to positive\ndishonesty. The money which you owe a tradesman is really his property.\nThe articles, which you have received from him, are hardly your own,\nuntil you have paid for them. If you keep them, without paying for them\nwhen the seller wishes and asks for payment, you deprive a man of that\nwhich belongs to him; and is not that something approaching to robbery?\nTo a man possessed of proper feeling and a nice sense of honour, it must\nbe very painful to suffer a tradesman to ask twice for what is clearly\nhis right. To affect to be offended with such an application, and to\nmeet it with superciliousness and insolence, is injustice carried to its\nheight.\n\nThe manner in which some men, who would be ready to shoot any one who\ndisputed their claims to be considered as gentlemen, treat their\ncreditors, whom they choose to call _duns_, would, from its contrariety\nto any thing like reason, be almost ludicrous, if it were not so\nculpable, so cruel, and so dishonest.\n\nA tradesman, from not being able to recover the money owed to him, sees\nhimself in danger of losing his credit, and, together with his credit,\nthe means of getting a maintenance; he sees his wife and children\nperhaps upon the very verge of misery, and yet, if he civilly asks for\nwhat is his due, he is considered as troublesome and impertinent,\nperhaps reproached and insulted!\n\nUpon this subject I shall allow myself to quote the words of Delany, the\nfriend of Dean Swift, one of the most animated and sensible of our\nsermon writers.\n\n\"Running in debt with tradesmen, and neglecting to pay them in due time,\nis utterly ruinous to the whole business of trade and commerce, and\nabsolutely destructive of the very principles upon which it is built,\nand by which it subsists; and yet this is a crime every day committed by\nmen of fortune and quality, with as little remorse as they eat and\ndrink; and if the tradesman demands his money, it is odds but he is\neither threatened or turned into a jest. The son of Sirach's wise\nobservation is here every day verified, merely substituting the words\n_rich_ and _poor_, for the words _debtor_ and _creditor_. _The debtor\nhath done wrong, and yet he threateneth; the creditor is wronged, and\nyet he must entreat also._ If threats will not rid these men of their\nimportunate creditors, then are they to be deluded with fair words and\nplausible excuses, to pay attendance from day to day, to the loss of\nmore time, and neglect of more business, than perhaps the debt is worth;\nand so the first injury, instead of being repaired is doubled. And yet\nthe _gentleman_ debtor, the author of this evil, is so far from\nrepenting of it, that it is odds but he vaunts his wit and dexterity in\ndoing it. _As a mad man_ (saith Solomon) _who casteth firebrands,\narrows, and death: so is the man that deceiveth his neighbour, and\nsaith, Am I not in jest?_ And, indeed, it is scarce to be conceived how\nany man can deal more destruction and ruin around him, than by deceiving\nand breaking faith with the fair trader; for it is well known, his\ncredit, his whole subsistence, depends upon keeping his word, and being\nstrictly punctual in his payments and his promises; and, if he fail in\nthese, he is undone at once. And how is it possible he should not fail,\nif the gentlemen he deals with fail him? He hath no way of raising money\nbut by sale of his goods; and if those to whom they are trusted will not\npay him, it is impossible he can pay his creditors; and, if he do not\npay them, it is impossible but he must be ruined, and, perhaps, many\nmore with him. For traders are linked and dependent on one another; and\none man's fall throws down many more with him: the shop-keeper is in\ndebt to the maker or the merchant; and these again to the journeyman,\nthe farmer, or the foreign correspondent; and so the ruin becomes\ncomplicated, and extended beyond imagination!\"\n\n\"Credit is to a tradesman what honour is to a gentleman: to a man that\nis truly such, (a gentleman,) his honour is as dear as his life: to the\ntrader, credit is as life itself; for he cannot live without it.\"\n\nYou, my dear nephew, will never, I trust, stoop so low as to be guilty\nof such dishonesty. But then you must keep a vigilant eye upon your\nexpenses. Paying ready money for every thing may be sometimes\ninconvenient, and may, perhaps, occasion mistakes; but never leave\nOxford for a vacation without clearing off every thing that you owe.\nTake receipts, and keep them. The most honest and respectable tradesman\nmay sometimes, in the hurry of business, omit to cross a charge out of\nhis book, and will feel a satisfaction in having any doubt as to payment\nremoved. Have such receipts tied up and docketed, so that you may refer\nto any one of them readily.\n\nNever suffer yourself to be led into needless expense by the example of\nyour companions, and never be ashamed of saying that you cannot afford\nit.\n\nWe sometimes see weak young men vying with each other in the expensive\nelegance of their furniture and dress, or in the luxury of their\nentertainments. A man of large fortune produces at his table a variety\nof costly wines, abundance of ice, and a splendid dessert. Others, from\na silly vanity, affect to do the same, although such expensive luxuries\nare altogether inconsistent with their finances, and with the general\nhabits of men in their rank of life. The more such expenses and foolish\nostentation can be checked by the college _authorities_ the better. At\nall events, do not _you_ be so weak as to fall into them. There is no\ndisgrace in being poor, but there is disgrace and dishonesty too, in\ncontracting debts which you are unable to discharge.