Thrift quotes

"

Not what I have, but what I do, is my kingdom.

"—Carlyle.

"Productive industry is the only capital which enriches a people, and spreads national prosperity and well-being.

In all labour there is profit, says Solomon. What is the science of Political Economy, but a dull sermon on this text?

"—Samuel Laing.

* * * * *

Thrift began with civilization. It began when men found it necessary to provide for to-morrow, as well as for to-day.

It began long before money was invented.

It is the savings of individuals which compose the wealth—in other words, the well-being—of every nation. On the other hand, it is the wastefulness of individuals which occasions the impoverishment of states.

So that every thrifty person may be regarded as a public benefactor, and every thriftless person as a public enemy.

There is no dispute as to the necessity for Private Economy. Everybody admits it, and recommends it.

Economy is not a natural instinct, but the growth of experience, example, and forethought. It is also the result of education and intelligence.

It is only when men become wise and thoughtful that they become frugal.

Hence the best means of making men and women provident is to make them wise.

It is also the result of education and intelligence. It is only when men become wise and thoughtful that they become frugal. Hence the best means of making men and women provident is to make them wise.

Prodigality is much more natural to man than thrift. The savage is the greatest of spendthrifts, for he has no forethought, no to-morrow.

The prehistoric man saved nothing. He lived in caves, or in hollows of the ground covered with branches. He subsisted on shellfish which he picked up on the seashore, or upon hips and haws which he gathered in the woods. He killed animals with stones.

The soil was reclaimed by his predecessors, and made to grow food for human uses. They invented tools and fabrics, and we reap the useful results. They discovered art and science, and we succeed to the useful effects of their labours.

All nature teaches that no good thing which has once been done passes utterly away.

The living are ever reminded of the buried millions who have worked and won before them. The handicraft and skill displayed in the buildings and sculptures of the long-lost cities of Nineveh, Babylon, and Troy, have descended to the present time.

The living are ever reminded of the buried millions who have worked and won before them. The handicraft and skill displayed in the buildings and sculptures of the long-lost cities of Nineveh, Babylon, and Troy, have descended to the present time.

In nature's economy, no human labour is altogether lost.

Some remnant of useful effect continues to reward the race, if not the individual.

Our birthright, therefore, consists in the useful effects of the labours of our forefathers; but we cannot enjoy them unless we ourselves take part in the work. All must labour, either with hand or head.

Without work, life is worthless; it becomes a mere state of moral coma.

We do not mean merely physical work.

the manufacturer weaves tissues, which the tailor and seamstress make into clothes; the mason and the bricklayer build the houses in which we enjoy household life. Numbers of workmen thus contribute and help to create the general result.

Labour and skill applied to the vulgarest things invest them at once with precious value.

Labour is indeed the life of humanity; take it away, banish it, and the race of Adam were at once stricken with death. "He that will not work," said St. Paul, "neither shall he eat;"

and when fields were sown, and the harvests came, lo! the yield was prodigious, in consequence of the thorough tillage which they had undergone. Then it was that they discovered the treasure concealed in the estate, of which their wise old father had advised them.

Labour is at once a burden, a chastisement, an honour, and a pleasure.

It may be identified with poverty, but there is also glory in it. It bears witness, at the same time, to our natural wants and to our manifold needs. What were man, what were life, what were civilization, without labour?

What were man, what were life, what were civilization, without labour? All that is great in man comes of labour;—greatness in art, in literature, in science. Knowledge—"the wing wherewith we fly to heaven"—is only acquired through labour.

Genius is but a capability of labouring intensely: it is the power of making great and sustained efforts.

Labour may be a chastisement, but it is indeed a glorious one. It is worship, duty, praise, and immortality,—for those who labour with the highest aims, and for the purest purposes.

… who murmur and complain at the law of labour under which we live, without reflecting that obedience to it is not only in conformity with the Divine will, but also necessary for the development of intelligence, and for the thorough enjoyment of our common nature.

Of all wretched men, surely the idle are the most so;—those whose life is barren of utility, who have nothing to do except to gratify their senses.

Are not such men the most querulous, miserable, and dissatisfied of all, constantly in a state of ennui, alike useless to themselves and to others—mere cumberers of the earth, who when removed are missed by none, and whom none regret?

All useful and beautiful thoughts, in like manner, are the issue of labour, of study, of observation, of research, of diligent elaboration. The noblest poem cannot be elaborated, and send down its undying strains into the future, without steady and painstaking labour.

No great work has ever been done "at a heat." It is the result of repeated efforts, and often of many failures.

One generation begins, and another continues—the present co-operating with the past. Thus, the Parthenon began with a mud-hut; the Last Judgment with a few scratches on the sand. It is the same with individuals of the race;

No great work has ever been done "at a heat." It is the result of repeated efforts, and often of many failures. One generation begins, and another continues—the present co-operating with the past.

Thus, the Parthenon began with a mud-hut; the Last Judgment with a few scratches on the sand.

It is the same with individuals of the race; they begin with abortive efforts, which, by means of perseverance, lead to successful issues.

The history of industry is uniform in the character of its illustrations.

Industry enables the poorest man to achieve honour, if not distinction.

The greatest names in the history of art, literature, and science, are those of labouring men. A working instrument-maker gave us the steam-engine; a barber, the spinning-machine; a weaver, the mule;

It is clear that man would have continued uncivilized but for the accumulations of savings made by his forefathers,—the savings of skill, of art, of invention, and of intellectual culture.

It is the savings of the world that have made the civilization of the world.

Savings are the result of labour; and it is only when labourers begin to save, that the results of civilization accumulate. We have said that thrift began with civilization: we might almost have said that thrift produced civilization. Thrift produces capital;

and it is only when labourers begin to save, that the results of civilization accumulate. We have said that thrift began with civilization: we might almost have said that thrift produced civilization. Thrift produces capital; and capital is the conserved result of labour.

The capitalist is merely a man who does not spend all that is earned by work.

But thrift is not a natural instinct. It is an acquired principle of conduct. It involves self-denial—the denial of present enjoyment for future, good—the subordination of animal appetite to reason, forethought, and prudence. It works for to-day, but also provides for to-morrow.

We have said that thrift began with civilization: we might almost have said that thrift produced civilization. Thrift produces capital; and capital is the conserved result of labour. The capitalist is merely a man who does not spend all that is earned by work.

But thrift is not a natural instinct. It is an acquired principle of conduct.

It involves self-denial—the denial of present enjoyment for future, good—the subordination of animal appetite to reason, forethought, and prudence. It works for to-day, but also provides for to-morrow. It invests the capital it has saved, and makes provision for the future.

Whenever we speak of the virtue of providence, we assume that forewarned is fore-armed,

To know the future is no virtue, but it is the greatest of virtues to prepare for it.

"[1]

He spends all that he gets, and can give no help to anybody. No matter how much money he makes, his position is not in any respect raised. He husbands none of his resources. He is always calling for help.

He is, in fact, the born thrall and slave of the thrifty.

"Die Hauptsache ist dass man lerne sich selbst zu beherrschen." [The great matter is to learn to rule oneself.]—Goethe.

"Die Hauptsache ist dass man lerne sich selbst zu beherrschen." [

The great matter is to learn to rule oneself.

]—Goethe.

"

Most men work for the present, a few for the future. The wise work for both—for the future in the present, and for the present in the future.

"—Guesses at Truth.

"All the world cries, 'Where is the man who will save us? We want a man! Don't look so far for this man. You have him at hand. This man—it is you, it is I, it is each one of us! …

How to constitute oneself a man? Nothing harder, if one knows not how to will it; nothing easier, if one wills it.

"—Alexandre Dumas.

But it is only by the exercise of labour, energy, honesty, and thrift, that they can advance their own position or that of their class.

Society at present suffers far more from waste of money than from want of money. It is easier to make money than to know how to spend it.

It is not what a man gets that constitutes his wealth, but his manner of spending and economizing.

Society at present suffers far more from waste of money than from want of money. It is easier to make money than to know how to spend it.

It is not what a man gets that constitutes his wealth, but his manner of spending and economizing.

And when a man obtains by his labour more than enough for his personal and family wants, and can lay by a little store of savings besides, he unquestionably possesses the elements of social well-being.

Smith immediately replied, in the same frank and good-humoured manner, 'Nay, I do not owe it all to myself; I married a wife with a fortune; for she was earning 9_s_ 6_d_. a week as a weaver at the power-loom, when she married me.'"

Thrift of Time is equal to thrift of money.

Franklin said, "Time is gold." If one wishes to earn money, it may be done by the proper use of time. But time may also be spent in doing many good and noble actions.

Time can be economized by system. System is an arrangement to secure certain ends, so that no time may be lost in accomplishing them. Every business man must be systematic and orderly. So must every housewife.

There must be a place for everything, and everything in its place. There must also be a time for everything, and everything must be done in time.

It is not necessary to show that economy is useful. Nobody denies that thrift may be practised. We see numerous examples of it. What many men have already done, all other men may do. Nor is thrift a painful virtue.

and in ten years more, by addition of interest, to four hundred and twenty pounds. Some may say that they cannot save nearly so much. Well! begin with two shillings, one shilling, or even sixpence.

Begin somewhere; but, at all events, make a beginning.

Sixpence a week, deposited in the savings bank, will amount to forty pounds in twenty years, and seventy pounds in thirty years. It is the habit of economizing and denying oneself that needs to be formed.

Thrift does not require superior courage, nor superior intellect, nor any superhuman virtue. It merely requires common sense, and the power of resisting selfish enjoyments.

In fact, thrift is merely common sense in every-day working action.

It needs no fervent resolution, but only a little patient self-denial. BEGIN is its device! The more the habit of thrift is practised, the easier it becomes; and the sooner it compensates the self-denier for the sacrifices which it has imposed.

Comparatively few people can be rich; but most have it in their power to acquire, by industry and economy, sufficient to meet their personal wants. They may even become the possessors of savings sufficient to secure them against penury and poverty in their old age.

It is not, however, the want of opportunity, but the want of will, that stands in the way of economy.

Men may labour unceasingly with hand or head; but they cannot abstain from spending too freely, and living too highly.

The majority prefer the enjoyment of pleasure to the practice of self-denial.

With the mass of men, the animal is paramount.

They often spend all that they earn. But it is not merely the working people who are spendthrifts. We hear of men who for years have been earning and spending hundreds a year, who suddenly die,—leaving their children penniless. Everybody knows of such cases.

Everybody knows of such cases. At their death, the very furniture of the house they have lived in belongs to others. It is sold to pay their funeral expenses and debts which they have incurred during their thriftless lifetime.

Money represents a multitude of objects without value, or without real utility; but it also represents something much more precious,—and that is independence.

In this light it is of great moral importance.

"Money is Character." Some of man's best qualities depend upon the right use of money,—such as his generosity, benevolence, justice, honesty, and forethought. Many of his worst qualities also originate in the bad use of money,—such as greed, miserliness, injustice, extravagance, and improvidence.

No class ever accomplished anything that lived from hand to mouth.

People who spend all that they earn, are ever hanging on the brink of destitution. They must necessarily be weak and impotent—the slaves of time and circumstance. They keep themselves poor. They lose self-respect, as well as the respect of others.

They must necessarily be weak and impotent—the slaves of time and circumstance. They keep themselves poor. They lose self-respect, as well as the respect of others. It is impossible that they can be free and independent.

To be thriftless, is enough to deprive one of all manly spirit and virtue.

But a man with something saved, no matter how little, is in a different position. The little capital he has stored up, is always a source of power. He is no longer the sport of time and fate.

But a man with something saved, no matter how little, is in a different position. The little capital he has stored up, is always a source of power.

He is no longer the sport of time and fate. He can boldly look the world in the face.

He is, in a manner, his own master. He can dictate his own terms. He can neither be bought nor sold. He can look forward with cheerfulness to an old age of comfort and happiness.

What a serious responsibility does the man incur who marries! Not many seriously think, of this responsibility. Perhaps this is wisely ordered.

For, much serious thinking might end in the avoidance of married life and its responsibilities.

But, once married, a man ought forthwith to determine that, so far as his own efforts are concerned, want shall never enter his household;

Economy with this object is an important duty. Without economy, no man can be just—no man can be honest.

Improvidence is cruelty to women and children; though the cruelty is born of ignorance.

A father spends his surplus means in drink, providing little, and saving nothing; and then he dies, leaving his destitute family his lifelong victims. Can any form of cruelty surpass this? Yet this reckless course is pursued to a large extent among every class.

Economy with this object is an important duty.

Without economy, no man can be just—no man can be honest.

Improvidence is cruelty to women and children; though the cruelty is born of ignorance. A father spends his surplus means in drink, providing little, and saving nothing; and then he dies, leaving his destitute family his lifelong victims. Can any form of cruelty surpass this?

It dispenses with everything which is not essential, and avoids all methods of living that are wasteful and extravagant.

A purchase made at the lowest price will be dear, if it be a superfluity. Little expenses lead to great.

Buying things that are not wanted, soon accustoms us to prodigality in other respects.

It dispenses with everything which is not essential, and avoids all methods of living that are wasteful and extravagant. A purchase made at the lowest price will be dear, if it be a superfluity. Little expenses lead to great.

Buying things that are not wanted, soon accustoms us to prodigality in other respects.

Cicero said, "Not to have a mania for buying, is to possess a revenue." Many are carried away by the habit of bargain-buying. "Here is something wonderfully cheap: let us buy it." "Have you any use for it?" "No, not at present;

A purchase made at the lowest price will be dear, if it be a superfluity. Little expenses lead to great. Buying things that are not wanted, soon accustoms us to prodigality in other respects.

Cicero said, "Not to have a mania for buying, is to possess a revenue."

Many are carried away by the habit of bargain-buying. "Here is something wonderfully cheap: let us buy it." "Have you any use for it?" "No, not at present; but it is sure to come in useful, some time." Fashion runs in this habit of buying.

Such a consideration as this should inspire men in early life with a determination to work and to save, for the benefit of themselves and their families in later years.

It is, in fact, in youth that economy should be practised, and in old age that men should dispense liberally, provided they do not exceed their income.

The young man has a long future before him, during which he may exercise the principles of economy; whilst the other is reaching the end of his career, and can carry nothing out of the world with him.

This, however, is not the usual practice. The young man now spends, or desires to spend, quite as liberally, and often much more liberally, than his father, who is about to end his career.

He begins life where his father left off.

He spends more than his father did at his age, and soon finds himself up to his ears in debt. To satisfy his incessant wants, he resorts to unscrupulous means, and to illicit gains. He tries to make money rapidly;

Socrates recommends fathers of families to observe the practice of their thrifty neighbours—of those who spend their means to the best advantage,—and to profit by their example.

Thrift is essentially practical, and can best be taught by facts.

Two men earn, say, five shillings a day. They are in precisely the same condition as respects family living, and expenditure Yet the one says he cannot save, and does not;

his mind, his character. Self-respect, originating in self-love, instigates the first step of improvement. It stimulates a man to rise, to look upward, to develop his intelligence, to improve his condition. Self-respect is the root of most of the virtues—of cleanliness, chastity, reverence, honesty, sobriety.

To think meanly of one's self is to sink; sometimes to descend a precipice at the bottom of which is infamy.

Every man can help himself to some extent. We are not mere straws thrown upon the current to mark its course; but possessed of freedom of action, endowed with power to stem the waves and rise above them, each marking out a course for himself.

Every man can help himself to some extent.

We are not mere straws thrown upon the current to mark its course; but possessed of freedom of action, endowed with power to stem the waves and rise above them, each marking out a course for himself.

We can each elevate ourselves in the scale of moral being. We can cherish pure thoughts. We can perform good actions. We can live soberly and frugally. We can provide against the evil day.

Social advancement is the consequence of individual advancement. The whole cannot be pure, unless the individuals composing it are pure.

Society at large is but the reflex of individual conditions.

All this is but the repetition of a truism, but truisms have often to be repeated to make their full impression.

Social advancement is the consequence of individual advancement. The whole cannot be pure, unless the individuals composing it are pure. Society at large is but the reflex of individual conditions.

All this is but the repetition of a truism, but truisms have often to be repeated to make their full impression.

Then again, a man, when he has improved himself, is better able to improve those who are brought into contact with him. He has more power. His sphere of vision is enlarged.

"Self-love and social are the same," says one of our poets.

The man who improves himself, improves the world.

He adds one more true man to the mass. And the mass being made up of individuals, it is clear that were each to improve himself, the result would be the improvement of the whole. Social advancement is the consequence of individual advancement.

He can lend a more active helping hand to raise them. He has done his duty by himself, and can with more authority urge upon others the necessity of doing the like duty to themselves.

How can a man be a social elevator, who is himself walking in the mire of self-indulgence?

How can he teach sobriety or cleanliness, if he be himself drunken or foul? "Physician, heal thyself," is the answer of his neighbours.

The sum and substance of our remarks is this: In all the individual reforms or improvements that we desire, we must begin with ourselves.

We must exhibit our gospel in our own life. We must teach by our own example.

If we would have others elevated, we must elevate ourselves. Each man can exhibit the results in his own person. He can begin with self-respect.

