Letters from a Father to His Son

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Letters from a Father to His Son
John Mackenzie, 1848-1849
TRUTH, SELF-DENIAL, INDUSTRY, ECONOMY/FRUGALITY,
CONTENTMENT, FRIENDSHIP, GOOD MANNERS,
HEALTH, POLITICS, MORALITY,
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TRUTH
London, August 24th, 1848.
My dear son,
You have now left your home for the first time, and as you will no
longer have the benefit of your father and mother's daily advice, I
am going to write down for you some instructions, which, if you
carefully attend to, may, and I have no doubt will, tend to make
you a good and respectable man.
The first thing which I desire to impress most deeply upon your
mind (and you will guess what is coming before you read it) is
that you always speak the truth. I have urged and repeated this to
you, as you know, ever since you understood the meaning of
words; and you have sense enough to believe that I would not
have done so, but from a thorough conviction of its importance
to your welfare.
To be true is to be honest.
The boy or the man who never breaks this golden rule, walks
uprightly through the world is ever able to look his fellows and
companions in the face. He knows no fear, and has nothing to
conceal; and though he is ashamed of doing what is wrong, is not
base enough to endeavor to screen his faults with a falsehood.
Human nature, in men as well as boys, is ever liable to error—
hasty acts bring upon us all lasting regrets; but if we acknowledge
our errors candidly and honestly, and endeavor to avoid them in
future, we shall not have to add to them the pain and remorse
of concealment, nor the shame of detection and exposure.
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Besides speaking positive untruths, all boasting and
exaggeration should be shunned. Boasting often leads to
untruth. It is like a weak and vain boy, to boast of any little
accomplishment you may possess. Leave others to find out your
merits, if you have any, and depend upon it, you will be much
more thought of than if you seemed puffed up with conceit of
yourself.
Do not be too ready with excuses for your faults—that often
leads to untruth. Do not say, it was only a very small apple I ate; it
was only a very little way I was out of bounds; it was only a very
little knock I gave Willy; and so on.
A boy who is always ready with an excuse, cannot be always
making a true and real excuse. Every now and then, his wish to
screen himself will lead him to soften his fault, and that too
frequently ends in his denying what he has done altogether. Let
everything you say be the whole truth, and the exact truth, neither added
to nor diminished; but state things precisely, and truly, and really as they
happened, and as they are.
I say again, therefore, be particularly mindful always to speak the
truth; and not only to speak the truth, but to be perfectly candid
and open, manly and straight forward in all your little ways with
your schoolfellows. Never mislead, or deceive, or attempt to do so. If
you are asked a question, give a full, that is, as full an answer as
you are able. Do not keep back half of what is passing in your
mind, and only allow the other half to escape from your lips. This
is called mental reservation. I will give you an instance of a very
silly and stupid reservation of this sort, as it used to be played off
at my school when I was a schoolboy, by lads of an inferior
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description, as a piece of wit; but, in fact, it was simply a low and
vulgar equivocation. One boy would hand an apple to another,
and say, "I am going out—here is an apple; will you promise
faithfully to give it to my brother William?" The other boy would
say, "I will;" but low down to himself he said "not," so that what he
really said was "I will not;" and when the boy who gave him the
apple was gone, he ate the apple himself. Of course he was found
out; and then he excused himself by saying he said "not" low
down to himself. This was a base, paltry trick; he induced the boy
who gave him the apple to believe that he would truly and
honestly give it to his brother; and the word "not," which he said
low down, was the same as not said, because no one heard it.
These sort of boys, in the end, always become shunned by their
companions—no one believes them or trusts them; and their
promises and statements are never in the least relied upon.
I explain this to you, not that I suppose for a moment either you,
or any of your companions or schoolfellows, would be guilty of
so silly and unmeaning—so false and base a trick; but to impress
on your mind, that all tricks which interfere with the truth are
bad, and that you should never for a moment, in any shape or
way, allow yourself to trifle with the truth, nor play tricks which
involve a deviation from the great principle which I wish to press
on your attention in this letter.
Recollect, also, what I have often told you, that truth and candor
are the basis of all virtue and goodness in life, and a departure from them
the foundation of every evil. Abilities of the most splendid character
without truth, are of no avail to their possessor. No one respects
an untruthful boy, or a deceitful and false man; his very abilities
often prove his destruction, because falsehood leads to crime and
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wickedness. An able and wicked man carries his wickedness much
further than a stupid man can do, and his ultimate punishment is
of course more dreadful in proportion.
Remember, also, that truth, which is honesty, is the best policy. You
know the proverb, that honesty is the best policy: well, that is the
same as truth; truth is honesty, and honesty is truth.
If I was an artist, I would like to draw you two pictures of Truth
and Falsehood. Truth would be like the industrious apprentice,
with a fine candid open face, looking upright and manly, with a
free step and a pleasant countenance, which everyone who gazed
upon would see was the face of a true and honest boy.
While falsehood would have a downcast ashamed look, with a
bad expression and unsteady eye, not venturing to look straight
before him, so that any one who saw him would say, "That is a
wicked boy."
A wicked mind—a habit of falsehood—a continual deviation
from truth and goodness and honesty, make a boy's features bad.
Bad passions and evil propensities soon show themselves in the
face; and no boy or man can long be untruthful or deceitful,
without betraying in his face and manner, to all who see him,
that he is not worthy to be trusted—that he is untrue, dishonest,
and wicked.
Thus, therefore, you see, honesty is in every way the best policy,
and so is truth.
You remember the newspaper I brought home for you some
months ago, to read about the false and wicked man, whose
untrue statements produced his ruin. The words I wished you
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particularly to attend to, were the words of a gentleman
appointed to act as a Judge, and among other things, to inquire
into the causes why people called bankrupts cannot pay what
they owe. This gentleman had great opportunities of knowing the
world, and of observing, that, in a great majority of cases, it is
their own misconduct which leads men into difficulties. You may
therefore look upon what he says, as the words of an able, and
what is better, of a good man, and I cannot do better than repeat
them to you here over again.
He says, "It has been truly said, when a man has once forfeited
the reputation of his integrity, he is set fast, and nothing will
serve his turn, neither truth nor falsehood. Indeed, if a man were
to deal in the world only for a day, and should never have
occasion to converse more with mankind—never more need of
their good opinion or good word, it were then no great matter
(speaking of the concernments of this world) if a man spent his
reputation all at once, and ventured it at a throw. But if he is to
continue in the world, and would have the advantage of
conversation while he is in it, let him make use of truth and
sincerity in all his words and actions, for nothing but this will last
and hold out to the end, and all other arts will fail; but truth and
integrity will carry a man through, and bear him out to the last."
I am sure, however that you have had too many opportunities
and advantages, and have too much sense to require me to say
much more on this matter. This letter you must read over and
over again; and whenever you have said or done anything which
your own mind tells you is not correct, and not according to the
instructions in father's first letter to you about truth—then get the
letter, and read it again carefully over; go to your teacher and tell
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him of your fault, and your doubts, and he will put you in the
right way to atone for any passing error, and amend your
conduct for the future.
In conclusion, let me remind you that I am writing for your
express benefit and improvement—that I am occupying valuable
time in doing it, or interfering with the few hours of leisure
which health requires. You know that no one loves you as your
father and mother do, and you never can have such friends again
as they are. What they say to you is the result of long experience,
and having no one but yourself to attend to, few children are
blessed with the care and attention, both to your health and
morals, bestowed upon you.
