Chapter
On the delightful margin of the Merrimac,
in one of the mo&longs;t plea&longs;ant and beautiful
&longs;ituations, which that fertile and healthful part
of America affords, lived Mrs. Williams, the virtuous
relict of a re&longs;pectable clergyman.
She had two daughters, lovely and promi&longs;ing
as ever parent could boa&longs;t.
Mrs. Williams's circum&longs;tances were ea&longs;y. She
po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed a little patrimony, to which &longs;he retired,
after her hu&longs;band's decea&longs;e; but a de&longs;ire of preserving
this for her children, and a wi&longs;h to promote
their advantage and enlarge their &longs;ociety,
induced her to open a Boarding School.
As &longs;he had an eye, no le&longs;s to the &longs;ocial
plea&longs;ure, than to the pecuniary profit of the
undertaking, &longs;he admitted only &longs;even, at a time,
to the privilege of her tuition.
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The&longs;e were all young ladies, who had previously
received the fir&longs;t rudiments of learning,
and been initiated into the polite accomplishments,
which embelli&longs;h virtue and &longs;often the
cares of human life. They had generally lived
in the metropolis, and had acquired the graces
of a fa&longs;hionable deportment; but they pro&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed
different tempers and di&longs;po&longs;itions, which had
been variou&longs;ly, and, in &longs;ome re&longs;pects, erroneou&longs;ly
managed.
To cultivate the expanding flowers, and to
prune the juvenile eccentricities, which were
diffeminated among the&longs;e tender plants; or, to
&longs;peak without a figure, to extend and purify
their ideas, to elevate and refine their affections,
to govern and direct their pa&longs;&longs;ions, required an
eye, watchful, and a hand, &longs;kilful as tho&longs;e of the
judicious Mrs. Williams.
While her judgment and prudence aided the
u&longs;eful acqui&longs;itions of the mind, a &longs;prightly fancy
and a cheerful di&longs;po&longs;ition, regulated by experience
and di&longs;cretion, qualified her to enter, at
once, with becoming dignity and conde&longs;cending
ea&longs;e, into all their concerns; to participate their
plea&longs;ures; while, with candour and mildne&longs;s,
&longs;he reproved their errors, detected their follies,
and facilitated their amendment.
As the young ladies had fini&longs;hed their &longs;chool
education, before Mrs. Williams received them
to her man&longs;ion, her in&longs;tructions were more
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e&longs;pecially de&longs;igned to poli&longs;h the mental part, to
call forth the dormant virtues, to unite and arrange
the charms of per&longs;on and mind, to in&longs;pire
a due &longs;en&longs;e of decorum and propriety, and to
in&longs;til &longs;uch principles of piety, morality, benevolence,
prudence and economy, as might be useful
through life.
Their time was, accordingly, di&longs;po&longs;ed in a
manner mo&longs;t conducive to the attainment of
the&longs;e objects. Every part of it was employed
to &longs;ome valuable purpo&longs;e; “for idlene&longs;s,” Mrs.
Williams ob&longs;erved, “is the ru&longs;t of the mind.”
Whatever tended to enlarge, inform, improve,
or amu&longs;e, &longs;he &longs;uppo&longs;ed worthy their attention.
She particularly endeavoured to dome&longs;ticate
them; to turn their thoughts to the beneficial
and nece&longs;&longs;ary qualifications of private life; often
inculcating, that
“Nothing lovelier can be found in woman,
Than to &longs;tudy hou&longs;ehold good;”
and labouring to convince them of the utter insignificance
and u&longs;ele&longs;&longs;ne&longs;s of that part of the
&longs;ex, who are
“Bred only and completed to the ta&longs;te
Of lu&longs;tful appetence; to &longs;ing, to dance,
To dre&longs;s, and troll the tongue, and roll the eye.”
Early ri&longs;ing &longs;he recommended, both by precept
and example. This, &longs;he &longs;aid, would not only
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promote their health, but render them mi&longs;tre&longs;&longs;es
of many hours, which mu&longs;t otherwi&longs;e be lo&longs;t in
enervating &longs;loth and inaction. “And &longs;hould we,”
continued &longs;he, “who have &longs;o much cau&longs;e for exertion,
thus &longs;acrifice the be&longs;t part of our time?”
“Falfely luxurious, will not man awake,
And, &longs;tarting from the bed of &longs;loth, enjoy
The cool, the fragrant, and the &longs;ilent hour,
To meditation due, and &longs;acred &longs;ong?
And is there aught in &longs;leep can charm the wife?
To lie in dead oblivion, lo&longs;ing half
The fleeting moments of too &longs;hort a life?
Total extinction of th' enlighten'd &longs;oul!
Or el&longs;e to feveri&longs;h vanity alive,
Wilder'd and to&longs;&longs;ing through di&longs;temper'd dreams?
Who would in &longs;uch a gloomy &longs;tate remain,
Longer than nature craves; when every mu&longs;e,
And every blooming plea&longs;ure wait without,
To ble&longs;s the wildly devious morning walk?”
Another laudable practice of Mrs. Williams,
was perfect regularity in the government of her
pupils, and in the arrangement of their daily
exerci&longs;es. “When,” &longs;aid &longs;he, “we ob&longs;erve the
order of the natural world, and admire the consistency
and harmony of every part, we may
hence derive a le&longs;&longs;on, for the regulation of our
conduct, in the &longs;phere a&longs;&longs;igned to us.”
Pur&longs;uant to this plan of operation, the young
ladies aro&longs;e at five; from which they had two
hours at their own di&longs;po&longs;al, till the bell summoned
them at &longs;even, to the hall, where, the
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ceremonies of the morning &longs;alutation over, they
breakfa&longs;ted together; their repa&longs;t being &longs;ea&longs;oned
with the unre&longs;trained effu&longs;ions of good humour
and &longs;ociability. On the&longs;e occa&longs;ions, Mrs. Williams
&longs;u&longs;pended the authority of the matron,
that, by accu&longs;toming her pupils to familiarity in
her pre&longs;ence, they might be free from re&longs;traint;
and, feeling perfectly ea&longs;y and unawed, appear
in their genuine characters. By this mean &longs;he
had an opportunity of ob&longs;erving any indecorum
of behaviour, or wrong bias; which &longs;he kept in
mind, till a proper time to mention, and remonstrate
again&longs;t it; a method, the &longs;alutary effects
of which were vi&longs;ible in the daily improvement
of her pupils.
The breakfa&longs;t table removed, each took her
needle-work, except one, who read &longs;ome amusing
and in&longs;tructive book, for the benefit and entertainment
of the re&longs;t. The &longs;ubject was selected
by Mrs. Williams, who conferred the
reading upon them in rotation.
At twelve o'clock, they were di&longs;mi&longs;&longs;ed till
one, when dinner again called them together,
which was conducted in the &longs;ame manner as
the morning repa&longs;t.
Having re&longs;umed their occupations, the reader
of the day produced &longs;ome piece of her own
compo&longs;ition, either in pro&longs;e, or ver&longs;e, according
to her inclination, as a &longs;pecimen of her genius
and improvement. This being &longs;ubmitted to Mrs.
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Williams's in&longs;pection, and the candid peru&longs;al and
critici&longs;m of her companions; and the &longs;ubject
canva&longs;&longs;ed with great freedom of opinion, they
withdrew from the ta&longs;ks of the day to &longs;eek that
relaxation and amu&longs;ement, which each preferred.
No innocent gratification was denied them.
The &longs;prightly dance, the &longs;entimental &longs;ong, and
indeed every &longs;pecies of pa&longs;time, con&longs;i&longs;tent with
the decorum of the &longs;ex, was encouraged, as
tending to health, cheerfulne&longs;s, and alacrity.
In the&longs;e plea&longs;ing pur&longs;uits and enjoyments, the
pre&longs;ent cla&longs;s of happy companions had nearly
completed the term allotted them by their parents,
and were &longs;oon to leave the peaceful &longs;hades
in which they delighted, when, being a&longs;&longs;embled
on the Monday morning of their la&longs;t week, their
revered Preceptre&longs;s thus acco&longs;ted them:
“As the period is approaching, my dear pupils,
when I mu&longs;t re&longs;ign your &longs;ociety, and quit
the important charge of in&longs;tructor and friend,
which I have &longs;u&longs;tained with &longs;o much plea&longs;ure,
and, I tru&longs;t, with &longs;ome degree of fidelity, I &longs;hall
&longs;um up the coun&longs;els, admonitions, and advice,
which I have frequently inculcated, and endeavour
to impre&longs;s them on your minds, as my valedictory
addre&longs;s. For this purpo&longs;e, during this
la&longs;t week of your re&longs;idence with me, I &longs;hall dispense
with your u&longs;ual exerci&longs;es, and &longs;ub&longs;titute
a collection of my own &longs;entiments, enforced by
the pathos of the occa&longs;ion.
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“Your docility, and cheerful diligence in attending
to my in&longs;tructions; your mode&longs;t, affectionate,
and re&longs;pectful behaviour, together with
the laudable progre&longs;s you have made in every
branch, which you have pur&longs;ued, have well rewarded
my care, and engaged my approbation
and love. To me, therefore, a &longs;eparation will
be painful. To you the period is important.
It is a period, which, while it relieves you from
the confinement of &longs;chola&longs;tic rules, introduces
you to new &longs;cenes of cares, of plea&longs;ures, of trials,
and of temptations, which will call for the
exerci&longs;e of every virtue, and afford opportunity
for improving the endowments, both natural and
acquired, which you po&longs;&longs;e&longs;s. Think not, then,
that your emancipation from &longs;chools, gives you
liberty to neglect the advantages which you have
received from them. The obligations under
which you are laid to your parents for the education
they have given you, require a diligent
improvement of every talent committed to your
tru&longs;t.
“Of needle-work you are complete mi&longs;tre&longs;&longs;es,
from the mo&longs;t delicate and highly fini&longs;hed, to
the mo&longs;t ordinary, though perhaps not le&longs;s u&longs;eful,
economy of mending and making the coar&longs;er
garments of family u&longs;e. Many, I am aware,
&longs;uppo&longs;e this laft a &longs;pecies of learning, which is
beneath the attention of a lady: but Clara will
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tell you how valuable it has proved to her; and
how valuable it may prove to you.
“Nur&longs;ed in the lap of affluence, and accustomed
to unbounded expen&longs;e, Clara little thought, at
your age, that &longs;he &longs;hould ever depend on her
needle for the livelihood and decent appearance
of a ri&longs;ing family. A di&longs;creet and prudent mother
early inculcated the le&longs;&longs;ons of indu&longs;try and
economy, which &longs;he now practices; and taught
her that the knowledge could be of no di&longs;&longs;ervice,
though &longs;he never had occa&longs;ion for it. She married
with the brighte&longs;t pro&longs;pects. But a &longs;eries
of unavoidable di&longs;a&longs;ters, &longs;uch as no human wisdom
could fore&longs;ee or prevent, reduced her to
narrow circum&longs;tances; and, to complete her
misfortune, &longs;he was left a widow with four &longs;mall
children. Her parents were in the grave; her
patrimony was gone! In this exigence, what
was her re&longs;ource? Not fruitle&longs;s lamentations,
and unavailing complaints. She immediately
&longs;ummoned her re&longs;olution; and by the u&longs;e of her
needle has ever &longs;ince &longs;upported her&longs;elf and family
with decency, and been highly re&longs;pected for her
prudent exertions and exemplary indu&longs;try. Directly
the rever&longs;e of this amiable character is
that of Belinda. She was educated in the &longs;ame
way with Clara; the &longs;ame &longs;chools gave them tuition;
and &longs;imilar pro&longs;spects awaited their entrance
into life. Calamities attended the progre&longs;s of
each; but different as their tempers and
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disposttions was their conduct under them. The falling
fortunes of Clara were awhile &longs;u&longs;pended by
her di&longs;cretion and frugality; while the ruin of
Belinda was ha&longs;tened by her extravagance, diffipation,
and idlene&longs;s. View them, now, in their
reduced &longs;tate! Neatne&longs;s, cheerfulne&longs;s, and activity
pre&longs;ide in the dwelling of Clara; negligence,
peevi&longs;hne&longs;s, and &longs;loth are legibly &longs;tamped
on that of Belinda. The ear is pained by her
complaints of poverty; the eye is di&longs;gu&longs;ted by
her &longs;latternly appearance, and oftentatious di&longs;play
of the tattered remnants of finery, which be&longs;peak
the pride and indolence of their owner; who
will neither convert them into more comfortable
garments, nor, by repairing, render them becoming.
“I hope, however, that occa&longs;ions like the&longs;e
may never call for your exertions. But there may
be ca&longs;es, when, to know the u&longs;e of your needles
will an&longs;wer important purpo&longs;es, even in an exalted
&longs;tation, and amid&longs;t the &longs;plendor of affluence
and plenty.
“Matilda dignified a princely fortune by the
exerci&longs;e of every virtue which can adorn a lady.
Among the&longs;e, charity &longs;hone con&longs;picuous. Her
maid &longs;aid to her, one day, Madam, would you
have me lay a&longs;ide the&longs;e ca&longs;t-clothes for &longs;ome poor
per&longs;on? Yes, replied Matilda; but &longs;it down,
and mend them fir&longs;t. Don't you &longs;ee they need it?
Why, Madam, rejoined the girl, is it not enough
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for you to give them away? I &longs;hould think the
lea&longs;t they can do is to mend them for themselves!
In that ca&longs;e, &longs;aid Matilda, my bounty
would be greatly dimini&longs;hed. People, who need
charity have not the nece&longs;&longs;ary materials for putting
&longs;uch articles into repair; and &longs;hould I furnish
them, perhaps they have never been taught
to u&longs;e their needles. No more have I, returned
the maid. Have you not? &longs;aid Matilda. Well
then, &longs;it down, and I will direct your ingenuity
upon the&longs;e clothes. By this mean you may learn
a very u&longs;eful le&longs;&longs;on, I a&longs;&longs;ure you; a le&longs;&longs;on, which
by practi&longs;ing for your&longs;elf, will enable you to lay
up part of your wages again&longs;t the time when
&longs;ickne&longs;s or old age &longs;hall take you from your
labours.
“Such examples of conde&longs;cen&longs;ion and benevolence
to inferiors, are of more real and la&longs;ting
u&longs;e than pounds prodigally be&longs;towed.
“Do you &longs;eek higher te&longs;timonies of the honor
and utility of this employment? You may collect
many from the hi&longs;tories which you have
read during the la&longs;t year. Among the Romans,
and &longs;everal other nations of antiquity, a &longs;carf,
wrought by the needle of a favourite fair, was received
as an honorable token of re&longs;pect, and improved
as an invincible &longs;timulus to heroic deeds.
Ladies of the fir&longs;t rank and &longs;tation con&longs;idered it
as no derogation from the dignity or delicacy
of their character, to make their own apparel,
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and that of their families. The virtuous Panthea,
when her hu&longs;band was going to fight in
the cau&longs;e of Cyrus, her generous deliverer,
magnificently adorned his per&longs;on, and decorated
his armour with her own needle-work.
“We ought never to be idle. No moment
&longs;hould be unoccupied. Some employment, salutary,
either to body or mind, or both, &longs;hould
be con&longs;tantly pur&longs;ued; and the needle is always
at hand to &longs;upply the want of other avocations.
The li&longs;tle&longs;s vacuity, which &longs;ome young
ladies indulge, renders them extremely unhappy,
though they are in&longs;en&longs;ible of the cau&longs;e, and &longs;eek
to beguile the time in frivolous amu&longs;ements.
“A &longs;till more endearing motive remains to be
&longs;ugge&longs;ted; and that is the plea&longs;ure, which your
accompli&longs;hments in this ornamental and u&longs;eful
art mu&longs;t afford your parents; and the pain,
which your neglect of it hereafter mu&longs;t occa&longs;ion
them.
“But your faithful and affiduous improvement
of time, &longs;ince you have been with me, is a &longs;ure
pledge of your per&longs;everance in the path of duty,
and your progre&longs;s in every virtue. I tru&longs;t, therefore,
that what I have &longs;aid will be engraved on
your memories; and that &longs;ome u&longs;eful ideas will
be &longs;elected by each of you for your future advantage.
“Your minds are a good &longs;oil; and may I not
flatter my&longs;elf, that the &longs;eeds of in&longs;truction which
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I have &longs;own, “will &longs;pring up, and yield fruit
abundantly?”
With one voice, they mo&longs;t affectionately a&longs;&longs;ured
Mrs. Williams, that it &longs;hould be their daily &longs;tudy
to profit by her le&longs;&longs;ons; and withdrew.
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Being a&longs;&longs;embled, this afternoon, Mrs.
Williams thus re&longs;umed her di&longs;cour&longs;e.
“Reading is &longs;o common a part of education,
that the value of it is not duly e&longs;timated; nor
the manner of performing it, &longs;ufficiently attended
to. It is not the mere propriety of pronunciation,
accent, and cadence, which con&longs;titutes
good reading. You mu&longs;t enter into the &longs;pirit of
the &longs;ubject, and feel intere&longs;ted in the matter, before
you can profit by the exerci&longs;e.
“But you are &longs;o well acquainted with the
manner of reading, that the quality of books
mo&longs;t worthy of your peru&longs;al is the only point
on which I need to enlarge.
“Romances, the ta&longs;te of former times, are now
&longs;o far out of vogue, that it is hardly nece&longs;&longs;ary
to warn you again&longs;t them. They exhibit the
&longs;pirit of chivalry, knight-errantry, and extravagant
folly, which prevailed in the age they depict.
But they are not intere&longs;ting; nor can they
be plea&longs;ing to the correct ta&longs;te and refined delicacy
of the pre&longs;ent day.
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“Novels are the favourite, and the mo&longs;t dangerous
kind of reading, now adopted by the generality
of young ladies. I &longs;ay dangerous, because
the influence, which, with very few exceptions,
they mu&longs;t have upon the pa&longs;&longs;ions of
youth, bears an unfavourable a&longs;pect on their purity
and virtue. The &longs;tyle in which they are
written is commonly captivating; and the luxurlance
of the de&longs;criptions with which they
abound, extremely agreeable to the &longs;prightly fancy,
and high expectations of the inexperienced
and unreflecting. Their romantic pictures of
love, beauty, and magnificence, fill the imagination
with ideas which lead to impure de&longs;ires, a
vanity of exterior charms, and a fondne&longs;s for
&longs;how and di&longs;&longs;ipation, by no means con&longs;i&longs;tent
with that &longs;implicity, mode&longs;ty, and cha&longs;tity,
which &longs;hould be the con&longs;tant inmates of the
female brea&longs;t. They often pervert the judgment,
mi&longs;lead the affections, and blind the understanding.
“A melancholy example of this &longs;ort is exhibited
in Juliana. Juliana was the only daughter
of a wealthy merchant, who grudged no expense
which could plea&longs;e or embelli&longs;h his darling
child. He, however, po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed neither leisure
nor abilities “to teach the young idea how
to &longs;hoot;” but thought it &longs;ufficient that he gave
her every advantage, which could be derived
from the various &longs;chools, to which &longs;he was
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consigned. She had a brilliant fancy, and a fondness
for books, which, properly directed, might
have proved of great u&longs;e to her. But, having
no better principles in&longs;tilled into her mind, &longs;he
indulged her&longs;elf in the unlimited reading of
novels, and every light publication which a circulating
library could furni&longs;h.
“Hence her imagination took wing, and carried
her far above the &longs;cenes of common life.
The exce&longs;&longs;ive refinement of her mind admitted
no ordinary amu&longs;ements or avocations. Plain
truth from her own &longs;ex was an in&longs;ult; and from
the other, nothing le&longs;s than adoration would
fatisfy her unbounded vanity. Her beauty (of
which &longs;he really had a con&longs;iderable &longs;hare) and
the large fortune which &longs;he would probably inherit,
gained her many admirers; &longs;ome of whom
were men of unque&longs;tionable merit. But a &longs;ober,
rational court&longs;hip could not an&longs;wer her ideas of
love and gallantry The &longs;wain, who would not
die for her, &longs;he deemed unworthy of notice.
“Her father &longs;trongly recommended a gentleman,
as well calculated, in his opinion, to make
her happy, and as having his entire approbation;
but &longs;he rejected him with di&longs;dain, though &longs;he
could produce no one objection again&longs;t his person,
or character.
“Her father acquie&longs;ced; expre&longs;&longs;ing, however,
his regret at the mi&longs;taken notions &longs;he had imbibed;
and warning her mo&longs;t pathetically again&longs;t
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the indulgence of &longs;o romantic a di&longs;po&longs;ition; yet
all in vain. He was con&longs;idered as an illiterate
plodder after wealth, which &longs;he had a right to
be&longs;tow as &longs;he plea&longs;ed.
“At la&longs;t the lovely youth whom &longs;he had &longs;o
long contemplated, made his appearance. A military
captain entered the town on the recruiting
&longs;ervice. Young, hand&longs;ome, ea&longs;y, bold and assuming;
with all the bon ton of the coxcomb, and
all the in&longs;olence of the novice. He &longs;aw Juliana;
he &longs;acrificed to her charms, and conquered.
She could not re&longs;i&longs;t the allurements of his
gallantry. His affectation of dying love was
received with apparent plea&longs;ure; while art and
duplicity took advantage of her weakne&longs;s, to precipitate
her into engagements to pity and relieve
him. Her friends &longs;aw her danger, and warmly
remon&longs;trated again&longs;t her imprudent conduct,
in receiving the addre&longs;&longs;es of a man, de&longs;titute of
property to &longs;upport her, and void of every kind
of per&longs;onal merit. Her father entreated and implored
the rejection of her lover, till, finding
every other method vain, he at length resolutely
forbade him the hou&longs;e, and his daughter's
company. This was viewed as per&longs;ecution;
and, con&longs;i&longs;tently with her &longs;entiments of adventurous
love, a clande&longs;tine amour was commenced.
Her father &longs;urpri&longs;ed them together; and,
enraged at their di&longs;graceful intrigue, &longs;eized the
captain, and endeavoured to turn him out of doors.
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He violently re&longs;ented this ungentlemanlike treatment,
as he termed it, and defended him&longs;elf
with his &longs;word. The old gentleman received a
&longs;light wound, in the &longs;cuffle; but accompli&longs;hed
his purpo&longs;e. Juliana was terrified at this rencounter,
and, dreading her father's di&longs;plea&longs;ure,
ran out with her paramour. His lodgings were
near, and thither, favoured by the darkne&longs;s of
the night, he in&longs;tantly led her. She involuntarily
followed him, without con&longs;idering the impropriety
of her conduct. Here he drew his
&longs;word, and, throwing him&longs;elf at her feet, professed
his de&longs;pair, and declared him&longs;elf re&longs;olved
to put an immediate end to his life. She endeavoured
to rea&longs;on him into calmne&longs;s; but in
vain. He was &longs;en&longs;ible, that, if he now relinquished
her to her father, he &longs;hould lo&longs;e her
forever. His apparent agony overcame her, and
&longs;he gave him her hand.
“Her father was almo&longs;t di&longs;tracted at her elopement.
He traced her &longs;teps, and, following her
to the hou&longs;e, conde&longs;cended to &longs;oothe her with
parental kindne&longs;s; and promi&longs;ed her pardon and
continued affection, if &longs;he would renounce her
worthle&longs;s lover, and return. She confe&longs;&longs;ed it
was too late; that &longs;he was his wife.
“Petrified with a&longs;toni&longs;hment, he looked at her,
for &longs;ome time, with &longs;peechle&longs;s grief; and, showing
his arm, bound up with the wound he had
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received, left her with every token of angui&longs;h
and indignation!
“When the fever of pa&longs;&longs;ion had abated, a returning
&longs;en&longs;e of duty in Juliana, and, in the captain,
the fear of lo&longs;ing the property which hesought,
induced them to &longs;eek a reconciliation,
and make &longs;ubmi&longs;&longs;ive efforts to obtain it. But
her father was too highly incen&longs;ed to grant it
to him, on any terms; or to her, on any other
than the utter rejection of her unworthy companion.
The&longs;e terms were not complied with.
“Sorrow and vexation preyed &longs;o deeply upon
the mind of this afflicted parent, that they
brought on a rapid decline; and he died without
again &longs;eeing his undutiful and ruined daughter.
His e&longs;tate was divided between Juliana and her
four brothers. Her portion was received by her
hu&longs;band, and &longs;oon &longs;pent in di&longs;&longs;ipation and excess.
Having rioted on the fortune of his wife,
while &longs;he often pined at home for want of the
common nece&longs;&longs;aries of life, he left her, to join his
regiment, promi&longs;ing remittances from time to
time, for her &longs;upport. This promi&longs;e, however, was
but ill performed; and &longs;he now feels the dreadful
effects of her folly, in the accumulated ills
of poverty and neglect. Yet &longs;he &longs;till cheri&longs;hes
the mo&longs;t pa&longs;&longs;ionate fondne&longs;s for what has proved
her bane. A friend called to &longs;ee her, not long
&longs;ince, and found her the emblem of wretchedness
and &longs;loth. Her emaciated form, her &longs;qualid
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appearance, the di&longs;order of her hou&longs;e, and
her tattered raiment, be&longs;poke the &longs;hameful negligence
of the owner. Yet &longs;he was &longs;itting with a
novel in her hand, over which &longs;he had apparently
been weeping. She expatiated largely on the
tale it contained, while her children, who exhibited
a picture of real woe, engaged not her
attention. Her friend enquired how &longs;he could be
thus intere&longs;ted and di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;ed by mere fiction,
while every thing about her was calculated to
arou&longs;e the keene&longs;t feelings of her &longs;oul! She
coolly replied, I have fortitude &longs;ufficient to support
my own calamity, but I mu&longs;t &longs;ympathize
with the heroine of adver&longs;ity. I have not lo&longs;t my
&longs;en&longs;ibility with my fortune. My only luxury is
now imagination! How ill-timed, and how
improperly exerted, was this kind of &longs;en&longs;ibility,
in Juliana! Where, and what was her sensibility,
when &longs;he di&longs;obeyed an indulgent parent,
&longs;acrificed her reputation, and threw her&longs;elf into
the arms of a worthle&longs;s man for protection—
from what? from the kindne&longs;s and love of her
be&longs;t friends!
“But I would not be under&longs;tood to condemn
all novels indi&longs;criminately; though great prudence
is nece&longs;&longs;ary to make a u&longs;eful &longs;election.
Some of them are fraught with &longs;entiment; convey
le&longs;&longs;ons for moral improvement; and exhibit
&longs;triking pictures of virtue rewarded; and of vice,
folly, and indi&longs;cretion puni&longs;hed; which may
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prove encouragements to imitate, or warnings to
avoid &longs;imilar practices. I &longs;hall not de&longs;cend to
particulars. Tho&longs;e, which are &longs;anctioned by the
general voice of delicacy and refinement, may be
allowed a reading; yet none &longs;hould engro&longs;s your
minds, to the neglect of more important objects;
nor be &longs;uffered to monopolize too large a portion
of your time.
“Novels are a kind of light reading, on which
the imagination fea&longs;ts, while the more substantial
food which is requi&longs;ite to the nouri&longs;hment
of the under&longs;tanding, is either unta&longs;ted or undigested.
Imagination is a &longs;portive faculty, which
&longs;hould be curbed by the reins of prudence and
judgment. Its &longs;allies are delightful in youth,
provided they be not too excur&longs;ive.
“Poetry is, by &longs;ome, ranked with novels; but
I think injudiciou&longs;ly. Good poetry is certainly
a &longs;ublime &longs;ource of entertainment and instruction.
What mu&longs;ic is to the ear, poetry is to the
heart. There mu&longs;t indeed, be a natural ta&longs;te
for it, before it can be highly reli&longs;hed or enjoyed;
and this ta&longs;te, wherever it exi&longs;ts, &longs;hould be
cultivated. I know of no kind of reading more
richly formed for the mental repa&longs;t of a liberal
and poli&longs;hed young lady, than the poetical productions
of true genius. The trifling and indelicate
cantos of ordinary witlings, and everyday
poeta&longs;ters, are unworthy your attention.
But the &longs;pecies of poetry which I now
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recommend, is peculiarly adapted to &longs;often the pa&longs;&longs;ions,
excite &longs;ympathy, and meliorate the affections. It
&longs;oothes the jarring cares of life, and, pervading
the &longs;ecret rece&longs;&longs;es of the &longs;oul, &longs;erves to rou&longs;e and
animate its dormant powers.
“Many e&longs;&longs;ays, written by monitors of both
&longs;exes, are extant, which you may find profitable
and plea&longs;ing, both in youth and more advanced
age. Among the foremo&longs;t of the&longs;e, I mention
Mrs. Chapone's letters to her niece, which
contain a valuable trea&longs;ure of information and
advice.
