Vast extent of the science of self-knowledge. Spurious self knowledge. Knowledge of our physical frame—its laws and relations. Examples of the need of this knowledge. Instruments of obtaining it. The use of lectures. Study of our peculiarities. Study of mental philosophy. The Bible. How the Bible should be studied.
Self-knowledge is of the utmost importance to every human being. To no person, however, is it more important than to the young woman.
It is the more necessary to urge the importance of self-knowledge, from the fact that it is a species of knowledge which every one claims, and which she would deem it almost a reflection upon her character to be supposed not to possess; while it is that very knowledge of which almost every one, of both sexes, is exceedingly ignorant.
Such an one "understands himself," is deemed quite a compliment among our sex nor is it wholly disregarded by the other. But by this expression is too often meant no more than a knowledge of the petty acts and shifts, and I might say tricks, by means of which men and women contrive to pass current in the fashionable world. How much this kind of self-acquaintance is worth, is too obvious to need illustration.
I have represented a just self-knowledge as of very great importance; but it is a science of vast extent, as well as of vast importance. A thorough knowledge of one's self includes, first, a knowledge of man in general, in his whole character—compounded as it is—and in all his relations to surrounding beings and things; and, secondly, a knowledge of the peculiarities produced by particular circumstances, condition, mode of life, education and habits.
She who merely understands all the little arts to which I have alluded, which enable us to pass current with a fashionable and grossly wicked world, will find her self-knowledge exceedingly small, when she comes to compare it with the standard of self-acquaintance set up by such writers as Mason, Burgh, Watts, &c.; and, above all, when she comes to compare it with the standard of the Bible. How little, nay, how contemptible will all mere worldly arts and shifts appear—things which at most belong to the department of manners—when she comes to understand her three-fold nature, as exhibited by the natural and revealed laws of Jehovah!
The Subjects of Anatomy, Physiology and Hygiene alone—and they teach us little more than the laws and relations of the mere body or shell of the human being—are almost sufficient for the study of a long life; and yet no individual can ever thoroughly understand herself without them: it is impossible. Anatomy shows us thestructureof this body, which the Psalmist, long ago, taught us was fearfully and wonderfully made. Physiology teaches us thelawsby which the living machine operates—is kept in play for seventy, eighty, or a hundred years; and Hygiene teaches us therelationsof the living, moving human body to surrounding beings and objects. This, indeed, is a knowledge which few young women possess; and yet it is a knowledge which no young woman, who would do her utmost in the work of self-education, can dispense with.
She wishes, perhaps, to improve her voice by conversation, reading and singing. But is she qualified to do this in the best possible manner, while she is wholly ignorant of the structure of the lungs, the wind-pipe, and the fauces, as they are called—parts so intimately concerned in the production of voice and speech?
She wishes, perhaps, to develope and invigorate her muscular system in the highest possible degree; but how can she do this, while she knows almost nothing of the nature or power of the muscular fibre?
She wishes to develope and cultivate her intellectual powers; to acquire "firmness of nerve and energy of thought." But how can she do it, if she is ignorant of the situation and functions of the cerebral and nervous system—that wonderful organ of the intellect?
She would train her eye in the best possible manner; but how can she do so, if she is ignorant of the nature and powers of that wonderful little organ? She would educate, properly, all her senses; but how can she do it, without a knowledge of their structure, functions and relations?
Perhaps she would study the philosophy of dress, and of eating and drinking. How can she do so, till she understands, intimately, the relation of the human system to air, heat, the various kinds of food, drink, &c.?
She would know, still further, the relation of body to mind, and of mind to body—of body and mind to spirit, and of spirit to body and mind. She would study the particular effect of one passion, or faculty, or affection, upon the body, or upon particular functions of the bodily system—and the more remote or more immediate effects of diseases of a bodily organ on mind and spirit. She must know all this, and a thousand times, yea, ten thousand times as much, before she is qualified to go far in the work of self-knowledge.
But she must go beyond even all this, and study her own peculiarities. It is not sufficient to understand the general laws and relations of the human economy; she must understand herself in her own individual character—physically, intellectually and morally. She must understand the peculiarities of her physical frame, of her mental structure, and of her spiritual condition—her relation to other spirits, particularly to the Father of spirits.
How amazing and how extensive—I repeat it—the science of self-knowledge! To be perfect in it we need the life of a Methuselah! But something may be done, even in the short period of seventy years. And if it be but little that we can do in a life time, this consideration only enhances the value of that little.
Something, I have said, may be done in the short period of seventy years. But I might say more. Something may be done in a single day. And years are made up of days. A little done, every day, amounts to much in a whole year.
Let not the individual despair who can get but one new idea respecting herself, in a day. If she can sit down at quiet evening and say, I know something respecting myself which I did not know last night at this time, let her be assured the day is not lost. One idea a day is three hundred and sixty-five a year; and three hundred and sixty-five a year, amount, in seventy years, to twenty-five thousand five hundred and fifty. Therearethose who can hardly be said, at seventy years of age, to have twenty-five thousand five hundred and fifty ideas in their heads.
It is a matter of joy to every friend of self-knowledge, that so many means have been, of late years, devised to facilitate the study of this science. The lectures which have been given to both sexes on the structure, laws and relations of their bodily constitution, and the books which have been written, have made a considerable change in the state of the public sentiment respecting this species of knowledge. For it is not they alone who have heard or read, that have reaped the benefit of hearing and reading on this subject. Many a parent or teacher, aware that such instructions and books were abroad, has been encouraged to the performance of that which she might not have dared to do, had nothing been said or done to encourage her.
Every young woman should, therefore, study these subjects for herself. Such books as those of Miss Sedgwick—her "Poor Rich Man, and Rich Poor Man," and her "Means and Ends"—will prepare the way, or will at least enkindle the desire, for the kind of knowledge of which I am speaking. She will then desire to read the works of the Combes, and perhaps, ere long, some of the other popular books of our day, which treat of Physiology and Hygiene. May I not venture to hope, that at an early stage of her progress, some of the chapters ofthisbook will be found serviceable, as well as several other works I have prepared, especially the little volume called the "House I Live In?"
She who, having a hearty desire for improvement in self-knowledge, on an extended scale, lets her years pass without looking into any of the volumes or treatises to which I have referred, can hardly be said to act up to the dignity of a Christian of the nineteenth century.
But it is not the physical department of her nature alone, that she who has the desire for self-knowledge and self-progress, should study. Such works as those of Mason on Self-Knowledge, Burgh on the Dignity of Human Nature, Watts on the Mind, Opie on Detraction and Scandal, Wayland on Moral Science, Skinner on the Religion of the Bible, &c. &c., should not only be perused, but carefully studied. It is to little purpose, that is, comparatively, that our physical nature is attentively and assiduously studied and cultivated, if it lead not to the more intimate and more earnest study of the immortal spirit.