The way to show your sense of their kindness is to attend to your
parents' advice—to think continually of it, and to be virtuous,
truthful and good, and then you will not only be happy yourself,
but the source of great happiness and gratification to them
throughout their lives. And when they die, you will have the
consolation to know, that you have been their comfort and their
joy to the last period of their existence, and thus repaid the debt
of gratitude which you owe them. I shall soon write to you again
on another subject; and in the meantime,
I am, my dear son,
Your affectionate father
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SELF-DENIAL
London, October 25th, 1848.
My dear son,
I have written to you a letter about speaking the truth, and being
guided by truth, candor, and honesty in all your words and
actions, and I am now going to write to you about self-denial. I
hope you attend to what I write, and think of it continually.
It would be in vain for me to give you the benefit of my
experience and opinion, if you did not carefully read and reflect
upon my words. They are not light words, to be forgotten like a
fairy tale—but serious and important words, every one of them
to be stored in your memory, and never lost sight or recollection
of during your life.
What I tell you is what I know myself to be true. You will find, in
the course of your education, and of your reading, as you grow
older, that there are some things nay, I may say, many things—as
to which wise and good men differ in opinion. In my letters to
you, when I speak of such matters, I shall inform you that this
difference of opinion exists. For the present I am confining my
advice to you to plain and acknowledged truths, about which
there can be, among wise and good men, no difference of
opinion.
You know the meaning of self-denial. The words, indeed, explain
their own meaning. The time to begin self-denial is when we are
young. If young people are indulged in every wish—if they have
only to ask and have—if, without reference to whether the object
of their desires is good or bad for their minds or bodies; those
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who are entrusted with the care of them—that is, their parents or
teachers, allow them to obtain every gratification—then young
boys and girls so treated are almost sure to be ruined!
You will find, also, that there is often more real happiness in abstaining
from the immediate object of our wishes, than in securing it. Happiness
does not consist in a perpetual round of pleasures and
enjoyments. When you have had a long and perhaps fatiguing
walk, rest is pleasant; and after a long fast, you are hungry. But
were you always eating or always resting, then you would swallow
your food without an appetite, and would feel no pleasure in
repose.
Thus it is that human nature is constituted. The industrious man
enjoys his leisure—the man who is always at leisure enjoys
nothing.
One of the first things that boys are apt to do wrong in is, the
indulgence of their appetites by perpetually buying things to eat.
The parents of some boys send cakes and sweets with them or
after them to school. In the north of England, where I was
educated, this was of rare occurrence, and the few boys who were
so indulged obtained nick-names, and became objects of derision
to their playfellows. One, I recollect, was called Dolly, from the
name of the servant who brought him the good things.
Do not understand me to say that you are never to eat sweets;
such things, if in a proper state, are now and then very well in
moderation. What I am cautioning you against is the spending
every penny you get in that way. I recollect we had a boy at our
school who was never done eating pies, cakes, and fruit. When he
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got older he went to the pastry-cooks and confectioners' shops in
the town, and purchased more expensive dainties. I remember
very well one day seeing him with a large paper-bag before him,
seated in a corner by himself, and devouring sweet cakes as fast
as he could cram them down his throat!
You will be surprised when I tell you that this boy had an intellect
of no common order. He was a very quick, capable, and clever
lad; not only a good scholar, but also a capital hand at all school
games which required alertness and dexterity, and the fastest
runner in the school. Had this unfortunate and foolish
boy restrained his appetites in his youth, and cultivated the
excellent abilities he possessed, there was nothing to have
prevented his attaining a very high station. He had all those
qualities which ensure success in this bustling world, added to a
fine constitution. He went on, however, from one indulgence to
another. As he grew up and became a man, he gave way to every
inclination, very shortly took to drinking, and finally, after being
ruined both in health and prospects, died of a disease brought on
by habits of intoxication.
Bear in mind that all this misery, misfortune, and death was
brought about to this person entirely by the lack of a little timely
self-denial, when he first began to indulge his appetite without
control in his youth.
Besides its effect on the body, self-denial is of great use to the
mind. It removes selfishness, and prevents us from entertaining a
grasping and greedy spirit with respect to every apparently
desirable object of which we see or hear. You should accustom
yourself, when there is anything nice to be given away, whether
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at home or at school, to offer your companions the first choice, or
divide it with them. You will feel yourself afterwards much more
gratified in so doing than if you had appropriated the whole to
yourself, and a pleasing sensation will come into your mind,
rendering you satisfied with your own conduct.
Self-denial also is to be observed not only in such matters as I
have referred to, but in all your doings. If you wish to walk or play
when you are asked to remain quiet or the reverse, always
immediately give up your own desire, and submit cheerfully and
readily to the directions of your friends or teachers.
Sacrifice your self-will whenever you are called upon. At first you
will find it difficult, but after a few efforts it will become easier.
You will find that the quiet and kind manner (the result of your
self-government) which this course of conduct will render
habitual to you, will be of great service to you, and will create
friends wherever you go.
Of course, you will clearly understand that your giving way on
such occasions is not intended to extend to instances where you
may be asked by improper people to do what is wrong. Firmness
of character is quite consistent with the most perfect self-denial,
and you know now, and will know better still when you grow
older, that the giving way to the wishes of others in affairs of
comparatively trifling consequence, and which do not involve a
compromise of your principles or a deviation from rectitude, is
quite a different thing from abandoning those straight paths of
virtue and honor which are clear and well defined, and which are
never to be forsaken or departed from under any pretense or
upon any solicitation whatever.
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Be moderate in all your wishes, and temperate in the gratification of
them. When you are in school, attend to your lessons. When out
of school, manage your amusements in such a manner as that,
when they are over, you shall feel satisfied in your own mind with
your own conduct, and you will seldom get far wrong. Attend to
what I say; be a good boy and obey your teachers, and there will
be nothing to interfere with your happiness beyond the usual
casualties inseparable from human nature. Forever remember—
engrave it on your heart, and fix it in your understanding—
that virtue brings its own reward, and vice brings its own punishment.
"Let no vicious man," says an eloquent writer in one of the
monthly publications of the metropolis, "let no vicious man
encourage himself in the thought that he can sin with impunity,
that there is this attainable result—successful and unsuspected
crime. Scourges track his footsteps. Above him is the stern
observer; around him are invisible witnesses; behind him hurries
remorse—his inseparable attendant during life, and his
tyrannical monitor in the bitter hour of death. The sting of sin's
scorpion is real; it is realized in unrepented transgression. The
only recipe for a clear conscience is that traced in the pages of a
record that cannot lie. "Keep innocent and hold unto the thing
which is right."
I am, my dear son,
Your affectionate Father
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INDUSTRY
London, November 10th, 1848.
My dear son,
There are a few first principles—that is, a few leading and
important truths—which, if strictly kept in mind and adhered to
from boyhood to man's estate and through life, will ensure to us
at least a moderate success in all our undertakings, and make us
as happy and as well off in the world as we can reasonably hope
to be.
Life is checkered by joys and sorrows, and sometimes with the
best zeal and care and the greatest propriety of conduct, our
endeavors may seem for a time to fail in their object. We must,
however, have patience. Let us steadily continue our work—and
with truth, honesty, and industry for our guides and companions,
we shall not fail. These companions will be to us what Greatheart
you know was to Christiana in the "Pilgrim's Progress," that
you were so fond of reading. They will cheer us along the way,
overcome all the obstacles which beset our path, and finally
crown us with a fair and reasonable proportion of happiness and
prosperity.
