{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_45317/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_45317","id":"gutenberg_45317","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45317","summary":null,"tags":["Breckinridge, Margaret (Miller), Mrs., 1802-1838","Category: Biographies","Category: Parenthood & Family Relations","Category: Religion/Spirituality"],"text":"Transcriber's Notes:\n\n  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by\n  =equal signs=.\n\n  Small uppercase have been replaced with regular uppercase.\n\n  Characters after a carat are superscripts.\n\n  Blank pages have been eliminated.\n\n  Variations in spelling and hyphenation have been left as in the\n  original.\n\n  A few typographical errors have been corrected.\n\n\n\n  [Illustration:\n  _Painted by Robinson._      _Eng^{d.} by J. Sartain_]\n\n\n\n\n  A\n\n  MEMORIAL\n\n  OF\n\n  MRS. MARGARET BRECKINRIDGE.\n\n\n  IN TWO PARTS.\n\n\n  PART I. MEMOIR, AND FUNERAL SERMON.\n  PART II. LETTERS TO HER SURVIVING CHILDREN.\n\n\n  PHILADELPHIA:\n  WILLIAM S. MARTIEN.\n  1839.\n\n\n\n\nEntered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1839, by\n\nWILLIAM S. MARTIEN,\n\nin the office of the Clerk of the District Court, for the Eastern\nDistrict of Pennsylvania.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  PART I.\n\n                                                            _Page._\n\n  INTRODUCTION,                                                  13\n\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n\n  Life of Mrs. Breckinridge,                                     17\n\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n\n  Additional Illustrations of the Life and Character of Mrs.\n  Breckinridge,                                                  35\n\n  Her Religious Character,                                       42\n\n  Her dedication to the work of Foreign Missions,                46\n\n  Her Sacrifices for the Church of God,                          47\n\n  Her Last Sickness and Death,                                   54\n\n\n  CHAPTER III.\n\n  Closing Reflections,                                           61\n\n\n  SUBMISSION:\n\n  A SERMON--by the Rev. A. Alexander, D.D.                       69\n\n\n  PART II.\n\n  LETTERS OF A GRANDFATHER.\n\n\n  LETTER I.\n\n  Introductory,                                                   5\n\n\n  LETTER II.\n\n  Human Nature,                                                  10\n\n\n  LETTER III.\n\n  The Way of Salvation,                                          17\n\n\n  LETTER IV.\n\n  The Bible,                                                     29\n\n\n  LETTER V.\n\n  Prayer,                                                        37\n\n\n  LETTER VI.\n\n  Cultivation of the Mind,                                       45\n\n\n  LETTER VII.\n\n  Cultivation of the Heart and the Moral Habits,                 67\n\n\n  LETTER VIII.\n\n  Manners,                                                       87\n\n\n\n\n  A\n\n  MEMOIR\n\n  OF\n\n  MRS. MARGARET BRECKINRIDGE.\n\n\n  \"Jesus wept.\"\n\n\n  PART I.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nMORE than a year has now passed since Mrs. MARGARET BRECKINRIDGE, the\nbeloved subject of the following brief notices, was taken from us into\nthe saints' everlasting rest. By that event, the little family of which\nshe was the joy and crown, was dissolved. The surviving parent felt that\nGod had committed to him the interesting but mournful duty of preserving\nthe memory of so inestimable a friend. But it is long after such an\nevent, before the mind is sufficiently tranquil to utter our thoughts\nand feelings without excess. The peaceable fruits of so dreadful a\nchastisement succeed, alas! but slowly in our intractable hearts, to the\ndistraction of grief, and the desolation of the grave.\n\nIt was in the midst of the deepest of his sorrow, also, that the writer\nwas hastened (by a very kind Providence, as he now sees it to have been)\ninto the active duties of an office which left no rest for body or mind\nduring almost an entire year. So that if his feelings had allowed the\nattempt at preparing a Memoir, his duty to the Church of God forbade it.\n\nIn these trying and peculiar circumstances, he was permitted to call in\nthe aid of those honoured and venerable Friends, from whose hands, in a\nhappier day, he had received the lovely wife of his youth. They of all\nothers knew her best, especially from her birth to her marriage. They\nhad done most, under God, to fit her for life's duties, and its close;\nand to make her \"worthy to be had in everlasting remembrance.\" And none\nwere judged to be so well qualified to do justice to her memory. To the\none we are indebted for the following interesting Sketch, making the\nfirst chapter. To the other for the valuable Letters to her surviving\nchildren, forming the second part of this memorial.\n\nWhile all must admire the delicacy and candour with which this sketch is\ndrawn, it is evident to those who knew the deceased, that much remains\nto be said which ought not to be omitted--especially in regard to that\nportion of her life, embracing more than fifteen years, which passed\nbetween the time of leaving the parental roof, and her lamented death.\nIn attempting to supply this omission, the writer felt the\ninconvenience--even awkwardness of returning upon a narrative which\nseemed to have been brought to an appropriate close. But this was\nthought preferable to leaving the memoir incomplete; or to breaking the\nthread of the narrative given in the first chapter.\n\nAnd moreover it was felt that the design of the work which called for\nthe additional chapters, dispensed with form in the manner of\nfurnishing them. It is intended to preserve the memory of the beloved\ndead for her bereaved children, and her numerous kindred and friends,\nrather than to unveil her retiring character to the public eye. The work\nbeing designed, not so much for general circulation as for family use,\nis rather _printed_, than _published_; and all its imperfections will\nreadily be overlooked by those who will come to these pages, as Mary\nwent to the tomb of Lazarus--\"to weep there.\"\n\n\n\n\nMEMOIR.\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nA NARRATIVE of the life of our departed friends, bears some resemblance\nto the representation, on canvass, of their persons and features; it\nserves to restore and collect our scattered thoughts, and revive our\naffections; and prevents the hand of time from obliterating entirely,\ntheir peculiar mental and moral lineaments.\n\nIt was in consequence of the necessity of this help to our natural\ninfirmities, that our Lord gave to his people the bread and wine, as a\nsymbol of his body and blood, and said, \"Do this in remembrance of me.\"\nHe knew too well our careless, wandering hearts, to trust the\nrecollections, even of _his_ great and lovely character, to our\nunfaithful keeping, and established, as a help to his word, the\nordinance which was to continue unto the end of the world, \"as a\nmemorial of him.\" And we trust that his people are permitted to\nendeavour to perpetuate the remembrance of each other by means, which,\nhowever they may come greatly short of the significant emblem ordained\nby himself, will assist in enabling them \"to love one another as he also\nloved them.\"\n\nIn view of this encouragement, given us in the Scriptures of\ninspiration, we would endeavour to bring together, and exhibit, in the\nhistory of the short life of Mrs. Margaret Breckinridge, some of those\ngraces of a Christian character, which lead us to hope that the finger\nof the Lord had engraven his name on her heart, and that his grace was\ncarrying on the work, notwithstanding much infirmity of flesh and\nspirit, until the body of sin and death within her was rolled away, and\na simple, undivided hold taken on the Rock of ages.\n\nShe was born September 29th, 1802, in New York, and educated for several\nyears under the immediate instruction of the sanctuary, in a\ncomparatively pure state of the Church, when the name and influence of a\nfew such venerable and holy men as the Rev. Dr. John Rodgers, had thrown\na restraint on the vices of the world around them, as well as on the\nconstantly recurring disorders of the Church, so that the very vagrants\nof the street felt their presence.[1] Every pastor of a flock of Jesus\nChrist seemed to feel it his privilege, as well as his duty, to feed the\nlambs of his flock himself, and did not commit them to the ever-varying,\nheterogeneous instruction of others. The Scriptures, and the Catechism,\nit was his own business to inculcate; and the same afternoon in each\nweek, had been for many years, in several of the churches of the city,\nof various denominations, the season for this instruction.\n\n     [1] The appearance of these servants of God, in any part of the\n     city, seemed to make \"iniquity hide its head,\" and was often the\n     means of dispersing an idle, youthful group, in which profanity and\n     disorder were beginning their destructive career. Through their\n     influence, in a great measure, the Sabbath was, at least\n     externally, a holy day, on which the public ways exhibited no crowd\n     or bustle, but what was of necessity occasioned by a church-going\n     people.\n\nBy these and other means, the Bible had taken a systematic form in\nMargaret's mind, very early; and whenever she met, even in childhood,\nwith a scriptural scene or subject, she generally knew where to place\nit, and was particularly animated by it. And this peculiar skill, and\ntaste, continued and increased until childhood passed away, and the\npride and enjoyment of life opened a new scene before her.\n\nFor a time it seemed as if every vestige of the sensibility arising from\nreligious instruction would be swept away. She had friends who wished to\nsee her enjoying the _innocent_ pleasures of youth; especially as in\nperson and mind there was a promise of peculiar adaptation to them. And\nthere was a will of her own very clearly developing, which wanted more\nrestraint than parents are generally willing to exercise. Many\ninterpositions, however, in providence occurred, which, though sad in\nthe view of her family, proved a real deliverance to her--frequently\narresting her first decisive step in folly.\n\nAt the age of eleven she was removed with her family to Princeton, in\nconsequence of a call which her father received, to a Professorship in\nthe Theological Seminary in that place. Being thus separated from many\nsnares incident to a city life, she began anew, as it were, to form\nhabits and connexions, which, although in some respects, more dangerous\nand ensnaring than those which she had left, had not \"grown with her\ngrowth, and strengthened with her strength;\" and were, on that account,\nmore ready to yield, when the follies of youth passed away, and the\nsolemnities of this world, in view of another, opened before her.\n\nThe want of a good school in Princeton, induced her parents to send her,\nat the age of about fourteen years, to Philadelphia, for the purpose of\nobtaining for her some finish to the education which she had received at\nhome. She remained there nearly a year, residing with an aunt, and\nattending a daily and well conducted school. Indeed it was _her_\nprivilege, as well as the privilege of many others, to receive\ninstruction from a teacher, who not only was competent to every branch\nof polite learning which adorns the mind of a female, but desirous of\nhaving all which he taught so sanctified as to reach the heart, and be\nmade the means of communicating spiritual and saving, as well as\nintellectual instruction.[2]\n\n     [2] Many will probably have reason for everlasting rejoicing in the\n     kind arrangement which placed them under Mr. Jaudon's instruction.\n     He was truly \"a man of God,\" and the effects of his wise and holy\n     instruction and discipline, we have no doubt are felt in the bosom\n     of many families, and in the hearts of many individuals in\n     Philadelphia, to this day, who will, we trust, be prepared to meet\n     him, where, having turned many to righteousness, \"he shall shine as\n     a star for ever and ever.\"\n\nThe immediate effect of this experiment was injurious to Margaret's\ndisposition and deportment. She returned to her parents with more love\nfor the world, and a better opinion of herself; and of consequence was\nless docile. It was evident that the atmosphere of a city was not the\nelement in which her heart would receive the best influence.\n\nIn a revival which took place in Princeton, when she was about eighteen\nyears of age, an interest was excited in some of her pious female\nfriends for her conversion. They concluded to make her the subject of\nspecial prayer. Of this she was entirely ignorant, until the evidence\nappeared in herself of the verity of the promise, as to the result of\n\"fervent, effectual prayer.\" A sermon of the celebrated President\nEdwards, read in a small, social meeting, arrested her attention, and\nbrought her to continued, deep, serious thinking, which ended, as she\nthought, in a new view of everlasting things. With all the sanguine\nfeelings of youth, she judged herself prepared to be united with the\nChurch; but owing to the unwillingness of her parents to risk the\npossibility of a premature profession of religion, this step was\ndelayed.\n\nIn connexion with this period of her life, it seems necessary to relate\nsome circumstances which took place with regard to a much loved sister\nof hers; not many years younger than herself. They had been so closely\neducated together, as to make them one in many of their views and\nfeelings.\n\nElizabeth, in giving an account of the exercises of her own mind on the\nsubject of religion, some time after they took place, said, that she\nexperienced an irresistible feeling of contempt for the concern which\nMargaret manifested, and concluded that she was indulging a mere\nhypocritical affectation; in consequence of which she was beginning to\nmake some observations to this effect, when, in a moment, a deep\nconviction fastened on her conscience, of the danger of resisting what\nmight prove to be the influence of the Holy Spirit. This impression\nresulted in a real concern for herself, and in views equally solemn with\nthose expressed by Margaret.\n\nThey both now made progress together in their inquiries and experience,\nand were a mutual help, rather than a hinderance to each other. Both\nsoon thought that they had obtained an interest in \"Him, whose blood\ncleanseth from all sin.\"\n\nIt appeared, however, soon after this, as if our fears with regard to\nMargaret were but too well founded. \"Because of manifold temptations,\"\nshe seemed to be taking a new hold on the world; but a state of things\nabout the same time, began with Elizabeth, which disciplined and humbled\nher spirit; and she was soon enabled to realize all the insufficiency\nand uncertainty of this world, as a portion.\n\nMany doubts with regard to the genuineness of the change which Elizabeth\ntrusted had taken place in her heart, increased by the weakness which\nrapidly declining health had induced, perplexed and troubled her, and\nmade her more and more unwilling to make a profession of religion. She\nhad witnessed some of the extravagances of revivals, and felt the danger\nof being deceived, and of \"having a name to live whilst she was dead.\"\n\nIn January, 1823, Margaret was married to the Rev. John Breckinridge,\nand returned with him to Kentucky, his native State, in the spring of\nthe same year. In consequence of a call which her husband received, to a\nchurch in Kentucky, (which he accepted,) they were soon after this\nsettled in Lexington. Her departure from her early home was her first\nreal trial. For although, through the course of several months, she had\ntaken a prospective view of this arrangement, with much buoyancy of\nspirits, as the time approached, every circumstance connected with a\nseparation from all the associations of her childhood and youth, seemed\nto produce a new and deeper impression, and seven or eight hundred miles\nappeared at length, as almost an interminable space. The sadness which\nirresistibly overspread her countenance, convinced her friends that\nwhen, in view of Mr. Breckinridge's first destination, she had given\nherself unreservedly to a foreign mission, she, like many others, little\nknew her own heart, and all the sacrifices which such a destination\ninvolved. And when it was seen expedient that this intention should be\nrelinquished by him, for a plan more eligible in the view of his fathers\nin the ministry, a release from this more enduring trial, formed no\nsmall part of the considerations which assisted in making her\nsubmissively bow to one so much more lenient. And indeed, she had reason\nto say, that goodness and mercy had followed her at every step. For this\nvery trial which sobered her countenance, made her heart better, and\nprepared the way for deeper self-examination, and probably more fervent\nprayer; and the result was, that with a trembling confidence she united\nherself with her husband's church in Lexington, a few months after he\ntook charge of it. From her letters, after this event, we learned that\nher connexion with the church took place at the same time--it is thought\non the same day--in which her sister Elizabeth, having been delivered\nfrom the many doubts which had clouded _her_ mind, made a profession of\nreligion in the church in Princeton. This co-incidence in providence,\nhaving occurred without any mutual intercourse or understanding on the\nsubject, seemed so consistent with the plans of Him who \"sees the end\nfrom the beginning,\" and who, from their first serious impressions,\nappeared to have united the lines of their experience until they ended\nin one gracious result, that it did much to confirm their friends in the\nhope, that a good \"work was begun in them which should be carried on.\"\nThey felt constrained to say, \"It is the Lord's doings and wonderful in\nour eyes.\"\n\nThe kind and affectionate family in Kentucky, of which she now made one,\nassisted much in alleviating the pressure of sorrowful recollections,\nand in making the resolution which she had formed of \"learning in\nwhatsoever state she was, therewith to be content,\" more practical, and\nmore enduring; and when Mr. Breckinridge was called to Baltimore in\n1826, although she was pleased with the prospect of getting nearer to\nher early home, she felt that a new tie had been formed which could not\nbe broken, even partially, without much pain. It was a source of much\ngrateful recollection to her, that she was not permitted to use any\nundue influence to lead her husband away from his congregation in\nLexington, to which she was indebted in so considerable a degree, for\nthe pleasant circumstances which surrounded her.\n\nHer health was remarkably firm, especially for one of her delicate\nappearance, for several years after her marriage, and during all the\ntime that her husband had a settled charge. In Baltimore, to which he\nremoved from Lexington, she seemed to realize with much gratitude, the\nparticularly pleasant circumstances in which her family was placed.\nSituated on the direct way between her husband's relatives, endeared to\nher by so many pleasant recollections, and the family of her youth, with\nboth of which she could have frequent intercourse, and in the midst of a\nkind circle of friends, not limited by the bounds of Mr. Breckinridge's\ncongregation, she was literally at home; and when the summons came to\ncall him to another sphere of labour in the Church, she was the last to\nbe persuaded that it was his duty to obey it, and reluctantly yielded to\nthe opinion of those whose judgment she honoured.\n\nFrom this time she may truly be said to have been a sacrifice to the\ninterests of the Church. The unsettling of her domestic duties and\nhabits, to which her temperament was particularly adapted, was,\nprobably, directly and indirectly at the foundation of those causes,\nwhich gradually but too surely undermined her health, and prepared her\nfor a premature grave. Her last change of residence, which placed her in\nPrinceton by the side of her paternal family, and amongst many of her\nyouthful associates, seemed to her to fill up the measure, as it\nregarded this world, of that providential goodness \"which had followed\nher all the days of her life;\" and she said, not long after it took\nplace, with a humility which was in itself an evidence of her gracious\nstate, \"I think, in view of all my mercies, there is a thankfulness\nexperienced which is not the natural growth of my own heart.\" To us who\nremain it is given to see, that these unusual comforts were mercifully\nintended to soothe the infirmities of a rapidly dissolving body, and\nsoften the approach of the last and most formidable enemy.\n\nSeveral attacks of disease in the course of two years, which threatened\nto be immediately fatal, were, by the aid of skilful medical treatment,\nhappily arrested, but not until their baleful effect had fastened on her\nfeeble body, and each had left her \"more a prey for death.\" And it was a\ncause of much thankfulness to her friends, that instead of one of those\nunexpected instant departures, which so frequently occur, and which in\nher case it was often feared would take place, the approach of death was\ngradual and mild, so as to involve no pain, and but little surprise.\n\nThe simplicity of her character appeared through all her last days,\nespecially after she ascertained that her end was not far off. Her\nwords were few, because she studied to utter none but \"the words of\ntruth and soberness;\" she seemed to feel that there _might be_ a parade\neven in dying.\n\nAfter a short conversation in her room a day or two before she departed,\non the subject of the unprofitableness of our best works, which we found\nhad deeply exercised her mind, she remarked with much emotion, a tear\nstarting to her eye, \"I feel the truth of these remarks;\" but, after a\npause, she said, \"I have _tried_ to do my duty as a wife and as a\nmother; I have _endeavoured_ to conduct the affairs of my family with\ndiscretion, and to instruct my children in the best things.\" She\nevidently clung to this as an evidence of grace, (and not at all as a\ncause of acceptance with God,) and as affording some hope for her\nchildren, when relied on in view of the promises of Him who says, that\nif this precious seed is sowed, grace shall insure the crop.\n\nHer Sabbath evenings, after the good old way of our puritan fathers, saw\nher with all her household, over whom she had any authority, gathered\naround her for the purpose of giving them that instruction which, with\nthe promised blessing, would save them from the paths of sin and folly\nin this world, and prepare them for enjoying the blessedness of another.\nAnd through the distractions of an unsettled life, and the hinderances\nexperienced in a large boarding house, in which several winters were\nspent with her family, she persevered as far as possible, in the\ninstruction of both children and servants in the week and on the\nSabbath, with a determination which both she and her friends thought had\nshortened her life.\n\nIn view of this peculiar faithfulness to her domestic duties, we are the\nmore willing to offer an apology for what appeared to some of her\nfriends, an indifference to various extra means; which in these last\ntimes have been esteemed needful for the awakening of a slumbering\nchurch.\n\nWhen her mind began to open to this subject, the glory of our revivals\nwas beginning to be tarnished. \"The enemy had begun to sow his tares.\"\nThe extravagance which so frequently attended them, had produced in her\nno little disgust for what she thought the mere machinery of religion.\nIn such circumstances, it is difficult to \"choose the good, and refuse\nthe evil.\" The cast of her mind was such, that parade in any thing, and\nespecially in the vital concerns, in which is involved our everlasting\ndestiny, irresistibly revolted her mind. And the errors in principle and\nin practice, which had been by these means insinuated into, and\ncorrupted the legitimate and professed doctrines and ordinances of the\nPresbyterian Church, greatly impaired her confidence in what many good\npeople esteemed genuine revivals of religion. Subsequent events have\nabundantly confirmed the wisdom of her early and deep distrust.\n\nAfter her constitution had been tried with another violent and unusual\nattack, in March, 1838, which prostrated nearly all her remaining\nstrength in a few hours, it was evident to many of her friends, that\nrecovery was no longer to be expected. Every means, however, were made\nuse of, that might in any way prove salutary; many of which, as has\noften occurred, were rather injurious than beneficial. As a last\nresource, a journey was commenced, for the purpose of trying the Springs\nof Virginia, so highly recommended to invalids. She was not permitted,\nhowever, to go beyond Philadelphia. Her physicians there, judging so\nlong a journey very hazardous, gently arrested it, by proposing a delay\nof a few days; thus endeavouring to obviate the effects of any\ndisappointment which she might experience. Her own views seemed,\nspontaneously, to meet theirs, and a quiet acquiescence was every day\nmore manifest. After a consultation of physicians, in which they agreed\nthat an effort might be safely made for her return to Princeton, the\nsweet complacency with which she said to a very kind friend, who was\nvisiting her, \"I am going home to-morrow,\" encouraged a hope that she\nhad realized her danger; and that _her_ will was gradually moulding to\nthe Divine will, and she preparing for a far better home.\n\nIt appeared as if she was permitted to get thus far on her journey, in\norder to gratify the feelings, and experience the renewed kindness of\nfriends, whom her husband had attached to his family, from his\ntemporary labours amongst them. The attention of these, and indeed many\nothers, whom their interesting circumstances were a means of winning to\nthem, is deeply felt in the family circle, of which she was a beloved\nmember; and which will continue to be felt, as long as her memory shall\nbe cherished amongst them.\n\nIt was with difficulty that she was removed to her own residence at\nPrinceton, a few days before she died, fully sensible that her departure\nwas not far off. One of her anxious friends, wishing to be more\nsatisfied of this, said: \"You know, my dear Margaret, how ill you are?\"\nA most emphatic \"O yes,\" silenced every remaining doubt.\n\nThe day before she died, the conversation leading to the subject of\ndeath, she said, \"I am only afraid of the article of death: I know that\nwhen this is over, I shall be in Jesus' arms.\" From one, so slow to\nspeak, these were encouraging words.\n\nA few hours after this, she awoke from a light sleep, with that sort of\nbewildered spirit, which is frequently experienced under circumstances\nof so much weakness, especially when accompanied with, perhaps, the\neffects of an opiate, and repealed the _name_ of a person, with which\nshe had been familiar in her childhood. She observed, \"what easy words!\"\nSome one present remarked--there are words equally easy. She said, \"tell\nme some.\" Upon being referred to a Psalm which had been spoken of the\nday before, she commenced, as having found something exceedingly\npleasant--\"The Lord is my shepherd\"--and continued to the end of this\nshort and interesting portion of the Word of God, in a tone of sweetness\nand solemnity, which impressed every one present, adding her testimony\nto the sweetness of the words. It appeared as if, while the world was\nfast receding, her character was rapidly finishing in the mould of this\nprecious Word.\n\nReason was continued to her until the last departing moment, when, after\na violent but short struggle, which seemed to arrest every mental\nexercise, except that which led her spirit immediately to \"Him who takes\naway the sting of death,\" the freshness of former years was restored to\nher complexion, which had been, for some months, suffused with\nfeverishness, and marked with suffering, and a calm and solemn composure\nsettled on her countenance, appearing full of meaning, which persuaded\nthose who were around her, that she had some communication to make. But\nher mouth was sealed, and her hand could no longer effect the gentlest\npressure. We were left to conclude, that when in her agony she had\ncried--\"Come, Lord Jesus--come quickly;\"--\"Lord Jesus receive my\nspirit,\" \"she was heard, in that she asked;\" and the freshness of\neverlasting youth, casting one parting ray upon her mortal countenance,\nhad passed upon her, and \"she had gone to be forever with the Lord.\"\n\n\"She being dead yet speaketh,\" and speaks, especially, to all who yet\nlive of her youthful associates. Many of them are, as she was, called to\nsustain the character of wife and mother, and their history in its\nprominent features, most probably resembles hers. Her course was marked\nwith much failure in duty, over which she mourned, and, in view of which\nshe seemed deeply humbled. She once said--many months before she\ndied--\"O! if the Lord were to send his bereaving commission into my\nfamily, I could never forgive myself for the manner in which I have\nfailed to improve the trust committed to me, and fulfilled the duties to\nwhich I have been called.\" Hear the voice which speaking, says, \"My dear\ncompanions in sin and infirmity, I leave you a poor example. But I\nexhort you to become believingly and affectionately acquainted with Him,\nwho has borne _me_ through the dark valley and shadow of death, and\n'presented me faultless before his Father, clothed in his righteousness,\nand washed in his blood.'