\n\nSome young Oxonians, I am afraid, after spending the larger portion of\ntheir allowance upon amusements and self-indulgence, drive off the\npayment of what they regard as their more _creditable_ debts till they\ntake their degree, under the idea that they will then be paid by their\nfathers. This is a most unwarrantable,--sometimes a _cruel_,--drain upon\nparental kindness. Poets may well speak of university expenses \"pinching\nparents black and blue[112:1],\" when this is the case.\n\nThe majority of parents, as I have already said, do not send their sons\nto the University without some degree of pecuniary inconvenience to\nthemselves. It is, indeed, hard upon them, when, in addition to an\nannual allowance, which, probably, they have furnished not without\ndifficulty, they are called upon for a considerable sum, in order to\nsave their sons' credit--perhaps in order to enable him to take his\ndegree. For you are aware that an unpaid tradesman has the power, if he\nthinks fit to exert it, of stopping the degree of a spendthrift\nunder-graduate. This power, I believe, is seldom, if ever, exercised.\nBut surely the being liable to it, through your own misconduct and\nextravagance, would be attended with a feeling of painful humiliation.\n\n  I remain,\n  My dear Nephew,\n  Your affectionate Uncle.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[101:1] June, 1832.\n\n[112:1] Cowper.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER IX.\n\nTEMPERANCE.\n\n\nMY DEAR NEPHEW,\n\nIn the present state of society, it is, perhaps, less necessary than it\nwould have been formerly, that I should give you any caution or advice\non the subject of _temperance_. Five-and-thirty years ago, it was\ncustomary to drink a good deal of wine after dinner, and young men at\nOxford were not behind-hand with the rest of the world in complying with\nthis bad custom.\n\nIt was _then_ generally the system, to initiate a freshman by making\nhim completely drunk. Scripture is by no means sufficiently listened to\n_now_, but perhaps its warnings were less known and less regarded\n_then_. The master of the revels and his abettors were ignorant, or\nunmindful, of the threatenings denounced by the voice of\nInspiration,--_Woe unto him that giveth his neighbour drink, that\nputtest thy bottle to him, and makest him drunken also_: and again--_Woe\nunto them that are mighty to drink wine, and men of strength to mingle\nstrong drink_. Regardless of these denunciations, and trusting to the\nstrength of their own heads, and the practised discipline of their own\nstomachs, their _noble_ ambition was to make drunk as many of their\nguests as possible, especially any luckless freshman who chanced to be\nof the party. Those who, whether from religious principle or from\nmanliness of character, did not choose to submit to be made drunk, were\nobliged either to encounter these _kind_ endeavours with sturdy\nresistance,--resistance which sometimes occasioned a total cessation of\nintercourse and acquaintance,--or to evade them by stratagem. Glass\nafter glass was dexterously emptied upon the carpet under the table, or\nthe purple stream sought concealment under heaps of walnut-shells and\norange-peel. In short, at a tolerably large wine-party there was wasted,\nor _worse than wasted_, a quantity of Port wine sufficient to check the\nravages of a typhus fever in an entire village.\n\nThese days of _Celtic barbarism_ are, I hope, utterly passed away. As in\ngeneral society very little wine is consumed, (_excepting at dinner_,)\nso Oxford has caught the spirit of the times, and the bacchanalian\nrevels to which I have alluded are, I believe, much less common than\nthey were formerly, if not entirely exploded. I am afraid, however, that\neven now more wine is drunk in some colleges, than is consistent either\nwith Christian temperance, or with habits of study, or with the\npreservation of health.\n\nI need not point out to _you_, my dear nephew, the evils which, in a\nreligious point of view, result from drinking to excess. You, I well\nknow, would shudder at the idea of wilfully depriving yourself of\nreason, and of sinking yourself to the situation of a beast or of a\nmaniac. A man, who has thrown away his reason, has little right to hope\nfor the continuance of the assisting and preventing grace of God. And\ndestitute of the controlling guidance, both of reason and of Divine\nGrace, what is there left to prevent his ungoverned passions from\ncarrying him into the most perilous excesses? There are deadly vices, to\nwhich young men are, at all times, but too powerfully solicited by their\nnatural appetites; and when those appetites are stimulated by drinking,\nand all salutary control shaken off, the danger is great indeed. You\nperhaps may remember an Eastern apologue to the following effect, (I\nknow not where to find it): The Devil having, by the impulse of terror,\ninduced a holy man to consent to commit _some_ crime, allowed him to\nchoose, whether he would get drunk, or be guilty of either of two of the\nmost horrible enormities he could conceive. The poor victim chose\ndrunkenness, as being the least offence, but in the state to which he\nhad thus brought himself, was guilty of all three.