The Baldwin Library
WH1 T TO D9),
HOW TO DO IT-;
MORALS AND MANNER
BIAMPL S, .
PETER PAPL&y, 4
PUBLISHED BY JOHN WILEY,
18 PARK PLACE.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1844,
BY S. G. GOODRICH,
in the Clerk's Oleea the Distfict Cougt of the United States,
fr the Dietrict of Mhssachusette.
AP,. 1. Everything as made to be HiPy 1
CHAP. IT. Do as yoa wouldte don to 6
CHAP. III. Truth 8
Cair, IV. TOe Choice, Or Good at~.Evil 16
CmtL, WhatKind of leart aveDph ftt ? 22
CHAP. M W Kit otteart haw you get '. 31
CBAr. VII. (Chity J w \ 4
CHAP. VIII. Charity 41
CHAP.IX. Charity *
C~Ar. X,3 Charity 61
O*dn.X X el fshness 6
CHAP. XII. fa ofCbhacter : 69
CHAP. XIII. Justice 61
CHAP. XIV. Humility 63
CHAP. X. Mildness 86
CanP. XVI. Candor 87
C P. XVII. Prejudice 70
Caw.XVIII. Mercy 84
CsA. XIX. Courage 87
CRAP. XX. 'Patience and Impatience 89
CHAu. XXI. OMb alses and Gloom 92
CaLP. XXII. Goed Habits and Good Mannep taught
by Exampb 95
CHAP. XXIII. Obedience ; 168
CHAP. XXIV. How to settle a Dispute 114
CaP. XXV. PoRteness 120
CHAP. XXVI. Bosstng .
Can. XXVII. Weaknss of Character 136
CAP. KXid Self-relianoe-Perseverance 142
Car. XXIX. Gratitude .160
CAf. XXX. Amement 153
Cau. XXXI. Do not be too positive 166
CHAP. XXXII. Attntion 160
Car. XXXII. Vanity 16
Cura. XXXIV. Donot discourasedby DIgfautles
WHAT TO DO,
AND HOW TO
EVERYTHING IS MADE fO BE HAPPY
IF any one of my young fyends till get
up early in the morning ~tl go forth along
the birds, the insects, the four-footedbeasts,
he will see that they all seem made to be
X EVERYTHING IS MADS
The robin in singing its song, the spar-
row in building its aesa the swallow in
pursuing its insect prey, the loves in their
fond intercourse with each other, the busy
crow in feeding its young-all seem made to
enjoy their existence, and all seem to ac-
complish the design for which they, were
The busyb.ee storing away its honey,
the bustling ants in carrying la the various
affairs of the hill, the grasshopper in playing
his little fid* the btlterfly in his search of'
the sweetest floWer, even thAeeetle in rolling
his ball, the cricket in chirping. beneath a
heap of stones, and the spider in making
or melding hi4 net-all appear to be in pr-
suit of happiness, and all seem to obtain it.
And the squirrel, skipping from tree to
tree, the mouse in gnawing a hole to get at
the meal, the frog in the brook, the toad in
his burrow of earth, the wild deer in the
forest, the sheep upon the grassy hill side,
the cows in the meadow, the dog at his mas-
ter's side-these all declare that they are
in pursuit of enjoyment, and that they find
what they seek.
.TO BE HAPPY. 3
Happiness, then, is the end and object for
which these creatures were made: and they
all, taken in a general view, -attain.it. Life
to them is a blessing. It was given them by
a good and loving CrAtor,'who meant that
they should enjoy it.
And were not human beings made for
happiness too? Yes-o-or even greater
happiness than these bi and insects, and
quadrupeds. We are ma not only to enjoy
the pleasures of anitnal life, but those of the
heart and of the mind: we are not only made
to eat and drink, and perceive heat and cold,
but to feel the beauty of virtue, and the
grace of' goodness; to enter the fields of
knowledge, and enjoy .the boundless plea-
sures of thought.
The Creator, then, intended us for happi-
ness, but in giving us nobler endowments
than those of mere animals, he has bestowed
upon us liberty, or the power to act as we
please. Here, then, he made a great dif-
ference between us and- the easts: he lajd
them under the laws of instinct: he placed
in each of them certain wgnderfal aptitudes,
habits, and powers, which ~pern and con-
trol them. Thus, obeying the, laws, they
EVEZTTHING IS MAD3
fulfil the designs of God, and attain the end
of their existence. Man has good and evil
placed before him, and he may choose which
he pleases: it is God's will that man should
choose the good, and thus be happy but
still, having made us free, he leaves us to
chooseevil and suffer sorrow, if we will.
While God, therefore, guides the birds
and fishes and insects and four-footed beasts,
by their instincts, to happiness, He has left
us to our own choice. It is for us to decide
whether we will be happy or not. God has
given us reason in the place of instinct, and
if we will obey that reason wthely, and follow
the paths which it points out, happiness is
ours, not only for this world, but for that
which is to come.
Now we do not wend animals to school,
and give them books, for God is their
teacher; their instincts are all they need.
But human beings are to be educated, in-
structed, and by a gradual programs, elevated
to that high destinyy for which they are quat
lifted. Instruction is the means by which
we are to be taught our duty, and by which
we may accomplish the end for whiah we
STO 4B HAPPi.
But instruction will not make us happy,
unless we listen to it, and obey its teachings?
We must not only know what is good and
right,. ut we must pursue and do what is
good and might.
We all desire to be happy: no one can
by any possibility dgre to e Lrable.
And how cam we bdvhappy4 The answl is
easy, to do good, and to do it in the right way.
We must not only take care to have'our
hearts right, but our manners must be right:
we must not only be honest, true, eharitabl,
virtuous, but we must be amiable, kind,
cheerful, agreeable. We must not make it
our sole object to be happy ourselves, but we
must constantly try to mnke others happy
also. And how can we make othersappy,
if our manner our loaks, our words, our
mode of speaking, are disagreeable,?
Soir proceeding upon the certainty tJ
ai my young friends desire to be happy, I
write thil book, toassist them becoming
so. I intend it to be a pleasant book, full oF
truth, but fyll of amusement also. My pur-
pose is to teach young people the great art of
life-that of doing rihtejn the right way .
that of being not only good, but agreeable.
DO AS YOU WOULD
DO AS YOU WOULD BE DONE UNTO.
THIS sentence contains the substance of
the moral hw, "that law which points out
our duty to our fellow-men. Now what do
we wish of our fellow-men-how do we
desire that others should treat us ? We wish
them to treat us kindly, justly, charitably:
we wish them t6 be polite,' affectionate,
Let us then be kind, just, charitable, po-
lte, affectionate, cheerful, pleasant to others.
If all would observe this beautiful ruled which
Christ himself has given us, how happy
BE DONE UNTO.
should we be, and how happy should we
make all around us! What a delightful
world this would become, if every one would
look about and do to his neighbour, as he
would wish his neighbour to do to him!
To show how pleasantly this rule would
work, let me tell you a story,-a true one:
The horse of a pious man happening to
stray into the road, his neighbour put him
into the pound. Meeting the owner soon
after, he told him what he had done; "and
if I catch him in the road again," said he,
" I will do it again."
"Neighbour," replied the other, "not
long since I looked out of my.window in the
night, and saw your cattle*in my meadow,
and I drove them out and shut them intoyour
yard, and I will do it again." Struck with
the reply, the man liberated the horse from
the pound, and paid the charges himself.
And let me tell my little readers, if they
wish their playmates ani companions to be
kind to them, they can best secure their
object by being kind themselves. Kindness
begets kindness; doing good to others is the
best way of doing good to eurselves1,r
TRUTH is conformity to fact, in a state-
ment or representation. If I say that London
is the largest city in the world, my statement
conforms to fact, and is therefore true. If I
say that Boston has more inhabitants than
New York, my statement does not conform
to fact, and therefore is not true.
There is one thing more to be considered,
which is, that the statement must conform to
fact in the sense in which it is meant to be
understood. If I say a thbg which is lite.
rally true, but which is not true in the sense
in which I mean it to be understood, then I
am guilty of falsehood, because I intend to
deceive. The following story will illustrate
Two boys, who had been studying geo-
graphy, were walking together one evening,
when one of them exclaimed, "How brightly
the sun shines !" The other boy immedi-
ately replied that, as it was evening, the sun
did not shine. The first boy insisted that i
did shine; whereupon a dispute arose, one of
the boys insisting that the sun did shiner the
other that it did not. At last, they agreed
to leave the point to their father, and ac-
cordingly they went to him and stated the
case. They both agreed that it was nine
o'clock at night; that the stars were glitter-
ing in the sky; that the sun had been down
for nearly two hours; and yet John, the
elder of the boys, maintained that, at that
moment, the sun was shining as brightly as at
When the father demal4dd an. explana-
tion, John said that the geography be had
jUt been stu4i g, stated that when it was
night here, it was day in China-" and
now," said he, of course the sun is shining
there, though it is night here. I said that
the sun shines, and so it does."
To this the father replied as follows:
"What you say now, John, is true, but
still, what you said to James was a falsehood.
You knew that he understood you to say,
that the sun shone.-ere-you meant that he
should so understand you; you meant to
oonvey a statement to his mind that did not
conform to fact, and which was therefore
untrue. You had a reservation in your own
mind, which you withheld from James. You
did not say to him that you restricted your
statement to China-that was no part of
"Truth requires us not only to watch over
our words, but the ideas we communicate.
