COBBETT'S ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN

And (Incidentally) to Young Women, in the Middle and Higher Ranks of Life. In a Series of Letters, Addressed to a Youth, a Bachelor, a Lover, a Husband, a Father, a Citizen, or a Subject. 

by

WILLIAM COBBETT

(From the Edition of 1829)LondonHenry Frowde1906Oxford: Horace HartPrinter to the University

INTRODUCTION

1. It is the duty, and ought to be the pleasure, of age and experienceto warn and instruct youth and to come to the aid of inexperience. Whensailors have discovered rocks or breakers, and have had the good luck toescape with life from amidst them, they, unless they be pirates orbarbarians as well as sailors, point out the spots for the placing ofbuoys and of lights, in order that others may not be exposed to thedanger which they have so narrowly escaped. What man of common humanity, having, by good luck, missed being engulfed in a quagmire or quicksand, will withhold from his neighbours a knowledge of the peril without whichthe dangerous spots are not to be approached?

2. The great effect which correct opinions and sound principles, imbibedin early life, together with the good conduct, at that age, which mustnaturally result from such opinions and principles; the great effectwhich these have on the whole course of our lives is, and must be, wellknown to every man of common observation. How many of us, arrived atonly forty years, have to repent; nay, which of us has not to repent, orhas not had to repent, that he did not, at an earlier age, possess agreat stock of knowledge of that kind which has an immediate effect onour personal ease and happiness; that kind of knowledge, upon which thecheerfulness and the harmony of our homes depend!

3. It is to communicate a stock of this sort of knowledge, inparticular, that this work is intended; knowledge, indeed, relative toeducation, to many sciences, to trade, agriculture, horticulture, law, government, and religion; knowledge relating, incidentally, to allthese; but, the main object is to furnish that sort of knowledge to theyoung which but few men acquire until they be old, when it comes toolate to be useful. 

4. To communicate to others the knowledge that I possess has always beenmy taste and my delight; and few, who know anything of my progressthrough life, will be disposed to question my fitness for the task. Talkof rocks and breakers and quagmires and quicksands, who has ever escapedfrom amidst so many as I have! Thrown (by my own will, indeed) on thewide world at a very early age, not more than eleven or twelve years, without money to support, without friends to advise, and withoutbook-learning to assist me; passing a few years dependent solely on myown labour for my subsistence; then becoming a common soldier andleading a military life, chiefly in foreign parts, for eight years;quitting that life after really, for me, high promotion, and with, forme, a large sum of money; marrying at an early age, going at once toFrance to acquire the French language, thence to America; passing eightyears there, becoming bookseller and author, and taking a prominent partin all the important discussions of the interesting period from 1793 to1799, during which there was, in that country, a continued strugglecarried on between the English and the French parties; conductingmyself, in the ever-active part which I took in that struggle, in such away as to call forth marks of unequivocal approbation from thegovernment at home; returning to England in 1800, resuming my labourshere, suffering, during these twenty-nine years, two years ofimprisonment, heavy fines, three years self-banishment to the other sideof the Atlantic, and a total breaking of fortune, so as to be leftwithout a bed to lie on, and, during these twenty-nine years of troublesand of punishments, writing and publishing, every week of my life, whether in exile or not, eleven weeks only excepted, a periodical paper, containing more or less of matter worthy of public attention; writingand publishing, during _the same twenty-nine years_, a grammar of theFrench and another of the English language, a work on the Economy of theCottage, a work on Forest Trees and Woodlands, a work on Gardening, anaccount of America, a book of Sermons, a work on the Corn-plant, aHistory of the Protestant Reformation; all books of great and continuedsale, and the _last_ unquestionably the book of greatest circulation inthe whole world, the Bible only excepted; having, during _these sametwenty-nine years_ of troubles and embarrassments without number, introduced into England the manufacture of Straw-plat; also severalvaluable trees; having introduced, during _the same twenty-nine years_, the cultivation of the Corn-plant, so manifestly valuable as a source offood; having, during the same period, always (whether in exile or not)sustained a shop of some size, in London; having, during the whole ofthe same period, never employed less, on an average, than ten persons, in some capacity or other, exclusive of printers, bookbinders, andothers, connected with papers and books; and having, during thesetwenty-nine years of troubles, embarrassments, prisons, fines, andbanishments, bred up a family of seven children to man's and woman'sstate. 

5. If such a man be not, after he has survived and accomplished allthis, qualified to give Advice to Young Men, no man is qualified forthat task. There may have been natural _genius_: but genius _alone_, notall the genius in the world, could, without _something more_, haveconducted me through these perils. During these twenty-nine years, Ihave had for deadly and ever-watchful foes, a government that has thecollecting and distributing of sixty millions of pounds in a year, andalso every soul who shares in that distribution. Until very lately, Ihave had, for the far greater part of the time, the whole of the pressas my deadly enemy. Yet, at this moment, it will not be pretended, thatthere is another man in the kingdom, who has so many cordial friends. For as to the _friends_ of _ministers_ and the _great_, the friendshipis towards the _power_, the _influence_; it is, in fact, towards _thosetaxes_, of which so many thousands are gaping to get at a share. And, ifwe could, through so thick a veil, come at the naked fact, we shouldfind the subscription, now going on in Dublin for the purpose oferecting a monument in that city, to commemorate the good recently done, or alleged to be done, to Ireland, by the DUKE of WELLINGTON; we shouldfind, that the subscribers have _the taxes_ in view; and that, if themonument shall actually be raised, it ought to have _selfishness_, andnot _gratitude_, engraven on its base. Nearly the same may be said withregard to all the praises that we hear bestowed on men in power. Thefriendship which is felt towards me is pure and disinterested: it is notfounded in any hope that the parties can have, that they can ever_profit_ from professing it: it is founded on the gratitude which theyentertain for the good that I _have done_ them; and, of this sort offriendship, and friendship so cordial, no man ever possessed a largerportion. 

6. Now, mere _genius_ will not acquire this for a man. There must besomething more than _genius_: there must be industry: there must beperseverance: there must be, before the eyes of the nation, proofs ofextraordinary exertion: people must say to themselves, 'What wiseconduct must there have been in the employing of the time of this man!How sober, how sparing in diet, how early a riser, how little expensivehe must have been!' These are the things, and _not genius_, which havecaused my labours to be so incessant and so successful: and, though I donot affect to believe, that _every young man_, who shall read this work, will become able to perform labours of equal magnitude and importance, Ido pretend, that _every_ young man, who will attend to my advice, willbecome able to perform a great deal more than men generally do perform, whatever may be his situation in life; and, that he will, too, performit with greater ease and satisfaction than he would, without the advice, be able to perform the smaller portion. 

7. I have had, from thousands of young men, and men advanced in yearsalso, letters of thanks for the great benefit which they have derivedfrom my labours. Some have thanked me for my Grammars, some for myCottage Economy, others for the Woodlands and the Gardener; and, inshort, for every one of my works have I received letters of thanks fromnumerous persons, of whom I had never heard before. In many cases I havebeen told, that, if the parties had had my books to read some yearsbefore, the gain to them, whether in time or in other things, would havebeen very great. Many, and a great many, have told me, that, though longat school, and though their parents had paid for their being taughtEnglish Grammar, or French, they had, in a short time, learned more frommy books, on those subjects, than they had learned, in years, from theirteachers. How many gentlemen have thanked me, in the strongest terms, for my Woodlands and Gardener, observing (just as Lord Bacon hadobserved in his time) that they had before seen no books, on thesesubjects, that they could _understand_! But, I know not of anything thatever gave me more satisfaction than I derived from the visit of agentleman of fortune, whom I had never heard of before, and who, aboutfour years ago, came to thank me in person for a complete reformation, which had been worked in his son by the reading of my two SERMONS on_drinking_ and on _gaming_. 

8. I have, therefore, done, already, a great deal in this way: but, there is still wanting, in a compact form, a body of ADVICE such as thatwhich I now propose to give: and in the giving of which I shall dividemy matter as follows. 1. Advice addressed to a YOUTH; 2. Adviceaddressed to a BACHELOR; 3. Advice addressed to a LOVER; 4. To aHUSBAND; 5. To a FATHER; 6. To a CITIZEN or SUBJECT. 

9. Some persons will smile, and others laugh outright, at the idea of'Cobbett's giving advice for conducting the affairs of _love_. ' Yes, butI was once young, and surely I may say with the poet, I forget which ofthem, 'Though old I am, for ladies' love unfit, The power of beauty I remember yet. '

I forget, indeed, the _names_ of the ladies as completely, pretty nigh, as I do that of the poets; but I remember their influence, and of thisinfluence on the conduct and in the affairs and on the condition of men, I have, and must have, been a witness all my life long. And, when weconsider in how great a degree the happiness of all the remainder of aman's life depends, and always must depend, on his taste and judgment inthe character of a lover, this may well be considered as the mostimportant period of the whole term of his existence. 

10. In my address to the HUSBAND, I shall, of course, introduce advicerelative to the important duties of _masters_ and _servants_; duties ofgreat importance, whether considered as affecting families or asaffecting the community. In my address to the CITIZEN or SUBJECT, Ishall consider all the reciprocal duties of the governors and thegoverned, and also the duties which man owes to his neighbour. It wouldbe tedious to attempt to lay down rules for conduct exclusivelyapplicable to every distinct calling, profession, and condition of life;but, under the above-described heads, will be conveyed every species ofadvice of which I deem the utility to be unquestionable. 

11. I have thus fully described the nature of my little work, and, before I enter on the first Letter, I venture to express a hope, thatits good effects will be felt long after its author shall have ceased toexist. 

LETTER I

TO A YOUTH

12. You are now arrived at that age which the law thinks sufficient tomake an oath, taken by you, valid in a court of law. Let us suppose fromfourteen to nearly twenty; and, reserving, for a future occasion, myremarks on your duty towards parents, let me here offer you my advice asto the means likely to contribute largely towards making you a happyman, useful to all about you, and an honour to those from whom yousprang. 

13. Start, I beseech you, with a conviction firmly fixed on your mind, that you have no right to live in this world; that, being of hale bodyand sound mind, you have _no right_ to any earthly existence, withoutdoing _work_ of some sort or other, unless you have ample fortunewhereon to live clear of debt; and, that even in that case, you have noright to breed children, to be kept by others, or to be exposed to thechance of being so kept. Start with this conviction thoroughly implantedon your mind. To wish to live on the labour of others is, besides thefolly of it, to contemplate a _fraud_ at the least, and, under certaincircumstances, to meditate oppression and robbery. 

14. I suppose you in the middle rank of life. Happiness ought to be yourgreat object, and it is to be found only in _independence_. Turn yourback on Whitehall and on Somerset-House; leave the Customs and Excise tothe feeble and low-minded; look not for success to favour, topartiality, to friendship, or to what is called _interest_: write it onyour heart, that you will depend solely on your own merit and your ownexertions. Think not, neither, of any of those situations where gaudyhabiliments and sounding titles poorly disguise from the eyes of goodsense the mortifications and the heart-ache of slaves. Answer me not bysaying, that these situations '_must be_ filled by _somebody_;' for, ifI were to admit the truth of the proposition, which I do not, it wouldremain for you to show that they are conducive to happiness, thecontrary of which has been proved to me by the observation of a nowpretty long life. 

15. Indeed, reason tells us, that it must be thus: for that which a manowes to favour or to partiality, that same favour or partiality isconstantly liable to take from him. He who lives upon anything excepthis own labour, is incessantly surrounded by rivals: his grand resourceis that servility in which he is always liable to be surpassed. He is indaily danger of being out-bidden; his very bread depends upon caprice;and he lives in a state of uncertainty and never-ceasing fear. His isnot, indeed, the dog's life, '_hunger_ and idleness;' but it is worse;for it is 'idleness with _slavery_, ' the latter being the just price ofthe former. Slaves frequently are well _fed_ and well _clad_; but slavesdare not _speak_; they dare not be suspected to _think_ differently fromtheir masters: hate his acts as much as they may; be he tyrant, be hedrunkard, be he fool, or be he all three at once, they must be silent, or, nine times out of ten, affect approbation: though possessing athousand times his knowledge, they must feign a conviction of hissuperior understanding; though knowing that it is they who, in fact, doall that he is paid for doing, it is destruction to them to _seem as ifthey thought_ any portion of the service belonged to them! Far from mebe the thought, that any youth who shall read this page would not ratherperish than submit to live in a state like this! Such a state is fitonly for the refuse of nature; the halt, the half-blind, the unhappycreatures whom nature has marked out for degradation. 

16. And how comes it, then, that we see hale and even clever youthsvoluntarily bending their necks to this slavery; nay, pressing forwardin eager rivalship to assume the yoke that ought to be insupportable?The cause, and the only cause, is, that the deleterious fashion of theday has created so many artificial wants, and has raised the minds ofyoung men so much above their real rank and state of life, that theylook scornfully on the employment, the fare, and the dress, that wouldbecome them; and, in order to avoid that state in which they might live_free_ and _happy_, they become _showy slaves_. 

17. The great source of independence, the French express in a precept ofthree words, '_Vivre de peu_, ' which I have always very much admired. '_To live upon little_' is the great security against slavery; and thisprecept extends to dress and other things besides food and drink. WhenDOCTOR JOHNSON wrote his Dictionary, he put in the word pensioner thus:'PENSIONER--_A slave of state_. ' After this he himself became a_pensioner_! And thus, agreeably to his own definition, he lived anddied '_a slave of state_!' What must this man of great genius, and ofgreat industry too, have felt at receiving this pension! Could he be socallous as not to feel a pang upon seeing his own name placed before hisown degrading definition? And what could induce him to submit to this?His wants, his artificial wants, his habit of indulging in the pleasuresof the table; his disregard of the precept '_Vivre de peu_. ' This wasthe cause; and, be it observed, that indulgences of this sort, whilethey tend to make men poor and expose them to commit mean acts, tendalso to enfeeble the body, and more especially to cloud and to weakenthe mind. 

18. When this celebrated author wrote his Dictionary, he had not beendebased by luxurious enjoyments; the rich and powerful had not caressedhim into a slave; his writings then bore the stamp of truth andindependence: but, having been debased by luxury, he who had, whilecontent with plain fare, been the strenuous advocate of the rights ofthe people, became a strenuous advocate for _taxation withoutrepresentation_; and, in a work under the title of '_Taxation noTyranny_, ' defended, and greatly assisted to produce, that unjust andbloody war which finally severed from England that great country theUnited states of America, now the most powerful and dangerous rival thatthis kingdom ever had. The statue of Dr. JOHNSON was the first that wasput into St. PAUL'S CHURCH! A signal warning to us not to look uponmonuments in honour of the dead as a proof of their virtues; for here wesee St. PAUL'S CHURCH holding up to the veneration of posterity a manwhose own writings, together with the records of the pension list, provehim to have been '_a slave of state_. '

19. Endless are the instances of men of bright parts and high spirithaving been, by degrees, rendered powerless and despicable, by theirimaginary wants. Seldom has there been a man with a fairer prospect ofaccomplishing great things and of acquiring lasting renown, than CHARLESFOX: he had great talents of the most popular sort; the times weresingularly favourable to an exertion of them with success; a large partof the nation admired him and were his partisans; he had, as to thegreat question between him and his rival (PITT), reason and justiceclearly on his side: but he had against him his squandering andluxurious habits: these made him dependent on the rich part of hispartisans; made his wisdom subservient to opulent folly or selfishness;deprived his country of all the benefit that it might have derived fromhis talents; and, finally, sent him to the grave without a single sighfrom a people, a great part of whom would, in his earlier years, havewept at his death as at a national calamity. 

20. Extravagance in _dress_, in the haunting of _play-houses_, in_horses_, in everything else, is to be avoided, and, in youths and youngmen, extravagance in _dress_ particularly. This sort of extravagance, this waste of money on the decoration of the body, arises solely fromvanity, and from vanity of the most contemptible sort. It arises fromthe notion, that all the people in the street, for instance, will be_looking at you_ as soon as you walk out; and that they will, in agreater or less degree, think the better of you on account of your finedress. Never was notion more false. All the sensible people that happento see you, will think nothing at all about you: those who are filledwith the same vain notion as you are, will perceive your attempt toimpose on them, and will despise you accordingly: rich people willwholly disregard you, and you will be envied and hated by those who havethe same vanity that you have without the means of gratifying it. Dressshould be suited to your rank and station; a surgeon or physician shouldnot dress like a carpenter! but there is no reason why a tradesman, amerchant's clerk, or clerk of any kind, or why a shopkeeper ormanufacturer, or even a merchant; no reason at all why any of theseshould dress in an _expensive_ manner. It is a great mistake to suppose, that they derive any advantage from exterior decoration. Men areestimated by other _men_ according to their capacity and willingness tobe in some way or other _useful_; and though, with the foolish and vainpart of _women_, fine clothes frequently do something, yet the greaterpart of the sex are much too penetrating to draw their conclusionssolely from the outside show of a man: they look deeper, and find othercriterions whereby to judge. And, after all, if the fine clothes obtainyou a wife, will they bring you, in that wife, _frugality, good sense_, and that sort of attachment that is likely to be lasting? Natural beautyof person is quite another thing: this always has, it always will andmust have, some weight even with men, and great weight with women. Butthis does not want to be set off by expensive clothes. Female eyes are, in such cases, very sharp: they can discover beauty though half hiddenby beard and even by dirt and surrounded by rags: and, take this as asecret worth half a fortune to you, that women, however personally vainthey may be themselves, _despise personal vanity in men_. 

21. Let your dress be as cheap as may be without _shabbiness_; thinkmore about the colour of your shirt than about the gloss or texture ofyour coat; be always as _clean_ as your occupation will, withoutinconvenience, permit; but never, no, not for one moment, believe, thatany human being, with sense in his skull, will love or respect you onaccount of your fine or costly clothes. A great misfortune of thepresent day is, that every one is, in his own estimate, _raised abovehis real state of life_: every one seems to think himself entitled, ifnot to title and great estate, at least _to live without work_. Thismischievous, this most destructive, way of thinking has, indeed, beenproduced, like almost all our other evils, by the Acts of our Septennialand Unreformed Parliament. That body, by its Acts, has caused anenormous Debt to be created, and, in consequence, a prodigious sum to beraised annually in taxes. It has caused, by these means, a race ofloan-mongers and stock-jobbers to arise. These carry on a species of_gaming_, by which some make fortunes in a day, and others, in a day, become beggars. The unfortunate gamesters, like the purchasers of blanksin a lottery, are never heard of; but the fortunate ones becomecompanions for lords, and some of them lords themselves. We have, withinthese few years, seen many of these gamesters get fortunes of a quarterof a million in a few days, and then we have heard them, thoughnotoriously amongst the lowest and basest of human creatures, called'_honourable gentlemen_'! In such a state of things, who is to expectpatient industry, laborious study, frugality and care; who, in such astate of things, is to expect these to be employed in pursuit of thatcompetence which it is the laudable wish of all men to secure? Not longago a man, who had served his time to a tradesman in London, became, instead of pursuing his trade, a stock-jobber, or gambler; and, in about_two years_, drove his _coach-and-four_, had his town house and countryhouse, and visited, and was visited by, _peers of the highest rank_! A_fellow-apprentice_ of this lucky gambler, though a tradesman inexcellent business, seeing no earthly reason why _he_ should not havehis coach-and-four also, turned his stock in trade into a stake for the'Change; but, alas! at the end of a few months, instead of being in acoach-and-four, he was in the _Gazette_!

22. This is one instance out of hundreds of thousands; not, indeed, exactly of the same description, but all arising from the same copioussource. The words _speculate_ and _speculation_ have been substitutedfor _gamble_ and _gambling_. The hatefulness of the pursuit is thustaken away; and, while taxes to the amount of more than double the wholeof the rental of the kingdom; while these cause such crowds of idlers, every one of whom calls himself a _gentleman_, and avoids the appearanceof working for his bread; while this is the case, who is to wonder, thata great part of the youth of the country, knowing themselves to be as_good_, as _learned_, and as _well-bred_ as these _gentlemen_; who is towonder, that they think, that they also ought to be considered as_gentlemen_? Then, the late _war_ (also the work of the SeptennialParliament) has left us, amongst its many legacies, such swarms of_titled_ men and women; such swarms of '_Sirs_' and their '_Ladies_';men and women who, only the other day, were the fellow-apprentices, fellow-tradesmen's or farmers' sons and daughters, or indeed, thefellow-servants, of those who are now in these several states of life;the late Septennial Parliament war has left us such swarms of these, that it is no wonder that the heads of young people are turned, and thatthey are ashamed of that state of life to act their part well in whichought to be their delight. 

23. But, though the cause of the evil is in Acts of the SeptennialParliament; though this universal desire in people to be thought to beabove their station; though this arises from such acts; and, though itis no wonder that young men are thus turned from patient study andlabour; though these things be undoubted, they form no reason why Ishould not _warn you_ against becoming a victim to this nationalscourge. For, in spite of every art made use of to avoid labour, thetaxes will, after all, maintain only _so many_ idlers. We cannot all be'_knights_' and '_gentlemen_': there must be a large part of us, afterall, to make and mend clothes and houses, and carry on trade andcommerce, and, in spite of all that we can do, the far greater part ofus must actually _work_ at something; for, unless we can get at some ofthe taxes, we fall under the sentence of Holy Writ, 'He who will not_work_ shall not _eat_. ' Yet, so strong is the propensity to be thought'_gentlemen_'; so general is this desire amongst the youth of thisformerly laborious and unassuming nation; a nation famed for its pursuitof wealth through the channels of patience, punctuality, and integrity;a nation famed for its love of solid acquisitions and qualities, and itshatred of everything showy and false: so general is this reallyfraudulent desire amongst the youth of this now '_speculating_' nation, that thousands upon thousands of them are, at this moment, in a state ofhalf starvation, not so much because they are too _lazy_ to earn theirbread, as because they are too _proud_! And what are the _consequences_?Such a youth remains or becomes a burden to his parents, of whom heought to be the comfort, if not the support. Always aspiring tosomething higher than he can reach, his life is a life of disappointmentand of shame. If marriage _befal_ him, it is a real affliction, involving others as well as himself. His lot is a thousand times worsethan that of the common labouring pauper. Nineteen times out of twenty apremature death awaits him: and, alas! how numerous are the cases inwhich that death is most miserable, not to say ignominious! _Stupidpride_ is one of the symptoms of _madness_. Of the two madmen mentionedin Don Quixote, one thought himself NEPTUNE, and the other JUPITER. Shakspeare agrees with CERVANTES; for, Mad Tom, in King Lear, beingasked who he is, answers, 'I am a _tailor_ run mad with _pride_. ' Howmany have we heard of, who claimed relationship with _noblemen_ and_kings_; while of not a few each has thought himself the Son of God! Tothe public journals, and to the observations of every one, nay, to the'_county-lunatic asylums_' (things never heard of in England till now), I appeal for the fact of the vast and hideous _increase of madness inthis country_; and, within these very few years, how many scores ofyoung men, who, if their minds had been unperverted by the gamblingprinciples of the day, had a probably long and happy life before them;who had talent, personal endowments, love of parents, love of friends, admiration of large circles; who had, in short, everything to make lifedesirable, and who, from mortified pride, founded on false pretensions, _have put an end to their own existence_!

24. As to DRUNKENNESS and GLUTTONY, generally so called, these are vicesso nasty and beastly that I deem any one capable of indulging in them tobe wholly unworthy of my advice; and, if any youth unhappily initiatedin these odious and debasing vices should happen to read what I am nowwriting, I refer him to the command of God, conveyed to the Israelitesby Moses, in Deuteronomy, chap. Xxi. The father and mother are to takethe bad son 'and bring him to the elders of the city; and they shall sayto the elders, This our son will not obey our voice: he is a _glutton_and a _drunkard_. And all the men of the city shall stone him withstones, that he die. ' I refer downright beastly gluttons and drunkardsto this; but indulgence short, _far short_, of this gross and reallynasty drunkenness and gluttony is to be deprecated, and that, too, withthe more earnestness because it is too often looked upon as being nocrime at all, and as having nothing blameable in it; nay, there are manypersons who _pride_ themselves on their refined taste in mattersconnected with eating and drinking: so far from being ashamed ofemploying their thoughts on the subject, it is their boast that they doit. St. Gregory, one of the Christian fathers, says: 'It is not the_quantity_ or the _quality_ of the meat, or drink, but the _love of it_that is condemned;' that is to say, the indulgence beyond the absolutedemands of nature; the hankering after it; the neglect of some duty orother for the sake of the enjoyments of the table. 

25. This _love_ of what are called 'good eating and drinking, ' if veryunamiable in grown-up persons, is perfectly hateful in _a youth_; and, if he indulge in the propensity, he is already half ruined. To warn youagainst acts of fraud, robbery, and violence, is not my province; thatis the business of those who make and administer _the law_. I am nottalking to you against acts which the jailor and the hangman punish; noragainst those moral offences which all men condemn; but againstindulgences, which, by men in general, are deemed not only harmless, butmeritorious; but which the observation of my whole life has taught me toregard as destructive to human happiness, and against which all ought tobe cautioned even in their boyish days. I have been a great observer, and I can truly say, that I have never known a man, 'fond of good eatingand drinking, ' as it is called; that I have never known such a man (andhundreds I have known) who was worthy of respect. 

26. Such indulgences are, in the first place, very _expensive_. Thematerials are costly, and the preparations still more so. What amonstrous thing, that, in order to satisfy the appetite of a man, theremust be a person or two _at work every day_! More fuel, culinaryimplements, kitchen-room; what! all these merely to tickle the palate offour or five people, and especially people who can hardly pay their way!And, then, the _loss of time_: the time spent in pleasing the palate: itis truly horrible to behold people who ought to be at work, sitting, atthe three meals, not less than three of the about fourteen hours thatthey are out of their beds! A youth, habituated to this sort ofindulgence, cannot be valuable to any employer. Such a youth cannot bedeprived of his table-enjoyments on any account: his eating and drinkingform the momentous concern of his life: if business interfere with that, the business must give way. A young man, some years ago, offered himselfto me, on a particular occasion, as an _amanuensis_, for which heappeared to be perfectly qualified. The terms were settled, and I, whowanted the job dispatched, requested him to sit down, and begin; but he, looking out of the window, whence he could see the church clock, said, somewhat hastily, 'I _cannot_ stop _now_, sir, I must go to _dinner_. ''Oh!' said I, 'you _must_ go to dinner, must you! Let the dinner, whichyou _must_ wait upon to-day, have your constant services, then: for youand I shall never agree. ' He had told me that he was in _great distress_for want of employment; and yet, when relief was there before his eyes, he could forego it for the sake of getting at his eating and drinkingthree or four hours, perhaps, sooner than I should have thought it rightfor him to leave off work. Such a person cannot be sent from home, except at certain times; he _must_ be near the kitchen at three fixedhours of the day; if he be absent more than four or five hours, he isill-treated. In short, a youth thus pampered is worth nothing as aperson to be employed in business. 

27. And, as to _friends_ and _acquaintances_; they will _say_ nothing toyou; they will _offer_ you indulgences under their roofs; but the moreready you are to accept of their offers, and, in fact, the better_taste_ you discover, the less they will like you, and the sooner theywill find means of shaking you off; for, besides the _cost_ which youoccasion them, people do not like to have _critics_ sitting in judgmenton their bottles and dishes. _Water-drinkers_ are universally _laughedat_; but, it has always seemed to me, that they are amongst the mostwelcome of guests, and that, too, though the host be by no means of aniggardly turn. The truth is, they give _no trouble_; they occasion _noanxiety_ to please them; they are sure not to make their sittings_inconveniently long_; and, which is the great thing of all, theirexample teaches _moderation_ to the rest of the company. Your notorious'lovers of good cheer' are, on the contrary, not to be invited without_due reflection_: to entertain one of them is a serious business; and aspeople are not apt voluntarily to undertake such pieces of business, thewell-known 'lovers of good eating and drinking' are left, verygenerally, to enjoy it by themselves and at their own expense. 

28. But, all other considerations aside, _health_, the most valuable ofall earthly possessions, and without which all the rest are worthnothing, bids us, not only to refrain from _excess_ in eating anddrinking, but bids us to stop short of what might be indulged in withoutany apparent impropriety. The words of ECCLESIASTICUS ought to be readonce a week by every young person in the world, and particularly by theyoung people of this country at this time. 'Eat modestly that which isset before thee, and _devour_ not, lest thou be _hated_. When thousittest amongst many, reach not thine hand out first of all. _How littleis sufficient for man well taught! A wholesome sleep_ cometh of atemperate belly. Such a man _riseth up in the morning_, and is _well atease with himself_. Be not too hasty of meats; for excess of meatsbringeth sickness, and choleric disease cometh of gluttony. By surfeithave many perished, and he that _dieteth himself prolongeth his life_. Show not thy valiantness in wine; for wine hath destroyed many. Winemeasurably taken, and in season, bringeth gladness and cheerfulness ofmind; but drinking with excess maketh bitterness of mind, brawlings andscoldings. ' How true are these words! How well worthy of a constantplace in our memories! Yet, what pains have been taken to apologise fora life contrary to these precepts! And, good God! what punishment can betoo great, what mark of infamy sufficiently signal, for those perniciousvillains of talent, who have employed that talent in the composition of_Bacchanalian songs_; that is to say, pieces of fine and captivatingwriting in praise of one of the most odious and destructive vices in theblack catalogue of human depravity!

29. In the passage which I have just quoted from chap. Xxxi. OfECCLESIASTICUS, it is said, that 'wine, _measurably_ taken, and in_season_, ' is a _proper thing_. This, and other such passages of the OldTestament, have given a handle to drunkards, and to extravagant people, to insist, that _God intended_ that _wine_ should be _commonly_ drunk. No doubt of that. But, then, he could intend this only _in countries inwhich he had given wine_, and to which he had given no cheaper drinkexcept _water_. If it be said, as it truly may, that, by the means ofthe _sea_ and the _winds_, he has given wine to all _countries_, Ianswer that this gift is of no use to us _now_, because our governmentsteps in between the sea and the winds and us. _Formerly_, indeed, thecase was different; and, here I am about to give you, incidentally, apiece of _historical knowledge_, which you will not have acquired fromHUME, GOLDSMITH, or any other of the romancers called historians. Beforethat unfortunate event, the _Protestant Reformation_, as it is called, took place, the price of RED WINE, in England, was _fourpence a gallon_, Winchester measure; and of WHITE WINE, _sixpence a gallon_. At the sametime the pay of a labouring man per day, as fixed by law, was_fourpence_. Now, when a labouring man could earn _four quarts of goodwine in a day_, it was, doubtless, allowable, even in England, forpeople in the middle rank of life to drink wine _rather commonly_; and, therefore, in those happy days of England, these passages of Scripturewere applicable enough. But, _now_, when we have got a _Protestant_government, which by the taxes which it makes people pay to it, causesthe _eighth part of a gallon_ of wine to cost more than the pay of alabouring man for a day; _now_, this passage of Scripture is notapplicable to us. There is no '_season_' in which we can take winewithout ruining ourselves, however '_measurably_' we may take it; and Ibeg you to regard, as perverters of Scripture and as seducers of youth, all those who cite passages like that above cited, in justification of, or as an apology for, the practice of wine-drinking in England. 

30. I beseech you to look again and again at, and to remember every wordof, the passage which I have just quoted from the book ofECCLESIASTICUS. How completely have been, and are, its words verified bymy experience and in my person! How little of eating and drinking issufficient for me! How wholesome is my sleep! How early do I rise; andhow '_well at ease_' am I 'with myself!' I should not have deserved suchblessings, if I had withheld from my neighbours a knowledge of the meansby which they were obtained; and, therefore, this knowledge I have beenin the constant habit of communicating. When one _gives a dinner to acompany_, it is an extraordinary affair, and is intended, by sensiblemen, for purposes other than those of eating and drinking. But, in_general_, in the every-day life, despicable are those who suffer anypart of their happiness to depend upon what they have to eat or todrink, provided they have _a sufficiency of wholesome food_; despicableis the _man_, and worse than despicable the _youth_, that would make anysacrifice, however small, whether of money or of time, or of anythingelse, in order to secure a dinner different from that which he wouldhave had without such sacrifice. Who, what man, ever performed a greaterquantity of labour than I have performed? What man ever did so much?Now, in a great measure, I owe my capability to perform this labour tomy disregard of dainties. Being shut up two years in Newgate, with afine on my head of a thousand pounds to the king, for having expressedmy indignation at the flogging of Englishmen under a guard of Germanbayonets, I ate, during one whole year, one mutton chop every day. Beingonce in town, with one son (then a little boy) and a clerk, while myfamily was in the country, I had during some weeks nothing but legs ofmutton; first day, leg of mutton boiled or _roasted_; second, _cold_;third, _hashed_; then, leg of mutton _boiled_; and so on. When I havebeen by myself, or nearly so, I have _always_ proceeded thus: givendirections for having _every day the same thing_, or alternately asabove, and every day exactly at the same hour, so as to prevent thenecessity of any _talk_ about the matter. I am certain that, upon anaverage, I have not, during my life, spent more than _thirty-fiveminutes a day at table_, including all the meals of the day. I like, andI take care to have, good and clean victuals; but, if wholesome andclean, that is enough. If I find it, by chance, _too coarse_ for myappetite, I put the food aside, or let somebody do it, and leave theappetite to gather keenness. But the great security of all is, to eat_little_, and to drink nothing that _intoxicates_. He that eats till heis _full_ is little better than a beast; and he that drinks till he is_drunk_ is quite a beast. 

31. Before I dismiss this affair of eating and drinking, let me beseechyou to resolve to free yourselves from the slavery of the _tea_ and_coffee_ and other _slop-kettle_, if, unhappily, you have been bred upin such slavery. Experience has taught me, that those slops are_injurious to health_: until I left them off (having taken to them atthe age of 26), even my habits of sobriety, moderate eating, earlyrising; even these were not, until I left off the slops, sufficient togive me that complete health which I have since had. I pretend not to bea 'doctor;' but, I assert, that to pour regularly, every day, a pint ortwo of _warm liquid matter_ down the throat, whether under the name oftea, coffee, soup, grog, or whatever else, is greatly injurious tohealth. However, at present, what I have to represent to _you is thegreat deduction, which the use of these slops makes, from your power ofbeing useful_, and also from your _power to husband your income_, whatever it may be, and from whatever source arising. I am to supposeyou to be desirous to become a clever and a useful man; a man to be, ifnot admired and revered, at least to be _respected_. In order to meritrespect beyond that which is due to very common men, you must dosomething more than very common men; and I am now going to show you howyour course _must be impeded_ by the use of the _slops_. 

32. If the women exclaim, 'Nonsense! come and take a cup, ' take it forthat once; but hear what I have to say. In answer to my representationregarding the _waste of time_ which is occasioned by the slops, it hasbeen said, that let what may be the nature of the food, there must _betime_ for taking it. Not _so much_ time, however, to eat a bit of meator cheese or butter with a bit of bread. But, these may be eaten in ashop, a warehouse, a factory, far from any _fire_, and even in acarriage on the road. The slops absolutely demand _fire_ and a_congregation_; so that, be your business what it may; be youshopkeeper, farmer, drover, sportsman, traveller, to the _slop-board_you must come; you must wait for its assembling, or start from homewithout your breakfast; and, being used to the warm liquid, you feel outof order for the want of it. If the slops were in fashion amongstploughmen and carters, we must all be starved; for the food could neverbe raised. The mechanics are half-ruined by them. Many of them arebecome poor, enervated creatures; and chiefly from this cause. But isthe positive _cost_ nothing? At boarding-schools an _additional price isgiven_ on account of the tea slops. Suppose you to be a clerk, in hiredlodgings, and going to your counting-house at nine o'clock. You get yourdinner, perhaps, near to the scene of your work; but how are you to havethe _breakfast slops_ without _a servant_? Perhaps you find a lodgingjust to suit you, but the house is occupied by people who keep no_servants_, and you want a servant to _light a fire_ and get the slopready. You could get this lodging for several shillings a week less thananother at the next door; but _there_ they keep a servant, who will'_get_ you your breakfast, ' and preserve you, benevolent creature as sheis, from the cruel necessity of going to the cupboard and cutting off aslice of meat or cheese and a bit of bread. She will, most likely, toastyour bread for you too, and melt your butter; and then muffle you up, inwinter, and send you out almost swaddled. Really such a thing can hardlybe expected ever to become a _man_. You are weak; you have delicatehealth; you are '_bilious_!' Why, my good fellow, it is these very slopsthat make you weak and bilious; And, indeed, the _poverty_, the realpoverty, that they and their concomitants bring on you, greatly assists, in more ways than one, in producing your 'delicate health. '

33. So much for indulgences in eating, drinking, and dress. Next, as to_amusements_. It is recorded of the famous ALFRED, that he devoted eighthours of the twenty-four to _labour_, eight to _rest_, and eight to_recreation_. He was, however, _a king_, and could be _thinking_ duringthe eight hours of recreation. It is certain, that there ought to behours of recreation, and I do not know that eight are too many; but, then observe, those hours ought to be _well-chosen_, and the _sort_ ofrecreation ought to be attended to. It ought to be such as is at onceinnocent in itself and in its tendency, and not injurious to health. Thesports of the field are the best of all, because they are conducive tohealth, because they are enjoyed by _day-light_, and because they demandearly rising. The nearer that other amusements approach to these, thebetter they are. A town-life, which many persons are compelled, by thenature of their calling, to lead, precludes the possibility of pursuingamusements of this description to any very considerable extent; andyoung men in towns are, generally speaking, compelled to choose between_books_ on the one hand, or _gaming_ and the _play-house_ on the other. _Dancing_ is at once rational and healthful: it gives animal spirits: itis the natural amusement of young people, and such it has been from thedays of Moses: it is enjoyed in numerous companies: it makes the partiesto be pleased with themselves and with all about them; it has notendency to excite base and malignant feelings; and none but the mostgrovelling and hateful tyranny, or the most stupid and despicablefanaticism, ever raised its voice against it. The bad modern habits ofEngland have created one inconvenience attending the enjoyment of thishealthy and innocent pastime, namely, _late hours_, which are at onceinjurious to health and destructive of order and of industry. In othercountries people dance by _day-light_. Here they do not; and, therefore, you must, in this respect, submit to the custom, though not withoutrobbing the dancing night of as many hours as you can. 

34. As to GAMING, it is always _criminal_, either in itself, or in itstendency. The basis of it is covetousness; a desire to take from otherssomething, for which you have given, and intend to give, no equivalent. No gambler was ever yet a happy man, and very few gamblers have escapedbeing miserable; and, observe, to _game for nothing_ is still gaming, and naturally leads to gaming for something. It is sacrificing time, andthat, too, for the worst of purposes. I have kept house for nearly fortyyears; I have reared a family; I have entertained as many friends asmost people; and I have never had cards, dice, a chess-board, nor anyimplement of gaming, under my roof. The hours that young men spend inthis way are hours _murdered_; precious hours, that ought to be spenteither in reading or in writing, or in rest, preparatory to the dutiesof the dawn. Though I do not agree with the base and nauseousflatterers, who now declare the army to be _the best school forstatesmen_, it is certainly a school in which to learn experimentallymany useful lessons; and, in this school I learned, that men, fond ofgaming, are very rarely, if ever, trust-worthy. I have known many aclever man rejected in the way of promotion only because he was addictedto gaming. Men, in that state of life, cannot _ruin_ themselves bygaming, for they possess no fortune, nor money; but the taste for gamingis always regarded as an indication of a radically bad disposition; andI can truly say, that I never in my whole life knew a man, fond ofgaming, who was not, in some way or other, a person unworthy ofconfidence. This vice creeps on by very slow degrees, till, at last, itbecomes an ungovernable passion, swallowing up every good and kindfeeling of the heart. The gambler, as pourtrayed by REGNARD, in a comedythe translation of which into English resembles the original much aboutas nearly as Sir JAMES GRAHAM'S plagiarisms resembled the Registers onwhich they had been committed, is a fine instance of the contempt andscorn to which gaming at last reduces its votaries; but, if any youngman be engaged in this fatal career, and be not yet wholly lost, let himbehold HOGARTH'S gambler just when he has made his _last throw_ and whendisappointment has bereft him of his senses. If after this sight heremain obdurate, he is doomed to be a disgrace to his name. 

35. The _Theatre may be_ a source not only of amusement but also ofinstruction; but, as things now are in this country, what, that is notbad, is to be learned in this school? In the first place not a word isallowed to be uttered on the stage, which has not been previouslyapproved of by the Lord Chamberlain; that is to say, by a personappointed by the Ministry, who, at his pleasure, allows, or disallows, of any piece, or any words in a piece, submitted to his inspection. Inshort, those who go to play-houses _pay their money to hear uttered suchwords as the government approve of, and no others_. It is now justtwenty-six years since I first well understood how this matter wasmanaged; and, from that moment to this, I have never been in an Englishplay-house. Besides this, the meanness, the abject servility, of theplayers, and the slavish conduct of the audience, are sufficient tocorrupt and debase the heart of any young man who is a frequent beholderof them. Homage is here paid to every one clothed with power, be he whoor what he may; real virtue and public-spirit are subjects of ridicule;and mock-sentiment and mock-liberality and mock-loyalty are applauded tothe skies. 

36. 'Show me a man's _companions_' says the proverb, 'and I will tellyou _what the man_ is;' and this is, and must be true; because all menseek the society of those who think and act somewhat like themselves:sober men will not associate with drunkards, frugal men will not likespendthrifts, and the orderly and decent shun the noisy, the disorderly, and the debauched. It is for the very vulgar to herd together assingers, ringers, and smokers; but, there is a class rather higher stillmore blamable; I mean the tavern-haunters, the gay companions, who herdtogether to do little but _talk_, and who are so fond of talk that theygo from home to get at it. The conversation amongst such persons hasnothing of instruction in it, and is generally of a vicious tendency. Young people naturally and commendably seek the society of those oftheir own age; but, be careful in choosing your companions; and lay thisdown as a rule never to be departed from, that no youth, nor man, oughtto be called your _friend_, who is addicted to _indecent talk_, or whois fond of the _society of prostitutes_. Either of these argues adepraved taste, and even a depraved heart; an absence of all principleand of all trust-worthiness; and, I have remarked it all my life long, that young men, addicted to these vices, never succeed in the end, whatever advantages they may have, whether in fortune or in talent. Fondmothers and fathers are but too apt to be over-lenient to suchoffenders; and, as long as youth lasts and fortune smiles, thepunishment is deferred; but, it comes at last; it is sure to come; andthe gay and dissolute youth is a dejected and miserable man. After theearly part of a life spent in illicit indulgences, a man is _unworthy_of being the husband of a virtuous woman; and, if he have anything likejustice in him, how is he to reprove, in his children, vices in which hehimself so long indulged? These vices of youth are varnished over by thesaying, that there must be time for 'sowing the _wild oats_, ' and that'_wildest colts_ make the _best horses_. ' These figurative oats are, however, generally like the literal ones; they are _never to beeradicated from the soil_; and as to the _colts_, wildness in them is anindication of _high animal spirit_, having nothing at all to do with the_mind_, which is invariably debilitated and debased by profligateindulgences. Yet this miserable piece of sophistry, the offspring ofparental weakness, is in constant use, to the incalculable injury of therising generation. What so amiable as a steady, trust-worthy boy? He isof _real use_ at an early age: he can be trusted far out of the sight ofparent or employer, while the 'pickle, ' as the poor fond parents callthe profligate, is a great deal worse than useless, because there mustbe some one to see that he does no harm. If you have to choose, choosecompanions of _your own rank in life_ as nearly as may be; but, at anyrate, none to whom you acknowledge _inferiority_; for, slavery is toosoon learned; and, if the mind be bowed down in the youth, it willseldom rise up in the man. In the schools of those best of teachers theJESUITS, there is perfect equality as to rank in life: the boy, whoenters there, leaves all family pride behind him: intrinsic merit aloneis the standard of preference; and the masters are so scrupulous uponthis head, that they do not suffer one scholar, of whatever rank, tohave more money to spend than the poorest. These wise men know well themischiefs that must arise from inequality of pecuniary means amongsttheir scholars: they know how injurious it would be to learning, ifdeference were, by the learned, paid to the dunce; and they, therefore, take the most effectual means to prevent it. Hence, amongst othercauses, it is, that their scholars have, ever since the existence oftheir Order, been the most celebrated for learning of any men in theworld. 

37. In your _manners_ be neither boorish nor blunt, but even these arepreferable to simpering and crawling. I wish every English youth couldsee those of the United States of America; always _civil_, never_servile_. Be _obedient_, where obedience is due; for, it is no act ofmeanness, and no indication of want of spirit, to yield implicit andready obedience to those who have a right to demand it at your hands. Inthis respect England has been, and I hope always will be, an example tothe whole world. To this habit of willing and prompt obedience inapprentices, in servants, in all inferiors in station, she owes, in agreat measure, her multitudes of matchless merchants, tradesmen, andworkmen of every description, and also the achievements of her armiesand navies. It is no disgrace, but the contrary, to obey, cheerfully, lawful and just commands. None are so saucy and disobedient as slaves;and, when you come to read history, you will find that in proportion asnations have been _free_ has been their reverence for the laws. But, there is a wide difference between lawful and cheerful obedience andthat servility which represents people as laying petitions 'at the_king's feet_, ' which makes us imagine that we behold the supplicantsactually crawling upon their bellies. There is something so abject inthis expression; there is such horrible self-abasement in it, that I dohope that every youth, who shall read this, will hold in detestation thereptiles who make use of it. In all other countries, the lowestindividual can put a petition into the _hands_ of the chief magistrate, be he king or emperor: let us hope, that the time will yet come whenEnglishmen will be able to do the same. In the meanwhile I beg you todespise these worse than pagan parasites. 

38. Hitherto I have addressed you chiefly relative to the things to be_avoided_: let me now turn to the things which you ought _to do_. And, first of all, the _husbanding of your time_. The respect that you willreceive, the real and _sincere respect_, will depend entirely on whatyou are able _to do_. If you be rich, you may purchase what is calledrespect; but it is not worth having. To obtain respect worth possessing, you must, as I observed before, do more than the common run of men inyour state of life; and, to be enabled to do this, you must manage well_your time_: and, to manage it well, you must have as much of the_day-light_ and as little of the _candle-light_ as is consistent withthe due discharge of your duties. When people get into the habit ofsitting up _merely for the purpose of talking_, it is no easy matter tobreak themselves of it: and if they do not go to bed early, they cannotrise early. Young people require more sleep than those that are grownup: there must be the number of hours, and that number cannot well be, on an average, less than _eight_: and, if it be more in winter time, itis all the better; for, an hour in bed is better than an hour spent overfire and candle in an idle gossip. People never should sit talking tillthey do not know what to talk about. It is said by the country-people, that one hour's sleep before midnight is worth more than two are worthafter midnight, and this I believe to be a fact; but it is useless to goto bed early and even to rise early, if the time be not well employedafter rising. In general, half the morning is _loitered_ away, the partybeing in a sort of half-dressed half-naked state; out of bed, indeed, but still in a sort of bedding. Those who first invented _morning-gowns_and _slippers_ could have very little else to do. These things are verysuitable to those who have had fortunes gained for them by others; verysuitable to those who have nothing to do, and who merely live for thepurpose of assisting to consume the produce of the earth; but he who hashis bread to earn, or who means to be worthy of respect on account ofhis labours, has no business with morning gown and slippers. In short, be your business or calling what it may, _dress at once for the day_;and learn to do it _as quickly_ as possible. A looking-glass is a pieceof furniture a great deal worse than useless. _Looking_ at the face willnot alter its shape or its colour; and, perhaps, of all wasted time;none is so foolishly wasted as that which is employed in surveying one'sown face. Nothing can be of _little_ importance, if one be compelled toattend to it _every day of our lives_; if we _shaved_ but once a year, or once a month, the execution of the thing would be hardly worthnaming: but this is a piece of work that must be done once every day;and, as it may cost only about _five minutes_ of time, and may be, andfrequently is, made to cost _thirty_, or even _fifty minutes_; and, asonly fifteen minutes make about a fifty-eighth part of the hours of ouraverage day-light; this being the case, this is a matter of realimportance. I once heard SIR JOHN SINCLAIR ask Mr. COCHRANE JOHNSTONE, whether he meaned to have a son of his (then a little boy) taught Latin. 'No, ' said Mr. JOHNSTONE, 'but I mean to do something a great dealbetter for him. ' 'What is that?' said Sir John. 'Why, ' said the other, 'teach him _to shave with cold water and without a glass_. ' Which, Idare say, he did; and for which benefit I am sure that son has had goodreason to be grateful. Only think of the inconvenience attending thecommon practice! There must be _hot water_; to have this there must be_a fire_, and, in some cases, a fire for that purpose alone; to havethese, there must be a _servant_, or you must light a fire yourself. Forthe want of these, the job is put off until a later hour: this causes astripping and _another dressing bout_; or, you go in a slovenly stateall that day, and the next day the thing must be done, or cleanlinessmust be abandoned altogether. If you be on a journey you must wait thepleasure of the servants at the inn before you can dress and set out inthe morning; the pleasant time for travelling is gone before you canmove from the spot; instead of being at the end of your day's journey ingood time, you are benighted, and have to endure all the greatinconveniences attendant on tardy movements. And, all this, from theapparently insignificant affair of shaving! How many a piece ofimportant business has failed from a short delay! And how many thousandof such delays daily proceed from this unworthy cause! '_Toujours prêt_'was the motto of a famous French general; and pray let it be yours: be'_always ready_;' and never, during your whole life, have to say, '_Icannot go till I be shaved and dressed_. ' Do the whole at once for theday, whatever may be your state of life; and then you have a dayunbroken by those indispensable performances. Begin thus, in the days ofyour youth, and, having felt the superiority which this practice willgive you over those in all other respects your equals, the practice willstick by you to the end of your life. Till you be shaved and dressed forthe day, you cannot set steadily about any business; you know that youmust presently quit your labour to return to the dressing affair; you, therefore, put it off until that be over; the interval, the preciousinterval, is spent in lounging about; and, by the time that you areready for business, the best part of the day is gone. 

39. Trifling as this matter appears upon _naming_ it, it is, in fact, one of the great concerns of life; and, for my part, I can truly say, that I owe more of my great labours to my strict adherence to theprecepts that I have here given you, than to all the natural abilitieswith which I have been endowed; for these, whatever may have been theiramount, would have been of comparatively little use, even aided by greatsobriety and abstinence, if I had not, in early life, contracted theblessed habit of husbanding well my time. To this, more than to anyother thing, I owed my very extraordinary promotion in the army. I was_always ready_: if I had to mount guard at _ten_, I was ready at _nine_:never did any man, or any thing, wait one moment for me. Being, at anage _under twenty years_, raised from Corporal to Serjeant Major _atonce_, over the heads of thirty Serjeants, I naturally should have beenan object of envy and hatred; but this habit of early rising and ofrigid adherence to the precepts which I have given you, really subduedthese passions; because every one felt, that what I did he had neverdone, and never could do. Before my promotion, a clerk was wanted tomake out the morning report of the regiment. I rendered the clerkunnecessary; and, long before any other man was dressed for the parade, my work for the morning was all done, and I myself was on the parade, walking, in fine weather, for an hour perhaps. My custom was this: toget up, in summer, at day-light, and in winter at four o'clock; shave, dress, even to the putting of my sword-belt over my shoulder, and havingmy sword lying on the table before me, ready to hang by my side. Then Iate a bit of cheese, or pork, and bread. Then I prepared my report, which was filled up as fast as the companies brought me in thematerials. After this I had an hour or two to read, before the time camefor any duty out of doors, unless when the regiment or part of it wentout to exercise in the morning. When this was the case, and the matterwas left to me, I always had it on the ground in such time as that thebayonets glistened in the _rising sun_, a sight which gave me delight, of which I often think, but which I should in vain endeavour todescribe. If the _officers_ were to go out, eight or ten o'clock was thehour, sweating the men in the heat of the day, breaking in upon the timefor cooking their dinner, putting all things out of order and all menout of humour. When I was commander, the men had a long day of leisurebefore them: they could ramble into the town or into the woods; go toget raspberries, to catch birds, to catch fish, or to pursue any otherrecreation, and such of them as chose, and were qualified, to work attheir trades. So that here, arising solely from the early habits of onevery young man, were pleasant and happy days given to hundreds. 

40. _Money_ is said to be _power_, which is, in some cases, true; andthe same may be said of _knowledge_; but superior _sobriety_, _industry_and _activity_, are a still more certain source of power; for withoutthese, _knowledge_ is of little use; and, as to the power which _money_gives, it is that of _brute force_, it is the power of the bludgeon andthe bayonet, and of the bribed press, tongue and pen. Superior sobriety, industry, activity, though accompanied with but a moderate portion ofknowledge, command respect, because they have great and visibleinfluence. The drunken, the lazy, and the inert, stand abashed beforethe sober and the active. Besides, all those whose interests are atstake prefer, of necessity, those whose exertions produce the greatestand most immediate and visible effect. Self-interest is no respecter ofpersons: it asks, not who knows best what ought to be done, but who ismost likely to do it: we may, and often do, admire the talents of lazy, and even dissipated men, but we do not trust them with the care of ourinterests. If, therefore, you would have respect and influence in thecircle in which you move, be more sober, more industrious, more activethan the general run of those amongst whom you live. 

