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Metaphors, Similes 

and other 

Characteristic Sayings 

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New York : 

744 Broadway. 

•I DEC 26.1 8< 


Copyright, 1895, 

All rights reserved. 


This compilation is the first of a series of 
booklets, or " handy volumes, " which it is pro- 
posed to publish, of characteristic sayings by 
Henry Ward Beecher, in various lines of thought, 
such as abound in his public utterances, and such 
as it is believed will, when arranged and issued 
in a compact form convenient for use, be most 
helpful to students, teachers, writers and speakers, 
as well as entertaining and instructive to the 
general reader. 

Other volumes of this series are in course of 
preparation, with the following titles: " Auto- 
biographical Reminiscences ;-" " Biographical 
Sketches ; " " Remarks on Preaching ; " " Rights 
and Duties of Women;" "Advice to Young 
People;" "The Management of Children;" 
"Birds and Flowers;" "Pictures and Music;" 
1 1 Miscellaneous Selections. " 

Each chapter in the present volume bears the 
same title as the discourse from which the ex- 
tracts it contains have been taken. 


The admirable and rare likeness of Mr. Beecher 
chosen for the frontispiece is now published for 
the first time. 

In selecting the materials for this book I have 
had the advice and assistance of Dr. Homer B. 
Sprague, whose personal acquaintance with Mr. 
Beecher, and familiarity with the great preacher's 
literary productions, and whose long experience 
as an educator, author and lecturer, have been 
such as to eminently qualify him for the work. 

This little volume is offered to the public in the 
earnest hope that its wholesome teaching will find 
a lodgement in the hearts of those who may 
peruse its pages, and aid and strengthen them in 
their search for that which is highest and best. 

T. J. Ellinwood. 

Brooklyn, N. Y., 
Oct. 5, 1895. 


Since the days of Shakespeare and Milton, it is 
doubtful if any man has had by nature a more 
nimble fancy, a more vivid imagination, a more 
prolific creativeness, or more intense feelings, 
than Henry Ward Beecher. To these qualifica- 
tions of the orator were added strong common 
sense, a subtle, contagious, and irresistible humor, 
the most unflinching courage, and a deep and 
tender sympathy with human wants and hopes, 
joys and sorrows. These traits were ener- 
gized by immense physical vigor, inherited from 
his ancestors, and preserved by the strictest 
temperance and careful bodily exercise. . The 
writer used to meet him almost daily at the 
Butler Health-Lift in Brooklyn, and to notice the 
pains he took to maintain his vitality. His 
magnificent physique carried him triumphantly 
through labors and sufferings that would have 
broken down a dozen ordinary men. The buoy- 
ancy of perfect health and constant success im- 
parted to his nature a joyousness which in turn 


reacted upon his physical system, and made it 
more elastic. His body was an instrument of 
the finest and strongest quality, perfectly respon- 
sive to the soul within. To crown all, there 
appeared to be in him a genuine consecration to 
the service of God and Humanity. 

He had a marvelous command of language, 
evidently improved by careful reading and fre- 
quent use of the dictionary. A voice pleasant, 
though not melodious, firm in its fibre, sometimes 
gentle and tender, often manly and penetrating — 
varying in force and quality rather than in pitch 
or volume — noted for the initial rather than the 
median " stress" — not managed with such skill 
as that of O'Connell, or Wendell Phillips, but 
always under control — sometimes thrilling and 
tremendous in its intensity, and ringing in the 
ears long after the sermon was done — a voice 
never to be forgotten by those who heard him in 
his moments of highest inspiration — completed 
the outfit of this extraordinary man. 

In his youth and early manhood he had some 
drill in elocution and gesture, and its effects were 
visible in his postures whenever he took the plat- 
form to speak. He practiced but little art, and 
there was no attempt to conceal it — as was so 
successfully done by Phillips, who usually threw 


his audiences off their guard by a studied 
negligence at the outset of his speeches ; or by 
John B. Gough, who was ingenious in disarming 
his critics, as when he would say, at rising, "I 
wish to make a few remarks before I begin to 
speak," and then, while the audience were smiling 
at the Hibernicism, the preliminary u remarks" 
would suddenly flame and dazzle like blinding 
lightning. Beecher often took the attitude which, 
perhaps, the elocutionist Lovell had taught him, 
but which had become second nature, and grace- 
fully maintained it till his feelings or fancy made 
him forget himself. Then he unconsciously be- 
came more or less imitative in his delivery, or 
allowed himself to be carried away by his fervor, 
till, as was said of his father, he u thundered and 
lightened all around the horizon." He always 
imagined himself in the midst of what he was 
describing, a participator, or at least a sym- 
pathetic spectator, of the scene ; and his gestures 
of unconscious imitation made the pictures as 
realistic as the most consummate actor could 
have done. Then came the u torrent, tempest, 
and whirlwind of passion," sweeping all before 

He was not a perfect master of style. Passages 
of exquisite beauty and startling power abound 


in his sermons ; but he was as careless as Shake- 
speare, plunging into the midst of a thought and 
beginning to formulate it without the slightest 
idea how his language would turn out, or how 
the sentence might end. Apparently he did not 
very carefully arrange the topics of his discourse 
with a view to artistic effect. He had no time 
for that. He never studied the trick of climax. 
Had he spoken only half as often, or not more 
than two-thirds as long, and concentrated his 
efforts to make each discourse more perfect as a 
work of art, the effect would have been greater 
and more lasting. Had he elaborated his ser- 
mons as Barrow, South, Bossuet, Chalmers, 
Bushnell, Robertson, and some others did, more 
of them would have been immortal. So essential is 
form. Nothing slipshod goes down to posterity. 

Had he carefully trained himself in the art of 
verse-making, as Milton did, and had his ear 
been as delicate, he might have become a great 
poet. But he never studied rhetoric much, nor 
verse-making at all. 

His imagination, however, was Shakespearian. 
No other man's in these modern times has been 
more inexhaustibly fertile. 

"For rhetoric he could not ope 
His mouth, but out there flew a trope ! " 


In the use of figurative language, the similarity 
between him and the great dramatist is remark- 
able. Analogies innumerable, resemblances by 
the hundred, intuitions of inner meanings which 
never occur to the ordinary intellect, make these 
master minds art galleries full of portraits, statues, 
reliefs, scenes and scenery ; and suddenly resem- 
blance becomes identity, marble warms with life, 
pictured eyes sparkle, painted lips break into 
speech, the ideas are persons. The tongue cannot 
keep pace ; the images come so swift that they 
blend in mixed metaphor. 

Bacon had the ingenious imagination, but not 
the ardent heart of these men. His soul was an 
iceberg, glittering but cold. 

Burke tells us that a truly fine sentence or 
paragraph will contain a striking thought and 
corresponding sentiment, the whole made doubly 
striking by the force and beauty of figurative 
expression. His description of Marie Antoinette 
is a good illustration. 

"It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the 
Queen of France, then the Dauphin ess. at Versailles ; and 
surely never lighted upon this orb, which she hardly 
seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just 
above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated 
sphere which she had just begun to move in, glittering like 
the morning star, full of life and splendor and joy ! " 


So Beecher's tremendous defiance of the Fugi- 
tive Slave Law, at the time when great northern 
statesmen were counseling that it be " obeyed 
with alacrity." 

"But as to those provisions which concern aid to 
fugitives — may God do so to us, yea, and more also, if we do 
not spurn them as we would any other mandate of Satan ! 
If, in God's Providence, fugitives ask bread or shelter, 
raiment or conveyance at my hands, my own children 
shall lack bread ere they ; my own flesh shall sting with 
cold ere they shall lack clothing : and whatsoever defence 
I would put forth for my own children, that shall these 
poor, despised, persecuted creatures have at my hands and 
upon the road. The man who would do otherwise, who 
would obey this law to the peril of his soul and the loss of 
his manhood, were he brother, son, or father, shall never 
pollute my hand with grasp of hideous friendship, nor cast 
his swarty shadow across my threshold." 

It may be well to note the process, to glance 
into the laboratory. In a happy moment, a man 
of acute discernment might say with Hamlet, 
" There's nothing good or bad but thinking 
makes it so." A truth of vast importance is here 
involved. Add a picture, and you wonderfully 
adorn and enforce the thought. Thus with 

" The mind is its own place, and itself 
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven." 

Here we have two of Burke's constituent 
elements. Let us add the third, the striking 


sentiment. Thus in Shakespeare, Hamlet's uncle, 
the guilty king, comparing his soul to a feeble 
bird caught with bird-lime, its feet sinking deeper 
and deeper the more it struggles to disengage 
itself from the sticky substance, exclaims in his 
distress : 

" wretched state ! bosom black as death ! 
O lime'd soul, that struggling to be free 
Art more engaged ! " 

So the following from Milton. It is Satan's 
agony of remorse : 

" Me miserable ! Which way shall I fly 
Infinite wrath and infinite despair ? 
Which way I fly is hell ! Myself am hell ! " 

It might seem that we had reached the acme. 
No, there is another step ; the blended thought, 
image, and passion give rise to personification. 

" Which way I fly is hell ! Myself am hell ! 
And in the lowest deep a lower deep 
Still threatening to devour me, opens wide, 
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven ! " 

Take this from Shakespeare, who excels all 
others in the frequency and felicity of this fused 
thought, sentiment, imagery, and personification, 


though the union is not, as Richard Grant White 
alleges, peculiar to Shakespeare : 

"Night's candles are burned otit, and jocund day- 
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain top ! " 

Or this : 

11 Within the hollow crown 
That rounds the mortal temples of a king, 
Keeps Death his court, and there the antic sits 
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp." 

So Beecher starts with a great truth, and a 
deep feeling. An apt picture flashes through his 
mind, and he incorporates it. Ere he is aware, 
the fusing heat blends thought, passion, picture, 
in glowing personification — a four -fold combi- 
nation — and the product becomes truly Shake- 
spearian.* A single paragraph, which we happen 

* Professor Ellinwood, Mr. Beecher's authorized reporter 
for thirty years, writes me: "I once heard Mr. Beecher 
say, in regard to the figures by which, in speaking, he 
illustrated his subjects, that often they crowded upon his 
mind in such multitudes that it was only a matter of 
choice which he should use. In reporting his discourses, 
I noticed that now and then he would drop one figure 
unfinished, and substitute another for it. He said, in 
explanation, that not unfrequently, while presenting an 
illustration, another, better suited to his purpose, would 
pass before his mental vision." 


to light upon in the peroration of his sermon of 
Sunday morning, Jan. 24, 1886, will sufficiently 
illustrate these points and the spirit of the man. 

"The banners fly, and whoever is for the Lord must 
come and enlist under the banner of Christ Jesus. Do not 
sneak and hide, and, because you are relatively imperfect, 
refuse, through misinterpreting pride, to join the Church 
of Christ. Join little, big, fine, coarse, ignorant, knowl- 
edgeable ! It takes all kinds of men, put together, to 
make that mighty representation of Christ in the Church. 
Not for my sake, not even for your own sake, do I call you, 
though there are eternities in your case ; but for Christ's sake, 
and for the sake of this poor staggering world, that still groans 
and travails in pain until this day ! — for these high and noble 
sakes, I appeal to every young man, to every maiden, to 
every man and every woman — on which side are you in this 
mighty conflict that is going on in heaven and earth and to 
the grand close? Choose ye this day which side you will 
take ! And may God help you." 

Homer B. Sprague. 

East Orange, N. J., 
October 4, 1895. 



Preface - 3 

Introduction 5 

Contents --------- 15 

I. Patience -------- 17 

II. Natural Laws Moral and Moral Laws Natural 27 

III. Disinterested Benevolence - 31 

IV. What Men will do for Money - 37 
V. Fruitfulness of the Human Mind - 47 

VI. Patient Waiting 59 

VII. Laying up Treasures _ - _ - 69 
VIII. Remote and Permanent Eesults 81 
IX. Activity Indispensable to Normal Develop- 
ment 91 

X. The Law of Feeling 103 

XL The Administration of Wealth - 115 

XII. Dangers of Familiarity with Evil - - 123 

XIII. The Law of Human Development - - 133 

XIV. Sorrow and its Dangers - 143 





XV. The Employment of Time - - - - 149 

XVI. The Uses of Feeling 157 

XVII. Work 165 

XVIII. Unconscious Selfishness - 173 

XIX. Personal Influence 183 

XX. Power in Man to Overcome Evil - - 191 

XXI. Plans in Life 197 

XXII. Motives for Action 201 

XXIII. Self-Government 207 

XXIV. Generosity and Benevolence - - - 213 




Many men who are impatient are a great deal 
more patient than some who are far more patient 
than they — if you can untangle the knot ! 

When you take a man that is constitutionally 
healthy and joyous, and not over-sensitive, and 
put him through a course of troubles, he scarcely 
feels them. To him they are nothing, because 
they strike on leathery skin, upon a resilient 
and buoyant nature, and bound off from him 
without causing him to suffer. But if you take 
another man who has no skin, so that his nerves 
lie on the outside, and put him in the same 
situation, every particle of dust that touches him 
causes him intense pain. The former may not 
speak a hasty word through the long day ; but he 
deserves no credit, because there is no hasty 
word that he wants to speak. There may not be 


an hour of the day in which the latter does not 
want to speak a hasty word ; and yet he may so 
far control his impulses as to refrain from speak- 
ing it ; and he is deserving of great credit. 

Suppose a man should take a babe and lay it 
down to sleep by the side of a crocodile, in a 
place that was infested by mosquitoes and gnats 
and sand flies ; and suppose when the child, 
bitten by these insects and suffering with pain, 
waked up and began to fret and cry, the crocodile 
should say, 1 1 My dear child, what is the matter ? 
Why are you so irritable ? I do not feel any- 
thing. I can keep my patience." Many men 
are covered with thick shells, and are good 
natured because nothing hurts them. Such men 
ought not to be censors of those who suffer 
acutely at every pore. 

It is in the silent battle-fields, in the obscure 
and hidden places of the soul's experience, that 
God looks for his martyrs and heroes. There are 
now and then heroes that are disclosed and 
obvious to men \ but the time will come when the 
most illustrious heroes of the world will be sought 


for among men who took their lives in their hand 
for a great truth or principle, made themselves 
exiles on earth, disrobed themselves of honors, 
and gave up the ordinary privileges of gaining 
profit and pleasure, such as most men crave. 
Men and women who stand in their humble 
spheres to do great deeds of self-renunciation, 
and bear suffering for others, with no hope of 
reward except that which inevitably follows right 
conduct, are true heroes. 

Patience implies willingness and ability to bear 
suffering for some good reason. That is to say, 
it is self-command. It is saying to the stronger 
parts of a man's mind, when the weaker parts 
are suffering, "Go to their help." It is saying 
to a man's conscience, when he is suffering in a 
lower feeling, "Go to the rescue of that lower 
feeling ; give your strength to it ; intone it ; 
hold it up." 

When suffering first comes, it seeks to spring 
upon the mind, or upon some faculty of the 
mind, and ride it ; and there is power given 
to a man deliberately to take suffering off 


from that faculty, and put it under his feet. It 
may lacerate and tear ; but there is a power to 
hold it in its place, and wait, with smiles and con- 
tentment, until its office work is done, and it 
passes away. 

Many men, though they are not afraid of 
suffering, dodge it, hide from it, coy with it ; but 
he that finds coming upon him suffering of any 
kind, whether of body or soul, high or low, and 
knows how, by a feeling, complex or simple, to 
bravely carry it, and not be imbruted nor 
adumbrated by it, is a man that exercises 
patience. To have an ache, a grief, or a sorrow, 
and endure it, and still keep every part of the 
mind acting harmoniously and sweetly and vic- 
toriously — that is to be patient. 

We have glimpses and fragmentary experiences 
of this glorying of the higher nature over the 
infirmities of the lower. Where it becomes a 
habitual state of mind, one is not far from being 
perfect. When a man can let troubles fall upon 
him thick and fast, morning, noon, and night, 
and triumph over them, he lacks nothing. 


One by mighty patience is able to endure the 
strokes of fear, and another endures them be- 
cause he does not feel them. The nature of the 
latter is such that he is not susceptible to fear. 
The very first element of patience, therefore, is, 
that you do care for things, and that you do feel 
their edge or point. 

True patience always sees, or believes in, some 
benefit to arise from bearing trouble. In other 
words, it is a moral exchange, suffering being the 
price that one pays for a greater good to be en- 
joyed by-and-by. The coin which we give for 
higher elevation is iron, and hard to circulate ; 
but the product is golden. Suffering is that which 
turns everything it touches into gold. It is the 
philosopher's stone that transmutes to a higher 
form all that is low and groveling in us. 

One may put forth a hundred times as much 
courage and zeal as another, and yet not succeed 
in controlling his temper as well as that other. 
There is many a man that builds fort after fort- 
over against a temptation without being able to 
protect himself from it, while his neighbor makes 
no effort to shield himself from it and yet is not 
harmed nor annoyed by it. 


Some there are who will never have less than 
the whole of that which is to be made out of their 
troubles ; but there are others who have learned 
every day to dust the garments of their soul as 
they do the garments of their body. People do 
not usually collect all the dirt they can find on 
their hat and boots and coat, and save it : they 
usually brush it off, sweep it out-of-doors, and are 
glad to get rid of it ; and yet, men are slow to 
forget the little speeches that have been made 
about them ; the little wrongs that have been 
done them ; the little conflicts they have had 
with each other ; the little frets and annoyances 
of life. They ponder over them, and make the 
most of the suffering they are able to extract 
from them. 

