One young man thus expressed his sufferings to his physician. 'My very great debility renders the performance of every motion difficult. That of my legs is often so great, that I can scarcely stand erect; and I fear to leave my chamber. Digestion is so imperfect that the food passes unchanged, three or four hours after it has been taken into the stomach. I am oppressed with phlegm, the presence of which causes pain; and the expectoration, exhaustion. This is a brief history of my miseries. Each day brings with it an increase of all my woes. Nor do I believe that any human creature ever suffered more. Without a special interposition of Divine Providence, I cannot support so painful an existence.'
Another thus writes; 'Were I not restrained by sentiments of religion,16 I should ere this have put an end to my existence; which is the more insupportable as it is caused by myself.'
'I cannot walk two hundred paces,' says another 'without resting myself; my feebleness is extreme; I have constant pains in every part of the body, but particularly in the shoulders and chest. My appetite is good, but this is a misfortune, since what I eat causes pains in my stomach, and is vomited up. If I read a page or two, my eyes are filled with tears and become painful:—I often sigh involuntarily.'
A fourth says; 'I rest badly at night, and am much troubled with dreams. The lower part of my back is weak, my eyes are often painful, and my eyelids swelled and red. I have an almost constant cold; and an oppression at the stomach. In short, I had rather be laid in the silent tomb, and encounter that dreadful uncertainty, hereafter, than remain in my present unhappy and degraded situation.'
The reader should remember that the persons whose miseries are here described, were generally sufferers from hypochondria. They had not advanced to the still more horrid stages of palsy, apoplexy, epilepsy, idiotism, St. Vitus's dance, blindness, or insanity. But they had gone so far, that another step in the same path, might have rendered a return impossible.
The reader will spare me the pain of presenting, in detail, any more of these horrid cases. I write for young men, the strength—the bone, muscle, sinew, and nerve—of our beloved country. I write for those who,—though some of them may have erred—are glad to be advised, and if they deem the advice good, are anxious to follow it. I write, too, in vain, if it be not for young men who will resolve on reformation, when they believe that their present and future happiness is at stake. And, lastly, I have not read correctly the pages in the book of human nature if I do not write for those who can, with God's help, keep every good resolution.
There are a few publications to which those who are awake to the importance of this subject, might safely be directed. One or two will be mentioned presently. It is true that their authors have, in some instances, given us the details of such cases of disease as occur but rarely. Still, what has happened, in this respect, may happen again. And as no moderate drinker of fermented or spirituous liquors can ever know, with certainty, that if he continues his habit, he may not finally arrive at confirmed drunkenness, and the worst diseases which attend it, so no person who departs but once from rectitude in the matter before us, has any assurance that he shall not sooner or later suffer all the evils which they so faithfully describe.
When a young man, who is pursuing an unhappy course of solitary vice, threatened as we have seen by the severest penalties earth or heaven can impose,—begins to perceive a loss or irregularity of his appetite; acute pains in his stomach, especially during digestion, and constant vomitings;—when to this is added a weakness of the lungs, often attended by a dry cough, hoarse weak voice, and hurried or difficult breathing after using considerable exertion, with a general relaxation of the nervous system;—when these appearances, or symptoms, as physicians call them, take place—let him beware! for punishment of a severer kind cannot be distant.
I hope I shall have no reader to whom these remarks apply; but should it be otherwise, happy will it be for him if he takes the alarm, and walks not another step in the downward road to certain and terrible retribution. Happiest, however, is he who has never erred from the first; and who reads these pages as he reads of those awful scenes in nature,—the devastations of the lightning, the deluge, the tornado, the earthquake, and the volcano; as things to be lamented, and their horrors if possible mitigated or averted, but with which he has little personal concern.
Sympathizing, however, with his fellow beings—for though fallen, they still belong to the same family—should any reader who sees this work, wish to examine the subject still more intimately, I recommend to him a Lecture to Young Men, lately published in Providence. I would also refer him, to Rees' Cyclopedia, art. Physical Education.
The article last referred to is so excellent, that I have decided on introducing, in this place, the closing paragraph. The writer had been treating the subject, much in the manner I have done, only at greater length, and had enumerated the diseases to which it leads, at the same time insisting on the importance of informing the young, in a proper manner, of their danger, wherever the urgency of the case required it. After quoting numerous passages of Scripture, which, in speaking of impurity, evidently include this practice, and denouncing it in severe terms, he closes with the following striking remarks.
'There can be no doubt that God has forbidden it by the usual course of providence. Its moral effects, in destroying the purity of the mind, in swallowing up its best affections, and perverting its sensibilities into this depraved channel, are among its most injurious consequences; and are what render it so peculiarly difficult to eradicate the evil. In proportion as the habit strengthens the difficulty of breaking it, of course, increases; and while the tendency of the feelings to this point increases, the vigor of the mind to effect the conquest of the habit gradually lessens.
