FEMALE EDUCATION.

BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY.

An address delivered at the Brooklyn Collegiate Institute for Young Ladies.

At the present period of society, when the light of knowledge, no longer the feeble glimmering of an uncertain dawn, is rapidly becoming “brighter and brighter unto perfect day,” it may seem idle and superfluous to call your attention to so hackneyed a subject as that of education. But permit me to observe that a subject of such vital importance to us, both as individuals and citizens, can scarcely be too often presented to our view. There is perhaps no country in the world where the benefits of education are so fully appreciated and so widely diffused as in our own. Schools, both public and private, have multiplied in every part of the Union; and even our common seminaries are now conducted upon such enlarged and liberal principles, as were formerly unknown beyond the walls of a university. But even in this enlightened age there is one point which yet remains somewhat in dispute—I mean the education of females. It is not long since the belief in woman’s inferior capacity was at least tacitly admitted, and there are many even now who adhere to that belief; but let us inquire what domain of human knowledge man can claim as his exclusive right. Is it the boundless field of classic lore? Where can be found a more indefatigable laborer in that fruitful soil than was Madame Dacier, the elegant translator of Plutarch? Is it the rugged steep of science? How few of all those who have toiled up that ascent ever attained such an elevated station as Maria Agnesi, the young and beautiful professor of mathematics at Bologna? Is it the thorny road of political economy, or the flowery paths of general literature? Who has ever traversed the former with such masculine vigor, or threaded the pleasant mazes of the latter with such feminine tact, as Madame de Staël, the wonder of her own sex, the envy of ours? Is it the fairy-land of poesy? Who, since the days of Shakespeare, could lay claim to the title of the “Poet of the Passions,” until it was proudly won by Miss Baillie? Where, since the early days of Campbell, have been found more sweetness and polish than in the productions of our universal favorite, Mrs. Hemans?

From the almost numberless examples of female intellect a few only have been adduced, with which we are all familiar, and surely they are enough to convince any unprejudiced mind that Heaven has conferred upon woman no less than upon man the gifts of talent and genius. By the proper restraints of her sex, woman is prevented from buffeting the waves of popular prejudice and diving into the depths of science after the yet undiscovered gems of truth; but who will dare assert that she is therefore insensible to their value or incapable of grasping them?

It has been asserted by some, whose minds were capable of a much wider range of observation than the remark would seem to indicate, that education, though it always renders man an ornament to his station in society, invariably unfits a woman for the duties which seem to have been allotted her by nature. This cannot possibly be true. Our ordinary experience certainly affords no proof that an enlightened mind is the most prone to error; it rather teaches us that they whose eyes have been opened to “see the right” seldom will voluntarily “the wrong pursue.” I speak not now of what is usually termed the eccentricity of genius, though that might be referred to as another evidence of the necessity of a proper education; for were talents always subjected to the discipline of the schools, we should not find a Mary Wollstonecroft pleading the cause of immorality and atheism under pretence of advocating the rights of women; nor would our country have been so recently insulted by the presence of a woman who still more boldly tramples upon the restraints of modesty and decorum, and publicly proclaims herself the “apostle of infidelity.” These are things which, if they were the result of mental cultivation, would induce a parent to suppress every glimmering of intellect in his darling and innocent child; but we need no argument to convince us that only those who have been “nursed in darkness” are prone to evil rather than to good.

Another objection which has been urged, with some apparent truth, against the present enlarged system of female education is that it is calculated to render women pedants and bookworms rather than useful members of the domestic circle; but to confute this we need only recur to our own personal experience, since doubtless there are few among us who cannot number among their friends women as much distinguished for domestic virtues as for superior and extensive acquirements. Indeed, is it not absurd to suppose that our daily repast will be less grateful because intellect and elegance preside at the social board? or that household fires will burn less brightly because kindled by a torch from the shrine of Minerva?

The true cause of all these various objections appears to be a misconception of the term education. A good education includes the culture of the heart as well as of the mind. It implies not merely the improvement of the mental faculties, but also the government of the passions and the proper direction of the affections. We should not think a garden beautiful where the weeds have been allowed to grow up among the flowers, however green and flourishing it might appear; neither should we deem a woman well educated whose heart was the abode of folly and vanity, however her mind might be stored with knowledge. One of our best writers on education (herself a striking proof of its benefits) has compared a well-regulated mind to a watch, where every part is so nicely balanced that no one can preponderate. This is a very apt illustration. Of the various faculties with which Heaven has endowed us, each may be perfect in itself; but from some error in our adjustment of them (if I may use the term), all may become useless. It is only by the most unwearied self-discipline that this correct balance of mental powers can be effected; and the ability to discipline one’s self can only be derived from education.

To employ the rapidly-developing faculties of early childhood merely as sources of amusement to ourselves is certainly not the proper method of bestowing upon our children the treasures of wisdom; yet this is the course usually pursued. If we would reap the rich harvest of a truly good education, the work of cultivation must commence at a much earlier period than even our most zealous laborers in the field of knowledge would deem necessary. As soon as a child is capable of receiving different degrees of pleasure from different objects, the task of instruction should commence; not, however, by means of dry precept and tedious disquisition, for these would be incomprehensible, but by resorting to all those thousand devices which a judicious instructor is so ingenious in contriving, in order to inform as well as amuse. Every opportunity of imparting knowledge should be eagerly seized, for knowledge acquired at such an age becomes a part of our very nature; and, whatever may be the course of our after-life, the impressions received in early childhood are never totally effaced.