\"\n\n\"Ye cannot, though _Christian_ wives and mothers, do the things ye\nwould;\" but there is a fountain opened, in which your poorest desires\nand efforts, though like filthy rags, \"may be washed and made white, and\nmade instrumental for much good.\" Point this out to your children,\n\"talk to them in the house and by the way, in sitting down and rising\nup,\" of this only hope of perishing sinners. And lest, after all, they\nshould come short, plead, unceasingly, the promises for them, and take\nhold by faith of the blessing. O! how will you rejoice if you can say,\n\"Here am I Lord, and the children thou hast given me.\" In order to\nsustain your character as wives, aim continually, by prayer, to obtain\nthe gift of a meek and quiet spirit, \"which in the sight of God is of\ngreat price, that even the unbelieving husband may be won to the\nknowledge of the truth.\"\n\nMay such exhortations from our departed friends, reach us all, and be\nsanctified to us--and may we \"exhort _one another_, daily,\" so that our\nsocial intercourse may be made the means of grace, and assist in\npreparing us for our last great change!\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nADDITIONAL ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE LIFE AND CHARACTER OF MRS. MARGARET\nBRECKINRIDGE.\n\nWHOEVER has been called, in the midst of life, to part with 'the wife of\nhis youth'--if these pages should chance to meet his eye--will _know_\nwhat the writer has felt. Such a bereavement must be _felt_, in order to\nbe understood. There is a shock in its coming for which no foresight or\nsubmission can fully prepare us. There is a chasm created by it which\nnothing can fill. It is a new experience, replete with dreadful\ndesolation. It is a wonderful attribute of grace that can make these\ngreat afflictions so \"work _for us_ an exceeding and eternal weight of\nglory,\" that the most weighty and enduring of them all, shall seem, in\ncomparison, to be \"light, and but for a moment.\" Yet \"no chastisement,\"\n(especially such as this) \"for the present seemeth to be joyous, but\nrather grievous.\" God intends that we shall be _moved_ by such\nvisitations. The call which they utter is too costly to be lightly felt.\nThe stroke is too deep to be hastily healed. \"To _faint_ when we are\nrebuked of Him,\" is to reproach the goodness of God, when we ought to\n\"lay hold on his strength.\" But insensibility to his afflictive\ndispensations is to \"despise\" the methods of his grace. And who can fail\nto feel at such a moment! To find one's self strangely, and after all\nthe warnings mercifully given, suddenly left alone; in the midst of life\nto be broken in twain; to come to a time when you may no longer pray\nwith her whose presence sweetened devotion itself; no more pray for her\nwho many a year has been the dear burden of all your intercessions; to\nsee your orphan babes left desolate, and enhancing your woe, by being\nunconscious of their own; yea, \"to sorrow most of all\" for those dread\nwords, \"that you shall see her face no more!\" This is sorrow! If it were\npossible, and being so, were right to ask it for others, we might pray\nfor our readers, that they may be forever ignorant of our experience.\nBut we know that every house is appointed to such a sorrow, sooner or\nlater. They who are yet to pass through these deep waters, if they\ncannot now fully enter into our trials, may at least be expected to\nexcuse this humble tribute to the dead, as an amiable weakness.\n\nBut it is not bleeding affection, merely, which has prompted us to add\nto the foregoing brief narrative, these imperfect illustrations of the\nlife and character of Mrs. Margaret Breckinridge. The bereaved children\nhaving been early called to lose a mother's care, justly claim of\nsurviving friends to preserve her image that they may gaze on it, and\nher example that they may imitate it, in after life. It is a cruel\naddition to an orphan's lot, to consign to the tomb even the memory of\nthe dead. We refer not to the indecent and revolting haste with which\nevery memorial of the deceased is swept into oblivion by those who,\nstudious of new relations, are faithful only to forget. Such a spirit is\nabhorrent to every sentiment of humanity and religion. But it often\nhappens that the disconsolate survivor, for a season careless of all\nthings but of grief, neglects to treasure and record what God gave in\npeculiar trust to him--for the good of others. That godly example, which\nit cost the toils and the trials of a life to exhibit, ought not to be\npermitted to perish from the world. That \"death of the saints,\" which\n\"is precious in the sight of the Lord,\" and which so gloriously shows\nforth his praise, is worthy of a monument that time cannot consume.\nThese should live! We should embalm them in the memory of the heart. We\nshould hand them down in the tradition of faithful love. We should\nrecord them in a household book, if not publish them to the world--in\nhonour of Jehovah; in memory of the beloved dead; and for the good of\nthose who, even while they were spared to them, were too young to know\ntheir value. It is the memory of the wicked alone which God has doomed\nto rot; or if it live, to stand as a beacon on the brow of death.\n\nThere is another consideration of great tenderness and force by which we\nhave been influenced in making these sketches. Woman dwells, to speak\nso, in the shade of retirement; and not like man, in the blaze of public\nlife. In the household she sits enthroned, the weaker vessel, but the\nstronger power. Yet the domestic circle, in a great degree,\ncircumscribes her influence; shuts in her character. Her refinement--her\npatience--her humility--her cheerfulness in trial--her fortitude--her\nreadiness to forgive--her faithful, constant love--her self-devotion to\nher children--her personal charms--her domestic virtues--her Christian\ngraces--which make her\n\n     \"The light and music of our happy homes,\"\n\nare little known beyond the narrow boundary of her own family, on which\nthey continually rest, \"like the dew of Hermon that descended upon the\nmountains of Zion.\" It is not less so with her domestic trials--with her\nperplexing domestic duties, as she meekly toils in \"patient continuance\"\namidst their innumerable detail, and ever returning round. Now while the\nfull disclosure and rewards must be reserved to the great day of final\naccount, it is a special duty, on proper occasions, to bring such\nexcellence to view. Without our care, this never will be done, since the\ngraces that most adorn, are the most retiring. By an affectionate\ndiligence in this service, a thousand pearls might be brought from the\nrecesses of domestic life, and added to the too scanty stock of\nmemorable worthies. At least, we ought not to make oblivion the penalty\nof domestic virtue. On the other hand, the doing of proper justice to\nreal female merit, would most effectually rebuke that assurance of\ncoarse and fanatic women, who, in the insulted name of God, assume the\nprerogative, and attempt the offices of the stronger sex--forgetting\nthat the immodesty which is offensive to all men, can never be an\noffering pleasing to a God of purity and order. By presenting to mankind\nexamples of Christian women revolving in orderly beauty, and shining\nwith mild lustre in their appointed course, we not only preserve the\nmemory of those who rest from their labours, but we diffuse their\ninfluence abroad. If we may but do justice to the subject of these\nnotices, she would be herself the only being likely to complain, for she\nshrunk with instinctive sensibility from every such disclosure of her\nretiring character.\n\nWithout repeating what has been said in the first chapter, we proceed to\nfill up the narrative given therein, by additional notices, which some\none ought to furnish, and which a parent could not.\n\nIt was God's peculiar mercy to Margaret (Miller) Breckinridge, that she\ncame into life under parental influence so admirable in all respects,\nthat she may be said to have been born and reared in a family, which,\nlike that of Aquilla and Priscilla, \"_had a church in the house_.\" She\nenjoyed, in its happiest form, a domestic Christian education, having\nthe BIBLE for the basis of knowledge; the Parents for instructors; the\nfamily fire-side for the school of manners; and the royal law of love\nand truth, as the standard and source of all true politeness. Truly it\nis a goodly spectacle in these days of pretension, and vulgar parade; of\nshallow learning, and degenerate manners, to behold here and there a\nmother in Israel, after \"the manner of the olden time,\" training her\nlittle flock without the aids of modern parties, fashions, vain\naccomplishments, and earthly tinsel; waiting with them day by day at the\ndoor-posts of that wisdom by which grace is poured into the lips, and\nmien, as well as heart--where \"woman indeed becomes the glory of man;\"\n(1 Cor. xi. 7,) and then to see her lead them forth into life, from\nthese sacred shades, polished after the similitude of a palace.[3] Such\na school was well fitted to form the mind, refine the manners, and\nunder God to save the soul of our lamented friend. God had been pleased\nto endow her with an unusual measure of personal beauty, and great charm\nof character and mind. So that as soon as she entered into society,\nwhich she did with great reserve, she attracted much attention, and was\nuniversally admired. These things combined, might have been expected,\nespecially in early life, to draw her into the world; and lead her away\nfrom the humbling and self-denying religion of her father's house. But\neven before she gave her heart to God, there was an inimitable\nsimplicity in her character, manner, and dress, which evinced either a\ntotal unconsciousness of her attractions, or a noble superiority to\nhuman praise. Her good taste, and the better principles of the Gospel,\nenabled her in all her after life, notwithstanding the many temptations\nto which she was exposed, to exhibit the same transparent and lovely\nexample.\n\n     [3] The following passages are so graphic, that it would seem as if\n     our day had set for the likeness, though they were written two\n     thousand six hundred years ago:--\"Moreover the Lord saith, because\n     the daughters of Zion are haughty, and walk with stretched forth\n     necks, wincing as they go, and making a tinkling with their feet:\n     Therefore the Lord will smite with a scab the crown of the head of\n     the daughters of Zion: The Lord will take away in that day the\n     bravery of their tinkling ornaments Footnote: about their feet, and\n     their cauls, and their round tires like the moon, the chains, and\n     the bracelets, and the mufflers, the bonnets, and the ornaments of\n     the legs, and the head-bands, and the ear-rings, the rings, the\n     changeable suits of apparel, and the mantles, and the whimples, and\n     the crisping pins, and the glasses, and the fine linen, and the\n     hoods, and the veils.\"--Isaiah iii. chap. Behold the contrast! 1\n     Peter iii. 1-6. 1 Timothy ii. chap. 9-10.\n\n\nHER RELIGIOUS CHARACTER.\n\nThe work of the Spirit was early begun in her heart; but it was for some\ntime resisted. Our acquaintance with her began just as she was closing\nher domestic education, (in her sixteenth year,) and almost before she\nhad looked this evil world in the face. In 1820 she became decidedly\nserious; and after several months of deep religious impression,\nexpressed a trembling hope of an interest in the Divine Redeemer. At\nthis time she was strongly disposed to make a public profession of\nreligion; but the salutary caution of her parents induced her to\npostpone it to a future occasion. Subsequently to this, the extreme fear\nwhich she ever after cherished, of self-delusion in religious exercises;\nthe high standard of Christian character which she had proposed to\nherself; and her strong conviction of the frequent and very hurtful\ninconsistencies of many professors of religion; influenced her, in the\nend to defer that solemn step to a distant day. That day, as stated in\nthe narrative, did not arrive until after her marriage, her removal to\nKentucky, and her settlement as the wife of a pastor. In the mean time,\nhowever, it cannot be doubted, that the grace of God had taken\npossession of her heart. And when finally she did publicly connect\nherself with the people of God, her tenderness of heart, her\nself-distrust, her deep humility, her child-like simplicity, and\ntransparency of Christian character, condemned her _only_ for a delayed\nprofession, and left few fears for her sake in any bosom but her own.\n\nShe was in a remarkable measure devoted to the Word of God. Her\nextraordinary memory faithfully stored with its rich treasure in early\nyouth, vividly retained the chief part of it through life. The Psalmody\nof Dr. Watts, her favourite author in that department, she had almost\nwholly at her command. And with the Commentary of the inimitable Matthew\nHenry, a Latin and a French Bible, and a Harmony of the Gospels at her\nside, she daily and most devoutly searched the Scriptures. Clarke on the\nPromises, was also a favourite book, especially in her last days; and\nthe Pilgrim's Progress was her companion to the \"water's edge,\" where\nher _real_ visions of the celestial city enabled her to lay the sweet\nDreamer by, as the Parting Pilgrim did his crutches, when on the bank of\nthe river he saw \"chariots of fire\" to bear him to the _Pearly Gates_.\nHer diligence in studying the Bible, without in the least degree\nneglecting her domestic duties, (and even in the days of her feeblest\nhealth,) was truly wonderful. When a subject specially interested her,\nshe compiled and collated all the leading passages of the Bible upon it;\noften writing them out at great length, and preserving them for\nreference on future occasions. Indeed, so far did she carry her\ninterested inquiries into the various parts of the Old and New\nTestament, and especially into the life of Christ, that she drew out a\nharmony of the Gospels with her own hand; the better to confirm her\nknowledge of the true order and relation of the events of his history.\n\nShe was a most faithful hearer of the preaching of the Gospel. Her\nluminous face cheered the progress of the herald of the Lord, and marked\nthe deep measure of her personal interest in the message from the skies.\nSince her decease, we have found numerous briefs of sermons which she\nhad heard at different periods of her life, from those whom she most\nadmired. Some of these were delivered by Dr. James P. Wilson, and some\nby her father, others by Dr. Green, but chiefly by the venerable and\nhonoured friend whose tribute to her memory is affixed to this Memoir.\nHe was undoubtedly her most esteemed instructor from the sacred desk.\nHis inimitable simplicity, vivacity, richness, and force of truth,\nalways carried her understanding and her affections along with him; and\nthose appeals which were most searching and simple, were most treasured\nand admired.\n\nTo her refined and candid spirit, nothing was more detestable than\nreligious parade. As it is intimated in the former chapter, it sometimes\nserved to repel her from things and people that were good, but savoured\nof religious cant. She was especially shocked with the numberless and\npainful examples of female impropriety in this way, which our age has\ndisclosed. But in all the appropriate walks of Christian females, and in\nevery becoming expression of their feelings and influence, though\ndiffident of herself, she promptly took her part. Perhaps her most\ncherished occupation in the service of others, was that of a\nSunday-school teacher. Here she rejoiced in the work of her hands. Here,\nwithout indelicacy or pretension, she could use the word of God, in his\nhouse, and on his day, to teach the little children, whom like her Lord,\nshe so much loved to take in her arms and bless. She had for this\nservice uncommon adaptation in the vivacity of her mind, in the charm of\nher manner, and especially in the rich store of her Biblical knowledge.\nShe continued this relation after she became a wife, and a mother; and\nthe tenderness of a Christian mother's love seemed to be transferred to\nthe little commonwealth of the Sabbath-school.\n\nWe shall never forget the animation and delight with which she\ncommunicated to us, two years before her decease, the account of a visit\nwhich had been paid her very recently, by a highly respectable young\ngentleman, then attached to a learned profession, the son of a\ndistinguished public man, who had been a member of her Sunday-school\nclass in Princeton, fifteen years before!\n\n\nHER DEDICATION TO THE WORK OF FOREIGN MISSIONS.\n\nIt was not long after the first experience (as was hoped) of the grace\nof God in her heart, that the relation was formed between herself and\nthe writer of these pages, which, by its consummation and close, became\nin succession the crowning joy and the absorbing sorrow of his life.\n\nWhile this interesting event, combined with other causes, was made the\noccasion (from an excess perhaps of delicacy on her part) of retarding\nher public profession of religion, it led to an early and very decisive\ntrial of her Christian principles in another form. At this time the\nfriend whom she so much honoured by her affection, was devoted to the\nwork of Foreign Missions; and he had solicited her hand with the\ndistinct expression, both to herself and her venerable parents, of such\na purpose. This necessarily called her to consider the question of a\npersonal engagement in this work. She met and decided this question with\na promptitude and nobleness of Christian resolution which surprised even\nthose who knew her best; and though in the providence of God she was\nspared the expected trial of separation for life from her family and\ncountry, yet the unreserved dedication of herself to the Missionary\ncause which her Redeemer enabled her to make, gave elevation to her\nChristian character, and prepared her for the trials scarcely less\nsevere to which she was called in the domestic field. It was on the\nground of her having thus dedicated herself, that with so much\nself-oblivion, and even cheerfulness, she encountered the many\ndifficulties of which we are now to speak.\n\n\nHER SACRIFICES FOR THE CHURCH OF GOD.\n\nBy a train of events over which we had no control, and in the\ninterpretation of which we were permitted to enjoy the direction of the\nChurch, (it would be needless to recite them here,) we were hindered\nfrom indulging the desire to \"go far hence to the Gentiles.\" But the\n_principle_ of dedication for life was settled; and hence it was from\nthe first, understood and acted on at all times, that other things being\nequal, the field at home in which there was opportunity to do most for\nthe conversion of the heathen, was always to be preferred, if offered by\nthe Lord of the harvest. Her first and second settlements could scarcely\nbe considered as giving occasion to many _sacrifices_. Lexington,\nKentucky, was in the bosom of her husband's native state. There, in the\ngarden of America, surrounded by a great circle of the most affectionate\nkindred and friends, and in a city remarkable as the Athens of the west\nfor its refinement and general intelligence, and connected with a most\nkind and worthy congregation, Mrs. B. felt, that even separation from\nthe home of her youth, was a form of trial so softened by her\ncircumstances, that it was converted into a mercy.\n\nIn our removal to the interesting and important city of Baltimore, we\nfelt that goodness and mercy followed us, changing our abode, but\naugmenting the number of our friends, and opening to us new and\neffectual doors of usefulness. Her attachment was very strong to both\ncities; she left each with regret; but still referring the decision to\nothers in whose wisdom and affection she confided, she cheerfully obeyed\ntheir successive summons to depart. It was in leaving the latter city\nthat her sacrifices for the Church more especially commenced. At this\neventful period, (the summer of 1831,) it was found that there were more\nthan one thousand congregations in the Presbyterian Church without a\npastor, not to mention the immeasurable destitution of the heathen\nworld. To supply this immense demand required, in addition to the very\ninadequate means already in use, a greatly enlarged and quickened effort\nof the entire Church. This necessity was deeply felt by the General\nAssembly of 1831, and led to the re-organization by that body of its\nBoard of Education. In the solemn providence of God, the writer of these\nsketches was called to fill the office of Corresponding Secretary and\nGeneral Agent for that Institution. He found it impossible to resist\nwhat appeared to be the voice of God speaking through his Church;\nthough in yielding to it he was constrained to dissolve forever the\nsacred tie which bound him to a beloved people, and to pass from the\nendearments of domestic and Pastoral life, to incessant toil and travel\nin the wide and homeless world. She foresaw, and with keen anticipation\nfelt, all the trouble which such a step must bring upon herself and her\nlittle household. But the decision of all her friends, excepting the\nkind people we were about to leave, was in favour of removal. She\nremembered her Missionary vows. She saw in it the sweetness as well as\nthe severity of the cross, and without a murmur meekly bowed to the\nburden of the Lord. In this service, which continued for nearly five\nyears, she shared; and like an angel, soothed the trials of the work.\nThe comforts of domestic life were almost annihilated, either by\nincessant separations, or the nameless discomforts of a constant absence\nfrom home. During one entire year her house was occupied by her but _six\nweeks_, the rest being spent in hotels, and boarding houses, and\nsteamboats, and stages, with occasional intervals of repose in the bosom\nof related or attached families scattered through the wide field of her\nvisits from the Mississippi to the Hudson. Yet never did woman shine\nwith more lovely lustre at home; never was woman more indisposed to step\nfrom this, her undisputed and delightful empire, into the confusion and\nfolly of this selfish and evil world. Yet did she give up all, and\nconsent to erect her domestic altar in the wilderness, and gather her\nlittle fold on the highway, for Jesus' sake. When weary of a year of\ntravel, undertaken to shun a year of separation, she returned to occupy\nand order her solitary home. There she was constrained, though both\ntender and inexperienced, \"to guide her house\" alone; and to receive her\nhusband only as an occasional visitant. Still, she never murmured; nor\nwould we complain. But faithful history--now that she rests from her\nlabours, requires this narrative; and God permits the record of \"_those\nworks which follow_\" such \"_as die in the Lord_.\" Thus, for five years,\nwere kept up the alternations of these affecting trials. They were\nrelieved, it must devoutly be acknowledged, by the unremitting\nattentions of those kind and lovely families in Philadelphia, whose\nvirtues bound them to us by better ties than those of earthly\nkindred--as \"Zion's friends, and ours;\" whose reward we will not attempt\nto take out of a Saviour's hands by our poor praises; and whose\ndispleasure we shall only then be sure of incurring, when we attempt to\nunveil to the public eye, the authors of so much disinterested and\nuntiring goodness. The same reference is due to very many families in\nthe city of New York, in which, for several successive years, she passed\nthe winters with her husband. He who thus imperfectly attempts to record\nhis gratitude, knew her worth so well, that he cannot wonder that such\nfriends should love her; and he feels it his duty here to say, that any\nportion of success in the work herein referred to, is under God, largely\nowing, not only to her influence on his labours, but to the charm which\nshe threw upon every circle with which she mingled, and the interest she\nkindled in all the persons and objects which interested her. When, at\nthe end of two years, he felt overwhelmed with the review of her\ndomestic trials, and was strongly moved to abandon a work which made\nthem inevitable, _she_ earnestly resisted the thought of change; and\nwith generous self-devotion urged her husband forward in a work which,\nthough painful to her feelings, was in her view useful to the Church,\nand pleasing to its glorious Head. As her impressions were those of all\nher friends, and apparently of the Church at large, and as the Board\nitself kindly relaxed some of the severer features of our trials, we\nwere confirmed in the conviction that it was our duty to persevere, lest\nwe should incur the divine displeasure, \"_by being weary in\nwell-doing_.\"\n\nWhen, however, the indications of divine Providence in the spring of\n1835 seemed plainly to say, that our work for the Board of Education was\ndone, and that we ought to enter the door opened for us at Princeton,\nshe was the last to see the duty of a removal; and though her parental\nhome was there, and though her heart and her wearied nature cried aloud\nfor rest, she would not allow any reasons for the change, to be drawn\nfrom her wishes or her sacrifices, and to the last, rather _submitted_\nto, than _heartily approved_ of, the new relation.\n\nBut how deep are the ways of God! Scarcely had she time to establish\nherself in her new home at Princeton,[4] when another and loud call to\nan agency, directly in behalf of _Foreign Missions_, was pressed upon\nus. Though at this period her health had become evidently far more\ndelicate, she heard and heeded again the voice of her Saviour; and still\nrecalling the Missionary vow, offered herself again a willing sacrifice\non the altar of God. In deciding this momentous question (in the winter\nof 1838, after having spent but eighteen months in Princeton, nearly\nhalf of which was occupied by her husband in active agency in behalf of\nthe funds, library, &c. of the Theological Seminary,) we found\nourselves incapable of being instrumental in recalling her _still again_\nto the commotion, desertion at home, and incessant cares, of another\nagency. Three months therefore were given to the important work, and the\noffer of the office finally declined. Even here however, she persisted\nin referring the decision to _public relations_ alone, leaving all\npersonal considerations out of view. And though fast approaching her end\n(what at that time none of us knew) she spontaneously put herself at the\ndisposal of the friends of the Board of Foreign Missions, for her part\nof any service which might be required of her husband, whether it was in\nextensive journeys with him, or separation from him, or a winter's\nsojourn with him and her children in the city of New York. For the\nfirst, hoping it might invigorate her health, she was actually\nfurnished; and when that was abandoned for the last, she repaired, with\nthe spirit of her Master in her heart, to meet the trials it induced. It\nwas in the fresh recollection of the parting scene, on her way thither,\nthat the following sentences were addressed to the writer by the Rev.\nDr. Alexander.\n\n     [4] It is at once a remarkable indication of the nobleness of those\n     Philadelphia friends already named, and of the extent to which her\n     worth and her sacrifices were appreciated, that on being informed\n     of our final purpose to remove to Princeton, they united in the\n     purchase of a commodious dwelling, which was presented to Mrs.\n     Breckinridge and her children. It is true, one object in view was,\n     the accommodation of the Professor (for the time) of Pastoral\n     Theology and Missionary instruction in the Seminary. But the terms\n     of the gift are specific; and when we attempted to alter the\n     direction of this munificent testimonial, so as to make it the\n     _property of the Institution_, it was peremptorily declined; and\n     the deed was drawn in the name of Margaret Breckinridge and her\n     children.\n\n\"I cannot conclude, without a word to dear Mrs. Breckinridge. I admire\nher ready submission to the calls of Providence. For although she cannot\nhelp dropping the silent tear, she makes no complaint, but shuts up her\ncomfortable house, leaves her home and her friends, and as cheerfully as\nshe _can_, goes to live in a hotel, and among strangers. Well, she\nshall not lose her reward. For these sacrifices she shall have rich\ncompensation: and our sweetest earthly pleasure is in doing the will of\nour Heavenly Father.\" (Dated Princeton, December 17th, 1837.)\n\nAt the close of the winter we returned to Princeton, hoping that now God\nwould grant us a little rest in that quiet village and that delightful\nhome, where not \"_unaware we entertained an angel_.\" But ah! this\nblessedness was not long intended for us. Having done her work, (though\nstill we did not fear it,) she was soon to be taken to her rest and her\nreward on high.\n\n\nHER LAST SICKNESS AND DEATH.\n\nHer last sickness was of a protracted and very interesting character.\nWhen she returned from New York, she was delicate and her state of\nhealth was mysterious, but not yet alarming even to her physicians. Very\nsoon after this, she had a violent attack, which in a short season\nprostrated her frame, and, disclosing a peculiar complication of\ndiseases, overwhelmed every mind in the family, but her own, (she was\ncalm,) with the most gloomy apprehensions of her danger.\n\nAt the close of the winter term of the Theological Seminary, (May\nfirst,) it was our anxious desire to take her to the Red Sulphur Springs\nin Virginia. But it was too early in the season; and being yet doubtful,\nwhether this or that place would be useful or hurtful, it was agreed by\nher physicians to indulge her strongly expressed wish to try the waters\nof Saratoga. Thither therefore we went, pausing only a short time in the\ncity of New York for medical consultation.