Chapter IV: Part 4

"Cicero spoke it as the highest commendation of Cato's character, that he embraced philosophy, not for the sake of _disputing_ like a philosopher, but of _living_ like one. The chief purpose of Christian knowledge is to promote the great end of a Christian life. Every rational woman should, no doubt, be able to give a reason of the hope that is in her; but this knowledge is best acquired, and the duties consequent on it best performed, by reading books of plain piety and practical devotion, and not by entering into the endless feuds, and engaging in the unprofitable contentions of partial controversialists. Nothing is more unamiable than the narrow spirit of party zeal, nor more disgusting than to hear a woman deal out judgments, and denounce vengeance, against any one who happens to differ from her in some opinion, perhaps of no real importance, and which, it is probable, she may be just as wrong in rejecting, as the object of her censure is in embracing. A furious and unmerciful female bigot wanders as far beyond the limits prescribed to her sex, as a Thalestris or a Joan d'Arc. Violent debate has made as few converts as the sword;--and both these instruments are particularly unbecoming when wielded by a female hand.

"But, though no one will be frightened out of their opinions, yet they may be persuaded out of them; they may be touched by the affecting earnestness of serious conversation, and allured by the attractive beauty of a consistently serious life. And while a young woman ought to dread the name of a wrangling polemic, it is her duty to aspire after the honourable character of a sincere Christian. But this dignified character she can by no means deserve, if she is ever afraid to avow her principles, or ashamed to defend them. A profligate, who makes it a point to ridicule everything which comes under the appearance of formal instruction, will be disconcerted at the spirited, yet modest rebuke of a pious young woman: But there is as much efficacy in the manner of reproving profaneness, as in the words. If she corrects it with moroseness, she defeats the effect of her remedy by her unskilful manner of administering it. If, on the other hand, she affects to defend the insulted cause of God in a faint tone of voice, and studied ambiguity of phrase, or with an air of levity, and a certain expression of pleasure in her eyes, which proves she is secretly delighted with what she pretends to censure, she injures religion much more than he did who publicly profaned it; for she plainly indicates, either that she does not believe or respect what she professes. The other attacked it as an open foe; she betrays it as a false friend. No one pays any regard to the opinion of an avowed enemy; but the desertion or treachery of a professed friend is dangerous indeed!"

* * * * *

"A desire after happiness is inseparable from the human mind. It is the natural and healthy craving of our spirit; an appetite which we have neither will nor power to destroy, and for which all mankind are busily employed in making provision. This is as natural, as for birds to fly, or fishes to swim. For this the scholar and the philosopher, who think it consists in knowledge, pore over their books and their apparatus, light the midnight lamp, and keep frequent vigils, when the world around them is asleep. For this the warrior, who thinks that happiness is inseparably united with fame, pursues that bubble through the gory field of conflict, and is as lavish of his life, as if it were not worth a soldier's pay. The worldling, with whom happiness and _wealth_ are kindred terms, worships daily at the shrine of Mammon, and offers earnest prayers for the golden shower. The voluptuary gratifies every craving sense, rejoices in the midnight revel, renders himself vile, and yet tells you he is in the chase of happiness. The ambitious man, conceiving that the great desideratum blossoms on the sceptre, and hangs in rich clusters from the throne, consumes one half of his life, and embitters the other half, in climbing the giddy elevation of royalty. All these, however, have confessed their disappointment; and have retired from the stage exclaiming, in reference to happiness, what Brutus, just before he stabbed himself, did in reference to virtue, 'I have pursued thee everywhere, and found thee nothing but a name.' This, however, is a mistake; for both virtue and happiness are glorious realities, and if they are not found, it is merely because they are not sought from the right sources.

"1. That religion is pleasure, will appear, if you consider what part of our nature it more particularly employs and gratifies.

"It is not the gratification of the _senses_, or of the animal part of our nature, but a provision for _the immaterial and immortal mind_. The mind of man is an image not only of God's spirituality, but of his infinity. It is not like the senses, limited to this or that kind of object; as the sight intermeddles not with that which affects the smell; but with an universal superintendence, it arbitrates upon, and takes them all in. It is, as I may say, an ocean, into which all the little rivulets of sensation, both external and internal, discharge themselves. Now this is that part of man to which the exercises of religion properly belong. The pleasures of the understanding, in the contemplation of truth, have been sometimes so great, so intense, so engrossing of all the powers of the soul, that there has been no room left for any other kind of pleasure. How short of this are the delights of the epicure! How vastly disproportionate are the pleasures of the eating, and of the thinking man! Indeed, says Dr. South, as different as the silence of an Archimides in the study of a problem, and the stillness of a swine at her wash. Nothing is comparable to the pleasures of mind; these are enjoyed by the spirits above, by Jesus Christ, and the great and blessed God.