I have already spoken to you of truth, and honesty, and selfdenial.
I am now going to write to you of another of these
important companions and guides, and, next to truth and
honesty, the most important, namely, INDUSTRY. This is the
true Great-heart—this is the young man's sword to enable him to
cut his way into a high place among his fellows. Industry, properly
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directed, is power, and strength, and wealth, and greatness. It ensures
all these things; without it, all these things are as nothing.
A pleasing writer, called Zimmerman, says, "If you ask me which
is the real hereditary sin of human nature, do you imagine I shall
answer pride, or luxury, or ambition, or egotism? No, I shall say
indolence. Whoever conquers indolence, will conquer all the
rest."
Dr. Isaac Barrow, who was an eminent scholar and divine in the
reign of Charles II, observes, in one of his works, that "A
gentleman has obligations to mankind, which demand industry.
How can he fairly exist on the common industry of mankind,
without bearing a share thereof? How can he well satisfy himself
to dwell stately, to feed daintily, to be finely clad, to maintain a
pompous retinue—merely on the sweat and toil of others,
without himself rendering a compensation or making some
competent returns of care and pain, redounding to the good of
his neighbor."
The English are naturally and nationally an industrious people. It
is that which has made England the greatest country in the world.
You have heard of savages and Indians, and you are aware that
they cannot read or write. They have no books, no printing
presses, no clocks or watches, few and rude inventions, such as
canoes and sledges for conveying themselves from place to place,
and they cannot even make gunpowder to hunt their food.
If you reflect for a moment, you will easily conceive how
wonderful must have been the industry of the civilized portion
of the human race. Man, in his original state, knew no more than
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the savages. He ran wild and naked in the woods. In the times in
which you and I live, only consider how immensely man has
improved his position. We have now houses to live in—all sorts
of inventions for producing warmth, light, and security by day
and night—scientific and able men to attend us when we are ill;
and for our daily use we have clocks to tell the time, and silver,
china, and glass, earthenware and steel, elegant furniture and
delightful musical instruments—all of which were brought to the
greatest perfection by the care, pains and industry of man. We
have, also, conveyances of every description by sea and land, and
the benefit of the art of printing, which gives us excellent books
on all subjects for our instruction and assistance with histories
which tell us of all the past.
Think, therefore, that having derived all these comforts and
enjoyments, and such extensive means of information and
amusement from the industry of others—you have your own
part to perform. You must aspire to do something more than to eat,
drink, sleep and die. Having to thank those who have gone before
you for the great benefits their labors have conferred upon you, it
should be your wish to render yourself as useful as you can to those
who may come after you.
To this end you must improve your mind, and labor at your
studies with zeal and perseverance. Never give way to
despondency or sloth, nor put aside a task because it is difficult.
When you are on one subject, or at one pursuit—never leave it
until you have understood and mastered it. Renew your
application with spirit and cheerfulness, and you are sure to
succeed. You will experience a lively pleasure and gratification in
overcoming a difficulty in this way; and every difficulty overcome
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will not only be an incentive to new exertions, but will sharpen
and prepare your mind for greater efforts, and a more brilliant
success.
Industrious people are always cheerful and happy. The carpenter
sings at his work. The ploughman whistles o'er the furrowed
land. The idle, on the contrary, are always listless and unhappy. Ever in
search of frivolous gratifications which pall on them
immediately, they know no real or lasting satisfaction.
True enjoyment consists not wholly in play and amusement, but
in seasonable relaxation from industrious and useful pursuits. You
enjoy your holidays, now that you are at school, much more than
you enjoyed the perpetual holiday you had before you went to
school. At school, also, your hours of play come in doubly sweet,
because they consist of short intervals between your school
exercises. The one employs the body, the other the mind. This
keeps both in a sound, healthy and cheerful state. You will find
that, in going to your play from your work, you go with an
alacrity and satisfaction, that you do not feel when all your time
is spent in play, and you do not know what amusement to invent
next.
A great philosopher and historian says, that "a life of pleasure
cannot support itself so long as one of business; but is much
more subject to satiety and disgust. The amusements that are the
most durable have all a mixture of application and attention in
them, and in general business and action fill up all the great
vacancies of life."
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Bear in mind, also, that in performing your duty in this respect
you are your own best friend.
Some writer (I forget who) says, "serve mankind and you serve
yourself," and that is particularly true of industry. The first efforts
of industry will be in obedience to your teachers. When you are a
little older, your labors will be apparently for the sole benefit of
one who is your master or superior. Idle and stupid lads will
sometimes say, "Why should I do it for him? That will do me no
good; I will go and amuse myself." How short sighted they are. It
may be true that apparently your labor is not productive of
any immediate benefit to yourself. I say apparently, because the
habit of industry alone is a benefit. But there is more than this. By
the act of labor you are improving your stock of knowledge.
Every day's mental labor makes the next day's labor lighter; so
that an industrious youth, when he attains to man's state, finds all
inquiries and exertions comparatively easy to him. He takes
pleasure in the pursuit of his business, or profession, from
the habit of industry previously acquired. He is respected and
looked up to by all who know him. Accustomed to rely on
himself, he needs but little help from others, while his own
industry assists him to obtain and ensures his obtaining all that it
is worth while to seek for upon earth. He is termed a clever
person, a fortunate man, and such like—but the main secret of
his good fortune and success in life being that, from youth to
manhood, he has been honest, truthful and industrious.
I am, my dear son,
Your affectionate Father
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ECONOMY/FRUGALITY
London, December 1st, 1848.
My dear son,
Economy is a word of much more extensive meaning than that
which it is used to signify in common speech. At present,
however, I shall confine myself to its popular and ordinary
acceptance, namely—frugality, as the reverse of extravagance.
It is necessary for every person to observe a proper economy.
Supposing that we have money and all the gifts of fortune at
command—still we should not waste our means in idle and
worthless pursuits, nor foolishly spend our money upon trifles.
There are plenty of poorer people in the world who will be
thankful for anything we may give them, and on whom our spare
cash will be much better bestowed, than in personal
gratifications for ourselves.
I do not mean that you are not to have bats and balls, tops and
bicycles, and such other things as boys of your age take delight in
during their play-hours. What I wish you to understand is the
value of money; that it is obtained by labor and perseverance, by
industry and self-denial, and by the exercise of a suitable
economy, and that it is not to be carelessly thrown away!
You know I required you lately to save your allowances until you
could pay for a window you had broken. I did that not so much
because I was angry with you for breaking the window, but to
teach you to save your money, and deny yourself for a time the
little indulgences it might have purchased you. In short, it was to
give you a little practical lesson on economy.
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Please observe that frugality and stinginess are very different
things. By saving your money and not always running to a shop
to spend it as soon as you get it, you will generally have some in
your pocket to give to a poor person in distress, or to enable you
to make a little present to a school-fellow you may respect, or
who may have been useful or kind to you.
The habit of foolish and reckless expenditures is a very bad one.
It grows upon those who indulge in it, and is frequently, in after
life, the cause of a ruin which may be dated from the thoughtless
and uncorrected errors and follies of childhood.
Economy also extends to a proper care of your clothes, books,
and even playthings. Such things are the only property a little
boy possesses of his own; and by not wasting, destroying, or
neglecting them when he is young—he will learn to be careful of
things of greater value with which he may be entrusted as he
grows older. Your clothes should be put away with order and
regularity, and you should know where to find everything you
have—not leave your bats, guns, bow, etc. all around, you know
not where, as I have known some boys do.