\n\nAnd even if you are kept back from any additional guilt, yet you well\nknow, that by throwing away your reason, you become capable of being\nguilty of all sorts of absurdities,--that you are liable to say and do a\nhundred foolish things, of which, when you return to your senses, you\nwill be heartily ashamed,--that you expose yourself to the ridicule and\ncontempt of those, who witness the degraded state to which you have\nreduced yourself.\n\nA drunken _Christian_ is almost a contradiction in terms; and something\nthe same may be said of a drunken _gentleman_. Among many in the middle\nand the industrious classes of society, there is much intelligence, much\nquick perception of what is morally right, and of general propriety of\nbehaviour. As such men are not backward in shewing respect, where\nrespect is really due, so they are keen-sighted in detecting gross\ninconsistencies of conduct, and ready to bestow the full measure of\ncontempt upon those, who, while placed above them by the advantages of\nbirth, and fortune, and education, yet meanly condescend, by their vices\nand their excesses, to degrade themselves below them.\n\nThe inconsistency of any excess in drinking, with the main purpose for\nwhich you were sent to Oxford, is palpable. You go to Oxford professedly\nfor study. Independently of the time actually occupied by a wine-party,\nany excess will, probably, indispose you for study the morning after;\n\n                      Corpus onustum\n    Hesternis vitiis animum quoque pr\u00e6gravat una,\n    Atque affigit humo divin\u00e6 particulam aur\u00e6.\n\nYou will rise from your bed heavy and languid, probably with some\ndisposition to headache; and will be far more inclined to lounge in an\neasy-chair, or to saunter about in listless idleness, than to sit down\nto active mental exertion.\n\nI must add, that the habit of drinking much wine during your continuance\nat Oxford, is not unlikely materially to injure your health in the\nsucceeding periods of your life. Such habit has a tendency permanently\nto derange and weaken the digestive powers, and to injure and harden the\ninternal coats and the orifices of the stomach. I am persuaded, that\nmuch of the tendency to apoplectic and paralytic affections; much of the\ngeneral indisposition, which we often witness in men advanced beyond the\nmiddle period of the usual term of human life,--men who have of late\nperhaps, lived temperately--is to be attributed to the wine which they\ndrank when young.\n\nBut I will not dwell longer on the evils of excessive drinking. You know\nthe admonitions of Scripture,--_Take heed lest at any time your hearts\nbe overcharged with surfeiting and drunkenness. Be not drunk with wine,\nwherein is excess._ You know that _drunkards cannot inherit the kingdom\nof God_; you know that drunkenness is spoken of by St. Paul as being the\nvice of those, who remain sunk in the thick darkness of ignorance and\nheathenism, and as utterly unbefitting those who are blessed with the\nlight of the Gospel. Indeed, it is unworthy of any man possessed only of\ncommon sense.\n\nGuard, then, my dear nephew, against this degrading habit with\ndetermined resolution. Let neither the example, nor the solicitations,\nnor the taunting jests of your companions, induce you to demean yourself\nso far, as to be guilty of a vice so utterly unworthy of you, both as a\nman and as a Christian. If they, for their amusement, were to request\nyou to cut off your right hand, you would not feel bound to comply with\nthem. Do not, for their gratification, expose yourself in the condition\nof a fool, or an idiot. Do not, in order to please a party of\nthoughtless revellers, incur the displeasure of Almighty God, and run\nthe hazard of eternal ruin.\n\nAnd take care, that you do not yourself _acquire_ a taste for any such\nsensual indulgences. \"The appetite for intoxicating liquors,\" says\nPaley, \"appears to be almost always _acquired_.\" Guard against the first\nbeginnings of intemperance. _Principiis obsta._ If you are not on your\nguard, you will be in danger of being carried on, step by step, until\nretreat becomes out of the question.\n\nYou would avoid many trials of your firmness, and be relieved probably\nfrom much irksome importunity, if you could make up your mind to\nrenounce wine altogether. This you would do with the less difficulty, if\nbacked by the sanction of medical advice. I apprehend that most medical\nmen, if desired to give their _candid_ opinion, would recommend\nabstinence from wine as conducive to a _young_ man's health both of body\nand mind. I knew _water-drinkers_ at Oxford, who yielded to none of\ntheir companions in liveliness and all social qualities, either in their\nown room or at the wine-party of a friend. Many young men in the army,\nI believe, adopt this system, from motives both of moral and of\neconomical prudence. A pint, or even half a pint, of wine per day, makes\na considerable hole in the pay of a subaltern, or in the stipend of a\ncountry curate, or in the allowance of a briefless barrister. Avoid\nacquiring factitious wants. Do not by habit make wine necessary to your\ncomfort. It is wise, when young, not to indulge in luxuries which in any\nfuture period of your life you probably will not be able to afford,\nconsistently with the claims which will then be pressing upon you. I\nthrow out this idea, however, for your own consideration, without urging\nit as matter of positive advice. I think, however, that your intellect\nwill be clearer, and your mind often more cheerful, if you comply with\nthe suggestion.