"Think what objects religion brings before the mind, as the sources of its pleasure: no less than the great God himself, and that both in his nature and in his works. For the eye of religion, like that of the eagle, directs itself chiefly to the sun, to a glory that neither admits of a superior nor an equal. The mind is conversant, in the exercises of piety, with all the most stupendous events that have ever occurred in the history of the universe, or that ever will transpire till the close of time. The creation of the world; its government by a universal Providence; its redemption by the death of Christ; its conversion by the power of the Holy Ghost; the immortality of the soul; the resurrection of the body; the certainty of an eternal existence; the secrets of the unseen state; subjects, all of them of the loftiest and sublimest kind, which have engaged the inquiries of the profoundest intellects, are the matter of contemplation to real piety. What topics are these for our reason, under the guidance of religion, to study: what an ocean to swim in, what a heaven to soar in: what heights to measure, what depths to fathom. Here are subjects, which, from their infinite vastness, must be ever new, and ever-fresh; which can be never laid aside as dry or empty. If novelty is the parent of pleasure, here it may be found; for although the subject itself is the same, some new view of it, some fresh discovery of its wonders, is ever bursting upon the mind of the devout and attentive inquirer after truth.

"How then can religion be otherwise than pleasant, when it is the exercise of the noble faculties of the mind, upon the sublimest topics of mental investigation; the voluntary, excursive, endless pursuits of the human understanding in the region of eternal truth. Never was there a more interesting or important inquiry than that proposed by Pilate to the illustrious Prisoner at his bar; and if the latter thought it not proper to answer it, it was not to show that the question was insignificant, but to condemn the light and flippant manner in which a subject so important was taken up. Religion can answer the question, and with an ecstasy greater than that of the ancient Mathematician, exclaims, 'I have found it: I have found it.' The Bible is not only true, but TRUTH. It contains that which deserves this sublime emphasis. It settles the disputes of ages, and of philosophers, and makes known what is truth, and where it is to be found. It brings us from amongst the quicksands and shelves, and rocks of skepticism, ignorance, and error, and shows us that goodly land, in quest of which myriads of minds have sailed, and multitudes have been wrecked; and religion is setting our foot on this shore, and dwelling in the region of eternal truth.

"2. That a religious life is pleasant, is evident from the nature of religion itself.

"Religion is a principle of _spiritual life_ in the soul. Now all the exercises and acts of vitality are agreeable. To see, to hear, to taste, to walk, are all agreeable, because they are the voluntary energies of inward life. So religion, in all its duties, is the exercise of a living principle in the soul: it is a new spiritual existence. Piety is a spiritual _taste_. Hence it is said, 'If so be ye have _tasted_ that the Lord is gracious.' No matter what the object of a taste is, the exercises of it are always agreeable. The painter goes with delight to his picture; the musician to his instrument; the sculptor to his bust; because they have a _taste_ for these pursuits. The same feeling of delight attends the Christian to the exercises of godliness: and this is his language, 'It is a good thing to give thanks, and to draw near to God. O how I love thy law! it is sweeter to my taste than honey. How amiable are thy tabernacles.' Religion, where it is real, is the natural element of a Christian; and every creature rejoices in its own appropriate sphere. If you consider true piety with disgust, as a hard, unnatural, involuntary thing, you are totally ignorant of its nature, entirely destitute of its influence, and no wonder you cannot attach to it the idea of pleasure: but viewing it as it ought to be viewed, in the light of a new nature, you will perceive that it admits of most exalted delight.

"3. Consider the miseries which it prevents.

"It does not, it is true, prevent sickness, poverty, or misfortune: it does not fence off from the wilderness of this world, a mystic enclosure, within which the ills of life never intrude. No; these things happen to all alike; but how small a portion of human wretchedness flows from these sources, compared with that which arises from the dispositions of the heart. 'The mind is its own place, can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.' Men carry the springs of their happiness or misery in their own bosom. Hence it is said of the wicked, 'that they are like the troubled sea which cannot rest, which is never at peace, but continually casting up mire and dirt.' In contrast with which, it is affirmed that 'the work of righteousness is peace; and that the good man shall be satisfied from himself.' Would you behold the misery entailed by _pride_, look at Haman; by _covetousness_, look at Ahab; by _malice_, look at Cain; by _profaneness_ and _sensuality_, united with the forebodings of a guilty conscience, look at Belshazzar; by _envy_, and a consciousness of being rejected of God, look at Saul; by _revenge_, look at Herodias writhing beneath the accusations of John, and thirsting for his blood; by _apostasy_, look at Judas. Religion would have prevented all this, and it will prevent similar misery in you. Hearken to the confessions of the outcast in the land of his banishment; of the felon in his irons, and in his dungeon; of the prostitute expiring upon her bed of straw; of the malefactor at the gallows--'Wretched creature that I am, abhorred of men, accursed of God! To what have my crimes brought me!' Religion prevents all this: all that wretchedness which is the result of crime, is cut off by the influence of genuine piety. Misery prevented is happiness gained.

"4. Consider the consolations it imparts.

"Our world has been called, in the language of poetry, a vale of tears, and human life a bubble, raised from those tears, and inflated by sighs, which, after floating a little while, decked with a few gaudy colors, is touched by the hand of death, and dissolves. Poverty, disease, misfortune, unkindness, inconstancy, death, all assail the travellers as they journey onward to eternity through this gloomy valley; and what is to comfort them but _religion_?

