Fashionable education. Why there is so little self-dependence in the world. Why orphans sometimes make out well in the world. Error corrected. What young women once were. What they are now. The best character formed under difficulties. Cause of the present helpless condition of females. Three or four to get breakfast. Modes of breaking up these habits. Anecdote of an independent young woman. Appeal to the reader.

Here, again, our fashionable modes of education are wrong; and here, too, almost every young woman who is determined on improvement, has a great work to perform.

It is one of the most difficult things in the world—perhaps it is one of the impossibles—to bring up children amid comforts and conveniences, and yet at the same time to cultivate in them the habit of self-dependence—or, as some would call it, the habit of independence.

And yet nothing is more true, than that human character has always, with few if any exceptions, been most fully developed and most harmoniously and healthfully formed, amid difficulties. Mr. M'Clure, the distinguished geologist, whose opportunities for observation in the world have been very great, says that orphans, as a general rule, make their way best in the world. Without claiming for myself so many years of observation, by thirty or forty, as this distinguished veteran in natural science, I should be glad to make one modification of his conclusion, before adopting it as my own. I would say, that the misfortune of having no parents at all, is scarcely greater than that of having over-indulgent ones; and that the number of those who are spoiled by indulgence, is greater than the number of those who are spoiled by being made orphans.

It cannot be that an institution ordained by Heaven as one of its first laws, should so completely fail in accomplishing its design—that of blessing mankind—as Mr. M'Clure represents. It cannot be that parents, as a general rule, are a misfortune. Such a belief is greatly erroneous.

The truth is, that when we look about us and see so many spoiled, who appear to be well bred, our attention is so exclusively directed to these strange, but, in a dense population, frequently occurring cases, that we begin, ere long, to fancy the exception to be the general rule. And again, when we see here and there an orphan—and in a population like ours, quite a multitude in the aggregate—making her way well in the world, we are liable to make another wrong conclusion, and to say that her success belongs to the general rule, when it is only an exception to it.

Nevertheless—and I have no wish to conceal the fact—it is extremely difficult, if not dangerous, to attempt to form good and useful character in the lap of ease and indulgence. There needs privation and hard struggle, to develope the soul and the body. Even Zion, the city of our God, is represented in Scripture as recruiting her inhabitants only by throes and agonies.

Let it not be thought, then, that our young women in New England—a land of comparative ease, quiet and affluence—can be brought up as they ought to be, without much pains-taking. A century ago, things were, in this respect, more favorable. Then there were struggles; and these were the means of forming a race of men and women, of whom the world might have been proud. Then the young women knew how to take care of themselves; and having been taught how to take care of themselves, they knew how to take care of others.

But "times are altered." Thousands of young women—and the same is true of young men—are trained from the very cradle, scarcely to know any thing of want or difficulty. All is comparative ease, and comfort, and quiet around them; and they are led by ease and indulgence to love to have it so. They are trained, as I have elsewhere said, to depend on the world and its inhabitants for their happiness—not to originate happiness and diffuse it. They are trained, in effect, to believe that happiness, or blessedness, consists—contrary to the saying of our Lord and Saviour—in receiving; not in giving.

The time was, I say once more, when most young women, if thrown by the hard hand of necessity upon their own resources, could yet take care of themselves. No matter how great their poverty or affliction—how large or how deep their cup of adversity or trial—they would, in general, struggle through it, and come out as gold seven times refined. Mothers left with large families of helpless children, and with no means of sustaining them but the labor of their own hands, and daughters left without either parent, would wind their way along in the world, and the world be both the wiser and the better for their influence.

Now, on the contrary, mothers and young women left destitute, are apt to be, of all beings, except the merest infants of the former, the most helpless.

This applies to even a large portion of what are called the poor. In reality, however, we have no poor—or next to none. Our very paupers are comparatively rich. They dress, and eat, and drink, and dwell like princes. How, then, can they be so very poor?

It is true, that nearly all of our young women are trained to something in the shape of labor. Very few, indeed, are trained to positive indolence. But what is their labor, generally speaking? A little sewing, or knitting, or embroidery; or still worse, in circumstances of poverty or peculiar necessity, a life of spinning, or weaving, or braiding; or some other mechanical occupation which has no tendency to prepare them for true self-dependence.