In this better department—the spiritual—permit me,oncemore, to direct your attention to the Bible. It should be studied chiefly without note or comment. Your own good sense, brought to bear upon its simple, unstudied, unscholastic pages, accompanied by that light from on high which is ever vouchsafed to the simple, humble inquirer and learner, will be of more value to you than all the notes, and commentaries, and dictionaries in the world, without it. It is a book which is most admirably adapted to the progress of all grades of mind—those which are but little developed, no less than those which are more highly cultivated. Other books speak to the intellect—to the head; this speaks to the heart. Other books often plead for human nature; this presents it just as it is—its perversity and deformity on the one side; its susceptibilities to improvement, its capability of excellency, on the other. Though it reveals to us our humble origin—the brotherhood of worms—on the one side, it unveils to us our relation to angels and archangels, on the other. Nay, more; it not only shows us our relation to the celestial hosts, and to Him who presides in their midst, but it points out to the penitent and the humble, the road which, through divine grace, will conduct them thither.
I have spoken of the study of the Bible without note or comment. Notes and comments, indeed, after you have made diligent use of all your own faculties and powers, and sought thereon the blessing of God's Spirit, have their use. I am exceedingly fond of them: and I would not wholly deny to you what I am so fond of myself. The danger is, of leaning upon them too much. Scott, and Clarke, and Henry, and Jenks, and Calmet, and Barnes, and Bush, may help to show me the true way of finding out and interpreting the Scripture for myself; but if I go farther, and either indolently or superstitiously suffer them to interpret it for me, it were almost better that I had not sought their aid. But the Bible, with or without notes, is—I repeat it—the great volume of self-knowledge which I urge you to study, and which, in comparison with all the books written by man, and even the great volume of nature herself, is alone able to make you wise to salvation.
It seems to me to have been too seldom observed, and still more seldom insisted on, how apt the love and study of the Bible are to awaken the dormant intellectual faculties, and to enkindle, even in the aged, a desire for general improvement. On this point, Mr. Foster, in his essay on Popular Ignorance, has some very striking remarks. In alluding to that great moral change which it is one object of the Bible to produce, and to the consequences which often immediately follow, he thus remarks:
"It is exceedingly striking to observe how the contracted, rigid soul seems to soften, and grow warm, and expand, and quiver with life. With the new energy infused, it painfully struggles to work itself into freedom from the wretched contortion in which it has been so long fixed, as by the impressed spell of infernal magic."
This change in the moral and religious man, has been often observed; and Mr. Foster, therefore, tells us nothing very new, however striking it may be. But now for the secondary effect which is produced on the intellect, and, indeed, on the whole character:
"It (the soul) has been seen filled with a painful and indignant emotion at its own ignorance; actuated with a restless desire to be informed; acquiring an unwonted applicableness of its faculties to thought; attaining a perception combined of intelligence and moral sensibility, to which numerous things are becoming discernible and affecting, that were as non-existent before. We have known instances in which the change—the intellectual change—has been so conspicuous, within a brief space of time, that even an infidel observer must have forfeited all claim to a man of sense, if he would not make the acknowledgment—This that you call divine grace, whatever it may really be, is the strangest awakener of faculties, after all."
I have made this quotation, chiefly to confirm the sentiment I have advanced, that the love of the Bible and the religion of the Bible, actuates the soul with "a restless desire to be informed," and stimulates its faculties to thought, and fills it with pain and indignation at its own ignorance. This is the state of mind and heart which I would gladly encourage in the reader. It is the truest and best foundation of all progress, not only in self-knowledge, but in every other sort of knowledge which is valuable. Give me but this trait of character in a young woman, and I will not despair of her, however low may be her present condition, or how degraded soever may have been her former life. Give me but a hearty desire, a hungering and thirsting for improvement—physical, moral, intellectual, social and religious—and I will dare to believe that the most debased and depressed soulmaybe restored, at least in some good measure, to that likeness to Jehovah in which it was originally created.
One thing more, however, should be remembered. Not a few who really have within them the desire of improvement, and who mean to make the Bible and its doctrines their standard, fail of accomplishing much after all. The reason is, they measure themselves, continually, by their neighbors. If they are no more ignorant or no more vicious than their neighbors—Misses S. and L., perhaps—or on the other hand, if they are as wise and as virtuous as Miss R.—they seem to rest satisfied. Or at any rate, if, they make as much progress in the great path of self-knowledge, or do as much good in the world as the latter, they are anxious for no more, and settle down in inaction.
Now every such individual ought to know that the habit of measuring herself by others, in this way, will hang like a millstone about her neck; and if it do not drown her in the depths of ignorance and imbecility, will at least make her forever a child, in comparison with what she should be. It will keep her grovelling on the earth's surface, when she ought to be exploring the highest heavens. It will keep her a near neighbor to the sisterhood of worms on which she treads, when she ought to be soaring towards those lofty heights which Gabriel once traversed—nay, which he even now traverses—fast by the throne of the Eternal.
Let her not stop, then, to demean, and embarrass, and fetter herself by comparisons of herself with any thing finite. She has no right to do this. The perfection which the word of God requires, is the standard or measure by which she should compare herself. She may, indeed, sometimes compare herself with herself—her present self with her past self—provided it be done with due humility; but let her beware of measuring herself by others. Such a course is as perilous as it is ignoble and unprofitable.
Is there any conscientiousness in the world? How far conscientiousness should extend. Tendency and power of habit Evils of doing incessantly what we know to be wrong. Why we do this. Errors of early education. False standard of right and wrong. Bad method of family discipline. Palsy of the moral sensibilities. Particular direction in regard to the education of the conscience. Results which may be expected.
There is such a want of conscientiousness among mankind, even among those who are professedly good people, that one might almost be pardoned for concluding that there is either no conscience in the world, or that the heavenly monitor is at least no where fully obeyed. For is there not too much foundation for such a conclusion?
While truth compels us to admit that Christianity has already done much to awaken the consciences of men, we shall gain nothing by shutting our eyes to the vast influence it has yet to exert, before mankind will become what they ought to be.
Most people are conscientious insomethings. They may have been so trained, for instance, that they are quite tender in regard to the feelings of others, and even those of animals. There are many who, with Cowper, "would not enter on their list of friends the man who needlessly sets foot upon a worm," who are yet very far from possessing much real conscientiousness. Their feeling is better entitled to the name ofsympathy.
I grant that many of these persons possess something more than mere tenderness or sympathy. Not a few of them are truly conscientious in what may be called the larger concerns of life—especially in external religion. They not only feel the force of conscience, but they obey her voice in some things. They would not fail to attend to all the outward rites of religion in the most faithful manner, on any account whatever; and if a failure should occur, would find their consciences reproaching them in the severest manner, for their departures from a known standard of duty.