“But among your hours devoted to reading,
hi&longs;tory mu&longs;t not be without a place. Here an
exten&longs;ive field of ages and generations, which
have gone before you, is opened to your view.
Here your curio&longs;ity may be gratified by a retrospection
of events, which, by conducting your
thoughts to remote&longs;t climes and periods, interests
and enlarges the mind. Here the various
revolutions, the ri&longs;e, fall, and di&longs;memberment
of ancient kingdoms and &longs;tates may be traced to
the different &longs;prings of action, in which they
originated. Hence you may gain a competent
acquaintance with human nature in all its modifications,
from the mo&longs;t rude and barbarous, to
the mo&longs;t civilized and poli&longs;hed &longs;tages of society.
This is a &longs;pecies of knowledge, which will
not only be of con&longs;tant u&longs;e to you, in the government
of your own temper and manners, but
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highly ornamental in your intercour&longs;e with the
polite and learned world.
“But let your reading of every de&longs;cription be
regular and methodical. Never confu&longs;e your
minds by a variety of &longs;ubjects at once. When
you turn your attention to any one in particular,
fini&longs;h, and lay that a&longs;ide, before you take up
another. Let what you read be well understood
at the time, and well dige&longs;ted afterwards.
Po&longs;&longs;e&longs;s your&longs;elves, at lea&longs;t, of the leading traits:
otherwi&longs;e your labour will be totally lo&longs;t. If convenient,
always recapitulate what you have been
peru&longs;ing, and annex to it your own &longs;entiments
and remarks, to &longs;ome friend. If you have no
friend at hand, who will be di&longs;po&longs;ed to hear,
recollect, and run it over in your own thoughts.
This will be a great a&longs;&longs;i&longs;tance to memory. But
whatever be the kind of reading which you undertake,
&longs;elect &longs;uch authors as good judges esteem
the be&longs;t, upon the &longs;ubject. Have a particular
regard to the morality and delicacy of the
books you peru&longs;e.
“When you read for mere amu&longs;ement, (which
&longs;hould &longs;eldom happen) be careful not to corrupt
and vitiate your ta&longs;te by frothy and illiberal performances,
which will degrade the dignity and
fully the purity of your minds. That time is
very greatly mi&longs;pent, which is be&longs;towed in reading
what can yield no in&longs;truction. Not a moment's
attention &longs;hould be given to books which
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afford not &longs;ome degree of improvement. Always
have an eye, therefore, to profit, as well
as to plea&longs;ure. Remember that youth is the
feed-time of life. You are now to cultivate that
knowledge, which future years mu&longs;t ripen. Free
from tho&longs;e dome&longs;tic cares, which will engro&longs;s
and occupy your minds, when placed at the
head of families, a mo&longs;t ine&longs;timable price is now
put into your hands to get wi&longs;dom. Now you
may learn; then you mu&longs;t practice.
“Now, therefore, lay up in &longs;tore &longs;ome provision
for every exigence, &longs;ome embelli&longs;hment
for every &longs;tation.
“Look upon Elvira. Her acquirements in a
&longs;ingle &longs;tate have qualified her for a &longs;hining pattern
of matronal duties. Her hu&longs;band's bu&longs;ine&longs;s
abroad prevents him from attending to dome&longs;tic
avocations; nor need he be anxious re&longs;pecting
the management of his hou&longs;ehold affairs. Elvira
is pre&longs;ent to every occa&longs;ion. The superintendence
of her family, and the education of her
children is her delight. Capable of in&longs;tructing
them in every needful branch of &longs;cience, and of
furni&longs;hing them with every requi&longs;ite endowment,
&longs;he is, at once, their guide, their example,
and their friend. When her hu&longs;band returns
from the cares and fatigues of bu&longs;ine&longs;s,
with what becoming ea&longs;e and cheerfulne&longs;s does
&longs;he di&longs;&longs;ipate the anxiety which &longs;ometimes hangs
upon his brow, and exhilerate his &longs;pirits by the
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enlivening charms of rational and refined conversation!
In the entertainment of their friends,
how di&longs;tingui&longs;hed a part &longs;he &longs;u&longs;tains! Her powers
of mind have been &longs;o happily improved, that
&longs;he is able to di&longs;cu&longs;s every &longs;ubject with ea&longs;e and
propriety. To an enlarged under&longs;tanding and a
cultivated ta&longs;te, to an exten&longs;ive knowledge of the
world and an acquaintance with polite literature,
&longs;he &longs;uperadds tho&longs;e amiable virtues, which give
&longs;ociety its highe&longs;t reli&longs;h; while the elegance of
her manners and the mode&longs;ty of her deportment
are a proof of the greatne&longs;s of her mind, and
render her e&longs;teemed, beloved, and re&longs;pected by
all who know her.
“But I &longs;latter my&longs;elf that each of you, my dear
pupils, will be an Elvira. Then will you do
ju&longs;tice to the &longs;uperior advantages of your education;
be the delight of your friends, and the
ornaments of your country.
“Religious &longs;ubjects mu&longs;t, by no means, be neglected
in the cour&longs;e of your reading. Let the
Bible be the rule of your faith and practice. If
you wi&longs;h an explanation of any particular passages,
&longs;eek it from &longs;ome judicious and pious
friend, or in the writings of &longs;ome judicious and
learned commentator. But always attend chiefly
to tho&longs;e points which &longs;erve to mend the heart,
rather than to tho&longs;e knotty, metaphy&longs;ical disquisitions,
which tend only to perplex the understanding,
and involve the inquirer in &longs;uch
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labyrinths of ab&longs;tru&longs;ity, as are above human comprehension,
and beyond human concern. The
e&longs;&longs;ential doctrines and precepts of the go&longs;pel are
level to every capacity; and upon a life and conversation
governed by the&longs;e, our hopes, both of
pre&longs;ent peace and future glory, mu&longs;t be founded.
“He hath &longs;hewed thee what is good; and what
doth the Lord require of thee, but to do ju&longs;tly,
and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy
God?”
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The young ladies being &longs;eated, this morning,
their Preceptre&longs;s addre&longs;&longs;ed them as follows.
“Writing is productive both of plea&longs;ure and
improvement. It is a &longs;ource of entertainment
which enlarges the mental powers more, perhaps,
than any other. The mind is obliged to exertion
for materials to &longs;upply the pen. Hence it
collects new &longs;tores of knowledge, and is enriched
by its own labours. It imperceptibly trea&longs;ures
up the ideas, which the hand impre&longs;&longs;es. An
opportunity is furni&longs;hed of reviewing our sentiments
before they are expo&longs;ed; and we have the
privilege of correcting or expunging &longs;uch as are
erroneous. For this purpo&longs;e, you will find it a
good method to collect and write your thoughts
upon any &longs;ubject that occurs; for by repeatedly
arranging and revi&longs;ing your expre&longs;&longs;ions and
opinions, you may daily improve them, and learn
to think and rea&longs;on properly on every occa&longs;ion.
By this mean you may likewi&longs;e provide yourselves
with a fund of matter for future u&longs;e,
which, without this a&longs;&longs;i&longs;tance, the memory
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would not retain. It will be of great &longs;ervice to
note down in your common-place book &longs;uch
particulars as you may judge worth remembering,
with your own ob&longs;ervations upon them.
This will be a kind of amu&longs;ement which will
exerci&longs;e your thinking powers at the time, and,
by recurring to it afterwards, it may afford you
many u&longs;eful hints.
“The frequent u&longs;e of the pen is calculated
to refine and enlarge your under&longs;tandings.
Have you any talent at compo&longs;ition? it will be
increa&longs;ed by cultivation.
“Neglect no opportunity, therefore, which your
lei&longs;ure affords, of delighting your friends, and
accompli&longs;hing your&longs;elves by the exerci&longs;e of your
genius in this way.
“Thrice ble&longs;&longs;ed are we, the happy daughters
of this land of liberty, where the female mind is
un&longs;hackled by the re&longs;traints of tyrannical cu&longs;tom,
which in many other regions confines the exertions
of genius to the u&longs;urped powers of lordly
man! Here virtue, merit, and abilities are
properly e&longs;timated under whatever form they appear.
Here the widely extended fields of literature
court attention; and the American fair are
invited to cull the flowers, and cultivate the expanding
laurel.
“But the &longs;pecies of writing, which is open to
every capacity, and ornamental to every &longs;tation,
is the epi&longs;tolary. This, between particular friends,
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is highly agreeable and intere&longs;ting. It is a method
of interchanging &longs;entiments, and of enjoying
intercour&longs;e with tho&longs;e from whom you are far
removed, which is a happy &longs;ub&longs;titute for personal
conver&longs;ation. In a corre&longs;pondence of this
&longs;ort, all affectation, formality, and bomba&longs;t &longs;hould
be laid a&longs;ide.
“Ea&longs;e, frankne&longs;s, &longs;implicity, and &longs;incerity &longs;hould
be its leading traits. Yet let not your letters be
compo&longs;ed of mere &longs;ounding terms, and verbo&longs;e
egoti&longs;m; but intermix &longs;entiment with expre&longs;&longs;ion,
in &longs;uch a manner as may be improving as well
as plea&longs;ing. Letters of friend&longs;hip &longs;hould conduce
no le&longs;s to the advantage than entertainment
of the per&longs;on addre&longs;&longs;ed; and mere cur&longs;ory letters,
of general acquaintance, mu&longs;t, at lea&longs;t, be
written with propriety and accuracy. The formation
of the characters, the &longs;pelling, the punctuation,
as well as the &longs;tyle and &longs;en&longs;e, mu&longs;t be attended
to.
“Never omit noticing the receipt of letters, unless
you mean to affront the writers. Not to answer
a letter, without being able to a&longs;&longs;ign &longs;ome
&longs;pecial rea&longs;on for the neglect, is equally unpardonable
as to keep &longs;ilence when conver&longs;ation is
addre&longs;&longs;ed to you in per&longs;on.
“By habituating your&longs;elves to writing, what
may, at fir&longs;t, appear a ta&longs;k, will become extremely
plea&longs;ant. Refu&longs;e not, then, to improve this
part of your education, e&longs;pecially by your
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frequent and dutifully affectionate epi&longs;tles to your
parents, when ab&longs;ent from them. Expre&longs;s your
gratitude for their care, and convince them it has
not been lo&longs;t upon you.
“Always employ your pens upon &longs;omething
u&longs;eful and refined. Let no light or loo&longs;e compositions
occupy your time and thoughts; but
remember that what you utter in this way is in
&longs;ome mea&longs;ure the picture of your hearts. Virtue
forbid, that this favourite employment &longs;hould
be di&longs;graced by impurity, indelicacy, or the communication
of vicious and ignoble &longs;entiments!
“One of the &longs;ages of antiquity being a&longs;ked why
he was &longs;o long in writing his opinion, replied,
“I am writing for futurity.”
“Your characters during life, and even when
you &longs;hall &longs;leep in the du&longs;t, may re&longs;t on the efforts
of your pens. Beware then how you employ
them. Let not the merit of your attainments in
this noble art be degraded by improper &longs;ubjects
for its exerci&longs;e. Suffer not the expectation of
&longs;ecrecy to induce you to indulge your pens upon
&longs;ubjects, which you would blu&longs;h to have exposed.
In this way your characters may be injured,
and your happine&longs;s de&longs;troyed.
“Celia and Cecilia were companions at a boarding
&longs;chool. When &longs;eparated, they commenced
an epi&longs;tolary corre&longs;pondence, on which each valued
her&longs;elf. Their former intimacy, which they
termed friend&longs;hip, prompted them to write with
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unlimited confidence; and, without the lea&longs;t reserve,
to reveal every dictate of levity and thoughtless
folly. They imagined them&longs;elves perfectly
&longs;ecure from the cen&longs;ure of the critic. Their
education had not taught them, that a virtuous
mind &longs;hould &longs;hrink even from ideal indelicacy.
Celia was courted by Silvander, a young man of
whom &longs;he was pa&longs;&longs;ionately fond; but &longs;he had
art and re&longs;olution enough to conceal her letters
from his in&longs;pection, though he often &longs;olicited a
communication of her corre&longs;pondence. At length
he became impatient for a peru&longs;al of letters
which appeared &longs;o plea&longs;ing and intere&longs;ting to the
parties, and &longs;u&longs;picious that &longs;ome particular cau&longs;e
directed their privacy. Influenced by the&longs;e motives,
Silvander bribed a market-boy, who came
from the village where Cecilia lived, and always
conveyed the letters to and from her, to give them
fir&longs;t into his hand. How a&longs;toni&longs;hed was he to
find the lightne&longs;s of mind exemplified in them!
Purity of &longs;entiment, delicacy of thought, and
refinement of ta&longs;te were entirely laid a&longs;ide; and
illiberal wit, frothy je&longs;ts, double entendres, and
ridiculous love-tales were &longs;ub&longs;tituted in their
place. His name was u&longs;ed with &longs;o much freedom,
and every circum&longs;tance relative to his intercourse,
and propo&longs;ed connexion with Celia,
was bandied with &longs;uch familiarity, that he was
mortified, di&longs;gu&longs;ted, and chagrined, in the extreme.
He had the policy, however, to conceal
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the di&longs;covery till he had copied a con&longs;iderable
number of Celia's letters, leaving out whatever
had reference to his own affairs. He then revenged
him&longs;elf by di&longs;clo&longs;ing his knowledge to
her, avowing his indignation at her weakne&longs;s,
duplicity and folly, and taking an immediate and
final leave. Not content with this, he even circulated
her letters among his acquaintance. This
fixed the &longs;tamp of ignominy on the correspondents;
and their names and characters were rendered
as ridiculous as &longs;candal and malicious wit
could de&longs;ire.
“Celia was almo&longs;t di&longs;tracted at the lo&longs;s of her
lover; but when &longs;he found the method he had
taken to puni&longs;h her indi&longs;cretion, and that her
reputation was thus materially injured, &longs;he secluded
her&longs;elf, in a great mea&longs;ure, from &longs;ociety. Her
&longs;en&longs;ibility received a wound which could never be
healed; and &longs;he lived and died in melancholy,
regret, and ob&longs;curity.
“However cen&longs;urable the unju&longs;t and ungenerous
conduct of Silvander may be deemed, yet
no adequate excu&longs;e can be offered for the young
ladies, who di&longs;honored their pens and their talents
by a mo&longs;t improper and unbecoming u&longs;e of
both.
“Next to writing, arithmetic u&longs;ually claims attention.
This is ab&longs;olutely nece&longs;&longs;ary in every
department, and in every &longs;tage of life. Even in
youth, the proper arrangement of your expen&longs;es
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will conduce greatly to your advantage; and
when placed at the head of families, it will be
very friendly to the order and economy of your
dome&longs;tic affairs. But, leaving your matronal
conduct to future admonition, many benefits result
from keeping regular accounts in a &longs;ingle
&longs;tate. Your parents allow you a certain &longs;um for
your own private u&longs;e. Fa&longs;hion and folly are always
bu&longs;y in creating innumerable imaginary
wants, which mu&longs;t exceed your finances, if you
do not attend to an exact adju&longs;tment of your expenditures.
For this purpo&longs;e, always calculate
your immediate and mo&longs;t nece&longs;&longs;ary demands.
Let the&longs;e be fir&longs;t &longs;upplied, and then, if your
funds be not exhau&longs;ted, more &longs;uperfluous ones
may occupy your thoughts. There is one claim,
however, which mu&longs;t not be neglected, and that
is CHARITY. You will, therefore, manage your
expen&longs;es in &longs;uch a manner as to re&longs;erve &longs;ome
portion of your income for the nece&longs;&longs;itous.
Should you think your allowance in&longs;ufficient to
admit the children of want to a &longs;hare, let your
benevolence plead for the retrenchment of &longs;ome
trifling article which you may di&longs;pen&longs;e with,
without much inconvenience; and the exqui&longs;ite
plea&longs;ure re&longs;ulting from the be&longs;towment, will
more than counterbalance the &longs;acrifice. In the&longs;e,
and many other particulars, a knowledge of arithmetic
will enable you to conduct the affairs of
youth with ea&longs;e, advantage, and u&longs;efulne&longs;s.
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And, perhaps, as you advance in years, and are
called to fill more important &longs;tations, you may
find it of &longs;till greater utility.
“The father of Lucinda was in ea&longs;y circumstances,
while he could perform the duties and
enjoy the profits of a lucrative bu&longs;ine&longs;s. He
was the affectionate parent of a numerous family,
to who&longs;e education and improvement he attended
with unwearied diligence and plea&longs;ure; till repeated
lo&longs;&longs;es in trade, and di&longs;appointments in his
worldly expectations embarra&longs;&longs;ed his affairs, depressed
his &longs;pirits, and impaired his health. In
the mid&longs;t of the&longs;e difficulties, his amiable and
beloved wife was removed by death. This trial
was greater than he could &longs;upport. He &longs;unk under
the affliction, and lo&longs;t his rea&longs;on. Lucinda
was the elde&longs;t of &longs;ix children, the care of whom,
with the melancholy ta&longs;k of attending and ministering
to the nece&longs;&longs;ities of her unhappy father, devolved
on her. She looked upon the woe-fraught
&longs;cence, and wept. Her heart was &longs;inking under
the weight of grief; and hope, the be&longs;t &longs;oother
of the unfortunate, had nearly abandoned her.
She advi&longs;ed with her friends, who propo&longs;ed to
relieve the family by means of a &longs;ub&longs;cription.
Lucinda thanked them for their proffered kindness,
and returned to her di&longs;con&longs;olate habitation.
She deliberated on the projected mea&longs;ure; which
&longs;he con&longs;idered mu&longs;t be &longs;low, uncertain, and, at
any rate, inadequate to their future exigences.
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She could not reconcile her&longs;elf to the idea of her
father's depending on charity for &longs;ub&longs;i&longs;tence.
Yet what could be done? One re&longs;ource only
remainded;—her own exertions. By the&longs;e &longs;he
&longs;lattered her&longs;elf, that &longs;he might &longs;ave the family
from &longs;uffering want, and di&longs;charge the obligations
&longs;he owed to her revered parent. Her education,
by which, among other branches of learning,
&longs;he had been well in&longs;tructed in arithmetic,
(that being her father's favourite &longs;tudy) qualified
her for this undertaking. She therefore devoted
her&longs;elf to the bu&longs;ine&longs;s without delay; examined
her father's accounts, collected whatever remained
that was valuable; &longs;old the &longs;uperfluous moveables,
and purcha&longs;ed a &longs;mall &longs;tock for trade. All
who knew her motives and merit frequented her
&longs;hop, and encouraged her by their cu&longs;tom and
kindne&longs;s. By this mean, together with her judicious
management, and engaging behaviour, &longs;he
increa&longs;ed her bu&longs;ine&longs;s to &longs;uch a degree, as to support
the family with ea&longs;e and reputation.
“Her di&longs;creet and dutiful conduct to her father,
&longs;oon re&longs;tored him to his rea&longs;on.
“When he found how prudently and affectionately
Lucinda had exerted her&longs;elf in his behalf,
he exclaimed, “Many daughters have done
virtuou&longs;ly, but thou excelle&longs;t them all!”
“He re&longs;umed his former bu&longs;ine&longs;s, and lived to
&longs;ee his children all well provided for, and happily
&longs;ettled around him.”
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Her pupils having taken their places,
Mrs. Williams proceeded.
“In mu&longs;ic and dancing you have made &longs;uch
proficiency that your performances mu&longs;t be very
plea&longs;ing to your friends, before whom you occasionally
exhibit.
“As dancing is an accompli&longs;hment merely external,
let not the vanity of excellence in it betray
it&longs;elf in an air of con&longs;cious &longs;uperiority, when
you &longs;hine at the ball, and perceive your&longs;elves to
have attracted the attention and applau&longs;e of the
gay a&longs;&longs;embly. But in the mid&longs;t of hilarity and
mirth, remember that mode&longs;ty, diffidence, discretion,
and humility are indi&longs;pen&longs;able appendages of
virtue and decency.
“Mu&longs;ic is a talent which nature has be&longs;towed,
and which your application has con&longs;iderably improved.
It has a powerful influence over the
heart; wonderfully &longs;oothes and humanizes the
pa&longs;&longs;ions, and is a &longs;ource of refined plea&longs;ure to a
mind capable of ta&longs;ting its charms.
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“Never refu&longs;e gratifying your friends by the
exertion of your abilities in performing, unle&longs;s
for &longs;ome very &longs;pecial rea&longs;on. Though I would
not have you vain of your &longs;kill, and officiou&longs;ly
forward to di&longs;play it; yet the affectation of uncommon
mode&longs;ty, and ignorance, is truly ridiculous.
To plead inability to exerci&longs;e powers,
which you are con&longs;cious of po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ing, and for
which you wi&longs;h to be e&longs;teemed and honored by
others, is fal&longs;e delicacy, and will never gain admission
to the brea&longs;t where that which is genuine
re&longs;ides. How perfectly ab&longs;urd it is for a young
lady, who is politely reque&longs;ted to entertain a
company with her mu&longs;ical talents, to declare them
&longs;o &longs;mall that &longs;he is really a&longs;hamed to expo&longs;e her&longs;elf
before &longs;uch good judges; or that &longs;he has neglected
playing, or &longs;inging, for &longs;ome time, and cannot
immediately revive her dormant &longs;kill; or that
&longs;he has forgotten her tunes, or &longs;ongs; or that
&longs;he has a bad cold, (which none but her&longs;elf perceives)
and is unable to &longs;ing; or that &longs;he is loath
to begin this amu&longs;ement, and mu&longs;t in&longs;i&longs;t upon
&longs;ome other lady's &longs;etting the example; which
other lady has, in her turn, an equal number of
excu&longs;es! Thus the time of the company is engrossed,
and their plea&longs;ure &longs;u&longs;pended, till a long
train of arguments, entreaties, and compliments
are run through, and her vanity fully gratified bythe
mo&longs;t flattering and importunate &longs;olicitations.
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“Then, clate with pride and &longs;elf importance,
&longs;he conde&longs;cends to grant their reque&longs;t; not considering
how far &longs;he has derogated from her own
merit by the futile artifice &longs;he has employed; an
artifice unworthy of an ingenuous mind, and disgraceful
to any lady who has arrived to years of
di&longs;cretion.
“Let us view this eva&longs;ive manner of &longs;eeking
compliments a little nearer. When a per&longs;on is
known to be mi&longs;tre&longs;s of this delightful art, what
can be her motive for delaying the gratification
of her friends by its exerci&longs;e, and refu&longs;ing a
compliance with their wi&longs;hes, till their patience
is exhau&longs;ted? I believe that excu&longs;es, in this ca&longs;e,
are very &longs;eldom &longs;incere. The youthful mind is
not in&longs;en&longs;ible to prai&longs;e, nor indifferent to the
means of obtaining it.
“Why then &longs;hould it not be received and increased
by a ready and obliging compliance? A
de&longs;ire to plea&longs;e is u&longs;ually attended with &longs;ucce&longs;s;
and for what rea&longs;on &longs;hould the power and disposition
be artifully concealed?
“Always pre&longs;erve a frankne&longs;s and &longs;incerity in
your actions and de&longs;igns. The&longs;e will add dignity
to your conde&longs;cen&longs;ions, and gracefulne&longs;s to
your deportment.
“Ri&longs;e &longs;uperior to tho&longs;e little arts which be&longs;peak
the fine&longs;&longs;e of a childi&longs;h folly, or a narrow mind.
Do honor to this, as well as to every other part
of your education, by acting conformably to the
-- 042 --
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precepts which have been given you, the knowledge
which you have acquired, and the opportunities
with which you may be furni&longs;hed for the
purpo&longs;e.
“Mu&longs;ic and dancing, though polite and elegant
accompli&longs;hments, are, perhaps, the mo&longs;t fascinating,
and, of cour&longs;e, the mo&longs;t dangerous of
any that fall under that de&longs;cription. When indulged
to exce&longs;s, be&longs;ide engro&longs;&longs;ing much time
which ought to be employed in the execution
of more nece&longs;&longs;ary and u&longs;eful de&longs;igns, they sometimes
allure their fond votaries from that purity
and rectitude which are the chief embelli&longs;hments
of the female character. They lay the mind open
to many temptations, and, by nouri&longs;hing a frivolous
vanity, benumb the nobler powers both
of reflection and action.
“Levitia was endowed, by the joint influence of
nature and art, with the&longs;e plea&longs;ing charms. Symmetry
was perfected in her form; and her voice
was melody it&longs;elf. Her parents were not in affluent
circum&longs;tances; yet their ta&longs;te led them to
di&longs;tingui&longs;h tho&longs;e graces and talents in their
daughter, which they injudiciou&longs;ly flattered themselves
might, one day, rai&longs;e her to affluence and
&longs;ame. Hence they &longs;pared no pains nor expen&longs;e,
in their power to be&longs;tow, to a&longs;&longs;i&longs;t her inclination
and gratify her wi&longs;hes. As &longs;he advanced in
years, &longs;he affiduou&longs;ly cultivated and diligently imimproved
tho&longs;e endowments which &longs;he had been
-- 043 --
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erroneou&longs;ly encouraged, and oven taught, to consider
mo&longs;t valuable. To adorn her per&longs;on, regulate
her movements, and practi&longs;e her mu&longs;ic, was
all her care. Nor had &longs;he a wi&longs;h beyond the pleasures,
which &longs;he fancied they could yield. Her
mind re&longs;embled a garden, in which the u&longs;eful
plants are overrun and choaked by noxious
weeds. Here and there a gaudy flower rears its
brilliant head, and proudly dares to arre&longs;t the
eye; while the delicate and u&longs;eful lie buried
and concealed in the &longs;urrounding wa&longs;te!
“Flattery was plea&longs;ing to her car, in whatever
form it was pre&longs;ented. The gay and licentious
fought her &longs;ociety; and vanity with its attendant
train of follies led her imagination far from the
&longs;phere of life which Providence had a&longs;&longs;igned her.
Her parents &longs;aw their own mi&longs;take, and were
alarmed at her's: but, alas! too late were their
endeavours to prevent the mi&longs;chiefs which impended.
They could not &longs;upply her unbounded
wants; and therefore to gratify her ruling pa&longs;&longs;ion, &longs;he deemed means of her own invention
indi&longs;pen&longs;able. Among her admirers was a foreigner,
who, failing of &longs;ucce&longs;s in his own country,
&longs;ought a &longs;ub&longs;i&longs;tence in ours, from the &longs;tage.
He knew Levitia's talents. The&longs;e might give
her the palm of applau&longs;e, and in his way of
life, render her con&longs;picuous. This plan he
communicated to her, infidiou&longs;ly offering to become
her guardian, and to put her under the
-- 044 --
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protection of &longs;uch friends as &longs;hould defend her
honor, and en&longs;ure her &longs;ucce&longs;s. She was plea&longs;ed
with the project. Wholly unacquainted with
the world, and un&longs;u&longs;picious of the &longs;ubtle arts of
the deluding libertine, &longs;he &longs;crupled not his veracity,
but li&longs;tened to his in&longs;inuating declarations
of love and friend&longs;hip. She was deceived by
the vanity of appearing where her fancied merit
would meet with the encouragement and reward
it de&longs;erved; and vainly imagining that her beauty
might &longs;ecure her elevation and affluence, &longs;he
readily con&longs;ented to the fatal experiment, eloped
from her father's hou&longs;e, and became a profe&longs;&longs;ed
actre&longs;s.
“Her parents were overwhelmed with grief
and anxiety, at the di&longs;covery; but to no purpo&longs;e
were all their exertions to reclaim her. She had
left them, no more to return; left them, too,
with the heart-rending reflection, that they themselves
had heedle&longs;sly contributed to her di&longs;grace
and ruin. But bitter indeed were the fruits of
her di&longs;obedience and folly!
“She made her appearance on the &longs;tage. She
&longs;ung and danced, for which &longs;he was care&longs;&longs;ed,
flattered, and paid. A licentious mode of life
quadrating with the levity of her heart, &longs;oon left
her a prey to &longs;eduction. Her gaiety and beauty
gained her many votaries, and &longs;he became a
complete courtezan.
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“In the mid&longs;t of this career, her mother died
of a broken heart, evidently occa&longs;ioned by her
undutiful and vicious conduct. A &longs;en&longs;e of her
ingratitude to her parents, and her &longs;hamele&longs;s
manner of life &longs;truck her mind, not naturally
unfeeling, with &longs;uch force, as to throw her into
a fever which undermined her con&longs;titution, deprived
her of her beauty, ruined her voice, and
left her without means of &longs;upport. Her pretended
lover, finding &longs;he could no longer be useful
to him, perfidiou&longs;ly abandoned her to poverty
and &longs;hame. She returned, like the prodigal,
to her unhappy father, who received, but could
not a&longs;&longs;i&longs;t her. Her behaviour, with its consequences
in the death of her mother, had impaired
his health, depre&longs;&longs;ed his &longs;pirits, and rendered
him incapable of providing for him&longs;elf.