I cannot too often impress on your mind that good fortune,
success in life, and happiness belong less to a man's position, than
to himself and to the good early habits which he acquires. Your
parents may be able to leave you, when they die, as much money
as will keep you comfortably all your days—but they may not. An
accident may happen to them, and they may lose all their
property, so that they may have nothing to leave you but a good
name and education. Prudent people seldom happen to have
such accidents, but they are possible.
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In this latter case, if you have attended to the advice and
instructions of your parents and teachers, imbibed virtuous
principles, and become truthful, self-denying, industrious, and
economic—then your fortune rests in your own hands, and you
will be able to earn a living for yourself.
On the other hand, supposing your parents to leave you a
competence, or even wealth—all of that would be of no use to
you should you be without truth, without industry, and without a
proper economy. No property can long remain in such hands,
and you would soon find that your wealth would slip through
your fingers and be consumed in follies and extravagances, until
you would be reduced to poverty! While, on the other hand, you
would possess no qualities either of mind or body which would
enable you to re-instate yourself in the place from whence you
had fallen, or even probably to obtain your daily bread.
Possessing, however, as I have no doubt you will, a competence,
and combining also, as I trust it will be your anxious study to do
—good and virtuous principles with energy of character and a
determination rather to improve than deteriorate your position
—there are few of the usual objects of ambition in life to which
you may not aspire with a reasonable probability of success.
I am, my dear son,
Your affectionate Father
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PERSEVERANCE
London, December 15th, 1848.
My dear son,
I mentioned to you, in one of my former letters, that industry was
the young man's sword to carve out for him success in life. With equal
truth, I may tell you that perseverance is the magic boot which, like
that in the fairy tale, will enable him who possesses it, with rapid
strides, to surpass all his competitors.
In our native country of England, every office, every honor, every
reward, short of the crown itself—is open to the humblest subject
in the realm. It is true that there are a few only of the very highest
stations to be filled, and many who aspire to them; still that is no
reason why any individual should not so aspire. In attempting the
highest, we perhaps may achieve the next in importance;
whereas, he who sits down without energy, perseverance, or
ambition, is likely to descend below the scale of society in which
he was born, and to be overlooked or forgotten in the circle to
which he belongs.
Many, if not most, of our eminent men have not owed their
elevation to family connections, but solely to their own
indefatigable perseverance. In some instances it has occurred
that the successful individual has been almost ready to give up
his long cherished hopes and prospects in despair. Having spent
many anxious years in study and research, and waited and
watched with patience for an opportunity to distinguish himself,
he has been about to retire from the field—when the absence of
some well known person from illness or accident has made way
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for the humble aspirant to fame and fortune, who has stepped
forward from his obscurity to fill the vacant place, to convince
the world of his abilities and acquirements, and to lay the first
stone of his future prosperity. No earthly blessing is so grateful as
success thus obtained.
Most high places were reached by perseverance and earnest and
continued application. The knowledge of these facts should
prove an incitement to the young to fix their eyes aloft, to
maintain a high character for honor and truth, to improve every
hour of their existence, and to omit nothing which may tend to
render them capable of fulfilling the highest destinies.
With these, or similar views in your mind, do not let passing
pleasures allure you to loiter along the way, nor divert you from
the course of mental improvement and exertion, which alone can
render you fit to compete with those you will find in the same
track as yourself. Brace your nerves and spirits to the task—keep
your mind on the alert, and your body free from indolence and
unworthy gratifications—spur onward with alacrity, and if you
have but health you are certain to win a high prize. "The race is
not to the swift or the battle to the strong"—but it is to the swift in
virtue, temperance, and truth; to the strong in persevering
industry and patient labor.
Then comes the reward of toil—the thankful satisfaction of
having won your own garlands by your own exertions—the
ultimate prize of the diligent and persevering scholar, the
congratulations of our fellow laborers, the approval of our
relatives and friends, the means of assisting those beneath us, and
the conviction that when we leave this earthly scene, we shall
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leave behind us a name unsullied by dishonor, and a character
without blemish or reproach!
Look to this—think deeply of it. It is your father who tells you
that this may one day all be yours. Forget not also that it will be
your own fault if much, very much of it is not.
I am, my dear son,
Your affectionate Father,
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CONTENTMENT
December 20th, 1848.
My dear son,
There is nothing which contributes so essentially to our own
happiness throughout all the varied accidents and relations of
life, as a peaceful and contented spirit. "A contented mind" (says
an old proverb), "is a continual feast!" A celebrated writer truly
observes, "The fountain of contentment springs up in the mind,
and he who shows so little knowledge of human nature as to seek
for happiness in changing anything but his own disposition,
spends his life in fruitless efforts, and multiplies the griefs he
purposes to remove."
There are various sentences of a similar import, scattered
throughout the works of poets and philosophers, and however
few may be able from habit or temperament to achieve the
blessing—it is on all hands admitted, that true happiness rests in the
mind and disposition of the man—and not in his outward
circumstances. It is by no means intended by this to discourage
proper exertions, or a vigorous pursuit of suitable and
praiseworthy objects of ambition. While we daily strive to
improve our minds, and render ourselves worthier members of
society—we may still be happy and contented with our present
lot, and not vainly repine at the apparent wealth and prosperity
of those who may seem to enjoy superior advantages to
ourselves.
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Nothing is more unpleasant than to hear young people perpetually
wishing for some enjoyment, not reasonably within their reach—and
undervaluing the comforts and blessings they possess.
You will hear (at least I have often heard), a youth say, "Oh! I do
not like this place, it is so dull! I wish I was in London, or at
home, or in Hampshire! Or, "How I dislike this walk, and how I
wish we had gone another way. How sorry I am we are traveling
by rail—the steam vessel on the open sea would have been so
delightful" and so forth. There is no harm in you expressing your
reasonable wishes beforehand, but when once they are overruled
by your parents, think no more of your past longings, but
cheerfully make the best of what you have. This disposition will
give your friends a great desire to oblige you whenever they can
properly do so, and will besides render you happy under all
circumstances, and throughout any and every change of fortune.
By imagining we dislike this thing and the other thing—we come
to do so in reality. We are unhappy, not because of anything
unpleasant which has occurred to us, but because of our own
wayward whims and caprices. The power of the mind over
external circumstances, is underestimated.
An even temper and frame of mind also teaches us to bear with
the disappointments and misfortunes, of which we are sure to
have our share, and not to place too great reliance on the delight
to be experienced in grasping the objects of our ambition.
An eminent philosopher (in speaking of the way in which a wise
man views the struggles and turmoils which attend the life of the
too restless and ambitious) observes, "The temple of wisdom is
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seated upon a rock, above the rage of the fighting elements, and
inaccessible to all the malice of man. The rolling thunder breaks
below, and those more terrible instruments of human fury reach
not to so sublime a height." "The contented mind, while he
breathes that serene air, looks down with compassion on the
errors of mistaken mortals, who blindly seek for the true path of
life, and pursue riches, nobility, honor, and power for genuine
felicity. The greater part he beholds disappointed of their fond
wishes. Some lament, that having once possessed the object of
their desire, it is snatched from them by envious fortune. All
complain that even their own views, though granted, cannot give
them happiness, or relieve the anxiety of their distracted minds."