These persons regard, with a considerable degree of conscientiousness, the law of the land and the law of public opinion, or at least the law of fashion. In respect to any thing which would subject them to the severity of public remark, or which would even be regarded by the coarse, public eye, as glaringly inconsistent with their religious character, they are never wanting in sensibility. Their consciences reproach them, when they have done or said any thing which may cause them to be ill spoken of.
Thus far, it cannot be denied that there is a great deal of conscientiousness in the world. But beyond limits something like these, it is much more rare than many suppose. To say that it does not exist beyond such narrow limits, would be unjust; but it must be admitted that, taking the world at large, its existence is so rare, as hardly to entitle it to the name of a living, moving, breathing principle of action.
I do not suppose that young women are less conscientious than young men; nor that the young of either sex are less conscientious than their seniors. It would be a novel if not unheard of thing, to find the youth without conscience, merging, in due time, into the conscientious octogenarian. The contrary is the more common course.
And yet how few are the young women who make it a matter of conscience to perform every thing they do—the smaller no less than the larger matters of life—in such a way as to meet the approbation of an internal monitor. Do they not generally bow to the tribunal of a fashionable world? Do they generally care sufficiently, in the every day actions, words, thoughts and feelings of their lives, what God's vicegerent in the soul says about their conduct?—or if theydocare, is it because it is right or wrong in the sight of God—or ofman?
A due regard to the authority of conscience would lead people, as it seems to me, to yield obedience to her dictates on every occasion. They who disregard her voice in one thing, are likely to do so in others. Who does not know the power of habit? Who will deny that the individual who habitually disregards the voice speaking within, on a particular subject will be likely, ere long, to extend the same habit of disregard to something else; and thus on to the end of the chapter, if any end there be to it?
No one, it is believed, will doubt that I have rightly described the tendency of habit in large matters. He who would allow himself to steal from day to day, unmindful of the voice within which bids him beware, would not only, ere long, if unmolested, come to a point at which conscience would cease to reproach him, but would be likely to venture upon other kinds of wrong. I have seen those who would habitually steal small things, and yet would not tell a lie for the world. But I have known the habit of stealing continue till lying also gradually came to be a habit, and was scarcely thought of as offensive in the sight of God, or as positively wrong in the nature of things, any more than picking up a basket of pebbles. From lying, the natural transition is to profanity—and so on, till conscience, chased up and down like the last lonely deer of a forest, at length exhausted, faints and dies.
Few, I say, will deny the tendency and power of habit, in regard to the larger matters of life. But is it sufficiently known that every act which can possibly be regarded as fraudulent in the smallest degree, has the same tendency?
There are a thousand things that people do, which cannot be set down as absolutely criminal, in the view of human law, or human courts, and which are not forbidden in any particular chapter or verse of the divine law, which, notwithstanding, are forbidden by the spirit of both.
Human law, no less than divine law, requires us to love our neighbor as ourselves. Is the law obeyed when we make the smallest approach to taking that advantage of a neighbor, which we would not like to have taken of us in similar circumstances?
Those who admit and seem to understand the power of habit in larger matters, are yet prone to forget the tendency of an habitual disregard of right and wrong in small matters. They are by no means ignorant, that large rivers are made up of springs, and rills, and brooks; but they do not seem to consider that the larger stream of conscientiousness must also be fed by its thousand tributaries, or it will never flow; or once flowing, will be likely soon to cease. In other words, to be conscientious—truly so—in the larger and more important concerns of life, we must be habitually, and I had almost said religiously so, in smaller matters—in our most common and every day concerns.
Would that nothing worse were true, than that people of all ranks and professions, and of all ages and conditions, habitually, and with less and less compunction or regret, do that which they know they ought not to do, and leave undone that which they very well know ought to be done. For they even seem to justify themselves in it.
"I know the right, and I approve it too;I know the wrong, and yet the wrong pursue"—
is the language of many an individual—even of some from whom we could hope better things; and not a few charge it upon the frailty of fallen nature—as that nature now is—independent of, and in spite of their own efforts! Strange infatuation!
One way of solving this great riddle in human life and conduct—this incessant doing by mankind of that which they know they ought not to do, and neglecting to do that which they know ought to be done—may be found in the fact that so few are trained to regard, in every thing, the sacred rights of conscience. They are referred to other and more questionable standards of authority.
If you do so and so, you will never be a lady, says a mother who wishes to dissuade her young daughter from doing something to which she is inclined. If you behave so, every body will laugh at you, says another. If you do not obey me, I shall punish you, says a third. If you don't do that, I shall tell mother, says a young brother or sister. If you do not do it, father will give you no sugar toys, when he comes home, the child is again told. If you don't mind me, the bears will come and eat you up, says the petulant nurse or maid-servant. Thus, in one way or another, and at one time or another, every motive—love, fear, selfishness, pleasure, &c.—is appealed to in the education of the young, except that which should bechieflyappealed to—viz., self-approbation, or the approbation of conscience.
This is not all. There is with many of these people no settled rule as to which sort of actions are to be the subjects of praise or of blame. A thing which must not be done to-day, on penalty of the loss of the forthcoming sugar toys, is connived at, perhaps with a kiss, to-morrow. All in the child's mind is confusion; she knows not what to do, were she as docile and as obedient as an angel of light. There is a long series of actions, words, thoughts and feelings, connected with right and wrong, of which nothing is ever said, except to forbid them, by stern and absolute authority. That one is good, and another bad, except according to the whim or fancy of the parent or teacher, the child never suspects.
Of this last class are almost all the actions of every-day life. The child alluded to is scolded, at times, for default in matters which pertain to rising, dressing, saying prayers, eating, drinking, playing, speaking, running, teazing, or soiling its clothes or books, and a thousand things too familiar to every one to render it necessary to repeat.
Perhaps she eats too much, or eats greedily; or she inclines to be slovenly, or indolent, or fretful. Now all these things are in general merely forbidden orrated, or at most, shown to be contrary to the will of the parents. They are seldom or never shown to be right or wrong, in their own nature; nor is the child assured, upon the authority of the parent, that there is a natural right or wrong to them. Thus, what is not implanted, does not, of course, grow. All the little actions and concerns of life, or almost all—and these, by their number and frequent recurrence, make up almost the whole of a child's existence—are, as it were, left wholly without the domain of conscience; and the young woman grows up to maturity without a distinct conviction that conscience has any thing to do with them.
And "what is bred in the bone," according to a vulgar maxim, "stays long in the flesh." As is the child, so is the adult. It is one of the most difficult things in the world to make a person conscientious in all things, who has not been trained to be so. Hence the great difficulty in the way of making every-day Christians. Our religion is thought by some to have nothing to do with these ever-recurring small matters. And when we are told that we should do every thing to the honor and glory of God, although we may assent to the proposition, it is hard to put it in practice. There is a sort of moral palsy prevailing in the community—and that, too, very extensively.
