LETTERS, &c. 

 ADVICE TO A YOUNG MAN

 UPON FIRST GOING TO OXFORD, IN TEN LETTERS, FROM AN UNCLE TO HIS NEPHEW. 

 * * * * *

 BY THE REV. EDWARD BERENS, M. A. LATE FELLOW OF ORIEL COLLEGE. 

 * * * * *

 LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. G. & F. RIVINGTON, ST. PAUL'S CHURCH YARD, AND WATERLOO PLACE, PALL MALL. 

 * * * * *

 1832. 

 LONDON: GILBERT & RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, St. John's Square. 

I have long thought that a book was wanted, of the nature of that whichI have here attempted. How far I have succeeded in the attempt, thepublic will determine. 

I have had, --have at present, --and (if I live, ) expect to havehereafter, --several nephews at Oxford; all having to make their own wayin the world, and all, consequently, having abundant reason for beingeconomical, both of their time and of their money, during theirresidence at the University. These Letters were not addressed to any oneof them in particular, but are intended, like some official documents, "for all whom they may concern. " Perhaps I had more especially in view, those of them who are destined for my own profession. 

 E. B. 

CONTENTS. 

 LETTER. PAGE. 

 I. Sense of Religion 1

 II. Choice of Friends 13

 III. Conversation 27

 IV. Against yielding to the Influence of Numbers 45

 V. Improvement of Time 55

 VI. Punctuality 72

 VII. Amusements 85

 VIII. Expenses, and running into Debt 99

 IX. Temperance 114

 X. English Reading 137

LETTER I. 

SENSE OF RELIGION. 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, It gives me sincere pleasure to hear that you have actually become amember of the University of Oxford. This satisfaction, perhaps, may insome degree be attributed to the pleasing recollection of my own Oxfordlife, but certainly it arises principally from anticipation of thesubstantial benefits which you, I trust, will derive from your connexionwith that seat of learning. At the same time, I will own that mysatisfaction is not entirely unmixed with something like apprehension. An University education has many and great advantages, but it also isattended with many temptations;--temptations to which too many young menhave yielded, sometimes to the great injury of their character, and theutter ruin of all their future prospects. 

In fact, you are now entering upon the most important period--the_turning point_--of your whole life. You have become, in a greatmeasure, your own master. For though you will be under a certain degreeof discipline and _surveillance_, yet in a multiplicity of cases youwill have to act for yourself--to take your own line. You will have tocontend against the allurements of pleasure and dissipation, and youhave just reached the age when the natural passions and appetites becomemost impatient of restraint. At the same time, you will be exposed tothe influence both of the example and of the solicitations of livelyyoung men, who will try to carry you along with them in their career ofthoughtlessness and folly, and who will think it strange, and _show_ youthat they think it strange, if you run not with them to the same excessof riot. Against all these moral trials and temptations, your bestsafeguard will be found in a strong sense of religion, kept habituallypresent to your mind. You must endeavour, according to the language ofScripture--(and in writing to you I shall always gladly make use of thevery words of Scripture, when they suit my purpose, as having a forceand an authority which no other words can possess)--you must endeavourto _set the Lord always before you_. Never for a moment forget that youare continually in the presence of that awful Being, who can, and whowill, call you to a strict account for all that you do amiss. Nothingcan excuse your forgetting Him. 

If you at all believe in a Supreme Being, the Creator and Governor ofthe world; if you believe that God is, and that he is a rewarder of themthat diligently seek him, and at the same time an avenger to executewrath upon every soul that doeth evil, the least particle of commonsense or common feeling will tell you, that nothing should be put incompetition with his will. When his will is clear, it _must_ be obeyedwithout hesitation. I am sure that you will assent to this. If religionis any thing, it is _every thing_. It is, indeed, the one thing needful, in comparison with which every thing else sinks into insignificance, into nothingness. 

Endeavour, then, to keep up in your mind and heart this habitual senseof religion by every means in your power. It will require from youconsiderable care and attention. The lively spirits natural to your timeof life, and the thoughtless levity of some of the young men into whosesociety you will be thrown, will have a tendency to make you think lessof religion, if not to induce you entirely to forget it. Be ever on yourguard against thus swerving from your allegiance to your Creator. 

Nothing will contribute more to preserve you from this danger thanregularity and earnestness in your private devotions. When you rise inthe morning, seek from God spiritual strength to enable you to resistand overcome the temptations to which you may be exposed during the day. Every night implore his forgiveness for your many failings andtransgressions, and his protection against the dangers which surroundyou. Suffer nothing to induce you to neglect private prayer. 

You will of course be required every day to attend chapel. Considersuch attendance not as an irksome duty, not as a mere matter of routineand college discipline, but try to regard it as a privilege, and to takea real interest and pleasure in it. Acquire the habit of joiningfervently in the prayers, and of constantly deriving from the lessonsand other portions of Scripture, the doctrinal and practical instructionwhich they were intended to convey. Many college chapels are furnishedwith Greek Testaments and Septuagints. You will judge from experience, whether following the lessons in the Greek assists in fixing yourattention, or whether it diverts it from the matter to the language. Myown opinion is in favour of the practice. 

Make a point of giving to Sunday as much of a religious character asyou can. I am not recommending a Jewish strictness. Let Sunday be a dayof cheerfulness; but let your reading and your thoughts, as far as maybe, partake of the sacred character of the day. 

The study of the Scriptures constitutes an important part of yourpreparation for your degree. This study will furnish an appropriateemployment for a considerable portion of the Sunday. Always attend theUniversity Sermons. I recommend this not merely as a branch ofacademical discipline, but as a means of religious and intellectualimprovement. The sermon will generally, I believe, be worth attendingto. The select preachers are chosen, for the most part, from the ablestmen in the University; men, several of whom are likely hereafter to fillthe highest stations in the Church. You will seldom be driven to haverecourse to the advice of the pious Nicole in his Essay, "_des moyens deprofiter de mauvais sermons_. " The various modes in which differentpreachers enforce or illustrate the same great truths, and thediversities of their style and manner, may afford you matter--not ofill-natured criticism--but of useful reflection. Some colleges requiretheir under-graduates to give every week in writing a summary of thesermon which they have heard at St. Mary's. If you adopt this practice, you will find it contribute greatly to fix your attention, and to giveyou a habit of arranging and expressing your ideas with facility andreadiness. Of course, some preachers deserve this steadiness ofattention much more than others. 

It is, I trust, unnecessary to remind you of the duty of receiving theLord's Supper, whenever it is administered in your college chapel. Insome colleges, nearly all the under-graduates partake of this ordinance;in others, I believe, almost all neglect it: at least this was the caseformerly. In such and similar cases, you must be guided, not by commonpractice, not by the example of numbers, but by what you know to be yourduty. If you feel any doubt or difficulty, frankly mention it to yourtutor. There are, I am persuaded, few tutors now in Oxford, who wouldnot be able and willing to assist you with their advice. 

This attention to your religious duties need not be attended by anypreciseness or austerity of manner. On the contrary, I should wish youto be at all times cheerful and good humoured, ready to take part in anyinnocent gaiety. My object is to impress upon you the absolute necessityof always putting religion in the _first place_. If you really believewhat you profess to believe, do not hesitate as to shewing it in yourconduct. Never be so weak as to be ashamed of doing what you know to beyour duty. Never be guilty of such unmanly cowardice as to be ashamedof avowing your allegiance to your Creator and your Redeemer. 

 I remain, My dear Nephew, Your affectionate Uncle. 

LETTER II. 

CHOICE OF FRIENDS, AND BEHAVIOUR IN SOCIETY. 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, Among the many advantages of an University, few rank higher, both ingeneral estimation and in reality, than the opportunity which it affordsof forming valuable and lasting friendships. Indeed this advantage canhardly be rated too highly. I look back to the intimacies which Icontracted at college, as among the greatest blessings of a life, whichhas been eminently blessed in various ways. I still hold intercoursewith many of my Oxford friends, whose characters and attainments dohonour to the place where their education and their minds were matured. And even the recollection of most of those, who have been removed fromthis lower world, is attended with a soothing melancholy, which partakesmore of pleasure and thankfulness for having enjoyed their society, thanof pain. _The memory of the just is blessed[14:1]. _

I hope, my dear nephew, that you will improve this advantage to theutmost. In your intimacies, however, endeavour to be guided rather byjudgment than by mere fancy. Sameness of pursuits, similarity ofdispositions and inclinations generally contribute much to throw mentogether; but be careful not to attach yourself to any man as a_friend_, unless he is a man of moral worth, and of real religiousprinciple. Intimacy with a man who is unrestrained by religion, _must_be attended with great danger. Your own natural appetites willcontinually solicit you to forbidden indulgences, and will not be keptin due subjection without difficulty. If their solicitations areseconded by the example and by the conversations of an intimateassociate, your peril will be extreme. Intimacy with a man of badprinciples and immoral character, may utterly blast all your prospectsof happiness both in this world and the next. 

You will of course have the greater power of _selection_, if yourgeneral acquaintance is pretty extensive. I acknowledge, that my opinionis rather in favour of your forming an extensive acquaintance, providedthat you never suffer it to encroach upon your time, or to lead you intoany compromise of religious principle. Going to the Universityconstitutes a sort of entrance into the world, an introduction to manlylife; but this advantage is lost if you seclude yourself altogether fromsociety. In order, however, to acquire or to retain such anacquaintance, your manners and general demeanour must be acceptable orpopular. 

One of the first requisites, in order to be thus acceptable, is theneglect, the forgetfulness of _self_--a readiness to put _self_ in theback-ground. Any obtrusion of self, any appearance of self-love, self-interest, self-conceit, or self-applause, tends to expose a man todislike, perhaps to contempt. 

One way in which this disregard, this abandonment of self, must showitself, is real unaffected humility. Most of the external forms andmodes of modern politeness, its bows and obeisances, its professions ofrespect and service, its adulations, are nothing but an affectation ofsuch humility, and bear witness to its value when it exists in reality. When it does so exist, and still is free from any servility of manner, any unworthy compliances, nothing contributes more to make a manacceptable and popular in society. It inflicts no unnecessary wounds onany one's pride or self-love. And, you will observe, that it is thetemper and behaviour, inculcated by the general spirit and by theparticular precepts of religion, which bids us _in honour to prefer oneanother_; and says, _in lowliness of mind let each esteem others betterthan himself_. 

Another requisite is, a willingness to please and to be pleased. Somemen seem to think it beneath them, and a mark of littleness of mind, towish or to try to please any body, and wrap themselves up in a coldsuperciliousness. Others seem determined never to be pleased with anything or any person, but are always finding fault. They have no eyefor, no perception of, merits or beauties, either external or internal, but are keen and quick-sighted in detecting blemishes, and eloquent inexaggerating them[20:1]. If any person's good qualities, or any work ofart or of genius is commended, they are sure to throw in someobservations calculated to depreciate and disparage them. And withrespect even to the works of Nature, and the dispensations ofProvidence, they are more ready to see and to point out evils, than toacknowledge advantages. This temper--this habit of disparagement--iscertainly very unamiable; and justly offensive, not only to those whoare run down by it as its immediate objects, but to all who witness it. A man who consults his own comfort, or the comfort of those with whom heassociates, should be disposed to make the best of every thing. I wouldby no means wish him in the slightest degree to compromise truth, or tomake the remotest approach to flattery; but I would have him see everything in the most favourable point of view, and disposed to pursue andto dwell upon what is good rather than upon what is bad. Too much ofthat which is bad is sure to be forced upon our attention, without ourtaking any pains to look out for it. 