It is a great thing for a man to be magnani- 
mous — to carry himself with a spiritualized good 
nature when he is perplexed, picked at, pierced, 
and wronged. It is a great thing to bear up 
under one's suffering, and not think of it. I love 
to see a great nature, not that is insensitive to 
troubles, but that has trained himself so that he 
meets them as in winter a man wraps his cloak 
about him, and goes through the snow-storm 


without thinking of it. After a little experience 
a man maj^ come to that state in which he can 
shine down these things. 

We carry great heaviness of spirit, often, which 
holds us down. Sometimes we have aspirations, 
and would fly ; but we are like birds that are in 
cages, and cannot fly. 

The world at large is not made to meddle with 
the delicacies of love ; and in every nature there 
is a vast realm of silence where, if patience be 
not found, woe be to it ! But if patience does 
gain victories there, perfection is not far off. 






A man may do things which are not forbidden 
by his fellow-men, but which are forbidden by the 
way in which he is made. There is no law 
against a man's reading at untimely hours. Yes, 
there is. Where is the statute book in which 
that law is written ? In the ball and nerve of 
the eye. God wrote it there. 

There is no law that a man must not eat indi- 
gestible food. Yes, there is. Was it proclaimed 
from Mount Sinai ? No. Your stomach is your 
Mount Sinai for such a law as that. Transgress 
it and see. 

Men seem to think that while natural laws 
will certainly strike, moral laws will not. Yes, 
they will. 


You are a violator of natural law ; and it 
makes no difference that the transgression of 
each day is so minute, for a thousand minute 
transgressions, like a myriad of snowflakes, form 
an avalanche that carries the power of God. A 
snowflake seems to be the sign of weakness, that 
comes wavering through the air, uncertain 
whether it will fall or fly ; but let snowflakes 
accumulate in vast heaps upon the mountain side, 
and when they break away you have a mani- 
festation of the power of these minutiae. 




If one declares that there is no person living 
who does not lie, he confesses himself to be a liar. 
He who declares that there is not a pure nature 
on earth, asserts his own impurity. The pos- 
sibility of the existence of the quality of goodness 
may be recognized by very wicked men. It is 
the faith of a man in the quality of goodness or 
unselfishness which indicates the existence of 
that quality in himself. Our hope that there will 
be a higher style of benevolent action rests on the 
almost universal faith that there is the possibility 
of it. When I hear a man say that all men, and 
all women too, are corrupt, always and all through, 
I make up my mind that there is no hope for him. 
A man who does not believe in goodness cannot 
be good. If a man smells corruption in every- 
body, he has it in himself. When, therefore, I 
hear young men or maidens decrying disinterested 
benevolence, I feel that unless they are mistaken 


in the definition of the quality, the only remedy 
in their case is regeneration or death. 

You shall not find a single man in history that 
has been canonized by the hearts of the people, 
who was not supposed to be disinterested in 
benevolence. There have been ten thousand men 
who were heroes by reason of courage, but who 
have sunk out of sight. A man may have wisdom, 
capacity and bravery, but he does not become a 
hero that generations embalm and refuse to let 
die, unless he is supposed to have acted from 
disinterested considerations. 

In the matter of disinterested benevolence, all 
you can demand is, that benevolence shall be the 
dominant faculty, leading and controlling the 
other faculties, and being the real mainspring of 
the feeling which produces the course of action. 

The constitution of the world is such that 
benevolence is the best interest of every man ; it 
is the royal road to individual as well as social 
happiness ; and when a man acts from an inspira- 


tion of good- will to others, he says, "That is the 
way to make myself happy." He knows it ; but 
that is not the reason why he performs the act. 

Intrinsically, disinterested benevolence is de- 
lightful. It is the action of the mind in its 
highest state and purest harmony. 

When our higher nature undertakes to act, and 
our passions rise up against it, they are to be put 
down, with pain and crucifixion even, if it need 

Self-denial is always painful in the resisting 
part of our nature, but never in the directing 

True disinterested benevolence is, in and of it- 
self, joyful. It is less than that only by reason of 
the mixture of our motives, and of the low estate 
in which we live in this world. As we are truly 
developed, and as we go up in the scale of being, 
our virtues become purer and more perfectly 
resonant with joy. 


The most selfish men, and the men who believe 
least in disinterestedness, long to find somebody 
that is unselfish ; and when there is found a man 
who seems to act not for himself but for his 
fellows, all men bow down to him, worship him, 
and call him divine. 

There is something in men which longs to see 
essential kindness. Though they do not see much 
of it, for the reason that there is not much of it to 
see, they are always drifting about it, and supply- 
ing by the imagination what is lacking, that they 
may have this conception in a concrete form. The 
human heart longs to see, not in God alone but in 
men, the attainment of this heroic quality of true, 
disinterested benevolence ; and no man, I think, 
believes in any human quality the germs and pos- 
sibilities of which are not in himself. 




It is no time to say that man cannot, in 
civilized society, be guilty of cannibalism. I tell 
you there are more cannibals in New York than 
in the isles of the Pacific ! and if to-day you were 
suddenly to take away the support that comes 
from eating men, there would be thousands and 
thousands of empty maws to-morrow in that city ! 

There are multitudes of sewing and laboring 
women who are driven down to a point of poverty 
beyond which one single step is starvation, and 
starvation is the door of heaven in comparison — 
damnation ! Into that, with utter indifference and 
remorseless greed they are thrust, as sheep are 
thrust into the shambles for butchery. 

There are dens and orgies. Nothing this side 


of hell can equal myriads of these places. We do 
not need to go to Vesuvius to see volcanoes. We 
have them all around us, in spite of the police 
and the common sense of the community. 

There is nothing more patent and nothing more 
melancholy than that a man will make money out 
of his fellow man — literally, out of his blood and 
bones — if he can. There is no measure of cruelty, 
no depth of wickedness, no degree of meanness, 
that men will not come to practice for the sake of 
getting money — I hope at first with scruples and 
reluctances, but at last without sensation or 
delicacy. There is nothing gigantic in fraud, 
nothing base and treacherous and heartless, that 
men will not do for the sake of realizing pelf. 

If you take the treatment of emigrants that 
land on our shores ; if you consider the deliberate 
deceptions, the fleecings, the overwhelming ruin 
brought upon families ; if you call to mind their 
beggary, and what is worse, their compulsory 
degradation ; if you cull from mute lips histories, 
now suppressed and unknown, of unutterable 
anguish suffered by those who cannot speak the 


tongue of the land to which they have come ; if 
you understand that these things are reduced to 
a business, and are carried on by men who care 
neither for tears, for anguish, for separation, nor 
for the deep damnation that they heap on the 
victim's head, you cannot doubt that men will do 
anything for the sake of money. 

The testimony respecting the treatment of 
sailors, the lairs and dens into which they are 
enticed, the outrages they suffer, the utter 
abominations of inhumanity that from year to 
year remain unexplored and untouched, is one of 
the most prolific chapters of bottomless lust and 

Strangers that sojourn in our midst find them- 
selves watched for, as men watch for game in the 
woods. The trapper does not more cunningly 
spread his snares for game than does the gambler 
and soul-destroyer set his traps for men — and 
with no desire except their destruction and a 
little temporary gain. 


A man, if he is stripped of his possessions, can 
repair the damage. If he is thrown down to-day, 
he may be on his feet again to-morrow. There 
are endless resources open to a man. But a 
woman — what can she do ? 

You cannot tell by the way a tree looks, whence 
its roots are sucking sap. There is many a man 
that wears clean linen, and has good associates, 
and appears regularly at the house of God, and 
sits down at the communion table, and munches 
his bread, and drinks his wine, and seems to be a 
Christian man, who, if you follow down his roots, 
you will find to be drawing his nourishment from 
the common sewers. 

Vice is a corruption, not of morals simply, but 
of property as well. It is not merely a burden to 
its victims, but it is destructive to the whole 
community. It is a taxgatherer and oppressor. 
It wrongs the poor, it wrongs those who are next 
to the poor, it wrongs those who are next to them, 
it w r rongs you, it wrongs me, it wrongs every- 


It is true respecting the whole enlightened 
community that the interests of virtue and what- 
ever promotes virtue are a good investment, and 
that whatever destroys virtue in the end injures 

Palaces of pleasure there are where death is 
double-edged. Hundreds and thousands are 
traveling in ways which are called ivays of 
pleasure, but which are ways of damnation ; and 
there is a great deal of capital invested in them. 
These haunts of miscalled pleasure are winked at 
and encouraged by thousands and thousands 
besides those who are known to be directly re- 
sponsible for them. If it were not for what may 
be called respectable hypocritical capitalists they 
could not exist as they do. 

Whenever it is proposed to maintain public 
order, and put down public ruin and disgrace, 
the air is full of cries of men about the violation 
of their liberty and their rights ! What are such 
men as these doing but standing at the bloody 
crank of the huge mill into whose hopper are 
thrown men and women and children, as they 


grind them up to make money out of their blood 
and substance ? 

Ten thousand wretched hearts have sighed, and 
sorrowed, and prayed to God, saying, "Lord, why 
has my babe died ?" It was killed by foul milk, 
drawn from the foul udders of foul animals, that 
were fed to disease, fever and rottenness ! And 
there are men who go on furnishing the com- 
munity with such milk, just because there is 
money made by it. 

Do you suppose the men who are adulterating 
food, and corrupting the staff of life, do not know 
that they are spreading sorrow and trouble and 
mischief ? They know it perfectly well ; but they 
do not care. They are making money, and that 
is the main thing to their thought. All human 
comfort, and life itself, put into one scale, with 
money in the other, do not weigh a particle so 
far as they are concerned. 

The great battle between the lower passions 
and the higher passions has been going on from 


the beginning of the world down to our day, and 
is to go on, not less but more fiercely, to the end. 

The ground-work of to-day is a positive, and 
not merely a negative one. We are to take our 
stand in the conflict between right and wrong, 
and struggle for the right. Citizens should 
clearly understand the nature of those disturb- 
ances which bubble up now and then in human 
affairs. No man has a right to be indifferent to 
good and evil ; and you cannot but choose one or 
the other. Which will you choose ? 

All true citizens should be taught to unite in 
securing the triumph of purity, right and humanity 
in our struggles. The time has come when good 
men are in such numbers that, if they will cast 
aside inferior issues, and turn their hearts to 
great moral ends, there is no question but that 
these cities may be controlled, purified and lifted 
up ; and I think there is no triumph that would 
be more illustrious. 

I do not object to sending missionaries to India. 


Every missionary sent abroad leavens the mis- 
sionary spirit at home. I sympathize with, and 
urge, the sending of missionaries to the islands of 
the sea ; but while they are attacking remote 
heathenism, there is a Juggernaut in our midst. 
Here in the liquor interest, here in polluting 
licentiousness, here in fraud and malfeasance, are 
the great death-sores of American society ; and it 
is the duty of every Christian man, in every 
instance, to see to it that where he is called to 
exert himself in public affairs, he so acts that his 
influence shall sustain right, justice and purity. 




Oh, that men were like chimneys ! Although 
chimneys collect soot all the time, they can be 
cleaned. But men cannot be cleansed from the 
soot which they collect in the smoke of life. They 
become dirty from the handling of the world ; and 
nothing suffers so much in men as do the higher, 
nobler, better feelings. The worst things in men 
are the least injured, just as the hardest part of a 
tree suffers the least by handling. The finer 
emotions of the mind are like blossoms that will 
not bear being handled much, that become quickly 
soiled, and that soon wilt and wither. Generos- 
ities, purities, moral aspirations, the romantic 
parts of a man, are the things that soonest 
crumble and fall to the ground. 

Three hundred and sixty-five volumes in a year 
would be written if the definite reflections, 


motives and emotions that every day pass dis- 
tinctly through your mind, and have relation to 
your character and eternal destiny, should be 
printed in a book. What enormous fruitfulness ! 
and how much of it seems to drop unnoticed ! It 
is simply impossible for a man to take note of 
such a flow of inward life. One cannot keep 
pace even with that which is outward. 

The very nature of the mind is such that its 
product is noiseless and without exponent. No 
man can overhang his own soul and inspect its 
experience. Thoughts and feelings shoot out in 
shafts, as it were, like pencils of light that carry 
the primary colors, and yet seem to be but one 
color. Who can trace, in the amazing rapidity 
of its action, the mind in all its moods, complexi- 
ties and combinations, or in its transitions and 
changes into different keys, as it were ? 

It would be easier for a man to count the drops 
of a river that flows by him, deep and rapid, than 
to count the thoughts and feelings and fancies 
that make the river of life which proceeds from 
the soul. 


If, in this fresh creation, when the pulse bounds 
to thoughts and feelings, and the nerves are fired, 
and life and action are inspired by them, they 
cannot be recognized, how much less can we turn 
back to remember them ! There is no book- 
keeper that puts them down. The mind keeps no 
account of them. This vast multitude, this enor- 
mous army of the products of your mind, march 
noiselessly, every day, in the soul. 

The mind's action is like that of an engineer 
who works under water. He goes down in a 
diving-bell, and is hidden. The work progresses, 
and the structure rises, but it does not show 
above water at all. It is there, but it is deep- 
seated and concealed. Thus the eternal founda- 
tions of the mind's character are laid far down 
and strong, the work being so out of sight that 
men do not see it nor suspect it. Such being the 
case, men are being destroyed by faults of which 
they have no conception ; for faults, oftentimes, 
are like mines with which men blow up bastions 
and towers of fortifications. Afar off, they by 
whom the work is done break ground, and hidden 
and unseen they dig until they have carried the 
mine under the foundation. The occupants of 


the place know not what is going on till the last 
moment, when the tower leaps into the air, as if 
it were filled with life, and that which before was 
a strong defence is a heap of ruins. I know men 
who have a mine laid right under the curtain-wall, 
which only awaits the day and hour when it shall 
be fired. I know men who continually walk over 
mines capacious enough to hold forty hogsheads 
of rum, but who do not know that it is under them. 
I know men who have mines dug under the very 
port of their life by rank dishonesties. I know 
men that have vices enough utterly to destroy 
them. But they work under ground, and they 
will not notice them, and nobody will tell them of 
their clanger, and they will perish. But though 
they do not know about these things, God knows 
about them, and the devil knows about them. 

Not one in twenty of all those mental operations 
which are inwardly working to form that eternal 
character which shall carry reward or punish- 
ment, joy or woe, excites men's attention, or ever 
comes to their remembrance. It is a terrible 
thing to have this engineering going on in a man, 
and he know nothing about it, and take no 
account of it. 


Men are insensibly filling up the mold and 
frame of their character in entire ignorance. 
Their passions and thoughts and fancies are like 
so many clerks. Suppose a man should neglect 
his business, and give unlimited power to his 
clerks, and they, in his counting-room, should go 
on signing papers, filling up checks, running him 
in debt, tying up his affairs, and he should know 
nothing about it ? You have not less than forty 
clerks ; and there is not a day in which one or 
another of them does not use pen and ink that 
carry judgment in God's day of reckoning. 
They are writing what they please. Many of 
them are confidential clerks. One is Pride ; 
another is Vanity ; another is Lust of Power ; 
another is Greed of Gain ; another is Self- 
indulgence. If they go on unrestrained, those 
clerks will break you, as sure as there is a God in 
heaven. Your eternal affairs are becoming 
involved, your spiritual interests are being 
hazarded, and you know nothing about it. 

It does not take much to make a popular man. 
A kind of outside goodness ; a sort of leniency 
toward other people's faults ; the knack of making 
men happy by wit and mirth ; the art of stroking 


men's love of self pleasantly — these qualities will 
make a very good fellow. There is nothing that 
makes a man "good" but the knowledge of how 
to tickle other men's selfishness, and please them 
with themselves. 

Hundreds and hundreds of men are going 
straight to perdition ; but that which is carrying 
them there is hidden from their view. They have 
secret thoughts enough to sink a ship, and yet 
they carry them buoyantly and bravely. Nay, 
men anxiously and purposely hide the truth from 

How imperceptibly persons grow out of free, 
generous, sympathizing youth into narrow, close, 
selfish, stingy manhood ! 

Here is a youth that is docile and humble, but 
aspiring and full of promise ; and who would ever 
suppose that by degrees and gradations so gentle 
as not to leave a crease or a seam, he would grow 
up to be a hard and cruel man ? 


Here is a sensitive child, whose cheek becomes 
incarnadine at the thought of wickedness ; and 
yet, being brought constantly into contact with 
evil, he goes through such a process of thinking 
and training that, step by step, he comes to a 
point at which it is no more trouble for him to 
thrust a dagger through a man's heart, and to 
join in league with the greatest criminals, than 
at first it was for him to be pure and innocent. 
And, great as is the change that has been wrought 
in him, he cannot point to the spot where, nor to 
the time when, it occurred. Little by little, and 
unconsciously, he passed from one extreme to the 

Crimes and vices may be of two kinds : they 
may be occasional, intermitting experiences, or 
they may be simple exponents of the general 
character. Where vices and crimes are pimples 
that indicate the habitual state of the blood, the 
man is corrupted all through ; but a man may now 
and then have a pimple when his blood is not 
very bad. 

If a man is sober and touches no intoxicating 


drink during the whole year till the ill-fated first 
of January, and then goes around to see his 
friends who unkindly tempt him with wine, and 
he gets drunk, what proportion does that single 
day of intoxication bear to all the twelve months, 
lacking one day, of temperance ? And, on the 
other hand, if a man is drunk twelve months, 
lacking one day, and is sober only on the first of 
January, what proportion does that single 
temperate day bear to all the wallow of the 
beastly year ? 

