The man who has well improved his heart becomes a fit companion for all, whatever may be their condition. He views the actions of men through the medium of his generous virtues, rather than through that rigid severity which accompanies an unforgiving temper. His noble charity recognizes a universal equality, and whilst he bears with the errors and follies of those around him, he seeks to remove them by generous appeals to the heart rather than by censure and rough rebuke. He remembers that the tender entreaties of his mother, and the lamentations of his wife and children, prevented Coriolanus from destroying the Rome that had formerly banished him, and not the fear of the Romans nor their tempting overtures; and that afterwards the moderation of Valerius Corvus, the Dictator, quelled a dangerous mutiny, and accomplished, perhaps a similar end. He is not prone to look upon every error as a serious crime to be resented, but prefers to act upon the magnanimous dictum accredited to the Chinese philosophers, who “reckoned it a true mark of a brave, and wise, and worthy man, to put up the hurts and affronts he received, without any inclination to harm the author.” When it becomes necessary to punish a villain, he prefers the example of Pericles, if circumstances allow it, who, it is said, endured the ribaldry of a rogue for an entire day, without exhibiting anger, and then commanded a servant to light him home with the torch: thus, perhaps, taking the most signal vengeance possible, for none can patiently bear such generosity and silence from him whom he hates, and with whom he desires to quarrel. In the wide range of human blessings there is none to equal those generous impulses which govern the conduct of such a man. They enable him truly to fulfil the destiny of his affections, in whatever station he may be called, despite the circumstances calculated to arouse his passions and excite the evil elements in his nature.
They who have well cultivated the heart’s true sensibilities, find the means and sources of enjoyment spread lavishly around them. The fickle and whimsical pursuits after momentary pleasure, which vex and perplex so many, never disturb their quiet nor encumber their repose. The happiness that attends them is unalloyed, not subject to the regrets of disappointment, nor the frequent remorse which preys upon the mind of him who had haunted the glittering pleasures of animal life and its enticing enjoyments. They feel the full gratification of the inward sense, which is sincere, penetrating, and permanent. The store upon which they draw is exhaustless. Other elements of nature may perish by too frequent use, but the sensibilities of the heart only increase in strength and vigor through every occasion that calls them forth, and expand the more the more they are exercised. It is use that preserves them: slothfulness is their great and formidable enemy. “All virtues,” says an ancient Grecian philosopher, “depend upon exercise and use; to preserve them, we must practice them.”
The career of man often presents melancholy illustrations of the want of this true sensibility. The aims of life, too frequently governed by the arbitrary decrees of society, lead him into paths that rather blunt than encourage it; and he finds little substantial pleasure in fulfilling a destiny which circumstances have forced upon him against the better qualities of his nature. Fortune may have smiled upon him, enriching him with her bounties, yet these, if simply depending upon themselves, soon sicken and lose their interest. The riches of the soul can only be enjoyed through the sensibilities of the heart, which lead us to the performance of deeds of truth and charity. They alone can enable us to discharge the mission of sympathy and love towards the unfortunate and distressed; they alone can qualify us for generous and magnanimous intercourse with those whose evil destiny deserves our kind indulgence, and fit us for more exalted association with equals and superiors; they alone can develope the good germs in our nature into exceeding excellencies, and lead us to true virtue and its exhaustless treasures; and they alone can make the journey of life resemble a smooth and even surface, and surround us with pleasures and comforts which the insensible may never know. How much, then, is it our duty to cultivate the heart through the exercise of its sensibilities, and thus obtain the full gratification of every virtuous faculty in our nature! How much, then, does it behoove each of us to conquer the sordid and selfish motives too frequently engendered by surrounding influences, and bring into more healthful existence those noble affections with which we are endowed! Thus alone can we truly live in mind and heart, and effect a happy harmony between soul and body—no longer verifying the saying of Theophrastus, that the former pays large rent to the latter for its dwelling.
A PREFACE,
MADE BY THE SECRETARY.
The following paper was read at a full meeting of the Junto, and listened to with considerable attention: not more than a dozen falling into a nodding doze during its reading. I was at a loss to account for this interest, not knowing whether to ascribe it to the style of the composition or to the manner of the reader, who frequently indicated his delight, though perhaps at the expense of his charity, by his insinuating emphasis of particular sentences. To be relieved of my perplexity, I addressed the inquiry to a gentleman seated near me, upon whose face I noticed a savage scowl, which had probably been occasioned by his having heard too accurate a description of his own character. Turning towards me, perhaps with the view of ascertaining whether there was not a double meaning in my query, he gruffly replied: “Neither style nor manner; but scandal, to be sure: the drowsiest cur will prick its ears at scandal—the sluggard, be he never so sluggish, never gapes when furnished with a dish well seasoned with its venom.” That he was correct in this, I shall not here venture to record an opinion; but certain it is, that at the conclusion he was the loudest in applause of Peter’s dream, and the first to declare that “it was not all a dream.” Notwithstanding this emphatic declaration, however, it was soon ascertained, upon questioning the gentleman who had introduced the paper, that it was, of a verity, what it purported to be. He had received the manuscript of a friend, who had heard every incident therein related from Peter Easy himself, and could not be mistaken. This seemed to satisfy the curiosity of each, and it was therefore generously decreed that the “Dream of a Loafer” should be allowed a place amongst the records of the Association.
S——y.