\n\nAt this time, she was a most interesting object to all who saw her. Her\ndebility was so extreme that she was borne from place to place in the\narms of her husband, which, from her delicate frame, it was easy to do.\nThe gentleness and patience with which she endured her sickness, the\ninimitable moral beauty of her countenance, and the general expression\nof frailty mingled with grace, excited the deepest interest wherever she\npassed.[5]\n\n     [5] There is poetic beauty in the Stanza of Southey's on the\n     portrait of Bishop Heber, written after his decease; and though\n     fanciful it is striking. Blessed be God our Redeemer, we have surer\n     marks of recognition in the heavenly world.\n\n          \"They too, will gaze\n           Upon his effigy\n           With reverential love,\n           Till they shall grow familiar with its lines\n           And know him when they see his face in heaven.\"\n\nAt Saratoga we spent a very quiet season of three weeks, (before the\ngreat hotels were opened, or the crowds had arrived) at the house of a\nmost kind and deserving Christian woman, Mrs. Taylor, whose unceasing\nattentions greatly conduced to soothe sufferings which God had pleased\nshould not be arrested. During this visit she used the waters freely, as\na beverage, and in the bath, with no apparent _injury_, except that it\nevidently disclosed the fatal symptoms of her malady. She was able\nalmost every day, to take gentle rides in the open air, and frequently\nto mingle with the family. But her chamber was her sanctuary. There she\nreclined, feeding on the Word of God. She was especially delighted with\nClarke on the Promises. During that season of seclusion, she seemed to\ngrow in grace with a progress which surprised (while it delighted) us;\nfor we knew not then how near she was to the perfection of the heavenly\nrest. But it has since been interpreted to us, by the event, as one of\nGod's peculiar mercies. What made this the more pleasing evidence of\ngrace was, that she did not know her own danger. It was the power of\nreligion poured upon her spirit by Him who was \"hastening to make her up\namong his jewels.\" At one time, she said--\"Oh, yes, pray that the\n_distance_ between God and me may be taken away.\" And after uniting,\nwith the most affecting solemnity and tenderness in the prayer which was\noffered, she at its close expressed _aloud_ her joy in the exercise, (a\nthing most unusual with her) and her delight in God her Saviour, who\n_draweth nigh_. On another occasion, after hearing some of the promises\nof _healing_ to the body, as collected by Clarke, she seemed for a\nmoment to be musing, she then gently said: \"My dear----I am like the\npoor woman who had spent all her living upon physicians, neither could\nbe healed of any; but rather grew worse. _My hope is in the Great\nPhysician!_\"\n\nSince we have been calm enough to review the various stages of her last\nsickness in relation to her religious exercises, it has been a subject\nof deep regret, and of no little self-reproach, that we had not made the\nattempt at recording, as they were uttered, some of the deeply affecting\nexpressions of her Christian principles and feelings. But the tumultuous\nhour of hope and fear, and hurried, anxious watching at the bed of\ndeath, is not the time for cool calculation. Some of the most affecting\nparts of such scenes are incapable of being written down, even by one\nnot interested in the sufferer. Nay, more--like the voices which John\nheard from heaven in Patmos, the Spirit seems to say of them, \"_write\nthem not_.\" These are \"joys with which the stranger intermeddleth not.\"\n(Prov. xiv. 10.) It is a sanctuary which no creature can enter. And then\nour beloved Friend, who was often afraid to whisper her religious joys\nto her Saviour, lest she should be found offering \"strange fire\" on his\naltar, seldom talked of her hopes, (though often of her sins,) to her\nnearest friends; and never, by _writing them_ down, put it in the power\nof posthumous publications to expose them to the view of others. We can\nonly, therefore, illustrate her religious character, at the stage which\nwe now approach, by broken fragments of thoughts and feelings, caught\nfrom her lips amidst the awful mercies of a dying hour.\n\nShe began at length, visibly to sink, when Dr. Freeman, of Balston,\nwhose skilful and kind attentions she enjoyed, (Dr. Steel, of Saratoga,\nhaving himself been recently removed by death,) strongly advised a\ndiscontinuance of the use of the waters, and an attempt to reach the Red\nSulphur Springs. For now the prevailing type of the disease had become\ndistinctly pulmonary; and the skill of physicians, and the healing\nwaters, and all the help of man were vain. Now, for the first time, we\nbegan to discern the dread reality of her approaching dissolution; and\nhad some foretaste of the _first_ anguish of such a loss.[6]\n\n     [6] The following touching stanzas do more real honour to their\n     illustrious author, (Lord Palmerston) than all the distinctions of\n     his high rank and public life.\n\n          Whoe'er, like me, with trembling anguish brings\n          His dearest earthly treasure to these springs;\n          Whoe'er, like me, to soothe distress and pain,\n          Shall court these salutary springs in vain:\n          Condemn'd, like me, to hear the faint reply,\n          To mark the fading cheek, the sinking eye--\n          From the chill brow to wipe the damps of death,\n          And watch in dumb despair the short'ning breath:--\n          If chance should bring him to this humble line,\n          Let the sad mourner know his pangs were mine.\n          Ordain'd to lose the partner of my breast,\n          Whose virtues warm'd me, and whose beauty bless'd;\n          Fram'd ev'ry tie that binds the heart to prove,\n          Her duty friendship, and her friendship love.\n          But yet, remembering that the parting sigh\n          Appoints the just to slumber, not to die,\n          The starting tear I check'd--I kissed the rod,\n          And not to earth resigned her, but to God!\n\nWith heavy hearts, but hastened steps, we returned to Princeton; whence\nalmost in despair, yet anxious to try any and all means for so great an\nend, we hastily set out with our meek sufferer for the Virginia Springs:\nbut as the previous narrative has recited, we were arrested at\nPhiladelphia. Here all was done by the assiduity and skill of her\nphysicians,[7] and the most tender and constant attentions of a great\nnumber of friends. But her divine Redeemer claimed her for himself. She\nreturned to Princeton, to bless her household, and to die. On the\nevening of June the 13th, she reached her children, and her earthly\nhome. On the morning of the 16th, a quarter before ten o'clock, with her\nreason unclouded, in a frame of calm and holy triumph which marked the\ndawning of heaven on her soul; with a meek prayer for permission to die,\nand with but a single pang, she bade the world farewell, and ascended to\nGod!\n\n     [7] Drs. Chapman and Meigs, to whom with Dr. Nelson of New York, we\n     all owe more for their unwearied and sympathizing care than we have\n     words to express.\n\nHer remains were attended to the grave by a very large and deeply\naffected assembly, after the delivery of the impressive funeral\ndiscourse affixed to this Memoir; where they rest by the side of her\nthree little children, two daughters and a son, removed by death before.\nThe like number and of the same sex, two daughters and a son, are left\nto the surviving parent, to mourn her loss, to treasure and imitate her\nexample, and, by the grace of the Saviour, to follow them to the skies,\nwhere the \"house now left desolate unto them\" shall be restored with\nadded bliss; and the little family thus divided in the midst of life,\nbeing reunited in pure and perfect love, be received into everlasting\nhabitations.\n\nA neat marble monument points to the spot where her dust reposes.\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nCLOSING REFLECTIONS.\n\nTHUS it has pleased our Heavenly Father to \"take away from us the desire\nof our eyes, with a stroke.\" The first impression of such a loss is that\nof _amazement_--overwhelming and bewildering the soul, and with strange\nhorror, destroying for a time, the power to feel. \"Deep calleth unto\ndeep--all thy waves, and billows have gone over me.\" Such is the abyss\nof grief! At such a time, our part is \"to be still\"--sitting, like the\nMarys, \"over against the sepulchre.\"\n\nWhen the disciples of John lost their earthly Master, \"they came and\ntook the body, and buried it, and went and told Jesus.\" This ought to be\nthe first act of every mourner, _to tell it unto Jesus_. With him we\nshall find both sympathy and support. And more than this: He resolves\nthe death of our friends into his own gracious sovereignty, when he\ncalls it, \"the coming of the Son of Man.\" Death loses its terror when it\nbecomes his act of grace. \"The death of his saints is precious in his\nsight,\" and is always ordered with a supreme regard to their\nblessedness, and his glory. So that the feeblest of his dying children\nmay confidently say, \"Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.\"\n\"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no\nevil; for Thou art with me.\"\n\nThere is a feeling about the death of our friends, which is made up in\npart of unbelief, and in part of that tender regard which is produced by\ntheir dependence on us through life. Those endearing relations which\nmake us their protectors, and supports, send their deep sympathies even\ninto the grave. Who of us that is a husband, or a parent, that does not\nfeel the horror of the separation aggravated by the spectacle of our\nhelpless kindred struggling alone in mortal strife with \"the king of\nterrors\"? We, to whom they have always looked for succour, are then as\nhelpless as they, in their extremest need. We cannot even share their\nagony. It is this which gives a nameless anguish to such a moment.[8]\n\n     [8] One of the most affecting scenes ever witnessed, was the death\n     of a little child, who, in the last moments, called on her mother\n     _to die with her_. This was the voice of nature. To this call the\n     heart would, but cannot respond. \"Here our father and mother must\n     forsake us.\"\n\nBut it is because we forget that \"when father and mother,\" and all they\nmost depended on in life, \"forsake them, then the Lord doth take them\nup.\" The Christian is never so little alone as on the verge of heaven.\nThe Lord of life is there. Underneath are the everlasting arms; and\nthrough all the terrors of the grave; and above all the tumult of that\nlast hour, the Shepherd's voice is heard, saying--\"IT IS I--BE NOT\nAFRAID.\" While some pass over Jordan on the wing, and some struggle\nthrough the waves, yet all safely pass. Not one of them shall perish,\nbut each appear in Zion before God.\n\nIt adds tenderness and force to these consoling hopes, that Jesus once\n\"tasted death himself.\" It moves us, that \"Jesus wept.\" But it gives a\nnew nature to death, that Jesus died! For while the _merit_ of _his_\ndeath takes the sting from ours, his presence in the tomb dispels all\nits terrors. Therefore, since Jesus died, let us consent to death; and\nsurrender at his call those most dear to us.\n\n       The graves of all his saints he blest,\n         And softened every bed--\n       Where should the dying members rest,\n         But with their dying head!\n\nIt must be sweet to lie in that grave which he has hallowed by his\npresence among the dead.\n\nOne of the considerations which should make us acquiesce in the removal\nof our beloved friends who die in the Lord, is this--that we are\nsuffering for their sakes; and that they could not be blessed without\nour sufferings. For their death, (the dread cause of all our grief,) was\nnecessary to their perfect and eternal blessedness. This thought ought\nto soften every pang. If we really love them, and if our sacrifices for\nthem while they were here below, were the fruit of our love, then we\nhave only to remember that this is one prolonged, supreme sacrifice for\ntheir sakes.--This reflection if properly pursued, would often turn our\nmourning into gladness.[9] And then, if this weight of sorrow that is\nlaid on us may but be duly improved and meekly borne; if it may not only\nmark the bliss of our friends begun on high, but be made by a wise and\ngood God conducive to our growth in grace--it will have in it the pledge\nof our everlasting re-union in heaven; and thus be an affliction doubly\nblessed.\n\n     [9] A lovely example of the power of this sentiment in subduing\n     grief, is given in the narrative of one of our American\n     missionaries. He and his fellow-labourer were alone in a barbarous\n     land, far away from any creature who cared for their Lord or for\n     them. Suddenly his friend was taken from him. In that awful moment\n     of desertion and anguish, after commending the parting soul to God,\n     and closing the eyes of the dead, _he kissed his cold lips, and\n     thought, \"What glory has already burst upon his view!\"_ In this\n     thought his sorrow was lost.\n\nBut the silencing, yea, elevating thought of all is, that it is _for\nJesus' sake_, we are called to suffer. \"_The Master_ is come and called\nfor her.\" It is indeed the richest of our earthly treasures. Our own\nlife were a far lighter offering. But for that reason we honour him the\nmore. It is our _Isaac_ that God calls for; and it is then indeed we\nhonour God when we can _offer_ like Abraham. We shall receive the\noffering back, if not as soon, as certainly--and at no distant day!\nWhen, therefore, He who laid down his life for us, asks for our richest\ngift, let us not call him a hard master, but give without a murmur.\n\nThe death of our friends should have the effect of bringing Heaven\nnearer to us. We ought to cultivate, if we may so speak, _domestic_\nviews of that blessed world to which we are so much honoured as to have\nsent up angels from our households. While all superstitious emotions are\ncarefully to be quelled, we are permitted to draw very nigh to them. We\nmay cherish their image in our memories and hearts; we still belong to\nthe same great communion--and all are members of that body of which\nJesus is the head. \"As death does not separate from the Lord, neither\ndoes it divide the saints from one another. Our spirit and theirs daily\nmeet at the one throne--they to praise, we to pray; therefore, in that\nsense, though we are absent in body, we are present in spirit.\"\n\nAnd the distance which lies between them and us is daily growing less.\nHow swiftly we travel, yea, fly, in all the speed of time! It may not be\nan inappropriate close to these meditations, to insert the family hymn,\nwith which the remnant of a bereaved household often close the day, and\ncomfort each others' hearts, at the hour when we feel most desolate.\n\n       Come let us join our friends above,\n         That have obtained the prize;\n       And on the eagle wings of love,\n         To joy celestial rise.\n\n       Let saints below his praises sing,\n         With those to glory gone;\n       For all the servants of our King,\n         In heaven and earth are one.\n\n       One family, we dwell in him,\n         One church above, beneath:\n       Though now divided by the stream,\n         The narrow stream of death.\n\n       One army of the living God,\n         To his commands we bow;\n       Part of the host have crossed the flood,\n         And part are crossing now.\n\n       Ten thousand to their endless home,\n         This solemn moment fly;\n       And we are to the margin come,\n         And soon expect to die.\n\n       Dear Saviour, be our constant guide,\n         Then when the word is given,\n       Bid the cold waves of death divide,\n         And land us safe in heaven.\n\nAnd now, in bringing to a close these very imperfect notices of a\nbeloved saint of God, it is proper to say, that much more might truly\nhave been added in reference to many points of her character, that would\nhave been proper, and interesting: as for example, her intellectual\nendowments; her extensive acquirements; her domestic life; her personal\naccomplishments. But we fear to indulge our feelings. Nor is it needful.\nFor it was her Christian character mainly which we designed to\nillustrate. Her love for the Redeemer, and her sacrifices for his sake,\nwere the jewels which adorned her on earth, and which lose not their\nlustre in death. It was the glory of all those qualities which so\neminently fitted her to attract the admiration of this world, that she\nmeekly laid them at the Saviour's feet. There also, we desire to leave\nthis humble tribute to one whose \"sun went down while it was yet day,\"\npraying that he who thus early fitted her for heaven, may by these poor\nmeans prolong her usefulness, and bless her memory on earth.\n\n\n\n\n  SUBMISSION:\n\n\n  A SERMON\n\n  OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF\n\n  MRS. MARGARET BRECKINRIDGE.\n\n\n  BY THE\n\n  REV. A. ALEXANDER, D.D.\n\n\n\n\nSERMON.\n\nPSALM XLVI. 10.\n\n\"Be still, and know that I am God.\"\n\n\nOMITTING all critical discussion of the true import of the text, I will\nconsider the words as addressed by Jehovah to his own people, when\nsuffering affliction under the strokes of his mighty hand. It may be\nconsidered as the language of authority; or of consolation. According to\nthe first view, it is as if the Almighty had said, \"Be still, and\nneither repine, nor rebel, for your affliction comes not from the dust,\nbut from me, your rightful Sovereign; to whom you owe absolute\nsubjection.\" If viewed in the sense last mentioned, then it will be as\nthough God, feeling compassion towards his afflicted saints, puts them\nin mind of the sure refuge which they had in him; as if he had said, \"Be\ncalm and unruffled, in the midst of all your overwhelming calamities,\nfor I am able to sustain you, and to deliver you by my Almighty arm.\"\n\"Be still, and know that I am God.\" In either case, the result, as to\nour duty, is the same. Unreserved submission is the thing enjoined, and\nthe reason to enforce the injunction is, \"_I am God_.\"\n\n\"Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and full of trouble. He\ncometh forth as a flower, and is cut down: he fleeth also as a shadow,\nand continueth not. His days are determined: the number of his years are\nwith thee; thou hast appointed his bounds, that he cannot pass.\" No\ncondition in this life is exempt from trouble. No bulwarks can be\nerected by kings and princes, strong enough, and high enough, to be a\nsafeguard against the shafts of adversity. In regard to this matter, the\nrich and the poor stand very much upon a level. \"Man is born unto\ntrouble as the sparks fly upward.\" Hence, this life has justly been\ndenominated, \"the vale of tears.\" Uninterrupted bliss cannot be found\nbeneath the skies. The righteous are not exempt, but many are their\nafflictions. Besides a participation in the common lot of humanity, they\nhave troubles peculiar to themselves. The dispensations of God towards\nhis own people, are, indeed, in covenant love and faithfulness, but they\nare not calculated to encourage them to take up their rest in this\nworld, but to render their path so thorny, and their bed so uneasy, that\nthey are continually admonished of their duty to set their affections on\nthings above, and to press forward as pilgrims to the possession of\ntheir heavenly inheritance.\n\nThe reasons which should persuade us to exercise unreserved and\nuncomplaining submission to the will of God, as manifested in the\ndispensations of his wise and righteous Providence, are at the same\ntime obvious and weighty. But, here, as in other cases, theory and\npractice are very different things. On this subject, we all can teach\nand inculcate what is right; but when it becomes necessary to practise\nour own lessons, we experience a sad deficiency. This is a school in\nwhich, sooner or later, we must all be learners; and it behoves us to\nuse diligence in preparing ourselves to endure trials with fortitude,\nand cheerfully to acquiesce in those painful events, which we cannot\navoid. Some persons, when overtaken by severe strokes of adversity, are,\nlike the bullock unaccustomed to the yoke, restive and rebellious; they\nresist the hand which presses them, and struggle to throw off the yoke.\nSuch a course is altogether unwise, and must be unsuccessful. \"Wo to him\nthat striveth with his Maker. Let the potsherds strive with the\npotsherds of the earth,\" but let not a feeble, sinful worm rise up in\nrebellion against the Almighty; for who hath hardened himself against\nhim and hath prospered? And when there is no open rebellion, there is\noften a spirit of discontent and murmuring, which, though smothered in\nthe breast, partakes of the nature of rebellion, and is the very\nopposite of cordial, filial submission. Every degree of this temper,\nwhether concealed or expressed, is exceedingly offensive to God, as we\nlearn from his word, and is so far from mitigating the evils which we\nsuffer, that it doubles their pressure; it makes even a light burthen\nintolerable.\n\nOthers again, endeavour to form habits of hardy insensibility; they seek\nrefuge from the keen arrows of affliction, in a stoical indifference.\nThey affect to contemn, as weak, and wanting in fortitude, all those who\nseem to suffer exquisitely under the strokes of adversity. Much\npractical progress never can be made in this unnatural system. Whatever\nmen may profess or pretend, nature will assert her claims, and if her\nfeelings may be for a season suspended, she will again resume her sway;\nand indeed the equanimity acquired by these principles, has been more in\nappearance than reality; and the greatest adepts in eradicating the\nsusceptibilities of our nature, have only learned the art of\nsuccessfully concealing the emotions of their bosoms from the\nobservation of others.\n\nBut while some endeavour to obtain relief by rendering themselves\ninsensible to the calamities of life, and aim at braving the storms of\nadversity, there are others, who err on the opposite extreme. Under the\nchastising hand of God, they are prostrated in the dust; not in\nhumility, but in despondency; their sorrow not only casts them down, but\noverwhelms them. They find themselves sinking in deep waters, where\nthere is no standing. Such persons not only put away all hope, but cease\nfrom all exertion, and abandon themselves to grief; forgetting the\nexhortation which speaketh unto them as to children, \"My son, despise\nnot thou the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of\nhim.\"\n\nThere is but one effectual remedy for the evils to which man is heir,\nwhile on his earthly pilgrimage; and that is RELIGION--true religion,\nnot merely apprehended and approved in its theory, but deeply felt, and\ncordially embraced in the inmost soul. This is the only principle of\nsufficient potency to tranquillize the perturbations of the soul when\ndeeply afflicted. This only can sustain the mind, ready to sink into\ndespair. This furnishes the only medicine which heals the anguish of the\nbroken heart; the only balm which relieves the wounds made in the spirit\nby painful bereavements. Here the superlative value of true religion is\nrealized; and this principle of heavenly origin is found to possess a\npower, not only to sustain the soul under the heaviest pressure of\naffliction, but to pour sweet consolations into the desolate and\ntroubled heart. Here, indeed, is opened a fountain of refreshing\nstreams, in the midst of this dreary wilderness, of which the poor\nheathen had no knowledge, and of which the men of the world are still\nignorant.\n\nThese blessed effects of genuine piety are not produced by any\nirrational process, or blind impulse; but by the contemplation of truths\nadapted to the end. Consolations which do not rest on this firm\nfoundation, will ever be found precarious, and commonly evanescent.\nBuoyant hope and cheerful resignation must have the solid pillar of\ntruth on which to repose. It will therefore be consonant to our present\npurpose, to bring more distinctly into view, some of those important\ndoctrines, the practical belief of which leads to the exercise of\nChristian submission.\n\nThat which lies at the foundation of the whole, is, that God exists, and\ngoverns all events by his providence. Whatever men profess, or\nspeculatively believe, as it relates to the actual presence and\noperative providence of God, there is undoubtedly much practical atheism\nin the hearts of men. Most feel and act as if there was no God, and as\nif all things happened by chance. This is remarkably manifest when they\nare suddenly cast down into deep affliction. They recognise not the hand\nthat smites them. They seem to think, that affliction cometh from the\ndust, and that trouble springeth out of the ground. In all their bitter\nlamentations, their views extend no farther than to the proximate causes\nof their distress; and they often experience the bitterest regret,\nbecause they did not pursue a different course, or make use of different\nmeans from what they did; although with the knowledge possessed, they\ncould not have done better. Under the same short-sighted views, they are\nprone to censure others who have had an innocent instrumentality in\nbringing about the events by which they are distressed. All this arises\nfrom the want of faith in Divine Providence; and too much of this\nunbelief cleaves to the pious themselves, and greatly aggravates their\ncalamities. But when their faith in the being and providence of God is\nstrong, they see his hand in every thing good and evil, which occurs;\nthey behold him operating through all nature, and giving efficacy to all\nsecond causes; and are as fully persuaded that he directs the fall of a\nsparrow, as the overthrow of a kingdom. This doctrine of an universal\nand particular Providence, is the foundation of our trust in God, for\nsecurity and sustenance. How beautifully did Christ teach this lesson to\nhis disciples, when he said, \"Behold the fowls of the air, for they sow\nnot, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly\nFather feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they? And why take ye\nthought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow;\nthey toil not, neither do they spin; and yet I say unto you, that even\nSolomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore,\nif God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow\nis cast into the oven, shall He not much more clothe you, O ye of little\nfaith?\"\n\nWhen the dark and cloudy day of adversity, or the long and tempestuous\nnight comes upon us--when our comforts are suddenly blasted, and our\nbrightest earthly prospects are obscured, then, instead of repining or\ndesponding, we should betake ourselves to the doctrine of an overruling\nProvidence. The dispensation may be dark, and afflictive, and even\nprofoundly mysterious; yet we should think, it is God that hath done it.\nThese are his footsteps. This is the operation of his hand. He it is,\n\"who formeth the light and createth the darkness; that maketh peace, and\ncreateth evil.\" The more, in such circumstances, we look beyond all\ncreatures, and second causes, and fix our thoughts and our faith, on God\nalone, the sooner shall we find composure of mind. If we fully believe\nthat God is in the storm, and that it is his voice which is heard in the\nthunder, and his face which is seen in the flashing of the lightning,\nthe less shall we be terrified with the apprehension of unknown dangers.\n\nBut we are permitted to know not only that God governs all human affairs\nby his Providence, but also that his dispensations, as it relates to his\nown people, are all ordered in wisdom, in faithfulness, and in love. The\ndoctrine of Providence can bring no true consolation to any who are\nunreconciled to God. They may know that it is his rod by which they are\nsmitten, but they cannot tell but his strokes are those of vindicatory\njustice, and only a prelude to more intolerable pains. Before we can\nrepose with confidence and comfort on the faithfulness, wisdom, and\ngoodness of the Divine dispensations, we must possess some evidence that\nour sins are pardoned and our persons accepted; for the more perfect\nthe Divine government, the more certainly will punishment pursue the\nguilty. Our cheerful resignation to the afflictions of life, is\ntherefore, closely connected with our justification through the merits\nof the Lord Jesus Christ. While we contemplate our own sins and\nimperfections only, we can entertain no other feeling, than a fearful\nlooking for of wrath; but when with the spirit of adoption we can look\nup to our heavenly Father's reconciled face, we need not be alarmed nor\ncast down, under the heaviest afflictions which befall us. We know that\nhe doth not willingly afflict his beloved children, but out of love\nchastises them for their greater good, that they may become in a higher\ndegree, partakers of his holiness. They are assured, therefore, that all\nthese painful events shall be so overruled, as to work for their good.\nAnd the Holy Scriptures clearly teach, that although these chastisements\nare, for the present, not joyous, but grievous, yet, hereafter, they\nwill produce in them who are exercised thereby, the peaceable fruits of\nrighteousness. They eminently conduce to wean the affections from this\nvain world, to humble the spirit in the dust under a sense of\nunworthiness, and to excite an ardent spirit of prayer. It is, moreover,\nby a severe but salutary discipline of this kind, that saints are made\nmeet for the heavenly inheritance. And not only so, but these temporary\nafflictions, somehow or other, will have a direct efficiency in\nincreasing their future felicity and glory, according to that remarkable\ndeclaration of Paul, \"These light afflictions which are but for a\nmoment, work out for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of\nglory.