Be always on your guard against hurting the feelings, or even shockingthe prejudices, of those with whom you associate. A little observation, and some attention to your own feelings in similar circumstances, willsoon teach you what is likely to be annoying to others. Make everyallowance for their self-love, and for attachment to their own opinions. 

Never give unnecessary pain or mortification. It is _unnecessary_, whenit can be avoided without compromising the consistency of your owncharacter, or hazarding the interests of religion and of truth. 

In short, my dear nephew, if you will study St. Paul's account of thenature and properties of charity, and regulate your temper and yourbehaviour accordingly, you will want little in order to be a perfectgentleman, in the highest sense of the word. I will not enter upon thisaccount in detail, but must refer you to Fenelon's excellent book onthis subject, if it should come in your way, or even to my ownSermon[22:1]. Give me your attention, however, for a minute or two, to afew slight remarks upon charity--merely as it bears upon our conduct insociety. 

_Charity suffereth long_--μακροθυμει--it bears patiently with othermen's defects of temper, discourteousness of behaviour, and awkwardnessof manner; and is _kind_, gentle, and obliging--χρηστευεται. 

Charity envieth not--ου ζηλοι. It is free from those little jealousies, and rivalries, and emulations, which, where they are admitted, sometimesgive sourness to the temper, and bitterness to the behaviour. 

Charity _vaunteth not itself_--ου περευεται; it is not rash or overhasty; it is not overbearing, positive, and peremptory, in language ormanner; _is not puffed up_--ου φυσιουται; is not inflated with anopinion of its own worth or consequence; and, that being the case, itdoth not behave itself unseemly--ουκ ασχημονει; it does not treatother men with disdain and superciliousness. 

Charity _seeketh not her own_--ου ζητει τα ἑαυτης--that is, she is not_selfish_. Charity neglects not altogether her own concerns, or her owninterests, but does not attend to them exclusively; does not _so_ attendto them, as to be unmindful of, or inattentive to, the interests andwelfare of others. 

Charity is not easily provoked--ου παροξυνεται. Nothing moredisturbs the peace and comfort of society than the being easilyprovoked. When a man is touchy and waspish, he is always looking outfor, and catching at, occasions of offence. 

Charity rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; it doesnot take pleasure in hearing of misdoings and evil conduct, butdelights in accounts of praiseworthy actions, and in the spread of soundreligious principles. 

Charity _beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things_; παντα στεγει, παντα πιστευει, παντα ελπιζει, πανταὑπομενει. 

I will not, my dear nephew, lengthen a long letter, by endeavouring topoint out the precise meaning of these expressions. You may understandfrom them, that charity is patient of ill-usage; that instead of beingsuspicious and disposed to cavil and carp at every thing, it is open andingenuous, ready to give men credit for speaking the truth, when thereis no good reason to think otherwise; and that it is disposed to hopethe best, to think as favourably as it can of those with whom it comesin contact; and if it cannot actually think well of them at present, to_hope_ for their amendment and reformation. 

I think you will agree with me, that a man influenced by this spiritwould be an acceptable man in society, and that the best practicalChristian would be the best gentleman[26:1]. 

 I remain, Your affectionate Uncle. 

FOOTNOTES:

[14:1] Prov. X. 7. 

[20:1] See Numbers 72, 74, and 98, of the Rambler. 

[22:1] See Village Sermons. 

[26:1] See Jones's Letters from a Tutor to his Pupils. 

LETTER III. 

CONVERSATION. 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, I take it for granted, that upon first going from school to Oxford, andentering into society different, in many respects, from any that youhave hitherto been accustomed to, you feel some of that shyness whichbelongs to the character of most Englishmen. I should be sorry if youdid not. You probably feel diffident, too, of your ability to bear yourpart in general conversation, and an apprehension of being, on thataccount, set down as a stupid fellow. But don't be uneasy. More youngmen, I am persuaded, hurt themselves by talking too much, than bytalking too little. When a fresh-man, at first starting, is quite at hisease, and talks readily upon any subject that happens to be uppermost, some of his companions may be amused at his coolness, but most of themwill be disgusted. If, by your look and manner, you show that you arealive to what is said by others, and now and then throw in a remark, notdestitute of meaning, you will be more generally popular than one ofthose random talkers. Men of a certain standing, qualified by theirliveliness or by their information to bear a leading part inconversation, do not like to see an undue share of it engrossed byothers, especially by a mere youngster. They greatly prefer a goodlistener to a ready talker. 

Young practitioners in Doctors' Commons have, I believe, to pass throughtheir year of silence, before they are allowed to speak. During theperiod of silence, they quietly observe, and become acquainted with, theusages and practice of the court. Something similar to this period ofquiet observation, might not be inexpedient for a noviciate in society. At all events, never talk for talking's sake; never speak unless youhave something to say worth attending to. 

You will, I am sure, my dear nephew, take it in good part, if I pointout a few of the conversational faults, of which young men are apt to beguilty. It is natural that we should talk most of that in which we aremost interested. Now, of all things in the world, a young man feels mostinterested in _himself_. But if, in consequence of such feeling, heventures to talk much of himself, of his own habits, his own pursuits, his own feelings, his own achievements, he will very soon be set down asa bore and a conceited coxcomb. A young man naturally feels a stronginterest, an interest increased by separation, in his own immediatefamily. This feeling, with some young men, is so deep, that they shunthe mention of any thing closely connected with their _home_ as a sortof profanation, a desecration of things sacred. With others, thisfeeling takes the opposite direction, and leads them--_celebraredomestica facta_--to introduce the concerns of their own nearestrelations into the conversation of a mixed party. Take care that younever are guilty of such a violation of good taste and correct judgment. Interesting as your home and its inmates are to _you_, nothing can wellbe less interesting to those, who are unacquainted with them. It will bea stretch of courtesy and good-nature, if they tolerate the mention ofthem without some expression either of ridicule or of distaste. If youspeak of your home-concerns at all, let it be only to one or twointimate friends, who, from the regard which they feel for _you_, may besupposed to take an interest in all belonging to you. 

Be on your guard against getting into the habit of telling long stories:they generally are tiresome. Many circumstances, in addition to thefeeling that you have them to tell, may give them a consequence in youreyes, which they do not in reality possess. Lively anecdotes, or shortnarratives, told with spirit, are among the most amusing ingredients inconversation; but even with them, if you often meet the same company, there is considerable danger of falling into repetition. 

Never be guilty of falling into the too common practice of indulging inscandal, the practice of talking of men disparagingly, of running downtheir character behind their backs. I by no means wish you to flatterany man, whether present or absent, or to speak favourably of characteror of conduct which does not deserve it. But beware of _detraction_. Nothing is more unamiable in any man, especially in a _young_ man; and, what is of infinitely more consequence, nothing is more opposite to thespirit and the precepts of religion, which repeatedly enjoins us to_speak evil of no man_. Bear in mind the advice of one of the mostsagacious and penetrating observers of human nature:--_Whether it be toa friend or foe, talk not of other men's lives; and if thou canst, without offence, reveal them not[34:1]. _ _If thou canst withoutoffence_;--circumstances may require that the truth should berevealed, --that the real truth should be spoken and made known, eventhough it should be injurious, --though it should be absolutely fatal toanother man's character. But do not take pleasure in telling any thingto another's prejudice; do not make the tearing of a character in piecesa matter of amusement. By such conduct you would not only be guilty of agross violation of Christian charity, but will probably bring yourselfinto many scrapes in a worldly point of view. In a mixed company, theremay chance to be some friend or connexion of him, whom you are runningdown; or, at all events, what you say will be repeated, --_a bird of theair will carry the matter_, --till it comes to the ears of the injuredperson. And what will be the consequence? A feeling of aversion anddislike, a spirit of hostility to you, will, not unnaturally, beengendered, both in him and in such of his friends and connections asare acquainted with the circumstance. 

One of the most unwarrantable kinds or forms of detraction, is theattributing of any man's conduct to corrupt or unworthy motives. A man'sreal motives are known only to God and to himself; indeed, very oftento God _alone_, as from the deceitfulness and intricacy of the humanheart, a man himself is sometimes ignorant as to what his real motivesactually are. Certainly it is rash and presumptuous for any other man topretend to decide upon them, and most uncharitable and unjust topronounce them to be corrupt, when they are capable of a favourableinterpretation. Express your disapprobation of unworthy actions asstrongly as you please; but beware of rash and uncharitable censure, andespecially beware of the presumption of imputing to any corrupt and evilmotives. 

As I have cautioned you against violating Christian charity inconversation, so I must warn you against infringing on Christianpurity. You have arrived at a period of life, when your utmost care andvigilance will be requisite, to keep your natural passions and appetiteswithin proper bounds. Indeed, all your care will be ineffectual unlessassisted by Divine grace. Do not take part in conversation which iscalculated to add to their importunity or to their strength. Thoughtlessyoung men, under the influence of these feelings, sometimes indulge in_foolish talking and jesting_[37:1], of most pernicious tendency, andmost inconsistent with the Christian character. Avoid and discourageconversation of this nature, so far as you possibly can. Do not addfuel to a flame which already burns but too fiercely. _Fools make a mockat sin_[38:1]; and none but _fools_ should be capable of making a jokeof temptations and vices, which in themselves are awfully serious, whichlead on to eternal ruin. 

I hope you will never be so unfortunate, as to fall much into thecompany of men, who make a jest of religion, or of any thing connectedwith religion. Those who are bent upon following the guidance of theirown appetites, and their own wills, naturally dislike that which wouldcheck and restrain them. They are consequently apt to become_scoffers_, and to attempt to turn religion and its sanctions intoridicule. Avoid the society and conversation of such men, as you wouldavoid the plague. If unhappily thrown among them, discountenance them tothe utmost. 

Do not indulge yourself in a habit of raillery or banter. Raillery is adifficult thing to manage well, and very apt both to give pain to himwho is the object of it, and to reflect discredit on him who attemptsit. Sometimes you see one or two young men, of more liveliness thansense, picking out some quiet person in company as a _butt_, at whichthey may point their wit, and carrying on an attack of banter andridicule. This is, probably, not only annoying to him, but tiresome andpainful to all the right feeling men who chance to be present. 

I am glad to join in, or to witness, a honest hearty laugh, when anything really calls for it. Beware, however, of the practice of laughingwhen there is nothing to laugh at. Some people fall into a way of givingthe accompaniment of a laugh to almost every thing that they utter, especially if they have any direct intention to be jocular. This habitis disagreeable to most of those who witness it. It proceeds, I believe, generally from a sort of shyness and awkwardness contracted in earlyyouth, and is, as I know from experience, difficult to get rid of. Itcertainly is inconsistent with the manners and habits of good society. Be always the last to laugh at your own jokes, or your own _good_stories. If they are really worth laughing at, the company will find itout, and by premature or excessive laughter you will mar their effect. 