It is possible for a man to abstain from out- 
ward manifestations of wickedness, and yet be 
wicked through and through. There is a paltry, 
narrow, unmanly kind of prudence, which keeps 
a man back from lion-like wickedness. Guarded 
by such prudence, a man does not do anything on 
a large scale. He does not venture at all. His 
sins are all mermaids. There is not a line on 
them. But they are all as mean, and they in- 
dicate as much wickedness, as sins that are more 
overt and of greater magnitude. He never stole 
or robbed, nor committed what is called a crime, 
nor indulged in what goes by the name of vice ; 
but there is not a throb of his soul that is not a 


throb of selfishness. There is not a pulsation of 
his life that is not a pulsation of pride. There is 
not a movement of his mind that is not in the 
channels of vanity. He is corrupt in every part 
of his being, only his corruption is made up of 
infinitesimal depravities. He is sin-rotten. There 
are a great many such men. They are keyed to 
selfishness. Their purposes are selfish. All their 
ways are selfish. Their whole conception of 
living is selfish. There are men whose entire 
character has been built up with successive steps 
of invisible wickedness, until, although they are 
decent and law-abiding, and although they stand 
well in society, when God looks upon them he 
loathes them. 

I have taken notice, when I have seen men 
tapping a gas-main, that those who worked in the 
escaping gas all the time did not smell it, whereas 
those who but occasionally came near it, smelled 
it very sensibly ; and I take notice that men who 
are constantly in the midst of the stench of their 
own corruption never mind it. 




Upon the woman comes the greatest weight of 
sorrow in all afflictions. It is rare that a man 
suffers as a woman does, from death in the house- 
hold. Upon her comes the duty of patient wait- 
ing with the sick. She it is that has hand-to- 
hand conflicts with Death : at last, in the charge 
by which the feeble structure is overthrown, she 
is found confronting the dread enemy face to 
face ; and after the struggle is over, in which 
death has been victorious, she is the greatest 
mourner. At the Cross last, and at the' Sepulchre 
first, were the women ; and by them more tears 
were shed and more sufferings felt than by all the 
other disciples. That is typical of woman's lot 
in the household the world over ; and women 
need, perhaps more than any others, the spirit of 
patient waiting. 


I remember that once, on going into my father's 
kitchen, in Ohio, to speak to Charles, our hostler 
and gardener, I found him reading a book in 
which I thought I perceived mathematical dia- 
grams. On examining it, I found it to be a 
scientific treatise on geography, in which all the 
astronomical problems were wrought out. As I 
had seen him, from night to night, with his tallow 
candle, poring over this book as though it were 
the last new novel in the hand of beauty (though 
he was not beautiful), I asked him if he under- 
stood what he read. " Certainly," said he, "most 
certainly." I saw that there was some Latin in 
the book, and asked him if he could read that. 
Oh, yes, he could read Latin, and he talked it. 
It put my college honors somewhat in peril, and I 
feared he might be talking to me in Latin ! "Do 
you understand Greek?" I said. "Oh, no; I 
can only read it — I cannot speak it." There was 
that man, deriving his small monthly wages from 
my hand, and he was my master, probably, in 
every walk of science and literature. 

Appropriate work, which we like, covers up 
sensibility, takes away temptation, withdraws the 


mind from morbid cares and fears, and gives it 
wholesome employment. It is a good thing to 
work because you love to. If you do not love to 
work, it is a good thing to work because you have 

While people are young, or strong, or pros- 
perous, they think little of the great army with 
muffled banners who are silently walking amid 
troubles and disappointments, clay by day, unable 
to do or achieve. 

Men are not always, by any means, matched to 
their appropriate work, nor joined to their ap- 
propriate place in society. There is neither 
principle, nor law, nor experience, by which we 
can always sort our children and connect them 
with the thing for which they are best adapted in 
their outward nature. Besides all that, however 
well a man may be situated, and however well 
adapted his education and faculties may be to 
his position, there are ruptures of society, 
upheavings and sweepings of Providence, that 
dislocate men. 



A man may have power in his own language ; 
but let him travel in Europe, where he passes 
from the English to the French, from the French 
to the Spanish, and from the Spanish to the 
German, and see how that power is shut up in his 
mouth. If a man feels proud at home, I would 
advise him to go abroad, for a month or two, and 
learn how insignificant he is. A man traveling 
in a land of whose language he is ignorant is 
like a man swimming in the Atlantic. He is 
shorn of those ten thousand comprehensive ways 
which at home made him vital, sympathetic and 
useful, but being shorn of which he is left almost 
as a dead man. 

Society is full of persons who are below their 
appropriate level. Where this occurs in youth it 
is right, because young people can press their 
way up ; they are like young and vigorous plants 
that draw an abundant supply of food for growth 
through the roots below ; but when men pass the 
climax of life, and with discouraged spirit are 
thrown down below their level, it is not so easy 
for them to obtain nourishment. Then the root 
itself in them is impaired ; and when they are 


transplanted they can scarcely get hold of the 
soil again, to grow. 

Largely, women do not enter into the social 
state ; but, as that state is built of glass, when 
they are once in it some sidelong blow may 
shiver it in a moment. Such is the uncivilized 
condition of society that there are but few alter- 
natives for a woman. Women who are broken off 
from their relations to the domestic circle find but 
few channels in which they can employ thought, 
taste, fidelity, affection, and stand independent in 
the community. 

Are there not multitudes whose minds are 
stored with valuable information, who have fine- 
ness of taste that indicates much of the artist 
nature, and who have been trained to nice moral 
distinctions, but who ply the needle, teach in the 
lowest schools, or spend their energies in the 
meaner walks of life ? Are there not multitudes 
who are conscious that the greatest part of their 
inward nature is buried, and has no function ? Are 
there not multitudes who, although there are a few 
things on which they can bring the power of their 


mind to bear in its higher ranges, are conscious 
that they are carrying the great orb of their 
being in obscuration, veiled and darkling ? 

The power Hungarians had in their own 
country was gone from them when they came 
here, and in some respects they were buried alive 
while they lived. God deliver me from being an 
exile, from being a stranger in a strange land, 
out of reach of my mother tongue. Send me to 
prison ; give me quicker dismission by the halter ; 
let the bullet do its work on me : but, of all that 
could be sent me of misfortune and trouble, the 
worst would be that which should place me among 
strange people, speaking a strange tongue ; to 
walk up and down without position, without a 
function, without a home, without a country, and 
without friends. 

Some men are obliged to stand low, and see 
other men, who are pigmies compared with them, 
going onward and upward. It may be very easy, 
if you are prosperous, to say that such men ought 
to wait; that they ought to clothe themselves 
with patience; that they ought to substitute 


large-mindedness for a narrow complaining dis- 
position ; but did you ever walk where they are 
called to walk ? Would you be willing to change 
places with them, and see how easy their lot is to 
bear ? Nevertheless, your advice is good. I too, 
think men who are thrown into circumstances 
where they are obliged to derive their very life, 
not from outward success, not from attritions and 
collisions with their fellow men, not from the 
remunerations of pride, but from deeper sources — 
from faith and hope, and trust in God, and the 
resplendent horizon of the future life, which shall 
never be marred by circumstances — should have 
royalty of disposition, and wait patiently. But it 
is not easy to give them this advice, nor is it easy 
to blame them if they do not readily take it. 

Where our enforced idleness is of a transient 
nature, we look hopefully forward to being restored 
again to vigor ; but where incapacity becomes our 
daily attendant, our hope dies away. Moreover, 
long-continued sickness ceases to excite sympathy, 
because it has not alarm in it. We sympathize 
with our friends in proportion as we think they 
are in danger. Our sympathy for a man who has 
the toothache is nil. 


Where men have sickness in the form of weari- 
ness, and do not suffer from violent pain ; where 
they are so fragile that they break down under 
almost every stress, and find it impossible to plan, 
or at any rate to achieve, in life ; where they are 
obliged, continually, to ask leave of their brain to 
think, and to ask leave of their feet to walk ; 
where they are prisoners, and every member of 
their body is a jailer, and they feel that this con- 
dition is to continue, not for a week, nor a day, 
nor a month, nor a year, but as long as they live, 
and that their life is to be shortened by it ; where 
they are obliged, with their body of death and all 
its infirmities, to walk in obscurity, and to be for- 
ever pensioners upon the doctor — under such cir- 
cumstances it is not easy for them to patiently 
wait. And yet here is a sphere of waiting — that 
kind of moral waiting in which a man measures 
his condition, and then clothes himself with a 
manly grace which enables him to accept the lot 
to which in the providence of God he is appointed, 
and lift up his head inwardly, if not outwardly. 

Many that we call shiftless are like a bag that 
stands up when it is full, and collapses when it is 




The mind can be fed only by the mind. Money 
cannot buy love, sincere praise, honor, trust, 
sympathy ; and yet without these a man starves 
to death. An animal can live without them, but 
a man, who does not live by bread alone, cannot. 

If one gets riches and keeps them to the very 
end of this life, there still will come the everlasting 
future. There is a life compared with which this 
life is but a fringe or margin ; and woe be to the 
man who has no treasures laid up for that life ! 

It is possible for a man to be refined and good, 
and yet extremely poor, in a rich city ; but it is 
not possible to take cities, nations or tribes, and 


keep them at the bottom in respect to property, 
and yet civilize them, or develop in them any 
eminent degree of culture. 

It would seem as if saving property must inevit- 
ably bring men down to material and physical 
conditions. At first it does draw the individual 
man thitherward ; but its secondary effect 
through society at large is to lift men away from 
the earthly and material life, giving them leisure 
for high culture ; for art and learning ; for all the 
rounds of intellectual life — which could not be the 
case if men were always compelled to spend their 
best strength in serving the body with the means 
of bare existence. A man who is so near to 
nothing that he is obliged every day to think of his 
mouth and his skin, who lives to deal with secular 
things absolutely, has very little surplus strength 
left by which to develop the higher and nobler 
parts of his nature. By wealth accumulated in 
communities there is secured for moral education 
a broader platform. By it is secured leisure, 
with means and instruments by which men are 
taken away from physical conditions and lifted up 
toward the intellectual and spiritual. 


Men must have more than wealth, even for the 
enjoyment of wealth. Indispensable as accumu- 
lated treasures are to the civilization of communi- 
ties, much as wealth empowers the individual, 
and is the golden key that opens many and many 
a door that is shut to poverty, yet even wealth is 
powerless to bless men by the things it can give 
if the possessor has nothing else. We must have 
truth, honor, fidelity, or we will lack those very 
elements which give wealth its chief value. 

Money will do very little good to a man who is 
without character; for when money shall have 
addressed itself to the narrow circle of his passions, 
and fed them, it still has left the whole manhood 
in him unfed and untouched. The hunger of the 
soul goes on. 

If, a man be evil, without repute of social good- 
ness ; if he be hard, miserly, unlovely, selfish, 
inexorable, exacting, and ungenerous, men will 
hedge him up with their dislikes till he is shut out 
of society, and almost void of satisfaction. 


There is nothing to me more piteous than the 
outcry of the soul of a man who, during all his 
earlier years, has accumulated until at last he has 
all that money can give, but who is obliged to 
confess that his riches are not enough, and who, 
in the longing of his inward nature, says, u O 
man, love me ! O man, praise me ! my soul 
hungers and thirsts. I fain would be happy, but 
money cannot make me so. Let me have honor 
and sympathy. What are the ways by which men 
have earned the favor of their fellow-men ? Let 
me earn it." 

Even if one gains wealth it is subject to fluctua- 
tions, particularly in our age of the world, and in 
this land, where no man has any guarantee that 
he will long possess it. My life has not run 
through a very great number of years ; and yet I 
have lived to see two or three generations of rich 
men plowed under. 

It is a terrible thing, after years of luxurious 
living in this world, to be suddenly turned out 
into poverty. And if this is a misfortune, how 
much more is that a misfortune by which a man 


is turned out of this world, and all his wealth 
and prosperity here, and sent a bankrupt into the 
other life ! 

He that is developing his reason, his affections 
and his moral sentiments, according to the laws 
of God, is laying up treasure for heaven; and it 
is by these things that we are to live in heaven. 
But are these the only treasures that are laid up 
in heaven ? I think not. I believe many are 
laying up treasures of faith and of prayer in 
heaven. I believe those ten thousand yearnings, 
aspirations, nameless feelings, which lift us up 
morning or evening above the ordinary routine of 
life, and teach us that we are different from the 
mere animal, are registered in heaven. I believe 
there is a literature of the heart which is undying. 

We are laying up treasures by all the good that 
we do upon others — upon our children and our 
fellow-men who have been objects of our care, 
solicitude, and labors of love. A word of yours, 
fitly spoken, may have saved a soul ; and God will 
forever pay you interest on that capital. Your 
fidelity may have brought scores out of ignorance, 


and you will not fail to reap your reward. Of all 
the treasures that we lay up in heaven, methinks 
none will strike us with more surprise than the 
treasures of consciences purified, hearts lifted up 
and souls redeemed, by our instrumentality. 

I have vindicated the wisdom of commerce and 
of industry. I justify you, mechanic, merchant, 
rover of the sea. If men say you are squandering 
your life because you are laying up earthly 
treasures, I stand between you and your accusers, 
and say it is wise to make money. It is not wise 
to hoard it, but it is wise to lay it up. That man 
who lives in his early years for his middle age is 
a wise man ; and that man who lives in his early 
years and middle age for his whole life is a wise 
man. You have a right to lay up treasures in 
this world ; but oh, what fools they are who know 
enough to do that, and do not know enough to do 
the rest ! It is there that I condemn you, and 
take all excuses from you. 

There are a great many poor men who are very 
rich, and a great many rich men who are very 


You are all workers, or you are vagabonds. 

The less chance a man has for success, the 
more credit is due him if he succeeds. Any man 
can run down hill ; but he that can clamber up to 
the top of a steep precipice where birds can 
scarcely go, and where few men dream of going, 
and cast down opposition, and intrench himself 
there, deserves the highest praise. 

Men talk much about "menial" callings. What 
is a menial calling ? It is a calling that makes a 
man mean. The moment any calling makes a man 
a man, he has dignified it and glorified it. Show 
me the chrysalis first, and what a prejudice I 
have against butterflies ! but show me the 
butterfly first, and after I have seen that, how 
beautiful the skin looks out of which it was 
hatched ! I carry the beauty of the thing itself 
back to that from which it came, and by associa- 
tion dignify it. And I honor a man that has 
built himself up in vocations where no one 
suspected such a thing ; that has dug up treasures 
where none but such an ingenious and industrious 
man could have done it. But oh, by as much as 


you have been wise, sagacious and rich in these 
things, I dishonor you, I deride you, I inveigh 
against you, if you have stopped with them, and 
have no wisdom at all for your manhood — if you 
have everything for your boyhood, your earthhood, 
and nothing for heaven — everything for time, and 
nothing for eternity ! 

Many men are a great deal richer than their 
money makes them. They are rich in bills, in 
silver, in gold, but they are a thousand times 
richer in the currency of their thoughts and feel- 
ings. I know men who are richer in heart and 
soul than you would suspect. There are men 
whom, though men gird them about with preju- 
dices, and batter them with their tongues, God 
sees as seams of gold, of diamonds, of rubies, of 
precious stones, and of whose riches the world has 
no idea. 

There are many men who are a great deal poorer 
than they seem to be. I will not mention their 
names, but I think of men in the city of New York 
of whom I have sometimes said to my chance com- 
panion, as we walked along the streets, u For 


what would you be such a man ? If you had to 
take his nature, would money buy you ? " I have 
seen men such that if the earth were one solid 
mass of gold, and there were another world rigged 
for me to enjoy it in, it would not hire me to be 
like them. They are rich on the outside, rich in 
their clothes, rich in their pockets, rich in all but 
aspiration and spiritual relish and manhood, rich 
in everything but that which is immortal ; and yet 
they are poor, poor, poor ! 




I do not know that there is one thing, outside 
of love to God, that it is more important that 
young men and women should understand than 
that there is a law of equity which runs through 
every department of human life, and that you 
cannot get more than you pay for. 

That which you can grow in a day is lettuce ; 
and how long will it last ? That which it takes a 
hundred years to grow is the oak ; and it lasts 
forever. Time is the best tan-bark in the world. 
It seasons things, and makes them tough as 

How do you talk to your son, who is about to 
start out in life? Do you say to him, "My boy, 
live for what vou can find to-dav 1 ' ? Do you not 


say to him, "My son, foresight is the very life of 
business" ? Do you not point to this or that man 
and say, i i He does not see further than the end of 
his nose" ? Do you not warn him against follow- 
ing the example of men who run upon quick 
adventures and get sudden harvests ? Do you not 
say to him, { i My son, you must lay foundations. 
It is not possible for you in a day to organize a 
great business, and understand affairs in all their 
parts, and have the confidence of men so that you 
can command social and commercial resources. 
Therefore you must not be in a hurry" ? 

Men who have left works that have stamped 
them with a just reputation of possessing genius 
have been, since the world began, the most indus- 
trious, the most multifarious and the most con- 
tinuous workers, no matter where you look for 

Those results in moral conduct, in intellectual 
enterprise and in social elements, which interpose 
the least time and the fewest processes between 
cause and effect, are the most evanescent and the 
poorest. In other words, the things that it takes 


the shortest time to do are apt to have the least 
in them ; whereas, those results which spring 
from complex causes, from long-acting and inter- 
acting influences, and which require a great deal 
of time in their development, are generally the 
most rich and enduring. 