If we intentionally communicate ideas which
are false, then we are guilty of falsehood.
Now you said to James that which was
untrue, according to the sense in which you
knew he would, and in which you intended
he should, receive it, and therefore you
meant to violate the truth. I must accord~
ingly decide against you, and in favour of
James; you were wrong, and James is
right. The sun did not shine as you said
it did, and as James understood you to say
There are many other cases which illustrate
this truth to the letter and lie to the sense."
Soixe years since, when the laws against
travelling on the Sabbath wert ifutro a
inan was riding on horseback near Wor-
cester, in Massachusetts. 'It was on a Su "
day morning, and the taveller was soon ,
stopped by a tythingman,* who demanded hi
reason for riding on the Lord's day, and thus
violating the law.
"My father lies dead in Sutton," said
the other, "and I hope you will not do-
"Certainli iot,". said the tythingman,
"under these circumstances ;* and amord-
Singly ~e drved the man to proceed. Aiut
1t lays after, the trrwellehrw returning,
a n&4pned to meet the igihan in
Sth road. The two peso recognize&
at her; and the following conversation.
*You passed hoe`on uadady morning, I
think, ;ir,"%aid the tythIngman'
"Yes, sir," said tle iav* er.
"Andyou told me you irere going to your
father's funeral-pray when did he die?'
"I did not say I was going to my fa-
ther's funeral-I said he lay dead in Sutton,
and so he did; but he has been dead for
SThe word tythingman, in New England, is the title of
a town officer, who sees to the observance of certain laws
relating to the due obserance of the Sabbath.
Tbus you perceive that while the words of
the traveller were literally true, they con-
veyed a intentional falsehood to the *ything-
man, and therefore the traveller was guilty of
deception: f know that people sometimes
think these trickle very witty, but they are
very wicked. Tratb would be of no value,
if it Wlight be used for the purposes of de-
cepIon; it is.because truth foArids all de-
ception, andrequires open dealing, that it is
so Mucl prilbd.
It I always a poor bargain to give away
truth for the sake of a momentary advantage,
o0 for the purpose of playing off an ingenious
trick. To barter truth foo fun or mischief is
giving away gold for dross. Every time a
person tells a lie,. pfaetises a deception, he
inficts an injury upon his mind, perhaps et
visi o the eye of man, but a plain to the
eye 6sof od as a scar upoi the flesh, By
repeated falsehoods, a person may scarover
his whole soul, so as to make it o i
the sight of that- Being whose' love
favour we should seek, for hid friendship is
the greatest of all blessings.
' Thruth is the great ing to be sought, ad
falsehood the chief thing to be avoided.
Truth is the foundation of most other vir-
tues-ef honesty, justice, and fidelity. No
character is so much prized as that of a lover
of truth, none so much despised as the liar
and the deceiver, for falsehood lies at the
bottom of almost every vice.
The Horse and his Groom.
A groom, whose business it was to take
care of a certain horse, let the animal go
loose into the field. After a while* he wanted
to catch him, but the brute chose to run
about at liberty, rather than be shut up in
the stable; so he pranced about the field and
kept out of the groom's way.
The groom now went to the granary, and
got the measure with which he was wont to
bring the horse his oats. When the horse
saw the measure, he thought to be sure that
the groom had some oats for him; and so he
went up to him, and was instantly caught
and taken to the stable.
Another day, the horse was in the field,
and refused to be caught. So the groom
again got the measure, and held it out, in-
viting the horse, as before, to come up to
him. But the animal shook his head, say-
ing, "Nay,^master groom; you told me a lie
the other day, and I am not so silly as to
be cheated a second timhyY you."
"But," said the groom, "I did not tell
you a lie; I only held out the measure,- and
you fancied that it was full of oats. I did
not tell you there were oats in it."
Tour excuse is worse than the cheat
itself," said the horse. "You held out the
measure, nd thereby did as much as to say,
SI have got sofats for you".'
Actions speA as *ell as words. Every
deceiver, whether by words or deeds, is a
liar; and nobody, that has been once de-
ceived by him, will fail to shun and despise
him ever after. *
THE CHOICE, OR GOOD AND EVIL.
THBRE are few persons who do precisely
as they ought to do. It is very seldom that
any one, even for a single day, discharges
every duty that rests upon him, at the same
time avoiding everything that wrong.
There is usually something neglected, de-
layed, or postponed, that oght to be done
to-day. There is usually some thought en-
tertained, some feeling indulged, some deed
committed, that is sinful. If any person
doubts this, let him make the experiment;
let him closely watch every thought and
action for a single day, and he will perceive
that what we say is true-that all fall far
short of perfect obedience to the rule of
And yet, if a person can once make up
his mind to do right, it is the surest way to
--- P-- W W -
obtain happiness, I l el r avour to
illustrate this by an aRegory:
The Barden olmnce .
an ana ent city of Ai*JBat, Wo x ths
weye passihf a beautiful gpAren. It was
1fclosed by a lifty trellis, which prevented
their entering; but, through the openings,
they could perceive that it was a most en-
chanting spot. It was embellished by every
object of nature and art that could give
beauty to the landscape. There were groves
of lofty trees, with windingovenues between
them: there were green lawns, the grass
of which seemed jike velvet: there were
groups of shrubs, many of them in bloom,
and scattering delicious fragrance upon the
OWiGoos A.ND Evnv
18 THE CHOICE,'
BetweA theselpleasing, object thete were
fountains sending their silvery showers into
the air; and a stream of water, clear as
crystal, wound wi gentle murmurs through
the place. The charms of this lovely scene
were greatly 'heitened by the delicious
music of birds, the hum of bees, and the
echoes of many youthful and happy voiee,"
The two young men gazed upon the scene
with intense interest; but as they could only
see a portion of it through the trellis, they
looked out for ~ome -gate by which they
might enter the garden. At a little distance,
they perceived a gateway, and they went to
the spot, supposing they should find an en-
trance here. There was, indeed, a gate;
but, it was locked, and they found it impos-
sible to gain admittance.
While they were considering what course
they should adopt, they perceived an inscrip-
tion over the gate, whichh ran as follows t
e'erer till tsrrot's light WaY
Mbhat man as~ to~ bo mn toe'ap;
Ot'er bo tte tbfng you 'tOUin I unon,
Tieto'b bp testnrrato's t'ing.JtiL
Obterbt tbese Suleg a sinskgtear
InOb kom ma fretlp enter tre." ,
OR GOOD AND EVIL.
The two youths were piuch struck by
these lines; End, before they parted, both
agreed to make the experiment by trying
to live according to the inscription.
I need not tell the details of their progress
it the trial: both found the task lhtich more
difficult than they at first imagned. To
their surprise, they found that an observance
of the rule they had adopted required ad
almost total change of their modes of life;
and this taught them, what they had not felt
before, that a very ltrge part of their lives
-a very large share of their thouls,
feelings and actions-were wrong, ,though ,
they were considered virtuous young mer
by the society in which they lived.
After a few weeks, the younger of. the
two, finding that the scheme put too many
restraints upon his:!aster, abandoned the
trial. The other persevered, and, at Ihe
end of the year, presented himself at the
gateway of the garden. ,
To his great joy, he was instantly admit-
ted; and if the plce pleased him when seen
dimly thlbgh the trelis, it up red far
more lovely, now that he could aIty tread
its pathways, breathe its balmy air, and
mingle intimately with the scenes around.
One thing delighted, yet surprised him-
which was this: it now seemed easy for him
to do right; nay, to do right, instead of re-
quiring self-denial and a sacrifice of his tastes
and wishes, seemed to him a matter of course,
and the pleasantest thing he could do.
While he was thinking of this, a person
came near, and the two fell into conversa-
tion. After a little while, the youth told his
companion what he was thinking of, and
asked him to account for his feelings. This
place," said the other, "1s the Garden of
Peace. It is the abode of those who have
chosen God's will as the rule of their lives.
It is a happy home provided for those who
have conquered selfishness; those who have
learned to conquer their passions and do
their duty. This lovely garden is but a
picture of the heart that is firmly established
in the ways of virtue. Its ways are ways of
pleasantness, and all its paths are peace."
While they were thus conversing, and as
they were 'passing near the gateway, the
youth saw on the other side the friend who
OR eOOD AND EVIL. l
*had resolved to follow the inscription, but
who had given up the trial. Upon this, the
companion of the youth said, Behold the
young man who could not conquer umself!
How miserable is he in comparison with
yourself! What is it makes the difference?
You are in the Garden of Peace; he is ex-
cluded from it. This tall gateway is a bass
rier that he cannot pass; this is the barrier,
interposed by human vices and human pas-
sions, which separates mankind from that
peace, of which we are all capable. Who-
ever can conquer himself, and has resolved
firmly that he will do it, has found the key
of that gate, and he may freely enter here:
If he cannot do that, he must continue to be
an outcast from the Garden of Peace."
22 WHAT KIND Ol I1EART
WHAT KIND OF HEART HAVE YOU GOT?
MANY people seem to think only of their
external appearance, of their personal beauty,
or their dress. If they have a handsome
face, a good figure, and a fine attire, they
appear satisfied; nay, more, we often see
persons showing vanity and pride merely
because they have beautiful garments on, or
because they are called pretty or handsome.