But to whom is the sacred and laborious duty of early instruction delegated? Is it to the father, who, returning from his daily toil, seeks in the bosom of his family that peace which never abides in the turmoil of the world? Surely not. The conflict with a hard and selfish world is enough for him; the duty of combating with rebellious human nature is reserved for the mother’s portion. No father can, no father ought to know how much heaviness of heart, how much weariness of spirit, the mother has endured in order to render his children the objects of his pride as well as of his affection. To foster the germ of mental energy, to train up the early shoots of intellect, and, more than all, to watch over the pure fresh feelings of the youthful heart, and direct its innocent affections to “things above,” so that it may never be induced to “place its happiness lower than itself,” these are the ennobling duties of a mother.

But can these duties be performed by the woman whose mental energies were in early youth wasted upon the fascinating pages of romance, and, in later life, frittered away amid the frivolities of fashion? “Never,” observed a man of acknowledged sense and penetration, “never have I known a man distinguished for wisdom and virtue who was the son of a foolish mother.” This is emphatically true; and when we consider how often the temper and dispositions which we falsely ascribe to nature may be traced to impressions received in infancy, our own experience will bear testimony to its truth. The husbandman who should scatter his seed among the dry clods of an untilled field, and then go his way rejoicing in the anticipation of a rich harvest, would be far more likely to reap tares than wheat; yet there would not be more folly in his expectations than in those of the well-meaning but injudicious mother who, after having allowed the precious years of infancy to slip by, fondly hopes to gather from the youthful mind the rare fruits of virtue and religion, the principles of which no previous culture had fitted it to receive. Education must begin in infancy. Even in the nurse’s arms a child learns to distinguish between pleasurable and disagreeable objects; and in the same manner—that is to say, by making appeals to the senses—may it be taught the difference between right and wrong. If it be true, as some wise men have asserted, that the first ten years give a coloring to man’s whole life, then let women look well to their maternal duties, for awful is their responsibility.

Could the secret biography of heroes and sages throughout the earth be correctly ascertained, so as to trace the progress of early education, what a brilliant lustre would be shed on the maternal character! Even in the pages of general history, notwithstanding its vague and unsatisfactory sketches of the detail of life, how universally do we find the influence of women made manifest. It is recorded of the greatest orator of antiquity that the wise and politic plans which it had cost him years to frame could be overturned in a single day by a woman; and Tacitus himself, the most impartial of historians, has not hesitated to trace the degeneracy of morals under the emperors to the period when the Roman matrons began to relinquish to slaves and hirelings the education of their children. If such are the desolating effects of woman’s ill-directed influence, let us reflect for a moment upon the incalculable benefits which might be derived from the same powerful force when exerted in its proper direction. Those only who have been long accustomed to look into the springs of human action can be aware how much the general state of civilized society depends upon the sentiments and habits of women; for while many are willing to admit the powerful effect of female elegance on the manners of men, few will as readily acknowledge the influence of female principles upon their character. But to those who can only be taught by examples we can give one noble evidence of the advantages of woman’s influence. Let us recall to mind the history of the man who directed the destinies of our own proud and happy country—let us look at the moral grandeur of his character—let us behold him gifted with the heart to desire, the intellect to plan, and the hand to achieve the freedom of an infant nation—let us observe him placed at the head of that nation, idolized by its citizens, respected by its enemies, admired by the world; yet, uncontaminated by that ambition which is so generally the offspring of power, we see him quietly resigning that proudest of all titles, the ruler of a free people, and returning, with his early, simple habits, to the tillage of his humble farm. Yes; let us contemplate in every point of view the majesty of this character, which stands, like the pyramids of Egypt, the unrivalled object of a world’s admiration, and then let us recollect with noble pride that the character of our illustrious Washington was formed by his mother.

In a country like ours, where wealth is continually fluctuating, where the fortune which a father bequeaths to his son to-day may be totally consumed by some sudden revolution in commerce to-morrow, the only unalienable property which can be bestowed upon our children is an unblemished name and a good education. Under such a government as ours the latter is indispensable. Ours has been called a nation of kings; and when we reflect on the incalculable mischief which is daily effected in less happy countries by unenlightened rulers and an ignorant populace, we may form some idea of the evils which would result from an uninformed and uneducated sovereign people. The little boy who climbs his father’s knee and lisps his infantile prattle into his delighted ear may be called at some future period to direct the destinies of a large portion of our fellow-countrymen. The path to distinction is open to all, however lowly their station; for the aristocracy of talent is the only aristocracy which Americans acknowledge; and this we cannot reject, since it bears Heaven’s own signet on its patent of nobility. Is it not absolutely essential, then, that the heart and mind of every child in the community should be objects of earnest solicitude to every patriotic bosom? “The old systems of education are good for nothing,” said the First Consul of France to Madame Campan, when he visited the school under her direction. “What is yet requisite in order that young persons may be well educated in France?” continued he. “Mothers,” was the emphatic reply. “True, madame,” answered Napoleon; “let Frenchmen, therefore, acknowledge their obligation to you as having been the first to educate mothers for their children.” Napoleon well knew that the only materials out of which a mighty nation could be formed were rational, enlightened, educated men; and the importance of female influence in early life could not possibly escape the penetration of such an adept in human nature.