“She is now de&longs;pi&longs;ed and avoided by all her
former acquaintance, and mu&longs;t inevitably &longs;pend
the remainder of her days in wretchedne&longs;s.
“Let us turn from this di&longs;gu&longs;ting picture, and
behold its contra&longs;t in the amiable Florella. To
beauty of per&longs;on &longs;he &longs;uperadds delicacy, sensibility,
and every noble quality of the mind.
Re&longs;pectful to her &longs;uperiors, affable, cheerful, and
polite to her equals, and conde&longs;cendingly kind
to her inferiors, Florella is univer&longs;ally e&longs;teemed,
beloved, and admired. Of the plea&longs;ing accomplishments
of mu&longs;ic and dancing &longs;he is a consummate
mi&longs;tre&longs;s. Yet &longs;he is &longs;uperior to the vain
-- 046 --
[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]
arts of flattery, while the dignity of con&longs;cious
virtue rai&longs;es her far above the affectation of fal&longs;e
mode&longs;ty and diffidence. To plea&longs;e and oblige
tho&longs;e friends who are intere&longs;ted in her happine&longs;s,
and gratified by her performances, is her delight.
Nor does &longs;he think it nece&longs;&longs;ary, by &longs;eigned excuses,
to delay the plea&longs;ure, which &longs;he is able to
afford; but willingly enhances that plea&longs;ure by a
ready and cheerful compliance. This &longs;he thinks
the be&longs;t return &longs;he can make for their kind attention.
Though delighted with the&longs;e amusements
her&longs;elf, &longs;he, neverthele&longs;s, con&longs;iders them
as amu&longs;ements only; and a&longs;&longs;iduou&longs;ly cultivates
the more &longs;olid branches of her education. The&longs;e,
&longs;he is wont to &longs;ay, may render me u&longs;eful and
happy, when the voice of mu&longs;ic &longs;hall be brought
low, and when the &longs;prightly limbs &longs;hall become
languid and inactive.
“How happy her parents in her filial duty and
affection! How rich the reward of their care
and expen&longs;e in contributing to her improvements!
How happy Florella in their complacency and
love, and in the con&longs;ciou&longs;ne&longs;s of de&longs;erving them!
“She was, not long &longs;ince, addre&longs;&longs;ed by a gentleman,
who was plea&longs;ing to her fancy; but,
determined never to indulge a &longs;entiment of
partiality without the entire approbation of her
parents, &longs;he referred him to their deci&longs;ion.
For particular rea&longs;ons, they di&longs;approved of his
&longs;uit. She acquie&longs;ced without re&longs;erve, and
-- 047 --
[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]
immediately di&longs;mi&longs;&longs;ed him. Who would not rather
be a re&longs;embler of Florella, than a vain, imprudent,
and ruined Levitia?
“True, indeed, the acquirements and graces of
Florella are not attainable by every one; but the
virtues of di&longs;cretion, mode&longs;ty, and kindne&longs;s are
within the reach of the humble&longs;t &longs;phere, and
the mo&longs;t moderate abilities.”
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Miscellaneous Directions for
the Government of the Temper
and Manners.
“I shall now,” &longs;aid Mrs. Williams,
“endeavour to &longs;ketch out for you the plan of
conduct, which I think will be mo&longs;t conducive
to your honor and happine&longs;s while in a &longs;ingle
&longs;tate. Hitherto you have been under the direction
of parents, guardians, and in&longs;tructors, who
have regulated your deportment, and laboured to
give you ju&longs;t ideas upon every &longs;ubject and occasion.
That period is now over. You are
now launching into life, where you will think
and act more for your&longs;elves.
“The path of rectitude, my dear young friends,
is narrow and intricate. Temptations lurk around
to beguile your feet a&longs;tray; and dangers
which appear in&longs;urmountable will often ari&longs;e to
affright you from the ways of virtue.
“But remember that a crown of honor and
happine&longs;s awaits the undeviating pur&longs;uit of truth
and duty. Let religion be your guide, and discretion
your handmaid. Thus attended, you
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will e&longs;cape the &longs;nares of youth, and &longs;urmount
the perplexing cares of more advanced age. At
your entrance on the &longs;tage of action, the allurements
of plea&longs;ure will &longs;pread innumerable charms
to court your acceptance. Beware of their fascinating
wiles; and whatever cour&longs;e you adopt, be
&longs;ure it is &longs;uch as will bear the te&longs;t of examination
and reflection. Let the&longs;e be the criterion
of all your pur&longs;uits and enjoyments. Make it an
invariable practice to re-trace the actions and occurrences
of the day, when you retire to re&longs;t;
to account with your own hearts for the u&longs;e and
improvement of the pa&longs;t hours; and rectify
whatever you find ami&longs;s, by greater vigilance and
caution, in future; to avoid the errors into
which you have fallen, and to di&longs;charge the duties
incumbent upon you.
“To neglect this, will be a &longs;ource of great
inadvertencies and failings.
“To know your&longs;elves, in every particular,
mu&longs;t be your con&longs;tant endeavour. This knowledge
will lead you to propriety and con&longs;i&longs;tency
of action. But this knowledge cannot be obtained
without a thorough and repeated inspection
of your various pa&longs;&longs;ions, affections, and propensities.
When obtained, however, it will
prevent the ill effects of flattery, by which you
will doubtle&longs;s be endangered, as you advance
into the &longs;cenes of fa&longs;hionable life. It will enable
you to di&longs;tingui&longs;h flattery from that generous
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[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]
prai&longs;e which is the effu&longs;ion of a feeling heart,
affected by the perception of real merit. A
young lady, un&longs;killed in the deceitful arts of a
giddy world, is very apt to be mi&longs;led by the adulation
which is offered at the &longs;hrine of vanity.
She is con&longs;idered as a mark for the wit of every
coxcomb, who wi&longs;hes to di&longs;play his gallantry.
“Flattery is a dazzling meteor, which ca&longs;ts a
delu&longs;ive glare before the eye; and which &longs;educes
the imagination, perverts the judgment, and silences
the dictates of &longs;ound rea&longs;on. Flattery is,
therefore, the poi&longs;on and bane of the youthful
mind. It renders the receiver blind to tho&longs;e
defects which &longs;he ought to &longs;ee and rectify, and
proud of imaginary graces which &longs;he never yet
po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed. Self-knowledge, as before ob&longs;erved,
will facilitate the detection of this di&longs;gui&longs;ed adversary,
by enabling you to inve&longs;tigate your real
accompli&longs;hments and merits.
“That prai&longs;e which is the re&longs;ult of de&longs;erved
approbation from tho&longs;e, who&longs;e good opinion you
wi&longs;h to enjoy, is worthy your attention and grateful
acceptance: but the ful&longs;ome compliments
and hyperbolical profe&longs;&longs;ions of unmeaning and
empty pretenders, calculated only to fill the imagination
with the inflammable air of &longs;elf-conceit
and arrogant pride, &longs;hould be rejected with disdain,
and cordially de&longs;pi&longs;ed by every lady of &longs;en&longs;e
and &longs;entiment, as an in&longs;ult upon her understanding,
and an indignity to her &longs;en&longs;ibility.
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“Let it, therefore, be known to tho&longs;e who
court your favour by an oftentatious parade of
admiration and ob&longs;equiou&longs;ne&longs;s, that their dissimulation
and duplicity are di&longs;covered, and that
you are &longs;uperior to &longs;uch futility.
“In order to di&longs;criminate between flattery and
merited prai&longs;e, critically examine your own heart
and life. By this mean you will a&longs;certain what
is really your due, and what is merely the effect
of this in&longs;idious art. But let no ideas of your
own endowments, however ju&longs;t, elate you with
an opinion of your &longs;uperior powers of plea&longs;ing.
“Be not o&longs;tentatious of your charms, either
of per&longs;on or mind. Let mode&longs;ty, diffidence, and
propriety regulate you, in regard to each. Exalted
advantages will render you an object of
envy to the weak minded of your own &longs;ex, and
of &longs;atire to the ill-natured part of the other.
Never obtrude even your real graces and accomplishments
upon the world. The penetrating
and judicious will &longs;ee and applaud them,
while retiring from the gaze of a misjudging
and mi&longs;repre&longs;enting throng.
“Naked in nothing &longs;hould a woman be,
But veil her very wit with mode&longs;ty;
Let man di&longs;cover; let her not di&longs;play;
But yield her charms of mind with &longs;weet delay.”
“Tho&longs;e who are &longs;olicitous for beauty &longs;hould
remember that the expre&longs;&longs;ion of the countenance,
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[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]
in which its very e&longs;&longs;ence con&longs;i&longs;ts, depends on the
di&longs;po&longs;ition of the mind.
“What's female beauty, but an air divine,
Thro' which the mind's all gentle graces &longs;hine?
The&longs;e, like the &longs;un, irradiate all between;
The body charms, becau&longs;e the &longs;oul is &longs;een.
Hence men are often captives of a face,
They know not why; of no peculiar grace.
Some forms, tho' bright, no mortal man can bear;
Some none re&longs;i&longs;t, tho' not exceeding fair.”
“Beauty, my dear girls, is indeed a de&longs;irable
quality. Neither the pen of the morali&longs;t, nor
the &longs;pleen of the &longs;atyri&longs;t, nor the envy of &longs;uch
as want it, could ever bring it into contempt or
neglect. Yet mere external beauty is tran&longs;ient
as the meteor, and frail as the bubble, which
floats on the &longs;urface of the watery element.
“Behold the di&longs;con&longs;olate and de&longs;pi&longs;ed Flirtilla!
and from her fate learn not to tru&longs;t in the
effects or duration of this adventitious quality.
“Early in life, Flirtilla was taught that her
charms were irre&longs;i&longs;tible; that &longs;he might a&longs;pire
to an ab&longs;olute a&longs;cendency over the hearts and
pa&longs;&longs;ions of her votaries. A &longs;uperficial, but fashionable
education added the allurements of art
to tho&longs;e of per&longs;on, and rendered her a fini&longs;hed
coquette.
“Her beauty and the gaiety of her manners
gained her numerous admirers, who &longs;warmed
around, like the in&longs;ect tribe, eager to &longs;ip the
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fragrance of the equally fair and fading ro&longs;e.
The incen&longs;e of flattery, in every form, was her
tribute.
“Elated by this, &longs;he gave free &longs;cope to her
ruling pa&longs;&longs;ions, the love of plea&longs;ure and dissipation.
Her be&longs;t days were &longs;pent in the cha&longs;e of
vanity; and &longs;he culled the flowers of life, without
con&longs;idering, that &longs;ub&longs;tantial fruit would be
required at a more advanced period, as a substitute
for the fading blo&longs;&longs;oms of youth. Her
mind was barren of improvement, and consequently
de&longs;titute of re&longs;ources.
“She vainly imagined the triumphs of beauty
to be permanent, till its declared enemy, the
&longs;mall-pox, convinced her of the egregious mistake.
By this &longs;he found her empire &longs;uddenly
overturned. The mercile&longs;s di&longs;order had reduced
her to a level with the generality of her &longs;ex, in
appearance, and, in enjoyment, far below them.
Her gla&longs;s faithfully repre&longs;ented this insupportable
reduction. Regret and chagrin heightened
the apparent calamity. She was remembered
only as the contra&longs;t of what &longs;he once had been.
Her lovers were di&longs;gu&longs;ted with the change, and
&longs;ought more plea&longs;ing objects of attention; while
men of &longs;entiment could not find a &longs;imilarity of
di&longs;po&longs;ition, in her, to induce a connexion.
“Her female acquaintance, who had envied
her as a rival, or feared her as a &longs;uperior, now
in&longs;ulted her with their pity, or mortified her
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by remarks on the &longs;urpri&longs;ing alteration in her
appearance.
“Finding no alleviation from &longs;ociety, &longs;he retired
from the world to nur&longs;e, in &longs;olitude, the
vexation and di&longs;appointment &longs;he experienced.
“View her now, peevi&longs;h, di&longs;contented, and
gloomy! Her ideas of plea&longs;ure were centered in
that per&longs;on, which is now neglected; in tho&longs;e endowments
which have now for&longs;aken her forever!
“Thought &longs;he &longs;tudiou&longs;ly &longs;huns; for &longs;he has
nothing plea&longs;ing to occupy her reflections, but
what is irretrievably lo&longs;t!
“Mi&longs;erable Flirtilla! thou tru&longs;ted&longs;t in vanity,
and vanity is thy recompen&longs;e! How happy
mighte&longs;t thou have been, even in this change,
if thy heart had been rectified, thy under&longs;tanding
improved, and thy mind liberally &longs;tored with
u&longs;eful &longs;entiments, knowledge, and information!
“Cultivate, then, my young friends, tho&longs;e
di&longs;po&longs;itions and attainments, which will yield
permanent and real &longs;atisfaction, when &longs;ickne&longs;s,
adver&longs;ity, or age &longs;hall have robbed your eyes of
their lu&longs;tre, and dimini&longs;hed the bloom and spright-liness
of your forms.
“You are doubtle&longs;s &longs;en&longs;ible that your happiness,
in life, does not depend &longs;o much on your
external, as your internal graces.
“The con&longs;titutional temper of your minds
was given you by nature; but rea&longs;on is added
for its regulation.
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“On life's va&longs;t ocean diver&longs;ely we fail;
Rea&longs;on the chart; but pa&longs;&longs;ion is the gale.”
“Our pa&longs;&longs;ions were certainly implanted for
wife and benevolent purpo&longs;es; and, if properly
directed, may be of great utility. This direction
nature will teach, and education improve. To
their precepts we mu&longs;t implicitly li&longs;ten, if we
would become re&longs;pectable or contented.
“Examine your&longs;elves, therefore, with impartial
&longs;crutiny. Find out your particular faults in
this re&longs;pect, and exert your unwearied indu&longs;try
to amend them.
“Po&longs;&longs;ibly you may be naturally ha&longs;ty, passionate,
or vindictive. If &longs;o, how wretched, at times,
mu&longs;t the indulgence of this temper render you!
When rea&longs;on, awhile &longs;u&longs;pended, re&longs;umes its
empire, and calm reflection &longs;ucceeds the riot of
pa&longs;&longs;ion, how &longs;evere mu&longs;t be your self-condemnation,
and how keen your &longs;en&longs;ations of regret!
Perhaps an unkindne&longs;s of expre&longs;&longs;ion to &longs;ome particular
friend, di&longs;re&longs;pectful treatment of an honored
&longs;uperior, ill-timed re&longs;entment to a beloved
equal, or imperious and unbecoming &longs;everity to
a de&longs;erving inferior, may give you the mo&longs;t painful
emotions, and degrade you in your own, as
well as in the e&longs;timation of every ob&longs;erver! To
prevent this evil, accu&longs;tom your&longs;elves to check
the fir&longs;t ri&longs;ings of anger, and &longs;u&longs;pend every expression
of di&longs;plea&longs;ure, till you can deliberate
on the provocation, and the propriety of noticing
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it. It may have been unde&longs;igned, and, therefore,
not ju&longs;tly provoking. You may have misunderstood
the word, or action of offence, and in-
quiry may remove the grounds of your &longs;u&longs;picion:
or the per&longs;on offending may be one with whom
prudence and honor require you not to enter the
li&longs;ts. But if neither of the&longs;e con&longs;iderations occur,
reflect a moment, that your own reputation
and con&longs;equent happine&longs;s are at &longs;take; and that
to lo&longs;e the command of your&longs;elves and your passions
is incon&longs;i&longs;tent with the delicacy of ladies,
the moderation of chri&longs;tians, and the dignity of
rational beings.
“Let every &longs;ally alarm, and excite you to rally
and new-di&longs;cipline your forces; and to be
more &longs;trictly on your guard again&longs;t the a&longs;&longs;aults
of your foe.
“The character of Camilla is a pattern worthy
of your imitation. While very young, Camilla
was unfortunately deprived of the instruction
and regulating hand of a di&longs;creet and
judicious mother. Her father was too much
immer&longs;ed in bu&longs;ine&longs;s to attend to the cultivation
of his daughter's mind.
“He gave her the means of a genteel education,
praifed her excellencies, and chid her
faults, without being at the pains of teaching
her how to amend them. The irritability of her
temper he rather indulged, confidering her as a
girl of &longs;pirit, who would make her way in the
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world, in &longs;pite of ob&longs;tacles. She was naturally
generous, tender-hearted, and humane; but her
temper was as uncontrollable as the whirlpool,
and as impetuous as the wind. Happily for her,
&longs;he had an uncommon &longs;trength of mind, a ready
apprehen&longs;ion, a quick perception, and a depth
of under&longs;tanding, &longs;eldom equalled. She &longs;aw her
errors, was con&longs;cious of her failings, and a severe
&longs;ufferer for her faults. But &longs;uch was the
extreme quickne&longs;s of her feelings, and &longs;o passionate
her re&longs;entment of any thing which appeared
injurious or affrontive, that &longs;he could not always
repre&longs;s them. She married a gentleman of a similar
temper, and of equal prudence. In the union
of &longs;uch violent &longs;pirits, great harmony could not
be pre&longs;aged. Their pa&longs;&longs;ions were lively, their
affections ardent.
“The honey-moon in raptures flew,
A &longs;econd brought its tran&longs;ports too;
The third, the fourth, were not ami&longs;s;
The fifth was friend&longs;hip, mix'd with bli&longs;s:
But ere a twelvemonth pa&longs;s'd away,
They found each other made of clay.”
“Inadvertencies gave offence; frequent altercations
aro&longs;e; both were tenacious of their
rights, and aver&longs;e to conde&longs;cen&longs;ion. Camilla
&longs;aw the impending danger; &longs;he became &longs;en&longs;ible
that the happine&longs;s of her life depended on
amendment and caution; &longs;he re&longs;olved to avoid
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giving or taking offence, with the greate&longs;t diligence;
to &longs;uppre&longs;s every emotion of anger;
and when &longs;he thought her&longs;elf injured, to retire,
or be &longs;ilent, till pa&longs;&longs;ion had &longs;ub&longs;ided, and &longs;he
could regain her calmne&longs;s.
“This was a hard ta&longs;k, at fir&longs;t; but perseverance
rendered it effectual to a thorough reformation
in each.
“Her example and pathetic admonitions induced
her hu&longs;band to adopt her prudent plan.
They found their mutual endeavours productive
of real &longs;atisfaction, and happine&longs;s the reward of
their exertions to &longs;ecure it.
“To be vindictive is equally, perhaps more
fatal to our own, and the peace of others, than
to be pa&longs;&longs;ionate. Violent pa&longs;&longs;ions of all kinds
are generally tran&longs;ient; but revenge is the offspring
of malice, the parent of di&longs;cord, and the
bane of &longs;ocial love. It is an evidence of a weak
and &longs;ickly mind. True greatne&longs;s will ri&longs;e superior
to this ignoble &longs;pirit, &longs;o peculiarly ungraceful
in a lady, and incon&longs;i&longs;tent with that delicacy
and &longs;o&longs;tne&longs;s, which ought ever to characterize
the &longs;ex.
“But an envious temper is, of all others, the
mo&longs;t degrading and mi&longs;erable. Envy is a malignant
poi&longs;on, which rankles in the heart, and
de&longs;troys the inward peace; even while there is
an outward appearance of &longs;erenity. That mind,
which cannot rejoice in the happine&longs;s of others,
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is capable of very little in it&longs;elf. To look with
a grudging and evil eye on the enjoyments of our
neighbour, mu&longs;t be a &longs;ource of perpetual chagrin
and mortification.
“Envy indulged, is a puni&longs;hment to its po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;or.
Eradicate, then, the fir&longs;t, and every emotion of
&longs;o corroding and de&longs;tructive a nature; and endeavour
to excel only by that virtuous emulation,
which is productive of improvement and respectability.
“A kind, compa&longs;&longs;ionate, benevolent, humane
di&longs;po&longs;ition is an invaluable trea&longs;ure. It will render
you ble&longs;&longs;ings to &longs;ociety, and objects of universal
e&longs;teem.
“In you 'tis graceful to di&longs;&longs;olve at woe;
With every motion, every word, to wave
Quick o'er the kindling cheek the ready blu&longs;h;
And from the &longs;malle&longs;t violence to &longs;hrink,”—
“This amiable temper, however, may sometimes
degenerate into weakne&longs;s.
“Prudence &longs;hould be exerci&longs;ed, even in the
indulgence of the mo&longs;t engaging qualities. In
the progre&longs;s of life, occa&longs;ions may call for that
re&longs;olution and fortitude, which admit not of apparent
&longs;oftne&longs;s; but &longs;uch occa&longs;ions very &longs;eldom
occur.
“How alluring are the charms of &longs;ympathy and
charity! Happy are they who always feel the
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one, and have power and inclination to exemplify
the other!
“The diamond, and the ruby's blaze
Di&longs;pute the palm with beauty's queen;
Not beauty's queen demands &longs;uch prai&longs;e,
Devoid of virtue, if &longs;he's &longs;een.
But the &longs;oft tear in pity's eye
Out&longs;hines the diamond's brighte&longs;t beam,
And the &longs;weet blu&longs;h of mode&longs;ty
More beauteous than the ruby's &longs;een.”
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“Dress” continued Mrs. Williams to her
re-a&longs;&longs;embled and attentive pupils, “is an important
article of female economy. By &longs;ome it is doubtless
con&longs;idered as too e&longs;&longs;ential. This is always
the ca&longs;e, when it becomes the ruling pa&longs;&longs;ion, and
every other excellence is made &longs;ubordinate to it.
A &longs;uitable attention to the etiquette of appearance
is nece&longs;&longs;ary to render us re&longs;pectable in the
eyes of the world; and di&longs;covers an accommodating
di&longs;po&longs;ition, which is, at once, engaging and
u&longs;eful in the commerce of &longs;ociety. Females are
taxed with being peculiarly attached to, and captivated
by the glare of &longs;plendor and &longs;how. But
I believe &longs;uperficial minds are not confined to
&longs;ex. Whatever form they actuate, to beautify
and adorn it will be the principal object.
“A certain &longs;pecies of gaiety and airine&longs;s is becoming
in youth. Young ladies, therefore, act
perfectly in character, when, under proper restraint,
they indulge their ta&longs;te in the decoration
of their per&longs;ons. But they &longs;hould be efpecially
careful that their ta&longs;te be correct; consistent
with the mode&longs;t delicacy which is the glory
and ornament of woman.
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“It is laudable to follow fa&longs;hions, &longs;o far as
they are governed by the&longs;e rules; but whenever
they deviate, quit them with expre&longs;s disapprobation
and di&longs;gu&longs;t. Any a&longs;&longs;umptions of the masculine
habit are unbecoming. Dre&longs;s and manners
&longs;hould be corre&longs;pondent; and the engaging
&longs;oftne&longs;s and artle&longs;s &longs;implicity, which grace my
pupils, mu&longs;t be quite incon&longs;i&longs;tent with the air and
attire of the other &longs;ex.
“A gaudy and fanta&longs;tical mode of decoration
is by no means a recommendation. It be&longs;peaks
a lightne&longs;s of mind and a vanity of di&longs;po&longs;ition,
again&longs;t which a di&longs;creet and mode&longs;t girl &longs;hould
guard with the utmo&longs;t vigilanoe. Extravagance
is a great error, even where fortune will
allow the means of &longs;upporting it. Many are the
claims which the children of affliction and want
have upon the &longs;uperfluous plenty of the rich.
How much better expended would &longs;ome part of
their redundance be, in relieving the nece&longs;&longs;ities of
&longs;uch, than in decorating their own per&longs;ons, with
every ornament which art can contrive to create
expen&longs;e!
“Neatne&longs;s and propriety &longs;hould be the main
objects; for loveline&longs;s needs no foreign aid to
give in a pa&longs;&longs;port. Neatne&longs;s is too often connected
with the idea of a prudi&longs;h &longs;ingularity; but no
gaudine&longs;s of apparel, no richne&longs;s of attire, no
modi&longs;hne&longs;s of appearance can be an equivalent
for it. Propriety is that garb which becomes our
-- 063 --
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&longs;ituation and circum&longs;tances in life. There certainly
ought to be a difference between different
ages and conditions, in this re&longs;pect. Many articles,
ornamental to Mi&longs;s in her teens, would appear
ab&longs;urd, fanta&longs;tical, and ridiculous in maturer
years. Neither &longs;hould the matronal robes, and
the clo&longs;e cap hide the natural ringlets, and ea&longs;y
&longs;hapes of the blooming girl.
“It is a very fal&longs;e ta&longs;te which induces people
in dependent and narrow circum&longs;tances, to imitate
the expen&longs;ive mode of dre&longs;s which might be
very decent for tho&longs;e who move in a higher
&longs;phere.
“To endeavour to conceal indigence by the affectation
of extravagance, is committing a great
offence, both again&longs;t our&longs;elves, and the community
to which we belong. The means of &longs;upport
&longs;hould always be attended to. A conformity to
the&longs;e will render you more re&longs;pected for prudence,
than a deviation for the &longs;ake of &longs;how without
&longs;ub&longs;tance, can make you admired.
“Loui&longs;a and Clarinda are &longs;triking examples.
They were both the daughters of reputable parents,
who&longs;e &longs;ituations in the world were ea&longs;y and
comfortable, though not affluent. They were
able to give their children a good education, but
no other portion. Gay, volatile, and ambitious,
Loui&longs;a was the votary of fa&longs;hion. A &longs;uperior
in dre&longs;s excited the keene&longs;t &longs;en&longs;ations of envy
in her bo&longs;om; and a rival in appearance gave
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her un&longs;peakable mortification. Di&longs;&longs;atisfied with
her natural charms, co&longs;metics and paints added
to her expen&longs;es, and betrayed her folly. She
had many profe&longs;&longs;ed admirers, who found her a
willing dupe to flattery, and who rai&longs;ed her
vanity by prai&longs;ing her excellent ta&longs;te.
“Leander, a gentleman of liberal education,
&longs;uperior merit, and hand&longs;ome property, ca&longs;t his
eye around for a companion to &longs;hare and enjoy
the&longs;e advantages with him. Loui&longs;a caught his
attention. The elegance of her per&longs;on, and
&longs;plendor of her appearance, charmed his
imagination, and in&longs;pired the idea of a fortune
&longs;ufficient to &longs;upport her expen&longs;ive &longs;tyle of living.
He paid his addre&longs;&longs;es, and was received with
the mo&longs;t flattering encouragement. But how
great was his di&longs;appointment, when he di&longs;covered
the &longs;mallne&longs;s of her re&longs;ources, and the imprudence
of her management! This, &longs;aid he to
him&longs;elf, will never do for me. Were my income
far &longs;uperior to what it is, it would not be adequate
to &longs;uch unbounded extravagance. Be&longs;ides,
where &longs;o little economy is practi&longs;ed, while under
parental government, what mu&longs;t be the consequence
of that unlimited indulgence, which the
confidence due to a wife demands? Were I to
abridge her expen&longs;es, and endeavour to rectify her
fanta&longs;tical ta&longs;te, it would doubtle&longs;s foment dissension,
di&longs;cord, and animo&longs;ity, which mu&longs;t
-- 065 --
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terminate in wretchedne&longs;s. He re&longs;olved, however,
to try her real di&longs;po&longs;ition, by gently hinting his
di&longs;approbation of her gaiety. This &longs;he re&longs;ented;
and a rupture, which ended in a final &longs;eparation,
en&longs;ued. She found, too late, the value of the
man, whom &longs;he had &longs;lighted; and ever after regretted
that &longs;olly which had irretrievably alienated
his affections.
“The mode&longs;ty and neatne&longs;s of Clarinda's garb
next caught Leander's eye. Conver&longs;ing with her
on the &longs;ubject of dre&longs;s, the ju&longs;tne&longs;s of her sentiments
gave him the highe&longs;t ideas of the rectitude
and innocence of her mind. A co&longs;tly article
was offered for her purcha&longs;e; but &longs;he refue&longs;ed it.
It would not become me, &longs;aid &longs;he, nor any other
per&longs;on who has not an affluent fortune. If I had
a &longs;ufficiency to buy it, I would procure something
more &longs;imple and nece&longs;&longs;ary for my&longs;elf; and
the overplus might render an object of di&longs;tre&longs;s
contented and happy.