As you get on in society, you will probably often fall into discussionand argument. When this is the case, take care not to be too positive orperemptory in your manner. Be solicitous to allow their full weight tothe arguments of your antagonist. Do not suffer the impression of theforce and correctness of your own reasoning, to render you blind to whatis urged against you. Above all, keep your temper. If you lose yourtemper, victory will be deprived of its credit, and defeat will be moredisgraceful. At the same time you will run a double chance of beingdefeated, without having the wit to see, or the manliness to own it. Believe me, my dear nephew, (to adopt the very words of one of the mostsagacious and distinguished of modern statesmen) "that the arms withwhich the ill dispositions of the world are to be combated, and thequalities by which it is to be reconciled to us, and we reconciled toit, are moderation, gentleness, a little indulgence to others, and agreat deal of distrust of ourselves; which are not qualities of a meanspirit, as some may possibly think them, but virtues of a great andnoble kind, and such as dignify our nature as much as they contribute toour repose and fortune; for nothing can be so unworthy of awell-composed soul, as to pass away life in bickerings and litigations, in snarling and scuffling with every one about us. Again and again, mydear, --we must be at peace with our species; if not for their sakes, yetvery much for our own[43:1]. "

But my letter grows long, and I must hasten to conclude it. Readrepeatedly Cowper's lively poem on conversation, which seems to me tohave much of the spirit and accurate moral taste of Horace, with theelevation derived from Christianity. Read, too, if you can lay your handon it, Bishop Horne's paper on conversation, in the Olla Podrida. Inthese two essays you will find many of the sentiments which I haveexpressed, only given in a much more engaging manner. In the 78th and83d Numbers of the Idler, many common faults in conversation are exposedwith a degree of humour, in which our great moralist did not veryfrequently indulge. 

 I remain, My dear Nephew, Your affectionate Uncle. 

FOOTNOTES:

[34:1] Ecclus. Xix. 8. 

[37:1] Ephes. V. 4. And Coloss. Iii. 8. 

[38:1] Prov. Xiv. 9. 

[43:1] Prior's Life of Burke, p. 215. Second edition. 

LETTER IV. 

AGAINST YIELDING TO THE INFLUENCE OF NUMBERS. 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, When I advised you to fall in, so far as you reasonably can, with thewishes and inclinations of those with whom you associate, youunderstood, I trust, that compliance should never go so far, as toinvolve the slightest sacrifice of truth or of principle. When carriedto this culpable extent, it becomes an instance of weak and unmanlycowardice. 

One of the greatest dangers to which young men are exposed upon theirfirst entrance into the world, is that which arises from their readinessto be swayed by the example or by the persuasion of their companions. The example, and still more the persuasion, of a single individual, issometimes not without difficulty resisted, and the difficulty ofresistance is greatly increased by the influence of numbers. A young mandreads the imputation of singularity. He cannot bear to stand outagainst the example, perhaps the solicitations, of those among whom helives. He suffers himself, therefore, to be carried along by the stream, and led into conduct, of which, in his conscience, he utterlydisapproves. 

Never, my dear nephew, do you be guilty of such weakness. Avoidsingularity, whenever it can be avoided with innocence: an affectationof singularity for singularity's sake, generally proceeds from conceitor self-sufficiency. But where the path of duty is clear, let no exampleor persuasion induce you to swerve from it. Keep ever impressed uponyour mind the admonition of Scripture, _Thou shalt not follow amultitude to do evil_. 

Never suffer yourself to be laughed out of what is right. Never beashamed of adhering to what you know to be your duty. In matters of dutykeep in mind the words of Scripture, _Fear ye not the reproach of men, neither be afraid of their revilings_. Never expose yourself to thecensure justly cast upon those who value the praise or the approbationof men, --of giddy, thoughtless, sensual men, more than the praise ofGod. Remember, my dear nephew, the solemn warning of our Lord: _If anyman shall be ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinfulgeneration, of him shall the Son of man be ashamed when he cometh in hisglory with his holy angels_. 

In your steady adherence to the dictates of conscience, you will alwaysfind some who will respect you for it; or, even if you should standalone, like Abdiel, "among the faithless, the only faithful, " you willbe supported by the testimony of your own heart, and by an humbleconfidence in the approbation of the Almighty. One or two instances may, probably, make my meaning more clear. 

Perhaps a few joyous spirits have devised some scheme of irregular, sensual gratification, --of Bacchanalian revelry;--or, perhaps, two orthree dunces, whose intellects and moral feelings are of such a stamp, as to render them rather impracticable subjects for academicaldiscipline, have contrived some plan of impotent resistance to thecollege authorities, or some plot of petty and vexatious annoyance, inorder to give vent to their mortification, when such silly resistancehas been proved to be ineffectual. Wishing for the screen or protectionof numbers, they will try to persuade their companions, that they willbe wanting in manly spirit, or in social feeling, if they refuse to jointhem. And is there, after all, any thing so very _spirited_, any thingof high-minded and noble daring in behaviour, which seeks to screenitself by concealment and subterfuge, and which, if detected, braves, not any personal danger or suffering, but merely the terrors of animposition? If the offence is so aggravated as to entail the heavierpenalty, rustication, or expulsion, such punishment inflicts, indeed, severe grief upon the parents and friends of the offender; but hehimself, with the short-sightedness of folly, perhaps almost enjoys theidleness and the freedom from academical restraint, to which rusticationconsigns him. A young Oxonian is apt to feel very indignant if nottreated by deans and tutors, as a man and as a gentleman; but has he anyright to expect to be so treated, if he condescends to adopt thepractices of a mischievous or a truant school boy?

I am no friend to the unnecessary imposition of oaths; but, I own, I donot see how any thing like deliberate and systematic opposition toacademical authority, can be reconciled with the oath of academicalobedience taken by every freshman. I know well that the usualconstruction of that oath, --(I doubt not the legitimateconstruction)--is, that the person who takes it will obey the statutes, or submit to the penalty imposed upon the infraction of them. I amaware, too, that the violation of the strict letter of many of thestatutes is acquiesced in, and almost sanctioned, by those in authority;but surely a _deliberate_ and _contumacious_ contravention of thestatutes, accompanied by a natural endeavour to evade punishment, ishardly consistent with the spirit of the oath. Certainly it isinconsistent with the spirit of Christianity, which everywhereinculcates a dutiful submission to the constituted authorities; acompliance, in all things lawful, with the regulations of the place inwhich we are, and of the society which has received us among itsmembers. No man is compelled to go to the University; but if he does gothither, he should make up his mind to comply with its rules, during theshort period of his residence. 

Perhaps, my dear nephew, you may think that I have all this time beencombating, or, rather, seeking to _lay_, a phantom of my own raising;that I have been making mole-hills into mountains; or, like Don Quixote, turning wind-mills into giants: but, in my long Oxford life, I haveheard of so many instances of the silly behaviour of which I have beenspeaking, that I wish to put you on your guard against it. Truemanliness consists in adhering to what you think to be right. Inkeeping steadily to the path of duty, notwithstanding the solicitations, or the taunts, or the ridicule of your associates, there is more properspirit and moral courage, than in braving the rebuke or the impositionsof a dean or a proctor. 

 I remain, My dear Nephew, Your affectionate Uncle. 

LETTER V. 

IMPROVEMENT OF TIME. 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, I trust that you are now hard at work. I can figure you with yourHerodotus before you, your Scapula on one side, and your maps on theother, _setting-to_ in good earnest. You have, I am sure, fullydetermined to make the most of your time. The time which you mustnecessarily pass in Oxford, in order to take your bachelor's degree, isbut little after all. Your whole actual residence, during the threeyears, will probably not much exceed a year and a half. Certainly, ofthis _modicum_ of time you cannot afford to waste any portion. Make apoint of devoting it to real study, to real strenuous exertion. You owethis to yourself--to your own credit and character; you owe it to yourparents, who have probably put themselves to some pecuniaryinconvenience, in order to give you the advantage of an Oxfordeducation; you owe it to God, to whom you are responsible for theemployment of your time, as well as for the proper use of your othertalents. Fix in your mind and memory the lesson taught you by thesun-dial in the Quadrangle at All Souls--"_Pereunt et imputantur_;" orthat of another similar monitor--"_Ab hoc momento pendet æternitas_. "Take time for exercise; take time for relaxation; but make steadyreading your object and your business. Do not be so weak, or so unmanly, or so vain, as to be ashamed of being known to read. You went to Oxfordon purpose to study; why should you be ashamed of keeping that purposein view?

In the choice of your studies, be guided implicitly by the advice ofyour tutor. Very likely you may not see the use of some branches ofscience, or of reading some particular books. But do not fancy that insuch matters you are wiser than older men, who have maturely consideredthese things again and again. If you mean to be your own guide and yourown teacher, you had better have staid away from Oxford altogether. Itis one great advantage of academical education, that a definite courseof reading is marked out for you. When a young man, --indeed, when _any_man, --is left entirely to his own choice, he is apt to be distracted bythe many different branches of study, the many different books, whichpresent themselves, and to fall into a habit of desultory reading, productive of little lasting benefit. You are saved from thisdistraction and perplexity, throwing upon other shoulders the troubleand responsibility of making a proper choice. 

I believe almost every tutor now in Oxford, will direct his pupils todevote a certain portion of their time to the highest of allstudies--the study of religion. Some knowledge of religion is absolutelyindispensable, in order to pass your examination for your degree. Butindependently of all academical objects, you cannot help feelingsatisfied that time so employed, is employed well and wisely. Suchstudy, with the blessing of God upon it, will be beneficial to youthrough the whole of your future existence, both in this world and thenext. 

Among the many advantages of an university education, must be reckonedthe opportunity of attending public lectures, such lectures especially, as are illustrated, by an expensive philosophical apparatus, or by theinspection of actual specimens. The experiments conducted by means ofsuch apparatus, and the handing round of specimens, are not onlyabsolutely essential, oftentimes, to the comprehension of the science towhich they belong, but contribute powerfully to fix it in the memory. Ifyou can spare the time from your severer studies, and if your tutor doesnot disapprove, I should strongly advise you to attend in succession thelectures on natural philosophy, --on chemistry, --on mineralogy, --and ongeology. Some acquaintance with these sciences, is in itself sointeresting and useful, and is now so general, that you ought not, Ithink, to miss your present opportunity of acquiring it: so favourablean opportunity you will hardly meet with again. 

Much may be done by a judicious distribution of your time. When you havemade such a distribution, keep to it steadily. Be peremptory withyourself in adhering to it, and be peremptory in preventing others fromencroaching upon it, --from encroaching upon it, at least, unnecessarily. I suppose that, upon the average, you may get four or five hours' steadyreading before dinner, and three or four after. This will leave youabundant time for exercise, for relaxation, and for society. Certainlyit will not spare you any for mere _lounging_; either for loungingyourself, or being lounged upon by others. If you cannot avoid thelatter by any other means, you will be reduced to the alternative ofshutting your door, or, if that term is still in use, of _sporting oak_against them. If they reproach you, set them, as their punishment, toread the paper in the Idler on the robbery of time[62:1]. 