"The consolations of religion are neither few nor small; they arise in part from those things which we have already mentioned in this chapter; _i.e._ from the exercise of the understanding on the revealed truths of God's word, from the impulses of the spiritual life within us, and from a reflection upon our spiritual privileges; but there are some others, which, though partially implied in these things, deserve a special enumeration and distinct consideration.

"_A good conscience_, which the wise man says is a perpetual feast, sustains a high place amongst the comforts of genuine piety. It is unquestionably true, that a man's happiness is in the keeping of his conscience; all the sources of his felicity are under the command of this faculty. 'A wounded spirit who can bear?' A troubled conscience converts a paradise into a hell, for it is the flame of hell kindled on earth; but a quiet conscience would illuminate the horrors of the deepest dungeon with the beams of heavenly day; the former has often rendered men like tormented fiends amidst an elysium of delights, while the latter has taught the songs of cherubim to martyrs in the prison or the flames.

"In addition to this, religion comforts the mind, with the assurance of an all-wise, all-pervading Providence, so minute in its superintendence and control, that not a sparrow falls to the ground without the knowledge of our heavenly Father: a superintendence which is excluded from no point of space, no moment of time, and overlooks not the meanest creature in existence. Nor is this all; for the Word of God assures the believer that 'all things work together for good to them that love God, who are the called according to his purpose.' Nothing that imagination could conceive, is more truly consolatory than this, to be assured that all things, however painful at the time, not excepting the failure of our favorite schemes, the disappointment of our fondest hopes, the loss of our dearest comforts, shall be overruled by infinite wisdom for the promotion of our ultimate good. This is a spring of comfort whose waters never fail.

"Religion consoles also by making manifest some of the benefits of affliction, even at the time it is endured. It crucifies the world, mortifies sin, quickens prayer, extracts the balmy sweets of the promises, endears the Saviour; and, to crown all, it directs the mind to that glorious state, where the days of our mourning shall be ended: that happy country where God shall wipe every tear from our eyes, and there shall be no more sorrow or crying. Nothing so composes the mind, and helps it to bear the load of trouble which God may lay upon it, as the near prospect of its termination. Religion shows the weather-beaten mariner the haven of eternal repose, where no storms arise, and the sea is ever calm; it exhibits to the weary traveller the city of habitation, within whose walls he will find a pleasant home, rest from his labors, and friends to welcome his arrival; it discloses to the wounded warrior his native country, where the alarms of war, and the dangers of conflict, will be no more encountered, but undisturbed peace forever reign. In that one word, HEAVEN, religion provides a balm for every wound, a cordial for every care.

"Here, then, is the pleasure of that wisdom which is from above; it is not only enjoyed in prosperity but continues to refresh us, and most powerfully to refresh us, in adversity; a remark which will not apply to any other kind of pleasure."[12]

[Footnote 12: Christian Father's Present.]

* * * * *

"In many persons, a seriousness and sense of awe overspread the imagination, whenever the idea of the Supreme Being is presented to their thoughts. This effect, which forms a considerable security against vice, is the consequence not so much of reflection as of habit; which habit being generated by the external expressions of reverence which we use ourselves, or observe in others, may be destroyed by causes opposite to these, and especially by that familiar levity with which some learn to speak of the Deity, of his attributes, providence, revelations or worship.

"God hath been pleased (no matter for what reason, although probably for this,) to forbid the vain mention of his name:--'Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.' Now the mention is _vain_ when it is useless; and it is useless when it is neither likely nor intended to serve any good purpose; as when it flows from the lips idle and unmeaning, or is applied, on occasions inconsistent with any consideration of religion and devotion, to express our anger, our earnestness, our courage, or our mirth; or indeed when it is used at all, except in acts of religion, or in serious and seasonable discourse upon religious subjects.

"The prohibition of the third commandment is recognized by Christ in his sermon upon the mount; which sermon adverts to none but the moral parts of the Jewish law: 'I say unto you, swear not at all: but let your communication be Yea, yea; Nay, nay: for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil.' The Jews probably interpreted the prohibition as restrained to the name JEHOVAH, the name which the Deity had appointed and appropriated to himself; Exod. vi. 3. The words of Christ extend the prohibition beyond the _name_ of God, to everything associated with the idea:--'Swear not, neither by heaven, for it is God's throne; nor by the earth, for it is God's footstool; neither by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the Great King.' Matt. v. 35.

"The offence of profane swearing is aggravated by the consideration, that in _it_ duty and decency are sacrificed to the slenderest of temptations. Suppose the habit, either from affectation, or by negligence and inadvertency, to be already formed, it must always remain within the power of the most ordinary resolution to correct it: and it cannot, one would think, cost a great deal to relinquish the pleasure and honor which it confers. A concern for duty is in fact never strong, when the exertion requisite to vanquish a habit founded in no antecedent propensity is thought too much or too painful.

"A contempt of positive duties, or rather of those duties for which the reason is not so plain as the command, indicates a disposition upon which the authority of revelation has obtained little influence. This remark is applicable to the offence of profane swearing, and describes, perhaps pretty exactly, the general character of those who are most addicted to it.