“Yet was Clarinda always elegantly neat;
always genteelly fa&longs;hionable. Frugality and economy,
free from profu&longs;ion and extravagance, enabled
her to indulge her own ta&longs;te entirely; and
while &longs;he enjoyed that, &longs;he repined not at the
fancied &longs;uperiority of others. Leander found
her all he wi&longs;hed, in appearance; all he hoped
for, in reality. As their ta&longs;tes were correspondent,
and their highe&longs;t aim, when united, to plea&longs;e
-- 066 --
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each other, they were not dependent on the
breath of fa&longs;hion for their happine&longs;s. A compliance
with its forms did not elate their pride,
nor a departure from them, fill their hearts with
peevi&longs;hne&longs;s and di&longs;content.”
-- 067 --
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“Still more important than your habit,
is your air and deportment. It is not &longs;ufficient
that the&longs;e are plea&longs;ing to the eye of the superficial
ob&longs;erver. Your behaviour and conver&longs;ation
mu&longs;t be uniformly governed by the laws of
politene&longs;s, di&longs;cretion, and decorum. El&longs;e you
will be di&longs;gu&longs;ting to people of re&longs;inement; and
the judicious and di&longs;cerning will di&longs;cover the
weakne&longs;s of your minds, notwith&longs;tanding the
&longs;howy ornaments, intended to conceal it from
public view.
“Inattention in company is a breach of good
manners. Indeed, it is a downright in&longs;ult; being
neither more nor le&longs;s, than declaring that you
have not the lea&longs;t re&longs;pect for any who are
pre&longs;ent. Either you do not value their good
opinion, or you have &longs;omething more important
than their conver&longs;ation to occupy your minds.
“You &longs;hould always be attentive to tho&longs;e with
whom you are conver&longs;ant, let their rank and
&longs;tanding be what they may. Your &longs;uperiors
will e&longs;teem you for your re&longs;pectful treatment of
them; your equals will love you for your
-- 068 --
[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]
kindness and familiarity; your inferiors will re&longs;pect
you for your conde&longs;cen&longs;ion and meekne&longs;s.
“Attention in company will be advantageous
to your&longs;elves. Like the indu&longs;trious bee, which
&longs;ips honey from every plant, you may derive
&longs;ome benefit or in&longs;truction from all kinds of
&longs;ociety. Some u&longs;eful remark or information;
&longs;ome &longs;entiment which may allure you to the
practice of virtue, or deter you from a vicious
perpetration, may repay your labour, and be
&longs;erviceable through life.
“But &longs;hould there be no other motive than
that of plea&longs;ing your a&longs;&longs;ociates, and rendering them
happy, by making your&longs;elves agreeable, it may
be confidered as a &longs;ufficient inducement to the
practice of this branch of good-breeding. Many
girls, in the thoughtle&longs;s levity of their hearts,
divert them&longs;elves at the expen&longs;e of others; and,
with the utmo&longs;t glee, point out any thing peculiar
in the appearance, words, or actions of &longs;ome
one in the company, whom they &longs;elect for a subject
of merriment and ridicule. This, by &longs;hrewd
looks, ironical ge&longs;tures, or tittering whi&longs;pers, is
kept up, to the great mortification of the unhappy
victim, and to the reproach and di&longs;honor of the
offenders. Such conduct is a breach, not only
of the rules of common civility, but of humanity;
be&longs;ides being directly repugnant to the precept
of doing to others as we would that they &longs;hould
do to us.
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“Be particularly careful, then, not to mortify,
or give pain to an inferior.
“Let the que&longs;tion, “who maketh thee to
differ?” &longs;uppre&longs;s every emotion of ridicule, contempt,
or neglect; and induce you to rai&longs;e and
encourage depre&longs;&longs;ed merit by your notice and
approbation.
“As far as propriety, delicacy, and virtue will
allow, conform to the ta&longs;te, and participate in
the amu&longs;ements and conver&longs;ation of the company
into which you have fallen. If they be disagreeble
to you, avoid a &longs;upercilious avowal of your
di&longs;like. This, in&longs;tead of reforming, would probably
give them a di&longs;gu&longs;t to you, and perhaps
&longs;ubject you to affronts. Yet where a disapprobating
word or hint may be &longs;ea&longs;onable, neglect
not the opportunity of contributing to their benefit
and amendment.
“Are you con&longs;cious of &longs;uperior advantages,
either mental or external, make no o&longs;tentatious
di&longs;play of them. Vanity too often leads young
ladies to obtrude their acquirements on the eyes
of ob&longs;ervers, incon&longs;iderately apprehending they
may otherwi&longs;e be unnoticed. Such forwardne&longs;s
always &longs;ubjects them to cen&longs;ure, ridicule, and
envy; the expre&longs;&longs;ions of which de&longs;troy that
&longs;elf-approbation which retiring merit invariably
enjoys. However, exert that dignity of virtue
which will render you independent of caprice,
calumny, and unprovoked &longs;atire.
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“Make no ungenerous, or ill-natured remarks
on the company, or on the individuals of which
it is compo&longs;ed.
“If you di&longs;like them, avoid them in future.
If you witne&longs;s errors, faults, or improprieties,
conceal, or at lea&longs;t extenuate them, as much as
po&longs;&longs;ible.
“Make ju&longs;t allowances for tho&longs;e who may
differ from you in opinion; and be cautious
never to mi&longs;repre&longs;ent, or circulate what appears
ami&longs;s to you, and mu&longs;t, if expo&longs;ed, be injurious
to others. Charity hides a multitude of faults.
Certainly then, charity will never aggravate nor
create them.
“To give currency to a report, which tends
to the di&longs;advantage and di&longs;honor of another, is
defaming; and defamation is a &longs;pecies of cruelty,
which can never be expiated.
“Of this the unhappy, though imprudent Eudocia,
is an exemplification.
“Eudocia was young, gay, and charming. A
levity of di&longs;po&longs;ition, which the innocence of her
heart attempted not to re&longs;train, &longs;ometimes gave
the tongue of &longs;lander pretence to aim its envenomed
&longs;hafts at her character, and to misrepresent
her &longs;prightline&longs;s.
“Independent in fortune; &longs;till more &longs;o in
mind, calumny gave her no pain, while &longs;he was
con&longs;cious of the rectitude of her intentions.
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“Leontine was a gentleman of property;
agreeable in his per&longs;on and manners; of &longs;trict
honor, and extremely tenacious of it; but of a
&longs;evere and unforgiving temper. He paid his
addre&longs;&longs;es to Eudocia; was accepted, approved,
and beloved. Yet, though he had gained her
affections, he had not &longs;ufficient influence to
regulate her conduct, and repre&longs;s her gaiety.
Her fondne&longs;s for &longs;how and gallantry, in &longs;ome instances,
induced her to countenance the attentions,
and receive the flattery, of men, who&longs;e
characters were exceptionable, in Leontine's estimation.
He remon&longs;trated again&longs;t her imprudence,
and gave her his ideas of female delicacy.
She laughed at his gravity, and rallied him on
his implicit &longs;ubjection to the opinions of others.
“Towards the clo&longs;e of a fine day, Eudocia
rambled along a retired road, to enjoy the air.
She was alone; but the hope of meeting her
beloved Leontine, whom &longs;he expected that evening,
imperceptibly led her beyond her intended
excur&longs;ion. The rattling of a carriage cau&longs;ed her
to &longs;top; and, thinking it to be Leontine's, &longs;he approached
it before &longs;he perceived her mi&longs;take. A
gentleman of an elegant appearance alighted,
and acco&longs;ting her politely, expre&longs;&longs;ed his &longs;urpri&longs;e
at finding her &longs;o far from home without an attendant.
She found it was Florio, with whom
&longs;he had a &longs;light acquaintance, having once met
with him in company. She frankly owned her
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motive for walking thus far; and refu&longs;ed his invitation
to return in his carriage. He renewed
his reque&longs;t; and his importunity, &longs;econded by
her &longs;atigue, at la&longs;t prevailed. At this moment
the detracting Lavina pa&longs;&longs;ed by. She &longs;aw Eudocia,
and with a &longs;neering &longs;mile, wi&longs;hed her a
good night. Eudocia was uncon&longs;cious of fault,
and therefore fearle&longs;s of cen&longs;ure. But the artful
Florio, de&longs;irous of protracting the plea&longs;ure
of her company, took a circuitous route, which
con&longs;iderably increa&longs;ed the di&longs;tance to her father's
hou&longs;e. However, he conveyed her &longs;afely home,
though not &longs;o &longs;oon as &longs;he wi&longs;hed. She found
that Leontine had been there, and had gone
to vi&longs;it a friend; but would &longs;oon return. Leontine
was ju&longs;t &longs;eated at his friend's, when Lavina
entered.
“She told the circle, that Florio had ju&longs;t
pa&longs;&longs;ed her, and that he had company &longs;he little
expected to &longs;ee with him. They inquired if it
was his former mi&longs;tre&longs;s? No, &longs;aid &longs;he, he has
di&longs;carded her &longs;ome time ago, and if we may
judge by appearances, has cho&longs;en a new one.
Upon being a&longs;ked who, &longs;he pre&longs;umed to name
Eudocia. Every countenance expre&longs;&longs;ed &longs;urpri&longs;e
and regret. In Leontine's, rage and re&longs;entment
were vi&longs;ibly depicted. He ro&longs;e, and &longs;tepping
ha&longs;tily to Lavina, told her he was a party concerned,
and demanded an explanation of what
&longs;he had infinuated. She perceived that &longs;he had
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given offence, and endeavoured to excu&longs;e herself;
but he re&longs;olutely told her that no eva&longs;ions
would avail; that he in&longs;i&longs;ted on the real truth of
her &longs;candalous report. Finding him thus determined,
&longs;he related the &longs;imple fact of &longs;eeing Eudocia
in a carriage with Florio, who was a known
libertine, and accu&longs;tomed to the &longs;ociety of loo&longs;e
women. Leontine a&longs;ked her how &longs;he came to
a&longs;&longs;ociate the ideas &longs;he had mentioned with Eudocia's
name? She replied that the lightne&longs;s of her
behaviour had &longs;ometimes rendered her cen&longs;urable;
and &longs;he thought this in&longs;tance, in particular, authorized
&longs;u&longs;picion. Leontine could not deny that
&longs;he was culpable in appearance; yet made answer,
that though &longs;candal might fea&longs;t on the
failings of virtue, he believed Eudocia's innocence
much purer, and her heart much better
than her detracters'; and, taking his hat, he wished
the company a good evening, and left them.
“His pa&longs;&longs;ions were on fire. He could not
comprehend the my&longs;terious conduct of Eudocia.
Her ab&longs;ence from home, at a time when he expected
her to receive him, and her being &longs;een
at a di&longs;tance, in company with a profe&longs;&longs;ed debauchee,
were a labyrinth which he could not explore.
Though he doubted not Eudocia's honor,
yet her folly and imprudence, in &longs;ubjecting her
character to &longs;u&longs;picion and reproach, he thought
unpardonable. His re&longs;entment determined him
to break the propo&longs;ed connexion immediately;
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and, left his love &longs;hould get the better of his re&longs;olution, he went directly to the hou&longs;e.
“As he could not command his temper, he
appeared extremely agitated, and angrily told
Eudocia that &longs;he had cau&longs;ed him great uneasiness;
and that he came to claim the &longs;atisfaction
of knowing, why &longs;he had avoided his &longs;ociety,
and made an a&longs;&longs;ignation with a man who had
involved her in infamy? Eudocia was a&longs;toni&longs;hed,
and ju&longs;tly offended at this addre&longs;s. With all
the dignity of con&longs;cious innocence, &longs;he replied,
that as yet he had no right to challenge an account
of her conduct; but for her own &longs;ake,
&longs;he would conde&longs;cend to give it. This &longs;he did,
by a faithful and undi&longs;gui&longs;sed relation of facts.
She then a&longs;ked him, if he was &longs;atisfied. He
an&longs;wered, No. For, &longs;aid he, though you have
cleared your&longs;elf of guilt, in my apprehen&longs;ion,
you will find it very difficult to free your character
from the blemi&longs;h it has received in the
opinion of the world. Saying this, he told her,
that, however highly he e&longs;teemed her, &longs;o opposite
were their di&longs;po&longs;itions, that they mu&longs;t often
be at variance; and &longs;o nice was his &longs;en&longs;e of
honor, that his wife, like Cæfar's, mu&longs;t not only
be virtuous, but un&longs;u&longs;pected. She rejoined, that
his &longs;entiments were apparent; and if what he
then expre&longs;&longs;ed were his opinion of her, it was
be&longs;t they &longs;hould part.
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“Some further conver&longs;ation pa&longs;&longs;ed; when,
promi&longs;ing to call, the next day, and &longs;atisfy her parents,
and wi&longs;hing Eudocia all po&longs;&longs;ible happine&longs;s
in life, he took his leave.
“The impropriety of her conduct, and her
lo&longs;ing the affections of a man &longs;he too ardently
loved, together with the cruel treatment &longs;he had
ju&longs;t received from him, overwhelmed her with
grief, and produced the mo&longs;t violent emotions
of regret. She walked her room in all the anguish
of di&longs;appointed hope. Her parents u&longs;ed
every argument to &longs;oothe and con&longs;ole her; but
in vain.
“She yielded to their per&longs;ua&longs;ions &longs;o far as to
retire to bed; but re&longs;t &longs;he found not; and the
morning pre&longs;ented her in a burning &longs;ever. Leontine
called in the cour&longs;e of the day; but the
friends of Eudocia refu&longs;ed to &longs;ee him. An account
of her di&longs;order had rou&longs;ed him to a &longs;en&longs;e
of his ra&longs;hne&longs;s, and he begged to be admitted to
her chamber; but this &longs;he utterly denied.
“Her fever left her; but the di&longs;ea&longs;e of her
mind was beyond the power of medicine. A
&longs;ettled melancholy &longs;till remains; and &longs;he lives
the victim of calumniation!
“To detract from the merit of others, be&longs;ide
the want of politene&longs;s which it betrays, and beside
the injuries which it always occa&longs;ions, is
extremely impolitic. It is to confe&longs;s your inferiority,
and to acknowledge a wi&longs;h, not to ri&longs;e to
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[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]
greater re&longs;pectability; but to bring down tho&longs;e
about you to your own level! Ill-natured remarks
are the genuine offspring of an envious
and grovelling mind.
“Call your&longs;elves to a &longs;evere account, therefore,
whenever you have been guilty of this degrading
offence; and always check the fir&longs;t impul&longs;es towards
it.
“Accu&longs;tom your&longs;elves to the exerci&longs;e of sinoerity,
benevolence, and good-humour, tho&longs;e endearing
virtues, which will render you beloved
and re&longs;pected by all.
“To be&longs;tow your attention, in company, upon
trifling &longs;ingularities in the dre&longs;s, per&longs;on, or manners
of others, is &longs;pending your time to little
purpo&longs;e. From &longs;uch a practice you can derive
neither plea&longs;ure nor profit; but mu&longs;t unavoidably
&longs;ubject your&longs;elves to the imputation of incivility
and malice.”
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[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]
“Amusement is impatiently de&longs;ired,
and eagerly &longs;ought by young ladies in general.
Forgetful that the noble&longs;t entertainment ari&longs;es
from a placid and well cultivated mind, too many
fly from them&longs;elves, from thought and reflection
to fa&longs;hionable di&longs;&longs;ipation, or what they call
plea&longs;ure, as a mean of beguiling the hours
which &longs;olitude and retirement render insupportably
tedious.
“An extravagant fondne&longs;s for company and
public re&longs;orts is incompatible with tho&longs;e domestic
duties, the faithful di&longs;charge of which ought
to be the prevailing object of the &longs;ex. In the
indulgence of this di&longs;po&longs;ition, the mind is enervated,
and the manners corrupted, till all reli&longs;h
for tho&longs;e enjoyments, which, being &longs;imple and
natural, are be&longs;t calculated to promote health,
innocence, and &longs;ocial delight, is totally lo&longs;t.
“It is by no means ami&longs;s for youth to &longs;eek
relaxation from &longs;everer cares and labours, in a
participation of diver&longs;ions, &longs;uited to their age,
&longs;ex, and &longs;tation in life. But there is great
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[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]
danger of their lively imaginations' hurrying them
into exce&longs;s, and detaching their affections from
the ennobling acqui&longs;itions of moral improvement,
and refined delicacy. Guard, then, again&longs;t tho&longs;e
amu&longs;ements which have the lea&longs;t tendency to
&longs;ully the purity of your minds.
“Loo&longs;e and immoral books; company, who&longs;e
manners are licentious, however gay and fashionable;
conver&longs;ation, which is even tinctured
with profanene&longs;s or ob&longs;cenity; plays, in which
the repre&longs;entation is immode&longs;t, and offen&longs;ive to
the ear of cha&longs;tity; indeed, pa&longs;times of every
de&longs;cription, from which no advantage can be derived,
&longs;hould not be countenanced; much le&longs;s,
applauded. Why &longs;hould tho&longs;e things afford apparent
&longs;atisfaction in a crowd, which would call
forth the blu&longs;h of indignation in more private
circles? This que&longs;tion is worthy the &longs;erious attention
of tho&longs;e ladies, who, at the theatre, can
hardly re&longs;train their approbation of expre&longs;&longs;ions
and actions, which, at their hou&longs;es, would be intolerably
rude and indecent, in their mo&longs;t familiar
friends!
“Cards are &longs;o much the ta&longs;te of the pre&longs;ent
day, that to caution my pupils again&longs;t the too
frequent u&longs;e of them, may be thought old-fashioned
in the extreme. I believe it, however, to
be a fa&longs;cinating game, which occupies the time,
without yielding any kind of plea&longs;ure or profit.
As the &longs;atyri&longs;t humourou&longs;ly ob&longs;erves,
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“The love of gaming is the wor&longs;t of ills;
With cea&longs;ele&longs;s &longs;torms the blacken'd foul it fills;
Inveighs at Heaven, neglects the ties of blood;
De&longs;troys the power and will of doing good;
Kills health, pawns honor, plunges in di&longs;grace;
And, what is &longs;till more dreadful—&longs;poils your face.”
“One thing at lea&longs;t is certain; it entirely
excludes all rational conver&longs;ation. That delightful
interchange of &longs;entiment, which the &longs;ocial
meeting of friends is calculated to afford, and
from which many advantages might be derived,
is utterly excluded.
“Reading, writing, drawing, needle-work,
dancing, mu&longs;ic, walking, riding, and conver&longs;ation,
are amu&longs;ements well adapted to yield plea&longs;ure
and utility. From either of the&longs;e, within proper
bounds, there is no danger of injury to the person,
or mind; though to render even our diversions
agreeable, they mu&longs;t be enjoyed with moderation,
and variou&longs;ly and prudently conducted.
Such as are peculiarly exhilarating to the &longs;pirits,
however innocent in them&longs;elves, &longs;hould be more
cautiou&longs;ly and &longs;paringly indulged.
“When once the mind becomes too much relaxed
by di&longs;&longs;pating pa&longs;times, it is proportionably
vitiated, and negligent of tho&longs;e nice attentions
to the rules of re&longs;erve and decorum, which ought
never to be &longs;u&longs;pended. Intoxicating is the full
draught of plea&longs;ure to the youthful mind; and
fatal are the effects of unre&longs;trained pa&longs;&longs;ions.
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“Flavia was the daughter of a gentleman,
who&longs;e political principles obliged him to leave
his country, at the commencement of the American
revolution. At that time &longs;he was at nur&longs;e
in a neighbouring village; between which and
the metropolis, all communication being cut off,
he was reduced to the nece&longs;&longs;ity of leaving her
to the mercy of tho&longs;e to whom &longs;he was entrusted.
Having received her from pecuniary motives
only, they no &longs;ooner found them&longs;elves deprived
of the profits of their labour and care,
than they fought relie&longs; by an application to the
town for her &longs;upport. A wealthy farmer in
the vicinity, who had often &longs;een and been pleased
with the dawning charms of Flavia, pitied
her condition; and having no children of his
own, re&longs;olved to &longs;helter her from the impending
&longs;torm, till &longs;he could be better provided for.
At his hou&longs;e, &longs;he was brought up in a homely,
though comfortable manner. The good man
and his wife were exce&longs;&longs;ively fond of her, and
gave her every in&longs;truction and advantage in their
power. Plain truths were liberally inculcated,
and every exertion made to give her a habit of
indu&longs;try and good nature. Flavia requited their
kindne&longs;&longs; by an obliging and cheerful, a docile
and &longs;ubmi&longs;&longs;ive deportment. As &longs;he advanced in
years, &longs;he increa&longs;ed in beauty. Her amiable
di&longs;po&longs;ition rendered her beloved, and her personal
accompli&longs;hments made her admired by all the
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[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]
village &longs;wains. The approbating &longs;mile of Flavia
was the reward of their toils, and the favour
of her hand in the ru&longs;tic dance was emulou&longs;ly
&longs;ought.
“In this &longs;tate, Flavia was happy. Health and
innocence were now her portion; nor had ambition
as yet taught her to &longs;igh for plea&longs;ures beyond
the reach of her attainment.
“But the arrival of her father, who had been
permitted to return, and re-po&longs;&longs;e&longs;s the e&longs;tate
which he had abandoned, put a period to the
&longs;implicity and peace of Flavia's mind. He
&longs;ought, and found her; and though &longs;en&longs;ible of
his obligations to her fo&longs;ter-parents for snatching
her from want and di&longs;tre&longs;s, &longs;till he could
not prevail on him&longs;elf to make &longs;o great a sacrifice
to gratitude as they wi&longs;hed, by permitting
his daughter to &longs;pend her days in ob&longs;curity.
The lively fancy of Flavia was allured by the
&longs;plendid promi&longs;es and de&longs;criptions of her father;
and &longs;he readily con&longs;ented to leave the friends of
her childhood and youth, and explore the walks
of &longs;a&longs;hionable life.
“When &longs;he arrived in town, what new &longs;cenes
opened upon the dazzled eyes of the admiring,
and admired Flavia!
“Wealth, with its attendant train of &longs;plendid
forms and ceremonies, courted her attention, and
every &longs;pecies of di&longs;&longs;ipating amu&longs;ement, fanctioned
by the name of plea&longs;ure, beguiled the hours
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and charmed the imagination of the noviciate.
Each enchanting &longs;cene &longs;he painted to her&longs;elf in
the brighte&longs;t colours; and her inexperienced
heart promi&longs;ed her happine&longs;s without allay.
Flattery gave her a thou&longs;and charms which &longs;he
was hitherto incon&longs;cious of po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ing, and the
ob&longs;equiou&longs;ne&longs;s of the gaudy train around rai&longs;ed
her vanity to the highe&longs;t pitch of arrogance and
pride. Behold Flavia, now, launched into the
whirlpool of fa&longs;hionable folly! Balls, plays,
cards, and parties engro&longs;s every portion of her
time.
“Her father &longs;aw, too late, the imprudence of
his unbounded indulgence; and his egregious
mi&longs;take, in &longs;o immediately rever&longs;ing her mode
of life, without fir&longs;t furni&longs;hing her mind with
&longs;ufficient knowledge and &longs;trength to repel temptation.
He endeavoured to regulate and re&longs;train
her conduct; but in vain. She complained of
this, as an abridgment of her liberty, and took
advantage of his doating fondne&longs;s to practi&longs;e
every exce&longs;s. Involved in expen&longs;es (of which
lo&longs;&longs;es at play compo&longs;ed a con&longs;iderable part) beyond
her power to defray, in this embarra&longs;&longs;ing
dilemma, &longs;he was reduced to the nece&longs;&longs;ity of accepting
the treacherous offer of Marius to advance
money for the &longs;upport of her extravagance.
Obligated by his apparent kindne&longs;s, &longs;he could
not refu&longs;e the continuance of his acquaintance,
till his delu&longs;ive arts had obtained the reward he
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[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]
propo&longs;ed to him&longs;elf, in the &longs;acrifice of her honor.
At length &longs;he awoke to a trembling &longs;en&longs;e of her
guilt, and found it fatal to her peace, reputation,
and happine&longs;s.
“Wretched Flavia! no art could conceal thy
&longs;hame! The grief of her mind, her retirement
from company, and the alteration in her appearance,
betrayed her to her father's ob&longs;ervation.
Highly incen&longs;ed at the ingratitude and ba&longs;ene&longs;s
of her conduct, he refu&longs;ed to forgive her; but
&longs;ent her from the en&longs;naring plea&longs;ures of the town,
to langui&longs;h out the remainder of life in &longs;olitude
and ob&longs;curity.”
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“The filial and fraternal are the fir&longs;t duties
of a &longs;ingle &longs;tate. The obligations you are
under to your parents cannot be di&longs;charged, but
by a uniform and cheerful obedience; an unreserved
and ready compliance with their wi&longs;hes,
added to the mo&longs;t diligent attention to their ea&longs;e
and happine&longs;s. The virtuous and affectionate behaviour
of children is the be&longs;t compen&longs;ation, in
their power, for that unwearied care and solicitude
which parents, only, know. Upon daughters,
who&longs;e &longs;ituation and employments lead them
more frequently into &longs;cenes of dome&longs;tic tenderness;
who are often called to &longs;mooth the pillow
of &longs;ick and aged parents, and to admini&longs;ter with
a &longs;kilful and delicate hand the cordial, restorative
to decaying nature, an endearing &longs;en&longs;ibility,
and a dutiful acquie&longs;ence in the di&longs;po&longs;itions, and
even peculiarities of tho&longs;e from whom they have
derived exi&longs;tence, are indi&longs;pen&longs;ably incumbent.
“Such a conduct will yield a &longs;atisfaction of
mind more than equivalent to any little
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sacrifices of inclination or humour which may be required
at your hands.
“Pope, among all his admired poetry, has not
&longs;ix lines more beautifully expre&longs;&longs;ive than the
following:
“Me, let the pious office long engage,
To rock the cradle of declining age;
With lenient arts extend a mother's breath,
Make languor &longs;mile, and &longs;mooth the bed of death;
Explore the thought, explain the a&longs;king eye,
And keep awhile one parent from the &longs;ky!”
“Next in rank and importance to filial piety, is
fraternal love. This is a natural affection which
you cannot too a&longs;&longs;iduou&longs;ly cultivate. How delightful
to &longs;ee children of the &longs;ame family dwell
together in unity; promoting each other's welfare,
and emulous only to excel in acts of kindness
and good will. Between brothers and sisters
the connexion is equally intimate and endearing.
There is &longs;uch a union of intere&longs;ts, and
&longs;uch an undivided participation of enjoyments,
that every &longs;en&longs;ible and feeling mind mu&longs;t value
the ble&longs;&longs;ings of family friend&longs;hip and peace.
“Strive, therefore, my dear pupils, to promote
them, as objects which de&longs;erve your particular attention;
as attainments which will not fail richly
to reward your labour.
“Prudelia, be&longs;ide other amiable endowments
of per&longs;on and mind, po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed the mo&longs;t lively
&longs;en&longs;ibility, and ardent affections.
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“The recommendations of her parents, united
to her own wi&longs;hes, had induced her to give her
hand to Clodius, a gentleman of di&longs;tingui&longs;hed
merit. He was a foreigner; and his bu&longs;ine&longs;s required
his return to his native country.
“Prudelia bid a reluctant adieu to her friends,
and embarked with him. She lived in affluence,
and was admired and care&longs;&longs;ed by all that knew
her, while a lovely family was ri&longs;ing around her.
Yet the&longs;e plea&longs;ing circum&longs;tances and pro&longs;pects
could not extingui&longs;h or alienate that affection,
which &longs;till glowed in her brea&longs;t for the natural
guardians and companions of her childhood and
youth.
“With the deepe&longs;t affliction &longs;he heard the
news of her father's death, and the embarraffed
&longs;ituation in which he had left his affairs. She
was impatient to con&longs;ole her widowed mother,
and to mini&longs;ter to her nece&longs;&longs;ities. For the&longs;e
purpo&longs;es, &longs;he prevailed on her hu&longs;band to con&longs;ent
that &longs;he &longs;hould vi&longs;it her, though it was impossible
for him to attend her. With all the transport
of dutiful zeal, &longs;he flew to the arms of her
bereaved parent. But how great was her astonishment
and grief, when told that her only &longs;i&longs;ter
had been deluded by an affluent villain, and by
his in&longs;idious arts, &longs;educed from her duty, her
honor, and her home! The emotions of pity,
indignation, regret, and affection, overwhelmed
her, at fir&longs;t; but recollecting her&longs;elf, and
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exerting all her fortitude, &longs;he nobly re&longs;olved, if possible,
to &longs;natch the guilty, yet beloved Myra, from
ruin, rather than revenge her injured family by
abandoning her to the infamy &longs;he deferved. To
this intent &longs;he wrote her a pathetic letter, lamenting
her elopement, but entreating her, notwithstanding,
to return and receive her fraternal embrace.