I have said we have little poverty existing among us. Is it not so? Is not the life of young women in the great mass of our New England families, very far removed from any feeling of want or suffering?

But though not trained in real indigence, they might be trained to self-dependence. They might be, and always ought to be, trained to make their own beds; make and mend their own garments; make bread; and, in fact, to attend to the whole usual routine of duties involved in the care of themselves and a family. But is it so? Are not all these things done, to a vast extent, either by servants, hired girls, or the mother? And if the mother employs her daughters in assisting her, is it not apt to be just so far as is convenient to herself, and no farther? In short, who can often find the individual mother or daughter, who considers hard work, and care, and obstacles, and difficulties—such as all the world acknowledge are required in order to form good and useful character—as any thing but task work and drudgery—a curse, and not a blessing, to mankind?

True it is—and greatly to be lamented—that many of our young women are not well able, for want of physical vigor and energy, to encounter poverty, and hardship, and obstacles, and suffering. But this deteriorated condition of female character in New England, is owing, in no small degree, to the very kind of education—miseducation, rather—of which I am now complaining. Would mothers do their duty—could they do it, I mean, in the midst of abundance—the state of things would be very much altered for the better.

It is not uncommon in the schools of Europe, especially the female schools, to assign to each older pupil the care of some younger one, for whom she is more or less responsible, particularly as to behaviour. This leads, in no small degree, to self-effort and self-dependence; and might be practised in families as well as in schools, with equally good effects.

But there is another course which is better still, in many respects. It is not unusual in our New England families, where there are several daughters, when they are employed at all—I mean about household concerns—to have them all employed at the same thing at once. Thus, if breakfast is to be prepared, all are to engage in it. One goes this way, another that, and another that; and it sometimes happens that they cross each other's path and come into actual conflict. One goes for one thing, another for another, and so on; and it is not uncommon for two or three to go for the same article.

That three or four females may thus spend all their time for an hour or more in getting breakfast, when one alone would do it much more quietly and a great deal better, and in little more time than is occupied by the whole of them, is not the worst of the evil. The great trouble is, that no one is acquiring the habit of self-dependence. On the contrary, they are acquiring so strong a habit of doing things in company, that they hardly know how to do them otherwise. True, there is pleasure connected with this sort of dependence—and most persons are exceedingly fond of it; but the question is whether it is useful—and not whether it is or is not pleasurable.

Is it best for young women to become so much accustomed to assist, merely, in cooking, and in performing other household offices, as to feel, even at thirty years of age, as if they could do nothing without the aid of others?

I hardly know what a young woman is to do, who finds herself in the dependent condition of which I have been speaking. The habit is not very likely to be broken, so long as she remains in the place where it was formed. I have, however, seen such a habit successfully broken up; in one instance; and perhaps it may be useful to relate it.

A young friend and neighbor of mine, in a family where there were several young men of nearly the same age, happening to find out the evil of doing the smaller work of the morning and evening in this company manner—that what was "every body's business," in the language of a common maxim, "was nobody's"—resolved on a change. He accordingly proposed to his companions to take turns in doing the work. One was to do it faithfully—the whole of it—for a month; another for the next month; and so on. The plan succeeded most admirably. Each became accustomed to a degree of responsibility; and each began to acquire the habit of doing things independently, without the aid of a dozen others.

Perhaps this method might be generally introduced into families, as it has already been, in substance, into some of our boarding schools. It is at least worth while for a young woman who perceives her need of such an arrangement, to attempt it. To be suddenly required to make a batch of bread, or wash the garments, or cook the victuals of a household, and to feel, at twenty years of age, utterly at a loss how to perform the whole routine of these familiar household duties, must be both distressing to herself and painful to others.