" Patient continuance in well-doing" is the 
very law of success ; and all results that are really 
sudden are to be suspected as transient and 

God has established human life on a law of 
reciprocity. As you cannot buy from a fellow-man 
commodities without a price equivalent to their 
value, so you cannot obtain from nature nor from 
society benefits out of proportion to the price 
which you pay for them. 

Whatever you want in thought you must render 
an equivalent for in industry. Whatever you want 
of praise, of power, of wealth, since it cannot be 
stolen, must be earned by fair equivalents. If any 
man seems to get it without having paid an 


equivalent, the results will show at last that it was 
illusive, and that no man ever did have and keep 
that which was worth having and keeping except 
it had been earned by square equivalents. 

There is an impression that men can take short 
ways to prosperity — that they can safely make 
haste to be rich ; but if men felt universally that 
it was as absurd to take short and dubious ways 
to obtain success and influence in wealth, in 
learning, in art, in literature, as it would be to 
take such ways in husbandry, it would raise the 
tone of morality fifty per cent in a single year. 

It is very important that the impression should 
be produced that there is a moral law in secular 
affairs just as really as there was a moral law on 
Mount Sinai, and that this law asserts itself per- 
petually, unheralded, unsuspected, unproclaimed. 
Although there is no thunder or lightning about 
it, no table of stone on which it is written, and no 
prophet to declare it, after all there is the same 
moral law running through business, social inter- 
course, every department of life, and it is silently 
asserting itself by its rewards and penalties. 


There is an impression that God gives sonie men 
the right to go through without paying toll. No, 
there are no " deadheads " in nature. Nobody rides 
there without paying. There are no men who 
run the gate, under any pretense, in nature. What, 
not men of genius ? No, not men of genius. 
What, not men of rare endowments ? No, not 
men of rare endowments. Great men are great 
workers ; and men who pretend to know without 
working are impostors, I do not care who they 

The great ends which men are seeking are 
wealth, praise, honor and love. Their price is 
high. Gained without paying that price in exer- 
tion which implies time, they are surreptitiously 
gained, and will surely be held briefly. If you 
want to be wise, do not be in a hurry. If you 
want to be true, do not make haste unduly. Take 
time to let that which you want grow. 

Understand that whatever knowledge you have 
you must quarry out. "Work out your own 
salvation " may be applied to intellectual matters 
as well as to matters moral and spiritual. 


If results are to be truly great they must con- 
form to nature, and be seasoned by time. 

A man says to his son who is starting out in 
business, " Do not live for immediate things, but 
learn to live by faith in remote results. Begin by 
preparing to augment your proportions. Earn 
your prosperity by thinking, by proving your 
fidelity, and by showing yourself to be sagacious 
and industrious. Lay down your lines, and then 
work up to them. Thus by and by you will come 
where you will be not only prospered, but sub- 
stantially prospered." Calling his attention to 
one and another, he says "They are mushroom 
men who come up in the night and last but a 

I hear men saying, in respect to purely religious 
or philosophical things, u Oh, these thread-draw- 
ings in philosophy, these imaginary states, may be 
very well ; but we practical men have to attend to 
practical things ! " There is an implication that 
practical things are the substratum on which a 
man must stand before he can begin to take care 
of invisible results, such as report themselves in 


character, power and what not ; but these men, 
while they sa}~ this in respect to religions things, 
are most strenuous advocates of invisible things 
when speaking of their worldly affairs, in which 
they are better educated, and in which they are 
therefore better judges. 

Any man who talks about a royal road to learn- 
ing is an empiric, a charlatan. An}' man who 
says he will teach you French in five lessons is a 
fool, or thinks you are a fool. What estimate 
must that man put upon you who offers to teach 
you to write in three days ? Who does not know 
that all such hot-bed forcing processes of educa- 
tion are fruitless and unsatisfactory ? 

"No man can gain knowledge but by giving an 
equivalent for it.'' You cannot inherit another 
man's experience. You cannot bribe books. Still 
less can you bribe Nature, the unwritten book of 
all knowledge. And if a man will have an educa- 
tion which consists in the training of the faculties, 
and which is the only real education, he must 
render an equivalent for it of thought, of pain, of 
watching, of various and long-continued industry. 


Sudden learning is superficial gilding ; and learn- 
ing that is deep-seated comes with long-breathed, 
long-paced industry. 

What is genius ? You may describe men as 
divided into two classes, one of whom have brains 
and an organization such that they have the 
power of automatic action, and the other of whom 
have the power of being inspired into action. 
That is, some men are organized so low in grade 
that they think or feel that there must be causes, 
social or material, acting on them from without. 
We call them common folks. There are others 
who are organized higher than these. They have 
sensibility of fiber such that their brain, unmoved 
by external reasons, by its own tendency seems to 
develop thought and feeling. Where a man is 
inspired in the direction of music, we call him a 
musical genius. The word genius merely indi- 
cates a more than ordinarily fine organization in 
any single faculty. If this fineness of organi- 
zation extends through the whole brain, then the 
whole brain is brought under the law of genius. 
A man who has genius, simply has a little better 
instrument than one who has not. 




The young man, beginning in life, says to him- 
self : "I am obliged to rise early, and sit up 
late, and labor incessantly ; but I hope for a 
better time." Ah, yes, that better time is the 
fool's paradise of laziness ! 

Activity is as indispensable to health as motion 
to the purity of water, or to the cleansing of the 

The exercise of brain and bone and sinew is 
your blessing. The economy in which you live, 
that obliges you to task these, to make them 
versatile and continuous in their action, to apply 
them everywhere, to hew with them as though 
they were an axe, to pierce with them as though 


they were a spear, to contest with them as 
though they were a sword — this is God's gift to 
you. The man who has to work, and does work, 
is the blessed fellow ; and he that is not obliged 
to work, and does not work, is the accursed 
fellow. Yet men accept this condition of fresh- 
ness, of vigor, of health, of happiness, and of self- 
respect, as if it were a sign and token of bondage 
— a disgraceful harness ! 

Since the days of Benjamin Franklin it has been 
easier for a man to be a compositor than it was 
before ; he left almost a professional element in 
that mechanical business ; and out of type-setting 
have sprung more great public men than from any 
other manual employment. Since the days of 
Roger Sherman it has been easier to be a shoe- 
maker. Shoemakers are almost always meta- 
physicians. It would seem as though it had come 
to be a prescriptive right for them to be thought- 
ful men. There have been sturdy men at the 
anvil, who have made blacksmithing an occupa- 
tion that no man need be ashamed of. It is a 
good thing for a man to have humanity stamped 
on the thing which he is called to do ; and the 
more noble he is, the easier he makes it for every- 


body else in after life to pursue it. It is noble for 
a man to throw the elements of his manhood into 
his business in such a way as to redeem it from 
coarseness and lowness, and exalt it with new 

I assert of every laboring man in this nation, 
not only that he is to be a laborer, but that he 
has the means of securing, and ought to secure, 
such development that there should be refinement 
in his social affections ; and I hope before I die 
to see pass away the thought that there is a pre- 
sumption against a man's being refined because 
he is a laborer. There is nothing in labor incon- 
sistent with refinement, with kindness, with affec- 
tion, with whatever belongs to the domestic 
circle ; and there is no reason why a man that 
lays brick should not be a perfect gentleman. 
There is no reason why a man that hews timber 
should not exercise all those sweet and gentle 
traits which have a dignifying and refining influ- 
ence. Trees which bear blossoms are far more 
beautiful than those which do not. 

It is a fundamental law, pervading the whole 



economy of the race, that man shall be active, 
that he shall work. It is the law of health ; and 
health is the fountain of the lower forms of happi- 
ness. It is the condition, also, to a very large 
extent, of the higher forms of happiness. 

Our happiness is organic, and depends upon 
conditions of activity— -not a mere aimless moving, 
but coherent, organized, intelligent activity — not 
such activity as leads the intolerable fly in the 
days of summer to buzz with amazing appearance 
of doing, and yet doing nothing, nor that kind of 
incessant pottering which springs from no motive 
and accomplishes nothing ; but that activity which 
is an application of lawful means to proper ends. 
Beginning at the lower ranges of happiness, a 
man will be happy in the proportion in which he 
achieves, or hopes to achieve. 

We are creators, within a certain range. In 
one sense we are gods in creation. Although 
we originate nothing, although that by which we 
wx>rk and upon which we work is prepared for us 
by the greater creative force, yet in our lower 
sphere and in our small measure we make our new 


combinations, and create, even as God in the 
greater sphere creates. 

The seeking to accomplish, the compassing of 
the ends sought, and victory at every step — these 
furnish the whole measure of what may be called 
secular happiness. The same is true of the affec- 
tions. It is their activity in accomplishing 
results, guarding them and guiding them, that 
constitutes their happiness. Their motion is 
their rest. 

A right end of life that develops and moderately 
taxes every part of the whole organization, an 
aim which keeps alive and whets and renders 
active every part of the human economy, will 
reap as much of the lower measures of happiness 
as it is possible for a man to attain in this 

Houses that are given over to impure air and 
mould and dust, will fall to pieces faster than 
houses that are used. And so it is with the 
human mind. There is no way in which it can 


be deteriorated faster, or brought into morbid 
conditions sooner, than by indolence. 

One soil, if it be exceedingly sandy, will pro- 
duce but twenty fold. Another soil, of clay, will 
produce fifty fold. * Another soil, of deep vegetable 
loam, will produce a hundred fold. And so men 
are rich, richer, and richest in their endowments, 
and the same amount of exercise will produce 
different degrees of product in different men. 
But, notwithstanding, the universal law of use- 
fulness is that men are to be useful in proportion 
as they are active. 

It is thought that if a man has genius he comes 
to knowledge without study. Many suppose that 
if a man is smart, if he is a man of taste, if he has 
to do with commerce, with politics, with scho- 
lastic pursuits, if he is a public man of any sort, 
he can do things abundantly and easily without 
labor. But the reverse is true. In proportion as 
a man is useful he is constantly industrious. The 
products of a man's mind and of his nature are 
useful according to the ceaselessness of the activ- 
ity that is imparted to the one or to the other. 


There is no man born so great that he can 
afford to be indolent. Every man, though his 
head be as massive as Webster's, needs to study 
and ponder. Even if a man be endowed like 
Michael Angelo, it is needful for him to be, as 
Michael Angelo was, one of the most laborious 
men of his age. Though, like Titian, he has all 
artistic taste, and lives to the age of a hundred 
years, it is not simply his genius but the power 
with which he applies himself, and his continu- 
ous industry, that mark and register his use- 

Every one should make up his mind, in the 
beginning, that whatever faculties God has given 
him, the condition of his holding them is their 
ceaseless activity. 

A man might as well repine because he is not a 
Frenchman or an Italian, and is an Anglo-Saxon, 
as to mourn over his lot in life. 

The necessity of laboring has been your salva- 
tion. It has been that which has made you what 


you have been, an^l what you are still. It has 
been a token of God's mercy to you. And instead 
of bemoaning your condition, thank God for it. 

You have got to be what you are ; as a man has 
been educated, so must he pursue life ; and to 
murmur at his occupation, to look wistfully at 
something else, to spend his time in thinking 
what he would like to do, to cover some other 
pursuit with his imagination, and make fancied 
flowers grow upon it, and see abundant and 
varied fruit hanging from its boughs, while mak- 
ing his own business as barren and hateful as 
possible, and rising in the morning to say, "Must 
I go to work again ? " and going home at night to 
curse the day's work — this is unmanly and mean. 

I love to see some sturdy smith, or laborious 
mason, or delver in the soil, who, although he 
perceives that there are occupations that would 
have given him a larger sphere and more agree- 
able results, yet honors and dignifies his vocation, 
and makes every man that comes after him a 
better man, because he has left with his pursuit a 
name that does it credit. 


Of the thousand million men on the globe, so 
few are able to develop any considerable activity, 
except in the lower part of their being, that it 
seems a hopeless task to elevate them. We 
scarcely can think of the great mass of the earth's 
population as pursuing any such line of duty as 
we prescribe for ourselves ; but in this more 
happy land, where intelligence has developed 
manhood, and where opportunity is greater than 
in any other part of the world, there is no excuse 
for a man's acting from low motives. 

I have often, in going to my little place in the 
country, rode past great tulip trees ; and I have 
noticed that those sturd}^ trees bear just such 
blossoms, and blossoms as full of beauty and 
fragrance, as the tiny tulip plant does. So may 
it be one day with sturdy labor ! May robust 
laborers ere long be covered over on their sides 
and tops, as those great stalwart trees are, with 
blossoms of beauty and refinement ! 



As streams of water turn mill- wheels, night and 
day, themselves slender, yet powerful in their 
accumulation, so trickling heart-streams turn the 
grand wheel of life's purposes. 

We have had in our day a magnificent opportu- 
nity to see what is the grandeur of the feeling of 
patriotism in its primary state. It flamed out in 
our midst so that it was indeed like a pillar of 
fire by night and of cloud by day, that showed the 
people which way to go through the wilderness : 
but it is gone, and neither you nor I can arouse 
it again. 

When, in June, one first strikes a prairie that 
is on fire with flowers, he knows not whether he 
is in the body or out of the body ; the coarsest 


and hardest natures are powerfully impressed by 
the scene, and sensitive natures are almost trans- 
lated ; but the experience is transient. 

At first the feeling of patriotism was like a 
bonfire or beacon light, for giving alarm of 
danger, or for guiding ; but now it is a diffused 
light, spreading itself throughout the hearts of 
millions of men, and manifesting itself in practical 
deeds. It was good at first, but now it is better. 
Then it was intense and concentrated ; now it is 
gentle and diffused. 

I have walked for hours in the red and yellow 
sea of the Louvre, feeling a kind of sacred intoxi- 
cation such as to render me almost unconscious of 
my bodily state; but being too much to last, it 
soon passed away. 

The primary condition of activity is that in 
which a feeling is first developed in the presence 
of a motive or excitement, and exists simply as a 
feeling, answering the call of its proper motive, 
and giving experience of its peculiar kind of 


pleasure or pain. It is this state which exists 
when there passes before the eye some visible 
object of beauty, loveliness, or attractiveness. 
Under such circumstances the soul rises up and 
glows with pleasure and joy, the mind being filled 
with feeling and only feeling. 

The sentiments and emotions are active and 
vivid. They excite the substance of the brain 
and the nervous system, and where they are 
carried to great height they excite the whole 
being, sometimes modifying the organs of the 
body, and almost superseding the entire muscular 
and physical system. 

In its primary form, a feeling, where it is an 
intense, vivid, conscious emotion, subsides quick- 
ly. It is a blaze, not a coal. 

Dana relates of himself that when, after having 
been absent from home about three years, before 
the mast, on a perilous voyage, the vessel was 
nearing his native land, he fed deliciously on 
the prospect of soon seeing those he loved ; but 


that when she came into port, and a boat was 
sent to take him to the shore, he could hardly 
prevail upon himself to go off and meet his 
friends. He had passed the acme of feeling, and 
was under the influence of that reaction, with its 
accompanying numbness, which comes after an 
excess of emotion or excitement. 

The body cannot bear high tension of feeling of 
any kind very long. It uses up the organizing 
matter too fast. 

The mind can be played upon by motives as a 
harp can be played upon by the fingers of the 
harper ; and as in one case the nature of the tone 
produced is according to the nature of the string 
that is touched, so in the other case the nature of 
the experience or feeling produced is according 
to the nature of the faculty that is excited, and 
the degree to which it is excited. 

In some old cathedrals of Europe, where there 
are finely built organs, they are accustomed, at 
twilight, to play out the day by some solemn 


anthems ; and people gather and stand scattered 
through the great dusky structure, and listen. As 
the inspired man touches the instrument and 
swells to the high accord of his theme, all hearts 
are moved. A thousand memories are awakened 
in each breast. The feelings of many are soothed 
and laid to rest. All are filled with emotions of 
joy. At last the theme closes, the music dies out, 
silence reigns, and one by one the people steal 
away. The music is gone, the organ is silent; 
and so is the experience. The church is not more 
empty of sound when the organ stops than are 
their hearts of the feelings which the music in- 
spired. The proud man is proud yet ; the avar- 
icious man is avaricious yet ; the worldly man is 
worldly yet. What has taken place ? They have 
had a repast. They went to the cathedral, and 
the organ played on them as the organist played 
on it. The transient and momentary experience 
came and passed away almost in the same moment. 
Though the feelings were genuine, it is the nature 
of all feelings in their primary state to rise and 
fall, if not in the same moment, yet within the 
space of a few moments. Now, it is evident that 
if these were the only feelings experienced by 
men our life would be flame-jets, which would do 
nothing but puff, and puff themselves out. 


There is a way in which feeling comes down 
from the high state in which it primarily exists 
into a condition where it will not exhaust itself; 
where it will not speedily pass away ; where it 
will do something more than make itself feel good. 

Nothing darts more quickly through a mother's 
heart than the fire of love, when first she sees her 
long absent child, or when she hears sudden out- 
cries of alarm at its danger. 

No paper article, no advance of armies, no 
vote of Congress, no orator's appeal, no preacher's 
fervor, can again cause to burst forth the feeling of 
patriotism with the strength and in the particular 
form by which it was characterized during our 
civil war. But something better has taken place. 
In its stead we have patriotism in its secondary 
state, in which it is diffusing itself, laboring, and 
producing results. 