"Mockery and ridicule, when exercised upon the Scriptures, or even upon the places, persons, and forms set apart for the ministration of religion, fall within the meaning of the law which forbids the profanation of God's name; especially as that law is extended by Christ's interpretation. They are moreover inconsistent with a religious frame of mind: for as no one ever either feels himself disposed to pleasantry, or capable of being diverted with the pleasantry of others, upon matters in which he is deeply interested; so a mind intent upon the acquisition of heaven rejects with indignation every attempt to entertain it with jests, calculated to degrade or deride subjects which it never recollects but with seriousness and anxiety. Nothing but stupidity, or the most frivolous disposition of thought, can make even the inconsiderate forget the supreme importance of everything which relates to the expectation of a future existence. Whilst the infidel mocks at the superstitions of the vulgar, insults over their credulous fears, their childish errors, or fantastic rites, it does not occur to him to observe, that the most preposterous device by which the weakest devotee ever believed he was securing the happiness of a future life, is more rational than unconcern about it. Upon this subject nothing is so absurd as indifference; no folly so contemptible as thoughtlessness and levity.

"The knowledge of what is due to the solemnity of those interests, concerning which Revelation professes to inform and direct us, may teach even those who are least inclined to respect the prejudices of mankind, to observe a decorum in the style and conduct of religious disquisitions, with the neglect of which many adversaries of Christianity are justly chargeable. Serious arguments are fair on all sides. Christianity is but ill defended by refusing audience or toleration to the objections of unbelievers. But whilst we would have freedom of inquiry restrained by no laws but those of decency, we are entitled to demand, on behalf of a religion which holds forth to mankind assurances of immortality, that its credit be assailed by no other weapons than those of sober discussion and legitimate reasoning;--that the truth or falsehood of Christianity be never made a topic of raillery, a theme for the exercise of wit or eloquence, or a subject of contention for literary fame and victory;--that the cause be tried upon its merits;--that all applications to the fancy, passions or prejudices of the reader, all attempts to preoccupy, ensnare, or perplex his judgment, by any art, influence, or impression whatsoever, extrinsic to the proper grounds and evidence upon which his assent ought to proceed, be rejected from a question which involves in its determination the hopes, the virtue, and the repose of millions;--that the controversy be managed on both sides with sincerity; that is, that nothing be produced, in the writings of either, contrary to or beyond the writer's own knowledge and persuasion;--that objections and difficulties be proposed, from no other motive than an honest and serious desire to obtain satisfaction, or to communicate information which may promote the discovery and progress of truth;--that, in conformity with this design, everything be stated with integrity, with method, precision, and simplicity; and above all, that whatever is published in opposition to received and confessedly beneficial persuasions, be set forth under a form which is likely to invite inquiry and to meet examination. If with these moderate and equitable conditions be compared the manner in which hostilities have been waged against the Christian religion, not only the votaries of the prevailing faith, but every man who looks forward with anxiety to the destination of his being, will see much to blame and to complain of. By _one unbeliever_, all the follies which have adhered in a long course of dark and superstitious ages, to the popular creed, are assumed as so many doctrines of Christ and his Apostles, for the purpose of subverting the whole system by the absurdities which it is _thus_ represented to contain. By _another_, the ignorance and vices of the sacerdotal order, their mutual dissensions and persecutions, their usurpations and encroachments upon the intellectual liberty and civil rights of mankind, have been displayed with no small triumph and invective; not so much to guard the Christian laity against a repetition of the same injuries (which is the only proper use to be made of the most flagrant examples of the past,) as to prepare the way for an insinuation, that the religion itself is nothing but a profitable fable, imposed upon the fears and credulity of the multitude, and upheld by the frauds and influence of an interested and crafty priesthood. And yet, how remotely is the character of the clergy connected with the truth of Christianity! What, after all, do the most disgraceful pages of ecclesiastical history prove, but that the passions of our common nature are not altered or excluded by distinctions of name, and that the characters of men are formed much more by the temptations than the duties of their profession? A _third_ finds delight in collecting and repeating accounts of wars and massacres, of tumults and insurrections, excited in almost every age of the Christian era by religious zeal; as though the vices of Christians were parts of Christianity; intolerance and extirpation precepts of the Gospel; or as if its spirit could be judged of from the counsels of princes, the intrigues of statesmen, the pretences of malice and ambition, or the unauthorized cruelty of some gloomy and virulent superstition. By a _fourth_, the succession and variety of popular religions; the vicissitudes with which sects and tenets have flourished and decayed; the zeal with which they were once supported, the negligence with which they are now remembered; the little share which reason and argument appear to have had in framing the creed, or regulating the religious conduct of the multitude; the indifference and submission with which the religion of the state is generally received by the common people; the caprice and vehemence with which it is sometimes opposed; the frenzy with which men have been brought to contend for opinions and ceremonies, of which they knew neither the proof, the meaning, nor the original: lastly, the equal and undoubting confidence with which we hear the doctrines of Christ or of Confucius, the law of Moses or of Mahomet, the Bible, the Koran, or the Shaster, maintained or anathematized, taught or abjured, revered or derided, according as we live on this or on that side of a river; keep within or step over the boundaries of a state; or even in the same country, and by the same people, so often as the event of a battle, or the issue of a negotiation, delivers them to the dominion of a new master;--points, we say, of this sort are exhibited to the public attention, as so many arguments against the _truth_ of the Christian religion;--and with success. For these topics being brought together, and set off with some aggravation of circumstances, and with a vivacity of style and description familiar enough to the writings and conversation of free-thinkers, insensibly lead the imagination into a habit of classing Christianity with the delusions that have taken possession, by turns, of the public belief; and of regarding it as, what the scoffers of our faith represent it to be, _the superstition of the day_. But is this to deal honestly by the subject, or with the world? May not the same things be said, may not the same prejudices be excited by these representations, whether Christianity be true or false, or by whatever proofs its truth be attested? May not truth as well as falsehood be taken upon credit? May not a religion be founded upon evidence accessible and satisfactory to every mind competent to the inquiry, which yet, by the greatest part of its professors, is received upon authority?