This is, perhaps, in one respect, and to a certain extent, too true a
portrait of humanity, and it is therefore I have quoted it for you,
not because I agree entirely in the somewhat exaggerated picture
which is drawn, nor concur in all the sentiments expressed. It is
quite possible, and indeed it is quite according to the instinct of
our nature, for men to pursue riches, nobility, honor and power
—all of which are laudable objects—and at the same time, not to
place all hopes of happiness in their attainment.
We must and ought to have views and prospects in the distance,
urging us forward, and yielding us motives for exertion, and by
preserving a serene mind and a contented spirit amid all our
aspirations—we shall not feel too elated should we reach the
summit of our ambition, nor too depressed should we fail or fall
short of our wishes and expectations.
In his own hands—within himself—under the control and
dominion of his own reason, the contented man holds to a great
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extent the scales of his own happiness or misery. Leading a calm and
virtuous life, happy with his relatives, and esteemed by his
friends and connections—the storms of fortune and the ills of
fate and humanity will blow past him without shattering his
hopes, or seriously or eventually disturbing the even tenor of his
mind.
That this may be your lot, my dear son, is the sincere wish of
your affectionate Father.
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FRIENDSHIP
London, January 10th, 1849
My dear son,
There is a Latin adage or saying that you will meet with when you
are a little further advanced in the study of that language, which
means that a man is known by the company he keeps. There is a
similar phrase in almost all languages and countries, and the fact
is, therefore, confirmed by the experience of ages, that in
general one who associates with idle and worthless people, is himself of
the same stamp. On the contrary, he who is always found in the
society and fellowship of those who are industrious, virtuous, and
honorable, in all probability partakes of the character of his
companions.
Let it be, therefore, your own care to select your associates, and
still more especially your friends, from among those only who
merit and obtain the good opinion and approbation of the
holiest of men. This will not only procure for you a like good
opinion and approval, but it will be one step towards your
deserving it. The perpetual example of holy people before our
eyes, their conversation and advice, is of the greatest use to us
when we are young; while the language and conduct of the evilminded
and dissolute are apt to corrupt even the best
disposition, and to undermine the yet unfixed principles of
childhood, especially if accompanied, as is sometimes the case,
by superior, though perverted natural abilities.
In making choice of companions it is generally best for us to select
those having similar tastes and dispositions, and occupying
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similar stations in society to ourselves. Certainly it is not
advisable for us to stoop to a circle below our own—and neither
is it desirable for us anxiously to seek for associates among those
whom birth or fortune has placed much above us.
On the other hand, if such people as those I have last referred to
seek us in a proper manner, and treat us with kindness and
respect, evincing no wish to show us that they consider
themselves condescending to our level, and honoring us by their
notice—it is not at all necessary or proper for us to shun such a
connection so long as it can be continued upon equal terms and
with a due regard to our own self-respect. In this, however, you
must be regulated by circumstances, and, while young, by the
advice of your parents and friends, who are older, and, of
necessity, more acquainted with human character than yourself.
The virtue and goodness of your companions are of the first
importance—their rank and station in the world are but a
secondary consideration. It is not well for young men to form
hasty friendships, and to be first the ardent friend of one youth,
and then of another, as caprice may suggest. I would advise you
to be backward in encouraging these sort of temporary
friendships. As it is improper to take up hot and hasty prejudices
against others from slight causes, it is equally so to allow an
acquaintance of a short duration to spring up on the sudden into
too close an intimacy and friendship. Such ties seldom endure
long, and when broken they leave an unpleasant feeling behind
them, rendering us dissatisfied with our own conduct, and with
that of our temporary friend.
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When, however, you have established a friendship with
another, do not let a little matter divide you. As you have been slow
and deliberate in forming your opinion of your friend, and have
become gradually convinced of his good qualities and kind
feelings, from your own observation of his character, as well as
from the approbation of others—so be slow to believe he would
knowingly wrong you or act an unworthy part by you.
If you think you have cause to complain of him, frankly and
immediately tell him of it, but never listen either to the
suspicious suggestions of your own mind or the unworthy
insinuations of others, nor let ill-feelings or supposed injuries,
which a word of explanation might dispel—rankle in your mind
until you magnify that which was originally either a mere trifle or
an unintentional slight—into an insupportable grievance and
offense.
Place, on all occasions, the best construction on the acts of your
friend; believe that he feels towards you as you feel towards him;
make allowances for the errors of humanity, and be ever ready to
overlook and forgive.
On your own part, be careful to avoid giving cause of offense;
study your friend's character and turn of mind, and forbear to
alarm his prejudices, wound his feelings, or hurt his honor. Incur
as few obligations as you can, especially financial ones, and be
very punctual in the repayment of the latter, should you
unavoidably or accidentally be compelled to have recourse to
your friend's purse.
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Be willing to yield your plans and wishes to his, in your little
pursuits—and, in the end, you will meet with a like delicacy and
forbearance from him in return. You will thus mutually consult
each other's wishes, and be what friends ought to be to one
another—kind, considerate, and obliging.
It is not often, however, that such friendships continue;
circumstances break them off, and different engagements and
undertakings sever us from our early associates. In some few
instances they last as long as we live, and that is generally a proof
that the friendship has been advisedly formed and sustained
throughout the vicissitudes of life by the good conduct and high
principles of the parties. Should you have the happiness to secure
and retain more than one such friend, you will be more fortunate
or more prudent than the majority of mankind.
I am, my dear son,
Your affectionate Father
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GOOD MANNERS
London, January 20th, 1849.
My dear son,
Manners, it has been said, make the man. This, however, is not
altogether so, because there are people who, from birth, habit,
and a constant interaction with good society, possess the most
unexceptionable manners—but nothing else. Such people, you
must understand, would, in all probability, have been unbearable
but for this advantage; and, if good manners make men, without
natural good sense and ability pass current in the world—then
how persuasive and engaging must be their effect when added to
a well-regulated mind and superior attainments and talents!
Some people of vigorous intellects are apt to adopt a roughness
of demeanor, showing their contempt for what they term a
mincing gentility. Affectation of all sorts, whether of plainness or
the reverse, is to be shunned. There is, nevertheless, a happy
medium—that of being neither too plausible and silky on the one
hand, nor too blunt and direct on the other hand—which it
should be the study of every man of sense to attain. Indeed, it
needs not much study to acquire such a manner, because the first
step towards it is the entire absence of all pretense and affectation
from the mind, and the rejection of everything like foolery and
foppery on the one hand—or rudeness and slovenliness on the
other—in dress, language, and appearance.
Young men should never obtrude their opinions on their seniors,
nor be forward in speech among those older than themselves. I
saw a youth once, not above fifteen or sixteen years old, tap his
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snuff-box and offer it to his father, saying, "Will you take a pinch
of snuff, old boy?" I was young myself at the time, and knew the
parties very well, but the words grated on my ear. There is bad
taste in this; it is out of place and out of order—out of natural
order and propriety. A son may, and ought to be, on perfectly
easy and confidential terms with his father, but those terms should
never degenerate into a vulgar familiarity and disrespect.
There is another impropriety I would draw your attention to. Do
not use what are called slang terms. If you wish to joke, do so like
a young gentleman, not like a chimney-sweeper or a sailor, the
staple of whose witticisms consists of such crude sayings.
It is not well for a youth to be always talking; he should listen,
and seek to acquire information from the conversation of others,
and not volunteer his own opinions unless upon proper
occasions and when called upon by his friends. In due time, if he
is really wise, he will be more thought of from his unobtrusive
manners and deportment than if he were ever so fluent and
forward of speech, and his abilities will shine with a double luster
because he has not been ever ready to display them.