But Myra, con&longs;cious of her crime, and
unworthine&longs;s of her &longs;i&longs;ter's conde&longs;cen&longs;ion and
kindne&longs;s, and above all, dreading the &longs;uperiority
of her virtue, refu&longs;ed the generous invitation.
Prudelia was not thus to be vanqui&longs;hed in her
benevolent undertaking. She even followed her
to her lodgings, and in&longs;i&longs;ted on an interview.
Here &longs;he painted, in the mo&longs;t lively colours, the
heinou&longs;ne&longs;s of her offence, and the ignominy and
wretchedne&longs;s that awaited her. Her affection
allured, her rea&longs;oning convinced her back&longs;liding
&longs;i&longs;ter. Upon the promi&longs;e of forgivene&longs;s from her
mother, Myra con&longs;ented to leave her infamous
paramour, and retrace the paths of rectitude and
virtue.
“Her &longs;educer was ab&longs;ent on a journey. She,
therefore, wrote him a farewell letter, couched
in terms of &longs;incere penitence for her transgression,
and determined re&longs;olution of amendment in
future, and left the hou&longs;e. Thus re&longs;tored and
reconciled to her friends, Myra appeared in quite
another character.
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“Prudelia tarried with her mother till &longs;he had
adju&longs;ted her affairs, and &longs;een her comfortably settled
and provided for. Then taking her reclaimed
&longs;i&longs;ter with her, &longs;he returned to her anxiou&longs;ly
expecting family. The uprightne&longs;s and mode&longs;ty
of Myra's conduct, ever after, rendered her universally
e&longs;teemed, though the painful consciousness
of her defection was never extingui&longs;hed in
her own bo&longs;om.
“A con&longs;tant &longs;en&longs;e of her pa&longs;t mi&longs;conduct depressed
her &longs;pirits, and ca&longs;t a gloom over her
mind; yet &longs;he was virtuous, though pen&longs;ive,
during the remainder of her life.
“With this, and other &longs;alutary effects in view,
how nece&longs;&longs;ary, how important are filial and fraternal
affection!”
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“Friendship is a term, much in&longs;i&longs;ted
on by young people; but, like many others, more
frequently u&longs;ed than under&longs;tood. A friend, with
girls in general, is an intimate acquaintance,
who&longs;e ta&longs;te and plea&longs;ures are &longs;imilar to their own;
who will encourage, or at lea&longs;t connive at their
foibles and faults, and communicate with them
every &longs;ecret; in particular tho&longs;e of love and gallantry,
in which tho&longs;e of the other &longs;ex are concerned.
By &longs;uch friends, their errors and stratagems
are flattered and concealed, while the prudent
advice of real friend&longs;hip is neglected, till
they find, too late, how fictitious a character, and
how vain a dependence they have cho&longs;en.
“Augu&longs;ta and Serena were educated at the
&longs;ame &longs;chool, re&longs;ided in the &longs;ame neighbourhood,
and were equally volatile in their tempers, and
di&longs;&longs;ipated in their manners. Hence every plan of
amu&longs;ement was concerted and enjoyed together.
At the play, the ball, the card-table,
and every other party of plea&longs;ure, they were
companions.
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“Their parents &longs;aw that this intimacy strengthened
the follies of each; and &longs;trove to di&longs;engage
their affections, that they might turn their attention
to more rational entertainments, and more
judicious advi&longs;ers. But they gloried in their
friend&longs;hip, and thought it a &longs;ub&longs;titute for every
other virtue. They were the dupes of adulation,
and the votaries of coquetry.
“The attentions of a libertine, in&longs;tead of putting
them on their guard again&longs;t encroachments,
induced them to triumph in their fancied conquests,
and to boa&longs;t of re&longs;olution &longs;ufficient to
&longs;hield them from delu&longs;ion.
“Love, however, which, with &longs;uch dispositions,
is the pretty play-thing of imagination, assailed
the tender heart of Serena. A gay youth,
with more wit than &longs;en&longs;e, more &longs;how than substance,
more art than hone&longs;ty, took advantage of
her weakne&longs;s to ingratiate him&longs;elf into her favour,
and per&longs;uade her they could not live without
each other. Augu&longs;ta was the confident of Serena.
She fanned the flame, and encouraged her
re&longs;olution of promoting her own felicity, though
at the expen&longs;e of every other duty. Her parents
&longs;u&longs;pected her amour, remon&longs;trated again&longs;t the
man, and forbad her forming any connexion
with him, on pain of their di&longs;plea&longs;ure. She apparently
acquie&longs;ced; but flew to Augu&longs;ta for
coun&longs;el and relief. Augu&longs;ta &longs;oothed her anxiety,
and promi&longs;ed to a&longs;&longs;i&longs;t her in the accompli&longs;hment
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of all her wi&longs;hes. She accordingly contrived
means for a clande&longs;tine intercour&longs;e, both personal
and epi&longs;tolary.
“Ari&longs;tus was a foreigner, and avowed his purpose
of returning to his native country, urging
her to accompany him. Serena had a fortune,
independent of her parents, left her by a decea&longs;ed
relation. This, with her hand, &longs;he con&longs;ented to
give to her lover, and to quit a country, in which
&longs;he acknowledged but one friend. Augu&longs;ta praised
her fortitude, and favoured her de&longs;ign. She
accordingly eloped and embarked. Her parents
were almo&longs;t di&longs;tracted by her imprudent and
undutiful conduct; and their re&longs;entment fell on
Augu&longs;ta, who had acted contrary to all the dictates
of integrity and friend&longs;hip, in contributing
to her ruin; for ruin it proved. Her ungrateful
paramour, having rioted on the property
which &longs;he be&longs;towed, abandoned her to want and
de&longs;pair. She wrote to her parents, but received
no an&longs;wer. She repre&longs;ented her ca&longs;e to Augusta,
and implored relief from her friend&longs;hip; but
Augu&longs;ta alleged that &longs;he had already incurred
the di&longs;plea&longs;ure of her family on her account, and
cho&longs;e not again to &longs;ubject her&longs;elf to cen&longs;ure by
the &longs;ame means.
“Serena at length returned to her native &longs;hore,
and applied in per&longs;on to Augu&longs;ta, who coolly
told her that &longs;he wi&longs;hed no intercour&longs;e with a
vagabond, and then retired. Her parents refu&longs;ed
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to receive her into their hou&longs;e; but, from motives
of compa&longs;&longs;ion and charity, granted her a
&longs;mall annuity, barely &longs;ufficient to keep her and
her infant from want.
“Too late &longs;he di&longs;covered her mi&longs;taken notions
of friend&longs;hip; and learned by &longs;ad experience, that
virtue mu&longs;t be its foundation, or &longs;incerity and
con&longs;tancy can never be its reward.
“Sincerity and con&longs;tancy are e&longs;&longs;ential ingredients
in virtuous friend&longs;hip. It invariably &longs;eeks
the permanent good of its object; and in &longs;o
doing, will advi&longs;e, caution and reprove, with all
the frankne&longs;s of undi&longs;&longs;embled affection. In the
interchange of genuine friend&longs;hip, flattery is utterly
excluded. Yet, even in the mo&longs;t intimate
connexions of this kind, a proper degree of respect,
attention, and politene&longs;s, mu&longs;t be ob&longs;erved.
You are not &longs;o far to pre&longs;ume on the partiality
of friend&longs;hip, as to hazard giving offence, and
wounding the feelings of per&longs;ons, merely becau&longs;e
you think their regard for you will plead your
excu&longs;e, and procure your pardon. Equally cautious
&longs;hould you be, of taking umbrage at circumstances
which are unde&longs;ignedly offen&longs;ive.
“Hear the excellent advice of the wi&longs;e &longs;on of
Sirach, upon this &longs;ubject:
“Admoni&longs;h thy friend; it may be he hath
not done it; and if he have done it, that he do
it no more. Admoni&longs;h thy friend; it may be
he hath not &longs;aid it; and if he have, that he
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&longs;peak it not again. Admoni&longs;h thy friend; for
many times it is a &longs;lander; and believe not every
tale. There is one that &longs;lippeth in his &longs;peech,
but not from his heart; and who is he that offendeth
not with his tongue?”
“Be not ha&longs;ty in forming friend&longs;hips; but
deliberately examine the principles, di&longs;po&longs;ition,
temper, and manners, of the per&longs;on you wi&longs;h to
&longs;u&longs;tain this important character. Be well a&longs;&longs;ured
that they are agreeable to your own, and &longs;uch as
merit your entire e&longs;teem and confidence, before
you denominate her your friend. You may have
many general acquaintances, with whom you are
plea&longs;ed and entertained; but in the chain of
friend&longs;hip there is a &longs;till clo&longs;er link.
“Re&longs;erve will wound it, and di&longs;tru&longs;t de&longs;troy.
Deliberate on all things with thy friend;
But &longs;ince friends grow not thick on ev'ry bough,
Nor ev'ry friend unrotten at the core,
Fir&longs;t, on thy friend, deliberate with thy&longs;elf:
Pau&longs;e, ponder, &longs;ift; not eager in the choice,
Nor jealous of the cho&longs;en: fixing, fix:
Judge before friend&longs;hip; then confide till death.”
“But, if you would have friends, you mu&longs;t
&longs;how your&longs;elves friendly; that is, you mu&longs;t be
careful to act the part you wi&longs;h from another.
If your friend have faults, mildly and tenderly
repre&longs;ent them to her; but conceal them as much
as po&longs;&longs;ible from the ob&longs;ervation of the world.
Endeavour to convince her of her errors, to
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rectify her mi&longs;takes, and to confirm and increa&longs;e
every virtuous &longs;entiment.
“Should &longs;he &longs;o far deviate, as to endanger her
reputation and happine&longs;s; and &longs;hould your admonitions
fail to reclaim her, become not, like
Augu&longs;ta, an abettor of her crimes. It is not the
part of friend&longs;hip to hide tran&longs;actions which will
end in the ruin of your friend. Rather acquaint
tho&longs;e who ought to have the rule over her of her
intended mi&longs;teps, and you will have di&longs;charged
your duty; you will merit, and very probably
may afterwards receive, her thanks.
“Narciffa and Florinda were united in the
bonds of true and generous friend&longs;hip. Narciffa
was called to &longs;pend a few months with a relation
in the metropolis, where &longs;he became acquainted
with, and attached to a man who was much her
inferior; but who&longs;e &longs;pecious manners and appearance
deceived her youthful heart, though
her rea&longs;on and judgment informed her, that her
parents would di&longs;approve the connexion. When
&longs;he returned home, the con&longs;ciou&longs;ne&longs;s of her fault,
the frankne&longs;s which &longs;he owed to her friend, and
her partiality to her lover, wrought powerfully
upon her mind, and rendered her melancholy.
Florinda &longs;oon explored the cau&longs;e, and warmly remonstrated
again&longs;t her imprudence in holding a
moment's intercour&longs;e with a man, who, &longs;he knew,
would be di&longs;plea&longs;ing to her parents. She &longs;earched
out his character, and found it far inadequate to
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Narci&longs;&longs;a's merit. This &longs;he repre&longs;ented to her in
its true colours, and conjured her not to &longs;acrifice
her reputation, her duty, and her happine&longs;s, by
encouraging his addre&longs;&longs;es: but to no purpo&longs;e
were her expo&longs;tulations. Narci&longs;&longs;a avowed the
de&longs;ign of permitting him to &longs;olicit the con&longs;ent of
her parents, and the determination of marrying
him without it, if they refu&longs;ed.
“Florinda was alarmed at this re&longs;olution; and,
with painful anxiety, &longs;aw the danger of her
friend. She told her plainly, that the regard &longs;he
had for her demanded a counteraction of her
de&longs;ign; and that if &longs;he found no other way of
preventing its execution, &longs;he &longs;hould di&longs;charge her
duty by informing her parents of her proceedings.
This Narci&longs;&longs;a re&longs;ented, and immediately
withdrew her confidence and familiarity; but
the faithful Florinda neglected not the watchful
&longs;olicitude of friend&longs;hip; and when &longs;he perceived
that Narci&longs;&longs;a's family were re&longs;olutely oppo&longs;ed to
her projected match, and that Narci&longs;&longs;a was preparing
to put her ra&longs;h purpo&longs;e into execution, &longs;he
made known the plan which &longs;he had concerted,
and by that mean prevented her de&longs;truction.
Narci&longs;&longs;a thought her&longs;elf greatly injured, and declared
that &longs;he would never forgive &longs;o flagrant a
breach of fidelity. Florinda endeavoured to convince
her of her good intentions, and the real
kindne&longs;s of her motives; but &longs;he refu&longs;ed to hear
the voice of wi&longs;dom, till a &longs;eparation from her
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lover, and a full proof of his unworthine&longs;s,
opened her eyes to a &longs;ight of her own folly and
indi&longs;cretion, and to a lively &longs;en&longs;e of Florinda's
friend&longs;hip, in &longs;aving her from ruin without her
con&longs;ent. Her heart overflowed with gratitude to
her generous pre&longs;erver. She acknowledged herself
indebted to Florinda's benevolence, for deliverance
from the baneful impetuo&longs;ity of her
own pa&longs;&longs;ions. She &longs;ought and obtained forgiveness;
and ever after lived in the &longs;tricte&longs;t amity
with her faithful benefactre&longs;s.”
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“The highe&longs;t &longs;tate of friend&longs;hip which
this life admits, is in the conjugal relation. On
this refined affection, love, which is but a more
intere&longs;ting and tender kind of friend&longs;hip, ought
to be founded. The &longs;ame virtues, the &longs;ame dispositions
and qualities which are nece&longs;&longs;ary in a
friend, are &longs;till more requi&longs;ite in a companion for
life. And when the&longs;e enlivening principles are
united, they form the ba&longs;is of durable happine&longs;s.
But let not the ma&longs;k of friend&longs;hip, or of love, deceive
you. You are now entering upon a new
&longs;tage of action, where you will probably admire,
and be admired. You may attract the notice of
many, who will &longs;elect you, as objects of adulation,
to di&longs;cover their ta&longs;te and gallantry; and
perhaps of &longs;ome who&longs;e affections you have really
and &longs;eriou&longs;ly engaged. The fir&longs;t cla&longs;s your penetration
will enable you to detect; and your good
&longs;en&longs;e and virtue will lead you to treat them with
the neglect they de&longs;erve. It is di&longs;reputable for a
young lady to receive and encourage the officious
attentions of tho&longs;e mere plea&longs;ure-hunters, who
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rove from fair to fair, with no other de&longs;ign than
the exerci&longs;e of their art, addre&longs;s, and intrigue.
Nothing can render their company plea&longs;ing, but
a vanity of being care&longs;&longs;ed, and a fal&longs;e pride in
being thought an object of general admiration,
with a fondne&longs;s for flattery which be&longs;peaks a vitiated
mind. But when you are addre&longs;&longs;ed by a
per&longs;on of real merit, who is worthy your e&longs;teem,
and may ju&longs;tly demand your re&longs;pect, let him be
treated with honor, frankne&longs;s, and &longs;incerity. It
is the part of a prude, to affect a &longs;hyne&longs;s, reserve,
and indifference, foreign to the heart.
Innocence and virtue will ri&longs;e &longs;uperior to &longs;uch
little arts, and indulge no wi&longs;h which needs
di&longs;gui&longs;e.
“Still more unworthy are the in&longs;idious and
deluding wiles of the coquette. How di&longs;gu&longs;ting
mu&longs;t this character appear to per&longs;ons of sentiment
and integrity! how unbecoming the delicacy
and dignity of an uncorrupted female!
“As you are young and inexperienced, your
affections may po&longs;&longs;ibly be involuntarily engaged,
where prudence and duty forbid a connexion.
Beware, then, how you admit the pa&longs;&longs;ion of love.
In young minds, it is of all others the mo&longs;t uncontrollable.
When fancy takes the reins, it
compels its blinded votary to &longs;acrifice rea&longs;on,
di&longs;cretion and con&longs;cience to its impetuous dictates.
But a pa&longs;&longs;ion of this origin tends not to
&longs;ub&longs;tantial and durable happine&longs;s. To &longs;ecure
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this, it mu&longs;t be quite of another kind, enkindled
by e&longs;teem, founded on merit, &longs;trengthened by
congenial di&longs;po&longs;itions and corre&longs;ponding virtues,
and terminating in the mo&longs;t pure and refined
affection.
“Never &longs;uffer your eyes to be charmed by the
mere exterior; nor delude your&longs;elves with the
notion of unconquerable love. The eye, in this
re&longs;pect, is often deceptious, and fills the imagination
with charms which have no reality. Nip,
in the bud, every particular liking, much more
all ideas of love, till called forth by unequivocal
tokens, as well as profe&longs;&longs;ions of &longs;incere regard.
Even then, harbour them not without a thorough
knowledge of the temper, di&longs;po&longs;ition, and circumstances
of your lover, the advice of your
friends; and, above all, the approbation of your
parents. Maturely weigh every con&longs;ideration
for and again&longs;t, and deliberately determine with
your&longs;elves, what will be mo&longs;t conducive to your
welfare and felicity in life. Let a rational and
di&longs;creet plan of thinking and acting, regulate your
deportment, and render you de&longs;erving of the affection
you wi&longs;h to in&longs;ure. This you will find
far more conducive to your intere&longs;t, than the
indulgence of that romantic pa&longs;&longs;ion, which a
blind and mi&longs;guided fancy paints in &longs;uch alluring
colours, to the thoughtle&longs;s and inexperienced.
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“Recollect the favourite air you &longs;o often
&longs;ing:
“Ye fair, who would be ble&longs;s'd in love,
Take your pride a little lower;
Let the &longs;wain that you approve,
Rather like you than adore.
Love that ri&longs;es into pa&longs;&longs;ion,
Soon will end in hate, or &longs;trife;
But from tender inclination
Flow the la&longs;ting joys of life.”
“I by no means undervalue that love which is
the noble&longs;t principle of the human mind; but
wi&longs;h only to guard you again&longs;t the influence of
an ill-placed and ungovernable pa&longs;&longs;ion, which is
improperly called by this name.
“A union, formed without a refined and generous
affection for its ba&longs;is, mu&longs;t be devoid of
tho&longs;e tender endearments, reciprocal attentions,
and engaging &longs;ympathies, which are peculiarly
nece&longs;&longs;ary to alleviate the cares, di&longs;pel the sorrows,
and &longs;often the pains of life. The exerci&longs;e
of that prudence and caution which I have
recommended, will lead you to a thorough
inve&longs;tigation of the character and views of the
man by whom you are addre&longs;&longs;ed.
“Without good principles, both of religion and
morality, (for the latter cannot exi&longs;t independent
of the former) you cannot &longs;afely rely, either
upon his fidelity or his affection. Good principles
are the foundation of a good life.
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“If the fountain be pure, the &longs;treams which
i&longs;&longs;ue from it will be of the &longs;ame de&longs;cription.
“Next to this, an amiable temper is e&longs;&longs;entially
requi&longs;ite. A proud, a pa&longs;&longs;ionate, a revengeful,
a malicious, or a jealous temper, will render
your lives uncomfortable, in &longs;pite of all the prudence
and fortitude you can exert.
“Beware, then, left, before marriage, love blind
your eyes to tho&longs;e defects, to a &longs;ight of which,
grief and di&longs;appointment may awaken you afterwards.
You are to con&longs;ider marriage as a connexion
for life; as the neare&longs;t and deare&longs;t of
all human relations; as involving in it the happiness
or mi&longs;ery of all your days; and as
engaging you in a variety of cares and duties,
hitherto unknown. Act, therefore, with deliberation,
and re&longs;olve with caution: but, when
once you have come to a choice, behave with
undeviating rectitude and &longs;incerity.
“Avarice is not commonly a ruling pa&longs;&longs;ion in
young per&longs;ons of our &longs;ex. Yet &longs;ome there are,
&longs;ordid enough to con&longs;ider wealth as the chief
good, and to &longs;acrifice every other object to a
&longs;plendid appearance. It often happens, that
the&longs;e are mi&longs;erably di&longs;appointed in their expectations
of happine&longs;s. They find, by dear-bought
experience, that external pomp is but a wretched
&longs;ub&longs;titute for internal &longs;atisfaction.
“But I would not have outward circum&longs;tances
entirely overlooked. A proper regard &longs;hould
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always be had to a comfortable &longs;ub&longs;i&longs;tence in
life. Nor can you be ju&longs;tified in &longs;uffering a blind
pa&longs;&longs;ion, under whatever pretext, to involve you in
tho&longs;e embarra&longs;&longs;ing di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;es of want, which will
elude the remedies of love it&longs;elf, and prove fatal
to the peace and happine&longs;s at which you aim.
“In this momentous affair, let the advice and
opinion of judicious friends have their ju&longs;t weight
in your minds. Di&longs;cover, with candor and frankness,
the progre&longs;s of your amour, &longs;o far as is necessary
to enable them to judge aright in the cau&longs;e;
but never relate the love-tales of your &longs;uitor,
merely for your own, or any other per&longs;on's
amu&longs;ement. The tender themes, in&longs;pired by
love, may be plea&longs;ing to you; but, to an uninterested
per&longs;on, mu&longs;t be in&longs;ipid and di&longs;gu&longs;ting, in
the extreme.
“Never boa&longs;t of the number, nor of the professions
of your admirers. That betrays an
un&longs;ufferable vanity, and will render you perfectly
ridiculous in the e&longs;timation of ob&longs;ervers. Besides,
it is a mo&longs;t ungenerous treatment of tho&longs;e
who may have entertained, and expre&longs;&longs;ed a regard
for you. Whatever they have &longs;aid upon this
&longs;ubject, was doubtle&longs;s in confidence, and you
ought to keep it &longs;acred, as a &longs;ecret you have no
right to divulge.
“If you di&longs;approve the per&longs;on, and reject his
&longs;uit, that will be &longs;ufficiently mortifying, without
adding the in&longs;ult of expo&longs;ing his overtures.
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“Be very careful to di&longs;tingui&longs;h real lovers from
mere gallants. Think not every man enamoured
with you, who is polite and attentive. You
have no right to &longs;uppo&longs;e any man in love with
you, till he declares it in plain, unequivocal,
and decent terms.
“Never &longs;uffer, with impunity, your ear to be
wounded by indelicate expre&longs;&longs;ions, double entendres,
and infinuating attempts to &longs;educe you from
the path of rectitude. True love will not &longs;eek
to degrade its object, much le&longs;s to undermine
that virtue which ought to be its ba&longs;is and support.
Let no prote&longs;tations induce you to believe
that per&longs;on your friend, who would de&longs;troy your
deare&longs;t intere&longs;ts, and rob you of innocence and
peace. Give no heed to the language of seduction;
but repel the in&longs;idious arts of the libertine,
with the dignity and deci&longs;ion of in&longs;ulted virtue.
This practice will rai&longs;e you &longs;uperior to the
wiles of deceivers, and render you invulnerable
by the &longs;pecious flattery of the unprincipled and
debauched.
“Think not the libertine worthy of your company
and conver&longs;ation, even as an acquaintance.
“That reformed rakes make the be&longs;t hu&longs;bands,”
is a common, and I am &longs;orry to &longs;ay, a too generally
received maxim. Yet I cannot conceive,
that any lady, who values, or properly con&longs;iders
her own happine&longs;s, will venture on the dangerous
experiment. The term reformed can, in my
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opinion, have very little weight; &longs;ince tho&longs;e,
who&longs;e principles are vitiated, and who&longs;e minds
are deba&longs;ed by a cour&longs;e of debauchery and exce&longs;s,
&longs;eldom change their pur&longs;uits, till nece&longs;&longs;ity, or
intere&longs;t requires it; and, however circum&longs;tances
may alter or re&longs;train their conduct, very little
dependence can be placed on men who&longs;e disposition
is &longs;till the &longs;ame, but only prevented from
indulgence by prudential motives. As a rake is
mo&longs;t conver&longs;ant with the di&longs;&longs;olute and abandoned
of both &longs;exes, he doubtle&longs;s forms his opinion of
others by the &longs;tandard to which he has been
accu&longs;tomed, and therefore &longs;uppo&longs;es all women
of the &longs;ame de&longs;cription. Having been hackneyed
in the arts of the ba&longs;er &longs;ort, he cannot form an
idea, that any are in reality &longs;uperior to them.
This renders him habitually jealous, peevi&longs;h, and
tyrannical. Even if his vicious inclinations be
changed, his having pa&longs;&longs;ed his be&longs;t days in
vice and folly, renders him a very un&longs;uitable
companion for a per&longs;on of delicacy and resinement.
“But whatever inducements &longs;ome ladies may
have to ri&longs;k them&longs;elves with tho&longs;e who have
the reputation of being reformed, it is truly surprising
that any &longs;hould be &longs;o incon&longs;iderate as to
unite with &longs;uch as are &longs;till pro&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed libertines.
What hopes of happine&longs;s can be formed with
men of this character?
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“Vice and virtue can never a&longs;&longs;imilate; and
hearts divided by them can never coale&longs;ce. The
former is the parent of di&longs;cord, di&longs;ea&longs;e, and death;
the latter, of harmony, health, and peace. A
hou&longs;e divided again&longs;t it&longs;elf cannot &longs;tand; much
le&longs;s can dome&longs;tic &longs;elicity &longs;ub&longs;i&longs;t between &longs;uch
contra&longs;ted di&longs;po&longs;itions.
“But however negligent or mi&longs;taken many
women of real merit may be, relative to their
own intere&longs;t, I cannot but wi&longs;h they would pay
&longs;ome regard to the honor and dignity of their
&longs;ex. Cu&longs;tom only has rendered vice more odious
in a woman than in a man. And &longs;hall we
give our &longs;anction to a cu&longs;tom, &longs;o unju&longs;t and destructive
in its operation; a cu&longs;tom which invites
and encourages the enemies of &longs;ociety to
&longs;eek our ruin? Were tho&longs;e who glory in the
&longs;eduction of innocence, to meet with the contempt
they de&longs;erve, and to be pointedly neglected
by every female of virtue, they would be
a&longs;hamed of their evil practices, and impelled to
relinqui&longs;h their injurious de&longs;igns.
“But while they are received and care&longs;&longs;ed in
the be&longs;t companies, they find re&longs;traint altogether
needle&longs;s; and their being men of &longs;pirit and gallantry
(as they &longs;tyle them&longs;elves) is rather a recommendation
than a reproach!
“I cannot help blu&longs;hing with indignation,
when I &longs;ee a lady of &longs;en&longs;e and character
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gallanted and entertained by a man who ought to
be bani&longs;hed &longs;ociety, for having ruined the peace
of families, and bla&longs;ted the reputation of many,
who, but for him, might have been u&longs;eful and
happy in the world; but who, by his in&longs;idious
arts, are plunged into remedile&longs;s in&longs;ignificance,
di&longs;grace, and mi&longs;ery.”
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“Having given you my &longs;entiments on
a variety of &longs;ubjects which demand your particular
attention, I come now to the clo&longs;ing and
mo&longs;t important theme; and that is Religion.
The virtuous education which you have received,
and the good principles which have been in&longs;tilled
into your minds from infancy, will render the
enforcement of Chri&longs;tian precepts and duties a
plea&longs;ing le&longs;&longs;on.
“Religion is to be con&longs;idered as an e&longs;&longs;ential
and durable object; not as the embelli&longs;hment of
a day; but an acqui&longs;ition which &longs;hall endure and
increa&longs;e through the endle&longs;s ages of eternity.
“Lay the foundation of it in youth, and it
will not for&longs;ake you in advanced age; but furnish
you with an adequate &longs;ub&longs;titute for the transient
plea&longs;ures which will then de&longs;ert you; and
prove a &longs;ource of rational and re&longs;ined delight; a
refuge from the di&longs;appointments and corroding
cares of life, and from the depre&longs;&longs;ions of adver&longs;e
events. “Remember now your Creator, in the
days of your youth, while the evil days come not,
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nor the years draw nigh, when you &longs;hall &longs;ay, we
have no plea&longs;ure in them.” If you wi&longs;h for
permanent happine&longs;s, cultivate the divine favour
as your highe&longs;t enjoyment in life, and your &longs;afe&longs;t
retreat when death &longs;hall approach you.
“That even the young are not exempt from
the arre&longs;t of this univer&longs;al conqueror, the tombstone
of Amelia will tell you. Youth, beauty,
health and fortune, &longs;trewed the path of life with
flowers, and left her no wi&longs;h ungratified. Love,
with its gentle&longs;t and pure&longs;t flame, animated her
heart, and was equally returned by Julius.