\n\nShall I add a word or two upon temperance in _eating_? I hope that there\nare few young men who are apt to be guilty of the _porcine_ vice of\neating to excess; in plain English--of _gluttony_. Perhaps, however, the\ntemptations of a well-appointed dinner, prepared by an exquisite\n_artiste_, may induce them occasionally to transgress. It is, perhaps,\nhardly fair to quote from any thing so well known as Addison's paper on\nTemperance, in the Spectator[128:1], but it is much to my purpose. \"It\nis said of Diogenes, that meeting a young man who was going to a feast,\nhe took him up in the street, and carried him home to his friends, as\none who was running into imminent danger, had not he prevented him. What\nwould that philosopher have said, had he been present at the luxury of a\nmodern meal? Would he not have thought the master of a family mad, and\nhave begged his servants to tie down his hands, had he seen him devour\nfowl, fish, and flesh; swallow oil and vinegar, wines and spices; throw\ndown salads of twenty different sorts, sauces of a hundred ingredients,\nconfections and fruits of numberless sweets and flavours? What unnatural\nmotions and counter-ferments must such a medley of intemperance produce\nin the body? For my part, when I behold a fashionable table, set out in\nall its magnificence, I fancy that I see gouts and dropsies, fevers and\nlethargies, with innumerable distempers, lying in ambuscade among the\ndishes.\"\n\n\"Nature delights in the most plain and simple diet.\" He then gives some\nrules for temperance, which are well worth attending to. This passage of\nAddison is much in the spirit of that of Horace:\n\n                ----\"Vari\u00e6 res\n    Ut noceant homini, credas, memor illius esc\u00e6\n    Qu\u00e6 simplex olim tibi sederit. At simul assis\n    Miscueris elixa, simul conchylia turdis;\n    Dulcia se in bilem vertent, stomachoque tumultum\n    Lenta feret pituita.\"\n\nMost of the modern writers on dietetics, as well as those who have\npreceded them, recommend a very considerable abridgment of the quantity\nof food, usually consumed at the table of the affluent.\n\nAnd while I strongly advise you to be rather abstemious as to _quantity_\nof food, so I wish you not to be in the slightest degree fastidious as\nto its _quality_, provided it is wholesome, and free from qualities\nabsolutely revolting. You may naturally like one thing better than\nanother, and partake of what you prefer, when it comes in your way; but\nit is painful to see a young man of any intellect indulging in the\nniceties of an epicure, and really appearing to care much about what he\neats, and what he drinks. When I commenced the life of a country\nclergyman, I was often received, with almost parental kindness, in a\nhouse, in which good taste of all kinds,--moral, intellectual, social,\nand _culinary_,--presided in an eminent degree. Every now and then, some\nparticular dish made its appearance, under the impression that I was\nparticularly fond of it. Probably I had eaten of it some days before,\nbecause it chanced to be near me, or from some similar accident. I was\ngrateful for the kindness and attention, but felt mortified, almost\ndegraded, at its being supposed that I cared about one thing more than\nanother, where all were good and wholesome.\n\nDo not get into the habit of spending your money in ices, and other\ndelicacies, at the pastry-cook's and confectioner's. You say that you\nare hungry;--\n\n            \"--------Panis\n    Latrantem stomachum bene leniet.\"\n\nIf your hunger would disdain a piece of dry bread, it certainly has no\nclaim to be attended to at all. You say that you can _afford_ to indulge\nyourself in the delicacies to which I have alluded. I do not think that\nyou can; at all events, your money may be more worthily spent--\n\n      \"Non est melius quo insumere possis?\n    Cur eget indignus quisquam, te divite? Quare\n    Templa ruunt antiqua De\u00fbm?\"\n\nIn other words, if you have the money to spare, give it to the\ndeserving poor, or to the Church-building Society. Few expenses are\nmore unsatisfactory in retrospect,--I had almost said, more\n_disgraceful_,--than those which have been incurred by sensual\nself-indulgence; incurred to gratify a vitiated palate and a pampered\nappetite.\n\nSelf-denial is recommended by the classical writers of antiquity, as\nwell as by the most sensible of modern authors; and, what is of\ninfinitely more importance, is strongly inculcated by the Christian\nreligion. But how shall self-denial be practised _at all_, if it cannot\nbe practised in the low matter of eating and drinking?\n\nRead again and again the paper of Addison, and the Satire of Horace,\n(the second of the second Book), from which I have made my quotations.\nRead also the following passages from that accurate observer of the\nhabits and manners of social life, the son of Sirach:\n\n_If thou sit at a bountiful table, be not greedy upon it, and say not,\nThere is much meat on it.