Either of your time, or of your money, waste as little as possible uponnewspapers. I admit, that of all periods of history, the time in whichwe actually live is, _to us_, the most interesting. I admit that, bothwith a view to your taking part in the conversation of general society, as well as upon other accounts, some knowledge of passing events isdesirable, or even necessary. For such purposes, a rapid glance at thenewspaper, or even what is picked up by hearsay, will, generallyspeaking, be sufficient. While reading for your degree, however, youreally cannot spare time to read the newspapers _through_. The mostimportant portions of them are, perhaps, the debates during the sessionof parliament, and the trials. Of the debates, a considerable part isvery trifling and unprofitable; and, in order to read with realadvantage those speeches which are most deserving of attention, it isnecessary to be possessed of a considerable portion of that knowledge ofhistory, of legislation, of political economy, of mercantile andfinancial transactions, the _foundations_ of which you are at Oxfordengaged in laying. It is not to be wished that an under-graduate shouldaffect to be an experienced politician, prepared to give a strong anddecided opinion upon subjects, upon which able and experienced men, possessed of ten times his knowledge, find a difficulty in making uptheir mind. In the reports of trials, many curious facts, and muchinteresting information are to be found. In order to understand many ofthem, however, it is requisite to have a more intimate acquaintance withthe rules of English jurisprudence, and with the practice of the courts, than can be expected in a young man as yet hardly set free from theeggshell of school. Upon the subject of newspapers, however, I will sayno more. I well know, that in merely touching upon it, I tread upondelicate and debateable ground. 

Take sufficient time for relaxation; but let your relaxations, as far asyou can, be intellectual and improving. 

Oxford now presents opportunities, both of acquiring some knowledge ofnatural history, and of cultivating a taste in the fine arts, which itby no means possessed when I was an under-graduate. For these we areprincipally indebted to those two admirable brothers[66:1], who have solong devoted their time, their money, their distinguished talents, andtheir various attainments, in the first place, to plans of beneficence, and in the next, to the advancement of science and the cultivation oftaste. It is to them that we owe the enlargement, the arrangement, andin fact the greater part of the contents, of the Museum, which nowcontains a very interesting collection of specimens, particularly inBritish ornithology. To them we are indebted for the excellent casts (inthe Ratcliffe Library) from the most perfect specimens of sculpture, andfor the beautiful models (in the Picture Gallery) of the most celebratedremains of ancient architecture. The Picture Gallery itself containsmany paintings, which, if not of any great excellence as works of art, yet are well deserving of attention on very many accounts; and thecopies from the Cartoons, especially if you can be assisted with a fewhints from Richardson or Sir Joshua Reynolds, are most interestingobjects of study and contemplation. I am surprised that the young men inOxford make so little use of these advantages. Many of them seem hardlyto be aware of their existence. 

Among other modes of relaxation, not unconnected with intellectualimprovement, I should advise you to make yourself a little acquaintedwith our early English architecture. If you can buy or borrow eitherBentham's Essay on Gothic Architecture, or Milner's accurate and elegantTreatise on the Ecclesiastical Architecture of England during the middleages, you will need no other assistance, excepting, indeed, a frienddisposed to go along with you in this pursuit. Oxford and its immediateneighbourhood will furnish you with many interesting specimens from theSaxon and Norman, in the cathedral, St. Peter's in the East, and Iffleychurch, down to the utter depravation of the art, or rather the totalchange of style, in the time of Henry the Eighth. 

These interesting pursuits, however, I mention, as you must follow them, if you follow them at all, merely _by the by_. They must not be sufferedto interfere with your severer studies. When engaged in those studies, give them your whole undivided attention. _Whatsoever your hand, or yourhead, findeth to do, do it with all your might. _

The habits of study and of intellectual improvement, which you acquireat Oxford, you should carry with you into the vacation. During thevacation, you may, perhaps, take more time for society--the societyespecially of your own immediate family--and more for relaxation; butstill do not _waste_ your time; still consider yourself as responsiblefor the right employment of it. Make sure of the ground which you gainedduring the term, by going over by yourself, what you then read with yourtutor. Improve your acquaintance with the standard writers of our owncountry, and acquire some knowledge of modern history. In short, makethe most of your leisure. Read Bishop Home's sermon on redeeming thetime, and the papers in the Spectator and the Rambler to which herefers. Read, _and learn by heart_, what is said on the loss of time inthe second of Young's Night Thoughts:

 "Part with it as with money, sparing; pay No moment but in purchase of its worth. "

But my letter grows long, and (you will say) tedious. 

 I remain, My dear Nephew, Your affectionate Uncle. 

FOOTNOTES:

[62:1] Vol. I. No. 14. 

[66:1] John Duncan, Esq. And Philip Duncan, Esq. Of New College. 

LETTER VI. 

PUNCTUALITY. 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, I ventured to give you some advice respecting the employment of yourtime; perhaps I ought to follow up that letter with a few remarks uponPUNCTUALITY. Unless you acquire the habit of punctuality, you will beapt, not only to lose your own time, but to make unjustifiable inroadsupon the time of other persons. 

Endeavour, therefore, to _keep to your time_ in every appointment, whether the appointment be made by yourself or by others, (the collegeauthorities for instance, ) whether it be with a superior, an equal, oran inferior. Whether it be in a matter of business or in a matter ofpleasure, try always to be true to it. Let this be your system and yourhabit. Some deviations from punctuality may now and then be unavoidable;but do not let them occur unless they _really are_ unavoidable infairness and reason. If you have yourself made an appointment, your wordis, to a certain degree, pledged to your keeping to it. The case is insome measure the same, when, though the appointment is actually made byothers, you have acceded to it. 

Want of punctuality seems to proceed either from pride andsuperciliousness, or from some infirmity, some weakness of character. Most men try to be punctual in any appointment with a man of ranksuperior to themselves, especially if they have any object, anyinterest, in conciliating his favour. And, on the other hand, too manypersons seem to feel themselves at liberty to be unpunctual in anappointment with an inferior. It is not worth while, they think, to careabout being exact with one so much beneath them. "Let him wait till I amat leisure to attend to him, " exclaims such a man, in the proudconsciousness of superiority; and, perhaps, some trifle, or mereindolence, is all that he has to plead for his neglect. 

You, my dear nephew, have, I trust, long since learned, that you have noright to treat any man, however low his rank may be, withdisrespect, --with any thing approaching to contempt. You well know, thatboth reason and religion require us to regard all men as our brothers, and that one of the golden rules of the latter is, _in lowliness ofmind, let each esteem others better than himself_. Whatever a man's rankin life may be, he has a right to punctuality as he has a right totruth; and you have no right, by your unpunctuality, to rob him eitherof his time or his patience. Certainly you have no right to give him bysuch means the painful feeling that he is neglected, and neglectedbecause he is despised. 

And thus, also, with men of your own age and your own rank in life; inall the little engagements and appointments, whether of business or ofpleasure, which occur in the common intercourse of society, endeavourstill to maintain the habit of punctuality. As every man wishes to havethe character of being true to his word, so it will be to your credit tohave the character of being true to your engagements, whether thoseengagements relate to great matters or to small. 

But though want of punctuality is sometimes occasioned by pride, itmust more frequently proceed from a certain degree of weakness ofcharacter, or from mere indolence. A man acknowledges punctuality to beright and desirable, but cannot muster up sufficient energy andresolution. He cannot prevail upon himself to quit his bed, or his easychair, or his fire-side, or the employment by which he chances to beoccupied, till the time fixed on has passed away. His friends are keptwaiting; those who have business to transact with him lose their temper;they, again, are perhaps disappointing others, and all because he hadnot sufficient decision of character, sufficient command of himself, tobe punctual. 

You may remember seeing at my house my friend Mr. M. [78:1] He was atOxford a very good-humoured fellow, and every body liked him; but henever could contrive to be in time for any thing. He got imposition uponimposition for being too late for chapel; he came to dine in hall whenother men were going away; and his friends were almost afraid of makingan appointment with him, either for business or for amusement, becausethey knew beforehand that he would not keep it. When, after leavingOxford, he established himself as a country gentleman in his paternalmansion, the same habit still clung to him. No time was fixed for anything, or if it was fixed, it was never kept. Neither his guests nor hisservants knew at what hour either breakfast, or dinner, or any otherdomestic arrangement, would take place. Consequently, their time andtheir spirits were wasted in uncertainty. When engaged to dine at aneighbour's, perhaps he would forget the engagement altogether; or, ifhe chanced to remember it, would not arrive till the master of the feasthad given him up in despair, after allowing possibly an extra half hour, during which, the solemn pause which sometimes takes place beforedinner, had become more solemn, from the annoyance of seeing a wholeparty kept waiting by the unpunctuality of one person. The servants, meanwhile, were yawning and fidgetting backwards and forwards in thelistlessness of expectation; the cook perplexed with the sore dilemma ofseeing all the productions of her skill, either chilled with cold frombeing kept back, or burnt to a cinder; and the temper even of the ladyof the house a little out of tune, from the certainty that the dinnerwould be spoiled. Of all these various vexations, the sole cause was tobe found in Mr. M. 's want of energy. He could not bring himself, perhaps, either to shorten a pleasant ride, or to lay down a book whichinterested him, or to quit his own chair by the fire-side, in order todress. The convenience and comfort, and for a time the good humour, of awhole company, were to be sacrificed to his indolence, his _visinertiæ_, and unpunctuality. 

Never permit yourself, my dear nephew, thus to trifle with the time orthe temper of any persons, whether high or low, with whom you have anyintercourse. Make a point of always being in time. I think it is said ofLord Nelson (though I cannot hit upon the passage in his life), thatwhen some friend was fixing an appointment of importance at a certainhour, the hero added, "Say a quarter _before_--to that quarter _before_, I have owed all my success in life. " I do not advise you actually to be_before_ the time of an engagement, which some people will complain ofas being worse than being too late, but be so much beforehand as to bemaster of your time, or to have it in your power to be punctual almostto a minute. When you are received as a guest in a friend's house, consider compliance with the hours and habits of the family, as anatural return for the hospitality which is shown to you. There issomething incongruous in seeing a young person deranging, by hisunpunctuality, the economy and regularity of a whole household. And donot suffer the kindness and indulgence of your parents to induce you, when with them, to be less attentive to punctuality than you are, whenwith other persons of superior age or rank to yourself. Never let themwait for you; make a point of being always ready. An excellent friend ofmine lays it down as a maxim, that _habitual unpunctuality is positiveincivility_. 

I have alluded to the unpunctuality of one of my college friends: I willcontrast it with the punctuality of another. The latter when at Oxfordwas distinguished for lively talents, and for an exuberance of spiritsbursting forth into every possible variety of fun. He is now the ownerof a spacious and splendid mansion, with a large establishment ofservants, and often a considerable number of guests, attracted by hismany amiable and excellent qualities. He still retains his playfulnessof wit, but his domestic arrangements are a model of punctuality. Familyprayers, and every meal, are to a minute. His guests and servants, consequently, know exactly what they have to depend on, the arrangementsof the day, whether for business or for amusement, can be made withprecision, and every thing is done at its proper time. This ispunctuality on a greater scale. You and I, my dear nephew, must attendto it in smaller matters. 

