Chapter VI: Part 6

Not only we, who had the happiness to sit under his ministry, and to enjoy his particular friendship and attention, but the whole town; and, indeed, the public at large have sustained a great loss in his departure. Amiable in his disposition, engaging in his manners, and benevolent in his whole deportment, he conciliated the affections of every class. His talents as a scholar, philosopher, and divine, commanded the respect of the most judicious and learned; while the elegance, perspicuity and delicacy of his style, joined with the undissembled seriousness of his manner, rendered him uniformly acceptable to the devout. In every condition and relation of life, he was exemplary as a Christian; and as a preacher, an air of persuasion invariably accompanied him, which arrested the attention of the most heedless auditors.

——“By him, in strains as sweet
As angels use, the gospel whisper’d peace.
Grave, simple and sincere: in language plain:
And plain in manner. Decent, solemn, chaste
And natural in gesture. Much impress’d
Himself as conscious of his awful charge,
And anxious mainly that the flock he fed
Might feel it too. Affectionate in look,
And tender in address, as well becomes
A messenger of grace to guilty men.”

He was particularly attractive to young people. While he charmed their ear, he convinced their understanding and excited them to the love and practice of virtue.

A striking example of this occurred some years ago, which I will take the liberty to relate. He preached in a neighboring church on these words, “She that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth.”[7] In this discourse he painted those allurements of pleasure which surround the young and gay; more especially of our sex, in the most just and lively colours. He represented, in pathetic, engaging and refined language, the snares to which they are exposed, and the most probable means of escaping them. He exhibited with all their attractions, the native charms of virtue, and portrayed vice in its true deformity. He described in the most animating terms, the respectability, usefulness, and happiness of those who undeviatingly adhere to the path of rectitude and innocence; and with the most energetic and affectionate tenderness, warned the youth to avoid the devious walks of vice and dissipation.

Footnote 7:

1 Timothy, v. 6.

A number of young ladies, who had been his hearers, happening to be together in the evening, united in the wish to express their gratitude to him; but not having a personal acquaintance with him, could devise no better method than writing.

The following anonymous letter was accordingly penned by one of the company, and privately conveyed to the Doctor, at the request of all.

* * * * *

BOSTON.

“REVEREND SIR,

“The well known candour of your disposition, and your apparent zeal for the promotion of religion and virtue, embolden us to flatter ourselves that you will pardon this method of conveying to you our sincere and united thanks for your very seasonable, judicious, and useful discourse, delivered last Sunday morning, at our meeting.

“It is much to be lamented, that the depravity of the age is such, as to render sermons of this nature just and necessary; and it is almost matter of equal regret, that we have so seldom opportunities of being benefitted by them.

“That we oftener hear than receive instruction, is a truth which can neither be denied or evaded; and can only be accounted for, by that passionate fondness for pleasure, which prevails to such a degree of enthusiasm, as to precipitate its votaries into whatever presents itself under this deluding aspect, without considering whether it be durable or fleeting.

“It is certainly a most humiliating reflection, that our sex (which is the female) should ever take more pains to gain the qualifications of agreeable triflers than of rational friends; or be more anxious to become amusing, than useful companions. But sir, does not such conduct in ladies too often receive the most flattering encouragement from the gentlemen? How seldom is intrinsic merit distinguished; and the serious, prudent female preferred even by those who style themselves men of sense and penetration, to the airy, flaunting coquette!

“The constant attention which is paid to those who make the gayest appearance, and the applause which is lavished upon her who has the largest portion of external graces and fashionable embellishments, induce many who entertain the good natured desire of pleasing to bestow more of their time and care on the cultivation of those superficial accomplishments, which they find necessary to render them acceptable to most circles in which they fall, than upon the acquisition of those substantial virtues which they daily see neglected and ridiculed; though at the same time, perhaps they are convinced of the superior satisfaction which the latter would afford.

“But it is needless for one sex to criminate the other. We allow, that, generally speaking, they are equally to blame. In this instance, however, as the male assume the prerogative of superior judgment and intellectual abilities, they ought to prove the justice of their claim by setting nobler examples, and by endeavoring to reform whatever tends to vitiate the taste and corrupt the morals of society.

“Yet, after all, the evil cannot be effectually remedied, but by the concurrent exertions of both; and we are humbly of opinion, that if this reformation were more frequently inculcated from the pulpit, in the delicate, engaging and pious manner of the discourse which now excites our gratitude to you, and our resolutions to conduct accordingly, it would be efficacious in bringing about so desirable an event.

“We entreat your pardon, Reverend Sir, for the freedom, prolixity, and errors of this epistle.

“Though personally unknown to you, we doubt not you will readily grant it, when we assure you, that we are actuated by a sincere regard to the interests of religion and morality, and by a grateful sense of your exertions in the glorious cause.

“The united sentiments of a number of young ladies, who heard and admired your sermon, last Sunday morning, are expressed above.

Rev. JOHN CLARKE.”

It is much to be regretted that Doctor Clarke did not publish more of his literary labours.