No fatal error of early education could have seized more firmly, or palsied more effectually the moral sensibilities of the whole community, than this. And therefore it is certain that this is at least one principal reason why there is so little conscience in the world, and why it is so often a starveling wherever it is found to exist.
I have heard an eminent teacher contend with much earnestness, that there is a great multitude of the smaller actions of human life which are destitute of character—wholly so. They are, he says, neither right nor wrong. But if so, then is there no responsibility attached to them; and, consequently, no conscientiousness required in connection with their due performance. But what, in that case, is to become of the injunction of a distinguished apostle, when he says, WHATEVER you do, do all to the glory of God? If every thing we do should be done to the glory of God, and not thus to do it, is to disobey a righteous precept, then there is a right and wrong in every thing. Now which shall we believe—the human teacher or the divine?
This origin of a common error, I have deemed it necessary for every young woman to understand, that she may know how to apply the correction, and where to begin. She should love and respect her parents, even if they belong to the class which has been described. She should consider the present imperfect state of human nature, and be thankful for the thousand benefits she has received at their hands, and the various means of improvement within her reach.
If she has drank deeply of the desire for improvement, and if she wishes to know and to reform herself as fast as possible, let her begin by cultivating, to the highest possible degree, a sense of right and wrong, and an implicit and unwavering obedience to the right.
Before closing this chapter, however, I wish to present a few illustrations of my meaning, when I say that every thing should be done in a conscientious manner. Perhaps, indeed, I am already sufficiently understood; but lest I should not be by all, I subjoin the following.
Suppose a young woman is in the habit of lying in bed late in the morning. In view of her varied responsibilities and of the vast importance of rising early, and with a strong desire for continual improvement, she sets herself to change the habit.
Now to aid her in her task—for it is no light one—let her endeavor to consider the whole matter. God gives us sleep, she will perhaps say to herself, for the restoration of our bodies and minds; and all the time really necessary for this is well employed. But I have found that I feel better, and actually enjoy myself better, for the whole day following, when, by accident or by any other means, I have slept an hour less than I am accustomed to do. I usually sleep nine hours or more, whereas I am quite sure eight are sufficient for every reasonable purpose.
Moreover, if I sleep an hour too much, that hour is wasted. Have I a right to waste it? It is God's gift; is it not slighting his gift, to spend it in sleep? Is it not a sin? And to do so day after day and year after year, is it not to make myself exceedingly guilty in his sight? One hour, daily saved for the purpose of reading or study, after a person has really slept enough, is equal, in sixteen years, to the addition of a full year to one's life. Can it be that I waste, in sleep, in fifteen or sixteen years, a whole year of time?
I must do so no longer. It injures my complexion; it injures my health; it is an indolent practice: but above all, it is a sin against God.
I am resolved to redeem my time. And to aid me in this work, I am determined, if I fail in any instance, to remember this decision, and the grounds on which it was made.
She carries out her decision. She finds herself waking too late, occasionally, it is true. However, she not only hurries out of bed the instant she wakes, but recalls her former view of the sinfulness of her conduct. She is no sooner dressed, than she asks pardon for her transgression, and prays that she may transgress no more. This course she continues; and thus her convictions of the sinfulness of her former indolent habit and waste of time are deepened. At length, by her persevering efforts and the assistance of God, she gains the victory, and a new and better habit is completely established.
Just so should it be with any other bad habit. Every young woman should consider it as a sin against God, and should begin the work of reformation as a duty, not only to herself and to others, but also and more especially to God. If it be nothing but the error of eating too much—which, by the way, is not so small an error as many seem to suppose—let her try to regard it in its true light, as a transgression against the laws of God. Let it be so regarded, not merely once or twice, but habitually. In this way it will soon become—as in the case of early rising—a matter of conscience.
The close of the day, however, is a specially important season for cultivating the habit of conscientiousness. Sleep is the image of death, as some have said; and if so, we may consider ourselves at bed-time, as standing on the borders of the grave, where all things should look serious.
The "cool of the day" is peculiarly adapted to reflection. Let every one, at this time, recall the circumstances of the day, and consider wherein things have been wrong. It was a sacred rule among the Pythagoreans, every evening, to run thrice over, in their minds, the events of the day; and shall Christians do less than heathen?
The Pythagoreans did more than cultivate a habit of recalling their errors; they asked themselves what good they had done. So should we. We should remember that it is not only sinful to do wrong, but that it is also sinful toomit to do right. The young woman who fears she has said something in regard to a fellow being in a certain place, or in certain company, which she ought not to have said, as it may do that person injury, should remember, that not to have said something, when a favorable opportunity offered, which might have done a companion or neighbor good, was also equally wrong. And above all, she should remember, that both thecommissionand theomissionwere sins against that God who gave her a tongue to do good with, and not to do harm; and not only to do good with, but to do the greatest possible amount of good.
In short, it should be the constant practice of every one who has the love of eternal improvement strongly implanted in her bosom, to consider every action performed, during the day, as sinful, when it has not been done in the best possible manner, whether it may have been one thing or another. As I have stated repeatedly elsewhere, there is nothing worth doing at all, which should not be done to the honor and glory of God; and she who would attain to the highest measure of perfection, should regard nothing as done in this manner, which is not done exactly as God her Saviour would have it done.
It is desirable not only to avoid benumbing or searing over the conscience, but that we should cultivate it to the highest possible tenderness. True, these tender consciences are rathertroublesome; but is it not better that they should torture us a little now, than a great deal hereafter?
I have said that some good people—that is, those who are comparatively good—fall short in this matter. A young woman is a teacher, perhaps, in a Sabbath school. She knows, full well, the importance of attending promptly at the appointed hour; and she makes it a point thus to attend. At last she fails, on a single occasion—not from necessity, but from negligence, or at least from want of due care—and her conscience at once reproaches her for her conduct. But, ere long, the offence is repeated. The reproaches of her conscience, though still felt, have become less keen. The offence is repeated, again and again, till conscience is almost seared over—and the omission of what had at first given great pain, almost ceases to be troublesome. And thus the conscience, having been blunted in one respect, is more liable to be so in others. Alas for the individual, who is thus, from day to day, growing worse, and yet from day to day becoming less sensible of it!
But there is a worse case than I have yet mentioned. A young woman has risen rather late on Sunday morning; and having risen late, other things are liable to be late. The hour for church is at length near; the bell is even ringing. Something in the way of dress, not very necessary except to comply with fashion, and yet on the whole desirable, remains to be done during the remaining five minutes; but what is more important still, the habit of secret prayer for five minutes before going to church, is uncomplied with. One of these, the closet or the dress, must be neglected for want of time. Does any one doubt which it will be? Does any one doubt that the dress will receive the desired attention, and that the closet will be neglected?