Let one listen to or read the productions of a 
skillful writer or lecturer like Ruskin, and how 
wonderfully his mind is filled with feeling in its 


primary state ! but when you leave the lecture- 
room, or prairie or picture gallery, having had a 
meal of joy, the feeling will have produced little 
effect upon your daily life. It must now subside, 
and reappear in your dress, in furniture for your 
house, in the embellishments of the yard, in the 
laying out of the garden, in the improvement of 
the public streets and roads, in efforts to beautify 
your surroundings in ten thousand ways that 
indicate a cultivated taste. 

A primary emotion will have an influence on 
the life as long as the exciting cause is present, 
and no longer ; but a feeling in the secondary 
form is diffused through life, and works in it per- 
petually. It is less pleasurable in the secondary 
state than in the primary state, but it is ten 
thousand times more efficacious and useful. The 
law of feeling, then, is that it has two states, in 
the first of which it is a mere feeling, and in the 
second of which it harnesses itself to a practical 
purpose and becomes an efficient laborer in daily 

The law of the faculties runs straight through 



the whole congeries of feelings. Religion comes 
first, as a high, transient feeling, instead of a 
continuous working feeling of a lower grade. 

The good man takes his primary feeling into 
the second form, in which it works in him, day 
by day, till he has organized his life upon it. The 
bad man, after having experienced feelings in 
their primary state, merely feels that he has been 
played upon. When he goes out of the church he 
is like a violin whose bow is hung up. 

I am afraid more than" half of those who think 
themselves to be good go to church because they 
are played upon, first by the organ, then by the 
minister, and both in the same way, one playing 
on them by music, and the other by eloquence or 

Men enjoy the feelings that are aroused in them 
while they are under the influences that produce 


them, but- when they go away from the attrac- 
tions of the church to the greater attractions 
that await them at home, these things are for- 
gotten. With the odors of the dinner go the odors 
of the sanctuary. 




Where a man has before him only the thought 
of becoming worth -more, and then more, how 
poor is his idea of manliness ! How great a 
power he has in his hands that he does not under- 
stand ! What would you think of swine that were 
rooting and grunting with diamonds in their 
noses! Was there ever anything worse thrown 
away than such diamonds ? What do you think 
of men who have power to revolutionize the gen- 
eration in which they live, to underlie society and 
lift it up, to report themselves in every part of 
the globe, and to transmit their influence for 
thousands of years to come, but who have no more 
idea of it than swine have of jewels in their noses ! 

The wealth-developing power of our common 
people surpasses that of any other people on the 
globe. See how already our gigantic billion debt 


is melting down like snow in April ! That which 
other nations honestly thought would crush us has 
scarcely ruffled a feather. 

Wealth may be used for the purpose of breeding 
wealth. Men make money with apparently no 
other idea than that of its accumulation. I can 
understand how a man might have great pleasure 
in campaigning for wealth, in laying out a plan, 
in selecting instruments, in supervising them, and 
in doing it against competition. Enterprise, 
activity, thought, and victory are themselves 
intrinsic pleasures to an active-minded man, and 
are not unworthy of him. But all this is aside 
from that peculiar disposition which we see in 
some men who begin generously and liberally 
with wealth, but who, when they come to a point 
at which it seems to them that they may reach 
vast estates, change from naturally kind-hearted 
men to mere mongers of property, and think 
merely of how to roll over and over the ever- 
accumulating ball. 

Even if you are a Christian, and you have but 
just presented yourself among the brethren to take 


on the vows of Christ's household, and your lips 
are still wet with the sacrificial wine, and the 
bread of faith is still in your mouth, you need not 
be ashamed to say, "I am bound to serve my 
Lord and Master through money." 

The lowest use of wealth is that of the miser, 
who simply hoards it. I do not dissuade you 
from miserism, because men never fall into it 
except by disease. It is monomania. 

Where a man brings from far and near those 
pleasures which report themselves in the senses, 
employing his wealth merely as a means of 
luxury, he makes himself still more an animal 
than nature made him. I need not pause to hold 
up such persons to appropriate condemnation. 

One may really have a conscience toward God 
and man, in the administration of wealth, at the 
same time that there is a superficial vanity which 
goes with it ; and he ought not to be condemned 
as simply vain because there is a streak of vanity 
in his good qualities. 


Some men become rich beyond any personal use 
they can make of their wealth. But I am as rich 
as they are. I have as much as I can use wisely 
and comfortably, and they have no more than 
that. All the surplusage which is in their pos- 
session they are simply agents of. It is to them 
very much what to me is the gold which I own in 
the mountains of California. I own it, but never 
see it nor handle it; and the same is the case 
with them. I do not appropriate my wealth ; 
neither do they theirs. 

I apprehend that when a man is worth a million 
dollars he has a shadowy sense of knowing what 
he is worth ; but, beyond that, figures fade out and 
he simply has a vague sense of being considered 
high up in figures. 

I believe that poverty can be put to good uses, 
and that a man can be true and noble in poverty ; 
but I do not consider that poverty is a condition 
of holiness. I believe the world has got to learn 
how to be holy with wealth and influence and 
power, and that we shall never see the noblest 


specimens of manhood till men are brought up, 
not in weakness and poverty, but in a royalty 
that shall be more than a match for wealth, and 
subdue it to holy uses. One of the first steps 
toward this is to make more of the household, 
which is the fundamental, initial element of civil- 
ization and prosperity. 

I believe in grounds, and in the decoration of 
them. I love to see a man make a paradise 
about his house and fill his trees with singing 
birds. Taste should preside over the home. 

Mark out, if you choose, in the future, a ground 
that at last shall be a picture that you yourself 
have made, not in colors, but in trees and shrubs 
and other adornments that nature shall produce 
under your guiding hand. Plan a mansion with 
all conveniences and beauty and hospitableness. 
Imagine yourself and those about you in this 
temple of loveliness and refinement. And with 
these ideals before you strive after them. I 
would not have you seek wealth clandestinely, 
with a feeling that somehow or other it is wrong. 


It is right to seek it, and it is right to use it. It 
should be used, but it should be used with 
generosity and liberality for the sake of doing 




Oftentimes great and open temptations are the 
most harmless, because they come with banners 
flying and bands playing and all the munitions 
of war in full view, so that we know we are in the 
midst of enemies that mean us damage, and we 
get ready to meet and resist them. Our peculiar 
dangers are those which surprise us and work 
treachery in our fort. 

There are a great many who have not wisely, it 
seems to me, considered what is the duty of a 
Christian in regard to pure conversation. Not a 
few are in the habit of interlarding their conver- 
sation as they never would their lives. I have 
seen persons that I knew to be truly moral, as 
far as their conduct was concerned, who did not 
hesitate to make their mouth a passage for 
indecent stories. 


I have known men that were apparently good 
husbands and parents, from whose lips, if I were 
with them for an hour, was sure to come, like a 
spark from the forge of passion, a story that 
carried in it some hint, some innuendo, and made 
things that we ought to look at with horror 
matters of mirth. 

In respect to a pure thought, a noble idea, the 
memory is often treacherous ; but an impression 
made by obscenity seems to be ineradicable. I 
call you to bear witness to this fact. Are there 
not impressions on your mind that were made by 
bad men in your childhood which you would give 
all the world to have rubbed out ? 

I really think that God meant to teach the 
world the way to purity and nobility through 
woman, in spite of the seeming evidence that I 
have occasionally had to the contrary. I have 
never, for an hour or a moment, ceased to feel 
toward woman, in her ideal character, almost as 
the devotee feels toward the Virgin Mary ; and 
the individual exceptions never take anything 


from the brightness of the divine glory there is in 
the conception of mother, wife, and sister. 

I believe, with old Martin Luther, that the 
noblest thing God ever made on earth is the heart 
of a noble, loving woman. It is this feeling that 
makes it impossible for me to make any exhorta- 
tion to woman, who, whether school-girl, servant, 
or mistress, instead of being taught by us in 
matters of this kind, should be our teacher, and 
cleanse our tongue, purify our imagination, make 
us better, and not teach us how to be beautiful in 

I attribute the social corruption of our times 
largely to the prevalence of secret, or scarcely 
secret, books, novels, so-called reformatory works, 
physiologies of the Devil, written on purpose to 
demoralize the community. All that a prurient 
curiosity wants to know, and that a* manly con- 
science scorns to know, is proffered, in one form 
or another, to the young, and at a trifling expense 
is sent through the mails, with every means and 
appliance of damnation. 



We read that in the olden times the Devil took 
on sometimes the form of a serpent and some- 
times the form of an angel of light. I often think 
that in our day he takes on the form of a book. 

A book is an omnipresent influence that has no 
disposition, and yet has all the power of a dis- 
position. It is one of the most powerful of influ- 
ences for good or for evil. The engine of the 
world is a book. 

What shall I say of art ? If familiarity with 
impure suggestions and ideas in literature is bad, 
how is it when the senses are called, indirectly, 
by every form and line and color of beauty, to 
assist in the contamination ? 

One of the most exquisite works of art, and one 
of the most abominable violations of decency, is 
Powers' Grfeek Slave. There are three classes 
into which pictures of the nude may be divided. 
I do not deny that there is a limited sphere in art 
for nude figures ; but it is extremely limited, and 
they are to be permitted only in the case of those 


masters of art who may be called hardly less than 
prophets, and who can create a nude figure so as 
to have the moral sentiment predominate in the 
impression which it makes upon the mind. Such 
masters are few. Indeed, he may almost be said 
to be a miracle of genius that can do this. I 
may say, in general, I think that in all art repre- 
sentations, where nudity is employed, the moral 
reason for employing it should be so strong as 
quite to overcome a sense of the fact itself— and 
that limitation almost rules it out entirely. 

While, then, I would admit that there is a 
limited sphere in which nudity may be employed 
for high moral purposes, the plea of those who 
stand in the second class, that it is done for the 
sake of art, is one of the most unsound and 
dangerous pleas that can be offered. I cannot 
conceive of any possible reason why a slave should 
be stripped and made to wear a chain in the 
market-place. It is neither true to fact nor to 
nature. On the other hand, take that exquisite 
work of art, Ary Schaffer's Francesca da Rimini, 
in which the artist represents Francesca and her 
lover as hurling through the lurid air of perdition, 
and holding each other with a firm grasp, while 
her face bears the mingled expression of love and 
amazement and grief, and on his is depicted the 


expression of unutterable despair. In the latter 
case the mere accident of partial nudity is quite 
forgotten, or almost unthought of; for the solemn 
lesson that the scene conveys almost precludes 
the possibility of indulgence in improper reflec- 
tions on the part of the beholder. There was a 
reason for nudity in this case ; but in the case of 
the Greek Slave there not only was no reason for 
it, but it was employed against fact as well as 
against decency. 

There are many sorts of nature — beastly nature, 
animal nature, human nature, angelic nature, and 
divine nature ; and the same kind of nature is 
susceptible of being represented in different states 
and conditions ; but it is not necessary that all 
the phases of nature should be exposed under all 
circumstances. There is to be discrimination in 
regard to the aspects of nature which shall be 
made permanent lessons of instruction. It is 
abominable, the way in which decency is violated 
in works of art ! 

In the portfolio of many a Christian household, 
even, the pit of perdition may be found. There 


are books on almost every center-table in which 
are cuts that have the tendency to take the blush 
and bloom off from virginal purity. And ought 
there not, in regard to books of art and portfolios, 
to be an aspersion of sacred cleansing — a sprink- 
ling of the divine spirit of God ? 

If our children were angels we should not need 
to have any concern about them on this score ; 
but they are not. They are passional creatures ; 
the fire of appetite is strong and fierce in them ; 
and because they are impure, it is all the more 
necessary that influences calculated to promote 
purity should be brought to bear upon them. 
There should be no provocation to lust, appetite, 
or anything of the sort placed before them. God's 
angels might walk in the midst of impurity with- 
out hurt, but our children cannot. 

It is not always the bad that go to drinking 
"shades," gambling dens, and other similar places 
of resort with which the city is filled ! Many 
that go there are persons who want to "see 
life." They are the tender, the callow. They 
are }~oung men who are ashamed of seeming 


to be ignorant of vice, and are ambitious of being 
supposed to know a great deal more than any 
decent man ever ought to know. They cannot 
endure tobacco, and yet they smoke for fear they 
shall be thought not to be men. They have no 
natural taste for liquor, but they swig and guzzle 
because they want to be men, and because they 
think that is the way to make men of themselves. 

It is objected that it is not always possible to 
get away from evil. Remember, then, that when 
you do not submit to evil, when you set your 
mind against it, and when you put yourself in an 
attitude to correct it, it will do you no harm, 
though you are in the midst of it. If you refuse the 
laugh, if you decline to indorse the tale, if you 
abstain from joining in the conviviality, if you are 
found faithful though you are among the faithless, 
then, so far from being harmed you will be 
benefited; so far from being brought down by 
evil, you will be lifted out of the sphere of its 
influence. You will be a reformer, under such 
circumstances, and God will take care of you. 




Whether your child shall be an idiot or not is 
a matter of some importance ; but to teach those 
fundamental laws which shall enable the com- 
munity to steer clear of imbecility and brain- 
rottenness is considered scarcely the thing for 
the school or the household, and especially for 
Sunday, for the pulpit, or for a minister. 

As science, developing itself, is the eye of 
God throwing light on the path of man and 
showing us what are his thoughts that have 
slumbered so long ; as the sentences and pictures 
on the pyramids were unread and uninterpreted 
till the torch revealed them ; so God's sentences, 
written in the heaven and on the earth, and un- 
read, science is deciphering. 


A tendency to good or to evil is transmitted, 
and it becomes a fixed quality if it be educated. 
But this note, so far as the human race is con- 
cerned, is almost never sounded ; and it is an 
accident when men heed it. Society is full of 
results that flow from the violation of this great 
natural law. Am I not called to see it every 
day ? Am I not made dumb over the coffin every 
month ? 

Can I, in those cases where ill health has 
wedded ill health, and where in the children 
there is produced a double tendency to ill health 
— can I, when, by reason of low stamina and the 
violation of the great law which governs heredi- 
tary tendencies, I am called to weep with those 
that weep (for love mourns over those that must 
die as well as over those that might have been 
saved) — can I, at such times, say, "The child 
could not but die. You have violated a law of 
nature, and you are suffering the penalty. The 
next child will die, and the next. Death will 
reign in this house " ? 

In cases where there is a lack of brain, and the 


fact is deplored, can I speak of the cause of that 
evil? And yet, here is this law of the trans- 
mission of tendencies which has its application 
all through the animal kingdom, and which 
applies, if possible, with ten thousand times more 
force to the human race than to the lower animal, 
and it is neither taught by priest nor by teacher ; 
nor is it observed by the common people, that 
run headlong by taste, by fancy, by caprice, by 
interest, and by parental interference, to form 
connections on which are to turn not only their 
own happiness but that of their posterity to many 

I stand with awe when I hear it declared that 
God will visit the iniquities of the fathers upon 
the children from generation to generation, and 
that he will send down from generation to gen- 
eration the virtues and obediences of the parents. 
That is the keynote of time : it ought also to be 
the fundamental quality of civilization. 

I believe I could go to the Five Points and 
preach the Gospel with hope and assurance that 
some would be converted ; but if any were con- 


verted, the first sign I should look for would be 
that they would wash and shave. I should 
expect the first thing they would want would 
be another window, that they might get a 
draught of air into their attics. I do not believe 
I should be able to make of them good Christians 
that would not backslide if they continued in 
filth and without air. 

As the world's atmosphere grows purer and 
purer, the radiance of God's heart will more and 
more stream into the hearts of the masses of men. 
Thus, with improved conditions from top to 
bottom, the day is coming when it will not be 
strange to believe that there will be nations, 
millions of men, that will all stand higher and 
better than any single man that has yet lived. 

When the day comes — and it waxes nearer and 
nearer — that men are born into this world with 
auspicious temperaments, with balanced constitu- 
tions, with high social qualities, and with moral 
tendencies which give them power to develop the 
dormant and imbecile forces in themselves, they 


will have taken a start, and will be much further 
along than thej are now. 

Men will never be converted when they are 
at discord with all the physical laws of their 
being. A man here and there, with more than 
average susceptibility, may be raised out of 
degradation where the conditions are unfavorable ; 
but if you are going to raise the mass of men out 
of heathenism, you must do it by securing, at the 
same time that you preach to them the Gospel of 
Christ, their obedience to physical laws. 

Liebig, the great German chemist, says you 
can measure the civilization of nations by the 
relative amount of soap they use. 

I hail the incoming of science. Although for 
the present it has some tendencies toward skep- 
ticism, although it is to a considerable extent in 
the hands of men who are rebounding from 
religion, I have no fear. I believe that, with the 
aid of the revelations of science, we shall come to 


have a deeper and truer faith in religion than we 
have ever had. 

If I had not faith in God and in religion, I 
might be afraid of science, but I believe God and 
religion are true — so true that all the incursions 
of science will finally, when it has run through its 
full circuit, be beneficial. 

De Tocqueville said governments would be as 
rascally as they were allowed to be ; and I believe 
it is as true on this side of the ocean as on the 
other. To say that governments have hindered 
more than they have helped, is not to say the 
whole. One of the burdens of society, one of the 
curses of the human race, has been governments. 
Men dread anarchy, as if that was the worst 
thing ; but that is heaven compared with govern- 
ments such as have generally prevailed. 