\" It is not surprising, therefore, that God who loves his people\nwith an unchangeable love, should visit them with the rod. It is the\nmethod which he takes to purge out their dross and their tin. Affliction\nis therefore compared to a furnace, in which the precious metals are\nassayed and purified. Thus Peter comforts suffering Christians in his\ntime:\n\n\"Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to\ntry you, as though some strange thing happened unto you; but rejoice,\ninasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ's sufferings, that when his glory\nshall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy.\" Again: \"That\nthe trial of your faith being much more precious than gold that\npurifieth though it be tried with fire, might be found unto peace, and\nhonour, and glory, at the appearing of Jesus Christ.\"\n\nIn the testimony just cited, there is another interesting reason\nsuggested for the affliction of Christ's disciples. And it is one which\nmust be touching to the hearts of all who truly love their Lord. It is,\nthat as he was pre-eminently \"the man of sorrows,\" there is a congruity\nin their participating in suffering, that in this respect, as in\nothers, they may be conformed to his example. Paul also makes express\nand repeated mention of the same thing. \"If children, then heirs of God,\nand joint heirs with Christ, if so be that we suffer with him, that we\nmay also be glorified together.\" He speaks of this communion with Christ\nin suffering, as a characteristic of discipleship, and as a high\nprivilege, \"Always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord\nJesus.\"--\"For unto you it is given in the behalf of Christ, not only to\nbelieve on him, but also to suffer for his sake.\" Christians, therefore,\nin primitive times, gloried in their severest sufferings. And now, no\nconsideration is more efficacious in fortifying the believer against\nfainting than the idea of the sufferings of Christ for us. It would seem\nthat they who have been privileged to endure nothing for Christ's sake,\nwould scarcely be admitted to reign with him in glory.\n\nAnd as we should endeavour, while in the world, to glorify God to the\nutmost of our power, by letting the light of a holy example shine forth,\nso there is no situation in which piety appears to greater advantage,\nthan when exercised in deep affliction. What disposition can be\nconceived as possessing more moral beauty, than the grace enjoined in\nour text; _cheerful, quiet submission to the will of our heavenly\nFather_, under the heaviest pressure of his hand. And as we all are\nconscious that there is yet much impurity and dross cleaving to our\nnature, we should rejoice in being subjected to a process, though it be\na fiery one, by which we might be more and more purified from sin.\nIndeed, we cannot do without this salutary discipline: our salvation,\nprobably, depends upon our sufferings as a means of conservation in a\nstate of grace. We ought not, therefore, \"to think it strange concerning\nthe fiery trial, which is to try us, as though some strange thing\nhappened to us; but should rather rejoice, inasmuch as we are partakers\nof Christ's sufferings, that when his glory shall be revealed, we may be\nglad with exceeding joy.\"\n\n\"Be still, and know that I am God.\" Be calm and submissive; be not\nalarmed nor perturbed; let your resignation to the Divine will be\nunreserved and cheerful. Seize the occasion, which severe afflictions\noffer, to show your entire willingness that God should govern and\ndispose of you and yours according to his own sovereign will. He is\nwise, and knows how to order every thing for the best. He is powerful,\nand can bring light out of darkness, and good out of evil. He is\nfaithful, and will certainly fulfil all his gracious promises. He is\ngood and merciful, and will consult the best interests of his children\nin all his dealings towards them; and even those events which seem to be\nmost adverse, he will so temper and overrule, that ultimately, and\nrelatively, they will be made to work for their good.\n\nUnder sore and unexpected bereavements, the human heart will bleed; and\nthe susceptible feelings will be lacerated, and the gush of sorrow will\nhave its course; but grace comes in and suggests considerations which\nought to moderate our grief; and to teach us to be quietly submissive to\nthe hand of the Almighty. It is a blessed state, when the feelings of\nthe man are absorbed in the nobler feelings of the Christian; when our\nwill is swallowed up in the will of God. What He doeth we know not now,\nbut we shall know hereafter. It will not be long until we shall be able\nto see, \"that he hath done all things well.\"\n\nIn the recent mournful dispensation of Divine Providence, we see how\nmany hearts may be wounded, and how many joys withered, by a single\nstroke. In this interesting group of mourners, we behold the aged\nparents weeping over the lifeless body of a much loved, and very lovely\ndaughter. They have lived to witness the premature departure of one,\nwhom they might naturally have expected to be a comfort to them in their\ndeclining years, and to wipe from their foreheads the cold drops, in a\ndying hour. Parental bereavements admit of less alleviation, than\nothers, from earthly considerations. The friends and comforts which,\nlate in life, we lose, we cannot hope to have made up to us. And,\nsometimes, the parents of a numerous offspring are preserved so long,\nthat they survive all, or most of their children; and they stand, like\naged trees, which, by successive storms, have been stripped of their\nfoliage and branches. But, although bereaved parents cannot draw much\nconsolation, under their afflictions, from this world; yet the rich\nconsolations of the Gospel are accessible to them, and peculiarly\nappropriate to their condition. The pious do not know how to appreciate\nthe promises of God rightly, until, in the hour of affliction, they are\nmade to experience their power and sweetness. We cannot blame these\nparents for mourning the loss of a first born and very amiable daughter;\nbut we trust that they now find support and comfort in that God on whose\nAlmighty arm they have long trusted. They have not now for the first\ntime, to learn the riches of that grace which is treasured up in Christ\nJesus; and may they be enabled to come now to that fountain of mercy, by\nthe streams of which they have been so often refreshed and comforted,\nunder former trials!\n\nThe grief of affectionate brothers and sisters also, flows this day, in\na strong current. They feel as if a part of themselves had been taken\naway; and yet they can scarcely realize the extent of their calamity. It\noften requires time for grief to become rooted in the soul. The first\ngush of sorrow from the bleeding heart, is indeed a more sensible\nemotion, but the full value of our loss is not felt, until after serious\nreflection. It is a painful thing to be separated from those around\nwhom our earliest and tenderest affections were entwined. The thought of\nnever again, in this world, seeing a face, from which always the most\nbenignant affections beamed upon us, cannot but leave a melancholy and\nheart-sinking impression. Who can adequately describe the anguish\nproduced by the sudden severance of hearts, long cemented in the bands\nof the tenderest affection! But, though nature will be obeyed, and the\nfloods of sorrow cannot be altogether restrained, yet there is a\nChristian duty incumbent on those placed in these circumstances. The\ncommand does not say, that we should not weep, but that we should not\nsorrow as those that have no hope. Christians are not divested of the\ncommon sensibilities of humanity; but they possess principles much\nhigher than mere humanity, by which they moderate their passions, and by\nwhich the stream of natural sorrow may be sanctified, and turned into\nthat of \"godly sorrow, which worketh a repentance not to be repented\nof.\"\n\nBut among the weeping mourners, on this sad occasion, I see some, who\nthough deeply affected, can scarcely be supposed capable, on account of\ntheir tender age, of estimating the irreparable loss which they have\nsustained. I call the loss of a mother _irreparable_; because, however\nmany affectionate friends may stand ready to do all in their power to\nsupply a mother's place; yet, the assiduity, forbearance, and\ntenderness, so requisite in the treatment of young children, can be\nexpected in perfection from nothing but that affection, which the\nCreator has deeply implanted in the hearts of mothers. To those who have\nhad long experience in the world, there are few ideas more affecting\nthan that of _a motherless child_. But orphaned, as these dear little\nones are, by the loss of one parent, they are, I may say, on this\naccount, more peculiarly the care of a covenant God, whose promise\nextends not only to believers, but to their seed, and whose kind care\nextends especially to such children of the faithful, as have been\nbereaved of one or both parents. These dear children, we confidently\ntrust will be the objects not merely of God's common goodness, but of\nhis special grace; and after spending a life of usefulness in acts of\npiety and beneficence, will enjoy the blessed privilege of regaining\ntheir beloved mother, in the mansions of glory, where sickness, death,\nand tears, will be known no more.\n\nIn addressing the interesting group of mourners now before me, I\nperceive one, whose griefs are too big for utterance, and whose swelling\nbosom cannot be soothed, at this time, by any of the common topics of\nconsolation. An officious intrusion into the sacred recess of such\nindescribable sorrows, only serves to exacerbate, rather than mitigate\nthe wounded spirit. All that the kindest friends can do, in such a case,\nis to let their warmest, tenderest sympathies fall in with the tide of\noverwhelming grief, which rejects all consolation. \"Weep with them that\nweep.\" There is another thing which we can do, and that far more\nimportant, we can pray for our afflicted and bereaved brother. In such\ncircumstances, prayer is almost our only refuge; for all our help must\ncome from God. While the voice of man is powerless to afford relief,\nthere is ONE who causes his voice to be heard even in the midst of the\ntempest. And his authoritative, his affectionate language to our beloved\nbrother is, \"_Be still, and know that I am God_.\" \"God is our refuge and\nstrength, a very present help in trouble.\" It is somewhere related of\nthat eminently pious reformer, Luther, that when he fell into any great\ntrouble, he was wont to say to his friends, \"Come, let us sing the\nforty-sixth psalm.\"\n\nA striking example of uncomplaining submission we have in the good old\npriest Eli, who, when informed that God was about to bring such\njudgments on his house, as would cause the ears of every one that heard\nthem to tingle; meekly replied, \"It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth\nhim good.\"\n\nAnd the patriarch Job, when deprived of all his property, and of all his\nchildren, humbled himself and worshipped God, saying--\"The Lord gave,\nand the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord.\" \"What,\nshall we receive good from the hand of the LORD, and shall we not\nreceive evil?\"\n\nWhen Jesus visited the mourning family of Bethany, who were among his\ndearest friends, he did not say to the afflicted sisters, weep not--but\nthe compassionate Redeemer united his tears with theirs; for it is\nwritten, \"Jesus wept.\" These were indeed only the tears of sympathy, for\nit was in his benevolent purpose to restore the deceased brother to his\ndisconsolate sisters. Here also, we have a striking illustration of the\ntruth, that God's children are ignorant often of his kind designs, when\nhe permits sore afflictions to come upon them; \"If thou hadst been\nhere,\" said both the weeping sisters, \"my brother had not died.\" Their\nregret was keen, and unmitigated by any known circumstance; but in one\nshort hour, they were, no doubt, glad that their Lord was not\nthere--they rejoiced that their beloved brother had died; because the\nglory of God and the power of the Redeemer had now been manifested.\nIndeed, a gracious visit from Jesus will turn our bitterest sorrows into\njoy. His name--his word--his grace--has a mighty power to calm the\nswelling surges of overwhelming sorrow. He can say, as he did to the\nraging storm, \"Peace, be still,\" and there will be a great calm. Were it\nnot for thoughts of God--of his providence, and promises, and of the\nseasonable and effectual aid of his grace, grief would often drown the\nsoul in perdition; as it often does work death in the heathen, and in\nthe men of the world, who are without God, and without hope.\n\nIt would be in place here to speak of our dear departed sister, whose\nloss we now mourn; but this task will hereafter be better performed by\nanother hand. And to this audience little need be said; for she was\nbrought up among you from her childhood, and enjoyed the affectionate\nregards of this community in no common degree, as is manifest by the\ngeneral and tender sympathy felt on this occasion. By her sweet\nsimplicity, engaging vivacity, affectionate temper, and affable manners,\nour beloved friend endeared herself to her acquaintances and neighbours,\nwherever she resided. And in regard to her Christian character, she\nadorned her profession by a consistent life and conversation, in all the\nrelations which she sustained.\n\nHer latter end was calm and peaceful. She felt some dread of the pangs\nof dissolution; but in regard to what comes after death, she had no\nfear--her hope continued firm and her prospects bright to the last\nmoment.\n\nIt is always a cause of lively gratitude, when God is pleased to sustain\nhis dear children in passing through \"the valley of the shadow of\ndeath.\" It affords to mourning friends the sweetest consolation which\ncould be received under such sore bereavements. This consolation of our\nbenignant Father has not been withheld in the present instance. Mourning\nfriends are permitted to rejoice in the midst of their overflowing\nsorrow, in the confident hope, that the departed spirit of our dear\nsister, free from all sin and pain, rests sweetly in the love and\nbeatified vision of her divine Redeemer.\n\n\"BLESSED ARE THE DEAD THAT DIE IN THE LORD, FROM HENCEFORTH; YEA, SAITH\nTHE SPIRIT, THAT THEY MAY REST FROM THEIR LABOURS; AND THEIR WORKS DO\nFOLLOW THEM.\"\n\n\n\n\n  LETTERS\n\n  OF\n\n  A GRANDFATHER,\n\n\n  TO THE SURVIVING CHILDREN OF\n\n  MRS. MARGARET BRECKINRIDGE.\n\n\n  BY THE\n\n  REV. SAMUEL MILLER, D. D.\n\n\n  PART II.\n\n\n\n\nLETTERS\n\nOF\n\nA GRANDFATHER.\n\n\nLETTER I.\n\nINTRODUCTORY.\n\nMY DEAR GRANDCHILDREN:--The decease of your beloved and lamented Mother,\nhas placed both you and me in circumstances of great solemnity and\nresponsibility. To be deprived of a mother's care and counsel at the\ntender age at which she left you, is indeed a loss which no human\narithmetic can estimate; especially to be deprived of _such_ a mother,\none so well qualified by strength of intellect, by sincere piety, and by\npeculiar loveliness of character, to be a blessing to you, for time and\neternity, is a bereavement of which, even now, I know not how to speak\nwithout emotions too strong for utterance. While this precious Parent\nlived, she seemed to interpose between your beloved grandmother and\nmyself, and any immediate responsibility in regard to your education;\nbut now that she is removed, we seem to be brought, in the mysterious\nand mournful Providence of God, to stand in some measure in her place,\nand to perform some of the most important duties which she owed to her\nchildren. And, although your surviving Parent is eminently fitted, both\nby nature and grace, to be a guide to your youth; yet, as he is engaged,\nand is likely for some time to be engaged, in active, arduous, and\nextended labours for the Church of God, which will probably separate him\nfrom you often and much for a considerable time;--an additional\nresponsibility on our part seems to grow out of every circumstance.\n\nIt is under these impressions that I now address you. Your grandparents\nare drawing near to the end of their course. They must soon leave you in\na depraved and ensnaring world. What they do for your benefit, they must\ndo quickly. As one placed in these tender and endearing relations to\nyou, and in these solemn circumstances, allow me to pour out the fulness\nof a heart most earnestly engaged for your welfare, and desiring more\nardently than I am able to express, to see you walking in truth and\nhappiness, and embalming by your conduct, as well as by your affection,\nthe memory of that blessed Parent, who, if she is ever permitted from\nher high and holy abode, to look down on those whom she has left behind,\nwill rejoice to see you making choice of that path which leads to the\nsame blessedness.\n\nThere are two considerations, beloved grandchildren, which, I think, you\nwill all agree, entitle me to expect from you a respectful and\naffectionate attention to what I have to offer in these letters. The\n_first_ is, that I have lived a long and somewhat eventful life; and, of\ncourse, my range of _experience_ has not been small. In my three-score\nand tenth year, I have had an opportunity of following many young people\nfrom the cradle to the grave. I have seen the training, the subsequent\ncourse, and the end of thousands. Need I say, that the lessons derived\nfrom such experience are not unworthy of your regard? O, if you could\nstart in your career with that practical knowledge of the vanity, the\nsnares, and the sufferings of the world, which has come to me through\nthe medium of many a melancholy sight, and many a painful conflict, how\ngreat would be the advantage! But this cannot be. Happy were it for you,\nif you were willing to profit as you might from the experience of\nothers. But neither can this be expected, in ordinary cases, to be\nrealized. I cannot, however, admit the thought, that you will be willing\nto reject this teaching altogether.\n\nThe _second_ claim which I have on your attention is, my ardent and\naffectionate desire to promote your happiness. You cannot suspect me of\nany sinister design in what I have to say. This would be to suppose me\ncapable of \"hating my own flesh.\" No, dear children, I have no desire to\ndamp the sanguine joy, or cloud the smiling sun of your youth. I would\nnot take from you a single rational pleasure. On the contrary, I delight\nto see you happy; and desire, by all the means in my power to promote\nyour true enjoyment and honour. But you must allow me now, in my old\nage, when I have seen so much of the illusions of the world, and so many\nexamples of the destruction of those who yielded to them, to counsel\nyou, not in the style of youthful flattery, but in the language of\n\"truth and soberness.\" You will find nothing in these letters intended\nto carry a point by overpainting, or by any other artifice. If you have\na real disinterested friend on earth, who unfeignedly wishes to promote\nyour best interest in both worlds, it is he who now addresses you. I\nshall not give a counsel or an injunction, but what I verily believe\nyour precious Mother, if she were permitted to speak from the bosom of\nher Saviour, would ratify with all her heart.\n\nYou will observe that some of my counsels have a respect to objects\nbeyond the period of childhood, which you now occupy. The truth is, I\nexpect soon to leave you. Probably long before any of you shall reach\nadult age. Of course, I feel that what I have to say at all, had better\nbe said _now_. I may have no other opportunity. Besides, one of the\ngreat truths which I wish to impress upon your minds is, that you are,\neven at your present age, sowing the all important seeds of a future\nharvest of good or evil. You will not find a single habit or attainment\nrecommended in the following pages, which, if you are ever to gain it,\nyou will not find an advantage in having calculated and prepared for, as\nfar as possible, at the earliest age. The earlier you begin to imbibe\ngood principles, and lay good plans, the better will it be for all the\nfuture.\n\nLet me entreat you, then, to receive with all the affection and docility\nof dutiful children, the counsels of one who, while he writes, looks up\nto \"Him who has the residue of the Spirit,\" that what is rightly said,\nmay be impressed upon your hearts, and made to bring forth precious\nfruit, to your happiness, and to the glory of his holy name!\n\n\nLETTER II.\n\nHUMAN NATURE.\n\nDEAR CHILDREN:--On all important subjects there are certain great facts\nwhich must be regarded as fundamental; as lying at the foundation of all\ntruth, and all duty. I feel that this is peculiarly the case in regard\nto the counsels which I am about to give you concerning your course in\nlife. Among these fundamental facts are the depravity, the misery, and\nthe numberless temptations of the world in which you live; the depravity\nof your own nature, ever ready to be attracted by the allurements and\ncorruptions of the world; and your consequent need of the grace of God,\nat every step, for your guidance, protection, and deliverance. And until\nyou know and feel, and in some degree lay to heart, that the world in\nwhich you live is a fallen, depraved world; that its habitual maxims and\nways are hostile to your best interests; that you are yourselves, by\nnature, miserable sinners, standing in need of pardoning mercy, and\nsanctifying grace; and that you are every day exposed to snares and\nperils, from the joint influence of a depraved nature and a corrupt\nworld;--until you have learned, in some good measure, to recognise these\nfacts; to dwell upon them daily and hourly; and to receive the lessons\nwhich they are adapted to teach; you are not prepared even to _begin_\nlife. You are not prepared to meet or encounter the most common scenes,\nmuch less the more formidable dangers which are likely to beset your\npath every day that you live. But the moment you are brought to admit\nthese humbling, momentous truths; to feel their reality; and to consider\nand treat them in some degree according to their practical importance;\nthen, and not till then, may we hope you will be ready to make a proper\nestimate of the world; to guard against its allurements; to ponder well\nwhat you need for securing your true happiness; and to implore that\ndivine aid which is necessary if you desire, in such circumstances, to\nperform any duty aright. And, therefore, when I see young people\napparently forgetful of the character of their own hearts, and of the\nworld in which they live; thinking that all is gold that glitters; and\nimagining that they can safely trust to their own wisdom and strength in\nevery situation, I regard them as objects of the deepest commiseration,\nand as wholly unqualified for either the duties or the best enjoyments\nof life.\n\nKnow, then, dear children, and remember, that you belong to an apostate\nrace; that we are all, according to the declaration of God's own word,\n\"born in sin,\" and \"shapen in iniquity;\" that we are \"by nature the\nchildren of wrath;\" that our native propensities are all of them\ncorrupt; opposed to God; impelling us to habits and practices forbidden\nby his law, and unfriendly to our best interest. Remember, too, that, so\nfar from being able to trust your own hearts to resist the temptations\naround you, and to guide you aright, they are all naturally inclined to\nthat which is evil, and disposed to take side with the vanities and\ncorruptions of the world. So that there is constant need of self-denial;\nof imposing restraints upon all our appetites and passions; and of\nsubmitting, especially in early life, to the counsels of the wise and\nthe good, who have gone before us in the journey of life, and have had\nmore experience than ourselves of its temptations and dangers.\n\nHence it is, that so large a part of religion is represented in\nScripture as consisting in opposing our own corrupt inclinations; in\n\"crucifying the flesh with the affections and lusts;\" in constant\nefforts to bring down pride and vanity; to mortify our evil\npropensities; \"to keep under the body;\" to \"rule our own spirits;\" and,\nin general, to gain the victory over ourselves. All these expressions\nimply that the course of true wisdom is a warfare with evil; that our\nmost formidable enemies are within; and that resisting our own corrupt\nnature is at once the most constant, and the most serious part of our\nduty as accountable creatures.\n\nNor is this all. Not only is our nature corrupt; not only are we from\nour very birth, prone to evil \"as the sparks fly upward;\" but we are\nalso by nature under condemnation. In the language of that incomparable\nCatechism, with which you have been familiar from lisping infancy--and\nevery doctrine of which, as I believe, is drawn from the Bible--\"All\nmankind by their fall lost communion with God, are under his wrath and\ncurse, and so made liable to all the miseries of this life, to death\nitself, and to the pains of hell forever.\"\n\nSuch is the condition of our race by nature. Not only depraved and\nunworthy, but guilty, condemned, and perishing; not only in _danger_ of\nbeing forever lost; but already under a sentence of death, unless\nrescued from it by the power and grace of the Saviour. All the posterity\nof Adam are by nature, \"dead in trespasses and sins,\" having no\nresources within themselves for regaining the favour and image of God.\n\"The carnal mind is enmity against God; it is not in subjection to the\nlaw of God, neither indeed can be.\" So that, left to ourselves, we\nshould infallibly go on in sin to eternal, merited, and hopeless\ndestruction.\n\nHere you are, then, dear children, in a revolted, polluted, lost world,\nwhere the vast majority of the population is in open rebellion against\nGod; where the prevailing habits and maxims are selfish, carnal, and\nopposed to all that is truly and spiritually good; where, if you fall\nin, and continue to go with the prevailing current, you are inevitably\nand eternally lost; where your only safety consists in renouncing the\nworld, its idols, its master, and its hopes; in \"crucifying the flesh\nwith its affections and lusts; in resisting the fashions and allurements\nwhich reign around you; and taking refuge in that Saviour, who came to\nseek and to save that which was lost.\" Such are the temptations and\nperils with which you are constantly and every where surrounded; and\nsuch your only refuge. And, what greatly adds to your danger is, that if\nthe representation which I have given be correct, your own hearts are\nnaturally disposed to take the side of the enemy, and to betray you into\nhis toils and his power. So that you are like persons travelling in an\nenemies' country, and liable every moment to be taken in some insidious\nand fatal snare, and whose own inclinations to yield to the enemy are\namong their greatest dangers. These are the humbling facts which it\nbehoves you constantly to keep in view, and to regard as the great\npractical index of all your plans, resolutions, and efforts, as long as\nyou live.\n\nAnd as you can never be truly wise until you learn the corruption of\nyour own nature, and how indispensably you need pardoning mercy,\nsanctifying grace, and unceasing guidance and help from on high; so you\nare not prepared to begin your intercourse with a corrupt world, until\nyou have learned to appreciate the real character of human nature as it\nappears in all the walks of social life. The young, anterior to\nexperience--and indeed many, long after experience ought to have taught\nthem otherwise--are too ready to put confidence in the professions and\narts of men. They are apt to believe the flattering tongue; to rely on\nplausible promises; to trust heartless professions of attachment; to\nrepose confidence in civilities never meant to be accepted; and to\nexpect much from protestations of kindness, and assurances of\nfriendship--all dictated by the merest selfishness, and never intended\nto be fulfilled. Rely on it, dear children, you live in a cold, selfish,\nheartless world. Its civilities are hollow; its promises are deceitful;\nits flatteries are insidious; its most splendid attractions are\ndelusive. Expect little from the warmest professions, and be very\nbackward to avail yourselves of the most fervent proffers of friendship.\nI am far, indeed, from recommending a misanthropic suspicion of every\nbody. Your parents and grandparents ought to be the last persons in the\nworld to indulge or recommend such a spirit. They have been so happy as\nto enjoy friendships sincere, disinterested, active, and unwearied,\nnever to be forgotten. For these they would be thankful, and enjoin it\nupon you never to forget such precious friends. But remember, that\nsocial confidence is a plant of slow growth; that there are few cases in\nwhich it can be safely indulged; that where it exists, great care ought\nto be taken not to abuse it by laying too much upon it; and that, while\nyou ought to receive all expressions of civility and respect with a\nsuitable acknowledgment, nothing can be more unwise and unsafe in such\na world as this, than to trust indiscriminately to the professions and\npromises of men.\n\nIf such be our deplorable circumstances, as a race, and as individuals,\nthen we need deliverance. We need salvation. To this great subject I\nwould next entreat your attention.\n\n\nLETTER III.\n\nTHE WAY OF SALVATION.