The uncertainty of life is proverbially true. The strongest and healthiest man may be stricken down in a moment, by accident or disease.

If we take human life in the mass, we cannot fail to recognize the uncertainty of life as much as we do the certainty of death.

There is a striking passage in Addison's "Vision of Mirza," in which life is pictured as a passage over a bridge of about a hundred arches. A black cloud hangs over each end of the bridge.

The actuary tells you that he has been guided by the Laws of Mortality. Now the results must be very regular, to justify the actuary in speaking of Mortality as governed by Laws. And yet it is so.

Indeed, there would seem to be no such thing as chance in the world. Man lives and dies in conformity to a law.

A sparrow falls to the ground in obedience to a law. Nay, there are matters in the ordinary transactions of life, such as one might suppose were the mere result of chance, which are ascertained to be of remarkable accuracy when taken in the mass.

We cannot escape the consequences of transgression of the natural laws, though we may have meant well. We must have done well.

The Creator does not alter His laws to accommodate them to our ignorance.

He has furnished us with intelligence, so that we may understand them and act upon them: otherwise we must suffer the consequences in inevitable pain and sorrow.

Many people have yet to learn, that virtue, knowledge, freedom, and prosperity must spring from themselves. Legislation can do very little for them: it cannot make them sober, intelligent, and well-doing.

The prime miseries of most men have their origin in causes far removed from Acts of Parliament.

The spendthrift laughs at legislation. The drunkard defies it, and arrogates the right of dispensing with forethought and self-denial,—throwing upon others the blame of his ultimate wretchedness.

Legislation can do very little for them: it cannot make them sober, intelligent, and well-doing. The prime miseries of most men have their origin in causes far removed from Acts of Parliament.

The spendthrift laughs at legislation.

The drunkard defies it, and arrogates the right of dispensing with forethought and self-denial,—throwing upon others the blame of his ultimate wretchedness.

It shows gross ignorance of the first elements of personal welfare. Help is in men themselves. They were born to help and to elevate themselves. They must work out their own salvation. The poorest men have done it; why should not every man do it?

The brave, upward spirit ever conquers.

The number of well-paid workmen in this country has become very large, who might easily save and economize, to the improvement of their moral well-being, of their respectability and independence, and of their status in society as men and citizens.

The cry sickens the soul. It shows gross ignorance of the first elements of personal welfare.

Help is in men themselves. They were born to help and to elevate themselves.

They must work out their own salvation. The poorest men have done it; why should not every man do it? The brave, upward spirit ever conquers.

It is enough to look round in any neighbourhood, and see how much is spent and how little is saved; what a large proportion of earnings goes to the beershop, and how little to the savings bank or the benefit society.

"Prosperous times" are very often the least prosperous of all times.

In prosperous times, mills are working full time; men, women, and children are paid high wages; warehouses are emptied and filled; goods are manufactured and exported; wherries full of produce pass along the streets;

But is this the chief end of man? Has he not faculties, affections, and sympathies, besides muscular organs? Has not his mind and heart certain claims, as well as his mouth and his back?

Has he not a soul as well as a stomach?

And ought not "prosperity" to include the improvement and well-being of his morals and intellect as well as of his bones and muscles?

Has he not a soul as well as a stomach? And ought not "prosperity" to include the improvement and well-being of his morals and intellect as well as of his bones and muscles?

Mere money is no indication of prosperity.

A man's nature may remain the same. It may even grow more stunted and deformed, while he is doubling his expenditure, or adding cent, per cent, to his hoards yearly. It is the same with the mass.

… times which almost invariably follow them,—that they should lay by a store of savings as a breakwater against want, and make sure of a little fund which may maintain them in old age, secure their self-respect, and add to their personal comfort and social well-being.

Thrift is not in any way connected with avarice, usury, greed, or selfishness. It is, in fact, the very reverse of these disgusting dispositions.

It means economy for the purpose of securing independence. Thrift requires that money should be used and not abused—that it should be honestly earned and economically employed—

"

The man who has a wife and children has given hostages to fortune.

"—Lord Bacon.

"

In all conditions and circumstances, well-being is in the power of those who have power over themselves.

"—J.J. Gurney.

England is one of the richest countries in the world. Our merchants are enterprising, our manufacturers are industrious, our labourers are hard-working. There is an accumulation of wealth in the country to which past times can offer no parallel.

The Bank is gorged with gold.

There never was more food in the empire; there never was more money. There is no end to our manufacturing productions, for the steam-engine never tires. And yet notwithstanding all this wealth, there is an enormous mass of poverty.

The Bank is gorged with gold. There never was more food in the empire; there never was more money. There is no end to our manufacturing productions, for the steam-engine never tires. And yet notwithstanding all this wealth, there is an enormous mass of poverty.

Close alongside the Wealth of Nations, there gloomily stalks the Misery of Nations,—luxurious ease resting upon a dark background of wretchedness.

Parliamentary reports have again and again revealed to us the miseries endured by certain portions of our working population. They have described the people employed in factories, workshops, mines, and brickfields, as well as in the pursuits of country life.

We have tried to grapple with the evils of their condition by legislation, but it seems to mock us. Those who sink into poverty are fed, but they remain paupers.

Those who feed them, feel no compassion; and those who are fed, return no gratitude.

There is no bond of sympathy between the givers and the receivers. Thus the Haves and the Have-nots, the opulent and the indigent, stand at the two extremes of the social scale, and a wide gulf is fixed between them.

Much of the existing misery is caused by selfishness—by the greed to accumulate wealth on the one hand, and by improvidence on the other.

Accumulation of money has become the great desire and passion of the age.

The wealth of nations, and not the happiness of nations, is the principal aim. We study political economy, and let social economy shift for itself. Regard for "Number One" is the prevailing maxim.

Much of the existing misery is caused by selfishness—by the greed to accumulate wealth on the one hand, and by improvidence on the other. Accumulation of money has become the great desire and passion of the age.

The wealth of nations, and not the happiness of nations, is the principal aim. We study political economy, and let social economy shift for itself.

Regard for "Number One" is the prevailing maxim.

High profits are regarded as the summum bonum,—no matter how obtained, or at what sacrifice.

Money is our god: "Devil take the hindmost" our motto.

The spirits of darkness rule supreme—

Though living in a Christian country, Christianity has never reached them. They are as uncivilized and unchristianized as the Trinobantes were at the landing of Julius Caesar, about nineteen hundred years ago. Yet these uncivilized people live in our midst.

St. James's and St. Giles's lie close together.

In the Parks of London, you may see how gold is worshipped; in the East End of London, you may see to what depths human misery may fall.

They are as uncivilized and unchristianized as the Trinobantes were at the landing of Julius Caesar, about nineteen hundred years ago. Yet these uncivilized people live in our midst. St. James's and St. Giles's lie close together.

In the Parks of London, you may see how gold is worshipped; in the East End of London, you may see to what depths human misery may fall.

They work, eat, drink, and sleep: that constitutes their life. They think nothing of providing for to-morrow, or for next week, or for next year. They abandon themselves to their sensual appetites; and make no provision whatever for the future.

Captain Parry found the Esquimaux near the North Pole as uncivilized as the miserable creatures who inhabit the dens of our great cities. They were, of course, improvident; for, like savages generally, they never save.

They were always either feasting or famished.

When they found a quantity of whale's blubber, they would eat as much of it as they could, and hide the rest. Yet their improvidence gave them no concern.

Yet their improvidence gave them no concern. Even when they had been without food or fuel for days together, they would be as gay and good-humoured as usual. They never thought of how they should be provided for to-morrow.

Saving for the future forms no part of the savage economy.

Amongst civilized peoples, cold is said to be the parent of frugality. Thus the northern nations of Europe owe a portion of their prosperity to the rigour of their climate. Cold makes them save during summer, to provide food, coal, and clothing during winter.

Even when they had been without food or fuel for days together, they would be as gay and good-humoured as usual. They never thought of how they should be provided for to-morrow. Saving for the future forms no part of the savage economy.

Amongst civilized peoples, cold is said to be the parent of frugality.

Thus the northern nations of Europe owe a portion of their prosperity to the rigour of their climate. Cold makes them save during summer, to provide food, coal, and clothing during winter. It encourages house-building and housekeeping. Hence Germany is more industrious than Sicily;

Probably there are hardly any of the most needy who, if they had been only moderately frugal and provident, could not have placed themselves in a position to tide over the occasional months of want of work, or of sickness, which there always must be….

I do not underrate the difficulty of laying by out of weekly earnings, but I say it can be done.

A dock-labourer, while a young, strong, unmarried man, could lay by half his weekly wages, and such men are almost sure of constant employment."

Though trade has invariably its cycles of good and bad years, like the lean and fat kine in Pharaoh's dream—its bursts of prosperity, followed by glut, panic, and distress—the thoughtless and spendthrift take no heed of experience, and make no better provision for the future.

Improvidence seems to be one of the most incorrigible of faults.

"There are whole neighbourhoods in the manufacturing districts," says Mr. Baker in a recent Report, "where not only are there no savings worth mentioning, but where, within a fortnight of being out of work, the workers themselves are starving for want of the merest necessaries."

This too is the prolific source of social misery. But the misery is entirely the result of human ignorance and self-indulgence. For though the Creator has ordained poverty, the poor are not necessarily, nor as a matter of fact, the miserable.

Misery is the result of moral causes,—most commonly of individual vice and improvidence.

The Rev. Mr. Norris, in speaking of the habits of the highly paid miners and iron-workers of South Staffordshire, says, "Improvidence is too tame a word for it—it is recklessness; here young and old, married and unmarried, are uniformly and almost avowedly self-indulgent spendthrifts.

Yet these measures have produced but little improvement in the condition of the working people. They have not applied the principle of Reform to themselves. They have not begun at home.

Yet the end of all Reform is the improvement of the individual.

Everything that is wrong in Society results from that which is wrong in the Individual. When men are bad, society is bad.

Yet these measures have produced but little improvement in the condition of the working people. They have not applied the principle of Reform to themselves. They have not begun at home. Yet the end of all Reform is the improvement of the individual.

Everything that is wrong in Society results from that which is wrong in the Individual. When men are bad, society is bad.

Franklin, with his shrewd common sense, observed, "The taxes are indeed very heavy; and if those laid on by the Government were the only ones we had to pay, we might more easily discharge them;

and if those laid on by the Government were the only ones we had to pay, we might more easily discharge them; but we have many others, and much more grievous to some of us.

We are taxed quite as much by our idleness, three times as much by our pride, and four times as much by our folly; and from these taxes the Commissioners cannot ease or deliver us by allowing an abatement.

"

Aristocratic government, and the tyranny of masters, are nothing like so injurious as the tyranny of vicious appetites. Men are easily led away by the parade of their miseries, which are for the most part voluntary and self-imposed,—the results of idleness, thriftlessness, intemperance, and misconduct.

To blame others for what we suffer, is always more agreeable to our self-pride, than to blame ourselves.

But it is perfectly clear that people who live from day to day without plan, without rule, without forethought—who spend all their earnings, without saving anything for the future—are preparing beforehand for inevitable distress.

But it is perfectly clear that people who live from day to day without plan, without rule, without forethought—who spend all their earnings, without saving anything for the future—are preparing beforehand for inevitable distress.

To provide only for the present, is the sure means to sacrificing the future.

What hope can there be for a people whose only maxim seems to be, "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die"?

To provide only for the present, is the sure means to sacrificing the future.

What hope can there be for a people whose only maxim seems to be, "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die"?

All this may seem very hopeless; yet it is not entirely so. The large earnings of the working classes is an important point to start with. The gradual diffusion of education will help them to use, and not abuse, their means of comfortable living.

Complaining that the laws are bad, and that the taxes are heavy, will not mend matters.

Aristocratic government, and the tyranny of masters, are nothing like so injurious as the tyranny of vicious appetites.

Men are easily led away by the parade of their miseries, which are for the most part voluntary and self-imposed,—the results of idleness, thriftlessness, intemperance, and misconduct. To blame others for what we suffer, is always more agreeable to our self-pride, than to blame ourselves.

Mr. Denison was of opinion that much of this might be accomplished "within two generations." Social improvement is always very slow. How extremely tardy has been the progress of civilization! How gradually have its humanizing influences operated in elevating the mass of the people!

It requires the lapse of generations before its effects can be so much as discerned: for a generation is but as a day in the history of civilization.

It has cost most nations ages of wars, before they could conquer their right of existence as nations. It took four centuries of persecutions and martyrdoms to establish Christianity, and two centuries of civil wars to establish the Reformation.

"

Love, therefore, labour: if thou should'st not want it for food, thou may'st for physic.

It is wholesome for the body, and good for the mind; it prevents the fruit of idleness."—William Penn.

"

The parent who does not teach his child a trade, teaches him to be a thief.

"—Brahminical Scriptures.

Goldsmith spoke of the country curate as "passing rich with forty pounds a year." The incomes of curates have certainly increased since the time when Goldsmith wrote, but nothing like the incomes of skilled and unskilled workmen.

If curates merely worked for money, they would certainly change their vocation, and become colliers and iron-workers.

When the author visited Renfrewshire a few years ago, the colliers were earning from ten to fourteen shillings a day. According to the common saying, they were "making money like a minting machine."

Before the time of high wages, the Court-house business was got through in an hour: sometimes there was no business at all. But when the wages were doubled, the magistrate could scarcely get through the business in a day.

It seemed as if high wages meant more idleness, more whisky, and more broken heads and faces.

These were doubtless "roaring times" for the colliers, who, had they possessed the requisite self-denial, might have made little fortunes. Many of the men who worked out the coal remained idle three or four days in the week;

The times of high wages did not leave a very good impression on the public mind.

Prices became higher, morals became lower, and the work done was badly done.

There was a considerable deterioration in the character of British workmanship. "We began to rely too much upon the foreigner. Trade was to a large extent destroyed, and an enormous loss of capital was sustained, both by the workmen and by the masters.

Would he be really free? Then he must exercise the powers of a free, responsible man. He must exercise self-control and self-constraint,—and sacrifice present personal gratifications for prospective enjoyments of a much higher kind.

It is only by self-respect and self-control that the position of the workman can be really elevated.

The working man is now more of a citizen than he ever was before. He is a recognized power, and has been admitted within the pale of the constitution.

but discontent is only the necessary condition of improvement; for a man will not be stimulated to rise up into a higher condition unless he be first made dissatisfied with the lower condition out of which he has to rise.

To be satisfied is to repose; while, to be rationally dissatisfied, is to contrive, to work, and to act, with an eye to future advancement.

The working classes very much under-estimate themselves. Though they receive salaries or wages beyond the average earnings of professional men, yet many of them have no other thought than that of living in mean houses, and spending their surplus time and money in drink.

They seem wanting in respect for themselves as well as for their class. They encourage the notion that there is something degrading in labour,—than which nothing can be more false.

Labour of all kinds is dignifying and honourable; it is the idler, above all others, who is undignified and dishonourable.

"Let the working man," says Mr. Sterling, "try to connect his daily task, however mean, with the highest thoughts he can apprehend, and he thereby secures the rightfulness of his lot, and is raising his existence to his utmost good.

One thing is perfectly clear, that an immense amount of ignorance prevails, and that such ignorance must be dissipated before the lower classes can be elevated. Their whole character must be changed, and they must be taught in early life habits of forecast and self-control.

We often hear that "Knowledge is Power;" but we never hear that Ignorance is Power. And yet Ignorance has always had more power in the world than Knowledge.

Ignorance dominates. It is because of the evil propensities of men that the costly repressive institutions of modern governments exist.

but we never hear that Ignorance is Power. And yet Ignorance has always had more power in the world than Knowledge. Ignorance dominates. It is because of the evil propensities of men that the costly repressive institutions of modern governments exist.

Ignorance arms men against each other; provides gaols and penitentiaries; police and constabulary.

All the physical force of the State is provided by Ignorance; is required by Ignorance; is very often wielded by Ignorance. We may well avow, then, that Ignorance is Power.

The principal causes of anxiety in this country, are the social suffering and disease which proceed from Ignorance. To mitigate these, we form associations, organize societies, spend money, and labour in committees. But the power of Ignorance is too great for us.

We almost despair while we work.

We feel that much of our effort is wasted. We are often ready to give up in dismay, and recoil from our encounter with the powers of evil.

"How forcible are right words!" exclaimed Job. Yes! But, with equal justice, he might have said, "How forcible are wrong words!"

The wrong words have more power with ignorant minds than the right words.

They fit themselves into wrong heads, and prejudiced heads, and empty heads; and have power over them. The right words have often no meaning for them, any more than if they were the words of some dead language.

They fit themselves into wrong heads, and prejudiced heads, and empty heads; and have power over them. The right words have often no meaning for them, any more than if they were the words of some dead language.

The wise man's thoughts do not reach the multitude, but fly over their heads.

Only the few as yet apprehend them.

The only method of abating this power of Ignorance, is by increasing that of Knowledge.

As the sun goes up the sky, the darkness disappears; and the owl, the bat, and the beasts of prey, slink out of sight.