--Eat, as it becometh a man, those things that\nare set before thee; and devour not, lest thou be hated. Leave off\nfirst for manners' sake; and be not insatiable, lest thou offend._\n\n_A very little is sufficient for a man well nurtured, and he fetcheth\nnot his wind short upon his bed._\n\n_Sound sleep cometh of moderate eating; he riseth early, and his wits\nare with him: but the pain of watching, and choler, and pangs of the\nbelly, are with an insatiable man._\n\n  I remain,\n  My dear Nephew,\n  Your affectionate Uncle.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[128:1] No. 195.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER X.\n\nENGLISH READING.\n\n\nMY DEAR NEPHEW,\n\nWhen at Oxford, you will not have much time for any reading, excepting\nthat which has some reference to your examination. During the vacations,\nhowever, which occupy about half the year, you are more at liberty, and\nwill do well, as I have already suggested to you, to give a good deal of\nyour leisure to increasing your acquaintance with the classical writers\nof your own language.\n\nBoth at Oxford and home, endeavour, on most days, to catch some little\nportion of time,--a quarter of an hour may be sufficient,--for religious\nreading. Melmoth's \"Great Importance of a Religious Life,\" and the\nabridgment of Law's \"Serious Call,\" adopted by the Society for Promoting\nChristian Knowledge, are two of the best books that occur to me, for the\npurpose of impressing you with the absolute necessity, of giving\nreligion the first place in your thoughts and your heart. You may read\neither of them through in an hour. Of the former, 42,000 copies were\nsold in the eighteen years preceding 1784. I mention this as an evidence\nof its popularity.\n\nSome thirty years ago I was requested by a friend, to recommend some\npractical book to put into the hands of a young person. I named Nelson's\n\"Practice of True Devotion,\" and have since seen no reason to alter my\nopinion. Let that be one of the first books that you make use of. If you\nread _one_ chapter each day (and do not read more), it will last you\nabout three weeks. After an interval of a year or so, go through it\nagain.\n\nTake next for this purpose Jeremy Taylor's \"Holy Living and Dying,\"\nfirst reading (if you can borrow the book) what is said of this work by\nhis highly-gifted and most amiable editor, Bishop Heber. One passage\nfrom Heber's remarks I must allow myself to quote: \"But I will not\nselect, where all may be read with advantage, and can hardly be read\nwithout admiration. To clothe virtue in its most picturesque and\nattractive colouring; to enforce with all the terrors of the divine law,\nits essential obligations; and to distinguish, in almost every instance\nmost successfully, between what is prudent and what is necessary; what\nmay fitly be done, and what cannot safely be left undone;--this is the\ntriumph of a Christian moralist; and this Jeremy Taylor has, in a great\ndegree, achieved in his Discourse on Holy Living.\" You will recollect\nthat this book was written nearly two hundred years ago, and must not be\nsurprised if you find a few expressions, and one or two sentiments,\nrather obsolete. One of the five rules which Taylor gives in his\nDedication, \"for the application of the counsels which follow,\" applies\nto all books of a similar character. \"They that will, with profit, make\nuse of the proper instruments of virtue, must so live as if they were\nalways under the physician's hand. For the counsels of religion are not\nto be applied to the distempers of the soul, as men used to take\nhellebore; _but they must dwell together with the spirit of a man, and\nbe twisted about his understanding for ever: they must be used like\nnourishment, that is, by a daily care and meditation_--not like a single\nmedicine, and upon the actual pressure of a present necessity.\"\n\nThe genuine spirit of Jeremy Taylor, with more correctness of taste, is\nfound in that delightful book, \"The Christian Year.\" Read it repeatedly.\nIt is every where full of poetry, and of the purest devotional feeling.\nThe more you are imbued with the spirit which pervades that beautiful\nvolume, the more fit you will be to have your part in \"the communion of\nsaints,\" among _the spirits of just men made perfect_.\n\nArchbishop Seeker's Lectures on the Catechism, contain a body of\ndivinity, doctrinal and practical, singularly judicious and useful. They\nare full of good sense and accurate information. The style, perhaps, is\nrather involved, and not very engaging; but you see a mind in full\npossession of its subject, anxious to put you in full possession of it\nalso, without omitting any thing of importance.\n\nGilpin's Lectures on the Catechism are of a different character. This\nalso is a very good and a very pleasing book, written with a particular\nview to young persons engaged in reading the Greek and Latin Classics.\n\nOgden's Sermons, on Prayer, the Creed, and the Ten Commandments, &c. are\nthe offspring of a clear and powerful intellect, expressed in language\nremarkably perspicuous and elegant.