Now I am not such a sour old fellow as
to despise these things, it is certainly desir-
able to appear well, indeed it is our bounden
duty to make ourselves agreeable; but I have
remarked that those persons who are vain of
outside show, forget that the real character
of a person is within the breast, and that it
is of vastly greater importance to have a
good heart than a handsome person.
The heart within the body is of flesh, but
HAVA YOU GOT?
it is the seat of life: upon its beatigs~ ur
life depends. Let the heart stop, and death
immediately follows. Beside this, the heart
is influenced by our feelings. Ifone is
suddenly frightened, it beats more rapidly.
Any strong emotion, or passion, or sensation,
quickens the action of the heart.
It is for these reasons, because the heart
is the seat of life, and because it seems to be
the centre or source of our passions and
feelings, Dat we often call the soul itself, the
heart. Thus the heart of flesh is a sort of
emblem or image of the soul. When I ask,
therefore, what sort of teart have you got?
I mean to ask what sort of soul have you got?
We often hear it said that such a person
has a hard heart, and such a one has a kind
or tender heart. In these cases we do not
speak of the heart of flesh, but of the mind
and intention. A hard heart, in this sense,
is a soul that is severe, harsh, and cruel; a
kind and tender heart, is'a soul that is se-
.gardful of the feelings of others, and desirous
of promoting the peace and happiness of
You will see, therefore, that it is very im-
WHAT KIND OF HEART
por&nt for every individual to assure himself
that he has a good heart. The reasons why
it is important, I will, endeavour to place
In the first place, "God looketh on the
heart." He does not regard our dress, or
our complexion, or our features. These do
not form our character; they here nothing
to do with making us good or bad If God
looks into the breast and finds a good heart
there, a tender, kind soul, full of lo*e towad
Him tnd all mankind,-a heart that is con-
stantly exercise& by feelingss of piety a4d
benevolence,-he approves of it, and he
God does fbt care what sort of garment
covers such a heart, or what complexion or
features a person with such a heat haa~o
He looketh on the heart, and Afding that
good, he bestows his blessing, which is
worth more than all the wealth of this wide
Personal appearance is of no value in theo
sight of God. It is only because men value
it, that it is to be regarded. But upon the
character of the heart, the favour or displea.
XAVE YOU GOTl 2
sure of God depends. It &of the rest
important, therefore, for each person to see
what kind offeart he has g.* If he loves
to do mischief; if he loves to say or do harsh
and unkind things; if he loves to wound the
feelings of others; if he loves to see another
suffer; if he wishes, in any way, to injure
another in jis rine, body, or estate, thente
has atad heart; and God looks on that bgt
heart as we look upon a malignant and
Before God, every heart has a chqadter.
We cannot see into tIE b6om, but (Od can.
A things are transparent to Him, and he
Iboketh on the heart as we do upon one an-
other's faces: and to Him,every heart is
as distinctly maAed as me*e countenances
s8s~ us. A wolf ha** severe, harsh, and
cruel ex io m hiL countenance. A bad
heart has as distinct an expression in the
sight of God, as the wolf's fas to human
The second reason for having a good
heart is, that it not only wins the favour of
God, but of men. However we mvr fapy
that mankind think only of outside appear-
26 WHAT KIND OF HEART
anc* they do in fact think more of internal
goodness. Mankind, in all ages and countries,
love, respect, and revere the person who has
, a good heart; the person whose soul is habi-
tually exercised by piety toward God and
love toward mankind, is always esteemed
and loved in return.
Ouch a person is almost sure to be happy;
even if he is destitute if money, he has that
which in this world is of more value, the
good will, the sympathy, the kind wishes
and kind offices of his fellow-men. If a per-
son wiAes success in life, therefore, there is
no turnpike road to it like a good heart. A
man who seeks to extort, to require, to con-
mand the good will of the world, will miss
his object. A proud person, who would
fbrce men to admire hin is resisted; he i
'l@ed upon as a kind of rob'ber who de-
mands what is not his own, and he is usually
as much hated as the person who meets you
on a by-road at night, and, holding a pistol
in your face, demands your purse.
The proud person, the person who de-
mands your respect, and tries to force you
into good will toward him, turns your feel-
NAVE YOU WOT?
ings against him; ui the entle, the humMe,
and the kind-hearted, appeal to the breast
with a power we cannot resist. LTe person,
therefore, of rnal power, is the person with a
good heart. He wields a sceptre which men
would not resist if they could, and could not
if they would.
The third reason for having a good heart
is, that while the exerdee of a bad heart is
painful, the exercise of a good heart is bliss-
ful. A heart that indulges in envy, malice,
anger, revenge, jealousy, covetousness, be-
comes unhappy and miserable; a heart that
exercises piety, love, charity, candour, peace,
kindness, gentleness, becomes happy.
The exercise of piety and good feelings
brings pleasure and enjoyment to the soul,
as cool, fresh water pes to a thirsty lip: bad
feelings bring pain and misery to the so4i&"
as bitter and poisoned water does to the
palate and the stomach. A person, there-
fore, who indulges in bad feelings, is as un-
wise as one who refuses pure water and
The fourth reason for having a good heart
is, that it is the surest way to be handsome
28 WHAT KIND OF HEART
A person with a good heart is almost always -
good-looking; and for this reason, that their
soul shines through the countenance. If
the heart is angry, the face is a tell-tale, apd
shows it. If the heart is exercised *th
piety, the countenance declares it.
Thus the habits of the soul become written
on the countenance; what we call the et-
pression of the face is only the story which
the face tells about the feelings of the heart.
If the heart is habitually exercised by malice,
then a malicious expression becomes habi-
tually stamped upon the face. The expres-
sion of the countenance is a record which
sets forth to the world the habitual feelings,
the character of the heart.
I know very well that some persons learn
to put a false expression upon their faces:
Shakspeare speaks of one who "can smile
and smile and be a villain still." This false
veil, designed to hide a bad heart, is, how-
ever, generally too thin to answer its pur-
pose. Mankind usually detect the veil of
hypocrisy, and 'as flies see and shun a
spider's web, so mankind generally remark
adravoid the hypocrite's veil. They know
-WAVE YOU GOT? 29
'tat the spider, the dastardly betrayer, is
behind it, ready to make dupes and victims
of those whom he san deceive. s
-he only true way, therefore, to have a
good face, a truly and permanently hand-
some face, is to have a good heart, and thus
have a geog exptssion. There caf be no
genuine And abiding beauty without it:
complexion and features are of little conse-
quence. Those whbm th world call band-
some, have frequently neither regularity of
features nor fairness of complexion. It is
that indescribable thing called expression, the
pleasant story which the countenance tells
of the ga heart within, that wins favour. *
There are many other good VSons for
having a good heart; but I have not room to
tell them here. I must say a word, how-
ever, as to the means of curing a bad heart
and getting a good one.
The first thing is, to find out what a good
heart is, and what a bad heart is; and in
making this inquiry it will mich help you
to read carefuty the account given of Jesus
Christ in the gospels of Matthew, Mkrk,
Luke, and John. There are no pageske
80 *HAT KIND OF BBAIT
these so full of instruction, and that w
tm0dily impart their meaning to the soul of
They give us a portrait of our Saviour,-
and what a portrait! How humble, yet how
majestic how mild, yet how dignified how
simple, yet how beautiful! He is repre-
sented a full of love toward God, and to-
ward mankind; as going about doing good;
as having a tender and kihd feeling for every
human being; as healihg the sick, giving
sight to the blind, and pouring the music of
sound upon the deaf ear. Love to God,
which teacher& us to love all mankind, evi-
dently filled the heart of Jesus Christ; and
his great desire seems to have been, that all
pmnkind should have hearts filled with the
same feeling that governed his. A good
heart, then, is one like thrist's; a bad heart
is one that is unlike Christ's. A good heart
is one that is habitually exercised by love to
God and charity to man; a bad heart is one
that is exercised by selfishness, covetousnes,
anger, revenge, greediness, envy, suspicion,
~RtB YOU GOT?
WHAT KIND OF HEART ktAVE YOl GOT ?
HAVING learned what is meant by a good
and bad heart, the next thing is to look into
our own breast ay*l qe what kind of a heart
we ourselves have got. This is of irst-rate
importance, sod therefore it is that I ask the
question-" What sort of hearMaveyou.4y
Having, by careful exam attn, found out
what sort of- a heart you have got, then yw
are prepared to act with good effect. If you
find that you have a good heart a heal like
Christ's, filled with the Ile of God and feel-
ings of obedience to God, and with love and
charity to all mankind, evinced by a desire
to promote the peace and happiness of all;
then be thankful for this best of gifts, and
pray Heaven that it may continue to be
yours. An immortal spirit, with the prin-
32 WHAT KIND OF UHART
ciple of goodness in it, is yours-and how
great a blessing is that!
But if you discover that you have a bad
aeart, pray set about curing it as soon as
possible. An immortal spirit with a prin-
ciple of badness in it, is surely a thing to be
dreaded; and yet this is your condition, if
you have a bad heart. In such a case, re-
pentance is the first step for you to take.
Sorrow, sincere sorrow, Is the condition upon
which past errors are forgiven by God; and
this condition must be complied with.
