Besides what I have noticed in several of the foregoing chapters, there are many things of a general nature, which I shall group together under the title of habits. A habit is what has become easy and natural by frequent repetition. People not unfrequently become much attached to practices, which at first were very unpleasant. You will sometimes see men chewing, smoking, or snuffing tobacco, a most filthy and poisonous plant, a little bit of which you could not be persuaded to take into your mouth, it is so nauseous; yet, by long use, people learn to love it. That is a habit. So, likewise, you see persons very fond of drinking intoxicating liquors, which to you would be a nauseous medicine; and which are poisonous and destructive to all. It is practice which has made these drinks so pleasant. This is a habit.

Habits are both bad and good; and a habit is a very good or a very bad thing, as it is good or bad. Habits are mostly formed in early life; and a habit, once formed, is difficult to be broken;—once fixed, it may follow you as long as you live.
 
I shall specify a few of the bad habits which boys of your age are liable to contract, with their opposite good habits. It is very likely I shall fail to notice many others, equally important; but these may put you upon thinking, and lead you to discover and correct other bad practices.

I. Dilatoriness or Tardiness.—The tardy boy is dilatory about rising in the morning. Although old Chanticleer is pouring his shrill note of warning into his ear, and the birds are filling the air with their merry song, and the morning rays of the sun are peeping stealthily through the half-closed shutter, still he thinks, “There’s time enough yet;” and instead of starting up with the lark, he lingers and delays, saying with the sluggard, “A little more sleep, a little more slumber, a little more folding of the hands to sleep.” At length he rises, in a yawning mood, and proceeds slowly to pull on his clothes, lingering with every article, looking here and there, and stopping every now and then to play, or to amuse himself in gazing about his chamber. And sometimes he stops, half-dressed, to read a story from a piece of an old newspaper. In this and other ways, he amuses himself until the breakfast bell rings, and he is not ready. Perhaps he has been called half a dozen times to “do his chores,” and as often answered, “Well,[85] I’m coming;” till, wearied with his delay, his mother or sister has done the work that belonged to him, or his father has been called from his room, or the hired man from his work, to do it for him. At length, he makes his appearance at the table after the blessing, when the rest of the family have begun their meal. But, having just emerged from the foul air of his bedroom, he has no appetite for his breakfast, and feels peevish and fretful. A scowl appears upon his brow, and he turns up his nose at the food spread before him, forgetful alike of his obligations to his Heavenly Father for providing, and to his mother for preparing it. Or, if he sometimes gets dressed before breakfast, he is not in season to do his chores, or to complete the lesson which he left unfinished the night before. He hears the breakfast bell, but he is just now engaged, and thinks, “There’s time enough yet,—I’ll just finish what I’ve begun;” and so he is not in season for the table. He has either detained the table till all are impatient of waiting, or else he takes his seat after the rest have commenced eating. In consequence of this loss of time, he is left at the table to finish his breakfast, and his seat is for some time vacant at prayers, when he comes in and disturbs the whole family. Or, if at any time, he gets his seat with the rest, he is dilatory[86] in finding his place, and is never ready to read when his turn comes. This dilatoriness goes on, till the school hour arrives, and he is not ready; or he delays on the way to school, and arrives, perhaps, just after his class have recited. Sabbath morning, when the bell tolls, and the family are starting for meeting, he is roused from a reverie, and has yet to get ready. And so in every thing else this dilatory habit follows him. When his father or mother calls him, instead of promptly making his appearance, to serve them, as a dutiful son should do, he answers, “Yes, in a minute,” or, “Yes, I’m going to.” He must dispose of something else first; and before he comes, the service for which he was called has been despatched by some one else. He does not seem to know how to start quick. He is always in a hurry when the time comes to do any thing, because he was dilatory in making preparation when he had time. He is always late,—always out of time,—vexing those that are about him, and injuring himself. He seems to have started too late. You would think that he began too late in the beginning,—that he was born too late, and has never been able to gain the lost time. Every thing comes too soon, before he is prepared for it. If he ever becomes a man, and this habit continues, it will always be a source of[87] vexation and disaster to him. If he is a mechanic, he will fail to meet his engagements, and disappoint, vex, and lose his customers. If he is a man of business, he will fail to meet his appointments, and thus lose many a bargain. He will suffer his notes to be protested at the bank, and thus injure his friends and destroy his credit. His dilatory habits will be the ruin of his business. And if he carries the same habit into religion, he will ruin his soul, for death will overtake him before he is ready.