Give the people knowledge,—give them better education,—and thus, crime will be abated,—drunkenness, improvidence, lawlessness, and all the powers of evil, will, to a certain extent, disappear.[1]

The clever man may be a clever rogue; and the cleverer he is, the cleverer rogue he will be. Education, therefore, must be based upon religion and morality; for education by itself will not eradicate vicious propensities.

Culture of intellect has but little effect upon moral conduct.

You may see clever, educated, literary men, with no conduct whatever,—wasteful, improvident, drunken, and vicious. It follows, therefore, that education must be based upon the principles of religion and morality.

It must, however, be admitted that education is not enough.

The clever man may be a clever rogue; and the cleverer he is, the cleverer rogue he will be.

Education, therefore, must be based upon religion and morality; for education by itself will not eradicate vicious propensities. Culture of intellect has but little effect upon moral conduct. You may see clever, educated, literary men, with no conduct whatever,—wasteful, improvident, drunken, and vicious.

Knowledge secular, and knowledge divine, the double current of the intellectual life-blood of man, must not merely descend through the great arteries of the social frame; it must be taken up by the minutest capillaries before it can nourish and purify society.

Knowledge is at once the manna and the medicine of our moral being. Where crime is the bane, knowledge is the antidote.

Society may escape from the pestilence and may survive the famine;

… improve his condition," said the late William Felkin, Mayor of Nottingham, himself originally a working man, "he must earn all he can, spend as little as he can, and make what he does spend, bring him and his family all the real enjoyment he can.

The first saving which a working man makes out of his earnings is the first step,—and because it is the first, the most important step towards true independence.

Now independence is as practicable in the case of an industrious and economic, though originally poor, workman, as in that of the tradesman or merchant,—and is as great and estimable a blessing.

"

Examples demonstrate the possibility of success.

"—Cotton.

"Right action is the result of right faith; but a true and right faith cannot be sustained, deepened, extended, save in a course of right action."—M'Combie.

Thrift is the spirit of order applied to domestic management and organization.

Its object is to manage frugally the resources of the family; to prevent waste; and avoid useless expenditure. Thrift is under the influence of reason and forethought, and never works by chance or by fits.

Order is most useful in the management of everything,—of a household, of a business, of a manufactory, of an army. Its maxim is—A place for everything, and everything in its place.

Order is wealth; for, whoever properly regulates the use of his income, almost doubles his resources. Disorderly persons are rarely rich; and orderly persons are rarely poor.

Order is the best manager of time; for unless work is properly arranged, Time is lost; and, once lost, it is gone for ever. Order illustrates many important subjects. Thus, obedience to the moral and natural law, is order.

Its maxim is—A place for everything, and everything in its place. Order is wealth; for, whoever properly regulates the use of his income, almost doubles his resources. Disorderly persons are rarely rich; and orderly persons are rarely poor.

Order is the best manager of time; for unless work is properly arranged, Time is lost; and, once lost, it is gone for ever.

Order illustrates many important subjects. Thus, obedience to the moral and natural law, is order. Respect for ourselves and our neighbours, is order. Regard for the rights and obligations of all, is order. Virtue is order. The world began with order.

and, once lost, it is gone for ever. Order illustrates many important subjects. Thus, obedience to the moral and natural law, is order. Respect for ourselves and our neighbours, is order. Regard for the rights and obligations of all, is order.

Virtue is order. The world began with order.

Chaos prevailed, before the establishment of order.

They are, it is true, born in different positions, but it rests with themselves whether they shall live their lives nobly or vilely.

They may not have their choice of riches or poverty; but they have their choice of being good or evil,—of being worthy or worthless.

People of the highest position, in point of culture and education, have often as great privations to endure as the average of working people. They have often to make their incomes go much further. They have to keep up a social standing.

Thus, the tenth Earl of Buchan brought up a numerous family of children, one of whom afterwards rose to be Lord Chancellor of England, upon an income not exceeding two hundred a year.

It is not the amount of income, so much as the good use of it, that marks the true man; and viewed in this light, good sense, good taste, and sound mental culture, are among the best of all economists.

The late Dr. Aiton said that his father brought up a still larger family on only half the income of the Earl of Buchan. The following dedication, prefixed to his work on "Clerical Economics," is worthy of being remembered:

At twenty-three, young Hume went to France to prosecute his studies. "There," says he, in his Autobiography, "I laid down that plan of life which I have steadily and successfully pursued.

I resolved to make a very rigid frugality supply my deficiency of fortune, to maintain unimpaired my independency, and to regard every object as contemptible, except the improvement of my talents in literature.

" The first book he published was a complete failure. But he went on again; composed and published another book, which was a success. But he made no money by it. He became secretary to the military embassy at Vienna and Turin;

At all events, it is not by socialism, but by individualism, that anything has been done towards the achievement of knowledge, and the advancement of society.

It is the will and determination of individual men that impels the world forward in art, in science, and in all the means and methods of civilization.

Individual men are willing to deny themselves, but associated communities will not. The masses are too selfish, and fear that advantage will be taken of any sacrifices which they may be called upon to make.

It is the will and determination of individual men that impels the world forward in art, in science, and in all the means and methods of civilization.

Individual men are willing to deny themselves, but associated communities will not.

The masses are too selfish, and fear that advantage will be taken of any sacrifices which they may be called upon to make.

And he was right.

For the man who, after satisfying his wants, has something to spare, is no longer poor.

It is certain that from that day Stephenson never looked back; his advance as a self-improving man was as steady as the light of sunrise.

You know by what snatches of time I write, that I may not neglect that, and that I may preserve that independency which is the comfort of my life. I never sought out of myself for patrons.

My own industry and God's providence have been my whole reliance.

The great are not great to me unless they are good, and it is a glorious privilege that a middling man enjoys, who has preserved his independency, and can occasionally (though not stoically) tell the world what he thinks of that world, in hopes to …

"

The vast majority of men, in all ages and countries, must work before they can eat.

Even those who are not under the necessity, are, in England, generally impelled by example, by custom, perhaps by a sense of what is fitted for them, to adopt what is called an active pursuit of some sort….

Pleasure second!' From what I have seen of young men and their after-progress, I am satisfied that what is generally termed 'bad fortune,' 'ill luck,' and 'misfortune,' is in nine cases out of ten, simply the result of inverting the above simple maxim.

Such experience as I have had, convinces me that absence of success arises in the great majority of cases from want of self-denial and want of common sense.

The worst of all maxims is 'Pleasure first! Work and Duty second!"

"It was with profound wisdom that the Romans called by the same name courage and virtue.

There is in fact no virtue, properly so called, without victory over ourselves; and what cost us nothing, is worth nothing.

"—De Maistre.

The methods of practising economy are very simple. Spend less than you earn. That is the first rule. A portion should always be set apart for the future. The person who spends more than he earns, is a fool.

The civil law regards the spendthrift as akin to the lunatic, and frequently takes from him the management of his own affairs.

The next rule is to pay ready money, and never, on any account, to run into debt. The person who runs into debt is apt to get cheated; and if he runs into debt to any extent, he will himself be apt to get dishonest.

The methods of practising economy are very simple.

Spend less than you earn. That is the first rule.

A portion should always be set apart for the future. The person who spends more than he earns, is a fool. The civil law regards the spendthrift as akin to the lunatic, and frequently takes from him the management of his own affairs.

The next rule is to pay ready money, and never, on any account, to run into debt.

The person who runs into debt is apt to get cheated; and if he runs into debt to any extent, he will himself be apt to get dishonest.

"Who pays what he owes, enriches himself."

This is perhaps too exacting; and Bacon himself did not follow his own advice. What proportion of one's income should be expended on rent? That depends upon circumstances. In the country about one-tenth; in London about one-sixth.

It is at all events better to save too much, than spend too much.

One may remedy the first defect, but not so easily the latter. Wherever there is a large family, the more money that is put to one side and saved, the better.

Economy is necessary to the moderately rich, as well as to the comparatively poor man.

Without economy, a man cannot be generous.

He cannot take part in the charitable work of the world. If he spends all that he earns, he can help nobody. He cannot properly educate his children, nor put them in the way of starting fairly in the business of life.

they must keep up their "position in society;" they must have fine houses, horses, and carriages; give good dinners, and drink rich wines, their ladies must wear costly and gay dresses.

Thus the march of improvidence goes on over broken hearts, ruined hopes, and wasted ambitions.

The vice descends in society,—the middle classes strive to ape the patrician orders; they flourish crests, liveries, and hammercloths; their daughters must learn "accomplishments"—see "society"—ride and drive—frequent operas and theatres. Display is the rage, ambition rivalling ambition;

The vice descends in society,—the middle classes strive to ape the patrician orders; they flourish crests, liveries, and hammercloths; their daughters must learn "accomplishments"—see "society"—ride and drive—frequent operas and theatres.

Display is the rage, ambition rivalling ambition; and thus the vicious folly rolls on like a tide.

The vice again descends. The working classes, too, live up to their means—much smaller means, it is true; but even when they are able, they are not sufficiently careful to provide against the evil day;

To save money for avaricious purposes is altogether different from saving it for economical purposes. The saving may be accomplished in the same manner—by wasting nothing, and saving everything. But here the comparison ends.

The miser's only pleasure is in saving.

The prudent economist spends what he can afford for comfort and enjoyment, and saves a surplus for some future time. The avaricious person makes gold his idol: it is his molten calf, before which he constantly bows down;

Let every man, therefore, who can, endeavour to economize and to save; not to hoard, but to nurse his little savings, for the sake of promoting the welfare and happiness of himself while here, and of others when he has departed.

There is a dignity in the very effort to save with a worthy purpose, even though the attempt should not be crowned with eventual success.

It produces a well-regulated mind; it gives prudence a triumph over extravagance; it gives virtue the mastery over vice; it puts the passions under control; it drives away care; it secures comfort.

it gives virtue the mastery over vice; it puts the passions under control; it drives away care; it secures comfort. Saved money, however little, will serve to dry up many a tear—will ward off many sorrows and heartburnings, which otherwise might prey upon us.

Possessed of a little store of capital, a man walks with a lighter step—his heart beats more cheerily.

When interruption of work or adversity happens, he can meet them; he can recline on his capital, which will either break his fall, or prevent it altogether. By prudential economy, we can realize the dignity of man;

Possessed of a little store of capital, a man walks with a lighter step—his heart beats more cheerily. When interruption of work or adversity happens, he can meet them; he can recline on his capital, which will either break his fall, or prevent it altogether.

By prudential economy, we can realize the dignity of man; life will be a blessing, and old age an honour.

We can ultimately, under a kind Providence, surrender life, conscious that we have been no burden upon society, but rather, perhaps, an acquisition and ornament to it;

Is it not a fact that the greatness of humanity, the glory of communities, the power of nations, are the result of trials and difficulties encountered and overcome?

Let a man resolve and determine that he will advance, and the first step of advancement is already made. The first step is half the battle.

In the very fact of advancing himself, he is in the most effectual possible way advancing others. He is giving them the most eloquent of all lessons—that of example; which teaches far more emphatically than words can teach.

"The reason is," replied Isomachus, "because the former occupy themselves with their business, whilst the latter neglect it."

The difference between men consists for the most part in intelligence, conduct, and energy.

The best character never works by chance, but is under the influence of virtue, prudence, and forethought.

The man who looks to others for help, instead of relying on himself, will fail. The man who is undergoing the process of perpetual waste, will fail. The miser, the scrub, the extravagant, the thriftless, will necessarily fail.

Indeed, most people fail because they do not deserve to succeed.

They set about their work in the wrong way, and no amount of experience seems to improve them. There is not so much in luck as some people profess to believe. Luck is only another word for good management in practical affairs.

There are, of course, many failures in the world.

The man who looks to others for help, instead of relying on himself, will fail.

The man who is undergoing the process of perpetual waste, will fail. The miser, the scrub, the extravagant, the thriftless, will necessarily fail. Indeed, most people fail because they do not deserve to succeed.

Indeed, most people fail because they do not deserve to succeed. They set about their work in the wrong way, and no amount of experience seems to improve them. There is not so much in luck as some people profess to believe.

Luck is only another word for good management in practical affairs.

Richelieu used to say that he would not continue to employ an unlucky man,—in other words, a man wanting in practical qualities, and unable to profit by experience; for failures in the past are very often the auguries of failures in the future.

Richelieu used to say that he would not continue to employ an unlucky man,—in other words, a man wanting in practical qualities, and unable to profit by experience; for failures in the past are very often the auguries of failures in the future.

Some of the best and ablest of men are wanting in tact.

They will neither make allowance for circumstances, nor adapt themselves to circumstances: they will insist on trying to drive their wedge the broad end foremost. They raise walls only to run their own heads against.

and we naturally prefer the man who has definite aims and purposes, and proceeds in the straightest and shortest way to accomplish his object, to the one who describes the thing to be done, and spins fine phrases about doing it.

Without action, words are mere maundering.

The desire for success in the world, and even for the accumulation of money, is not without its uses. It has doubtless been implanted in the human heart for good rather than for evil purposes.

It provides the basis for individual energy and activity. It is the beginning of maritime and commercial enterprise. It is the foundation of industry, as well as of independence. It impels men to labour, to invent, and to excel.

No idle nor thriftless man ever became great.

It is amongst those who never lost a moment, that we find the men who have moved and advanced the world,—by their learning, their science, or their inventions. Labour of some sort is one of the conditions of existence.

A solitary individual may be able to do very little to advance and improve society; but when he combines with his fellows for the purpose, he can do a very great deal.

Civilization itself is but the effect of combining.

Mr.

Men who expend or waste such an amount can easily become capitalists. It requires only will, energy, and self-denial. So much money spent on buildings, plant, and steam-engines, would enable them to manufacture for themselves, instead of for the benefit of individual capitalists.

The steam-engine is impartial in its services. It is no respecter of persons; it will work for the benefit of the labourer as well as for the benefit of the millionaire.

It will work for those who make the best use of it, and who have the greatest knowledge of its powers.

"Look well after money matters. Buy your goods as much as possible in the first markets; or if you have the produce of your industry to sell, contrive, if possible, to sell it in the last.

Never depart from the principle of buying and selling for ready money. Beware of long reckonings.

" In short, the co-operative societies became tradesmen on a large scale; and, besides the pureness of the food sold, their profit consisted in the discount for cash payments, which was divided amongst the members.

and decline to attend a public meeting on a fine night, while they would crawl like the serpent in Eden, through a gutter in a storm, after a good security.

They have tasted land, and the gravel has got into their souls.

"

"

Life was not given us to be all used up in the pursuit of what we must leave behind us when we die.

"—Joseph May.

and because, in their fortnightly meetings to pay their subscriptions, they acquire the pernicious habit of drinking, and thus waste quite as much as they save. The Friendly Societies doubtless rely very much on the social element.

The public-house is everybody's house.

The members can there meet together, talk together, and drink together.

In a large number of cases, there is practically no choice between the society that meets at a public-house, and none at all.

It so happens that the world cannot be conducted on superfine principles.

To most men, and especially to the men we are speaking of, it is a rough, working world, conducted on common principles, such as will wear.

but the world we live in is vulgar, and we must take it as we find it, and try to make the best of it.

It must be admitted that the tendencies to pure good in man are very weak, and need much helping.

But the expedient, vulgar though it be, of attracting him through his appetite for meat and drink to perform a duty to himself and neighbours, is by no means confined to societies of working men.

There is scarcely a London charity or institution but has its annual dinner for the purpose of attracting subscribers.

Are we to condemn the eighteenpenny annual dinner of the poor man, but excuse the guinea one of the rich?

A vigorous effort was made by Mr. Akroyd of Halifax, in 1856, to establish a Provident Sick Society and Penny Savings Bank for the working men in the West Riding of Yorkshire. An organization was set on foot with these objects;

The defect of most of them consists in their trying to do too much with too little means. The benefits paid out are too high for the rates of contribution paid in.

Those who come first are served, but those who come late too often find an empty box.

Not only have the rates of payment been generally fixed too low, but there has been little or no discrimination in the selection of members.

We believe that time and experience will enable the leaders of Friendly Societies generally to improve them, and introduce new ameliorations.

The best institutions are things of slow growth, and are shaped by experience, which includes failures as well as successes; and finally, they require age to strengthen them and root them in habit.

The rudest society established by working men for mutual help in sickness, independent of help from private charity or the poor-rates, is grounded on a right spirit, and is deserving of every encouragement. It furnishes a foundation on which to build up something better.

"

I wish I could write all across the sky, in letters of gold, the one word SAVINGS BANK.

"—Rev. Win. Marsh.

"

The only true secret of assisting the poor is to make them agents in bettering their own condition.

"—Archbishop Sumner.

With ten pounds a workman might remove from one district to another where employment is more abundant. With ten pounds, he might emigrate to Canada or the United States, where his labour might be in request.

Without this little store of savings, he might be rooted to his native spot, like a limpet to the rock.

If a married man with a family, his ten pounds would save his home from wreckage, and his household from destitution. His ten pounds would keep the wolf from the door until better times came round.

We would have men and women of every class able to help themselves—relying upon their own resources—upon their own savings; for it is a true saying that "a penny in the purse is better than a friend at court."