41. As to EDUCATION, this word is now applied exclusively to thingswhich are taught in schools; but _education_ means _rearing up_, and theFrench speak of the education of _pigs_ and _sheep_. In a very famousFrench book on rural affairs, there is a Chapter entitled '_Education duCochon_, ' that is, _education of the hog_. The word has the same meaningin both languages; for both take it from the Latin. Neither is the wordLEARNING properly confined to things taught in schools, or by books;for, _learning_ means _knowledge_; and, but a comparatively small partof useful knowledge comes from books. Men are not to be called_ignorant_ merely because they cannot make upon paper certain marks witha pen, or because they do not know the meaning of such marks when madeby others. A ploughman may be very _learned_ in his line, though he doesnot know what the letters _p. L. O. U. G. H_ mean when he sees themcombined upon paper. The first thing to be required of a man is, that heunderstand well his own _calling_, or _profession_; and, be you in whatstate of life you may, to acquire this knowledge ought to be your firstand greatest care. A man who has had a new-built house tumble down willderive little more consolation from being told that the architect is agreat astronomer, than this distressed nation now derives from beingassured that its distresses arise from the measures of a long list ofthe greatest orators and greatest heroes that the world ever beheld. 

42. Nevertheless, book-learning is by no means to be despised; and it isa thing which may be laudably sought after by persons in all states oflife. In those pursuits which are called _professions_, it is necessary, and also in certain trades; and, in persons in the middle ranks of life, a total absence of such learning is somewhat disgraceful. There is, however, one danger to be carefully guarded against; namely, the opinionthat your genius, or your literary acquirements, are such as to warrantyou in disregarding the calling in which you are, and by which you gainyour bread. Parents must have an uncommon portion of solid sense tocounterbalance their natural affection sufficiently to make themcompetent judges in such a case. Friends are partial; and those who arenot, you deem enemies. Stick, therefore, to _the shop; _rely upon yourmercantile or mechanical or professional calling; try your strength inliterature, if you like; but, _rely_ on the shop. If BLOOMFIELD, whowrote a poem called the FARMER'S BOY, had placed no _reliance_ on thefaithless muses, his unfortunate and much-to-be-pitied family would, inall probability, have not been in a state to solicit relief fromcharity. I remember that this loyal shoemaker was flattered to theskies, and (ominous sign, if he had understood it) feasted at the tablesof some of the great. Have, I beseech you, no hope of this sort; and, ifyou find it creeping towards your heart, drive it instantly away as themortal foe of your independence and your peace. 

43. With this precaution, however, book-learning is not only proper, buthighly commendable; and portions of it are absolutely necessary in everycase of trade or profession. One of these portions is distinct reading, plain and neat writing, and _arithmetic_. The two former are merechild's work; the latter not quite so easily acquired, but equallyindispensable, and of it you ought to have a thorough knowledge beforeyou attempt to study even the grammar of your own language. Arithmeticis soon learned; it is not a thing that requires much natural talent; itis not a thing that loads the memory or puzzles the mind; and it is athing of _every-day utility_. Therefore, this is, to a certain extent, an absolute necessary; an indispensable acquisition. Every man is not tobe a _surveyor_ or an _actuary_; and, therefore, you may stop far shortof the knowledge, of this sort, which is demanded by these professions;but, as far as common accounts and calculations go, you ought to beperfect; and this you may make yourself, without any assistance from amaster, by bestowing upon this science, during six months, only one halfof the time that is, by persons of your age, usually wasted over thetea-slops, or other kettle-slops, alone! If you become _fond_ of thisscience, there may be a little danger of wasting your time on it. When, therefore, you have got as much of it as your business or profession canpossibly render necessary, turn the time to some other purpose. As to_books_, on this subject, they are in everybody's hand; but, there is_one book_ on the subject of calculations, which I must point out toyou; 'THE CAMBIST, ' by Dr. KELLY. This is a bad title, because, to menin general, it gives no idea of what the book treats of. It is a bookwhich shows the value of the several pieces of money of one country whenstated in the money of another country. For instance, it tells us what aSpanish Dollar, a Dutch Dollar, a French Frank, and so on, is worth inEnglish money. It does the same with regard to _weights_ and _measures_:and it extends its information to _all the countries in the world_. Itis a work of rare merit; and every youth, be his state of life what itmay, if it permit him to pursue book-learning of any sort, andparticularly if he be destined, or at all likely to meddle withcommercial matters, ought, as soon as convenient, to possess thisvaluable and instructive book. 

44. The next thing is the GRAMMAR of your own language. Withoutunderstanding this, you can never hope to become fit for anything beyondmere trade or agriculture. It is true, that we do (God knows!) but toooften see men have great wealth, high titles, and boundless power heapedupon them, who can hardly write ten lines together correctly; but, remember, it is not _merit_ that has been the cause of theiradvancement; the cause has been, in almost every such case, thesubserviency of the party to the will of some government, and thebaseness of some nation who have quietly submitted to be governed bybrazen fools. Do not you imagine, that you will have luck of this sort:do not you hope to be rewarded and honoured for that ignorance whichshall prove a scourge to your country, and which will earn you thecurses of the children yet unborn. Rely you upon your merit, and uponnothing else. Without a knowledge of grammar, it is impossible for youto write correctly, and it is by mere accident if you speak correctly;and, pray bear in mind, that all well-informed persons judge of a man'smind (until they have other means of judging) by his writing orspeaking. The labour necessary to acquire this knowledge is, indeed, nottrifling: grammar is not, like arithmetic, a science consisting ofseveral distinct departments, some of which may be dispensed with: it isa whole, and the whole must be learned, or no part is learned. Thesubject is abstruse: it demands much reflection and much patience: but, when once the task is performed, it is performed _for life_, and inevery day of that life it will be found to be, in a greater or lessdegree, a source of pleasure or of profit or of both together. And, whatis the labour? It consists of no bodily exertion; it exposes the studentto no cold, no hunger, no suffering of any sort. The study need subtractfrom the hours of no business, nor, indeed, from the hours of necessaryexercise: the hours usually spent on the tea and coffee slops and in themere gossip which accompany them; those wasted hours of only _one year_, employed in the study of English grammar, would make you a correctspeaker and writer for the rest of your life. You want no school, noroom to study in, no expenses, and no troublesome circumstances of anysort. I learned grammar when I was a private soldier on the pay ofsixpence a day. The edge of my berth, or that of the guard-bed, was myseat to study in; my knapsack was my book-case; a bit of board, lying onmy lap, was my writing-table; and the task did not demand any thing likea year of my life. I had no money to purchase candle or oil; inwinter-time it was rarely that I could get any evening-light but that of_the fire_, and only my _turn_ even of that. And if I, under suchcircumstances, and without parent or friend to advise or encourage me, accomplished this undertaking, what excuse can there be for _any youth_, however poor, however pressed with business, or however circumstanced asto room or other conveniences? To buy a pen or a sheet of paper I wascompelled to forego some portion of food, though in a state ofhalf-starvation; I had no moment of time that I could call my own; and Ihad to read and to write amidst the talking, laughing, singing, whistling and brawling of at least half a score of the most thoughtlessof men, and that too in the hours of their freedom from all control. Think not lightly of the _farthing_ that I had to give, now and then, for ink, pen, or paper! That farthing was, alas! a _great sum_ to me! Iwas as tall as I am now; I had great health and great exercise. Thewhole of the money, not expended for us at market, was _two-pence aweek_ for each man. I remember, and well I may! that upon one occasionI, after all absolutely necessary expenses, had, on a Friday, made shiftto have a halfpenny in reserve, which I had destined for the purchase ofa _red-herring_ in the morning; but, when I pulled off my clothes atnight, so hungry then as to be hardly able to endure life, I found thatI had _lost my halfpenny_! I buried my head under the miserable sheetand rug, and cried like a child! And, again I say, if I, undercircumstances like these, could encounter and overcome this task, isthere, can there be, in the whole world, a youth to find an excuse forthe non-performance? What youth, who shall read this, will not beashamed to say, that he is not able to find time and opportunity forthis most essential of all the branches of book-learning?

45. I press this matter with such earnestness, because a knowledge ofgrammar is the foundation of all literature; and because without thisknowledge opportunities for writing and speaking are only occasions formen to display their unfitness to write and speak. How many falsepretenders to erudition, have I exposed to shame merely by my knowledgeof grammar! How many of the insolent and ignorant great and powerfulhave I pulled down and made little and despicable! And, with what easehave I conveyed upon numerous important subjects, information andinstruction to millions now alive, and provided a store of both formillions yet unborn! As to the course to be pursued in this greatundertaking, it is, first, to read the grammar from the first word tothe last, very attentively, several times over; then, to copy the wholeof it very correctly and neatly; and then to study the Chapters one byone. And what do this reading and writing require as to time? Bothtogether not more than the tea-slops and their gossips for _threemonths_! There are about three hundred pages in my English Grammar. Fourof those little pages in a day, which is a mere trifle of work, do thething in _three months_. Two hours a day are quite sufficient for thepurpose; and these may, in any _town_ that I have ever known, or in anyvillage, be taken from that part of the morning during which the mainpart of the people are in bed. I do not like the evening-candle-lightwork: it wears the eyes much more than the same sort of light in themorning, because then the faculties are in vigour and whollyunexhausted. But for this purpose there is sufficient of that day-lightwhich is usually wasted; usually gossipped or lounged away; or spent insome other manner productive of no pleasure, and generally producingpain in the end. It is very becoming in all persons, and particularly inthe young, to be civil, and even polite: but it becomes neither youngnor old to have an everlasting simper on their faces, and their bodiessawing in an everlasting bow: and, how many youths have I seen who, ifthey had spent, in the learning of grammar, a tenth part of the timethat they have consumed in earning merited contempt for their affectedgentility, would have laid the foundation of sincere respect towardsthem for the whole of their lives!

46. _Perseverance_ is a prime quality in every pursuit, and particularlyin this. Yours is, too, the time of life to acquire this inestimablehabit. Men fail much oftener from want of perseverance than from want oftalent and of good disposition: as the race was not to the hare but tothe tortoise, so the meed of success in study is to him who is not inhaste, but to him who proceeds with a steady and even step. It is not toa want of taste or of desire or of disposition to learn that we have toascribe the rareness of good scholars, so much as to the want of patientperseverance. Grammar is a branch of knowledge; like all other things ofhigh value, it is of difficult acquirement: the study is dry; thesubject is intricate; it engages not the passions; and, if the _greatend_ be not kept constantly in view; if you lose, for a moment, sight ofthe _ample reward_, indifference begins, that is followed by weariness, and disgust and despair close the book. To guard against this result benot in _haste_; keep _steadily on_; and, when you find wearinessapproaching, rouse yourself, and remember, that if you give up, all thatyou have done has been done in vain. This is a matter of great moment;for out of every ten, who undertake this task, there are, perhaps, ninewho abandon it in despair; and this, too, merely for the want ofresolution to overcome the first approaches of weariness. The mosteffectual means of security against this mortifying result is to laydown a rule to write or to read a certain fixed quantity _every day_, Sunday excepted. Our minds are not always in the same state; they havenot, at all times, the same elasticity; to-day we are full of hope onthe very same grounds which, to-morrow, afford us no hope at all: everyhuman being is liable to those flows and ebbs of the mind; but, ifreason interfere, and bid you _overcome the fits of lassitude_, andalmost mechanically to go on without the stimulus of hope, the buoyantfit speedily returns; you congratulate yourself that you did not yieldto the temptation to abandon your pursuit, and you proceed with morevigour than ever. Five or six triumphs over temptation to indolence ordespair lay the foundation of certain success; and, what is of stillmore importance, fix in you the _habit of perseverance_. 

47. If I have bestowed a large portion of my space on this topic, it hasbeen because I know, from experience as well as from observation, thatit is of more importance than all the other branches of book-learningput together. It gives you, when you possess it thoroughly, a real andpractical superiority over the far greater part of men. How often did Iexperience this even long before I became what is called an author! The_Adjutant_, under whom it was my duty to act when I was a SerjeantMajor, was, as almost all military officers are, or at least _were_, avery illiterate man, perceiving that every sentence of mine was in thesame form and manner as sentences in _print_, became shy of letting mesee pieces of _his_ writing. The writing of _orders_, and other things, therefore, fell to me; and thus, though no nominal addition was made tomy pay, and no nominal addition to my authority, I acquired the latteras effectually as if a law had been passed to confer it upon me. Inshort, I owe to the possession of this branch of knowledge everythingthat has enabled me to do so many things that very few other men havedone, and that now gives me a degree of influence, such as is possessedby few others, in the most weighty concerns of the country. Thepossession of this branch of knowledge raises you in your own esteem, gives just confidence in yourself, and prevents you from being thewilling slave of the rich and the titled part of the community. Itenables you to discover that riches and titles do not confer merit; youthink comparatively little of them; and, as far as relates to you, atany rate, their insolence is innoxious. 

48. Hoping that I have said enough to induce you to set resolutely aboutthe study of _grammar_, I might here leave the subject of _learning_;arithmetic and grammar, both _well learned_, being as much as I couldwish in a mere youth. But these need not occupy the whole of your sparetime; and, there are other branches of learning which ought immediatelyto follow. If your own calling or profession require book-study, bookstreating of that are to be preferred to all others; for, the firstthing, the first object in life, is to secure the honest means ofobtaining sustenance, raiment, and a state of being suitable to yourrank, be that rank what it may: excellence in your own calling is, therefore, the first thing to be aimed at. After this may come _generalknowledge_, and of this, the first is a thorough knowledge of _your owncountry_; for, how ridiculous is it to see an English youth engaged inreading about the customs of the Chinese or of the Hindoos, while he iscontent to be totally ignorant of those of Kent or of Cornwall! Wellemployed he must be in ascertaining how Greece was divided and how theRomans parcelled out their territory, while he knows not, and apparentlydoes not want to know, how England came to be divided into counties, hundreds, parishes and tithings. 

49. GEOGRAPHY naturally follows Grammar; and you should begin with thatof this kingdom, which you ought to understand well, perfectly well, before you venture to look abroad. A rather slight knowledge of thedivisions and customs of other countries is, generally speaking, sufficient; but, not to know these full well, as far as relates to ourown country, is, in one who pretends to be a gentleman or a scholar, somewhat disgraceful. Yet how many men are there, and those called_gentlemen_ too, who seem to think that counties and parishes, andchurches and parsons, and tithes and glebes, and manors and courts-leet, and paupers and poor-houses, all grew up in England, or dropped downupon it, immediately after Noah's flood! Surely, it is necessary forevery man, having any pretensions to scholarship, to know _how thesethings came_; and, the sooner this knowledge is acquired the better;for, until it be acquired, you read the _history_ of your country invain. Indeed, to communicate this knowledge is one main part of thebusiness of history; but it is a part which no historian, commonly socalled, has, that I know of, ever yet performed, except, in part, myself, in the History of the PROTESTANT REFORMATION. I had read HUME'SHistory of England, and the Continuation by SMOLLETT; but, in 1802, whenI wanted to write on the subject of the _non-residence of the clergy_, Ifound, to my great mortification, that I knew nothing of the foundationof the office and the claims of the parsons, and that I could not evenguess at the _origin of parishes_. This gave a new turn to my inquiries;and I soon found the romancers, called historians, had given me noinformation that I could rely on, and, besides, had done, apparently, all they could to keep me in the dark. 

50. When you come to HISTORY, begin also with that _of your owncountry_; and here it is my bounden duty to put you _well on yourguard_; for in this respect we are _peculiarly_ unfortunate, and for thefollowing reasons, to which I beg you to attend. Three _hundred yearsago_, the religion of England had been, during _nine hundred years_, theCatholic religion: the Catholic clergy possessed about a third part ofall the lands and houses, which they held _in trust_ for their ownsupport, for the _building and repairing of churches_, and for therelief of the poor, the widow, the orphan, and the stranger; but, at thetime just mentioned, the king and the aristocracy changed the religionto _Protestant_, took the estates of the church and the poor _tothemselves as their own property_, and _taxed the people at large_ forthe building and repairing of churches and for the relief of the poor. This great and terrible change, effected partly by force against thepeople and partly by the most artful means of deception, gave rise to aseries of efforts, which has been continued from that day _to this_, tocause us all to believe, _that that change was for the better_, that itwas for _our good_; and that, _before that time_, our forefathers were aset of the most miserable slaves that the sun ever warmed with hisbeams. It happened, too, that the _art of printing_ was not discovered, or, at least, it was very little understood, until about the time whenthis change took place; so that the books relating to former times wereconfined to manuscript; and, besides, even these manuscript librarieswere destroyed with great care by those who had made the change and hadgrasped the property of the poor and the church. Our '_Historians_, ' asthey are called, have written under _fear_ of the powerful, or have been_bribed_ by them; and, generally speaking, both at the same time; and, accordingly, their works are, as far as they relate to former times, masses of lies unmatched by any others that the world has ever seen. 

51. The great object of these lies always has been to make the main bodyof the people believe, that the nation is now more happy, more populous, more powerful, _than it was before it was Protestant_, and thereby toinduce us to conclude, that it was _a good thing for us_ that thearistocracy should take to themselves the property of the poor and thechurch, and make the people at large _pay taxes for the support ofboth_. This has been, and still is, the great object of all those heapsof lies; and those lies are continually spread about amongst us in allforms of publication, from heavy folios down to halfpenny tracts. Inrefutation of those lies we have only very few and rare ancient books torefer to, and their information is incidental, seeing that their authorsnever dreamed of the possibility of the lying generations which were tocome. We have the ancient acts of parliament, the common-law, thecustoms, the canons of the church, and _the churches themselves_; butthese demand _analyses_ and _argument_, and they demand also a _reallyfree press_, and _unprejudiced and patient readers_. Never in thisworld, before, had truth to struggle with so many and such greatdisadvantages!

52. To refute lies is not, at present, my business; but it is mybusiness to give you, in as small a compass as possible, one strikingproof that they are lies; and thereby to put you well upon your guardfor the whole of the rest of your life. The opinion sedulouslyinculcated by these '_historians_' is this; that, before the_Protestant_ times came, England was, comparatively, an insignificantcountry, _having few people in it, and those few wretchedly poor andmiserable_. Now, take the following _undeniable facts_. All the parishesin England are now (except where they have been _united_, and two, three, or four, have been made into one) in point of _size_, what theywere _a thousand years ago_. The county of Norfolk is the bestcultivated of any one in England. This county has _now_ 731 parishes;and the number was formerly greater. Of these parishes 22 _have now nochurches at all_; 74 contain less than 100 souls each: and 268 have _noparsonage-houses_. Now, observe, every parish had, in old times, achurch and a parsonage-house. The county contains 2, 092 square miles;that is to say, something less than 3 square miles to each parish, andthat is 1, 920 statute acres of land; and the _size_ of each parish is, on an average, that of a piece of ground about one mile and a half eachway; so that the churches are, even now, on an average, only about _amile and a half from each other_. Now, the questions for you to put toyourself are these: Were churches formerly built and kept up _withoutbeing wanted_, and especially by a poor and miserable people? Did thesemiserable people build 74 churches out of 731, each of which 74 had nota hundred souls belonging to it? Is it a sign of an augmentedpopulation, that 22 churches out of 731 have tumbled down and beeneffaced? Was it a country _thinly_ inhabited by miserable people thatcould build and keep a church in every piece of ground a mile and a halfeach way, besides having, in this same county, 77 monasticestablishments and 142 free chapels? Is it a sign of augmentedpopulation, ease and plenty, that, out of 731 parishes, 268 havesuffered the parsonage houses to fall into ruins, and their sites tobecome patches of nettles and of brambles? Put these questions calmly toyourself: common sense will dictate the answers; and truth will call foran expression of your indignation against the lying historians and thestill more lying population-mongers. 

LETTER II

TO A YOUNG MAN

53. In the foregoing Letter, I have given my advice to a Youth. Inaddressing myself to you, I am to presume that you have entered uponyour present stage of life, having acted upon the precepts contained inthat letter; and that, of course, you are a sober, abstinent, industrious and well-informed young man. In the succeeding letters, which will be addressed to the _Lover_, the _Husband_, the _Father_ andthe _Citizen_, I shall, of course, have to include my notion of yourduties as a _master_, and as a person employed by _another_. In thepresent letter, therefore, I shall confine myself principally to theconduct of a young man with regard to the management of his means, ormoney. 

54. Be you in what line of life you may, it will be amongst yourmisfortunes if you have not time properly to attend to this matter; forit very frequently happens, it has happened to thousands upon thousands, not only to be ruined, according to the common acceptation of the word;not only to be made poor, and to suffer from poverty, in consequence ofwant of attention to pecuniary matters; but it has frequently, and evengenerally, happened, that a want of attention to these matters hasimpeded the progress of science, and of genius itself. A man, oppressedwith pecuniary cares and dangers, must be next to a miracle, if he havehis mind in a state fit for intellectual labours; to say nothing of thetemptations, arising from such distress, to abandon good principles, tosuppress useful opinions and useful facts; and, in short, to become adisgrace to his kindred, and an evil to his country, instead of being anhonour to the former and a blessing to the latter. To be poor andindependent, is very nearly an impossibility. 

55. But, then, poverty is not a positive, but a relative term. BURKEobserved, and very truly, that a labourer who earned a sufficiency tomaintain him as a labourer, and to maintain him in a suitable manner; togive him a sufficiency of good food, of clothing, of lodging, and offuel, ought not to be called _a poor man_; for that, though he hadlittle riches, though his, _compared_ with that of a lord, was a stateof poverty, it was not a state of poverty in itself. When, therefore, Isay that poverty is the cause of a depression of spirit, of inactivityand of servility in men of literary talent, I must say, at the sametime, that the evil arises from their own fault; from their havingcreated for themselves imaginary wants; from their having indulged inunnecessary enjoyments, and from their having caused that to be poverty, which would not have been poverty, if they had been moderate in theirenjoyments. 

56. As it may be your lot (such has been mine) to live by your literarytalent, I will here, before I proceed to matter more applicable topersons in other states of life, observe, that I cannot form an idea ofa mortal more wretched than a man of real talent, compelled to curb hisgenius, and to submit himself in the exercise of that genius, to thosewhom he knows to be far inferior to himself, and whom he must despisefrom the bottom of his soul. The late Mr. WILLIAM GIFFORD, who was theson of a shoemaker at ASHBURTON in Devonshire; who was put to school andsent to the university at the expense of a generous and good clergymanof the name of COOKSON, and who died, the other day, a sort ofwhipper-in of MURRAY'S QUARTERLY REVIEW; this was a man of real genius;and, to my certain personal knowledge, he detested, from the bottom ofhis soul, the whole of the paper-money and Boroughmongering system, anddespised those by whom the system was carried on. But, he had imaginarywants; he had been bred up in company with the rich and the extravagant;expensive indulgences had been made necessary to him by habit; and, whenin the year 1798, or thereabouts, he had to choose between a bit ofbacon, a scrag of mutton, and a lodging at ten shillings a week, on theone side, and made-dishes, wine, a fine house and a footman on the otherside, he chose the latter. He became the servile Editor of CANNING'SAnti-jacobin newspaper; and he, who had more wit and learning than allthe rest of the writers put together, became the miserable tool incirculating their attacks upon everything that was hostile to a systemwhich he deplored and detested. But he secured the made-dishes, thewine, the footman and the coachman. A sinecure as '_clerk of the ForeignEstreats_, ' gave him 329_l. _ a year, a double commissionership of thelottery gave him 600_l. _ or 700_l. _ more; and, at a later period, hisEditorship of the Quarterly Review gave him perhaps as much more. Herolled in his carriage for several years; he fared sumptuously; he wasburied at _Westminster Abbey_, of which his friend and formerly hisbrother pamphleteer in defence of PITT was the _Dean_; and never is heto be heard of more! Mr. GIFFORD would have been full as happy; hishealth would have been better, his life longer, and his name would havelived for ages, if he could have turned to the bit of bacon and scrag ofmutton in 1798; for his learning and talents were such, his reasoningsso clear and conclusive, and his wit so pointed and keen, that hiswritings must have been generally read, must have been of long duration!and, indeed, must have enabled him (he being always a single man) tolive in his latter days in as good style as that which he procured bybecoming a sinecurist, a pensioner and a _hack_, all which he was fromthe moment he lent himself to the Quarterly Review. Think of themortification of such a man, when he was called upon to justify thepower-of-imprisonment bill in 1817! But to go into particulars would betedious: his life was a life of luxurious misery, than which a worse isnot to be imagined. 

57. So that poverty is, except where there is an actual want of food andraiment, a thing much more imaginary than real. _The shame of poverty_, the shame of being thought poor, is a great and fatal weakness, thougharising, in this country, from the fashion of the times themselves. Whena _good man_, as in the phraseology of the city, means a _rich man_, weare not to wonder that every one wishes to be thought richer than he is. When adulation is sure to follow wealth, and when contempt would beawarded to many if they were not wealthy, who are spoken of withdeference, and even lauded to the skies, because their riches are greatand notorious; when this is the case, we are not to be surprised thatmen are ashamed to be thought to be poor. This is one of the greatest ofall the dangers at the outset of life: it has brought thousands andhundreds of thousands to ruin, even to _pecuniary_ ruin. One of the mostamiable features in the character of American society is this; that mennever boast of their riches, and never disguise their poverty; but theytalk of both as of any other matter fit for public conversation. No manshuns another because he is poor: no man is preferred to another becausehe is rich. In hundreds and hundreds of instances, men, not worth ashilling, have been chosen by the people and entrusted with their rightsand interests, in preference to men who ride in their carriages. 

58. This shame of being thought poor, is not only dishonourable initself, and fatally injurious to men of talent; but it is ruinous evenin a _pecuniary_ point of view, and equally destructive to farmers, traders, and even gentlemen of landed estate. It leads to everlastingefforts to _disguise one's poverty_: the carriage, the servants, thewine, (oh, that fatal wine!) the spirits, the decanters, the glasses, all the table apparatus, the dress, the horses, the dinners, theparties, all must be kept up; not so much because he or she who keeps orgives them, has any pleasure arising therefrom, as because not to keepand give them, would give rise to a suspicion _of the want of means_ soto give and keep; and thus thousands upon thousands are yearly broughtinto a state of real poverty by their great _anxiety not to be thoughtpoor_. Look round you, mark well what you behold, and say if this be notthe case. In how many instances have you seen most amiable and even mostindustrious families brought to ruin by nothing but this! Mark it well;resolve to set this false shame at defiance, and when you have donethat, you have laid the first stone of the surest foundation of yourfuture tranquillity of mind. There are thousands of families, at thisvery moment, who are thus struggling to keep up appearances. The farmersaccommodate themselves to circumstances more easily than tradesmen andprofessional men. They live at a greater distance from their neighbours:they can change their style of living unperceived: they can banish thedecanter, change the dishes for a bit of bacon, make a treat out of arasher and eggs, and the world is none the wiser all the while. But thetradesman, the doctor, the attorney, and the trader, cannot make thechange so quietly, and unseen. The accursed wine, which is a sort ofcriterion of the style of living, a sort of _scale_ to the _plan_, asort of _key_ to the _tune_; this is the thing to banish first of all;because all the rest follow, and come down to their proper level in ashort time. The accursed decanter cries footman or waiting maid, putsbells to the side of the wall, screams aloud for carpets; and when I amasked, 'Lord, _what_ is a glass of wine?' my answer is, that, in thiscountry, it is _everything_; it is the pitcher of the key; it demandsall the other unnecessary expenses; it is injurious to health, and mustbe injurious, every bottle of wine that is drunk containing a certainportion of ardent spirits, besides other drugs deleterious in theirnature; and, of all the friends to the doctors, this fashionablebeverage is the greatest. And, which adds greatly to the folly, or, Ishould say, the real vice of using it, is, that the parties themselves, nine times out of ten, do not drink it by _choice_; do not like it; donot relish it; but use it from mere ostentation, being ashamed to beseen even by their own servants, not to drink wine. At the very moment Iam writing this, there are thousands of families in and near London, whodaily have wine upon their tables, and who _drink_ it too, merelybecause their own servants should not suspect them to be poor, and notdeem them to be genteel; and thus families by thousands are ruined, onlybecause they are ashamed to be thought poor. 

59. There is no shame belonging to poverty, which frequently arises fromthe virtues of the impoverished parties. Not so frequently, indeed, asfrom vice, folly, and indiscretion; but still very frequently. And asthe Scripture tells us, that we are not to 'despise the poor _because_he is poor'; so we ought not to honour the rich because he is rich. Thetrue way is, to take a fair survey of the character of a man as depictedin his conduct, and to respect him, or despise him, according to a dueestimate of that character. No country upon earth exhibits so many, asthis, of those fatal terminations of life, called suicides. These arise, in nine instances out of ten, from this very source. The victims are, ingeneral, what may be fairly called insane; but their insanity almostalways arises from the dread of poverty; not from the dread of a want ofthe means of sustaining life, or even decent living, but from the dreadof being thought or known to be poor; from the dread of what is calledfalling in the scale of society; a dread which is prevalent hardly inany country but this. Looked at in its true light, what is there inpoverty to make a man take away his own life? he is the same man that hewas before: he has the same body and the same mind: if he even foresee agreat alteration in his dress or his diet, why should he kill himself onthat account? Are these all the things that a man wishes to live for?But, such is the fact; so great is the disgrace upon this country, andso numerous and terrible are the evils arising from this dread of beingthought to be poor. 

60. Nevertheless, men ought to take care of their means, ought to usethem prudently and sparingly, and to keep their expenses always withinthe bounds of their income, be it what it may. One of the effectualmeans of doing this is to purchase with ready money. ST. PAUL says, '_Owe no man any thing_:' and of his numerous precepts this is by nomeans the least worthy of our attention. _Credit_ has been boasted of asa very fine thing: to decry credit seems to be setting oneself upagainst the opinions of the whole world; and I remember a paper in theFREEHOLDER or the SPECTATOR, published just after the funding system hadbegun, representing 'PUBLIC Credit' as a GODDESS, enthroned in a templededicated to her by her votaries, amongst whom she is dispensingblessings of every description. It must be more than forty years since Iread this paper, which I read soon after the time when the late Mr. PITTuttered in Parliament an expression of his anxious hope, that his 'namewould be inscribed on the _monument_ which he should raise to '_publiccredit_. ' Time has taught me, that PUBLIC CREDIT means, the contractingof debts which a nation never can pay; and I have lived to see this_Goddess_ produce effects, in my country, which Satan himself nevercould have produced. It is a very bewitching Goddess; and not less fatalin her influence in private than in public affairs. It has been carriedin this latter respect to such a pitch, that scarcely any transaction, however low and inconsiderable in amount, takes place in any other way. There is a trade in London, called the 'tally-trade, ' by which, household goods, coals, clothing, all sorts of things, are sold uponcredit, the seller keeping _a tally_, and receiving payment for thegoods, little by little; so that the income and the earnings of thebuyers are always anticipated; are always gone, in fact, before theycome in or are earned; the sellers receiving, of course, a great dealmore than the proper profit. 

61. Without supposing you to descend to so low a grade as this, and evensupposing you to be lawyer, doctor, parson, or merchant; it is still thesame thing, if you purchase on credit, and not, perhaps, in a much lessdegree of disadvantage. Besides the higher price that you pay there isthe temptation to have what you _really do not want_. The cost seems atrifle, when you have not to pay the money until a future time. It hasbeen observed, and very truly observed, that men used to lay out aone-pound note when they would not lay out a sovereign; a consciousnessof the intrinsic value of the things produces a retentiveness in thelatter case more than in the former: the sight and the touch assist themind in forming its conclusions, and the one-pound note was parted with, when the sovereign would have been kept. Far greater is the differencebetween Credit and Ready money. Innumerable things are not bought at allwith ready money, which would be bought in case of trust: it is so mucheasier to _order_ a thing than to _pay_ for it. A future day; a day ofpayment must come, to be sure, but that is little thought of at thetime; but if the money were to be drawn out, the moment the thing wasreceived or offered, this question would arise, '_Can I do without it_?'Is this thing indispensable; am I compelled to have it, or suffer a lossor injury greater in amount than the cost of the thing? If this questionwere put, every time we make a purchase, seldom should we hear of thosesuicides which are such a disgrace to this country. 

62. I am aware, that it will be said, and very truly said, that theconcerns of merchants; that the purchasing of great estates, and variousother great transactions, cannot be carried on in this manner; but theseare rare exceptions to the rule; even in these cases there might be muchless of bills and bonds, and all the sources of litigation; but in theevery-day business of life; in transactions with the butcher, the baker, the tailor, the shoemaker, what excuse can there be for pleading theexample of the merchant, who carries on his work by ships and exchanges?I was delighted, some time ago, by being told of a young man, who, uponbeing advised _to keep a little account_ of all he received andexpended, answered, 'that his business was not to keep account books:that he was sure not to make a mistake as to his income; and that, as tohis expenditure, the little bag that held his sovereigns would be aninfallible guide, as he never bought anything that he did notimmediately pay for. '

63. I believe that nobody will deny, that, generally speaking, you payfor the same article a fourth part more in the case of trust than you doin the case of ready money. Suppose, then, the baker, butcher, tailor, and shoemaker, receive from you only one hundred pounds a year. Put thattogether; that is to say, multiply twenty-five by twenty, and you willfind, that, at the end of twenty years, you have 500_l. _, besides theaccumulating and growing interest. The fathers of the Church (I mean theancient ones), and also the canons of the Church, forbade selling ontrust at a higher price than for ready money, which was in effect toforbid _trust_; and this, doubtless, was one of the great objects whichthose wise and pious men had in view; for they were fathers inlegislation and morals as well as in religion. But the doctrine of thesefathers and canons no longer prevails; they are set at nought by thepresent age, even in the countries that adhere to their religion. ADDISON'S Goddess has prevailed over the fathers and the canons; and mennot only make a difference in the price regulated by the difference inthe mode of payment; but it would be absurd to expect them to dootherwise. They must not only charge something for the want of the _use_of the money; but they must charge something additional for the _risk_of its loss, which may frequently arise, and most frequently does arise, from the misfortunes of those to whom they have assigned their goods ontrust. The man, therefore, who purchases on trust, not only pays for thetrust, but he also pays his due share of what the tradesman loses bytrust; and, after all, he is not so good a customer as the man whopurchases cheaply with ready money; for there is his name indeed in thetradesman's book; but with that name the tradesman cannot go to marketto get a fresh supply. 

64. Infinite are the ways in which gentlemen lose by this sort ofdealing. Servants go and order sometimes things not wanted at all; atother times, more than is wanted; at others, things of a higher quality;and all this would be obviated by purchasing with ready money; for, whether through the hands of the party himself, or through those of aninferior, there would always be an actual counting out of the money;somebody would _see_ the thing bought and see the money paid; and, asthe master would give the housekeeper or steward a bag of money at thetime, he would _see_ the money too, would set a proper value upon it, and would just desire to know upon what it had been expended. 

65. How is it that farmers are so exact, and show such a disposition toretrench in the article of labour, when they seem to think little, ornothing, about the sums which they pay in tax upon malt, wine, sugar, tea, soap, candles, tobacco, and various other things? You find theutmost difficulty in making them understand, that they are affected bythese. The reason is, that they _see_ the money which they give to thelabourer on each succeeding Saturday night; but they do not see thatwhich they give in taxes on the articles before mentioned. Why is itthat they make such an outcry about the six or seven millions a yearwhich are paid in poor-rates, and say not a word about the sixtymillions a year raised in other taxes? The consumer pays all; and, therefore, they are as much interested in the one as the other; and yetthe farmers think of no tax but the poor tax. The reason is, that thelatter is collected from them in _money_: they _see_ it go out of theirhands into the hands of another; and, therefore, they are everlastinglyanxious to reduce the poor-rates, and they take care to keep them withinthe smallest possible bounds. 

66. Just thus would it be with every man that never purchased but withready money: he would make the amount as low as possible in proportionto his means: this care and frugality would make an addition to hismeans, and therefore, in the end, at the end of his life, he would havehad a great deal more to spend, and still be as rich as if he had gonein trust; while he would have lived in tranquillity all the while, andwould have avoided all the endless papers and writings and receipts andbills and disputes and law-suits inseparable from a system of credit. This is by no means a lesson of _stinginess_; by no means tends toinculcate a heaping up of money; for the purchasing with ready moneyreally gives you more money to purchase with; you can afford to have agreater quantity and variety of things; and I will engage that, ifhorses or servants be your taste, the saving in this way gives you anadditional horse or an additional servant, if you be in any professionor engaged in any considerable trade. In towns, it tends to accelerateyour pace along the streets; for the temptation of the windows isanswered in a moment by clapping your hand upon your thigh; and thequestion, 'Do I really want that?' is sure to occur to you immediately, because the touch of the money is sure to put that thought in your mind. 

67. Now, supposing you to have a plenty; to have a fortune beyond yourwants, would not the money which you would save in this way be very wellapplied in acts of real benevolence? Can you walk many yards in thestreets; can you ride a mile in the country; can you go to half-a-dozencottages; can you, in short, open your eyes, without seeing some humanbeing, some one born in the same country with yourself, and who, on thataccount alone, has some claim upon your good wishes and your charity;can you open your eyes without seeing some person to whom even a smallportion of your annual savings would convey gladness of heart? Your ownheart will suggest the answer; and, if there were no motive but this, what need I say more in the advice which I have here tendered to you?

68. Another great evil arising from this desire to be thought rich; or, rather from the desire not to be thought poor, is the destructive thingwhich has been honoured by the name of '_speculation_;' but which oughtto be called Gambling. It is a purchasing of something which you do notwant either in your family or in the way of ordinary trade: a somethingto be sold again with a great profit; and on the sale of which there isa considerable hazard. When purchases of this sort are made with readymoney, they are not so offensive to reason and not attended with suchrisk; but when they are made with money _borrowed_ for the purpose, theyare neither more nor less than gambling transactions; and they havebeen, in this country, a source of ruin, misery, and suicide, admittingof no adequate description. I grant that this gambling has arisen fromthe influence of the '_Goddess_' before mentioned; I grant that it hasarisen from the facility of obtaining the fictitious means of making thepurchases; and I grant that that facility has been created by the systemunder the baneful influence of which we live. But it is not the lessnecessary that I beseech you not to practise such gambling; that Ibeseech you, if you be engaged in it, to disentangle yourself from it assoon as you can. Your life, while you are thus engaged, is the life ofthe gamester; a life of constant anxiety; constant desire to over-reach;constant apprehension; general gloom, enlivened, now and then, by agleam of hope or of success. Even that success is sure to lead tofurther adventures; and, at last, a thousand to one, that your fate isthat of the pitcher to the well. 

69. The great temptation to this gambling is, as is the case in othergambling, the _success of the few_. As young men who crowd to the army, in search of rank and renown, never look into the ditch that holds theirslaughtered companions; but have their eye constantly fixed on theGeneral-in-chief; and as each of them belongs to the _same profession_, and is sure to be conscious that he has equal merit, every one deemshimself the suitable successor of him who is surrounded with _Aides descamps_, and who moves battalions and columns by his nod; so with therising generation of 'speculators:' they see the great estates that havesucceeded the pencil-box and the orange-basket; they see those whomnature and good laws made to black shoes, sweep chimnies or the streets, rolling in carriages, or sitting in saloons surrounded by gaudy footmenwith napkins twisted round their thumbs; and they can see no earthlyreason why they should not all do the same; forgetting the thousands andthousands, who, in making the attempt, have reduced themselves to thatbeggary which, before their attempt, they would have regarded as a thingwholly impossible. 

70. In all situations of life, avoid the _trammels of the law_. Man'snature must be changed before law-suits will cease; and, perhaps, itwould be next to impossible to make them less frequent than they are inthe present state of this country; but though no man, who has anyproperty at all, can say that he will have nothing to do with law-suits, it is in the power of most men to avoid them in a considerable degree. One good rule is to have as little as possible to do with any man who isfond of law-suits, and who, upon every slight occasion, talks of anappeal to the law. Such persons, from their frequent litigations, contract a habit of using the technical terms of the Courts, in whichthey take a pride, and are, therefore, companions peculiarly disgustingto men of sense. To such men a law-suit is a luxury, instead of being asit is, to men of ordinary minds, a source of anxiety and a real andsubstantial scourge. Such men are always of a quarrelsome disposition, and avail themselves of every opportunity to indulge in that which ismischievous to their neighbours. In thousands of instances men go to lawfor the indulgence of mere anger. The Germans are said to bring_spite-actions_ against one another, and to harass their poorerneighbours from motives of pure revenge. They have carried this theirdisposition with them to America; for which reason no one likes to livein a German neighbourhood. 

71. Before you go to law consider well the _cost_; for if you win yoursuit and are poorer than you were before, what do you accomplish? Youonly imbibe a little additional anger against your opponent; you injurehim, but do harm to yourself. Better to put up with the loss of onepound than of two, to which latter is to be added all the loss of time, all the trouble, and all the mortification and anxiety attending alaw-suit. To set an attorney to work to worry and torment another man isa very base act; to alarm his family as well as himself, while you aresitting quietly at home. If a man owe you money which he cannot pay, whyadd to his distress without the chance of benefit to yourself? Thousandsof men have injured themselves by resorting to the law; while very fewever bettered themselves by it, except such resort were unavoidable. 

72. Nothing is much more discreditable than what is called _harddealing_. They say of the Turks, that they know nothing of _two prices_for the same article; and that to ask an abatement of the lowestshopkeeper is to insult him. It would be well if Christians imitatedMahometans in this respect. To ask one price and take another, or tooffer one price and give another, besides the loss of time that itoccasions, is highly dishonourable to the parties, and especially whenpushed to the extent of solemn protestations. It is, in fact, a speciesof lying; and it answers no one advantageous purpose to either buyer orseller. I hope that every young man who reads this, will start in lifewith a resolution never to higgle and lie in dealings. There is thiscircumstance in favour of the bookseller's business: every book has itsfixed price, and no one ever asks an abatement. If it were thus in allother trades, how much time would be saved, and how much immoralityprevented!

73. As to the spending of your time, your business or your professionis to claim the priority of everything else. Unless that be _dulyattended to_, there can be no real pleasure in any other employment ofa portion of your time. Men, however, must have some leisure, somerelaxation from business; and in the choice of this relaxation much ofyour happiness will depend. Where fields and gardens are at hand, theypresent the most rational scenes for leisure. As to company, I havesaid enough in the former letter to deter any young man from that ofdrunkards and rioting companions; but there is such a thing as yourquiet '_pipe-and-pot-companions_, ' which are, perhaps, the most fatalof all. Nothing can be conceived more dull, more stupid, more thecontrary of edification and rational amusement, than sitting, sotting, over a pot and a glass, sending out smoke from the head, andarticulating, at intervals, nonsense about all sorts of things. Sevenyears service as a galley-slave would be more bearable to a man ofsense, than seven months confinement to society like this. Yet, such isthe effect of habit, that, if a young man become a frequenter of suchscenes, the idle propensity sticks to him for life. Some companions, however, every man must have; but these every well-behaved man will findin private houses, where families are found residing and where thesuitable intercourse takes place between women and men. A man thatcannot pass an evening without drink merits the name of a sot. Whyshould there be drink for the purpose of carrying on conversation? Womenstand in need of no drink to stimulate them to converse; and I have athousand times admired their patience in sitting quietly at their work, while their husbands are engaged, in the same room, with bottles andglasses before them, thinking nothing of the expense and still less ofthe shame which the distinction reflects upon them. We have to thank thewomen for many things, and particularly for their sobriety, for fear offollowing their example in which men drive them from the table, as ifthey said to them: 'You have had enough; food is sufficient for you; butwe must remain to fill ourselves with drink, and to talk in languagewhich your ears ought not to endure. ' When women are getting up toretire from the table, men rise _in honour of_ them; but they takespecial care not to follow their excellent example. That which is notfit to be uttered before women is not fit to be uttered at all; and itis next to a proclamation, tolerating drunkenness and indecency, to sendwomen from the table the moment they have swallowed their food. Thepractice has been ascribed to a desire to leave them to themselves; butwhy should they be left to themselves? Their conversation is always themost lively, while their persons are generally the most agreeableobjects. No: the plain truth is, that it is the love of the drink and ofthe indecent talk that send women from the table; and it is a practicewhich I have always abhorred. I like to see young men, especially, follow them out of the room, and prefer their company to that of thesots who are left behind. 

74. Another mode of spending the leisure time is that of books. Rationaland well-informed companions may be still more instructive; but booksnever annoy; they cost little; and they are always at hand, and ready atyour call. The sort of books must, in some degree, depend upon yourpursuit in life; but there are some books necessary to every one whoaims at the character of a well-informed man. I have slightly mentionedHISTORY and Geography in the preceding letter; but I must here observe, that, as to both these, you should begin with your own country, and makeyourself well acquainted, not only with its ancient state, but with the_origin_ of all its principal institutions. To read of the battles whichit has fought, and of the intrigues by which one king or one ministerhas succeeded another, is very little more profitable than the readingof a romance. To understand well the history of the country, you shouldfirst understand how it came to be divided into counties, hundreds, andinto parishes; how judges, sheriffs, and juries, first arose; to whatend they were all invented, and how the changes with respect to any ofthem have been produced. But it is of particular consequence that youascertain the _state of the people_ in former times, which is to beascertained by _comparing the then price of labour with the then priceof food_. You hear enough, and you read enough, about the _gloriouswars_ in the reign of KING EDWARD the THIRD; and it is very proper thatthose glories should be recorded and remembered; but you never read, inthe works of the historians, that, in that reign, a common labourerearned threepence-halfpenny a day; and that a _fat sheep_ was sold, atthe same time, for one shilling and twopence, and a fat hog, two yearsold, for three shillings and fourpence, and a fat goose fortwopence-halfpenny. You never read that women received a penny a day forhay-making or weeding in the corn, and that a gallon of red wine wassold for fourpence. These are matters which historians have deemed to bebeneath their notice; but they are matters of real importance: they arematters which ought to have practical effect at this time; for thesefurnish the criterion whereby we are to judge of our condition comparedwith that of our forefathers. The poor-rates form a great feature in thelaws and customs of this country. Put to a thousand persons who haveread what is called the history of England; put to them the question, how the poor-rates came? and nine hundred and ninety-nine of thethousand will tell you, that they know nothing at all of the matter. This is not history; a list of battles and a string of intrigues are nothistory, they communicate no knowledge applicable to our present state;and it really is better to amuse oneself with an avowed romance, whichlatter is a great deal worse than passing one's time in counting thetrees. 

75. History has been described as affording arguments of experience; asa record of what has been, in order to guide us as to what is likely tobe, or what ought to be; but, from this romancing history, no suchexperience is to be derived: for it furnishes no facts on which to foundarguments relative to the existing or future state of things. To come atthe true history of a country you must read its laws: you must readbooks treating of its usages and customs in former times; and you mustparticularly inform yourself as to _prices of labour and of food_. Byreading the single Act of the 23rd year of EDWARD the THIRD, specifyingthe price of labour at that time; by reading an Act of Parliament passedin the 24th year of HENRY the EIGHTH; by reading these two Acts, andthen reading the CHRONICON PRECIOSUM of BISHOP FLEETWOOD, which showsthe price of food in the former reign, you come into full possession ofthe knowledge of what England was in former times. Divers books teachhow the divisions of the country arose, and how its great institutionswere established; and the result of this reading is a store ofknowledge, which will afford you pleasure for the whole of your life. 

76. History, however, is by no means the only thing about which everyman's leisure furnishes him with the means of reading; besides which, every man has not the same taste. Poetry, geography, moral essays, thedivers subjects of philosophy, travels, natural history, books onsciences; and, in short, the whole range of book-knowledge is beforeyou; but there is one thing always to be guarded against; and that is, not to admire and applaud anything you read, merely because it is the_fashion_ to admire and applaud it. Read, consider well what you read, form _your own judgment_, and stand by that judgment in despite of thesayings of what are called learned men, until fact or argument beoffered to convince you of your error. One writer praises another; andit is very possible for writers so to combine as to cry down and, insome sort, to destroy the reputation of any one who meddles with thecombination, unless the person thus assailed be blessed with uncommontalent and uncommon perseverance. When I read the works of POPE and ofSWIFT, I was greatly delighted with their lashing of DENNIS; butwondered, at the same time, why they should have taken so much pains inrunning down such a _fool_. By the merest accident in the world, beingat a tavern in the woods of America, I took up an old book, in order topass away the time while my travelling companions were drinking in thenext room; but seeing the book contained the criticisms of DENNIS, I wasabout to lay it down, when the play of 'CATO' caught my eye; and havingbeen accustomed to read books in which this play was lauded to theskies, and knowing it to have been written by ADDISON, every line ofwhose works I had been taught to believe teemed with wisdom and genius, I condescended to begin to read, though the work was from the pen ofthat _fool_ DENNIS. I read on, and soon began to _laugh_, not at Dennis, but at Addison. I laughed so much and so loud, that the landlord, whowas in the passage, came in to see what I was laughing at. In short, Ifound it a most masterly production, one of the most witty things that Ihad ever read in my life. I was delighted with DENNIS, and was heartilyashamed of my former admiration of CATO, and felt no little resentmentagainst POPE and SWIFT for their endless reviling of this most able andwitty critic. This, as far as I recollect, was the first _emancipation_that had assisted me in my reading. I have, since that time, never takenany thing upon trust: I have judged for myself, trusting neither to theopinions of writers nor in the fashions of the day. Having been told byDR. BLAIR, in his lectures on Rhetoric, that, if I meant to writecorrectly, I must 'give my days and nights to ADDISON, ' I read a fewnumbers of the Spectator at the time I was writing my English Grammar: Igave neither my nights nor my days to him; but I found an abundance ofmatter to afford examples _of false grammar_; and, upon a reperusal, Ifound that the criticisms of DENNIS might have been extended to thisbook too. 

77. But that which never ought to have been forgotten by those who weremen at the time, and that which ought to be _made known to every youngman of the present day_, in order that he may be induced to exercise hisown judgment with regard to books, is, the transactions relative to thewritings of SHAKSPEARE, which transactions took place about thirty yearsago. It is still, and it was then much more, the practice to extol everyline of SHAKSPEARE to the skies: not to admire SHAKSPEARE has beendeemed to be a proof of want of understanding and taste. MR. GARRICK, and some others after him, had their own good and profitable reasons forcrying up the works of this poet. When I was a very little boy, therewas a _jubilee_ in honour of SHAKSPEARE, and as he was said to haveplanted a _Mulberry tree_, boxes, and other little ornamental things inwood, were sold all over the country, as having been made out of thetrunk or limbs of this ancient and sacred tree. We Protestants laugh atthe _relics_ so highly prized by Catholics; but never was a Catholicpeople half so much duped by the relics of saints, as this nation was bythe mulberry tree, of which, probably, more wood was sold than wouldhave been sufficient in quantity to build a ship of war, or a largehouse. This madness abated for some years; but, towards the end of thelast century it broke out again with more fury than ever. SHAKSPEARE'Sworks were published by BOYDELL, an Alderman of London, at asubscription of _five hundred pounds for each copy_, accompanied byplates, each forming a large picture. Amongst the mad men of the day wasa MR. IRELAND, who seemed to be more mad than any of the rest. Hisadoration of the poet led him to perform a pilgrimage to an oldfarm-house, near Stratford-upon-Avon, said to have been the birth-placeof the poet. Arrived at the spot, he requested the farmer and his wifeto let him search the house for papers, _first going upon his knees_, and praying, in the poetic style, the gods to aid him in his quest. Hefound no papers; but he found that the farmer's wife, in clearing out agarret some years before, had found some rubbishy old papers which shehad _burnt_, and which had probably been papers used in the wrapping upof pigs' cheeks to keep them from the bats. 'O, wretched woman!'exclaimed he; 'do you know what you have done?' 'O dear, no!' said thewoman, half frightened out of her wits: 'no harm, I hope; for the paperswere _very old_; I dare say as old as the house itself. ' This threw himinto an additional degree of _excitement_, as it is now fashionablycalled: he raved, he stamped, he foamed, and at last quitted the house, covering the poor woman with very term of reproach; and hastening backto Stratford, took post-chaise for London, to relate to his brothermadmen the horrible sacrilege of this heathenish woman. Unfortunatelyfor MR. IRELAND, unfortunately for his learned brothers in themetropolis, and unfortunately for the reputation of SHAKSPEARE, MR. IRELAND took with him to the scene of his adoration _a son, aboutsixteen years of age_, who was articled to an attorney in London. Theson was by no means so sharply bitten as the father; and, upon returningto town, he conceived the idea of _supplying the place of the invaluablepapers_ which the farm-house heathen had destroyed. He thought, and hethought rightly, that he should have little difficulty in writing plays_just like those of Shakspeare_! To get _paper_ that should seem to havebeen made in the reign of QUEEN ELIZABETH, and _ink_ that should give towriting the appearance of having the same age, was somewhat difficult;but both were overcome. Young IRELAND was acquainted with a son of abookseller, who dealt in _old books_: the blank leaves of these bookssupplied the young author with paper; and he found out the way of makingproper ink for his purpose. To work he went, _wrote several plays_, some_love-letters_, and other things; and having got a Bible, extant in thetime of SHAKSPEARE, he wrote _notes_ in the margin. All these, togetherwith _sonnets_ in abundance, and other little detached pieces, heproduced to his father, telling him he got them from a gentleman, whohad _made him swear that he would not divulge his name_. The fatherannounced the invaluable discovery to the literary world: the literaryworld rushed to him; the manuscripts were regarded as genuine by themost grave and learned Doctors, some of whom (and amongst these wereDOCTORS PARR and WARTON) gave, _under their hands_, an opinion, that themanuscripts _must have been written_ by SHAKSPEARE; for that _no otherman in the world could have been capable of writing them_!