\n\n_After_ these books, take some opportunity of reading the Sermons of\nBishop Butler, including the Preface. This is not a book to be read in a\nroom full of brothers and sisters. It demands close attention, and will\ngive some exercise to all your intellectual powers; but it richly merits\nto have such attention and pains bestowed upon it. It deserves, indeed\nrequires, more than a single reading. After Butler's Sermons read his\n\"Analogy.\"\n\nYou will do well, at any odd intervals, or _snatches_ of time, to make\nyourself familiar with Addison and Johnson. False delicacy shall not\nprevent me from recommending the selection from the writings of Addison\nwhich I made a few years ago. My reasons for making such selection are\ngiven in the Preface. The same reasons now induce me to recommend it to\nyou.\n\nJohnson requires no pruning. You can hardly read a paper in the Rambler\nor Idler, and, I will add, the Adventurer, without deriving from it some\nimprovement, either moral or intellectual, or both. The structure and\ncadence of Johnson's sentences is certainly monotonous; but I seldom\nread half a page without being struck by the depth of his thought, the\naccuracy and minuteness of his observation, and the astonishing extent\nof his multifarious reading.\n\nIn order to enter with more discrimination into the style of our\ndifferent authors, read often \"Blair's Lectures.\" They are, I believe,\nsometimes spoken slightingly of by men of learning; I, however, as an\nunlearned man, think them particularly useful. The Lecture on the Origin\nof Language, indeed, the absurdity of which has been exposed with so\nmuch playfulness by Cowper, might well have been omitted.\n\nI have already advised you, during the two longer vacations, to acquire,\nor to keep up, some knowledge of modern history. Russell's \"Modern\nEurope\" is, upon the whole, a useful book. It is, perhaps, too\ncompendious; and I dislike its being given in the form of letters.\nRobertson's \"Charles the Fifth\" you have probably read already; if not,\nread it carefully when, in Russell, you arrive at the period at which it\ncommences. Pay particular attention to the First Book. Perhaps Robertson\nwas not sufficiently impressed with the importance and the effects of\nthe Reformation in Germany; and he formed, I think, an unfair estimate\nof the character and motives of Luther. This matter will, I doubt not,\nbe shortly set right in the Life of Luther about to be given to the\npublic by one of the ablest and most learned men of the present\nday[147:1].\n\nWith respect to the history of our own country, I hardly know what\nadvice to give you. Hume's style is very pleasing, but he cannot be\nimplicitly depended on, especially where religion and the ministers of\nreligion are concerned.\n\nHenry's \"History of Great Britain\" is a very good and accurate book; but\nthe continuity of the narrative is broken by the multiplicity of\ndivisions in each period, (learning, arts, commerce, manners, &c. &c.),\nand by the transitions to the history of Scotland.\n\nLingard I have not read; I am told that his style is good, and his\ninformation extensive. It was natural that, as a zealous Romanist, he\nshould seek to extenuate the faults of men of his own persuasion, and to\nexaggerate the failings, and place in an unfavourable point of view the\nmotives and actions of the assailants of Popery; but he has, I think,\nbeen fully convicted of carrying misrepresentation beyond all reasonable\nbounds. There was but too much of bigotry and persecution on both sides.\n\nTurner's History is, I believe, strictly honest and impartial, and a\nwork of prodigious labour and research.\n\nBut in our attention to prose writers, we must not forget the classical\npoets of our own country. Make yourself familiarly acquainted with\nShakspeare, Milton, and Pope. The more you read of Young and Cowper, the\nbetter. Young is sometimes turgid, with a good deal of bad taste; but he\nabounds in real poetry, and in strong truths most forcibly expressed.\nCowper sometimes carries simplicity to the verge of being prosaic; but\nhe is generally graceful, often pathetic, and sometimes approaches to\nsublimity. Of both, it was the common object to increase the influence\nof genuine Christianity; of both, the perusal has a direct tendency to\nmake you a better and a more religious man.\n\nTwo of our most distinguished living poets--Sir Walter Scott and\nSouthey--have seen their poetry cast into shade by the popularity of\ntheir own prose. The poems of both will live, and have justice done them\nby posterity. \"Madoc\" was many years ago recommended to me by one of the\nmost able, and most candid, of our living authors. I read it with much\ninterest. \"The Curse of Kehama\" is full of high and wild poetry; and\n\"Roderick, the last of the Goths\" gives a noble picture of deep\npenitence and of devoted patriotism. You will hardly read any ten lines\nof the longer poems of Sir Walter Scott, without meeting with some\nstriking beauty of expression or of sentiment.\n\nI am afraid, however, that the English poets, both those of former times\nand those of the present day, have been, in great measure, superseded,\namong you young Oxonians, by Lord Byron. In almost every\nunder-graduate's room that I happen to enter, _he_ seems to have taken\npossession. Lord Byron, as a poet, has certainly many transcendant\nmerits,--merits which are peculiarly fascinating to young men. The\ninterest which I,--which _every one_,--naturally must feel in the moral\nand intellectual habits and pursuits of such an important portion of the\ncommunity, makes me deeply lament the noble poet's excessive popularity\namong you. I am perfectly aware, that by the following remarks I shall\nexpose myself to the indignation of some men, and, possibly, to the\ncontempt of others: but I feel that my opinion on this subject is not\ntaken up on slight grounds; and I _must say my say_.