But does any one suppose that conscientiousness can live and flourish where it is not only not cultivated, but habitually violated, in regard to the most sacred matters? Secret prayer is one of the most sacred duties; and they who habitually neglect or violate it, for the salve of doing that which is of secondary importance—knowing it to be so—are not only taking the sure course to eradicate all conscientiousness from their bosoms, but are most manifestly preferring the world to God, and the love and service of the world, to the love and service of its glorious Creator and Redeemer.
Let me say, in concluding this chapter, that if the conscience is cultivated from day to day, it will, in time, acquire a degree of tenderness and accuracy to which most of the world are entire strangers. There is, however, one thing more, Conscience will not only become more tender and faithful, but herdomainwill be much enlarged by the study of the Bible; and in many cases is which this heavenly monitor was once silent, she will now utter her warning voice. Conscience is not unalterable, as some suppose she is susceptible of elevation as long as we live; and happy is the individual who elevates her to her rightful throne. Happy is the individual who sees things most nearly as God sees them, and whose conscience condemns her in every thing which is contrary to the divine will.
What self-government includes. Cheerfulness a duty. Discretion. Modesty. Diffidence. Courage. Vigilance. Thoughts and feelings. The affections. The temper. The appetites and passions.
This is so broad a subject that I shall present my thoughts concerning it under several different heads. It includes, in my estimation, the government of the THOUGHTS, the IMAGINATION, the TEMPER, the AFFECTIONS, and the APPETITES. The young woman who truly governs herself, will be at oncecheerful, discreet, modest, diffident, vigilant, courageous, active, temperateandhappy.
Cheerfulness.—Is cheerfulness within our power? some may be inclined to ask. I certainly regard it so. That there are moments of our lives—nay, even considerable seasons—when cheerfulness is not required, may, indeed, be true. Our friends sicken and die, and we mourn for them. This is a law of our nature. Even our Saviour was, at times, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; though of all individuals in the universe cheerfulness was his right. But he bore more than his own sorrows; and in so far as his example is, in this respect, binding upon us, it is only when we bear the sorrows of others. Those should, indeed, often be borne; and in proportion as they are borne—in proportion as we are wounded for the transgressions, and bruised for the iniquities of others—it may not be possible for us to be continually cheerful.
As for our own sorrows—the sufferings, the pangs, the bereavements of our own existence—we should never cease to regard them, in some measure, at least, as the chastisements of an Almighty Father. Smitten friends, according to the sentiment of a distinguished poet, are messengers of mercy to us—are sent on errands full of love.
"For us they sicken, and for us they die."
We should be at least resigned, even under such chastisements, when we remember they are inflicted by a Father's hand.
But setting aside occasions of this kind, is there not a demand on our whole nature, for general cheerfulness? It is not only the "sunshine of the soul," but that of the body. The truly cheerful are not only happier in their minds and spirits, but also in their very bodies. The brain and nervous system play their part in the great drama of physical life better; the heart, and stomach, and lungs, work better. Indeed, all is better throughout.
Is not that a duty which is productive of so much happiness? But can that be a duty which it is not in our power to perform? It were surely an impeachment of the wisdom and goodness of God, did he require us, in his providence or in his word—by his natural or his revealed law—to do that of which we are incapable.
I consider cheerfulness, then, as a matter of duty; and, of course, as in a great measure in our power. It makes us happier ourselves; it enables us to reflect more happiness on others. I consider it especially as a duty of the young, who have it in their power to communicate happiness thereby in such large measure. Let them—let young women especially—strive to cultivate it. It is in its nature a perennial plant; and if it is not such at the present time, it is because it has degenerated in a degenerate world. Let it be restored to its pristine beauty; and let the world thereby—in connection with other means tending to the same end—be restored to what it was before the loss of Eden.
Discretion.—This is a virtue with which, it is supposed by some, the young have little if any thing to do. I cannot assent to such an opinion. I believe that the young are to be trained in the way they should go; and as discretion is prominently a virtue of middle and later life, I deem it desirable that we should see at least the germs of it in the young.
Above all, do I like to see the young woman discreet. Discretion not only heightens the pleasures of her existence, but adds greatly to her reputation in the just estimation of the wise. Coupled with modesty, of which I am to speak presently, it more than doubles her charms.
Let discretion then be studied. Let it be studied, too, for its immediate as well as remote benefits. It will, indeed, bear fruit more abundantly in later life; but it will not be without its value in youth. It is a plant which it were worth while to cultivate, if human existence were more frail, and life more uncertain of continuance than it now is.
MODESTY.—Of all the qualities appropriate to young women, I know of none which is more universally esteemed than modesty. And what has been, by common consent, so highly esteemed, I cannot find it in my heart to under-value. Indeed, I do not think it has ever been over-valued, or that it can be.
I have been somewhat amused—not to say instructed—by the following remarks on this trait of female character, from the pen of one who is, not only a philosopher, but a physiologist. [Footnote: Alexander Walker, the author of several British works connected with the subject of physical education and physical improvement.] They are not the more interesting, perhaps, because they are somewhat new; but neither are they less so. As I have nothing else to say on this topic, which has not been said a thousand times, I transcribe the more freely, the thoughts of the author to whom I refer.
"Modesty establishes an equilibrium between the superiority of man and the delicacy of woman; it enables woman to insure thereby for herself, a supporter—a defender. And while man thus barters his protection for love, woman is a match for his power; and the weaker, to a great extent, governs the stronger."
"It is probable that modesty derives its cause in woman, from a certain mistrust in her own merit, and from the fear of finding herself below that very affection which she is capable of exciting, and of which she is the object. … Modesty compels her love to assume that form by which nature has taught her so universally to express it—that of gratitude, friendship, &c. … Modesty is a means of attraction with which nature inspires all females."
Under this head I will just add, that since by modesty the weaker govern the stronger, it is of immense importance that woman should know the true secret of maintaining her power and also by what means she is likely to jeopardize that power. And without undertaking to determine what shall be the precise rules of female action, and the precise limits of the sphere within which the Author of her nature designed she should move, is it not worth the serious inquiry, whether she does not, as a general fact, lose influence the moment she departs widely from the province which God in nature seems to have allotted her; when, like a Woolstoncroft, or a Wright, or others still of less painful notoriety, she mounts the rostrum, and becomes the centre of gaping, perhaps admiring thousands of the other sex, as well as of her own. So did not the excellent women of Galilee, eighteen hundred years ago; although they were engaged, heart and hand, in a cause than which none could be more glorious, or afford a greater triumph, especially to their own sex. They probably knew too well their power, to endanger it thus in the general scale; or if not, they probably yielded to the impulses of a spirit which could direct them in a path more congenial to their own nature, as well as on the whole more conducive to their own emancipation, elevation and perfection.