78. MR. IRELAND opened a subscription, published these new andinvaluable manuscripts at an enormous price; and preparations wereinstantly made for _performing one of the plays_, called VORTIGERN. Soonafter the acting of the play, the indiscretion of the lad caused thesecret to explode; and, instantly, those who had declared that he hadwritten as well as SHAKSPEARE, did every thing in their power _todestroy him_! The attorney drove him from his office; the father drovehim from his house; and, in short, he was hunted down as if he had beena malefactor of the worst description. The truth of this relation isundeniable; it is recorded in numberless books. The young man is, Ibelieve, yet alive; and, in short, no man will question any one of thefacts. 

79. After this, where is the person of sense who will be guided in thesematters by _fashion_? where is the man, who wishes not to be deluded, who will not, when he has read a book, _judge for himself_? After allthese jubilees and pilgrimages; after BOYDELL'S subscription of 500_l. _for one single copy; after it had been deemed almost impiety to doubt ofthe genius of SHAKSPEARE surpassing that of all the rest of mankind;after he had been called the '_Immortal Bard_, ' as a matter of course, as we speak of MOSES and AARON, there having been but one of each in theworld; after all this, comes a lad of sixteen years of age, writes thatwhich learned Doctors declare could have been written by no man butSHAKSPEARE, and, when it is discovered that this laughing boy is thereal author, the DOCTORS turn round upon him, with all the newspapers, magazines, and reviews, and, of course, the public at their back, revilehim as an _impostor_; and, under that odious name, hunt him out ofsociety, and doom him to starve! This lesson, at any rate, he has givenus: not to rely on the judgment of Doctors and other pretenders toliterary superiority. Every young man, when he takes up a book for thefirst time, ought to remember this story; and if he do remember it, hewill disregard fashion with regard to the book, and will pay littleattention to the decision of those who call themselves critics. 

80. I hope that your taste would keep you aloof from the writings ofthose detestable villains, who employ the powers of their mind indebauching the minds of others, or in endeavours to do it. They presenttheir poison in such captivating forms, that it requires great virtueand resolution to withstand their temptations; and, they have, perhaps, done a thousand times as much mischief in the world as all the infidelsand atheists put together. These men ought to be called _literarypimps_: they ought to be held in universal abhorrence, and never spokenof but with execration. Any appeal to bad passions is to be despised;any appeal to ignorance and prejudice; but here is an appeal to thefrailties of human nature, and an endeavour to make the mind corrupt, just as it is beginning to possess its powers. I never have known anybut bad men, worthless men, men unworthy of any portion of respect, whotook delight in, or even kept in their possession, writings of thedescription to which I here allude. The writings of SWIFT have thisblemish; and, though he is not a teacher of _lewdness_, but rather thecontrary, there are certain parts of his poems which are much too filthyfor any decent person to read. It was beneath him to stoop to such meansof setting forth that wit which would have been far more brilliantwithout them. I have heard, that, in the library of what is called an'_illustrious_ person, ' sold some time ago, there was an immensecollection of books of this infamous description; and from thiscircumstance, if from no other, I should have formed my judgment of thecharacter of that person. 

81. Besides reading, a young man ought to write, if he have the capacityand the leisure. If you wish to remember a thing well, put it intowriting, even if you burn the paper immediately after you have done; forthe eye greatly assists the mind. Memory consists of a concatenation ofideas, the place, the time, and other circumstances, lead to therecollection of facts; and no circumstance more effectually than statingthe facts upon paper. A JOURNAL should be kept by every young man. Putdown something against every day in the year, if it be merely adescription of the weather. You will not have done this for one yearwithout finding the benefit of it. It disburthens the mind of manythings to be recollected; it is amusing and useful, and ought by nomeans to be neglected. How often does it happen that we cannot make astatement of facts, sometimes very interesting to ourselves and ourfriends, for the want of a record of the places where we were, and ofthings that occurred on such and such a day! How often does it happenthat we get into disagreeable disputes about things that have passed, and about the time and other circumstances attending them! As a thing ofmere curiosity, it is of some value, and may frequently prove of verygreat utility. It demands not more than a minute in the twenty-fourhours; and that minute is most agreeably and advantageously employed. Ittends greatly to produce regularity in the conducting of affairs: it isa thing demanding a small portion of attention _once in every day_; Imyself have found it to be attended with great and numerous benefits, and I therefore strongly recommend it to the practice of every reader. 

LETTER III

TO A LOVER

82. There are two descriptions of Lovers on whom all advice would bewasted; namely, those in whose minds passion so wholly overpowers reasonas to deprive the party of his sober senses. Few people are entitled tomore compassion than young men thus affected: it is a species ofinsanity that assails them; and, when it produces self-destruction, which it does in England more frequently than in all the other countriesin the world put together, the mortal remains of the sufferer ought tobe dealt with in as tender a manner as that of which the most mercifulconstruction of the law will allow. If SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY'S remainswere, as they were, in fact, treated as those of a person labouringunder '_temporary mental derangement_, ' surely the youth who destroyshis life on account of unrequited love, ought to be considered in asmild a light! SIR SAMUEL was represented, in the evidence taken beforethe Coroner's Jury, to have been _inconsolable for the loss of hiswife_; that this loss had so dreadful an effect upon his mind, that it_bereft him of his reason_, made life insupportable, and led him tocommit the act of _suicide_: and, on _this ground alone_, his _remains_and his _estate_ were rescued from the awful, though just and wise, sentence of the law. But, unfortunately for the reputation of theadministration of that just and wise law, there had been, only about twoyears before, a _poor_ man, at Manchester, _buried in crossroads_, andunder circumstances which entitled his remains to mercy much moreclearly than in the case of SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY. 

83. This unfortunate youth, whose name was SMITH, and who was ashoemaker, was in love with a young woman, who, in spite of all hisimportunities and his proofs of ardent passion, refused to marry him, and even discovered her liking for another; and he, unable to supportlife, accompanied by the thought of her being in possession of any bodybut himself, put an end to his life by the means of a rope. If, in anycase, we are to _presume_ the existence of insanity; if, in any case, weare led to believe the thing _without positive proof_; if, in any case, there can be an apology in human nature itself, for such an act; _thiswas that case_. We all know (as I observed at the time); that is to say, all of us who cannot wait to calculate upon the gains and losses of theaffair; all of us, except those who are endowed with this providentfrigidity, know well what youthful love is; and what its torments are, when accompanied by even the smallest portion of jealousy. Every man, and especially every Englishman (for here we seldom love or hate byhalves), will recollect how many mad pranks he has played; how many wildand ridiculous things he has said and done between the age of sixteenand that of twenty-two; how many times a kind glance has scattered allhis reasoning and resolutions to the winds; how many times a cool lookhas plunged him into the deepest misery! Poor SMITH, who was at this ageof love and madness, might, surely, be presumed to have done the deed ina moment of '_temporary mental derangement_. ' He was an object ofcompassion in every humane breast: he had parents and brethren andkindred and friends to lament his death, and to feel shame at thedisgrace inflicted on his lifeless body: yet, HE was pronounced to be a_felo de se_, or _self-murderer_, and his body was put into a hole bythe way-side, with a stake driven down through it; while that of ROMILLYhad mercy extended to it, on the ground that the act had been occasionedby '_temporary mental derangement_' caused by his grief for the death ofhis wife!

84. To _reason_ with passion like that of the unfortunate SMITH, isperfectly useless; you may, with as much chance of success, reason andremonstrate with the winds or the waves: if you make impression, itlasts but for a moment: your effort, like an inadequate stoppage ofwaters, only adds, in the end, to the violence of the torrent: thecurrent must have and will have its course, be the consequences whatthey may. In cases not quite so decided, _absence_, the sight _of newfaces_, the sound _of new voices_, generally serve, if not as a radicalcure, as a mitigation, at least, of the disease. But, the worst of itis, that, on this point, we have the girls (and women too) against us!For they look upon it as right that every lover should be _a littlemaddish_; and, every attempt to rescue him from the thraldom imposed bytheir charms, they look upon as an overt act of treason against theirnatural sovereignty. No girl ever liked a young man less for his havingdone things foolish and wild and ridiculous, provided she was _sure_that love of her had been the cause: let her but be satisfied upon thisscore, and there are very few things which she will not forgive. And, though wholly unconscious of the fact, she is a great and soundphilosopher after all. For, from the nature of things, the rearing of afamily always has been, is, and must ever be, attended with cares andtroubles, which must infallibly produce, at times, feelings to becombated and overcome by nothing short of that ardent affection whichfirst brought the parties together. So that, talk as long as ParsonMALTHUS likes about 'moral _restraint_;' and report as long as theCommittees of Parliament please about preventing '_premature_ and_improvident_ marriages' amongst the labouring classes, the passion thatthey would _restrain_, while it is necessary to the existence ofmankind, is the greatest of all the compensations for the inevitablecares, troubles, hardships, and sorrows of life; and, as to the_marriages_, if they could once be rendered universally _provident_, every generous sentiment would quickly be banished from the world. 

85. The other description of lovers, with whom it is useless to reason, are those who love according to the _rules of arithmetic_, or whomeasure their matrimonial expectations by the _chain of theland-surveyor_. These are not love and marriage; they are bargain andsale. Young men will naturally, and almost necessarily, fix their choiceon young women in their own rank in life; because from habit andintercourse they will know them best. But, if the length of the girl'spurse, present or contingent, be a consideration with the man, or thelength of his purse, present or contingent, be a consideration with her, it is an affair of bargain and sale. I know that kings, princes, andprincesses are, in respect of marriage, restrained by the law: I knowthat nobles, if not thus restrained by positive law, are restrained, infact, by the very nature of their order. And here is a disadvantagewhich, as far as real enjoyment of life is concerned, more thancounterbalances all the advantages that they possess over the rest ofthe community. This disadvantage, generally speaking, pursues rank andriches downwards, till you approach very nearly to that numerous classwho live by manual labour, becoming, however, less and less as youdescend. You generally find even very vulgar rich men making a sacrificeof their natural and rational taste to their mean and ridiculous pride, and thereby providing for themselves an ample supply of misery for life. By preferring '_provident_ marriages' to marriages of love, they thinkto secure themselves against all the evils of poverty; but, _if povertycome_, and come it may, and frequently does, in spite of the best laidplans, and best modes of conduct; _if poverty come_, then where is thecounterbalance for that ardent mutual affection, which troubles, andlosses, and crosses always increase rather than diminish, and which, amidst all the calamities that can befall a man, whispers to his heart, that his best possession is still left him unimpaired? TheWORCESTERSHIRE BARONET, who has had to endure the sneers of fools onaccount of his marriage with a beautiful and virtuous servant maid, would, were the present ruinous measures of the Government to drive himfrom his mansion to a cottage, still have a source of happiness; whilemany of those, who might fall in company with him, would, in addition toall their other troubles, have, perhaps, to endure the reproaches ofwives to whom poverty, or even humble life, would be insupportable. 

86. If marrying for the sake of money be, under any circumstances, despicable, if not disgraceful; if it be, generally speaking, a speciesof legal prostitution, only a little less shameful than that which, under some governments, is openly licensed for the sake of a tax; ifthis be the case generally, what ought to be said of a young man, who, in the heyday of youth, should couple himself on to a libidinous woman, old enough, perhaps, to be his grandmother, ugly as the nightmare, offensive alike to the sight and the smell, and who should pretend to_love_ her too: and all this merely for the sake of her money? Why, itought, and it, doubtless, would be said of him, that his conduct was alibel on both man and womankind; that his name ought, for ever, to besynonymous with baseness and nastiness, and that in no age and in nonation, not marked by a general depravity of manners, and total absenceof all sense of shame, every associate, male or female, of such a man, or of his filthy mate, would be held in abhorrence. Public moralitywould drive such a hateful pair from society, and strict justice wouldhunt them from the face of the earth. 

87. BUONAPARTE could not be said to marry for _money_, but his motivewas little better. It was for dominion, for power, for ambition, andthat, too, of the most contemptible kind. I knew an American Gentleman, with whom BUONAPARTE had always been a great favourite; but the momentthe news arrived of his divorce and second marriage, he gave him up. This piece of grand prostitution was too much to be defended. And thetruth is, that BUONAPARTE might have dated his decline from the day ofthat marriage. My American friend said, 'If I had been he, I would, inthe first place, have married the poorest and prettiest girl in allFrance. ' If he had done this, he would, in all probability, have nowbeen on an imperial throne, instead of being eaten by worms at thebottom of a very deep hole in Saint Helena; whence, however, his bonesconvey to the world the moral, that to marry for money, for ambition, orfrom any motive other than the one pointed out by affection, is not theroad to glory, to happiness, or to peace. 

88. Let me now turn from these two descriptions of lovers, with whom itis useless to reason, and address myself to you, my reader, whom Isuppose to be a _real_ lover, but not so smitten as to be bereft of yourreason. You should never forget, that marriage, which is a state thatevery young person ought to have in view, is a thing to last _for life_;and that, generally speaking, it is to make life _happy_, or_miserable_; for, though a man may bring his mind to something nearly astate of _indifference_, even _that_ is misery, except with those whocan hardly be reckoned amongst sensitive beings. Marriage bringsnumerous _cares_, which are amply compensated by the more numerousdelights which are their companions. But to have the delights, as wellas the cares, the choice of the partner must be fortunate. I say_fortunate_; for, after all, love, real love, impassioned affection, isan ingredient so absolutely necessary, that no _perfect_ reliance canbe placed on the judgment. Yet, the judgment may do something; reasonmay have some influence; and, therefore, I here offer you my advice withregard to the exercise of that reason. 

89. The things which you ought to desire in a wife are, 1. Chastity; 2. Sobriety; 3. Industry; 4. Frugality; 5. Cleanliness; 6. Knowledge ofdomestic affairs; 7. Good temper; 8. Beauty. 

90. CHASTITY, perfect modesty, in word, deed, and even thought, is soessential, that, without it, no female is fit to be a wife. It is notenough that a young woman abstain from everything approaching towardsindecorum in her behaviour towards men; it is, with me, not enough thatshe cast down her eyes, or turn aside her head with a smile, when shehears an indelicate allusion: she ought to appear _not to understand_it, and to receive from it no more impression than if she were a post. Aloose woman is a disagreeable _acquaintance_: what must she be, then, asa _wife_? Love is so blind, and vanity is so busy in persuading us thatour own qualities will be sufficient to ensure fidelity, that we arevery apt to think nothing, or, at any rate, very little, of triflingsymptoms of levity; but if such symptoms show themselves _now_, we maybe well assured, that we shall never possess the power of effecting acure. If _prudery_ mean _false_ modesty, it is to be despised; but if itmean modesty pushed to the utmost extent, I confess that I like it. Your'_free and hearty_' girls I have liked very well to talk and laugh with;but never, for one moment, did it enter into my mind that I could haveendured a 'free and hearty' girl for a wife. The thing is, I repeat, to_last for life_; it is to be a counterbalance for troubles andmisfortunes; and it must, therefore, be perfect, or it had better not beat all. To say that one _despises_ jealousy is foolish; it is a thing tobe lamented; but the very elements of it ought to be avoided. Grossindeed is the beast, for he is unworthy of the name of man; nasty indeedis the wretch, who can even entertain the thought of putting himselfbetween a pair of sheets with a wife of whose infidelity he possessesthe proof; but, in such cases, a man ought to be very slow to believeappearances; and he ought not to decide against his wife but upon theclearest proof. The last, and, indeed, the only effectual safeguard is, to _begin_ well; to make a good choice; to let the beginning be such asto render infidelity and jealousy next to impossible. If you begin ingrossness; if you couple yourself on to one with whom you have takenliberties, infidelity is the natural and _just_ consequence. When a_Peer of the realm_, who had not been over-fortunate in his matrimonialaffairs, was urging MAJOR CARTWRIGHT to seek for nothing more than'_moderate_ reform, ' the Major (forgetting the domestic circumstances ofhis Lordship) asked him how he should relish '_moderate_ chastity' in awife! The bare use of the two words, thus coupled together, issufficient to excite disgust. Yet with this '_moderate_ chastity' youmust be, and ought to be, content, if you have entered into marriagewith one, in whom you have ever discovered the slightest approachtowards lewdness, either in deeds, words, or looks. To marry has beenyour own act; you have made the contract for your own gratification; youknew the character of the other party; and the children, if any, or thecommunity, are not to be the sufferers for your gross and corruptpassion. '_Moderate_ chastity' is all that you have, in fact, contractedfor: you have it, and you have no reason to complain. When I come toaddress myself to the _husband_, I shall have to say more upon thissubject, which I dismiss for the present with observing, that myobservation has convinced me, that, when families are rendered unhappyfrom the existence of '_moderate_ chastity, ' the fault, first or last, has been in the man, ninety-nine times out of every hundred. 

91. SOBRIETY. By _sobriety_ I do not mean merely an absence of _drinkingto a state of intoxication_; for, if that be _hateful_ in a man, whatmust it be in a woman! There is a Latin proverb, which says, that wine, that is to say, intoxication, _brings forth truth_. Whatever it may doin this way, in men, in women it is sure, unless prevented by age or bysalutary ugliness, to produce a moderate, and a _very moderate_, portionof chastity. There never was a drunken woman, a woman who loved strongdrink, who was chaste, if the opportunity of being the contrarypresented itself to her. There are cases where _health_ requires wine, and even small portions of more ardent liquor; but (reserving what Ihave further to say on this point, till I come to the conduct of thehusband) _young_ unmarried women can seldom stand in need of thesestimulants; and, at any rate, only in cases of well-known definiteailments. Wine! '_only_ a _glass or two_ of wine at dinner, or so'! Assoon as have married a girl whom I had thought liable to be persuaded todrink, habitually, '_only_ a glass or two of wine at dinner, or so;' assoon as have _married_ such a girl, I would have taken a strumpet fromthe streets. And it has not required _age_ to give me this way ofthinking: it has always been rooted in my mind from the moment that Ibegan to think the girls prettier than posts. There are few things sodisgusting as a guzzling woman. A gormandizing one is bad enough; but, one who tips off the liquor with an appetite, and exclaims '_good!good!_' by a smack of her lips, is fit for nothing but a brothel. Theremay be cases, amongst the _hard_-labouring women, such as _reapers_, forinstance, especially when they have children at the breast; there may becases, where very _hard-working_ women may stand in need of a little_good_ beer; beer, which, if taken in immoderate quantities, wouldproduce intoxication. But, while I only allow the _possibility_ of theexistence of such cases, I deny the necessity of any strong drink at allin every other case. Yet, in this metropolis, it is the general customfor tradesmen, journeymen, and even labourers, to have regularly ontheir tables the big brewers' poison, twice in every day, and at therate of not less than a pot to a person, women, as well as men, as theallowance for the day. A pot of poison a day, at fivepence the pot, amounts to _seven pounds and two shillings_ in the year! Man and wifesuck down, in this way, _fourteen pounds four shillings_ a year! Is itany wonder that they are clad in rags, that they are skin and bone, andthat their children are covered with filth?

92. But by the word SOBRIETY, in a young woman, I mean a great deal morethan even a rigid abstinence from that love of _drink_, which I am notto suppose, and which I do not believe, to exist any thing likegenerally amongst the young women of this country. I mean a great dealmore than this; I mean _sobriety of conduct_. The word _sober_, and itsderivatives, do not confine themselves to matters of _drink_: theyexpress _steadiness, seriousness, carefulness, scrupulous propriety ofconduct_; and they are thus used amongst country people in many parts ofEngland. When a Somersetshire fellow makes too free with a girl, shereproves him with, 'Come! be _sober_!' And when we wish a team, or anything, to be moved on _steadily_ and with _great care_, we cry out tothe carter, or other operator, '_Soberly, soberly_. ' Now, this speciesof sobriety is a great qualification in the person you mean to make yourwife. Skipping, capering, romping, rattling girls are very amusing whereall costs and other consequences are out of the question; and they _may_become _sober_ in the Somersetshire sense of the word. But while youhave _no certainty_ of this, you have a presumptive argument on theother side. To be sure, when girls are _mere children_, they are to playand romp like children. But, when they arrive at that age which turnstheir thoughts towards that sort of connexion which is to be theirs forlife; when they begin to think of having the command of a house, howeversmall or poor, it is time for them to cast away the levity of the child. It is natural, nor is it very wrong, that I know of, for children tolike to gad about and to see all sorts of strange sights, though I donot approve of this even in children: but, if I could not have found a_young woman_ (and I am sure I never should have married an _old_ one)who I was not _sure_ possessed _all_ the qualities expressed by the wordsobriety, I should have remained a bachelor to the end of that life, which, in that case, would, I am satisfied, have terminated without myhaving performed a thousandth part of those labours which have been, andare, in spite of all political prejudice, the wonder of all who haveseen, or heard of, them. Scores of gentlemen have, at different times, expressed to me their surprise, that I was '_always in spirits_;' thatnothing _pulled me down_; and the truth is, that, throughout nearlyforty years of troubles, losses, and crosses, assailed all the while bymore numerous and powerful enemies than ever man had before to contendwith, and performing, at the same time, labours greater than man everbefore performed; all those labours requiring mental exertion, and someof them mental exertion of the highest order; the truth is, that, throughout the whole of this long time of troubles and of labours, Ihave never known a single hour of _real anxiety_; the troubles have beenno troubles to me; I have not known what _lowness of spirits_ meaned;have been more gay, and felt less care, than any bachelor that everlived. 'You are _always in spirits_, Cobbett!' To be sure; for whyshould I not? _Poverty_ I have always set at defiance, and I could, therefore, defy the temptations of riches; and, as to _home_ and_children_, I had taken care to provide myself with an inexhaustiblestore of that '_sobriety_, ' which I am so strongly recommending myreader to provide himself with; or, if he cannot do that, to deliberatelong before he ventures on the life-enduring matrimonial voyage. Thissobriety is a title to _trust-worthiness_; and _this_, young man, is thetreasure that you ought to prize far above all others. Miserable is thehusband, who, when he crosses the threshold of his house, carries withhim doubts and fears and suspicions. I do not mean suspicions of the_fidelity_ of his wife, but of her care, frugality, attention to hisinterests, and to the health and morals of his children. Miserable isthe man, who cannot leave _all unlocked_, and who is not _sure_, quitecertain, that all is as safe as if grasped in his own hand. He is thehappy husband, who can go away, at a moment's warning, leaving his houseand his family with as little anxiety as he quits an inn, not morefearing to find, on his return, any thing wrong, than he would fear adiscontinuance of the rising and setting of the sun, and if, as in mycase, leaving books and papers all lying about at sixes and sevens, finding them arranged in proper order, and the room, during the luckyinterval, freed from the effects of his and his ploughman's orgardener's dirty shoes. Such a man has no _real cares_; such a man has_no troubles_; and this is the sort of life that I have led. I have hadall the numerous and indescribable delights of home and children, and, at the same time, all the bachelor's freedom from domestic cares: and tothis cause, far more than to any other, my readers owe those labours, which I never could have performed, if even the slightest degree of wantof confidence at home had ever once entered into my mind. 

93. But, in order to possess this precious _trust-worthiness_, you must, if you can, exercise your _reason_ in the choice of your partner. If shebe vain of her person, very fond of dress, fond of _flattery_, at allgiven to gadding about, fond of what are called _parties of pleasure_, or coquetish, though in the least degree; if either of these, she neverwill be trust-worthy; worthy; she cannot change her nature; and if youmarry her, you will be _unjust_ if you expect trust-worthiness at herhands. But, besides this, even if you find in her that innate'_sobriety_' of which I have been speaking, there requires on your part, and that at once too, confidence and trust without any limit. Confidenceis, in this case, nothing unless it be reciprocal. To have a trust-worthywife, you must begin by showing her, even before you are married, thatyou have no suspicions, no fears, no doubts, with regard to her. Many aman has been discarded by a virtuous girl, merely on account of hisquerulous conduct. All women despise jealous men; and, if they marrysuch their motive is other than that of affection. Therefore, _begin_ byproofs of unlimited confidence; and, as _example_ may serve to assistprecept, and as I never have preached that which I have not practised, Iwill give you the history of my own conduct in this respect. 

94. When I first saw my wife, she was _thirteen years old_, and I waswithin about a month of _twenty-one_. She was the daughter of a Serjeantof artillery, and I was the Serjeant-Major of a regiment of foot, bothstationed in forts near the city of St. John, in the Province ofNew-Brunswick. I sat in the same room with her, for about an hour, incompany with others, and I made up my mind that she was the very girlfor me. That I thought her beautiful is certain, for that I had alwayssaid should be an indispensable qualification; but I saw in her what Ideemed marks of that sobriety of _conduct_ of which I have said so much, and which has been by far the greatest blessing of my life. It was nowdead of winter, and, of course, the snow several feet deep on theground, and the weather piercing cold. It was my habit, when I had donemy morning's writing, to go out at break of day to take a walk on a hillat the foot of which our barracks lay. In about three mornings after Ihad first seen her, I had, by an invitation to breakfast with me, got uptwo young men to join me in my walk; and our road lay by the house ofher father and mother. It was hardly light, but she was out on the snow, scrubbing out a washing-tub. 'That's the girl for me, ' said I, when wehad got out of her hearing. One of these young men came to England soonafterwards; and he, who keeps an inn in Yorkshire, came over to Preston, at the time of the election, to verify whether I were the same man. Whenhe found that I was, he appeared surprised; but what was his surprise, when I told him that those tall young men, whom he saw around me, werethe _sons_ of that pretty little girl that he and I saw scrubbing outthe washing-tub on the snow in New-Brunswick at day-break in themorning!

95. From the day that I first spoke to her, I never had a thought of herever being the wife of any other man, more than I had a thought of herbeing transformed into a chest of drawers; and I formed my resolution atonce, to marry her as soon as we could get permission, and to get out ofthe army as soon as I could. So that this matter was, at once, settledas firmly as if written in the book of fate. At the end of about sixmonths, my regiment, and I along with it, were removed to FREDERICKTON, a distance of a _hundred miles_, up the river of ST. JOHN; and, whichwas worse, the artillery were expected to go off to England a year ortwo before our regiment! The artillery went, and she along with them;and now it was that I acted a part becoming a real and sensible lover. Iwas aware, that, when she got to that gay place WOOLWICH, the house ofher father and mother, necessarily visited by numerous persons not themost select, might become unpleasant to her, and I did not like, besides, that she should continue to _work hard_. I had saved a _hundredand fifty guineas_, the earnings of my early hours, in writing for thepaymaster, the quartermaster, and others, in addition to the savings ofmy own pay. _I sent her all my money_, before she sailed; and wrote toher to beg of her, if she found her home uncomfortable, to hire alodging with respectable people: and, at any rate, not to spare themoney, by any means, but to buy herself good clothes, and to livewithout hard work, until I arrived in England; and I, in order to induceher to lay out the money, told her that I should get plenty more beforeI came home. 

96. As the malignity of the devil would have it, we were kept abroad_two years longer_ than our time, Mr. PITT (England not being so tamethen as she is now) having knocked up a dust with Spain about NootkaSound. Oh, how I cursed Nootka Sound, and poor bawling Pitt too, I amafraid! At the end _of four years_, however, home I came; landed atPortsmouth, and got my discharge from the army by the great kindness ofpoor LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD, who was then the Major of my regiment. Ifound my little girl _a servant of all work_ (and hard work it was), at_five pounds a year_, in the house of a CAPTAIN BRISAC; and, withouthardly saying a word about the matter, she put into my hands _the wholeof my hundred and fifty guineas unbroken_!

97. Need I tell the reader what my feelings were? Need I tellkind-hearted English parents what effect this anecdote _must_ haveproduced on the minds of our children? Need I attempt to describe whateffect this example ought to have on every young woman who shall do methe honour to read this book? Admiration of her conduct, andself-gratulation on this indubitable proof of the soundness of my ownjudgment, were now added to my love of her beautiful person. 

98. Now, I do not say that there are not many young women of thiscountry who would, under similar circumstances, have acted as my wifedid in this case; on the contrary, I hope, and do sincerely believe, that there are. But when _her age_ is considered; when we reflect, thatshe was living in a place crowded, literally _crowded_, withgaily-dressed and handsome young men, many of whom really far richer andin higher rank than I was, and scores of them ready to offer her theirhand; when we reflect that she was living amongst young women who putupon their backs every shilling that they could come at; when we see herkeeping the bag of gold untouched, and working hard to provide herselfwith but mere necessary apparel, and doing this while she was passingfrom _fourteen to eighteen years of age_; when we view the whole of thecircumstances, we must say that here is an example, which, while itreflects honour on her sex, ought to have weight with every young womanwhose eyes or ears this relation shall reach. 

99. If any young man imagine, that this great _sobriety of conduct_ inyoung women must be accompanied with seriousness approaching to _gloom_, he is, according to my experience and observation, very much deceived. The _contrary_ is the fact; for I have found that as, amongst men, yourjovial companions are, except over the bottle, the dullest and mostinsipid of souls; so amongst women, the gay, rattling, and laughing, are, unless some party of pleasure, or something out of domestic life, is going on, generally in the dumps and blue-devils. Some _stimulus_ isalways craved after by this description of women; some sight to be seen, something to see or hear other than what is to be found _at home_, which, as it affords no incitement, nothing '_to raise and keep up thespirits_', is looked upon merely as a place _to be at_ for want of abetter; merely a place for eating and drinking, and the like; merely abiding place, whence to sally in search of enjoyments. A greater cursethan a wife of this description, it would be somewhat difficult to find;and, in your character of Lover, you are to provide against it. I hate adull, melancholy, moping thing: I could not have existed in the samehouse with such a thing for a single month. The mopers are, too, allgiggle at other times: the gaiety is for others, and the moping for thehusband, to comfort him, happy man, when he is alone: plenty of smilesand of badinage for others, and for him to participate with others; butthe moping is reserved exclusively for him. One hour she is caperingabout, as if rehearsing a jig; and, the next, sighing to the motion of alazy needle, or weeping over a novel and this is called _sentiment_!Music, indeed! Give me a mother singing to her clean and fat and rosybaby, and making the house ring with her extravagant and hyperbolicalencomiums on it. That is the music which is '_the food of love_;' andnot the formal, pedantic noises, an affectation of skill in which isnow-a-days the ruin of half the young couples in the middle rank oflife. Let any man observe, as I so frequently have, with delight, theexcessive fondness of the labouring people for their children. Let himobserve with what pride they dress them out on a Sunday, with meansdeducted from their own scanty meals. Let him observe the husband, whohas toiled all the week like a horse, nursing the baby, while the wifeis preparing the bit of dinner. Let him observe them both abstainingfrom a sufficiency, lest the children should feel the pinchings ofhunger. Let him observe, in short, the whole of their demeanour, thereal mutual affection, evinced, not in words, but in unequivocal deeds. Let him observe these things, and, having then cast a look at the livesof the great and wealthy, he will say, with me, that, when a man ischoosing his partner for life, the dread of poverty ought to be cast tothe winds. A labourer's cottage, on a Sunday; the husband or wife havinga baby in arms, looking at two or three older ones playing between theflower-borders going from the wicket to the door, is, according to mytaste, the most interesting object that eyes ever beheld; and, it is anobject to be beheld in no country upon earth but England. In France, alabourer's cottage means _a shed_ with a _dung-heap_ before the door;and it means much about the same in America, where it is whollyinexcusable. In riding once, about five years ago, from Petworth toHorsham, on a Sunday in the afternoon, I came to a solitary cottagewhich stood at about twenty yards distance from the road. There was thewife with the baby in her arms, the husband teaching another child towalk, while _four_ more were at play before them. I stopped and lookedat them for some time, and then, turning my horse, rode up to thewicket, getting into talk by asking the distance to Horsham. I foundthat the man worked chiefly in the woods, and that he was doing prettywell. The wife was then only _twenty-two_, and the man only_twenty-five_. She was a pretty woman, even for _Sussex_, which, notexcepting Lancashire, contains the prettiest women in England. He was avery fine and stout young man. 'Why, ' said I, 'how many children do youreckon to have at last?' 'I do not care how many, ' said the man: 'Godnever sends mouths without sending meat. ' 'Did you ever hear, ' said I, 'of one PARSON MALTHUS?' 'No, sir. ' 'Why, if he were to hear of yourworks, he would be outrageous; for he wants an act of parliament toprevent poor people from marrying young, and from having such lots ofchildren. ' 'Oh! the brute!' exclaimed the wife; while the husbandlaughed, thinking that I was joking. I asked the man whether he had everhad _relief from the parish_; and upon his answering in the negative, Itook out my purse, took from it enough to bait my horse at Horsham, andto clear my turnpikes to WORTH, whither I was going in order to stayawhile, and gave him all the rest. Now, is it not a shame, is it not asin of all sins, that people like these should, by acts of thegovernment, be reduced to such misery as to be induced to abandon theirhomes and their country, to seek, in a foreign land, the means ofpreventing themselves and their children from starving? And this hasbeen, and now is, actually the case with many such families in this samecounty of Sussex!

100. An _ardent-minded_ young man (who, by-the-by, will, as I am afraid, have been wearied by this rambling digression) may fear, that this great_sobriety of conduct_ in a young woman, for which I have been sostrenuously contending, argues a want of that _warmth_, which henaturally so much desires; and, if my observation and experiencewarranted the entertaining of this fear, I should say, had I to live mylife over again, give me the _warmth_, and I will stand my chance as tothe rest. But, this observation and this experience tell me thecontrary; they tell me that _levity_ is, ninety-nine times out of ahundred, the companion of _a want of ardent feeling_. Prostitutes never_love_, and, for the far greater part, never did. Their passion, whichis more _mere animal_ than any thing else, is easily gratified; they, like rakes, change not only without pain, but with pleasure; that is tosay, pleasure as great as they can enjoy. Women of _light minds_ haveseldom any _ardent_ passion; love is a mere name, unless confined to oneobject; and young women, in whom levity of conduct is observable, willnot be thus restricted. I do not, however, recommend a young man to be_too severe_ in judging, where the conduct does not go beyond _merelevity_, and is not bordering on _loose_ conduct; for something dependshere upon constitution and animal spirits, and something also upon themanners of the country. That levity, which, in a French girl, I shouldnot have thought a great deal of, would have frightened me away from anEnglish or an American girl. When I was in France, just after I wasmarried, there happened to be amongst our acquaintance a gay, sprightlygirl, of about seventeen. I was remonstrating with her, one day, on thefacility with which she seemed to shift her smiles from object toobject; and she, stretching one arm out in an upward direction, theother in a downward direction, raising herself upon one foot, leaningher body on one side, and thus throwing herself into _flying_ attitude, answered my grave lecture by singing, in a very sweet voice(significantly bowing her head and smiling at the same time), thefollowing lines from the _vaudeville_, in the play of Figaro:

 Si l'amour a des _ailles_; N'est ce pas pour _voltiger_?

That is, if love has _wings_, is it not _to flutter about_ with? Thewit, argument, and manner, all together, silenced me. She, after I leftFrance, married a very worthy man, has had a large family, and has been, and is, a most excellent wife and mother. But that which does sometimeswell in France, does not do here at all. Our manners are more grave:steadiness is the rule, and levity the exception. Love may _voltige_ inFrance; but, in England, it cannot, with safety to the lover: and it isa truth which, I believe, no man of attentive observation will deny, that, as, in general, English wives are _more warm_ in their conjugalattachments than those of France, so, with regard to individuals, thatthose English women who are the _most light_ in their manners, and whoare the _least constant_ in their attachments, have the smallest portionof that _warmth_, that indescribable passion which God has given tohuman beings as the great counterbalance to all the sorrows andsufferings of life. 

101. INDUSTRY. By _industry_, I do not mean merely _laboriousness_, merely labour or activity of body, for purposes of gain or of saving;for there may be industry amongst those who have more money than theyknow well what to do with: and there may be _lazy ladies_, as well aslazy farmers' and tradesmen's wives. There is no state of life in which_industry_ in the wife is not necessary to the happiness and prosperityof the family, at the head of the household affairs of which she isplaced. If she be lazy, there will be lazy servants, and, which is agreat deal worse, children habitually lazy: every thing, howevernecessary to be done, will be put off to the last moment: then it willbe done badly, and, in many cases, not at all: the dinner will be _toolate_; the journey or the visit will be tardy; inconveniencies of allsorts will be continually arising: there will always be a heavy _arrear_of things unperformed; and this, even amongst the most wealthy of all, is a great curse; for, if they have no _business_ imposed upon them bynecessity, they _make business_ for themselves; life would be unbearablewithout it: and therefore a lazy woman must always be a curse, be herrank or station what it may. 

102. But, _who is to tell_ whether a girl will make an industriouswoman? How is the purblind lover especially, to be able to ascertainwhether she, whose smiles and dimples and bewitching lips have halfbereft him of his senses; how is he to be able to judge, from any thingthat he can see, whether the beloved object will be industrious or lazy?Why, it is very difficult: it is a matter that reason has very little todo with; but there are, nevertheless, certain outward and visible signs, from which a man, not wholly deprived of the use of his reason, may forma pretty accurate judgment as to this matter. It was a story inPhiladelphia, some years ago, that a young man, who was courting one ofthree sisters, happened to be on a visit to her, when all the three werepresent, and when one said to the others, 'I _wonder_ where _our_ needleis. ' Upon which he withdrew, as soon as was consistent with the rules ofpoliteness, resolved never to think more of a girl who possessed aneedle only in partnership, and who, it appeared, was not too wellinformed as to the place where even that share was deposited. 

103. This was, to be sure, a very flagrant instance of a want ofindustry; for, if the third part of the use of a needle satisfied herwhen single, it was reasonable to anticipate that marriage would banishthat useful implement altogether. But such instances are seldom sufferedto come in contact with the eyes and ears of the lover, to disguise alldefects from whom is the great business, not only of the girl herself, but of her whole family. There are, however, certain _outward signs_, which, if attended to with care, will serve as pretty sure guides. And, first, if you find the _tongue_ lazy, you may be nearly certain that thehands and feet are the same. By laziness of the tongue I do not mean_silence_; I do not mean an _absence of talk_, for that is, in mostcases, very good; but, I mean, a _slow_ and _soft utterance_; a sort of_sighing out_ of the words instead of _speaking_ them; a sort of lettingthe sounds fall out, as if the party were _sick at stomach_. Thepronunciation of an industrious person is generally _quick_, _distinct_, and the voice, if not strong, _firm_ at the least. Not masculine; asfeminine as possible; not a _croak_ nor a _bawl_, but a quick, distinct, and sound voice. Nothing is much more disgusting than what the sensiblecountry people call a _maw-mouthed_ woman. A maw-mouthed man is badenough: he is sure to be a lazy fellow: but, a woman of thisdescription, in addition to her laziness, soon becomes the mostdisgusting of mates. In this whole world nothing is much more hatefulthan a female's under jaw, lazily moving up and down, and letting out along string of half-articulate sounds. It is impossible for any man, whohas any spirit in him, to love such a woman for any length of time. 

104. Look a little, also, at the labours of the _teeth_, for thesecorrespond with those of the other members of the body, and with theoperations of the mind. 'Quick at _meals_, quick at _work_, ' is a sayingas old as the hills, in this, the most industrious nation upon earth;and never was there a truer saying. But fashion comes in here, anddecides that you shall not be quick at meals; that you shall sit and becarrying on the affair of eating for an hour, or more. Good God! whathave I not suffered on this account! However, though she must _sit_ aslong as the rest, and though she must join in the _performance_ (for itis a real performance) unto the end of the last scene, she cannot makeher _teeth_ abandon their character. She may, and must, suffer the sliceto linger on the plate, and must make the supply slow, in order to fillup the time; but when she _does_ bite, she cannot well disguise whatnature has taught her to do; and you may be assured, that if her jawsmove in slow time, and if she rather _squeeze_ than bite the food; ifshe so deal with it as to leave you in doubt as to whether she meanfinally to admit or reject it; if she deal with it thus, set her down asbeing, in her very nature, incorrigibly lazy. Never mind the pieces ofneedle-work, the tambouring, the maps of the world made by her needle. Get to see her at work upon a mutton chop, or a bit of bread and cheese;and, if she deal quickly with these, you have a pretty good security forthat activity, that _stirring_ industry, without which a wife is aburden instead of being a help. And, as to _love_, it cannot live formore than a month or two (in the breast of a man of spirit) towards alazy woman. 

105. Another mark of industry is, a _quick step_, and a somewhat _heavytread_, showing that the foot comes down with a _hearty good will_; andif the body lean a little forward, and the eyes keep steadily in thesame direction, while the feet are going, so much the better, for thesediscover _earnestness_ to arrive at the intended point. I do not like, and I never liked, your _sauntering_, soft-stepping girls, who move asif they were perfectly indifferent as to the result; and, as to the_love_ part of the story, whoever expects ardent and lasting affectionfrom one of these sauntering girls, will, when too late, find hismistake: the character runs the same all the way through; and no manever yet saw a sauntering girl, who did not, when married, make a_mawkish_ wife, and a cold-hearted mother; cared very little for eitherby husband or children; and, of course, having no store of thoseblessings which are the natural resources to apply to in sickness and inold age. 

106. _Early-rising_ is another mark of industry; and though, in thehigher situations of life, it may be of no importance in a merepecuniary point of view, it is, even there, of importance in otherrespects; for it is, I should imagine, pretty difficult to keep lovealive towards a woman who _never sees the dew_, never beholds the_rising sun_, and who constantly comes directly from a reeking bed tothe breakfast table, and there chews about, without appetite, thechoicest morsels of human food. A man might, perhaps, endure this for amonth or two, without being disgusted; but that is ample allowance oftime. And, as to people in the middle rank of life, where a living and aprovision for children is to be sought by labour of some sort or other, late rising in the wife is _certain ruin_; and, never was there yet anearly-rising wife, who had been a late-rising girl. If brought up tolate rising, she will like it; it will be her _habit_; she will, whenmarried, never want excuses for indulging in the habit; at first shewill be indulged without bounds; to make a _change_ afterwards will bedifficult; it will be deemed a _wrong_ done to her; she will ascribe itto diminished affection; a quarrel must ensue, or, the husband mustsubmit to be ruined, or, at the very least, to see half the fruit of hislabour snored and lounged away. And, is this being _rigid_? Is it being_harsh_; is it being _hard_ upon women? Is it the offspring of thefrigid severity of age? It is none of these: it arises from an ardentdesire to promote the happiness, and to add to the natural, legitimate, and salutary influence, of the female sex. The tendency of this adviceis to promote the preservation of their health; to prolong the durationof their beauty; to cause them to be beloved to the last day of theirlives; and to give them, during the whole of those lives, weight andconsequence, of which laziness would render them wholly unworthy. 

107. FRUGALITY. This means the contrary of _extravagance_. It does notmean _stinginess_; it does not mean a pinching of the belly, nor astripping of the back; but it means an abstaining from all _unnecessary_expenditure, and all _unnecessary_ use, of goods of any and of everysort; and a quality of great importance it is, whether the rank in lifebe high or low. Some people are, indeed, so rich, they have such anoverabundance of money and goods, that how to get rid of them would, toa looker-on, seem to be their only difficulty. But while theinconvenience of even these immense masses is not too great to beovercome by a really extravagant woman, who jumps with joy at a basketof strawberries at a guinea an ounce, and who would not give a straw forgreen peas later in the year than January; while such a dame wouldlighten the bags of a loan-monger, or shorten the rent-roll ofhalf-a-dozen peerages amalgamated into one possession, she would, withvery little study and application of her talent, send a nobleman ofordinary estate to the poor-house or the pension list, which last may bejustly regarded as the poor-book of the aristocracy. How many noblemenand gentlemen, of fine estates, have been ruined and degraded by theextravagance of their wives! More frequently by their _own_extravagance, perhaps; but, in numerous instances, by that of thosewhose duty it is to assist in upholding their stations by husbandingtheir fortunes. 

108. If this be the case amongst the opulent, who have estates to drawupon, what must be the consequences of a want of frugality in the middleand lower ranks of life? Here it must be fatal, and especially amongstthat description of persons whose wives have, in many cases, the_receiving_ as well as the expending of money. In such a case, therewants nothing but extravagance in the wife to make ruin as sure as thearrival of old age. To obtain _security_ against this is very difficult;yet, if the lover be not _quite blind_, he may easily discover apropensity towards extravagance. The object of his addresses will, ninetimes out of ten, not be the manager of a house; but she must have her_dress_, and other little matters under her control. If she be _costly_in these; if, in these, she step above her rank, or even to the top ofit; if she purchase all she is _able_ to purchase, and prefer the showyto the useful, the gay and the fragile to the less sightly and moredurable, he may be sure that the disposition will cling to her throughlife. If he perceive in her a taste for costly food, costly furniture, costly amusements; if he find her love of gratification to be boundedonly by her want of means; if he find her full of admiration of thetrappings of the rich, and of desire to be able to imitate them, he maybe pretty sure that she will not spare his purse, when once she gets herhand into it; and, therefore, if he can bid adieu to her charms, thesooner he does it the better. 

109. The outward and visible and vulgar signs of extravagance are_rings_, _broaches_, _bracelets_, _buckles_, _necklaces_, _diamonds_(real or mock), and, in short, all the _hard-ware_ which women put upontheir persons. These things may be proper enough in _palaces_, or inscenes resembling palaces; but, when they make their appearance amongstpeople in the middle rank of life, where, after all, they only serve toshow that poverty in the parties which they wish to disguise; when thenasty, mean, tawdry things make their appearance in this rank of life, they are the sure indications of a disposition that will _always bestraining at what it can never attain_. To marry a girl of thisdisposition is really self-destruction. You never can have eitherproperty or peace. Earn her a horse to ride, she will want a gig: earnthe gig, she will want a chariot: get her that, she will long for acoach and four: and, from stage to stage, she will torment you to theend of her or your days; for, still there will be somebody with a finerequipage than you can give her; and, as long as this is the case, youwill never have rest. Reason would tell her, that she could never be atthe _top_; that she must stop at some point short of that; and that, therefore, all expenses in the rivalship are so much thrown away. But, _reason_ and broaches and bracelets do not go in company: the girl whohas not the sense to perceive that her person is disfigured, and notbeautified, by parcels of brass and tin (for they are generally littlebetter) and other hard-ware, stuck about her body; the girl that is sofoolish as not to perceive, that, when silks and cottons and cambrics, in their neatest form, have done their best, nothing more is to be done;the girl that cannot perceive this is too great a fool to be trustedwith the purse of any man. 

110. CLEANLINESS. This is a capital ingredient; for there never yet was, and there never will be, love of long duration, sincere and ardent love, in any man, towards a '_filthy mate_. ' I mean any man _in England_, orin those parts of _America_ where the people have descended from theEnglish. I do not say, that there are not men enough, even in England, to live _peaceably_ and even contentedly, with dirty, sluttish women;for, there are some who seem to like the filth well enough. But what Icontend for is this: that there never can exist, for any length of time, _ardent affection_ in any man towards a woman who is filthy either inher person, or in her house affairs. Men may be careless as to their ownpersons; they may, from the nature of their business, or from their wantof time to adhere to neatness in dress, be slovenly in their own dressand habits; but, they do not relish this in their wives, who must stillhave _charms_; and charms and filth do not go together. 

111. It is not _dress_ that the husband wants to be perpetual: it is not_finery_; but _cleanliness_ in every thing. The French women dressenough, especially when they _sally forth_. My excellent neighbour, Mr. JOHN TREDWELL, of Long Island, used to say, that the French were 'pigsin the parlour, and peacocks on the promenade;' an alliteration which'CANNING'S SELF' might have envied! This _occasional_ cleanliness is notthe thing that an English or an American husband wants: he wants italways; indoors as well as out; by night as well as by day; on the flooras well as on the table; and, however he may grumble about the '_fuss_'and the '_expense_' of it, he would grumble more if he had it not. Ionce saw a picture representing the _amusements_ of Portuguese Lovers;that is to say, three or four young men, dressed in gold or silver lacedclothes, each having a young girl, dressed like a princess, andaffectionately engaged in hunting down and _killing the vermin in hishead_! This was, perhaps, an _exaggeration_; but that it should have hadthe shadow of foundation, was enough to fill me with contempt for thewhole nation. 

112. The _signs_ of cleanliness are, in the first place, a clean _skin_. An English girl will hardly let her lover see the stale dirt between herfingers, as I have many times seen it between those of French women, andeven ladies, of all ages. An English girl will have her _face_ clean, tobe sure, if there be soap and water within her reach; but, get a glance, just a glance, at her _poll_, if you have any doubt upon the subject;and, if you find there, or _behind the ears_, what the Yorkshire peoplecall _grime_, the sooner you cease your visits the better. I hope, now, that no young woman will be offended at this, and think me too severe onher sex. I am only saying, I am only telling the women, that which _allmen think_; and, it is a decided advantage to them to be fully informedof _our thoughts_ on the subject. If any one, who shall read this, find, upon self-examination, that she is defective in this respect, there isplenty of time for correcting the defect. 

113. In the _dress_ you can, amongst rich people, find little whereon toform a judgment as to cleanliness, because they have not only the dressprepared for them, but _put upon them_ into the bargain. But, in themiddle rank of life, the dress is a good criterion in two respects:first, as to its _colour_; for, if the _white_ be a sort of _yellow_, cleanly hands would have been at work to prevent that. A _white-yellow_cravat, or shirt, on a man, speaks, at once, the character of his wife;and, be you assured, that she will not take with your dress pains whichshe has never taken with her own. Then, the manner _of putting on_ thedress is no bad foundation for judging. If it be careless, slovenly, ifit do not fit properly, no matter for its _mean quality_: mean as it maybe, it may be neatly and trimly put on; and, if it be not, take care ofyourself; for, as you will soon find to your cost, a sloven in one thingis a sloven in all things. The country-people judge greatly from thestate of the covering of the _ancles_ and, if that be not clean andtight, they conclude, that all out of sight is not what it ought to be. Look at the _shoes_! If they be trodden on one side, loose on the foot, or run down at the heel, it is a very bad sign; and, as to _slip-shod_, though at coming down in the morning and even before day-light, make upyour mind to a rope, rather than to live with a slip-shod wife. 

114. Oh! how much do women lose by inattention to these matters! Men, ingeneral, say nothing about it to their wives; but they _think_ about it;they envy their luckier neighbours; and in numerous cases, consequencesthe most serious arise from this apparently trifling cause. Beauty isvaluable; it is one of the ties, and a strong tie too; that, however, cannot last to old age; but, the charm of cleanliness never ends butwith life itself. I dismiss this part of my subject with a quotationfrom my 'YEAR'S RESIDENCE IN AMERICA, ' containing words which I ventureto recommend to every young woman to engrave on her heart: 'The sweetestflowers, when they become putrid, stink the most; and a nasty woman isthe nastiest thing in nature. '

115. KNOWLEDGE OF DOMESTIC AFFAIRS. Without more or less of thisknowledge, _a lady_, even the wife of a peer, is but a poorish thing. Itwas the fashion, in former times, for ladies to understand a great dealabout these affairs, and it would be very hard to make me believe thatthis did not tend to promote the interests and honour of their husbands. The affairs of a great family never can be _well_ managed, if left_wholly_ to hirelings; and there are many parts of these affairs inwhich it would be unseemly for the husband to meddle. Surely, no ladycan be too high in rank to make it proper for her to be well acquaintedwith the characters and general demeanour of all the _female servants_. To receive and give them characters is too much to be left to a servant, however good, and of service however long. Much of the ease andhappiness of the great and rich must depend on the character of those bywhom they are served: they live under the same roof with them; they arefrequently the children of their tenants, or poorer neighbours; theconduct of their whole lives must be influenced by the examples andprecepts which they here imbibe; and when ladies consider how much moreweight there must be in one word from them than in ten thousand wordsfrom a person who, call her what you like, is still a _fellow-servant_, it does appear strange that they should forego the performance of thisat once important and pleasing part of their duty. It was from themansions of noblemen and gentlemen, and not from boarding-schools, thatfarmers and tradesmen formerly took their wives; and though these daysare gone, with little chance of returning, there is still something leftfor ladies to do in checking that torrent of immorality which is nowcrowding the streets with prostitutes and cramming the jails withthieves. 

116. I am, however, addressing myself, in this work, to persons in themiddle rank of life; and here a _knowledge of domestic affairs_ is sonecessary in every wife, that the lover ought to have it continually inhis eye. Not only a _knowledge_ of these affairs; not only to know howthings _ought to be done_, but how _to do them_; not only to know whatingredients ought to be put into a pie or a pudding, but to be able _tomake_ the pie or the pudding. Young people, when they come together, ought not, unless they have fortunes, or are in a great way of business, to think about _servants_! Servants for what! To help them to eat anddrink and sleep? When children come, there must be some _help_ in afarmer's or tradesman's house; but until then, what call for a servantin a house, the master of which has to _earn_ every mouthful that isconsumed?

117. I shall, when I come to address myself to the husband, have muchmore to say upon this subject of _keeping servants_; but, what thelover, if he be not quite blind, has to look to, is, that his intendedwife know _how to do_ the work of a house, unless he have fortunesufficient to keep her like a lady. 'Eating and drinking, ' as I observein COTTAGE ECONOMY, came _three times every day_; they must come; and, however little we may, in the days of our health and vigour, care aboutchoice food and about cookery, we very soon get _tired_ of heavy orburnt bread and of spoiled joints of meat: we bear them for a time, orfor two, perhaps; but, about the third time, we lament _inwardly_; aboutthe fifth time, it must be an extraordinary honey-moon that will keep usfrom complaining: if the like continue for a month or two, we begin to_repent_, and then adieu to all our anticipated delights. We discover, when it is too late, that we have not got a help-mate, but a burden;and, the fire of love being damped, the unfortunately educated creature, whose parents are more to blame than she is, is, unless she resolve tolearn her duty, doomed to lead a life very nearly approaching to that ofmisery; for, however considerate the husband, he never can esteem her ashe would have done, had she been skilled and able in domestic affairs. 