 I remain, My dear Nephew, Your affectionate Uncle. 

FOOTNOTES:

[78:1] Mr. M. Is imaginary. 

LETTER VII. 

AMUSEMENTS. 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, In a former letter I recommended to you certain modes of relaxation, having some connection with intellectual improvement. You will, perhaps, tell me that you want relaxation more entire and complete; that theintellect requires perfect rest; that you must have _amusement_ in thestrict etymological sense of the word. You may be right. I have alreadyadvised you to take sufficient time for _exercise_, and the exercise ofthe body will generally give rest and refreshment to the mind. 

In your choice of amusement, however--amusement, I mean, as combinedwith exercise--you must have strict regard to economy, both of money andof time. Do not think me an old woman, if I add, that regard for _both_should keep you from any excessive bodily exertion, such as will unfityou for study, or seriously affect your health. I am told that thelatter effect has of late, not unfrequently, been the result of overfatigue in _rowing_; that many young men have died at an early age; thatothers live on with all their powers debilitated, from havingoverstrained their nerves, and their whole muscular system, inboat-races. Rowing is in itself a salutary and delightful species ofexercise; and the facility of practising it, is one among the manyadvantages of Oxford; but when carried to the excess which I havealluded to, it is foolish and culpable. 

I would have a young man regardless of danger, willing to risk limbs, health, or life itself, for the benefit of his fellow-creatures. Heshould, like Hamlet, "hold his life at a pin's fee, " when any adequateobject is to be answered by putting it in jeopardy. But a man has _noright_ to risk either his life or his limbs for a bravado, in mere idlevanity and ostentation. Such wanton risk is cruelty to his parents andfriends, and a presumptuous tempting of Providence. 

_Riding_, for riding's sake, must, with your finances, be out of thequestion. The utmost that you ought to allow yourself, is a hack once ortwice a term, for some specific purpose--to visit a distant friend, perhaps, or to see some interesting object lying beyond the range of awalk. What I have said of riding, applies, with ten-fold force, tohunting, which entails expense--(the hire of a hunter, the hire of ahack probably to take you to cover, sundry ostlers and helpers, and verylikely a jovial dinner at an inn)--utterly inconsistent with an averageallowance; which entails, also, a waste of time, which, in the shortperiod of an Oxford residence, can ill be spared. 

What shall I say of _cricket_? I have great respect for cricket, as anational and a manly game. The demand which it makes upon your Oxfordtime is confined to the short term between Easter and the long vacation, and it does not require a very large portion of the day. It is not_necessarily_ attended with any expense. Whether the incidental expensesof _uniform_ (if you belong to a club), tent, dinner, &c. &c. Are suchas you can fairly afford, is for your consideration. They need not behigh, and, in my good will to the game, I am anxious that they shouldbe kept down. 

_Tennis_ is an animated game, of much variety in itself, and requiringgreat variety of muscular exertion. It is connected with many historicaland chivalrous recollections, and carries the mind back to our Henry theFifth and the "mocking Dauphin" of France. As it cannot be playedwithout a spacious and expensive edifice, it is altogether anaristocratic game, and demands an aristocratic purse. It is a game whichrequires a good deal of practice, and, consequently, a good deal ofexpenditure, in order to acquire a tolerable degree of skill; and yourskill will seldom have an opportunity of showing itself after you havequitted Oxford, as you will seldom fall in with a tennis-court. I haveno hesitation in saying, that you, my dear nephew, have no money thatyou have a right to spend upon yourself in this manner. 

You will never, I trust, annoy any of the neighbouring countrygentlemen, by attacking their game. You know how tender a point this is, and how susceptible most landed proprietors are upon the subject; andyour own good feeling, and sense of propriety, and common fairness, willprevent you from trespassing in this manner. You can imagine howindignant you would yourself feel at such an invasion, and will not beguilty towards another of a wrong, of which you would complain loudlyif it were offered to yourself. 

After all, _walking_ is the cheapest exercise, and, perhaps, the best. If you wish to give it variety, you will find plenty of ditches to leap, steeps to ascend, and hills to run up or down. And, dull as are most ofthe great roads leading into Oxford, the country round abounds ininteresting objects within reach of a walk. There is much naturalscenery, possessed of a good deal of variety and picturesque character;and there are many buildings, and remains of buildings, which eitherfrom something in themselves, or from adventitious circumstances, welldeserve to be looked at. The church at Cumnor, for instance, not onlyhas within itself much to interest a man fond of architectural orantiquarian investigation, but, in common with the remains or site ofCumnor hall, and the village of Dry Sandford, have acquired a sort ofclassical notoriety from the magical pen of Sir Walter Scott. Thepicturesque ruins of the kitchen, and other buildings at StantonHarcourt, the slight vestiges of Godston Nunnery, the Town Hall, theGaol, and the two churches at Abingdon, may all become, each in itsturn, the object of a pedestrian expedition. The residence of theSpeaker, Lenthall, at Bessilsleigh, may deserve notice, from historicalrecollections, though for no other reason. The Saxon church in Iffley Ihave already mentioned. The recently-built Saxon chapel at Kennington isdone in excellent taste, and is a most gratifying instance of themunificence and piety of an individual clergyman, devoting, I believe, almost all his resources to the work. The church at Wytham will show youthat a church very lately erected may, by correct judgment, be made topresent the appearance of having been built five hundred years ago. ButI must not go on in this way, or you will think that you have got holdof an Oxford guide. Most of the villages and village churches in theneighbourhood, have some character of their own worth examining. 

So much for amusements connected with exercise, which has led me intosomething like a repetition of some of the sentiments in a formerletter. 

A few words on sedentary amusements. 

If you read _in earnest_, and are bent upon making the most of yourtime, you will have little of it left for amusements of a sedentarynature. 

The less you have to do with cards the better. Young men can have nooccasion for the assistance of cards in order to pass their time; andthere seems to be something almost incongruous in the idea of _their_sitting down to a rubber. Nor do they need the excitement: if they wishfor it, that very wish is a reason why they ought not to have it. Ifthey play for money--or, at all events, if they play for such sums asmake the winning or losing an object of any degree of consequence--theybecome gamblers; and of the many bad passions which gambling sometimescalls into activity, and of the destructive consequences which itentails, no one is ignorant. If you once get into the habit of playing, you will, perhaps, not know when to stop. Cards are very seductive, andyou may find yourself become a gambler almost before you are aware ofit. Perhaps the best plan is _not to know_ how to play, which furnishesan answer always ready. 

Chess is a game of elegance and interest, and the being a goodchess-player, carries with it a certain impression of general abilityand of intellectual activity and resource. Perhaps I may allow thatplaying at chess adds a certain degree of interest to the perusal of thehistory of a campaign, whether ancient or modern, with its variousmoves, its checks and counter-checks, its retreats and _castlings_. Butchess is a fascinating game, and will be apt to make larger demands uponyour time than you can afford. If you indulge in it at all, you must beperemptory with yourself in resisting its tendency to incroach eitherupon your time or your _temper_. Sometimes, too, it requires so muchexertion of thought, --is such a strain upon the mind, --that it hardlycan answer the purposes of relaxation. If you play, by all means readFranklin's Essay on the Morals of Chess. For clearness of head, fortruth-telling simplicity and honesty of purpose, and for perspicuity andliveliness of style, Franklin has, perhaps, no superior. 

Always recollect that improvement, moral and intellectual, is the greatobject for which you were sent to Oxford. With that object nothing mustbe suffered to interfere. 

 I remain, &c. &c. 

LETTER VIII. 

EXPENSES, AND RUNNING IN DEBT. 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, I do not know exactly what allowance your father has been able to giveyou, but whatever it may be, I trust that you are resolutely determinedto keep within it. This will, of course, require a good deal of care andattention. Many young men, when, upon going to the University, they findin their pockets a much larger sum than they ever possessed before, fancy themselves rich, and at liberty to allow themselves variousunnecessary indulgences. The consequence is, that they become entangledin debts, from which they can never extricate themselves during theircontinuance at Oxford. Be on your guard against getting thus hampered. Take it for granted, that the regular and necessary claims upon yourfinances will leave but little over for the indulgence of pleasure orfancy. 

The expenses of an University education are often most unfairlyexaggerated by writers and speakers, who are fond of running down allold institutions. These carpers affect to set down to the score of theUniversity all the money that is spent by the young men who reside init. They seem to forget that, wherever a young man may be, he must eatand drink, and must purchase clothes suitable to his station in society. I was myself, as you probably know, at Christ Church, where I took mydegree, and afterwards became a Fellow of Oriel. At Oriel, (which mayprobably be taken as a fair average of the rest of the University, ) the_necessary_ annual expenses of a commoner are from 70l. To 80l. , orthereabouts[101:1]. This includes room-rent, batels, (that is, breakfast, dinner, &c. _exclusive_ of tea and sugar), tuition, University and College dues, coals, letters, washing, servants. TheUniversity dues are less than 1l. Per annum. There are, perhaps, fewplaces in England, where a gentleman can be comfortably lodged andboarded at a much cheaper rate. Still there will always be manyincidental expenses, and you must put in practice a pretty severeeconomy in order to meet them. 

In the manner in which you spend your money, as in every thing else, accustom yourself to a certain degree of self-denial. Do not buy anything merely because it hits your fancy, and you think you should _liketo have it_, but consider whether you cannot easily _do without it_. Beas liberal as you can reasonably afford to be in assisting others, especially the poor, but spend as little as you can help upon yourself. Above all, never buy, or order, any thing which you are unable to payfor. 

The habit of running in debt is pregnant with evil and misery of everydescription. It often--perhaps generally--amounts to positivedishonesty. The money which you owe a tradesman is really his property. The articles, which you have received from him, are hardly your own, until you have paid for them. If you keep them, without paying for themwhen the seller wishes and asks for payment, you deprive a man of thatwhich belongs to him; and is not that something approaching to robbery?To a man possessed of proper feeling and a nice sense of honour, it mustbe very painful to suffer a tradesman to ask twice for what is clearlyhis right. To affect to be offended with such an application, and tomeet it with superciliousness and insolence, is injustice carried to itsheight. 

The manner in which some men, who would be ready to shoot any one whodisputed their claims to be considered as gentlemen, treat theircreditors, whom they choose to call _duns_, would, from its contrarietyto any thing like reason, be almost ludicrous, if it were not soculpable, so cruel, and so dishonest. 

A tradesman, from not being able to recover the money owed to him, seeshimself in danger of losing his credit, and, together with his credit, the means of getting a maintenance; he sees his wife and childrenperhaps upon the very verge of misery, and yet, if he civilly asks forwhat is his due, he is considered as troublesome and impertinent, perhaps reproached and insulted!

Upon this subject I shall allow myself to quote the words of Delany, thefriend of Dean Swift, one of the most animated and sensible of oursermon writers. 