The first penny saved is a step in the world.

The fact of its being saved and laid by, indicates self-denial, forethought, prudence, wisdom. It may be the germ of future happiness. It may be the beginning of independence.

On efficient drilling and discipline, men's success as individuals, and as societies entirely depends. The most self-dependent man is under discipline,—and the more perfect the discipline, the more complete his condition.

A man must drill his desires, and keep them under subjection,—he must obey the word of command, otherwise he is the sport of passion and impulse.

The religions man's life is full of discipline and self-restraint. The man of business is entirely subject to system and rule. The happiest home is that where the discipline is the most perfect, and yet where it is the least felt.

The religions man's life is full of discipline and self-restraint. The man of business is entirely subject to system and rule.

The happiest home is that where the discipline is the most perfect, and yet where it is the least felt.

We at length become subject to it as to a law of Nature, and while it binds us firmly, yet we feel it not. The force of Habit is but the force of Drill.

The happiest home is that where the discipline is the most perfect, and yet where it is the least felt. We at length become subject to it as to a law of Nature, and while it binds us firmly, yet we feel it not.

The force of Habit is but the force of Drill.

One dare scarcely hint, in these days, at the necessity for compulsory conscription;

… the wife must not only let her husband thrive, but help him, otherwise she is not the "help meet" which is as needful for the domestic comfort and satisfaction of the working man, as of every other man who undertakes the responsibility of a family.

Women form the moral atmosphere in which we grow when children, and they have a great deal to do with the life we lead when we become men.

It is true that the men may hold the reins; but it is generally the women who tell them which way to drive. What Rousseau said is very near the truth—"Men will always be what women make them."

Women form the moral atmosphere in which we grow when children, and they have a great deal to do with the life we lead when we become men.

It is true that the men may hold the reins; but it is generally the women who tell them which way to drive.

What Rousseau said is very near the truth—"Men will always be what women make them."

It is always very difficult to teach anything new to adults,—and especially lessons of thrift to men who are thriftless. Their method of living is fixed. Traditional and inveterate habits of expenditure exist among them.

With men, it is the drinking-shop; with women, it is dress.

They spend what they earn, and think nothing of to-morrow. When reduced to a state of distress, they feel no shame in begging; for the feeling of human dignity has not yet been sufficiently developed in them.

With children it is very different. They have no inveterate habits to get rid of. They will, for the most part, do as they are taught.

And they can be taught economy, just as they can be taught arithmetic.

They can, at all events, be inspired by a clever teacher with habits of economy and thrift. Every child has a few pence at times. The master may induce them to save these for some worthy purpose.

Dr. Guthrie, in his book on Ragged Schools, published in 1860, said: "How are our manufacturing and handicraft youth situated? By public-houses and spirit-shops they are surrounded with innumerable temptations; while to many of them savings banks are hardly known by name.

Dissipation has her nets drawn across every street.

In many of our towns, sobriety has to run the gauntlet of half-a-dozen spirit-shops in the space of a bow-shot. These are near at hand—open by day, and blazing by night, both on Sabbath and Saturday. Drunkenness finds immediate gratification;

Dissipation has her nets drawn across every street. In many of our towns, sobriety has to run the gauntlet of half-a-dozen spirit-shops in the space of a bow-shot. These are near at hand—open by day, and blazing by night, both on Sabbath and Saturday.

Drunkenness finds immediate gratification; while economy has to travel a mile, it may be, for her savings bank; and that opens its door to thrift but once or twice a week.

"[1]

"He that despiseth little things, shall perish by little and little."—Ecclesiasticus.

Neglect of small things is the rock on which the great majority of the human race have split.

Human life consists of a succession of small events, each of which is comparatively unimportant, and yet the happiness and success of every man depends upon the manner in which these small events are dealt with.

Human life consists of a succession of small events, each of which is comparatively unimportant, and yet the happiness and success of every man depends upon the manner in which these small events are dealt with.

Character is built up on little things,—little things well and honourably transacted.

The success of a man in business depends on his attention to little things. The comfort of a household is the result of small things well arranged and duly provided for.

Your negligent, shiftless, loose fellows never meet with luck; because the results of industry are denied to those who will not use the proper efforts to secure them.

It is not luck, but labour, that makes men.

Luck, says an American writer, is ever waiting for something to turn up; Labour, with keen eye and strong will, always turns up something. Luck lies in bed and wishes the postman would bring him news of a legacy;

It is not luck, but labour, that makes men. Luck, says an American writer, is ever waiting for something to turn up; Labour, with keen eye and strong will, always turns up something.

Luck lies in bed and wishes the postman would bring him news of a legacy; Labour turns out at six, and with busy pen or ringing hammer lays the foundation of a competence.

Luck whines; Labour whistles. Luck relies on chance; Labour on character. Luck slips downwards to self-indulgence; Labour strides upward, and aspires to independence.

Labour, with keen eye and strong will, always turns up something. Luck lies in bed and wishes the postman would bring him news of a legacy; Labour turns out at six, and with busy pen or ringing hammer lays the foundation of a competence.

Luck whines; Labour whistles. Luck relies on chance; Labour on character.

Luck slips downwards to self-indulgence; Labour strides upward, and aspires to independence.

Luck lies in bed and wishes the postman would bring him news of a legacy; Labour turns out at six, and with busy pen or ringing hammer lays the foundation of a competence. Luck whines; Labour whistles. Luck relies on chance; Labour on character.

Luck slips downwards to self-indulgence; Labour strides upward, and aspires to independence.

There are many little things in the household, attention to which is indispensable to health and happiness.

but it may make the difference of a life destroyed by fever; and therefore the little dirt and the little bad air are really very serious matters. The whole of the household regulations are, taken by themselves, trifles—but trifles tending to an important result.

A pin is a very little thing in an article of dress, but the way in which it is put into the dress often reveals to you the character of the wearer.

A shrewd fellow was once looking out for a wife, and was on a visit to a family of daughters with this object.

"It will do!" is the common phrase of those who neglect little things.

"It will do!" has blighted many a character, blasted many a fortune, sunk many a ship, burnt down many a house, and irretrievably ruined thousands of hopeful projects of human good.

It always means stopping short of the right thing. It is a makeshift. It is a failure and defeat. Not what "will do," but what is the best possible thing to do,—is the point to be aimed at!

so that here was a loss in a few minutes of a large sum, purely for want of a little latch which might have been supplied for a few halfpence. Life is full of illustrations of a similar kind.

When small things are habitually neglected, ruin is not far off.

It is the hand of the diligent that maketh rich; and the diligent man or woman is attentive to small things as well as great.

What can it buy? Of what use is it? It is half the price of a glass of beer. It is the price of a box of matches. It is only fit for giving to a beggar.

And yet how much of human happiness depends upon the spending of the penny well.

A man may work hard, and earn high wages;

All savings are made up of little things. "Many a little makes a mickle." Many a penny makes a pound.

A penny saved is the seed of pounds saved.

And pounds saved mean comfort, plenty, wealth, and independence. But the penny must be earned honestly. It is said that a penny earned honestly is better than a shilling given.

A Scotch proverb says, "The gear that is gifted is never sae sweet as the gear that is won." What though the penny be black? "The smith and his penny are both black." But the penny earned by the smith is an honest one.

If a man does not know how to save his pennies or his pounds, his nose will always be kept to the grindstone.

Want may come upon him any day, "like an armed man." Careful saving acts like magic: once begun, it grows into habit. It gives a man a feeling of satisfaction, of strength, of security.

If a man does not know how to save his pennies or his pounds, his nose will always be kept to the grindstone. Want may come upon him any day, "like an armed man."

Careful saving acts like magic: once begun, it grows into habit.

It gives a man a feeling of satisfaction, of strength, of security. The pennies he has put aside in his savings box, or in the savings bank, give him an assurance of comfort in sickness, or of rest in old age.

It gives a man a feeling of satisfaction, of strength, of security. The pennies he has put aside in his savings box, or in the savings bank, give him an assurance of comfort in sickness, or of rest in old age.

The man who saves has something to weather-fend him against want; while the man who saves not has nothing between him and bitter, biting poverty.

A man may be disposed to save money, and lay it by for sickness or for other purposes; but he cannot do this unless his wife lets him, or helps him. A prudent, frugal, thrifty woman is a crown of glory to her husband.

A man may be disposed to save money, and lay it by for sickness or for other purposes; but he cannot do this unless his wife lets him, or helps him.

A prudent, frugal, thrifty woman is a crown of glory to her husband.

She helps him in all his good resolutions; she may, by quiet and gentle encouragement, bring out his better qualities; and by her example she may implant in him noble principles, which are the seeds of the highest practical virtues.

If there were a few patriarchs of the people such as this, their beneficial influence would soon be sensibly felt by society at large.

A life well spent is worth any number of speeches.

For example is a language far more eloquent than words: it is instruction in action—wisdom at work.

If there were a few patriarchs of the people such as this, their beneficial influence would soon be sensibly felt by society at large. A life well spent is worth any number of speeches.

For example is a language far more eloquent than words: it is instruction in action—wisdom at work.

A man's daily life is the best test of his moral and social state. Take two men, for instance, both working at the same trade and earning the same money; yet how different they may be as respects their actual condition.

A life well spent is worth any number of speeches. For example is a language far more eloquent than words: it is instruction in action—wisdom at work.

A man's daily life is the best test of his moral and social state.

Take two men, for instance, both working at the same trade and earning the same money; yet how different they may be as respects their actual condition. The one looks a free man; the other a slave. The one lives in a snug cottage;

"Never! I drink water, which costs nothing. Drunken days have all their to-morrows, as the old proverb says. I spare myself sore heads and shaky hands, and save my pennies.

Drinking water neither makes a man sick nor in debt, nor his wife a widow.

And that, let me tell you, makes a considerable difference in our out-go. It may amount to about half-a-crown a week, or seven pounds a year. That seven pounds will clothe myself and children, while you are out at elbows and your children go barefoot."

"Never! I drink water, which costs nothing.

Drunken days have all their to-morrows, as the old proverb says.

I spare myself sore heads and shaky hands, and save my pennies. Drinking water neither makes a man sick nor in debt, nor his wife a widow. And that, let me tell you, makes a considerable difference in our out-go.

"Yes! there's this in it,—that it has made you ask me the question, how I manage to keep my family so comfortably, and put money in the Penny Bank, while you, with the same wages, can barely make the ends meet.

Money is independence, and money is made by putting pennies together.

Besides, I work so hard for mine,—and so do you,—that I can't find it in my heart to waste a penny on drink, when I can put it beside a few other hard-earned pennies in the bank.

There's that in it, Jack; and there's comfort also in the thought that, whatever may happen to me, I needn't beg nor go to the workhouse. The saving of the penny makes me feel a free man.

The man always in debt, or without a penny beforehand, is little better than a slave.

"

Would your rights make you or your wife, thriftier, or your hearthstone cleaner? Would rights wash your children's faces, and mend the holes in your clothes? No, no, friend!

Give us our rights by all means, but rights are not habits, and it's habits we want—good habits.

With these we can be free men and independent men now, if we but determine to be so. Good night, Jack, and mind my secret,—it's nothing but taking care of the pennies, and the pounds will take care of themselves."

There can be no thrift, nor economy, nor comfort at home, unless the wife helps;—and a working man's wife, more than any other man's; for she is wife, Housekeeper, nurse, and servant, all in one.

If she be thriftless, putting money into her hands is like pouring water through a sieve.

Let her be frugal, and she will make her home a place of comfort, and she will also make her husband's life happy,—if she do not lay the foundation of his prosperity and fortune.

"

Method is the hinge of business; and there is no method without Punctuality.

Punctuality is important, because it subserves the Peace and Good Temper of a family. The want of it not only infringes on necessary Duty, but sometimes excludes this duty. The calmness of mind which it produces is another advantage of Punctuality.

Punctuality is important, because it subserves the Peace and Good Temper of a family. The want of it not only infringes on necessary Duty, but sometimes excludes this duty. The calmness of mind which it produces is another advantage of Punctuality.

A disorderly man is always in a hurry.

He has no time to speak to you, because he is going elsewhere; and when he gets there, he is too late for his business, or he must hurry away to another before he can finish it. Punctuality gives weight to character.

A disorderly man is always in a hurry. He has no time to speak to you, because he is going elsewhere; and when he gets there, he is too late for his business, or he must hurry away to another before he can finish it.

Punctuality gives weight to character.

'Such a man has made an appointment; then I know he will keep it.' And this generates Punctuality in you; for, like other virtues, it propagates itself. Servants and children must be punctual, when their Leader is so. Appointments, indeed, become debts.

Punctuality gives weight to character. 'Such a man has made an appointment; then I know he will keep it.' And this generates Punctuality in you; for, like other virtues, it propagates itself. Servants and children must be punctual, when their Leader is so.

Appointments, indeed, become debts.

I owe you Punctuality, if I have made an appointment with you, and have no right to throw away your time, if I do my own."

"Suppose a young man to pursue this system: Let him obtain the first twenty pounds, add each year ten pounds, he will at the end of six years be possessed of upwards of one hundred pounds.

If in early life the opportunity is suffered to pass, it rarely happens that one can save money when more advanced in years.

"The concern in which we are engaged has been defrauded by those who have for thirty years received salaries, the savings from which, had they followed the plan that is recommended, would have placed them in situations of comparative affluence;

"Upon industry and frugality our well-doing depends.

It is not great talents, but steady application, that is required.

There are none of us that may not obtain stations of respectability. 'God helps them that help themselves.' 'He that follows pleasure instead of business will shortly have no business to follow.'

"Late occurrences lead me to draw your attention to this subject: it is important in every sense, both as regards your public and private stations.

There is nothing more worthy of a man than truth: nothing makes him feel himself so despicable as a lie.

Recollect that men act lies without speaking them, and that all false appearances are lies. "He, therefore, who, seeing his employer injured, neglects to make it known, is equally guilty—with this addition, that he is practising a lie. Want of punctuality is a lie.

"Late occurrences lead me to draw your attention to this subject: it is important in every sense, both as regards your public and private stations. There is nothing more worthy of a man than truth: nothing makes him feel himself so despicable as a lie.

Recollect that men act lies without speaking them, and that all false appearances are lies.

"He, therefore, who, seeing his employer injured, neglects to make it known, is equally guilty—with this addition, that he is practising a lie. Want of punctuality is a lie.

Recollect that men act lies without speaking them, and that all false appearances are lies. "He, therefore, who, seeing his employer injured, neglects to make it known, is equally guilty—with this addition, that he is practising a lie.

Want of punctuality is a lie.

"Speak and act openly on all occasions. Errors will be fewer, and labour will be decreased.

"

It seldom happens that we can do any important services, but small services are always in use.

Take, therefore, every opportunity of assisting each other,—you are then most effectually serving your employers, as well as keeping up a spirit of cordiality and goodwill amongst yourselves.

"

Care preserves what Industry gains.

He who attends to his business diligently but not carefully, throws away with one hand what he gathers with the other."—Colton.

Employers can do a great deal towards promoting habits of thrift, prudence, and sobriety amongst their workpeople.

Though the working man does not like to be patronized, he has no objections to be helped.

We have already seen that individuals can do much; they can cultivate habits of economy, and lay by a certain portion of their earnings for help in time of need. But they want encouragement and assistance. They want sympathy; they want help.

Charity cannot remedy the evil. Giving money, blankets, coals, and such-like, to the poor—where the spirit of sympathy is wanting,—does not amount to much.

The charity of most of the Lord and Lady Bountifuls begins with money, and ends there.

The fellow-feeling is absent. The poor are not dealt with as if they belonged to the same common family of man, or as if the same human heart beat in their breasts.

It is "heartless," "selfish," "mischievous," "ruinous," and so on. It is said to produce misery and poverty to the million. It is charged with lowering prices, or almost in the same breath with raising them.

Competition has a broad back, and can bear any amount of burdens.

And yet there is something to be said for competition, as well as against it. It is a struggle,—that must be admitted. All life is a struggle. Amongst workmen, competition is a struggle to advance towards higher wages. Amongst masters, to make the highest profits.

You must do your own fair share of work, save your own money, and not look to me and to others to keep you out of the poor-house.

There is enough for all; but do your own share of work you must.

Success grows out of struggles to overcome difficulties. If there were no difficulties, there would be no success. If there were nothing to struggle or compete for, there would be nothing achieved.

You must do your own fair share of work, save your own money, and not look to me and to others to keep you out of the poor-house. There is enough for all; but do your own share of work you must.

Success grows out of struggles to overcome difficulties. If there were no difficulties, there would be no success.

If there were nothing to struggle or compete for, there would be nothing achieved. It is well, therefore, that men should be under the necessity of exerting themselves.

One of the results of industry and thrift is the accumulation of Capital.

Capital represents the self-denial, the providence, and the enterprise of the past.

The most successful accumulators of capital have in all times risen from the ranks of labour itself; they are working men who have shot ahead of their fellows, and who now give employment instead of receiving it.

Is it not more probable that this country would have become overrun by beggars,—or that property would have been assailed and the constitution upset, as was the case in France,—but for the extensive and remunerative employment afforded to the labouring classes in the manufacturing districts?