There is a time to come when governments will 
spring from the hearts of the people, and will be 
governments for the people. In that day all laws, 
all civil usages, all customs, will respect the in- 


terests of the community, and will not obstruct 
them. When men have perfect liberty, individu- 
ally and collectively; when they are not only 
equal but free, — free in the largest sense of the 
term freedom, — then society itself will become a 
nursing mother. 

We have seen Christian piety manifesting itself 
in single faculties ; we have seen it nourished, as 
it were, under glass and by artificial heat ; we 
have seen it as a grand partialism ; but the day 
is coming when men, through a full knowledge of 
the natural law of transmission, will be brought 
into this world larger-minded, healthier in body, 
better adapted to go up in the scale of being, and 
under such conditions that they will encounter far 
less obstruction, and receive far more of the un- 
conscious help of justice, purity and truth. 

Now our great names are few and far between, 
like angels' visits ; but the day will come when 
they shall be near and numerous ; when no 
man shall say to his brother, "Know ye the 
Lord," because all shall know him; when " holi- 
ness" shall be written on the very bells of the 


horses, and there shall be the tinkling of praise in 
every man's ear ; when the atmosphere itself 
shall inspire holiness ; when all things shall tend 
toward holiness ; when kings shall be nursing 
fathers, and queens shall be nursing mothers ; 
when all people shall be lovers and friends. In 
that day, lifted out of the animal conditions, and 
out of the obstructions of ignorance and wicked- 
ness in which we now dwell, the whole world 
shall send up a final shout, not only of deliver- 
ance, but of consummated manhood. 

It will not take place to-day nor to-morrow, but 
a steady, average development and growth there 
is to be, which will carry up the manhood of this 
world far beyond anything of which we can now 





There are many fruits that never turn sweet 
until the frost has lain upon them ; there are 
many nuts that never fall from the bough of the 
tree of life till the frost has opened and ripened 
them : and there are many elements of life that 
never grow sweet and beautiful till sorrow touches 
them. Then they are like autumnal colors, and 
all men behold and admire them. 

Sorrow should be like loam which, when the 
plow turns it, falls mellow from the share. 
Sorrows that are like clay which, when the plow 
turns it, rolls over in lumps, and is more unman- 
ageable after it is plowed than before, bring poor 
husbandry in the heart. 

Blessed is the man whom no trouble can alto- 
gether destroy ; who, if he finds an enemy in 


one chamber, retreats to another, and bolts and 
bars the doors ; and who, if he is driven out of 
that, finds another resource, and another, and 
rises higher and higher till he reaches the thresh- 
old of his Father's house, where no more sorrow 
nor crying can come forever. 

A woman of great gifts and high culture, at 
about twenty-one years of age, was affianced to a 
man distinguished in literature and science, and 
she looked forward to a life of joy ; but the ocean 
claimed him. The sorrow that fell upon her fell 
like multitudinous frosts in autumnal days ; and 
no green and bright thing was left in all the field 
of her heart. With mighty stragglings through 
weeks and months she sought to stop her sorrow ; 
and finally she turned from it, saying : u I will 
give my whole life hereafter to others, and let my 
own self go." She consecrated herself to the 
work of education. 

A mere wild, ungoverned and ungovernable 
impulse of pain, directed to no good purpose 
whatsoever, submerging the mind and smothering 
the mental powers, is always bad. There may be 


moments when sorrow is uncontrollable, and when 
one is relieved by giving way to it ; there are 
bursts of sorrow which are but the experiences 
of the hour or the da}', and it is better to let them 
spend themselves, and not narrowly mark their 
bounds and passages ; but all sorrow, beyond the 
first relief of agonized feelings, should be held in 

Sorrow is a school in which the schoolmaster is 
very stern, and in which his rules are very strict. 

At no time is a person under such obligations 
and such a duty of self-control as when he is 
under the shadow of trouble. 

There are those who think it is wrong to let 
their sorrows die out. If they find that their 
pain is becoming alleviated, they blow the 
embers again, and rake out the coals from the 
ashes that threaten to hide it. They are almost 
alarmed at themselves when now and then some 
old joy breaks out. They seem to feel that there 
is a sacred duty of sorrow, and that midnight 


ought to be their symbol and signal. They study 
sorrow. They bring back old experiences, and 
tempest their minds as much as they can. So 
they continually wear the badge of sorrow. 

There is a sorrow that sweetens all acerbities, 
that breaks down hard and reluctant natures, and 
that corrects the natural disposition. Many a 
man, who would not yield to his fellow-men, at 
last yields to his own suffering and sorrow and 
is all the better for it. 

It is wise for us to invest our joys in many 
directions, that we may never become bankrupt. 
When men invest their means, they scatter them 
here and there ; so that, if bankruptcy should 
touch one sort of investment, others would be left. 
This is wise in money matters, and it is a great 
deal wiser in morals. When a man has all his 
means of enjoyment in one place, if trouble comes, 
and his only resource is swept away, he is 
bankrupt indeed. 




There is great wealth in time. There are 
honor, pleasure and benefits innumerable in time 
well spent. It is like a soil full of richness, if 
one has the skill and patience to bring forth what 
is in it. It is like a mountain full of precious 
metals, if one has the enterprise to discover them 
and dig them out. It carries the things that men 
need and desire. It is like the great Oriental 
caravans that came across from India to Tadmor 
and Babylon. Upon camels and dromedaries 
were heaped gold and silver, spices, silks, fine 
linens, ivory, gems and jewels, and precious 
perfumes. All things that could be wished, and 
that men coveted and delighted in, were there. 
So all of a man's fortune is laid up for him in time. 

A large part of every man's time must needs be 
consumed, in one sense, for the sake of giving 


potency to the residue. It is remarkable how 
the principle of the use and waste of one thing for 
another pervades creation. One third of our 
time is thrown into the sea of sleep. It dies, that 
the other two thirds may live to be of worth. 
For every two hours living, and full of strength, 
there has been one sacrificial hour that laid itself 
down for them. 

It is very striking to consider how little time 
we have for wise usage. And yet, everything 
that a man hopes for, or expects, or needs, must 
come from the right use of that little. Though 
we are crowded into a corner, eternal things 
depend upon our action during that brief and 
circumscribed space. 

You can conceive how one might, by early 
exposure to infectious diseases, lay the founda- 
tion, in every organ, of weakness and after suffer- 
ing through this whole life ; and yet, no exposure 
of that kind can be compared with such ex- 
posures to vicious and criminal indulgences as 
shall prepare mischief and misery for all one's 


Many employ their time in fostering passions 
and malign desires, which are to turn their life 
into a volcanic region scorched and burned. 

There is to be a use of time which shall secure 
the respect and confidence of all that are good. 
There is to be an honored and honorable old age ; 
and time is well spent which shall procure that. 
There are your own peace of mind and self- 
respect after the battle of life is over ; and that 
time is well spent which secures them. There is 
to be happiness in the world to come ; and time is 
most wisely spent by which it is secured. Time 
is the purchase-money of all things. 

There are men who go from one day into 
another without having anything to bind those 
periods of time together. If you should rub out 
the yesterday of many men, their to-day would 
not feel it ; nor does there seem to be anything in 
their to-day which will make a particular impres- 
sion on their to-morrow. Their days are saunter- 
ing days. They come into them scarcely knowing 
what they shall do with them, and go out of them 
scarcely knowing what they have done with them. 


Nor are their neighbors able to inform them. 
There strikes through their days no far-reaching 
idea. They are not architects who are laying 
line upon line of brick, and course upon course of 
stone, and carrying up from a well-ordered found- 
ation the whole superstructure. 

Blessed are those bankruptcies which, over- 
throwing the fathers, build up the children. 

How many painted men and women there are ! 
How many houses there are in which the boys 
and girls, for aught that they are and do, are of 
no more importance than the portraits which 
hang around the rooms ! In how many house- 
holds will you find shadowy children ! They are 
good enough, and kind enough, but there is noth- 
ing of them. They have no grit, no will, no 
executive power. They are mere pale outline 
portraits of what would have been men if there 
had been anything to make them such. For it 
is not birth, but life, that makes men. It is 
what you give yourself, and not what you have 
from father and mother, that develops manhood 
in vou. In the aimlessness and listlessness of a 


life that is surrounded by such abundance that 
there is no pressure of motive, how many there 
are that merely stand in life without growth or 
fruit ! While they are present they are not felt, 
and when they go they are not missed. 

Of women there are a great many who are 
cultured, fertile of thought, and full of yearning 
aspirations, but who are restrained by the habits 
of society and their social condition. It is sup- 
posed that women must wait until somebody opens 
the door for them, and that then they are per- 
mitted to go out and fulfill the functions of life. 

There are many who diligently occupy them- 
selves without aim. A thousand little doings 
disconnected from each other are no more a wise 
building up of life than the laying of a thousand 
bricks in a thousand different places would be the 
building up of a house. 

Some persons affect to despise newspapers 
because they lie so. They do not lie any more 
than men do. Men are natural born liars. 


Speaking the truth is pre-eminently a heavenly 
grace, and one that is deferred, mostly, till men 
get to heaven ! There is a great deal of lying in 
the newspapers ; but no more, I take it, than in 
any other channel through which an equal amount 
of human life passes. 

There are many whose only thought in reading 
is to enjoy the momentary pleasure of reading ; 
but there are many others whose thought in read- 
ing is to get into the current in which God, the 
race and the nation are traveling. 

An energetic use of the scraps of a man's time 
is often potent enough to make the difference 
between knowledge and ignorance. I see many 
a young man who throws away enough time to 
gain an education in. An open book, full of 
interesting matter, braces the mind and gives it 
tone and intellectual appetite. If in the morning 
a man would read a single paragraph while dress- 
ing or shaving, it would afford him some compen- 
sation for the tedious toilet which he makes. 




The heart has nothing to do with belief in 
astronomy, chemistry, geology, or mineralogy ; 
but where it is a question of right and wrong the 
heart has everything to do with it. You would 
not, in the settlement of a nice question of benevol- 
ence, appeal to an old hunks who never had any 
feeling except that of selfishness in all his life. 

There is a great deal of moral drunkenness pro- 
duced by stimulating preaching which does not 
inspire a man to think anything or do anything, 
but which burns and burns, and makes him 
happier and happier, but not better. A man that 
is happier and not better is worse. 

What is a fiction ? A truth clothed with imagin- 
ary circumstances. 



A man who is courageous is much of the time 
very quiet. Does he feel courage while he is 
walking down the street ? Probably not once a 
week. He is full of it, but it does not mount up 
into any state of feeling. What is it doing ? It 
is bedded in him. It is incorporated in every 
part of his being. The moment the need of it 
comes it is organized and pulsating ; but until 
that time it is diffused throughout the man as a 
latent power which, like powder, only needs to be 
touched, to flame out with tremendous force. 

A man who does not use his conscience often, 
has terrible paroxysms of it ; but a man who 
uses it all the time, never comes into what is 
called a state of conscience. It comes on him as 
dew on flowers, and falls on him gently as rain on 
the ground. He is full of conscience, but it is 
not concentrated at any single point. It is dis- 
tributed through the brain, the nerves, the 
muscles, and the skin. It is in every part of 
him. It pervades his life. It does not, there- 
fore, rise up into a freshet. 

How long do two lovers carry the very ecstacy 


of love ? Well, it may exist, with great economy, 
for a short time, as a mere emotion. And here I 
desire to give some important instruction, in 
which lies the happiness of men and women in 
the marriage relation. If you give yourselves up 
to the influence of the feeling of love merely, you 
will have a real intoxication for a short time, and 
that will be the end of it. You must understand 
that feeling, to last long, must develop itself in 
the line of conduct. While you may not disdain 
the hilarity of disclosive feeling, you must under- 
stand that it cannot be long-lived unless it enters 
into the judgment and fancy, and fills the moral 
being, the whole life, and works for the object 
loved in a thousand ways. Then it is immortal. 
It is the very blood of your life. You cannot 
weed nor rub it out. 

Truths of being, moral truths, truths of love 
and conscience and fidelity and purity, truths of 
art and literature, and above all truths of religion, 
are to be known only through the intellect mag- 
netized by the feelings. 

We know the truth if we have the right feelings 


behind the judgment. This is directly contrary 
to the popular philosophical impression ; for men 
speak of being blinded by their feelings. They are 
blinded by them ; but they are enlightened by 
them, too. 

I affirm in respect to the far larger and trans- 
cendency more important sphere of truths, not 
only that the feelings are not in the way of form- 
ing a right judgment, but that you cannot form 
any valid judgment without them. They are the 
very fountain of truth out of which come true 

We often inveigh against the passions and 
appetites ; but they are God's fundamental forces 
in this world. You might as well take the spring 
out of a watch as to take the appetites out of a 
man. All society would collapse and be worthless 
without them. Regulation, not annihilation, is 
what the passions and appetites want. 

The law of feeling is strictly a law of use. 
Feeling without anything to do, so far from being 


a thing to be sought, is a thing to be avoided. 
It is like more food than the body can digest, or 
more stimulus than the nerves need. It is intoxi- 
cation. It is self-indulgence. 

Fear, existing as a pure feeling, is not only a 
torment, but a poison. There is nothing that 
goads the fiber so. There is nothing that so 
deteriorates physical quality and health itself. 

There is one function of feeling which ought not 
to be forgotten. I mean that of refreshment. It 
has a certain office like that of sleep, which is to 
wipe away, as it were, the effect of work. It 
may be said in some sense to recreate the mind. 
Hence our word recreation. It rests men. Here 
is the foundation of what we call amusements. 

Where feeling exists in an unembodied form it 
tends to flood the mind with a kind of self- 
indulgence or emotive selfishness. Here is the 
key to the mischiefs which come from theatric 
representation and fiction, neither of which is in 
itself sinful, and neither of which needs to be 


injurious, but which are sinful and injurious 
simply because men do not understand the law of 

As spirituous liquors produce their effects by 
causing feeling which has no outlet in thought or 
conduct, so mere moral spirits do the same. 

God has emotion, doubtless ; but all the waves 
of the sea, all the pulsations of the air, all the 
throbs of the sunlight, all the circuits of natural 
law, all the endless processions and bounties of 
the seasons, are but so many veins in wilich the 
love of God is injected and is working itself out. 
All the processes of matter in time are so many 
symbols, signs and expressions of emotions that 
exist, not as emotions, but as forces that are 
producing certain results. And so it ought to be 
in us. A feeling should not exist in us as a 
feeling merely, but should work ; and we should 
give it so much to do that it cannot remain a 
mere feeling. 




jSo men are more to be pitied than they who, 
with their time on their hands, have no employ- 
ment. Their state is one which it is difficult to 
describe. The French call it ennui; and never 
was there a more vexations and intolerable little 
devil than this same ennui ! As soon as a man is 
inactive in body and mind, he begins to have a 
thousand nameless ills and aches, and a thousand 
sleepless nights and tormented days. 

In riding, it is sometimes the case that you go 
just slow enough to carry the dust with you, and 
so move in your own dirt. It is exactly so on the 
great road of life. Men go just fast enough to 
keep their cares and troubles and dust along 
with them ; while, if they would drive a little 
faster, their dust would roll far behind them, and 
they would keep themselves clean. It is good to 


be active enough to leave behind you the tempta 
tions by which you are surrounded. 

Work is said to have been the primal curse in 
consequence of our father Adam's fall. I beg 
your pardon, it was not. Drudgery was ; but 
what is drudgery but slavery ? After the fall of 
man slavery began as a brute punishment ; not 
honest work, in which man was the projector, 
the doer, and the recipient of his own earnings. 

A manual craft that implies no thought or 
ingenuity stands very low. A man who simply 
shovels, exercising neither skill nor intelligence, 
who does mere muscle- work, is at the' bottom of 
the scale. A man that thinks to shovel goes 
higher in proportion to the thought which he adds 
to the physical exertion. The man that hews is 
higher than the man that chops. The man that 
fashions with his chisel is higher than the man 
that hews. Workers differ according to the 
difference in the amount and quality of the mind- 
power which they put into their work. All kinds 
of labor grade themselves along the line of what 

WORK 169 

is called respectability — according as they are 
understood to require a higher or lower develop- 
ment of mind. 

There is no man who cannot bring great- 
mindedness to any calling in which he is em- 
barked. It does not need that a man should be 
born a United States Senator ; for he that is on 
the shoemaker's bench may make himself one of 
the greatest of statesmen. Nor does it need that 
a man should be born a geologist ; for he that 
works in a stone quarry may make himself one of 
the most eminent of philosophers. Where a man 
begins to work is where he begins ; but it does 
not follow that that is where he ends. The point 
of criticism is, that a man should suppose his 
trade to be the measure of what he is to be ; that 
he should look upon himself as shut up in it ; that 
he should admit that he must be no bigger than 
that trade. 

The manhood that God gave you the capacity 
of exercising is the measure of your life ; and 
when you fill the vocation that you are in. and 


have a great deal to spare, you will be called 
to go up higher. If you are engaged in that 
which is drudgery, you will soon grow out of 
it, if you have the spirit of emancipation in 
you. If you are just fit for a drudge, if you 
only have a thought for the present, if you think 
your present attainments are enough, then be 
content and do not grumble ; but if you are fit 
for something more, then make something more 
of yourself and do not grumble. Why do you 
grumble, if you are fit for nothing more ? And 
if you are fit for something more, why do you 
grumble ? A man is fit for something higher 
when he shows himself to be so by doing some- 
thing higher. 