\n\nDEAR CHILDREN:--Salvation is a word often on your lips, and on the lips\nof many around you. The truly pious look forward to it with humble,\njoyful hope. And those who have no piety, and even the profane and\nprofligate often speak of it as something which they desire and\nanticipate. But what is SALVATION? The very expression presupposes that\nwe are all by nature in a state from which we need to be _delivered_ or\n_saved_. We never apply this term to any but those who are in danger of\nbeing _lost_. When a man is drowning, or in the utmost peril of death in\nany form, and by the interposition of some benevolent and active friend,\nis rescued, we say he is _saved_. Now in a similar sense is the term\nused in the case before us. The salvation of man implies that he is, by\nnature not only in _danger_, but in a _lost_ and _perishing_ condition.\nAccordingly I told you, my dear children, in the preceding letter, that\nour whole race, and you among the rest, are, by nature in a state of\nguilt, depravity, and misery; that we are fallen creatures; under\ncondemnation; exposed to the wrath and curse of God; liable not only to\nnatural death, but also exposed to all the terrors of eternal death,\nthat is, of eternal separation from the presence of the Lord, and the\nglory of his power, unless delivered, or, in other words, _saved_ by the\ninterposition of some mighty and merciful deliverer. Such a great\nDeliverer has appeared to save sinners of our race;--to \"put away sin by\nthe sacrifice of himself.\" And now, the word of God assures us, that\nthere is \"no other name given under heaven among men whereby we can be\nsaved, but the name of Jesus Christ.\"\n\nIt is my earnest desire, dear children, to open this way of salvation to\nyour minds, and to recommend it to your serious and solemn attention.\nBelieve me, \"it is not a vain thing for you, it is even your life.\"\nUnless you are, by the grace of God made partakers of this great\nsalvation, it \"had been better for you that you had not been born.\"\n\nBy the salvation revealed in the Gospel is meant, delivering us from all\nthe ruins of the fall--from the condemnation of sin and the power of\nsin--restoring us to the favour and image of God--and bringing us to the\neverlasting enjoyment of his presence in heaven. This is salvation. Now\nI wish to show you how this great and blessed result is accomplished by\nthe undertaking and work of Jesus Christ, whom we are accustomed, on\nthat account, to denominate, with emphasis, our SAVIOUR.\n\nMan was made upright; in full possession of all the powers necessary to\nperfect moral agency, and with all the dispositions which prompted to a\nperfectly correct use of those powers. But \"man being in honour abode\nnot.\" He rebelled against God. He violated the covenant under which he\nwas placed, and became liable to the dreadful penalty which it denounced\nagainst transgression. In this fall of our first parents we are all\nsharers. \"In Adam,\" says the apostle, \"all die.\" \"By one man's\ndisobedience,\" he again declares, \"many were made sinners.\" We have all\ntotally lost our original righteousness; so that there is now, by\nnature, \"none righteous, no not one.\" In short, we have all become\nguilty and polluted before God, and incapable of regaining his image or\nhis favour by any merit or doings of our own. How, then are we to be\ndelivered from these deplorable circumstances? How shall we escape that\nperdition which is the just reward of sin? \"How can we escape the\ndamnation of hell?\" How can any be saved? God cannot set aside his own\nlaw, or permit his authority and majesty, as a righteous Governor, to be\ntrampled under foot. To \"clear the guilty;\" to take impenitent rebels\ninto the arms of his love, would be to \"deny himself.\" Where, then, is\nour refuge? Must we sit down in despair, and say, \"There is no hope?\"\nNo, by no means. A God of infinite wisdom, power, and love, has devised\nand proclaimed a wonderful plan by which sin was punished while the\nsinner is pardoned; by which justice is completely satisfied, while\nmercy is extended to the guilty and vile; by which \"grace reigns through\nrighteousness, unto eternal life, by Jesus Christ our Lord.\"\n\nThis wonderful and glorious plan of mercy consisted in the Father giving\nhis own Son to obey, suffer, and die in our stead, as our substitute;\nand in the Son consenting to bear the penalty of the law for us; to put\naway our sin by the sacrifice of himself; and to bring in an everlasting\nrighteousness for our justification. Yes, dear children, however coldly\nan unbelieving world may receive the amazing annunciation, the Lord\nJesus Christ, the eternal Son of God, condescended, in his wonderful\nlove, to assume our nature; to take the place of the guilty and the\nperishing; and to become the victim of Divine justice in their stead.\nHis language, in the eternal counsel of peace, was, \"Let me suffer\ninstead of the guilty. Let me die to save them. Deliver them from going\ndown to the pit; I will be their ransom.\" This wonderful, this\nunparalleled offer was accepted. The Father was well pleased for the\nrighteousness sake of his Son. He accepted it as the price of our\npardon; as that on account of which all who repent and believe should be\njustified. So that the Scriptures may well say concerning the\nSaviour--_He is the end of the law for righteousness to every one that\nbelieveth. He is the Lord our righteousness. He was wounded for our\ntransgressions; he was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of\nour peace was upon him; and by his stripes we are healed. He bare our\nsins in his own body on the tree. He died the just for the unjust, that\nhe might bring us to God. He delivered us from the curse of the law,\nbeing made a curse for us._\n\nHere then, dear children, is the way, and the only way of a sinner's\nacceptance with God. In virtue of the covenant of redemption, the\nrighteousness of Christ, or what he did and suffered on our behalf, is\nplaced to the account of his people, _as if_ they had performed it in\ntheir own persons. Though sinful and unworthy in themselves, God is\npleased to pardon and accept them as righteous in his sight, only for\nthe righteousness sake of his beloved Son. I am aware, indeed, that some\nwho speak much of \"the merits of Christ,\" and profess to rely entirely\non those merits, represent the whole subject in a very different light.\nThey suppose that in consideration of the sufferings and death of our\nblessed Saviour, the old, original law of God, requiring perfect\nobedience, is repealed, and a _mitigated law_ now prescribed as the rule\nof our obedience. So that now, under the Christian dispensation, a\nperfect obedience is not even required, but only an imperfect one,\naccommodated to our fallen condition and our many infirmities. But\nstill, they insist, that this imperfect obedience is the meritorious\nground of our acceptance with God; and, of course, that eternal life is\nthe purchase of our own obedience. In short, the doctrine of these\nerrorists is, that the benefit conferred by the sufferings and death of\nChrist, consists, not in providing an entire righteousness for us, but\nonly in abating the demands of the law; in bringing down the divine\nrequisitions more to a level with our ability; and still enabling us,\nlow as we have fallen, to be the purchasers of salvation by our own\nworks.\n\nBe assured, dear children, this view of the subject is a grievous\ndeparture from the Scriptural doctrine concerning the way of salvation.\nThe Bible represents our pardon and acceptance with God as not founded,\nin any respect, or in any degree, on our own obedience; but as wholly of\ngrace--as a mere unmerited gift, bestowed solely on account of what the\nRedeemer has done as our substitute and surety. It represents the holy\nlaw of God as remaining in all its original strictness without repeal or\nmitigation; and as falling with the whole weight of its penalty on all\nthe impenitently guilty. But it declares that penalty to be removed from\nthose who repent and believe the Gospel, not on account of any\nworthiness in themselves, as the meritorious ground of the benefit; but\nonly on account of the perfect righteousness of Him who came to seek and\nsave those who were lost. In short, a gracious God saves his people not\nby overlooking their sins; but by lifting the penalty from them, and\nlaying it upon the divine Redeemer, and for his sake letting them go\nfree, and accepting them solely on account of his merit.\n\nThis righteousness of Jehovah the Saviour is said to be \"to all, and\nupon all them that believe;\"--that is, it is imputed to none--set to the\naccount of none but those who receive Christ by faith. Faith is that\ngreat master grace by which we become united to the Saviour, and\ninterested in his atonement. This righteousness, therefore, is called\n_the righteousness of faith, and the righteousness of God by faith_.\nHence we are said to be _justified by faith_, and to be _saved by\nfaith_. Not that faith, as an act of ours, is, in any measure, the\nground of our justification; but all these expressions imply, that there\nis an inseparable connexion, in the economy of grace, between believing\nin Christ, and being justified by him, or having his righteousness\nimputed to us. Happy, thrice happy they, who can thus call the Saviour\n_theirs_, and who have thus \"received the atonement!\" Though unworthy in\nthemselves, they are graciously pronounced righteous by their heavenly\nJudge, on account of what the Mediator has done. Their sins, though\nmany, are, for his sake, forgiven them. They are _freely justified from\nall things from which they could not be justified by the law of Moses_.\nThey are \"accepted in the Beloved.\" Though polluted and undeserving in\ntheir own character, they are \"complete in Him.\" There is no\ncondemnation to them now; and in the day of judgment they shall find, to\ntheir eternal joy, that there is both safety and happiness in appearing\nin the righteousness of Him who loved sinners, and gave himself for\nthem, clothed in \"robes which have been washed and made white in the\nblood of the Lamb.\"\n\nBut we not only need to be justified by the righteousness of Christ; we\nalso indispensably need to be sanctified by the Spirit of Christ.\nAccordingly, the purification of our nature, as well as the pardon of\nour sins, is one of the benefits purchased by Him, and secured by\ncovenant to all believers. Hence the teaching and the sanctifying power\nof the Holy Spirit must be regarded as an essential part of the great\nsalvation of which I am speaking. We need as much to be delivered from\nthe love of sin as from its condemnation. And for both, the plan of\nmercy held forth in the Gospel of Christ, makes equal and effectual\nprovision. \"Whom he justifies, them he also sanctifies; and whom he\nsanctifies, them he also glorifies.\" By the power of the Holy Spirit,\nthe dominion of sin is broken in the hearts of all who are brought under\nthe power of the Gospel. The reign of corruption in the soul is\ndestroyed; the love of it is taken away; and though not perfectly\nsanctified in the present life, yet every believer has his\nsanctification begun. It is carried on, not by his own wisdom or\nstrength, but by the same divine power by which it was commenced; until\nhe is, at last, made perfectly holy, as well as perfectly happy in the\npresence of his God and Saviour.\n\nThus does it appear that salvation is all of grace, sovereign, unmerited\ngrace. The original devising of the plan, in the eternal counsels of\npeace, was prompted, not by any foresight of faith and holiness in the\nfallen creature; but in mere grace. The plan itself, in all its\nprinciples and provisions makes our salvation perfectly gratuitous, and\nwholly excludes all human merit. After the plan was formed and executed,\nand the knowledge of it imparted to us, no one would ever accept of it,\ndid not the same grace which formed it, incline the sinner to lay aside\nhis native opposition, and accept of the offered mercy. And even after\ncordially accepting it, no individual would ever cleave to his hope, and\ncontinue to embrace it, and live under its power, were he not \"kept by\nthe power of God through faith unto salvation.\"\n\nAfter the foregoing statement, the great question is, what message does\nthis plan of salvation bring to YOU? The message which it brings, dear\nchildren, is an unspeakably solemn one. It charges _you_ with being\nsinners--miserable sinners in the sight of God--without merit--without\nhelp, and without hope in yourselves. It offers you peace, and pardon,\nand sanctification, and eternal life, through the atoning sacrifice of\nthe blessed Redeemer. It entreats you to lay aside your enmity, and to\nreceive these benefits with humble and adoring gratitude, as a free,\nunmerited gift, \"through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus.\" Its\nlanguage is, \"Whosoever will, let him come, and take of the water of\nlife freely.\" And again, \"Whosoever cometh to me, I will in no wise cast\nout.\" It calls upon you to renounce all confidence in yourselves, and to\nreceive and rest on Christ alone for salvation as he is freely offered\nin the Gospel; to receive him as the Lord your righteousness, and the\nLord your strength, and rejoice in him as your only hope. To this end,\nit is indispensable that you be convinced of sin; that you experience a\ndeep and cordial sense of your own sinfulness and unworthiness; that you\ndespair of saving yourselves; that you fall at the footstool of\nsovereign grace, feeling that you deserve to die, and that you can have\nno hope but in the atoning blood, and sanctifying Spirit of the\nRedeemer. It is your duty and your privilege to go to the Saviour at\nonce, and cast yourselves on his mercy, without waiting for any\nqualifications to render you worthy of his favour. You are commanded to\ngo to him as miserable, helpless sinners, not with a price in your\nhands; but to receive from him all that you need to make you holy and\nhappy here and hereafter. And until you are prepared thus to go to him,\nas miserable, unworthy sinners, who deserve God's wrath and curse\nforever; until you sincerely feel that you have nothing to plead but the\nmerit of another; until you are ready to cast yourselves at the feet of\nthe Saviour, and to be indebted for pardon and eternal life as a mere\ngift of grace, you have yet to learn the vital element of practical\nreligion.\n\nDear children! will you hesitate a moment--will you wait for a second\ninvitation to accept of such a Saviour? Will you turn away with\ningratitude from such a salvation? Listen to the entreaty of one who\nloves you, and who has no stronger desire concerning you than to see you\nwalking in the Spirit, and enjoying the consolation of the Gospel: or\nrather listen to the voice of that blessed Saviour himself who died for\nsinners; and who says to you, and to all who hear the Gospel--\"Come unto\nme all ye who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Him\nthat cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.\"\n\nThink not, I beseech you, of putting off this acceptance of the\nSaviour's love until you are farther advanced in life. Do you forget\nthat \"the ways of wisdom are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths\npeace,\" and that you cannot too soon begin to be happy? Besides, have\nyou any assurance that you will live to be much more advanced in age\nthan you now are? Not long since, a graduate of one of our colleges was\nheard to say, \"I have finished my college education. I will now devote\ntwo years to the study of a profession; and _then_ I will take one year\nto see what there is in _that mighty thing they call_ RELIGION.\" So\ncalculated this careless, blooming youth. But before his plan was half\naccomplished, he suddenly fell sick; was seized with delirium; and died\nwithout hope. But there are facts, dear children, which ought to come\nnearer home. Can you forget your beloved brother and sisters, who, in\nthe very threshold of their existence, were cut down, and laid in the\ngrave? And what security have _you_ that you will live to see another\nyear? But even if you _are_ permitted to live until you reach adult age,\nor until you are old and grey-headed, what reason have you to hope, if\nyou go on hardening yourselves against the Gospel until that time, that\nyou will then have grace given you to \"consider your ways?\" O, how many\nwho were in youth thoughtful and tender, have become more and more\ncallous to every serious impression, as they advanced in life, and have,\nat length, sunk into the grave without hope! Be entreated, then, dear\nchildren, _now_, while your hearts are tender; before the world has\ntwined around them a thousand entanglements; before you become hardened\nby inveterate habits of sin; be entreated to make choice of that \"good\nhope through grace,\" which will form the best treasure, and the only\neffectual pledge of safety and happiness in the voyage of life: the\ntreasure which is emphatically \"that good part which can never be taken\naway from you.\"\n\n\nLETTER IV.\n\nTHE BIBLE.\n\nDEAR CHILDREN:--If you were walking, in a dark night, along a road full\nof sloughs, and pits, and snares, and dangers of every kind, what would\nyou do for safety? You would naturally, if you could obtain it, take a\n_light_ in your hands. You would also, if possible, engage a _guide_,\nstrong and faithful, well acquainted with the road, and qualified to\nconduct and defend you. And, besides all this, you would vigilantly\n_look around you_ at every step, and eagerly mark and avoid every spot\nthat had a suspicious or doubtful appearance.\n\nYour situation, dear children, in the journey of life, is precisely such\nas I have described; or rather, I ought to say, \"the half has not been\ntold you.\" You are just entering on a world, dark, corrupt, and full of\nallurement and danger. On every side enemies lie in wait to deceive and\nbetray. You are and will be exposed to a thousand temptations and perils\nfrom which you have no wisdom or strength to deliver yourselves. You\nneed direction and guidance at every step. Now the BIBLE presents the\nonly complete and perfect map of the road which you are travelling. It\nwas given us to be \"a light to our feet, and a lamp to our path.\" It\nexhibits, with unerring fidelity, every enemy, every snare, every danger\nwhich beset your path. It gives all the information, all the warning,\nall the caution, and all the encouragement which you need. It tells you,\nmore perfectly than any other book, all that you have to fear, and all\nthat you have to hope for. There is not a form of error, or of\ncorruption, against which it does not put you on your guard; nor an\nexcellence or a duty which it does not direct you how to cultivate and\nattain. \"Wherewith,\" asks the Psalmist, \"shall the young cleanse their\nway?\"--\"By taking heed thereto,\" he replies, \"according to thy word.\" No\none ever made this holy Book the guide of his life, without walking\nwisely, safely, and happily; without finding the truest enjoyment in\nthis world, and eternal blessedness in the world to come.\n\nCan you wonder, then, beloved children, that I place a high value on\nthis blessed Book; that I earnestly recommend it to your serious\nattention, to your constant study, and to your devout and affectionate\napplication and confidence? Can you wonder that I should delight to see\nit daily in your hands; much of its sacred contents committed to your\nmemory; and your hearts deeply imbued with its spirit and its power?\nYou, no doubt, remember how earnestly your precious Mother, now gone to\nthe God who gave this Book, recommended it to your attention; how\nassiduously she put it into your hands; how often she constrained you to\ncommit portions of it to memory; and how frequently, on Sabbath\nevenings, she gathered you round her to recite those portions in her\nhearing, and to receive her instructions and counsels in regard to them.\nCan you ever forget these scenes, and the solemn, tender lessons which\nyou then received? Call to mind her earnest looks, her affectionate\ntones, her unceasing labour to impress the contents of this sacred Book\non your minds and hearts. Think of these things; and if you can\nrecollect them without gratitude to God for such a mother, and without\ntears of regret that you have not profited more by her faithful\ncounsels, you have less moral feeling, and less filial sensibility than\nI have been accustomed to give you credit for.\n\nWhy is it, my dear children, that so many young people regard the Bible\nwith aversion, and consider the study of its pages, and especially\ncommitting them to memory, as a task and a burden? When we reflect that\nit is sent to us from heaven; that it contains the glad tidings of\npeace, and love, and salvation to a lost world; that it is besides full\nof the noblest specimens of literary beauty, and of tender pathetic\neloquence that the world ever saw; that there is something in it adapted\nto touch the finest and best cords of human sensibility--why is it that\nyou so often feel aversion to the study of this volume, and would\ngladly be excused from the task of perusing its chapters? Alas! dear\nchildren, this is one of the many proofs that your nature, as I before\nstated, is depraved; and that you need the renewing and sanctifying\npower of the Holy Spirit, before you can understand and relish a book\ngiven by his inspiration. Every feeling of reluctance to the study of\nthis Book which you experience, ought to fill you with alarm, and to\nconstrain you to cry mightily to God that he would open your eyes and\nyour hearts, and give you that taste for the best of all books, without\nwhich you cannot be prepared for the joys of his presence. Consider, I\nbeseech you, that, as you have been made acquainted with this Book from\nyour earliest childhood, so you will have to give an account for this\nknowledge. Many children around you have never had the Bible put into\ntheir hands; have never been taught to venerate and love its sacred\npages; but you have been informed of its origin and value. You have\nenjoyed a privilege denied to thousands. Will you not be grateful for\nthis privilege? Will you not manifest that you know how to prize a gift\nof more value than all the world beside? Can you deliberately consent to\nmeet the dreadful condemnation of those who, from childhood, \"knew the\nMaster's will, and did it not.\"\n\nI hope I need not remind you that the BOOK OF GOD is to be read with\nfeelings and in a manner very different from those with which you read\nall other books. When you have read books of human composition once or\ntwice, you have gotten from them all they contain--you have done with\nthem. But with the perusal of the Bible you can never have done. The\noftener you go over it, if you feel as you ought, the richer and more\ndelightful will it appear. You can never exhaust its meaning or its\ninterest. Like its divine Author, it has a length and breadth and depth\nand height, concerning which no human reader can ever say that he has\ncompletely fathomed its meaning, or measured its riches.\n\nOther books are to be read with attention, and, if they abound with\ntruth and wisdom, with respect; but the Book of God is to be read with\nthe deepest veneration, as containing the mind and will of our heavenly\nSovereign. In fact, every line of it is to be considered as the voice of\nGod speaking to us. Woe to those, whether young or aged, who can handle\nthe Bible with levity, make sport of its contents, or recite its solemn\nlanguage as matter of jest! The Lord will not hold them guiltless who\nthus, practically, \"take his name in vain.\" The Mohammedans manifest\nmuch more reverence for their _Koran_, than many Christians for the\nBible. They never allow themselves to touch it without washing their\nhands. They handle it with the most pointed respect, never holding it\nlower than their girdles. Every copy of it commonly contains an\ninscription or label on the cover, in these words--\"Let none touch but\nthose who are clean.\" How very differently do many, young and old, among\nus, treat the Holy Scriptures! I have often been distressed when I have\nseen children toss about their Bibles, and even throw them in the dirt,\nas they would the least valued of their play-things, or rattle over some\nof the most solemn language of the Bible with as little apparent thought\nor respect as they would repeat the veriest effusions of nonsense.\n\nThe Bible, farther, is to be read _daily_, and with _diligence_, as\ncontaining that daily food from which you are to derive spiritual\naliment, and strength continually. It is to be read with fixed\n_attention_, seriously directing your mind to its rich and important\nmeaning; with _humility_, feeling your need of the instruction and grace\nwhich it contains; with _prayer_, imploring the guidance of the Holy\nSpirit, that he may open your hearts to receive the engrafted word which\nis able to save your souls; with _application_--asking continually--\"How\ndoes this concern _me_? Does it describe _my case_? Does it not contain\na lesson which demands _my_ special regard? Do _I_ know any thing in my\nown experience of what is here taught?\"\n\nIn this precious Book you will find every thing adapted to enlarge the\nmind, to gratify the taste, to elevate the affections, and to purify the\nheart. If you only sought the richest _entertainment_, you could not\nopen a book more fitted to gratify you. It is an inexhaustible mine of\ninstruction as well as of beauty--the deeper you dig, the richer will\nyou find its treasures. Its exquisite simplicity, its pathos, its\nsublimity, its heavenly wisdom, its purity, are all adapted to turn us\naway from the vanities of the world; to enlarge our views beyond these\nregions of disorder and darkness; to strengthen every high and holy\nmotive; and to lead us upward to Him who is the source and the sum of\nall good. Happy, thrice happy will those children and young people be,\nwho early learn to go to the BIBLE for all their sentiments, principles,\nand rules of action; who learn daily to go to that precious Book to\ndirect them in their pursuits, to comfort them in their sorrows, to\nguide them in their perplexities, and to animate them in their labours\nwhatever they may be! Such have the best pledge of temporal enjoyment,\nand of eternal blessedness. When, therefore, those who love you, and\nwould in some measure take the place of your dear departed Mother, daily\nput this precious Book of God into your hands, and urge you to read and\ncommit to memory a portion of its contents, do not allow yourselves to\nregard it as a task or a burden. Think from whom it comes--from the God\nwho made you. Think of the great purpose for which it was given--to make\nyou wise and eternally happy. Think of the only means of making it truly\nprofitable to you--studying it with devout attention, laying it up in\nyour hearts, and practising it in your lives. Think of the solemn\nresponsibility which the possession of this Book lays upon you--for to\nwhomsoever much is given, of them shall much be required. And may the\ngreat Author of this Book give you grace to \"seek for the heavenly\nwisdom which it contains as silver, and search for it as for hid\ntreasures!\"\n\n\nLETTER V.\n\nPRAYER.\n\nDEAR CHILDREN:--\"Prayer is the offering up of our desires to God, for\nthings agreeable to his will, in the name of Christ, with confession of\nour sins, and thankful acknowledgment of his mercies.\" This is the\ndefinition given in a Catechism with which you are familiar, and a more\ncomplete and perfect one could scarcely be conceived. It is the offering\nup of our _sincere desires_; for unless it be _sincere_, it is but\nsolemn mockery. It is to be addressed to _God alone_; for prayer\naddressed to any created being, is an act of treason to our rightful\nSovereign. It is to be \"for things _agreeable to the divine will_;\" or\nelse it is unauthorized and presumptuous. It is always to be presented\n_in the name of Christ_; for there is no other name under heaven given\namong men whereby we can draw near to a holy God with acceptance, but\nthe name of Jesus Christ. It must be accompanied with _confession of\nsin_; because the approach of a sinner to God, without an humble sense\nand acknowledgment of unworthiness, would be contrary to every principle\nof reason, as well as to the Christian plan of salvation. And, finally,\nit ought to include a thankful acknowledgment of _divine mercies_; for\nwithout a grateful sense of God's goodness, we cannot be in a frame of\nmind fitted to receive farther favours.\n\nI trust, dear children, I need not dwell long on either the\n_reasonableness_ or the _duty_ of prayer. If we are entirely dependent\non God for every temporal and spiritual blessing, then it is surely\nreasonable that we acknowledge our dependence, and apply to him with\nhumility and earnestness for his aid. If his favour is life, and his\nblessing the best riches, it is evident that we ought to supplicate them\nwith importunity and perseverance. If we are sinners, unworthy of the\ndivine favour, we ought to humble ourselves at his footstool, and make\nconfession of our sins with penitence and obedience. If he has revealed\na plan of mercy and grace to us, of which he invites and commands us to\navail ourselves, then every principle of self interest concurs with\nreason, in urging us to seek with earnestness a participation in that\nmercy. And if our Maker and Redeemer has, in so many words, commanded us\n\"by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving to make known our requests\nto God,\" who can question, for a moment, the _reasonableness_ of a\ncompliance with that command?\n\nNor is the _duty_ of prayer less apparent than its _reasonableness_. The\ncommand of our Father in heaven is--\"Pray without ceasing--pray always\nwith all prayer and supplication, and abound therein with thanksgiving.