"Running in debt with tradesmen, and neglecting to pay them in due time, is utterly ruinous to the whole business of trade and commerce, andabsolutely destructive of the very principles upon which it is built, and by which it subsists; and yet this is a crime every day committed bymen of fortune and quality, with as little remorse as they eat anddrink; and if the tradesman demands his money, it is odds but he iseither threatened or turned into a jest. The son of Sirach's wiseobservation is here every day verified, merely substituting the words_rich_ and _poor_, for the words _debtor_ and _creditor_. _The debtorhath done wrong, and yet he threateneth; the creditor is wronged, andyet he must entreat also. _ If threats will not rid these men of theirimportunate creditors, then are they to be deluded with fair words andplausible excuses, to pay attendance from day to day, to the loss ofmore time, and neglect of more business, than perhaps the debt is worth;and so the first injury, instead of being repaired is doubled. And yetthe _gentleman_ debtor, the author of this evil, is so far fromrepenting of it, that it is odds but he vaunts his wit and dexterity indoing it. _As a mad man_ (saith Solomon) _who casteth firebrands, arrows, and death: so is the man that deceiveth his neighbour, andsaith, Am I not in jest?_ And, indeed, it is scarce to be conceived howany man can deal more destruction and ruin around him, than by deceivingand breaking faith with the fair trader; for it is well known, hiscredit, his whole subsistence, depends upon keeping his word, and beingstrictly punctual in his payments and his promises; and, if he fail inthese, he is undone at once. And how is it possible he should not fail, if the gentlemen he deals with fail him? He hath no way of raising moneybut by sale of his goods; and if those to whom they are trusted will notpay him, it is impossible he can pay his creditors; and, if he do notpay them, it is impossible but he must be ruined, and, perhaps, manymore with him. For traders are linked and dependent on one another; andone man's fall throws down many more with him: the shop-keeper is indebt to the maker or the merchant; and these again to the journeyman, the farmer, or the foreign correspondent; and so the ruin becomescomplicated, and extended beyond imagination!"

"Credit is to a tradesman what honour is to a gentleman: to a man thatis truly such, (a gentleman, ) his honour is as dear as his life: to thetrader, credit is as life itself; for he cannot live without it. "

You, my dear nephew, will never, I trust, stoop so low as to be guiltyof such dishonesty. But then you must keep a vigilant eye upon yourexpenses. Paying ready money for every thing may be sometimesinconvenient, and may, perhaps, occasion mistakes; but never leaveOxford for a vacation without clearing off every thing that you owe. Take receipts, and keep them. The most honest and respectable tradesmanmay sometimes, in the hurry of business, omit to cross a charge out ofhis book, and will feel a satisfaction in having any doubt as to paymentremoved. Have such receipts tied up and docketed, so that you may referto any one of them readily. 

Never suffer yourself to be led into needless expense by the example ofyour companions, and never be ashamed of saying that you cannot affordit. 

We sometimes see weak young men vying with each other in the expensiveelegance of their furniture and dress, or in the luxury of theirentertainments. A man of large fortune produces at his table a varietyof costly wines, abundance of ice, and a splendid dessert. Others, froma silly vanity, affect to do the same, although such expensive luxuriesare altogether inconsistent with their finances, and with the generalhabits of men in their rank of life. The more such expenses and foolishostentation can be checked by the college _authorities_ the better. Atall events, do not _you_ be so weak as to fall into them. There is nodisgrace in being poor, but there is disgrace and dishonesty too, incontracting debts which you are unable to discharge. 

Some young Oxonians, I am afraid, after spending the larger portion oftheir allowance upon amusements and self-indulgence, drive off thepayment of what they regard as their more _creditable_ debts till theytake their degree, under the idea that they will then be paid by theirfathers. This is a most unwarrantable, --sometimes a _cruel_, --drain uponparental kindness. Poets may well speak of university expenses "pinchingparents black and blue[112:1], " when this is the case. 

The majority of parents, as I have already said, do not send their sonsto the University without some degree of pecuniary inconvenience tothemselves. It is, indeed, hard upon them, when, in addition to anannual allowance, which, probably, they have furnished not withoutdifficulty, they are called upon for a considerable sum, in order tosave their sons' credit--perhaps in order to enable him to take hisdegree. For you are aware that an unpaid tradesman has the power, if hethinks fit to exert it, of stopping the degree of a spendthriftunder-graduate. This power, I believe, is seldom, if ever, exercised. But surely the being liable to it, through your own misconduct andextravagance, would be attended with a feeling of painful humiliation. 

 I remain, My dear Nephew, Your affectionate Uncle. 

FOOTNOTES:

[101:1] June, 1832. 

[112:1] Cowper. 

LETTER IX. 

TEMPERANCE. 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, In the present state of society, it is, perhaps, less necessary than itwould have been formerly, that I should give you any caution or adviceon the subject of _temperance_. Five-and-thirty years ago, it wascustomary to drink a good deal of wine after dinner, and young men atOxford were not behind-hand with the rest of the world in complying withthis bad custom. 

It was _then_ generally the system, to initiate a freshman by makinghim completely drunk. Scripture is by no means sufficiently listened to_now_, but perhaps its warnings were less known and less regarded_then_. The master of the revels and his abettors were ignorant, orunmindful, of the threatenings denounced by the voice ofInspiration, --_Woe unto him that giveth his neighbour drink, thatputtest thy bottle to him, and makest him drunken also_: and again--_Woeunto them that are mighty to drink wine, and men of strength to minglestrong drink_. Regardless of these denunciations, and trusting to thestrength of their own heads, and the practised discipline of their ownstomachs, their _noble_ ambition was to make drunk as many of theirguests as possible, especially any luckless freshman who chanced to beof the party. Those who, whether from religious principle or frommanliness of character, did not choose to submit to be made drunk, wereobliged either to encounter these _kind_ endeavours with sturdyresistance, --resistance which sometimes occasioned a total cessation ofintercourse and acquaintance, --or to evade them by stratagem. Glassafter glass was dexterously emptied upon the carpet under the table, orthe purple stream sought concealment under heaps of walnut-shells andorange-peel. In short, at a tolerably large wine-party there was wasted, or _worse than wasted_, a quantity of Port wine sufficient to check theravages of a typhus fever in an entire village. 

These days of _Celtic barbarism_ are, I hope, utterly passed away. As ingeneral society very little wine is consumed, (_excepting at dinner_, )so Oxford has caught the spirit of the times, and the bacchanalianrevels to which I have alluded are, I believe, much less common thanthey were formerly, if not entirely exploded. I am afraid, however, thateven now more wine is drunk in some colleges, than is consistent eitherwith Christian temperance, or with habits of study, or with thepreservation of health. 

I need not point out to _you_, my dear nephew, the evils which, in areligious point of view, result from drinking to excess. You, I wellknow, would shudder at the idea of wilfully depriving yourself ofreason, and of sinking yourself to the situation of a beast or of amaniac. A man, who has thrown away his reason, has little right to hopefor the continuance of the assisting and preventing grace of God. Anddestitute of the controlling guidance, both of reason and of DivineGrace, what is there left to prevent his ungoverned passions fromcarrying him into the most perilous excesses? There are deadly vices, towhich young men are, at all times, but too powerfully solicited by theirnatural appetites; and when those appetites are stimulated by drinking, and all salutary control shaken off, the danger is great indeed. Youperhaps may remember an Eastern apologue to the following effect, (Iknow not where to find it): The Devil having, by the impulse of terror, induced a holy man to consent to commit _some_ crime, allowed him tochoose, whether he would get drunk, or be guilty of either of two of themost horrible enormities he could conceive. The poor victim chosedrunkenness, as being the least offence, but in the state to which hehad thus brought himself, was guilty of all three. 

And even if you are kept back from any additional guilt, yet you wellknow, that by throwing away your reason, you become capable of beingguilty of all sorts of absurdities, --that you are liable to say and do ahundred foolish things, of which, when you return to your senses, youwill be heartily ashamed, --that you expose yourself to the ridicule andcontempt of those, who witness the degraded state to which you havereduced yourself. 

A drunken _Christian_ is almost a contradiction in terms; and somethingthe same may be said of a drunken _gentleman_. Among many in the middleand the industrious classes of society, there is much intelligence, muchquick perception of what is morally right, and of general propriety ofbehaviour. As such men are not backward in shewing respect, whererespect is really due, so they are keen-sighted in detecting grossinconsistencies of conduct, and ready to bestow the full measure ofcontempt upon those, who, while placed above them by the advantages ofbirth, and fortune, and education, yet meanly condescend, by their vicesand their excesses, to degrade themselves below them. 

The inconsistency of any excess in drinking, with the main purpose forwhich you were sent to Oxford, is palpable. You go to Oxford professedlyfor study. Independently of the time actually occupied by a wine-party, any excess will, probably, indispose you for study the morning after;

 Corpus onustum Hesternis vitiis animum quoque prægravat una, Atque affigit humo divinæ particulam auræ. 

You will rise from your bed heavy and languid, probably with somedisposition to headache; and will be far more inclined to lounge in aneasy-chair, or to saunter about in listless idleness, than to sit downto active mental exertion. 

I must add, that the habit of drinking much wine during your continuanceat Oxford, is not unlikely materially to injure your health in thesucceeding periods of your life. Such habit has a tendency permanentlyto derange and weaken the digestive powers, and to injure and harden theinternal coats and the orifices of the stomach. I am persuaded, thatmuch of the tendency to apoplectic and paralytic affections; much of thegeneral indisposition, which we often witness in men advanced beyond themiddle period of the usual term of human life, --men who have of lateperhaps, lived temperately--is to be attributed to the wine which theydrank when young. 

But I will not dwell longer on the evils of excessive drinking. You knowthe admonitions of Scripture, --_Take heed lest at any time your heartsbe overcharged with surfeiting and drunkenness. Be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess. _ You know that _drunkards cannot inherit the kingdomof God_; you know that drunkenness is spoken of by St. Paul as being thevice of those, who remain sunk in the thick darkness of ignorance andheathenism, and as utterly unbefitting those who are blessed with thelight of the Gospel. Indeed, it is unworthy of any man possessed only ofcommon sense. 

Guard, then, my dear nephew, against this degrading habit withdetermined resolution. Let neither the example, nor the solicitations, nor the taunting jests of your companions, induce you to demean yourselfso far, as to be guilty of a vice so utterly unworthy of you, both as aman and as a Christian. If they, for their amusement, were to requestyou to cut off your right hand, you would not feel bound to comply withthem. Do not, for their gratification, expose yourself in the conditionof a fool, or an idiot. Do not, in order to please a party ofthoughtless revellers, incur the displeasure of Almighty God, and runthe hazard of eternal ruin. 

And take care, that you do not yourself _acquire_ a taste for any suchsensual indulgences. "The appetite for intoxicating liquors, " saysPaley, "appears to be almost always _acquired_. " Guard against the firstbeginnings of intemperance. _Principiis obsta. _ If you are not on yourguard, you will be in danger of being carried on, step by step, untilretreat becomes out of the question. 

