IN the following pages, I mean to enlarge on a subject to which I am partial—to wit, dividing the moral duties into different classes; because I have had occasion to observe certain pernicious effects to arise from a want of discrimination between things essential in their nature, and things not essential, in the inculcating of duty, both by instruction from the pulpit and in private education. In my method I divide the moral duties into four classes.

The first and highest class, which is paramount to all, consists in a strict and unremitting obedience to the known will of the Supreme Being. As love to God is the first and great commandment, obedience to his laws is not only the proper way of evincing that love, but one of the best methods of engendering the spirit of it. We have an unerring rule to walk by in the doctrines of revelation, to which every thing must bow. God has also given us, in the constitution of our nature, a sense of distinction between right and wrong—a law of rectitude and goodness impressedon every intelligent mind by his hand; and this primary law of nature, when unsophisticated, accords with the spirit of the Gospel. It is not to be denied, that it is in the power of the Supreme Being to suspend or alter this original law of nature, a shade of which appears in certain peculiar commandments given to the patriarchs and Jews. These, we have every reason to believe, were promulgated for temporary though wise purposes, and contributed to the general good; but the law of love and the law of universal order are eternal and unchangeable.

In subordination to this highest and immutable class, we may proceed to the second, which consists of such things as are indifferent in their own nature, but become good or evil according to the circumstances of the times, or peculiar customs of a country, or of those lesser circles of society of which we are members. These may be changed or done away with according to circumstances, or occasionally infringed without guilt. Under this class may be placed even some of the external forms or services of our religion that do not affect its vital principle, in contending about which we frequently sacrifice the end to the means, the house to the scaffolding. The power of discriminating between the first and second classes of morals forms the difference between aliberal and a contracted mind. Deliberately to violate the former is not liberality, but impiety and presumption; to be too tenacious of what belongs to the second, when prudence admits of its being dispensed with, is bigotry and narrowness of mind. For want of this discrimination, the Christian Church, in every age since that of the apostles, has been torn with dissensions about things not in the least essential to the true interests of religion.

The third class of morals consists of such things as are innocent in their own nature, and not repugnant to custom; but which become good or evil according to the effects they produce on the peculiar constitution of our own minds.

The fourth class consists of things innocent like the former, but which become good or evil according to the effects they produce on other people. I now mean to make a few remarks on each in its order.

The awakening of the young mind to a strong, lively, and habitual sense of the sacred nature, divine authority, and eternal importance of the duties of the first class, with the indispensable obligation that all men are under to obey the mandates of the Supreme Being, ought to lie at the bottom of every system of education, as its primary foundation, upon which every thing is torest; and to preserve alive this impression, by exercising the reflecting powers of the mind on the wisdom and goodness, the order and harmony, of all the works of God, together with the careful perusal of the holy Scriptures, is the duty of the adult.

Methinks I hear you remark, If it be true, as you asserted above, that the moral sense is impressed by the Author of Nature upon every intelligent mind, why is all this care necessary to develope and preserve it? To this I reply, that although the seed of moral principle is laid in the constitution of man, it is liable to be counteracted in its progress by opposite propensities superinduced on his nature; and revelation has informed us how such propensities originated. These opposing dispositions are apt to be strengthened by what he meets with in the world, and the struggle between these and the good seed is the warfare appointed us in our probationary state; it is therefore of great importance that every aid should be afforded to strengthen the good seed, that the weeds may not prevail and choke it. Besides, the moral sense is weaker in some minds than in others; or it may lie dormant in the mind, and be allowed to become extinct for want of being acted upon—like the principles of harmony, which may exist in the human frame, ready to awaken andrejoice on the impulse of music, but which, if no sound be produced, exist as if they existed not. To bring all our powers into action is the great end of education—to strengthen our moral habits, reason and revelation offer their respective aids: they are perfectly consistent; they go hand in hand, and must both be cultivated.