118. The mere _manual_ performance of domestic labours is not, indeed, absolutely necessary in the female head of the family of professionalmen, such as lawyers, doctors, and parsons; but, even here, and also inthe case of great merchants and of gentlemen living on their fortunes, surely the head of the household ought to be able to give directions asto the purchasing of meat, salting meat, making bread, making preservesof all sorts, and ought to see the things done, or that they be done. She ought to take care that food be well cooked, drink properly preparedand kept; that there be always a sufficient supply; that there be goodliving without waste; and that, in her department, nothing shall be seeninconsistent with the rank, station, and character of her husband, who, if he have a skilful and industrious wife, will, unless he be of asingularly foolish turn, gladly leave all these things to her absolutedominion, controlled only by the extent of the whole expenditure, ofwhich he must be the best, and, indeed, the sole, judge. 

119. But, in a farmer's or a tradesman's family, the _manualperformance_ is absolutely necessary, whether there be servants or not. No one knows how to teach another so well as one who has done, and cando, the thing himself. It was said of a famous French commander, that, in attacking an enemy, he did not say to his men '_go_ on, ' but '_come_on;' and, whoever have well observed the movements of servants, mustknow what a prodigious difference there is in the effect of the words, _go_ and _come_. A very good rule would be, to have nothing to eat, in afarmer's or tradesman's house, that the mistress did not know how toprepare and to cook; no pudding, tart, pie or cake, that she did notknow how to make. Never fear the toil to her: exercise is good forhealth; and without _health_ there is _no beauty_; a sick beauty mayexcite pity, but pity is a short-lived passion. Besides, what is thelabour in such a case? And how many thousands of ladies, who loll awaythe day, would give half their fortunes for that sound sleep which thestirring house-wife seldom fails to enjoy. 

120. Yet, if a young farmer or tradesman _marry_ a girl, who has beenbrought up to _play music_, to what is called _draw_, to _sing_, towaste paper, pen and ink, in writing long and half romantic letters, andto see shows, and plays, and read novels; if a young man do _marry_ suchan unfortunate young creature, let him bear the consequences withtemper; let him be _just_; and justice will teach him to treat her withgreat indulgence; to endeavour to cause her to learn her business as awife; to be patient with her; to reflect that he has taken her, beingapprised of her inability; to bear in mind, that he was, or seemed tobe, pleased with her showy and useless acquirements; and that, when thegratification of his passion has been accomplished, he is unjust andcruel and unmanly, if he turn round upon her, and accuse her of a wantof that knowledge, which he well knew that she did not possess. 

121. For my part, I do not know, nor can I form an idea of, a moreunfortunate being than a girl with a mere boarding-school education, andwithout a fortune to enable her to keep a servant, when married. Of what_use_ are her accomplishments? Of what use her music, her drawing, andher romantic epistles? If she be good in _her nature_, the first littlefaint cry of her first baby drives all the tunes and all the landscapesand all the Clarissa Harlowes out of her head for ever. I once saw avery striking instance of this sort. It was a climb-over-the-wall match, and I gave the bride away, at St. Margaret's Church, Westminster, thepair being as handsome a pair as ever I saw in my life. Beauty, however, though in double quantity, would not pay the baker and butcher; and, after an absence of little better than a year, I found the husband inprison for debt; but I there found also his wife, with her baby, andshe, who had never, before her marriage, known what it was to get waterto wash her own hands, and whose talk was all about music, and the like, was now the cheerful sustainer of her husband, and the most affectionateof mothers. All the _music_ and all the _drawing_, and all the plays andromances were gone to the winds! The husband and baby had fairlysupplanted them; and even this prison-scene was a blessing, as it gaveher, at this early stage, an opportunity of proving her devotion to herhusband, who, though I have not seen him for about fifteen years, hebeing in a part of America which I could not reach when last there, has, I am sure, amply repaid her for that devotion. They have now a numerousfamily (not less than twelve children, I believe), and she is, I amtold, a most excellent and able mistress of a respectable house. 

122. But, this is a rare instance: the husband, like his countrymen ingeneral, was at once brave, humane, gentle, and considerate, and thelove was so sincere and ardent, on both sides, that it made losses andsufferings appear as nothing. When I, in a sort of half-whisper, askedMrs. DICKENS where her _piano_ was, she smiled, and turned her facetowards her baby, that was sitting on her knee; as much as to say, 'Thislittle fellow has beaten the piano;' and, if what I am now writingshould ever have the honour to be read by her, let it be the bearer of arenewed expression of my admiration of her conduct, and of that regardfor her kind and sensible husband, which time and distance have not inthe least diminished, and which will be an inmate of my heart until itshall cease to beat. 

123. The like of this is, however, not to be expected: no man ought tothink that he has even a chance of it: besides, the husband was, in thiscase, a man of learning and of great natural ability: he has not had toget his bread by farming or trade; and, in all probability, his wife hashad the leisure to practise those acquirements which she possessed atthe time of her marriage. But, can this be the case with the farmer orthe tradesman's wife? She has to _help to earn_ a provision for herchildren; or, at the least, to help to earn a store for sickness or oldage. She, therefore, ought to be qualified to begin, at once, to assisther husband in his earnings: the way in which she can most efficientlyassist, is by taking care of his property; by expending his money to thegreatest advantage; by wasting nothing; by making the table sufficientlyabundant with the least expense. And how is she to do these things, unless she have been _brought up_ to understand domestic affairs? How isshe to do these things, if she have been taught to think these mattersbeneath her study? How is any man to expect her to do these things, ifshe have been so bred up as to make her habitually look upon them asworthy the attention of none but low and _ignorant_ women?

124. _Ignorant_, indeed! Ignorance consists in a want of knowledge ofthose things which your calling or state of life naturally supposes youto understand. A ploughman is not an _ignorant man_ because he does notknow how to read: if he knows how to plough, he is not to be called anignorant man; but, a wife may be justly called an ignorant woman, if shedoes not know how to provide a dinner for her husband. It is coldcomfort for a hungry man, to tell him how delightfully his wife playsand sings: lovers may live on very aërial diet; but husbands stand inneed of the solids; and young women may take my word for it, that aconstantly clean board, well cooked victuals, a house in order, and acheerful fire, will do more in preserving a husband's heart, than allthe '_accomplishments_, ' taught in all the '_establishments_' in theworld. 

125. GOOD TEMPER. This is a very difficult thing to ascertainbeforehand. Smiles are so cheap; they are so easily put on for theoccasion; and, besides, the frowns are, according to the lover's whim, interpreted into the contrary. By '_good temper_, ' I do not mean _easytemper_, a serenity which nothing disturbs, for that is a mark oflaziness. _Sulkiness_, if you be not too blind to perceive it, is atemper to be avoided by all means. A sulky man is bad enough; what, then, must be a sulky woman, and that woman _a wife_; a constant inmate, a companion day and night! Only think of the delight of sitting at thesame table, and sleeping in the same bed, for a week, and not exchange aword all the while! Very bad to be scolding for such a length of time;but this is far better than the sulks. If you have your eyes, and looksharp, you will discover symptoms of this, if it unhappily exist. Shewill, at some time or other, show it towards some one or other of thefamily; or, perhaps, towards yourself; and you may be quite sure that, in this respect, marriage will not mend her. Sulkiness arises fromcapricious displeasure, displeasure not founded in reason. The partytakes offence unjustifiably; is unable to frame a complaint, andtherefore expresses displeasure by silence. The remedy for sulkiness is, to suffer it to take its _full swing_; but it is better not to have thedisease in your house; and to be _married to it_ is little short ofmadness. 

126. _Querulousness_ is a great fault. No man, and, especially, no_woman_, likes to hear eternal plaintiveness. That she complain, androundly complain, of your want of punctuality, of your coolness, of yourneglect, of your liking the company of others: these are all very well, more especially as they are frequently but too just. But an everlastingcomplaining, without rhyme or reason, is a bad sign. It shows want ofpatience, and, indeed, want of sense. But, the contrary of this, a _coldindifference_, is still worse. 'When will you come again? You can neverfind time to come here. You like any company better than mine. ' These, when groundless, are very teasing, and demonstrate a disposition toofull of anxiousness; but, from a girl who always receives you with thesame _civil_ smile, lets you, at your own good pleasure, depart with thesame; and who, when you take her by the hand, holds her cold fingers asstraight as sticks, I say (or should if I were young), God, in hismercy, preserve me!

127. _Pertinacity_ is a very bad thing in anybody, and especially in ayoung woman; and it is sure to increase in force with the age of theparty. To have the last word is a poor triumph; but with some people itis a species of disease of the mind. In a wife it must be extremelytroublesome; and, if you find an ounce of it in the maid, it will becomea pound in the wife. An eternal _disputer_ is a most disagreeablecompanion; and where young women thrust their _say_ into conversationscarried on by older persons, give their opinions in a positive manner, and court a contest of the tongue, those must be very bold men who willencounter them as wives. 

128. Still, of all the faults as to _temper_, your _melancholy_ ladieshave the worst, unless you have the same mental disease. Most wives are, at times, _misery-makers_; but these carry it on as a regular trade. They are always unhappy about _something_, either past, present, or tocome. Both arms full of children is a pretty efficient remedy in mostcases; but, if the ingredients be wanting, a little _want_, a little_real trouble_, a little _genuine affliction_ must, if you would effecta cure, be resorted to. But, this is very painful to a man of anyfeeling; and, therefore, the best way is to avoid a connexion, which isto give you a life of wailing and sighs. 

129. BEAUTY. Though I have reserved this to the last of the things to bedesired in a wife, I by no means think it the last in point ofimportance. The less favoured part of the sex say, that 'beauty is but_skin-deep_;' and this is very true; but, it is very _agreeable_, though, for all that. Pictures are only paint-deep, or pencil-deep; butwe admire them, nevertheless. "Handsome is that handsome _does_, " usedto say to me an old man, who had marked me out for his not over handsomedaughter. 'Please your _eye_ and plague your heart' is an adage thatwant of beauty invented, I dare say, more than a thousand years ago. These adages would say, if they had but the courage, that beauty isinconsistent with chastity, with sobriety of conduct, and with all thefemale virtues. The argument is, that beauty exposes the possessor _togreater temptation_ than women not beautiful are exposed to; and that, _therefore_, their fall is more probable. Let us see a little how thismatter stands. 

130. It is certainly true, that pretty girls will have more, and moreardent, admirers than ugly ones; but, as to the _temptation_ when intheir unmarried state, there are few so very ugly as to be exposed to no_temptation_ at all; and, which is the most likely to resist; she whohas a choice of lovers, or she who if she let the occasion slip maynever have it again? Which of the two is most likely to set a high valueupon her reputation, she whom all beholders admire, or she who isadmired, at best, by mere chance? And as to women in the married state, this argument assumes, that, when they fall, it is from their ownvicious disposition; when the fact is, that, if you search the annals ofconjugal infidelity, you will find, that, nine times out of ten, the_fault is in the husband_. It is his neglect, his flagrant disregard, his frosty indifference, his foul example; it is to these that, ninetimes out of ten, he owes the infidelity of his wife; and, if I were tosay ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the facts, if verified, would, Iam certain, bear me out. And whence this neglect, this disregard, thisfrosty indifference; whence this foul example? Because it is easy, in somany cases, to find some woman more beautiful than the wife. This is no_justification_ for the husband to plead; for he has, with his eyesopen, made a solemn contract: if he have not beauty enough to pleasehim, he should have sought it in some other woman: if, as is frequentlythe case, he have preferred rank or money to beauty, he is anunprincipled man, if he do any thing to make her unhappy who has broughthim the rank or the money. At any rate, as conjugal infidelity is, in somany cases; as it is _generally_ caused by the want of affection and dueattention in the husband, it follows, of course, that it must morefrequently happen in the case of ugly than in that of handsome women. 

131. In point of _dress_, nothing need be said to convince anyreasonable man, that beautiful women will be less expensive in thisrespect than women of a contrary description. Experience teaches us, that ugly women are always the most studious about their dress; and, ifwe had never observed upon the subject, _reason_ would tell us, that itmust be so. Few women are handsome without knowing it; and if they knowthat their features naturally attract admiration, will they desire todraw it off, and to fix it on lace and silks and jewels?

132. As to _manners_ and _temper_ there are certainly some handsomewomen who are conceited and arrogant; but, as they have all the bestreasons in the world for being pleased with themselves, they afford youthe best chance of general good humour; and this good humour is a veryvaluable commodity in the married state. Some that are called handsome, and that are such at the first glance, are dull, inanimate things, thatmight as well have been made of wax, or of wood. But, the truth is, thatthis is _not beauty_, for this is not to be found _only_ in the _form_of the features, but in the movements of them also. Besides, here natureis very impartial; for she gives animation promiscuously to the handsomeas well as to the ugly; and the want of this in the former is surely asbearable as in the latter. 

133. But, the great use of female beauty, the great practical advantageof it is, that it naturally and unavoidably tends to _keep the husbandin good humour with himself_, to make him, to use the dealer's phrase, _pleased with his bargain_. When old age approaches, and the partieshave become endeared to each other by a long series of joint cares andinterests, and when children have come and bound them together by thestrongest ties that nature has in store; at this age the features andthe person are of less consequence; but, in the _young days_ ofmatrimony, when the roving eye of the bachelor is scarcely become steadyin the head of the husband, it is dangerous for him to see, every timehe stirs out, a face more captivating than that of the person to whom heis bound for life. Beauty is, in some degree, a matter of _taste_: whatone man admires, another does not; and it is fortunate for us that it isthus. But still there are certain things that all men admire; and ahusband is always pleased when he perceives that a portion, at least, ofthese things are in his own possession: he takes this possession as a_compliment to himself_: there must, he will think the world willbelieve, have been _some merit in him_, some charm, seen or unseen, tohave caused him to be blessed with the acquisition. 

134. And then there arise so many things, sickness, misfortune inbusiness, losses, many many things, wholly unexpected; and, there are somany circumstances, perfectly _nameless_, to communicate to thenew-married man the fact, that it is not a real _angel_ of whom he hasgot the possession; there are so many things of this sort, so many andsuch powerful dampers of the passions, and so many incentives to _coolreflection_; that it requires something, and a good deal too, to keepthe husband in countenance in this his altered and enlightened state. The passion of women does not cool so soon: the lamp of their love burnsmore steadily, and even brightens as it burns: and, there is, the youngman may be assured, a vast difference in the effect of the fondness of apretty woman and that of one of a different description; and, let reasonand philosophy say what they will, a man will come down stairs of amorning better pleased after seeing the former, than he would afterseeing the latter, in her _night-cap_. 

135. To be sure, when a man has, from whatever inducement, once marrieda woman, he is unjust and cruel if he even _slight_ her on account ofher want of beauty, and, if he treat her harshly, on this account, he isa brute. But, it requires a greater degree of reflection andconsideration than falls to the lot of men in general to make them actwith justice in such a case; and, therefore, the best way is to guard, if you can, against the temptation to commit such injustice, which is tobe done in no other way, than by not marrying any one that you _do notthink handsome_. 

136. I must not conclude this address to THE LOVER without something onthe subject of _seduction_ and _inconstancy_. In, perhaps, nineteencases out of twenty, there is, in the unfortunate cases of illicitgratification, no seduction at all, the passion, the absence of virtue, and the crime, being all mutual. But, there are other cases of a verydifferent description; and where a man goes coolly and deliberately towork, first to gain and rivet the affections of a young girl, then totake advantage of those affections to accomplish that which he knowsmust be her ruin, and plunge her into misery for life; when a man doesthis merely for the sake of a momentary gratification, he must be eithera selfish and unfeeling brute, unworthy of the name of man, or he musthave a heart little inferior, in point of obduracy, to that of themurderer. Let young women, however, be aware; let them be well aware, that few, indeed, are the cases in which this apology can possibly availthem. Their character is not solely theirs, but belongs, in part, totheir family and kindred. They may, in the case contemplated, be objectsof compassion with the world; but what contrition, what repentance, whatremorse, what that even the tenderest benevolence can suggest, is toheal the wounded hearts of humbled, disgraced, but still affectionate, parents, brethren and sisters?

137. As to _constancy_ in Lovers, though I do not approve of the saying, 'At lovers' lies Jove laughs;' yet, when people are young, one objectmay supplant another in their affections, not only without criminalityin the party experiencing the change, but without blame; and it ishonest, and even humane, to act upon the change; because it would beboth foolish and cruel to marry one girl while you liked another better:and the same holds good with regard to the other sex. Even when_marriage_ has been _promised_, and that, too, in the most solemnmanner, it is better for both parties to break off, than to be coupledtogether with the reluctant assent of either; and I have always thought, that actions for damages, on this score, if brought by the girl, show awant of delicacy as well as of spirit; and, if brought by the man, excessive meanness. Some damage may, indeed, have been done to thecomplaining party; but no damage equal to what that party would havesustained from a marriage, to which the other party would have yieldedby a sort of compulsion, producing to almost a certainty what Hogarth, in his _Marriage à la Mode_, most aptly typifies by two curs, ofdifferent sexes, fastened together by what sportsmen call _couples_, pulling different ways, and snarling and barking and foaming likefuries. 

138. But when promises have been made to a young woman; when they havebeen relied on for any considerable time; when it is manifest that herpeace and happiness, and, perhaps, her life, depend upon theirfulfilment; when things have been carried to this length, the change inthe Lover ought to be announced in the manner most likely to make thedisappointment as supportable as the case will admit of; for, though itis better to break the promise than to marry one while you like anotherbetter; though it is better for both parties, you have no right to breakthe heart of her who has, and that, too, with your accordance, and, indeed, at your instigation, or, at least, by your encouragement, confided it to your fidelity. You cannot help your change of affections;but you can help making the transfer in such a way as to cause thedestruction, or even probable destruction, nay, if it were but the deepmisery, of her, to gain whose heart you had pledged your own. You oughtto proceed by slow degrees; you ought to call time to your aid inexecuting the painful task; you ought scrupulously to avoid every thingcalculated to aggravate the sufferings of the disconsolate party. 

139. A striking, a monstrous, instance of conduct the contrary of thishas recently been placed upon the melancholy records of the Coroner ofMiddlesex; which have informed an indignant public, that a young man, having first secured the affections of a virtuous young woman, nextpromised her marriage, then caused the banns to be published, and then, on the very day appointed for the performance of the ceremony, marriedanother woman, in the same church; and this, too, without, as he avowed, any provocation, and without the smallest intimation or hint of hisintention to the disappointed party, who, unable to support existenceunder a blow so cruel, put an end to that existence by the most deadlyand the swiftest poison. If any thing could wipe from our country thestain of having given birth to a monster so barbarous as this, it wouldbe the abhorrence of him which the jury expressed; and which, from everytongue, he ought to hear to the last moment of his life. 

140. Nor has a man any right to _sport_ with the affections of a youngwoman, though he stop short of _positive promises_. Vanity is generallythe tempter in this case; a desire to be regarded as being admired bythe women: a very despicable species of vanity, but frequently greatlymischievous, notwithstanding. You do not, indeed, actually, in so manywords, promise to marry; but the general tenor of your language anddeportment has that meaning; you know that your meaning is sounderstood; and if you have not such meaning; if you be fixed by someprevious engagement with, or greater liking for, another; if you knowyou are here sowing the seeds of disappointment; and if you, keepingyour previous engagement or greater liking a secret, persevere, in spiteof the admonitions of conscience, you are guilty of deliberatedeception, injustice and cruelty: you make to God an ungrateful returnfor those endowments which have enabled you to achieve this ingloriousand unmanly triumph; and if, as is frequently the case, you _glory_ insuch triumph, you may have person, riches, talents to excite envy; butevery just and humane man will abhor your heart. 

141. There are, however, certain cases in which you deceive, or nearlydeceive, _yourself_; cases in which you are, by degrees and bycircumstances, deluded into something very nearly resembling sincerelove for a second object, the first still, however, maintaining herground in your heart; cases in which you are not actuated by vanity, inwhich you are not guilty of injustice and cruelty; but cases in whichyou, nevertheless, _do wrong_: and as I once did a wrong of this sortmyself, I will here give a history of it, as a warning to every youngman who shall read this little book; that being the best and, indeed, the only atonement, that I can make, or ever could have made, for thisonly _serious sin_ that I ever committed against the female sex. 

142. The Province of New Brunswick, in North America, in which I passedmy years from the age of eighteen to that of twenty-six, consists, ingeneral, of heaps of rocks, in the interstices of which grow the pine, the spruce, and various sorts of fir trees, or, where the woods havebeen burnt down, the bushes of the raspberry or those of thehuckleberry. The province is cut asunder lengthwise, by a great river, called the St. John, about two hundred miles in length, and, at half wayfrom the mouth, full a mile wide. Into this main river run innumerablesmaller rivers, there called CREEKS. On the sides of these creeks theland is, in places, clear of rocks; it is, in these places, generallygood and productive; the trees that grow here are the birch, the maple, and others of the deciduous class; natural meadows here and therepresent themselves; and some of these spots far surpass in rural beautyany other that my eyes ever beheld; the creeks, abounding towards theirsources in water-falls of endless variety, as well in form as inmagnitude, and always teeming with fish, while water-fowl enliven theirsurface, and while wild-pigeons, of the gayest plumage, flutter, inthousands upon thousands, amongst the branches of the beautiful trees, which, sometimes, for miles together, form an arch over the creeks. 

143. I, in one of my rambles in the woods, in which I took greatdelight, came to a spot at a very short distance from the source of oneof these creeks. Here was every thing to delight the eye, and especiallyof one like me, who seem to have been born to love rural life, and treesand plants of all sorts. Here were about two hundred acres of naturalmeadow, interspersed with patches of maple-trees in various forms and ofvarious extent; the creek (there about thirty miles from its point ofjoining the St. John) ran down the middle of the spot, which formed asort of dish, the high and rocky hills rising all round it, except atthe outlet of the creek, and these hills crowned with lofty pines: inthe hills were the sources of the creek, the waters of which came downin cascades, for any one of which many a nobleman in England would, ifhe could transfer it, give a good slice of his fertile estate; and inthe creek, at the foot of the cascades, there were, in the season, salmon the finest in the world, and so abundant, and so easily taken, asto be used for manuring the land. 

144. If nature, in her very best humour, had made a spot for the expresspurpose of captivating me, she could not have exceeded the efforts whichshe had here made. But I found something here besides these rude worksof nature; I found something in the fashioning of which _man_ had hadsomething to do. I found a large and well-built log dwelling house, standing (in the month of September) on the edge of a very good field ofIndian Corn, by the side of which there was a piece of buck-wheat justthen mowed. I found a homestead, and some very pretty cows. I found allthe things by which an easy and happy farmer is surrounded: and I foundstill something besides all these; something that was destined to giveme a great deal of pleasure and also a great deal of pain, both in theirextreme degree; and both of which, in spite of the lapse of forty years, now make an attempt to rush back into my heart. 

145. Partly from misinformation, and partly from miscalculation, I hadlost my way; and, quite alone, but armed with my sword and a brace ofpistols, to defend myself against the bears, I arrived at the log-housein the middle of a moonlight night, the hoar frost covering the treesand the grass. A stout and clamorous dog, kept off by the gleaming of mysword, waked the master of the house, who got up, received me with greathospitality, got me something to eat, and put me into a feather-bed, athing that I had been a stranger to for some years. I, being very tired, had tried to pass the night in the woods, between the trunks of twolarge trees, which had fallen side by side, and within a yard of eachother. I had made a nest for myself of dry fern, and had made a coveringby laying boughs of spruce across the trunks of the trees. But unable tosleep on account of the cold; becoming sick from the great quantity ofwater that I had drank during the heat of the day, and being, moreover, alarmed at the noise of the bears, and lest one of them should find mein a defenceless state, I had roused myself up, and had crept along aswell as I could. So that no hero of eastern romance ever experienced amore enchanting change. 

146. I had got into the house of one of those YANKEE LOYALISTS, who, atthe close of the revolutionary war (which, until it had succeeded, wascalled a rebellion) had accepted of grants of land in the King'sProvince of New Brunswick; and who, to the great honour of England, hadbeen furnished with all the means of making new and comfortablesettlements. I was suffered to sleep till breakfast time, when I found atable, the like of which I have since seen so many in the United States, loaded with good things. The master and the mistress of the house, agedabout fifty, were like what an English farmer and his wife were half acentury ago. There were two sons, tall and stout, who appeared to havecome in from work, and the youngest of whom was about my age, thentwenty-three. But there was _another member_ of the family, agednineteen, who (dressed according to the neat and simple fashion of NewEngland, whence she had come with her parents five or six years before)had her long light-brown hair twisted nicely up, and fastened on the topof her head, in which head were a pair of lively blue eyes, associatedwith features of which that softness and that sweetness, socharacteristic of American girls, were the predominant expressions, thewhole being set off by a complexion indicative of glowing health, andforming, figure, movements, and all taken together, an assemblage ofbeauties, far surpassing any that I had ever seen but _once_ in my life. That _once_ was, too, _two years agone_; and, in such a case and at suchan age, two years, two whole years, is a long, long while! It was aspace as long as the eleventh part of my then life! Here was the_present_ against the _absent_: here was the power of the _eyes_ pittedagainst that of the _memory_: here were all the senses up in arms tosubdue the influence of the thoughts: here was vanity, here was passion, here was the spot of all spots in the world, and here were also thelife, and the manners and the habits and the pursuits that I delightedin: here was every thing that imagination can conceive, united in aconspiracy against the poor little brunette in England! What, then, didI fall in love at once with this bouquet of lilies and roses? Oh! by nomeans. I was, however, so enchanted with _the place_; I so much enjoyedits tranquillity, the shade of the maple trees, the business of thefarm, the sports of the water and of the woods, that I stayed at it tothe last possible minute, promising, at my departure, to come again asoften as I possibly could; a promise which I most punctually fulfilled. 

147. Winter is the great season for jaunting and _dancing_ (called_frolicking_) in America. In this Province the river and the creeks werethe only _roads_ from settlement to settlement. In summer we travelledin _canoes_; in winter in _sleighs_ on the ice or snow. During more thantwo years I spent all the time I could with my Yankee friends: they wereall fond of me: I talked to them about country affairs, my evidentdelight in which they took as a compliment to themselves: the father andmother treated me as one of their children; the sons as a brother; andthe daughter, who was as modest and as full of sensibility as she wasbeautiful, in a way to which a chap much less sanguine than I was wouldhave given the tenderest interpretation; which treatment I, especiallyin the last-mentioned case, most cordially repaid. 

148. It is when you meet in company with others of your own age that youare, in love matters, put, most frequently, to the test, and exposed todetection. The next door neighbour might, in that country, be ten milesoff. We used to have a frolic, sometimes at one house and sometimes atanother. Here, where female eyes are very much on the alert, no secretcan long be kept; and very soon father, mother, brothers and the wholeneighbourhood looked upon the thing as certain, not excepting herself, to whom I, however, had never once even talked of marriage, and hadnever even told her that I _loved_ her. But I had a thousand times donethese by _implication_, taking into view the interpretation that shewould naturally put upon my looks, appellations and acts; and it was ofthis, that I had to accuse myself. Yet I was not a _deceiver_; for myaffection for her was very great: I spent no really pleasant hours butwith her: I was uneasy if she showed the slightest regard for any otheryoung man: I was unhappy if the smallest matter affected her health orspirits: I quitted her in dejection, and returned to her with eagerdelight: many a time, when I could get leave but for a day, I paddled ina canoe two whole succeeding nights, in order to pass that day with her. If this was not love, it was first cousin to it; for as to any_criminal_ intention I no more thought of it, in her case, than if shehad been my sister. Many times I put to myself the questions: 'What am Iat? Is not this wrong? _Why do I go?_' But still I went. 

149. Then, further in my excuse, my _prior engagement_, though carefullyleft unalluded to by both parties, was, in that thin population, andowing to the singular circumstances of it, and to the great talk thatthere always was about me, _perfectly well known_ to her and all herfamily. It was matter of so much notoriety and conversation in theProvince, that GENERAL CARLETON (brother of the late Lord Dorchester), who was the Governor when I was there, when he, about fifteen yearsafterwards, did me the honour, on his return to England, to come and seeme at my house in Duke Street, Westminster, asked, before he went away, to see my _wife_, of whom _he had heard so much_ before her marriage. Sothat here was no _deception_ on my part: but still I ought not to havesuffered even the most distant hope to be entertained by a person soinnocent, so amiable, for whom I had so much affection, and to whoseheart I had no right to give a single twinge. I ought, from the veryfirst, to have prevented the possibility of her ever feeling pain on myaccount. I was young, to be sure; but I was old enough to know what wasmy duty in this case, and I ought, dismissing my own feelings, to havehad the resolution to perform it. 

150. The _last parting_ came; and now came my just punishment! The timewas known to every body, and was irrevocably fixed; for I had to movewith a regiment, and the embarkation of a regiment is an _epoch_ in athinly settled province. To describe this parting would be too painfuleven at this distant day, and with this frost of age upon my head. Thekind and virtuous father came forty miles to see me just as I was goingon board in the river. _His_ looks and words I have never forgotten. Asthe vessel descended, she passed the mouth of _that creek_ which I hadso often entered with delight; and though England, and all that Englandcontained, were before me, I lost sight of this creek with an achingheart. 

151. On what trifles turn the great events in the life of man! If I hadreceived a _cool_ letter from my intended wife; if I had only heard arumour of any thing from which fickleness in her might have beeninferred; if I had found in her any, even the smallest, abatement ofaffection; if she had but let go any one of the hundred strings by whichshe held my heart: if any of these, never would the world have heard ofme. Young as I was; able as I was as a soldier; proud as I was of theadmiration and commendations of which I was the object; fond as I was, too, of the command, which, at so early an age, my rare conduct andgreat natural talents had given me; sanguine as was my mind, andbrilliant as were my prospects: yet I had seen so much of themeannesses, the unjust partialities, the insolent pomposity, thedisgusting dissipations of that way of life, that I was weary of it: Ilonged, exchanging my fine laced coat for the Yankee farmer's home-spun, to be where I should never behold the supple crouch of servility, andnever hear the hectoring voice of authority, again; and, on the lonelybanks of this branch-covered creek, which contained (she out of thequestion) every thing congenial to my taste and dear to my heart, I, unapplauded, unfeared, unenvied and uncalumniated, should have lived anddied. 

LETTER IV

TO A HUSBAND

152. It is in this capacity that your conduct will have the greatesteffect on your happiness; and a great deal will depend on the manner inwhich you _begin_. I am to suppose that you have made a _good choice_;but a good young woman may be made, by a weak, a harsh, a neglectful, anextravagant, or a profligate husband, a really bad wife and mother. Allin a wife, beyond her own natural disposition and education is, ninetimes out of ten, the work of her husband. 

153. The first thing of all, be the rank in life what it may, is toconvince her of the necessity of _moderation in expense_; and to makeher clearly see the justice of beginning to act upon the presumption, that there are _children coming_, that they are to be provided for, andthat she is to _assist_ in the making of that provision. Legallyspeaking, we have a right to do what we please with our own property, which, however, is not our own, unless it exceed our debts. And, morallyspeaking, we, at the moment of our marriage, contract a debt with thenaturally to be expected fruit of it; and, therefore (reserving furtherremarks upon this subject till I come to speak of the education ofchildren), the scale of expense should, at the beginning, be as low asthat of which a due attention to rank in life will admit. 

154. The great danger of all is, beginning with _servants_, or a_servant_. Where there are riches, or where the business is so great asto demand _help_ in the carrying on of the affairs of a house, one ormore female servants must be kept; but, where the work of a house can bedone by one pair of hands, why should there be two; especially as youcannot have the hands without having the _mouth_, and, which isfrequently not less costly, inconvenient and injurious, the _tongue_?When children come, there must, at times, be some foreign aid; but, until then, what need can the wife of a young tradesman, or even farmer(unless the family be great) have of a servant? The wife is young, andwhy is she not to work as well as the husband? What justice is there inwanting you to keep two women instead of one? You have not married themboth in form; but, if they be inseparable, you have married them insubstance; and if you are free from the crime of bigamy, you have thefar most burthensome part of its consequences. 

155. I am well aware of the unpopularity of this doctrine; well aware ofits hostility to prevalent habits; well aware that almost everytradesman and every farmer, though with scarcely a shilling to call hisown; and that every clerk, and every such person, begins by keeping aservant, and that the latter is generally provided before the wife beinstalled: I am well aware of all this; but knowing, from long andattentive observation, that it is the great bane of the marriage life;the great cause of that penury, and of those numerous and tormentingembarrassments, amidst which conjugal felicity can seldom long be keptalive, I give the advice, and state the reasons on which it was founded. 

156. In London, or near it, a maid servant cannot be kept at an expenseso low as that of _thirty pounds a year_; for, besides her wages, boardand lodging, there must be a _fire_ solely for her; or she must sit withthe husband and wife, hear every word that passes between them, andbetween them and their friends; which will, of course, greatly add tothe pleasures of their fire-side! To keep her tongue still would beimpossible, and, indeed, unreasonable; and if, as may frequently happen, she be prettier than the wife, she will know how to give the suitableinterpretation to the looks which, to a next to a certainty, she willoccasionally get from him, whom, as it were in mockery, she calls by thename of '_master_. ' This is almost downright bigamy; but this can neverdo; and, therefore, she must have a _fire to herself_. Besides the blazeof coals, however, there is another sort of _flame_ that she willinevitably covet. She will by no means be sparing of the coals; but, well fed and well lodged, as _she_ will be, whatever you may be, shewill naturally sigh for the fire of love, for which she carries in herbosom a match always ready prepared. In plain language, you have a manto keep, a part, at least, of every week; and the leg of lamb, whichmight have lasted you and your wife for three days, will, by thisgentleman's sighs, be borne away in one. Shut the door against thisintruder; out she goes herself; and, if she go empty-handed, she is notrue Christian, or, at least, will not be looked upon as such by thecharitable friend at whose house she meets the longing soul, dyingpartly with love and partly with hunger. 

157. The cost, altogether, is nearer fifty pounds a year than thirty. How many thousands of tradesmen and clerks, and the like, who might havepassed through life without a single embarrassment, have lived incontinual trouble and fear, and found a premature grave, from this verycause, and this cause alone! When I, on my return from America, in 1800, lived a short time in Saint James's Street, following my habit of earlyrising, I used to see the servant maids, at almost every house, dispensing charity at the expense of their masters, long before they, good men, opened their eyes, who thus did deeds of benevolence, not onlywithout boasting of them, but without knowing of them. Meat, bread, cheese, butter, coals, candles; all came with equal freedom from theseliberal hands. I have observed the same, in my early walks and rides, inevery part of this great place and its environs. Where there is _one_servant it is worse than where there are _two_ or more; for, happily fortheir employers, they do not always agree. So that the oppression ismost heavy on those who are the least able to bear it: and particularlyon _clerk_, and such like people, whose wives seem to think, that, because the husband's work is of a genteel description, they ought tolive the life of _ladies_. Poor fellows! their work is not hard andrough, to be sure; but, it is _work_, and work for many hours too, andpainful enough; and as to their income, it scarcely exceeds, on anaverage, the double, at any rate, of that of a journeyman carpenter, bricklayer, or tailor. 

158. Besides, the man and wife will live on cheaper diet and drink thana servant will live. Thousands, who would never have had beer in theirhouse, have it for the servant, who will not live without it. Howeverfrugal your wife, her frugality is of little use, if she have one ofthese inmates to provide for. Many a hundred thousand times has ithappened that the butcher and the butter-man have been applied to solelybecause there was a servant to satisfy. You cannot, with this clogeverlastingly attached to you, be frugal, if you would: you can savenothing against the days of expense, which are, however, pretty sure tocome. And why should you bring into your house a trouble like this; anabsolute annoyance; a something for your wife to watch, to be aconstraint upon her, to thwart her in her best intentions, to make heruneasy, and to sour her temper? Why should you do this foolish thing?Merely to comply with corrupt fashion; merely from false shame, andfalse and contemptible pride? If a young man were, on his marriage, tofind any difficulty in setting this ruinous fashion at defiance, a verygood way would be to count down to his wife, at the end of every week, the amount of the expense of a servant for that week, and request her todeposit it in her drawer. In a short time she would find the sum solarge, that she would be frightened at the thoughts of a servant; andwould never dream of one again, except in case of absolute necessity, and then for as short a time as possible. 

159. But the wife may not be _able_ to do all the work to be done in thehouse. Not _able_! A young woman not able to cook and wash, and mend andmake, and clean the house and make the bed for one young man andherself, and that young man her husband too, who is quite willing (if hebe worth a straw) to put up with cold dinner, or with a crust; to get upand light her fire; to do any thing that the mind can suggest to spareher labour, and to conduce to her convenience! Not _able_ to do this?Then, if she brought no fortune, and he had none, she ought not to havebeen _able to marry_: and, let me tell you, young man, a _small fortune_would not put a servant-keeping wife upon an equality with one whorequired no such inmate. 

160. If, indeed, the work of a house were _harder_ than a young womancould perform without pain, or great fatigue; if it had a tendency toimpair her health or deface her beauty; then you might hesitate: but, itis not too hard, and it tends to preserve health, to keep the spiritsbuoyant, and, of course, to preserve beauty. You often hear girls, whilescrubbing or washing, singing till they are out of breath; but neverwhile they are at what they call _working_ at the needle. The Americanwives are most exemplary in this respect. They have none of that falsepride, which prevents thousands in England from doing that whichinterest, reason, and even their own inclination would prompt them todo. They work, not from necessity; not from compulsion of any sort; fortheir husbands are the most indulgent in the whole world. In the townsthey go to the market, and cheerfully carry home the result: in thecountry, they not only do the work in the house, but extend theirlabours to the garden, plant and weed and hoe, and gather and preservethe fruits and the herbs; and this, too, in a climate far from being sofavourable to labour as that of England; and they are amply repaid forthese by those gratifications which their excellent economy enablestheir husbands to bestow upon them, and which it is their universalhabit to do with a liberal hand. 

161. But did I _practise_ what I am here preaching? Aye, and to the fullextent. Till I had a second child, no servant ever entered my house, though well able to keep one; and never, in my whole life, did I live ina house so clean, in such trim order, and never have I eaten or drunk, or slept or dressed, in a manner so perfectly to my fancy, as I didthen. I had a great deal of business to attend to, that took me a greatpart of the day from home; but, whenever I could spare a minute frombusiness, the child was in my arms; I rendered the mother's labour aslight as I could; any bit of food satisfied me; when watching wasnecessary, we shared it between us; and that famous GRAMMAR for teachingFrench people English, which has been for thirty years, and still is, the great work of this kind, throughout all America, and in every nationin Europe, was written by me, in hours not employed in business, and, ingreat part, during my share of the night-watchings over a sick, and thenonly child, who, after lingering many months, died in my arms. 

162. This was the way that we went on: this was the way that we _began_the married life; and surely, that which we did with pleasure no youngcouple, unendowed with fortune, ought to be ashamed to do. But she maybe _ill_; the time may be near at hand, or may have actually arrived, when she must encounter that particular pain and danger of which _youhave been the happy cause_! Oh! that is quite another matter! And if younow exceed in care, in watchings over her, in tender attention to allher wishes, in anxious efforts to quiet her fears; if you exceed inpains and expense to procure her relief and secure her life; if you, inany of these, exceed that which I would recommend, you must be romanticindeed! She deserves them all, and more than all, ten thousand timestold. And now it is that you feel the blessing conferred by her economy. That heap of money, which might have been squandered on, or by, or inconsequence of, an useless servant, you now have in hand wherewith toprocure an abundance of that skill and that attendance of which shestands in absolute need; and she, when restored to you in smilinghealth, has the just pride to reflect, that she may have owed her lifeand your happiness to the effects of her industry. 

163. It is the _beginning_ that is every thing in this important case;and you will have, perhaps, much to do to convince her, not that whatyou recommend is advantageous; not that it is right; but to convince herthat she can do it without sinking below the station that she ought tomaintain. She would cheerfully do it; but there are her _next-doorneighbours_, who do not do it, though, in all other respects, on a parwith her. It is not laziness, but pernicious fashion, that you will haveto combat. But the truth is, that there ought to be _no combat_ at all;this important matter ought to be settled and fully agreed on_beforehand_. If she really love you, and have common sense, she willnot hesitate a moment; and if she be deficient in either of theserespects; and if you be so mad in love as to be unable to exist withouther, it is better to cease to exist at once, than to become the toilingand embarrassed slave of a wasting and pillaging servant. 

164. The next thing to be attended to is, your _demeanor_ towards ayoung wife. As to oldish ones, or widows, time and other things have, inmost cases, blunted their feelings, and rendered harsh or stern demeanorin the husband a matter not of heart-breaking consequence. But with ayoung and inexperienced one, the case is very different; and you shouldbear in mind, that the first frown that she receives from _you_ is adagger to her heart. Nature has so ordered it, that men shall becomeless ardent in their passion after the wedding day; and that women shallnot. Their ardour increases rather than the contrary; and they aresurprisingly quick-sighted and inquisitive on this score. When the_child_ comes, it divides this ardour with the father; but until thenyou have it all; and if you have a mind to be happy, repay it with allyour soul. Let what may happen to put you out of humour with others, letnothing put you out of humour with her. Let your words and looks andmanners be just what they were before you called her wife. 

165. But now, and throughout your life, show your affection for her, andyour admiration of her, not in nonsensical compliment; not in picking upher handkerchief, or her glove, or in carrying her fan or parasol; not, if you have the means, in hanging trinkets and baubles upon her; not inmaking yourself a fool by winking at, and seeming pleased at, herfoibles, or follies, or faults; but show them by acts of real goodnesstowards her; prove by unequivocal deeds the high value that you set onher health and life and peace of mind; let your praise of her go to thefull extent of her deserts, but let it be consistent with truth and withsense, and such as to convince her of your sincerity. He who is theflatterer of his wife only prepares her ears for the hyperbolical stuffof others. The kindest appellation that her Christian name affords isthe best you can use, especially before faces. An everlasting '_mydear_' is but a sorry compensation for a want of that sort of love thatmakes the husband cheerfully toil by day, break his rest by night, endure all sorts of hardships, if the life or health of his wife demandit. Let your deeds, and not your words, carry to her heart a daily andhourly confirmation of the fact, that you value her health and life andhappiness beyond all other things in the world; and let this be manifestto her, particularly at those times when life is always more or less indanger. 

166. I began my young marriage days in and near Philadelphia. At one ofthose times to which I have just alluded, in the middle of the burninghot month of July, I was greatly afraid of fatal consequences to my wifefor want of sleep, she not having, after the great danger was over, hadany sleep for more than forty-eight hours. All great cities, in hotcountries, are, I believe, full of dogs; and they, in the very hotweather, keep up, during the night, a horrible barking and fighting andhowling. Upon the particular occasion to which I am adverting, they madea noise so terrible and so unremitted, that it was next to impossiblethat even a person in full health and free from pain should obtain aminute's sleep. I was, about nine in the evening, sitting by the bed: 'Ido think, ' said she, 'that I could go to sleep _now_, if it were not_for the dogs_. ' Down stairs I went, and out I sallied, in my shirt andtrowsers, and without shoes and stockings; and, going to a heap ofstones lying beside the road, set to work upon the dogs, going backwardand forward, and keeping them at two or three hundred yards' distancefrom the house. I walked thus the whole night, barefooted, lest thenoise of my shoes might possibly reach her ears; and I remember that thebricks of the causeway were, even in the night, so hot as to bedisagreeable to my feet. My exertions produced the desired effect: asleep of several hours was the consequence; and, at eight o'clock in themorning, off went I to a day's business, which was to end at six in theevening. 

167. Women are all patriots of the soil; and when her neighbours used toask my wife whether _all_ English husbands were like hers, she boldlyanswered in the affirmative. I had business to occupy the whole of mytime, Sundays and weekdays, except sleeping hours; but I used to maketime to assist her in the taking care of her baby, and in all sorts ofthings: get up, light her fire, boil her tea-kettle, carry her up warmwater in cold weather, take the child while she dressed herself and gotthe breakfast ready, then breakfast, get her in water and wood for theday, then dress myself neatly, and sally forth to my business. Themoment that was over I used to hasten back to her again; and I no morethought of spending a moment _away from her_, unless business compelledme, than I thought of quitting the country and going to sea. The_thunder_ and _lightning_ are tremendous in America, compared with whatthey are in England. My wife was, at one time, very much afraid ofthunder and lightning; and as is the feeling of all such women, and, indeed, all men too, she wanted company, and particularly her husband, in those times of danger. I knew well, of course, that my presence wouldnot diminish the danger; but, be I at what I might, if within reach ofhome, I used to quit my business and hasten to her, the moment Iperceived a thunder storm approaching. Scores of miles have I, first andlast, _run_ on this errand, in the streets of Philadelphia! TheFrenchmen, who were my scholars, used to laugh at me exceedingly on thisaccount; and sometimes, when I was making an appointment with them, theywould say, with a smile and a bow, '_Sauve la tonnerre toujours, Monsieur Cobbett_. '

168. I never _dangled_ about at the heels of my wife; seldom, veryseldom, ever _walked out_, as it is called, with her; I never 'went _awalking_' in the whole course of my life; never went to walk withouthaving some _object_ in view other than the walk; and, as I never couldwalk at a slow pace, it would have been _hard work_ for her to keep upwith me; so that, in the nearly forty years of our married life, we havenot walked out together, perhaps, twenty times. I hate a _dangler_, whois more like a footman than a husband. It is very cheap to be kind in_trifles_; but that which rivets the affections is not to be purchasedwith money. The great thing of all, however, is to prove your anxiety atthose times of peril to her, and for which times you, nevertheless, wish. Upon those occasions I was never from home, be the necessity forit ever so great: it was my rule, that every thing must give way tothat. In the year 1809, some English local militiamen were _flogged_, inthe Isle of Ely, in England, under a guard of _Hanoverians_, thenstationed in England. I, reading an account of this in a Londonnewspaper, called the COURIER, expressed my indignation at it in suchterms as it became an Englishman to do. The Attorney General, Gibbs, wasset on upon me; he harassed me for nearly a year, then brought me totrial, and I was, by Ellenborough, Grose, Le Blanc, and Bailey, sentenced to _two years' imprisonment_ in Newgate, to pay a fine to _theking_ of _a thousand pounds_, and to be held in heavy bail for _sevenyears_ after the expiration of the imprisonment! Every one regarded itas a sentence of _death_. I lived in the country at the time, seventymiles from London; I had a farm on my hands; I had a family of smallchildren, amongst whom I had constantly lived; I had a most anxious anddevoted wife, who was, too, in that state, which rendered the separationmore painful ten-fold. I was put into a place amongst _felons_, fromwhich I had to rescue myself at the price of _twelve guineas a week_ forthe whole of the two years. The _King_, poor man! was, at the close ofmy imprisonment, not _in a condition_ to receive the _thousand pounds_;but his son, the present king, punctually received it _'in his name andbehalf_;' and he keeps it still. 

169. The sentence, though it proved not to be one of _death_, was, ineffect, one of _ruin_, as far as then-possessed property went. But thisreally appeared as nothing, compared with the circumstance, that I mustnow have _a child born in a felons' jail_, or be absent from the sceneat the time of the birth. My wife, who had come to see me for the lasttime previous to her lying-in, perceiving my deep dejection at theapproach of her departure for Botley, resolved not to go; and actuallywent and took a lodging as near to Newgate as she could find one, inorder that the communication between us might be as speedy as possible;and in order that I might see the doctor, and receive assurances fromhim relative to her state. The nearest lodging that she could find wasin Skinner-street, at the corner of a street leading to Smithfield. Sothat there she was, amidst the incessant rattle of coaches and butchers'carts, and the noise of cattle, dogs, and bawling men; instead of beingin a quiet and commodious country-house, with neighbours and servantsand every thing necessary about her. Yet, so great is the power of themind in such cases, she, though the circumstances proved uncommonlyperilous, and were attended with the loss of the child, bore hersufferings with the greatest composure, because, at any minute she couldsend a message to, and hear from, me. If she had gone to Botley, leavingme in that state of anxiety in which she saw me, I am satisfied that shewould have died; and that event taking place at such a distance from me, how was I to contemplate her corpse, surrounded by her distractedchildren, and to have escaped death, or madness, myself? If such was notthe effect of this merciless act of the government towards me, thatamiable body may be well assured that I have _taken and recorded thewill for the deed_, and that as such it will live in my memory as longas that memory shall last. 

170. I make no apology for this account of my own conduct, becauseexample is better than precept, and because I believe that my examplemay have weight with many thousands, as it has had in respect to earlyrising, abstinence, sobriety, industry, and mercy towards the poor. Itis not, then, dangling about after a wife; it is not the loading herwith baubles and trinkets; it is not the jaunting of her about from showto show, and from what is called pleasure to pleasure. It is none ofthese that endears you to her: it is the adherence to that part of thepromise you have made her: 'With my _body_ I thee _worship_;' that is tosay, _respect_ and _honour_ by personal attention and acts of affection. And remember, that the greatest possible proof that you can give of realand solid affection is to give her your _time_, when not wanted inmatters of business; when not wanted for the discharge of some _duty_, either towards the public or towards private persons. Amongst duties ofthis sort, we must, of course, in some ranks and circumstances of life, include the intercourse amongst friends and neighbours, which mayfrequently and reasonably call the husband from his home: but what arewe to think of the husband who is in the habit of leaving his ownfire-side, after the business of the day is over, and seekingpromiscuous companions in the ale or the coffee house? I am told that, in France, it is rare to meet with a husband who does not spend everyevening of his life in what is called a _caffé_; that is to say, a placefor no other purpose than that of gossipping, drinking and gaming. Andit is with great sorrow that I acknowledge that many English husbandsindulge too much in a similar habit. Drinking clubs, smoking clubs, singing clubs, clubs of odd-fellows, whist clubs, sotting clubs: theseare inexcusable, they are censurable, they are at once foolish andwicked, even in single men; what must they be, then, in _husbands_; andhow are they to answer, not only to their wives, but to their children, for this profligate abandonment of their homes; this breach of theirsolemn vow made to the former, this evil example to the latter?

171. Innumerable are the miseries that spring from this cause. The_expense_ is, in the first place, very considerable. I much questionwhether, amongst tradesmen, a _shilling_ a night pays the average score;and that, too, for that which is really _worth_ nothing at all, andcannot, even by possibility, be attended with any one single advantage, however small. Fifteen pounds a year thus thrown away, would amount, inthe course of a tradesman's life, to a decent fortune for a child. Thenthere is the injury to _health_ from these night adventures; there arethe _quarrels_, there is the vicious habit of loose and filthy talk;there are the slanders and the back-bitings; there is the admiration ofcontemptible wit, and there are the scoffings at all that is sober andserious. 

172. And does the husband who thus abandons his wife and childrenimagine that she will not, in some degree at least, follow his example?If he do, he is very much deceived. If she imitate him even in drinking, he has no great reason to complain; and then the cost may be _twoshillings_ the night instead of one, equal in amount to the cost of allthe bread wanted in the family, while the baker's bill is, perhaps, unpaid. Here are the slanderings, too, going on at home; for, while thehusbands are assembled, it would be hard if the wives were not to do thesame; and the very least that is to be expected is, that the _tea-pot_should keep pace with the porter-pot or grog-glass. Hence crowds offemale acquaintances and intruders, and all the consequent andinevitable squabbles which form no small part of the torment of the lifeof man. 

173. If you have _servants_, they know to a moment the time of yourabsence; and they regulate their proceedings accordingly. 'Like masterlike man, ' is an old and true proverb; and it is natural, if not just, that it should be thus; for it would be unjust if the careless andneglectful sot were served as faithfully as the vigilant, attentive andsober man. Late hours, cards and dice, are amongst the consequences ofthe master's absence; and why not, seeing that he is setting theexample? Fire, candle, profligate visitants, expences, losses, childrenruined in habits and morals, and, in short, a train of evils hardly tobe enumerated, arise from this most vicious habit of the master spendinghis leisure time from home. But beyond all the rest is the_ill-treatment of the wife_. When left to ourselves we all seek thecompany that we _like best_; the company in which we _take the mostdelight_: and therefore every husband, be his state of life what it may, who spends his leisure time, or who, at least, is in the habit of doingit, in company other than that of his wife and family, tells her andthem, as plainly by deeds as he could possibly do by words, that he_takes more delight in other company than in theirs_. Children repaythis with _disregard_ for their father; but to a wife of anysensibility, it is either a dagger to her heart or an incitement torevenge, and revenge, too, of a species which a young woman will seldombe long in want of the means to gratify. In conclusion of these remarksrespecting _absentee husbands_, I would recommend all those who areprone to, or likely to fall into, the practice, to remember the words ofMrs. SULLEN, in the BEAUX' STRATAGEM: 'My husband, ' says she, addressinga footman whom she had taken as a paramour, 'comes reeling home atmidnight, tumbles in beside me as a salmon flounces in a net, oversetsthe economy of my bed, belches the fumes of his drink in my face, thentwists himself round, leaving me half naked, and listening till morningto that tuneful nightingale, his nose. ' It is at least forty-three yearssince I read the BEAUX' STRATAGEM, and I now quote from memory; but thepassage has always occurred to me whenever I have seen a sottishhusband; and though that species of revenge, for the taking of which thelady made this apology, was carrying the thing too far, yet I am readyto confess, that if I had to sit in judgment on her for taking even thisrevenge, my sentence would be very lenient; for what right has such ahusband to expect _fidelity_? He has broken his vow; and by what rule ofright has she to be bound to hers? She thought that she was marrying _aman_; and she finds that she was married to a beast. He has, indeed, committed no offence that _the law of the land_ can reach; but he hasviolated the vow by which he obtained possession of her person; and, inthe eye of justice, the compact between them is dissolved. 