You would avoid many trials of your firmness, and be relieved probablyfrom much irksome importunity, if you could make up your mind torenounce wine altogether. This you would do with the less difficulty, ifbacked by the sanction of medical advice. I apprehend that most medicalmen, if desired to give their _candid_ opinion, would recommendabstinence from wine as conducive to a _young_ man's health both of bodyand mind. I knew _water-drinkers_ at Oxford, who yielded to none oftheir companions in liveliness and all social qualities, either in theirown room or at the wine-party of a friend. Many young men in the army, I believe, adopt this system, from motives both of moral and ofeconomical prudence. A pint, or even half a pint, of wine per day, makesa considerable hole in the pay of a subaltern, or in the stipend of acountry curate, or in the allowance of a briefless barrister. Avoidacquiring factitious wants. Do not by habit make wine necessary to yourcomfort. It is wise, when young, not to indulge in luxuries which in anyfuture period of your life you probably will not be able to afford, consistently with the claims which will then be pressing upon you. Ithrow out this idea, however, for your own consideration, without urgingit as matter of positive advice. I think, however, that your intellectwill be clearer, and your mind often more cheerful, if you comply withthe suggestion. 

Shall I add a word or two upon temperance in _eating_? I hope that thereare few young men who are apt to be guilty of the _porcine_ vice ofeating to excess; in plain English--of _gluttony_. Perhaps, however, thetemptations of a well-appointed dinner, prepared by an exquisite_artiste_, may induce them occasionally to transgress. It is, perhaps, hardly fair to quote from any thing so well known as Addison's paper onTemperance, in the Spectator[128:1], but it is much to my purpose. "Itis said of Diogenes, that meeting a young man who was going to a feast, he took him up in the street, and carried him home to his friends, asone who was running into imminent danger, had not he prevented him. Whatwould that philosopher have said, had he been present at the luxury of amodern meal? Would he not have thought the master of a family mad, andhave begged his servants to tie down his hands, had he seen him devourfowl, fish, and flesh; swallow oil and vinegar, wines and spices; throwdown salads of twenty different sorts, sauces of a hundred ingredients, confections and fruits of numberless sweets and flavours? What unnaturalmotions and counter-ferments must such a medley of intemperance producein the body? For my part, when I behold a fashionable table, set out inall its magnificence, I fancy that I see gouts and dropsies, fevers andlethargies, with innumerable distempers, lying in ambuscade among thedishes. "

"Nature delights in the most plain and simple diet. " He then gives somerules for temperance, which are well worth attending to. This passage ofAddison is much in the spirit of that of Horace:

 ----"Variæ res Ut noceant homini, credas, memor illius escæ Quæ simplex olim tibi sederit. At simul assis Miscueris elixa, simul conchylia turdis; Dulcia se in bilem vertent, stomachoque tumultum Lenta feret pituita. "

Most of the modern writers on dietetics, as well as those who havepreceded them, recommend a very considerable abridgment of the quantityof food, usually consumed at the table of the affluent. 

And while I strongly advise you to be rather abstemious as to _quantity_of food, so I wish you not to be in the slightest degree fastidious asto its _quality_, provided it is wholesome, and free from qualitiesabsolutely revolting. You may naturally like one thing better thananother, and partake of what you prefer, when it comes in your way; butit is painful to see a young man of any intellect indulging in theniceties of an epicure, and really appearing to care much about what heeats, and what he drinks. When I commenced the life of a countryclergyman, I was often received, with almost parental kindness, in ahouse, in which good taste of all kinds, --moral, intellectual, social, and _culinary_, --presided in an eminent degree. Every now and then, someparticular dish made its appearance, under the impression that I wasparticularly fond of it. Probably I had eaten of it some days before, because it chanced to be near me, or from some similar accident. I wasgrateful for the kindness and attention, but felt mortified, almostdegraded, at its being supposed that I cared about one thing more thananother, where all were good and wholesome. 

Do not get into the habit of spending your money in ices, and otherdelicacies, at the pastry-cook's and confectioner's. You say that youare hungry;--

 "--------Panis Latrantem stomachum bene leniet. "

If your hunger would disdain a piece of dry bread, it certainly has noclaim to be attended to at all. You say that you can _afford_ to indulgeyourself in the delicacies to which I have alluded. I do not think thatyou can; at all events, your money may be more worthily spent--

 "Non est melius quo insumere possis? Cur eget indignus quisquam, te divite? Quare Templa ruunt antiqua Deûm?"

In other words, if you have the money to spare, give it to thedeserving poor, or to the Church-building Society. Few expenses aremore unsatisfactory in retrospect, --I had almost said, more_disgraceful_, --than those which have been incurred by sensualself-indulgence; incurred to gratify a vitiated palate and a pamperedappetite. 

Self-denial is recommended by the classical writers of antiquity, aswell as by the most sensible of modern authors; and, what is ofinfinitely more importance, is strongly inculcated by the Christianreligion. But how shall self-denial be practised _at all_, if it cannotbe practised in the low matter of eating and drinking?

Read again and again the paper of Addison, and the Satire of Horace, (the second of the second Book), from which I have made my quotations. Read also the following passages from that accurate observer of thehabits and manners of social life, the son of Sirach:

_If thou sit at a bountiful table, be not greedy upon it, and say not, There is much meat on it. --Eat, as it becometh a man, those things thatare set before thee; and devour not, lest thou be hated. Leave offfirst for manners' sake; and be not insatiable, lest thou offend. _

_A very little is sufficient for a man well nurtured, and he fetchethnot his wind short upon his bed. _

_Sound sleep cometh of moderate eating; he riseth early, and his witsare with him: but the pain of watching, and choler, and pangs of thebelly, are with an insatiable man. _

 I remain, My dear Nephew, Your affectionate Uncle. 

FOOTNOTES:

[128:1] No. 195. 

LETTER X. 

ENGLISH READING. 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, When at Oxford, you will not have much time for any reading, exceptingthat which has some reference to your examination. During the vacations, however, which occupy about half the year, you are more at liberty, andwill do well, as I have already suggested to you, to give a good deal ofyour leisure to increasing your acquaintance with the classical writersof your own language. 

Both at Oxford and home, endeavour, on most days, to catch some littleportion of time, --a quarter of an hour may be sufficient, --for religiousreading. Melmoth's "Great Importance of a Religious Life, " and theabridgment of Law's "Serious Call, " adopted by the Society for PromotingChristian Knowledge, are two of the best books that occur to me, for thepurpose of impressing you with the absolute necessity, of givingreligion the first place in your thoughts and your heart. You may readeither of them through in an hour. Of the former, 42, 000 copies weresold in the eighteen years preceding 1784. I mention this as an evidenceof its popularity. 

Some thirty years ago I was requested by a friend, to recommend somepractical book to put into the hands of a young person. I named Nelson's"Practice of True Devotion, " and have since seen no reason to alter myopinion. Let that be one of the first books that you make use of. If youread _one_ chapter each day (and do not read more), it will last youabout three weeks. After an interval of a year or so, go through itagain. 

Take next for this purpose Jeremy Taylor's "Holy Living and Dying, "first reading (if you can borrow the book) what is said of this work byhis highly-gifted and most amiable editor, Bishop Heber. One passagefrom Heber's remarks I must allow myself to quote: "But I will notselect, where all may be read with advantage, and can hardly be readwithout admiration. To clothe virtue in its most picturesque andattractive colouring; to enforce with all the terrors of the divine law, its essential obligations; and to distinguish, in almost every instancemost successfully, between what is prudent and what is necessary; whatmay fitly be done, and what cannot safely be left undone;--this is thetriumph of a Christian moralist; and this Jeremy Taylor has, in a greatdegree, achieved in his Discourse on Holy Living. " You will recollectthat this book was written nearly two hundred years ago, and must not besurprised if you find a few expressions, and one or two sentiments, rather obsolete. One of the five rules which Taylor gives in hisDedication, "for the application of the counsels which follow, " appliesto all books of a similar character. "They that will, with profit, makeuse of the proper instruments of virtue, must so live as if they werealways under the physician's hand. For the counsels of religion are notto be applied to the distempers of the soul, as men used to takehellebore; _but they must dwell together with the spirit of a man, andbe twisted about his understanding for ever: they must be used likenourishment, that is, by a daily care and meditation_--not like a singlemedicine, and upon the actual pressure of a present necessity. "

The genuine spirit of Jeremy Taylor, with more correctness of taste, isfound in that delightful book, "The Christian Year. " Read it repeatedly. It is every where full of poetry, and of the purest devotional feeling. The more you are imbued with the spirit which pervades that beautifulvolume, the more fit you will be to have your part in "the communion ofsaints, " among _the spirits of just men made perfect_. 

Archbishop Seeker's Lectures on the Catechism, contain a body ofdivinity, doctrinal and practical, singularly judicious and useful. Theyare full of good sense and accurate information. The style, perhaps, israther involved, and not very engaging; but you see a mind in fullpossession of its subject, anxious to put you in full possession of italso, without omitting any thing of importance. 

Gilpin's Lectures on the Catechism are of a different character. Thisalso is a very good and a very pleasing book, written with a particularview to young persons engaged in reading the Greek and Latin Classics. 

Ogden's Sermons, on Prayer, the Creed, and the Ten Commandments, &c. Arethe offspring of a clear and powerful intellect, expressed in languageremarkably perspicuous and elegant. 

_After_ these books, take some opportunity of reading the Sermons ofBishop Butler, including the Preface. This is not a book to be read in aroom full of brothers and sisters. It demands close attention, and willgive some exercise to all your intellectual powers; but it richly meritsto have such attention and pains bestowed upon it. It deserves, indeedrequires, more than a single reading. After Butler's Sermons read his"Analogy. "

You will do well, at any odd intervals, or _snatches_ of time, to makeyourself familiar with Addison and Johnson. False delicacy shall notprevent me from recommending the selection from the writings of Addisonwhich I made a few years ago. My reasons for making such selection aregiven in the Preface. The same reasons now induce me to recommend it toyou. 

Johnson requires no pruning. You can hardly read a paper in the Rambleror Idler, and, I will add, the Adventurer, without deriving from it someimprovement, either moral or intellectual, or both. The structure andcadence of Johnson's sentences is certainly monotonous; but I seldomread half a page without being struck by the depth of his thought, theaccuracy and minuteness of his observation, and the astonishing extentof his multifarious reading. 

In order to enter with more discrimination into the style of ourdifferent authors, read often "Blair's Lectures. " They are, I believe, sometimes spoken slightingly of by men of learning; I, however, as anunlearned man, think them particularly useful. The Lecture on the Originof Language, indeed, the absurdity of which has been exposed with somuch playfulness by Cowper, might well have been omitted. 

I have already advised you, during the two longer vacations, to acquire, or to keep up, some knowledge of modern history. Russell's "ModernEurope" is, upon the whole, a useful book. It is, perhaps, toocompendious; and I dislike its being given in the form of letters. Robertson's "Charles the Fifth" you have probably read already; if not, read it carefully when, in Russell, you arrive at the period at which itcommences. Pay particular attention to the First Book. Perhaps Robertsonwas not sufficiently impressed with the importance and the effects ofthe Reformation in Germany; and he formed, I think, an unfair estimateof the character and motives of Luther. This matter will, I doubt not, be shortly set right in the Life of Luther about to be given to thepublic by one of the ablest and most learned men of the presentday[147:1]. 