Be always prepared to give up any favorite seat to another, and
especially to a lady, and endeavor to take more pleasure in
presenting the means of a little passing enjoyment to a friend or
companion than in hastening to gratify yourself.
These things require a control over the mind, and a little selfdenial
at first; but they soon not only become easy but delightful,
and a much truer and more abiding sense of enjoyment than any direct
personal gratification we could obtain.
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In cases where you come into contact with people many years
your seniors, or of a superior station to yourself, beware how you
allow any familiarity on their part to tempt you to a like
familiarity in return. Observe the same rule in writing letters.
Such people may call you by your first name, and may adopt a
friendly and familiar style of address towards both in speaking
and writing.
Do not, however, attempt the like with them. On the contrary,
maintain a proper and respectful address and tone, both in your
language, writing, and manners. This will show those who may
notice you your good sense and good breeding, as well as the
solidity of your character. They will see that they have nothing to
fear from any forwardness or presumption on your part, and
they will place a reliance on your disposition and conduct; while
a flippant and pert behavior, and attempts at facetious jocularity,
or ill-timed and vulgar pleasantry with your superiors—will only
cause you to be set down as a shallow fellow, unworthy of further
notice or respect.
When you are conversing with others of your own age and
station, do not be continually speaking of yourself and of your own
sayings and doings. This is called egotism, and is vulgar and
ungentlemanly, besides being a bore to your companions. Let
your talk be of matters of general interest, and be a patient and
attentive listener to others. Most people are fond of hearing
themselves talk, especially the young, and every one likes a good
listener.
In short, a gentleman's manners should be a type and mirror of
his mind. The mind should be industrious, virtuous, and
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eflective. The manners should be quiet, unobtrusive, and gentle;
then there would be a goodly picture, set in a bright frame, each
worthy of the other. With such qualities you could make no
enemies, and would be beloved and appreciated by your parents
and friends, not only for your sterling good qualities, but for the
mildness and forbearance of your disposition, and the entire
absence from all pretension, conceit, and display in your
manners.
Bear these things in mind—they are worth your reflection; all this
you may be, if you please. You have the materials, the result
remains with yourself.
I am, my dear son,
Your affectionate Father
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PRUDENCE
London, February 2nd, 1849.
My dear son,
There is no quality which is more immediately important to
ourselves, nor more essential to our own interests and to the safe
conduct of our affairs, whether of business or pleasure,
than prudence. It is that effort or suggestion of the mind which
teaches us . . .
to avoid all extremes,
to shun unnecessary risks,
to suppress sinful expressions and emotions,
to think before we speak,
to forbear hasty assertions which it may not be easy for us to
support—and rash promises which we may find it difficult to
perform;
and, above all, not to place reliance on exaggerated statements of
the supposed advantages to be derived from enterprises which
the ill-founded enthusiasm of others may urge on our attention;
but rather, with judgment and caution, to confine our
transactions and regulate our views by the experience of the past,
than by wild and groundless expectations as to the future.
It is, therefore, that a prudent person is neither convinced nor
attracted by accounts of wonderful cures, of strange sights, of
surprising bargains, of splendid investments, of capital
inventions, of shortcuts to fortune and opulence; nor by any of
the other high flown announcements which, as you know, fill up
the newspapers of the present day.
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In our business affairs and in the outlay and investment of our
money and property, there can be no great or unusual measure
of gain without a proportionate risk of loss, and the prudent man
is, therefore, content with such moderate profits and advantages as he
can enjoy with safety. Hence it is that all games of chance where
money is risked, often to a considerable amount, which is
called gambling; all betting, lotteries, and raffles; all extensive
and dangerous speculations and such like follies; and uncertain and
hazardous adventures—are always avoided by prudent and
discreet people.
There are three leading directions or guides to be observed by a
man who desires to do well in the world.
First, by industry, perseverance, and frugality—to enable himself
to spend less money than he earns.
Next, to be able firmly and resolutely to say NO to those who,
discovering his habits, desire to partake of the fruits of his
industry without any labor of their own.
And, third, safely and securely to invest in solid and available
security, the surplus money which he has so earned and saved.
In other words,
1. live within your means;
2. do not listen to borrowers;
3. be very careful what you do with your savings. Shakespeare
says:
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"Neither a borrower nor a lender be,
For loans often lose both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of industry."
You will hear people say how riches are to be despised, that good
men ought to set their hearts on things of more importance, and
a great deal of apparently very good morality of a like nature.
There is a vast deal of truth in all this. Yet I never yet happened to
meet with the man who really despised riches. Property, honestly
and honorably acquired, is a credit; and the proper use of wealth
entitles its owner to consideration and respect, and he receives it.
You are not to make the acquisition of riches your sole or greatest
object in life. No one praises a miser or a greedy and stingy person.
That is the extreme on the one hand, as profligacy and idle
extravagance is on the other. Good sense points to a happy
medium.
Prudence also regulates our labors with reference to our health—
invites us to take proper air and exercise, prevents the
unrestrained indulgence of our appetites, and recommends to us
early rising and the avoidance of late hours, and unnatural and
harmful excitement.
In forming new friendships, and especially such as are likely to be
of a permanent character, it is requisite for us to be very prudent.
We should satisfy ourselves fully of the character of an associate,
that it is suitable to our own, and that there are no circumstances
attending the disposition, connections, or prospects of the party
which render it likely that at some future day we may have cause
to regret our engagement. This is particularly applicable as well
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to those early friendships of which I have spoken to you in a
former letter, as to nearer ties, respecting which I shall have
something to say to you at a future day.
Prudence, likewise, should regulate our expenses. Before we incur
debts or purchase articles either for use or amusement, we
should reckon up our means of paying for them. You cannot
begin too early to appreciate the value of money and to be
careful and discreet in its use and application. This moral virtue of
prudence, indeed, is the helm or rudder by which we ought to
steer the vessel of our fortunes throughout our lives.
It may be that our sails may be torn, that seas of troubled waters
may surround us, or in other words we may be overtaken by
temporary misfortunes and the loss of our friends and relatives;
but if we hold fast by this rudder of prudence, we shall not sink
nor be overcome by the tempest—but finally be enabled to guide
ourselves to the end of the voyage of life with credit and
respectability.
I am, my dear son,
Your affectionate Father,
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HEALTH
London, February 20th, 1849.
My dear son,
I am desirous of saying a few words to you on that which you
ought not to neglect—that is, your health. Young men are apt to
think that the elasticity of nerve, and the high spirits and vivid
impressions they enjoy and receive when young, will never fail
them. The advice of their seniors they discredit or pay no
attention to, and too often think, in their own minds, that it will
be time enough to use care and precaution when ill health arrives
in earnest, which they consider will be a far distant day with
them.
Much of the reasoning, however, which applies to the moral
character, also applies to the health. If we waste our strength, and
induce bad habits of body when young—they comes upon us
when we grow older. The way to enjoy good health is to conserve
our resources, to be careful of our strength and attend to all our
little ailments in due time, and not to over-tax nature by too
violent exertions either of mind or body.
It is said a man must be either a fool or a physician before forty
years old. That is, he must, if wise at all, have been forced to
acquire some knowledge of health. Unfortunately, the fact is that
many men the reverse of fools never become aware that they
have a physical system, liable to be diseased, until they are struck
down hopelessly by the consequences of their own imprudence!