Do not repine and say, "I am not content 
with this ; I am not satisfied with its remuner- 
ations ; I am fit for something better. There is 
a man that was born to wealth, who is no better 
than I am. There is a man who has gone up 
in life, and I have as much right to go up as 
he had." Talking in that way will do no good. 
If you have as much right to go up as that man 
had, why do you not go up ? 

WORK 171 

Many seem to study to render their cup as 
bitter as they know hoAv. Few there are that 
whistle and sing as they work. Most people 
are moody about their labor. They look upon 
it as a task imposed upon them by necessity. 
They would rather do something else. So men 
augment the disagreeable elements of their 

Work is the law of life, of honor, and of 
decency ; and if God has called you to any field 
of labor, work lovingly, rejoicingly, happily, in 
that field, until you have so filled it with your 
swelling sides that that which binds you shall 
give way, as does the outer covering of a grow- 
ing tree. Work is like bark ; and you will drop 
it as fast as you expand. 

There is a mistaken feeling among men gen- 
erally, that the sooner they make their fortune, 
and get away from the necessity of rising early 
and sitting up late, the better. It is a false 
principle that needs to be cleansed out of the 



mind. It ought to be understood that man is 
born to work, that he is to live by work, and 
that he is a man by virtue of work. We ought 
to feel that he is highest in the scale of man- 
hood who knows how most wisely and contin- 
uously to fill up the measure of every hour by 




The whole body is the tongue of a man, and it 
is all the time unconsciously talking of what the 
man is. It is not merely the face that talks : it 
is the whole man. 

Many a man who has a blunt, harsh, per- 
emptory, disagreeable way of meeting people, 
excuses himself by saying, "Oh, it is my way." 
Of course it is his way ; and it is the trip- 
hammer's way, when a child's hand is on the 
anvil, to smash it ! An elephant's way is no 
more agreeable because it is an elephant's. 
Neither is a swine's way, nor a vulture's way, any 
more agreeable because it is his way. It is no 
excuse, when a man carries himself so as to be 
offensive and painful to those around about him, 
for him to say, "It is my way." 



If the father is A and the mother is B, the child 
is not necessarily AB ; and yet parents think it 
must be so. There is a whole generation behind 
father and mother ; and they are nothing, often, 
but a lens that catches the scattered rays of light, 
and brings them to a focus. 

The household is God's harp on earth, and 
each child is one more string to give wondrous 
harmony to that of which father and mother are 
but the monotone or theme. But, alas ! we do not 
know the power of the string, the mode of touch- 
ing it, nor the scale of sweet sounds which it is 
capable of producing. 

It is a fact that a man who has no skin over 
his nerves, has no skin over his nerves, and that 
he suffers ; and you that wear rhinoceros hides 
are not to despise him because he cannot bear as 
much as you can. 

If a man's nerves are like whipcords, what 
contempt he has for a nervous and hysterical 
person ! And yet I take it that persons who are 


hysterical and nervous are so not because they 
like it, but because they cannot help it. 

Many a word drops a seed from us that grows 
up a thorn-bush in the soul on which it falls. 

It is always fair to fight death in every shape, 
and somnolency, its brother, also. 

There is only a slight difference between tick- 
ling and scratching ; but there is a difference. 
You may take a peach and draw the plush across 
the back of a sensitive hand, and the feeling is 
exquisite ; but you may do the same thing with a 
nettle, and the feeling is not so exquisite. There 
are a thousand little provocations, some of which 
are poisonous, and some of which are not. There 
is one way, and only one, of making them bene- 
ficial, if you haye behind them common sense ; and 
that is, to see to it that there goes along with 
them a sincere intent of kindness. 

The root of all wisdom is love. 


Although there is on the froth of what is called 
politeness a great deal that is foolish, yet polite- 
ness, in its true signification, is only another 
name for Christianity socially applied. 

There is provocation in some men's faces. 
There is a challenge in the attitudes of some men. 

In one man it is the reasoning power that is 
strongest. He may be very much exempt from 
the weakness (as he considers it) of affection ; he 
may be very little given to gusty, precipitous 
feelings ; he may not be courageous nor firm ; but 
he is a great reasoner. Another man is not much 
of a reasoner, but he has prodigious perceptive 
power of mind. No fact escapes him, and no fact 
noticed by him is ever forgotten. He remembers 
all that he ever saw or heard. Another man 
possesses neither the one nor the other of these 
gifts, but he has a certain sort of quiet persist- 
ence. Having begun a thing, he is like the 
instrument employed in boring for an artesian 
well, that, driven by steam, goes through dirt and 
clay and rock, forever working, working, work- 
ing, till it taps a stratum of water, and opens an 


ever-flowing fountain. Xo stroke of genius ever 
moves him a quarter of an inch ; but in the end it 
can be seen that he has gained. 

If you look at men you shall find that they are 
accustomed to erect their strong part upon a 
throne of justice, and to employ it as a measure 
by which to judge of other people's excellence, 
and by which to administer praise or blame. 

See how the business man, whose hold, when he 
has once put his hand to a thing, is like an iron 
clamp, and screwed up at that, talks about a 
man that is loose-handed. 

He who is firm can not endure men that are 
always whiffling. Those who are secular and 
accumulative do not like a man that is like an 
empty bag. 

If a man is full of imagination, he says, "I 
like men who are not dull and stupid." That is, 
he likes those who have imagination, like himself. 


Another man likes substantial men who believe 
in realities. He does not like kite-flying men, 
who run after moonbeams, as he calls them. 

The tendency of some men to reflect themselves, 
to a great degree, in the judgments which they 
form of others, is one of the most potent principles 
of life. 

Father and mother are perpetually asking, 
u Where did that trait in this child come from ? " 
If a child has a strong tendency away from 
business, in a family where the parents are both 
practical, they set to work to weed it out. God 
has given them a little poet that is being fledged 
to fly and sing and take the air for its realm ; but 
the father means that he shall be a banker ; and 
father and mother say, l c What is this unprofitable 
tendency in our child?" The mother is firm, the 
father is stubborn as a mule, and they blindly 
use their strongest faculties, or their habits, which 
are like faculties, to oppress and tryannize over 
the child. 

If you employ to instruct your children a slip- 


shod and shiftless girl, who never saw any 
relation of cause and effect except between a 
ribbon and admiration, whose work is overdone 
or not done at all, or, as the familiar expression 
is, all of ivhose fingers are thumbs, how is she 
rebuked by your order, and despised and hunted 
down ! 

The pain inflicted by the tongue is far greater, 
' I think, than the pleasure imparted by it. 

I may mention the unconscious selfishness which 
there is in teasing, in repartee, in sarcasm, in the 
whole brilliant but dangerous realm of what is 
called wit. These things are perfectly allowable 
within certain limitations. Badgering, rocket- 
firing, everything that has the effect of exciting- 
people and waking them up, if it is essentially 
kind, is right and proper. 

He is a benefactor who employs wit and fancy 
so as to keep men alive about him ; but he is a 
wise man who knows how to use these little provo- 
cations so as to produce pleasure and not pain. 


When a man carries himself among men with 
such sensitive pride that all who meet him are 
obliged to say, "Now let me think of every word, 
and watch every thought," they are not on fair 
terms with him. 

It is a great misfortune to have a disposition 
that carries cold and dampness wherever you go. 

Some walk among men like monarchs among 
their subjects, exacting tribute on every side. 
It is sad to have such persons in this world ; it is 
sad to have many people in it that are in it ; it is 
sad to be in it ourselves. We are all mixed up. 
You are walking one way, and I am walking 
another. You do your mischief in one direc- 
tion, and I do mine in another. Who shall cast 
the first stone ? 

The most comprehensive way of producing 
pleasure for men's good to edification, is to have 
your own life surcharged with divine benevolence. 




As flowers blossom, become fragrant, and are 
followed by fruit, not so much by the direct 
exercise of power as by the solicitation of in- 
visible warmth and sweet influences, so there 
shall come a time when that which we now at- 
tempt to compass by coercive laws and penalties 
shall be educed and secured in a higher measure, 
in larger spheres, more thoroughly and better, 
by simple influence. 

A letter is nothing but rags with lampblack 
spread over it, if you resolve it into its original 
elements ; and yet the letter that bursts from the 
soul as an incarnation of its love and burning 
desire, going through the channels of the mail, 
and reaching afar off the soldier boy in his camp, 


is more cheering to him in his sickness, and more 
curative to Him in his wounds, than all the care of 
the nurse, or all the medicine of the physician. 
A mother's word of memory and home thoughts 
almost creates life within the ribs of death. A 
letter is received from home. And what is it ? 
A bit of paper with ink-scrawls. Is that all ? 
Did not the mother say, " This is I ! Go for 
me, and speak my soul to that dear child, which 
I have given to my country and my God " ? 

She did ; and the message went ; and was not 
that her personal influence ? Did she not un- 
clothe the soul that it might touch, as it were 
mechanically, the other soul ? 

A sad nature sheds forth twilight. A merry 
and mirthful nature brings daylight. A sus- 
picious, bitter nature insensibly imparts its chill 
to every generous soul within its reach. A bold 
and frank nature overcomes meanness in men. 
Firmness makes them firm. Fineness makes them 
fine. Taste directs, stimulates and develops 


Nature is God's tongue. He speaks by summer 
and by winter. He can manifest himself by the 
wind, by the storm, by the calm. Whatever is 

7 c 7 i/ 

sublime and potent, whatever is sweet and gentle, 
whatever is fear-inspiring, whatever is soothing, 
whatever is beautiful to the eye or repugnant to 
the taste, God may employ. The heavens above, 
and the procession of the seasons as they month 
by month walk among the stars, are various 
manifestations of God. 

God is perpetually pouring his soul through 
time and space, though but few know it. Not 
one man in a thousand ever understands a great 
nature in his own age. We see this on the 
human plane ; and how much more should we 
expect to see it in the divine sphere ! 

Personal influence as developed in man is in 
its lowest form, on account of the smallness of 
our nature and its undeveloped and unregulated 
condition ; but what an amazing power it must 
have when it is the bein^; of God that exerts it ! 


So small is man that it is not safe to let him burn 
on, and he stops to die that he may live again. 
Every twenty-four hours there are deaths and 
resurrections, as it were, by sleep, resting and 
cleansing the old life, to bring in the new life of 
the next day. Easily exhausted are we, running 
through our periods with much friction and great 
difficulty, so that we must have a night with 
every day for recuperation ; but there is no 
night to Him that never slumbers nor sleeps — the 
Watchman of eternal ages ; he is the same yester- 
day, to-day and forever; and what must be the 
being across whose orb are no lines of latitude or 
longitude, in whose soul are none of those par- 
titions that belong to weakness, to whom dura- 
tion and strength are infinite, who is as young 
now as when ten thousand years ago chaos was 
spread before him, and who myriads of ages to 
come will be without a wrinkle or touch of 
time upon the beauty of his soul ! When 
such a nature, with its infinite resources and 
wondrous power, pours itself abroad, what must 
be its personal influence ! When you, mother, 
can do so much ; when you, lover, can do so much ; 
when the speaker can so influence you by his 
words and his presence ; how much more can He 
do who made the ages of men, and who lent us 


all that we have and call our own, and misses it 
not from his infinite fullness ! What a power 
there is in heaven, what a power there is on the 
earth, and what auspices and auguries there are 
of victory in days to come ! 

The most potent influence that ever can rest 
upon the mind is that of another mind acting upon 
it. This is the highest influence of which we know 
anything at present. There is nothing, for ex- 
ample, that has power on your thought like a 
thinker thinking on you, as it were, or thinking 
to you. Nothing so arouses the affection as a 
great heart near yours. Like a fire, it sends out 
its warmth to all that are near it, whether they 
want it or not. 

Socrates had a certain influence ; he stirred 
Athens as a spoon stirs the contents of a goblet ; 
but Socrates would have lived almost none at all 
if he had not had his subsequent life through the 
Platonic writings. 

When with outstretched arms of love you call 


your child to you, what do you do but ask your 
body, as an instrument, to interpret to the soul, 
in the language of human beings, that which is an 
invisible power in the soul itself ? 





A great many men are so strong in their basilar 
nature as not to answer the great ends of life. They 
are too strong at the bottom and too weak at the 
top to be of much use. Other men are too strong 
at the top and too weak at the bottom, and are 
useless for that reason. While they are strong in 
the moral nature they have no impelling force. 
They have neither courage nor power. Though 
they carry a good head, it is an inefficient head. 

God has given you great forces, not to be held 
for promiscuous, unregulated uses, but to be 
directed in right channels. In the stalls of the 
human soul, in all the lower range of faculties, 
there is not one steed for which there is not 
harness or bridle, and which, being bitted and 
trained, a man cannot ride and drive. 



We are not to attempt to suppress the faculties 
with which God has endowed us. Do you suppose 
that when he created the fabric of your being he 
put into it one thread too many? that he gave 
you one faculty which you do not need ? Think 
you that when he implanted pride in your nature 
he meant it should be rooted out ? You might as 
well take the backbone out of a man as to deprive 
him of this faculty. What is a man without a 
backbone ? And what is a man without this 
central element of self-respect ? 

You must go through the world with just such 
faculties as God has given you. Every man, look- 
ing at himself, should say, "With this hull, with 
these spars, with these sails, with this compass, 
I must make the voyage of life." Are you finely 
built ? Are you an object of beauty ? And do 
you sit like a duck on the water ? Then it will 
be comparatively easy for you to make the 
voyage alone. Or, are you blunt at the bow? 
Are you clumsy ? And is your rigging unwieldy ? 
Then do not cut your bow. You cannot change 
its form. You need not attempt to alter your 
spars and rigging. You must take that bow, 


those spars and that rigging, and make the 
voyage with them as they are. God shoves you 
out and says, " There, go to the other side ; " and 
you must pass through the same storms and the 
same currents that those of better build are 
obliged to pass through. Some are built like noble 
steamers, some like fine sailing vess^s, and some 
like scows ; and each is to cross the ocean with 
what God has given him. Many are lying on the 
beach, whining, a Oh, if I were built so ! " That 
has nothing to do with it. You are built just as 
you are, your form is just what it is, and you can- 
not change it. If a man's power is basilar it is 
worse than useless for him to lament that it is not 
intellectual. We are not to attempt to make our- 
selves over, but we are to take what God has 
given us, and travel homeward with it. 

A hot, irritable nature may not be converted 
into an even and calm one, but a man who has a 
great deal of nerve, who is like a flame of fire, who 
is constitutionally quick and imperious, can teach 
his faculties to work in such a way as to make 
his quickness and imperiousness a benefit, and 
not a curse. 


The liability of men to have moods will never 
change, any more than the liability of the ocean 
to have tides will change. If a man is so made 
that his blood courses in his veins like tides in 
the Bay of Pundy, how can it be otherwise than 
that when the tides go out he shall be on the 

As a crooked piece of timber can be made 
straight, though its nature cannot be changed, so 
a man's faults can be corrected, though his 
natural disposition cannot be rooted out. 

Men may overcome passions and appetites ; but 
not simply by letting the sun shine upon them, 
any more than great swamps can be improved by 
letting the sun shine upon them. 

The engineer, by striking channels through the 
low, level morass, where nothing thrives but 
noisome reptiles and insects, can drain it and 
make it capable of yielding luxuriant growths 
useful to men. And a man may subsoil and drain 




Of all the sad things in this world, I think the 
saddest is the leaf that tells what love meant to 
be, and the turning of the leaf that tells what love 
has been. All blossoms — all ashes ; all smiles 
and gladness — all tears and sadness. Nothing is 
so beautiful as the temple that love builds, and 
nothing is so miserable as the service of that 

There comes a time when the maiden departs 
from her father's house. She is called, she 
answers, she departs. Ah ! how many visions of 
angels have there been ! but they were not God's 
angels. How many have gone out walking on 
flowers a little way, to find that the flowers 
changed to thorns ! How many have gone out 
from their father's house borne on the seraphic 



experience of love, scarcely touching the ground 
for joyfulness, to find little by little that love 
flowed away like a summer's brook, and left in its 
place but the bare channel and the gravel ! How 
many have gone out to build a fiction which 
perished faster than the image fashioned in snow, 
which melts in the handling: ! 

Love is not a possession, but a growth. The 
heart is a lamp with just oil enough to burn for 
an hour, and if there be no oil to put in again 
its light will go out. God's grace is the oil that 
fills the lamp of love. 

A godless woman entering into the marriage 
relation goes as a lamb to the slaughter. Wreaths 
of flowers are about her neck, but the knife is not 
far off! 




Hunger, cold, all the evils of the inclement 
season, are so many lashes that are always driv- 
ing men and saying to them, " Work, or suffer ! " 

The habit of acting from the highest consider- 
ations is that which makes a man noble. The 
recognition of nobility may be conferred upon 
men, but not nobility itself. The king lays a 
sword on a man's shoulder and calls him a knight ; 
but he was a knight before he was knighted, or 
he would not have received the title. It was the 
heroic endurance, the death-defying courage, the 
skill and coolness with which he achieved his 
notable deeds, that made him a knight. He was 
in himself royal and noble, and the king, seeing 
it, said to all men, "I see it," when he laid his 
sword on his shoulder. 



Nobles' sons are oftentimes monkeys, they 
themselves being clods. 

Florence Nightingale, all her life habituated to 
act from divine pity, and never dreaming of 
future honor or fame, discerned what other women 
in England failed to see — a beneficence based on 
self-sacrifice, and practiced in obedience to the 
will of the Master ; and she became famous be- 
cause God gave her the opportunity to do on a 
large scale what she had been doing on a small 
scale all her life. 