There is no forgiveness wout repent-
ance, because there is no amendment with-
out it. Repentande implies aversion to sin;
and it is becavoe the penitent hates sin, that
the record of his offences is blotted out.
While he loves sin, all his crimes, all his
transgressions must stand written down and
remembered against him, because he says
that he likes them,-he vindicates, he ap-
proves of them. Oh take good care, kind
and gentle reader-take good care to blot
out the long account of your errors, before
God, speedily! Do not, by still loving sin,
say to God that you are willing to have those
HAVE YOU GOT?
that yew have committed, and those you may
commit, brought up in judgment against you.
Draw black lines around the record of your
transgressions, by repentance. P
And having thus begun right, continue to
go on right. At first, the task may lie diffi-
cult. To break-in a bad heart to habits of
goodness, is like breaking a wild colt to the
saddle or harness; it resists, it rears up,
it kicks, it spurns the bit, it seeks to run
free and loose, as nature and impulse dictate
and as it has been wont to do before: but
master it oncand teach it to go in tle path,
and it will soon be its habit, its pleasure, its
easy and chosen way to continue in the path.
TIo aid you in this process of uigki'g a
good heart out of a bad one, study the Bible,
and especially that which records the life tnd
paints the portrait of Christ. Imitate, hum-
bly, but reverently and devoutly, his exam-
ple; drink at the fountain at which he drank,
the overflowing river of love to God.
This is the way to keep the spark of good-
ness in the heart; and to cherish this, to
keep it bright, exercise yourself in good
deeds, in good thoughts, in good feelings.
CHARITY is that kindness of heart which
makes us desirous of rendering others happy.
It is one of the greatest of virtues, and with-
out it, no one can be good. It is a pure
love of mankind, and of all things that live,
and breathe, and feel. It is a beautiful sen-
timent, and in the sight of God is of more
value than all the gold and silver of this
world, It is indeed the pearl of great price:
que who has it is rich in the, sight of God;
oie who hal it not, is poor indeed, though
he may have lands and money in abundance.
The most common form of charity is
that of giving oens to the poor: and every
one who loves his money so well that he
cannot part with a portion of what is not
necessary for his own comfort, or, that of his
family to aid the wiedy and the helpless,
in the sight of God and true wisdom, f
worse than a beggar. Rich in the thinggs'r4O.
this world, he is pinched with selfishness,
whicA implies a miserable dearth of true 1
Another form of charity is that of putting
kind and favorable constructions upon the
conduct of others. A person who is harsh
in judging and severe in speaking of others
is destitute of charity. I am afraid that
some of my young friends, who are apt to
say unpleasant things of their companions,
are in this condition.
Think a moment of it, ,my gentle reader;
-why should you desire to wound the heart
of another-to tear his character to pieces ?
Have you any better right to injure the
feelings or reputation of another, than to
wound his person ? Is it not as bad to destroy
his good name, as to break his bones? In
the sight of God, one js as bad as the other;
they both' show a waft of that love which
we call charity, and this every good heart
There are many persons who think that it
is witty to be severe; that it shows talent to
find fault; that it displays superiority to be
dexterous in picking out and showing-up
the follies and foibles of others. This is a
great mistake, for of all kinds of vulgarity
and meanness, that of fault-finding is the
most easy and the most common. Who is
there so weak, so dull, as not to be able to
make another appear wicked, unamiable, or
ridiculous, if he will watch his actions and
be resolved & attribute them to bad motives?
It is easy to draw a caricature likeness of
another: you have only to represent the
prominent features, with a little absurd ex-
aggeration, and any body see% at once the
ridiculous resemblance. Thus a caricature
of even a handsome person excites laughter:
but it is a very poor vocation-this of draw-
ing caricatures-because a very stupid person
can succeed in it; because it ts a species of
lying, for it violates the truth and inculcates
falsehood; because it cultivates bad habits
in him who executes Ad him who sees the
false picture; and because it wounds the feel-
ings of the subject of the caricature, and does
him as gross injustice as if you robbed him
of his money; and
because it stirs up
enmity and strife in
The true art of the
painter is to seize
upon the agreeable
expression of the
person he would
represent, and to portray it so $hat all will
know it at once as a likeness. The art of
doing this is a noble art, and it requires ability
and genius to excel in it. a
Now, these remarks may be fairly ap-
plied to moral painting: it is easy, in
speaking of others, to draw caricatures of
them and to make them seem ridiculous. I
am afraid, it is because the thing is so easy
that it is so common. Why is so much of
our conversation made up of uncharitable
talk about our neighbours, companions-
perhaps those we call our friends? Is it not
because the heart is wrong and loves scandal
-caricature-ridicule-and the tongue finds
it easy to exercise itself in this way ?
Perhaps my readers may think that they
will become dull and uninteresting, if they
only speak of pleasant things. It is not so,
my dear young readers. Nothing can better
show good sense-a good heart-good taste
-good talents, than the habit of perceiving
and pointing out the good qualities of others.
Which shows the best taste-going forth
into the fields to gather noxious weeds and
offensive plants; or going forth to gather
sweet-scented flowers and lovely blossoms?
Which is most lovely-one who is addicted
to making and exhibiting nosegays, gathered
and grouped from the pleasant thing* in the
characters of their friends; or one who is in
the habit of treasuring up the unpleasant
things they can discover in those around
them, and retailing them for the poor com-
pensation of a smile or a laugh?
To illustrate the advantages of dealing in
the good things which we may see in others,
if we will only seek for them, let me tell you
a matter of fact. I have the pleasure to
know a lady, who is one of the most agree-
able, the most gifted, and the most falhous
in America, and though I have known her
intimately for years, I never heard her say
an unkind word of any living being!
This lady has written many books-some
of prose and some of poetry, and her name
is honoured as well in the Old World as the
New; yet you cannot find in them a page or
satire, or a sentence of misanthropy. All is
charity-all is a display of the beautiful in
nature and the lovely in character; she is
enamoured of beauty and virtue wherever
they dwell, and her books as well as her
conversation are but exhibitions of th~t holy
affection. What a glorious thing it is to
have a heart to admire and a genius to dis-
play the loveliness which God has scattered
over the landscape, and made to flourish
and bloom in the Luman bosom!
Though I have said a good deal more
than I intended on charity, still there is
4U CHARITY. ,
much more to be said of it. The Bible tells
us that it covers $ multitude of sins, which
means, that a person who has true charity
will seek rather to hide than to display the
faults of others.
Alas, how unhappy should we be, if God,
who looketh on the heart, and sees all our
motives, were not more kind and charitable
to us, than we are to our fellow-men! If
we would hope for mercy above, let us prac-
tise it here below.
History of the Two Seekers.
T'tRE were once two boys, Philip and
Frederick, who were brothers. Philip was
a cheerful, pleasant, good-natured fellow;
he had always a bright smile on his face,
and the mere sight of him made everybody
feel an emotion of happiness. His presence
was like a gleam of sunshine, ptupingAnto a
dark room-it made all light and pleasant
Beside this, Philip had a kind heart; in-
deed, his face was but a sort of picture of his
bosom. But the quality fo which he was
remarkable was a disposition to see good
things only in his friends and companions:
he appeared to have no bye for bad quali-
ties. If he noticed the faults, errors, or
vices of others, he seldom spoke of them.
He never came to his parents and teachers,
exaggerating the naughty things that his
playmates had done. On the contrary,
when he spoke of his friends, it was gene-
rally to tell .some plea:aot titng they had
said or done. When he felt bound to notice
another's fault, he did it only from a sense
of duty, and always with reluctance, and in
Now Frederick was quite the reverse of all
this. He loved dearly to tell tales. Every
day he came home from school, giving an
account of something wrong that had been
done by his playmates, or brothers and sis-
ters. He never told any good of them, but
took delight only in displaying their faults.
He did nbt tell his parents or teacher these
things from a sense of duty, but from a love
of telling unpleasant tales. And, what was
the worst part of it all, was this: Frederick's
love of tale-bearing grew upon him, by in-
dulgence, till he would stretch the truth,
ctd make that which was innocent in one of
his little friends appear to be wicked. He *
seemed to have no eye for pleasant and good
things--he only noticed bad ones: nay, more,
he fancied that he saw wickedness, when
nothing of the kind existed. This evilpro-
pensity grew upon him by degrees; for you
know that if one gets into a bad practice, and
keeps on in it, it becomes at last a habit
which we cannot easily resist. A bid habit
is like an unbroken horse, which will not
mind the bit or bridle, and so is very apt to
run away with his rider.
It was just so with Frederick: he had got
into the habit of looking out for faults, and
telling of them, and now he could see no-
thing else, and talk of nothing else.
The mother of these two boys was a
TH)3E TW7O SEEKIEERS*,
good and wise woman. She noticed the
traits of character we have described in her
sons, and while she was pleased with one,
she was pained and offended on account of
the other. She often talked with Frederick,
told him of his fault, and besought him to
imitate his amiable brother: but as I have
said, Frederick had indulged his love of tell-
ing tales, till it had become a habit, and this
habit every day ran away with him. At last
the mother hit upon a thing that cured
Frederick of his vice-and what do you think
it was ?
I do not believe that any of you can
guess what it was that cured master Frederick.
It was no; a pill, or a poultice; no, it was a
story-and as I think it a good one, I will
relate it to you.
There were once two boys," said the
mother, "who went forth into the fields.