"But if the _matter_ of these objections be reprehensible, as calculated to produce an effect upon the reader beyond what their real weight and place in the argument deserve, still more shall we discover of management and disingenuousness in the _form_ under which they are dispersed among the public. Infidelity is served up in every shape that is likely to allure, surprise, or beguile the imagination; in a fable, a tale, a novel, a poem; in interspersed and broken hints, remote and oblique surmises; in books of travels, of philosophy, of natural history; in a word, in any form rather than the right one, that of a professed and regular disquisition. And because the coarse buffoonery and broad laugh of the old and rude adversaries of the Christian faith would offend the taste, perhaps, rather than the virtue, of this cultivated age, a graver irony, a more skilful and delicate banter is substituted in its place. An eloquent historian, beside his more direct, and therefore fairer, attacks upon the credibility of Evangelic story, has contrived to weave into his narration one continued sneer upon the cause of Christianity, and upon the writings and characters of its ancient patrons. The knowledge which this author possesses of the frame and conduct of the human mind must have led him to observe, that such attacks do their execution without inquiry. Who can refute a _sneer_? Who can compute the number, much less, one by one, scrutinize the justice of those disparaging insinuations which crowd the pages of this elaborate history? What reader suspends his curiosity, or calls off his attention from the principal narrative, to examine references, to search into the foundation, or to weigh the reason, propriety, and force of every transient sarcasm and sly allusion, by which the Christian testimony is depreciated and traduced; and by which, nevertheless, he may find his persuasion afterwards unsettled and perplexed?"

"But the enemies of Christianity have pursued her with poisoned arrows. Obscenity itself is made the vehicle of infidelity. The fondness for ridicule is almost universal; and ridicule to many minds is never so irresistible as when seasoned with obscenity, and employed upon religion. But in proportion as these noxious principles take hold of the imagination, they infatuate the judgment; for trains of ludicrous and unchaste associations, adhering to every sentiment and mention of religion, render the mind indisposed to receive either conviction from its evidence, or impressions from its authority. And this effect, being exerted upon the sensitive part of our frame, is altogether independent of argument, proof, or reason; is as formidable to a true religion as to a false one; to a well-grounded faith as to a chimerical mythology, or fabulous tradition. Neither, let it be observed, is the crime or danger less, because impure ideas are exhibited under a veil, in covert and chastised language."

LECTURE VI.

On Marriage.

"Have ye not read that he which made them at the beginning,
made them male and female? And said, For this cause shall a
man leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife;
and they twain shall be one flesh. Wherefore they are no more
twain, but one flesh. What, therefore, God hath joined
together, let not man put asunder."--Matt. xix. 4,5,6.

It is not impossible that some may doubt the propriety of introducing into the pulpit the subject which will claim our attention this evening. Marriage is a topic of so much every-day conversation; it is so often and habitually treated as a light and trivial affair--forming as it does, in every circle of society, a standing matter for jest and laughter, for tattle and gossip--that many are surprised at the idea of treating it in a thoughtful and serious manner. So far from this being an objection, it is an urgent reason for presenting this subject under the sedate influences of this place and occasion. I would bring out the important event of Marriage, from amid the frivolity with which it is usually associated, and present it in its real and true aspect--as a topic demanding the most sober and mature consideration.

Marriage is a divine covenant, instituted by God himself.--"And the Lord God said, It is not good that the man should be alone. I will make him a help-meet for him." From the body of Adam, woman was formed, and given to him as a companion, a wife. "And Adam said, This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh. She shall be called woman, because she was taken out of man. Therefore shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh." The Saviour also, in the language of the text, unqualifiedly sanctions the marriage covenant, and adopts it as one of the sacred institutions of the Christian dispensation.