The universal approbation bestowed upon those, which he suffered to see the light, is an unequivocal evidence of his merit, as an author. His “Letters to a Student in the University of Cambridge,” are written in a most pleasing style, and contain instruction and advice of which no person in pursuit of a public education ought to be ignorant. His “Answer to the question, Why are you a Christian?” which has already had three editions in Boston, and three in England, is one of the best compendiums of the external and internal evidences of our holy religion, extant. It is plain and intelligible to the lowest capacity and may enable every one, without much study, to give a reason for the hope that is in him.

From these specimens we may form an opinion of what the world has lost by his early exit.

I shall make no other apology for the length of this letter, than the interest which I feel in the subject; and this, I am persuaded, you will deem sufficient.

My affectionate regards wait on your mamma and sister, while I subscribe myself yours most sincerely,

JULIA GREENFIELD.

_To Miss_ CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

BEVERLY.

DEAR CLEORA,

The shortness of time is a very common subject of complaint; but I think the misuse of it, a much more just one. Its value is certainly underrated by those who indulge themselves in morning sloth.

Sweet, indeed, is the breath of morn; and after the body has been refreshed by the restoring power of sleep, it is peculiarly prepared to procure and participate the pleasures of the mind. The jarring passions are then composed, and the calm operations of reason succeed of course; while

“———————————Gentle gales,
Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense
Native perfumes, and whisper when they stole
These balmy spoils.”

The morning is undoubtedly a season, of all others, most favorable to useful exertions. Those, therefore, who lose three or four hours of it, in slumbering inaction, make a voluntary sacrifice of the best part of their existence. I rose to-day, not with the sun, but with the dawn; and after taking a few turns in the garden, retired to the summer-house. This you know is a favorite hour with me.

“To me be nature’s volume broad display’d;
And to peruse its all-instructing page,
Or, haply catching inspiration thence,
Some easy passage raptur’d to translate,
My sole delight; as thro’ the falling glooms,
Pensive I stray, or with the rising dawn
On fancy’s eagle wing excursive soar.”

Having a memorandum book and pencil in my pocket, I descend from the lofty heights to which the immortal bard, my beloved Thompson, had insensibly raised my imagination, to the humble strains of simple rhyme, in order to communicate my sensations to you. These I enclose, without attempting to tell you, either in prose or verse, how affectionately I am yours.

MATILDA FIELDING.

* * * * *

The morning dawns, the russet grey
Slowly avoids the opening day:
Receding from the gazing eye,
The misty shades of twilight fly.
The ruddy streaks of light appear,
To guide our western hemisphere;
While tuneful choirs responsive join
To praise the gracious Pow’r Divine,
Whose mighty hand with sov’reign sway,
Restores, alternate, night and day.

Hail, opening morn! thy sober rays
Demand the contemplative gaze:
Unnumber’d beauties please the sight,
And give the mental eye delight.

O dawn! thy sombre shades I love!
With thee in solitude I’ll rove:
While health expansive gives the mind
To taste thy pleasures unconfin’d.

Here free from fashion’s artful forms,
Benevolence the bosom warms:
Persuasive virtue charms the soul,
And reason’s laws alone control.

Let others, lost in sloth forego
The joys thy early hours bestow:
Thy zephyrs far more sweets dispense,
Than Somnus yield to drowsy sense!

Mild as the beams of radiance shine,
May piety my powers refine:
Pure as the mimic pearls, that spread
Their liquid beauties o’er the mead:
And like yon rising orb of day,
May wisdom guide my dubious way.

_To Miss_ MATILDA FIELDING.

HARMONY-GROVE.

DEAR MATILDA,

I was last week at Boston; and having occasion for a new hat, stepped into a milliner’s shop to inquire the mode. The milliner replied that it was not yet in her power to answer my question. “The spring ships,” said she, “are later than common; but their arrival is hourly expected, when we shall be furnished with memorandum books which will ascertain and determine the fashion for the season.” What she meant by memorandum books, I could not conceive. I had always supposed them blanks, designed for noting whatever occurred without inconvenience. Unwilling, however, to be thought a simple country girl, totally unacquainted with the world, I sought no explanation from her; but repaired to a particular friend for instruction; from whom I learned that the chief value of these same memorandum books consists in their containing imported cuts of ladies’ headdresses, hats and other habiliments, which are always sure to be admired and imitated, as the perfection of taste and propriety.

This discovery mortified me exceedingly. It justified, beyond any thing which I had ever suspected to exist as a fact, what I once heard a European assert, “that Americans had neither character nor opinion of their own.”

With due deference to those better judges, who despise the simplicity of our ancestors, and labor to introduce the corrupt manners and customs of the old world into our country, I cannot but think it extremely ridiculous for an independent nation, which discards all foreign influence, glories in its freedom, and boasts of its genius and taste, servilely to ape exotic fashions, even in articles of dress and fanciful ornaments.