One was named Horace, and the other was
named Clarence. The former was fond of
anything that was beautiful-of flowers, of
sweet odours, of pleasant landscapes. The
other loved things that were hideous or
hateful-as serpents and lizards-and his
TIDE WO SEEKERS
favourite haunts were slimy swamps and
"One day the two boys returned from
their rambles; Horace bringing a beautiful
and fragrant blossom in his hand, and
Clarence bringing a serpent. They rushed
up to their nAther, each anxious to show the
prize he had won. Clarence was so forward,
that he placed*the serpent near his mother's
hand; on which the reptile put forth his
forked tongue, and then fixed his fangs in
In a moment a paindarted through the
mother's frame, and her arm began to'sm4ll
up: she was in great distress, and sent for
the physician. When he came, he mani-
fested great alarm, for he said the serpent
was an adder, and its bite was fatal, unless *
he could find a rare flower, for this alone
could heal the wound. While he said this,
1e noticed the blossom which Horace held
in his hand. He seized upon it with joy,
saying-'This, this is. the very plant I de-
sired P He applied it to the wound, and it
was healed in an instant."
But this was not the whole of the story:
" While these things were taking place, the
adder turned upon the hand of Clarence, and
inflicted a wound upon it. He screamed
aloud, for the pain was very acute. The
physicianijnstantly saw what had happened,
and applying the healing flower to the poor
boy's wound, the pain ceased, as if by en-
chantment, and he, too, was instantly
Such was the itory which the mother told
to her two sons. She then asked FPederick
if he understand the meaning of the tale.
The boy hung his head. and made no answer.
The mother then went o9 as follows:
"My dear Frederick-the story means
that he who goes foih wish a love of what
is beautiful, pleasant and agreeable, is sure
to find it: and that he who goes forth to find
that which is evil, is also sure to find what
he seeks. It means thut the former will
bring peace and happiness to his mother, his
home, his friends; and that the latter will
bring home evil-evil to sting his mother,
and evil that will tum and.sting himself.
The story means that we can find good, if
we seek it, in our friends, and that this good
THE TWO SEEKERS.
is like a sSet flower, a healing plant, im-
parting peace and happiness to all around.
The ~tory means that we can find or fancy
4ril, if we seek for it, in our friends; but "
that, like an adder, this only wounds others,
and poisons those who love to seize upon it."
Frederick took the story to heart; he laid
it up in his memory. When hewas tempted
to look out for the faults of his companions,
and to carry then home, he thought of the
adder, *ad turning away from evil, he looked
South for good; and it was n*long before ff.
was as successful in finding it as his brother
IN the southern part of France is a large
cty called Marseilles: here there once lived
a man by the name of Guiaon he was
always bU4y, an4 seed very anxious to
get money, either by his industry, or in some
He was poorly clad, and his fbod was of
the simplest and cheapest kipd: he lived
alone, and denied himself all the luxuries and
many of the comforts of life.
He was honest and faithful, never taking
that which was not his own4 and always per-
forming his promises; yet the people of
THE SUPPOSED MISER. 49
Marseilles thought he was a miser, and they
held him in great contempt. I As he passed
along the streets, the rich men looked on
him with scorn, and the poor hissed and
hooted at him. Even the boys wMuld cry
out, "There goes old Skinflint."
Put the old man bore all this insult with
gentleness and patience. Day by day, he
went to his labour, and day by day, as he
passed through the crowd, he was saluted
with taunts, and sneers, and reproaches.
Thus time p I'sed on, and poor Guizon
was now more than eighty years of age.
But he still continuldrthl sanliperstcering
industry, still liv ed in the same saving, sidl
pie manner as before.
Though he was now bent almost double,
and though his hair was thin and as "hite as
snow; though his knees tottered as he went
along the streets; still the rude jokes and
hisses of the throfg pulaued hfm wherever
But, at length, tAe old man died, and it
was ascertained that he had heaped together
in gold and silver, a sum equal to forty
thousand pounds. On looking over his
papers, his will was found, in which were the
I was once poor, and I observed that the
poor people of Marseilles suffered very much
for thelyant of pure, fresh water. I have
devoted my life to the saving of a sum of
money sufficient to tuild an aqueduct to sup-
ply the city of Marseilles with pure water, &a
that the poor may have a full supply." 4
Let us be careful how we judge others
uncharitably, in denouncing, ridiculing, per-
secuting'iee who life differently from what
we do-who seem to us to be narrowmminded
and selfish,"-it may be that we are doing
them great injustice, and injuring those who
are in reality far better than ourselves. Let
us, rather, be charitable, for this is always
ONE evening as I was passing along a
street in Boston (in America,) I saw a poor
ragged fellow, known by the narte of Simple
Simon. He had in his face a look of melan-
choly, an4. his clothes bespoke at once
poverty and .sglect. He was in fact a harm-
lIps, helpless ctature, having hardly common
sense,. a, living for the most part upon
As I came near him, a finely-dressed young
man passed him by. According to his habit,
Simple Simon held out his hand to the
youth, as if asking for alms. The latter
turned is head aside with unconcealed dis-
gust, and making no other reply to the
beggar than this look of aversion, went his
As I was curious to see the effect of this
rudeness upon poor Simon, I went up to
him, and after a little conversation, I spoke
of the yodth in a manner to draw out his
"You say he is a handsome fellow, and so
he is," said Simon: "and he is a good young
man, too, for aught I know; but he cannot
condescend to speak to me: and why should
he? I am now a poor creature and unfit to
be spoken to by one who wears a good coat
and kid gloves, and is the son of a great
man. Why should he speak to Silly Simon?"
"Then you know him, do you?" said I.
--" Know him!-yes," said the beggar,
and his father before him. tis father was
a rich man and president of a college. My
father was poor, but still he wished to have
THE BEGGAR't STORY.
his children well educated: 'so he sent my
brother Ben to the university. But things
went ill with my fathesi and as the saying
is-worse always comes behind to kick bad
down hill. Still, Ben was a good scholar,
and my father did not take him from the
college, hoping and striving all the timnto
make things improve: so he got in debt to
the college, for Ben's instruction.
"Well, one day my father had a sheriffs
officer sent after him, and as he could not pay
the debt, he was taken togrison. Now, I do
not mind being sent to prison myself, for I
am a poor good-for-nothing. I have been
sent there several times, and though I never
knew what it was for, still it is H the same
to Silly Simon. But my father was a sen-
sitive man, and to be shut up in a stone
room, where the air was damp and close, was
a strange thing to him. He was a little
nervous too, I believe, for it affected him
very much. He had been respected by the
world at large, and had spent his life in acts
acknowledged to be beneficial to mankind:
and now, to be confined as if he were guilty
of some crime, and unworthy of breathing
64 1 C 1MTY.
the fresh ar, adof holding intercourse with
his fellow-men! all this turned his head.
It affected him the oRre, that the blow came
from the college which ought, as he said, to
set examples of humanity.
A friend went to the president and begged
him. to let my poor father out of prison, but
he pretended to know nothing about it, and
refused to interfere. At last some friend,
hearing of my father's situation, paid the
debt and he was released. But the affair
sunk deep into his heart; and perceiving
that the richer and more respectable members
of society took part with the president; that
the latter was kept in his place, and not
only vindicated but cherished-while he was
himself neglected and despised, because he
had become poor and been put in prison-
he lost his confidence in mankind and him-
self, and soon died of a broken heart.
"Misfortunes never come single you
know-so, soon after my father died, poor
Ben followed. I was left destitute, and
there was no one to care for me. By and
by I was taken sick of a fever: it settled on
-my brain, and left it at last in a terrible
*sate. I never could get it aidy eared up,
and all the better is it for me. If I had my
senses, then the things of whidh I tell you
would make me unhapA f but as it is, I am
contented. I can see the president's son i ,r
by in scorn, and feel sorry for him.i f
after aik I think it must give him more pain
than it does me. Poverty is a sad thing,
Mr. Parley, but there is something worse."
"And what is that?"
"Selfishness," said Simon; "that kind
of selfishness which makes a man forget how
others feel. 1 am poor. silly, as they call
me,-but still, I never forget what is going
on in the breasts of others. There are some
men so proud, so lofty, that they regard a
great part of their fellow-men as little as
we do worms and insects in our path. They
stride proudly on, thinking that if any one
is crushed beneath their mighty tread, it is
because he gets in their way, and this is ah
they think or care about it. Now I am one
of those worms and I have often been trod
upon. I know the agony-the cruel agony
which attends such cases; and I therefore
feel for every human being who suffers. I
would not even tread upon t worm, if I
I left the poor beggar with his words trea-
sured in my heart" and I drew this lesson
frnm his story,-that a beggar may still im
part truth and wisdom; that under the garb
of poverty, there may be something to re*
aspect and admire; that even seeming weak-
ness has often a touching moral for those
who will listen and learn; and that God
sends down to the crushed bosom, In kind-
ness and for consolation. that mantle of
charity, whichh is even better than garments
of purple and fine linen.
A dog and a cat were once sitting by a
kitchen door, when the cook came out and
threw several piecy of meat to them.
They both sprang to get it, but the dog
was the strong, and so he drpve the cat
away, and devouredtall the meat himself. This
was selfishness; by which I mean, that the
dog cared only for himself. The cat wanted
the meat as much as he did; but he was the
strongest, and so he took it all.