As I have mentioned to you in a former letter, early rising is of
great importance. The natural hour for men to rise is no doubt
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with the sun. All nature is awake as soon as the east is illumined
by its approach. The birds begin to sing and feed, the fish to seek
the surface of the rivulet, the flowers to unfold their blossoms to
its rays, and the lowing herd to crop the fresh pasture on which
the drops of the morning dew sparkle with the light from
Heaven.
Man alone in crowded cities remains pent up in his heated
chamber, wasting the brightest hour of his existence in useless
and unhealthy slumber. As society is constituted, however, we
cannot well imitate the lower animals; still we may as nearly obey
the obvious dictates of nature as possible.
With this view we should retire early to rest. Avoid, as I have said
before, over-heated rooms, late hours, and exciting society.
The head is always clearest in the morning, and one hour at that
time of the day is worth two at a more advanced period, especially at
night.
You should attend also to your diet, and the regularity of your
habits. These, while you are at school, will be for the most part
regulated by your teachers, but afterwards, as you become a
young man, you will be left to your own guidance. You cannot
successfully study with ill health. A fresh and vigorous mind is
not compatible with a disordered frame. There may be
exceptions, but that is the rule; and it is of the greatest
importance to a godly man to shun all excess, to be temperate in
his habits, and to keep his mind free from that species of feverish
and nervous excitement which is created by what young men are
apt to consider as more than a reasonable share of the pleasures
that surround them.
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All of life is before you, and, therefore, be not in haste to
anticipate its enjoyments. Some young men I have known, at
twenty years of age, who could find no pleasure in anything.
They had seen so much amusement, and had courted
unwholesome excitement to such an extent, that the society of
their friends and relatives filled them with ennui (boredom).
They were old in the ways of the world, and wearied with all it
had to offer to them, before they had arrived at the years of
discretion.
Take, therefore, your amusements with great moderation, and of
these you will find the simple and natural amusements will last
you the longest. Riding on horseback occasionally, a little fishing,
and a moderate indulgence in such field sports as come within
your reach, without sacrificing more important objects; these,
and such like, are the best and most healthful exercises for a
godly man. They lead to the enjoyment of natural scenes, the
inhaling of fresh air, and the expansion of the bodily powers,
which are too often allowed to lie dormant, until the mind
becomes injured by an undue and disproportionate exercise of
its faculties.
Be particularly careful to avoid all harmful habits, such as smoking,
snuffing, etc. In a young man they are especially disgusting. As to
wine, in our home, as you know, you never saw a gentleman
tipsy, and I do not know that you ever heard of such a thing
among your friends as one of them taking wine to excess at table.
It is altogether so debasing a habit, so unlike a gentleman, and so
unworthy of one who claims to possess a refined mind and a
cultivated intellect, that it is, I am sure, quite unnecessary for me
to say a word more to you on that head.
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One great conducive to health is cleanliness; use plenty of water,
especially in the morning. In this respect you have had many
early lessons, and have been daily told of the importance and
absolute necessity of keeping the surface of your skin perfectly
clean, and the pores of your body open and free. Attend to your
feet so as to keep them always dry. Wear strong and well-made
shoes which fit you well, and never sacrifice your health and
comfort to fashions and finery. Change whenever you get wet,
and when you find that your feet feel cold and damp, you may be
certain that your general health needs attention.
In a few words, by attending to the old and homely saying,
namely, keep your head cool, your feet warm, and your digestion
open, you will take the best and safest means to retain your
health and preserve your constitution from disease.
I am, my dear son,
Your affectionate father
POLITICS
London, March 12th, 1849.
My dear son,
Your observation to me a short time ago, about Sir Robert Peel,
shows me that you have some notion of the matter about which I
am now going to say a few words to you. The subject is, perhaps,
a little premature; that is, your mind is scarcely yet prepared for
it. Though you will, I know, perfectly understand me, yet you
may treat and consider this letter as one which will be both more
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intelligible and more useful to you a few years hence than at this
time. It is about politics that I intend now addressing you.
The word politics is derived from a Greek noun, politikos, which
means a statesman. What we now commonly understand by
politics is the science of public government, that is to say, the
rules and principles by which a kingdom or community is
conducted and governed, and which regulate not only the
management of the people within its own immediate realm or
jurisdiction, but also its conduct towards neighboring kingdoms
or communities.
On so intricate and comprehensive a subject as the good
government of large multitudes of people there will be, of
course, differences of opinion among able men. It is impossible
for human institutions to declare general rules that shall fit every
case that may arise, or that may not sometimes press hardly in
individual instances. No form of government or code of laws can
be so absolutely perfect, but that some cases will occur where it
would be well if the strictness of the general rule could be
relaxed. All that can be done, is to adjust and adapt general
principles, as nearly as practical, to the exigencies of the people
and their affairs, and to proceed according to the dictates of
experience and the result of patient inquiry and observation.
In England there were, when I was a young man, two great
political parties, the one called the Tories, and the other
the Whigs.
The Tories were supposed to be upholders of the Crown—that is,
of the King or Queen—enemies to innovation, and tenacious of
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giving way to the voice of populace; hence they were looked
upon formerly as partisans of the house of Stewart (about which
you have read in the history of England), being opposed to any
interference with the direct and hereditary line of succession to
the throne.
The Whigs, on the contrary, it was considered, took the part of
the people, were opposed to the extension of the power and
prerogatives of the Crown beyond certain limits, and were
friends to the Protestant line of princes who succeeded the
Stewarts.
I give it you, however, as my humble opinion, that these were too
frequently distinctions in name merely. In most instances the
contest between Tory and Whig was for power—that is, which
party was to govern the country. As an able writer observes, "the
animosity between the factions had no better foundation than
narrow prejudice or party passion."
At the present day the pretensions of the family of Stewart have
long ceased, and all question as to a Protestant or Catholic line of
princes been put an end to, and the present royal family firmly
seated on the throne.
In modern times, moreover, political questions are conducted
with more moderation, and, it is to be hoped, with less factious
views and more unselfish patriotism. The superior men on each
side, for the most part, deserve well of their country. Look upon a
man who vehemently decries either party, as unworthy of your
confidence. These kind of men say particularly bitter and spiteful
things about men whose politics they disliked.
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What I wish you to understand, is that people of both parties are
often wise and good men, having the interests of their country at
heart, and that they only differ in the mode of accomplishing
their object.
If you live and associate much with the world, you will hear
people in private life, who have not only had no adequate means
of becoming acquainted with political affairs, but who have never
been able even to manage their own affairs so as to place
themselves and their families in a tolerably comfortable position,
declaim most loudly against the one or the other of these parties.
Such people will tell you how they would have had matters
managed. These very declaimers, however—you will often find to
be people in bad credit, speculating beyond their means in
unprofitable merchandise, keeping confused and irregular
accounts, and carrying on their business with small gain, and in
some cases at a loss.
Nevertheless, according to their own views, they can point out
with great clearness, how this great populous and commercial
country . . .
should be governed,
can regulate its currency,
revise its taxes,
and amend its laws.
You will readily see and understand how extremely absurd all
such pretensions are.
Politics, like everything else of any moment to be understood,
must be pursued and studied for many years. A man, to form any
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very useful opinion on political subjects, ought to be, in the first
place, a calm thinking and considerate man, of a quiet and
reflective turn of mind; and, in general, he must have arrived at
years of maturity before he can or ought to offer any decided
opinion.