Their pa&longs;&longs;ion was approved by their parents and
friends; the day was fixed, and preparations
were making for the celebration of their nuptials.
At this period, Amelia was attacked by a
violent cold, which, &longs;eating on her lungs, baffled
the &longs;kill of the mo&longs;t eminent phy&longs;icians, and terminated
in a confirmed hectic. She perceived
her di&longs;order to be incurable, and with inexpressible
regret and concern anticipated her approaching
di&longs;&longs;olution. She had enjoyed life too highly
to think much of death; yet die &longs;he mu&longs;t!
“Oh,” &longs;aid &longs;he, “that I had prepared, while in
health and at ea&longs;e, for this awful event! Then
&longs;hould I not be &longs;ubjected to the keene&longs;t di&longs;tre&longs;s of
mind, in addition to the mo&longs;t painful infirmities
of body! Then &longs;hould I be able to look forward
with hope, and to find relief in the con&longs;oling expectation
of being united, beyond the grave,
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with tho&longs;e dear and beloved connexions, which
I mu&longs;t &longs;oon leave behind! Let my companions
and acquaintance learn from me the important
le&longs;&longs;on of improving their time to the be&longs;t of
purpo&longs;es; of acting at once as becomes mortal
and immortal creatures!”
“Hear, my dear pupils, the &longs;oleman admonition,
and be ye al&longs;o ready!
“Too many, e&longs;pecially of the young and gay,
&longs;eem more anxious to live in plea&longs;ure, than to
an&longs;wer the end of their being by the cultivation
of that piety and virtue which will render them
good members of &longs;ociety, u&longs;eful to their friends
and a&longs;&longs;ociates, and partakers of that heart-felt
&longs;atisfaction which re&longs;ults from a con&longs;cience void
of offence both towards God and man.
“This, however, is an egregious mi&longs;take; for
in many &longs;ituations, piety and virtue are our only
&longs;ource of con&longs;olation; and in all, they are peculiarly
friendly to our happine&longs;s.
“Do you exult in beauty, and the pride of
external charms? Turn your eyes, for a moment,
on the mi&longs;erable Flirtilla.[1] Like her, your features
and complexion may be impaired by disease:
and where then will you find a refuge
from mortification and di&longs;content, if de&longs;titute of
tho&longs;e ennobling endowments which can rai&longs;e you
&longs;uperior to the tran&longs;ient graces of a fair form;
if unadorned by that &longs;ub&longs;tantial beauty of mind
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which can not only en&longs;ure re&longs;pect from tho&longs;e
around you, but in&longs;pire you with re&longs;ignation to
the divine will, and a patient acquie&longs;cence in the
mo&longs;t painful allotments of a holy Providence?
Does wealth await your command, and grandeur
with its fa&longs;cinating appendages beguile your
fleeting moments? Recollect, that riches often
make them&longs;elves wings and fly away. A &longs;ingle
in&longs;tance of mi&longs;management; a con&longs;uming fire,
with various other misfortunes which no human
prudence can fore&longs;ee or prevent, may &longs;trip you
of this dependence; and, unle&longs;s you have other
grounds of comfort than earth can boa&longs;t, reduce
you to the mo&longs;t in&longs;upportable wretchedne&longs;s and
de&longs;pair. Are you &longs;urrounded by friends, and
happy in the &longs;ociety of tho&longs;e who are near and
dear to you? Soon may they be wre&longs;ted from
your fond embrace, and con&longs;igned to the mansions
of the dead!
“Whence, then, will you derive &longs;upport, if
unacquainted with that divine Friend, who will
never fail nor for&longs;ake you; who is the &longs;ame
ye&longs;terday, to-day, and forever?
“Health and youth, my dear girls, are the
&longs;ea&longs;ons for improvement. Now you may lay up
a trea&longs;ure which neither &longs;ickne&longs;s nor adver&longs;ity
can impair.
“But the hour of di&longs;tre&longs;s is not the only time,
in which religion will be advantageous to you.
Even in pro&longs;perity, it will prove the be&longs;t &longs;olace,
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and the highe&longs;t ornament of your lives. What
can be more dignified, re&longs;pectable, and lovely,
than the Chri&longs;tian character? The habitual
practice of tho&longs;e duties which the go&longs;pel inculcates
will give lu&longs;tre to your beauty and durability
to your charms. By correcting your passions,
it will improve your joys, endear you to
your friends and connexions, and render you
contented, happy, and u&longs;eful in every &longs;tage and
condition of life.
Religion will not deprive you of temporal enjoyments;
it will heighten and increa&longs;e them.
It will not depre&longs;s, but exhilarate your &longs;pirits.
For it con&longs;i&longs;ts not in a gloomy, mi&longs;anthropic
temper, declining the &longs;ocial and innocent delights
of life; but prepares the mind to partake
with &longs;atisfaction of every plea&longs;ure which rea&longs;on
approves, and which can yield &longs;erenity and peace
in the review. Be not a&longs;hamed then of appearing
religious, and of ri&longs;ing by that mean
above the vain, unthinking crowd.
“Let not the idle je&longs;ts of heedle&longs;s and unprincipled
companions deter you from a &longs;tedfa&longs;t
adherence to the path of truth and righteou&longs;ne&longs;s.
“Follow not the multitude to do evil.” Never
conform to fa&longs;hion, even though it claim the
patronage of politene&longs;s, &longs;o far as to countenance
irreligion in any of its modifications.
“Je&longs;ting upon &longs;acred &longs;ubjects, ridiculing the
profe&longs;&longs;ors of Chri&longs;tianity, light and irreverent
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conduct upon &longs;olemn occa&longs;ions, ought to be cautiously
avoided and decidedly condemned. Too
many girls are &longs;o extremely thoughtle&longs;s as to
carry the levity of their manners even to the
&longs;anctuary; and by whi&longs;pering, winking, tittering,
and other indecent actions, di&longs;play their folly
to their own di&longs;grace, and to the great disgust
of all judicious and &longs;ober people. Such
behaviour is not only offen&longs;ive to the Deity, but
in&longs;ulting to all who would wor&longs;hip him free from
interruption. It is not only an indignity offered to
religion, but a flagrant breach of the rules of good
breeding. Content not your&longs;elves, therefore,
with a bare attendance on the in&longs;titutions of religion;
but conduct with propriety, decorum,
and &longs;eriou&longs;ne&longs;s, while engaged in the &longs;olemn service.
Bear in mind, that you a&longs;&longs;emble with a
profe&longs;&longs;ed purpo&longs;e of paying homage to the Supreme;
and con&longs;ider your&longs;elves as in his immediate
pre&longs;ence!
“The offices of devotion demand your attention
in private, as well as in public.
“Accu&longs;tom your&longs;elves, therefore, to &longs;tated
periods of retirement for meditation and prayer;
and adopt every other mean which is calculated
to keep alive in your minds a due &longs;en&longs;e of
your dependence and obligations, and to inspire
you with that uniform love to God and
benevolence to the human kind, which will prove
your greate&longs;t glory here, as well as your crown
of rejoicing hereafter.”
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THE hour of departure having arrived, on
Monday morning, Mrs. Williams a&longs;&longs;embled with
her pupils; when the regret, vi&longs;ibly depicted on
every countenance, was variou&longs;ly expre&longs;&longs;ed. The
tear of grateful regard &longs;tole &longs;ilently down the
bloomy cheeks of &longs;ome: others betrayed their
&longs;en&longs;ibility by audible &longs;obs, which they could not
repre&longs;s and all united in te&longs;tifying the &longs;en&longs;e
they entertained of the advantages they had received
from Mrs. Williams's tuition, the happine&longs;s
they had enjoyed in each other's &longs;ociety, and
their determination to remember her coun&longs;els,
cultivate continued friend&longs;hip among them&longs;elves,
and endeavour to be worthy of her's.
Mrs. Williams then took an affectionate leave
of each one, and left them with her daughters.
The mo&longs;t cordial good wi&longs;hes were mutually interchanged,
till their carriages received and separated
them.
The friend&longs;hip and unity thus commenced and
confirmed, were never obliterated. They always
cheri&longs;hed the mo&longs;t &longs;incere affection for their Preceptress,
and each other; which they di&longs;played in
an unre&longs;erved and &longs;ocial corre&longs;pondence, both
per&longs;onal and epi&longs;tolary. The re&longs;idence of Mrs.
Williams they denominated Harmony-Grove,
which it ever after retained, and by which it is
de&longs;ignated in the following &longs;election of their
letters.
eaf105.n1[1] See page 52.
-- --
LETTERS.
[figure description] Page 114.[end figure description]
To Mrs. M. WILLIAMS.
Boston.
RESPECTED AND DEAR MADAM,
Conformably to my promi&longs;e, when
I left your abode, the fir&longs;t efforts of my pen are
dedicated to you. The plea&longs;ure which ari&longs;es
from the recollection of your more than maternal
kindne&longs;s to me, e&longs;pecially your unwearied endeavours
to refine and embelli&longs;h my mind, and to
lay the foundation of right principles and practices,
is interwoven with my exi&longs;tence; and no
time or circum&longs;tances can era&longs;e my gratitude.
I arrived la&longs;t evening &longs;afely; and was affectionately
received by my honored parents, and
beloved brothers and &longs;i&longs;ters. The emotions of
regret which I felt in the morning, at the painful
&longs;eparation from you and my dear &longs;chool-mates,
with whom I have lived &longs;o happily, had not wholly
&longs;ub&longs;ided. I could not help li&longs;tening, now and
then, for &longs;ome judicious ob&longs;ervation from my
Preceptre&longs;s; and frequently ca&longs;t my eyes around
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in &longs;earch of &longs;ome of the amiable companions,
among whom I had been u&longs;ed to unbend every
thought.
The &longs;plendor of the apartments gave me ideas
of re&longs;traint that were painful; and I looked
abroad for the green, where we were wont to
gambol, and the lawn where we &longs;o often held our
twilight &longs;ports, and almo&longs;t fancied that we sometimes
caught a glimp&longs;e of the attendant Sylphs
who played around us; but in vain. Stately
domes, crowded &longs;treets, rattling carriages, and
all the noi&longs;e and confu&longs;ion of a commercial city
were &longs;ub&longs;tituted. I retired to bed, and was
awaked in the night by the riotous mirth of a
number of Bachanalians, reeling from the haunts
of intemperance and exce&longs;s.
Alas! &longs;aid I, this is not the æolian harp that
u&longs;ed to &longs;oothe our &longs;lumbers at the boarding &longs;chool.
I compo&longs;ed my&longs;elf again; but awoke at the accustomed
hour of five. I aro&longs;e; and, having
prai&longs;ed my Maker for the pre&longs;ervations of the
night, walked down. Not a living creature was
&longs;tirring in the hou&longs;e.
I took a turn in the garden. Here art &longs;eemed
to reign &longs;o perfectly mi&longs;tre&longs;s, that I was apprehensive
le&longs;t I &longs;hould injure her charms by viewing
them.
I accordingly retired to the &longs;ummer-hou&longs;e, and,
having a book in my hand, &longs;at down and read
till the clock &longs;truck &longs;even. I then thought it
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mu&longs;t be breakfa&longs;t time, and returned to the hou&longs;e;
but was much di&longs;appointed to find none of the
family up, except one man-&longs;ervant and the housemaid,
who had ju&longs;t crept down.
They appeared perfectly a&longs;toni&longs;hed to &longs;ee me
come in from abroad; and the girl re&longs;pectfully
inquired if indi&longs;po&longs;ition had occa&longs;ioned my rising
&longs;o early. I told her no; that the wi&longs;h to
pre&longs;erve my health had called me up two hours
before. Well, rejoined &longs;he, you will not find any
body to keep you company here, for two hours
to come. I was chagrined at the information,
and a&longs;ked her for a bowl of milk, it being pa&longs;t
my u&longs;ual breakfa&longs;t time. The milk man had ju&longs;t
arrived, and I drank &longs;ome; but it had lo&longs;t its
flavour on the road. It was not like that which
was &longs;erved us at Harmony-Grove. I &longs;tepped to
the harp&longs;ichord, and having &longs;ung and played a
morning hymn, returned to my chamber, where,
taking my work, I &longs;at down by the window to
view the li&longs;tle&longs;s tribe of yawning mortals who
were beginning to thicken in the &longs;treets. One
half of the&longs;e appeared to be dragged forth by necessity,
rather than any inclination to enjoy the
beauties of a fine morning.
At nine, I was &longs;ummoned into the parlour to
breakfa&longs;t. My &longs;i&longs;ters gently chid me for disturbing
their repo&longs;e with my mu&longs;ic. I excu&longs;ed myself
by alleging that I had been &longs;o long
-- 117 --
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accustomed to early ri&longs;ing that I &longs;hould find it difficult
to alter the habit.
Here, madam, you have an account of my fir&longs;t
night and morning's occupation. Were I to proceed
with every new occurrence, through the
year, and &longs;ubjoin my own remarks, I mu&longs;t write
volumes in&longs;tead of letters.
Plea&longs;e to communicate this &longs;croll to your amiable
daughters, and remind them of their promise
to write.
A line from Harmony-Grove would be a luxury
to me:
Meanwhile, permit me &longs;till to &longs;ub&longs;cribe myself,
with the utmo&longs;t re&longs;pect, your grateful pupil,
HARRIOT HENLY.
-- 118 --
To Mi&longs;s MATILDA FIELDING.
Boston.
DEAR MATILDA,
[figure description] Page 118.[end figure description]
I DID not intend, when we parted at the
boarding &longs;chool, that a whole month &longs;hould have
elap&longs;ed without bearing you &longs;ome te&longs;timony of
my continued friend&longs;hip and affection; but &longs;o
numerous have been my avocations, and &longs;o various
my engagements, that I have &longs;carcely called
a moment my own &longs;ince I returned home.
Having been from town a year, I was con&longs;idered
as too antique to appear in company abroad, till
I had been perfectly metamorpho&longs;ed. Every part
of my habit has undergone a complete change, in
conformity to the pre&longs;ent fa&longs;hion. It was with
extreme regret that I parted with the neatne&longs;s
and &longs;implicity of my country dre&longs;s; which, according
to my ideas of mode&longs;ty, was more becoming.
But, I tru&longs;t, this alteration of appearance
will have no tendency to alienate tho&longs;e
&longs;entiments from my heart, which I imbibed
under the tuition of Mrs. Williams.
I went, la&longs;t evening, to the a&longs;&longs;embly; but
though dazzled, I was by no means charmed, by
the glare of finery and tin&longs;elled decorations that
were di&longs;played.
There were &longs;ome ladies, who&longs;e gentility and
fa&longs;hionable dre&longs;s were evidently the product of
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a correct ta&longs;te; but others were &longs;o di&longs;gui&longs;ed by
tawdry gewgaws, as to di&longs;gu&longs;t me exceedingly.
Mrs. Williams u&longs;ed to &longs;ay, that the dre&longs;s was
indicative of the mind. If this ob&longs;ervation be
ju&longs;t, what opinion am I to form of the gay multitudes
who trip along the &longs;treets, and throng the
places of public re&longs;ort in this metropolis; the
lightne&longs;s and gaudine&longs;s of who&longs;e appearance,
be&longs;peak a &longs;ickly ta&longs;te, to &longs;ay no more!
I am furni&longs;hed with feathers, flowers, and
ribbons, in profu&longs;ion. I &longs;hall, however, u&longs;e
them very &longs;paringly; and though I would not
be entirely &longs;ingular, yet I mu&longs;t in&longs;i&longs;t on consulting
my own fancy a little, and cannot willingly
&longs;acrifice my own opinion to the capricious whims
of fa&longs;hion, and her devotees. My aunt Laurence,
who, you know, is extravagantly genteel, is
making us a vi&longs;it. She laughs very heartily at
my &longs;illy notions, as &longs;he calls them, and &longs;tyles me
a novice in the ways of the world; but hopes,
notwith&longs;tanding, that I &longs;hall acquire a better
ta&longs;te, when I am more acquainted with fashionable
life. That I may be much improved by a
more exten&longs;ive knowledge of the world, I doubt
not; yet may I never be corrupted by that levity
and folly, which are too prevalent among a part
of my &longs;ex.
I will not, however, cen&longs;ure and condemn
others; but attend to my&longs;elf and be humble.
Adieu.
LAURA GUILFORD.
-- 120 --
To Mi&longs;s MATILDA FIELDING.
Harmony-Grove.
DEAR MATILDA,
[figure description] Page 120.[end figure description]
The tear of regret for your departure is
&longs;carcely dried from the cheek of your Maria;
and the plea&longs;ing remembrance of the happine&longs;s
I have enjoyed in your &longs;ociety is accompanied
with a &longs;igh, whenever I reflect that it exi&longs;ts
no more.
My mamma has often ob&longs;erved, that tho&longs;e
friend&longs;hips which are formed in youth, provided
they be well founded, are the mo&longs;t &longs;incere, lively,
and durable. I am &longs;ure that the ardency of mine
can never abate; my affectionate regards for you
can never decay.
We have another cla&longs;s of boarders; but you
and your amiable companions had &longs;o entirely engrossed
my confidence and e&longs;teem, that I &longs;hall
find it difficult to transfer them, in any degree,
to others. The &longs;en&longs;ations of Anna are very
different, though &longs;he is capable of the mo&longs;t
refined friend&longs;hip. The natural vivacity, and, as
I tell her, the volatility of her di&longs;po&longs;ition, renders
a variety of a&longs;&longs;ociates plea&longs;ing to her.
In order to recal your ideas to the exerci&longs;es
of Harmony-Grove, I enclo&longs;e the &longs;allies of my
pen for this morning, fully a&longs;&longs;ured of your candour
and genero&longs;ity in the peru&longs;al.
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Pray omit no opportunity of writing, and favour
me with your ob&longs;ervations on the polite
world. I &longs;hall receive every line as a pledge of
your continued love to your
MARIA WILLIAMS.
An ODE on SPRING.
Enclo&longs;ed in the preceding Letter.
Hail, delight-re&longs;toring Spring!
Balmy plea&longs;ures with thee bring;
Aromatic gales di&longs;pen&longs;e,
Mi&longs;ty vapours bani&longs;h hence.
Blithe the jocund hinds appear,
Joy &longs;upports returning care,
Mirth the ready hand attends,
Plea&longs;ing hope the toil befriends.
Hark! the &longs;hady groves re&longs;ound,
Love and prai&longs;e re-echo round;
Mu&longs;ic floats in every gale,
Peace and harmony prevail.
Here no &longs;tormy pa&longs;&longs;ions ri&longs;e;
Here no feuds impede our joys;
Here ambition never roams,
Pride or envy never comes.
Come, Matilda; ruddy morn
Tempts us o'er the &longs;pacious lawn;
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Spring's reviving charms invite
Every &longs;en&longs;e to ta&longs;te delight.
Such delights as never cloy,
Health and innocence enjoy.
Youth's the &longs;pring-time of our years,
Short the rapid &longs;cene appears:
Let's improve the fleeting hours!
Virtue's noble&longs;t fruits be ours.
-- 123 --
To Mi&longs;s CAROLINE LITTLETON.
Boston.
[figure description] Page 123.[end figure description]
You have left—you have for&longs;aken me,
Caroline! But I will haunt you with my letters;
obtrude my&longs;elf upon your remembrance;
and extort from you the continuance of your
friend&longs;hip!
What do I &longs;ay? Obtrude and extort! Can
the&longs;e har&longs;h words be u&longs;ed when I am addre&longs;&longs;ing
the generous and faithful Caroline?
But you have often encouraged my eccentricities
by your &longs;mile, and mu&longs;t therefore &longs;till indulge
them.
Nature has furni&longs;hed me with a gay disposition;
and happy is it for me, that a lax education
has not &longs;trengthened the folly too commonly
ari&longs;ing from it.
Mrs. Williams's in&longs;tructions were very seasonably
interpo&longs;ed to impre&longs;s my mind with a &longs;en&longs;e
of virtue and propriety. I tru&longs;t they have had
the de&longs;ired effect; and that they will prove the
guardian of my youth, and the directory of maturer
age. How often has the dear, good woman
taken me into her chamber, and reminded
me of indecorums of which I was uncon&longs;cious
at the time; but thankful afterwards that they
had not e&longs;caped her judicious eye; as her observations
tended to rectify my errors, and render
-- 124 --
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me more cautious and circum&longs;pct in future.
How &longs;alutary is advice like her's; conveyed, not
with the dogmatic air of &longs;upercilious wi&longs;dom;
but with the conde&longs;cending ea&longs;e and &longs;oothing
kindne&longs;s of an affectionate parent, anxiou&longs;ly
concerned for the be&longs;t good of tho&longs;e under her
care!
I was very happy at Harmony-Grove; and
the re&longs;ult of that happine&longs;s, I hope, will accompany
me through life.
Yet I find the gaiety of the town adapted to
my ta&longs;te; nor does even Mrs. Williams condemn
the enjoyment of its plea&longs;ures.
I was, la&longs;t evening, at a ball; and I a&longs;&longs;ure
you, the attention I gained, and the gallantry
di&longs;played to attract my notice and approbation,
were very flattering to my vanity; though I
could not forbear inwardly &longs;miling at the futile
arts of the pretty fellows who exhibited them.
Their &longs;peeches appeared to have been &longs;o long
practi&longs;ed, that I was on the point of advi&longs;ing
them to exerci&longs;e their genius, if they had any,
in the invention of &longs;omething new. But a polite
conformity to the ton re&longs;trained my &longs;atire,
Adieu.
JULIA GREENFIELD.
-- 125 --
To Mi&longs;s CLEORA PARTRIDGE.
Newbury-Port.
[figure description] Page 125.[end figure description]
I AM di&longs;appointed and di&longs;plea&longs;ed, Cleora!
I have long been anxious to procure the Marchioness
de Sevignè's letters, having often heard
them mentioned as &longs;tandards of ta&longs;te and elegance
in the epi&longs;tolary way. This excited my
curio&longs;ity, and rai&longs;ed my hopes of finding a rich
entertainment of wit and &longs;entiment. I have
peru&longs;ed, and peru&longs;ed in vain; for they an&longs;wer
not my ideas of either. They are replete with
local circum&longs;tances, which, to indifferent readers,
are neither amu&longs;ing nor intere&longs;ting. True,
the &longs;tyle is ea&longs;y and &longs;prightly; but they are
chiefly compo&longs;ed of family matters, &longs;uch as relate
to her own movements and tho&longs;e of her
daughter; many of which are of too trifling a
nature to be ranked in the cla&longs;s of elegant writing.
I own my&longs;elf, however, not a competent
judge of their merit as a whole, even in my own
e&longs;timation; for I have read the two fir&longs;t volumes
only.
That letters ought to be written with the familiarity
of per&longs;onal conver&longs;ation, I allow; yet
many &longs;uch conver&longs;ations, even between per&longs;ons
of ta&longs;te and refinement, are unworthy the public
attention.
-- 126 --
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Equal was my chagrin, not long &longs;ince, on
reading Pope's letters. He, &longs;aid I to my&longs;elf,
who bears the palm from all contemporary poets,
and who is &longs;o con&longs;ummate a ma&longs;ter of this
divine art, mu&longs;t &longs;urely furni&longs;h a &longs;ource of superior
entertainment, when he de&longs;cends to friendly
and &longs;ocial communications.
Indeed, there are good &longs;entiments and judicious
ob&longs;ervations, inter&longs;per&longs;ed in his letters;
but the greater part of them have little other
merit than what ari&longs;es from the &longs;tyle.
Perhaps you will charge me with arrogance,
for pre&longs;uming to critici&longs;e, much more to condemn,
publications which have &longs;o long been sanctioned
by general approbation. Independent in
opinion, I write it without re&longs;erve, and cen&longs;ure
not any one who thinks differently. Give me
your &longs;entiments with the &longs;ame freedom upon the
books which you honor with a peru&longs;al, and you
will oblige your affectionate
CAROLINE LITTLETON.
-- 127 --
To Mi&longs;s CAROLINE LITTLETON.
Salem.
DEAR CAROLINE,
[figure description] Page 127.[end figure description]
I RECEIVED your's with tho&longs;e lively sensations
of plea&longs;ure which your favours always afford.
As I was peru&longs;ing it, my papa came into the
room. He took it out of my hand, and read it;
then returning it with the &longs;mile of approbation;
I think, &longs;aid he, that your corre&longs;pondent has
played the critic very well. Has &longs;he played it justly,
Sir? &longs;aid I. Why, it is a long time, &longs;aid he,
&longs;ince I read the Marchione&longs;s de Sevignè's letters.
I am not, therefore, a judge of their merit.
But, with regard to Pope, I blame not the &longs;ex
for retaliating upon him; for he always treated
them &longs;atirically I believe revenge was no part
of my friend's plan, &longs;aid I. She is far &longs;uperior
to &longs;o malignant a pa&longs;&longs;ion; though, were &longs;he capable
of &longs;eeking it, it would be in behalf of her &longs;ex.
Company now coming in, the conver&longs;ation
&longs;hifted.
I have often &longs;miled at the pitiful wit of tho&longs;e
&longs;atiri&longs;ts and e&longs;&longs;ayifts who lavi&longs;h abundant eloquence
on trifling foibles, the mere whims of a
day; and of no con&longs;equence to the body natural,
moral, or political. The exten&longs;ion of a
hoop, the contraction of the wai&longs;t, or the elevation
of the head-dre&longs;s, frequently afford matter
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[figure description] Page 128.[end figure description]
for pages of elaborate di&longs;cu&longs;&longs;ion. The&longs;e reformers,
too, always aim at the good of our &longs;ex! I
think it a great pity they do not lop off &longs;ome of
their own exuberant follies; though, perhaps,
they wi&longs;h us to exchange labours; and, in return
for their benevolent exertions, that we endeavour
to expo&longs;e and correct their errors. I
have &longs;ometimes thought their &longs;atire to be tinctured
with malice; and that the cau&longs;e of their
di&longs;affection may generally be found in per&longs;onal
re&longs;entment. Had Pope and his coadjutors been
favourites with the ladies, I doubt not but they
would have found more excellencies in them
than they have ever yet allowed.
I have lately been reading the generous and
polite Fitzo&longs;borne's letters; and I need not tell
you how much I was plea&longs;ed and charmed with
them.
The ju&longs;tne&longs;s of his &longs;entiments, and the ea&longs;e
and elegance of his diction are at once interesting
and improving. His letter and ode to his
wife on the anniver&longs;ary of their marriage, surpass
any thing of the kind I have ever read.
I verily think, that, had I the offer of a heart
capable of dicting &longs;uch manly tenderne&longs;s of
expre&longs;&longs;ion, and &longs;uch pathetic energy of generous
love, I &longs;hould be willing to give my hand in return,
and affent to tho&longs;e &longs;olemn words, “love,
honor, and—(I had almo&longs;t &longs;aid) obey.” Adieu.
CLEORA PARTRIDGE.
-- 129 --
To Mi&longs;s CLEORA PARTRIDGE.
Newbury-Port.
DEAR CLEORA,
[figure description] Page 129.[end figure description]
I AGREE with you, that the habits of the
weak and vain are too in&longs;ignificant to employ
the pens of tho&longs;e, who&longs;e literary talents might
produce great and good effects in the political,
moral, and religious &longs;tate of things. Were absurd
fa&longs;hions adopted only by tho&longs;e who&longs;e frivolity
renders them the dupes of folly, and who&longs;e
example can have no effect on the con&longs;iderate
and judicious part of the community, I &longs;hould
think them below the attention of &longs;tate&longs;men,
philo&longs;ophers, and divines: but this is not the
ca&longs;e. The votaries and the inventors of the
mo&longs;t fanta&longs;tical fa&longs;hions are found in the ranks
of, what is called, refined and poli&longs;hed &longs;ociety;
from whom we might hope for examples of elegance
and propriety, both in dre&longs;s and behaviour.
By the&longs;e, luxury and extravagance are sanctioned.
Their influence upon the poorer cla&longs;s is
increa&longs;ed; who, emulous of imitating their superiors,
think that the mo&longs;t eligible appearance,
(however beyond their income, or un&longs;uitable to
their circum&longs;tances and condition in life) which
is preferred and countenanced by their wealthier
neighbours.
-- 130 --
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Ab&longs;urd and expen&longs;ive fa&longs;hions, then, are injurious
to &longs;ociety at large, and require &longs;ome
check; and why is not &longs;atire levelled again&longs;t
them, laudable in its de&longs;ign, and likely to produce
a good effect? Adieu.
CAROLINE LITTLETON.
-- 131 --
To Mi&longs;s MATILDA FIELDING.
Harmony-Grove.