DIFFIDENCE.—This trait, though nearly related to modesty, is far from being the same thing, its character having been more frequently brought in question than that of modesty. And yet it seems to me equally valuable. It gilds what modesty graces; and polishes what modesty improves.
Let not the reader confound modesty and bashfulness; for they are by no means the same thing. Modesty is as much opposed to impudence as any thing can be; and yet it is certain that impudence is often conjoined with bashfulness. Not so often, to be sure, in the female sex, as in our own; and yet such a phenomenon is occasionally witnessed, even in woman.
Bashfulness is usually the result of too low an estimate of ourselves; whereas, true diffidence only leads us to value ourselves according to our real worth. Diffidence makes us humble, but bashfulness sometimes makes us mean; at least, there is danger of it. It is, at all events, of doubtful utility; and though I would not denounce or condemn it, I would urge the young to endeavor to rise far above it.
But I repeat it—I would endeavor to cultivate and encourage every thing which belongs to true diffidence. It will assist modesty in performing her angelic office; and the influence of both, united, may save from many a pang in this world, and perhaps prove a means, under God, of preventing the sentence of condemnation in the world to come.
COURAGE.—By courage I do not mean that trait for which man is constitutionally as much distinguished, as woman is for the want of it I mean not a courage to meet and surmount physical difficulties, and encounter outward and physical dangers. I mean, on the contrary, that moral courage which is neither confined to sex nor condition.
Not that physical courage is to be despised, even by females. On the contrary, I think it is a trait of character which is quite too much neglected in female education. It is not only lamentable, but pitiable, to see a female of twenty, thirty, or fifty years of age, shrinking at the sight of a spider, or a toad, even when there is not the smallest prospect of its coming within three yards of her. Nor is it as it should be, when a young woman, already eighteen or twenty years of age, has such a dread of pigs and cows, as to scream aloud at the sight of one in a field, so well enclosed that it is not possible her safety could be endangered were the animal ever so malicious. Such unreasonable and foolish fears ought by no means to be encouraged; on the contrary, she who finds herself a slave to them, ought to suppress them as fast as possible.
This is, indeed, an important but much neglected part of female education; and she who is a sufferer therefrom, will do well to derive a hint from these pages. The unreasonable fears of which I speak, are by no means confined to the sight of toads, or spiders, or pigs, or cows. We find them more or less frequently, and in some form or other, in nearly every family. Some are unreasonably afraid of dogs and horses; others, of cats or snakes; others, again, of the dark, or of being alone by night or by day.
Let me not be understood as saying that no tears are to be indulged, in regard to any of these things; it is only an unreasonable and foolish degree of fear, that should be guarded against. A cow or a horse feeding quietly in a pasture, and separated from you by a stout fence, which no animal in any ordinary circumstances is wont to leap, is not a proper object of fear with a rational person over twelve years of age. If a cow or horse is running at large in the highway, and appears fearless of man, or furious, or if mad dogs are about, enough of fear may reasonably be indulged to keep you from the streets, and confine you to your home, unless you have suitable protection.
But as I have already said, it ismoralcourage that I would inspire in the young woman. She has patience, and perseverance, and fortitude—why then may she not add to these, moral courage? What man has done, man may do—has been a thousand times said; and the remark is not less applicable to woman than to man. What woman has done, woman may do. But woman, in numerous instances, has possessed moral courage. She has been known, more than once, to "face a frowning world," or to oppose some of its tyrant fashions. I could mention more than one who has thus evinced true moral courage, and set her sex a glorious example, which not a few of my readers might do well to follow.
Let woman dare to do right—whether fashionable or unfashionable. Let her dare to do so in the smaller no less than in the larger matters of life. Let her dare to obey God, and the laws of God, both natural and revealed—both within and around her—rather than the laws of any man or set of men. Let her do this, and she will evince true moral courage; a courage as far surpassing the highest efforts of physical courage of prowess, as right surpasses might; virtue, vice; or purity, impurity.
VIGILANCE.—The young woman who truly understands and practises the art of self-government, will not only train herself to be at once cheerful, discreet, modest, diffident and courageous; she will also be vigilant. The largest ship may be sunk by a very small leak; and in like manner, may the brightest and noblest character lose its lustre, unless the possessor is ever on the watch. Let not the most perfect individual on earth say, in the plenitude of his own power, and in the height of his own assurance—"My mountain stands strong. I shall never be moved." Such assurances of self-government and self-possession may be proper—of course are so—in Him who is in his own nature perfect and immutable—infinitely and eternally so; but not in a frail, mutable, created man or woman—above all, in the young and inexperienced.
Pardon me, then, youthful reader, when I repeat the Scripture cautions—"Be vigilant;" and "Let him who thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall." It is easier to maintain the measure of self-government we have already attained, and even to add to it, than to recover what we have once lost.
THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS.—On this account, set a guard over the very thoughts of your hearts. All sin begins in the desires of the heart and the affections of the soul. There, in the deep recesses of the man, it germinates. Let every imagination, then, which exalts itself unduly, be brought low; and let the stream of thought and feeling be pure, and perfect, and holy. Acquire the exceedingly important habit of confining your thoughts and desires to those subjects which your judgment tells you are lawful and proper—and which are not only lawful and proper in general, but which are so at particular times and places. The wise man says there is a time and season for every thing; and more than intimates, that it is wisdom to confine every thing—thoughts and feelings, no less than words and actions—to their own place and time, respectively.
But to learn to think withorder,is one exceedingly important item in the art ofgoverningour thoughts. Half the thought in the world is of a mere random character. Men are but half men who have not yet attained to the government of their thoughts and feelings.
THE AFFECTIONS.—Even these, as I have already said, can be controlled. Were it not so, what meaning would there be in the gospel commands—so incessantly repeated by the divine Author of the gospel—to love ourenemies?On this subject—the regulation, and if I may so say, the application of the affections—I intend to dwell at greater length hereafter.
THE TEMPER.—Nothing is more unpleasant—slovenliness, perhaps, excepted—than a bad temper. I beseech every one who is so unhappy as to possess such a temper, to pay particular attention to what I am about to say, on this interesting and important topic.
Some young women seem entirely to overlook the consequences of an ill temper. These are numerous—too numerous to be mentioned in a single chapter. I shall only say here, that such a temper is no less destructive—in a slow way—to the health of the body, than it is to the mental faculties and the affections.
Some suppose their ill temper to be constitutional, and this serves them as an apology for neglecting to govern it. They seem to regard it as so wrought into their very structure, that it will hardly be possible ever to eradicate it. They are condemned by inheritance, as they appear to suppose, to a perpetual war within—in which the most they can hope for is an occasional victory.
Now let me tell every young woman who has imbibed this erroneous and dangerous notion, that God has never suffered the command of her temper to be placed beyond her reach. She may acquire the most perfect self-command, even in this respect, if she will. Not in a moment, nor in a day, it is true. The work may be the labor of months, or of years. Still, the battle can be won: a permanent and final victory can be achieved.