\n\nThe publication of Lord Byron's life and correspondence has contributed,\na good deal, to divest him of that mystery, which hung about him, and in\nwhich he himself so much delighted; and has brought him down rather\nmore to the level of ordinary mortals. They show him to us as a man\npossessed of splendid talents, of extensive and various attainments, and\nof the _seeds_ of many noble and generous qualities; but as a man\nactuated by ungovernable passions, and by an overweening opinion of his\nown superiority to all other mortals. _Self_, whether intellectual or\nsensual, seems to have been the idol that he worshipped. _His own_\nantient family, _his own_ talents, _his own_ attainments, _his own_\nwhims, _his own_ passions, _his own_ excesses, seem all to have\nfurnished food for his vanity, because they were _his own_.\n\nI acknowledge that, in all the circumstances of his _bringing up_, he\nwas singularly unfortunate. His early destitution, the character and\nhabits of his mother, the neglect of his noble relations, the venal\npraises of his parasites and dependents, all acted upon his character\nwith pernicious influence.\n\n      \"Untaught in youth his heart to tame,\n    His springs of life were poison'd.\"\n\nHe was sensitively alive to all the beauties and the sublimities of\nexternal nature, and had a most penetrating insight into the complicated\nfeelings, and the various workings of the human heart, with all its\npassions and affections; consequently, he abounds in passages of great\nbeauty, and of singular strength and power. The gratification derived\nfrom the perusal of such passages, however, to a man at least who really\nbelieves himself to be an immortal and a responsible being, is but a\npoor compensation for the moral effects of many of his poems, his\n_later_ poems more especially[155:1]. They too often appear to breathe a\nspirit of engrossing selfishness; a spirit of captious and gloomy\nscepticism,--scepticism extending, not only to revelation, but to the\nprimary truths of what is called natural religion, and even the most\nacknowledged bonds of moral obligation. The tendency of his writings is\nto make you dissatisfied with almost every thing, and every body in this\nworld, and at the same time to unfit you for the world to come; indeed,\nto make you doubt, whether the idea of a world to come is not altogether\na mere delusion.\n\nLord Byron particularly excels in describing female loveliness, and the\neffect which such loveliness produces upon the ardent temperament of\nyouth. In fact, the feeling within themselves so much that responds to\nthese descriptions, is one great cause of the popularity of Lord Byron\namong young people. The sensations to which I allude, however, are of\nthemselves but too importunate. It is most unwise to excite them,--to\ngive them additional energy,--by the perusal of the high-wrought and\nglowing descriptions of this poet of the passions.\n\nI had heard much of Don Juan, and felt some curiosity to read it; but I\nwas aware of the manner in which bold and flippant ribaldry sometimes\ntakes hold of the mind, even when shocked at it. I knew well, that human\nnature has in itself but too much of passion and sensuality, without\nneeding any additional stimulus. I was unwilling \"to soil my mind\" when\nI could avoid it. For my own sake, I was unwilling to see the most\ndestructive vices treated as mere matter of jest, and the most awful\ntruths of religion introduced in connexion with ludicrous images, and\nspoken of in the language of mockery. However much our judgment may\ndisapprove of these things, yet the ludicrous passages and images are\ntoo apt to stick by us, even when we most wish to shake them off.\n\nA book was advertised, called \"The Beauties of Don Juan, including those\npassages only which are calculated to extend the real fame of Lord\nByron.\" The editor acknowledges that the poem itself, from the unpruned\nluxuriance of the author's powers, \"has remained a sealed\nvolume\"--certainly it _ought_ to be a _sealed volume_--\"to the fairest\nportion of the community.\" This _expurgate_ selection, however, though\nit contains many passages of great beauty, is a book which I should be\nsorry indeed to place in the hands of any young lady; and one against\nwhich I would _forewarn_ every young man, who is not prepared to run the\nrisk of sacrificing, at the shrine of genius, Christian faith, and\nChristian soberness, and Christian purity.\n\nThe description of the shipwreck had been spoken of as particularly\nfine. I read it. Not long since several accounts of actual shipwrecks\nand disasters at sea were published[159:1]. Some of these accounts, are\namong the most interesting and edifying narratives, that I am acquainted\nwith. They abound in instances of heroic courage, of unshaken endurance,\nof a noble disregard of self, of the warmest benevolence, and of the\nmost exalted piety. Don Juan seems to have taken a wayward pleasure in\nculling from these narratives the most distressing and painful facts,\nand then mixing them up in doggrel verse, with ludicrous images and\nludicrous rhymes; the main _wit_ often consisting in some unexpected\nabsurdity of sound or cadence.