DEAR MATILDA,
[figure description] Page 131.[end figure description]
Notwithstanding the coldne&longs;s of
the &longs;ea&longs;on, every heart &longs;eems to be enlivened, and
every mind exhilarated by the anniver&longs;ary of the
new year. Why this day is &longs;o peculiarly marked
out for congratulations, I &longs;hall not now inquire;
but in compliance with the prevailing
cu&longs;tom of expre&longs;&longs;ing good wi&longs;hes on the occasion,
&longs;end you mine in a &longs;cribble.
Early I greet the opening year,
While friend&longs;hip bids the mu&longs;e appear,
To wi&longs;h Matilda ble&longs;s'd.
The mu&longs;e, devoid of &longs;elfi&longs;h art,
Obeys the dictates of a heart,
Which warms a friendly brea&longs;t.
The rolling earth again has run
Her annual circuit round the &longs;un,
And whirl'd the year away:
She now her wonted cour&longs;e renews,
Her orbit's track again pur&longs;ues;
Nor feels the lea&longs;t decay.
How &longs;oon the fleeting hours are gone!
The rapid wheels of time glide on,
Which bring the &longs;ea&longs;ons round.
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Winter di&longs;robes the &longs;miling plain,
But &longs;pring re&longs;tores its charms again,
And decks the fertile ground.
The &longs;weet returns of cheerful May
Come with a vivifying ray,
In&longs;pring new delight:
Beclad with every various charm
To plea&longs;e the eye, the fancy warm,
And animate the &longs;ight.
But youth no kind renewal knows;
Swiftly the blooming &longs;ea&longs;on goes,
And brings the fro&longs;t of age!
No more the vernal &longs;un appears,
To gild the painful round of years,
And wintry damps affuage!
With rapid ha&longs;te the moments fly
Which you and I, my friend, enjoy;
And they return no more!
Then let us wi&longs;ely now improve
The downy moments, as they rove,
Which nature can't re&longs;tore.
O Source of wi&longs;dom! we implore
Thy aid to guide us &longs;afely o'er
The &longs;lippery paths of youth:
O deign to lend a &longs;teady ray
To point the &longs;ure, the certain way
To honor and to truth!
Let thy unerring influence &longs;hed
Its ble&longs;&longs;ings on Matilda's head,
While piety and peace,
-- 133 --
[figure description] Page 133.[end figure description]
Thy genuine offspring, round her wait,
And guard her thro' this tran&longs;ient &longs;tate,
To joys that never cea&longs;e!
May con&longs;tant health its charms extend,
And fortune every ble&longs;&longs;ing lend,
To crown each pa&longs;&longs;ing day:
May plea&longs;ures in &longs;ucce&longs;&longs;ion &longs;hine,
And every heart-felt bli&longs;s be thine,
Without the lea&longs;t allay.
MARIA WILLIAMS.
-- 134 --
To Mi&longs;s CLEORA PARTRIDGE.
Boston.
DEAR CLEORA,
[figure description] Page 134.[end figure description]
I HAVE this week engaged in the celebration
of the nuptials of my friend, Amanda South.
A &longs;plendid wedding, a gay company, an elegant
&longs;upper, and a magnificent ball, were the &longs;um of
our entertainment.
I imagine &longs;uch exhilarating &longs;cenes de&longs;igned to
di&longs;pel the anxiety and thoughtfulne&longs;s, which every
reflecting per&longs;on mu&longs;t feel on this &longs;olemn
occa&longs;ion. This untried &longs;tate pre&longs;ents to the apprehensive
mind &longs;uch a variety of new cares and
duties, that cheerfulne&longs;s, fe&longs;tivity, and hilarity
&longs;eem nece&longs;&longs;ary to bani&longs;h the thought of them,
&longs;o far as to render a delicate and &longs;en&longs;ible female
&longs;ufficiently compo&longs;ed to conduct with propriety.
But I mu&longs;t confe&longs;s, that, were I called to the
trial, I &longs;hould choo&longs;e to retire from the observation
of tho&longs;e indifferent and unfeeling &longs;pectators,
to whom the blu&longs;hing mode&longs;ty of a bride is often
a pa&longs;time.
Indeed, Cleora, when we look around the
world and ob&longs;erve the great number of unhappy
marriages, which were contracted with the brightest
pro&longs;pects, yet, from &longs;ome un&longs;ore&longs;een cau&longs;e,
have involved the parties in wretchedne&longs;s for life,
we may well indulge a diffidence of our own
-- 135 --
[figure description] Page 135.[end figure description]
abilities to di&longs;charge the duties of the &longs;tation, and
be &longs;olicitous that our future companion &longs;hould
in all re&longs;pects be qualified to a&longs;&longs;i&longs;t in bearing the
burdens of the conjugal &longs;tate.
Experience only can determine how far we
are right in the judgment we form of our&longs;elves,
and of the per&longs;on of our choice. So many are
the deceptions which love and court&longs;hip impo&longs;e
upon their votaries, that I believe it very difficult
for the parties concerned to judge impartially, or
to di&longs;cern faults, where they look only for virtues.
Hence they are &longs;o frequently mi&longs;led in their opinions,
and find, too late, the errors into which they
have been betrayed.
When do you come to Bo&longs;ton, Cleora? I am
impatient for your &longs;ociety; becau&longs;e your friendship
is void of flattery, and your &longs;incerity and
cheerfulne&longs;s are always agreeable and advantageous.
Adieu.
HARRIOT HENLY.
-- 136 --
To Mi&longs;s
HARRIOT HENLY.
Salem.
[figure description] Page 136.[end figure description]
Indeed, Harriot, I open your letters with
as much gravity as I would a &longs;ermon; you have
&longs;uch a knack of moralizing upon every event!
What mortal el&longs;e would feel &longs;erious and sentimental
at a wedding? Po&longs;itively, you &longs;hall not
come to mine. Your pre&longs;ence, I fear, would
put &longs;uch a re&longs;traint upon me, as to render me
quite fooli&longs;h and awkward in my appearance.
However, I mu&longs;t acknowledge it a weighty affair;
and what you &longs;ay has, perhaps, too much
truth in it to be je&longs;ted with. I believe, therefore,
we had better re&longs;olve not to ri&longs;k the consequences
of a wrong choice, or imprudent conduct;
but wi&longs;ely devote our&longs;elves to celibacy.
I am &longs;ure we &longs;hould make a couple of very clever
old maids. If you agree to this propo&longs;ition,
we will begin in &longs;ea&longs;on to accu&longs;tom our&longs;elves to
the virtues and habits of a &longs;ingle life. By observing
what is ami&longs;s in the conduct of others in
the &longs;ame &longs;tate, and avoiding their errors, I doubt
not but we may bring even the title into repute.
In this way we &longs;hall be u&longs;eful to many of our
own &longs;ex, though I am aware it would be a mo&longs;t
grievous di&longs;pen&longs;ation to a couple of the other;
but no matter for that.
-- 137 --
[figure description] Page 137.[end figure description]
The world needs &longs;ome &longs;uch examples as we
might become; and if we can be in&longs;trumental
of retrieving old-maidi&longs;m from the imputation of
ill-nature, oddity, and many other mortifying
charges, which are now brought again&longs;t it, I
believe we &longs;hall &longs;ave many a good girl from an
unequal and unhappy marriage. It might have
a &longs;alutary effect on the other &longs;ex too. Finding
the ladies independent in &longs;entiment, they would
be impelled to greater circum&longs;pection of conduct
to merit their favour.
You &longs;ee that my benevolence is exten&longs;ive. I
wi&longs;h to become a general reformer. What &longs;ay
you to my plan, Harriot? If you approve it,
di&longs;mi&longs;s your long train of admirers immediately,
and act not the part of a coquette, by retaining
them out of pride or vanity. We mu&longs;t ri&longs;e
above &longs;uch narrow views, and let the world
know that we act from principle, if we mean to
do good by our example. I &longs;hall continue to
receive the addre&longs;&longs;es of this &longs;ame Junius, till I
hear that you have acceded to my propo&longs;al;
and then, di&longs;play my fortitude by renouncing a
connexion which mu&longs;t be doubtful as to the
i&longs;&longs;ue, and will certainly expo&longs;e me to the mortification
of being looked at, when I am married.
Farewell.
CLEORA PARTRIDGE.
-- 138 --
To Mi&longs;s CAROLINE LITTLETON.
Boston.
DEAR CAROLINE,
[figure description] Page 138.[end figure description]
I HAVE ju&longs;t returned from a rural excursion,
where, in the thicket of a grove, I enjoyed
all the luxury of &longs;olitude. The &longs;un had nearly
fini&longs;hed his diurnal cour&longs;e, and was leaving our
hemi&longs;phere to illuminate the other with his
cheering rays.
The &longs;prightly &longs;ong&longs;ters had retired to their
bowers, and were di&longs;tending their little throats
with a tribute of in&longs;tinctive gratitude and prai&longs;e.
The vocal &longs;trains re-echoed from tree to tree,
and invited me to join the re&longs;pon&longs;ive notes. My
heart expanded with devotion and benevolence.
I wi&longs;hed the whole human kind to &longs;hare the feelings
and the happine&longs;s which I enjoyed; while
the inanimate creation around &longs;eemed to partake
of my &longs;atisfaction! Methought the fields assumed
a livelier verdure; and the zephyrs were
unu&longs;ually officious in wafting the fragrance of
aromatic gales. I &longs;urveyed the &longs;urrounding
&longs;cenery with rapturous admiration; and my
heart glowed with inexpre&longs;&longs;ible delight at the
lovely appearance of nature, and the diffu&longs;ive
bounties of its almighty Author!
Let others, &longs;aid I, exult in &longs;tately domes, and
the &longs;uperfluities of pomp; immer&longs;e them&longs;elves
-- 139 --
[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]
in the &longs;plendid novelties of fa&longs;hion, and a promiscuous
crowd of giddy amu&longs;ements! I envy
them not.
Give me a mind to range the &longs;ylvan &longs;cene,
And ta&longs;te the ble&longs;&longs;ings of the vernal day;
While &longs;ocial joys, and friendly, intervene
To cha&longs;e the gloomy cares of life away.
I wi&longs;h not to abandon &longs;ociety, nor to re&longs;ign
the plea&longs;ures which it affords; but it is a &longs;elect
number of friends, not a promi&longs;cuous crowd,
which I pre&longs;er.
When the mind is much engro&longs;&longs;ed by dissipating
plea&longs;ures, it is apt to forget it&longs;elf, and neglect
its own dignity and improvement. It is
nece&longs;&longs;ary often to retreat from the noi&longs;e and bu&longs;tle
of the world, and commune with our own hearts.
By this mean we &longs;hall be the better qualified
both to di&longs;charge the duties and participate the
enjoyments of life.
Solitude affords a nearer and more di&longs;tinct
view of the works of creation; elevates the
mind, and purifies its pa&longs;&longs;ions and affections.
O Solitude! in thee the boundle&longs;s mind
Expands it&longs;elf, and revels unconfin'd;
From thee, each vain, each grov'lling pa&longs;&longs;ion &longs;lies
And all the virtues of the &longs;oul ari&longs;e!
Adieu.
JULIA GREENFIELD.
-- 140 --
To Mi&longs;s LAURA GUILFORD.
Boston.
MY DEAR LAURA,
[figure description] Page 140.[end figure description]
Rambling in the garden, I have picked
a no&longs;egay, which I tran&longs;mit to you as a token
of my remembrance. Though the poetical bagatelle
which accompanies it is not equal to the
elegance of the &longs;ubject; yet I confide in your
candour to excu&longs;e its futility, and give a favourable
interpretation to its de&longs;ign.
Laura, this little gift approve,
Pluck'd by the hand of cordial love!
With nice&longs;t care the wreath I've dre&longs;s'd,
Fit to adorn your friendly brea&longs;t.
The ro&longs;e and lilly are combin'd,
As emblems of your virtuous mind!
Pure as the fir&longs;t is &longs;een in thee
Sweet blu&longs;hing &longs;en&longs;ibility.
Carnations here their charms di&longs;play,
And nature &longs;hines in rich array,
Od'rous, as virtue's accents &longs;weet,
From Laura's lips with wit replete.
The myrtle with the laurel bound,
And purple amaranthus crown'd,
Within this little knot unite,
Like Laura's charms, to give delight!
-- 141 --
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Fair, fragrant, &longs;oft, like beauty dre&longs;s'd;
So &longs;he unrivall'd &longs;tands confe&longs;s'd;
While blending &longs;till each fini&longs;h'd grace,
Her virtues in her mien we trace;
Virtues, which far all tints out&longs;hine,
And, verdant, brave the fro&longs;t of time.
I am, &c.
SOPHIA MANCHESTER.
-- 142 --
To Mi&longs;s MARIA WILLIAMS.
Boston.
DEAR SISTER,
[figure description] Page 142.[end figure description]
I AM not &longs;o far engaged by the new &longs;cenes
of fa&longs;hionable gaiety which &longs;urround me, as to
forget you and the other dear friends, whom I
left at Harmony-Grove. Yet &longs;o great is the
novelty which I find in this crowded metropolis,
that you cannot wonder if my attention is very
much engro&longs;&longs;ed. Mr. and Mrs. Henly, with
their amiable daughters, are extremely polite and
attentive to me; and have taken every method
to contribute to my amu&longs;ement. I went, yesterday,
in their company, to Commencement at
Cambridge; and was very much entertained with
the exhibition. I pretend not to be a judge of
the talents di&longs;played by the young gentlemen
who took an active part; or of the proficiency
they had made in &longs;cience. I have an opinion of
my own, notwith&longs;tanding; and can tell how far
my eye and ear were gratified.
I never knew before that dre&longs;s was a cla&longs;&longs;ical
&longs;tudy; which I now conclude it mu&longs;t be, or it
would not have exerci&longs;ed the genius of &longs;ome of
the principal &longs;peakers on this public occa&longs;ion!
The female garb too, &longs;eemed to claim particular
attention. The bon ton, ta&longs;te, and fa&longs;hions of
our &longs;ex, afforded a &longs;ubject of declamation to the
-- 143 --
[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]
orator and of entertainment to the audience,
compo&longs;ed, in part, of our legi&longs;lators, politicians,
and divines! I could not but think that tho&longs;e
&longs;cholars who employ their time in &longs;tudying, investigating,
and critici&longs;ing the ladies' dre&longs;&longs;es, might
as well be occupied in the bu&longs;ine&longs;s of a frizeur
or the man-millener; either of which would afford
them more frequent opportunities for the
di&longs;play of their abilities, and render their labours
more exten&longs;ively u&longs;eful to the &longs;ex. Others might
then improve the time, which they thus frivolou&longs;ly
engro&longs;&longs;ed on this anniver&longs;ary, in contributing to
the entertainment of the literati, who doubtle&longs;s
expect to be gratified by the exertions of genius,
and an apparent progre&longs;s in tho&longs;e &longs;tudies, which
are de&longs;igned to qualify the ri&longs;ing youth of America
for important &longs;tations both in church and
&longs;tate.
The a&longs;&longs;embly was extremely brilliant; the ladies
&longs;eemed to vie with each other in magnificent
decorations. So much loveline&longs;s was vi&longs;ible in
their native charms, that, without any hint from
the &longs;peakers of the day, I &longs;hould have thought it
a pity to add tho&longs;e foreign ornaments, which
rather ob&longs;cure than aid them.
I was a little di&longs;plea&longs;ed by the unbecoming
levity of &longs;ome of my &longs;ex; and apprehen&longs;ive left
it might induce misjudging and cen&longs;orious people
to imagine that they were led thither more by
-- 144 --
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the vanity of attracting notice, than to receive
any mental entertainment.
Without our con&longs;ent, we ran a race back to
town, which endangered our necks. The avaricious
hackman, de&longs;irous of returning for another
freight, had no mercy on his pa&longs;&longs;engers or hor&longs;es.
However, we arrived &longs;afely, though much fatigued
by the plea&longs;ure of the day.
Plea&longs;ure carried to exce&longs;s degenerates into pain.
This I actually experienced; and fighed for the
tranquil enjoyments of Harmony-Grove, to which
I propo&longs;e &longs;oon to return, and convince you how
affectionately I am your's.
ANNA WILLIAMS.
-- 145 --
To Mi&longs;s ANNA WILLIAMS.
Harmony-Grove.
DEAR ANNA,
[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]
Your enlivening letter re&longs;tored us, in
&longs;ome mea&longs;ure, to your &longs;ociety; or at lea&longs;t alleviated
the pain of your ab&longs;ence.
I am glad you attended Commencement. It
was a new &longs;cene, and con&longs;equently extended
your ideas. I think you rather &longs;evere on the
cla&longs;&longs;ical gentlemen. We &longs;imple country-folks
mu&longs;t not pre&longs;ume to arraign their ta&longs;te, who&longs;e
learning and abilities render them con&longs;picuous
on the literary &longs;tage. They, doubtle&longs;s, write on
&longs;ubjects be&longs;t adapted to their capacities. As for
the follies of fa&longs;hion, I think the gentlemen are
under obligations to the ladies for adopting them;
&longs;ince it gives exerci&longs;e to their genius and pens.
You were tired, you &longs;ay, with plea&longs;ure. I believe
tho&longs;e di&longs;&longs;ipating &longs;cenes, which greatly exhilarate
the &longs;pirits, call for the whole attention, and
oblige us to exert every power, are always fatiguing.
Plea&longs;ures of a calmer kind, which are moderately
enjoyed, which enliven rather than exhau&longs;t,
and which yield a &longs;erenity of mind on reflection,
are the mo&longs;t durable, rational, and &longs;atisfying.
Plea&longs;ure is the mo&longs;t alluring object which is presented
to the view of the young and
-- 146 --
[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]
inexperienced. Under various forms it courts our attention;
but, while we are &longs;till eager in the pur&longs;uit,
it eludes our gra&longs;p. Its fa&longs;cinating charms deceive
the imagination, and create a bower of bli&longs;s
in every di&longs;tant object. But let us be careful not
to &longs;ix our affections on any thing which bears
this name, unle&longs;s it be founded on virtue, and
will endure the &longs;evere&longs;t &longs;crutiny of examination.
Our honored mamma, and all your friends
here, are impatient for your return. They unitedly
long to embrace, and bid you welcome to
the&longs;e &longs;eats of &longs;implicity and ea&longs;e: but none more
ardently, than your affectionate &longs;i&longs;ter,
MARIA WILLIAMS.
-- 147 --
To Mi&longs;s MATILDA FIELDING.
Boston.
DEAR MATILDA,
[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]
Anxious to make the be&longs;t po&longs;&longs;ible u&longs;e
of the education I have received; and fully impressed
with the idea, that the human mind is
capable of continual improvements, it is my constant
endeavour to extract honey from every
flower which falls in my way, or, to &longs;peak without
a figure, to derive advantage from every incident.
Pur&longs;uant to the advice of our excellent
Preceptre&longs;s, I keep this perpetually in view;
and am therefore di&longs;appointed when defeated in
the attempt.
This afternoon I have been in company with
three ladies, celebrated for their beauty and wit.
One of them, I think, may ju&longs;tly claim the reputation
of beauty. To a fini&longs;hed form, a fair
complexion, and an engaging, animating countenance
are added. Yet a con&longs;ciou&longs;ne&longs;s of superior
charms was apparent in her deportment;
and a &longs;upercilious air counteracted the effects of
her per&longs;onal accompli&longs;hments. The two others
were evidently more indebted to art than to nature
for their appearance. It might ea&longs;ily be
di&longs;covered that paint con&longs;tituted all the delicacy
of their complexion!
-- 148 --
[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]
What a pity, that &longs;o many are deceived in their
ideas of beauty! Certain it is, that artificial additions
&longs;erve rather to impair than increa&longs;e its
power. “Who can paint like nature?” What
hand is &longs;kilful enough to &longs;upply her defects?
Do not tho&longs;e who attempt it always fail, and
render them&longs;elves di&longs;gu&longs;ting? Do they not really
injure what they &longs;trive to mend; and make it
more indifferent than u&longs;ual, when. dive&longs;ted of its
temporary embelli&longs;hments? Beauty cannot possibly
maintain its &longs;way over its mo&longs;t ob&longs;equious
votaries, unle&longs;s the manners and the mind unitedly
contribute to &longs;ecure it. How vain then is
this &longs;ubterfuge! It may deceive the eye, and
gain the flattery of the prattling coxcomb; but
accumulated neglect and mortification inevitably
await tho&longs;e who tru&longs;t in the wretched alternative.
From their good &longs;en&longs;e, I had been led to
expect the greate&longs;t entertainment. I therefore
waited impatiently till the fir&longs;t compliments were
over, and conver&longs;ation commenced.
But, to my extreme regret, I found it to consist
of ludicrous in&longs;inuations hackneyed je&longs;ts, and
&longs;atirical remarks upon others of their acquaintance
who were ab&longs;ent. The pretty fellows of
the town were critici&longs;ed; and their own adventures
in &longs;hopping were related with &longs;o much minuteness,
hilarity, and glee, that I blu&longs;hed for the
frivolous levity of tho&longs;e of my &longs;ex, who could
-- 149 --
[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]
&longs;ub&longs;titute buffoonery for wit, and the effu&longs;ions of
a perverted imagination for that refined and improving
conver&longs;ation, which a well cultivated
mind and a correct ta&longs;te are calculated to afford!
If, &longs;aid I to my&longs;elf, this be the beauty and
the wit of poli&longs;hed &longs;ociety, re&longs;tore me again to
the native &longs;implicity and &longs;incerity of Harmony-Grove!
I took my leave as &longs;oon as politene&longs;s would
allow; and left them to animadvert upon me.
Independent for happine&longs;s on the prai&longs;e or censure
of &longs;uperficial minds, let me ever be con&longs;cious
of meriting approbation, and I &longs;hall re&longs;t contented
in the certain pro&longs;pect of receiving it.
Adieu.
SOPHIA MANCHESTER.
-- 150 --
To Mi&longs;s SOPHIA MANCHESTER.
Beverly.
[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]
I SYMPATHIZE with you, my dear
Sophia, in the di&longs;appointment you received in
your expectations from beauty and wit.
You may neverthele&longs;s derive advantage from
it. Your refined and delicate ideas rai&longs;e you too
far above the &longs;cenes of common life. They paint
the defects of your inferiors in &longs;uch lively
colours, that the greater part of the community
mu&longs;t be di&longs;plea&longs;ing to you. Few, you &longs;hould
remember, have had the advantages which you
have enjoyed; and &longs;till fewer have your penetrating
eye, correct ta&longs;te, and quick &longs;en&longs;ibility. Let
charity then draw a veil over the foibles of others,
and candour induce you to look on the be&longs;t
and brighte&longs;t &longs;ide.
It is both our duty and intere&longs;t to enjoy life,
as far as integrity and innocence allow; and, in
order to this, we mu&longs;t not &longs;oar above, but accommodate
our&longs;elves to its ordinary &longs;tate. We
cannot &longs;tem the torrent of folly and vanity; but
we can &longs;tep a&longs;ide and &longs;ee it roll on, without suffering
our&longs;elves to be borne down by the &longs;tream.
Empty conver&longs;ation mu&longs;t be di&longs;gu&longs;ting to every
rational and thinking mind; yet, when it
partakes not of malignity, it is harmle&longs;s in its effects,
as the vapour which floats over the mead in
-- 151 --
[figure description] Page 151.[end figure description]
a &longs;ummer's eve. But, when malice and envy
join to give &longs;cope to detraction, we ought to
avoid their contagion, and decidedly condemn
the effu&longs;ions of the ill-natured merriment which
they in&longs;pire.
Our &longs;ex have been taxed as de&longs;amers. I am
convinced, however, that they are not exclu&longs;ively
guilty; yet, for want of more &longs;ub&longs;tantial matter
of conver&longs;ation, I fear they too often give occasion
for the accu&longs;ation! A mind properly cultivated,
and &longs;tored with u&longs;eful knowledge, will despise
a pa&longs;time which mu&longs;t be &longs;upported at the
expen&longs;e of others. Hence only the &longs;uperficial
and the giddy are reduced to the nece&longs;&longs;ity of
filling the time in which they a&longs;&longs;ociate together,
with the degrading and injurious &longs;ubjects of
&longs;lander. But I tru&longs;t that our improved country-women
are ri&longs;ing far &longs;uperior to this nece&longs;&longs;ity,
and are able to convince the world, that the
American fair are enlightened, generous, and
liberal. The fal&longs;e notions of &longs;exual di&longs;parity, in
point of under&longs;tanding and capacity, are ju&longs;tly
exploded; and each branch of &longs;ociety is uniting
to rai&longs;e the virtues and poli&longs;h the manners of
the whole.
I am, &c.
MATILDA FIELDING.
-- 152 --
To Mi&longs;s JULIA GREENFIELD.
Salem.
DEAR JULIA,
[figure description] Page 152.[end figure description]
From your recommendation of Mrs. Chapone's
letters; and, what is &longs;till more, from the
character given them by Mrs. Williams, I was
anxious to po&longs;&longs;e&longs;s the book; but, not being able
to procure it here, my clerical brother, who was
fortunately going to Bo&longs;ton, bought and presented
it to me.
I am much gratified by the perufal and flatter
my&longs;elf that I &longs;hall derive la&longs;ting benefit from it.
So intricate is the path of youth, and &longs;o many
temptations lurk around to beguile our feet a&longs;tray,
that we really need &longs;ome &longs;kilful pilot to guide us
through the delu&longs;ive maze. To an attentive and
docile mind, publications of this &longs;ort may afford
much in&longs;truction and aid. They ought, therefore,
to be carefully collected, and diligently perused.
Anxious to make my brother &longs;ome acknowledgment
for his pre&longs;ent, I wrought and &longs;ent him
a pur&longs;e, accompanied with a dedication which I
thought might amu&longs;e &longs;ome of his &longs;olitary moments;
and which, for that purpo&longs;e, I here transcribe
and convey to you.
-- 153 --
[figure description] Page 153.[end figure description]
THE enclo&longs;ed, with zeal and with reverence due,
Implor'd my permi&longs;&longs;ion to wait upon you;
And begg'd that the mu&longs;e would her favour extend,
To briefty her worth and her &longs;ervice commend.
The mu&longs;e, who by dear-bought experience had known
How little her u&longs;e to the clergy had grown,
With officious advice thus attack'd the poor pur&longs;e:
Why, you novice! 'tis plain that you cannot do wor&longs;e!
If the end of your being you would ever attain,
And honor, pre&longs;erment, and influence gain,
Go quick to the pocket of &longs;ome noble knave,
Who&longs;e merit is wealth, and his per&longs;on its &longs;lave:
Or enter the man&longs;ion, where &longs;plendour appears,
And pomp and eclat are the habit &longs;he wears:
Or hie to the court, where &longs;o well you are known,
So highly e&longs;teem'd and &longs;o confident grown,
That without your a&longs;&longs;i&longs;tance and recommendation,
None claims any merit, or fills any &longs;tation!
Seek either of the&longs;e; and with joy you'll behold
Your&longs;elf crown'd with honor, and filled with gold.
But to wait on a prie&longs;t! How ab&longs;urd is the &longs;cheme:
His reward's in rever&longs;ion; the future's his theme.
Will the&longs;e, for the pre&longs;ent, your cravings &longs;upply;
Or &longs;often the din of nece&longs;&longs;ity's cry?
Of hunger and want the loud clamours repel;
Or cru&longs;h the poor moth that would on you revel?
For poets and prophets, the world has decreed,
On fame and on faith may luxuriou&longs;ly feed!
Here the pur&longs;e interpos'd with a &longs;trut and a &longs;tare,
Pray, good madam mu&longs;e, your &longs;ugge&longs;tions forbear!
On virtue and worth I'm re&longs;olv'd to attend,
A firm, if I am not a plentiful friend.
Tho not &longs;well'd with gold, and with metal extended,
What little I have &longs;hall be rightly expended:
-- 154 --
[figure description] Page 154.[end figure description]
And a trifle, by ju&longs;tice and wi&longs;dom obtain'd,
Is better than millions di&longs;hone&longs;tly gain'd!
Yet I hope and pre&longs;ume, that I never &longs;hall be
Excluded his pocket for the lack of a fee!
Thus the mu&longs;e and the pur&longs;e—till I took the direction,
And de&longs;tin'd the latter to your kind protection.
My wi&longs;hes attend her, with fervour expre&longs;s'd,
That in yellow or white &longs;he may always be dre&longs;s'd;
And e'er have the power each dull care to beguile;
Make the &longs;ummer more gay, and the bleak winter &longs;mile!
But if Fortune be blind; or &longs;hould &longs;he not favour
The&longs;e wi&longs;hes of mine, you mu&longs;t &longs;corn the deceiver;
And, ri&longs;ing &longs;uperior to all &longs;he can do,
Find a bli&longs;s more &longs;ub&longs;tantial than &longs;he can be&longs;tow!