The steam engine has indeed proved the safety-valve of England.

It enabled the kingdom to hold its ground firmly during the continental wars; and but for it, and the industries which it has established, England would probably by this time have sunk to the condition of a third or fourth-rate power.

But it would certainly have been singular if, with their industry, energy, and powers of organization, they had become poor! Men of the stamp of the Strutts, Ashworths, Marshalls, and others, do not work for wealth merely, though wealth comes to them.

They have not become great because they were rich, but they have become rich because they were great.

Accumulations of wealth are the result of exceptional industry, organization, and thrift, rather than of exceptional gain. Adam Smith has said:

… who was endowed with industry, with intellect, with energy, with courage, with perseverance,—who spared himself no pains in first ascertaining the conditions of the problems he had to solve,—and then whose heart never fainted, whose will never relaxed, in determining to carry out those conditions."

Great men are wise savers and wise spenders.

Montesquieu has said of Alexander: "He found the first means of his prosperity and power in the greatness of his genius; the second, in his frugality and private economy; and the third, in his immense liberality to accomplish great objects.

It may seem out of keeping to compare great producers with great commanders.

Yet the manufacturer often requires as much courage, as much genius, as much organizing power, as the warrior.

The one considers how he shall keep his operatives in working order; the other how he shall keep his soldiers in fighting order. Both must be men of enterprize, of boldness, of keen observation, and close attention to details.

"

The way by which thoughts, or chance suggestions, enter into the minds of men, is sometimes passing strange!

They may be the offspring of wayward fancy; or they may be the whisperings from a higher source.

The produce of these looms I sold principally to the Irish, who made them up into braces and hawked them about the country. I also made and stitched, with assistance, all the carpets that we sold retail.

I used to get up to work by four o'clock in the morning, and being very diligent, I have usually earned two shillings before breakfast, by the time that my neighbours were coming downstairs.

"

"My mother," he says, "went thither with her usual energy. As she was going down the yard at four o'clock in the morning, she made this vow:

'If the Lord does bless us at this place, the poor shall taste of it.'

It is to this vow, given with so much faithfulness, and kept with so much fidelity, that I attribute the great success which my father had in business. My mother was always looking how she could best keep this vow.

On reaching the hotel at the White Mountains, I went out alone for an evening walk. It was a beautiful spot. The sun was just declining behind Mount Washington, amidst all the glorious drapery of an American sunset.

I felt as if I was walking with God.

'What,' said I, 'shall I render for all His benefits to me? Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?' The answer came immediately. It was this:

"There may be some who think the tendency of our policy has been too sentimental.

I don't believe in doing business on sentimental principles. But I contend that mere money-making is not the sole end of existence.

We have been associated with many of you for several years, and we cannot help feeling a considerable interest in you. After all, life is not so very long.

Now, all England—shopkeepers, workmen, all manner of competing labourers—awaken as with an unspoken but heartfelt prayer to Beelzebub,—

'Oh, help us, thou great Lord of Shoddy, Adulteration, and Malfeasance, to do our work with the maximum of sluriness, swiftness, profit, and mendacity, for the devil's sake. Amen.'

"

but it must be remembered that their labour was the only thing they had to sell; and the best thing to do was to leave those matters to take their natural course.

It was a great mistake, on the part of employers, to suppose that the lowest-priced labour was always the cheapest.

If there was not so much desire to run down the price of labour, and the masters showed a more conciliatory spirit, there would be fewer strikes and outrages.

Less than a hundred years ago, the colliers and salters of Scotland were slaves. It is not forty years since women and children worked in coalpits.

Surely we are not to go down upon our knees and pray for a restoration of the horrible things that existed a hundred years ago.

A hundred years ago, Ireland was treated like a conquered country; and hangings and shootings of rebels were frequent. The fleet at the Nore mutinied; and the mutiny was put down by bloodshed and executions. Towns and cities swarmed with ruffians;

Though drunkenness is bad enough now, it was infinitely worse a hundred years ago. The publican's signboards announced, "

You may here get drunk for a penny, dead-drunk for twopence, and have clean straw for nothing.

" Drunkenness was considered a manly vice. To drink deep was the fashion of the day. Six-bottle men were common. Even drunken clergymen were not unknown.

Though drunkenness is bad enough now, it was infinitely worse a hundred years ago. The publican's signboards announced, "You may here get drunk for a penny, dead-drunk for twopence, and have clean straw for nothing."

Drunkenness was considered a manly vice.

To drink deep was the fashion of the day. Six-bottle men were common. Even drunken clergymen were not unknown.

In place of the disgusting old amusements, there has come a healthier, sounder life, greater enlightenment, more general sobriety, and a humaner spirit. We have in a hundred years outgrown many of our savage tendencies.

We are not less brave as a people, though less brutal. We are quite as manly, though much less gross.

Manners are more refined, yet as a people we have not lost our pluck, energy, and endurance. We respect ourselves more, and as a nation we have become more respected. We now think with shame of the manners of a hundred years ago.

"

YES and No are, for good or evil, the Giants of Life.

"—Jerrold.

"

A hundred years of vexation will not pay a farthing of debt.

"—From the French.

"

Respectability is all very well for folks who can have it for ready money: but to be obliged to run into debt for it—it's enough to break the heart of an angel.

"—Jerrold.

"Respectability is all very well for folks who can have it for ready money: but to be obliged to run into debt for it—it's enough to break the heart of an angel."—Jerrold.

Extravagance is the pervading sin of modern society.

It is not confined to the rich and moneyed classes, but extends also to the middle and working classes.

Extravagance is the pervading sin of modern society. It is not confined to the rich and moneyed classes, but extends also to the middle and working classes.

There never was such a burning desire to be rich, or to seem to be rich.

People are no longer satisfied with the earnings of honest industry; but they must aim at becoming suddenly rich,—by speculation, gambling, betting, swindling, or cheating.

There is a general prodigality in social display. People live in a style beyond their means; and the results are observed in commercial failures, in lists of bankrupts, and in criminal courts, where business men are so often convicted of dishonesty and fraud.

Appearances must be kept up. Men must seem to be rich.

Hypocrites can easily impose upon those who are willing to be convinced. People must now live in a certain style, inhabit handsome houses, give good dinners, drink fine wines, and have a handsome equipage.

They must entertain their fashionable "friends," at the expense of the shopkeepers. And yet, when misfortunes overtake them, and when their debts have become overwhelming, what becomes of the "friends"? They fly away, and shun the man who is up to his ears in debt!

Yet poverty is more than half disarmed by those who have the moral courage to say. "I can't afford it."

Fair-weather friends are of no use whatever, except as an indication of the depth of snobbery to which human beings can descend. What is "a visiting connection"? It is not at all calculated to elevate one in social, or even in business life.

Yet poverty is more than half disarmed by those who have the moral courage to say. "I can't afford it."

Fair-weather friends are of no use whatever, except as an indication of the depth of snobbery to which human beings can descend.

What is "a visiting connection"? It is not at all calculated to elevate one in social, or even in business life. Success mainly depends upon character, and the general esteem in which a person is held.

We copy and imitate her in all things. We are pinned to her apron-string. We are obedient at her bidding. We are indolent and complaisant, and fear to provoke her ill-word.

"What will Mrs. Grundy say?" quells many a noble impulse, hinders many a self-denying act.

There seems to be a general, though unconscious conspiracy existing, against each other's individuality and manhood. We discourage self-reliance, and demand conformity. Each must see with others' eyes, and think through others' minds.

We are pinned to her apron-string. We are obedient at her bidding. We are indolent and complaisant, and fear to provoke her ill-word. "What will Mrs. Grundy say?" quells many a noble impulse, hinders many a self-denying act.

There seems to be a general, though unconscious conspiracy existing, against each other's individuality and manhood.

We discourage self-reliance, and demand conformity. Each must see with others' eyes, and think through others' minds. We are idolaters of customs and observances, looking behind, not forwards and upwards.

There seems to be a general, though unconscious conspiracy existing, against each other's individuality and manhood.

We discourage self-reliance, and demand conformity.

Each must see with others' eyes, and think through others' minds. We are idolaters of customs and observances, looking behind, not forwards and upwards.

There seems to be a general, though unconscious conspiracy existing, against each other's individuality and manhood. We discourage self-reliance, and demand conformity. Each must see with others' eyes, and think through others' minds.

We are idolaters of customs and observances, looking behind, not forwards and upwards.

Pinned down and held back by ignorance and weakness, we are afraid of standing alone, or of thinking and acting for ourselves. Conventionalism rules all. We fear stepping out into the free air of independent thought and action.

Conventionalism rules all. We fear stepping out into the free air of independent thought and action. We refuse to plant ourselves upon our instincts, and to vindicate our spiritual freedom.

We are content to bear others' fruit, not our own.

In private affairs, the same spirit is alike deleterious. We live as society directs, each according to the standard of our class. We have a superstitious reverence for custom. We dress, and eat, and live, in conformity with the Grundy law.

We live as society directs, each according to the standard of our class. We have a superstitious reverence for custom. We dress, and eat, and live, in conformity with the Grundy law. So long as we do this, we are "respectable," according to class notions.

Thus many rush open-eyed upon misery, for no better excuse than a foolish fear of "the world."

They are afraid of "what others will say of them;" and, in nine cases out of ten, those who might probably raise the voice of censure, are not the wise or the far-seeing, but much oftener the foolish, the vain, and the short-sighted.

Sir William Temple has said, that "a restlessness in men's minds to be something that they are not, and to have something that they have not, is the root of all immorality." The statement is strictly correct. It has been attested by universal experience.

Keeping up appearances is one of the greatest social evils of the age.

There is a general effort, more particularly amongst the middle and upper classes, at seeming to be something that they are not. They put on appearances, live a life of sham, and endeavour to look something superior to what they really are.

But modern respectability consists of external appearances. It means wearing fine clothes, dwelling in fine houses, and living in fine style. It looks to the outside,—to sound, show, externals. It listens to the chink of gold in the pocket.

Moral worth or goodness forms no part of modern respectability.

A man in these days may be perfectly "respectable," and yet altogether despicable.

It means wearing fine clothes, dwelling in fine houses, and living in fine style. It looks to the outside,—to sound, show, externals. It listens to the chink of gold in the pocket. Moral worth or goodness forms no part of modern respectability.

A man in these days may be perfectly "respectable," and yet altogether despicable.

This false and demoralizing habit arises from the overweening estimate which is formed of two things, well enough in their place,—rank and wealth. Everybody struggles to rise into some superior class.

This false and demoralizing habit arises from the overweening estimate which is formed of two things, well enough in their place,—rank and wealth. Everybody struggles to rise into some superior class.

The spirit of caste is found as keenly at work among the humblest as among the highest ranks.

At Birmingham, there was a club of workmen with tails to their coats, and another without tails: the one looked down upon the other. Cobbett, so felicitous in his nicknames, called his political opponent, Mr. Sadler, "a linendraper."

Cobbett, so felicitous in his nicknames, called his political opponent, Mr. Sadler, "a linendraper." But the linendraper also has plenty of people beneath him. The linendraper looks down on the huckster, the huckster on the mechanic, and the mechanic on the day labourer.

The flunkey who exhibits his calves behind a baron, holds his head considerably higher than the flunkey who serves a brewer.

It matters not at what class you begin, or however low in the social scale, you will find that every man has somebody beneath him. Among the middling ranks, this sort of exclusiveness is very marked.

The linendraper looks down on the huckster, the huckster on the mechanic, and the mechanic on the day labourer. The flunkey who exhibits his calves behind a baron, holds his head considerably higher than the flunkey who serves a brewer.

It matters not at what class you begin, or however low in the social scale, you will find that every man has somebody beneath him.

Among the middling ranks, this sort of exclusiveness is very marked. Each circle would think it a degradation to mix on familiar terms with the members of the circle beneath it.

One of the most demoralizing practices of modern refinement is the "large party" system. People cram their houses with respectable mobs; thus conforming to a ridiculous custom. Rousseau, with all his aberrations of mind, said, "

I had rather have my house too small for a day, than too large for a twelvemonth.

" Fashion exactly reverses the maxim; and domestic mischief is often begun with a large dwelling and suitable accommodations. The misfortune consists in this,—that we never look below our level for an example, but always above it.

Rousseau, with all his aberrations of mind, said, "I had rather have my house too small for a day, than too large for a twelvemonth." Fashion exactly reverses the maxim; and domestic mischief is often begun with a large dwelling and suitable accommodations.

The misfortune consists in this,—that we never look below our level for an example, but always above it.

It is not so much, however, in the mere appearances kept up, as in the means taken to keep them up, that the fruitful cause of immorality is to be found. A man having assumed a class status, runs all risks to keep it up.

and the respectable man, who keeps his gig, would think it a degradation to have to travel afoot or in a 'bus, between his country house and his town office.

They will descend to immorality rather than descend in apparent rank; they will yield to dishonesty rather than yield up the mock applause and hollow respect of that big fool, "the world."

Everybody can call to mind hundreds of cases of men—"respectable men"—who, from one extravagance have gone on to another—wantonly squandering wealth which was not theirs—in order to keep up a worldly reputation, and cut a figure before their admiring fellows;—all ending in a sudden smash, …

They have finished up with paying a respectable dividend of sixpence in the pound!

Indeed it is not too much to say, that five-sixths of the fraud and swindling that disgrace commercial transactions, have had their origin in the diseased morality of "keeping up appearances."

To be "respectable," in the false sense of the word,—what is not sacrificed? Peace, honesty, truth, virtue,—all to keep up appearances. We must cheat, and scrub, and deceive, and defraud, that "the world" may not see behind our mask!

To be "respectable," in the false sense of the word,—what is not sacrificed? Peace, honesty, truth, virtue,—all to keep up appearances.

We must cheat, and scrub, and deceive, and defraud, that "the world" may not see behind our mask!

We must torment and enslave ourselves, because we must extort "the world's" applause, or at least obtain "the world's" good opinion!

How often is suicide traceable to this false sentiment!

Vain men will give up their lives, rather than their class notions of respectability. They will cut the thread of existence, rather than cut fashionable life.

Very few suicides are committed from real want. "We never hear," says Joel Barlow, "of a man committing suicide for want of a loaf of bread, but it is often done for want of a coach."

They are imbued with notions of exclusiveness, fashion, and gentility. A respectable position in society is held up to them as the mark to be aimed at.

To be criminal or vicious is virtually represented to them as far less horrible than to be "vulgar."

Immured within the bastile of exclusivism, woman is held captive to all the paltry shifts and expediencies of convention, fashion, gentility, and so forth. The genuine benevolence of her nature is perverted; her heart becomes contracted;

There never was such a rage for dress and finery amongst English women as there is now. It rivals the corrupt and debauched age of Louis XV. of France. A delirium of fashion exists.

Women are ranked by what they wear, not by what they are.

Extravagance of dress, and almost indecency of dress, has taken the place of simple womanly beauty. Wordsworth once described the "perfect woman nobly planned." Where will you find the perfect woman now?

It is in this way that incomes are muddled away, and that life is rendered the scene of bitterness and discontent. This is especially the case when both husband and wife are alike spendthrifts.

By running into debt yourself, or by your allowing your wife to run into debt, you give another person power over your liberty.

You cannot venture to look your creditor in the face. A double knock at the door frightens you: the postman may be delivering a lawyer's letter demanding the amount you owe. You are unable to pay it, and make a sneaking excuse.

By running into debt yourself, or by your allowing your wife to run into debt, you give another person power over your liberty. You cannot venture to look your creditor in the face.

A double knock at the door frightens you: the postman may be delivering a lawyer's letter demanding the amount you owe.

You are unable to pay it, and make a sneaking excuse. You invent some pretence for not paying. At length you are driven to downright lying. For "lying rides on debt's back."

the postman may be delivering a lawyer's letter demanding the amount you owe. You are unable to pay it, and make a sneaking excuse. You invent some pretence for not paying. At length you are driven to downright lying. For "lying rides on debt's back."

What madness it is to run in debt for superfluities!

We buy fine articles—finer than we can pay for. We are offered six months'—twelve months' credit! It is the shopkeeper's temptation; and we fall before it. We are too spiritless to live upon our own earnings; but must meanwhile live upon others'.

What madness it is to run in debt for superfluities! We buy fine articles—finer than we can pay for. We are offered six months'—twelve months' credit! It is the shopkeeper's temptation; and we fall before it.

We are too spiritless to live upon our own earnings; but must meanwhile live upon others'.

The Romans regarded their servants as their enemies. One might almost regard modern shopkeepers in the same light. By giving credit, by pressing women to buy fine clothes, they place the strongest temptation before them.

A perfect knowledge of human nature is in the prayer, "Lead us not into temptation." No man and no woman ever resists temptation after it has begun to be temptation. It is in the outworks of the habits that the defence must lie.

The woman who hesitates to incur a debt which she ought not to incur, is lost.

The clerk or apprentice who gloats over his master's gold, sooner or later appropriates it. He does so when he has got over the habitual feeling which made any approach to it an impossibility.

The clerk or apprentice who gloats over his master's gold, sooner or later appropriates it. He does so when he has got over the habitual feeling which made any approach to it an impossibility.