'We would tell him (the misguided young man) that whatever might be said in newspapers respecting the power of medicine in such cases, nothing could be done without absolute self-control; and that no medicine whatever could retrieve the mischiefs which the want of it had caused: and that the longer the practice was continued, the greater would be the bodily and mental evils it would inevitably occasion.
'We would then advise him to avoid all situations in which he found his propensities excited; and especially, as far as possible, all in which they had been gratified; to check the thoughts and images which excited them; to shun those associates, or at least that conversation, and those books, which have the same effect; to avoid all stimulating food and liquor; to sleep cool on a hard bed; to rise early, and at once; and to go to bed when likely to fall asleep at once; to let his mind be constantly occupied, though not exerted to excess; and to let his bodily powers be actively employed, every day, to a degree which will make a hard bed the place of sound repose.
'Above all, we would urge him to impress his mind (at times when the mere thought of it would not do him harm) with a feeling of horror at the practice; to dwell upon its sinfulness and most injurious effects; and to cultivate, by every possible means, an habitual sense of the constant presence of a holy and heart-searching God, and a lively conviction of the awful effects of his displeasure.'
I should be sorry to leave an impression on any mind that other forms of licentiousness are innocent, or that they entail no evils on the constitution. I have endeavored to strike most forcibly, it is true, at solitary vice; but it was for this plain reason, that few of the young seem to regard it as any crime at all. Some even consider it indispensable to health. This belief I have endeavored to shake; with how much success, eternity only can determine.
Of the guilt of those forms of irregularity, in which more than one individual and sex are necessarily concerned, many of the young are already apprized. At least they are generally acquainted with the more prominent evils which result from what they call excess. Still if followed in what they deem moderation, and with certain precautions which could be named, not a few are ready to believe, at least in the moment of temptation, that there is no great harm in following their inclinations.
Now in regard to what constitutes excess, every one who is not moved by Christian principle, will of necessity, have his own standard, just as it is in regard to solitary vice, or the use of ardent spirits. And herein consists a part of the guilt. And it is not till this conviction of our constant tendency to establish an incorrect standard for ourselves, and to go, in the end, to the greatest lengths and depths and heights of guilt, can be well established in our minds, that we shall ever be induced to avoid the first steps in that road which may end in destruction; and to take as the only place of safety, the high ground of total abstinence.
But although the young are not wholly destitute of a sense of the evils of what they call excess, and of the shame of what is well known to be its frequent and formidable results,—so far as themselves are concerned,—yet they seem wholly ignorant of any considerable danger short of this. For so far are they from admitting that the force of conscience is weakened by every repeated known and wilful transgression, many think, (as I have already stated) promiscuous intercourse, where no matrimonial rights are invaded, if it be so managed as to exempt the parties immediately concerned from all immediate suffering both moral and physical, can scarcely be called a transgression, at all.
I wish it were practicable to extend these remarks far enough to show, as plain as noon-day light can make it, that every criminal act of this kind—I mean every instance of irregularity—not only produces evil to society generally, in the present generation, but also inflicts evil on those that follow. For to say nothing of those horrid cases where the infants of licentious parents not only inherit vicious dispositions, but ruined bodies—even to a degree, that in some instances excludes a possibility of the child's surviving many days;—there are other forms of disease often entailed on the young which as certainly consign the sufferer to an early grave, though the passage thither may be more tedious and lingering.
How must it wring the heart of a feeling young parent to see his first born child, which for any thing he knows, might have been possessed of a sound and vigorous body, like other children, enter the world with incipient scrofula, diseased joints or bones, and eruptive diseases, in some of their worst forms? Must not the sight sink him to the very dust? And would he not give worlds—had he worlds to give—to reverse those irreversible but inscrutable decrees of Heaven, which visit the sins of parents upon their descendants—'unto the third and fourth generation?'
But how easy is it, by timely reflection, and fixed moral principle, to prevent much of that disease which 'worlds' cannot wholly cure, when it is once inflicted!
I hazard nothing in saying, then—and I might appeal to the whole medical profession to sustain me in my assertion—that no person whose system ever suffers, once, from those forms of disease which approach nearest to the character of special judgments of Heaven on sin or shame, can be sure of ever wholly recovering from their effects on his own person; and what is still worse, can ever be sure of being the parent of a child whose constitution shall be wholly untainted with disease, of one kind or another.
This matter is not often understood by the community generally; especially by the young. I might tell them of the diseased eyesight; the ulcerated—perhaps deformed—nose and ears, and neck; the discoloration, decay, and loss of teeth; the destruction of the palate, and the fearful inroads of disease on many other soft parts of the body; besides the softening and ulceration and decay and eventual destruction of the bones; and to crown all, the awfully offensive breath and perspiration; and I might entreat them to abstain, in the fear of God, from those abuses of the constitution which not unfrequently bring down upon them such severe forms of punishment.
