[CHAPTER XIII.]
ON USEFUL LABOR.
I have seen boys who would make incredible exertion to accomplish any thing which they undertook for their own amusement; but who, when called upon to do any thing useful, would demur and complain, put on sour looks, and conjure up a multitude of objections, making the thing to be done like lifting a mountain. Whenever any work is to be done, “there is a lion in the way;” and the objections they make, and the difficulties they interpose, make you feel as if you would rather do it a dozen times yourself, than to ask them to lift a little finger. The real difficulty is in the boy’s own mind. He has no idea of being useful; no thought of doing any thing but to seek his own pleasure; and he is mean enough to look on and see his father and mother toil and wear themselves out to bring him up in idleness. Play, play, play, from morning till night, is all his ambition. Now, I do not object to his playing; but what I would find fault with is, that he should wish to play all the time. I would not have him work all the time, for
“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy;”
neither would I have him play all the time, for
“All play and no work makes Jack a mere toy.”
There is not a spark of manliness in such a boy; and he never will be a man, till he alters his notions.
There is another boy, who has more heart—a better disposition. When called to do any thing, he is always ready and willing. His heart dilates at the thought of helping his father or his mother—of being useful. He takes hold with alacrity. You would think the work he is set about would be despatched in a trice. But he is chicken-hearted. Instead of conquering his work, he suffers his work to conquer him. He works briskly for a few minutes, and then he begins to flag. Instead of working away, with steady perseverance, he stops every minute or two, and looks at his work, and wishes it were done. But wishing is not working; and his work does not get done in this way. The more he gazes at it, the more like a mountain it appears. At length, he sits down to rest; and finally, after having suffered more from the dread of exertion than it would have cost him to do his work a dozen times, he gives it up, and goes to his father or mother, and in a desponding tone and with a sheepish look, he says, “I can’t do it!” He is a coward. He has suffered himself to be conquered by a wood-pile which he was told to saw, or by a few weeds in the garden that he was required to dig up. He will never make a man, till he gets courage enough to face his work with resolution, and to finish it with a manly perseverance. “I can’t,” never made a man.
Here is another boy, who has got the notion into his head that he is going to live without work. His father is rich; or he intends to be a professional man, or a merchant; and he thinks it of no use for him to learn to work. He feels above labor. He means to be a gentleman. But he is very much mistaken as to what constitutes a gentleman. He has altogether erroneous and false views of things. Whatever may be his situation in life, labor is necessary to exercise and develope the muscular powers of his body. If he grows up in indolence, he will be weak and effeminate, never possessing the vigor of a man. And whatever sphere of life he may occupy hereafter, he will never possess independence and energy of character enough to accomplish any thing. A man who does not know how to work, is not more than half a man. He is so dependent upon others, that he can accomplish nothing without help. Nor can wealth, or education, or professional knowledge, supply the deficiency. Wealth is very uncertain. “Riches take to themselves wings;” and they are especially liable to fly away from men who have been bred up in idle, do-nothing habits. And what will they do when their wealth is gone? They have never made any exertion, or depended on themselves. They have no energy of character. They have no knowledge of any useful employment. They cannot dig, and to beg they are ashamed. They either sink down, in utter discouragement, to the lowest depths of poverty, or else they resort to dishonest means of obtaining money. I have before me a letter, written to a gentleman in Boston, from a boy in the House of Correction, who got there by trying to live without work. After telling how bad he felt to be shut up in prison, and how bitter his reflections upon his past life were, he says, “I thought that as long as I could live without work, and get my living dishonestly, I would go ahead; but my high life was soon stopped.” Here you perceive that his temptation to be dishonest arose from his dislike of work. But now, he says, he is convinced that the best way to get a living is by honest labor. And so you will find it. There is no one more exposed to temptation than the idle boy.
“Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.”
One who undertakes to get a living without work will be very likely to fall into dishonest practices, and get shut up in prison.