There are many children (and men are but 
children overgrown) that work because they are 
praised for working. Their reputation and posi- 
tion in life have been gained ; their standing 
among men is more than equal to that of those 
whose praise they covet ; their industries are 
known ; they are praised ; and praise turns the 
wheel of their will. 


If one does a kind thing, saying to himself, 
This will come back to me," he will get what 


he sows ; but if one does a kind thing from the 
highest feelings of benevolence, there is not one 
of the motives, from the top of the scale clear 
down to the bottom, that will not offer up to him 
in time its appropriate remuneration. 

It makes all the difference in the world 
whether you begin at the bottom and act from 
the lowest motives up, or whether you begin at 
the top and act from the highest motives down. 

There are many who act from insignificant 
and even ignominious motives, and attempt to 
gloss over those motives with the varnish of 
higher ones. 

If a man acts from the lowest motives, he is in 
commerce with the lowest things, and gets what 
they produce. 

That motive which is all the time inspiring you 
to work is the chisel that is cutting out your 
portrait. The higher the motive, the higher 


becomes the sculpturing hand which is fashioning 
your features. If the motive is the highest, the 
lineaments are being painted to represent all the 
beauty of divine nobility. 

That man's discipline in life is void who goes 
on drudging and plodding, and doing things that 
he does not want to do. He is born a clod. 
From dust he came, and to dust he goes back. 

He who knows how to do, daily, deeds that every- 
body does, from the top of his head, is noble ; and 
that which he achieves he achieves easily, be- 
cause he has long been in the practice of acting 
from the highest and noblest considerations. 
Yalor, defiance of death, willingness to be sacri- 
ficed for one's country — these are bred in men ; 
but they were in them before the occasion found 
them, or they would not have been developed -in 





Every machine, although when first invented it 
seems to supersede the laborer, has the effect to 
raise him one step higher. Every time an iron 
muscle is invented, it gives emancipation to a 
human muscle. Whenever you enslave a machine 
that you have a right to hold in bondage, you set 
free ten thousand slaves that you have no right 
to hold in bondage. 

Almost every influence in the world that is 
working now, judging from hundreds of years to 
hundreds of years, is flowing in one direction: 
and that direction is toward the emancipation, 
elevation, education and empowering of the great 
mass of mankind. The tendency of religion is in 

v CD 

this direction. It has worked out one vein, and 
hierarchies have had their day. It is taking on 


more democratic forms, and will take them on 
from this time forth. 

The attempt of Christian nations, at great ex- 
pense and trouble, to civilize poor miserable bar- 
barians, has a tendency to increase in the popular 
estimation the value of men, without regard to 
their accidents of condition or circumstance. 
Man has risen in the market. 

Down to the time of Cowper English literature 
(particularly that part of it which comprises its 
poems) was filled with a supercilious contempt 
for the common people. The peasants, the yeo- 
men, were treated as mats on which fine people 
might rub their feet and clean their shoes, being 
considered as good for nothing in themselves, 
and serviceable only by reason of their relation to 
the upper classes. 

Government is not a thing to be chosen, except 
so far as necessity is itself a choice. Adaptation 
is a kind of generic choice. As ignorance dis- 


appears, monarchies disappear ; and as ignorance 
comes back, monarchies come back. 

The same reason that compels the Crown to 
divide its power with the higher classes will go 
on, steadily compelling these higher classes to 
admit fresh sections into the upper circle. 

In every generation tyranny contracts its sphere; 
and now we see preparations for a higher type of 

The discovery of the use of steam was the poor 
man's benefactor, for it has lifted him ten degrees 
where it has the rich man one. 

Xow^ the poor man has better food than the 
rich man used to have. There is not a truckman 
in New York who does not live better than 
Alexander did. We should think ourselves 
treated worse than the prisoners at Sing-Sing 7 
if we had to live as royalty did three or four 
hundred years ago. 


The spirit of humanity, the appreciation of 
human worth under a rough exterior, and a 
desire for the welfare of every man, sprang 
up within the last hundred years. Literature 
throughout the world has been growing purer, 
and to-day it is at least human, if not spiritual. 

More and more every year pictures are coming 
to be owned by persons of moderate or slender 
means, because they have an appetite for beauty 
and must have beauty to feed it. 

God's hand, like a sign-board, is pointing 
toward the elevation of mankind, and saying, 
"This is the way, walk ye in it." The road is 
very muddy in some spots, and the march will be 
slow, but the progress will be in one way. 
Though it be like the march into summer out of 
winter, or the march of Israel into the promised 
land out of Egypt, self-government will at last be 




Experience teaches us that there is nothing in 
the world so cheap as giving. If a poor man 
comes to my door, and I give him a quarter, and 
send him away, I buy my own peace with that 
quarter. To take my hat and go with him to the 
miserable den where he lives, and explore the 
history of his case, and ascertain what his wants 
are, and institute a systematic remedy for his 
troubles which shall relieve them, not for to-day 
merely but for his whole life — that would be 
benevolence. It is a cheap commutation to give 
him a quarter and turn him off. 

Generosity is the kindness of the lower nature ; 
benevolence is the kindness of the higher nature. 
The one carries with it the sense element ; the 
other carries with it the soul element. Gener- 
osity is the kindness of our bodily life and the 


faculties which are more immediately connected 
with it ; benevolence is the kindness of the soul- 
life and the faculties belonging to it. 

Separated from generosity, benevolence runs 
into mischiefs different from the mischiefs of 
exclusive generosity, but as real. The two things 
ought to be married. It is not good for either to 
be alone. Generosity has its benefits if rightly 
affianced to benevolence, and benevolence has its 
bene (its if rightly affianced to generosity. Bach 
by itself has peculiar evils. Benevolence separ- 
ated from generosity is apt to become cold to 
present suffering, and to come into sympathy 
with abstract principles more than with real 
human life ; and at last it comes to be a spirit of 
inhumanity, inexorable for the general good, but 
indifferent to the particular. 

Generosity is the militia that enlist for three 
months, while benevolence is the regular force 
that enlist for the war. 

This world is to be disenthralled, regenerated ; 


it is to be developed from age to age, and more 
and more ; but its regeneration and development 
can not be accomplished by evanescent spurts of 

Men whose kindness is shallow, men who, every 
hour of the day, do something, though what they 
do is no deeper than their palm or their pocket, 
always have the reputation of being noble natures; 
while other men who give their time, their 
thought, their feeling, their very life, and have 
nothing else to give, are looked upon as, com- 
paratively speaking, uncharitable. 

It takes generosity to begin with, and benevo- 
lence to end with, one leading on to the other, 
and both acting harmoniously. United, they 
keep each other healthy. 

of the UNITED STATES, Showing Nearly One-Half to 
be Writers of Gkaham's Staxdaed Phonography. 

An accurate list of the OFFICIAL Court Reporters of all the States 
having laws for their appointment, was compiled in 1893.. and conclu- 
sively settled the question as to which system is most generally 
used by the expert reporters of this country. In addition to this 
list there are hundreds of expert reporters who write the Graham 
system and do court and general reporting in all the States and Terri- 
tories. A copy of the list will be sent free to any address on application 
to us. 

How is it possible to present more convincing evidence of the great 
superiority of the Graham system, which for thirty-seven years has 
been subjected to the most thorough tests ? 

Total number whose systems are known, 635. 
Totals of each System that has Five Peh Ce>*t. or moke of 635 : 
Graham. . . . 305 [48 per cent, of 635] ^^iMH^BHi^ 
Bexs- Pitman- 77 [12 " " ] ymi 

ATr>-sox 71 [12 " " ] mm 

Isaac Pitman 41 [ 6| " " ] « 

Graham, mixed with other systems, 32. 


From Prof. T. J. Ellinvrood, Official Reporter of Henry TVard 
Beecher's Discourses for 30 Years. 

•• I had frequent opportunities for observing the ease and accuracy 
with which he [Andrew J. Graham] performed feats of reporting that 
were impossible to the ordinary stenographer: and so convinced was 
I of the many advantages afforded by his method that I adopted it; 
and ever since I have felt greatly indebted to him for his numerous 
valuable devices, which have enabled me. as a shorthand writer and 
teacher, to do my wort with far greater facility and satisfaction than 
I could otherwise have done it." 

From the Official Reporters of the Gen'l Conference of the 31. E. 

Cliurch. Omaha. Neb., May IS. 1892 . 

We, the undersigned, members of the Staff of Official Keporters of 
the Quadrennial General Conference of the Methodist Episcopal 
Church, esteem it a great privilege to testify, that, after many years 
of experience in shorthand writing, we find ourselves fully satisfied 
with Graham's Standard Phonography. We have had individual ex- 
perience varying from twelve to thirty-five years in shorthand writ- 
ing. We have had much work to do in ecclesiastical, literary, scien- 
tific, legal, and other forms of reportorial work, and have found, that 
rhe more closely we held to the general principles of Standard Pho- 
nography, the better we succeeded in our work. 

We are agreed that, to the best of our knowledge, no system of short- 
hand equals that of Standard Phonography in its beauty, brevity, or 
conciseness of expression, and general harmony of the principles'pre- 
sented. (Signed) Wm. D. Bridge. Chief of Staff. 

G. G. Baker, Member of Staff. 

D. Lee Auetmak. Member of Staff. 

Joh>- J. Hell, Member of Staff. 


744 Broadway, N. Y. 



* A Book of Prayer (by H.W. Beech er, portrait) cl. $0.75 $0.75 
*Bible Studies (by Henry Ward Beecher), cloth 1.50 1.50 

Brief Longhand .60 .60 

Envelopes — per package - - - - .10 .10 

Alphabet (Phonographic). Lord's Prayer (Keporting Style). 
Glance at Phonography. Christian Names. 

Lessons to an Ex-(Benn)-Pitmanite — cloth - .25 .25 

paper .10 .10 

* Metaphors and Similes — of H. W. Beecher - 1.00 1.(1) 
Note-Books (for Pen or Pencil). 160 pages - .07 .13 
Paper — Triple-Line {red lines), per quire - - .15 .20 

" " per pkg., 5 quires .60 .85 

per ream - - 2.10 3.00 

[To points where the express rate is not over $5 per 100 lbs., 

a ream can be sent cheaper by express than by mail.] 

*Payne's Business Letter Writer - - - .50 .50 

Pencils (Graham's Exporting) — per dozen - .50 .50 

per half-gross - 1.70 1.90 

per gross - 3.4.0 3.80 

Pens (Graham's Phonographic), steel, per gross 1.00 1.00 

" per doz. .10 .12 

Phonographic Numerals - - - - - .15 .15 

Sumner's ' ' Shorthand & Keporting ' ' — part engr'd .10 .10 
Memorial Number (June, '94), containing Por- 
trait, Biographical Sketches andEac-similes 

ofthe Reporting Notes of Prof. A. J. Graham .10 .10 

Vols. I to V — odd numbers only, per number .20 .20 

VI to XXIV— bound, each - - 1.75 1.95 

VI, VII, VIII— in one vol., half leather 3.50 3.75 

IX, X, XI— in one vol., half leather - 3.50 3.75 

XII, XIII, XIV— in one vol., half leather 3.50 3.75 

XV, XVI, XVII— in one vol., half leather 3.50 3.75 

XVIII, XIX, XX— in one vol., half leather 3.50 3.75 

For above five volumes, if ordered at one time 15.00 15.00 

Vol. XXV, 1896. Subscription - - - 1.00 1.00 

The Student's Journal Binder - - .40 .60 
*The Hidden Manna and the White-Stone (by H. 
W. Beecher, with Appendix by Mrs. Beecher; 
and with portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Beecher). 

Embossed paper .20 .20 

* These books do not relate to nor contain shorthand. 

Price-list of A. J. GRAHAM & CO., 744 Broadway, X. Y. 




Andeew J. Geaham, A. M. 

" Mr. Graham is eminently expert in his profession. He has devoted 
his life to the perfection of the art of reporting. By his books, 
lessons, and various efforts, he has done more to perfect Phonography 
than any living reporter." — Rev. Henry Ward Beecher. 

The Little Teacher. — Comprises : 1. The Outline, presenting ail 
the chief elements of Standard Phonography in eight primer-size 
pages : 2. The Little Reading Exercises — furnishing in 16 little 
pages an exercise on each section of the Outline. 3. Miniature 
edition of the Correspondent's List of Word-Signs, Contractions, 
Phrase-Signs, Prefixes, and Affixes of the Corresponding Style. 
4®= The Little Teacher is a useful pocket companion for students 
of the Synopsis or Hand-Book. Price, cloth, 40 cts. ; paper, 25 cts. 

The Synopsis. — New and Revised edition. — Comprises : 1. The Syn- 
opsis (in 29 duodecimo pages) of all the Principles of the Corres- 
ponding Style, unmistakably presented, with numerous engraved 
illustrations. 2. "The Correspondent's List" — 12mo edition — 
comprising an alphabetical list of Corresponding W T ord-Signs, Con- 
tractions, Phrase-Signs, Prefixes, and Affixes. 3. " The Reading 
Exercises" — in which there is an extended illustration and appli- 
cation of each section of the text ; followed by several pages of 
connected reading matter, with an interlined translation. This 
edition is well adapted to the use of either Classes or Private Stu- 
dents. JiST This is a highly useful book for students of the Hand- 
Book, in making frequent reviews of the elements. — Price, 50 cts. 

The Hand-Book. — New and Revised edition. — Presents every prin- 
ciple of every style of the Art in such a Form and Manner, with 
such Fullness of Explanation and Completeness of Illustration, 
and with such other features as to fully adapt the work to the use 
of Schools and to Self -Instruction. 400 duodecimo pages (52 being 
engraved exercises), to which are appended 41 pages of a Brief 
Phonographic Dictionary. Price, bound in muslin, with embossed 
side-title, $2.00 ; post-paid, $2.10. 

"Full, Concise, and Philosophical in its development of the 
theory of writing by sound, Admirable in its arrangement, and Re- 
plete with Improvements and refinements on the Art as previously 
defined, it affords the learner a safe means of obtaining a speed in 
reporting at least one fourth greater than can be acquired by any other 
method." — New York Herald. 

First Reader. — New and Revised Edition : Stereographed in the Cor- 
responding Style ; with interpaged Key ; with Questions ; and with 
Notes. $1.75 ; postpaid, $1.81. 

Second Reader. — New and Revised Edition : Stereographed in the 
Reporting Style, with Key and Notes. To be studied in connection 
with the Reporting-Style chapter of the Hand-Book. $1.75 ; post- 
paid, $1.81. 

Price-List of A. J. GRAHAM & CO., 744 Broadway, N. Y. 

Standard-Phonographic Dictionary.—" The last great crowning 
work of the Standard Series," gives the pronunciation and the 
best outlines (Corresponding, Advanced-Corresponding, and Re- 
porting) of about 60,000 words, and the forms for about 60,000 
phrases. Beyond comparison with any shorthand dictionary or 
vocabulary ever published. Invaluable to writers of either style. 
Cloth, $5 ; full leather, $6 ; genuine morocco, $7 ; Octavo-form 
(from the same plates), with wide margins, cloth, $6 ; leather, $8 ; 
morocco, $9. 

The Reporter's List. — With engraved forms, combining in one list, 
in chart-like form, and in phonographic-alphabetical order, all the 
Word-Signs, Contractions, etc., contained in lists in the Hand-Book, 
and with many thousand other words for comparison, conteast, 
and distinction, with explanations in the corresponding style. 
1,000 engraved pages and 139 pages of common print, consisting 
of Preface, Introduction, Notes, and Index. The Index is arranged in 
the common-alphabetical order, which permits the easy findiDg of 
any word or phrase in the book. A very valuable work. Total 
number of pages, 1,139. Price, cloth, $3.50 ; leather, $4.50 ; mor- 
occo, $5.50. 

Practice-Book Series. — UCS = Unvocalized Corresponding Style. En- 
graved in the Advanced-Corresponding Style, with Key and Ques- 
tions and Notes. Very useful for practice in reading or writing 
without the vowels. Composed of short articles on scientific and 
literary matters. Very interesting and instructive. 12mo, 122 
pages. Cloth. Price, $1.25. 
ICR= Intercolumn Reporting Style. A series of Business Letters en- 
graved in the Reporting Style in one column, and in the adjoining 
column (most convenient for reference), Key, Notes, and Ques- 
tions. Many of these letters were received from phonograph ers, 
having been dictated to them by their employers, and furnish a 
great variety of subjects and styles of composition. This book 
will prove invaluable to the student preparing for office work. 
12mo, 166 pages. Cloth. Price, $1.25. 

Lady of tlie Lake—By Sir Walter Scott. With Frontispiece. Stereo- 
graphed in the Advanced-Corresponding Style, with interpaged 
Key ; and with Notes. Total number of pages, 328. Price, $1.50 ; 
Morocco, $3.00. "A beautiful poem, beautifully engraved in 


The Student's Journal. — A monthly 20-page quarto devoted to 
Standard Phonography, has been published continuously since 1872. 
The Student's Journal is the oldest and best phonographic journal in 
America. Each number has eight pages of lithographed phonography. 
News of importance to phonographers, portraits, biographical sketches, 
and fac-similes of the reporting notes of prominent phonographers, 
are frequently given. Subscription price, $1 per year. For list of 
bound volumes of the Journal, see Price List of Miscellaneous Books 
and Articles. Sample copy, five cents. 


744 Broadway, New York. 

















t,!^.^ Y 0F CONGRESS 

021 066 404 A