Of course it is not desirable to see our young women all orphans, and brought up as domestics, for the sake of having them brought up in such a way as to be good for something, [Footnote: Nor can I wish to see young women trained to do the "buying and selling," instead of men, in order to give energy to their character; although I do not doubt that such a course is often successful. It is related by Mr. Ennis, a highly credible traveller that in Bali and Lombok, two islands lying eastward of Java, the females do all the buying and selling, even to the amount of thousands of dollars. "This probably gives" he says, "to the whole race of people a portion of that boldness and energy for which they are a little distinguished." But then, as he very honestly adds, it gives the women somewhat of a masculine character—a thing which should not by any means be encouraged.] instead of being the poor dependent beings they too commonly are; yet it were greatly to be desired, that without the disadvantages of orphans at service in families, they could have the energy and self-dependence of such persons.

Allow me to relate, for your instruction, a few anecdotes respecting an individual, who was, to all intents and purposes, an orphan, but who was, nevertheless, more useful in life, and more truly happy, than a hundred or a thousand of some of those passive mortals who float through life on the streams of abundance, without feeling the agitation of tide or current, and only discover the misery of such a course when they fall into the gulf of insignificance.

This individual had been abandoned by one of her parents very early in life, and had been also early separated by poverty from the other. She had lived in various families, and had been compelled to hard labor, and sometimes to menial services. At length she married a person as poor as herself, though not so independent. He had been bred in the midst of ease; and was, consequently, indolent. But she was determined on "going ahead" in the world; and her ambition at length roused her husband.

The latter now engaged in hard labor, by the day or the month, among his neighbors; while the wife took care of the concerns at home. This continued for fifteen or sixteen years, before their joint labors procured land enough for the husband to work on, at home. In the mean time, however, they had a number of children; and the mother's cares and labors of course increased. For several of the first of these years, the husband was seldom at home to assist or encourage her, in the summer, except during the Sabbath and occasionally at evening; so that though this diminished the labor of cooking, it left her with her children wholly on her hands, and a great deal of unavoidable labor, such as washing and ironing. The latter work she did for her husband, as well as for her children and herself: and it was therefore an item of considerable moment—especially as she was obliged to bring water for this and all her domestic purposes in pails, the distance of twenty-five or thirty rods, a part of the year, and of ten rods or so, the other part; besides which, she had to pick up much of her wood, for the six summer months, in the woods nearly a quarter of a mile distant, carry it home in her arms, and to cut it for the fire-place. Added to all this, was the labor of brewing once or twice a week; for in those days, when poverty denied cider to a family, the beer barrel was regarded as indispensable.

Nor were her domestic concerns, properly so called, her only labors. She spun and wove cloth for the use of her family, besides weaving for some of her neighbors. She also spun and wove a great deal of coarse cloth, at shares; and thus purchased a large part of the smaller necessaries of the family, and not a little of the clothing.

She continued this course, I say, something like fifteen years. Never, to my knowledge, unless she was actually sick, did she receive any assistance in her labors—not so much as a day's work of washing. And yet under all these disadvantages, she reared—almost without help even from the children themselves, as the difference between the oldest and the youngest was only about eight years—a family of four children.

I have sometimes wondered how she accomplished so much, by her own unaided efforts. But the whole secret lay in her power of self-dependence. She could do every thing alone. She had been trained to it. She was truly independent; as much so, perhaps, as a female can be in this world.

I might have added, that notwithstanding these incessant labors, I have often known her walk four or five miles to church on the Sabbath, and home again in the same manner; that she was neat and orderly; and that she found much time to read and converse with her children, and for social visiting.

Reader, I do not ask you to imitate this veteran matron; for it would be too much to ask of any individual in any age, especially the present. But I ask you, and with great earnestness, to acquire the power of self-dependence—and to do it immediately. Make it a matter of conscience. Bear constantly in mind, that whatever has been done, may be done. Shame on those who, knowing the value of self-dependence, and having the power to acquire it, pass through life so shiftless, that they cannot do the least thing without aid—the aid of a host of relatives or menials. It is quite time that woman should understand her power and her strength, and govern herself accordingly. It is quite time for her to stand upright in her native, heaven-born dignity, and show to the world—and to angels, even, as well as to men—for what woman was made, and wherein, consists her true excellence.