The marriage relation is vitally connected with the highest interests of human society. It restrains, purifies, elevates mankind. It is the great preserver of morality and religion; and forms one of the most effective of the influences which prevent the world from being deluged with licentiousness, and every loathsome form of evil. All the comforts of domestic life--the sacred and deathless ties of the family circle--the dear delights, the cherished associations, the hallowed memories of the paternal fireside--spring directly from the marriage state. It is this alone that gives us the home of our childhood, the love, the protection, the wise counsel and advice of parents. It is this that affords the sacred retreat in mature days, where, from the strifes, and cares, and bitter disappointments of the business mart, the husband and father can retire, and amid the soothing attentions and the unbought love of wife and children, renew his strength and courage for future struggles. It is this that furnishes the aged patriarch and the venerable matron, with the safe covert, the quiet refuge, the warm, snug corner, where they can pass the winter of life, surrounded by children and children's children, who delight to rise up and do them reverence, and minister to their comforts.

"Domestic happiness! thou only bliss
Of paradise that hath survived the fall!

* * * * * * *

"Thou art the nurse of virtue; in thine arms
She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is,
Heaven-born, and destined to the skies again."

Among all nations, wherever the marriage tie is the most generally formed, and held the most sacred, there woman holds the highest position and obtains her truest estimation--there civilization and refinement--there truth, purity, fidelity, and all the virtues and graces that can adorn and elevate humanity, bloom in vigorous luxuriance. And in the same degree that this sacred relationship is neglected, and its obligations disregarded, in any nation, do we find woman degraded, and ignorance, barbarism, sensuality and vice, in every shape, prevailing and preying on the vitals of society.

In view of these considerations, it assuredly cannot be deemed improper, in addressing the young, to call their especial attention to a subject so interesting as Marriage, and one so vitally connected with all that is valuable and sacred. Indeed any series of discourses designed to counsel them, which should omit this all-important topic, would seem to be deficient in one of the first essentials of salutary admonition.

In presenting this subject to the consideration of the youthful, I would admonish them against thoughtless engagements, and hasty marriages. A heedlessness in these matters, is fraught with dangerous consequences. Matrimony is not to be viewed as a mere joke, or frolic, to be engaged in at any moment, without forethought or preparation. It is the first great step, the most momentous event, in the life of a young couple. Their position, their circumstances, their habits, their manner of occupying time, their prospects, all undergo an almost total change at this important era. It will be to them a source of prosperity, of peace, of the highest enjoyments, or of adversity, misfortune, wrangling, and bitter wretchedness--as they do, or do not, exercise discretion and judgment in forming the connection. No thoughtful young man, no prudent young woman, will enter into an engagement of marriage, much less consummate the act, without viewing it in all its bearings. They will maturely weigh the consequences which follow, and seriously reflect upon the new scenes, duties, responsibilities, and labors, to which it leads.

I know that to many, perhaps most of the young, the whole matter of matrimony is viewed in a light so romantic--its pathway seeming to be so in the midst of rosy clouds, so fanned by ambrosial gales, so intermixed with flowery meads and rural bowers, the songs of birds and murmuring streams--that it is exceedingly difficult for them to follow a train of sober thought on the subject. It is important, however, that they should seek to rise above these deceptive conceptions, and take such a view of this matter, as shall approach the reality, and save them from the disappointment which so often follows this consummation of their fondest dreams.

The selection of a companion for life is a transaction altogether more serious than the young appear generally to view it. They too often forget, that from all the world, they are choosing one to walk with them in closest intimacy, during all their days; and that it depends on the wisdom of their choice, whether the journey of life shall be peaceful and pleasant, or sad and wretched. It has passed into a species of proverb, that the selection of a wife or a husband, is like purchasing a ticket in a lottery--no one knows whether a prize or a blank will be drawn. There is too much truth in this saying, as selections of husbands and wives are often made. When the young are governed in such things, by fancy rather than judgment--when they are carried away captives by some outward, worthless attraction, rather than by solid and useful qualities--their success will, indeed, depend on blind chance. But there is no necessity for so great a hazard. A young man, or a young woman, may positively know beforehand, whether they will draw a prize or a blank. In fact, they may select the _prizes_ without any mistake, and let the _blanks_ go for what they are worth. Let them exercise but an ordinary degree of judgment, sound discrimination and good sense, and there will be no danger of drawing a blank.

When a young man has attained to a suitable age, and is engaged in some honest and useful occupation, whereby he is in possession of means to maintain a family, it then becomes not only a privilege, but a _duty_, to select a wife, to be the sharer of his joys and his sorrows. In making this choice, he should act calmly, deliberately, and thoughtfully. He should bear in mind that he is selecting, not for a day, or a year, but for all life. The object of his affections should be one, who will live pleasantly with him, and make him happy, not for a few months only, but during long years to come, when the romance of marriage shall have been succeeded by the cares and struggles of maturer life. She should be one of whom he can say, in the words of the poet:--

"Oft as clouds my path o'erspread,
Doubtful where my steps should tread,
She, with judgment's steady ray,
Marks and smooths the better way."

There is no greater folly than to select a wife for mere personal beauty alone. Beauty will always have its attractions; and when connected with an amiable disposition and useful qualifications, its influence, cannot be objected to. But when unaccompanied with these characteristics, its power is to be resisted, and the heart steeled against all its fascinations. The young man who permits himself to fall so desperately in love with a lady, on account of mere personal beauty, as to marry her, despite the counsel of his friends, and when he himself sees, or might see, a sad want of other and more valuable qualifications, commits an error, the wretched effects of which will be experienced through life. When this outward beauty loses its charm and passes away, as it will in a brief space of time, what has he left? A cross-grained, ill-natured, fault-finding, petulant, selfish wife, who will prove a "thorn in his side," during all his days, rather than a loving and valuable companion.