Thus the habits which insinuate themselves into the thousand inconsiderable acts of life, constitute a very large part of man's moral conduct.

This running into debt is a great cause of dishonesty. It does not matter what the debt is, whether it be for bets unsettled, for losses by cards, for milliners' or drapers' bills unpaid.

A perfect knowledge of human nature is in the prayer, "Lead us not into temptation."

No man and no woman ever resists temptation after it has begun to be temptation. It is in the outworks of the habits that the defence must lie.

The woman who hesitates to incur a debt which she ought not to incur, is lost. The clerk or apprentice who gloats over his master's gold, sooner or later appropriates it.

She had other children—two little girls, just rising from the cradle to womanhood. Her scanty pension and his salary made every one happy. But over this youth came a love of dress.

He had not strength of mind to see how much more truly beautiful a pure mind is, than a finely decorated exterior.

He took pleasure in helping his mother and sisters, but did not take greater pleasure in thinking that to do this kindness to them he must be contented for a time to dress a little worse than his fellow-clerks;

but who have learnt only to be "gentlemen" in the popular acceptation of the word. To be a "gentleman" nowadays, is to be a gambler, a horse-racer, a card-player, a dancer, a hunter, a roué,—or all combined.

The "gentleman" lives fast, spends fast, drinks fast, dies fast.

The old style of gentleman has degenerated into a "gent" and a "fast" man. "Gentleman" has become disreputable; and when it is now employed, it oftener signifies an idle spendthrift, than an accomplished, virtuous, laborious man.

The safest plan is, to run up no bills, and never to get into debt; and the next is, if one does get into debt, to get out of it again as quickly as possible.

A man in debt is not his own master: he is at the mercy of the tradesmen he employs.

He is the butt of lawyers, the byword of creditors, the scandal of neighbours; he is a slave in his own house; his moral character becomes degraded and defiled; and even his own household and family regard him with pity akin to contempt.

Montaigne said, "

I always feel a pleasure in paying my debts, because I discharge my shoulders of a wearisome load and of an image of slavery.

" Johnson might well call Economy the mother of Liberty. No man can be free who is in debt. The inevitable effect of debt is not only to injure personal independence, but, in the long run, to inflict moral degradation.

Montaigne said, "I always feel a pleasure in paying my debts, because I discharge my shoulders of a wearisome load and of an image of slavery." Johnson might well call Economy the mother of Liberty.

No man can be free who is in debt.

The inevitable effect of debt is not only to injure personal independence, but, in the long run, to inflict moral degradation. The debtor is exposed to constant humiliations.

Let him also inform his wife, if he has one, how he stands with the world. If his wife be a prudent woman, she will help him to economize his expenditure, and enable him to live honourably and honestly.

No good wife will ever consent to wear clothes and give dinners that belong not to her, but to her shopkeeper.

The knowledge of arithmetic is absolutely necessary to those who would live within their means. Women are especially ignorant of arithmetic; they are scarcely taught the simplest elements, for female teachers think the information useless.

Young people often rush into marriage without reflection.

A young man meets a pretty face in a ball-room, likes it, dances with it, flirts with it, and goes home to dream about it.

At length he falls in love with it, courts it, marries it, and then he takes the pretty face home, and begins to know something more about it. All has as yet been "very jolly." The face has hitherto been charming, graceful, artless, and beautiful.

There is nothing of which men tire sooner, especially when the tears are about trifles. Tears do not in such cases cause sympathy, but breed repulsion. They occasion sourness, both on the one side and the other.

Tears are dangerous weapons to play with.

Were women to try kindness and cheerfulness instead, how infinitely happier would they be.

For want of a little occasional command over one's temper, an amount of misery is occasioned in society which is positively frightful.

Thus is enjoyment turned into bitterness, and life becomes like a journey barefooted, amongst prickles, and thorns, and briars.

In the instance we have cited, the pretty face soon became forgotten.

This little home might have been snug enough; with no appearance of want about it; rooms well furnished; cleanliness pervading it; the table well supplied; the fire burning bright; and yet without cheerfulness. There wanted the happy faces, radiant with contentment and good humour.

Physical comfort, after all, forms but a small part of the blessings of a happy home.

As in all other concerns of life, it is the moral state which determines the weal or woe of the human condition.

Every one has heard of the man who couldn't say No.

He was everybody's friend but his own. His worst enemy was himself.

He ran rapidly through his means, and then called upon his friends for bonds, bails, and "promises to pay." After spending his last guinea, he died in the odour of harmless stupidity and folly.

when the man who couldn't say "No" was called upon to make good the heavy duties due to the Crown. It was a heavy stroke, and made him a poor man. But he never grew wise.

He was a post against which every needy fellow came and rubbed himself; a tap, from which every thirsty soul could drink; a flitch, at which every hungry dog had a pull; an ass, on which every needy rogue must have his ride; a mill, that ground everybody's corn but his own; in short, a "good-hearted fellow," who couldn't for the life of him say "No."

It is of great importance to a man's peace and well-being that he should be able to say "No" at the right time. Many are ruined because they cannot or will not say it.

The first time may require an effort; but strength will grow with use. It is the only way of meeting temptations to idleness, to self-indulgence, to folly, to bad custom, to meet it at once with an indignant "No."

There is, indeed, great virtue in a "No," when pronounced at the right time.

A man may live beyond his means until he has nothing left. He may die in debt, and yet "society" does not quit its hold of him until he is laid in his grave. He must be buried as "society" is buried.

Does putting on garments of a certain colour constitute true mourning?

Is it not the heart and the affections that mourn, rather than the outside raiment?

Bingham, in speaking of the primitive Christians, says that "they did not condemn the notion of going into a mourning habit for the dead, nor yet much approve of it, but left it to all men's liberty as an indifferent thing, rather commending those that …

"

Of what a hideous progeny is debt the father! What lies, what meanness, what invasions on self-respect, what cares, what double-dealing!

How in due season it will carve the frank, open face into wrinkles: how like a knife, it will stab the houeat heart."—Douglas Jerrold.

"

The human species, according to the best theory I can form of it, is composed of two distinct races, the men who borrow and the men who lend.

To these two original diversities may be reduced all those impertinent classifications of Gothic and Celtic tribes, white men, black men, red men, and such-like."—Charles Lamb.

The greatest men have been in debt. It has even been alleged that greatness and debt have a certain relation to each other.

Great men have great debts; they are trusted.

So have great nations; they are respectable, and have credit. Spiritless men have no debts, neither have spiritless nations; nobody will trust them. Men as well as nations in debt secure a widely extended interest. Their names are written in many books;

The greatest men have been in debt. It has even been alleged that greatness and debt have a certain relation to each other. Great men have great debts; they are trusted. So have great nations; they are respectable, and have credit.

Spiritless men have no debts, neither have spiritless nations; nobody will trust them.

Men as well as nations in debt secure a widely extended interest. Their names are written in many books; and many are the conjectures formed as to whether they will pay—or not. The man who has no debts slips through the world comparatively unnoticed;

Spiritless men have no debts, neither have spiritless nations; nobody will trust them. Men as well as nations in debt secure a widely extended interest. Their names are written in many books; and many are the conjectures formed as to whether they will pay—or not.

The man who has no debts slips through the world comparatively unnoticed; while he who is in everybody's books has all eyes fixed upon him.

His health is enquired after with interest; and if he goes into foreign countries, his return is anxiously looked for.

"What were you," asked Pantagruel of Panurge, "without your debts? God preserve me from ever being without them! Do you think there is anything divine in lending or in crediting others? No!

To owe is the true heroic virtue!

"

One will have fine furniture and live in a high-rented house; another will have wines and a box at the opera; a third must give dinners and music-parties:—all good things in their way, but not to be indulged in if they cannot be paid for.

Is it not a shabby thing to pretend to give dinners, if the real parties who provide them are the butcher, the poulterer, and the wine-merchant, whom you are in debt to, and cannot pay?

A man has no business to live in a style which his income cannot support, or to mortgage his earnings of next week or of next year, in order to live luxuriously to-day.

A man has no business to live in a style which his income cannot support, or to mortgage his earnings of next week or of next year, in order to live luxuriously to-day.

The whole system of Debt, by means of which we forestall and anticipate the future, is wrong.

They are almost as much to blame who give credit, and encourage customers to take credit, as those are who incur debts. A man knows what his actual position is, if he pays his way as he goes.

things flow into the house, for which he does not seem to pay. But they are all set down against him; and at the year's end, when the bills come in, he is ready to lift up his hands in dismay.

Then he finds that the sweet of the honey will not repay for the smart of the sting.

It is the same as respects the poorer classes. Not many years since, Parliament passed a law facilitating the establishment of Small Loan Societies, for the purpose of helping small tradesmen and poor people generally to raise money on an emergency.

and instead of saving the money beforehand, they preferred getting the money from the Club, keeping themselves in difficulties and poverty until the debt was paid off.

Such a practice is worse than living from hand to mouth: it is living upon one's own vitals.

It is easy to understand how the partners in the Loan Club made money. Suppose that they advanced ten pounds for three months at five per cent.

Men of genius are equally facile in running into debt.

Genius has no necessary connection with prudence or self-restraint, nor does it exercise any influence over the common rules of arithmetic, which are rigid and inflexible.

Men of genius are often superior to what Bacon calls "the wisdom of business." Yet Bacon himself did not follow his own advice, but was ruined by his improvidence.

His life was splendid; but his excessive expenditure involved him in debts which created a perpetual craving for money. One day, in passing out to his antechambers, where his followers waited for his appearance, he said, "

Be seated, my masters; your rise has been my fall.

" To supply his wants, Bacon took bribes, and was thereupon beset by his enemies, convicted, degraded, and ruined.

But deep play was the vice of high life in those days, and cheating was not unknown. Selwyn, alluding to Fox's losses at play, called him Charles the Martyr.

Sheridan was the hero of debt. He lived on it.

Though he received large sums of money in one way or another, no one knew what became of it, for he paid nobody. It seemed to melt away in his hands like snow in summer.

Prosperity increased his difficulties rather than diminished them; the more money he had, the more thoughtless and lavish was his expenditure. He could refuse no indulgence, either to himself or others.

He would borrow a guinea and give it to a beggar.

He would give the clothes off his back, and the blankets off his bed. He could refuse nobody. To meet his thoughtless expenditure, he raised money by promising to write books which he never began.

He would give the clothes off his back, and the blankets off his bed. He could refuse nobody. To meet his thoughtless expenditure, he raised money by promising to write books which he never began.

He was perpetually discounting to-morrow, and mortgaging an estate already overburthened.

Thus he died, as he had begun, poor, embarrassed, and in debt. At his death he owed over two thousand pounds: "Was ever poet," says Johnson, "so trusted before?"

But nothing that society or Government could do for men of genius would be likely to prove of any service to them, unless they will do what other and less gifted men do,—exhibit self-respect and practise ordinary economy.

We may pity poor Goldsmith, but we cannot fail to see that he was throughout his own enemy.

His gains were large, amounting to about £8,000 in fourteen years; representing a much larger sum of money at the present day. For his "History of the Earth and Animated Nature" he received £850,—and the book was, at best, but a clever compilation.

In a letter to his brother Henry respecting the career of his son, Goldsmith wrote: "Teach, my dear sir, to your son, thrift and economy. Let his poor wandering uncle's example be placed before his eyes.

I had learned from books to be disinterested and generous before I was taught from experience the necessity of being prudent.

I had contracted the habits and notions of a philosopher, while I was exposing myself to the insidious approaches of cunning;

Everybody thought him a ruined man, and he almost felt himself to be so. But his courage never gave way. When his creditors proposed to him a composition, his sense of honour forbade his listening to them. "No, gentlemen," he replied; "

Time and I against any two.

" Though the debts had been contracted by others, he had made himself legally responsible for them; and, strong in his principle of integrity, he determined, if he could, to pay them off to the last farthing. And he set himself to do it:

He bore up with unconquerable spirit to the last. When his doctor expostulated with him against his excessive brain-work, he replied, "

If I were to be idle, I should go mad: in comparison to this, death is no risk to shrink from.

" Shortly before his last fatal attack, when sitting dozing in his chair on the grass in front of the house at Abbotsford, he suddenly roused himself, threw off the plaids which covered him, and exclaimed, "This is sad idleness.

Scott felt, what every sensitive nature must feel, that poverty is a much lighter burden to bear than debt.

There is nothing ignominious about poverty. It may even serve as a healthy stimulus to great spirits.

"Under gold mountains and thrones," said Jean Paul, "lie buried many spiritual giants." Richter even held that poverty was to be welcomed, so that it came not too late in life.

Johnson's gruff and bluff exterior covered a manly and noble nature. He had early known poverty and debt, and wished himself clear of both. When at college, his feet appeared through his shoes, but he was too poor to buy new ones.

His head was full of learning, but his pockets were empty.

How he struggled through distress and difficulty during his first years in London the reader can learn from his "Life."

Johnson was a very poor man, and a very brave one. He never knew what wealth was.

His mind was always greater than his fortune; and it is the mind that makes the man rich or poor, happy or miserable.

Johnson's gruff and bluff exterior covered a manly and noble nature. He had early known poverty and debt, and wished himself clear of both. When at college, his feet appeared through his shoes, but he was too poor to buy new ones.

"Do not accustom yourself," he wrote to Boswell, "to consider debt only an inconvenience; you will find it a calamity. Let it be your first care not to be in any man's debt. Whatever you have, spend less.

Frugality is not only the basis of quiet, but of beneficence.

" To Simpson, the barrister, he wrote, "Small debts are like small shot; they are rattling on every side, and can scarcely be escaped without a wound: great debts are like cannon, of loud noise, but little danger.

you will find it a calamity. Let it be your first care not to be in any man's debt. Whatever you have, spend less. Frugality is not only the basis of quiet, but of beneficence." To Simpson, the barrister, he wrote, "

Small debts are like small shot; they are rattling on every side, and can scarcely be escaped without a wound: great debts are like cannon, of loud noise, but little danger.

You must therefore be enabled to discharge petty debts, that you may have leisure, with security to struggle with the rest."

Men who live by their wits, their talents, or their genius, have, somehow or other, acquired the character of being improvident. Charles Nodier, writing about a distinguished genius, said of him—"

In the life of intelligence and art, he was an angel; in the common practical life of every day, he was a child.

" The same might be said of many great writers and artists.

"Imagination and art," says Madame de Staël, "have need to look after their own comfort and happiness in this world."

The world ought to help them generously; all good men ought to help them; but what is better than all, they ought to help themselves.

"Who—who—who's here I, Robert of Doncaster. That I spent, that I had; That I gave, that I have; That I left, that I lost." Epitaph, A.D. 1579.

"

There are many idlers to whom a penny begged is sweeter than a shilling earned.

"—Douglas Jerrold.

"

He stole a pig, and in God's name gave the trotters to the poor.

"—From the Spanish.

"He stole a pig, and in God's name gave the trotters to the poor."—From the Spanish.

Man must be thrifty in order to be generous.

Thrift does not end with itself, but extends its benefits to others. It founds hospitals, endows charities, establishes colleges, and extends educational influences. Benevolence springs from the best qualities of the mind and heart.

The truth is, that we very much exaggerate the power of riches. Immense subscriptions are got up for the purpose of reforming men from their sinful courses, and turning them from evil to good. And yet subscriptions will not do it.

It is character that can do the work; money never can.

Great changes in society can never be effected through riches. To turn men from intemperance, improvidence, and irreligion, and to induce them to seek their happiness in the pursuit of proper and noble objects, requires earnest purpose, honest self-devotion, and hard work.

The apostle Paul planted the knowledge of the Christian religion over half the Roman empire; yet he supported himself by tent-making, and not by collecting subscriptions. Men of anxious, earnest, honest hearts, are far more wanted than rich men—willing to give money in charity.

Nothing is so much over-estimated as the power of money.

All the people who are looking out for front seats in "society," think it the one thing needful. They may be purse-liberal, but they are also purse-proud.

the Greeks had their golden Jupiter. Old Bounderby valued the man who was worth a "hundred thousand pounds." Others do the same. The lowest human nature loves money, possessions, value. "What is he worth?" "What is his income?" are the usual questions.

If you say, "There is a thoroughly good, benevolent, virtuous man!" nobody will notice him. But if you say, "There is a man worth a million of money," he will be stared at till out of sight.

A crowd of people used to collect at Hyde Park Corner to see a rich man pass. "Here comes old Crockie!" and the crowd would separate to allow him to pass, amidst whispers of admiration.

Many are so absorbed by it, that every other kind of well-being is either lost sight of, or altogether undervalued. And then the lovers of money think to recover their moral tone by bestowing charity!

Mountains of gold weigh heavily upon the heart and soul.

The man who can withstand the weight of riches, and still be diligent, industrious, and strong in mind and heart, must be made of strong stuff. For, people who are rich, are almost invariably disposed to be idle, luxurious, and self-indulgent.

Fifteen months ago, when we were in the highest tide of prosperity, I said all this, and no notice was taken of it.