Let me not be misunderstood when I thus earnestly insist upon the necessity of female education. I do not mean that our daughters should be rendered capable of becoming teachers of classical literature or professors of the sciences; but I would have them intimately acquainted with all useful branches of human knowledge. I would have them sufficiently versed in the learning of the ancients to be able to lay the foundation of a classical education in their sons; I would have them so skilled in those elegant arts which form the embellishment of life, that they may be able to improve to the utmost the developing tastes of their daughters; and, above all, I would have them deeply and thoroughly imbued with the knowledge of the Scriptures—the wisdom which cometh from above—the pure and holy and liberal principles of that religion whose founder was the Redeemer of a world.

The duty of a mother is indeed an arduous one; but its very difficulty renders it incapable of being transferred to other hands. To struggle with the untamed passions of human nature—those passions whose early development affords the most convincing proof that the heart of the natural man is “deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked;” to arouse the spirit of useful inquiry in the infant mind; to direct that inquiry to subjects which may purify the heart and elevate the intellect; to impart the first notions of a Deity, and afterwards to improve those vague ideas into a love and reverence for the bountiful Creator and Ruler of the universe—these are tasks of which no father, however affectionate, is capable. They require woman’s opportunities, woman’s tact, woman’s delicacy; and, may I not add, the peculiar devotedness of woman’s affection?

But these are not all. Were a mother’s cares confined to the mere physical welfare of her sons, too often in later life, when she saw the objects of her solicitude swallowed up in the ever yawning vortex of vice, would she be compelled to exclaim, with all the bitterness of disappointment,

It is not so—her duties are of a higher order. Beautiful as is the picture of woman’s tenderness which I have just presented to you, it was far exceeded in moral beauty by the exquisite description of an enlightened and pious mother, which not long ago was uttered within these very walls,⁠[1] by lips that seemed touched with “a live coal from the altar.” If it be true that the noblest being in the scale of creation is he who has the greatest number of duties to perform, then well may woman rejoice in the dignity of her station; but let her joy be mingled with “fear and trembling,” and let her so perform her allotted task that in the day when all must be summoned before the bar of God she may be able to say, in the emphatic words of Scripture, “Behold, here am I, Lord, with the children which thou hast given me.”

If such are the arduous duties of a mother, what should be the measure of gratitude which she has a right to claim from her children? It is a debt like that we owe to Heaven—the day of our death finds it yet uncancelled.

To you, my young friends, I would address myself in the language of deep and earnest interest. You are now at that delightful period of life which is like spring among the seasons, redolent of beauty and freshness, and giving fair promise of the rich fruits of maturer years. Take heed the young blossoms be not blighted. Call to mind the countless advantages which have been bestowed on you; reflect upon the anxious solicitude of the fathers who wait to see you the objects of their pride as well as the sources of their happiness; remember the cares, the exertions, the almost heart-breaking anxiety of the mothers who have guided your infant feet to the threshold of the temple of knowledge, and then press forward “in the race set before you.” You are entering upon a noble career. The pure and elevated and holy duties which are peculiarly a woman’s will soon claim your undivided attention. Let me pray you, therefore, so to discipline your hearts, so to cultivate your minds, so to purify your spirits now, during the unbroken leisure of youth, that the hour of trial may find you “with your lamps trimmed and burning.” You have begun well; go on, then, in the same course and remember that “of those to whom much is given, much will be required;” and that genius and knowledge, while they lay claim to the highest honors which man can bestow, also bear with them the highest responsibilities both to God and man. Science is now opening to you her richest store of honor and usefulness, and the prayers of parents and friends are following you when you are utterly unconscious of them. Pause, then—in the cool freshness of the morning of life, before you wax faint in the noonday heats—pause and form for yourselves the noble resolutions which should direct your future life. Look back through the shadowy vista of past years, and behold what are the foundations of the most lasting honors of men. Look forward with the eye of faith to the glories of the promised land; and while you weigh well the different results of moral conduct, take heed that ye “keep your hearts with all diligence, for out of them are the issues of life.” Form your taste on the classics, your judgment on the sciences, and your principles on the book of all truth. Let the dawn of your being be hallowed by that pure devotion which is ever an “offering of a sweet smelling savor” to the bounteous giver of all good. Let the first-fruits of your intellect be laid before the altar of Him who breathed into your nostrils the breath of life, and with that breath a portion of His exalted spirit; and while your life furnishes the most striking illustration of the benefits of education, let it be your care so to persevere unto the end that it may be said of each in her own peculiar sphere, “Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all.”

1831.

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