But was this wrong? No,-because the
dog knew no better. The dog has no idea
of God, or of that beautiful golden rule of
conduct, which requires us to 4a to others
as we would have them do to us.
Dr. Watts says,-
"' Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For God hath made them so;
Let bears and lions growl and fight,
For 'tis their nature too."
But children have a different nature, and
a different rule of conduct. Instead of biting
and fighting, they are required to be kind
and gentle to one another, and to all mankind.
Instead of being selfish, like the dog, they
are commanded to be just and charitable; by
which I mean, that they should always give
to others what is their due, and also give to
others, if they can, what they stand in need of.
If a child snatches from another what is
not his, he is selfish and wicked. If a child
tries in any way to get what belongs to an-
other, he is selfish, and is in 'is heart a thief
or a robber. Selfishness is caring only for
one's self. It is a very bad thing, and every
one should avoid it. A selfish person is
never truly good, or truly happy, or truly
beloved, when his character is known.
How miserable should we all be, if every
person was to care only for himself! Sup-
pose children and grown-up people, were all
to be as selfish as cats and dogs; what
constant fighting there would be among them.
THE VALUE OF CHARACTER.
I SHALL relate a fable to you, which
shows what a bad thing it is to have a stain
on one's character, and how it may some-
times subject one to be punished for what
one has not committed.
A wolf once made complaint that he had
been robbed, and charged the theft upon his
neighbour the fox. The case came on for
trial before a monkey, who was justice of
the peace among the quadrupeds in those
parts. The parties did not employ lawyers,
but chose to plead their cause themselves.
When they had bee, fully heard, the judge,
60 THE VALUE OF CHARACTER,
assuming the air of a magistrate, delivered"
his sentence as follows:
"My friends and neighbours,--I have
heard your case, and examined it attentively;
and my judgment is, that you both be made
to pay a fine; for you are both of bad cha-
racter, and if you do not deserve to be pu-
nished now, it is likely you will deserve to
be so very soon.
"That I have good grounds for this decree,
is sufficiently evident by the fact, that Mr.
Wolf's jaws are even now stained with blood,
and I can see a dead chicken sticking out of
Sir Fox's pocket, notwithstanding the air
of injured innocence which he wears. And
beside, one who gets an evil reputation should
think it no hardship if he is occasionally
made to suffer for a crime he did not commit."
This fable teaches us to beware of an evil
reputation; for it may cause us to be pu-
nished for the misdemeanors of others. Thus,
if a person gets the character of a liar, he
will not be believed when he tells the truth;
and when a theft is known, it is of course
laid to some one who has been caught in
JusTICE is rendering to others what is
their due, and not only requires of us fair
dealing in matter of property, but it re-
quires of us fair dealing in all the intercourse
of life. Every kind of advantage we take of
others, even in the smallest things, bespeaks
the spirit of injustice, and is to be con-
The child that snatches away another's
toys; the shrewd and knowing boy that over-
reaches his more simple fellow in a barter of
penknives; the person w)ho gives currency to
a scandalous tale; all these are guilty, at the
bar of conscience, of the crime of injustice.
On6e'bf the most cometd aqd yu most
mischievous kinds of injustice is that of put-
ting fahe and injurious constructions on the
actions of others. How often do we hear
people say,-such a one is proud-that man
is seeking display-this one is puffed up with
conceit! In most cases these imputations
are false, and therefore unjust. 4ow wicked
then is this practice of evil speaking, as it
does much harm and no good!
If I were to draw the portrait of a truly
noble character I'should make justice the
basis of it. A pjst person must have many
virales; he mast be a lover of truth, a lover
of honesty, a lover of wU* is right. He must
despise falsehood, trick, deception and fraud
of any kind. Let any of my readers who
ddire to adorn their souls with a noble attri-
bute, cultivate justice, not only in deeds, but.
In we~ds, thoughts, and feelings. Let them
be just even in the little arguments that arise
around the fireside, in all the familiar inter-
course, sports, pleasures,,nd controversies of
the field, ,'he high road, and the school-
room. Let them establish the habit of lhng
just, even in tfless let them cherish the
feeliia of justio a they would the dearest
THIs is a humble virtue, yet a lost lovely
one. Jeus Christ has said that the'er i
spirit-the humble-the meek-are blessed,
for they shall see God. What a mighty
preference what a oble promise! Humility,
is, therefore, a pearl of great *i a* d is
re*ay better than maoet and lands and mer-
chandise. It is not therich,1t the haughty
the proud man, but the munble one that is
to see God.
Humility is often of great advantage in
life; for when the proud are resisted and
crushed, the meek and lowly are frequently
permitted to pass on, unhlede4 prchance,
but yet unhurt. The fable of the Oak and
the Reed will illustrate this. *
An oak stood n the bas of a river,
and growing at its foot was a reed. The
oak was aged, and its limbs were torn away
by the blasts of years; but still it lifted its
head in pride, and looked down with contempt
upoli the reed.
At last there came a fearful tempest. The
oak defied it, but the reed trembled in every
fibre. See," said the oak, "the advantage
of strength and power; see how I resist and
WBile it spoke thus, a terrible rush of the
gale beset it, its roots gave way, and it fell
to the earth with a tremendous crash. But
while the oak was thus destroyed in itacride,
the humble reed bowed to the blast, and,
when the storm was over, it arose and flouo
rished as before.
THE Sun and Wind once fell into a dis-
pute as to their relative power. The Sun
insisted that, as he could thaw the iceberg,
and uelt the snows of winter, and bid the
plants spring out of the ground, and send
light and heat over the *orld, he was the
most powerful. "It may be," said he to the
Wind, "that you can make the loudest up-
roar, but I can produce the greatest effect.
It is not always Ae most noisy people ~iit
achieve the greatest deeds."
SThis may seem very well," said the
Wind; "but it is not just. Do I not blow
the ships across tht sea, turn windmills,
drive the clouds across the helvens, get up
squalls and thundergwsts, and topple down
steeples and houses with hurricanes ?"
Thus the two disputed when, at last, a
traveller was seen coming along; and they
agreed each to give a specimen of what he
opuld do, and let the traveller decide between
So the Wind began, and it blew lustily.
It nearly took away the traveller's hat and
cloak, and very much impeded his progress:
but he resisted stoutly. The Wind having
tried its best, then came the Sun's turn.
So he shone down with his summer beams,
and the traveller found himself so hot that
he took off his hat and cloak, and almost
fainted; he soot decided that the Sun had
more power thtbe Wind.
Thus our fable shows that the gentle rays
of the Sun were more potent than the tem-
pest; and we generally find in life that mild
means are more effective, in the accomplish-
mzet of any object, than violence, *
CANDOUR is that state of heart which dis-
poses a person to see and confess the trutm
It belongs to all real lovers of truth. Witf-
out it no person can be honest, just, sincere,
It is a most important virtue, for it lies at
the very root of goodness, and is indis-
pensable to rectitude of conduct and real
force of character. Candour is opposed to
prejudice: while prejudice would blind the
mind, candour would give it clearness of
perception. Candour is jke a clear at-
mosphere, enabling us to be objects dis-
tinctly: prejudice is like a wrinkled glass,
that would distort the objects which are seen
through it. Candour would wipe clean the
spectaclebof the mind: prejudice would ob-
aar# them, or perhaps paint them over with
and deceptive images.
Candour i opposed to many other vices,
all of which are unfriendly to truth. Disin-
genuousness, which would conceal the truth
by some deceptive veil; artifice, which would
make falsehood pass for truth; improper
concealment, which would hide the truth
where it is required; mar cowardice, which
makes one fear the truth; these mean yet
dangerous and besetting vices are all opposed
to candour. If any of my readers feel that
any of these sad diseases are in their souls,
let them administer candour, for this is a cer-
tain cure for them all.
Candour is necessary to those who would
be wise, for wisdom consists in knowing the
truth; and how can one see and know the
truth, if he is blinded by an imperfect vision,
or misled by an atmosphere that presents
objects either falsely or obscurely?
Candour is not only thus useful and ne-
cessary, but it is a most delightful grace in
character. No person can be amiable with-
out it: no person can have sincere friends
without it; no person can possess true beauty
of soul without it. The face is usually an
inder to the soul; it is a sort of mirror t-
fleeting the passions that are within. If a
person is destitute of can ur, &estitute of a
love of truth, and therefore a lover of false-
hood, the face is very apt td tell the sorry
tale. If, on the contrary, a love of truth is
in the heart, it is likely to shine forth in that
which we call t i pression. Think of this,
my gentle friendf- think of this; and if you
would have true beauty of face, take care to
make candour an habitual tenant of the
=94--a Z "'
PREJUDICE is a false judge that comes
into the mind, and induces it to pronounce
sentence of condemnation, either without
inquiry, or in opposition to truth and know-
ledge. It is a thie( that steals truth ond can-
dour from the soul, leaving it in the pos-
session of malice, envy, or falsehood-which-
ever may make the strongest appeal to self-
love or selfishness.
If there were in the place where we live
some horrid monster, as, for instance, a
fierce lion that infested the path. of the tra-
veller, or an insidious serpent that stole
PREJUDICE CONQUERED. U
around our footsteps and stung ufwitt its
deadly poison, how soon would the whoa
mass of society be iq arms to destroy the
enemy. Yet prejudice is more hurtfhl to
the peace of mankind; it is a thousand
times more destructive of human happiness
than such a monster or such a reptile as we
have supposed. It is a snake iilt grass,
that poisons our souls unseen: Yis a spider
that weaves its fatal web in the chambers of
thought, and carries on its work of de-
struction intilenre and secrecy.
