From Benjamin B. Wisner, editor. Memoirs of the Late Mrs. Susan Huntington of Boston, Mass. Second Edition. Boston: Crocker & Brewster, 1826. 123-125.

To a Sister-in-Law, at N. L.

April 4
      This subject of education is one that lies nearer my heart, than any other merely temporal concern. It is easy to speculate about it, and to prescribe rules to others. It is easy to form a correct and most judicious system; and to say with Foster's man of indecision, "This is a good plan, a plan which would be very useful in its results," and after all, make shipwreck of the disposition and minds of our children by mismanagement. All this is easy, for the same reason that it is easy to acquire correct opinions on any subject. But acting, practice; here, here is the difficulty. The truth is, no one can govern a family of children well without much reflection and, what the world calls, trouble. There must be an accurate judgment formed respecting the character of each child, and a regular and consistent method, adapted to each, pursued. And, what is more difficult still, the parent must uniformly govern herself. This, certainly, is not easy; it calls for the unremitted exertion of several most eminent and rare Christian graces.

      It appears to me that three simple rules, steadily observed from the very germ of active existence, would make children's tempers much more amiable than we generally see them. First! Never to give them any thing improper for them, because they strongly and passionately desire it; and even to withhold proper things, until they manifest a right spirit. Second. Always to gratify every reasonable desire, when a child is pleasant in its request; that your children may see that you love to make them happy. Third. Never to become impatient and fretful yourself, but proportion your displeasure exactly to the offence. If parents become angry, and speak loud and harsh, upon every slight failure of duty, they may bid a final adieu to domestic subordination, unless the grace of God interposes to snatch the little victims of severity from destruction. I feel confident, from what observation I have made, that, although more children are injured by excessive indulgence than by the opposite fault, yet the effects of extreme rigor are the most hopeless. And the reason is, associations of a disagreeable nature, as some of the ablest philosophers have stated, are the strongest. This may account for the melancholy fact, that the children of some excellent people grow up more strenuously opposed to every thing serious, than others. They have been driven, rather than led, to observe the forms and outward duties of religion, and its claims upon their hearts have been too commonly presented to their minds, in the imperative, and not in the inviting form.

      For my own part, I find myself falling so far short, that I am, sometimes, overwhelmed with the distressing apprehension of erring fatally. Dear children! I tremble for you, when I reflect how dangerous is the path in which you are to tread, and how difficult the task of directing you in safety. Lord! I commit myself, whom thou hast made the guide of their youth, I commit their hearts and ways, unto thee!

To Mrs. H. of Bridgewater

Boston, April 27, 1815
      . . . My letters are short, I acknowledge; and I suppose you will look incredulous and smile when I say, they are so, in a great measure, for want of time. . . . To own the truth, (and it reflects no honour on either my firmness, or my faith,) I am, dear sister, sometimes almost discouraged. My duties are so much greater than my strength, that I feel entirely disqualified for this station. I despise that narrow, selfish spirit, which satisfied with the gratification of its own desires, sits quietly down, and heeds not the calamities of a miserable world, a world filled with brethren, who are perishing. No; I am not pleading for opportunity to foster an indulge so dishonourable a temper. But when I see an increasing family of immortal souls, whom I have been the instrument of bringing into this wretched world, cast upon my care; when I think, that I am to be a principal instrument in forming their characters, and thus, in fixing their destinies for eternity; that instructions, and prayers, and efforts must be accompanied with an example of unblemished purity; that every inconsistency in my conduct may produce in their minds a false association, the influence of which may be most pernicious, and the smallest deficiency in the correction of first errors produce a habit which may never be counteracted; I tremble. When I view these things, contrasted with my weakness, my blindness, my continual declensions from the straight path, I am overwhelmed. . .