\nI will be inquired of by my people to do that for them which they need.\nAsk and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall\nbe opened unto you. For if ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts\nunto your children, how much more shall your Father in heaven give his\nHoly Spirit to them that ask him? All things whatsoever ye shall ask in\nprayer, believing, ye shall receive. The effectual, fervent prayer of a\nrighteous man availeth much. When thou prayest, enter into thy closet,\nand when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret,\nand thy Father which seeth in secret, shall reward thee openly. If any\none lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who giveth liberally, and it shall\nbe given him. Is any afflicted? let him pray. Be careful for nothing;\nbut in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let\nyour requests be made known to God. The Lord is rich in mercy to all\nthat call upon him. In the day of my trouble I called upon the Lord, and\nhe heard me, and delivered me out of all my distresses.\"\n\nSuch are some of the numerous passages of Scripture which plainly\n_require_ and _encourage_ prayer. Can any one who reads and believes the\nBible, doubt for a moment, that it is equally his _duty_ and his\n_privilege_ to go daily to the throne of grace to supplicate for all the\ntemporal or spiritual good which he needs? I hope, my dear children,\nyou will not be disposed to say, notwithstanding such express and\npositive declarations of God's word, in the language of profane\nobjectors of old--\"Wherefore should we seek after God? Does he need to\nbe informed of our wants? Can we, by importunity, alter his purposes?\nWhere is, then, the advantage of asking for what we need? What profit\nshall we have if we pray unto him?\" If you should ever be tempted to ask\nsuch a question, I would answer--\"Much every way.\" God has connected our\nasking for blessings with receiving them. He has promised to hear and\nanswer prayer. He has condescended to say, that he will regard with all\nthe tenderness of a parent's heart, the cries of his children. He has\nsaid in his word, \"Ye have not, because ye ask not.\" This is enough. But\nit is not all that is worthy of our attention. Prayer is not intended to\ninform God, but to benefit ourselves. It tends to remind us of our\ndependence and unworthiness; to impress our hearts with a deeper sense\nof the divine goodness and mercy; and to beget in our minds that humble,\ngrateful, tender sense of our own weakness, and of our obligation to the\nAuthor of all good, which constitute the best preparation for receiving\nthe gracious gifts of our heavenly Parent.\n\nWhile your precious, lamented Mother was alive, what a privilege did you\nconsider it to be allowed to go to her in all your troubles, and to\nmake known to her all your desires! How much greater the privilege to be\nallowed every hour free access to your Father in heaven, with all your\nanxieties and distresses, to pour out all your wants and wishes, your\nhopes and fears into the bosom of an Almighty Friend, who is ever able\nand ready to help!\n\nSince, then, dear children, there are so many reasons prompting you to\nprayer; since you are always weak, always dependant, always unworthy,\nand always in need, can you doubt that it is your duty and your interest\nto abound in prayer? Let me entreat you, therefore, never to suffer a\nday to pass without engaging in this delightful and most reasonable\nexercise. Set apart fixed times for the purpose, that you may form such\n_habits_ as will aid your memory, and prevent your neglecting it. Retire\nas soon as you can, after rising in the morning, to return thanks for\nthe mercies of the night, and to implore the protection, the guidance,\nand the blessing of your heavenly Father, through the day. And in the\nevening, before drowsiness overtakes you, retire again, to praise him\nfor the mercies of the day, and to ask for his guardianship during the\nnight watches. But are these the only subjects of prayer? Far from it.\nThey are numerous as the moments you live, and various as the objects\nwhich you are called to contemplate. Pray in the morning, that God would\nkeep you from all evil in body or soul, through the day; that he would\ncreate in you a clean heart, and renew within you a right spirit; that\nhe would guard your speech and behaviour at all times, and in every\nsituation; that he would enable you to mortify and subdue every sinful\naffection, and to overcome every improper habit; that he would deliver\nyou from sloth, and pride, and vanity, and malice, and envy, and every\nevil temper; that he would enable you to treat all around you in a\ndutiful and becoming manner; in a word, that he would enable you to\nspend the day in a manner profitable to yourselves, and to the benefit\nof all around you. And in the evening pray, that he would pardon all the\ndeficiencies and infirmities of the preceding day; that he would make\nyou grateful for all the favours of his merciful Providence; that he\nwould watch over you during the hours of darkness and repose; and bring\nyou to the light of another day in health, in the exercise of your\nreason, and in the enjoyment of his favour and love.\n\nAnd while you thus pray daily for yourselves, it is your privilege and\nduty to include in your petitions all with whom you are connected in the\nvarious relations of life. You ought to pray continually for your\nbeloved _father_, who is engaged in such important labour for the\nChurch, and who loves you with an affection and solicitude which you can\nnever repay; for your _grandparents_, who are daily praying for you, and\nwho are falling more and more under the infirmities of age; for _one\nanother_, that you may be guided and blessed amidst all the temptations\nand dangers of youth; for your _teachers_; for your _school-mates_; for\nthe _poor children_ around you, who have none of the advantages of\ninstruction and restraint which you enjoy; for your _friends_, and\n_neighbours_, and all with whom you are acquainted. O, my dear children,\nif you prayed as you ought every day for all these, how much happier\nwould you be! What a benign influence it would have on your whole temper\nand conduct! It would make you kind, tender hearted, and forgiving\ntoward all with whom you conversed; and make all of them, in their turn,\nlove you as a friend and benefactor.\n\nLet me make, on this subject, one more suggestion. Most people,\nespecially most young people, have no idea of engaging in prayer unless\nat particular times when they retire for the purpose. I wish you all,\ndear children, besides your stated seasons of prayer, morning and\nevening, to form the habit of lifting up your thoughts and your desires\nto God in any and every situation; when walking by the way; when\nsurrounded with company; when met by any call of duty, or by any\ncircumstance of a doubtful aspect, or perplexing character--be in the\nhabit of silently but devoutly looking up to God for wisdom and strength\nto perform every duty. This kind of intercourse with God may be carried\non at all times, and in all situations; and, I will add, was never\nsincerely adopted by any one without being connected with guidance and\nconsolations of unspeakable value. In this way the suggestion of the\napostle in writing to Timothy will be realized, that \"_every thing_ be\nsanctified by the word of God, and prayer.\"\n\n\nLETTER VI.\n\nCULTIVATION OF THE MIND.\n\nDEAR CHILDREN:--That every human being is bound to cultivate, in the\nbest manner, the intellectual powers which God has given him, I hope you\nwill take for granted, anterior to all argument; and, although the moral\naspects of education are the most vitally important, yet as no one can\nbe a moral agent without some degree of intellect; so it may be said,\nthat the wisest and best culture even of our moral powers, depends more\non the discipline, the enlargement, and the furniture of the intellect,\nthan is commonly supposed.\n\nThe cultivation of the mind comprises two things, and two only, viz:\ngiving it proper habits of exercise, and filling it with useful\nknowledge. The case is precisely similar with regard to the _body_. The\nsum total of all that we are called to do for the benefit of the body,\nis to secure its strength by constant and wholesome action or exercise,\nand to furnish it with appropriate nourishment. On the one hand, were\nits _exercise_ ever so abundant, if left without aliment, it would\nspeedily sink into weakness and death; and, on the other, if its aliment\nbe ever so plentiful and rich, yet if it be left wholly without\n_exercise_, it will soon become a mass of disease and corruption.\nPrecisely so is it in the cultivation of the mind. Exercise and aliment\nare equally indispensable, and must go together. If the mind be not\ntaught to think, and to feel an appetite for intellectual provision, all\nthe knowledge in the world, if introduced into it, would be of little\nuse. But, if it be taught only to think and feel, and be furnished with\nnone of the appropriate aliment of knowledge, it cannot grow either in\nstrength, or in a capacity to act its part in the world with dignity or\nusefulness.\n\nAs these principles lie at the foundation of all intellectual culture,\nso they are also adapted to instruct us with regard to the wisest and\nbest means of conducting that culture, with regard to the departments of\nknowledge most worthy of being studied, and the relative stress which\nought to be laid on different pursuits. If you would be trained up\nmerely to be splendid butterflies, to shine and to please the\nsuperficial and the empty, for a day, and, having done this, to die like\nsenseless insects; why, then, a corresponding plan of culture must be\nadopted. But, if you wish to be regarded as rational creatures; to be\nprepared for sober thought and action; to \"serve your generation by the\nwill of God;\" to die in peace, and to be remembered with love and\nveneration when you are gone, then it is perfectly manifest a very\ndifferent method of training is indispensable.\n\nI trust you will not hesitate a moment in deciding which of these\ncourses you ought to choose. I trust the way of practical wisdom, of\npiety, and of usefulness, will be the object of your prompt and decisive\nchoice. If so, the course of mental culture which you ought to adopt,\ncannot possibly be mistaken by a mind of the least reflection. If you\nare to feel and act as moral accountable agents, and to consider human\nlife as a serious, momentous thing; then, doubtless, you will feel that\nyou are bound, first of all, and above all, to exercise your minds in\nsuch a manner, and to store them with such branches of knowledge, as\nwill tend most effectually to enlarge them, to strengthen them, to\ninspire them with practical wisdom, and to furnish them with the means\nof the most solid and extensive usefulness.\n\nUpon this principle, I would say, let your first and chief attention be\ndirected to those branches of knowledge which lie at the foundation of\nall that is enlarged, liberal, and elevated in human pursuits; such as\nGrammar, Rhetoric, Geography, the Latin, Greek, and French languages,\nNatural and Moral Philosophy, the elements of Mathematical science,\nChemistry, and as many of the branches of Natural History as may be\nwithin your reach, especially Botany and Mineralogy. These are all\nproper for both sexes; and the more you gain of all of them, the better\nfitted will you be both for enjoying life, and for fulfilling its\nvarious and momentous duties. I grant, indeed, my dear grandson, that\nwith regard to what is denominated Classic literature, and Mathematics,\nI wish _you_ to go more thoroughly to work, than would be desirable, or\nperhaps proper, for your sisters. But I hope that neither of these will\nbe entirely neglected by _them_. For I have an impression, that the\ncareful study, to a certain extent, of the best of the dead languages,\nand an intelligent acquaintance with the elementary principles of\nMathematics, ought to be omitted by none who can possibly attain them.\nIn my opinion, they are adapted to produce an effect on the mind, and to\ndiffuse an influence over all its other acquisitions, more happy and\nmore important than is commonly recognised, even by many of the educated\nthemselves.\n\nBesides the popular sciences just mentioned, with which every human\nbeing who can afford it, ought to seek some good acquaintance, there is\nan extensive and important field of knowledge, which is defined by the\ngeneral term of _literature_, and, in our case, of _English Literature_.\nThere is a large class of writers, with whose works every one who claims\nto be intelligent and well informed, must be familiar. To this\ndepartment belongs the whole subject of _History_, which, I trust, will\nreceive the serious attention of all of you; and about which I hope you\nwill take enlightened advice, as a number of the most attractive and\npopular writers in this department, are unfit to be perused without\nmuch reserve and caution. To these, of course, ought to be added, those\ngreat writers, both in prose and poetry, which deserve to be ranked as\n_English Classics_; and, with which, I feel confident, you will seize\nthe earliest opportunity of becoming acquainted. I refer to such writers\nas Milton, Shakspeare, Dryden, Addison, Steele, Pope, Thompson, Gray,\nYoung, Goldsmith, Johnson, Cowper, Beattie, and a number of others, whom\nI cannot pause to specify, but with whom it would be highly\ndiscreditable not to have some intimate knowledge. Without an\nacquaintance with these writers, you cannot appreciate the riches, the\nbeauties, or the purity of your vernacular tongue, or form for\nyourselves a good style of writing. In these writers, too, you will find\na great store-house of fine sentiment, as well as diction, adapted\ngreatly to enlarge and elevate the mind, to impart to it its highest\npolish, and to prepare it for its best efforts.\n\nThere are certain accomplishments commonly called _ornamental_, deemed\nby many desirable for females, and by some considered as of much\nconsequence. Among these are dancing, music, painting, drawing,\nembroidery, &c. With regard to _dancing_, your beloved grandmother and\nmyself never thought proper to permit any of our own children to be\ninstructed in this art; not because we thought the _act_ of dancing\nitself criminal, but because we considered it as inseparably and almost\nnecessarily connected with the whole system of balls, dancing\nassemblies, midnight parties, &c., all of which we deemed criminal, and\nin a great variety of ways, hostile to the principles and the claims of\ntrue religion. We do, indeed, find dancing spoken of in the Old\nTestament Scriptures, as having been employed, even on occasions of\nreligious joy; but never on such occasions do we read of the midnight\ndance, nor of promiscuous dancing, that is, of the sexes together. And\nwith respect to the New Testament, we read there of only one actual\ndance, and that was performed by a profligate woman, and connected with\ncrime of the most atrocious and revolting character.\n\nAs to _music_, I am persuaded it is the duty of every one who is able to\ndo it, to acquire the power of uniting in the social praise of God with\nexcellence and efficiency. The cultivation of vocal music, and the\nattainment of such a degree of skill in it as is essential to imparting\nan interest in the exercise, are conducive to health and favourable to\nmoral and spiritual improvement. So far, I am confident you ought all to\ngo. And if my granddaughters should have a special taste and love for\ninstrumental music, I am by no means prepared to advise that they deny\nthemselves the pleasure. It is an elegant accomplishment, and when\nwisely employed, may be connected with innocent pleasure, and sometimes\nwith benefit. But I should deeply regret to find them aiming at that\n_exquisite skill_ in instrumental music, which cannot be attained\nwithout great expense, much loss of time, and that intense and long\ncontinued attention which cannot fail to engross the mind and stand in\nthe way of more worthy objects of pursuit, if it do not wholly exclude\nthem. This is so unworthy of a rational accountable creature, that I\nwould infinitely rather my dear grandchildren should know nothing of\nmusic, than that they should carry their zeal for it, and their devotion\nto it, to such an injurious length. And as to my dear grandson, while I\nhope always to hear him unite in singing the praises of God in the\nsanctuary with taste and skill, it would give me unspeakable pain to\nhear that he was regarded as a highly acceptable and admired singer at\nconvivial meetings, and that his company was courted on that account. I\nconcur in opinion with the old Grecian sage, who, when a young gentleman\nof his acquaintance, of respectable station and employment in society,\nhad performed on an instrument of music with consummate skill and\neffect, said to him, \"Are you not ashamed, my young friend, to play so\nwell?\"\n\nIn conducting the intellectual culture of the young, there is one\nquestion which I presume you will not fail to ask, and which I wish to\nanticipate and answer in this little system of affectionate advices. The\nquestion is, whether _Novels_ ought to have any place in the course of\nreading prescribed for young people? This is a question of exceeding\ngreat importance. When I was a youth it was far less interesting and\nmomentous, as a practical matter, than it has now become. Three quarters\nof a century, and more especially a century ago, the number of this\nclass of writings was so small, and their popular circulation so\ninconsiderable, that their influence was scarcely worthy of notice,\ncompared with that which they have more recently exerted, and which they\nare daily going on to extend. Bear with me then, dear children, while I\ndwell a little on this subject, and call your attention to some thoughts\nwhich I pray God may be deeply impressed upon your minds.\n\nThat fictitious history is not in its own nature and necessarily\ncriminal, will probably be acknowledged by all. It _may_ be so construed\nas to awaken curiosity, to excite sympathy, and to impress the\nunderstanding and the heart in a salutary manner. Of course, to condemn\nevery thing of the kind _as such_, and however constructed or employed,\nwould be to pronounce an unjust judgment. Hence we find examples of this\nmode of instruction in the holy Scriptures; and on the same principle,\nsome of the wisest and best human teachers in all ages, have used the\nvehicle of lively and interesting fiction, known to be such at the time,\nfor insinuating into the mind moral and religious lessons, which in a\ndifferent form, might not so readily have gained admittance.\n\nBut the great error of modern times is two-fold; _First_, in\nmultiplying publications of this kind, until they bear an inordinate and\ninjurious proportion in the current literature of the day; and,\n_Secondly_, in constructing them upon a plan adapted to degrade virtue\nand piety, to recommend vice, and of course to prove seductive and\nimmoral in their whole influence.\n\nEven when such works are perfectly unexceptionable in their character;\nwhen they are wholly free from any thing improper, either in language or\nsentiment, they may be productive of incalculable mischief, if, as now,\nthey are issued in excessive _numbers_ and _quantity_. Leaving the\n_character_ of modern novels entirely out of the question, the enormous\nnumber which for the last half century has been every day increasing,\nhas become a grievous intellectual and moral nuisance. As long as they\nwere _few_ in number, and were regarded not as the _substance_, but only\nas the _seasoning_ of the literary feast, they occupied but a small\nshare of public attention. The chief time and attention of the reading\nportion of the community were mainly devoted to works of substantial\nvalue, fitted to strengthen, enlarge, and enrich the mind. But, within\nthe last twenty or thirty years, the number of novels has increased so\nrapidly; they have become so prominent and alluring a part of the\ncurrent literature of the day; and by their stimulating and\ninexhaustible variety, have so drawn away the minds of the aged as well\nas the young from solid reading, that they have formed the principal\nreading of a large portion of the community, and, of course, have become\na snare and an injury to an extent not easily calculated. As long as\nexhilarating gases, or other stimulating substances, are administered\nsparingly, and as medicines, they may be altogether harmless, and even\nessentially useful. But, when those who have taken them for some time in\nthis manner, become so enamoured with them as to be no longer satisfied\nwith their moderate and salutary use, but make them their daily and\nprincipal aliment, they become inevitably mischievous. They destroy the\ntone of the stomach, and, in the end, radically undermine the health.\n\nSo it is with the insidious excitement of novels. Were the reader of\nthem to take none into his hands but those which might be safely\npronounced perfectly pure and innocent; and were he certain that he\nwould never be tempted to go beyond the most moderate bounds in seeking\nand perusing even such, there would, perhaps, be little danger to be\napprehended. But no one can be thus certain of either. The general\nstimulus of fictitious narrative is morbid and disorderly. It excites\nthe mind, but cannot fill or enrich it. The probability is, that he who\nallows himself to enter on this course, will be led on, like the\nmiserable tippler, from one stage of indulgence to another, until his\nappetite is perverted; his power of self-denial and restraint lost; and\nhis ruin finally sealed; or, at least, his mind so completely indisposed\nand unfitted for the sober realities of practical wisdom, for the\npursuits of solid science and literature, as to be consigned to the\nclass of superficial drivellers as long as he lives.\n\nThe truth is, novels--even the purest and best of them--are adapted, not\nto _instruct_, but only to _amuse_; not to _nourish_ and _strengthen_,\nbut only to _exhilarate_. They even enervate the mind; they generate a\nsickliness of fancy; and they render the ordinary affairs and duties of\nlife altogether uninteresting and insipid. After wading through hundreds\nof the most unexceptionable volumes belonging to this class--what has\nbeen gained? What has been laid up for future use? Nothing. Not a trace\nof any thing useful has been left behind. The days and nights devoted to\ntheir perusal have been absolutely lost. What infatuation is it for a\nrational creature who is sent into the world for serious and important\npurposes, and who is hastening to the judgment seat, thus to waste\nprecious time; and, what is worse, thus to pervert his mind, and\ndisqualify himself for sober employments! The celebrated Dr. Goldsmith,\nin writing to his brother, respecting the education of his son,\nexpresses himself in the following strong terms, which are the more\nremarkable, as he himself had written a novel:--\"Above all things, never\nlet your son touch a romance or novel. These paint beauty in colours\nmore charming than nature, and describe happiness that man never tastes.\nHow delusive, how destructive are those pictures of consummate bliss!\nThey teach the youthful mind to sigh after beauty and happiness which\nnever existed; to despise the little good which fortune has mixed in our\ncup, by expecting more than she ever gave; and, in general, take the\nword of a man who has seen the world, and has studied human nature more\nby experience than precepts--take my word for it, I say, that such books\nteach us very little of the world.\"[10] He might have gone farther, and\nsaid--They teach us little of _any thing_; and so pervert the taste, as\nto take away all relish for applying the mind to any thing sober or\nuseful. Often have I known young men and women so bewitched by novels,\nthat they could read nothing else. They sought for new works of this\nclass in every direction; devoured them with insatiable avidity; and\nbecame less and less disposed for pursuing any study either prescribed\nby their preceptors, or adapted to promote their ultimate enjoyment;\nuntil their prospects for both worlds were irrecoverably overcast with\nclouds and darkness.\n\n     [10] Life of Goldsmith, prefixed to his Miscellaneous Works.\n\nImagine not, dear children, that _you_ will exercise more resolution\nthan others, and thus avoid the snare of which I have spoken. You\ncannot answer for yourselves in this matter, any more than the man who\nis constantly exposed to the temptation of stimulating drinks can be\nsure of escaping the danger. Rely upon it, the more confident you are of\nyour own wisdom and firmness in avoiding the evil in question, the\ngreater your peril. In this, as in many other things, the only complete\nsafety is to be found in wholly avoiding the dangerous territory.\n\nBut there is another source of evil in this department of literature,\nstill more serious and formidable. A very large proportion of modern\nnovels, are far from being innocent. They are positively seductive and\ncorrupting in their tendency. They make virtue to appear contemptible,\nand vice attractive, honourable, and triumphant. Folly and crime have\npalliative and even commendatory names bestowed upon them. The\nomnipotence of _love_ over all obligations and all duties, is\ncontinually maintained; and the extravagance of sinful passion\nrepresented as the effect of amiable sensibility. Surely these\nrepresentations can have no other tendency than to pervert the moral\nsentiments, and to corrupt the hearts of those who habitually dwell upon\nthem. And even though they be, at first, contemplated with abhorrence,\nno one can tell how soon the mind may be gradually and insidiously\nreconciled to them, by familiarity with the infectious influence.\n\nFor example; the novels of _Sir Walter Scott_ have been read with eager\ndelight by millions of the young and the old; and many pronounce them at\nleast innocent. But those who read them with intelligence, and with a\nproper estimate of the times and the characters which he undertakes to\nportray, will perceive that the writer arrays himself against the\npatriotism and the piety of some of the best men that ever adorned the\nhistory of his country; that he exhibits orthodoxy and zeal under the\nguise of enthusiasm and fanaticism; that he strives to cover with\ndishonour, men \"of whom the world was not worthy;\" and to elevate and\ncanonize their persecutors. In short, that his general influence is\nwholly unfriendly to religion. These characteristics pervade the most\npopular of his novels. Of course few of his readers, especially of his\nyouthful readers, are aware of his misrepresentation, and, therefore,\nare not armed against the mischievous influence.\n\nBut there is a poison lurking in this field, still more virulent and\nfatal. A large portion of novels may be charged with being seductive and\nimmoral, upon a more refined and deep laid plan. They are systematic,\nand, in some instances, ingenious and plausible apologies for the most\natrocious crimes. In many modern productions of this kind, the\nintelligent reader will recognise the following process of\nrepresentation: Corrupt opinions are put into the mouth of some\nfavourite hero, the splendour of whose character, in other respects, is\nmade to embellish the principles which he holds, and the force of whose\neloquence is employed to recommend the most unreasonable and mischievous\ndogmas. When this hero commits a crime, and when, by this crime,\naccording to the fixed laws of the divine government, he is involved in\nserious difficulty, if not lasting and fatal misery, the fashionable\nnovelist endeavours to throw the blame on the religious and moral\ninstitutions of society, as narrow, illiberal, and unjust. When a\nsplendid but corrupt woman, has forsaken the paths of virtue, and when\nshe suffers in her reputation and her comfort, by such conduct, all this\nis ascribed to \"the wretched state of civilization\"--to \"the deplorable\ncondition of society.\" Every opportunity is taken to attack some\nessential principle of morality, under the tide of a \"prejudice;\" to\nridicule the duties of conjugal and domestic life, as flowing from\n\"contracted\" and \"slavish\" views; to stigmatize the sober pursuits of\nhonest industry, as \"dull\" and \"spiritless;\" and, in a word, to frame an\napology for robbery, murder, suicide, and the indulgence of every\npropensity, for which a corrupt heart can plead an inclination.\n\nNow, my dear children, when novels of this kind are placed on the\nshelves of every circulating library, and strewed over every part of our\nland, what security have youthful novel-readers that many of this class\nwill not fall into their hands, and that they may not imbibe the fatal\npoison before they are aware? Is it any wonder that wise parents and\nguardians are painfully apprehensive of such danger? Many amiable and\nwell-intentioned young people, who fancied they were gaining amusement\nonly, have been unwarily betrayed into opinions, and prepared for\npractices which they would once have regarded with abhorrence, and which\nultimately led them into error, crime, and ruin. Since, then, there are\nso many novels of this insidious and baneful character; and since it is\nby no means easy for the young and inexperienced to distinguish between\nthe innocent and the vile, you will not wonder that I advise, nay,\nentreat you to avoid the reading of novels altogether; never to allow\nyourselves to take a volume of this kind into your hands at all. The\nmost innocent of them, as you have seen, are worthless, and the perusal\neven of _them_, a waste of time; and if you allow yourselves to touch\nany of them, you will be in danger of being led astray to an extent\nwhich you can hardly be made to anticipate. I beseech you, dear\nchildren, trust one who sincerely loves you; who understands the subject\nof which he is speaking; and who would not deprive you of a single safe\nor solid pleasure--trust him when he earnestly exhorts you, NEVER TO\nREAD A NOVEL.