174. The way to avoid the sad consequences of which I have been speakingis _to begin well_: many a man has become a sottish husband, and broughta family to ruin, without being sottishly _inclined_, and without_liking_ the gossip of the ale or coffee house. It is by slow degreesthat the mischief is done. He is first inveigled, and, in time, hereally likes the thing; and, when arrived at that point, he isincurable. Let him resolve, from the very first, _never to spend an hourfrom home_, unless business, or, at least, some necessary and rationalpurpose demand it. Where ought he to be, but with the person whom hehimself hath chosen to be his partner for life, and the mother of hischildren? What _other company_ ought he to deem so good and so fittingas this? With whom else can he so pleasantly spend his hours of leisureand relaxation? Besides, if he quit her to seek company more agreeable, is not she set at large by that act of his? What justice is there inconfining her at home without any company at all, while he rambles forthin search of company more gay than he finds at home?

175. Let the young married man try the thing; let him resolve not to beseduced from his home; let him never go, in one single instance, unnecessarily from his own fire-side. _Habit_ is a powerful thing; andif he begin right, the pleasure that he will derive from it will inducehim to continue right. This is not being '_tied to the apron-strings_, 'which means quite another matter, as I shall show by-and-by. It is beingat the husband's place, whether he have children or not. And is thereany want of matter for conversation between a man and his wife? Why nottalk of the daily occurrences to her, as well as to any body else; andespecially to a company of tippling and noisy men? If you excuseyourself by saying that you go _to read the newspaper_, I answer, _buythe newspaper_, if you must read it: the cost is not half of what youspend per day at the pot-house; and then you have it your own, and mayread it at your leisure, and your wife can read it as well as yourself, if read it you must. And, in short, what must that man be made of, whodoes not prefer sitting by his own fire-side with his wife and children, reading to them, or hearing them read, to hearing the gabble andbalderdash of a club or a pot-house company!

176. Men must frequently be from home at all hours of the day and night. Sailors, soldiers, merchants, all men out of the common track of labour, and even some in the very lowest walks, are sometimes compelled by theiraffairs, or by circumstances, to be from their homes. But what I protestagainst is, the _habit_ of spending _leisure_ hours from home, and nearto it; and doing this without any necessity, and by _choice_: liking thenext door, or any house in the same street, better than your own. Whenabsent from _necessity_, there is no wound given to the heart of thewife; she concludes that you would be with her if you could, and thatsatisfies; she laments the absence, but submits to it withoutcomplaining. Yet, in these cases, her feelings ought to be consulted asmuch as possible; she ought to be fully apprised of the probableduration of the absence, and of the time of return; and if these bedependent on circumstances, those circumstances ought to be fullystated; for you have no right to keep her mind upon the rack, when youhave it in your power to put it in a state of ease. Few men have beenmore frequently taken from home by business, or by a necessity of somesort, than I have; and I can positively assert, that, as to my return, Inever once disappointed my wife in the whole course of our married life. If the time of return was contingent, I never failed to keep herinformed _from day to day_: if the time was fixed, or when it becamefixed, my arrival was as sure as my life. Going from London to Botley, once, with Mr. FINNERTY, whose name I can never pronounce without anexpression of my regard for his memory, we stopped at ALTON, to dinewith a friend, who, delighted with Finnerty's talk, as every body elsewas, kept us till ten or eleven o'clock, and was proceeding to _theother bottle_, when I put in my protest, saying, 'We must go, my wifewill be frightened. ' 'Blood, man, ' said Finnerty, 'you do not mean to gohome to-night!' I told him I did; and then sent my son, who was with us, to order out the post-chaise. We had twenty-three miles to go, duringwhich we debated the question, whether Mrs. COBBETT would be up toreceive us, I contending for the affirmative, and he for the negative. She was up, and had a nice fire for us to sit down at. She had notcommitted the matter to a servant: her servants and children were all inbed; and she was up, to perform the duty of receiving her husband andhis friend. 'You did not expect him?' said Finnerty. 'To be sure I did, 'said she; 'he never disappointed me in his life. '

177. Now, if all young men knew how much value women set upon thisspecies of fidelity, there would be fewer unhappy couples than thereare. If men have appointments with _lords_, they never dream of breakingthem; and I can assure them that wives are as sensitive in this respectas lords. I had seen many instances of conjugal unhappiness arising outof that carelessness which left wives in a state of uncertainty as tothe movements of their husbands; and I took care, from the very outset, to guard against it. For no man has a right to sport with the feelingsof any innocent person whatever, and particularly with those of one whohas committed her happiness to his hands. The truth is, that men ingeneral look upon women as having no feelings different from their own;and they know that they themselves would regard such disappointments asnothing. But this is a great mistake: women feel more acutely than men;their love is more ardent, more pure, more lasting, and they are morefrank and sincere in the utterance of their feelings. They ought to betreated with due consideration had for all their amiable qualities andall their weaknesses, and nothing by which their minds are affectedought to be deemed a _trifle_. 

178. When we consider what a young woman gives up on her wedding day;she makes a surrender, an absolute surrender, of her liberty, for thejoint lives of the parties; she gives the husband the absolute right ofcausing her to live in what place, and in what manner and what society, he pleases; she gives him the power to take from her, and to use, forhis own purposes, all her goods, unless reserved by some legalinstrument; and, above all, she surrenders to him _her person_. Then, when we consider the pains which they endure for us, and the large shareof all the anxious parental cares that fall to their lot; when weconsider their devotion to us, and how unshaken their affection remainsin our ailments, even though the most tedious and disgusting; when weconsider the offices that they perform, and cheerfully perform, for us, when, were we left to one another, we should perish from neglect; whenwe consider their devotion to their children, how evidently they lovethem better, in numerous instances, than their own lives; when weconsider these things, how can a just man think any thing a trifle thataffects their happiness? I was once going, in my gig, up the hill, inthe village of FRANKFORD, near Philadelphia, when a little girl, abouttwo years old, who had toddled away from a small house, was lyingbasking in the sun, in the middle of the road. About two hundred yardsbefore I got to the child, the teams, five big horses in each, of threewagons, the drivers of which had stopped to drink at a tavern on thebrow of the hill, started off, and came, nearly abreast, galloping downthe road. I got my gig off the road as speedily as I could; but expectedto see the poor child crushed to pieces. A young man, a journeymancarpenter, who was shingling a shed by the side of the road, seeing thechild, and seeing the danger, though a stranger to the parents, jumpedfrom the top of the shed, ran into the road, and snatched up the child, from scarcely an inch before the hoof of the leading horse. The horse'sleg knocked him down; but he, catching the child by its clothes, flungit back, out of the way of the other horses, and saved himself byrolling back with surprising agility. The mother of the child, who had, apparently, been washing, seeing the teams coming, and seeing thesituation of the child, rushed out, and catching up the child, just asthe carpenter had flung it back, and hugging it in her arms, uttered _ashriek_ such as I never heard before, never heard since, and, I hope, shall never hear again; and then she dropped down, as if perfectly dead!By the application of the usual means, she was restored, however, in alittle while; and I, being about to depart, asked the carpenter if hewere a married man, and whether he were a relation of the parents of thechild. He said he was neither: 'Well, then, ' said I, 'you merit thegratitude of every father and mother in the world, and I will show mine, by giving you what I have, ' pulling out the nine or ten dollars that Ihad in my pocket. 'No; I thank you, Sir, ' said he: 'I have only donewhat it was my duty to do. '

179. Bravery, disinterestedness, and maternal affection surpassingthese, it is impossible to imagine. The mother was going right inamongst the feet of these powerful and wild horses, and amongst thewheels of the wagons. She had no thought for herself; no feeling of fearfor her own life; her _shriek_ was the sound of inexpressible joy; joytoo great for her to support herself under. Perhaps ninety-nine mothersout of every hundred would have acted the same part, under similarcircumstances. There are, comparatively, very few women not replete withmaternal love; and, by-the-by, take you care, if you meet with a girlwho '_is not fond of children_, ' not to marry her _by any means_. Somefew there are who even make a boast that they 'cannot bear children, 'that is, cannot _endure_ them. I never knew a man that was good for_much_ who had a dislike to little children; and I never knew a woman ofthat taste who was good for any thing at all. I have seen a few such inthe course of my life, and I have never wished to see one of them asecond time. 

180. Being fond of little children argues no _effeminacy_ in a man, but, as far as my observation has gone, the contrary. A regiment of soldierspresents no bad school wherein to study character. Soldiers haveleisure, too, to play with children, as well as with 'women and dogs, 'for which the proverb has made them famed. And I have never observedthat effeminacy was at all the marked companion of fondness for littlechildren. This fondness manifestly arises from a compassionate feelingtowards creatures that are helpless, and that must be innocent. For myown part, how many days, how many months, all put together, have I spentwith babies in my arms! My time, when at home, and when babies weregoing on, was chiefly divided between the pen and the baby. I have fedthem and put them to sleep hundreds of times, though there were servantsto whom the task might have been transferred. Yet, I have not beeneffeminate; I have not been idle; I have not been a waster of time; butI should have been all these if I had disliked babies, and had liked theporter pot and the grog glass. 

181. It is an old saying, 'Praise the child, and you make love to themother;' and it is surprising how far this will go. To a fond mother youcan do nothing so pleasing as to praise the baby, and, the younger itis, the more she values the compliment. Say fine things to her, and takeno notice of her baby, and she will despise you. I have often beheldthis, in many women, with great admiration; and it is a thing that nohusband ought to overlook; for if the wife wish her child to be admiredby others, what must be the ardour of her wishes with regard to _his_admiration. There was a drunken dog of a Norfolk man in our regiment, who came from Thetford, I recollect, who used to say, that his wifewould forgive him for spending all the pay, and the washing money intothe bargain, 'if he would but kiss her ugly brat, and say it waspretty. ' Now, though this was a very profligate fellow, he had_philosophy_ in him; and certain it is, that there is nothing worthy ofthe name of conjugal happiness, unless the husband clearly evince thathe is fond of his children, and that, too, from their very birth. 

182. But though all the aforementioned considerations demand from us thekindest possible treatment of a wife, the husband is to expect dutifuldeportment at her hands. He is not to be her slave; he is not to yieldto her against the dictates of his own reason and judgment; it is herduty to obey all his lawful commands; and, if she have sense, she willperceive that it is a disgrace to herself to acknowledge, as a husband, a thing over which she has an absolute controul. It should always berecollected that _you_ are the party whose body must, if any do, lie injail for debt, and for debts of her contracting, too, as well as of yourown contracting. Over her _tongue_, too, you possess a clear right toexercise, if necessary, some controul; for if she use it in anunjustifiable manner, it is against _you_, and not against her, that thelaw enables, and justly enables, the slandered party to proceed; whichwould be monstrously unjust, if the law were not founded on the _right_which the husband has to control, if necessary, the tongue of the wife, to compel her to keep it within the limits prescribed by the law. Acharming, a most enchanting, life, indeed, would be that of a husband, if he were bound to cohabit with and to maintain one for all the debtsand all the slanders of whom he was answerable, and over whose conducthe possessed no compulsory controul. 

183. Of the _remedies_ in the case of _really bad_ wives, squanderers, drunkards, adultresses, I shall speak further on; it being the habit ofus all to put off to the last possible moment the performance ofdisagreeable duties. But, far short of these vices, there are severalfaults in a wife that may, if not cured in time, lead to greatunhappiness, great injury to the interests as well as character of herhusband and children; and which faults it is, therefore, the husband'sduty to correct. A wife may be chaste, sober in the full sense of theword, industrious, cleanly, frugal, and may be devoted to her husbandand her children to a degree so enchanting as to make them all love herbeyond the power of words to express. And yet she may, partly under theinfluence of her natural disposition, and partly encouraged by the greatand constant homage paid to her virtues, and presuming, too, on the painwith which she knows her will would be thwarted; she may, with all hervirtues, be thus led to _a bold interference in the affairs of herhusband_; may attempt to dictate to him in matters quite out of her ownsphere; and, in the pursuit of the gratification of her love of powerand command, may wholly overlook the acts of folly or injustice whichshe would induce her husband to commit, and overlook, too, thecontemptible thing that she is making the man whom it is her duty tohonour and obey, and the abasement of whom cannot take place withoutsome portion of degradation falling upon herself. At the time when 'THEBOOK' came out, relative to the late ill-treated QUEEN CAROLINE, I wastalking upon the subject, one day, with _a parson_, who had not read theBook, but who, as was the fashion with all those who were looking up tothe government, condemned the Queen unheard. 'Now, ' said I, 'be not soshamefully unjust; but _get the book_, _read_ it, _and then_ give yourjudgment. '--'Indeed, ' said his wife, who was sitting by, 'but HESHA'N'T, ' pronouncing the words _sha'n't_ with an emphasis and a voicetremendously masculine. 'Oh!' said I, 'if he SHA'N'T, that is anothermatter; but, if he sha'n't read, if he sha'n't hear the evidence, hesha'n't be looked upon, by me, as a just judge; and I sha'n't regardhim, in future, as having any opinion of his own in any thing. ' Allwhich the husband, the poor henpecked thing, heard without a wordescaping his lips. 

184. A husband thus under command, is the most contemptible of God'screatures. Nobody can place reliance on him for any thing; whether inthe capacity of employer or employed, you are never sure of him. Nobargain is firm, no engagement sacred, with such a man. Feeble as a reedbefore the boisterous she-commander, he is bold in injustice towardsthose whom it pleases her caprice to mark out for vengeance. In the eyesof neighbours, for _friends_ such a man cannot have, in the eyes ofservants, in the eyes of even the beggars at his door, such a man is amean and despicable creature, though he may roll in wealth and possessgreat talents into the bargain. Such a man has, in fact, no property; hehas nothing that he can rightly call _his own_; he is a beggarlydependent under his own roof; and if he have any thing of the man leftin him, and if there be rope or river near, the sooner he betakes him tothe one or the other the better. How many men, how many families, have Iknown brought to utter ruin only by the husband suffering himself to besubdued, to be cowed down, to be held in fear, of even a virtuous wife!What, then, must be the lot of him who submits to a commander who, atthe same time, sets all virtue at defiance!

185. Women are a _sisterhood_. They make _common cause_ in behalf of the_sex_; and, indeed, this is natural enough, when we consider the vastpower that the _law_ gives us over them. The law is for us, and theycombine, wherever they can, to mitigate its effects. This is perfectlynatural, and, to a certain extent, laudable, evincing fellow-feeling andpublic spirit: but when carried to the length of '_he sha'n't_, ' it isdespotism on the one side and slavery on the other. Watch, therefore, the incipient steps of encroachment; and they come on so slowly, sosoftly, that you must be sharp-sighted if you perceive them; but themoment you _do perceive them_: your love will blind for too long a time;but the moment you do perceive them, put at once an effectual stop totheir progress. Never mind the pain that it may give you: a day of painat this time will spare you years of pain in time to come. Many a manhas been miserable, and made his wife miserable too, for a score or twoof years, only for want of resolution to bear one day of pain: and it isa great deal to bear; it is a great deal to do to thwart the desire ofone whom you so dearly love, and whose virtues daily render her more andmore dear to you. But (and this is one of the most admirable of themother's traits) as she herself will, while the tears stream from hereyes, force the nauseous medicine down the throat of her child, whoseevery cry is a dagger to her heart; as she herself has the courage to dothis for the sake of her child, why should you flinch from theperformance of a still more important and more sacred duty towardsherself, as well as towards you and your children?

186. Am I recommending _tyranny_? Am I recommending _disregard_ of thewife's opinions and wishes? Am I recommending a _reserve_ towards herthat would seem to say that she was not trust-worthy, or not a partyinterested in her husband's affairs? By no means: on the contrary, though I would keep any thing disagreeable from her, I should not enjoythe prospect of good without making her a participator. But reason says, and God has said, that it is the duty of wives to be obedient to theirhusbands; and the very nature of things prescribes that there must be _ahead_ of every house, and an _undivided_ authority. And then it is soclearly _just_ that the authority should rest with him on whose headrests the whole responsibility, that a woman, when patiently reasonedwith on the subject, must be a virago in her very nature not to submitwith docility to the terms of her marriage vow. 

187. There are, in almost every considerable neighbourhood, a littlesquadron of she-commanders, generally the youngish wives of old orweak-minded men, and generally without children. These are thetutoresses of the young wives of the vicinage; they, in virtue of theirexperience, not only school the wives, but scold the husbands; theyteach the former how to encroach and the latter how to yield: so that ifyou suffer this to go quietly on, you are soon under the care of a_comité_ as completely as if you were insane. You want no _comité_:reason, law, religion, the marriage vow; all these have made you head, have given you full power to rule your family, and if you give up yourright, you deserve the contempt that assuredly awaits you, and also theruin that is, in all probability, your doom. 

188. Taking it for granted that you will not suffer more than a secondor third session of the female _comité_, let me say a word or two aboutthe conduct of men in deciding between the conflicting opinions ofhusbands and wives. When a wife has _a point to carry_, and findsherself hard pushed, or when she thinks it necessary to call to her aidall the force she can possibly muster, one of her resources is, the voteon her side of all her husband's visiting friends. 'My husband thinks soand so, and I think so and so; now, Mr. Tomkins, don't you think _I amright_?' To be sure he does; and so does Mr. Jenkins, and so doesWilkins, and so does Mr. Dickins, and you would swear that they were allher _kins_. Now this is very foolish, to say the least of it. None ofthese complaisant _kins_ would like this in their own case. It is thefashion to say _aye_ to all that a woman asserts, or contends for, especially in contradiction to her husband; and a very perniciousfashion it is. It is, in fact, not to pay her a compliment worthy ofacceptance, but to treat her as an empty and conceited fool; and nosensible woman will, except from mere inadvertence, make the appeal. This fashion, however, foolish and contemptible as it is in itself, isattended, very frequently, with serious consequences. Backed by theopinions of her husband's friends, the wife returns to the charge withredoubled vigour and obstinacy; and if you do not yield, ten to one buta _quarrel_ is the result; or, at least, something approaching towardsit. A gentleman at whose house I was, about five years ago, was about totake a farm for his eldest son, who was a very fine young man, abouteighteen years old. The mother, who was as virtuous and as sensible awoman as I have ever known, wished him to be 'in the law. ' There weresix or eight intimate friends present, and all unhesitatingly joined thelady, thinking it a pity that HARRY, who had had 'such a goodeducation, ' should be _buried_ in a farm-house. 'And don't _you_ thinkso too, Mr. Cobbett, ' said the lady, with great earnestness. 'Indeed, Ma'am, ' said I, 'I should think it very great presumption in me to offerany opinion at all, and especially in opposition to the known decisionof the father, who is the best judge, and the only rightful judge, insuch a case. ' This was a very sensible and well-behaved woman, and Istill respect her very highly; but I could perceive that I instantlydropped out of her good graces. Harry, however, I was glad to hear, went'to be _buried_ in the farm-house. '

189. 'A house divided against itself, ' or, rather, _in_ itself, 'cannotstand;' and it _is_ divided against itself if there be a _dividedauthority_. The wife ought to be _heard_, and _patiently_ heard; sheought to be reasoned with, and, if possible, convinced; but if, afterall endeavours in this way, she remain opposed to the husband's opinion, his will _must_ be obeyed; or he, at once, becomes nothing; she is, infact, the _master_, and he is nothing but an insignificant inmate. As tomatters of little comparative moment; as to what shall be for dinner; asto how the house shall be furnished; as to the management of the houseand of menial servants; as to these matters, and many others, the wifemay have her way without any danger; but when the questions are, what isto be the _calling_ to be pursued; what is to be the _place ofresidence_; what is to be the _style_ of living and _scale_ of expence;what is to be done with _property_; what the manner and place ofeducating children; what is to be their _calling_ or state of life; whoare to be employed or entrusted by the husband; what are the principlesthat he is to adopt as to public matters; whom he is to have forcoadjutors or friends; all these must be left solely to the husband; inall these he must have his will; or there never can be any harmony inthe family. 

190. Nevertheless, in some of these concerns, wives should be heard witha great deal of attention, especially in the affairs of choosing yourmale acquaintances and friends and associates. Women are morequick-sighted than men; they are less disposed to confide in personsupon a first acquaintance; they are more suspicious as to motives; theyare less liable to be deceived by professions and protestations; theywatch words with a more scrutinizing ear, and looks with a keener eye;and, making due allowance for their prejudices in particular cases, their opinions and remonstrances, with regard to matters of this sort, ought not to be set at naught without great deliberation. LOUVET, one ofthe Brissotins, who fled for their lives in the time of ROBESPIERRE;this LOUVET, in his narrative, entitled '_Mes Perils_' and which I read, for the first time, to divert my mind from the perils of theyellow-fever, in Philadelphia, but with which I was so captivated as tohave read it many times since; this writer, giving an account of hiswonderful dangers and escapes, relates, that being on his way to Parisfrom the vicinity of Bordeaux, and having no regular _passport_, felllame, but finally crept on to a miserable pot-house, in a small town inthe Limosin. The landlord questioned him with regard to who and what hewas and whence he came and was satisfied with his answers. But thelandlady, who had looked sharply at him on his arrival, whispered alittle boy, who ran away, and quickly returned with the mayor of thetown. LOUVET soon discovered that there was no danger in the mayor, whocould not decipher his forged passport, and who, being well plied withwine, wanted to hear no more of the matter. The landlady, perceivingthis, slipped out and brought a couple of aldermen, who asked _to seethe passport_. 'O, yes; but _drink first_. ' Then there was a laughingstory to tell over again, at the request of the half-drunken mayor; thena laughing and more drinking; the passport in LOUVET'S hand, but _neveropened_, and, while another toast was drinking, the passport slid backquietly into the pocket; the woman looking furious all the while. Atlast, the mayor, the aldermen, and the landlord, all nearly drunk, shookhands with LOUVET, and wished him a good journey, swore he was a _truesans culotte_; but, he says, that the 'sharp-sighted woman, who was tobe deceived by none of his stories or professions, saw him get off withdeep and manifest disappointment and chagrin. ' I have thought of thismany times since, when I have had occasion to witness thequick-sightedness and penetration of women. The same quality that makesthem, as they notoriously are, more quick in discovering expedients incases of difficulty, makes them more apt to penetrate into motives andcharacter. 

191. I now come to a matter of the greatest possible importance; namely, that great troubler of the married state, that great bane of families, JEALOUSY; and I shall first speak of _jealousy_ in the _wife_. This isalways an unfortunate thing, and sometimes fatal. Yet, if there be agreat propensity towards it, it is very difficult to be prevented. Onething, however, every husband can do in the way of prevention; and thatis, _to give no ground for it_. And here, it is not sufficient that hestrictly adhere to his marriage vow; he ought further to abstain fromevery art, however free from guilt, calculated to awaken the slightestdegree of suspicion in a mind, the peace of which he is bound by everytie of justice and humanity not to disturb, or, if he can avoid it, tosuffer it to be disturbed by others. A woman that is very fond of herhusband, and this is the case with nine-tenths of English and Americanwomen, does not like to share with another any, even the smallestportion, not only of his affection, but of his assiduities and applause;and, as the bestowing of them on another, and receiving payment in kind, can serve no purpose other than of gratifying one's _vanity_, they oughtto be abstained from, and especially if the gratification be to bepurchased with even the chance of exciting uneasiness in her, whom it isyour sacred duty to make as happy as you can. 

192. For about two or three years after I was married, I, retaining someof my military manners, used, both in France and America, to _romp_ mostfamously with the girls that came in my way; till one day, atPhiladelphia, my wife said to me, in a very gentle manner, 'Don't dothat: _I do not like it_. ' That was quite enough: I had never _thought_on the subject before: one hair of her head was more dear to me than allthe other women in the world, and this I knew that she knew; but I nowsaw that this was not all that she had a right to from me; I saw, thatshe had the further claim upon me that I should abstain from every thingthat might induce others to believe that there was any other woman forwhom, even if I were at liberty, I had any affection. I beseech youngmarried men to bear this in mind; for, on some trifle of this sort, thehappiness or misery of a long life frequently turns. If the mind of awife be disturbed on this score, every possible means ought to be usedto restore it to peace; and though her suspicions be perfectlygroundless; though they be wild as the dreams of madmen; though they maypresent a mixture of the furious and the ridiculous, still they are tobe treated with the greatest lenity and tenderness; and if, after all, you fail, the frailty is to be lamented as a misfortune, and notpunished as a fault, seeing that it _must_ have its foundation in afeeling towards you, which it would be the basest of ingratitude, andthe most ferocious of cruelty, to repay by harshness of any description. 

193. As to those husbands who make the _unjust_ suspicions of theirwives a _justification_ for making those suspicions just; as to such ascan make a sport of such suspicions, rather brag of them than otherwise, and endeavour to aggravate rather than assuage them; as to such I havenothing to say, they being far without the scope of any advice that Ican offer. But to such as are not of this description, I have a remarkor two to offer with respect to measures of _prevention_. 

194. And, first, I never could see the _sense_ of its being a piece ofetiquette, a sort of mark of _good breeding_, to make it a rule that manand wife are not to sit side by side in a mixed company; that if a partywalk out, the wife is to give her arm to some other than her husband;that if there be any other hand near, _his_ is not to help to a seat orinto a carriage. I never could see the _sense_ of this; but I havealways seen the _nonsense_ of it plainly enough; it is, in short, amongst many other foolish and mischievous things that we do in apingthe manners of those whose riches (frequently ill-gotten) and whosepower embolden them to set, with impunity, pernicious examples; and totheir examples this nation owes more of its degradation in morals thanto any other source. The truth is, that this is a piece _of falserefinement_: it, being interpreted, means, that so free are the partiesfrom a liability to suspicion, so innately virtuous and pure are they, that each man can safely trust his wife with another man, and each womanher husband with another woman. But this piece of false refinement, likeall others, overshoots its mark; it says too much; for it says that theparties have _lewd thoughts in their minds_. This is not the _fact_, with regard to people in general; but it must have been the origin ofthis set of consummately ridiculous and contemptible rules. 

195. Now I would advise a young man, especially if he have a prettywife, not to commit her unnecessarily to the care of any other man; notto be separated from her in this studious and ceremonious manner; andnot to be ashamed to prefer her company and conversation to that of anyother woman. I never could discover any _good-breeding_ in settinganother man, almost expressly, to poke his nose up in the face of mywife, and talk nonsense to her; for, in such cases, nonsense itgenerally is. It is not a thing of much consequence, to be sure; butwhen the wife is young, especially, it is not seemly, at any rate, andit cannot possibly lead to any good, though it may not lead to any greatevil. And, on the other hand, you may be quite sure that, whatever shemay _seem_ to think of the matter, she will not like _you_ the betterfor your attentions of this sort to other women, especially if they beyoung and handsome: and as this species of fashionable nonsense can doyou no good, why gratify your love of talk, or the vanity of any woman, at even the risk of exciting uneasiness in that mind of which it is yourmost sacred duty to preserve, if you can, the uninterruptedtranquillity. 

196. The truth is, that the greatest security of all against jealousy ina wife is to show, to _prove_, by your _acts_, by your words also, butmore especially by your _acts_, that you prefer her to all the world;and, as I said before, I know of no act that is, in this respect, equalto spending in her company every moment of your _leisure_ time. Everybody knows, and young wives better than any body else, that people, whocan choose, will be where _they like best to be_, and that they will bealong with those _whose company they best like_. The matter is veryplain, then, and I do beseech you to bear it in mind. Nor do I see theuse, or sense, of keeping a great deal of _company_, as it is called. What company can a young man and woman want more than their two selves, and their children, if they have any? If here be not company enough, itis but a sad affair. The pernicious _cards_ are brought forth by thecompany-keeping, the rival expenses, the sittings up late at night, theseeing of '_the ladies home_, ' and a thousand squabbles and disagreeableconsequences. But, the great thing of all is, that this hankering aftercompany, proves, clearly proves, that _you want something beyond thesociety of your wife_; and that she is sure to feel most acutely: thebare fact contains an imputation against her, and it is pretty sure tolay the foundation of jealousy, or of something still worse. 

197. If acts of kindness in you are necessary in all cases, they areespecially so in cases of her _illness_, from whatever cause arising. Iwill not suppose myself to be addressing any husband capable of being_unconcerned_ while his wife's life is in the most distant danger fromillness, though it has been my very great mortification to know in mylife time, two or three brutes of this description; but, far short ofthis degree of brutality, a great deal of fault may be committed. Whenmen are ill, they feel every neglect with double anguish, and, what thenmust be in such cases the feelings of women, whose ordinary feelings areso much more acute than those of men; what must be their feelings incase of neglect in illness, and especially if the neglect come _from thehusband_! Your own heart will, I hope, tell you what those feelings mustbe, and will spare me the vain attempt to describe them; and, if it dothus instruct you, you will want no arguments from me to induce you, atsuch a season, to prove the sincerity of your affection by every kindword and kind act that your mind can suggest. This is the time to tryyou; and, be you assured, that the impression left on her mind now willbe the true and _lasting_ impression; and, if it be good, will be abetter preservative against her being jealous, than ten thousand of yourprofessions ten thousand times repeated. In such a case, you ought tospare no expense that you can possibly afford; you ought to neglectnothing that your means will enable you to do; for, what is the use ofmoney if it be not to be expended in this case? But, more than all therest, is your own _personal_ attention. This is the valuable thing; thisis the great balm to the sufferer, and, it is efficacious in proportionas it is proved to be sincere. Leave nothing to other hands that you cando yourself; the mind has a great deal to do in all the ailments of thebody, and, bear in mind, that, whatever be the event, you have a morethan ample reward. I cannot press this point too strongly upon you; thebed of sickness presents no charms, no allurements, and women know thiswell; they watch, in such a case, your every word and every look: andnow it is that their confidence is secured, or their suspicions excited, for life. 

198. In conclusion of these remarks, as to jealousy in a wife, I cannothelp expressing my abhorrence of those husbands who treat it as a matterfor ridicule. To be sure, infidelity in a man is less heinous thaninfidelity in the wife; but still, is the marriage vow nothing? Is apromise solemnly made before God, and in the face of the world, nothing?Is a violation of a contract, and that, too, with a feebler party, nothing of which a man ought to be ashamed? But, besides all these, there is the _cruelty_. First, you win, by great pains, perhaps, awoman's affections; then, in order to get possession of her person, youmarry her; then, after enjoyment, you break your vow, you bring upon herthe mixed pity and jeers of the world, and thus you leave her to weepout her life. Murder is more horrible than this, to be sure, and thecriminal _law_, which punishes divers other crimes, does not reach this;but, in the eye of reason and of moral justice, it is surpassed by veryfew of those crimes. _Passion_ may be pleaded, and so it may, for almostevery other crime of which man can be guilty. It is not a crime _againstnature_; nor are any of these which men commit in consequence of theirnecessities. _The temptation is great_; and is not the temptation greatwhen men thieve or rob? In short, there is no excuse for an act sounjust and so cruel, and the world is just as to this matter; for, Ihave always observed, that, however men are disposed to _laugh_ at thesebreaches of vows in men, the act seldom fails to produce injury to thewhole character; it leaves, after all the joking, a stain, and, amongstthose who depend on character for a livelihood, it often produces ruin. At the very least, it makes an unhappy and wrangling family; it makeschildren despise or hate their fathers, and it affords an example at thethought of the ultimate consequences of which a father ought to shudder. In such a case, children will take part, and they ought to take part, with the mother: she is the injured party; the shame brought upon herattaches, in part, to them: they feel the injustice done them; and, ifsuch a man, when the grey hairs, and tottering knees, and piping voicecome, look round him in vain for a prop, let him, at last, be just, andacknowledge that he has now the due reward of his own wanton cruelty toone whom he had solemnly sworn to love and to cherish to the last hourof his or her life. 

199. But, bad as is conjugal infidelity in the _husband_, it is muchworse in the _wife_: a proposition that it is necessary to maintain bythe force of reason, because _the women_, as a sisterhood, are prone todeny the truth of it. They say that _adultery_ is _adultery_, in men aswell as in them; and that, therefore, the offence is _as great_ in theone case as in the other. As a crime, abstractedly considered, itcertainly is; but, as to the _consequences_, there is a wide difference. In both cases, there is the breach of a solemn vow, but, there is thisgreat distinction, that the husband, by his breach of that vow, onlybrings _shame_ upon his wife and family; whereas the wife, by a breachof her vow, may bring the husband a spurious offspring to maintain, andmay bring that spurious offspring to rob of their fortunes, and in somecases of their bread, her legitimate children. So that here is a greatand evident wrong done to numerous parties, besides the deeper disgraceinflicted in this case than in the other. 

200. And why is the disgrace _deeper_? Because here is a total want of_delicacy_; here is, in fact, _prostitution_; here is grossness andfilthiness of mind; here is every thing that argues baseness ofcharacter. Women should be, and they are, except in few instances, farmore reserved and more delicate than men; nature bids them be such; thehabits and manners of the world confirm this precept of nature; andtherefore, when they commit this offence, they excite loathing, as wellas call for reprobation. In the countries where a _plurality of wives_is permitted, there is no _plurality of husbands_. It is there thoughtnot at all indelicate for a man to have several wives; but the barethought of a woman having _two husbands_ would excite horror. The_widows_ of the Hindoos burn themselves in the pile that consumes theirhusbands; but the Hindoo _widowers_ do not dispose of themselves in thisway. The widows devote their bodies to complete destruction, lest, evenafter the death of their husbands, they should be tempted to connectthemselves with other men; and though this is carrying delicacy farindeed, it reads to Christian wives a lesson not unworthy of theirattention; for, though it is not desirable that their bodies should beturned into handfuls of ashes, even that transmutation were preferableto that infidelity which fixes the brand of shame on the cheeks of theirparents, their children, and on those of all who ever called themfriend. 

201. For these plain and forcible reasons it is that this species ofoffence is far more heinous in the wife than in the husband; and thepeople of all civilized countries act upon this settled distinction. Menwho have been guilty of the offence are not cut off from society, butwomen who have been guilty of it are; for, as we all know well, nowoman, married or single, of _fair reputation_, will risk thatreputation by being ever seen, if she can avoid it, with a woman who hasever, at any time, committed this offence, which contains in itself, andby universal award, a sentence of social excommunication for life. 

202. If, therefore, it be the duty of the husband to adhere strictly tohis marriage vow: if his breach of that vow be naturally attended withthe fatal consequences above described: how much more imperative is theduty on the wife to avoid, even the semblance of a deviation from thatvow! If the man's misconduct, in this respect, bring shame on so manyinnocent parties, what shame, what dishonour, what misery follow suchmisconduct in the wife! Her parents, those of her husband, all herrelations, and all her friends, share in her dishonour. And _herchildren_! how is she to make atonement to them! They are commanded tohonour their father and their mother; but not such a mother as this, who, on the contrary, has no claim to any thing from them but hatred, abhorrence, and execration. It is she who has broken the ties of nature;she has dishonoured her own offspring; she has fixed a mark of reproachon those who once made a part of her own body; nature shuts her out ofthe pale of its influence, and condemns her to the just detestation ofthose whom it formerly bade love her as their own life. 

203. But as the crime is so much more heinous, and the punishment somuch more severe, in the case of the wife than it is in the case of thehusband, so the caution ought to be greater in making the accusation, orentertaining the suspicion. Men ought to be very slow in entertainingsuch suspicions: they ought to have clear _proof_ before they can_suspect_; a proneness to such suspicions is a very unfortunate turn ofthe mind; and, indeed, few characters are more despicable than that of a_jealous-headed husband_; rather than be tied to the whims of one ofwhom, an innocent woman of spirit would earn her bread over thewashing-tub, or with a hay-fork, or a reap-hook. With such a man therecan be no peace; and, as far as children are concerned, the falseaccusation is nearly equal to the reality. When a wife discovers herjealousy, she merely imputes to her husband inconstancy and breach ofhis marriage vow; but jealousy in him imputes to her a willingness topalm a spurious offspring upon him, and upon her legitimate children, asrobbers of their birthright; and, besides this, grossness, filthiness, and prostitution. She imputes to him injustice and cruelty: but heimputes to her that which banishes her from society; that which cuts heroff for life from every thing connected with female purity; that whichbrands her with infamy to her latest breath. 

204. Very slow, therefore, ought a husband to be in entertaining eventhe thought of this crime in his wife. He ought to be _quite sure_before he take the smallest step in the way of accusation; but ifunhappily he have the proof, no consideration on earth ought to inducehim to cohabit with her one moment longer. Jealous husbands are notdespicable because they have _grounds_; but because they _have notgrounds_; and this is generally the case. When they have grounds, theirown honour commands them to cast off the object, as they would cut out acorn or a cancer. It is not the jealousy in itself, which is despicable;but the _continuing to live in that state_. It is no dishonour to be aslave in Algiers, for instance; the dishonour begins only where youremain a slave _voluntarily_; it begins the moment you can escape fromslavery, and do not. It is despicable unjustly to be jealous of yourwife; but it is infamy to cohabit with her if you _know_ her to beguilty. 

205. I shall be told that the _law_ compels you to live with her, unlessyou be _rich_ enough to disengage yourself from her; but the law doesnot compel you to remain _in the same country with her_; and, if a manhave no other means of ridding himself of such a curse, what aremountains or seas or traverse? And what is the risk (if such there be)of exchanging a life of bodily ease for a life of labour? What arethese, and numerous other ills (if they happen) superadded? Nay, what isdeath itself, compared with the baseness, the infamy, the never-ceasingshame and reproach of living under the same roof with a prostitutedwoman, and calling her your _wife_? But, there are _children_, and whatare to become of these? To be taken away from the prostitute, to besure; and this is a duty which you owe to them: the sooner they forgether the better, and the farther they are from her, the sooner that willbe. There is no excuse for continuing to live with an adultress; noinconvenience, no loss, no suffering, ought to deter a man fromdelivering himself from such a state of filthy infamy; and to suffer hischildren to remain in such a state, is a crime that hardly admits ofadequate description; a jail is paradise compared with such a life, andhe who can endure this latter, from the fear of encountering hardship, is a wretch too despicable to go by the name of man. 

206. But, now, all this supposes, that the husband has _well and trulyacted his part_! It supposes, not only that he has been faithful; but, that he has not, in any way, been the cause of temptation to the wife tobe unfaithful. If he have been cold and neglectful; if he have led alife of irregularity; if he have proved to her that _home_ was not hisdelight; if he have made his house the place of resort for loosecompanions; if he have given rise to a taste for visiting, junketting, parties of pleasure and gaiety; if he have introduced the habit ofindulging in what are called '_innocent freedoms_;' if these, or any ofthese, _the fault is his_, he must take the consequences, and he has _noright_ to inflict punishment on the offender, the offence being in factof his own creating. The laws of God, as well as the laws of man, havegiven him all power in this respect: it is for him to use that power forthe honour of his wife as well as for that of himself: if he neglect touse it, all the consequences ought to fall on him; and, as far as myobservation has gone, in nineteen out of twenty cases of infidelity inwives, the crimes have been _fairly ascribable to the husbands_. Follyor misconduct in the husband, cannot, indeed, justify or even palliateinfidelity in the wife, whose very nature ought to make her recoil atthe thought of the offence; but it may, at the same time, deprive him ofthe right of inflicting punishment on her: her kindred, her children, and the world, will justly hold her in abhorrence; but the husband musthold his peace. 

207. '_Innocent freedoms!_' I know of none that a wife can indulge in. The words, as applied to the demeanour of a married woman, or even asingle one, imply a contradiction. For _freedom_, thus used, means anexemption or departure from the _strict rules of female reserve_; and, Ido not see how this can be _innocent_. It may not amount to _crime_, indeed; but, still it is not _innocent_; and the use of the phrase isdangerous. If it had been my fortune to be yoked to a person, who liked'innocent freedoms, ' I should have unyoked myself in a very short time. But, to say the truth, it is all a man's own fault. If he have not senseand influence enough to prevent 'innocent freedoms, ' even _before_marriage, he will do well to let the thing alone, and leave wives to bemanaged by those who have. But, men will talk to your wife, and natterher. To be sure they will, if she be young and pretty; and would you goand pull her away from them? O no, by no means; but you must have verylittle sense, or must have made very little use of it, if her manner donot soon convince them that they employ their flattery in vain. 

208. So much of a man's happiness and of his _efficiency_ through lifedepends upon his mind being quite free from all anxieties of this sort, that too much care cannot be taken to guard against them; and, I repeat, that the great preservation of all is, the young couple living as muchas possible _at home_, and having as few visitors as possible. If theydo not prefer the company of each other to that of all the worldbesides; if either of them be weary of the company of the other; if theydo not, when separated by business or any other cause, think withpleasure of the time of meeting again, it is a bad omen. Pursue thiscourse when young, and the very thought of jealousy will never come intoyour mind; and, if you do pursue it, and show by your _deeds_ that youvalue your wife as you do your own life, you must be pretty nearly anidiot, if she do not think you to be the wisest man in the world. The_best_ man she will be sure to think you, and she will never forgive anyone that calls your talents or your wisdom in question. 

209. Now, will you say that, if to be happy, nay, if to avoid misery andruin in the married state, requires all these precautions, all thesecares, to fail to any extent in any of which is to bring down on a man'shead such fearful consequences; will you say that, if this be the case, _it is better to remain single_? If you should say this, it is mybusiness to show that you are in error. For, in the first place, it isagainst nature to suppose that children can cease to be born; they mustand will come; and then it follows, that they must come by promiscuousintercourse, or by particular connexion. The former nobody will contendfor, seeing that it would put us, in this respect, on a level with thebrute creation. Then, as the connexion is to be _particular_, it must be_during pleasure_, or for the _joint lives of the parties_. The formerwould seldom hold for any length of time: the tie would seldom bedurable, and it would be feeble on account of its uncertain duration. Therefore, to be a _father_, with all the lasting and delightful tiesattached to the name, you must first be a husband; and there are veryfew men in the world who do not, first or last, desire to be _fathers_. If it be said, that marriage ought not to be for life, but that itsduration ought to be subject to the will, the _mutual will_ at least, ofthe parties; the answer is, that it would seldom be of long duration. Every trifling dispute would lead to a separation; a hasty word would beenough. Knowing that the engagement is for life, prevents disputes too;it checks anger in its beginnings. Put a rigging horse into a field witha weak fence, and with captivating pasture on the other side, and he iscontinually trying to get out; but, let the field be walled round, hemakes the best of his hard fare, and divides his time between grazingand sleeping. Besides, there could be no _families_, no assemblages ofpersons worthy of that name; all would be confusion and indescribableintermixture: the names of _brother_ and _sister_ would hardly have ameaning; and, therefore, there must be marriage, or there can be nothingworthy of the name of family or of father. 

210. The _cares_ and _troubles_ of the married life are many; but, arethose of the single life few? Take the _farmer_, and it is nearly thesame with the tradesman; but, take the farmer, for instance, and lethim, at the age of twenty-five, go into business unmarried. See his maidservants, probably rivals for his smiles, but certainly rivals in thecharitable distribution of his victuals and drink amongst those of theirown rank: behold _their_ guardianship of his pork-tub, his bacon rack, his butter, cheese, milk, poultry, eggs, and all the rest of it: look at_their_ care of all his household stuff, his blankets, sheets, pillow-cases, towels, knives and forks, and particularly of his_crockery ware_, of which last they will hardly exceed a singlecart-load of broken bits in the year. And, how nicely they will get upand take care of his linen and other wearing apparel, and always have itready for him without his thinking about it! If absent at market, orespecially at a distant fair, how scrupulously they will keep all theircronies out of his house, and what special care they will take of his_cellar_, more particularly that which holds the strong beer! And hisgroceries and his spirits and his _wine_ (for a bachelor can _afford_it), how safe these will all be! Bachelors have not, indeed, any morethan married men, a security for _health_; but if our young farmer besick, there are his couple of maids to take care of him, to administerhis medicine, and to perform for him all other nameless offices, whichin such a case are required; and what is more, take care of every thingdown stairs at the same time, especially his desk with the money in it!Never will they, good-humoured girls as they are, scold him for cominghome too late; but, on the contrary, like him the better for it; and ifhe have drunk a little too much, so much the better, for then he willsleep late in the morning, and when he comes out at last, he will findthat his men have been _so hard_ at work, and that all his animals havebeen taken such good care of!

211. Nonsense! a bare glance at the thing shows, that a farmer, aboveall men living, can never carry on his affairs with profit without awife, or a mother, or a daughter, or some such person; and _mother_ and_daughter_ imply matrimony. To be sure, a wife would cause some_trouble_, perhaps, to this young man. There might be the midwife andnurse to gallop after at midnight; there might be, and there ought tobe, if called for, a little complaining of late hours; but, good God!what are these, and all the other _troubles_ that could attend a marriedlife; what are they, compared to the one single circumstance of the wantof a wife at your bedside during one single night of illness! A nurse!what is a nurse to do for you? Will she do the things that a wife willdo? Will she watch your looks and your half-uttered wishes? Will she usethe urgent persuasions so often necessary to save life in such cases?Will she, by her acts, convince you that it is not a toil, but adelight, to break her rest for your sake? In short, now it is that youfind that what the women themselves say is strictly true, namely, thatwithout wives, _men are poor helpless mortals_. 

212. As to the _expense_, there is no comparison between that of a womanservant and a wife, in the house of a farmer or a tradesman. The wagesof the former is not the expense; it is the want of a _common interest_with you, and this you can obtain in no one but a wife. But there are_the children_. I, for my part, firmly believe that a farmer, married attwenty-five, and having ten children during the first ten years, wouldbe able to save more money during these years, than a bachelor, of thesame age, would be able to save, on the same farm, in a like space oftime, he keeping only one maid servant. One single fit of illness, oftwo months' duration, might sweep away more than all the children wouldcost in the whole ten years, to say nothing of the continual waste andpillage, and the idleness, going on from the first day of the ten yearsto the last. 

213. Besides, is the money _all_? What a life to lead!! No one to talkto without going from home, or without getting some one to come to you;no friend to sit and talk to: pleasant evenings to pass! Nobody to sharewith you your sorrows or your pleasures: no soul having a commoninterest with you: all around you taking care of themselves, and no careof you: no one to cheer you in moments of depression: to say all in aword, no one to _love_ you, and no prospect of ever seeing any such oneto the end of your days. For, as to parents and brethren, if you havethem, they have other and very different ties; and, however laudableyour feelings as son and brother, those feelings are of a differentcharacter. Then as to gratifications, from which you will hardly abstainaltogether, are they generally of little expense? and are they attendedwith no trouble, no vexation, no disappointment, no _jealousy_ even, andare they never followed by shame or remorse?

214. It does very well in bantering songs, to say that the bachelor'slife is '_devoid of care_. ' My observation tells me the contrary, andreason concurs, in this regard, with experience. The bachelor has no oneon whom he can in all cases rely. When he quits his home, he carrieswith him cares that are unknown to the married man. If, indeed, like thecommon soldier, he have merely a lodging-place, and a bundle of clothes, given in charge to some one, he may be at his ease; but if he possessany thing of a home, he is never sure of its safety; and thisuncertainty is a great enemy to cheerfulness. And as to _efficiency_ inlife, how is the bachelor to equal the married man? In the case offarmers and tradesmen, the latter have so clearly the advantage over theformer, that one need hardly insist upon the point; but it is, and mustbe, the same in all the situations of life. To provide for a wife andchildren is the greatest of all possible spurs to exertion. Many a man, naturally prone to idleness, has become active and industrious when hesaw children growing up about him; many a dull sluggard has become, ifnot a bright man, at least a bustling man, when roused to exertion byhis love. Dryden's account of the change wrought in CYMON, is only astrong case of the kind. And, indeed, if a man will not exert himselffor the sake of a wife and children, he can have no exertion in him; orhe must be deaf to all the dictates of nature. 

215. Perhaps the world never exhibited a more striking proof of thetruth of this doctrine than that which is exhibited in me; and I am surethat every one will say, without any hesitation, that a fourth part ofthe labours I have performed, never would have been performed, _if I hadnot been a married man_. In the first place, they could not; for Ishould, all the early part of my life, have been rambling and rovingabout as most bachelors are. I should have had _no home_ that I cared astraw about, and should have wasted the far greater part of my time. Thegreat affair of home being _settled_, having the home secured, I hadleisure to employ my mind on things which it delighted in. I got rid atonce of all cares, all _anxieties_, and had only to provide for the verymoderate wants of that home. But the children began to come. Theysharpened my industry: they spurred me on. To be sure, I had other andstrong motives: I wrote for fame, and was urged forward byill-treatment, and by the desire to triumph over my enemies; but, afterall, a very large part of my _nearly a hundred volumes_ may be fairlyascribed to the wife and children. 

216. I might have done _something_; but, perhaps, not a _thousandth_part of what I have done; not even a thousandth part: for the chancesare, that I, being fond of a military life, should have ended my daysten or twenty years ago, in consequence of wounds, or fatigue, or, morelikely, in consequence of the persecutions of some haughty and insolentfool, whom nature had formed to black my shoes, and whom a system ofcorruption had made my commander. _Love_ came and rescued me from thisstate of horrible slavery; placed the whole of my time at my owndisposal; made me as free as air; removed every restraint upon theoperations of my mind, naturally disposed to communicate its thoughts toothers; and gave me, for my leisure hours, a companion, who, thoughdeprived of all opportunity of acquiring what is _called learning_, hadso much good sense, so much useful knowledge, was so innocent, so justin all her ways, so pure in thought, word and deed, so disinterested, sogenerous, so devoted to me and her children, so free from all disguise, and, withal, so beautiful and so talkative, and in a voice so sweet, socheering, that I must, seeing the health and the capacity which it hadpleased God to give me, have been a _criminal_, if I had done much lessthan that which I have done; and I have always said, that, if my countryfeel any gratitude for my labours, that gratitude is due to her full asmuch as to me. 

217. _'Care'!_ What _care_ have I known! I have been buffeted about bythis powerful and vindictive Government; I have repeatedly had the fruitof my labour snatched away from me by it; but I had a partner that neverfrowned, that was never melancholy, that never was subdued in spirit, that never abated a smile, on these occasions, that fortified me, andsustained me by her courageous example, and that was just as busy and aszealous in taking care of the remnant as she had been in taking care ofthe whole; just as cheerful, and just as full of caresses, when broughtdown to a mean hired lodging, as when the mistress of a fine countryhouse, with all its accompaniments; and, whether from her words or herlooks, no one could gather that she regretted the change. What '_cares_'have I had, then? What have I had worthy of the name of '_cares_'?

218. And, how is it _now_? How is it when the _sixty-fourth year_ hascome? And how should I have been without this wife and these children? I_might_ have amassed a tolerable heap of _money_; but what would thathave done for me? It might have _bought_ me plenty of _professions_ ofattachment; plenty of persons impatient for my exit from the world; butnot one single grain of sorrow, for any anguish that might have attendedmy approaching end. To me, no being in this world appears so wretched asan _Old Bachelor_. Those circumstances, those changes in his person andin his mind, which, in the husband, increase rather than diminish theattentions to him, produce all the want of feeling attendant on disgust;and he beholds, in the conduct of the mercenary crew that generallysurround him, little besides an eager desire to profit from that event, the approach of which, nature makes a subject of sorrow with him. 

219. Before I quit this part of my work, I cannot refrain from offeringmy opinion with regard to what is due from husband to wife, when the_disposal of his property_ comes to be thought of. When marriage is anaffair settled by deeds, contracts, and lawyers, the husband, beingbound beforehand, has really no _will_ to make. But where he has _awill_ to make, and a faithful wife to leave behind him, it is his firstduty to provide for her future well-being, to the utmost of his power. If she brought him _no money_, she brought him _her person_; and bydelivering that up to him, she established a claim to his carefulprotection of her to the end of her life. Some men think, or act as ifthey thought, that, if a wife bring no money, and if the husband gainmoney by his business or profession, that money is _his_, and not hers, because she has not been doing any of those things for which the moneyhas been received. But is this way of thinking _just_? By the marriagevow, the husband endows the wife _with all his worldly goods_; and not abit too much is this, when she is giving him the command and possessionof her person. But does she _not help to acquire the money_? Speaking, for instance, of the farmer or the merchant, the wife does not, indeed, go to plough, or to look after the ploughing and sowing; she does notpurchase or sell the stock; she does not go to the fair or the market;but she enables him to do all these without injury to his affairs athome; she is the guardian of his property; she preserves what wouldotherwise be lost to him. The barn and the granary, though they _create_nothing, have, in the bringing of food to our mouths, as much merit asthe fields themselves. The wife does not, indeed, assist in themerchant's counting-house; she does not go upon the exchange; she doesnot even know what he is doing; but she keeps his house in order; sherears up his children; she provides a scene of suitable resort for hisfriends; she insures him a constant retreat from the fatigues of hisaffairs; she makes his home pleasant, and she is the guardian of hisincome. 

220. In both these cases, the wife _helps to gain the money_; and incases where there is no gain, where the income is by descent, or isfixed, she helps to prevent it from being squandered away. It is, therefore, as much _hers_ as it is the husband's; and though _the law_gives him, in many cases, the power of keeping her share from her, nojust man will ever avail himself of that power. With regard to the_tying up_ of widows from marrying again, I will relate what took placein a case of this kind, in America. A merchant, who had, during hismarried state, risen from poverty to very great riches, and who had, nevertheless, died at about forty years of age, left the whole of hisproperty to his wife for her life, and at her disposal at her death, _provided that she did not marry_. The consequence was, that she took ahusband _without marrying_, and, at her death (she having no children), gave the whole of the property to the second husband! So much for_posthumous jealousy_!