Why should any notice be taken of a preaching parson or a Christian minister of any kind, when sovereigns fly about like snowflakes in winter, or may be gathered like blackberries in summer?

"[1]

They have no literary pleasures to fall back upon; they have no taste for books; sometimes they can scarcely write their own names. They have nothing to think of but money,—and of what will make money.

They have no faith, but in riches!

They keep their children under restriction and bring them up with a servile education.

He goes on grinding and grinding in the same rut, perhaps growing richer and richer. What matters it? He cannot eat his gold. He cannot spend it. His money, instead of being beneficial to him, becomes a curse.

He is the slave of avarice, the meanest of sins.

He is spoken of as a despicable creature. He becomes base, even in his own estimation.

There is enough leisure in most men's lives to enable them to interest themselves in biography and history. They may also acquire considerable knowledge of science, or of some ennobling pursuit different from that by which money is made. Mere amusement will not do.

No man can grow happy upon amusement.

The mere man of pleasure is a miserable creature,—especially in old age. The mere drudge in business is little better. Whereas the study of literature, philosophy, and science is full of tranquil pleasure, down to the end of life.

And what did these rich persons leave behind them? Only the reputation that they had died rich men. But riches do not constitute any claim to distinction.

It is only the vulgar who admire riches as riches.

Money is a drug in the market. Some of the most wealthy men living are mere nobodies. Many of them are comparatively ignorant. They are of no moral or social account.

Some were known as screws; some were "smart men" in regard to speculations; some were large navvies, coal-miners, and manufacturers; some were almost unknown beyond their own local circle; some were very poor creatures; very few were men of distinction.

All that one could say of them was, that they died rich men.

"All the rich and all the covetous men in the world," said Jeremy Taylor, "will perceive, and all the world will perceive for them, that it is but an ill recompense for all their cares, that by this time all that shall be left will …

"Then," he went on to say, "the love of gold took possession of my soul, and it was at Madrid that I found the object of my adoration; but not, alas! without the loss of my juvenile illusions.

Believe me, gentlemen, the man who can satisfy all his wishes has no more enjoyment.

Keep to the course you have entered on, I advise you. Rothschild's celebrity will expire on the day of his death. Immortality can be earned, not bought. Here are before us the effigies of men who have gloriously cultivated liberal arts;

without the loss of my juvenile illusions. Believe me, gentlemen, the man who can satisfy all his wishes has no more enjoyment. Keep to the course you have entered on, I advise you. Rothschild's celebrity will expire on the day of his death.

Immortality can be earned, not bought.

Here are before us the effigies of men who have gloriously cultivated liberal arts; their busts I have met with in every part of Europe;

their busts I have met with in every part of Europe; but nowhere have I found a statue erected to the honour of a man who has devoted his life to making money."

Riches and happiness have no necessary connection with each other.

In some cases it might be said that happiness is in the inverse proportion to riches. The happiest part of most men's lives is while they are battling with poverty, and gradually raising themselves above it.

Riches and happiness have no necessary connection with each other. In some cases it might be said that happiness is in the inverse proportion to riches.

The happiest part of most men's lives is while they are battling with poverty, and gradually raising themselves above it.

It is then that they deny themselves for the sake of others,—that they save from their earnings to secure a future independence,—that they cultivate their minds while labouring for their daily bread,—that they endeavour to render themselves wiser and better—happier in their homes and more …

for I reaped more pleasure when I had not a sixpence in my pocket, studying in a garret in Edinburgh, than I now find when sitting amidst all the elegancies and comforts of a parlour."

There are compensations in every condition of life.

The difference in the lot of the rich and the poor is not so great as is generally imagined. The rich man has often to pay a heavy price for his privileges. He is anxious about his possessions. He may be the victim of extortion.

Or, if engaged in speculation, the rich man's wealth may fly away at any moment. He may try again, and then wear his heart out in speculating on the "chances of the market."

Insomnia is a rich man's disease.

The thought of his winnings and losings keeps him sleepless. He is awake by day, and awake by night. "Riches on the brain" is full of restlessness and agony.

The labourer who feels little and thinks less, has the digestion of an ostrich; while the non-worker is never allowed to forget that he has a stomach, and is obliged to watch every mouthful that he eats.

Industry and indigestion are two things seldom found united.

Many people envy the possessions of the rich, but will not pass through the risks, the fatigues, or the dangers of acquiring them.

while the poor man relishes and digests anything. A beggar asked alms of a rich man "because he was hungry." "Hungry?" said the millionaire; "how I envy you!" Abernethy's prescription to the rich man was, "

Live upon a shilling a day, and earn it!

" When the Duke of York consulted him about his health, Abernethy's answer was, "Cut off the supplies, and the enemy will soon leave the citadel." The labourer who feels little and thinks less, has the digestion of an ostrich;

"Hungry?" said the millionaire; "how I envy you!" Abernethy's prescription to the rich man was, "Live upon a shilling a day, and earn it!" When the Duke of York consulted him about his health, Abernethy's answer was, "

Cut off the supplies, and the enemy will soon leave the citadel.

" The labourer who feels little and thinks less, has the digestion of an ostrich; while the non-worker is never allowed to forget that he has a stomach, and is obliged to watch every mouthful that he eats.

He is certainly known to have given a thousand pounds to a young and deserving soldier who wished to purchase a commission. When Bolingbroke was reminded of one of the weaknesses of Marlborough, he observed, "

He was so great a man, that I forgot that he had that defect.

"

When Bolingbroke was reminded of one of the weaknesses of Marlborough, he observed, "He was so great a man, that I forgot that he had that defect."

It is no disgrace to be poor.

The praise of honest poverty has often been sung. When a man will not stoop to do wrong, when he will not sell himself for money, when he will not do a dishonest act, then his poverty is most honourable.

He who pays cash for all that he purchases, is not poor but well off. He is in a happier condition than the idle gentleman who runs into debt, and is clothed, shod, and fed at the expense of his tailor, shoemaker, and butcher.

Montesquieu says, that a man is not poor because he has nothing, but he is poor when he will not or cannot work.

The man who is able and willing to work, is better off than the man who possesses a thousand crowns without the necessity for working.

The man who is able and willing to work, is better off than the man who possesses a thousand crowns without the necessity for working.

Nothing sharpens a man's wits like poverty.

Hence many of the greatest men have originally been poor men. Poverty often purifies and braces a man's morals. To spirited people, difficult tasks are usually the most delightful ones.

Nothing sharpens a man's wits like poverty. Hence many of the greatest men have originally been poor men.

Poverty often purifies and braces a man's morals.

To spirited people, difficult tasks are usually the most delightful ones. If we may rely upon the testimony of history, men are brave, truthful, and magnanimous, not in proportion to their wealth, but in proportion to their smallness of means.

And the best are often the poorest,—always supposing that they have sufficient to meet their temporal wants.

A divine has said that God has created poverty, but He has not created misery.

And there is certainly a great difference between the two. While honest poverty is honourable, misery is humiliating; inasmuch as the latter is for the most part the result of misconduct, and often of idleness and drunkenness.

The portion of Agur is unquestionably the best: "Remove far from me vanity and lies; give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food convenient for me."

The unequal distribution of the disposition to be happy, is of far greater importance than the unequal distribution of wealth.

The disposition to be content and satisfied, said David Hume, is at least equal to an income of a thousand a year. Montaigne has observed that Fortune confers but little. Human good or ill does not depend upon it.

The home philanthropist, who looks a little deeper than the foreign visitor, may be disposed to take another view of the effects of money-giving. That charity produces unmixed good, is very much questioned.

Charity, like man, is sometimes blind, and frequently misguided.

Unless money is wisely distributed, it will frequently do more harm than good. If charity could help or elevate the poor, London would now be the happiest city in the world;

It is considered a religious duty to give it. Yet to give money unthinkingly, to give it without considering how it is to be used,—instead of being for the good of our fellow-creatures,—may often prove the greatest injury we could inflict upon them.

True benevolence does not consist in giving money.

Nor can charitable donations, given indiscriminately to the poor, have any other effect than to sap the foundations of self-respect, and break down the very outworks of virtue itself.

May not the money spent in charity, create the distress it relieves,—besides creating other distress which it fails to relieve? Uneducated and idle people will not exert themselves for a living, when they have the hope of obtaining the living without exertion.

Who will be frugal and provident, when charity offers all that frugality and providence can confer?

Does not the gift of the advantages, comforts, and rewards of industry, without the necessity of labouring for them, tend to sap the very foundations of energy and self-reliance?

Men who will not struggle and exert themselves, are those who are helped first. The worst sort of persons are made comfortable: whilst the hard-working, self-supporting man, who disdains to throw himself upon charity, is compelled to pay rates for the maintenance of the idle.

Charity stretches forth its hand to the rottenest parts of society; it rarely seeks out, or helps, the struggling and the honest.

As Carlyle has said, "O my astonishing benevolent friends! that never think of meddling with the material while it continues sound; that stress and strain it with new rates and assessments, till even it has given way and declared itself rotten;

that stress and strain it with new rates and assessments, till even it has given way and declared itself rotten; whereupon you greedily snatch at it, and say, 'Now let us try to do some good upon it!'"

The charity which merely consists in giving, is an idle indulgence—often an idle vice.

The mere giving of money will never do the work of philanthropy.

The charity which merely consists in giving, is an idle indulgence—often an idle vice. The mere giving of money will never do the work of philanthropy. As a recent writer has said, "

The crimes of the virtuous, the blasphemies of the pious, and the follies of the wise, would scarcely fill a larger volume than the cruelties of the humane. In this world a large part of the occupation of the wise has been to neutralize the efforts of the good.

"

What a dark lesson of the fallacy of human wisdom does this knowledge strike into the heart! What a waste of the materials of kindly sympathies! What a perversion individual mistakes can cause, even in the virtues of a nation!

Charity is a feeling dear to the pride of the human heart—it is an aristocratic emotion!

Mahomet testified his deep knowledge of his kind when he allowed the vice hardest to control,—sexual licentiousness; and encouraged the virtue easiest to practise,—charity."[1]

they are rapidly pauperising the parish." Not long since, the town of Bedford was corrupted and demoralized by the doles and benefactions which rich men had left to the poorer classes.

Give a man money without working for it, and he will soon claim it as a right.

It practically forbids him to exercise forethought, or to provide against the vicissitudes of trade, or the accidents of life. It not only breaks down the bulwarks of independence, but the outposts of virtue itself.

He had Peter Helm for his associate. Girard's business faculty immediately displayed itself. His powers of organization were immense, and the results of his work were soon observed. Order began to reign where everything had before been in confusion.

Dirt was conquered by cleanliness.

Where there had been wastefulness, there was now thriftiness. Where there had been neglect, there was unremitting attention. Girard saw that every case was properly attended to.

and the Scientific College at Birmingham, founded by Sir Josiah Mason, for the purpose of educating the rising generation in "sound, extensive, and practical scientific knowledge,"—form a series of excellent institutions which will, we hope, be followed by many similar benefactions.

A man need not moulder with the green grass over his grave, before his means are applied to noble purposes.

He can make his benefactions while living, and assist at the outset in carrying out his liberal intentions.

Mr, Peabody worked his way up by small degrees, from a clerk in America to a banker in London. Their benefactions have been the result of self-denial, industry, sobriety, and thrift.

Benevolence throws out blossoms which do not always ripen into fruit.

It is easy enough to project a benevolent undertaking, but more difficult to carry it out. The author was once induced to take an interest in a proposed Navvy's Home; but cold water was thrown upon the project, and it failed.

They might have established themselves in comfort, if they wished to do so. Why should other people provide for them in old age, more than for any other class of labourers? There was the workhouse: let them go there." And so on.

It is easy to find a stick to beat a sick dog.

As for the original projector, he recovered his health, he forgot to subscribe for "The Navvy's Home," and the scheme fell to the ground.

"

The best security for civilization is the dwelling.

"—B. Disraeli.

"

Cleanliness is the elegance of the poor.

"—English Proverb.

"

Virtue never dwelt long with filth and nastiness.

"—Count Rumford.

Health is said to be wealth.

Indeed, all wealth is valueless without health.

Every man who lives by labour, whether of mind or body, regards health as one of the most valuable of possessions. Without it, life would be unenjoyable.

"Enjoyment," says Dr. Southwood Smith, "is not only the end of life, but it is the only condition of life which is compatible with a protracted term of existence.

The happier a human being is, the longer he lives; the more he suffers, the sooner he dies.

To add to enjoyment, is to lengthen life; to inflict pain, is to shorten its duration."

The happier a human being is, the longer he lives; the more he suffers, the sooner he dies. To add to enjoyment, is to lengthen life; to inflict pain, is to shorten its duration."

Happiness is the rule of healthy existence; pain and misery are its exceptional conditions.

Nor is pain altogether an evil; it is rather a salutary warning. It tells us that we have transgressed some rule, violated some law, disobeyed some physical obligation. It is a monitor which warns us to amend our state of living.

Happiness is the rule of healthy existence; pain and misery are its exceptional conditions.

Nor is pain altogether an evil; it is rather a salutary warning.

It tells us that we have transgressed some rule, violated some law, disobeyed some physical obligation. It is a monitor which warns us to amend our state of living. It virtually says,—Return to nature, observe her laws, and be restored to happiness.

The first method of raising a man above the life of an animal is to provide him with a healthy home.

The Home is after all the best school for the world.

Children grow up into men and women there; they imbibe their best and their worst morality there; and their morals and intelligence are in a great measure well or ill trained there.

And in order to secure this, the presence of a well-ordered, industrious, and educated woman is indispensable.

So much depends upon the woman, that we might almost pronounce the happiness or unhappiness of the home to be woman's work.

No nation can advance except through the improvement of the nation's homes; and these can only be improved through the instrumentality of women. They must know how to make homes comfortable; and before they can know, they must have been taught.

where even the small rental which they pay is in excess of the accommodation they receive. The results are inevitable,—loss of self-respect, degradation of intelligence, failure of physical health, and premature death.

Even the highest-minded philosopher, placed in such a situation, would gradually gravitate towards brutality.

But the amount thus saved, or rather not expended on house-rent, is not economy; it is reckless waste. The sickness caused by the bad dwelling involves frequent interruptions of work, and drains upon the Savings Bank or the Benefit Society;

But there is a worse consequence still. The low tone of physical health thereby produced is one of the chief causes of drunkenness. Mr. Chadwick once remonstrated with an apparently sensible workman on the expenditure of half his income on whisky. His reply was, "

Do you, sir, come and live here, and you will drink whisky too.

" Mr. Leigh says, "I would not be understood that habits of intoxication are wholly due to a defective sanitary condition;

At an early period in his career, Edwin Chadwick became possessed by an idea.

It is a great thing to be thoroughly possessed by an idea, provided its aim and end be beneficent.

It gives a colour and bias to the whole of a man's life. The idea was not a new one;

He deserves to be ranked with Clarkson or Howard. His labours have been equally salutary; some will say that they have been much more so in their results.

Sanitary science may be summed up in the one word—Cleanliness.

Pure water and pure air are its essentials. Wherever there is impurity, it must be washed away and got rid of. Thus sanitary science is one of the simplest and most intelligible of all the branches of human knowledge.

It is not merely the loss of life that is so frightful; there is also the moral death that is still more appalling in these unhealthy localities.

Vice and crime consort with foul living.

In these places, demoralization is the normal state. There is an absence of cleanliness, of decency, of decorum; the language used is polluting, and scenes of profligacy are of almost hourly occurrence,—all tending to foster idleness, drunkenness, and vicious abandonment.

The connection is close and intimate between physical and moral health, between domestic well-being and public happiness.

The destructive influence of an unwholesome dwelling propagates a moral typhus worse than the plague itself.

Where the body is enfeebled by the depressing influences of vitiated air and bodily defilement, the mind, almost of necessity, takes the same low, unhealthy tone. Self-respect is lost; a stupid, inert, languid feeling overpowers the system; the character becomes depraved;

for the fever often spreads from the dwellings of the poor into the homes of the rich, and carries away father, mother, or children. It costs a great deal in subscriptions to maintain dispensaries, infirmaries, houses of recovery, and asylums for the destitute.

It costs the poor still more; it costs them their health, which is their only capital.

In this is invested their all: if they lose it, their docket is struck, and they are bankrupt.

Things did very well, they say, in "the good old times,"—why should they not do so now? When typhus or cholera breaks out, they tell us that Nobody is to blame.

That terrible Nobody! How much he has to answer for.

More mischief is done by Nobody than by all the world besides. Nobody adulterates our food. Nobody poisons us with bad drink. Nobody supplies us with foul water. Nobody spreads fever in blind alleys and unswept lanes. Nobody leaves towns undrained.

That terrible Nobody! How much he has to answer for.

More mischief is done by Nobody than by all the world besides.

Nobody adulterates our food. Nobody poisons us with bad drink. Nobody supplies us with foul water. Nobody spreads fever in blind alleys and unswept lanes. Nobody leaves towns undrained. Nobody fills gaols, penitentiaries, and convict stations. Nobody makes poachers, thieves, and drunkards.

But Nobody has considerably less power in society than he once had: and our hope is, that he may ultimately follow in the wake of Old Bogie, and disappear altogether.