The very general idea, that single persons somewhat advanced in life, especially females, become habitually impatient or ill tempered, has too much truth for its foundation, though it is by no means universally true. Nor is it ever necessary that it should be so, as I have endeavored to show elsewhere.
I wish every young person could be induced to study deeply the causes which operate on mankind to originate or perpetuate a bad temper. They are numerous—exceedingly so. It is not necessary to charge much upon our ancestors. The causes may much oftener be found within our own minds and bodies, would we but look for them there. We harbor or perhaps indulge a thousand unpleasant feelings from day to day, not seeming to know, or at least to realize, that as small streams form larger ones, so these first risings of anger lead to its more out-breaking forms.
Not a few of the instances of irritability, fretfulness, impatience and melancholy, have their origin in physical causes—in errors in regard to exercise, sleep, air, temperature, dress, eating, drinking, &c.; and some have their origin in mistakes about the theory or the practice of religion. Some originate, too, in disappointed love. In short, their sources are well nigh endless.
THE APPETITES AND PASSIONS.—It is in vain, or almost in vain, to hope for any radical improvement in our physical, intellectual or moral condition, except in proportion as the body and the bodily appetites are kept in proper subjection to right reason and religion.
Here I must again urge upon every young woman the duty of studying the laws of health, and especially those of temperance. The knowledge thus to be obtained, would be of exceeding great value to her in the government of her passions and appetites.
Prof. Mussey, recently of Dartmouth College, in New Hampshire, relates, that a teacher in Boston, whose general course of discipline was quite mild, was sometimes so much affected in his temper by high-seasoned or over-stimulating dinners, as to be petulant and passionate, even to blows, immediately afterward.
Now, whether this was often the case with the individual in question, I cannot say. This, however, I may affirm with the utmost safety and confidence—that many an individual who finds her passions or her appetites more than usually troublesome or rebellious, would do well to look for the cause in the bad air which she breathes, the bad food or drinks she uses, or in something else in herself or in her habits which might have been prevented.
Sometimes tea or coffee, notwithstanding their first effects to enliven, produce the results I have mentioned, as their secondary effects. Sometimes a hearty dinner of flesh meat, or a more moderate one, with bad accompaniments, or with improper seasonings, is the cause of trouble. Sometimes the cause is something either quite indigestible, or difficult of digestion, whether it be animal or vegetable. And, lastly, but yet most frequently of all, it may be excess of quantity, or the bad cooking of substances naturally wholesome and digestible.
I press this part of my subject upon the consideration of young women, because it concerns not them alone, but a host of others. No one liveth to himself, says an apostle; and the remark is quite as important in its application to the young woman, as to any other individual.
One reason why I urge it is, because we are almost universally referred to moral means and moral considerations alone, in order to keep in subjection the body—its passions and appetites—and seldom, if ever, to a proper attention to our food or our drink, our air, our exercise, or our sleep. Nay, the hopes of the young, in regard to keeping the body in subjection, are sometimes completely paralyzed by the grave assertion, that the strength of our passions and appetites is constitutional—as much our inheritance, as the color of our eyes, or the contour of our physiognomies, and almost equally unalterable.
Now I would encourage no young woman to expect too much of "temperance in all things," without the co-operation of the moral powers, and especially of the will. But I would encourage her to strict temperance for her own sake, and that of others. I would say to her once more, that in proportion to her obedience to the laws of health, in regard to air, exercise, sleep, temperature, study, food, drink, clothing, &c., &c., will be her ability to govern herself according to right, and reason, and the commands of the Creator. The simpler her diet, for example, and the more free it is from extraneous things—as fat, condiments, &c.—the easier will it be to keep herself in proper subjection to herself—the body to the immortal spirit.
One of the most powerful and ever active causes of that slavery of the soul to the body, which every person of sense must perceive and deplore, is our unnatural and artificial cookery. Had it been the aim of all the cookery in the world, to make it as bad as possible for the health of body and soul, I know not that things could have been worse than they are now. Very few things, indeed, are made more palatable, more digestible, or more nutritious by it—the legitimate and only ends of all the efforts of our fashionable cookery. On the contrary, they are made, almost universally, a great deal worse for us.
Let the young woman who would serve God in her day and generation, by doing good in the reformation, elevation, and eternal progress of herself and those around her, not only study deeply the laws of health and life, but let her tax her powers of reasoning and invention, to see if it is not possible to remove the cause of so much mischief from our parlors, our sleeping-rooms, our kitchens, and our tables. Much must be done, in this respect, before the world can become what it ought to be; and woman must lead the way—woman of some future generation, if not of the present.
Presence of mind. Examples. Napoleon. Female example. Mrs. Merrill. Use of the anecdote. Self-command to be cultivated. In what manner Consult the experience of others. Consult your own reason and good sense. Daily practice in the art of self-command.
I was, at first, disposed to call this chapter Presence of Mind; but for various reasons, I have chosen to call it by another name—that of Self-Command.
To acquire the art of properly commanding ourselves, in all circumstances—especially in the most trying emergencies, and at a moment of danger, when not a minute, perhaps not a second, should be lost—is as difficult as it is important to every person; and to none perhaps more so, than to young women. Not that their trials of this sort will be more frequent than those of other people; but because the usual course of their education is such as to prepare them but poorly to meet those which fall to their lot.
It is said that Napoleon was greatly distinguished for the trait of character of which I am now speaking. But there are also numerous. examples of self-command in females on record. I will relate one.
Some thirty or forty years ago, when the Indians had not yet done making depredations on the inhabitants of our then frontier states, Kentucky and Ohio, a band of these savage men came to the door of a house in Nelson county, Ky., and having shot down the father of the little family within, who had incautiously opened the door, they attempted to rush in and put to death the defenceless and unoffending mother and her children. But Mrs. Merrill—for that was the name of the heroic woman—had much of that self-command, or presence of mind, which was now so needful. She drew her wounded husband into the house, closed the door and barred it as quickly as possible, so that the Indians could not enter at once, and then proceeded to the defence of "her castle," and all those in it whom she held dear.
The Indians had soon hewed away a part of the door, so that they could force themselves in, one by one, but not very rapidly. This slow mode of entrance gave time to Mrs. M. to despatch them with an axe, and drag them in; so that before those without were aware of the fate of those inside, she had, with a little assistance from her husband, formed quite a pile of dead bodies within and around the door; and even the little children, half dead though they at first were with fear, had gradually begun to recover from their fright.
The Indians, finding their party so rapidly disappearing, at length began to suspect what was their fate, and accordingly gave up their efforts in that direction. They now attempted to descend into the house by way of the chimney. The united wisdom and presence of mind of the family was again put in requisition, and they emptied upon the fire the contents of a feather bed, which brought down, half smothered, those Indians that were in the chimney, who were also soon and easily despatched. The remainder of the party, now very much reduced in numbers, became quite discouraged, and concluded it was best to retire.