Prejudice influences u#kithout our being
fully aware of its presence; and after we
have got into the habit of acting according
to its'tdictateP we often think that we are
doing right when we are doing very wrong.
I shall epdeavouri by a few tales and inci-
dents,Wo show some of the ways in which we
are influenced by prejudice.
Several children were one day passing
by a church, when they noticed a little
girl, sitting on a stile. One of the elder
girh ofthe group, whoar-name was Lydia
Flair, thus spoke to the girl upon the stile.
"Well, Miss Gridley, pray what are you
The girl looked up with some surprise at
jis. rude speech, but answered mildly,-
"Oh, I am sitting here, because it is so
"Very sentimental, indeed !" said iydia;
and the little party moved along.
"Do you know Grace Gridley?" said
Ellen Lamb, one of the party, to Lydia.
"To be sure I do, and I hate her," was
"Hate her !" said Ellen; "that is a strong
expression,-and why do you hate her?"
PREJUMDCE CONQUERED. *
"Oh, I do l know, exactly aid
Lydia; but she goes to church three times 4
on a Sunday, and assoGiates with people that
pretend to be so pious, and so much better
than other people."
You hate her, then, because she gog to
church so often ?" said Ellen.
"Why that is not all: she ch a
prim precise air; there is always thing
about her so correct, that I feeuneasy
where she is. Beside, everybody says she is
good and handsome, an4 all that. I hate
people that are always p by everybody,
for I believe they are no better than other
people, and are only more deceitful."
"Ybi feel, perhaps, a sort of envy, and
this may lead you to see their conduct in a
false light Envy and prejudice, Lydia, will
often Iceive us. Now I know Grace
Gridley, and I think her as different as pog-
sible from what you think her to be. So far
from being precise and hypocritical, she is
one of the most frank, sincere, and kind-
hearted creatures that I ever knew. I wish
you would allow me to make you better
acquainted wih her."
SNo, no-I know enough of her: I could
never like her."
You would like her-you could not help
it. Come! go back with me, and let us see
a little more of Grace."
Lydia permitted herself, though very
reluctantly, to be led back to the place
where hce was sitting. She had not only
a vague like of her, from the fact that
Grace went to church so often, and was
one of those whom her own parents were in
the habit of calling stiff, over-righteous, and
bigoted; but shtbhad now been impertinent
to Grace, and as we arm apt to dislike those
whom we have injured, Lydia had a new
motive for prejudice against her. However,
the party were soon brought back to the
stile, and Grace was induced to join them.
She made herself agreeable to all; ad before
Lydia parted, the first steps were taken to-
ward a better acquaintance. The final result
of this was, an entire change of feeling and
opinion, on the part of Lydia, toward Grace.
A few months after the scene we have
described, the following conversation took
place between Ellen Lamb and Lydia Flair.
E. So you confess that you like Grce
Gridley, after all?
L. Why I cannot help liking her; she
is as different as possible from what I
conceived she was: I thought her bigoted,
-but I find, although she is very pious,
and very firm in her principles, that her
heart is overflowing with kind and generous
feelings. I deemed her deceitful,-but
she is frankness itself. I expected that
she would be severe and censorious,-but
she is the most considerate and charitable
creature in the world. Although very
handsome, yet she Veems not to care any-
thing about it. I never saw any one that I
liked so much, and if I had committed a
fault, I would sooner go to her, confess it,
and ask her advice in the matter, than to any
E. I am glad to hear you say that, for it
is no more than just. But, my dear Lydia,
I wish you to reflect one moment, and then
ttll me what it was that made you once dis-
like Grace so much, and do her such in-
L. I have told you, I believe; I told ys
she associated with stiff, over-pious people,
and I supposed she must be stiff and whining
E. In other words, you had a prejudice
against her; you had a dislike, without any
just reason. Let us take care of such re-
judices, my dear Lydia! and allow me t/ ask
if you are not indulging the same unreason-
able feeling, when you speak of Grace's
friends and associates, as stiff ind whining
L. Oh no-at least, I think not.
E. And yet, Lydia-you do not know
these people. Is not this in itself wicked ?
Observe how this false reasoning misled you
in respect to Grace Gridley. It led you to
call her bigoted and hypocritical-whereas,
you now admit, that she is the reverse of all
this. Only think of the awfulnjustije you
did her;-you tried to steal away her good
character, and committed that worst of all
cruelty-you gave her a ad name.-
Here Lydia, stung to the heart with a
sense of her error, burst into tears: she was
thoughtless, but ~ot hardened, and had
*ply done as too many do; she had indulged
ARtSTIF ~ 7
prejudice-and thus had been guilty of great
wickedness. She had done thus, in part.
ignorance of her sip, for as I have said pre-
judice j like a spider-it creelp slily into
the mina and takes possession of it uneen,
and often hangs it over with dismal cobwebs,
whiet are invisible to the owner of the
tenement, though plain enough to the eye d
A&od and man.
The Story of Aristides.
There is a story handed down to us in the
history of ancient Greece, which shows us
that prejudice may even lead ignorant and
wrong-minded people to dislike and oppose
There was in Greece, a man named
Aristides, so celebrated for his Integrity, his
honesty, hias ive of truth and his upright-
ness, that he was cadled ARISTIDBs it
JUST. Well, inr consequence of a false
charge brought agaitt him by some of his
enemies, whose unjust proceedings he had
opposed, the people of Athens were about to
banish him from the city, but before this
could be done, the vote of every citizen wo
to be taken.
't was the custom for the Greeks. in.those
days to vote for the banishment of a ~ by
Ahig in tiles, or shells, on which name
of the accused was inscribed. An ignorant
fellow, at the time of voting, seeing Aristides
gar, and not knowing hibt but judging
him to be a man of education, and capable,
of writing, went ug and asked him to write
the name of Aristides on his tile.
Aristides did as he was requested, and
having handed the ile to 4he mtn,, asked
him, as a matter of curiosity, why te wished
to banish Aristides. "Because," said the
freeman, I am tired of hearing him called
Here then, we see that a man, even acting:
in the high and responsible capacity of a
freeman, indulges an unreasonable dislike,
a gejugice,-he even allows a hatred o
exce lence to influence %p, when he is
exercising a tr"t which involves the happi-
ness of the whole community.
Truth Triumphant. *
It admetimes happens that people I*g
in the same town or village, without any
good reaso~doontra a di ike of each other,
and when they*tbeet scarcely speak to ea&
other: they are cold and distant, and by
degrees get into the hait of thinking and
speaking ill of each other.
One day as John Sawyer and Allen
Highsted, both of whdo live&gi the village
of Tintonex, met each other,-the forn*r
addressed the latter with a pleasant salu-
tation, which was*eceived with awcold look
and a silent tongue. When one of his cor- -
panions, Seth Mead, asked Allen wAy he
Treated John thus, "I do not like him,"
was the reply.
"And why do n1oyou like hinrf' .i
"Because I do not," sa2 i Allen; "and
what is more--because I will nt." ~
ut this, is unreasonablei" aid e
t may seem so-yet I have my reasons"
said Allen. "I think he is an impudent
"Indeed! Are you acquainted with him?"
No, and I do not wish to be: he is i, a
different condition of life from what I am;
his father is a shopkeeper, ai u ine is a
trehant. How should we have any inter-
course? We cannot feel alike; we cannot
live alike. Our manners, our testes, our
pursuits, our associates must all be dissi-
milar. Be.jde, he is a mean-spirited, nar-
SYou were never more mistaken, Allen
Highsted--never more in your life. John is
a fratn, Ionest, noble-minded fellow: and
though his father is a shopkeeper, the boy is
as weB-bred, and has as good manners as
,any other in the village. Indeed, I think he
is a pattern of good manners and right feel-
ings. My father is, as you know, a man of
large fortune; he has been well educated,
and has seen the best society in this and
per coll and he thinks very highly
eI lm and he encqurages me to
-, : -
aWell, you can do as you like--but I
Irte the fellow."
And will you indulge a hatred ~hout
." No-I have reason fo"r what I say and
feel. Johl dislikes me, and takes every
,pportunh to say things against me."
Do you know this ?"
I know it as well as I wish to."
Can you cite an instance ?"
"Yes-nolonger ago than yesterday, i that
affair of Lacy's; I have reason togpppose that
he caused me to be suspected f frightening
the child into fits, about which there tas
such a clamour."
"Well, what reason had yoh .t s*p-
pose so ?"
"Why, it is just like him; beside, I was
suspected, and how should that have 'hap-
pened if he did not bring it about ?"
Let me tell you the truth, Alien. You
were sula ted, because yjou wer; seen near
the place 'about the time the thing ha-
pened. I wos at Lacy's hg#l even
and there were several people talk
about it. It was said that yt- htened
the chi4, but e BSaer J
^ ." p
X |L PREJUDICE.
bravely: if he had been your brother, he
coul4 not have spoken of you more kincr.
There were some evil-minded persons there,
who knew that you hdd treated John fi,
and they tried to make him take revenge of
you, by helping on the suspicion against
you. But he was above it all, and believing
you innocent, he was too noble, too just, f5
try to make people think you guilty."