But the moral sense may also be injured by improper modes of education; and I therefore hold it injudicious, in the course of preceptive instruction, to teach the duties of the different classes undistinguished in the scale of importance, and to rank every thing under two general heads of "this is right, and that is wrong," without shewing the principle that constitutes them such. From this cause it happens not unfrequently, that on a young person, ill-grounded in first principles, leaving the parental roof, going out into the world, and perhaps visiting foreign countries, he chances to hear certain opinions, which he has been taught to consider as sacred, treated as absurd, and perhaps justly. He is at first shocked, but by and by assents to the opinion. Extending his observations, he finds in some places vices of great enormity sanctioned by custom, from which he shrinks with horror; but is jeeringly told, that though such things are opposite to the customs of his own country, they are customary in that whichhe is visiting, and as such considered nothing wrong. Unfortified by higher principles, the moral sense decays, and he gradually accedes to the opinion, that right and wrong are founded on custom. All is custom of country; the pillar with its drapery is deserted together: the foundation-stone was ill laid; and what should have proved a solid and permanent structure, is crumbled, together with its lighter appendages, into one undistinguishable mass of ruins.

Methinks I see you smile at this representation; yet it is by such kind of negligence in the culture of the young mind that the vices of foreign countries have been imported into our own land, where, planted in the rank soil of luxury, they have thriven and prospered to an alarming height.∗

To cultivate the duties of the second class of morals, we must apply to the world, that is, to society, for instruction; and the deference due to the world is what I mean at present to treat of. We have a text in Scripture, which says, "Be not conformed to the world;" but from many other texts it appears that there is an innocent accommodation that is not only allowed, but enjoined: of

It may here be remarked, that the moral sense is a "talent" bestowed on us by the Deity, like other talents, such as reason, &c.; and we are expressly told in Scripture, that unless these are properly occupied and cultivated they will be taken away.

THE tenour of my former letter naturally led my thoughts to a subject to which I have long been partial, viz. the consideration of the great importance of good breeding as a branch of Christian morality.

I do not mean to treat of etiquette and the subordinate rules of politeness, which vary in every age and country, but of the conduct which should flow from that immutable principle derived from the second commandment of the divine law, "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself;" and I am persuaded, that much of the misery of domestic life which comes to our knowledge proceeds from want of attention to that commanded duty, "Do to others whatsoever you would that they should do unto you." This injunction must be observed in its spirit, not in its letter. By following the letter we might often do to others what would be pleasing to have done to ourselves, but which, from variety of tastes and sentiments, may be very offensive to them.

I HAVE chosen a singular subject to treat of in this letter, viz. the evils incident to the cultivation of taste. I have met with a sentiment in more than one author—the names of whom I have forgotten (I think one was Dr. Beattie)—to this purport, that the progress of man's improvement in moral virtue would be found in proportion to his advancement in the refinements of taste. This, we must admit, is what ought to be the case. Taste is the perception of excellence, and when improved and refined, should naturally produce refinement in every department. But I am afraid this does not prove to be the fact. Examine the history of past ages—look on the transactions of the present times,—and you will find that morality has not kept pace either with the progress of intellectual acquirements or the improvement of taste. A refined age has never been a moral one; and it is well worth inquiring what is the cause of this. I am afraid it must be traced to the perverse nature of man, which is too apt to give a wrongdirection to those faculties that were bestowed on him for good.

We are born merely sentient beings: through the medium of the senses we at first receive every idea. As the law is a schoolmaster to bring men unto Christ, so should the senses be considered as schoolmasters to bring us to higher departments of mind. When reason dawns, the senses supply it with materials to work upon; and by reason we come to perceive the excellence of moral virtue. I am not at present to treat of religion, which gives the finishing touch to the whole; or, I would rather say, it is the basis from which the whole should arise, and ought indeed to be regarded as the beginning and finishing of every good work. But it is the subordinate parts of our conduct I would here consider, which, always in connexion with religion, ought to give their aid in our progress towards perfection. We err in making the senses more than our schoolmasters—we make them our masters through life. The objects of the senses give us pleasure; and it so happens, that when the powers of the understanding become more cultivated, we refine at the same time the perceptions of taste, not only in its higher, but also in its lower spheres; and being prone to indulge present enjoyment, shut our eyes uponthe future. Finding so many things around us calculated to give us pleasure, we loiter in our way, and, to adopt the words of a clergyman, "become fettered in the limbo of earthly enjoyment." We forget that we have before us an ascent to climb: we forget to use the great duties of fortitude, self-denial, and patience; these, with diligence in moral attainments, are neglected; and, what is worst of all, we forget the bounds prescribed for the legitimate enjoyment of these things: we forget that we are formed for a higher state of existence, whither these objects of the senses will not follow us. The vices of luxury insinuate themselves, and we grow sensual and selfish; in short, to adopt a modern phrase, "we become demoralised."

