The Young Man"s Guide.
by William A. Alcott.
INTRODUCTION.
The young are often accused of being thoughtless, rash, and unwilling to be advised.
That the former of these charges is in a great measure just, is not denied. Indeed, what else could be expected? They are _thoughtless_, for they are yet almost strangers to the world, and its cares and perplexities. They are forward, and sometimes _rash_; but this generally arises from that buoyancy of spirits, which health and vigor impart. True, it is to be corrected, let the cause be what it may; but we shall correct with more caution, and probably with greater success, when we understand its origin.
That youth are _unwilling to be advised_, as a general rule, appears to me untrue. At least I have not found it so. When the feeling does exist, I believe it often arises from parental mismanagement, or from an unfortunate method of advising.
The infant seeks to grasp the burning lamp;--the parent endeavors to dissuade him from it. At length he grasps it, and suffers the consequences. Finally, however, if the parent manages him properly, he learns to follow his advice, and obey his indications, in order to avoid pain. Such, at least, is the natural result of _rational_ management. And the habit of seeking parental counsel, once formed, is not easily eradicated. It is true that temptation and forgetfulness may lead some of the young _occasionally_ to grasp the _lamp_, even after they are told better; but the consequent suffering generally restores them to their reason. It is only when the parent neglects or refuses to give advice, and for a long time manifests little or no sympathy with his child, that the habit of filial reliance and confidence is destroyed.
In fact there are very few children indeed, however improperly managed, who do not in early life acquire a degree of this confiding, inquiring, counsel-seeking disposition.
Most persons, as they grow old, forget that they have ever been young themselves. This greatly disqualifies them for social enjoyment. It was wisely said; "He who would pa.s.s the latter part of his life with honor and decency, must, when he is young, consider that he shall one day be old, and when he is old, remember that he has once been young." But if forgetfulness on this point disqualifies a person for _self_ enjoyment, how much more for that which is social?
Still more does it disqualify us for giving advice. While a lad, I was at play, one day, with my mates, when two gentlemen observing us, one of them said to the other; "Do you think you ever acted as foolishly as those boys do?" "Why yes; I suppose I did;" was the reply. "Well," said the other, "I never did;--I _know_ I never did."
Both of these persons has the name of parent, but he who could not believe he had ever acted like a child himself, is greatly dest.i.tute of the proper parental spirit. He never--or scarcely ever--puts himself to the slightest inconvenience to promote, directly, the happiness of the young, even for half an hour.
He supposes every child ought to be grave, like himself. If he sees the young engaged in any of those exercises which are really adapted to their years, he regards it as an entire loss of time, besides being foolish and unreasonable. He would have them at work, or at their studies. Whereas there is scarcely any thing that should give a parent more pleasure than to see his children, in their earliest years, enjoying that flow of spirits, which leads them forth to active, vigorous, blood-stirring sports.
Of all persons living, he who does not remember that he has once been young, is the most completely disqualified for giving youthful counsel.
He obtrudes his advice occasionally, when the youth is already under temptation, and borne along with the force of a vicious current; but because he disregards it, he gives him up as heedless, perhaps as obstinate. If advice is afterwards asked, his manners are cold and repulsive. Or perhaps he frowns him away, telling him he never _follows_ his advice, and therefore it is useless to _give_ it. So common is it to treat the young with a measure of this species of roughness, that I cannot wonder the maxim has obtained that the young, generally, "despise counsel." And yet, I am fully convinced, no maxim is farther from the truth.
When we come to the very close of life, we cannot transfer, in a single moment, that knowledge of the world and of human nature which an experience of 70 years has afforded us. If, therefore, from any cause whatever, we have not already dealt it out to those around us, it is likely to be lost;--and lost for ever. Now is it not a pity that what the young would regard as an invaluable treasure, could they come at it in such a manner, and at such seasons, as would be _agreeable_ to them, and that, too, which the old are naturally so fond of distributing, should be buried with their bodies?
Let me counsel the young, then, to do every thing they can, consistently with the rules of good breeding, to draw forth from the old the treasures of which I have been speaking. Let them even make some sacrifice of that buoyant feeling which, at their age, is so apt to predominate. Let them conform, for the time, in some measure, to the gravity of the aged, in order to gain their favor, and secure their friendship and confidence. I do not ask them wholly to forsake society, or their youthful pastimes for this purpose, or to become grave _habitually_; for this would be requiring too much. But there are moments when old people, however disgusted they may be with the young, do so far unbend themselves as to enter into cheerful and instructive conversation. I can truly say that when a boy, some of my happiest hours were spent in the society of the aged--those too, who were not always what they should have been. The old live in the past, as truly as the young do in the future. Nothing more delights them than to relate stories of "olden time," especially when themselves were the _heroes_. But they will not relate them, unless there is somebody to hear. Let the young avail themselves of this propensity, and make the most of it. Some may have been heroes in war; some in travelling the country; others in hunting, fishing, agriculture or the mechanic arts; and it may be that here and there one will boast of his skill, and relate stories of his success in that n.o.blest of arts and employments--the making of his fellow creatures wise, and good, and happy.