\n\nYou will, perhaps, ask, what is my opinion of what are called \"religious\nnovels,\" that is, of fictitious narrative, designed to illustrate and\nrecommend religion? I am compelled to say, that my deliberate judgment\nis unfavourable to _these_ also. They are neither edifying nor safe as\ninstructors in the great department of religion. I do not deny that\n_some_ of this class may be adapted to do good, and may have been\nactually useful. But this is not the question. The question is, whether,\nas a system, it is better to instruct in religion through the medium of\nfictitious narrative, and by means of thrilling incidents, or by plain,\nsober, didactic, and exhortatory address. In general, I cannot help\ndeciding in favour of the latter. The reason why the large majority of\nmankind prefer fictitious narrative is, that they love _excitement_; and\nmost youthful readers will be more likely to take interest in the\n\"story,\" than in the moral lessons which it conveys. Condiments and\nstimulants are useful in our food; but to make our daily food consist\nwholly or mainly of condiments and stimulants, would not, surely, be\nwise or salutary.\n\nBut this is not the worst. Among the novels called _religious_, there\nare various classes. Almost all the different religious denominations\nhave issued novels appropriate to their respective sectarian characters.\nWe not only have those which have been put forth by the friends of truth\nand piety; but, also, many by the advocates of error. Socinianism is now\nstrenuously inculcated through the medium of fictitious narrative. Cold\nPelagianism on the one hand, and Antinomianism on the other, have been\npresented in the same manner. Amidst these alternate pleadings of\northodoxy and heresy, how shall the youthful learner discriminate? Were\nhe to take up a didactic treatise in favour of Socinian or Pelagian\nopinions, he would see the error in a moment, and be on his guard\nagainst it. But when he is borne away by the excitement of a stirring\nnarrative, and a spirited, eloquent dialogue, he may imbibe the poison\nof error, before he is aware.\n\nYou must not, dear children, consider me as fanciful, if I express an\nopinion, that the present prevailing state of mind of the religious\npublic has some connexion with that class of novels of which I am now\nspeaking. The most striking characteristic of the present time is _a\nlove of excitement_. The old and sober mode of proceeding in any thing\nhas become unpopular and intolerable. Our children can scarcely be\nprevailed upon to read any thing unless it comes in the shape of a\nstriking story. If any one wishes a pious _tract_ to be read, he must\nconstruct it in the form of a thrilling fictitious narrative. Every dish\nmust be highly seasoned; every draught must be a dram. Is it any wonder\nthat, in such a condition of the public taste, all old methods of doing\ngood should be despised, and the Church as well as the world filled with\nnew opinions, new estimates of things, and \"new measures?\"\n\nBe assured, when your mind is brought, by any means, whether by an\ninsatiable love of fictitious narrative, or by any other form of\nexciting composition, to relish nothing conveyed in the old form of\nsolid, didactic, direct instruction, it is high time to examine whether\nyou are not acquiring habits unfriendly to sober thought, to the best\nmental culture, and to the acquirement of the most valuable knowledge.\nHow often have I met with young people, of both sexes, who could talk\nfluently, and with apparent intelligence, of the volumes of Miss Burney,\nMrs. Radcliffe, Madame De Stael, Miss Edgeworth, and Scott, and Cooper,\nand Bulwer, and even of the depraved and infamous Byron;--but, who were\nstruck dumb if you spoke to them of Shakspeare; of Bacon; of Milton; of\nAddison; of Thompson; of Young; of Dryden; of Pope, and Johnson, and\nRobertson, and Junius, and Cowper, and other English classics, of whom,\nif they had ever heard, they seemed to know nothing! Is this the way to\ncultivate the mind? Does this speak for or against the devourer of\nnovels?\n\nThe sum of my counsel, then, under this head, is, that if you wish\nreally to cultivate your minds, and to prepare them for healthful and\nuseful action, let your studies be solid, diligent, and persevering. Let\nyour reading be such as will fill your minds with the knowledge of\nfacts, principles, and sentiments of the enriching and elevating kind.\nLet your first and most intimate acquaintance be with those authors\nwhose works will tend to fit you for answering the great purpose for\nwhich you were sent into the world. Carefully avoid every species of\nreading which tends to turn away your minds from sober, practical views\nof life and duty. And remember that, for every book you read, and for\nevery mental influence which you invite, you have to render a solemn\naccount.\n\nThere is one more counsel, dear children, with which I will close this\nletter. It is, that whatever subject you study--whatever book you read,\nyou do it _faithfully_ and _thoroughly_. Leave nothing until you\nunderstand it well;--until you have, as far as possible, gone to the\nbottom of it. You may rely upon it that no solid knowledge is to be\ngained without patient, unwearied labour. Be not in haste, then, to pass\non to another subject or lesson, until you have completely mastered that\nin which you may be engaged. Be not contented with merely enabling\nyourselves to recite a lesson with plausible fluency. Be sure that you\nthoroughly comprehend, not only its obvious meaning, but also its\nelementary principles. Despise the indolence of those, who, in learning\nlanguages, are constantly using the miserable crutches of\n_translations_, instead of walking with the use of their own limbs; and\nwho, whenever a difficulty occurs in mathematics, or any other subject,\ninstead of delving it out themselves, ignobly ask help from some wiser\nand better scholar. This is cheating yourselves. That which is gained\nby your own efforts, and with considerable labour, will be better\nunderstood, and more firmly lodged in the mind, than that which is\nimparted gratuitously by others, without any vigorous mental exercise on\nyour part.\n\nThe fact is, the pursuit of knowledge may be compared to the task of one\nwho is called to cross a high and craggy mountain. If he is willing to\nforego his own best interests, both as to bodily and mental health, he\nmay employ some sturdy, athletic assistant to take him up in his arms,\nand bear him over the steep ascent, and deposit him in safety on the\nother side, without the use of a muscle of his own. But what would he be\nthe better for it, at the end of his journey? His limbs would not be\nbraced. His chest would not be expanded. He would miss a thousand\ninteresting objects of attention which the use of his own feet would\nhave brought to his view. After a thousand such boasted expeditions, he\nmight live and die the same feeble, nervous dyspeptic, that he was when\nhe set out. Whereas, he who resolves to climb the same mountain by his\nown efforts; who addresses himself to the task with patient persevering\nlabour; who takes step after step, slowly, but wisely and firmly; may\nnot gain the ascent quite as speedily as his weaker contemporary; but he\nwill gain it much more to his own profit and comfort, and, in the end,\nfind every power invigorated by the enterprise. O, if children and\nyoung people could feel how foolish it is to procure themselves to be\nborne up the mountain of knowledge by others, instead of climbing it\nthemselves, they would despise all the \"labour-saving machinery\" to\nwhich many of them are so fond of resorting; and would remember that\nwhat is gained by their own intellectual efforts, is more solid, wears\nbetter, digests better, and is productive of richer fruit, both to\nthemselves and others.\n\nIt is a law impressed by our Maker on the intellectual, as well as the\nphysical man, that \"if any will not work, neither shall he eat.\" It is a\nreal blessing, if we did but know it, to have labour connected with all\nour attainments. Thus do we best answer the great end of our being; thus\ndo we invigorate every power, and become prepared most effectually to\n\"serve our generation by the will of God.\"\n\n\nLETTER VII.\n\nCULTIVATION OF THE HEART, AND THE MORAL HABITS.\n\nDEAR CHILDREN:--By the _heart_, I mean the moral feelings, dispositions,\nand affections. And by _cultivating_ the heart, I mean directing much\nattention to restraining, regulating, and purifying all its exercises.\nThis may be said to lie at the foundation of all duty and all happiness.\nWere your intellectual powers cultivated with all possible care and\nsuccess, and your moral faculties neglected, you might be polished and\nelegant demons; but would be miserable yourselves, and a curse to\nsociety. Whether, therefore, you regard your own present enjoyment, and\neverlasting welfare, or the happiness of those around you, you cannot\ntoo early remember the great purpose for which you were sent into the\nworld, and the relations which you sustain as rational, social, and\nimmortal creatures. You cannot too early or too diligently learn to\nrestrain your passions; to deny yourselves; and to cultivate those\nbenevolent, meek, humble, and amiable habits, which are indispensable to\ntranquillity and peace of mind, and which alone can prepare you to adorn\nand bless the social circles with which you may be connected. I draw\nyour attention the more earnestly to this great subject because I see so\nmany young people who appear never to think of the importance, or even\nutility of this part of their education.\n\nIf you have not learned, dear children, that you are by nature prone to\nbe proud, vain, selfish, envious, irascible, sensual, malignant, and, in\na word, to indulge the various appetites and passions which tend to\ndestroy your own peace, and to invade the comfort of those around you;\nif you have not discovered that this is the tendency of your nature, and\nthat resisting it will call for much self-denial, and continual, and\nsometimes for agonizing effort, you have attended less to your own\nfeelings, and habits, and less to the character of your friends and\nassociates than I am willing to suppose.\n\nPerhaps you will ask--Does not _religion_ cover all this ground? Where\nthe power of Christian principle reigns in the heart, will not every\nthing intended to be included in this letter follow as a matter of\ncourse? If the _plan of salvation_, treated in a former letter, be\nreceived and obeyed, will not all the objects contemplated in the\npresent letter, be included and secured? Whence, then, the necessity, or\neven the propriety, of making it matter of separate consideration? I\nanswer, the religion of Christ, in its spirit and power, does indeed\nembrace all moral excellence. It does, in fact, where it bears\nappropriate and entire sway, include every moral feeling, affection, and\nhabit, which can adorn and elevate human nature. And yet it is to be\nlamented that many who cherish the Christian hope, are not as much aware\nof this fact as they ought to be; and are not so careful to exhibit all\nthe _loveliness_, as well as the _purity_ of example which become them,\nas is desirable. And, besides, I have always found that there is a great\nadvantage in pursuing rather more into detail the various branches of\nthe Christian temper, than is commonly done even in the best treatises\non religious character and duty. The French have a phrase which\nexpresses more exactly than any English one which I can recollect, my\nmeaning in the title of this letter. The phrase I refer to, is _Les\npetites morales_; by which they appear to understand those _moral\ndelicacies_ of feeling, temper, and intercourse, which, though not\nalways found actually shining in every professing, or even every real\nChristian, do really belong to the Christian code of ethics, and are\nindispensable to a complete and exemplary character.\n\nThe duties which grow out of our relations to God, are generally\nacknowledged by all professors of religion. However defective their\nobedience, their obligations are seldom disputed. But if it be the law\nof God, not only that we should \"love Him with all our heart and soul\nand strength and mind,\" but also that we should \"love our neighbours as\nourselves,\" then the duties growing out of this great law are more\nmultiplied, tender, delicate and important than most of those who are\ncalled religious people recognise in practice, or even in theory.\n\nIt is true, the root of all sound morality is religion. And it is\nequally true, that the deeper sense any one has of the constraining love\nof Christ, and of the holiness, majesty, omniscience, and omnipresence\nof God, the more faithful he will be in the discharge of all moral\nduties, both in private and in public. Labour then, day by day, to gain\na deeper impression of the claims of your Creator and Redeemer upon you.\nMeditate much on the Divine glory. Cultivate a devout spirit. Study to\nwalk with God in the exercise of faith, and love, and prayer. And\nendeavour to keep constantly before your minds his all seeing eye, his\ninfinite holiness, his judgment seat, and those righteous retributions\nwhich he has in store for all his creatures, whether they be good, or\nwhether they be evil? This is cultivating the heart in the most\nessential and radical sense. This is going to \"the root of the matter.\"\nThat morality, and that alone, which is grafted upon this sanctified\nstock, will be regarded with approbation by the Searcher of hearts, and\nstand the test of the great day.\n\nBut while you labour with your hearts, that they may be habitually laid\nopen, with all the softness and tenderness of spiritual sensibility, to\nthe claims of your Creator and Redeemer; study with no less diligence to\ncherish a deep sense of all the duties which you owe to your beloved\nrelatives, to your friends, to your neighbours, and to all with whom you\nhave intercourse. To perceive the theory of these duties, is the\nprovince of the understanding; to enter into them, as a practical\nmatter, and under a solemn sense of obligation, is an affair of the\nheart; and the more deeply your hearts are schooled both in the\nprinciples and practice of these duties, the more they may be said to\npartake of that culture which I am now recommending.\n\nWhen I imagine to myself what an influence your precious Mother might\nhave had in cultivating your moral feelings and habits, if it had\npleased God to spare her to you; when I think of the happy power which\nher delicate, forming hand, might, by the divine blessing, have exerted\nover the heart of each of you;--the heart--as Mrs. Hannah More expresses\nit--that \"seat of evil propensities--that little troublesome empire of\nthe passions;\"--I could sit down and weep afresh that you are never to\nenjoy that culture. But, happily, there is a source of infinitely better\nculture. Try to lay to heart your weakness and your wants, and implore\nwithout ceasing the enlightening, subduing, and sanctifying power of the\nHoly Spirit, and you will find \"his grace sufficient for you.\"\n\nThere are special duties which you owe to your beloved surviving Parent,\nand to all your domestic relatives, of the most peculiar and tender\nkind; duties which it is equally your privilege and your honour to\ndischarge. These are veneration, love, gratitude, and a dutiful respect\nto all their feelings, as well as their interests. Here children are\nextremely apt to fail. Affection is generally found to descend from\nparents to their offspring, and in general from elder to younger\nrelatives, in great strength; but from children to parents, or from the\nyoung to the old, it seldom rises with equal vigour. Let not this be\nsaid of you. Constantly cherish toward your beloved Father, and all your\nelder relatives, not merely an outward respect, and dutifulness of\ndeportment, but a cordial and ardent affection; a sincere and lively\ngratitude for all those anxious cares and labours on their part for your\nbenefit, for which you have been indebted ever since you were born, and\nfor which you can never make an adequate return. Try to please them by\nthe constant manifestation of love, confidence, and grateful veneration;\nand let them see that you treasure up, to your profit, all their\ninstruction, reproofs, and warnings. When the _heart_, as well as the\noutward conduct, is conformed to these sentiments, O, how endearing and\nhappy is the intercourse between parents and children! What a charm is\ndiffused over the whole aspect of domestic society!\n\nLet me entreat you, also, early to learn the duty and the pleasure of\n_living in affectionate harmony among yourselves_. I can scarcely\nexpress to you the pain which I have sometimes felt when I have\nperceived any thing like a spirit of strife and acrimony rising between\nyou, and leading to the exchange of angry looks and passionate language.\nSurely three motherless children ought to feel more closely bound\ntogether than to indulge in such a temper and conduct. If you do not\nlove one another, who can you expect will love you? Be careful, then,\ncontinually to cultivate a spirit of brotherly and sisterly affection\ntoward each other. Let nothing interrupt this. When any contest arises,\nlet the only strife be, which shall be the first to yield, rather than\ncontend. On no account allow yourselves to employ harsh, much less\nviolent language toward each other. And if any contest arises which you\ncannot settle between yourselves without violence, let a united appeal\nto your Father, if he be present, or in his absence, to your\ngrandparents, terminate the controversy. Seldom does a conflict of this\nkind arise without there being blame on both sides. And who so proper to\nmake the proper award, and to adjust every difficulty, as those who love\nyou all equally and dearly, and have age and experience on their side?\n\nLet me enjoin on you to begin, as early as possible, to cherish a spirit\nof _habitual benevolence_--a desire, wherever you go, to promote the\n_happiness_ of all around you. Selfishness is the great master-sin of\nhuman nature. \"All seek their own.\" The _young_, especially, are apt to\nbe swallowed up in the excessive pursuit of their own enjoyment, and\nthat enjoyment is rarely sought or found in ministering to the wants,\nand promoting the comfort of others. But rely upon it, dear children,\nthis is a narrow and altogether deceptive view of the best means of\nhappiness. Not only is it the divine command that we \"love our neighbour\nas ourselves,\" but it is equally certain that obedience to this great\nlaw tends as directly to make ourselves happy, as it does to promote the\ncomfort of the objects of our benevolent attention. If you wish to be\nhappy yourselves, study continually to make all around you so too. The\nluxury of doing good is the richest luxury of which we are capable. It\nis the very spirit of Christ, who \"went about doing good;\" and the more\nclosely we commune with him in the exercise of the same spirit, the more\nwe secure true and rational enjoyment. Wherever you are, then, cultivate\na spirit of sympathy with the afflicted, and the habit of flying\nspontaneously to the relief of suffering. You cannot begin too early to\nfeed the hungry, to clothe the naked, to minister to the wants of the\nsick and dying, to relieve distress of every kind, and to \"please every\none for his good to edification:\"--not by flattery, which is too\ncommonly the method of pleasing adopted; but by letting it be seen that\nyou seek, as much as in you lies, to make all around you truly happy.\nNever promote mirth at the expense of others. Never allow yourselves to\n\"set others by the ears\" as it is sometimes expressed, for the sake of\nderision. Carefully avoid all those \"tricks,\" which so many of the young\ndelight in, and by which so much suffering, and sometimes even\nultimately the loss of life, have been incurred. In a word,\nconscientiously cherish the principle and the habit of never giving a\nmoment's pain to a human being, or even to a brute beast, unless it be\nnecessary for their real good; and wherever you see pain, by whomsoever\ninflicted, do all in your power, consistent with other obligations, to\nrelieve it, and to give rational pleasure. There is nothing, be assured,\ndear children, in all the splendour of fashionable display, in all the\ngratifications of sense, in all the delirious joys of giddy dissipation,\nonce to be compared with the hallowed pleasure of habitually doing good\nto all within your reach. Yes, make doing good your \"ruling passion,\"\nand you will be among the happiest of mortals.\n\nLet me beseech you to watch over your _temper_ with studious care. Few\nthings are more unhappy in a young person of either sex, than an\nirritable, irascible temper. It betrays into a thousand indiscretions.\nIt poisons social intercourse. It alienates friends. It destroys the\ncomfort of the individual who indulges it; and it interferes with the\ncomfort of all with whom he converses. I have known this infirmity to\ncast a cloud over the whole course of many persons who were otherwise\nfitted to adorn and bless society. Watch and pray against it with the\nutmost diligence. \"He that ruleth his own spirit is greater than he that\ntaketh a city.\" \"Be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath.\" Learn\n\"by soft answers to turn away wrath,\" both in yourselves and others. Be\nnot ready to take offence, or to consider any one as \"an offender for a\nword.\" Never regard an honest difference of opinion from yourself as a\npersonal affront. Surely the indulgence of such a spirit is as\nunreasonable as it is unhappy. Guard with the utmost vigilance against a\njealous, suspicious temper. Ill nature, peevishness, and a disposition\nto take every thing by an unfavourable handle, and to indulge in satire\nand sarcasm, are revolting in every human being, but especially in the\nfemale sex. I have never known such a temper to be indulged without\ndiminishing both the respectability and happiness of its possessor. Let\na mild, amiable, conciliatory spirit reign in all your intercourse. Be\never kind, tender hearted, and forgiving, even as you hope to obtain\nforgiveness from the God of all grace. Let the spirit of benevolence,\nand a desire to please, shine in your countenances, and be manifest in\nyour deportment in all companies; at home and on journies; in the public\nhotel, and in the parlour of a friend; towards servants, as well as\ntowards your equals or superiors. In a word, in temper as well as in\nconduct, \"Whatsoever ye would that others should do unto you, do ye even\nso to them, for this is the law and the prophets.\"\n\nIn forming your moral character and habits, I entreat you to lay great\nstress upon cultivating a sacred and delicate regard to _truth_, in all\nyour social intercourse. Rely upon it, you cannot pay too conscientious\na regard to this point. A fault here is as dishonourable as it is\ncriminal. I do not allow myself to fear that my beloved grandchildren,\nafter the training they have received, will ever indulge in deliberate\nfalsehood. In this there is a meanness as well as a sin, which I hope\nthey will equally despise and abhor. But it is to be lamented that there\nis much in social conversation, in which many people deemed respectable\nare apt to indulge themselves, and which I hope you will make conscience\nof sacredly avoiding. I mean all exaggeration in your descriptions; all\nhigh-colouring in your statements; all indulgence in fabulous\nnarratives, even in jest, for the amusement of company. Aside from the\ndictates of religion in this matter, which are sacred and conclusive,\nthere is something in these habits adapted to lower the character, and\nto diminish the influence of those who indulge them, with all\nsober-minded people. Whatever may be the consequence, let a regard to\nthe strictest verity, as if you were on oath, reign in all you say and\ndo. Avoid the meanness, as well as the sin of the slightest departure\nfrom absolute truth. Let all underhand deceptive contrivances, all low\ncunning, all habits of carrying your plans by disingenuous arts, be\nabhorred and avoided. How gratifying would it be to those who love you,\nto know that it had passed into something like a proverb among your\nacquaintance--\"The statement is from a Breckinridge--and therefore may\nbe depended on!\"\n\nLet me farther entreat you to guard against all indulgence of the spirit\nof _pride_, or _vanity_. By _pride_, I mean such an inordinate and\nunreasonable conceit of our own superiority in any respect, as leads us\nto look down on others as beneath us, and to treat them with\nhaughtiness, or contempt. And by _vanity_, I understand that excessive\ndesire for the applause of others which leads to egotism, and such a\nweak anxiety to attract the notice, and gain the approbation of those\naround us, as are apt to betray into little and unworthy arts for\ngaining the object. That both ought to be repudiated, as at once folly\nand sin, I hope no formal argument will be necessary to convince you.\nBut still, they are both besetting sins, which cleave with deplorable\nobstinacy to multitudes whose judgment is against them. Be assured, dear\nchildren, pride is as foolish as it is criminal. Who made you to differ\nfrom others? And what have you that you have not received? If you have\nminds, or an education, or outward circumstances more favourable than\nthose of many others, who conferred them upon you? If, therefore, you\nhave received all, why should you glory as if you had not received them?\nI know that we sometimes hear people talk of a \"laudable pride,\" an\n\"honest pride,\" \"a noble pride,\" &c. But such language is a grievous\nabuse of terms, and ought to be forever banished from the vocabulary of\nChristians. _Pride_ was \"the condemnation and snare of the devil,\" and\nis in all cases a weakness and a sin. To call a proper personal dignity\nand self-respect by this odious name, is altogether incorrect and\ndeceptive. To speak of a disposition to avoid a mean action as \"a noble\npride,\" is a perversion of language, as well as of moral principle. \"Be\nclothed with humility; for God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace to\nthe humble.\" \"Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit\nbefore a fall; for when pride cometh, then cometh shame, but with the\nlowly is wisdom.\" _Vanity_ is a passion still more childish and\ndegrading. It exhibits a rational creature hanging on the smiles and the\npraise of his fellow worms for his importance and happiness. O, what\ninfatuation for miserable sinners, who deserve nothing at the hand of\nGod but wrath, and the overflowing of wrath, and who are dependant on\nhis bounty for every breath, to be puffed up with high thoughts of\nthemselves, and arrogantly to claim the incense of praise! Fly, then,\nfrom pride and vanity with the utmost vigilance. Study to be \"meek and\nlowly in heart.\" \"Mind not high things, but condescend to men of low\nestate.\" \"In lowliness of mind esteem others better than yourselves.\"\n\"Be not wise or great in your own conceits.\" Be not greedy of praise.\nDespise all the unworthy arts of seeking and fishing for it. Rely upon\nit, the lower you lie in the dust of abasement, the happier you will be.\nThe more you are disposed to love and honour all around you according to\ntheir real character, the more infallibly you will secure their love and\nconfidence in return. And the less anxious you are to gain the applause\nof men, the more likely you will be to attain it, if you are found\nhumbly and diligently performing your duty. In short, if I wished you to\ngain the highest degree of esteem and honour among men, I would say--Do\nnot seek this object anxiously, or even directly at all. Never inquire\nwhat others say or think of you. Speak of yourselves, in conversation,\nas little as possible. Treat your superiors with uniform respect, but\nnot with fawning or flattery; and your inferiors, down to the lowest\nservant or beggar, with undeviating condescension and kindness; trying\nto benefit every one, and promote the happiness of every one; and you\nwill have as much of the love and respect of all as you really deserve,\nand probably more. If you sincerely try to promote the happiness of all\naround you, and do it with a kind and amiable manner, I believe it is\none of the cases in which our Lord's declaration never fails to be\nfulfilled--\"Give, and it shall be given unto you, good measure pressed\ndown and running over shall men give into your bosom.\"\n\nStrive with sacred care against every feeling approaching to the passion\nof _envy_. As you are now at an age when you are called daily to compete\nwith school and play-mates, you may be sometimes strongly tempted to\nindulge in this passion. But it is a base passion. Beware of it. How\nfiend-like, to sicken and repine at excellence! How base, to be\ndispleased and mortified when we contemplate the superior prosperity,\nhappiness, or accomplishments of others! When you witness such superior\nattainments or excellence, let the only effort be to excite gratitude to\nGod for its existence, and a generous emulation of it in yourselves.\n\nGuard with vigilance against a _talebearing_ and _tattling_ spirit. I\nwill not suppose you capable of deliberate _slander_, or cruelly\ncirculating reports to the injury of others without just evidence. This\nis so base and mean, that I trust you will ever abhor and despise it.