It is admitted on all hands, that to know the law, we must study it;
that to make a watch, we must learn the trade from a craftsman. I
have told you that you cannot hope to perform such
comparatively trifling feats as to capture a trout with an artificial
fly; or shoot down a woodcock on the wing—without several
years' practice and experience.
Whenever, then, you hear anyone offering confident and high
sounding opinions about public Government, always in your own
mind doubt the solidity and value of his conclusions.
At the same time, however, that I ask you to view party
discussions and differences, and extreme and violent opinions on
such subjects in their true light. I recommend that you not be
carried away by a foolish enthusiasm.
I do not wish to advise you not to belong to a party. If you follow
the profession of law, it will be necessary and proper that you
should do so. In determining what party you will adhere to, act
upon principle and not on any imagined expediency.
Some young men on arriving at that period of life when it
becomes proper for professional men to belong to one or other
of the parties in their country, are governed by chance, or by what
they imagine will be for their interest, rather than by a clear and
educated choice of their own. If they, for instance, find the Whigs
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in power, they elect to belong to that party because that is the
then prevalent one, and likely as they think to be beneficial to
them in the way of promotion and emolument. This is the
decision of little minds, and of short-sighted and unreflecting
people.
In the first place, the tenure of power by one party or another is
often short-lived; and if it were of ever so long duration, no man
should sacrifice his principles to, nor allow his mind to be
influenced solely by, sordid views and prospects. The result of
such conduct frequently is that, in more advanced years when
the mind becomes riper and the information of the individual
more extensive, he finds himself placed among people with
whom he has no common sympathies, regrets his early and too
hasty decisions, and would gladly change sides when it is no
longer consistently in his power to do so; and he may then even
have the mortification of finding the very party in power of
whose principles and proceedings his maturer judgment
approves, but of whose influence and protection it is then too late
for him to avail himself.
Whatever decision you may come to, however, do it carefully and
upon reflection; and having once made up your mind, never
change—stick by your party, not by its errors—but stick by it as a
party, and look up to some great and wise man as your chief
example and guide.
As society is now constituted, a lawyer must belong to a party. I
am sorry for it. It is much to be regretted that high offices in the
law are given away more with reference to the use a lawyer is of
to his party, than his fitness for the position to which he aspires.
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So it is, however, and you and I cannot alter that state of things,
nor is it likely to be altered in our time.
Whatever party you may espouse, always treat your opponents
with kindness and candor. Believe that their views may be
sincere, though widely different from your own; recollect that
humanity is fallible and prone to error and mistake, and that you
may be the one in the wrong. Be not, therefore, a violent
propounder of your own views, nor vehement denouncer of the
views of others. Moderate in your opinions, temperate in your
language, and courteous in your demeanor—you will win golden
opinions from all sides. You may, like an amiable and estimable
judge and excellent lawyer now on the bench, to be promoted to
the highest honors of your profession by people entertaining
political opinions somewhat at variance with your own.
I am, my dear son,
Your affectionate father
MORALITY
London, May 2nd, 1849.
My dear son,
It seems to me that there is no subject with which I can more
properly conclude the present series of letters which I have been
writing to you than that of morality. I might, perhaps, have
coupled religion with it as being intimately connected; but I
prefer postponing that to some future occasion, recommending
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you, in the meantime, to attend to your prayers and hymns, to
your mother's lessons, and to the discourses of those godly men
whom you have the privilege of hearing at church, both at home
and at school.
All the good qualities, which in my former letters I have been
urging on your attention, are moral qualities. Besides these,
which I may repeat—are truth, self-denial, industry, economy,
friendship, contentment, perseverance, good manners, and
prudence; there are, also benevolence, justice, allegiance to the
government under which you dwell, filial love and duty, affection
for your relatives, respect for your superiors, fidelity, chastity,
gratitude, patience, fortitude, and judgment.
I believe these to be the principal virtues. There are many other
moral qualities of great importance, but I think you will find that
most of them may be classed under one or other of the foregoing
heads. Temperance and moderation for instance, would come
under the heads of prudence or self-denial. Humanity,
generosity, and even tenderness might be included in
benevolence; and so on with the rest of the catalogue of human
virtues.
All these moral qualities have been defined in general terms, as
those qualities in man which are either useful or agreeable to the
person himself, or to others. It seems to me, however, so clear
that all qualities in us, which are useful or agreeable to others, are
also useful and agreeable to ourselves; that this definition might
very well be confined, for anything I can see to the contrary, to
qualities useful or agreeable to the person himself.
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Indeed, if a man reflects for a moment on what has happened to
him within his own experience—if he uses the reasoning faculties
which God has given him, he must feel astonished at the folly
and absurdity of those who, by the practice of falsehood and
idleness, by ingratitude, selfish indulgences and rudeness of
demeanor, become at once unhappy in their own minds and the
object of contempt and dislike to others.
Considering morality, then, in a merely selfish point of view—
reflecting on what it is certain must be best for ourselves—most
for own advantage, comfort, and happiness, our course is clear. It
appears astonishing that any individual of common capacity and
observation and with ordinary means of instruction, should ever
mistake it.
The pursuit of virtue and the possession of these moral qualities,
increase our capacity and enlarge the field of our enjoyments.
Whereas, immorality deprives its possessor of every blessing of
which humanity is susceptible. The results of immorality and vice are
pain, melancholy, disgrace, loneliness, discontent, disease, and even
death! The practice of morality improves the temperament,
eminently qualifies a man for the society of his fellow creatures,
advances his fortunes in the world, and, in case of unforeseen
adversity, enables him to bear with the ills incidental to
humanity. By the cheerfulness of his temper and the greatness of
his mind, he will rise superior to every difficulty. This is part of
the framework and construction of man. It is a self-adjusting
principle fixed in his nature—-it is one of the guides given him
for his conduct, and a very intelligible and plain and
unmistakable guide it is.
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The conscience of a man tell him what is right and what is wrong;
if he neglects these monitors, and, notwithstanding their
warning, persists in error—the consequences of his conduct are
not slow in appearing. Every wrong committed, sooner or later,
often in this world, brings its own punishment and its train of ill
consequence to the wrong-doer. We have thus both from our
own inward dictates and the result of our actions, a plain and
direct intimation of what we have to expect from a continuance
in evil ways. How then can anyone but a fool remain wicked, or,
indeed, ever depart from the pleasant paths of truth, virtue, and
morality—to seek the dark, crooked and unhappy ways of
immorality, dishonesty, and vice.
There are many interesting works on moral virtues, which, when
you are older, it will be both instructive and entertaining for you
to have recourse to. You will find in them discussions as to
whether the principles of morality are the result of sentiment, or
are to be deduced from our reason and judgment, and various
other arguments and disputations, which the elegance of the
language employed and the ingenuity of the suggestions and
theories by which they are supported—render well worthy the
attention of the scholar.
In this, and in the preceding letters which I have addressed to
you, however, I have confined myself to practical lessons, and while
I have endeavored to put those lessons into language which you
cannot fail to understand at present, it has also been my wish to
afford you instruction and advice which may be of use to you at a
more advanced period, and, indeed, as long as you live.
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Do not, therefore, throw my letters on one side as if they were
only intended for you to read as a boy; but keep them beside you,
and refer to them as you grow older. If they have the effect upon
your mind which they ought to have as coming from your father,
and written entirely for your own benefit and improvement—
then they will render you attentive to my words and grateful for
my precepts, and myself happy in my son!
Believe me, my dear son,
Your affectionate father
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