We have to be instructed by experience, that when we seek to heighten our taste for temporal pleasure beyond a certain degree, we deprive the objects of it of their power of pleasing. It is known of certain material substances, that if refined beyond a certain degree, they are thereby weakened. Similar effects appear to be produced by a high cultivation of taste: by too much refinement, the avenues to offence are enlarged; disgust is felt for whatever falls short of our ideas of perfection, which can but seldom be realised; and webecome fastidious. The eye and ear, desirous of gratification, find continual occasions of complaint, —at one time exhausted with satiety, at another shocked by impropriety. This fastidiousness is extended to our taste in character: persons of real worth are rejected, because in the subordinate parts of their manner or conduct, there is something offensive to our capricious ideas of refinement. This is a morbid sensibility, that militates against the higher departments of virtue. We argue not in favour of coarseness and rusticity, which should be avoided in our own manner as much as possible; but every thing has its just balance, and the point where purity and strength unite is most to be desired: indeed, where strength yields to an imaginary degree of refinement (for real purity will ever coalesce with it), impurity of some kind or other will be ready to step in.

We are called to a warfare; we have a distant country to conquer; and a crown is to be the reward of our victory. What would you think of the soldier who, knowing this, allows himself to be enticed by the beauty of a green valley he finds in the way, and, throwing aside his arms, falls asleep, forgetting that he has to encounter dangers, to elude snares, to ascend mountains, to assist his more feeble companions, to practise caution withthe designing, to oppose force to the violent? With equal reason, I may ask, will these great lessons be learned by the attention being directed almost exclusively to the cultivation of the fine arts and belles-lettres, which (at least in female education) appear in the present time to engross so much more than their due proportion of study?

Yet these acquirements have their use, and an important use too, when under proper control. Whatever produces higher degrees of excellence ought, in the first place, to strengthen the principle of adoration of the Deity, who is the author of all excellence—of gratitude for his goodness, who has conferred so many sources of enjoyment upon us, with the single restriction not to abuse them; and of adoration of his power and wisdom, exhibited in the wonderful variety of creation, and in the powers of man, the most wonderful of his works that we have to contemplate. By all means, then, cultivate taste: taste, under proper restrictions, will accelerate your progress towards perfection; but cultivate it in subordination to the higher departments of moral virtue,—to the hardy virtues—fortitude, magnanimity, patience, self-denial, forbearance with others; adding to these a due portion of humility and complacency in yourintercourse with society. Taste and genius, wit and humour, are valued endowments, but require, more than any other, the counterpoise of a steady, sound judgment, to keep them in a right direction; and, to adopt the words of the poet, "To prune their wild branches away."

A SAYING, which has become proverbial, presents itself to my mind as being worthy of examination with regard to its truth, namely, "That persons possessed of strong retentive memories are generally found to have weak judgments; and so of the reverse—that extensive minds and weak memories are usually united."

That it is generally true, I cannot believe; for, viewed as a whole, nature is undoubtedly consistent in her operations. What is intended to be strong, is usually so in all its proportions, according to my observation; while what is designed to be more feeble and delicate, is constituted weaker in all its parts; and such is the case in the development of human character. Nevertheless, as there are particular instances of the incongruity above mentioned, it may not be altogether uninstructive to inquire into what may produce such effects. I apprehend that they generally arise from the following causes:—A person of strong memory may be able to furnish his mind with the labours of others, without much troubleto himself in the exercise of thinking; and pleased by the opinions that are presented to him, he will adopt them on a cursory view, and adhere to them without inquiring how far they bear investigation. Persons of this kind are too apt to follow leaders implicitly. Ask such a one his opinion on any subject, and he will immediately recollect what some favourite author or acquaintance of ability has said upon it; while a person of a different mind would apply himself to thinking, and form an opinion for himself, aided, perhaps, by that of others, but not without investigation. It is not, however, from want of capacity that the possessors of strong memory act thus; but from indolence of mind in not bringing their reasoning powers into action. The natural effect of memory is to strengthen the faculty of judgment: we bring the labours of others under review, weigh them in the balance of reason, and while reaping much benefit and instruction from contemplating the varieties of mind, are not enslaved by adhering to any without being rationally convinced by the active operation of our own judgment. It is of great importance that the mind should acquire independent strength,—the power of reasoning and deciding for itself. But while I say this, it is proper to add, that it is not only safe, but necessary, that a young person, whose judgment hasnot arrived at maturity, should act under more experienced direction. Happy they who have virtuous teachers! It is necessary to impress on the pupil that subordination to teachers is an imperative duty; but it is also fit that the mind should exercise itself on all the instructions it receives: to weigh them, to digest them, will enable the young to comprehend the reason of things, or to detect the errors of their tutors, if they have any; and thus, when the days of self-direction arrive, they will be able to walk with care and firmness.