Although this seems natural to him, it is only tardiness indulged till it has grown into a habit. But by timely resolution, diligence, and perseverance, the habit may be broken.

The opposites of this are the good habits of promptness and punctuality. When the gray dawn steals in at his window, the prompt lad springs from his bed; and in a few minutes he is washed and dressed, and on his knees at his morning devotions. Soon he appears at his work; and before breakfast, all his chores are done. Thus he has redeemed the time between breakfast and school, which he has at his own disposal, for his lessons or his sports. He is always in time. He never keeps the table waiting for him, and never comes after the blessing. He is never late at prayers—never late at school—never[88] late at meeting; and yet he is never in a hurry. He redeems so much time by his promptness, that he has as much as he needs to do every thing well and in season. He saves all the time that the dilatory spends in sauntering, in considering what to do next, in reading frivolous matters, and in gazing idly at vacancy. Do you desire to possess these good habits? Only carry out for one day the idea I have given of promptness, and then repeat it every day, and, in a little time, you have the habit established.

II. Slovenliness.—A slovenly boy makes himself a deal of needless trouble, and greatly tries the patience of his mother. If you go into his room, you find it always in confusion. His things are scattered about, here and there, some on the bed, some on the chairs, and some on the floor,—but none in their places. He either has no particular place for any thing, or else he takes no pains to put things in their places. He leaves a thing where he uses it. Hence, if he wants any thing, he never knows where to look for it, unless he happens to remember where he used it last. He must waste his time in hunting for it. Hence you will often hear him impatiently inquiring if any one has seen his things; when he ought himself to know where they are. If he goes into another person’s room, whatever[89] article he lays his hand upon is misplaced. And so it is, if he uses any of his father’s tools. He never thinks of putting any thing where he found it. He throws it down carelessly wherever he happens to be, or else puts it in the wrong place; so that, when wanted, it cannot be found. Thus, he not only wastes his own time, but hinders and vexes others. If he goes into the library, and takes down a book, he either puts it in a different place, and so disarranges the shelves, or lays it down on the shelf in front of other books, for his father or mother to arrange. His school books are torn and dirty—disfigured with pencil marks, blots of ink, grease spots, finger prints, and dog’s-ears; and if he borrows a book from the Sabbath school library, or of a friend, it is returned with some of these his marks upon it.

Whatever he undertakes to do is done in the same slovenly style. If he brings in water, he spills it on the floor. His wood he throws down in a sprawling manner, instead of laying it in a neat and handsome pile. Nothing that he does looks neat and finished.

Nor does he appear to any better advantage in his person. His clothes are put on in a slouching, uncouth manner; and he always contrives to have them dirty. He cannot have on clean clothes half an hour without soiling them. He[90] rubs against whatever dirty thing he passes. If he carries milk, he spills it on his clothes. He drops grease on them at the table. He wallows in the dirt. He contrives to hitch against a nail, or the latch of a door, and makes a rent for his mother to mend. If left to himself, his face would never come in contact with water, nor his teeth with a brush. You would almost think, sometimes, that you could see the grass growing on his upper lip.

He comes into the house with his shoes covered with mud, and never thinks of wiping his feet, but leaves the prints of them on his mother’s clean floor or nice carpet. He seems to forget what scrapers and mats are made for, for he passes by without using them. He lays his hat on a chair, or throws it upon the floor, instead of hanging it in its place. Thus he tries the patience of his mother and sisters, and makes himself unwelcome at his own home.

And with this habit is generally associated carelessness. He never seems to be thinking what he is about. He does not see things that are in his way, but stumbles over them, breaking, bruising, or otherwise injuring them, and often hurting himself. You dread to see him approach, lest some mischief should happen. He does not look to see what he steps on, nor whether[91] his hands have firm hold of the article he takes up. If he passes through a door, he does not mind whether it was open or shut; and most likely, if he finds it open, in a warm summer’s day, he will close it; but, if he finds it carefully shut, on a freezing day in mid-winter, he will leave it wide open.

A careless person will be constantly meeting with accidents and misfortunes, and continually subject to the most vexatious mortifications, which a little thoughtfulness and care would prevent. This habit is a very great fault, and, when confirmed, very difficult to corre............