Have not the daughters of Columbia sufficient powers of invention to decorate themselves? Must we depend upon the winds and waves for the form, as well as the materials of our garb? Why may we not follow our own inclination; and not be deemed finical or prudish in our appearance, merely because our habit is not exactly correspondent with the pretty pictures in the memorandum books, last imported.

It is sincerely to be regretted that this subject is viewed in so important a light. It occupies too much of the time, and engrosses too much of the conversation of our sex. For one, I have serious thoughts of declaring independence.

ANNA WILLIAMS.

_To Miss_ CAROLINE LITTLETON.

(_On the Death of her Mother._)

HARMONY-GROVE.

MY DEAR CAROLINE,

To tell you that I am sorry for your loss, or that I sympathize in your affliction, would be but the language you daily hear; and often perhaps, from the unfeeling and indifferent. But you will do me the justice to believe, that I take a particular interest in your concerns, and really share your grief. A holy Providence has wounded you by a stroke, which is extremely painful and severe. Your best friend is shrouded in the grave. In the maternal breast our fondest affections, and most unsuspecting confidence have hitherto concentrated; and who can provide you with an equivalent substitute? To the Almighty Father and Friend of creation, it becomes you to repair for comfort and support.

The dying advice and counsel of your dear mamma, which you inform me, were pathetic, instructive and consolatory, will be a guide to your feet. Often realize the solemn scene, and remember, that, “though dead, she yet speaketh.”

You have great cause of thankfulness, that she was spared to direct you so far through the intricate and dangerous path of youth; to complete your education; to teach you, by her example, how to acquit yourself with usefulness and honor; and above all, to furnish you with that important knowledge, to which every thing else should be made subservient—how to die.

An era of your life has now commenced, which is no less important than affecting. That assisting hand which formerly led you is now cold and lifeless! Those lips, from which you have been accustomed to receive information and advice, are sealed in perpetual silence! And that heart, which always glowed with the warmest solicitude for your happiness has ceased to palpitate.

You must now think and act for yourself. As the eldest daughter, you will be placed at the head of your father’s family. You must, therefore, adopt a plan of conduct, conducive to its harmony, regularity and interest.

Filial duty to your surviving parent, more tenderly inculcated by your participation of his heavy bereavement, will lead you to consult his inclination, and sedulously contribute all in your power to lighten the burden of domestic arrangements devolved upon him. While he laments the death of a prudent, affectionate, and beloved wife, give him reason to rejoice that he is blessed with a daughter, capable of soothing the pains, alleviating the cares, and heightening the enjoyments of his life.

Your brothers and sisters will look up to you as the guide of their tender years. While their weeping eyes and pathetic accents are directed towards you, let kindness, discretion, and patience, characterize your deportment, and engage their confidence and love.

Having mentioned your duty to others, I cannot dismiss the subject without dropping a few hints for your direction, in regard to your personal behaviour.

A very important charge is committed to you, as well in the duties which you owe to yourself, as in the superintendence of your father’s family.

The sovereign disposer of all things has, at an early age, made you, in a measure, your own guardian. Your father’s business calls him much abroad. With you, therefore, he is obliged to entrust, not only his domestic concerns; but, what is still more dear to his heart, the care of your own person and mind; of your own reputation and happiness.

Circumstanced as you are, company has the most powerful charms. Yours is now the prerogative of receiving and returning visits in your own name. At home, you are sole mistress of ceremonies. This is extremely alluring to the sprightly fancy of youth. But time, you will remember, is too important a blessing to be sacrificed to a promiscuous crowd of unimproving companions. Besides, the character of a young lady will necessarily be sullied by the imputation of being constantly engaged in parties of pleasure, and exhilarating amusement. Flattery often avails itself of the unguarded moments of gaiety; and insinuating its insidious charms into the heedless and susceptible mind, inflates it with pride and vanity, and produces an affectation and air of self-importance, which are peculiarly disgusting, because easily distinguished from that true dignity of manners, which results from conscious rectitude. Genuine merit is always modest and unassuming; diffident of itself and respectful to others.

Your father has a right to your unlimited confidence. You will, therefore, make him your chief friend and counsellor. Though he may not possess all the winning softness of a mother, he doubtless has as ardent an affection for you, and as sincere a desire to promote your welfare. Hence you may safely repose your dearest concerns in his paternal breast, and receive, with the utmost deference, his kind instruction and advice. Let his judgment have an entire ascendency over your mind and actions, especially in your intercourse and society with the other sex. Consider him as better acquainted with their merit, circumstances, and views, than you can be; and should you contemplate a connexion for life, let his opinion determine your choice.

Watch over your dear little sisters with all the tenderness of fraternal affection; be their protector and friend; instil into their minds the principles of virtue and religion; arm them against the snares and temptations by which they will be surrounded; and lead them by your own conduct, in the way of truth and peace.

When you have leisure and inclination to write, the effusions of your pen will always be acceptable to your sincere and faithful friend

MARY WILLIAMS

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Added Table of CONTENTS. 2. Silently corrected typographical errors. 3. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed. 4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Boarding School, by Hannah Webster Foster