Such exercise as I recommend will induce discretion and candour, not obstinacy; for a well-regulated mind will think liberally and generously, and will never be improperly tenacious. The firmness of a sound judgment is very different from a headstrong self-sufficiency, and is more naturally connected with humility.

But I leave this part of the subject, to consider the case of a strong, or rather retentive memory, combined with a weak intellect. I have known an individual of this kind remember accurately all that was told him, without understanding the meaning of any thing: nay, more, I have known such a one, when employed in executing small matters, come home, and give a good account of these transactions, without forgetting one parti-cular: and yet there was no mind in all this—it was a kind of automatonism. On the other hand, I have known another, of rather extensive mind, on some especial occasion, forget one-half of what he had to accomplish. The causes, however, of such differences of conduct are obvious. In the first instance, there was nothing to divide the attention—no excursion of the imagination—no collateral streams breaking in to dissipate the chain of slender thought. But that cannot be considered a good memory which could only act upon so narrow a field, though, by being faithfully employed, it was of considerable use to its possessor and his employers. And if the low capacity of the first is not to be envied, much less is the inattention of the second to be imitated; for it is certainly not only in the power of every sound mind, but also our duty, to concentrate our attention on the business we have in hand. Nor is this application inconsistent with what I would recommend to young persons, namely, to allow nought that comes within the sphere of their observation to pass unnoticed, whether it be great or little. There is nothing that may not yield some instruction, if examined with a view to utility, whether comprising incidents, events, opinions, characters, morals, sciences, or arts. The methods by which arts are accomplished—the conduct of Providence—re-ligion,—let nothing pass unheeded. I think I hear you inquire, How am I to pursue knowledge on an extensive scale, if every minute circumstance is to be attended to? I answer, By the power of arrangement. For want of this arrangement, we often see men of great talents make strange, awkward figures in the world: they appear absent and inconsistent, by bringing with them the habits of the closet into the field of active life. Observation will do little good without reflection. I would not wish you to be like the butterfly, fluttering from flower to flower, without appearing to have any end in view; but like the bee, which settles on the blossom till it has extracted its sweets, which it carries home to its cell, where, separating the honey from extraneous substances, it arranges every thing with the most perfect symmetry, feeds upon the rich treasure, and digests it, and lives by it. Yet with the bee there is a time for every thing,—a time to collect materials—a time to prepare them for use—and a time to use them.

It was remarked to me by a very intelligent gentleman, "that we generally esteem those to be great characters who despise little things, and embrace only the great and magnanimous in their conduct." But in this, such individuals, though admired, do not resemble the Deity, whose providence encompasseth the greatest of all andthe least; whom the heaven of heavens cannot contain, yet without whom a sparrow falleth not to the ground. Methinks I hear you say, with astonishment, Shall such feeble mortals as we presume to imitate the incomprehensible God? God has graciously revealed himself to us for our imitation in what may be called his imitable perfections. He is in heaven, and we on earth; yet we are permitted to look up with humble confidence, to catch a ray from the light of the Divine Mind to illuminate and strengthen our own. Divine assistance being promised to our endeavours, all that is contended for is a faithful and diligent use of those faculties and aids that he confers upon us.

But an example is brought nearer home to us in the conduct of such persons as we have known and lived with. [Here follow, in the original, the characters of a lady and gentleman, (not related to each other,) who were well known to the author of these pages, and who were enabled to perform various and important duties by the aid of arrangement. This, however, is always to be understood as only a means in connexion with higher principles.]

You will easily infer, from the tenour of this letter, that I wish to recommend habitual activity of mind, habitual attention to business in hand,and habitual observation; though each of these must be so regulated as to be more or less predominant, according to the importance of the object in view: and in all your occupations, I would further impress on you the importance of arrangement and order.