221. Where there are _children_, indeed, it is the duty of the husbandto provide, in certain cases, against _step-fathers_, who are very pronenot to be the most just and affectionate parents. It is an unhappycircumstance, when a dying father is compelled to have fears of thissort. There is seldom _an apology_ to be offered for a mother that willhazard the happiness of her children by a second marriage. The _law_allows it, to be sure; but there is, as Prior says, 'something beyondthe letter of the law. ' I know what ticklish ground I am treading onhere; but, though it is _as lawful_ for a woman to take a second husbandas for a man to take a second wife, the cases are different, and widelydifferent, in the eye of morality and of reason; for, as adultery in thewife is a greater offence than adultery in the husband; as it is moregross, as it includes _prostitution_; so a second marriage in the womanis more gross than in the man, argues great deficiency in that_delicacy_, that _innate_ modesty, which, after all, is the _greatcharm_, the charm of charms, in the female sex. I do not _like_ to heara man _talk_ of his _first wife_, especially in the presence of asecond; but to hear a woman thus _talk_ of her _first husband_, hasnever, however beautiful and good she might be, failed to sink her in myestimation. I have, in such cases, never been able to keep out of mymind that _concatenation of ideas_, which, in spite of custom, in spiteof the frequency of the occurrence, leave an impression deeplydisadvantageous to the party; for, after the greatest of ingenuity hasexhausted itself in the way of apology, it comes to this at last, thatthe person has _a second time_ undergone that surrender, to whichnothing but the most ardent affection, could ever reconcile a chaste anddelicate woman. 

222. The usual apologies, that 'a _lone woman_ wants a _protector_; thatshe cannot _manage her estate_; that she cannot _carry on her business_;that she wants a _home for her children_'; all these apologies are notworth a straw; for what is the amount of them? Why, that she _surrendersher person_ to secure these ends! And if we admit the validity of suchapologies, are we far from apologising for the kept-mistress, and eventhe prostitute? Nay, the former of these _may_ (if she confine herselfto _one man_) plead more boldly in her defence; and even the latter mayplead that hunger, which knows no law, and no decorum, and no delicacy. These unhappy, but justly-reprobated and despised parties, are allowedno apology at all: though reduced to the begging of their bread, theworld grants them no excuse. The sentence on them is: 'You shall sufferevery hardship; you shall submit to hunger and nakedness; you shallperish by the way-side, rather than you shall _surrender your person_ tothe _dishonour of the female sex_. ' But can we, without cryinginjustice, pass this sentence upon them, and, at the same time hold itto be proper, decorous, and delicate, that widows shall _surrender theirpersons_ for _worldly gain_, for the sake of _ease_, or for anyconsideration whatsoever?

223. It is disagreeable to contemplate the possibility of cases of_separation_; but amongst the evils of life, such have occurred, andwill occur; and the injured parties, while they are sure to meet withthe pity of all just persons, must console themselves that they have notmerited their fate. In the making one's choice, no human foresight orprudence can, in all cases, guard against an unhappy result. There isone species of husbands to be occasionally met with in all countries, meriting particular reprobation, and causing us to lament, that there isno law to punish offenders so enormous. There was a man in Pennsylvania, apparently a very amiable young man, having a good estate of his own, and marrying a most beautiful woman of his own age, of rich parents, andof virtue perfectly spotless. He very soon took to both _gaming_ and_drinking_ (the last being the most fashionable vice of the country); heneglected his affairs and his family; in about four years spent hisestate, and became a dependent on his wife's father, together with hiswife and three children. Even this would have been of littleconsequence, as far as related to expense; but he led the mostscandalous life, and was incessant in his demands of money for thepurposes of that infamous life. All sorts of means were resorted to toreclaim him, and all in vain; and the wretch, availing himself of thepleading of his wife's affection, and of his _power over the children_more especially, continued for ten or twelve years to plunder theparents, and to disgrace those whom it was his bounden duty to assist inmaking happy. At last, going out in the dark, in a boat, and beingpartly drunk, he went to the bottom of the Delaware, and became food forotters or fishes, to the great joy of all who knew him, excepting onlyhis amiable wife. I can form an idea of no baseness equal to this. Thereis more of _baseness_ in this character than in that of the robber. Theman who obtains the means of indulging in vice, by robbery, exposeshimself to the inflictions of the law; but though he merits punishment, he merits it less than the base miscreant who obtains his means by his_threats to disgrace his own wife, children_, and _the wife's parents_. The short way in such a case, is the best; set the wretch at _defiance_;resort to the strong arm of the law wherever it will avail you; drivehim from your house like a mad dog; for, be assured, that a being sobase and cruel is never to be reclaimed: all your efforts at persuasionare useless; his promises and vows are made but to be broken; all yourendeavours to keep the thing from the knowledge of the world, onlyprolong his plundering of you; and many a tender father and mother havebeen ruined by such endeavours; the whole story _must come out at last_, and it is better to come out before you be ruined, than after your ruinis completed. 

224. However, let me hope, that those who read this work will always besecure against evils like these; let me hope, that the young men whoread it will abstain from those vices which lead to such fatal results;that they will, before they utter the marriage vow, duly reflect on thegreat duties that that vow imposes on them; that they will repel, fromthe outset, every temptation to any thing tending to give pain to thedefenceless persons whose love for them have placed them at their mercy;and that they will imprint on their own minds this truth, that a _badhusband_ was never yet _a happy man_. 

LETTER V

TO A FATHER

225. 'Little children, ' says the Scripture, 'are like arrows in thehands of the giant, and blessed is the man that hath his quiver full ofthem'; a beautiful figure to describe, in forcible terms, the support, the power, which a father derives from being surrounded by a family. Andwhat father, thus blessed, is there who does not feel, in this sort ofsupport, a _reliance_ which he feels in no other? In regard to this sortof support there is no uncertainty, no doubts, no misgivings; it is_yourself_ that you see in your children: their bosoms are the saferepository of even the whispers of your mind: they are the great andunspeakable delight of your youth, the pride of your prime of life, andthe props of your old age. They proceed from that love, the pleasures ofwhich no tongue or pen can adequately describe, and the variousblessings which they bring are equally incapable of description. 

226. But, to make them blessings, you must act your part well; for theymay, by your neglect, your ill-treatment, your evil example, be made tobe the _contrary of blessings_; instead of pleasure, they may bring youpain; instead of making your heart glad, the sight of them may make itsorrowful; instead of being the staff of your old age, they may bringyour gray hairs in grief to the grave. 

227. It is, therefore, of the greatest importance, that you here actwell your part, omitting nothing, even from the very beginning, tendingto give you great and unceasing influence over their minds; and, aboveall things, to ensure, if possible, _an ardent love of their mother_. Your first duty towards them is resolutely to prevent their drawing themeans of life _from any breast but hers_. That is their _own_; it istheir _birthright_; and if that fail from any natural cause, the placeof it ought to be supplied by those means which are frequently resortedto without employing a _hireling breast_. I am aware of the too frequentpractice of the contrary; I am well aware of the offence which I shallhere give to many; but it is for me to do my duty, and to set, withregard to myself, consequences at defiance. 

228. In the first place, no food is so congenial to the child as themilk of its own mother; its quality is made by nature to suit the age ofthe child; it comes with the child, and is calculated precisely for itsstomach. And, then, what sort of a mother must that be who can endurethe thought of seeing her child at another breast! The suckling may beattended with great pain, and it is so attended in many cases; but thispain is a necessary consequence of pleasures foregone; and, besides, ithas its accompanying pleasures too. No mother ever suffered more than mywife did from suckling her children. How many times have I seen her, when the child was beginning to draw, bite her lips while the tears randown her cheeks! Yet, having endured this, the smiles came and dried upthe tears; and the little thing that had caused the pain receivedabundant kisses as its punishment. 

229. Why, now, did I not love her _the more_ for this? Did not this tendto rivet her to my heart? She was enduring this _for me_; and would notthis endearing thought have been wanting, if I had seen the baby at abreast that I had hired and _paid for_; if I had had _two women_, one tobear the child and another to give it milk? Of all the sights that thisworld affords, the most delightful in my eyes, even to an unconcernedspectator, is, a mother with her clean and fat baby lugging at herbreast, leaving off now-and-then and smiling, and she, occasionally, half smothering it with kisses. What must that sight be, then, to the_father_ of the child?

230. Besides, are we to overlook the great and wonderful effect thatthis has on the minds of children? As they succeed each other, they seewith their own eyes, the pain, the care, the caresses, which theirmother has endured for, or bestowed, on them; and nature bids them loveher accordingly. To love her ardently becomes part of their very nature;and when the time comes that her advice to them is necessary as a guidefor their conduct, this deep and early impression has all its naturalweight, which must be wholly wanting if the child be banished to ahireling breast, and only brought at times into the presence of themother, who is, in fact, no mother, or, at least, but half a one. Thechildren who are thus banished, love (as is natural and just) thefoster-mother better than the real mother as long as they are at thebreast. When this ceases, they are _taught_ to love their own mothermost; but this _teaching_ is of a cold and formal kind. They may, andgenerally do, in a short time, care little about the foster-mother; the_teaching_ weans all their affection from her, but it does not_transfer_ it to the other. 

231. I had the pleasure to know, in Hampshire, a lady who had brought upa family of ten children _by hand_, as they call it. Owing to somedefect, she could not suckle her children; but she wisely and heroicallyresolved, that her children should hang upon no _other breast_, and thatshe would not participate in the crime of robbing another child of itsbirthright, and, as is mostly the case, of _its life_. Who has not seenthese banished children, when brought and put into the arms of theirmothers, screaming to get from them, and stretch out their little handsto get back into the arms of the nurse, and when safely got there, hugging the hireling as if her bosom were a place of _refuge_? Why, sucha sight is, one would think, enough to strike a mother dead. And whatsort of a husband and father, I want to know, must that be, who canendure the thought of his child loving another woman more than its ownmother and his wife?

232. And besides all these considerations, is there no crime in robbingthe child of the nurse, and in exposing it to perish? It will not do tosay that the child of the nurse may be dead, and thereby leave herbreast for the use of some other. Such cases must happen too seldom tobe at all relied on; and, indeed, every one must see, that, generallyspeaking, there must be a child _cast off_ for every one that is put toa hireling breast. Now, without supposing it possible, that the hirelingwill, in any case, contrive to _get rid_ of her own child, every man whoemploys such hireling, must know, that he is exposing such child todestruction; that he is assisting to rob it of the means of life; and, of course, assisting to procure its death, as completely as a man can, in any case, assist in causing death by starvation; a considerationwhich will make every just man in the world recoil at the thought ofemploying a hireling breast. For he is not to think of pacifying hisconscience by saying, that _he_ knows nothing about the hireling'schild. He does know; for he must know, that she _has_ a child, and thathe is a principal in robbing it of the means of life. He does not castit off and leave it to perish himself, but he causes the thing to bedone; and to all intents and purposes, he is a principal in the crueland cowardly crime. 

233. And if an argument could possibly be yet wanting to the husband; ifhis feelings were so stiff as still to remain unmoved, must not the wifebe aware that whatever _face_ the world may put upon it, however custommay seem to bear her out; must she not be aware that every one must seethe main _motive_ which induces her to banish from her arms that whichhas formed part of her own body? All the pretences about her sorebreasts and her want of strength are vain: nature says that she is toendure the pains as well as the pleasures: whoever has heard thebleating of the ewe for her lamb, and has seen her _reconciled_, or atleast pacified, by having presented to her the skin or some of the bloodof her _dead_ lamb: whoever has witnessed the difficulty of inducingeither ewe or cow to give her milk to an alien young one: whoever hasseen the valour of the timid hen in defending her brood, and hasobserved that she never swallows a morsel that is fit for her young, until they be amply satisfied: whoever has seen the wild birds, though, at other times, shunning even the distant approach of man, flying andscreaming round his head, and exposing themselves to almost certaindeath in defence of their nests: whoever has seen these things, or anyone of them, must question the _motive_ that can induce a mother tobanish a child from her own breast to that of one who has already beenso unnatural as to banish hers. And, in seeking for a motive_sufficiently powerful_ to lead to such an act, women must excuse men, if they be not satisfied with the ordinary pretences; they must excuse_me_, at any rate, if I do not stop even at love of ease and want ofmaternal affection, and if I express my fear, that, superadded to theunjustifiable motives, there is one which is calculated to excitedisgust; namely, a desire to be quickly freed from that restraint whichthe child imposes, and to _hasten back_, unbridled and undisfigured, tothose enjoyments, to have an eagerness for which, or to wish to excite adesire for which, a really delicate woman will shudder at the thought ofbeing suspected. 

234. I am well aware of the hostility that I have here been exciting;but there is another, and still more furious, bull to take by the horns, and which would have been encountered some pages back (that being theproper place), had I not hesitated between my duty and my desire toavoid giving offence; I mean the employing of _male-operators_, on thoseoccasions where females used to be employed. And here I have _everything_ against me; the now general custom, even amongst the most chasteand delicate women; the ridicule continually cast on old midwives; theinterest of a profession, for the members of which I entertain morerespect and regard than for those of any other; and, above all the rest, _my own example to the contrary_, and my knowledge that every husbandhas the same apology that I had. But because I acted wrong myself, it isnot less, but rather more, my duty to endeavour to dissuade others fromdoing the same. My wife had suffered very severely with her secondchild, which, at last, was still-born. The next time I pleaded for _thedoctor_; and, after every argument that I could think of, obtained areluctant consent. Her _life_ was so dear to me, that every thing elseappeared as nothing. Every husband has the same apology to make; andthus, from the good, and not from the bad, feelings of men, the practicehas become far too general, for me to hope even to narrow it; but, nevertheless, I cannot refrain from giving my opinion on the subject. 

235. We are apt to talk in a very unceremonious style of our _rude_ancestors, of their _gross_ habits, their _want of delicacy_ in theirlanguage. No man shall ever make me believe, that those, who reared thecathedral of ELY (which I saw the other day), were _rude_, either intheir manners or in their minds and words. No man shall make me believe, that our ancestors were a rude and beggarly race, when I read in an actof parliament, passed in the reign of Edward the Fourth, regulating thedresses of the different ranks of the people, and forbidding theLABOURERS to wear coats of cloth that cost _more_ than _two shillings ayard_ (equal to _forty shillings_ of our present money), and forbiddingtheir wives and daughters to wear sashes, or girdles, _trimmed with goldor silver_. No man shall make me believe that this was a _rude_ andbeggarly race, compared with those who now shirk and shiver about incanvass frocks and rotten cottons. Nor shall any man persuade me thatthat was a _rude_ and beggarly state of things, in which (reign ofEdward the Third) an act was passed regulating the wages of labour, andordering that a woman, for _weeding in the corn_, should receive a pennya day, while a _quart of red wine_ was sold for _a penny_, and a pair ofmen's shoes for _two-pence_. No man shall make me believe that_agriculture_ was in a _rude_ state, when an act like this was passed, or that our ancestors of that day were _rude_ in their minds, or intheir thoughts. Indeed, there are a thousand proofs, that, whether inregard to domestic or foreign affairs, whether in regard to internalfreedom and happiness, or to weight in the world, England was at herzenith about the reign of Edward the Third. The _Reformation_, as it iscalled, gave her a complete pull down. She revived again in the reignsof the Stuarts, as far as related to internal affairs; but the'_Glorious Revolution_' and its debt and its taxes, have, amidst thefalse glare of new palaces, roads, and canals, brought her down untilshe is become the land of domestic misery and of foreign impotence andcontempt; and, until she, amidst all her boasted improvements andrefinements, tremblingly awaits her fall. 

236. However, to return from this digression, _rude_ and _unrefined_ asour mothers might be, plain and unvarnished as they might be in theirlanguage, accustomed as they might be to call things by their names, though they were not so _very delicate_ as to use the word_small-clothes_; and to be quite unable, in speaking of horn-cattle, horses, sheep, the canine race, and poultry, to designate them by theirsexual appellations; though they might not absolutely faint at hearingthese appellations used by others; _rude_ and _unrefined_ and_indelicate_ as they might be, they did not suffer, in the cases alludedto, the approaches of _men_, which approaches are unceremoniouslysuffered, and even sought, by their polished and refined and delicatedaughters; and of unmarried men too, in many cases; and of very youngmen. 

237. From all antiquity this office was allotted to _woman_. Moses'slife was saved by the humanity of the Egyptian _midwife_; and to theemployment of females in this memorable case, the world is probablyindebted for that which has been left it by that greatest of alllaw-givers, whose institutes, _rude_ as they were, have been thefoundation of all the wisest and most just laws in all the countries ofEurope and America. It was the _fellow feeling_ of the midwife for thepoor mother that saved Moses. And none but a _mother_ can, in suchcases, feel to the full and effectual extent that which the operatorought to feel. She has been in the same state _herself_; she knows moreabout the matter, except in cases of very rare occurrence, than any_man_, however great his learning and experience, can ever know. Sheknows all the previous symptoms; she can judge more correctly than mancan judge in such a case; she can put questions to the party, which aman cannot put; the communication between the two is wholly withoutreserve; the _person_ of the one is given up to the other, as completelyas her own is under her command. This never can be the case with aman-operator; for, after all that can be said or done, the nativefeeling of women, in whatever rank of life, will, in these cases, restrain them from saying and doing, before a man, even before a_husband_, many things which they ought to say and do. So that, perhaps, even with regard to the bare question of comparative safety to life, themidwife is the preferable person. 

238. But safety to life is not ALL. The preservation of life is not tobe preferred to EVERY THING. Ought not a man to prefer death to thecommission of treason against his country? Ought not a man to die, rather than save his life by the prostitution of his wife to a tyrant, who insists upon the one or the other? Every man and every woman willanswer in the affirmative to both these questions. There are, then, cases where people ought to submit to _certain death_. Surely, then, themere _chance_, the mere _possibility_ of it, ought not to outweigh themighty considerations on the other side; ought not to overcome thatinborn modesty, that sacred reserve as to their _persons_, which, as Isaid before, is the charm of charms of the female sex, and which ourmothers, _rude_ as they are called by us, took, we may be satisfied, thebest and most effectual means of preserving. 

239. But is there, after all, any thing _real_ in this _greatersecurity_ for the life of either mother or child? If, then, risk were sogreat as to call upon women to overcome this natural repugnance tosuffer the approaches of a man, that risk must be _general_; it mustapply to _all_ women; and, further, it must, ever since the creation ofman, _always_ have so applied. Now, resorting to the employment of_men_-operators has not been in vogue in Europe more than about seventyyears, and has not been _general_ in England more than about thirty orforty years. So that the _risk_ in employing midwives must, of lateyears, have become vastly greater than it was even when I was a boy, or the whole race must have been extinguished long ago. And, then, howpuzzled we should be to account for the building of all the cathedrals, and all the churches, and the draining of all the marshes, and all thefens, more than a thousand years before the word '_accoucheur_' evercame from the lips of woman, and before the thought came into her mind?And here, even in the use of this _word_, we have a specimen of the_refined delicacy_ of the present age; here we have, varnish the matterover how we may, modesty in the _word_ and grossness in the _thought_. Farmers' wives, daughters, and maids, cannot now allude to, or hearnamed, without _blushing_, those affairs of the homestead, which they, within my memory, used to talk about as freely as of milking orspinning; but, have they become more _really modest_ than their motherswere? Has this _refinement_ made them more _continent_ than those _rude_mothers? A jury at Westminster gave, about six years ago, _damages_ to aman, calling himself a gentleman, against a farmer, because the latter, for the purpose for which such animals are kept, had a _bull_ in hisyard, on which the windows of the gentleman looked! The plaintiffalleged, that this was _so offensive_ to his _wife_ and _daughters_, that, if the defendant were not compelled to desist, he should beobliged to _brick up his windows, or to quit the house_! If I had beenthe father of these, at once, _delicate_ and _curious_ daughters, Iwould not have been the herald of their purity of mind; and if I hadbeen the suitor of one of them, I would have taken care to give up thesuit with all convenient speed; for how could I reasonably have hopedever to be able to prevail on delicacy, _so exquisite_, to commit itselfto a pair of bridal sheets? In spite, however, of all this '_refinement_in the human mind, ' which is everlastingly dinned in our ears; in spiteof the '_small-clothes_, ' and of all the other affected stuff, we havethis conclusion, this indubitable _proof_, of the falling off in _real_delicacy; namely, that common prostitutes, formerly unknown, now swarmin our towns, and are seldom wanting even in our villages; and wherethere was _one_ illegitimate child (including those coming before thetime) only fifty years ago, there are now _twenty_. 

240. And who can say how far the employment of _men_, in the casesalluded to, may have _assisted_ in producing this change, so disgracefulto the present age, and so injurious to the female sex? The prostitutionand the swarms of illegitimate children have a natural and inevitabletendency to lessen that respect, and that kind and indulgent feeling, which is due from all men to virtuous women. It is well known that theunworthy members of any profession, calling, or rank in life, cause, bytheir acts, the whole body to sink in the general esteem; it is wellknown, that the habitual dishonesty of merchants trading abroad, thehabitual profligate behaviour of travellers from home, the frequentproofs of abject submission to tyrants; it is well known, that these maygive the character of dishonesty, profligacy, or cowardice, to a wholenation. There are, doubtless, many men in Switzerland, who abhor theinfamous practices of men _selling themselves_, by whole regiments, tofight for any foreign state that will pay them, no matter in what cause, and no matter whether against their own parents or brethren; but thecensure falls upon the _whole nation_: and '_no money, no Swiss_, ' is aproverb throughout the world. It is, amidst those scenes of prostitutionand bastardy, impossible for men in general to respect the female sex tothe degree that they formerly did; while numbers will be apt to adoptthe unjust sentiment of the old bachelor, POPE, that '_every woman is, at heart, a rake_. '

241. Who knows, I say, in what degree the employment of _men_-operatorsmay have tended to produce this change, so injurious to the female sex?Aye, and to encourage unfeeling and brutal men to propose that the deadbodies of females, if _poor_, should be _sold_ for the purpose ofexhibition and dissection before an audience of men; a proposition thatour '_rude_ ancestors' would have answered, not by words, but by blows!Alas! our women may talk of 'small-clothes' as long as they please; theymay blush to scarlet at hearing animals designated by their sexualappellations; it may, to give the world a proof of our excessive modestyand delicacy, even pass a law (indeed we have done it) to punish 'an_exposure of the person_'; but as long as our streets swarm withprostitutes, our asylums and private houses with bastards; as long as wehave _man_-operators in the delicate cases alluded to, and as long asthe exhibiting of the dead body of a virtuous female before an audienceof men shall not be punished by the law, and even with death; as long aswe shall appear to be satisfied in this state of things, it becomes us, at any rate, to be silent about purity of mind, improvement of manners, and an increase of refinement and _delicacy_. 

242. This practice has brought the '_doctor_' into _every family_ in thekingdom, which is of itself no small evil. I am not thinking of the_expense_; for, in cases like these, nothing in that way ought to bespared. If necessary to the safety of his wife, a man ought not only topart with his last shilling, but to pledge his future labour. But we allknow that there are _imaginary ailments_, many of which are absolutelycreated by the habit of talking with or about the '_doctor_. ' Read the'DOMESTIC MEDICINE, ' and by the time that you have done, you willimagine that you have, at times, all the diseases of which it treats. This practice has added to, has doubled, aye, has augmented, I verilybelieve, ten-fold the number of the gentlemen who are, in commonparlance, called '_doctors_'; at which, indeed, I, on my own privateaccount, ought to rejoice; for, _invariably_ I have, even in the worstof times, found them every where amongst my staunchest and kindestfriends. But though these gentlemen are not to blame for this, any morethan attorneys are for their increase in number; and amongst thesegentlemen, too, I have, with very few exceptions, always found sensiblemen and zealous friends; though the parties pursuing these professionsare not to blame; though the increase of attorneys has arisen from theendless number and the complexity of the laws, and from the ten-fold massof crimes caused by poverty arising from oppressive taxation; and thoughthe increase of 'doctors' has arisen from the diseases and the imaginaryailments arising from that effeminate luxury which has been created bythe drawing of wealth from the many, and giving it to the few; and, asthe lower classes will always endeavour to imitate the higher, so the'_accoucheur_' has, along with the '_small-clothes_, ' descended from theloan-monger's palace down to the hovel of the pauper, there to take hisfee out of the poor-rates; though these parties are not to blame, thething is not less an evil. Both professions have lost in character, inproportion to the increase in the number of its members; peaches, ifthey grew on hedges, would rank but little above the berries of thebramble. 

243. But to return once more to the matter of _risk_ of life; can it bethat _nature_ has so ordered it, that, as a _general thing_, the life ofeither mother or child shall be in _danger_, even if there were noattendant at all? _Can this be?_ Certainly it cannot: _safety_ must bethe rule, and _danger_ the exception; this _must_ be the case, or theworld never could have been peopled; and, perhaps, in ninety-nine casesout of every hundred, if nature were left _wholly to herself_, all wouldbe right. The great doctor in these cases, is, comforting, consoling, cheering up. And who can perform this office like _women_? who have forthese occasions a language and sentiments which seem to have beeninvented for the purpose; and be they what they may as to generaldemeanour and character, they have all, upon these occasions, one commonfeeling, and that so amiable, so excellent, as to admit of no adequatedescription. They completely forget, for the time, all rivalships, allsquabbles, all animosities, all _hatred_ even; every one feels as if itwere her own particular concern. 

244. These, we may be well assured, are the proper attendants on theseoccasions; the mother, the aunt, the sister, the cousin, and femaleneighbour; these are the suitable attendants, having some experiencedwoman to afford extraordinary aid, if such be necessary; and in the fewcases where the preservation of life demands the surgeon's skill, he isalways at hand. The contrary practice, which we got from the French, isnot, however, _so general_ in France as in England. We have outstrippedall the world in this, as we have in every thing which proceeds fromluxury and effeminacy on the one hand, and from poverty on the other;the millions have been stripped of their means to heap wealth on thethousands, and have been corrupted in manners, as well as in morals, byvicious examples set them by the possessors of that wealth. As reasonsays that the practice of which I complain cannot be cured without atotal change in society, it would be presumption in me to expect suchcure from any efforts of mine. I therefore must content myself withhoping that such change will come, and with declaring, that if I had tolive my life over again, I would act upon the opinions which I havethought it my bounden duty here to state and endeavour to maintain. 

245. Having gotten over these thorny places as quickly as possible, Igladly come back to the BABIES; with regard to whom I shall have noprejudices, no affectation, no false pride, no sham fears to encounter;every heart (except there be one made of flint) being with me here. 'Then were there brought unto him _little children_, that he should puthis hands on them, and pray: and the disciples rebuked them. But Jesussaid, Suffer little children, and forbid them not to come unto me; forof such is the kingdom of heaven. ' A figure most forcibly expressive ofthe character and beauty of innocence, and, at the same time, most aptlyillustrative of the doctrine of regeneration. And where is the man; the_woman_ who is not fond of babies is not worthy the name; but where isthe _man_ who does not feel his heart softened; who does not feelhimself become gentler; who does not lose all the hardness of histemper; when, in any way, for any purpose, or by any body, an appeal ismade to him in behalf of these so helpless and so perfectly innocentlittle creatures?

246. SHAKSPEARE, who is cried up as the great interpreter of the humanheart, has said, that the man in whose soul there is no _music_, or loveof music, is 'fit for murders, treasons, stratagems, and spoils. ' 'Our_immortal_ bard, ' as the profligate SHERIDAN used to call him in public, while he laughed at him in private; our '_immortal_ bard' seems to haveforgotten that Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, were flung into thefiery furnace (made seven times hotter than usual) amidst the sound ofthe cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, and dulcimer, and all kinds of music;he seems to have forgotten that it was a music and a dance-loving damselthat chose, as a recompense for her elegant performance, the bloody headof John the Baptist, brought to her in a charger; he seems to haveforgotten that, while Rome burned, Nero fiddled: he did not know, perhaps, that cannibals always dance and sing while their victims areroasting; but he might have known, and he must have known, thatEngland's greatest tyrant, Henry VIII. , had, as his agent in blood, Thomas Cromwell, expressed it, 'his _sweet soul_ enwrapped in the_celestial_ sounds of music;' and this was just at the time when theferocious tyrant was ordering Catholics and Protestants to be tied backto back on the same hurdle, dragged to Smithfield on that hurdle, andthere tied to, and burnt from, the same stake. Shakspeare must haveknown these things, for he lived immediately after their date; and if hehad lived in our day, he would have seen instances enough of 'sweetsouls' enwrapped in the same manner, and capable, if not of deedsequally bloody, of others, discovering a total want of feeling forsufferings not unfrequently occasioned by their own wanton waste, andwaste arising, too, in part, from their taste for these 'celestialsounds. '

247. O no! the heart of man is not to be known by this test: a _great_fondness for music is a mark of great weakness, great vacuity of mind:not of hardness of heart; not of vice; not of downright folly; but of awant of capacity, or inclination, for sober thought. This is not alwaysthe case: accidental circumstances almost force the taste upon people:but, generally speaking, it is a preference of sound to sense. But theman, and especially the _father_, who is not fond of _babies_; who doesnot feel his heart softened when he touches their almost boneless limbs;when he sees their little eyes first begin to discern; when he hearstheir tender accents; the man whose heart does not beat truly to thistest, is, to say the best of him, an object of compassion. 

248. But the mother's feelings are here to be thought of too; for, ofall gratifications, the very greatest that a mother can receive, isnotice taken of, and praise bestowed on, her baby. The moment _that_gets into her arms, every thing else diminishes in value, the fatheronly excepted. _Her own personal charms_, notwithstanding all that mensay and have written on the subject, become, at most, a secondary objectas soon as the baby arrives. A saying of the old, profligate King ofPrussia is frequently quoted in proof of the truth of the maxim, that awoman will forgive any thing but _calling her ugly_; a very true maxim, perhaps, as applied to prostitutes, whether in high or low life; but apretty long life of observation has told me, that a _mother_, worthy ofthe name, will care little about what you say of _her_ person, so thatyou will but extol the beauty of her baby. Her baby is always the veryprettiest that ever was born! It is always an eighth wonder of theworld! And thus it ought to be, or there would be a want of thatwondrous attachment to it which is necessary to bear her up through allthose cares and pains and toils inseparable from the preservation of itslife and health. 

249. It is, however, of the part which the _husband_ has to act, inparticipating in these cares and toils, that I am now to speak. Let noman imagine that the world will despise him for helping to take care ofhis own child: thoughtless fools may attempt to ridicule; the unfeelingfew may join in the attempt; but all, whose good opinion is worthhaving, will applaud his conduct, and will, in many cases, be disposedto repose confidence in him on that very account. To say of a man, thathe is fond of his family, is, of itself, to say that, in private life atleast, he is a good and trust-worthy man; aye, and in public life too, pretty much; for it is no easy matter to separate the two characters;and it is naturally concluded, that he who has been flagrantly wantingin feeling for his own flesh and blood, will not be very sensitivetowards the rest of mankind. There is nothing more amiable, nothing moredelightful to behold, than a _young_ man especially taking part in thework of nursing the children; and how often have I admired this in thelabouring men in Hampshire! It is, indeed, _generally_ the same all overEngland; and as to America, it would be deemed brutal for a man not totake his full share of these cares and labours. 

250. The man who is to gain a living by his labour, must be drawn awayfrom home, or, at least, from the cradle-side, in order to perform thatlabour; but this will not, if he be made of good stuff, prevent him fromdoing his share of the duty due to his children. There are still manyhours in the twenty-four, that he will have to spare for this duty; andthere ought to be no toils, no watchings, no breaking of rest, imposedby this duty, of which he ought not to perform his full share, and that, too, without grudging. This is strictly due from him in payment for thepleasures of the marriage state. What _right_ has he to the solepossession of a _woman's_ person; what right to a _husband's_ vastauthority; what right to the honourable title and the boundless power of_father_: what _right_ has he to all, or any of these, unless he canfound his claim on the faithful performance of all the duties whichthese titles imply?

251. One great source of the unhappiness amongst mankind arises, however, from a neglect of these duties; but, as if by way ofcompensation for their privations, they are much more duly performed bythe poor than by the rich. The fashion of the labouring people is this:the husband, when free from his toil in the fields, takes his share inthe nursing, which he manifestly looks upon as a sort of reward for hislabour. However distant from his cottage, his heart is always at thathome towards which he is carried, at night, by limbs that feel not theirweariness, being urged on by a heart anticipating the welcome of thosewho attend him there. Those who have, as I so many hundreds of timeshave, seen the labourers in the woodland parts of Hampshire and Sussex, coming, at night-fall, towards their cottage-wickets, laden with fuelfor a day or two; whoever has seen three or four little creatureslooking out for the father's approach, running in to announce the gladtidings, and then scampering out to meet him, clinging round his knees, or hanging on his skirts; whoever has witnessed scenes like this, towitness which has formed one of the greatest delights of my life, willhesitate long before he prefer a life of ease to a life of labour;before he prefer a communication with children intercepted by servantsand teachers to that communication which is here direct, and whichadmits not of any division of affection. 

252. Then comes _the Sunday_; and, amongst all those who keep noservants, a great deal depends on the manner in which the father employs_that day_. When there are two or three children, or even one child, thefirst thing, after the breakfast (which is late on this day of rest), isto wash and dress the child or children. Then, while the mother isdressing the dinner, the father, being in his Sunday-clothes himself, takes care of the child or children. When dinner is over, the motherputs on her best; and then, all go to church, or, if that cannot be, whether from distance or other cause, _all pass the afternoon together_. This used to be the way of life amongst the labouring people; and fromthis way of life arose the most able and most moral people that theworld ever saw, until grinding taxation took from them the means ofobtaining a sufficiency of food and of raiment; plunged the whole, goodand bad, into one indiscriminate mass, under the degrading and hatefulname of paupers. 

253. The working man, in whatever line, and whether in town or country, who spends his _day of rest_, or any part of it, except in case ofabsolute necessity, away from his wife and children, is not worthy ofthe name of _father_, and is seldom worthy of the trust of any employer. Such absence argues a want of fatherly and of conjugal affection, whichwant is generally duly repaid by a similar want in the neglectedparties; and, though stern authority may command and enforce obediencefor a while, the time soon comes when it will be set at defiance; andwhen such a father, having no example, no proofs of love, to plead, complains of _filial ingratitude_, the silent indifference of hisneighbours, and which is more poignant, his own heart, will tell himthat his complaint is unjust. 

254. Thus far with regard to _working_ people; but much more necessaryis it to inculcate these principles in the minds of young men in themiddle rank of life, and to be more particular, in their case, withregard to the care due to very young children, for here _servants_ comein; and many are but too prone to think, that when they have handedtheir children over to well-paid and able servants, they have _donetheir duty by them_, than which there can hardly be a more mischievouserror. The children of the poorer people are, in general, much fonder oftheir parents than those of the rich are of theirs: this fondness isreciprocal; and the cause is, that the children of the former have, fromtheir very birth, had a greater share than those of the latter--of the_personal_ attention, and of the never-ceasing endearments of theirparents. 

255. I have before urged upon young married men, in the middle walks oflife, to _keep the servants out of the house as long as possible_; andwhen they must come at last, when they must be had even to assist intaking care of children, let them be _assistants_ in the most strictsense of the word; let them not be _confided in_; let children never be_left to them alone_; and the younger the child, the more necessary arigid adherence to this rule. I shall be told, perhaps, by some carelessfather, or some play-haunting mother, that female servants are _women_, and have the tender feelings of women. Very true; and, in general, asgood and kind in their _nature_ as the mother herself. But they are notthe _mothers_ of your children, and it is not in nature that they shouldhave the care and anxiety adequate to the necessity of the case. Out ofthe immediate care and personal superintendence of one or the other ofthe parents, or of some trusty _relation_, no young child ought to besuffered to be, if there be, at whatever sacrifice of ease or ofproperty, any possibility of preventing it: because, to insure, ifpossible, the perfect form, the straight limbs, the sound body, and thesane mind of your children, is the very first of all your duties. Toprovide fortunes for them; to make provision for their future fame; togive them the learning necessary to the calling for which you destinethem: all these may be duties, and the last is a duty; but a duty fargreater than, and prior to, all these, is the duty of neglecting nothingwithin your power to insure them a _sane mind in a sound and undeformedbody_. And, good God! how many are the instances of deformed bodies, ofcrooked limbs, of idiocy, or of deplorable imbecility, proceeding solelyfrom young children being left to the care of servants! One wouldimagine, that one single sight of this kind to be seen, or heard of, ina whole nation, would be sufficient to deter parents from the practice. And what, then, must those parents feel, who have brought this life-longsorrowing on themselves! When once the thing is _done_, to repent isunavailing. And what is now the worth of all the ease and all thepleasures, to enjoy which the poor sufferer was abandoned to the care ofservants!

256. What! can I plead _example_, then, in support of this rigidprecept? Did we, who have bred up a family of children, and have hadservants during the greater part of the time, _never_ leave a youngchild to the care of servants? Never; no, not for _one single hour_. Were we, then, tied constantly to the house with them? No; for wesometimes took them out; but one or the other of us _was always withthem_, until, in succession, they were able to take good care ofthemselves; or until the elder ones were able to take care of theyounger, and then _they_ sometimes stood sentinel in our stead. Howcould we _visit_ then? Why, if both went, we bargained beforehand totake the children with us; and if this were a thing not to be proposed, one of us went, and the other stayed at home, the latter being veryfrequently my lot. From this we _never_ once deviated. We cast aside allconsideration of convenience; all calculations of expense; all thoughtsof pleasure of every sort. And, what could have equalled the reward thatwe have received for our care and for our unshaken resolution in thisrespect?

257. In the rearing of children, there is _resolution_ wanting as wellas _tenderness_. That parent is not _truly_ affectionate who wants the_courage_ to do that which is sure to give the child temporary pain. Agreat deal, in providing for the _health_ and _strength_ of children, depends upon their being duly and daily washed, when well, in cold waterfrom head to foot. Their cries testify to what a degree they _dislike_this. They squall and kick and twist about at a fine rate; and manymothers, too many, neglect this, partly from reluctance to encounter thesqualling, and partly, and _much too often_, from what I will not call_idleness_, but to which I cannot apply a milder term than _neglect_. Well and duly performed, it is an hour's good tight work; for, besidesthe bodily labour, which is not very slight when the child gets to befive or six months old, there is the _singing_ to _overpower the voiceof the child_. The moment the stripping of the child used to begin, thesinging used to begin, and the latter never ceased till the former hadceased. After having heard this go on with all my children, ROUSSEAUtaught me the _philosophy_ of it. I happened, by accident, to look intohis EMILE, and there I found him saying, that the nurse subdued thevoice of the child and made it quiet, _by drowning its voice in hers_, and thereby making it perceive that it could _not be heard_, and that tocontinue to cry _was of no avail_. 'Here, Nancy, ' said I (going to herwith the book in my hand), 'you have been a great philosopher all yourlife, without either of us knowing it. ' A _silent_ nurse is a poor soul. It is a great disadvantage to the child, if the mother be of a verysilent, placid, quiet turn. The singing, the talking to, the tossing androlling about, that mothers in general practise, are very beneficial tothe children: they give them exercise, awaken their attention, animatethem, and rouse them to action. It is very bad to have a child evencarried about by a dull, inanimate, silent servant, who will never talk, sing or chirrup to it; who will but just carry it about, always kept inthe same attitude, and seeing and hearing nothing to give it life andspirit. It requires nothing but a dull creature like this, and thewashing and dressing left to her, to give a child the rickets, and makeit, instead of being a strong straight person, tup-shinned, bow-kneed, or hump-backed; besides other ailments not visible to the eye. By-and-by, when the deformity begins to appear, the doctor is called in, but it is too late: the mischief is done; and a few months of neglectare punished by a life of mortification and sorrow, not whollyunaccompanied with shame. 

258. It is, therefore, a very spurious kind of _tenderness_ thatprevents a mother from doing the things which, though disagreeable tothe child, are so necessary to its lasting well-being. The washing dailyin the morning is a great thing; cold water winter or summer, and _thisnever left to a servant_, who has not, in such a case, either thepatience or the courage that is necessary for the task. When the washingis over, and the child dressed in its day-clothes, how gay and cheerfulit looks! The exercise gives it appetite, and then disposes it to rest;and it sucks and sleeps and grows, the delight of all eyes, andparticularly those of the parents. 'I can't bear _that squalling_!' Ihave heard men say; and to which I answer, that 'I can't bear _suchmen_!' There are, I thank God, very few of them; for, if they do notalways _reason_ about the matter, honest nature teaches them to beconsiderate and indulgent towards little creatures so innocent and sohelpless and so unconscious of what they do. And the _noise_: after all, why should it _disturb_ a man? He knows the exact cause of it: he knowsthat it is the unavoidable consequence of a great good to his child, andof course to him: it lasts but an hour, and the recompense instantlycomes in the looks of the rosy child, and in the new hopes which everylook excites. It never disturbed _me_, and my occupation was one ofthose most liable to disturbance by noise. Many a score papers have Iwritten amidst the noise of children, and in my whole life never badethem be still. When they grew up to be big enough to gallop about thehouse, I have, in wet weather, when they could not go out, written thewhole day amidst noise that would have made some authors half mad. Itnever annoyed me at all. But a Scotch piper, whom an old lady, who livedbeside us at Brompton, used to pay to come and play _a long_ tune everyday, I was obliged to bribe into a breach of contract. That which youare _pleased with_, however noisy, does not disturb you. That which isindifferent to you has not more effect. The rattle of coaches, theclapper of a mill, the fall of water, leave your mind undisturbed. Butthe sound of the _pipe_, awakening the idea of the lazy life of thepiper, better paid than the labouring man, drew the mind aside from itspursuit; and, as it really was a _nuisance_, occasioned by the money ofmy neighbour, I thought myself justified in abating it by the same sortof means. 

259. The _cradle_ is in poor families necessary; because necessitycompels the mother to get as much time as she can for her work, and achild can rock the cradle. At first we had a cradle; and I rocked thecradle, in great part, during the time that I was writing my first work, that famous MAÎTRE D'ANGLAIS, which has long been the first book inEurope, as well as in America, for teaching of French people the Englishlanguage. But we left off the use of the cradle as soon as possible. Itcauses sleep more, and oftener, than necessary: it saves trouble; but totake trouble was our duty. After the second child, we had no cradle, however difficult at first to do without it. When I was not at mybusiness, it was generally my affair to put the child to sleep:sometimes by sitting with it in my arms, and sometimes by lying down ona bed with it, till it fell asleep. We soon found the good of thismethod. The children did not sleep so much, but they slept more soundly. The cradle produces a sort of _dosing_, or dreaming sleep. This is amatter of great importance, as every thing must be that has anyinfluence on the health of children. The poor must use the cradle, atleast until they have other children big enough to hold the baby, and toput it to sleep; and it is truly wonderful at how early an age they, either girls or boys, will do this business faithfully and well. You seethem in the lanes, and on the skirts of woods and commons, lugging ababy about, when it sometimes weighs half as much as the nurse. The poormother is frequently compelled, in order to help to get bread for herchildren, to go to a distance from home, and leave the group, baby andall, to take care of the house and of themselves, the eldest of four orfive, not, perhaps, above six or seven years old; and it is quitesurprising, that, considering the millions of instances in which this isdone in England, in the course of a year, so very, very few accidents orinjuries arise from the practice; and not a hundredth part so many asarise in the comparatively few instances in which children are left tothe care of servants. In summer time you see these little groups rollingabout up the green, or amongst the heath, not far from the cottage, andat a mile, perhaps, from any other dwelling, the dog their onlyprotector. And what fine and straight and healthy and fearless and acutepersons they become! It used to be remarked in Philadelphia, when Ilived there, that there was not a single man of any eminence, whetherdoctor, lawyer, merchant, trader, or any thing else, that had not beenborn and bred in the country, and of parents in a low state of life. Examine London, and you will find it much about the same. From this verychildhood they are from necessity _entrusted with the care of somethingvaluable_. They practically learn to think, and to calculate as toconsequences. They are thus taught to remember things; and it is quitesurprising what memories they have, and how scrupulously a littlecarter-boy will deliver half-a-dozen messages, each of a differentpurport from the rest, to as many persons, all the messages committed tohim at one and the same time, and he not knowing one letter of thealphabet from another. When I want to _remember_ something, and am outin the field, and cannot write it down, I say to one of the men, orboys, come to me at such a time, and tell me so and so. He is _sure_ todo it; and I therefore look upon the _memorandum_ as written down. Oneof these children, boy or girl, is much more worthy of being entrustedwith the care of a baby, any body's baby, than a servant-maid withcurled locks and with eyes rolling about for admirers. The locks and therolling eyes, very nice, and, for aught I know, very proper things inthemselves; but incompatible with the care of _your_ baby, Ma'am; hermind being absorbed in contemplating the interesting circumstances whichare to precede her having a sweet baby of her own; and a _sweeter_ thanyours, if you please, Ma'am; or, at least, such will be heranticipations. And this is all right enough; it is natural that sheshould think and feel thus; and knowing this, you are admonished that itis your bounden duty not to delegate this sacred trust to any body. 

260. The _courage_, of which I have spoken, so necessary in the case ofwashing the children in spite of their screaming remonstrances, is, ifpossible, more necessary in cases of illness, requiring the applicationof _medicine_, or of _surgical_ means of cure. Here the heart is put tothe test indeed! Here is anguish to be endured by a mother, who has toforce down the nauseous physic, or to apply the tormenting plaster! Yetit is the mother, or the father, and more properly the former, who is toperform this duty of exquisite pain. To no nurse, to no hireling, to noalien hand, ought, if possible to avoid it, this task to be committed. Ido not admire those mothers who are _too tender-hearted_ to inflict thispain on their children, and who, therefore, leave it to be inflicted byothers. Give me the mother who, while the tears stream down her face, has the resolution scrupulously to execute, with her own hands, thedoctor's commands. Will a servant, will any hireling, do this? Committedto such hands, the _least trouble_ will be preferred to the greater: thething will, in general, not be half done; and if done, the sufferingfrom such hands is far greater in the mind of the child than if it camefrom the hands of the mother. In this case, above all others, thereought to be no delegation of the parental office. Here life or limb isat stake; and the parent, man or woman, who, in any one point, canneglect his or her duty here, is unworthy of the name of parent. Andhere, as in all the other instances, where goodness in the parentstowards the children gives such weight to their advice when the childrengrow up, what a motive to filial gratitude! The children who are oldenough to deserve and remember, will witness this proof of love andself-devotion in their mother. Each of them feels that she has done thesame towards them all; and they love her and admire and revere heraccordingly. 

261. This is the place to state my opinions, and the result of myexperience, with regard to that fearful disease the SMALL-POX; asubject, too, to which I have paid great attention. I was always, fromthe very first mention of the thing, opposed to the Cow-Pox scheme. Ifefficacious in preventing the Small-Pox, I objected to it merely on thescore of its _beastliness_. There are some things, surely, more hideousthan death, and more resolutely to be avoided; at any rate, more to beavoided than the mere _risk_ of suffering death. And, amongst otherthings, I always reckoned that of a parent causing the blood, and thediseased blood too, of a beast to be put into the veins of human beings, and those beings the children of that parent. I, therefore, as will beseen in the pages of the Register of that day, most strenuously opposedthe giving _of twenty thousand pounds_ to JENNER _out of the taxes_, paid in great part by the working people, which I deemed and asserted tobe a scandalous waste of the public money. 

262. I contended, that this beastly application _could not, in nature, be efficacious in preventing the Small-Pox_; and that, even ifefficacious for that purpose, _it was wholly unnecessary_. The truth ofthe former of these assertions has now been proved _in thousands uponthousands of instances_. For a long time, for _ten years_, the contrarywas boldly and brazenly asserted. This nation is fond of quackery of allsorts; and this particular quackery having been sanctioned by King, Lords and Commons, it spread over the country like a pestilence borne bythe winds. Speedily sprang up the 'ROYAL _Jennerian Institution_, ' andBranch Institutions, issuing from the parent trunk, set instantly towork, impregnating the veins of the rising and enlightened generationwith the beastly matter. 'Gentlemen and Ladies' made the commodity apocket-companion; and if a cottager's child (in Hampshire at least), even seen by them, on a common, were not pretty quick in taking to itsheels, it had to carry off more or less of the disease of the cow. Onewould have thought, that one-half of the cows in England must have been_tapped_ to get at such a quantity of the stuff. 

263. In the midst of all this mad work, to which the doctors, afterhaving found it in vain to resist, had yielded, the _real small-pox_, inits worst form, broke out in the town of RINGWOOD, in HAMPSHIRE, andcarried off, I believe (I have not the account at hand), _more than ahundred persons_, young and old, _every one of whom had had the cow-pox'so nicely_!' And what was now said? Was the quackery exploded, and werethe granters of the twenty thousand pounds ashamed of what they haddone? Not at all: the failure was imputed to _unskilful operators_; tothe _staleness of the matter_; to its not being of the _genuinequality_. Admitting all this, the scheme stood condemned; for the greatadvantages held forth were, that _any body_ might perform the operation, and that the _matter_ was _every where abundant_ and cost-free. Butthese were paltry excuses; the mere shuffles of quackery; for what do weknow now? Why, that in _hundreds_ of instances, persons cow-poxed byJENNER HIMSELF, have taken the real small-pox afterwards, and haveeither died from the disorder, or narrowly escaped with their lives! Iwill mention two instances, the parties concerned being living andwell-known, one of them to the whole nation, and the other to a verynumerous circle in the higher walks of life. The first is Sir RICHARDPHILLIPS, so well known by his able writings, and equally well known byhis exemplary conduct as Sheriff of London, and by his life-long laboursin the cause of real charity and humanity. Sir Richard had, I think, twosons, whose veins were impregnated by the _grantee himself_. At any ratehe had one, who had, several years after Jenner had given him theinsuring matter, a very hard struggle for his life, under the hands ofthe good, old-fashioned, seam-giving, and dimple-dipping small-pox. Thesecond is PHILIP CODD, Esq. , formerly of Kensington, and now of RumstedCourt, near Maidstone, in Kent, who has a son that had a very narrowescape under the real small-pox, about four years ago, and who also hadbeen cow-poxed _by Jenner himself_. This last-mentioned gentleman I haveknown, and most sincerely respected, from the time of our both beingabout eighteen years of age. When the young gentleman, of whom I am nowspeaking, was very young, I having him upon my knee one day, asked hiskind and excellent mother, whether he had been _inoculated_. 'Oh, no!'said she, 'we are going to have him _vaccinated_. ' Whereupon I, goinginto the garden to the father, said, 'I do hope, Codd, that you are notgoing to have that beastly cow-stuff put into that fine boy. ' 'Why, 'said he, 'you see, Cobbett, it is to be done by _Jenner himself_. ' Whatanswer I gave, what names and epithets I bestowed upon Jenner and hisquackery, I will leave the reader to imagine. 

264. Now, here are instances enough; but, every reader has heard of, ifnot seen, scores of others. Young Mr. Codd caught the small-pox at a_school_; and if I recollect rightly, there were several other'vaccinated' youths who did the same, at the same time. Quackery, however, has always a shuffle left. Now that the cow-pox has been_proved_ to be no _guarantee_ against the small-pox, it makes it'_milder_' when it comes! A pretty shuffle, indeed, this! You are to be_all your life in fear of it_, having as your sole consolation, thatwhen it comes (and it may overtake you in a _camp_, or on the _seas_), it will be '_milder_!' It was not too mild to _kill_ at RINGWOOD; andits _mildness_, in case of young Mr. Codd, did not restrain it from_blinding him_ for a suitable number of days. I shall not easily forgetthe alarm and anxiety of the father and mother upon this occasion; bothof them the best of parents, and both of them now punished for havingyielded to this fashionable quackery. I will not say, _justly_ punished;for affection for their children, in which respect they were neversurpassed by any parents on earth, was the cause of their listening tothe danger-obviating quackery. This, too, is the case with otherparents; but parents should be under the influence of _reason_ and_experience_, as well as under that of affection; and _now_, at anyrate, they ought to set this really dangerous quackery at nought. 

265. And, what does _my own experience_ say on the other side? There aremy seven children, the sons as tall, or nearly so, as their father, andthe daughters as tall as their mother; all, in due succession, inoculated with the good old-fashioned face-tearing small-pox; neitherof them with a single mark of that disease on their skins; neither ofthem having been, that we could perceive, _ill for a single hour_, inconsequence of the inoculation. When we were in the United States, weobserved that the Americans were _never marked_ with the small-pox; or, if such a thing were seen, it was very rarely. The cause we found to be, the universal practice of having the children inoculated _at thebreast_, and, generally, at _a month_ or _six weeks old_. When we cameto have children, we did the same. I believe that some of ours have beena few months old when the operation has been performed, but always while_at the breast_, and as early as possible after the expiration of sixweeks from the birth; sometimes put off a little while by some slightdisorder in the child, or on account of some circumstance or other; but, with these exceptions, done at, or before, the end of six weeks from thebirth, and _always at the breast_. All is then _pure_: there is nothingin either body or mind to favour the natural fury of the disease. Wealways took particular care about the _source_ from which the infectiousmatter came. We employed medical men, in whom we could place perfectconfidence: we had their _solemn word_ for the matter coming from some_healthy child_; and, at last, we had sometimes to _wait_ for this, thecow-affair having rendered patients of this sort rather rare. 