With respect to the history of our own country, I hardly know whatadvice to give you. Hume's style is very pleasing, but he cannot beimplicitly depended on, especially where religion and the ministers ofreligion are concerned. 

Henry's "History of Great Britain" is a very good and accurate book; butthe continuity of the narrative is broken by the multiplicity ofdivisions in each period, (learning, arts, commerce, manners, &c. &c. ), and by the transitions to the history of Scotland. 

Lingard I have not read; I am told that his style is good, and hisinformation extensive. It was natural that, as a zealous Romanist, heshould seek to extenuate the faults of men of his own persuasion, and toexaggerate the failings, and place in an unfavourable point of view themotives and actions of the assailants of Popery; but he has, I think, been fully convicted of carrying misrepresentation beyond all reasonablebounds. There was but too much of bigotry and persecution on both sides. 

Turner's History is, I believe, strictly honest and impartial, and awork of prodigious labour and research. 

But in our attention to prose writers, we must not forget the classicalpoets of our own country. Make yourself familiarly acquainted withShakspeare, Milton, and Pope. The more you read of Young and Cowper, thebetter. Young is sometimes turgid, with a good deal of bad taste; but heabounds in real poetry, and in strong truths most forcibly expressed. Cowper sometimes carries simplicity to the verge of being prosaic; buthe is generally graceful, often pathetic, and sometimes approaches tosublimity. Of both, it was the common object to increase the influenceof genuine Christianity; of both, the perusal has a direct tendency tomake you a better and a more religious man. 

Two of our most distinguished living poets--Sir Walter Scott andSouthey--have seen their poetry cast into shade by the popularity oftheir own prose. The poems of both will live, and have justice done themby posterity. "Madoc" was many years ago recommended to me by one of themost able, and most candid, of our living authors. I read it with muchinterest. "The Curse of Kehama" is full of high and wild poetry; and"Roderick, the last of the Goths" gives a noble picture of deeppenitence and of devoted patriotism. You will hardly read any ten linesof the longer poems of Sir Walter Scott, without meeting with somestriking beauty of expression or of sentiment. 

I am afraid, however, that the English poets, both those of former timesand those of the present day, have been, in great measure, superseded, among you young Oxonians, by Lord Byron. In almost everyunder-graduate's room that I happen to enter, _he_ seems to have takenpossession. Lord Byron, as a poet, has certainly many transcendantmerits, --merits which are peculiarly fascinating to young men. Theinterest which I, --which _every one_, --naturally must feel in the moraland intellectual habits and pursuits of such an important portion of thecommunity, makes me deeply lament the noble poet's excessive popularityamong you. I am perfectly aware, that by the following remarks I shallexpose myself to the indignation of some men, and, possibly, to thecontempt of others: but I feel that my opinion on this subject is nottaken up on slight grounds; and I _must say my say_. 

The publication of Lord Byron's life and correspondence has contributed, a good deal, to divest him of that mystery, which hung about him, and inwhich he himself so much delighted; and has brought him down rathermore to the level of ordinary mortals. They show him to us as a manpossessed of splendid talents, of extensive and various attainments, andof the _seeds_ of many noble and generous qualities; but as a manactuated by ungovernable passions, and by an overweening opinion of hisown superiority to all other mortals. _Self_, whether intellectual orsensual, seems to have been the idol that he worshipped. _His own_antient family, _his own_ talents, _his own_ attainments, _his own_whims, _his own_ passions, _his own_ excesses, seem all to havefurnished food for his vanity, because they were _his own_. 

I acknowledge that, in all the circumstances of his _bringing up_, hewas singularly unfortunate. His early destitution, the character andhabits of his mother, the neglect of his noble relations, the venalpraises of his parasites and dependents, all acted upon his characterwith pernicious influence. 

 "Untaught in youth his heart to tame, His springs of life were poison'd. "

He was sensitively alive to all the beauties and the sublimities ofexternal nature, and had a most penetrating insight into the complicatedfeelings, and the various workings of the human heart, with all itspassions and affections; consequently, he abounds in passages of greatbeauty, and of singular strength and power. The gratification derivedfrom the perusal of such passages, however, to a man at least who reallybelieves himself to be an immortal and a responsible being, is but apoor compensation for the moral effects of many of his poems, his_later_ poems more especially[155:1]. They too often appear to breathe aspirit of engrossing selfishness; a spirit of captious and gloomyscepticism, --scepticism extending, not only to revelation, but to theprimary truths of what is called natural religion, and even the mostacknowledged bonds of moral obligation. The tendency of his writings isto make you dissatisfied with almost every thing, and every body in thisworld, and at the same time to unfit you for the world to come; indeed, to make you doubt, whether the idea of a world to come is not altogethera mere delusion. 

Lord Byron particularly excels in describing female loveliness, and theeffect which such loveliness produces upon the ardent temperament ofyouth. In fact, the feeling within themselves so much that responds tothese descriptions, is one great cause of the popularity of Lord Byronamong young people. The sensations to which I allude, however, are ofthemselves but too importunate. It is most unwise to excite them, --togive them additional energy, --by the perusal of the high-wrought andglowing descriptions of this poet of the passions. 

I had heard much of Don Juan, and felt some curiosity to read it; but Iwas aware of the manner in which bold and flippant ribaldry sometimestakes hold of the mind, even when shocked at it. I knew well, that humannature has in itself but too much of passion and sensuality, withoutneeding any additional stimulus. I was unwilling "to soil my mind" whenI could avoid it. For my own sake, I was unwilling to see the mostdestructive vices treated as mere matter of jest, and the most awfultruths of religion introduced in connexion with ludicrous images, andspoken of in the language of mockery. However much our judgment maydisapprove of these things, yet the ludicrous passages and images aretoo apt to stick by us, even when we most wish to shake them off. 

A book was advertised, called "The Beauties of Don Juan, including thosepassages only which are calculated to extend the real fame of LordByron. " The editor acknowledges that the poem itself, from the unprunedluxuriance of the author's powers, "has remained a sealedvolume"--certainly it _ought_ to be a _sealed volume_--"to the fairestportion of the community. " This _expurgate_ selection, however, thoughit contains many passages of great beauty, is a book which I should besorry indeed to place in the hands of any young lady; and one againstwhich I would _forewarn_ every young man, who is not prepared to run therisk of sacrificing, at the shrine of genius, Christian faith, andChristian soberness, and Christian purity. 

The description of the shipwreck had been spoken of as particularlyfine. I read it. Not long since several accounts of actual shipwrecksand disasters at sea were published[159:1]. Some of these accounts, areamong the most interesting and edifying narratives, that I am acquaintedwith. They abound in instances of heroic courage, of unshaken endurance, of a noble disregard of self, of the warmest benevolence, and of themost exalted piety. Don Juan seems to have taken a wayward pleasure inculling from these narratives the most distressing and painful facts, and then mixing them up in doggrel verse, with ludicrous images andludicrous rhymes; the main _wit_ often consisting in some unexpectedabsurdity of sound or cadence. 

One of the most dreadful consequences of shipwreck is, when a remnant ofthe crew, cast off in an open boat, are reduced, by extremity ofhunger, to determine by lot, which of them shall first be made the foodof his companions. Even in such calamity, this perverse and bitterspirit contrives to find matter for merriment. He laughed in himselfwhen he wrote the stanzas, and tries to make his readers laugh; thoughthey must feel indignant with themselves if they give way to theimpulse. 

I conclude my letter with two sayings of Bishop Horne's. "He whosacrifices religion to wit, like the people mentioned by Ælian, worshipsa fly, and offers up an ox to it. " Again; "Sir Peter Lely made it arule, never to look at a bad picture, having found, by experience, that, whenever he did so, his pencil took a tint from it. Apply this tobad books and bad company. "

However brilliant the talents of a writer may be, yet, if a book has atendency to produce a bad effect upon the moral habits of the mind, thatbook is a _bad_ book. 

 "When I behold a genius bright and base, Of tow'ring talents, and terrestrial aims; Methinks I see, as thrown from her high sphere, The glorious fragments of a soul immortal, With rubbish mixt, and glitt'ring in the dust. "

 I remain, My dear Nephew, Your affectionate Uncle. 

FOOTNOTES:

[147:1] Rev. Hugh James Rose. 

[155:1] Childe Harold and the _four_ first tales (I am speaking only ofthe larger works) are most free from objection, at the same time thatthey are the most beautiful and interesting. 

[159:1] The Loss of the Kent, and Narratives of the Shipwrecks of theLady Hobart packet, the Cabalva, &c. &c. 

PRAYERS

_A Prayer before Study. _

(FROM DR. JOHNSON. )

Almighty God, in whose hands are all the powers of man; who givestunderstanding and takest it away; who, as it seemeth good unto thee, enlightenest the thoughts of the simple, and darkenest the meditationsof the wise, be present with me in my studies and inquiries. 

Grant, O Lord, that I may not lavish away the life which thou hast givenme on useless trifles, nor waste it in vain searches after things whichthou hast hidden from me. 

Enable me, by thy Holy Spirit, so to shun sloth and negligence, thatevery day may discharge part of the task which thou hast allotted me;and so further with thy help that labour which, without thy help, mustbe ineffectual, that I may obtain in all my undertakings such success aswill most promote thy glory, and the salvation of my own soul, for thesake of Jesus Christ. 

_Prayer after Time unprofitably spent. _

(FROM DR. JOHNSON. )

O Lord, in whose hands are life and death; by whose power I amsustained, and by whose mercy I am spared, look down upon me with pity. Forgive me, that I have this day neglected the duty which thou hastassigned to it, and suffered the hours, of which I must give account, topass away without any endeavour to accomplish thy will, or to promote myown salvation. Make me to remember, O God, that every day is thy gift, and ought to be used according to thy command. Grant me, therefore, soto repent of my negligence, that I may obtain mercy from thee, and passthe time which thou shalt yet allow me in diligent performance of thycommands, through Jesus Christ. _Amen. _

_Prayer for Temperance. _

(FROM BISHOP JEREMY TAYLOR. )

O Almighty God and gracious Father of men and angels, who openest thyhand and fillest all things living with plenty; and hast provided forthy servant sufficient to satisfy all my needs: teach me to use thycreatures soberly and temperately, that I may not with loads of meat anddrink make the temptations of my enemy to prevail upon me, or my spiritunapt for the performance of my duty, or my body healthless, or myaffections sensual and unholy. O my God, never suffer that the blessingswhich thou givest me may minister either to sin or sickness, but tohealth, and holiness, and thanksgiving; that in the strength of thyprovision I may cheerfully, and actively, and diligently serve thee;that I may worthily feast at thy table here, and be accounted worthy, through thy grace, to be admitted to thy table hereafter, through JesusChrist, our Mediator and Redeemer. _Amen. _

_Prayer for the right government of the tongue. _

O God, watch over me this day for good; and grant that I may so keepthe door of my mouth that I may not speak unadvisedly with my lips. Preserve me from offending with my tongue either against charity orpurity. Let me not be guilty of foolish and immodest talking andjesting, of evil-speaking or censoriousness, or of any other of the manysins of the tongue. Grant that all my conversation may be such asbecometh one who professes to be the servant and disciple of thy belovedSon, in whose name I beseech thee to hear my prayers.