Good looks are always attractive. But there is something still more desirable in a wife, viz., a sweet disposition and an even temper, a gentle, affectionate heart, and a well-cultivated and enlightened mind. Let young men, by all means, seek for such qualifications in those whom they would choose for their companions. In these characteristics there is a beauty and loveliness which will not fade away with the consummation of marriage; but they will grow brighter and more attractive from year to year, during all life.

Moreover, I would caution young men against allowing their hearts to be taken captive under circumstances where they are especially exposed to deception. A young woman may exhibit a fine appearance in a ball-room--may be very attractive at a party, and cut a fashionable and dashing figure in the public streets, and still make a poor, good-for-nothing wife. These are the last places in which choice should be made of a companion, to render aid and comfort amid the struggles of life. Whenever your attention is attracted by a young lady, study her in the family circle--learn her domestic qualifications. Is she a respectful, dutiful, loving daughter? Is she a kind and affectionate sister? Does she manifest a noble, generous, friendly spirit? Does she exhibit delicacy, refinement, and purity in her tastes and manners? Is she industrious, economical, and frugal in her habits? Will she be likely to assist you in husbanding your income, and taking care of your earnings? Is she thoroughly versed in all domestic affairs, so that she herself could do all things connected with household matters, should necessity require it? These, I acknowledge, are very ordinary, very homely inquiries; but nevertheless they are of the highest importance. A young man who will marry, without having thoroughly made all such investigations, and becoming satisfied that his intended is not deficient, to any great extent, in these qualifications, is blind to his own highest good, and will in long after-years, amid domestic inquietude, and family troubles, indulge unavailing regrets at his blindness and folly. But whenever a young woman can be found, possessing these invaluable characteristics, I would advise the youth seeking for a companion, to win her for a wife if possible. Although she may be plain in person, and poor in property, yet she will be of more worth than rubies; and all riches cannot be compared with her. She will be a faithful friend and wise counsellor, and will smooth the rugged pathway of life. However the world and its affairs may go without, he who has such a wife, will ever have a home, where neatness and comfort, peace and love, and all that can yield contentment and enjoyment, will smile upon him!

All the care, discrimination, and judgment urged on young men in selecting wives, I would commend to young ladies, in accepting husbands. If to the former, marriage is an important event, fraught with consequences lasting as life, it is peculiarly so to the latter. It surely is no trivial event for a daughter to leave the home of her childhood, the tender care and watchful guardianship of kind parents, the society of affectionate brothers and sisters, to confide herself, with all her interests and her happiness, to another with whom she has hitherto associated only as a friend. Is it not necessary to exercise prudence, forethought, discretion, in taking a step so momentous?

A young woman should not marry because the youthful are expected to enter matrimonial bonds at a certain age, nor merely because they have had an offer of marriage. Such an admonition may seem to be unnecessary; but I think it called for. It is true, beyond question, that young women sometimes receive the addresses, and finally become the wives, of men for whom they have formed no very strong attachment, and, indeed, in whom they see many characteristics and habits, which they cannot approbate. This is done on the principle, that it is the first offer of marriage they have had, and may be the only opportunity of settlement for life that will ever present itself. Not a few parents have urged their daughters to such a course--totally blinded to the evils which often flow from it.

Such a procedure is fraught with danger. It perils the happiness of all coming days. How many have, under such circumstances, left the abode of their childhood, where every comfort surrounded them, to spend a life of wrangling, bitterness, and, sometimes, abject poverty. Better, a thousand times, to remain at home, better live in "single blessedness" all your days, than to become connected with a man whose disposition, habits, or character, you cannot fully approve. Though he may be as rich as Cresus--though he may lead you to a palace for an abode, and deck you with jewels--yet, if you cannot give him your entire approbation, if your heart's fondest affections are not centred upon him, if he is not all you can sanction and love, unite not your destiny with him. The life of a contented, useful "old maid" is infinitely to be preferred to that of a wretched, heart-broken wife. "Those unequal marriages which are sometimes called _excellent matches_, seldom produce much happiness. And where happiness is not, what _is_ all the rest?"

In accepting the addresses of young men, with a view to matrimony, allow me to caution you against being too much influenced by good looks and fascinating manners. It is due to young ladies to say, that they show much more good sense in this respect than the other sex. They do not select their companions so much on the ground of mere personal beauty, without reference to higher and better qualifications, as do young men. Still, a precaution to them on this point will not be wholly useless.