In conversation with all these persons, you will doubtless hear much that is uninteresting. But where will you find any thing pure or perfect below the sun? The richest ores contain dross. At the same time you cannot fail, unless the fault is your own, to learn many valuable things from them all. From war stories, you will learn history; from accounts of travels, geography, human character, manners and customs; and from stories of the good or ill treatment which may have been experienced, you will learn how to secure the one, and avoid the other.
From one person you will learn _one_ thing; from another something else. Put these shreds together, and in time you will form quite a number of pages in the great book of human nature. You may thus, in a certain sense, live several lives in one.
One thing more is to be remembered. The more you _have_, the more you are bound to _give_. Common sense, as well as the Scripture, says, "It is more blessed to give than to receive." Remember that as you advance in years you are bound to avoid falling into the very errors which, "out of your own mouth" you have "condemned" in those who have gone before you; and to make yourselves as acceptable as you can to the young, in order to secure their confidence, and impart to them, little by little, those acc.u.mulated treasures of experience which you have acquired in going through life, but which must otherwise, to a very great extent, be buried with you in your graves.
But, my young friends, there is one method besides conversation, in which you may come at the wisdom of the aged; and that is through the medium of books. _Many_ old persons have _written_ well, and you cannot do better than to avail yourselves of their instructions. This method has even one advantage over conversation. In the perusal of a book, you are not so often prejudiced or disgusted by the repulsive and perhaps chilling manner of him who wrote it, as you might have been from his conversation and company.
I cannot but indulge the hope that you will find some valuable information and useful advice in _this_ little book. It has cost me much labor to embody, in so small a compa.s.s, the results of my own experience on such a variety of subjects, and to arrange my thoughts in such a manner as seemed to me most likely to arrest and secure your attention. The work, however, is not wholly the result of my own experience, for I have derived many valuable thoughts from other writers.
An introductory chapter or preface is usually rather dry, but if this should prove sufficiently interesting to deserve your attention till you have read it, and the table of contents, thoroughly, I have strong hopes that you will read the rest of the book. And in accordance with my own principles, I believe you will try to follow my advice; for I take it for granted that none will purchase and read this work but such as are willing to be advised. I repeat it, therefore--I go upon the presumption that my advice will, in the main, be followed. Not at every moment of your lives, it is true; for you will be exposed on all sides to temptation, and, I fear, sometimes fall. But when you come to review the chapter (for I hope I have written nothing but what is worth a second reading) which contains directions on that particular subject wherein you have failed, and find, too, how much you have suffered by neglecting counsel, and rashly seizing the _lamp_, I am persuaded you will not soon fall again in that particular direction.
In this view, I submit these pages to the youth of our American States.
If the work should not please them, I shall be so far from attributing it to any fault or perversity of theirs, that I shall at once conclude I have not taken a wise and proper method of presenting my instructions.
THE YOUNG MAN"S GUIDE.
CHAPTER I.
On the Formation of Character.
SECTION I. _Importance of aiming high, in the formation of character._
To those who have carefully examined the introduction and table of contents, I am now prepared to give the following general direction; _Fix upon a high standard of character._ To be _thought_ well of, is not sufficient. The point you are to aim at, is, the greatest possible degree of usefulness.
Some may think there is danger of setting _too high_ a standard of action. I have heard teachers contend that a child will learn to write much faster by having an _inferior copy_, than by imitating one which is comparatively perfect; "because," say they, "a pupil is liable to be discouraged if you give him a _perfect_ copy; but if it is only a little in advance of his own, he will take courage from the belief that he shall soon be able to equal it." I am fully convinced, however, that this is not so. The _more_ perfect the copy you place before the child, provided it be _written_, and not _engraved_, the better. For it must always be _possible_ in the nature of things, for the child to imitate it; and what is not absolutely impossible, every child may reasonably be expected to aspire after, on the principle, that whatever man _has done_, man _may_ do.
So in human conduct, generally; whatever is possible should be aimed at. Did my limits permit, I might show that it is a part of the divine economy to place before his rational creatures a perfect standard of action, and to make it their duty to come up to it.
He who only aims at _little_, will _accomplish_ but little. _Expect_ great things, and _attempt_ great things. A neglect of this rule produces more of the difference in the character, conduct, and success of men, than is commonly supposed. Some start in life without any leading object at all; some with a low one; and some aim high:--and just in proportion to the elevation at which they aim, will be their progress and success. It is an old proverb that he who aims at the sun, will not reach it, to be sure, but his arrow will fly higher than if he aims at an object on a level with himself. Exactly so is it, in the formation of character, except in one point. To reach the sun with a arrow is an impossibility, but a youth may aim high without attempting impossibilities.
Let me repeat the a.s.surance that, as a general rule, _you may be whatever you will resolve to be_. Determine that you will be useful in the world, and you _shall_ be. Young men seem to me utterly unconscious of what they are capable of being and doing. Their efforts are often few and feeble, because they are not awake to a full conviction that any thing great or distinguished is in their power.