\nBut it is the infirmity of many, who intend thereby no injury, that they\ndelight in circulating news concerning their neighbours, and have not a\nlittle of the true gossipping spirit. This is a bad habit. It degrades\nthe individual who indulges it, in the view of all wise, reflecting\npeople; often involves in painful explanations and difficulties; and is\nfrequently followed by consequences of the most perplexing and\ndisreputable kind. Never indulge the disposition to repeat idle stories\nabout neighbours. If they are repeated in your presence, listen to them\neither in silence, or with a civil remark, which cannot possibly\nimplicate you, or be construed into an approval of the scandal. It was\nan excellent appeal which was once made by a wise and benevolent man\nwhom I knew in early life--\"Why can you not talk more about _things_,\nthan about _persons_?\"\n\nLet me farther exhort you, as a point of duty, to cultivate habitual\n_cheerfulness_. When I say this, you will not understand me as\nrecommending a spirit of levity and frivolity. This is unworthy of\nrational, accountable creatures, and indicates as much of weakness as of\nsin. Those who spend their lives in gaiety and mirth, are \"dead while\nthey live.\" But by cultivating habitual cheerfulness, I mean cherishing\na pleasant state of the animal spirits; as opposed to constitutional\ngloom, mental depression, and settled, clouded taciturnity, I mean\nhabits, not of light, but of lively and affable conversation. Such a\nstate of mind does good like a medicine. It contributes to our own\nenjoyment. It makes us more pleasant and useful to those with whom we\nconverse. It may even operate to promote health and prolong life; and in\nvarious ways extend our power of doing good.\n\nGuard with conscientious care against habits of _indolence_. A tendency\nto this sin is one of the radical symptoms of the great moral disease of\nour nature; and you cannot begin too early to labour and pray for\neffecting a cure. Fly from idleness as a habit connected with a legion\nof evils. Make a point of always having something useful to\ndo--something to fill up every moment left vacant between the larger and\nmore important tasks of life. I am aware that we all stand in need of\n_recreation_; but this is often best attained by _a change of\nemployment_. When you have finished a sedentary task, which required\nintense application of mind, think, for a moment, whether there be not\nsome other object to which you may attend for a short time, which will\nrequire no mental effort, but by attention to which, you may promote\neither your own health or comfort, or the advantage of others. Make it\nyour daily study to \"redeem the time.\" Try to turn every moment to some\nvaluable account. For this purpose, form, as early as possible, a plan,\na systematic order in your daily tasks. Without such a plan, more or\nless formally adopted, you will inevitably lose much time in passing\nfrom one engagement to another. But if you manage always to leave\nsomething useful with which to fill up every little interval; so as\nnever to be idle, and never to waste time with frivolous, or worse than\nfrivolous employments, you will be more happy, and live more to your\nown true honour, and the benefit of your generation.\n\nI have only to add on the subject of this letter, a single word on the\ngreat importance of maintaining strict and habitual _temperance_ in all\nyour enjoyments. If you wish really to enjoy life, and to \"live out all\nyour days,\" you must exercise moderation and self-denial in eating and\ndrinking, and in every department of indulgence. Temperance has been\ndefined--the moderate use of things useful, and total abstinence from\nthose which are pernicious. This is an excellent definition, which I\ntrust you will ever keep in mind, and make your daily and hourly rule.\nTo be thus temperate, is a divine command. It is eminently conducive to\nhealth. It is highly advantageous to the activity and strength of the\npowers of the mind. And it is an admirable defence against a thousand\nirregularities and mischiefs which cloud the faculties, destroy comfort,\nand lead to multiplied forms of disease, and to premature graves. If you\nhabitually restrain appetite, deny yourselves, and \"let your moderation\nbe known\" in all things, and to all men, you will avoid many evils which\ncontinually beset those who act on the system of self-indulgence. Never\ndrink any thing but pure water, when in health; indulge in animal food\nbut _once_ in each day, and that in smaller quantities than most people\nconsider as temperate. Labourers in the open air may, not only with\nimpunity, but perhaps with profit, eat animal food more than once every\nday; but I am persuaded few other persons can do it without disadvantage\nto their health. My personal experience and observation in regard to\nthis point are very decisive. Nay, I would advise you to go one step\nfarther. Make the experiment of wholly abstaining from animal food at\nleast one day in each week, for the purpose of \"giving nature a\nholyday;\" of clearing the body and the mind from crudities; and taking a\nnew start in refined feeling and unclogged activity.\n\nIn fine, let it be the object of your unceasing study and prayer, to\n\"keep under the body;\" to \"crucify the flesh with the affections and\nlusts;\" to subdue and restrain all irregular tempers; \"if it be\npossible, as much as lieth in you, to live peaceably with all men;\" to\navoid wounding the feelings of any one with whom you converse, unless\nrequired to do it by a pure sense of duty; to promote the happiness of\nall around you; and to be continually seeking and improving\nopportunities of doing good.\n\n\nLETTER VIII.\n\nMANNERS.\n\nDEAR CHILDREN:--I wish it were in my power to give you a perfect and\nvivid representation of the manners of your lamented Mother. There was\nin them a sweetness, a gracefulness, and an attraction truly rare.\nWherever she went, they at once gained her friends. I am sure if you had\nbeen old enough at her decease to appreciate them; or, if I could now\ndepict them to the life, you would have a deeper impression of the\nimportance of happy manners; of their value to their possessor; of their\nbenign influence on social intercourse, than I can now hope to impart.\nAs it is, I hope you will be willing to take on trust my statement of\nthe fact concerning her, and that you will be stimulated to seek a\nsimilar accomplishment.\n\nIf it be true, as has been often said, that a good face is an \"open\nletter of recommendation,\" wherever its possessor appears; we may, with\nquite as much emphasis, say the same of pleasant engaging manners. Nay,\nwe may go farther. The most beautiful face and form that ever existed,\nif unaccompanied by agreeable manners, will soon be contemplated with\nindifference, if not with disgust. While, on the contrary, where there\nis an entire absence of personal beauty, there may be, and often are\nfound, such manners as captivate and win wherever they are seen, and\nwith a power felt by all, however remote they may be from the possession\nof such manners themselves.\n\nI shall not tax either your patience or my own, by entering largely into\nthe subject of manners. On this extensive subject I refer you to a\nvolume on \"Clerical Manners and Habits\" which I published a few years\nago, and in which considerable minuteness of detail is indulged. For\nalthough that work was intended more particularly for the benefit of\nclergymen, and especially of candidates for the sacred office; yet a\nlarge portion of it is equally applicable to all classes and\nprofessions, and to both sexes. I recommend the volume referred to, to\nyour serious attention, and to your careful study. And whatever may be\nyour situation in life, I think you will find much in it worthy of your\nregard. At any rate, if it be not so, I have failed of gaining my main\nobject in its publication.\n\nI will not, however, content myself with merely referring you to the\nvolume in question. It is my wish, in this little system of affectionate\nadvices, to call your attention to a few particulars on this subject\nwhich may be considered as more immediately appropriate at your present\ntender age, and, perhaps, on that account, more likely to dwell upon\nyour memory than the contents of a volume.\n\nYou will, perhaps, ask me, what I mean by those \"good manners\" which I\nwould recommend? I answer, by such manners I mean that mode of personal\naddress and deportment toward all with whom we converse which is\ndictated by the meekness, benevolence, and purity of the Gospel. In a\nword, \"true politeness\"--the most genuine politeness--that which I would\nearnestly desire those whom I love to cherish and cultivate--is _the\nreligion of Christ acted out in the whole temper, conversation, and\ndeportment_. The simple, unembarrassed, gentle expression of mingled\nrespect and kindness toward all with whom we converse, from the hovel to\nthe palace, is the perfection of manners. These are manners which become\nall times, places, companies, and circumstances, and which will carry\ntheir possessor through the world with acceptance and comfort.\n\nPerhaps, in your inexperience, you may be disposed to ask, what is the\ngreat value of such manners as are here recommended? If you have any\ndoubt on this subject _now_, I am persuaded a little more knowledge of\nthe world will satisfy you that their value is unspeakably great. Few\npeople are adequate judges of those solid intellectual and moral\nqualities which form a character of high excellence. But of personal\nmanners, all are judges; at any rate, all are capable of perceiving, and\nin some degree estimating, their value. Only a small portion of those\nwith whom you converse are able to discern whether you are wise and\nwell informed; but every child can see whether you have a sweet voice, a\npleasant countenance, an amiable, kind and respectful mode of address,\nor the contrary. Can there be, then, a more obvious dictate, both of\npolicy and duty, than to cultivate that which, to multitudes, is more\nattractive than real merit; which secures to merit a hearing, and an\ninfluence which it would not otherwise obtain; and which will be likely,\nin many cases, to open a door to usefulness which, without it, would, in\nall probability, have continued impenetrably closed? In repeated\ninstances have I known persons of weak minds, and of small information,\nbut of remarkably fascinating manners, carry all before them in circles\nof society into which persons of far higher qualifications, both\nintellectual and moral, but defective in the attractions of manner, were\nscarcely able to obtain admittance, and very inadequately esteemed when\nadmitted. A soft, insinuating address has, a thousand times, rendered\nits possessor every where acceptable and popular, when, on the score of\nreal merit, he ought by no means to have enjoyed so much public favour.\n\nBut this is not all. Pleasant attractive manners not only have a\nparamount influence with the superficial and unthinking; but they have\nmore power even on the minds of the wise and the good than is commonly\nimagined. To every human being, that which is intrinsically excellent,\nappears doubly attractive when presented in a pleasing manner. Truth,\neven to those who know it to be truth, finds a more cordial welcome; and\nduty, even among its most sincere and enlightened friends, commands a\nmore ready obedience, when they are clothed in an attractive garb, and\nspeak in alluring accents. That the very same words, which, when uttered\nby some, are intolerably offensive; when spoken in the mild, respectful\nmanner of others, are welcome, and even delightful--that the very same\naction, which, performed by some, is censured; when performed by others,\nof perhaps less talent or virtue, is lauded to excess; are among the\nmost notorious facts in human life; and that not in the circles of\nignorance and dissipation only, but also in those of the most estimable\nportions of mankind.\n\nTo despise or undervalue the cultivation of _manners_, then, argues a\ngreat want of practical wisdom. It is a subject worthy of your constant\nregard. To neglect it, is equally to oppose reason and experience, and\nto set at naught some of the most precious means of gaining access to\nthe human heart. And when I speak of cultivating good manners, do not\nimagine that I mean the formal, showy, pompous manners which some\ncommend, and seem to aim at. The truth is, the perfection of\nmanners--the ultimate point which is the result of the very best\nculture, is to attain that ease, simplicity, modesty, and gentleness of\ndeportment in every thing, which has nothing of the artificial, nothing\nof display about it. But to be more particular.\n\nThe first characteristic of manners to which I would direct your\nattention, as lying at the foundation of all excellence, is _benignity_.\nWithout the law of _benevolence_, reigning in the heart, and governing\nthe temper and the life, there may be much pomp and courtliness of\nmanner; many a heartless smile, and many a flattering form of address;\nbut there can be no genuine politeness. The essence of this consists in\nthe spirit of cordial good will and kindness shining in the countenance;\nexpressing itself in the language and tones of respect and benevolent\nregard; and flowing through all the channels of human intercourse, and\nall the minuti\u0106\u00a6 of human life. This is the vital principle of good\nmanners. Just in proportion as you really desire to increase the\nhappiness of all around you; to consult their ease; to anticipate their\nwants; and to promote their welfare--you will spontaneously manifest\nthese feelings in all situations and companies. Your whole deportment\nwill be pleasing, attractive, and graceful, without your having studied\nartificial rules. This is the foundation and the sum of all; but it may\nnot be improper to trace the radical principle into some of its minute\ndetails.\n\nIn all social intercourse, let _respectful attention_ mark your whole\nmanner. To turn away your eyes from the person who is addressing you;\nor to manifest in any way that you are thinking, or wish to be thinking,\nof something else, is a great breach of good manners; cannot fail of\ngiving pain to those with whom you converse; and must deprive you of a\nlarge part of the benefit of conversation. When you look your companion\ngently and respectfully, but firmly in the face, you manifest attention;\nyou enable yourselves to watch his countenance, and mark the impression\nwhich you make on his mind; to say nothing of the power of the eye in\nseconding and enforcing all that is said.\n\nCultivate _affability_ of manner. By this I mean that style of manners\nwhich is distinguished by ease, simplicity, and courteousness; a\ndeportment opposed to haughtiness, reserve, coldness, or taciturnity; in\nshort, to every thing that is adapted to repel, or to prevent freedom\nand comfort of approach. I am aware that constitutional temperament has\nmuch to do with this. But still, it is equally true that affability may\nand ought to be carefully cultivated; and that there are few things\nbetter adapted to conciliate good will, to inspire confidence, to invite\nfreedom of communication, and to place at ease all with whom we\nconverse.\n\nStudy to exercise _gentleness_ and _mildness_ in all your deportment and\nconversation. Guard against every thing harsh, severe, rough, abrupt, or\nin any way repulsive in your language, voice, or manner. Let the\nmeekness and gentleness of wisdom appear in every look, tone, and\nexpression. By a mild, respectful address, you may at once reprove\nimpertinence, disarm violence, and put even brutality to shame. Give all\ndiligence, then, to be \"gentle toward all men.\" Learn the happy art of\nconversing with gentleness, of giving your commands with gentleness, of\narguing with gentleness, of contending with gentleness, and of even\nreproving with gentleness. Both commands and reproofs, as well as\narguments, when dispensed in this manner, have not only more dignity,\nbut also more weight than when invested with an opposite character.\n\nFew things are more opposed to good breeding than a _loud, boisterous_\nmanner in social intercourse. Whether this be indulged in laughter, or\nin conversation, it is equally exceptionable as an offence against both\ndelicacy and dignity. With regard to _females_, an offence against this\nrule, is peculiarly revolting. It is a sure sign of vulgarity, and ought\nto be carefully avoided. But, in either sex, it is a blemish which well\nbred people never fail to notice.\n\nClosely allied to this is the habit of _rude familiarity_ which some\naffect, and to which they give the name of social pleasantry. This is\nundignified, and, to all delicate people, offensive. Mutual dignity and\nrespect are indispensable to the continued existence of Christian\nintercourse, in its most pure, delicate, and profitable form. If you\nwish to maintain such intercourse, be free and unconstrained; but never\nindulge in coarse familiarity. Those who are worthy of your love will\ncertainly be repelled rather than attracted by it.\n\nRemember, too, that all _interruption_ of any one with whom you are\nconversing, or blunt _contradiction_ of his statements, is an offence\nagainst delicate manners. However erroneous he may be, hear him out; and\nhowever certain you may be that his representations are false, rectify\nhis mistake, not bluntly, but with kindness and respect.\n\nGuard against _talking too much_ in company. He who is very talkative\nincurs disadvantages of a very serious kind. He cheapens himself; tires\nhis hearers; and must, of course, diminish his usefulness. However rich\nand instructive any one's talk may be, yet, if there be too much of it,\nboth his dignity and his influence cannot fail of being impaired. \"A\nfool's voice,\" says Solomon, \"is known by the multitude of his words.\"\n\"In the multitude of words,\" says the same inspired teacher, \"there\nwanteth not sin; but he that refraineth his lips is wise.\" And again,\n\"He that hath knowledge, spareth his words.\"\n\nBut another extreme in social intercourse, is that of excessive\n_reserve_ and _taciturnity_. Some from physical temperament; others from\nabstraction or absence of mind; and a third class, perhaps, from still\nmore exceptionable causes, wrap themselves up in a chilling reserve in\ncompany--never speaking but when addressed; and then answering as\nbriefly as possible, and relapsing into silence again. This is surely\nunhappy in a social being, and ought to be carefully avoided. While you\navoid garrulity, then, sink not down into obstinate silence. If you find\nyourselves, from any cause, prone to this, it is abundantly worth while\nto take pains to counteract it, and to labour to have something ready to\nsay that shall be at once acceptable and instructive.\n\nIn regard to _uncleanly and vulgar personal habits_, I will not suppose\nyou capable of them: and, therefore, shall not dwell upon them. All\nspitting on floors, lounging in your seats, putting up your feet on\nchairs or stools, leaning with your elbows on tables--these, and all\nsimilar habits, I hope, after the training you have had, you will avoid\nwith instinctive repugnance. But there is one habit which I would\nearnestly recommend, as favourable not merely to good manners, but also\nto _health_. Learn to _sit erect_, not only in company, but even in your\nmost private apartment. Reading or writing in a half-sunken or reclining\nposture is unfriendly to a graceful carriage; is apt to betray unwarily\ninto similar postures in company; prepares the way for the sinking,\nhalf-bent postures which disfigure so many of the feeble and aged; and\nreally tends to bring on premature decrepitude.\n\nDo not affect _wit_ or _punning_ in conversation. So many of those who\ntry to make themselves acceptable by such attempts, not only fail, but\noften render themselves a laughing stock by it, that there is little\nprobability of your succeeding as wits or punsters. But even with\nrespect to those whose talents in this way are ever so great, there is\nso much danger of their indulging those talents unseasonably and\nimprudently, so as to offend and alienate friends, that such powers\nought to be deprecated rather than desired, and their exercise, if\npossessed, subjected to the severest restriction. I never knew more than\none person of wit who was strictly discreet and delicate in its use. But\nI have known thousands who, by their miserable attempts to display what\nthey possessed either not at all, or in a very small degree, succeeded\nonly in exposing themselves to ridicule. And I have known many real\nwits, who almost every day wounded feelings, and alienated friends by\ntheir reckless effusions.\n\nDo not indulge the habit in conversation of _talking of yourselves_.\nHardly any quality is more apt to appear in social intercourse than\npersonal vanity. This leads to egotism, so that the idea of _self_\nappears to be ever present to the imagination. Hence we perpetually find\npeople talking of themselves; what they have done; what they have said;\nwhat others have said and done to their honour; in short, bringing into\nview something to their own advantage, or that of their family or\nrelatives. Rely upon it, if you have real worth, the less _you_ say\nabout it the better; and if you have it not, every claim of it, direct\nor indirect, can only sink you lower in the estimation of those with\nwhom you converse.\n\nCarefully form the habit of adverting to all the properties of _time_,\n_place_ and _circumstances_ in conversation. When you are about, in\ncompany, to make a remark, or to introduce a new topic of conversation,\nlook round on the circle, and ask yourself, whether there is any one\npresent whose feelings would be likely to be hurt by what you are about\nto say, or who would be placed by it in embarrassing circumstances. Be\nvery sure for example, when about to make, in company, an unfavourable\nremark on an absent person, that no relative or special friend of that\nperson is among your hearers. For, although you ought never to make a\nremark on any one which the Christian spirit cannot justify; yet in\ncertain circumstances, a remark perfectly proper in itself, may be\nunseasonable, and peculiarly painful to some who hear it. Guard against\nthe possibility of such an occurrence. This is a dictate of sound\nworldly policy. A departure from it is a gross violation of true\npoliteness. But it may be said, still more emphatically, to be a\ndeparture from the principles of Christian benevolence.\n\nAvoid the too frequent _use of superlatives_ in conversation. The habit\nof many, when they wish to express either approbation or censure, is to\nemploy the very strongest terms which the English language affords. If\nthey think favourably of the talents or the performance of any one, they\nare apt to speak of them as \"noble, admirable,\" as of \"the first order;\"\nor in some terms expressive of the very highest excellence. And, on the\nother hand, if they undertake to express disapprobation, the terms\n\"mean,\" \"execrable,\" \"detestable,\" are the softest that they think of\nemploying. This is a bad habit. It renders both the praise and censure\nof those who indulge it of less value in the estimation of all\nsober-minded and discriminating judges. If you wish your judgment to\npass for any thing in the view of the wise and reflecting, you must\nlearn to express opinions in that guarded and moderate manner which\nindicates intellectual discrimination rather than undistinguishing\nemotion. You know where it is said \"Fools admire, where men of sense\napprove.\"\n\nCarefully avoid giving _unnecessary trouble_ wherever you are. The\ndifference between different persons in this respect is very\nconspicuous. Some, when in the houses of their friends, have so many\nlittle wants, so many errands to perform, and are so absorbed in their\nown affairs, that, if permitted, they would keep several servants and\nothers constantly employed in waiting upon them. You may rely upon it\nyou can never be, long together, welcome visitants in families which you\nsubject to so much trouble. Make as few demands as possible on the time\nand attention of those whose hospitality you are enjoying. Never call\nupon their servants to wait upon you when it is practicable to avoid it.\nNever allow the occupations or order of any family to be set aside or\ndisarranged on your account, where it is possible to prevent it. In\nshort, act universally on the principle of doing every thing that you\ncan for yourselves, and making as few demands as possible on the time\nand labour of those around you.\n\nIn _calling on friends_ consult their convenience, as well as your own;\nand in some cases in preference to your own. Many make their calls at\nsuch hours, and sit so inordinately long, as to throw a whole family\ninto disorder, and inflict very serious pain. Never sit long in your\nsocial calls at any time; but when you make them at times which may, by\npossibility interfere with domestic meals, let them be _very short_; be\non the watch for every symptom of engagement or uneasiness on the part\nof those whom you visit, and on the appearance of any thing of the kind,\ninstantly take your leave.\n\nConstantly maintain the habit of _early rising_. Few things are more\nconducive to health and activity both of body and mind. A disposition\nto lie long in bed in the morning, is, at once, a symptom and a cause of\nfeeble digestion, of nervous debility, and of general languor. Go early\nto bed. Avoid much night study. Quit your beds by dawn of day, and, in\nwinter, before the dawn, and thus secure several hours of unbroken time,\nfor devotion, for study, and for gentle exercise in the open air, before\nbreakfast, and before the interruptions of the earliest visitors\ncommence.\n\nCultivate habits of moderation in _dress_. You are never likely to be\nable to indulge in very inordinate expense in bodily adorning; and I\nwill venture to say, this inability, wherever it exists, is a great\nblessing. Few things evince more weakness of mind, and absence of\nChristian principle, than extravagance and splendor in dress. In young\nmen it is a sad evidence of \"dandyism\" and folly; and even in young\nfemales, an excessive indulgence in fashion, in finery, and the extreme\nof _devotion_ to bodily adorning, never fails to depress their character\nin the estimation of the wise and good. Try to set an example of sober,\ndignified _moderation_ in regard to this whole subject. Always guard\nagainst negligence of dress. Conscientiously avoid exposing yourselves\nto the charge of careless, slatternly habits. But never make dress an\nidol. Reject every thing dazzling, or what is commonly called \"dashing,\"\nin outward ornament. Be not seen aping the extreme of fashion; and ever\nremember how unworthy it is of Christians to be worshippers of external\nadorning; and how peculiarly disreputable for the children of\n_clergymen_ to bear such a character.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThus, dear children, I have endeavoured, with brevity, to give you a few\npaternal counsels, which, I would fondly hope, may, by the grace of God,\nbe made to promote your benefit, when the hand which penned them shall\nbe sleeping in the dust. You will perceive from the _order_ in which I\nhave placed my counsels, that I consider real heart religion as the most\nindispensable and precious of all attainments; that my first and highest\nwish concerning you is, that you may love your Father's and Mother's\nGod, and make it your daily aim to follow her to that world of bliss and\nglory to which, as we trust, she has gone before us. Next to seeing you\nreal Christians, my desire is to see you enlightened, polished,\nbenevolent, amiable, attractive members of society, respected and\nbeloved by all who know you.\n\nRemember, I beseech you, that the friends of your Parents will expect\nmuch from you. The advantages which you have enjoyed, and are daily\nenjoying, impose upon you a solemn responsibility in the sight both of\nGod and man. Many prayers have ascended to heaven on your behalf. Pray\nwithout ceasing for yourselves, that you may be preserved from the\npaths of sin and folly, and led in the ways of heavenly wisdom.\n\nI have no doubt that the counsels I have given you will commend\nthemselves to your judgment, and that you will promptly form the\nresolution to make them your constant guide. But you cannot rely upon\nyour own wisdom or strength to do this. Such are your own infirmities,\nand so multiplied the temptations and allurements which surround you,\nthat you will need at every step, guidance and help from above. Happy\nwill it be for you if you habitually bear this in mind, and acknowledge\nGod in all your ways, that he may direct your steps.\n\nAnd now, dear children, I bid you farewell. When I look forward, and\nimagine to myself what may be your course in life--when I think of the\ncorruptions and perils with which you are surrounded, and what _may_ be\nthe result of them, I hardly know how to express my anxieties and fears:\nbut when I recollect the love and faithfulness of that God who blessed\nyour Parents, I feel willing to commit you into his hands, and to trust\nhis grace for your temporal and eternal welfare. May he guide you by his\ncounsel! May he guard you amidst all the dangers of youth and of riper\nyears; and finally, \"present you faultless before the presence of his\nglory with exceeding great joy!\" O how unutterably precious the thought\nof meeting you all at last--with those of our beloved family who have\nalready gone before us, and those who are yet to follow--around the\nthrone of our covenant God, and rejoicing forever in his presence and\nglory! Such will be the prayer until his last breath, of your\n\n       Affectionate Grandfather,\n\n             SAMUEL MILLER.\n\n  PRINCETON, July 10, 1839.\n\n\nTHE END.","title":"A Memorial of Mrs. Margaret Breckinridge","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":40768}