A thorough knowledge of the human system and the laws to which all organized bodies are subjected, would, in this respect, do much in behalf of mankind; for such would be the change of public sentiment, that the sensual could not hold up their heads so boldly, as they now do, in the face of it. Happy for mankind when the vicious shall be obliged, universally, to pass in review before this enlightened tribunal!
Young men ought to study physiology. It is indeed to be regretted that there are so few books on this subject adapted to popular use. But in addition to those recommended at page 346, there are portions of several works which may be read with advantage by the young. Such are some of the more intelligible parts of Richerand's Physiology, as at page 38 of the edition with Dr. Chapman's notes; and of the 'Outlines of Physiology,' and the 'Anatomical Class Book,' two works recently issued in Boston. It must, however, be confessed, that none of these works are sufficiently divested of technicalities, to be well adapted, as a whole, to the general reader. Physiology is one of those fountains at which it is somewhat dangerous to 'taste,' unless we 'drink deep;' on account of the tendency of superficial knowledge to empiricism. Still, I am fully of the opinion that even superficial knowledge, on this long neglected topic, is less dangerous both to the individual and to the community, than entire ignorance.
And after all, the best guides would be parents. When will Heaven confer such favors upon us? When will parents become parents indeed? When will one father or mother in a hundred, exercise the true parental prerogative, and point out to those whom God has given them, as circumstances may from time to time demand, the most dangerous rocks and whirlpools to which, in the voyage of life, they are exposed? When will every thing else be done for the young rather than that which ought never to be left undone?
Say not, young reader, that I am wandering. You may be a father. God grant that if you are, you may also act the parent. Let me beg you to resolve, and if necessary re-resolve. And not only resolve, but act. If you are ready to pronounce me enthusiastic on this subject, let me beg you to suspend your judgment till the responsibilities and the duties and the anxieties of a parent thicken round you.
It is painful to see—every where—the most unquestionable evidence that this department of education is unheeded. Do you ask how the evidence is obtained? I answer by asking you how the physician can discover,—as undoubtedly he can,—the progress of the drinker of spirituous liquors, by his eye, his features, his breath, nay his very perspiration. And do you think that the sons or daughters of sensuality, in any of its forms, and at any of its stages, can escape his observation?
But of what use is his knowledge, if he may not communicate it? What person would endure disclosures of this kind respecting himself or his nearest, perhaps his dearest and most valued friends? No! the physician's lips must be sealed, and his tongue dumb; and the young must go down to their graves, rather than permit him to make any effort to save them, lest offence should be given!
The subject is, however, gaining a hold on the community, for which none of us can be too thankful. I am acquainted with more than one parent, who is a parent indeed; for there is no more reserve on these subjects, than any other. The sons do not hesitate to ask parental counsel and seek parental aid, in every known path of temptation. Heaven grant that such instances may be speedily multiplied. A greater work of reform can scarcely be desired or anticipated.
But I must draw to a close. Oh that the young 'wise,' and that they would 'consider!' 'There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof is death.'
There is, then, but one course for the young. Let them do that which they know to be right, and avoid not only that which they are sure is wrong, but that also of which they have doubts. Let them do this, moreover, in the fear and love of God. In the language of a great statesman of the United States to his nephew, a little before his death, let me exhort you, to 'Give up property, give up every thing—give up even life itself, rather than presume to do an immoral act.' Let me remind you too, of the declaration of that Wisdom which is Infinite;—'He that sinneth against God, destroyeth his own soul.'
AN ADDITIONAL CHAPTER
Section I. Choice of Friends
The importance, to a young man, of a few worthy female friends, has been mentioned in Chapter V. But to him who aspires at the highest possible degree of improvement or usefulness, a select number of confidential friends of his own sex is scarcely less valuable.
Great caution is however necessary in making the selection. "A man is known by the company he keeps," has long since passed into a proverb; so well does it accord with universal experience. And yet many a young man neglects or despises this maxim, till his reputation is absolutely and irretrievably lost.
Lucius was a remarkable instance of this kind. Extremely diffident, he was introduced to a neighborhood where every individual but one was an entire stranger to him; and this person was one whose character was despised. But what is life without associates? Few are wholly destitute of sympathy, even brute animals. Lucius began to be found in the company of the young man I have mentioned; and this too in spite of the faithful and earnest remonstrances of his friends, who foresaw the consequences. But, like too many inexperienced young men, conscious of his own purity of intention, he thought there could surely be no harm in occasional walks and conversations with even a bad man; and who knows, he sometimes used to say, but I may do him good? At any rate, as he was the only person with whom he could hold free conversation on "things that were past," he determined occasionally to associate with him.