"'Indeed!-indeed!"--said Allen, red-
dening deeply; "is this so? How wicked
-how crtel, then have I been! Forgive
me, pray forgive me, my dear fellow."
I forgive 'you with all my heart," said
Seth .-" I have, indeed, nothing tefbrgive;
blt I shall be most happy to see you dismiss
such a prejudice as you have indulged to-
wayd John Sawyer: he is really a fine fellow,
and worthy of your esteem."
"I believe it-I know it," said Allen;
and I fear that I have had ar secret consci-
ousness, all the time, that I was foing him
prong. I tried to think Ill of him, and I
Aoke ill of him, only because I did not
now him, or because I felt that his excel-
lepce was a kind of reproach to me. I had
heated him ill, too, on many occasions, and
being conscious of this, I wished to excuse
my injustice by making him out a bad
fellow: so I took a malignant and satirical
fiew of all he did, and tried my ingenuity to
prove myself just and right. But, my dear
-friend, I am cured of this weakned for ever.
I will go this instant to John, and make him a
due apology for my rudeness and unfairness."
I hope these' sketches will be sufficient to
show my readers some of the most common
forms in which prejudice operates, and how
itd'requently contrives to cheat and mislead
mankind. Let us all guard against it as a
great dimy Io our present and future peace.
It is a fierce and malignant tyrant, always
seeking dominion over us, and *en once
' enshrined in the heart, it is difficult to ysist
Sits influence or cheqk its authority.
All those wh6 deste to be free-minded,
fair-minded, just and true, should strictly
examine every personal dislike they feel:
they should bd careful to analyse it-see
upon what it rests-and if it be unfounded,
if it be but a prejudice, let them cast it out
if they would not harbour an evil spirit in
the heart. ,
CHAPTER XVIII .
THE merciful person considers the feelings
of everything that lives and feels: suffering
in other never fails to give him pain and to
awaken in him a desire to alleviate or re-
move it. I shall tell you a little story in
illustration of this excellent quality.
The Young Fisherman.
James Ferris was permitted to Zo to the
bridge t9 amuse himself with fishing. He
put down the hook, and after various nib-
blet, drew forth a perch. It was eauti-
fully marked with dlack 4nd gold stripes,
and as it jumped and writhed on the hook,
the little boy felt delited. I have caught
a fish !" said he, in exultation, to his com-
panions. It was the first he had ever caught,
and he experienced as sincere a feeling of
triumph as did Alexander when he gained a
Mated with his prize, James put a little
notched stick through one of the gills, and
bore it home. "I have caught a fish !" said
he to every one he met. Having announced
his good kack to all the household, he took
the perch and put it into a bowl of water.
But alas, it was dead! it floated sidEways
upon the water, but it was without life and
motion. With a sad face, he wpat to his
"Mother," said he, "my, fsh is dead. I
wish it was alive agai*dt Cannot you bring
it to life ?"
No, my boy, it is impossible," was the
I am sorry I killed it," said James, the
tear gathering in his eye; it was so happy
and so beautiful in the water! Do fishes
feel, mother ?"
"Yes, my child."
And did this poor perch suffer as much
when the hook was in his mouth, as I
should if I was drawn up with a hook in my
"Perhaps not quite so much," said the
mother, "but no doubt it must be a cruel
death for the poor little fish to die; to have
his mouth torn with a hook, and to be drawn
from the element in which he is formed to
live, into one -where he must immediately
"I will never kill and torment a fish
again for py amusement," said James,
totRAGS is of two kinds-physical and
moral. Physical courage is that which makes
a person dare to face dpger to the body:
moral courage is that whicf makes a person
dare to do right, to tell the truth, to be just
and honest, even when such condiqt may
bring reproach or ridicule.
Physical courage belongs particularly to
men and boys, who should be'ashamed to
shrink from any duty because there is
danger in it. Courage too has been often
exhibited by women. We are told of a
mother in ancient times, who saw a tiger
about to seize her infant. Thoughtless of
the danger to herself, she sprung to her
child, clasped it in her arms, and faced the
furious beast, as if to say, Before you de-
vour my child, you must devour me!" The a
tiger was confounded at this act of reso-
luio, and as if abashed, slunk away and was
seen no more The last incident of this story
ianot quite ab likely as the first, but it exem-
plifies my meaning.
Boys and, Girls.
"Ah, James, that is not.fair, to temphyPur
, sister upon the thin i&, so thlaf she mAy get
a ducking! This teasing of sisters, my by,
is poor sprt,---4pi of the stronger se"
should always Be the defenders of the
weaer ones." r
A madn who in any way iWults a woman
is held in universal contempt he is justly
deemed a coward, for he insults one weaker
tfian himself, ,nd he doejit because he feels
that he is safe from punishment. Now a
boy who teases, insults, or injures a girl, has
the spirit of cowardice in him, for he does
injury upoa the mean calculation that he
has nothing to fear from retaliation.
it 10 of the greatest importance in life. It
Sables as to keep our a&%& cle, so that
we may see and observe the$ruth ; it enables
us to govern ov passions,-to wait 'id.
choose, not o* the proper time, &tt thq
per odCHe action .
PATIENCE A*Zp IMPATIENCE.
I c6fuLD wtte a boA abottt patience, for
it of there is latest importance in life which we
miablt possess, weep our t l, thimp patience
w e may see and observe themiss a great enables
of happiness, because they can,-to wait tie
choose, not the proper time, t th
eloper mode o^&ction. *
There is many a pleasure in life which we
might possess, werqj& not for our impatience.'
Ypxn. pjNle, especially, miss a great deals
of happiness, because they cannot wait till
the proper time. 4 a
A man once gave a fine pear 1 his little
boy, saying to him, "The pear is green
now, my boy; but lay it by few week, and
it will then be ripe and very delicious?
"But," said thiehid, "I wanted eat it
90 PATIENCE AND IMPATIENCE.
I tell you it is not ripe yet," said tte
father. "It will not taste pleasantly, and,
beside, it wigl make you ill."
No, it wil not, father; I know it will not,
it looks so good. Do let me eat it ?"
After a little more teasing, the father con-
sented, and the child ate the pear: the con-
sequence was, that the next day he was
taken ill. Now all this happened because
the child was impatient: he could not wait,
and, accordingly, the pear that might have
been very pleasant and harmless, was the
occasion of severe illness, Thus it is that
impatience, in a thousand instances, leads
children, and pretty old ones too, to convert
sources of happiness to actual mischief anl
There were some boys once who lived npr
a pond; and when winter came, they were
very anxious to have it frozen over, that they
might slide and skate upon the ice. At last,
there came a very cold night, and in the
morning the boys went to the pond, to see if
the ice would bear them. Their father came
by at the moment, and seeing that it was
hardly thick enough, told the boys that it
PATIENCE AND IMPATIENCE. 91
was not safe yet, and advised them to wait
another day before tley ventured upon it.
But the boys were in a great hurry to
enjoy the plasure of sliding and skating:
so they walked out upon the ice; but pretty
soon it went crack-crack-crack! and
down they were all plunged into the water.
It was not very deep, so they got out, though
they were very wet and uncomfortable; and
this happened because they would not wait.
Now these things, though they may seem
to be trifles, are full of instruction. They
teach us to beware ofImpatience, to wait till
the fruit is ripe, and not to skate till the ice
will bear; they teach As that the cup of plea-
@qre, seized before the hoper time, is turned
into poison: they show us the importance
CHEERFULNESS AND LOOM.
THERN was once a Fairy who, as she wa
playing among the flowers, felt a chill breath
of wind, and saw two or three of the blossoms
fall dead at her side. She immediately arose
and looked around, and beheld a tall woman,
like a witch, standing near: though covered
with furs, she was shivering with cold.
"What do you do here '" said the Fairy.
"I am commanded, to try my power with
thine," said the Ogress, in a harsh tone.
"And how shall this be done?" said tie
I have my wand, and thou hast thine,"
was the reply.
"Let me see a touch of thy skill,' said
the Fairy. Here the witch waved her wand,
and suddenly a blast of wind was heard
roaring in the adjacent forest. The green
leaves, now sere 40 yellow, were torn from
the trees and cast into the valley. The
ZEBRsrULNEZS ND GLOOM. 93
songs of tlt birds we Abhed fAe lowers
drooped and died. Dark clouds hung in
the sky; the rivers ceased to flow; the air
was filled th slet nd hail; all around was
desolate ani spoke of sorrow.
What think you of it ?" said the Ogrews.
SIt is fearful," said the Fairy.
"But thou hast seen only a part," said
the other. Go with me to the mountains,
and see the avalanche: go witk me to the
icy poles, where the sun is banished for half
the year; and then thou mayst judge of mI
"I doubt it not-yet I would Mot possess
thy gifts," said the Fairy. Go, ask the
things that feel, apd let them choose between
my power and thihe." d
"' Let me see thy gifts," said the Ogress.
The Fairy waved her wand, and the sceq
was changed. The balmy air of spring came
over the landscape,-thl azure sky shone
above the mountains; the murmur of waterfalls
came soothingly upon the ear; the music of
birds stole out from the gpve; the blossoms
gemmed the fields; sweet d[ours were wafted
on the breeze! The Fairy looked at the Ogrea,