266. While the child has the small-pox, the mother should abstain fromfood and drink, which she may require at other times, but which might betoo gross just now. To suckle a hearty child requires good living; for, besides that this is necessary to the mother, it is also necessary tothe child. A little forbearance, just at this time, is prudent; makingthe diet as simple as possible, and avoiding all violent agitationeither of the body or the spirits; avoiding too, if you can, _very hot_or _very cold_ weather. 

267. There is now, however, this inconvenience, that the far greaterpart of the present young women have been _be-Jennered_; so that theymay _catch the beauty-killing disease from their babies_! To heartenthem up, however, and more especially, I confess, to record a trait ofmaternal affection and of female heroism, which I have never heard ofany thing to surpass, I have the pride to say, that my wife had eightchildren inoculated at her breast, and _never had the small-pox in herlife_. I, at first, objected to the inoculating of the child, but sheinsisted upon it, and with so much pertinacity that I gave way, oncondition that she would be inoculated too. This was done with three orfour of the children, I think, she always being reluctant to have itdone, saying that it looked like distrusting the goodness of God. Therewas, to be sure, very little in this argument; but the long experiencewore away the alarm; and there she is now, having had eight childrenhanging at her breast with that desolating disease in them, and shenever having been affected by it from first to last. All her childrenknew, of course, the risk that she voluntarily incurred for them. Theyall have this indubitable proof, that she valued their lives above herown; and is it in nature, that they should ever wilfully do any thing towound the heart of that mother; and must not her bright example havegreat effect on their character and conduct! Now, my opinion is, thatthe far greater part of English or American women, if placed in theabove circumstances, would do just the same thing; and I do hope, thatthose, who have yet to be mothers, will seriously think of putting anend, as they have the power to do, to the disgraceful and dangerousquackery, the evils of which I have so fully proved. 

268. But there is, in the management of babies, something besides life, health, strength and beauty; and something too, without which all theseput together are nothing worth; and that is _sanity of mind_. There are, owing to various causes, some who are _born_ ideots; but a great manymore become insane from the misconduct, or neglect, of parents; and, generally, from the children being committed to the care of _servants_. I knew, in Pennsylvania, a child, as fine, and as sprightly, and asintelligent a child as ever was born, made an ideot for life by being, when about three years old, shut into a dark closet, by a maid servant, in order to terrify it into silence. The thoughtless creature firstmenaced it with sending it to '_the bad place_, ' as the phrase is there;and, at last, to reduce it to silence, put it into the closet, shut thedoor, and went out of the room. She went back, in a few minutes, andfound the child in _a fit_. It recovered from that, but was for life anideot. When the parents, who had been out two days and two nights on avisit of pleasure, came home, they were told that the child had had _afit_; but, they were not told the cause. The girl, however, who was aneighbour's daughter, being on her death-bed about ten years afterwards, could not die in peace without sending for the mother of the child (nowbecome a young man) and asking forgiveness of her. The mother herselfwas, however, the greatest offender of the two: a whole lifetime ofsorrow and of mortification was a punishment too light for her and herhusband. Thousands upon thousands of human beings have been deprived oftheir senses by these and similar means. 

269. It is not long since that we read, in the newspapers, of a childbeing absolutely _killed_, at Birmingham, I think it was, by being thusfrightened. The parents had gone out into what is called an eveningparty. The servants, naturally enough, had their party at home; and themistress, who, by some unexpected accident, had been brought home at anearly hour, finding the parlour full of company, ran up stairs to seeabout her child, about two or three years old. She found it with itseyes open, but _fixed_; touching it, she found it inanimate. The doctorwas sent for in vain: it was quite dead. The maid affected to knownothing of the cause; but some one of the parties assembled discovered, pinned up to the curtains of the bed, _a horrid figure_, made up partlyof a frightful mask! This, as the wretched girl confessed, had been doneto keep the child _quiet_, while she was with her company below. Whenone reflects on the anguish that the poor little thing must haveendured, before the life was quite frightened out of it, one can find noterms sufficiently strong to express the abhorrence due to theperpetrator of this crime, which was, in fact, a cruel murder; and, ifit was beyond the reach of the law, it was so and is so, because, as inthe cases of parricide, the law, in making no provision for punishmentpeculiarly severe, has, out of respect to human nature, supposed suchcrimes to be _impossible_. But if the girl was criminal; if death, or alife of remorse, was her due, what was the due of her parents, andespecially of the mother! And what was the due of the _father_, whosuffered that mother, and who, perhaps, tempted her to neglect her mostsacred duty!

270. If this poor child had been deprived of its mental faculties, instead of being deprived of its life, the cause would, in alllikelihood, never have been discovered. The insanity would have beenascribed to '_brain-fever_, ' or to some other of the usual causes ofinsanity; or, as in thousands upon thousands of instances, to someunaccountable cause. When I was, in No. IX. , paragraphs from 227 to 233, both inclusive, maintaining with all my might, the unalienable right ofthe child to the milk of its mother, I omitted, amongst the evilsarising from banishing the child from the mother's breast, to mention, or, rather, it had never occurred to me to mention, the _loss of reason_to the poor, innocent creatures, thus banished. And now, as connectedwith this measure, I have an argument of _experience_, enough to terrifyevery young man and woman upon earth from the thought of committing thisoffence against nature. I wrote No. IX. At CAMBRIDGE, on Sunday, the28th of March; and before I quitted SHREWSBURY, on the 14th of May, thefollowing facts reached my ears. A very respectable tradesman, who, withhis wife, have led a most industrious life, in a town that it is notnecessary to name, said to a gentleman that told it to me: 'I wish toGod I had read No. IX. Of Mr. Cobbett's ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN fifteenyears ago!' He then related, that he had had ten children, _all put outto be suckled_, in consequence of the necessity of his having themother's assistance to carry on his business; and that _two out of theten_ had come home _ideots_; though the rest were all sane, and thoughinsanity had never been known in the family of either father or mother!These parents, whom I myself saw, are very clever people, and the wifesingularly industrious and expert in her affairs. 

271. Now the _motive_, in this case, unquestionably was good; it wasthat the mother's valuable time might, as much as possible, be devotedto the earning of a competence for her children. But, alas! what is thiscompetence to these two unfortunate beings! And what is the competenceto the rest, when put in the scale against the mortification that theymust, all their lives, suffer on account of the insanity of theirbrother and sister, exciting, as it must, in all their circle, and evenin _themselves_, suspicions of their own perfect soundness of mind! Whenweighed against this consideration, what is all the wealth in the world!And as to the parents, where are they to find compensation for such acalamity, embittered additionally, too, by the reflection, that it wasin their power to prevent it, and that nature, with loud voice, criedout to them to prevent it! MONEY! Wealth acquired in consequence of thisbanishment of these poor children; these victims of this, I will notcall it avarice, but over-eager love of gain! wealth, thus acquired!What wealth can console these parents for the loss of reason in thesechildren! Where is the father and the mother, who would not rather seetheir children ploughing in other men's fields, and sweeping other men'shouses, than led about parks or houses of their own, objects of pityeven of the menials procured by their wealth?

272. If what I have now said be not sufficient to deter a man fromsuffering _any_ consideration, _no matter what_, to induce him to_delegate_ the care of his children, when very young, to _any bodywhomsoever_, nothing that I can say can possibly have that effect; and Iwill, therefore, now proceed to offer my advice with regard to themanagement of children when they get beyond the danger of being crazedor killed by nurses or servants. 

273. We here come to the subject of _education_ in the _true sense_ ofthat word, which is _rearing up_, seeing that the word comes from theLatin _educo_, which means to _breed up_, or to _rear up_. I shall, afterwards, have to speak of _education_ in the now common acceptationof the word, which makes it mean, _book-learning_. At present, I am tospeak of _education_ in its true sense, as the French (who, as well aswe, take the word from the Latin) always use it. They, in theiragricultural works, talk of the 'éducation du Cochon, de l'Alouette, &c. , ' that is of the _hog_, the _lark_, and so of other animals; that isto say, of the manner of breeding them, or rearing them up, from theirbeing little things till they be of full size. 

274. The first thing, in the rearing of children, who have passed fromthe baby-state, is, as to the _body_, plenty of _good food_; and, as tothe _mind_, constant _good example in the parents_. Of the latter Ishall speak more by-and-by. With regard to the former, it is of thegreatest importance, that children be well fed; and there never was agreater error than to believe that they do not need good food. Every oneknows, that to have fine horses, the _colts_ must be kept well, and thatit is the same with regard to all animals of every sort and kind. Thefine horses and cattle and sheep all come from the _rich pastures_. Tohave them fine, it is not sufficient that they have _plenty of food_when young, but that they have _rich food_. Were there no land, nopasture, in England, but such as is found in Middlesex, Essex, andSurrey, we should see none of those coach-horses and dray-horses, whoseheight and size make us stare. It is the _keep when young_ that makesthe fine animal. 

275. There is no other reason for the people in the American Statesbeing generally so much taller and stronger than the people in Englandare. Their forefathers went, for the greater part, from England. In thefour Northern States they went wholly from England, and then, on theirlanding, they founded a new London, a new Falmouth, a new Plymouth, anew Portsmouth, a new Dover, a new Yarmouth, a new Lynn, a new Boston, and a new Hull, and the country itself they called, and theirdescendants still call, NEW ENGLAND. This country of the best andboldest seamen, and of the most moral and happy people in the world, isalso the country of the tallest and ablest-bodied men in the world. Andwhy? Because, from their very birth, they have an _abundance_ of _good_food; not only of _food_, but of _rich_ food. Even when the child is atthe breast, a strip of _beef-stake_, or something of that description, as big and as long as one's finger, is put into its hand. When a babygets a thing in its hand, the first thing it does is to poke some partof it into its mouth. It cannot _bite_ the meat, but its gums squeezeout the juice. When it has done with the breast, it eats meat constantlytwice, if not thrice, a day. And this abundance of _good_ food is thecause, to be sure, of the superior size and strength of the people ofthat country. 

276. Nor is this, in any point of view, an unimportant matter. A tallman is, whether as labourer, carpenter, bricklayer, soldier or sailor, or almost anything else, _worth more_ than a short man: he can look overa higher thing; he can reach higher and wider; he can move on from placeto place faster; in mowing grass or corn he takes a wider swarth, inpitching he wants a shorter prong; in making buildings he does not sosoon want a ladder or a scaffold; in fighting he keeps his body fartherfrom the point of his sword. To be sure, a man _may_ be tall and _weak_;but, this is the exception and not the rule: _height_ and _weight_ and_strength_, in men as in speechless animals, generally go together. Aye, and in enterprise and courage too, the powers of the body have a greatdeal to do. Doubtless there are, have been, and always will be, greatnumbers of small and enterprizing and brave men; but it is _not innature_, that, _generally speaking_, those who are conscious of theirinferiority in point of bodily strength, should possess the boldness ofthose who have a contrary description. 

277. To what but this difference in the _size_ and _strength_ of theopposing combatants are we to ascribe the ever-to-be-blushed-at eventsof our last war against the United States! The _hearts_ of our seamenand soldiers were as good as those of the Yankees: on both sides theyhad sprung from the same stock: on both sides equally well supplied withall the materials of war: if on either side, the superior skill was onours: French, Dutch, Spaniards, all had confessed our superior prowess:yet, when, with our whole undivided strength, and to that strengthadding the flush and pride of victory and conquest, crowned even in thecapital of France; when, with all these tremendous advantages, and withall the nations of the earth looking on, we came foot to foot andyard-arm to yard-arm with the Americans, the result was such as anEnglish pen refuses to describe. What, then, was the _great cause_ ofthis result, which filled us with shame and the world with astonishment?Not the want of _courage_ in our men. There were, indeed, _some moralcauses at work_; but the main cause was, the great superiority of sizeand of bodily strength on the part of the enemy's soldiers and sailors. It was _so many men_ on each side; but it was men of a different sizeand strength; and, on the side of the foe, men accustomed to daringenterprise from a consciousness of that strength. 

278. Why are abstinence and fasting enjoined by the Catholic Church?Why, to make men _humble_, _meek_, and _tame_; and they have this effecttoo: this is visible in whole nations as well as in individuals. So thatgood food, and plenty of it, is not more necessary to the forming of astout and able body than to the forming of an active and enterprizingspirit. Poor food, short allowance, while they check the growth of thechild's body, check also the daring of the mind; and, therefore, thestarving or pinching system ought to be avoided by all means. Childrenshould eat _often_, and as much as they like at a time. They will, if atfull heap, never take, of _plain food_, more than it is good for them totake. They may, indeed, be stuffed with _cakes_ and _sweet things_ tillthey be ill, and, indeed, until they bring on dangerous disorders: but, of _meat plainly_ and _well cooked_, and of _bread_, they will neverswallow the tenth part of an ounce more than it is necessary for them toswallow. Ripe fruit, or cooked fruit, if no _sweetening_ take place, will never hurt them; but, when they once get a taste for sugary stuff, and to cram down loads of garden vegetables; when ices, creams, tarts, raisins, almonds, all the endless pamperings come, the _doctor_ mustsoon follow with his drugs. The blowing out of the bodies of childrenwith tea, coffee, soup, or warm liquids of any kind, is very bad: thesehave an effect precisely like that which is produced by feeding youngrabbits, or pigs, or other young animals upon watery vegetables: itmakes them big-bellied and bare-boned at the same time; and iteffectually prevents the frame from becoming strong. Children in healthwant no drink other than skim milk, or butter-milk, or whey; and, ifnone of those be at hand, water will do very well, provided they haveplenty of _good meat_. Cheese and butter do very well for part of theday. Puddings and pies; but always _without sugar_, which, say whatpeople will about the _wholesomeness_ of it, is not only of _no use_ inthe rearing of children, but injurious: it forces an appetite: likestrong drink, it makes daily encroachments on the taste: it wheedlesdown that which the stomach does not want: it finally produces illness:it is one of the curses of the country; for it, by taking off the bitterof the tea and coffee, is the great cause of sending down into thestomach those quantities of warm water by which the body is debilitatedand deformed and the mind enfeebled. I am addressing myself to personsin the middle walk of life; but no parent can be _sure_ that his childwill not be compelled to labour hard for its daily bread: and then, howvast is the difference between one who has been pampered with sweets andone who has been reared on plain food and simple drink!

279. The next thing after good and plentiful and plain food is _goodair_. This is not within the reach of every one; but, to obtain it isworth great sacrifices in other respects. We know that there are_smells_ which will cause _instant death_; we know, that there areothers which will cause death _in a few years_; and, therefore, we knowthat it is the duty of parents to provide, if possible, against thisdanger to the health of their offspring. To be sure, when a man is sosituated that he cannot give his children sweet air without puttinghimself into a jail for debt: when, in short, he has the dire choice ofsickly children, children with big heads, small limbs, and rickettyjoints: or children sent to the poor-house: when this is his hard lot, he must decide for the former sad alternative: but before he willconvince me that this _is_ his lot, he must prove to me, that he and hiswife expend not a penny in the _decoration_ of their persons; that onhis table, morning, noon, or night, _nothing_ ever comes that is not theproduce of _English soil_; that of his time not one hour is wasted inwhat is called pleasure; that down his throat not one drop or morselever goes, unless necessary to sustain life and health. How many scoresand how many hundreds of men have I seen; how many thousands could I goand point out, to-morrow, in London, the money expended on whoseguzzlings in porter, grog and wine, would keep, and keep well, in thecountry, a considerable part of the year, a wife surrounded by healthychildren, instead of being stewed up in some alley, or back room, with aparcel of poor creatures about her, whom she, though their fond mother, is almost ashamed to call hers! Compared with the life of such a woman, that of the labourer, however poor, is paradise. Tell me not of thenecessity of _providing money for them_, even if you waste not afarthing: you can provide them with no money equal in value to healthand straight limbs and good looks: these it is, if within your power, your _bounden duty_ to provide for them: as to providing them withmoney, you deceive yourself; it is your own avarice, or vanity, that youare seeking to gratify, and not to ensure the good of your children. Their most precious possession is _health_ and _strength_; and you have_no right_ to run the risk of depriving them of these for the sake ofheaping together money to bestow on them: you have the desire to seethem rich: it is to gratify _yourself_ that you act in such a case; andyou, however you may deceive yourself, are guilty of _injustice_ towardsthem. You would be ashamed to see them _without fortune_; but not at allashamed to see them without straight limbs, without colour in theircheeks, without strength, without activity, and with only half their dueportion of reason. 

280. Besides _sweet air_, children want _exercise_. Even when they arebabies in arms, they want tossing and pulling about, and want talkingand singing to. They should be put upon their feet by slow degrees, according to the strength of their legs; and this is a matter which agood mother will attend to with incessant care. If they appear to belikely to _squint_, she will, always when they wake up, and frequentlyin the day, take care to present some pleasing object _right before_, and _never on the side_ of their face. If they appear, when they beginto talk, to indicate a propensity to _stammer_, she will stop them, repeat the word or words slowly herself, and get them to do the same. These precautions are amongst the most sacred of the duties of parents;for, remember, the deformity is _for life_; a thought which will fillevery good parent's heart with solicitude. All _swaddling_ and _tightcovering_ are mischievous. They produce distortions of some sort orother. To let children creep and roll about till they get upon theirlegs of themselves is a very good way. I never saw a _native American_with crooked limbs or hump-back, and never heard any man say that he hadseen one. And the reason is, doubtless, the loose dress in whichchildren, from the moment of their birth, are kept, the good food thatthey always have, and the sweet air that they breathe in consequence ofthe absence of all dread of poverty on the part of the parents. 

281. As to bodily exercise, they will, when they begin to get about, take, if you let them alone, just as much of it as nature bids them, andno more. That is a pretty deal, indeed, if they be in health; and, it isyour duty, now, to provide for their taking of that exercise, when theybegin to be what are called _boys_ and _girls_, in a way that shall tendto give them the greatest degree of pleasure, accompanied with thesmallest risk of pain: in other words, to _make their lives as pleasantas you possibly can_. I have always admired the sentiment of ROUSSEAUupon this subject. 'The boy dies, perhaps, at the age of ten or twelve. Of what _use_, then, all the restraints, all the privations, all thepain, that you have inflicted upon him? He falls, and leaves your mindto brood over the possibility of your having abridged a life so dear toyou. ' I do not recollect the very words; but the passage made a deepimpression upon my mind, just at the time, too, when I was about tobecome a father; and I was resolved never to bring upon myself remorsefrom such a cause; a resolution from which no importunities, coming fromwhat quarter they might, ever induced me, in one single instance, or forone single moment, to depart. I was resolved to forego all the means ofmaking money, all the means of living in any thing like fashion, all themeans of obtaining fame or distinction, to give up every thing, tobecome a common labourer, rather than make my children lead a life ofrestraint and rebuke; I could not be _sure_ that my children would loveme as they loved their own lives; but I was, at any rate, resolved todeserve such love at their hands; and, in possession of that, I feltthat I could set calamity, of whatever description, at defiance. 

282. Now, proceeding to relate what was, in this respect, my line ofconduct, I am not pretending that _every_ man, and particularly everyman living in _a town_, can, in all respects, do as I did in the rearingup of children. But, in many respects, any man may, whatever may be hisstate of life. For I did not lead an idle life; I had to work constantlyfor the means of living; my occupation required unremitted attention; Ihad nothing but my labour to rely on; and I had no friend, to whom, incase of need, I could fly for assistance: I always saw the possibility, and even the probability, of being totally ruined by the hand of power;but, happen what would, I was resolved, that, as long as I could causethem to do it, my children should lead happy lives; and happy lives theydid lead, if ever children did in this whole world. 

283. The first thing that I did, when the fourth child had come, was to_get into the country_, and so far as to render a going backward andforward to London, at short intervals, quite out of the question. Thuswas _health_, the greatest of all things, provided for, as far as I wasable to make the provision. Next, my being _always at home_ was securedas far as possible; always with them to set an example of early rising, sobriety, and application to something or other. Children, andespecially boys, will have some out-of-door pursuits; and it was my dutyto lead them to choose such pursuits as combined future utility withpresent innocence. Each his flower-bed, little garden, plantation oftrees; rabbits, dogs, asses, horses, pheasants and hares; hoes, spades, whips, guns; always some object of lively interest, and as much_earnestness_ and _bustle_ about the various objects as if our livinghad solely depended upon them. I made everything give way to the greatobject of making their lives happy and innocent. I did not know whatthey might be in time, or what might be my lot; but I was resolved notto be the cause of their being unhappy _then_, let what might become ofus afterwards. I was, as I am, of opinion, that it is injurious to themind to press _book-learning_ upon it at an _early age_: I always feltpain for poor little things, set up, before 'company, ' to repeat verses, or bits of plays, at six or eight years old. I have sometimes not knownwhich way to look, when a mother (and, too often, a father), whom Icould not but respect on account of her fondness for her child, hasforced the feeble-voiced eighth wonder of the world, to stand with itslittle hand stretched out, spouting the _soliloquy of Hamlet_, or somesuch thing. I remember, on one occasion, a little pale-faced creature, only five years old, was brought in, after the _feeding_ part of thedinner was over, first to take his regular half-glass of vintner'sbrewings, commonly called wine, and then to treat us to a display of hiswonderful genius. The subject was a speech of a robust and bold youth, in a Scotch play, the title of which I have forgotten, but the speechbegan with, 'My name is Norval: on the Grampian Hills my father fed hisflocks. .. ' And this in a voice so weak and distressing as to put me inmind of the plaintive squeaking of little pigs when the sow is lying onthem. As we were going home (one of my boys and I) he, after a silenceof half a mile perhaps, rode up close to the side of my horse, and said, 'Papa, where _be_ the _Grampian Hills_?' 'Oh, ' said I, 'they are inScotland; poor, barren, beggarly places, covered with heath and rushes, ten times as barren as Sherril Heath. ' 'But, ' said he, 'how could thatlittle boy's father feed _his flocks_ there, then?' I was ready totumble off the horse with laughing. 

284. I do not know any thing much more distressing to the spectatorsthan exhibitions of this sort. Every one feels, not for the child, forit is insensible to the uneasiness it excites, but for the parents, whose amiable fondness displays itself in this ridiculous manner. Uponthese occasions, no one knows what to say, or whither to direct hislooks. The parents, and especially the fond mother, looks sharply roundfor the so-evidently merited applause, as an actor of the name ofMUNDEN, whom I recollect thirty years ago, used, when he had treated usto a witty shrug of his shoulders, or twist of his chin, to turn hisface up to the gallery for the clap. If I had to declare on my oathwhich have been the most disagreeable moments of my life, I verilybelieve, that, after due consideration, I should fix upon those, inwhich parents, whom I have respected, have made me endure exhibitionslike these; for, this is your choice, to be _insincere_, or to _giveoffence_. 

285. And, as towards the child, it is to be _unjust_, thus to teach itto set a high value on trifling, not to say mischievous, attainments; tomake it, whether it be in its natural disposition or not, vain andconceited. The plaudits which it receives, in such cases, puffs it up inits own thoughts, sends it out into the world stuffed with pride andinsolence, which must and will be extracted out of it by one means oranother; and none but those who have had to endure the drawing offirmly-fixed teeth, can, I take it, have an adequate idea of thepainfulness of this operation. Now, parents have _no right_ thus toindulge their own feelings at the risk of the happiness of theirchildren. 

286. The great matter is, however, the _spoiling of the mind_ by forcingon it thoughts which it is not fit to receive. We know well, we dailysee, that in men, as well as in other animals, the body is renderedcomparatively small and feeble by being heavily loaded, or hard worked, before it arrive at size and strength proportioned to such load and suchwork. It is just so with the mind: the attempt to put old heads uponyoung shoulders is just as unreasonable as it would be to expect a coltsix months old to be able to carry a man. The mind, as well as the body, requires time to come to its strength; and the way to have it possess, at last, its natural strength, is not to attempt to load it too soon;and to favour it in its progress by giving to the body good andplentiful food, sweet air, and abundant exercise, accompanied with aslittle discontent or uneasiness as possible. It is universally known, that ailments of the body are, in many cases, sufficient to _destroy_the mind, and to debilitate it in innumerable instances. It is equallywell known, that the torments of the mind are, in many cases, sufficientto _destroy_ the body. This, then, being so well known, is it not thefirst duty of a father to secure to his children, if possible, sound andstrong bodies? LORD BACON says, that 'a sound mind in a sound body isthe greatest of God's blessings. ' To see his children possess these, therefore, ought to be the first object with every father; an objectwhich I cannot too often endeavour to fix in his mind. 

287. I am to speak presently of that sort of _learning_ which is derivedfrom _books_, and which is a matter by no means to be neglected, or tobe thought little of, seeing that it is the road, not only to fame, butto the means of doing great good to one's neighbours and to one'scountry, and, thereby, of adding to those pleasant feelings which are, in other words, our happiness. But, notwithstanding this, I must hereinsist, and endeavour to impress my opinion upon the mind of everyfather, that his children's _happiness_ ought to be _first_ object; that_book-learning_, if it tend to militate against this, ought to bedisregarded; and that, as to money, as to fortune, as to rank and title, that father who can, in the destination of his children, think of themmore than of the _happiness_ of those children, is, if he be of sanemind, a great criminal. Who is there, having lived to the age of thirty, or even twenty, years, and having the ordinary capacity for observation;who is there, being of this description, who must not be convinced ofthe inadequacy of _riches_ and what are called _honours_ to insure_happiness_? Who, amongst all the classes of men, experience, on anaverage, so little of _real_ pleasure, and so much of _real_ pain as therich and the lofty? Pope gives us, as the materials for happiness, '_health_, _peace_, and _competence_. ' Aye, but what _is_ peace, andwhat _is_ competence? If, by _peace_, he mean that tranquillity of mindwhich innocence and good deeds produce, he is right and clear so far;for we all know that, without _health_, which has a well-known positivemeaning, there can be no happiness. But _competence_ is a word ofunfixed meaning. It may, with some, mean enough to eat, drink, wear andbe lodged and warmed with; but, with others, it may include horses, carriages, and footmen laced over from top to toe. So that, here, wehave no guide; no standard; and, indeed, there can be none. But as everysensible father must know that the possession of riches do not, neverdid, and never can, afford even a chance of additional happiness, it ishis duty to inculcate in the minds of his children to make no sacrificeof principle, of moral obligation of any sort, in order to obtainriches, or distinction; and it is a duty still more imperative on him, not to expose them to the risk of loss of health, or diminution ofstrength, for purposes which have, either directly or indirectly, theacquiring of riches in view, whether for himself or for them. 

288. With these principles immoveably implanted in my mind, I became thefather of a family, and on these principles I have reared that family. Being myself fond of _book-learning_, and knowing well its powers, Inaturally wished them to possess it too; but never did I _impose it_upon any one of them. My first duty was to make them _healthy_ and_strong_ if I could, and to give them as much enjoyment of life aspossible. Born and bred up in the sweet air myself, I was resolved thatthey should be bred up in it too. Enjoying rural scenes and sports, as Ihad done, when a boy, as much as any one that ever was born, I wasresolved, that they should have the same enjoyments tendered to them. When I was a very little boy, I was, in the barley-sowing season, goingalong by the side of a field, near WAVERLY ABBEY; the primroses andblue-bells bespangling the banks on both sides of me; a thousand linnetssinging in a spreading oak over my head; while the jingle of the tracesand the whistling of the ploughboys saluted my ear from over the hedge;and, as it were to snatch me from the enchantment, the hounds, at thatinstant, having started a hare in the hanger on the other side of thefield, came up scampering over it in full cry, taking me after them manya mile. I was not more than eight years old; but this particular scenehas presented itself to my mind many times every year from that day tothis. I always enjoy it over again; and I was resolved to give, ifpossible, the same enjoyments to my children. 

289. Men's circumstances are so various; there is such a great varietyin their situations in life, their business, the extent of theirpecuniary means, the local state in which they are placed, theirinternal resources; the variety in all these respects is so great, that, as applicable to _every_ family, it would be impossible to lay down anyset of rules, or maxims, touching _every_ matter relating to themanagement and rearing up of children. In giving an account, therefore, of _my own_ conduct, in this respect, I am not to be understood assupposing, that _every_ father _can_, or ought, to attempt to do _thesame_; but while it will be seen, that there are _many_, and these themost important parts of that conduct, that _all_ fathers may imitate, ifthey choose, there is no part of it which thousands and thousands offathers might not adopt and pursue, and adhere to, to the very letter. 

290. I effected every thing without scolding, and even without_command_. My children are a family of _scholars_, each sex itsappropriate species of learning; and, I could safely take my oath, thatI never _ordered_ a child of mine, son or daughter, _to look into abook_, in my life. My two eldest sons, when about eight years old, were, for the sake of their health, placed for a very short time, at aClergyman's at MICHELDEVER, and my eldest daughter, a little older, at aschool a few miles from Botley, to avoid taking them to London in thewinter. But, with these exceptions, never had they, while children, _teacher_ of any description; and I never, and nobody else ever, taughtany one of them to read, write, or any thing else, except in_conversation_; and, yet, no man was ever more anxious to be the fatherof a family of clever and learned persons. 

291. I accomplished my purpose _indirectly_. The first thing of all was_health_, which was secured by the deeply-interesting and never-ending_sports of the field_ and _pleasures of the garden_. Luckily thesethings were treated of in _books_ and _pictures_ of endless variety; sothat on _wet days_, in _long evenings_, these came into play. A large, strong table, in the middle of the room, their mother sitting at herwork, used to be surrounded with them, the baby, if big enough, set upin a high chair. Here were ink-stands, pens, pencils, India rubber, andpaper, all in abundance, and every one scrabbled about as he or shepleased. There were prints of animals of all sorts; books treating ofthem: others treating of gardening, of flowers, of husbandry, ofhunting, coursing, shooting, fishing, planting, and, in short, of everything, with regard to which _we had something to do_. One would betrying to imitate a bit of my writing, another _drawing_ the pictures ofsome of our dogs or horses, a third poking over _Bewick's Quadrupeds_and picking out what he said about them; but our book of never-failingresource was the _French_ MAISON RUSTIQUE, or FARM-HOUSE, which, it issaid, was the book that first tempted DUQUESNOIS (I think that was thename), the famous physician, in the reign of Louis XIV. , _to learn toread_. Here are all the _four-legged animals_, from the horse down tothe mouse, _portraits_ and all; all the _birds_, _reptiles_, _insects_;all the modes of rearing, managing, and using the tame ones; all themodes of taking the wild ones, and of destroying those that aremischievous; all the various traps, springs, nets; all the implements ofhusbandry and gardening; all the labours of the field and the gardenexhibited, as well as the rest, in plates; and, there was I, in myleisure moments, to join this inquisitive group, to read the _French_, and tell them what it meaned in _English_, when the picture did notsufficiently explain itself. I never have been without a copy of thisbook for forty years, except during the time that I was fleeing from thedungeons of CASTLEREAGH and SIDMOUTH, in 1817; and, when I got to LongIsland, the _first book I bought_ was another MAISON RUSTIQUE. 

292. What need had we of _schools_? What need of _teachers_? What needof _scolding_ and _force_, to induce children to read, write, and lovebooks? What need of _cards, dice_, or of any _games_, to '_kill time_;'but, in fact, to implant in the infant heart a love of _gaming_, one ofthe most destructive of all human vices? We did not want to _'killtime_;' we were always _busy_, wet weather or dry weather, winter orsummer. There was _no force_ in any case; no _command_; no _authority_;none of these was ever wanted. To teach the children the habit of _earlyrising_ was a great object; and every one knows how young people clingto their beds, and how loth they are to go to those beds. This was acapital matter; because, here were _industry_ and _health_ both atstake. Yet, I avoided _command_ even here; and merely offered a_reward_. The child that was _down stairs_ first, was called the LARK_for that day_; and, further, _sat at my right hand at dinner_. Theysoon discovered, that to rise early, they must _go to bed early_; andthus was this most important object secured, with regard to girls aswell as boys. Nothing more inconvenient, and, indeed, more disgusting, than to have to do with girls, or young women, who lounge in bed: 'Alittle more sleep, a little more slumber, a little more folding of thehands to sleep. ' SOLOMON knew them well: he had, I dare say, seen thebreakfast cooling, carriages and horses and servants waiting, the suncoming burning on, the day wasting, the night growing dark too early, appointments broken, and the objects of journeys defeated; and all thisfrom the lolloping in bed of persons who ought to have risen with thesun. No beauty, no modesty, no accomplishments, are a compensation forthe effects of laziness in women; and, of all the proofs of laziness, none is so unequivocal as that of lying late in bed. Love makes menoverlook this vice (for it is a _vice_), for _a while_; but, this doesnot last for life. Besides, _health_ demands early rising: themanagement of a house imperiously demands it; but _health_, that mostprecious possession, without which there is nothing else worthpossessing, demands it too. The _morning air_ is the most wholesome andstrengthening: even in crowded cities, men might do pretty well with theaid of the morning air; but, how are they to _rise_ early, if they go tobed _late_?

293. But, to do the things I did, you must _love home_ yourself; to rearup children in this manner, you must _live with them_; you must makethem, too, _feel_, by your conduct, that you _prefer_ this to any othermode of passing your time. All men cannot lead this sort of life, butmany may; and all much more than many do. My occupation, to be sure, waschiefly carried on _at home_; but, I had always enough to do; I neverspent an idle week, or even day, in my whole life. Yet I found time totalk with them, to walk, or ride, about _with them_; and when forced togo from home, always took one or more with me. You must be good-temperedtoo with them; they must like _your_ company better than any otherperson's; they must not wish you away, not fear your coming back, notlook upon your departure as a _holiday_. When my business kept me awayfrom the _scrabbling_-table, a petition often came, that I would go and_talk_ with the group, and the bearer generally was the youngest, beingthe most likely to succeed. When I went from home, all followed me tothe outer-gate, and looked after me, till the carriage, or horse, wasout of sight. At the time appointed for my return, all were prepared tomeet me; and if it were late at night, they sat up as long as they wereable to keep their eyes open. This love of parents, and this constantpleasure _at home_, made them not even think of seeking pleasure abroad;and they, thus, were kept from vicious playmates and early corruption. 

294. This is the age, too, to teach children to be _trust-worthy_, andto be _merciful_ and _humane_. We lived _in a garden_ of about twoacres, partly kitchen-garden with walls, partly shrubbery and trees, andpartly grass. There were the _peaches_, as tempting as any that evergrew, and yet as safe from fingers as if no child were ever in thegarden. It was not necessary to _forbid_. The blackbirds, the thrushes, the whitethroats, and even that very shy bird the goldfinch, had theirnests and bred up their young-ones, in great abundance, all about thislittle spot, constantly the play-place of six children; and one of thelatter had its nest, and brought up its young-ones, in a_raspberry-bush_, within two yards of a walk, and at the time that wewere gathering the ripe raspberries. We give _dogs_, and justly, greatcredit for sagacity and memory; but the following two most curiousinstances, which I should not venture to state, if there were not somany witnesses to the facts, in my neighbours at Botley, as well as inmy own family, will show, that _birds_ are not, in this respect, inferior to the canine race. All country people know that the _skylark_is a very shy bird; that its abode is the open fields: that it settleson the ground only; that it seeks safety in the wideness of space; thatit avoids enclosures, and is never seen in gardens. A part of our groundwas a grass-plat of about _forty rods_, or a quarter of an acre, which, one year, was left to be mowed for hay. A pair of larks, coming out ofthe fields into the middle of a pretty populous village, chose to maketheir nest in the middle of this little spot, and at not more than about_thirty-five yards_ from one of the doors of the house, in which therewere about twelve persons living, and six of those children, who hadconstant access to all parts of the ground. There we saw the cock risingup and singing, then taking his turn upon the eggs; and by-and-by, weobserved him cease to sing, and saw them both _constantly engaged inbringing food to the young ones_. No unintelligible hint to fathers andmothers of the human race, who have, before marriage, taken delight in_music_. But the time came for _mowing the grass_! I waited a good manydays for the brood to get away; but, at last, I determined on the day;and if the larks were there still, to leave a patch of grass standinground them. In order not to keep them in dread longer than necessary, Ibrought three able mowers, who would cut the whole in about an hour; andas the plat was nearly circular, set them to mow _round_, beginning atthe outside. And now for sagacity indeed! The moment the men began towhet their scythes, the two old larks began to flutter over the nest, and to make a great clamour. When the men began to mow, they flew roundand round, stooping so low, when near the men, as almost to touch theirbodies, making a great chattering at the same time; but before the menhad got round with the second swarth, they flew to the nest, and awaythey went, young ones and all, across the river, at the foot of theground, and settled in the long grass in my neighbour's orchard. 

295. The other instance relates to a HOUSE-MARTEN. It is well known thatthese birds build their nests under the eaves of inhabited houses, andsometimes under those of door porches; but we had one that built itsnest _in the house_, and upon the top of a common doorcase, the door ofwhich opened into a room out of the main passage into the house. Perceiving the marten had begun to build its nest here, we kept thefront-door open in the daytime; but were obliged to fasten it at night. It went on, had eggs, young ones, and the young ones flew. I used toopen the door in the morning early, and then the birds carried on theiraffairs till night. The next _year_ the MARTEN came again, and had_another brood in the same place_. It found its _old nest_; and havingrepaired it, and put it in order, went on again in the former way; andit would, I dare say, have continued to come to the end of its life, ifwe had remained there so long, notwithstanding there were six healthychildren in the house, making just as much noise as they pleased. 

296. Now, what _sagacity_ in these birds, to discover that those wereplaces of safety! And how happy must it have made us, the parents, to be_sure_ that our children had thus deeply imbibed habits the contrary ofcruelty! For, be it engraven on your heart, YOUNG MAN, that, whateverappearances may say to the contrary, _cruelty_ is always accompaniedwith _cowardice_, and also with _perfidy_, when that is called for bythe circumstances of the case; and that _habitual_ acts of cruelty toother creatures, will, nine times out of ten, produce, when the power ispossessed, cruelty to human beings. The ill-usage of _horses_, andparticularly _asses_, is a grave and a just charge against this nation. No other nation on earth is guilty of it to the same extent. Not only by_blows_, but by privation, are we cruel towards these useful, docile, and patient creatures; and especially towards the last, which is themost docile and patient and laborious of the two, while the food thatsatisfies it, is of the coarsest and least costly kind, and in quantityso small! In the habitual ill-treatment of this animal, which, inaddition to all its labours, has the milk taken from its young ones toadminister a remedy for our ailments, there is something that bespeaks_ingratitude_ hardly to be described. In a REGISTER that I wrote fromLong Island, I said, that amongst all the things of which I had beenbereft, I regretted no one so much as a very diminutive _mare_, on whichmy children had all, in succession, learned to ride. She was becomeuseless for them, and, indeed, for any other purpose; but therecollection of her was so entwined with so many past circumstances, which, at that distance, my mind conjured up, that I really was veryuneasy, lest she should fall into cruel hands. By good luck, she was, after a while, turned out on the wide world to shift for herself; andwhen we got back, and had a place for her to _stand_ in, from her nativeforest we brought her to Kensington, and she is now at Barn-Elm, abouttwenty-six years old, and I dare say, as fat as a mole. Now, not onlyhave I no moral _right_ (considering my ability to pay for keep) todeprive her of life; but it would be _unjust_ and _ungrateful_, in me towithhold from her sufficient food and lodging to make life as pleasantas possible while that life last. 

297. In the meanwhile the book-learning _crept in_ of its own accord, byimperceptible degrees. Children naturally want to be _like_ theirparents, and _to do what they do_: the boys following their father, andthe girls their mother; and as I was always _writing_ or _reading_, minenaturally desired to do something in the same way. But, at the sametime, they heard no talk from _fools_ or _drinkers_; saw me with noidle, gabbling, empty companions; saw no vain and affected coxcombs, andno tawdry and extravagant women; saw no nasty gormandizing; and heard nogabble about play-houses and romances and the other nonsense that fitboys to be lobby-loungers, and girls to be the ruin of industrious andfrugal young men. 

298. We wanted no stimulants of this sort to _keep up our spirits_: ourvarious pleasing pursuits were quite sufficient for that; and the_book-learning_ came amongst the rest of the pleasures, to which it was, in some sort, necessary. I remember that, one year, I raised aprodigious crop of fine _melons_, under hand-glasses; and I learned howto do it from a gardening _book_; or, at least, that book was necessaryto remind me of the details. Having passed part of an evening in talkingto the boys about getting this crop, 'Come, ' said I, 'now, let us _readthe book_. ' Then the book came forth, and to work we went, followingvery strictly the precepts of the book. I read the thing but once, butthe eldest boy read it, perhaps, twenty times over; and explained allabout the matter to the others. Why here was a _motive_! Then he had totell the garden-labourer _what to do_ to the melons. Now, I will engage, that more was really _learned_ by this single _lesson_, than would havebeen learned by spending, at this son's age, a year at school; and he_happy_ and _delighted_ all the while. When any dispute arose amongstthem about hunting or shooting, or any other of their pursuits, they, bydegrees, found out the way of settling it by reference to some book; andwhen any difficulty occurred, as to the meaning, they referred to me, who, if at home, _always instantly attended to them_, in these matters. 

299. They began writing by taking words out of _printed books_; findingout which letter was which, by asking me, or asking those who knew theletters one from another; and by imitating bits of my writing, it issurprising how soon they began to write a hand like mine, very small, very faint-stroked, and nearly plain as print. The first use that anyone of them made of the pen, was to _write to me_, though in the samehouse with them. They began doing this in mere _scratches_, before theyknew how to make any one letter; and as I was always folding up lettersand directing them, so were they; and they were _sure_ to receive a_prompt answer_, with most _encouraging_ compliments. All the meddlingsand teazings of friends, and, what was more serious, the pressingprayers of their anxious mother, about sending them to _school_, Iwithstood without the slightest effect on my resolution. As to friends, preferring my own judgment to theirs, I did not care much; but anexpression of anxiety, implying a doubt of the soundness of my ownjudgment, coming, perhaps, twenty times a day from her whose care theywere as well as mine, was not a matter to smile at, and very greattrouble it did give me. My answer at last was, as to the boys, I wantthem to be _like me_; and as to the girls, In whose hands can they be sosafe as in _yours_? Therefore my resolution is taken: _go to school theyshall not_. 

300. Nothing is much more annoying than the _intermeddling of friends_, in a case like this. The wife appeals _to them_, and '_good breeding_, 'that is to say, _nonsense_, is sure to put them on _her side_. Then, they, particularly the _women_, when describing the _surprisingprogress_ made by their _own sons_ at school, used, if one of mine werepresent, to turn to him, and ask, to what school _he went_, and what_he_ was _learning_? I leave any one to judge of _his_ opinion of her;and whether _he_ would like her the better for that! 'Bless me, so tall, and _not learned_ any thing _yet_!' 'Oh yes, he has, ' I used to say, 'hehas learned to ride, and hunt, and shoot, and fish, and look aftercattle and sheep, and to work in the garden, and to feed his dogs, andto go from village to village in the dark. ' This was the way I used tomanage with troublesome customers of this sort. And how glad thechildren used to be, when they got clear of such criticising people! Andhow grateful they felt to me for the _protection_ which they saw that Igave them against that state of restraint, of which other people's boyscomplained! Go whither they might, they found no place so pleasant ashome, and no soul that came near them affording them so many means ofgratification as they received from me. 

301. In this happy state we lived, until the year 1810, when thegovernment laid its merciless fangs upon me, dragged me from thesedelights, and _crammed me into a jail amongst felons_; of which I shallhave to speak more fully, when, in the last Number, I come to speak ofthe duties of THE CITIZEN. This added to the difficulties of my task of_teaching_; for now I was snatched away from the _only_ scene in whichit could, as I thought, properly be executed. But even thesedifficulties were got over. The blow was, to be sure, a terrible one;and, oh God! how was it felt by these poor children! It was in the monthof July when the horrible sentence was passed upon me. My wife, havingleft her children in the care of her good and affectionate sister, wasin London, waiting to know the doom of her husband. When the newsarrived at Botley, the three boys, one eleven, another nine, and theother seven, years old, were hoeing cabbages in that garden which hadbeen the source of so much delight. When the account of the savagesentence was brought to them, the youngest could not, for some time, bemade to understand what a _jail_ was; and, when he did, he, all in atremor, exclaimed, 'Now I'm sure, William, that PAPA is not in a place_like that_!' The other, in order to disguise his tears and smother hissobs, fell to work with the hoe, and _chopped about like a blindperson_. This account, when it reached me, affected me more, filled mewith deeper resentment, than any other circumstance. And, oh! how Idespise the wretches who talk of my _vindictiveness_; of my _exultation_at the confusion of those who inflicted those sufferings! How I despisethe base creatures, the crawling slaves, the callous and cowardlyhypocrites, who affect to be '_shocked_' (tender souls!) at myexpressions of _joy_, and at the death of Gibbs, Ellenborough, Perceval, Liverpool, Canning, and the rest of the tribe that I have already seenout, and at the fatal workings of _that system_, for endeavouring tocheck which I was thus punished! How I despise these wretches, and howI, above all things, enjoy their ruin, and anticipate their utterbeggary! What! I am to forgive, am I, injuries like this; and that, too, without any _atonement_? Oh, no! I have not so read the Holy Scriptures;I have not, from them, learned that I am not to rejoice at the fall ofunjust foes; and it makes a part of my happiness to be able _to tellmillions of men_ that I do thus rejoice, and that I have the means ofcalling on so many just and merciful men to rejoice along with me. 

302. Now, then, the _book-learning_ was _forced_ upon us. I had a _farm_in hand. It was necessary that I should be constantly informed of whatwas doing. I gave _all the orders_, whether as to purchases, sales, ploughing, sowing, breeding; in short, with regard to every thing, andthe things were endless in number and variety, and always full ofinterest. My eldest son and daughter could now write well and fast. Oneor the other of these was always at Botley; and I had with me (havinghired the best part of the keeper's house) one or two, besides eitherthis brother or sister; the mother coming up to town about once in twoor three months, leaving the house and children in the care of hersister. We had a HAMPER, with a lock and two keys, which came up once aweek, or oftener, bringing me fruit and all sorts of country fare, forthe carriage of which, cost free, I was indebted to as good a man asever God created, the late Mr. GEORGE ROGERS, of Southampton, who, inthe prime of life, died deeply lamented by thousands, but by none moredeeply than by me and my family, who have to thank him, and the whole ofhis excellent family, for benefits and marks of kindness without number. 

303. This HAMPER, which was always, at both ends of the line, looked forwith the most lively feelings, became our _school_. It brought me _ajournal_ of _labours_, _proceedings_, and _occurrences_, written onpaper of shape and size uniform, and so contrived, as to margins, as toadmit of binding. The journal used, when my son was the writer, to beinterspersed with drawings of our dogs, colts, or any thing that hewanted me to have a correct idea of. The hamper brought me plants, bulbs, and the like, that I might _see_ the size of them; and alwaysevery one sent his or her _most beautiful flowers_; the earliestviolets, and primroses, and cowslips, and blue-bells; the earliest twigsof trees; and, in short, every thing that they thought calculated todelight me. The moment the hamper arrived, I, casting aside every thingelse, set to work to answer _every question_, to give new directions, and to add anything likely to give pleasure at Botley. _Every_ hamperbrought one '_letter_, ' as they called it, if not more, from everychild; and to _every_ letter I wrote _an answer_, sealed up and sent tothe party, being sure that that was the way to produce other and betterletters; for, though they could not read what I wrote, and though theirown consisted at first of mere _scratches_, and afterwards, for a while, of a few words written down for them to imitate, I always thanked themfor their '_pretty letter_'; and never expressed any wish to see them_write better_; but took care to write in a very neat and plain hand_myself_, and to do up my letter in a very neat manner. 

304. Thus, while the ferocious tigers thought I was doomed to incessantmortification, and to rage that must extinguish my mental powers, Ifound in my children, and in their spotless and courageous and mostaffectionate mother, delights to which the callous hearts of thosetigers were strangers. 'Heaven first taught letters for some wretch'said. ' How often did this line of Pope occur to me when I opened thelittle _spuddling_ 'letters' from Botley! This correspondence occupied agood part of my time: I had all the children with me, turn and turnabout; and, in order to give the boys exercise, and to give the twoeldest an opportunity of beginning to learn French, I used, for a partof the two years, to send them a few hours in the day to an ABBÉ, wholived in Castle-street, Holborn. All this was a great relaxation to mymind; and, when I had to return to my literary labours, I returned_fresh_ and cheerful, full of vigour, and _full of hope_, of finallyseeing my unjust and merciless foes at my feet, and that, too, withoutcaring a straw on whom their fall might bring calamity, so that my ownfamily were safe; because, say what any one might, the _community, takenas a whole_, had _suffered this thing to be done unto us_. 

305. The paying of the work-people, the keeping of the accounts, thereferring to books, the writing and reading of letters; this everlastingmixture of amusement with book-learning, made me, almost to my ownsurprise, find, at the end of the two years, that I had a parcel of_scholars_ growing up about me; and, long before the end of the time, Ihad _dictated many Registers_ to my two eldest children. Then, there was_copying_ out of books, which taught _spelling correctly_. Thecalculations about the farming affairs forced arithmetic upon us: the_use_, the _necessity_, of the thing, led to the study. By-and-by, wehad to look into the _laws_ to know what to do about the _highways_, about the _game_, about the _poor_, and all rural and _parochial_affairs. I was, indeed, by the fangs of the government, defeated in myfondly-cherished project of making my sons farmers on their own land, and keeping them from all temptation to seek vicious and enervatingenjoyments; but those fangs, merciless as they had been, had not beenable to prevent me from laying in for their lives a store of usefulinformation, habits of industry, care, sobriety, and a taste forinnocent, healthful, and manly pleasures: the fangs had made me and thempennyless; but, they had not been able to take from us our health or ourmental possessions; and these were ready for application ascircumstances might ordain. 

306. After the age that I have now been speaking of, _fourteen_, Isuppose every one _became_ a reader and writer according to fancy. As to_books_, with the exception of the _Poets_, I never bought, in my wholelife, any one that I did not _want_ for some purpose of _utility_, andof _practical utility_ too. I have two or three times had the wholecollection snatched away from me; and have begun again to get themtogether as they were wanted. Go and kick an ANT's nest about, and youwill see the little laborious, courageous creatures _instantly_ set towork to get it together again; and if you do this ten times over, tentimes over they will do the same. Here is the sort of stuff that menmust be made of to oppose, with success, those who, by whatever means, get possession of great and mischievous power. 

307. Now, I am aware, that that which _I did_, cannot be done by everyone of hundreds of thousands of fathers, each of whom loves his childrenwith all his soul: I am aware that the attorney, the surgeon, thephysician, the trader, and even the farmer, cannot, generally speaking, do what I did, and that they must, in most cases, send their _sons_ toschool, if it be necessary for them to have _book-learning_. But while Isay this, I know, that there are _many things_, which I did, which manyfathers might do, and which, nevertheless, _they do not do_. It is inthe power of _every father_ to live _at home with his family_, when not_compelled_ by business, or by public duty, to be absent: it is in hispower to set an example of industry and sobriety and frugality, and toprevent a taste for gaming, dissipation, extravagance, from getting rootin the minds of his children: it is in his power to continue to make hischildren _hearers_, when he is reproving servants for idleness, orcommending them for industry and care: it is in his power to keep alldissolute and idly-talking companions from his house: it is in his powerto teach them, by his uniform example, justice and mercy towards theinferior animals: it is in his power to do many other things, andsomething in the way of book-learning too, however busy his life may be. It is completely within his power to teach them early-rising and earlygoing to bed; and, if many a man, who says that he has _not time_ toteach his children, were to sit down, in _sincerity_, with a pen and abit of paper, and put down all the minutes, which he, in everytwenty-four hours, _wastes_ over the _bottle_, or over _cheese_ and_oranges_ and _raisins_ and _biscuits_, _after_ he has _dined_; how manyhe lounges away, either at the coffee-house or at home, over the_useless_ part of newspapers; how many he spends in waiting for thecoming and the managing of the tea-table; how many he passes bycandle-light, _wearied of his existence_, when he might be in bed; howmany he passes in the morning in bed, while the sun and dew shine andsparkle for him in vain: if he were to put all these together, and wereto add those which he passes in the _reading of books_ for his merepersonal _amusement_, and without the smallest chance of acquiring fromthem any _useful_ practical knowledge: if he were to sum up the whole ofthese, and add to them the time worse than wasted in the contemptiblework of dressing off _his person_, he would be frightened at the result;would send for his boys from school; and if greater book-learning thanhe possessed were necessary, he would choose for the purpose some man ofability, and see the teaching carried on under his own roof, with safetyas to morals, and with the best chance as to health. 

308. If after all, however, a school must be resorted to, let it, if inyour power, be as little populous as possible. As 'evil communicationscorrupt good manners, ' so the more numerous the assemblage, and the moreextensive the communication, the greater the chance of corruption. _Jails, barracks, factories_, do not corrupt by their _walls_, but bytheir condensed numbers. Populous cities corrupt from the same cause;and it is, because _it must be_, the same with regard to schools, out ofwhich children come not what they were when they went in. The master is, in some sort, their enemy; he is their overlooker; he is a spy uponthem; his authority is maintained by his absolute power of punishment;_the parent commits them to that power_; to be taught is to be held inrestraint; and, as the sparks fly upwards, the teaching and therestraint will not be divided in the estimation of the boy. Besides allthis, there is the great disadvantage of _tardiness_ in arriving atyears of discretion. If boys live only with boys, their ideas willcontinue to be boyish; if they see and hear and converse with nobody butboys, how are they to have the thoughts and the character of men? It is, _at last_, only by hearing _men_ talk and seeing men act, that theylearn to talk and act like men; and, therefore, to confine them to thesociety of boys, is to _retard_ their arrival at the years ofdiscretion; and in case of adverse circumstances in the pecuniary way, where, in all the creation, is there so helpless a mortal as a boy whohas always been at school! But, if, as I said before, a school there_must_ be, let the congregation be as small as possible; and, do notexpect too much from the master; for, if it be irksome to you to teachyour own sons, what must that teaching be to him? If he have greatnumbers, he must delegate his authority; and, like all other delegatedauthority, it will either be abused or neglected. 