But as it is with many a young lady who has set out with the belief that a reformed rake makes the best husband, so it was with Lucius; he found that the work of reforming the vicious was no easy task. Instead of making the smallest approaches to success, he perceived at last, when it was too late, that his familiarity with young Frederick had not only greatly lowered him in the estimation of the people with whom he now resided, but even in the estimation of Frederick himself; who was encouraged to pursue his vicious course, by the consideration that it did not exclude him from the society of those who were universally beloved and respected.
This anecdote shows how cautious we ought to be in the choice of friends. Had Lucius been a minister or reformer by profession, he could have gone among the vicious to reclaim them, with less danger. The Saviour of mankind ate and drank with "publicans and sinners;" but He was well known as going among them to save them, though even he did not wholly escape obloquy.
Few are aware, how much they are the creatures of imitation; and how readily they catch the manners, habits of expression, and even modes of thinking, of those whose company they keep. Let the young remember, then, that it is not from the remarks of others, alone, that they are likely to suffer; but that they are really lowered in the scale of excellence, every time they come in unguarded contact with the vicious.
It is of the highest importance to seek for companions those who are not only intelligent and virtuous, in the common acceptation of the term, but, if it were possible, those who are a little above them, especially in moral excellence.
Nor is this so difficult a task as many suppose. There are in every community, a few who would make valuable companions. Not that they are perfect,—for perfection, in the more absolute sense of the term, belongs not to humanity; but their characters are such, that they would greatly improve yours. And remember, that it is by no means indispensable that your circle of intimate friends be very large. Nay, it is not even desirable, in a world like this. You may have many acquaintances, but I should advise you to have but few near friends. If you have one, who is what he should be, you are comparatively happy.
Section II. Rudeness of Manners
By rudeness I do not mean mere coarseness or rusticity, for that were more pardonable; but a want of civility. In this sense of the term, I am prepared to censure one practice, which in the section on Politeness, was overlooked. I refer to the practice so common with young men in some circumstances and places, of wearing their hats or caps in the house;—a practice which, whenever and wherever it occurs, is decidedly reprehensible.
Most of us have probably seen state legislatures in session with their hats on. This does not look well for the representatives of the most civil communities in the known world; and though I do not pretend that in this respect they fairly represent their constituents, yet I do maintain that the toleration of such a practice implies a dereliction of the public sentiment.
That the practice of uncovering the head, whenever we are in the house, tends to promote health, though true, I do not at this time affirm. It is sufficient for my present purpose, if I succeed in showing that the contrary practice tends to vice and immorality.
Who has not seen the rudeness of a company of men, assembled perhaps in a bar-room—with their hats on; and also witnessed the more decent behavior of another similar group, assembled in similar circumstances, without perceiving at once a connection between the hats and the rudeness of the one company, as well as between the more orderly behavior and the uncovered heads of the other?
To come to individuals. Attend a party or concert—no matter about the name;—I mean some place where it is pardonable, or rather deemed pardonable, to wear the hat. Who behave in the most gentle, christian manner,—the few who wear their hats or those who take them off? In a family or school, which are the children that are most civil and well behaved? Is it not those who are most scrupulous, always, to appear within the house with their heads uncovered? Nay, in going out of schools, churches, &c., who are they that put on their hats first, as if it was a work of self-denial to hold them in their hands, or even suffer them to remain in their place till the blessing is pronounced, or till the proper time has arrived for using them?
Once more. In passing through New England or any other part of the United States, entering into the houses of the people, and seeing them just as they are, who has not been struck with the fact that where there is the most of wearing hats and caps in the house, there is generally the most of ill manners, not to say of vicious habits and conduct.
Few are sufficiently aware of the influence of what they often affect to despise as little things. But I have said enough on this point in its proper place. The great difficulty is in carrying the principles there inculcated into the various conditions of life, and properly applying them.
Section III. Self-praise
Some persons are such egotists that rather than not be conspicuous, they will even speak ill of themselves. This may seem like a contradiction; but it is nevertheless a truth.
Such conduct is explicable in two ways. Self condemnation may be merely an attempt to extort praise from the bystanders, by leading them to deny our statements, or defend our conduct. Or, it may be an attempt to set ourselves off as abounding in self knowledge; a kind of knowledge which is universally admitted to be difficult of attainment. I have heard people condemn their past conduct in no measured terms, who would not have borne a tithe of the same severity of remark from others. Perhaps it is not too much to affirm that persons of this description are often among the vainest, if not the proudest of the community.
In general, it is the best way to say as little about ourselves, our friends, our books, and our circumstances as possible. It is soon enough to speak of ourselves when we are compelled to do it in our own defence.