\n\nOne of the most dreadful consequences of shipwreck is, when a remnant of\nthe crew, cast off in an open boat, are reduced, by extremity of\nhunger, to determine by lot, which of them shall first be made the food\nof his companions. Even in such calamity, this perverse and bitter\nspirit contrives to find matter for merriment. He laughed in himself\nwhen he wrote the stanzas, and tries to make his readers laugh; though\nthey must feel indignant with themselves if they give way to the\nimpulse.\n\nI conclude my letter with two sayings of Bishop Horne's. \"He who\nsacrifices religion to wit, like the people mentioned by \u00c6lian, worships\na fly, and offers up an ox to it.\" Again; \"Sir Peter Lely made it a\nrule, never to look at a bad picture, having found, by experience,\nthat, whenever he did so, his pencil took a tint from it. Apply this to\nbad books and bad company.\"\n\nHowever brilliant the talents of a writer may be, yet, if a book has a\ntendency to produce a bad effect upon the moral habits of the mind, that\nbook is a _bad_ book.\n\n    \"When I behold a genius bright and base,\n    Of tow'ring talents, and terrestrial aims;\n    Methinks I see, as thrown from her high sphere,\n    The glorious fragments of a soul immortal,\n    With rubbish mixt, and glitt'ring in the dust.\"\n\n  I remain,\n  My dear Nephew,\n  Your affectionate Uncle.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[147:1] Rev. Hugh James Rose.\n\n[155:1] Childe Harold and the _four_ first tales (I am speaking only of\nthe larger works) are most free from objection, at the same time that\nthey are the most beautiful and interesting.\n\n[159:1] The Loss of the Kent, and Narratives of the Shipwrecks of the\nLady Hobart packet, the Cabalva, &c. &c.\n\n\n\n\nPRAYERS\n\n\n_A Prayer before Study._\n\n(FROM DR. JOHNSON.)\n\nAlmighty God, in whose hands are all the powers of man; who givest\nunderstanding and takest it away; who, as it seemeth good unto thee,\nenlightenest the thoughts of the simple, and darkenest the meditations\nof the wise, be present with me in my studies and inquiries.\n\nGrant, O Lord, that I may not lavish away the life which thou hast given\nme on useless trifles, nor waste it in vain searches after things which\nthou hast hidden from me.\n\nEnable me, by thy Holy Spirit, so to shun sloth and negligence, that\nevery day may discharge part of the task which thou hast allotted me;\nand so further with thy help that labour which, without thy help, must\nbe ineffectual, that I may obtain in all my undertakings such success as\nwill most promote thy glory, and the salvation of my own soul, for the\nsake of Jesus Christ.\n\n\n_Prayer after Time unprofitably spent._\n\n(FROM DR. JOHNSON.)\n\nO Lord, in whose hands are life and death; by whose power I am\nsustained, and by whose mercy I am spared, look down upon me with pity.\nForgive me, that I have this day neglected the duty which thou hast\nassigned to it, and suffered the hours, of which I must give account, to\npass away without any endeavour to accomplish thy will, or to promote my\nown salvation. Make me to remember, O God, that every day is thy gift,\nand ought to be used according to thy command. Grant me, therefore, so\nto repent of my negligence, that I may obtain mercy from thee, and pass\nthe time which thou shalt yet allow me in diligent performance of thy\ncommands, through Jesus Christ. _Amen._\n\n\n_Prayer for Temperance._\n\n(FROM BISHOP JEREMY TAYLOR.)\n\nO Almighty God and gracious Father of men and angels, who openest thy\nhand and fillest all things living with plenty; and hast provided for\nthy servant sufficient to satisfy all my needs: teach me to use thy\ncreatures soberly and temperately, that I may not with loads of meat and\ndrink make the temptations of my enemy to prevail upon me, or my spirit\nunapt for the performance of my duty, or my body healthless, or my\naffections sensual and unholy. O my God, never suffer that the blessings\nwhich thou givest me may minister either to sin or sickness, but to\nhealth, and holiness, and thanksgiving; that in the strength of thy\nprovision I may cheerfully, and actively, and diligently serve thee;\nthat I may worthily feast at thy table here, and be accounted worthy,\nthrough thy grace, to be admitted to thy table hereafter, through Jesus\nChrist, our Mediator and Redeemer. _Amen._\n\n\n_Prayer for the right government of the tongue._\n\nO God, watch over me this day for good; and grant that I may so keep\nthe door of my mouth that I may not speak unadvisedly with my lips.\nPreserve me from offending with my tongue either against charity or\npurity. Let me not be guilty of foolish and immodest talking and\njesting, of evil-speaking or censoriousness, or of any other of the many\nsins of the tongue. Grant that all my conversation may be such as\nbecometh one who professes to be the servant and disciple of thy beloved\nSon, in whose name I beseech thee to hear my prayers.","title":"Advice to a Young Man upon First Going to Oxford: In Ten Letters, From an Uncle to His Nephew","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":18684}