But whence came en Alexander, a Caesar, a Charles XII, or a Napoleon? Or whence the better order of spirits,--a Paul, an Alfred, a Luther, a Howard, a Penn, a Washington? Were not these men once like yourselves?
What but self exertion, aided by the blessing of Heaven, rendered these men so conspicuous for usefulness? Rely upon it,--what these men once _were_, you _may be_. Or at the least, you may make a nearer approach to them, than you are ready to believe. Resolution is almost omnipotent.
Those little words, _try_, and _begin_, are sometimes great in their results. "I can"t," never accomplished any thing;--"I will try," has achieved wonders.
This position might be proved and ill.u.s.trated by innumerable facts; but one must suffice.
A young man who had wasted his patrimony by profligacy, whilst standing, one day, on the brow of a precipice from which he had determined to throw himself, formed the sudden resolution to regain what he had lost.
The purpose thus formed was kept; and though he began by shoveling a load of coals into a cellar, for which he only received twelve and a half cents, yet he proceeded from one step to another till he more than recovered his lost possessions, and died worth sixty thousand pounds sterling.
You will derive much advantage from a careful perusal of the lives of eminent individuals, especially of those who were _good_ as well as great. You will derive comparatively little benefit from reading the lives of those scourges of their race who have drenched the earth in blood, except so far as it tends to show you what an immense blessing they _might_ have been to the world, had they devoted to the work of human improvement those mighty energies which were employed in human destruction. Could the physical and intellectual energy of Napoleon, the order and method of Alfred, the industry, frugality, and wisdom of Franklin and Washington, and the excellence and untiring perseverance of Paul, and Penn, and Howard, be united in each individual of the rising generation, who can set limits to the good, which they might, and inevitably would accomplish! Is it too much to hope that some happier age will witness the reality? Is it not even probable that the rising generation may afford many such examples?
SECTION II. _On Motives to action._
Not a few young men either have no fixed principles, no governing motive at all, or they are influenced by those which are low and unworthy. It is painful to say this, but it is too true. On such, I would press the importance of the following considerations.
Among the motives to action which I would present, the first is a regard to _your own happiness_. To this you are by no means indifferent at present. Nay, the attainment of happiness is your primary object.
You seek it in every desire, word, and action. But you sometimes mistake the road that leads to it, either for the want of a friendly hand to guide you, or because you refuse to be guided. Or what is most common, you grasp at a smaller good, which is near, and apparently certain, and in so doing cut yourselves off from the enjoyment of a good which is often infinitely greater, though more remote.
Let me urge, in the second place, a regard for the family to which you belong. It is true you can never fully know, unless the bitterness of ingrat.i.tude should teach you, the extent of the duty you owe to your relatives; and especially to your parents. You _cannot_ know--at least till you are parents yourselves,--how their hearts are bound up in yours. But if you do not _in some measure_ know it, till this late period, you are not fit to be parents.
In the third place, it is due to society, particularly to the neighborhood or sphere in which you move, and to the _a.s.sociations_ to which you may belong, that you strive to attain a very great elevation of character. Here, too, I am well aware that it is impossible, at your age, to perceive fully, how much you have it in your power to contribute, if you will, to the happiness of those around you; and here again let me refer you to the advice and guidance of aged friends.
But, fourthly, it is due to the nation and age to which you belong, that you fix upon a high standard of character. This work is intended for American youth. _American!_ did I say? This word, alone, ought to call forth all your energies, and if there be a slumbering faculty within you, arouse it to action. Never, since the creation, were the youth of any age or country so imperiously called upon to exert themselves, as those whom I now address. Never before were there so many important interests at stake. Never were such immense results depending upon a generation of men, as upon that which is now approaching the stage of action. These rising millions are destined, according to all human probability, to form by far the greatest nation that ever const.i.tuted an entire community of freemen, since the world began. To form the character of these millions involves a greater amount of responsibility, individual and collective, than any other work to which humanity has ever been called. And the reasons are, it seems to me, obvious.
Now it is for you, my young friends, to determine whether these weighty responsibilities shall be fulfilled. It is for you to decide whether this _greatest_ of free nations shall, at the same time, be the _best_.
And as every nation is made up of individuals, you are each, in reality, called upon daily, to settle this question: "Shall the United States, possessing the most ample means of instruction within the reach of nearly all her citizens, the happiest government, the healthiest of climates, the greatest abundance of the best and most wholesome nutriment, with every other possible means for developing all the powers of human nature, be peopled with the most vigorous, powerful, and happy race of human beings which the world has ever known?"
There is another motive to which I beg leave, for one moment, to direct your attention. You are bound to fix on a high standard of action, from the desire of obeying the will of G.o.d. _He_ it is who has cast your lot in a country which--all things considered--is the happiest below the sun. _He_ it is who has given you such a wonderful capacity for happiness, and inst.i.tuted the delightful relations of parent and child, and brother and sister, and friend and neighbor. I might add, _He_ it is, too, who has given you the name _American_,--a name which alone furnishes a pa.s.sport to many civilized lands, and like a good countenance, or a becoming dress, prepossesses every body in your favor.