Here is a young man who is gay in his manners, and fashionable in his attire--a dandy of the first water, all buckled and strapped after the latest pattern. His bosom is decked with golden chains, and his fingers with platter rings. His tongue is as prolific of lackadaisical words, as his head is devoid of good sense. He showers the politest attentions in the assembly room, or during the ride, or walk. He is, in fine, the very beau ideal of a "ladies' man!" There is another young man. His manners are respectful, but without courtly polish. His dress is plain and neat, with no display and no gaudy ornaments. He knows nothing of the thousand ways and arts by which the other makes himself so agreeable. He has no "small talk" in his vocabulary, and must utter sound sense, on useful subjects, or remain silent He may appear somewhat awkward in his attentions to ladies, but is, nevertheless, friendly and obliging in his demeanor. In his whole life and character, he is a retiring, but most worthy youth. Are there not some young ladies who would prefer the company of the showy, chattering fop; who would receive his address, yea, accept him as a husband, and reject the diffident, modest youth? Yet the latter would make a kind, affectionate, provident husband; likely to attain to respectability, high-standing, and wealth: while the former would most probably prove a poor, cross-grained broken-stick; ill-natured, and perhaps dissipated; dragging wife and family into the insignificance and poverty to which he speedily would sink! Surely discreet young ladies will think many times, and weigh well the consequences, before making such a choice.

Where the hand of a young woman is sought in marriage, she should look beyond the mere personal accomplishments of dress, manners, and conversational powers of him who would make her his wife. Many an individual who has the appearance and manners of a gentleman, is, in reality, a black-hearted villain--a marriage with, whom would seal their wretchedness for life. In accepting a husband, there are certain requisite which young women should consider as indispensable.

He should have some honest and useful trade, profession, or occupation. A "do-nothing" young man, will assuredly make a "good-for-nothing" husband. No one can justly charge you with sordid motives, for scrutinizing critically his capability to secure to you, and such family as may gather around you, a maintenance that shall insure you against poverty and want.

His habits should be unexceptionable. He should be honest, upright, truthful, industrious, and economical--pure in his conversation and tastes. Not only should he have the ability to obtain a livelihood, but should possess prudence and frugality to lay up and secure the fruits of his industry.

Above all, he should be strictly and rigidly _temperate_. On this point I would speak with emphasis. Most earnestly would I admonish young women never to unite their destiny with, that of a drinking young man. Alas! how many a wife, when too late, has lamented in bitter tears her short-sightedness in this respect. A young man, who, in this age of temperance, has not sufficient self-respect, pride of character, and good sense, to refrain from the intoxicating bowl before marriage, will be very likely to sink into a common drunkard afterwards. This is not always the case; but the exceptions are so rare, that she who ventures the risk, places herself in a condition which hazards her happiness for life. However proper his other habits may be, however amiable and pleasant his disposition, however bright and promising his prospects, however high his position, or respectable his family connections--if he drinks the lethean draught, even but sparingly, he is tampering with a viper, which will almost certainly sting him to death, and poison the joys, and destroy the prosperity of all connected with him.

The world is filled with scenes which attest the need of this admonition. All around we behold the wrecks of families, torn asunder by the intemperance of husbands and fathers, which otherwise might have been united and happy. Wives forsaken broken-hearted, impoverished--children beggared and neglected, growing up in rags and ignorance, to become the victims of sin and shame. All these attest the danger that woman encounters, who links her destiny with a drinking young man. O ye youthful and inexperienced, turn not a cold ear to my exhortation. With all the solemnity the momentous topic inspires, I beseech you, as you value a life of peace and prosperity, never, under any possible consideration, give your hand to a man who presses to his lips the intoxicating cup! Though you may have granted your affections, and plighted your troth, to one who is given, even but slightly, to this practice, if on your earnest expostulation, he will not abandon it, you should, without hesitation, break all connection with him. Every consideration of prudence, self-respect, and safety, urges you to such a step, however painful; and every law, human and divine, will justify you in adopting it.

The suggestions which follow, on the views of Marriage that should be entertained by young men, and "Female qualifications for Marriage," are so appropriate and excellent, that I cannot forbear giving them an insertion in these pages.

"Whatever advice may be given to the contrary by friends or foes, it is my opinion that you ought to keep matrimony steadily in view. For this end, were it for no other, you ought to mingle much in society. Never consider yourself complete without this other half of yourself. It is too much the fashion among young men at the present day to make up their minds to dispense with marriage;--an unnatural, and therefore an unwise plan. Much of our character, and most of our comfort and happiness depend upon it. Many have found this out too late; that is, after age and fixed habits had partly disqualified them for this important duty.

"According to the character of the person you select, in a considerable degree, will be your own. Should a mere face fascinate you to a _doll_, you will not need much mental energy to please her; and the necessity of exertion on this account being small, your own self will sink, or at least not rise, as it otherwise might do.

"But were I personally acquainted with you, and should I perceive an _honorable_ attachment taking possession of your heart, I should regard it as a happy circumstance. Life then has an object. The only thing to be observed is that it be managed with prudence, honor, and good sense.

"The case of John Newton is precisely in point. In very early life this man formed a strong attachment to a lady, under circumstances which did not permit him to make it known which was probably well for both parties. It did not diminish _her_ happiness, so long as she remained in ignorance on the subject; and in scenes of sorrow, suffering, and temptation, the hope of one day obtaining her soothed him, and kept him from performing many dishonorable actions. 'The bare possibility,' he says, 'of seeing her again, was the only obvious means of restraining me from the most horrid designs, against myself and others.'