309. With regard to _girls_, one would think that _mothers_ would wantno argument to make them shudder at the thought of committing the careof their daughters to other hands than their own. If fortune have sofavoured them as to make them rationally desirous that their daughtersshould have more of what are called accomplishments _than_ they_themselves have_, it has also favoured them with the means of havingteachers under their own eye. If it have not favoured them so highly asthis (and it seldom has in the middle rank of life), what duty so sacredas that imposed on a mother to be the teacher of her daughters! And isshe, from love of ease or of pleasure or of any thing else, to neglectthis duty; is she to commit her daughters to the care of persons, withwhose manners and morals it is impossible for her to be thoroughlyacquainted; is she to send them into the promiscuous society of girls, who belong to nobody knows whom, and come from nobody knows whither, andsome of whom, for aught she can know to the contrary, may have beencorrupted before, and sent thither to be hidden from their formercircle; is she to send her daughters to be shut up within walls, thebare sight of which awaken the idea of intrigue and invite to seductionand surrender; is she to leave the health of her daughters to chance, toshut them up with a motley bevy of strangers, some of whom, as is_frequently_ the case, are proclaimed _bastards_, by the undeniabletestimony given by the _colour of their skin_; is she to do all this, and still put forward pretensions to the authority and the affection dueto a _mother_! And, are you to permit all this, and still call yourself_a father_!

310. Well, then, having resolved to teach your own children, or, to havethem taught, at home, let us now see how they ought to proceed as to_books_ for learning. It is evident, speaking of boys, that, at last, they must study the art, or science, that you intend them to pursue; ifthey be to be surgeons, they must read books on surgery; and the like inother cases. But, there are certain _elementary_ studies; certain booksto be used by _all persons_, who are destined to acquire anybook-learning at all. Then there are departments, or branches ofknowledge, that every man in the middle rank of life, ought, if he can, to acquire, they being, in some sort, necessary to his reputation as a_well-informed_ man, a character to which the farmer and the shopkeeperought to aspire as well as the lawyer and the surgeon. Let me now, then, offer my advice as to the _course_ of reading, and the _manner_ ofreading, for a boy, arrived at his _fourteenth_ year, that being, in myopinion, early enough for him to begin. 

311. And, first of all, whether as to boys or girls, I deprecate_romances_ of every description. It is impossible that they can do any_good_, and they may do a great deal of harm. They excite passions thatought to lie dormant; they give the mind a taste for _highly-seasoned_matter; they make matters of real life insipid; every girl, addicted tothem, sighs to be a SOPHIA WESTERN, and every boy, a TOM JONES. Whatgirl is not in love with the _wild_ youth, and what boy does not find ajustification for his wildness? What can be more pernicious than theteachings of this celebrated romance? Here are two young men put beforeus, both sons of the same mother; the one a _bastard_ (and by a parsontoo), the other a _legitimate child_; the former wild, disobedient, andsquandering; the latter steady, sober, obedient, and frugal; the formerevery thing that is frank and generous in his nature, the latter agreedy hypocrite; the former rewarded with the most beautiful andvirtuous of women and a double estate, the latter punished by being madean outcast. How is it possible for young people to read such a book, andto look upon orderliness, sobriety, obedience, and frugality, as_virtues_? And this is the tenor of almost every romance, and of almostevery play, in our language. In the 'School for Scandal, ' for instance, we see two brothers; the one a prudent and frugal man, and, to allappearance, a moral man, the other a hair-brained squanderer, laughingat the morality of his brother; the former turns out to be a basehypocrite and seducer, and is brought to shame and disgrace; while thelatter is found to be full of generous sentiment, and Heaven itselfseems to interfere to give him fortune and fame. In short, the directtendency of the far greater part of these books, is, to cause youngpeople to despise all those virtues, without the practice of which theymust be a curse to their parents, a burden to the community, and must, except by mere accident, lead wretched lives. I do not recollect oneromance nor one play, in our language, which has not this tendency. Howis it possible for young princes to read the historical plays of thepunning and smutty Shakspeare, and not think, that to be drunkards, blackguards, the companions of debauchees and robbers, is the suitablebeginning of a glorious reign?

312. There is, too, another most abominable principle that runs throughthem all, namely, that there is in _high birth_, something of _superiornature_, instinctive courage, honour, and talent. Who can look at thetwo _royal youths_ in CYMBELINE, or at the _noble youth_ in DOUGLAS, without detesting the base parasites who wrote those plays? Here areyouths, brought up by _shepherds_, never told of their origin, believingthemselves the sons of these humble parents, but discovering, when grownup, the highest notions of valour and honour, and thirsting for militaryrenown, even while tending their reputed fathers' flocks and herds! And, why this species of falsehood? To cheat the mass of the people; to keepthem in abject subjection; to make them quietly submit to despotic sway. And the infamous authors are guilty of the cheat, because they are, inone shape or another, paid by oppressors out of means squeezed from thepeople. A _true_ picture would give us just the reverse; would show usthat '_high birth_' is the enemy of virtue, of valour, and of talent;would show us, that with all their incalculable advantages, royal andnoble families have, only by mere accident, produced a great man; that, in general, they have been amongst the most effeminate, unprincipled, cowardly, stupid, and, at the very least, amongst the most uselesspersons, considered as individuals, and not in connexion with theprerogatives and powers bestowed on them solely by the law. 

313. It is impossible for me, by any words that I can use, to express, to the extent of my thoughts, the danger of suffering young people toform their opinions from the writings of poets and romances. Nine timesout of ten, the morality they teach is bad, and must have a badtendency. Their wit is employed to _ridicule virtue_, as you will almostalways find, if you examine the matter to the bottom. The world owes avery large part of its sufferings to tyrants; but what tyrant was thereamongst the ancients, whom the poets did not place _amongst the gods_?Can you open an English poet, without, in some part or other of hisworks, finding the grossest flatteries of royal and noble persons? Howare young people not to think that the praises bestowed on these personsare just? DRYDEN, PARNELL, GAY, THOMSON, in short, what poet have wehad, or have we, POPE only excepted, who was not, or is not, apensioner, or a sinecure placeman, or the wretched dependent of somepart of the Aristocracy? Of the extent of the powers of writers inproducing mischief to a nation, we have two most striking instances inthe cases of Dr. JOHNSON and BURKE. The former, at a time when it was aquestion whether war should be made on America to compel her to submitto be taxed by the English parliament, wrote a pamphlet, entitled, '_Taxation no Tyranny_, ' to urge the nation into that war. The latter, when it was a question, whether England should wage war against thepeople of France, to prevent them from reforming their government, wrotea pamphlet to urge the nation into _that_ war. The first war lost usAmerica, the last cost us six hundred millions of money, and has loadedus with forty millions a year of taxes. JOHNSON, however, got a _pensionfor his life_, and BURKE a pension for his life, and for _three livesafter his own_! CUMBERLAND and MURPHY, the play-writers, werepensioners; and, in short, of the whole mass, where has there been one, whom the people were not compelled to pay for labours, having for theirprincipal object the deceiving and enslaving of that same people? It is, therefore, the duty of every father, when he puts a book into the handsof his son or daughter, to give the reader a true account of _who_ and_what_ the writer of the book was, or is. 

314. If a boy be intended for any particular calling, he ought, ofcourse, to be induced to read books relating to that calling, if suchbooks there be; and, therefore, I shall not be more particular on thathead. But, there are certain things, that all men in the middle rank oflife, ought to know something of; because the knowledge will be a sourceof pleasure; and because the want of it must, very frequently, give thempain, by making them appear inferior, in point of mind, to many who are, in fact, their inferiors in that respect. These things are _grammar, arithmetic, history_, accompanied with _geography_ Without these, a man, in the middle rank of life, however able he may be in his calling, makesbut an awkward figure. Without _grammar_ he cannot, with safety to hischaracter as a well-informed man, put his thoughts upon paper; nor canhe be _sure_, that he is speaking with propriety. How many clever menhave I known, full of natural talent, eloquent by nature, replete withevery thing calculated to give them weight in society; and yet havinglittle or no weight, merely because unable to put correctly upon paperthat which they have in their minds! For me not to say, that I deem _myEnglish Grammar_ the best book for teaching this science, would beaffectation, and neglect of duty besides; because I know, that it is thebest; because I wrote it for the purpose; and because, hundreds andhundreds of men and women have told me, some verbally, and some byletter, that, though (many of them) at grammar schools for years, theyreally never _knew_ any thing of grammar, until they studied my book. I, who know well all the difficulties that I experienced when I read booksupon the subject, can easily believe this, and especially when I thinkof the numerous instances in which I have seen _university_-scholarsunable to write English, with any tolerable degree of correctness. Inthis book, the principles are so clearly explained, that the disgustarising from intricacy is avoided; and it is this disgust, that is thegreat and mortal enemy of acquiring knowledge. 

315. With regard to ARITHMETIC, it is a branch of learning absolutelynecessary to every one, who has any pecuniary transactions beyond thosearising out of the expenditure of his week's wages. All the books onthis subject that I had ever seen, were so bad, so destitute of everything calculated to lead the mind into a knowledge of the matter, sovoid of principles, and so evidently tending to puzzle and disgust thelearner, by their sententious, and crabbed, and quaint, and almosthieroglyphical definitions, that I, at one time, had the intention ofwriting a little work on the subject myself. It was put off, from onecause or another; but a little work on the subject has been, partly atmy suggestion, written and published by Mr. THOMAS SMITH of Liverpool, and is sold by Mr. SHERWOOD, in London. The author has great ability, and a perfect knowledge of his subject. It is a book of principles; andany young person of common capacity, will learn more from it in a week, than from all the other books, that I ever saw on the subject, in atwelve-month. 

316. While the foregoing studies are proceeding, though they very wellafford a relief to each other, HISTORY may serve as a relaxation, particularly during the study of grammar, which is an undertakingrequiring patience and time. Of all history, that of our own country isof the most importance; because, for want of a thorough knowledge ofwhat _has been_, we are, in many cases, at a loss to account for _whatis_, and still more at a loss, to be able to show what _ought to be_. The difference between history and romance is this; that that which isnarrated in the latter, leaves in the mind nothing which it can apply topresent or future circumstances and events; while the former, when it iswhat it ought to be, leaves the mind stored with arguments forexperience, applicable, at all times, to the actual affairs of life. Thehistory of a country ought to show the origin and progress of itsinstitutions, political, civil, and ecclesiastical; it ought to show theeffects of those institutions upon the state of the people; it ought todelineate the measures of the government at the several epochs; and, having clearly described the state of the people at the several periods, it ought to show the cause of their freedom, good morals, and happiness;or of their misery, immorality, and slavery; and this, too, by theproduction of indubitable facts, and of inferences so manifestly fair, as to leave not the smallest doubt upon the mind. 

317. Do the histories of England which we have, answer this description?They are very little better than romances. Their contents are generallyconfined to narrations relating to battles, negociations, intrigues, contests between rival sovereignties, rival nobles, and to the characterof kings, queens, mistresses, bishops, ministers, and the like; fromscarcely any of which can the reader draw any knowledge which is at allapplicable to the circumstances of the present day. 

318. Besides this, there is the _falsehood_; and the falsehoodscontained in these histories, where shall we find any thing to surpass?Let us take one instance. They all tell us, that William the Conquerorknocked down twenty-six parish churches, and laid waste the parishes inorder to make the New Forest; and this in a tract of the very poorestland in England, where the churches must then have stood at about onemile and two hundred yards from each other. The truth is, that all thechurches are still standing that were there when William landed, and thewhole story is a sheer falsehood from the beginning to the end. 

319. But, this is a mere specimen of these romances; and that too, withregard to a matter comparatively unimportant to us. The importantfalsehoods are, those which misguide us by statement or by inference, with regard to the state of the people at the several epochs, asproduced by the institutions of the country, or the measures of theGovernment. It is always the object of those who have power in theirhands, to persuade the people that they are better off than theirforefathers were: it is the great business of history to show how thismatter stands; and, with respect to this great matter, what are we tolearn from any thing that has hitherto been called a history of England!I remember, that, about a dozen years ago, I was talking with a veryclever young man, who had read twice or thrice over the History ofEngland, by different authors; and that I gave the conversation a turnthat drew from him, unperceived by himself, that he did not know howtithes, parishes, poor-rates, church-rates, and the abolition of trialby jury in hundreds of cases, came to be in England; and, that he hadnot the smallest idea of the manner in which the Duke of Bedford came topossess the power of taxing our cabbages in Covent-Garden. Yet, this ishistory. I have done a great deal, with regard to matters of this sort, in my famous History of the PROTESTANT REFORMATION; for I may truly callthat famous, which has been translated and published in all the modernlanguages. 

320. But, it is reserved for me to write a complete history of thecountry from the earliest times to the present day; and this, God givingme life and health, I shall begin to do in monthly numbers, beginning onthe first of September, and in which I shall endeavour to combinebrevity with clearness. We do not want to consume our time over a dozenpages about Edward the Third dancing at a ball, picking up a lady'sgarter, and making that garter the foundation of an order of knighthood, bearing the motto of '_Honi soit qui mal y pense_? It is not stuff likethis; but we want to know what was the state of the people; what were alabourer's wages; what were the prices of the food, and how thelabourers were dressed in the reign of that great king. What is a youngperson to imbibe from a history of England, as it is called, like thatof Goldsmith? It is a little romance to amuse children; and the otherhistorians have given us larger romances to amuse lazy persons who aregrown up. To destroy the effects of these, and to make the people knowwhat their country has been, will be my object; and this, I trust, Ishall effect. We are, it is said, to have a History of England from SIRJAMES MACKINTOSH; a History of Scotland from SIR WALTER SCOTT; and aHISTORY OF IRELAND from Tommy Moore, the luscious poet. A Scotch lawyer, who is a pensioner, and a member for Knaresborough, which is well knownto the Duke of Devonshire, who has the great tithes of twenty parishesin Ireland, will, doubtless, write a most impartial _History ofEngland_, and particularly as far as relates to _boroughs_ and _tithes_. A Scotch romance-writer, who, under the name of _Malagrowther_, wrote apamphlet to prove, that one-pound-notes were the cause of riches toScotland, will write, to be sure, a most instructive _History ofScotland_. And, from the pen of a Irish poet, who is a sinecureplaceman, and a protégé of an English peer that has immense parcels ofIrish confiscated estates, what a beautiful history shall we not thenhave of _unfortunate Ireland_! Oh, no! We are not going to be contentwith stuff such as these men will bring out. Hume and Smollett andRobertson have cheated us long enough. We are not in a humour to becheated any longer. 

321. GEOGRAPHY is taught at schools, if we believe the school-cards. Thescholars can tell you all about the divisions of the earth, and this isvery well for persons who have leisure to indulge their curiosity; butit does seem to me monstrous that a young person's time should be spentin ascertaining the boundaries of Persia or China, knowing nothing allthe while about the boundaries, the rivers, the soil, or the products, or of the any thing else of Yorkshire or Devonshire. The first thing ingeography is to know that of the country in which we live, especiallythat in which we were born: I have now seen almost every hill and valleyin it with my own eyes; nearly every city and every town, and no smallpart of the whole of the villages. I am therefore qualified to give anaccount of the country; and that account, under the title ofGeographical Dictionary of England and Wales, I am now having printed asa companion to my history. 

322. When a young man well understands the geography of his own country;when he has referred to maps on this smaller scale; when, in short, heknows all about his own country, and is able to apply his knowledge touseful purposes, he may look at other countries, and particularly atthose, the powers or measures of which are likely to affect his owncountry. It is of great importance to us to be well acquainted with theextent of France, the United States, Portugal, Spain, Mexico, Turkey, and Russia; but what need we care about the tribes of Asia and Africa, the condition of which can affect us no more than we would be affectedby any thing that is passing in the moon?

323. When people have nothing useful to do, they may indulge theircuriosity; but, merely to _read books_, is not to be industrious, is notto study, and is not the way to become learned. Perhaps there are nonemore lazy, or more truly ignorant, than your everlasting readers. A bookis an admirable excuse for sitting still; and, a man who has constantlya newspaper, a magazine, a review, or some book or other in his hand, gets, at last, his head stuffed with such a jumble, that he knows notwhat to think about any thing. An empty coxcomb, that wastes his time indressing, strutting, or strolling about, and picking his teeth, iscertainly a most despicable creature, but scarcely less so than a merereader of books, who is, generally, conceited, thinks himself wiser thanother men, in proportion to the number of leaves that he has turnedover. In short, a young man should bestow his time upon no book, thecontents of which he cannot apply to some useful purpose. 

324. Books of travels, of biography, natural history, and particularlysuch as relate to agriculture and horticulture, are all proper, whenleisure is afforded for them; and the two last are useful to a verygreat part of mankind; but, unless the subjects treated of are of someinterest to us in our affairs, no time should be wasted upon them, whenthere are so many duties demanded at our hands by our families and ourcountry. A man may read books for ever, and be an ignorant creature atlast, and even the more ignorant for his reading. 

325. And, with regard to young women, everlasting book-reading isabsolutely _a vice_. When they once get into the habit, they neglect allother matters, and, in some cases, even their very dress. Attending tothe affairs of the house: to the washing, the baking, the brewing, thepreservation and cooking of victuals, the management of the poultry andthe garden; these are their proper occupations. It is said (with whattruth I know not) of the _present Queen_ (wife of William IV), that shewas an active, excellent manager of her house. Impossible to bestow onher greater praise; and I trust that her example will have its dueeffect on the young women of the present day, who stand, but toogenerally, in need of that example. 

326. The great fault of the present generation, is, that, in _all_ranks, the _notions of self-importance are too high_. This has arisenfrom causes not visible to many, out the consequences are felt by all, and that, too, with great severity. There has been a general_sublimating_ going on for many years. Not to put the word _Esquire_before the name of almost any man who is not a mere labourer or artisan, is almost _an affront_. Every merchant, every master-manufacturer, everydealer, if at all rich, is an _Esquire_; squires' sons must be_gentlemen_, and squires' wives and daughters _ladies_. If this were_all_; if it were merely a ridiculous misapplication of words, the evilwould not be great; but, unhappily, words lead to acts and producethings; and the '_young gentleman_' is not easily to be moulded into a_tradesman_ or a _working farmer_. And yet the world is too small tohold so many _gentlemen_ and _ladies_. How many thousands of young menhave, at this moment, cause to lament that they are not carpenters, ormasons, or tailors, or shoemakers; and how many thousands of those, thatthey have been bred up to wish to disguise their honest and useful, andtherefore honourable, calling! ROUSSEAU observes, that men are happy, first, in proportion to their virtue, and next, in proportion to their_independence_; and that, of all mankind, the artisan, or craftsman, isthe most independent; because he carries about, _in his own hands_ andperson, the means of gaining his livelihood; and that the more commonthe use of the articles on which he works, the more perfect hisindependence. 'Where, ' says he, 'there is one man that stands in need ofthe talents of the dentist, there are a hundred thousand that want thoseof the people who supply the matter for the teeth to work on; and forone who wants a sonnet to regale his fancy, there are a millionclamouring for men to make or mend their shoes. ' Aye, and this is thereason, why shoemakers are proverbially the most independent part of thepeople, and why they, in general, show more public spirit than any othermen. He who lives by a pursuit, be it what it may, which does notrequire a considerable degree of _bodily labour_, must, from the natureof things, be, more or less, a _dependent_; and this is, indeed, theprice which he pays for his exemption from that bodily labour. He _may_arrive at riches, or fame, or both; and this chance he sets against thecertainty of independence in humbler life. There always have been, therealways will be, and there always ought to be, _some_ men to take thischance: but to do this has become the _fashion_, and a fashion it is themost fatal that ever seized upon a community. 

327. With regard to young women, too, to sing, to play on instruments ofmusic, to draw, to speak French, and the like, are very agreeablequalifications; but why should they _all_ be musicians, and painters, and linguists? Why _all_ of them? Who, then, is there left to _take careof the houses_ of farmers and traders? But there is something in these'accomplishments' worse than this; namely, that they think themselves_too high_ for farmers and traders: and this, in fact, they are; much_too high_; and, therefore, the servant-girls step in and supply theirplace. If they could see their own interest, surely they would drop thislofty tone, and these lofty airs. It is, however, the fault of theparents, and particularly of the father, whose duty it is to preventthem from imbibing such notions, and to show them, that the greatesthonour they ought to aspire to is, thorough skill and care in theeconomy of a house. We are all apt to set too high a value on what weourselves have done; and I may do this; but I do firmly believe, that tocure any young woman of this fatal sublimation, she has only patientlyto read my COTTAGE ECONOMY, written with an anxious desire to promotedomestic skill and ability in that sex, on whom so much of the happinessof man must always depend. A lady in Worcestershire told me, that untilshe read COTTAGE ECONOMY she had never _baked in the house_, and hadseldom had _good beer_; that, ever since, she had looked after bothherself; that the pleasure she had derived from it, was equal to theprofit, and that the latter was very great. She said, that the article'_on baking bread_, ' was the part that roused her to the undertaking;and, indeed, if the facts and arguments, _there_ made use of, failed tostir her up to action, she must have been stone dead to the power ofwords. 

328. After the age that we have now been supposing, boys and girlsbecome _men_ and _women_; and, there now only remains for the _father_to act towards them with _impartiality_. If they be numerous, or, indeed, if they be only two in number, to expect _perfect harmony_ toreign amongst, or between, them, is to be unreasonable; becauseexperience shows us, that, even amongst the most sober, most virtuous, and most sensible, harmony so complete is very rare. By nature they arerivals for the affection and applause of the parents; in personal andmental endowments they become rivals; and, when _pecuniary interests_come to be well understood and to have their weight, here is arivalship, to prevent which from ending in hostility, require moreaffection and greater disinterestedness than fall to the lot of one outof one hundred families. So many instances have I witnessed of good andamiable families living in harmony, till the hour arrived for dividingproperty amongst them, and then, all at once, becoming hostile to eachother, that I have often thought that property, coming in such a way, was a curse, and that the parties would have been far better off, hadthe parent had merely a blessing to bequeath them from his or her lips, instead of a will for them to dispute and wrangle over. 

329. With regard to this matter, all that the father can do, is to be_impartial_; but, impartiality does not mean positive _equality_ in thedistribution, but equality _in proportion_ to the different deserts ofthe parties, their different wants, their different pecuniarycircumstances, and different prospects in life; and these vary so much, in different families, that it is impossible to lay down any generalrule upon the subject. But there is one fatal error, against which everyfather ought to guard his heart; and the kinder that heart is, the morenecessary such guardianship. I mean the fatal error of heaping upon onechild, to the prejudice of the rest; or, upon a part of them. Thispartiality sometimes arises from mere caprice; sometimes from thecircumstance of the favourite being more favoured by nature than therest; sometimes from the nearer resemblance to himself, that the fathersees in the favourite; and, sometimes, from the hope of preventing thefavoured party from doing that which would disgrace the parent. Allthese motives are highly censurable, but the last is the most general, and by far the most mischievous in its effects. How many fathers havebeen ruined, how many mothers and families brought to beggary, how manyindustrious and virtuous groups have been pulled down from competence topenury, from the desire to prevent one from bringing shame on theparent! So that, contrary to every principle of justice, the bad isrewarded for the badness; and the good punished for the goodness. Natural affection, remembrance of infantine endearments, reluctance toabandon long-cherished hopes, compassion for the sufferings of your ownflesh and blood, the dread of fatal consequences from your adhering tojustice; all these beat at your heart, and call on you to give way: but, you must resist them all; or, your ruin, and that of the rest of yourfamily, are decreed. Suffering is the natural and just punishment ofidleness, drunkenness, squandering, and an indulgence in the society ofprostitutes; and, never did the world behold an instance of an offender, in this way, reclaimed but by the infliction of this punishment;particularly, if the society of prostitutes made part of the offence;for, here is something that takes the _heart from you_. Nobody ever yetsaw, and nobody ever will see, a young man, linked to a prostitute, andretain, at the same time, any, even the smallest degree of affection, for parents or brethren. You may supplicate, you may implore, you mayleave yourself pennyless, and your virtuous children without bread; theinvisible cormorant will still call for more; and, as we saw, only theother day, a wretch was convicted of having, at the instigation of hisprostitute, _beaten his aged mother_, to get from her the small remainsof the means necessary to provide her with food. In HERON'S collectionof God's judgments on wicked acts, it is related of an unnatural son, who fed his aged father upon orts and offal, lodged him in a filthy andcrazy garret, and clothed him in sackcloth, while he and his wife andchildren lived in luxury; that, having bought sackcloth enough for twodresses for his father, the children took away the part not made up, and_hid it_, and that, upon asking them what they could _do this for_, theytold him that they meant to keep it _for him_, when he should become oldand walk with a stick! This, the author relates, pierced his heart; and, indeed, if _this_ failed, he must have had the heart of a tiger; but, even _this_ would not succeed with the associate of a prostitute. When_this vice_, this love of the society of prostitutes; when this vice hasonce got fast hold, vain are all your sacrifices, vain your prayers, vain your hopes, vain your anxious desire to disguise the shame from theworld; and, if you have acted well your part, no part of that shamefalls on you, unless you _have administered to the cause of it_. Yourauthority has ceased; the voice of the prostitute, or the charms of thebottle, or the rattle of the dice, has been more powerful than youradvice and example: you must lament this: but, it is not to bow youdown; and, above all things, it is weak, and even criminally selfish, tosacrifice the rest of your family, in order to keep from the world theknowledge of that, which, if known, would, in your view of the matter, bring shame on yourself. 

330. Let me hope, however, that this is a calamity which will befallvery few good fathers; and that, of all such, the sober, industrious, and frugal habits of their children, their dutiful demeanor, their truthand their integrity, will come to smooth the path of their downwarddays, and be the objects on which their eyes will close. Those childrenmust, in their turn, travel the same path; and they may be assured, that, 'Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long inthe land, ' is a precept, a disregard of which never yet failed, eitherfirst or last, to bring its punishment. And, what can be more just thanthat signal punishment should follow such a crime; a crime directlyagainst the voice of nature itself? Youth has its passions, and dueallowance justice will make for these; but, are the delusions of theboozer, the gamester, or the harlot, to be pleaded in excuse for adisregard of the source of your existence? Are those to be pleaded inapology for giving pain to the father who has toiled half a lifetime inorder to feed and clothe you, and to the mother whose breast has been toyou the fountain of life? Go, you, and shake the hand of theboon-companion; take the greedy harlot to your arms; mock at the tearsof your tender and anxious parents; and, when your purse is empty andyour complexion faded, receive the poverty and the scorn due to yourbase ingratitude!

LETTER VI

TO THE CITIZEN

331. Having now given my Advice to the YOUTH, the grown-up MAN, theLOVER, the HUSBAND and the FATHER, I shall, in this concluding Number, tender my Advice to the CITIZEN, in which capacity every man has rightsto enjoy and duties to perform, and these too of importance not inferiorto those which belong to him, or are imposed upon him, as son, parent, husband or father. The word _citizen_ is not, in its application, confined to the mere inhabitants of cities: it means, a _member of acivil society, or community_; and, in order to have a clearcomprehension of man's rights and duties in this capacity, we must takea look at the _origin of civil communities_. 

332. Time was when the inhabitants of this island, for instance, laidclaim to all things in it, without the words _owner_ or _property_ beingknown. God had given to _all_ the people all the land and all the trees, and every thing else, just as he has given the burrows and the grass tothe rabbits, and the bushes and the berries to the birds; and each manhad the good things of this world in a greater or less degree inproportion to his skill, his strength and his valour. This is what iscalled living under the LAW OF NATURE; that is to say, the law ofself-preservation and self-enjoyment, without any restraint imposed by aregard for the good of our neighbours. 

333. In process of time, no matter from what cause, men made amongstthemselves a compact, or an agreement, to divide the land and itsproducts in such manner that each should have a share to his ownexclusive use, and that each man should be protected in the exclusiveenjoyment of his share by the _united power of the rest_; and, in orderto ensure the due and certain application of this united power, thewhole of the people agreed to be bound by regulations, called LAWS. Thusarose civil society; thus arose _property_; thus arose the words _mine_and _thine_. One man became possessed of more good things than another, because he was more industrious, more skilful, more careful, or morefrugal: so that LABOUR, of one sort or another, was the BASIS of allproperty. 

334. In what manner civil societies proceeded in providing for themaking of laws and for the enforcing of them; the various ways in whichthey took measures to protect the weak against the strong; how they havegone to work to secure wealth against the attacks of poverty; these aresubjects that it would require volumes to detail; but these truths arewritten on the heart of man: that all men are, by nature, _equal_; thatcivil society can never have arisen from any motive other than that ofthe _benefit of the whole_; that, whenever civil society makes thegreater part of the people _worse off_ than they were under the Law ofNature, the civil compact is, in conscience, dissolved, and all therights of nature return; that, in civil society, the _rights and theduties go hand in hand_, and that, when the former are taken away, thelatter cease to exist. 

335. Now, then, in order to act well our part, as citizens, or membersof the community, we ought clearly to understand _what our rights are_;for, on our enjoyment of these depend our duties, rights going beforeduties, as value received goes before payment. I know well, that justthe contrary of this is taught in our political schools, where we aretold, that our _first duty_ is to _obey the laws_; and it is not manyyears ago, that HORSLEY, Bishop of Rochester, told us, that the _people_had _nothing_ to do with the laws but to _obey_ them. The truth is, however, that the citizen's _first duty_ is to maintain his rights, asit is the purchaser's first duty to receive the thing for which he hascontracted. 

336. Our rights in society are numerous; the right of enjoying life andproperty; the right of exerting our physical and mental powers in aninnocent manner; but, the great right of all, and without which thereis, in fact, _no right_, is, the right of _taking a part in the makingof the laws by which we are governed_. This right is founded in that lawof Nature spoken of above; it springs out of the very principle of civilsociety; for what _compact_, what _agreement_, what _common assent_, canpossibly be imagined by which men would give up all the rights ofnature, all the free enjoyment of their bodies and their minds, in orderto subject themselves to rules and laws, in the making of which theyshould have nothing to say, and which should be enforced upon themwithout their assent? The great right, therefore, of _every man_, theright of rights, is the right of having a share in the making of thelaws, to which the good of the whole makes it his duty to submit. 

337. With regard to the means of enabling every man to enjoy this share, they have been different, in different countries, and, in the samecountries, at different times. Generally it has been, and in greatcommunities it must be, by the choosing of a few to speak and act _inbehalf of the many_: and, as there will hardly ever be _perfectunanimity_ amongst men assembled for any purpose whatever, where factand argument are to decide the question, the decision is left to the_majority_, the compact being that the decision of the majority shall bethat of the whole. _Minors_ are excluded from this right, because thelaw considers them as infants, because it makes the parent answerablefor civil damages committed by them, and because of their legalincapacity to make any compact. _Women_ are excluded because husbandsare answerable in law for their wives, as to their civil damages, andbecause the very nature of their sex makes the exercise of this rightincompatible with the harmony and happiness of society. Men stained with_indelible crimes_ are excluded, because they have forfeited their rightby violating the laws, to which their assent has been given. _Insanepersons_ are excluded, because they are dead in the eye of the law, because the law demands no duty at their hands, because they cannotviolate the law, because the law cannot affect them; and, therefore, they ought to have no hand in making it. 

338. But, with these exceptions, where is the ground whereon to maintainthat _any man_ ought to be deprived of this right, which he derivesdirectly from the law of Nature, and which springs, as I said before, out of the same source with civil society itself? Am I told, that_property_ ought to confer this right? Property sprang from _labour_, and not labour from property; so that if there were to be a distinctionhere, it ought to give the preference to labour. All men are equal bynature; nobody denies that they all ought to be _equal in the eye of thelaw_; but, how are they to be thus equal, if the law begin by suffering_some_ to enjoy this right and refusing the enjoyment to _others_? It isthe duty of every man to defend his country against an enemy, a dutyimposed by the law of Nature as well as by that of civil society, andwithout the recognition of this duty, there could exist no independentnation and no civil society. Yet, how are you to maintain that this isthe duty of _every man_, if you deny to _some_ men the enjoyment of ashare in making the laws? Upon what principle are you to contend for_equality_ here, while you deny its existence as to the right of sharingin the making of the laws? The poor man has a body and a soul as well asthe rich man; like the latter, he has parents, wife and children; abullet or a sword is as deadly to him as to the rich man; there arehearts to ache and tears to flow for him as well as for the squire orthe lord or the loan-monger: yet, notwithstanding this equality, he isto risk all, and, if he escape, he is still to be denied an equality ofrights! If, in such a state of things, the artisan or labourer, whencalled out to fight in defence of his country, were to answer: 'Whyshould I risk my life? I have no possession but my _labour_; no enemywill take that from me; you, the rich, possess all the land and all itsproducts; you make what laws you please without my participation orassent; you punish me at your pleasure; you say that my want of propertyexcludes me from the right of having a share in the making of the laws;you say that the property that I have in my labour _is nothing worth_;on what ground, then, do you call on me to risk my life?' If, in such acase, such questions were put, the answer is very difficult to beimagined. 

339. In cases of _civil commotion_ the matter comes still more home tous. On what ground is the rich man to call the artisan from his shop orthe labourer from the field to join the sheriff's possé or the militia, if he refuse to the labourer and artisan the right of sharing in themaking of the laws? Why are they to risk their lives here? To _upholdthe laws_, and to protect _property_. What! _laws_, in the making of, orassenting to, which they have been allowed to have no share? _Property_, of which they are said to possess none? What! compel men to come forthand risk their lives for the _protection of property_; and then, in thesame breath, tell them, that they are not allowed to share in the makingof the laws, because, and ONLY BECAUSE, _they have no property_! Notbecause they have committed any crime; not because they are idle orprofligate; not because they are vicious in any way; out solely becausethey have _no property_; and yet, at the same time, compel them to comeforth and _risk their lives_ for the _protection of property_!

340. But, the PAUPERS? Ought _they_ to share in the making of the laws?And why not? What is a _pauper_; what is one of the men to whom thisdegrading appellation is applied? A _very poor_ man; a man who is, fromsome cause or other, unable to supply himself with food and raimentwithout aid from the parish-rates. And, is that circumstance alone todeprive him of his right, a right of which he stands more in need thanany other man? Perhaps he has, for many years of his life, contributeddirectly to those rates; and ten thousand to one he has, by his labour, contributed to them indirectly. The aid which, under such circumstances, he receives, _is his right_; he receives it not as _an alms_: he is nomendicant; he begs not; he comes to receive that which _the law of thecountry awards him_ in lieu of the _larger portion_ assigned him by the_law of Nature_. Pray mark that, and let it be deeply engraven on yourmemory. The audacious and merciless MALTHUS (a parson of the churchestablishment) recommended, some years ago, the passing of a law to _putan end to the giving of parish relief_, though he recommended no law toput an end to the enormous taxes paid by poor people. In his book hesaid, that the poor should be left to the _law of Nature_, which, incase of their having nothing to buy food with, _doomed them to starve_. They would ask nothing better than to be left to the _law of Nature_;that law which knows nothing about _buying_ food or any thing else; thatlaw which bids the hungry and the naked _take_ food and raiment whereverthey find it best and nearest at hand; that law which awards allpossessions to the _strongest_; that law the operations of which wouldclear out the London meat-markets and the drapers' and jewellers' shopsin about half an hour: to this law the parson wished the parliament toleave the poorest of the working people; but, if the parliament had doneit, it would have been quickly seen, that this law was far from 'doomingthem to be starved. '

341. Trusting that it is unnecessary for me to express a hope, thatbarbarous thoughts like those of Malthus and his tribe will never beentertained by any young man who has read the previous Numbers of thiswork, let me return to my _very, very poor man_, and ask, whether it beconsistent with justice, with humanity, with reason, to deprive a man ofthe most precious of his political rights, because, and _only because_, he has been, in a pecuniary way, _singularly unfortunate_? The Scripturesays, 'Despise not the poor, _because_ he is poor;' that is to say, despise him not _on account of his poverty_. Why, then, deprive him ofhis right; why put him out of the pale of the law, on account of hispoverty? There are _some_ men, to be sure, who are reduced to poverty bytheir vices, by idleness, by gaming, by drinking, by squandering; but, the far greater part by bodily ailments, by misfortunes to the effectsof which all men may, without any fault, and even without any folly, beexposed: and, is there a man on earth so cruelly unjust as to wish toadd to the sufferings of such persons by stripping them of theirpolitical rights? How many thousands of industrious and virtuous menhave, within these few years, been brought down from a state ofcompetence to that of pauperism! And, is it just to strip such men oftheir rights, merely because they are thus brought down? When I was atELY, last spring, there were in that neighbourhood, _three paupers_cracking stones on the roads, who had all three been, not onlyrate-payers, but _overseers of the poor_, within seven years of the daywhen I was there. Is there any man so barbarous as to say, that thesemen ought, merely on account of their misfortunes, to be deprived oftheir political rights? Their right to receive relief is as perfect asany right of property; and, would you, merely because they claim _thisright_, strip them of _another right_? To say no more of the injusticeand the cruelty, is there reason, is there common sense in this? What!if a farmer or tradesman be, by flood or by fire, so totally ruined asto be compelled, surrounded by his family, to resort to the parish-book, would you break the last heart-string of such a man by making him feelthe degrading loss of his political rights?

342. Here, young man of sense and of spirit; _here is the point_ onwhich you are to take your stand. There are always men enough to pleadthe cause of the rich; enough and enough to echo the woes of the fallengreat; but, be it your part to show compassion for those who labour, andto maintain _their rights_. Poverty is not _a crime_, and, though itsometimes arises from faults, it is not, even in that case, to bevisited by punishment beyond that which it brings with itself. Remember, that poverty is decreed by the very nature of man. The Scripture says, that 'the poor shall never cease from out of the land;' that is to say, that there shall always be some very poor people. This is inevitablefrom the very nature of things. It is necessary to the existence ofmankind, that a very large portion of every people should live by manuallabour; and, as such labour is _pain_, more or less, and as no livingcreature likes pain, it must be, that the far greater part of labouringpeople will endure only just as much of this pain as is absolutelynecessary to the supply of their _daily wants_. Experience says thatthis has always been, and reason and nature tell us, that this mustalways be. Therefore, when ailments, when losses, when untowardcircumstances of any sort, stop or diminish the daily supply, _wantcomes_; and every just government will provide, from the general stock, the means to satisfy this want. 

343. Nor is the deepest poverty without its _useful effects_ in society. To the practice of the virtues of abstinence, sobriety, care, frugality, industry, and even honesty and amiable manners and acquirement oftalent, the two great motives are, to get upwards in riches or fame, and_to avoid going downwards to poverty_, the last of which is the mostpowerful of the two. It is, therefore, not with contempt, but withcompassion, that we should look on those, whose state is one of thedecrees of nature, from whose sad example we profit, and to whom, inreturn, we ought to make compensation by every indulgent and kind act inour power, and particularly by a defence of their rights. To those wholabour, we, who labour not with our hands, owe all that we eat, drinkand wear; all that shades us by day and that shelters us by night; allthe means of enjoying health and pleasure; and, therefore, if we possesstalent for the task, we are ungrateful or cowardly, or both, if we omitany effort within our power to prevent them from being _slaves_; and, disguise the matter how we may, _a slave_, a _real slave_, every man is, who has no share in making the laws which he is compelled to obey. 

344. _What is a slave_? For, let us not be amused by _a name_; but lookwell into the matter. A slave is, in the first place, a man who has _noproperty_; and property means something that he _has_, and that nobodycan take from him without his leave, or consent. Whatever man, no matterwhat he may call himself or any body else may call him, can have hismoney or his goods taken from him _by force_, by virtue of an order, orordinance, or law, which he has had no hand in making, and to which hehas not given his assent, has _no property_, and is merely a depositaryof the goods of his master. A slave has _no property in his labour_; andany man who is compelled to give up the fruit of his labour to another, at the arbitrary will of that other, has no property in his labour, andis, therefore, a slave, whether the fruit of his labour be taken fromhim directly or indirectly. If it be said, that he gives up this fruitof his labour by his own will, and that it is _not forced from him_. Ianswer, To be sure he _may_ avoid eating and drinking and may go naked;but, then he must _die_; and on this condition, and this condition only, can he refuse to give up the fruit of his labour; 'Die, wretch, orsurrender as much of your income, or the fruit of your labour as yourmasters choose to take. ' This is, in fact, the language of the rulers toevery man who is refused to have a share in the making of the laws towhich he is _forced_ to submit. 

345. But, some one may say, slaves are _private property_, and may _bebought and sold_, out and out, like cattle. And, what is it to theslave, whether he be property of _one_ or of _many_; or, what matters itto him, whether he pass from master to master by a sale for anindefinite term, or be let to hire by the year, month, or week? It is, in no case, the flesh and blood and bones that are sold, but the_labour_; and, if you actually sell the labour of man, is not that man_a slave_, though you sell it for only a short time at once? And, as tothe principle, so ostentatiously displayed in the case of the _black_slave-trade, that '_man_ ought not to have _a property in man_, ' it iseven an advantage to the slave to be private property, because the ownerhas then a clear and powerful _interest_ in the preservation of hislife, health and strength, and will, therefore, furnish him amply withthe food and raiment necessary for these ends. Every one knows, thatpublic property is never so well taken care of as private property; andthis, too, on the maxim, that 'that which is every body's business isnobody's business. ' Every one knows that a _rented_ farm is not so wellkept in heart, as a farm in the hands of the _owner_. And as to_punishments_ and _restraints_, what difference is there, whether thesebe inflicted and imposed by a private owner, or his overseer, or by theagents and overseers of a body of proprietors? In short, if you cancause a man to be imprisoned or whipped if he do not work enough toplease you; if you can sell him by auction for a time limited; if youcan forcibly separate him from his wife to prevent their havingchildren; if you can shut him up in his dwelling place when you please, and for as long a time as you please; if you can force him to draw acart or wagon like a beast of draught; if you can, when the humourseizes you, and at the suggestion of your mere fears, or whim, cause himto be shut up in a dungeon during your pleasure: if you can, at yourpleasure, do these things to him, is it not to be impudentlyhypocritical to affect to call him _a free-man_? But, after all, thesemay all be wanting, and yet the man be _a slave_, if he be allowed tohave _no property_; and, as I have shown, no property he can have, noteven in that _labour_, which is not only property, but the _basis_ ofall other property, unless he have a _share in making the laws_ to whichhe is compelled to submit. 

346. It is said, that he may have this share _virtually_ though not inform and _name_; for that his _employers_ may have such share, and theywill, as a matter of course, _act for him_. This doctrine, pushed home, would make the _chief_ of the nation the sole maker of the laws; for, ifthe rich can thus _act for_ the poor, why should not the chief act forthe rich? This matter is very completely explained by the practice inthe UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. There the maxim is, that _every free man_, with the exception of men stained with crime and men insane, has a rightto have a voice in choosing those who make the laws. The number ofRepresentatives sent to the Congress is, in each State, proportioned tothe number of _free people_. But, as there are _slaves_ in _some_ of theStates, these States _have a certain portion of additional numbers onaccount of those slaves_! Thus the slaves are _represented by theirowners_, and this is real, practical, open and undisguised _virtualrepresentation_! No doubt that white men may be represented in the sameway; for the colour of the skin is nothing; but let them be calledslaves, then; let it not be pretended that they are _free men_; let notthe word _liberty_ be polluted by being applied to their state; let itbe openly and honestly avowed, as in America, that they _are slaves_;and then will come the question whether men ought to exist in such astate, or whether they ought to do every thing in their power to rescuethemselves from it. 

347. If the right to have a share in making the laws were merely afeather; if it were a fanciful thing; if it were only a speculativetheory; if it were but an _abstract principle_; on any of thesesuppositions, it might be considered as of little importance. But it isnone of these; it is a practical matter; the want of it not only _is_, but must of necessity be, felt by every man who lives under that want. If it were proposed to the shopkeepers in a town, that a rich man ortwo, living in the neighbourhood, should have power to send, _wheneverthey pleased_, and take away as much as they pleased of the money of theshopkeepers, and apply it to what uses they please; what an outcry theshopkeepers would make! And yet, what would this be _more_ than taxesimposed on those who have no voice in choosing the persons who imposethem? Who lets another man put his hand into his purse when he pleases?Who, that has the power to help himself, surrenders his goods or hismoney to the will of another? Has it not always been, and must it notalways be, true, that, if your property be at the absolute disposal ofothers, your ruin is certain? And if this be, of necessity, the caseamongst individuals and parts of the community, it must be the case withregard to the whole community. 

348. Aye, and experience shows us that it always has been the case. Thenatural and inevitable consequences of a want of this right in thepeople have, in all countries, been _taxes_ pressing the industrious andlaborious to the earth; _severe laws_ and _standing armies_ to compelthe people to submit to those taxes; wealth, luxury, and splendour, amongst those who make the laws and receive the taxes; poverty, misery, immorality and crime, amongst those who bear the burdens; and at lastcommotion, revolt, revenge, and rivers of blood. Such have always been, and such must always be, the consequences of a want of this right of allmen to share in the making of the laws, a right, as I have before shown, derived immediately from the law of Nature, springing up out of the samesource with civil society, and cherished in the heart of man by reasonand by experience. 

349. Well, then, this right being that, without the enjoyment of whichthere is, in reality, no right at all, how manifestly is it _the firstduty_ of every man to do all in his power to _maintain_ this right whereit exists, and to _restore_ it where it has been lost? For observe, itmust, at one time, have existed in every _civil_ community, it beingimpossible that it could ever be excluded by any _social compact_;absolutely impossible, because it is contrary to the law ofself-preservation to believe, that men would agree to give up the rightsof nature without stipulating for some _benefit_. Before we can affectto believe that this right was not reserved, in such compact, ascompletely as the right to _live_ was reserved, we must affect tobelieve, that millions of men, under no control but that of their ownpassions and desires, and having all the earth and its products at thecommand of their strength and skill, consented to be for ever, they andtheir posterity, the _slaves of a few_. 

350. We cannot believe this, and therefore, without going back into_history_ and _precedents_, we must believe, that, in whatever civilcommunity this right does not exist, it has been lost, or rather, _unjustly taken away_. And then, having seen the terrible evils whichalways have arisen, and always must arise, from the want of it; beingconvinced that, where lost or taken away by force or fraud, it is ourvery first duty to do all in our power to _restore_ it, the nextconsideration is, _how_ one ought to act in the discharge of this mostsacred duty; for sacred it is even as the duties of husband and father. For, besides the baseness of the thought of quietly submitting to be aslave _oneself_, we have here, besides our duty to the community, a dutyto perform towards our children and our children's children. We allacknowledge that it is our bounden duty to provide, as far as our powerwill go, for the competence, the health, and the good character of ourchildren; but, is this duty superior to that of which I am now speaking?What is competence, what is health, if the possessor be _a slave_, andhold his possessions at the will of another, or others; as he must do ifdestitute of the right to a share in the making of the laws? What iscompetence, what is health, if both can, at any moment, be snatched awayby the grasp or the dungeon of a master; and his master he is who makesthe laws without his participation or assent? And, as to _character_, asto _fair fame_, when the white slave puts forward pretensions to those, let him no longer affect to commiserate the state of his sleek and fatbrethren in Barbadoes and Jamaica; let him hasten to mix the hair withthe wool, to blend the white with the black, and to lose the memory ofhis origin amidst a dingy generation. 

351. Such, then, being the nature of the duty, _how_ are we to go towork in the performance of it, and what are our _means_? With regard tothese, so various are the circumstances, so endless the differences inthe states of society, and so many are the cases when it would bemadness to attempt that which it would be prudence to attempt in others, that no _general_ rule can be given beyond this; that, the right and theduty being clear to our minds, the _means_ that are _surest_ and_swiftest_ are the _best_. In every such case, however, the great andpredominant desire ought to be not to employ any means beyond those ofreason and persuasion, as long as the employment of these afford aground for rational expectation of success. Men are, in such a case, labouring, not for the present day only, but for ages to come; andtherefore they should not slacken in their exertions, because the gravemay close upon them before the day of final triumph arrive. Amongst thevirtues of the good Citizen are those of fortitude and patience; and, when he has to carry on his struggle against corruptions deep andwidely-rooted, he is not to expect the baleful tree to come down at asingle blow; he must patiently remove the earth that props and feeds it, and sever the accursed roots one by one. 

352. _Impatience_ here is a very bad sign. I do not like your_patriots_, who, because the tree does not give way at once, fall to_blaming_ all about them, accuse their fellow-sufferers of cowardice, because they do not do that which they themselves dare not think ofdoing. Such conduct argues _chagrin_ and _disappointment_; and theseargue a _selfish_ feeling: they argue, that there has been more ofprivate ambition and gain at work than of _public good_. Such blamers, such general accusers, are always to be suspected. What does the _real_patriot want more than to feel conscious that he has done his dutytowards his country; and that, if life should not allow him time to seehis endeavours crowned with success, his children will see it? Theimpatient patriots are like the young men (mentioned in the beautifulfable of LA FONTAINE) who ridiculed the man of fourscore, who wasplanting an avenue of very small trees, which, they told him, that henever could expect to see as high as his head. 'Well, ' said he, 'andwhat of that? If their shade afford me no pleasure, it may affordpleasure to my children, and even to you; and, therefore, the plantingof them gives me pleasure. '

353. It is the want of the noble disinterestedness, so beautifullyexpressed in this fable, that produces the _impatient_ patriots. Theywish very well to their country, because they want _some of the good forthemselves_. Very natural that all men should wish to see the goodarrive, and wish to share in it too; but, we must look on the dark sideof nature to find the disposition to cast blame on the whole communitybecause our wishes are not instantly accomplished, and especially tocast blame on others for not doing that which we ourselves dare notattempt. There is, however, a sort of _patriot_ a great deal worse thanthis; he, who having failed himself, would see his country enslaved forever, rather than see its deliverance achieved by others. His failurehas, perhaps, arisen solely from his want of talent, or discretion; yethis selfish heart would wish his country sunk in everlastingdegradation, lest his inefficiency for the task should be established bythe success of others. A very hateful character, certainly, but, I amsorry to say, by no means rare. _Envy_, always associated with meannessof soul, always detestable, is never so detestable as when it showsitself here. 

354. Be it your care, my young friend (and I tender you this as myparting advice), if you find this base and baleful passion, which thepoet calls 'the eldest born of hell;' if you find it creeping into yourheart, be it your care to banish it at once and for ever; for, if onceit nestle there, farewell to all the good which nature has enabled youto do, and to your peace into the bargain. It has pleased God to make anunequal distribution of talent, of industry, of perseverance, of acapacity to labour, of all the qualities that give men distinction. Wehave not been our own makers: it is no fault in you that nature hasplaced him above you, and, surely, it is no fault in him; and would you_punish_ him on account, and only on account, of his pre-eminence! Ifyou have read this book you will startle with horror at the thought: youwill, as to public matters, act with zeal and with good humour, thoughthe place you occupy be far removed from the first; you will supportwith the best of your abilities others, who, from whatever circumstance, may happen to take the lead; you will not suffer even the consciousnessand the certainty of your own superior talents to urge you to do anything which might by possibility be injurious to your country's cause;you will be forbearing under the aggressions of ignorance, conceit, arrogance, and even the blackest of ingratitude superadded, if byresenting these you endanger the general good; and, above all things, you will have the justice to bear in mind, that that country which gaveyou birth, is, to the last hour of your capability, entitled to yourexertions in her behalf, and that you ought not, by acts of commissionor of omission, to visit upon her the wrongs which may have beeninflicted on you by the envy and malice of individuals. Love of one'snative soil is a feeling which nature has implanted in the human breast, and that has always been peculiarly strong in the breasts of Englishmen. God has given us a country of which to be proud, and that freedom, greatness and renown, which were handed down to us by our wise and braveforefathers, bid us perish to the last man, rather than suffer the landof their graves to become a land of slavery, impotence and dishonour. 

355. In the words with which I concluded my English Grammar, which Iaddressed to my son James, I conclude my advice to you. 'With Englishand French on your tongue and in your pen, you have a resource, not onlygreatly valuable in itself, but a resource that you can be deprived ofby none of those changes and chances which deprive men of pecuniarypossessions, and which, in some cases, make the purse-proud man ofyesterday a crawling sycophant to-day. Health, without which life is notworth having, you will hardly fail to secure by early rising, exercise, sobriety, and abstemiousness as to food. Happiness, or misery, is in the_mind_. It is the mind that lives; and the length of life ought to bemeasured by the number and importance of our ideas, and not by thenumber of our days. Never, therefore, esteem men merely on account oftheir riches or their station. Respect goodness, find it where you may. Honour talent wherever you behold it unassociated with vice; but, honourit most when accompanied with exertion, and especially when exerted inthe cause of truth and justice; and, above all things, hold it inhonour, when it steps forward to protect defenceless innocence againstthe attacks of powerful guilt. ' These words, addressed to my own son, Inow, in taking my leave, address to you. Be just, be industrious, besober, and be happy; and the hope that these effects will, in somedegree, have been caused by this little work, will add to the happinessof

 Your friend and humble servant, WM. COBBETT. 

Kensington, 25th Aug. 1830.