Wherever there is suffering and social depression, we may depend upon it that Somebody is to blame.

The responsibility rests somewhere; and if we allow it to remain, it rests with us. We may not be able to cope with the evil as individuals, single-handed;

… by the necessities of their condition to gravitate into localities, and to inhabit dwellings where decency is rendered almost impossible, where life becomes a slow dying, and where the influences operating on the entire human energies, physical and moral, are of the most deleterious character.

Homes are the manufactories of men, and as the Homes are, so will the men be.

Mind will be degraded by the physical influences around it,—decency will be destroyed by constant contact with impurity and defilement,—and coarseness of manners, habits, and tastes, will become inevitable.

It is of the first importance to teach people cleanly habits. This can be done without teaching them either reading or writing.

Cleanliness is more than wholesomeness. It furnishes an atmosphere of self-respect, and influences the moral condition of the entire household.

It is the best exponent of the spirit of Thrift. It is to the economy of the household, what hygiene is to the human body. It should preside at every detail of domestic service. It indicates comfort and well-being.

He was of opinion that a greater insight might thus be obtained into their habits of decency, self-respect, and industry, and into their moral and social condition generally, than from facts of any other description.

People are cleanly in proportion as they are decent, industrious, and self-respecting. Unclean people are uncivilized.

The dirty classes of great towns are invariably the "dangerous classes" of those towns. And if we would civilize the classes yet uncivilized, we must banish dirt from amongst them.

Unclean people are uncivilized. The dirty classes of great towns are invariably the "dangerous classes" of those towns. And if we would civilize the classes yet uncivilized, we must banish dirt from amongst them.

Yet dirt forms no part of our nature. It is a parasite, feeding upon human life, and destroying it.

It is hideous and disgusting. There can be no beauty where it is. The prettiest woman is made repulsive by it. Children are made fretful, impatient, and bad-tempered by it. Men are degraded and made reckless by it.

There can be no beauty where it is. The prettiest woman is made repulsive by it. Children are made fretful, impatient, and bad-tempered by it. Men are degraded and made reckless by it. There is little modesty where dirt is,—for dirty is indecency.

There can be little purity of mind where the person is impure; for the body is the temple of the soul, and must be cleansed and purified to be worthy of the shrine within.

Dirt has an affinity with self-indulgence and drunkenness. The sanitary inquirers have clearly made out that the dirty classes are the drunken classes;

"What worship," says a great writer, "is there not in mere washing! perhaps one of the most moral things a man, in common cases, has it in his power to do.

Strip thyself, go into the bath, or were it into the limpid pool of a running brook, and there wash and be clean; thou wilt step out again a purer and a better man.

This consciousness of perfect outer pureness—that to thy skin there now adheres no foreign speck of imperfection—how it radiates on thee, with cunning symbolic influences to thy very soul! thou hast an increased tendency towards all good things whatsoever.

These are the commonest of common things, and yet they are of the most essential importance. If the child is not properly fed and clothed, it will grow up feeble and ill-conditioned.

And as the child is, so will the man be.

Grown people cannot be comfortable without regular attention to these common matters. Every one needs, and ought to have, comfort at home; and comfort is the united product of cleanliness, thrift, regularity, industry,—in short, a continuous performance of duties, each in itself apparently trivial.

Much might be said in favour of household management, and especially in favour of improved cookery. Ill-cooked meals is a source of discomfort in many families. Bad cooking is waste,—waste of money and loss of comfort.

Whom God has joined in matrimony, ill-cooked joints and ill-boiled potatoes have very often put asunder.

Among the "common things" which educators should teach the rising generation, this ought certainly not to be overlooked. It is the commonest and yet most neglected of the branches of female education.

How do they use their power? Can they cook? Have they been taught to cook?

Is it not a fact that, in this country, cooking is one of the lost or undiscovered arts?

Thousands of artizans and labourers are deprived of half the actual nutriment of their food, and continue half-starved, because their wives are utterly ignorant of the art of cooking.

the satisfaction of the appetite dispensing with the necessity for resorting to stimulants. Good humour too, and good health, follow a good meal; and by a good meal we mean anything, however simple, well dressed in its way.

A rich man may live very expensively and very ill; and a poor man may live frugally and very well, if it be his good fortune to have a good cook in his wife or in his servant.

The most worthless unit in a family is an ill-managing wife, or an indolent woman of any sort. The fair sex are sometimes very acute in what concerns themselves. They keep a tight hand over their dressmakers and milliners.

… has society presented, on the one hand, so large an array of respectably educated individuals, embarrassed for want of a proper calling, and, on the other, so ponderous a multitude of untrained, neglected poor, who cannot, without help, rise out of their misery and degradation?

What an obstruction to usefulness and all eminence of character is that of being too rich, or too genteelly connected, to work at anything!

"[1]

"

Every one is the son of his own work.

"—Cervantes.

"Although men are accused for not knowing their own weakness, yet perhaps as few know their own strength.

It is in men as in soils, where sometimes there is a vein of gold, which the owner knows not of.

"—Swift.

* * * * *

The Art of Living deserves a place among the Fine Arts.

Like Literature, it may be ranked with the Humanities. It is the art of turning the means of living to the best account,—of making the best of everything.

The Art of Living deserves a place among the Fine Arts. Like Literature, it may be ranked with the Humanities. It is the art of turning the means of living to the best account,—of making the best of everything.

It is the art of extracting from life its highest enjoyment, and, through it, of reaching its highest results.

To live happily, the exercise of no small degree of art is required. Like poetry and painting, the art of living comes chiefly by nature; but all can cultivate and develop it. It can be fostered by parents and teachers, and perfected by self-culture.

but it consists of a series of smaller and commoner gems, grouped and set together, forming a pleasing and graceful whole.

Happiness consists in the enjoyment of little pleasures scattered along the common path of life, which, in the eager search for some great and exciting joy, we are apt to overlook.

It finds delight in the performance of common duties, faithfully and honourably fulfilled.

With him, life has a deep meaning, and requires the performance of duties which are satisfactory to his conscience, and are therefore pleasurable. He improves himself, acts upon his age, helps to elevate the depressed classes, and is active in every good work.

His hand is never tired, his mind is never weary.

He goes through life joyfully, helping others to its enjoyment. Intelligence, ever expanding, gives him every day fresh insight into men and things.

The other has comparatively little pleasure in life. He has scarcely reached manhood, ere he has exhausted its enjoyments.

Money has done everything that it could for him. Yet he feels life to be vacant and cheerless.

Travelling does him no good; for, for him history has no meaning. He is only alive to the impositions of innkeepers and couriers, and the disagreeableness of travelling for days amidst great mountains, among peasants and sheep, cramped up in a carriage.

These "pleasures" soon tire him, and he becomes blasé. When he grows old, and has run the round of fashionable dissipations, and there is nothing left which he can relish, life becomes a masquerade, in which he recognizes only knaves, hypocrites, and flatterers.

Though he does not enjoy life, yet he is terrified to leave it.

Then the curtain falls. With all his wealth, life has been to him a failure, for he has not known the Art of Living, without which life cannot be enjoyed.

Though he does not enjoy life, yet he is terrified to leave it. Then the curtain falls. With all his wealth, life has been to him a failure, for he has not known the Art of Living, without which life cannot be enjoyed.

It is not wealth that gives the true zest to life,—but reflection, appreciation, taste, culture.

Above all, the seeing eye and the feeling heart are indispensable. With these, the humblest lot may be made blest. Labour and toil may be associated with the highest thoughts and the purest tastes. The lot of labour may thus become elevated and ennobled.

Labour and toil may be associated with the highest thoughts and the purest tastes. The lot of labour may thus become elevated and ennobled. Montaigne observes that "all moral philosophy is as applicable to a vulgar and private life as to the most splendid.

Every man carries the entire form of the human condition within him.

"

The lot of labour may thus become elevated and ennobled. Montaigne observes that "all moral philosophy is as applicable to a vulgar and private life as to the most splendid. Every man carries the entire form of the human condition within him."

Even in material comfort, good taste is a real economist, as well as an enhancer of joy.

Scarcely have you passed the doorstep of your friend's house, when you can detect whether taste presides within it or not.

You see the same contrast in cottage life.

The lot of poverty is sweetened by taste.

It selects the healthiest, openest neighbourhood, where the air is pure and the streets are clean.

For these reasons, it is worth every man's while to study the important Art of living happily. Even the poorest man may by this means extract an increased amount of joy and blessing from life.

The world need not be "a vale of tears," unless we ourselves will it to be so.

We have the command, to a great extent, over our own lot. At all events, our mind is our own possession; we can cherish happy thoughts there; we can regulate and control our tempers and dispositions to a considerable extent;

We are not satisfied merely with a home. It must be comfortable. The most wretched, indeed, are those who have no homes—the homeless! But not less wretched are those whose homes are without comfort—those of whom Charles Lamb once said, "

The homes of the very poor are no homes.

" It is Comfort, then, that is the soul of the home—its essential principle—its vital element.

It must be comfortable. The most wretched, indeed, are those who have no homes—the homeless! But not less wretched are those whose homes are without comfort—those of whom Charles Lamb once said, "The homes of the very poor are no homes."

It is Comfort, then, that is the soul of the home—its essential principle—its vital element.

Comfort does not mean merely warmth, good furniture, good eating and drinking. It means something higher than this. It means cleanliness, pure air, order, frugality,—in a word, house-thrift and domestic government. Comfort is the soil in which the human being grows,—not only physically, but morally.

Comfort does not mean merely warmth, good furniture, good eating and drinking. It means something higher than this. It means cleanliness, pure air, order, frugality,—in a word, house-thrift and domestic government.

Comfort is the soil in which the human being grows,—not only physically, but morally.

Comfort lies, indeed, at the root of many virtues.

Wealth is not necessary for comfort.

Luxury requires wealth, but not comfort.

A poor man's home, moderately supplied with the necessaries of life, presided over by a cleanly, frugal housewife, may contain all the elements of comfortable living.

Even the commonest mechanic of this day would consider it miserable to live after the style of the nobles a few centuries ago; to sleep on straw beds, and live in rooms littered with rushes.

William the Conqueror had neither a shirt to his back, nor a pane of glass to his windows.

Queen Elizabeth was one of the first to wear silk stockings. The Queens before her were stockingless.

Comfort, it must be admitted, is in a great measure relative.

What is comfort to one man, would be misery to another.

Even the commonest mechanic of this day would consider it miserable to live after the style of the nobles a few centuries ago; to sleep on straw beds, and live in rooms littered with rushes.

Comfortable people are kindly-tempered. Good temper may be set down as an invariable condition of comfort. There must be peace, mutual forbearance, mutual help, and a disposition to make the best of everything. "

Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith.

"

Comfortable people do everything in order. They are systematic, steady, sober, industrious. They dress comfortably. They adapt themselves to the season,—neither shivering in winter, nor perspiring in summer. They do not toil after a "fashionable appearance."

They expend more on warm stockings than on gold rings; and prefer healthy, good bedding, to gaudy window-curtains.

Their chairs are solid, not gimcrack. They will bear sitting upon, though they may not be ornamental.

The organization of the home depends for the most part upon woman. She is necessarily the manager of every family and household. How much, therefore, must depend upon her intelligent co-operation!

Man's life revolves round woman. She is the sun of his social system.

She is the queen of domestic life. The comfort of every home mainly depends upon her,—upon her character, her temper, her power of organization, and her business management. A man may be economical;

A man may be economical; but unless there be economy at home, his frugality will be comparatively useless. "A man cannot thrive," the proverb says, "unless his wife let him."

House-thrift is homely, but beneficent.

Though unseen of the world, it makes many people happy. It works upon individuals; and by elevating them, it elevates society itself. It is in fact a receipt of infallible efficacy, for conferring the greatest possible happiness upon the greatest possible number.

Every one knows how useful, how indispensable to the comfort of a household, is the tidy, managing, handy woman. Pestalozzi, with his usual sagacity, has observed, that half the education of a woman comes through her fingers.

There are wisdom and virtue at her finger-ends.

But intellect must also accompany thrift: they must go hand in hand. A woman must not only be clever with her fingers, but possessed of the power of organizing household work.

Without this, work cannot be got through satisfactorily either in offices, workshops, or households. By arranging work properly, by doing everything at the right time, with a view to the economy of labour, a large amount of business can be accomplished.

Muddle flies before method; and hugger-mugger disappears.

There is also a method in spending—in laying out money,—which is as valuable to the housewife, as method is in accomplishing her work. Money slips through the fingers of some people like quicksilver. We have already seen that many men are spendthrifts.

Muddle flies before method; and hugger-mugger disappears. There is also a method in spending—in laying out money,—which is as valuable to the housewife, as method is in accomplishing her work.

Money slips through the fingers of some people like quicksilver.

We have already seen that many men are spendthrifts. But many women are the same. At least they do not know how to expend their husband's earnings to the best advantage.

Prudence is another important household qualification.

Prudence comes from cultivated judgment: it means practical wisdom.

It has reference to fitness, to propriety; it judges of the right thing to be done, and of the right way of doing it. It calculates the means, order, time, and method of doing. Prudence learns much from experience, quickened by knowledge.

The unpunctual woman, like the unpunctual man, becomes disliked, because she consumes our time, interferes with our plans, causes uneasy feelings, and virtually tells us that we are not of sufficient importance to cause her to be more punctual.

To the business man, time is money, and to the business woman it is more,—it is peace, comfort, and domestic prosperity.

Perseverance is another good household habit. Lay down a good plan, and adhere to it. Do not be turned from it without a sufficient reason. Follow it diligently and faithfully, and it will yield fruits in good season.

There are many other illustrations which might be adduced, of the art of making life happy. The management of the temper is an art full of beneficent results.

By kindness, cheerfulness, and forbearance, we can be happy almost at will; and at the same time spread happiness about us on every side.

We can encourage happy thoughts in ourselves and others. We can be sober in habit. What can a wife and her children think of an intemperate husband and father?

We can be sober in language, and shun cursing and swearing—the most useless, unmeaning, and brutal of vulgarities. Nothing can be so silly and unmeaning—not to say shocking, repulsive, and sinful—as the oaths so common in the mouths of vulgar swearers.

They are profanation without purpose—impiety without provocation—blasphemy without excuse.

This leads us to remark, in passing, that in this country we are not sufficiently instructed in the Art of Good Manners. We are rather gruff, and sometimes unapproachable. Manners do not make the man, as the proverb alleges;

This leads us to remark, in passing, that in this country we are not sufficiently instructed in the Art of Good Manners. We are rather gruff, and sometimes unapproachable.

Manners do not make the man, as the proverb alleges; but manners make the man much more agreeable.

A man may be noble in his heart, true in his dealings, virtuous in his conduct, and yet unmannerly. Suavity of disposition and gentleness of manners give the finish to the true gentleman.

We are rather gruff, and sometimes unapproachable. Manners do not make the man, as the proverb alleges; but manners make the man much more agreeable. A man may be noble in his heart, true in his dealings, virtuous in his conduct, and yet unmannerly.

Suavity of disposition and gentleness of manners give the finish to the true gentleman.

By Good Manners we do not mean Etiquette. This is only a conventional set of rules adopted by what is called "good society;" and many of the rules of etiquette are of the essence of rudeness.

By Good Manners we do not mean Etiquette. This is only a conventional set of rules adopted by what is called "good society;" and many of the rules of etiquette are of the essence of rudeness.

Etiquette does not permit genteel people to recognize in the streets a man with a shabby coat though he be their brother.

Etiquette is a liar in its "not at home,"—ordered to be told by servants to callers at inconvenient seasons.

It has been said that politeness is the art of showing men, by external signs, the internal regard we have for them. But a man may be perfectly polite to another, without necessarily having any regard for him.

Good manners are neither more nor less than beautiful behaviour.

It has been well said that "a beautiful form is better than a beautiful face, and a beautiful behaviour is better than a beautiful form; it gives a higher pleasure than statues or pictures; it is the finest of the fine arts."

It has been well said that "a beautiful form is better than a beautiful face, and a beautiful behaviour is better than a beautiful form; it gives a higher pleasure than statues or pictures; it is the finest of the fine arts."

Manner is the ornament of action; indeed a good action, without a good manner of doing it, is stripped of half its value.

A poor fellow gets into difficulties, and solicits help of a friend. He obtains it, but it is with a "There-take that; but I don't like lending." The help is given with a kind of kick, and is scarcely accepted as a favour.

But the poorest classes may exhibit good manners towards each other, as well as the richest. One may be polite and kind towards others, without a penny in the purse.

Politeness goes very far; yet it costs nothing. It is the cheapest of commodities.

But we want to be taught good manners, as well as other things. Some happy natures are "to the manner born." But the bulk of men need to be taught manners, and this can only be efficiently done in youth.

We have been struck by the habitual politeness of even the poorest classes on the Continent. The workman lifts his cap and respectfully salutes his fellow-workman in passing. There is no sacrifice of manliness in this, but rather grace and dignity.

The working man, in respecting his fellow, respects himself and his order.

There is kindness in the act of recognition, as well as in the manner in which it is denoted.