I have not related this story because I suppose any of my readers will ever be tried in this particular manner. Many of them, however, may be placed in circumstances exceedingly trying; and their lives and those of others may depend on a little presence of mind.
Suppose, now, that Mrs. M., instead of dragging her wounded husband into the house and fastening the door, had stood still and screamed; or suppose she had fainted, or run away; what would have been the result? We do not know, it is true; but we know enough of the Indian mode of warfare to see that no condition could well be more perilous.
It cannot be denied that the large share of nervous sensibility which is allotted to the female constitution, peculiarly unfits woman for scenes of blood, like that to which I have alluded. And yet we see what can be done, as a last resort. [Footnote: Some persons object to the detail or such a scene of murder as this, even as an illustration of an important principle. They dislike to present such things to the youthful mind; and so do I. But it should be remembered that this book is not for mere children, but rather for young women; and is therefore less objectionable than if it were written for persons much younger.]
But if most females were fitted for trying emergencies, as I doubt not they could be, how much better they could meet the more common accidents and dangers to which human existence is daily more or less liable. And ought they not to be thus fitted?
Do you ask how item be done? This is precisely the question I should expect would be asked by those who have a strong desire for improvement. It is a work that is at present chiefly left undone, both by parents and teachers, and yet hundreds of lives are lost every year for the want of it; and hundreds of others are likely to be lost in the same way every year for many years to come, unless the work is taken up as a work of importance, and studied with as much zeal as grammar, or geography, or botany, or mathematics.
It is a most pitiable sight to see a young woman, twelve, fifteen, or it may be eighteen years of age, left to take care of a babe, suffer its clothes to get on fire by some accident, and then, without the least particle of self-command, only jump up and down and scream, till the child is burnt to death; or what perhaps is still worse, rush out for relief, leaving the door wide open to let through a current of air to hasten the work of destruction.
Equally distressing and pitiable is it, to see females, young or old, losing all presence of mind the moment a horse takes fright, or a gale of wind capsizes the vessel in which they are travelling, and by their erratic movements, depriving themselves of the only opportunity which remains to them, of saving themselves or of assisting to save others.
But the question recurs—How can these evils be prevented? In what way can our young women be taught—or in what way can they be induced to teach themselves—the important art of commanding themselves, on all occasions, and in all emergencies?
An aged but excellent minister of the gospel with whom I had the honor and the pleasure of being intimately acquainted, once said, that the only way of being prepared for the sudden accidents of life—by being able to keep cool and possess our souls in peace—was to think on the subject often, and consider what we would do, should such and such accidents occur.
Thus we should consider often what we ought to do, if a horse in a carriage should run away with us; if we should awake and find the house on fire over our heads—what to be done, if we were in this room or in that, &c.; if our clothes should take fire; if we should be burnt or scalded—what to be done, if scalded with water, and what, if with milk, oil, or any other substance; [Footnote: A very small portion of chemical knowledge is sufficient to teach any person that the falling of a quantity of boiling oil or fat on any part of the body, will cause a deeper and more dangerous burn, than the same quantity of boiling water applied in the same manner; and consequently, will require very different treatment. Water boils at 212 degrees of Fahrenheit; oil at about 600.—I have entered minutely into this subject in my work entitled "The Mother in her Family" chapters xxiv. xxv. and xxvi] if a child should fall into a well, be kicked by a horse, be seized by convulsions, or break or dislocate a limb, &c.
It will be asked, I know, of what avail it is to think over and over what should be done, without the instructions, either of experience or science. But we can have these instructions, to some extent, whenever we seek after them. The great trouble is, we are not in the habit of seeking for them; and what we do not seek, we rarely, if ever, find.
There are around every young woman, those whose judgment is worth something in this matter. It is not always the old—though it is more generally such. There are those who live in the world almost half a century without learning any thing; and there are also those who become wise in a quarter of a century. The wise, whatever may be their age, are the persons for you to consult; and the older such persons are, the better—because the greater is likely to be their wisdom. The truly wise, are always growing wiser; it is the fool alone who remains stationary. Wise and observing friends will probably tell you—or at least relate anecdotes to you, from which you may gather the conclusion—that when the clothes of a child have caught fire, you may often smother the flame by wrapping him instantly in a thick woollen blanket:—that it is seldom entirely safe to open the doors into an adjoining room—at least without great caution—when the house which we are in is discovered to be on fire; but the best way, as a general rule, is, to escape by the scuttle, if there be one, or by a ladder, or by letting ourselves down to the ground, if the distance is not too great, through the windows. This last is often the best way, though not always the most expeditious one. Many sleep with a rope in their bed-rooms to tie to the bed-post, as a means of letting themselves down, should there be occasion; while others rely on the bed-clothes—to make a rope of them by tying several articles together.
But it was no part of my purpose, in this work, to direct to the appropriate methods of saving ourselves or our friends from harm, in case of accidents or emergencies; but only to point to the subject, and leave the reader to pursue it. The intelligent young woman who sets about gaining the habit of self-command, will not only consult the experience of others, but observe, and reflect, and reason on the case, herself. She will often originate plans and means of escape, in places and, circumstances of danger, which she would not gain from others in a hundred or a thousand years.
There is one other means of improvement in the art of self-command, on which I do not know that any writer on the subject has dwelt with much earnestness. And yet it is as plain and simple as can be. It is to make the most of every little accident or emergency that actually overtakes or surprises us. I know from personal experience, that a great deal may be done in this way. There are those who, though they were formerly frightened half out of their senses, at the sudden sight of a harmless snake, have brought themselves, by dint of long effort, to so much presence of mind, as only to start a little at first—and to be as calm, and composed, and self-possessed, in a few seconds afterward, as if nothing had happened. And the same presence of mind may be obtained in other surprises or emergencies. Besides, she who is learning to command herself at sight of a snake or a dog; is at the same time acquiring the power to command herself in any other circumstances where self-command may be necessary.
I wish the principle indicated by the last statement were more generally perceived. I wish it were distinctly understood, that what we want is, to gain the habit of self-command in all circumstances, rather than to be able to work ourselves up to a proper state of feeling in particular cases; and that this habit is to be acquired by frequent familiar conversation on the subject, and by daily practice in the continually recurring small matters of life. It is, indeed, in governing ourselves in these small matters—which recur so frequently, and are regarded as so trifling as to have not only no moral character in themselves, but no influence in the formation of character—that the art to which I am now directing your attention, is to be chiefly acquired. They who defer the work till some larger or more striking emergency arrives, will not be likely to make much progress; for they begin at the wrong end of the matter. They begin exactly where they ought to end.