CLEORA PARTRIDGE.
-- 155 --
To Mi&longs;s LAURA GUILFORD.
Worcester.
DEAR LAURA,
[figure description] Page 155.[end figure description]
I have &longs;pent a very agreeable &longs;ummer in
the country; but am now preparing to return
to town. I anticipate, with plea&longs;ure, a restoration
to your &longs;ociety, and that of my other friends
there. I &longs;hould, however, quit the&longs;e rural &longs;cenes
with reluctance, were it not that they are giving
place to the chilling harbingers of approaching
winter. They have afforded charms to me,
which the giddy round of fa&longs;hionable amusements
can never equal. Many, however, think
life in&longs;upportable, except in the bu&longs;tle and diffipation
of a city. Of this number is the volatile
Amelia Parr, whom you know as well as I. So
extreme is her gaiety, that the good qualities of
her mind are &longs;uffered to lie dormant; while the
mo&longs;t re&longs;tle&longs;s pa&longs;&longs;ions are indulged without restraint.
I have ju&longs;t received a letter from her,
which you will &longs;ee to be characteri&longs;tic of her
di&longs;po&longs;ition. I enclo&longs;e that, and my an&longs;wer to it
for your peru&longs;al. Read both with candour; and
believe me ever your's.
HARRIOT HENLY.
-- 156 --
To Mi&longs;s HARRIOT HENLY.
[Enclo&longs;ed in the preceding.]
Boston.
[figure description] Page 156.[end figure description]
Where are you, Harriot; and what
are you doing? Six long months ab&longs;ent from
the town! What can you find to beguile the
tedious hours? Life mu&longs;t be a burden to you!
How can you employ your&longs;elf? Employ, did I
&longs;ay? Pho! I will not u&longs;e &longs;o vulgar a term! I
meant amu&longs;e! Amu&longs;ement &longs;urely is the prime
end of our exi&longs;tence! You have no plays, no
card-parties, nor a&longs;&longs;emblies that are worth mentioning!
Intolerably heavy mu&longs;t the lagging
wheels of time roll on! How &longs;hall I accelerate
them for you? A new novel may do &longs;omething
towards it! I accordingly &longs;end you one, imported
in the la&longs;t &longs;hips. Foreign, to be &longs;ure; el&longs;e
it would not be worth attention. They have
attained to a far greater degree of refinement in
the old world, than we have in the new; and
are &longs;o perfectly acquainted with the pa&longs;&longs;ions,
that there is &longs;omething extremely amu&longs;ing and
intere&longs;ting in their plots and counter-plots,
operating in various ways, till the dear creatures
are jumbled into matrimony in the prettiest
manner that can be conceived!
We, in this country, are too much in a &longs;tate
of nature to write good novels yet. An
-- 157 --
[figure description] Page 157.[end figure description]
American novel is &longs;uch a moral, &longs;entimental thing,
that it is enough to give any body the vapours to
read one. Pray come to town as &longs;oon as possible,
and not dream away your be&longs;t days in obscurity
and in&longs;ignificance.
But this boarding &longs;chool; this Harmony-Grove,
where you formerly re&longs;ided, has given
you &longs;trange ideas of the world. With what
raptures I have heard you relate the dull &longs;cenes
in which you were concerned there! I am
afraid that your di&longs;ea&longs;ed ta&longs;te has now come to a
cri&longs;is, and you have commenced prude in earne&longs;t!
But return to your city friends; and we will
lend our charitable a&longs;&longs;i&longs;tance, in re&longs;toring you
to gaiety and plea&longs;ure.
AMELIA PARR.
Worcester.
DEAR AMELIA,
Your letter—your rattle, rather, came
to hand ye&longs;terday. I could not avoid &longs;miling at
your erroneous opinions; and, in my turn, beg
leave to expre&longs;s my wonder at your entertainments
in town. True, we have no plays. We
are not obliged by fa&longs;hion to &longs;it, half &longs;uffocated
in a crowd, for the greater part of the night, to
hear the rantings, and &longs;ee the extravagant actions
of the bu&longs;kin heroes, (and tho&longs;e not always
-- 158 --
[figure description] Page 158.[end figure description]
con&longs;i&longs;tent with female mode&longs;ty to witne&longs;s!) We
have no card-parties, avowedly formed for the
purpo&longs;e of killing time! But we have an agreeable
neighbourhood; among which we can easily
collect a &longs;ocial circle; and per&longs;ons of ta&longs;te,
politene&longs;s and information compo&longs;e it. Here
we enjoy a rational and enlivening conver&longs;ation,
which is at once refined and improving. We
have no a&longs;&longs;emblies, compo&longs;ed of a promi&longs;cuous
crowd of gaudy belles and beaux; many of
whom we &longs;hould de&longs;pi&longs;e in a private company,
and deem unworthy our notice. But we have
genteel balls, the company of which is &longs;elect,
none being admitted but &longs;uch as do honor to
them&longs;elves and each other. The amu&longs;ement is
not protracted till the yawning li&longs;tle&longs;&longs;ne&longs;s of the
company proclaims their incapacity for enjoyment;
but we retire at a &longs;ea&longs;onable hour, and
add to the plea&longs;ure of the evening that of undisturbed
re&longs;t through the night. Of cour&longs;e, we
can ri&longs;e with the fun, and &longs;ip the nectarious
dews, wa&longs;ted in the aromatic gale. We breakfast
before the heat of the day has brought on
a languor, and deprived us of appetite; after
which, we amu&longs;e our&longs;elves with our needles,
books, or mu&longs;ic; recline on the &longs;ofa, or ramble
in the grove, as fancy or convenience directs.
In the &longs;hady bower we enjoy either the luxury
of &longs;olitude, or the plea&longs;ures of &longs;ociety; while
you are, the whole time, in the mid&longs;t of hurry
-- 159 --
[figure description] Page 159.[end figure description]
and bu&longs;tle. Eager in the cha&longs;e, you fly from
one &longs;cene of di&longs;&longs;ipation to another; but the fatigue
of this cea&longs;ele&longs;s round, and the exertion of
&longs;pirits nece&longs;&longs;ary to &longs;upport it, render the objects
of pur&longs;uit ta&longs;tele&longs;s and in&longs;ipid.
Which mode of life, yours or mine, do you
now think the mo&longs;t rational, and productive of
the greate&longs;t happine&longs;s? The boarding &longs;chool,
which you affect to de&longs;pi&longs;e, has, it is true, formed
my ta&longs;te; and I flatter my&longs;elf that I &longs;hall
never wi&longs;h it altered.
I &longs;hall &longs;oon return to town; but not for pleasure.
It is not in crowds that I &longs;eek it. Adieu.
HARRIOT HENLY.
-- 160 --
To Mi&longs;s SOPHIA MANCHESTER.
Concord.
DEAR SOPHIA,
[figure description] Page 160.[end figure description]
Having been with my aunt Burchel
for a fortnight pa&longs;t, I have indulged my&longs;elf in
reading novels; with which her library is well
&longs;upplied.
Richard&longs;on's works have occupied a large portion
of the time. What a &longs;urpri&longs;ing command
has this great ma&longs;ter of the pa&longs;&longs;ions over our
feelings! It is happy for his own and succeeding
ages, that he embarked in the cau&longs;e of virtue.
For his influence on the affections of his readers
is &longs;o great, that it mu&longs;t have proved very pernicious,
had he enli&longs;ted on the &longs;ide of vice. Though
I am not much of a novel reader, yet his pen
has operated like magic on my fancy; and &longs;o extremely
was I intere&longs;ted, that I could have dispensed
with &longs;leep or food for the plea&longs;ure I
found in reading him.
By this circum&longs;tance I am more than ever
convinced of the great caution which ought to
be u&longs;ed in peru&longs;ing writings of the kind. How
&longs;ecretly, and how in&longs;idiou&longs;ly may they undermine
the fabric of virtue, by painting vice and folly in
the alluring colours, and with the lively &longs;tyle of
-- 161 --
[figure description] Page 161.[end figure description]
this ingenious author. The mind &longs;hould be well
informed, and the judgment properly matured,
before young people indulge them&longs;elves in the
unre&longs;trained peru&longs;al of them.
The examples of virtue and noble qualities,
exhibited by the author I have mentioned, are
truly u&longs;eful; but every writer of novels is not a
Richard&longs;on: and what dreadful effects might the
&longs;pecious manners of a Lovelace have on the inexperienced
mind, were they not detected by a
ju&longs;t exhibition of his vices!
The noble conduct of Clementina and Mi&longs;s
Byron are worthy of imitation; while the indifcretion
of Clari&longs;&longs;a, in putting her&longs;elf under the
protection of a libertine, is a warning to every
fair. But both examples are often overlooked.
While the ear is charmed with the &longs;tyle, and
the fancy riots on the luxuriance of de&longs;cription,
which &longs;o intimately blend the charms of virtue
and the fa&longs;cinations of vice; they are not readily
di&longs;tingui&longs;hed by all.
I am not equally plea&longs;ed with all Richard&longs;on's
writings; yet &longs;o multifarious are his excellencies,
that his faults appear but &longs;pecks, which &longs;erve as
&longs;oils to di&longs;play his beauties to better advantage.
Before I went from home I was engaged in
reading a cour&longs;e of hi&longs;tory; but I fear I &longs;hall
-- 162 --
[figure description] Page 162.[end figure description]
not return from this flowery field to the dry and
le&longs;s plea&longs;ing path of more laborious &longs;tudies.
This is one di&longs;advantage of novel reading. It
di&longs;&longs;ipates the ideas, relaxes the mind, and renders
it inattentive to the more &longs;olid and u&longs;eful branches
of literature. Adieu.
LAURA GUILFORD.
-- 163 --
To Mrs. WILLIAMS.
Boston.
DEAR MADAM,
[figure description] Page 163.[end figure description]
Neither change of place nor &longs;ituation
can alienate my affections from you, or obliterate
my grateful remembrance of your kindne&longs;s.
Your admonitions and coun&longs;els have been the
guide of my youth. The many advantages
which I have already received from them, and
the conde&longs;cending readine&longs;s with which they
were always admini&longs;tered, embolden me to solicit
your direction and advice in a &longs;till more important
&longs;phere. The recommendation of my
parents and friends, &longs;econded by my own inclination,
have induced me to yield my heart and
engage my hand to Mr. Sylvanus Farmington,
with who&longs;e character you are not unacquainted.
Next Thur&longs;day is the era fixed for our union.
O madam, how greatly &longs;hall I need a monitor
like you! Sen&longs;ible of my own imper&longs;ections, I
look forward with diffidence and apprehen&longs;ion,
blended with plea&longs;ing hopes, to this new and
untried &longs;tate!
Your experienced pen can teach me how to
di&longs;charge the duties, divide the cares, and enjoy
the plea&longs;ures, peculiar to the &longs;tation on which I
am entering. Pray extend your benevolence,
-- 164 --
[figure description] Page 164.[end figure description]
and communicate your &longs;entiments on female deportment
in the connubial relation. Practi&longs;ing
upon &longs;uch a model, I may &longs;till be worthy the
appellation, which it will ever be my ambition
to de&longs;erve, of your affectionate friend and pupil,
HARRIOT HENLY.
-- 165 --
To Mi&longs;s HARRIOT HENLY.
Harmony-Grove.
[figure description] Page 165.[end figure description]
Indeed, my dear Harriot, you are making
an important change of &longs;ituation; a change interesting
to you and your friends; a change
which involves, not only your own happine&longs;s,
but the happine&longs;s of the worthy man whom you
have cho&longs;en, of the family, over which you are
to pre&longs;ide, and perhaps, too, of that with which
you are to be connected.
I rejoice to hear that this connexion, on which
&longs;o much depends, is not ha&longs;tily formed; but
that it is the re&longs;ult of long acquaintance, is
founded on merit, and con&longs;olidated by e&longs;teem.
From characters like yours, mutually de&longs;erving
and excellent, brilliant examples of conjugal virtue
and felicity may be expected. Yet as human
nature is imperfect, liable to errors, and apt
to deviate from the line of rectitude and propriety,
a monitorial guide may be expedient and
u&longs;eful. Your partiality has led you to reque&longs;t
this boon of me; but diffidence of my own abilities
compels me to decline the arduous ta&longs;k.
Neverthele&longs;s, I have it happily in my power to
recommend an abler in&longs;tructor, who has written
profe&longs;&longs;edly upon the &longs;ubject. The American
Spectator, or Matrimonial Preceptor, lately
publi&longs;hed by Mr. David We&longs;t, of Bo&longs;ton,
-- 166 --
[figure description] Page 166.[end figure description]
contains all you can wi&longs;h. The judicious compiler
has collected and arranged his materials
with admirable &longs;kill and addre&longs;s. Peru&longs;e this
book, and you will be at no lo&longs;s for coun&longs;els to
direct, and cautions to guard you through the
intricate cares and duties of the connubial life.
The e&longs;&longs;ays are, chiefly, extracted from the mo&longs;t
approved Engli&longs;h writers. The productions of
&longs;o many able pens, properly di&longs;po&longs;ed, and exhibited
in a new and agreeable light, mu&longs;t not
only be entertaining, but u&longs;eful to every reader
of ta&longs;te and judgment. I wi&longs;h this publication
to be con&longs;idered as a nece&longs;&longs;ary piece of furniture
by every hou&longs;ekeeper. The editor has certainly
de&longs;erved well of his country; and Hymen
&longs;hould crown him with unfading garlands.
I &longs;hall vi&longs;it you, my dear Harriot, after the
happy knot (for &longs;uch I flatter my&longs;elf it will
prove) is tied. In the mean time, I &longs;ub&longs;cribe
my&longs;elf, with the mo&longs;t ardent wi&longs;hes for your
pro&longs;perity and happine&longs;s, your &longs;incere friend,
MARY WILLIAMS.
-- 167 --
To Mi&longs;s CLEORA PARTRIDGE.
Newbury-Port.
[figure description] Page 167.[end figure description]
What think you of wit, Cleora? If you
e&longs;timate it by the worth of your own, you think
it an invaluable jewel. But this jewel is variously
&longs;et. Yours is in the pure &longs;terling gold of
good &longs;en&longs;e: yet, as di&longs;played by &longs;ome, it gli&longs;tens
on the mere tin&longs;el of gaiety, which will not bear
the &longs;crutinizing eye of judgment.
Ye&longs;terday I received a vi&longs;it from a young lady,
lately moved into this neighbourhood, who is reputed
a wit. Her conver&longs;ation reminded me of
Pope's &longs;atirical remark:
“There are, whom Heaven has ble&longs;s'd with &longs;tore of wit;
But want as much again to manage it.”
I found her's to con&longs;i&longs;t in &longs;mart &longs;ayings, lively
repartees, and ludicrous allu&longs;ions.
So &longs;trong was her propen&longs;ity to di&longs;play this
talent, that &longs;he could not re&longs;i&longs;t any temptation
which offered, though it led her to offend again&longs;t
the rules of politene&longs;s and genero&longs;ity. As &longs;ome
per&longs;ons of real genius were pre&longs;ent, topics of
literature and morality were di&longs;cu&longs;&longs;ed. Upon
the&longs;e &longs;he was mute as a &longs;tatue; but whenever
the playfulne&longs;s of her fancy could find a &longs;ubject,
&longs;he was extremely loquacious. This induced me
to &longs;u&longs;pect that the brilliance of her imagination
-- 168 --
[figure description] Page 168.[end figure description]
had dazzled her under&longs;tanding, and rendered her
negligent of the more &longs;olid and u&longs;eful acqui&longs;itions
of the mind.
Is it not often the ca&longs;e, that tho&longs;e who are
di&longs;tingui&longs;hed by any &longs;uperior endowment, whether
per&longs;onal or mental, are too much elated by the
con&longs;ciou&longs;ne&longs;s of their pre-eminence, and think it
&longs;ufficient to counterbalance every deficiency?
This, Mrs. Williams u&longs;ed to &longs;ay, is owing to
the want of &longs;elf-knowledge; which, if once possessed,
will enable us properly to e&longs;timate our
own characters, and to a&longs;certain with preci&longs;ion
wherein we are defective, as well as wherein we
excel. But it is the misfortune of us, young
people, that we &longs;eldom attain this valuable science,
till we have experienced many of the ills
which re&longs;ult from the want of it. Ambition,
vanity, flattery, or &longs;ome &longs;uch dazzling meteor,
engro&longs;&longs;es our attention, and renders us blind to
more important qualifications.
But to return to this &longs;ame wit, of which I
was &longs;peaking. It is certainly a very dangerous
talent, when imprudently managed. None that
we can po&longs;&longs;e&longs;s tends &longs;o directly to excite enmity,
or de&longs;troy friend&longs;hip.
An ill-natured wit is of all characters the mo&longs;t
univer&longs;ally dreaded. People of this de&longs;cription
are always feared, but rarely loved. Humanity
and benevolence are e&longs;&longs;entially nece&longs;&longs;ary to
-- 169 --
[figure description] Page 169.[end figure description]
render wit agreeable. Accompanied by the&longs;e, it
cannot fail to plea&longs;e and entertain.
“Wit, how delicious to man's dainty ta&longs;te!
'Tis precious as the vehicle of &longs;en&longs;e;
But as its &longs;ub&longs;titute, a dire di&longs;ea&longs;e!
Pernicious talent! &longs;latter'd by mankind,
Yet hated too.—
Sen&longs;e is the diamond, weighty, &longs;olid, &longs;ound:
When cut by wit, it ca&longs;ts a brighter beam;
Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond &longs;till.
Wit, widow'd of good &longs;en&longs;e, is wor&longs;e than nought;
It hoi&longs;ts more &longs;ail to run again&longs;t a rock.”
But I believe I cannot give a better proof of
my own wit, than to conclude this &longs;eribble before
your patience is quite exhau&longs;ted by the perusal.
Adieu.
CAROLINE LITTLETON.
-- 170 --
To Mi&longs;s HARRIOT HENLY.
Harmony-Grove.
DEAR HARRIOT,
[figure description] Page 170.[end figure description]
The fir&longs;t moment which I have been able
to &longs;natch from the affectionate embraces of my
honored mamma, and my dear &longs;i&longs;ter Maria, is
devoted to you. Judging by the anxious solicitude
of my own heart, I know you are impatient
to hear of my &longs;afe arrival. It is needle&longs;s to tell
you how cordially I was received. You have
witne&longs;&longs;ed the mutual tenderne&longs;s which actuates
our dome&longs;tic circle. Where this is the governing
principle, it is peculiarly intere&longs;ting to sensibility.
It is extremely exhilarating to the mind
to revi&longs;it, after the &longs;horte&longs;t ab&longs;ence, the place of
our nativity and juvenile happine&longs;s. “There is
&longs;omething &longs;o &longs;educing in that &longs;pot, in which we
fir&longs;t had our exi&longs;tence, that nothing but it can
plea&longs;e. Whatever vici&longs;&longs;itudes we experience in
life, however we toil, or where&longs;oever we wander,
our fatigued wi&longs;hes &longs;till recur to home for
tranquillity. We long to die in that &longs;pot which
gave us birth, and in that plea&longs;ing expectation
opiate every calamity.”[2]
The &longs;atisfaction of returning home, however,
has not obliterated the plea&longs;ure which I enjoyed
on my vi&longs;it to you. Does not a change of &longs;cene
-- 171 --
[figure description] Page 171.[end figure description]
and &longs;ituation contribute to the happine&longs;s of life?
The natural love of this variety &longs;eems wi&longs;ely implanted
in the human brea&longs;t; for it enables us to
accommodate our&longs;elves with facility to the different
circum&longs;tances in which we are placed. I believe
that no plea&longs;ures make &longs;o deep an impression
on the memory, as tho&longs;e of the fir&longs;t and mo&longs;t
innocent period of our lives. With what apparent
delight do per&longs;ons, advanced in years, re-trace
their puerile feats and diver&longs;ions! “The hoary
head looks back with a &longs;mile of complacency, mixed
with regret, on the &longs;ea&longs;on when health glowed
on the cheek, when lively &longs;pirits warmed the heart,
and when toil &longs;trung the nerves with vigour.”[3]
The plea&longs;ures of childhood and youth, when
regulated by parental wi&longs;dom, and &longs;weetened by
filial affection and obedience, mu&longs;t be grateful to
the recollection at any age: and for this plain
rea&longs;on, becau&longs;e innocence and &longs;implicity are their
leading traits. How &longs;oothing, how animating,
then, mu&longs;t be reflection, at the evening of a life,
wholly &longs;pent in virtue and rectitude!
Pope ob&longs;erves that “Every year is a critique
on the la&longs;t. The man de&longs;pi&longs;es the boy, the philosopher
the man, and the Chri&longs;tian all.” Happy
are tho&longs;e who can take a retro&longs;pect of all, with
the &longs;upporting con&longs;ciou&longs;ne&longs;s, that each part has
been rightly performed! Adieu.
ANNA WILLIAMS.
eaf105.n2[2] Gold&longs;mith.
eaf105.n3[3] Knox.
-- 172 --
To Mi&longs;s MATILDA FIELDING.
Boston.
[figure description] Page 172.[end figure description]
I am impatient for an opportunity of returning
your civilities, my dear Matilda; and if
po&longs;&longs;ible, of repaying you &longs;ome part of the pleasure,
which you &longs;o liberally afforded me, during
my late vi&longs;it to your ho&longs;pitable man&longs;ion. For
this purpo&longs;e, I mu&longs;t in&longs;i&longs;t on the performance of
your promi&longs;e to &longs;pend the winter in town. It is
true that I cannot contribute to your amu&longs;ement
in kind. Yet, according to the generally received
opinion, that variety is nece&longs;&longs;ary to the enjoyment
of life, we may find our's mutually heightened
by the exchange. Delightful rambles, and
hours of contemplative &longs;olitude, free from the
interruptions of formality and fa&longs;hion, I cannot
in&longs;ure; but you may depend on all that friendship
and a&longs;&longs;iduity can &longs;ub&longs;titute; and while the
bleak winds are howling abroad, a cheerful fireside,
and a &longs;ocial circle, may di&longs;pel the gloom of
the &longs;ea&longs;on. The plea&longs;ures of our family are very
local. Few are &longs;ought, in which the understanding
and affections can have no &longs;hare. For this
rea&longs;on, a &longs;elect, not a promi&longs;cuous acquaintance
is cultivated. And however unfa&longs;hionable our
practice may be deemed, we can find entertainment,
even in the dull hours of winter, without
recour&longs;e to cards. Almo&longs;t every other
-- 173 --
[figure description] Page 173.[end figure description]
recreation affords &longs;ome exerci&longs;e and improvement to
the body or mind, or both; but from this neither
can re&longs;ult. The whole attention is ab&longs;orbed
by the game. Rea&longs;on lies dormant, and the passions
only are awake. However little is depending,
the parties are frequently as much agitated
by hope and fear, as if their all were at &longs;take.
It is difficult for the vanqui&longs;hed not to feel chagrin;
while the victors are gratified at the expense
of their friends. But the principal objection
with me, is the utter exclu&longs;ion of conver&longs;ation;
a &longs;ource of plea&longs;ure, and of profit too, for which
I can admit nothing as an equivalent. Winter
evenings are peculiarly adapted to this rational
and refined entertainment. Deprived of that variety
of &longs;cenery, and tho&longs;e beauties of nature,
which the vernal and autumnal &longs;ea&longs;ons exhibit,
we are obliged to have recour&longs;e to the fire-&longs;ide
for comfort. Here we have lei&longs;ure to collect
our &longs;cattered ideas, and to improve, by &longs;ocial
intercour&longs;e, and the exertion of our mental
powers.
Our &longs;ex are often rallied on their volubility:
and, for my&longs;elf, I frankly confe&longs;s, that I am &longs;o
aver&longs;e to taciturnity, and &longs;o highly prize the advantages
of &longs;ociety and friend&longs;hip, that I had
rather plead guilty to the charge than relinquish
them.
-- 174 --
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“Ha&longs;t thou no friend to &longs;et thy mind a-broach?
Good &longs;en&longs;e will &longs;tagnate. Thoughts &longs;hut up, want air,
And &longs;poil, like bales unopen'd to the &longs;un.
Had thought been all, &longs;weet &longs;peech had been deny'd;
Speech thought's canal! Speech, thought's criterion too.
Thought, in the mine, may come forth gold or dro&longs;s;
When coin'd in word, we know its real worth:
If &longs;terling, &longs;tore it for thy future u&longs;e;
Twill buy thee benefit, perhaps renown.
Thought, too, deliver'd, is the more po&longs;&longs;e&longs;s'd;
Teaching, we learn; and giving, we retain
The births of intellect: when dumb, forgot.
Speech ventilates our intellectual fire;
Speech burni&longs;hes our mental magazine;
Brightens for ornament, and whets for u&longs;e.”
Come then, Matilda, participate the plea&longs;ures,
and accelerate the improvement, of your affec-tionate
friend,
LAURA GUILFORD.
-- 175 --
To Mi&longs;s LAURA GUILFORD.
Beverly.
DEAR LAURA,
[figure description] Page 175.[end figure description]
Your's of the 9th ult. has ju&longs;t come to
hand. It gave me renewed experience of the
truth of the ob&longs;ervation, that next to the personal
pre&longs;ence and conver&longs;ation, is the epi&longs;tolary
corre&longs;pondence of a friend. I am preparing,
with the mo&longs;t lively &longs;en&longs;ations of plea&longs;ure, to
gratify my own wi&longs;hes, and comply with your
polite invitation. The romantic beauty of the
rural &longs;cenes has for&longs;aken me; and what can &longs;o
amply compen&longs;ate for their ab&longs;ence, as the charms
you offer?
I envy you nothing which the town affords,
but the advantages you derive from the choice of
&longs;ociety adapted to your own ta&longs;te. Your sentiments
of the fa&longs;hionable diver&longs;ion of card-playing,
are, in my view, perfectly ju&longs;t. I believe
that many people join in it, becau&longs;e it is the ton,
rather than from any other motive. And as
&longs;uch per&longs;ons generally pay the greate&longs;t deference
to Lord Che&longs;terfield's opinions and maxims, I
have often wondered how they happened to
overlook, or di&longs;regard his animadver&longs;ions upon
this &longs;ubject; and have felt a &longs;trong inclination
to tell them, that this all-accompli&longs;hed ma&longs;ter of
politene&longs;s, and oracle of plea&longs;ure, expre&longs;sly &longs;ays,
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“All amu&longs;ements, where neither the understanding
nor the &longs;en&longs;es can have the lea&longs;t &longs;hare,
I look upon as frivolous, and the re&longs;ources of
little minds, who either do not think, or do not
love to think.”
We had a pretty party here, la&longs;t evening; and
a party it literally was; for it con&longs;i&longs;ted entirely
of ladies. This &longs;ingular circum&longs;tance was remarked
by one of the company, who, at lea&longs;t,
pretended to think it agreeable, becau&longs;e, &longs;aid
&longs;he, we can now &longs;peak without re&longs;traint, or
the fear of critici&longs;m. I confe&longs;s that I was not
prude enough to acquie&longs;ce in her opinion.
Ladies of delicacy and refinement will not
countenance or &longs;upport a conver&longs;ation, which
gentlemen of &longs;en&longs;e and &longs;entiment can di&longs;approve.
As each were formed for &longs;ocial beings, and depend
on the other for &longs;ocial happine&longs;s, I imagine
that &longs;ociety receives its greate&longs;t charm from a
mutual interchange of &longs;entiment and knowledge.
“Both &longs;exes are reciprocal in&longs;truments of each
other's improvement. The rough &longs;pirit of the
one is tempered by the gentlene&longs;s of the other,
which has likewi&longs;e its obligations to that &longs;pirit.
Men's &longs;entiments contract a milder turn in the
company of women, who, on the other hand,
find their volatility abated in that of the men.
Their different qualities, intermingling, form a
happy &longs;ymphony. From their intimate conjunction,
their real advantages mu&longs;t be common and
-- 177 --
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in&longs;eparable; and as for tho&longs;e ridiculous wranglings
about &longs;uperiority, they may be reckoned
in&longs;ults to nature, and betray a want of a due
&longs;en&longs;e of its wi&longs;e and gracious di&longs;pen&longs;ations.”[4]
Many ladies affect to think it incon&longs;i&longs;tent with
female re&longs;erve, to acknowledge them&longs;elves plea&longs;ed
with the company of the other &longs;ex; but while
&longs;uch are the objects and advantages of a mixed
&longs;ociety, I blu&longs;h not to own my&longs;elf de&longs;irous of its
cu&longs;tivation. Adieu.
MATILDA FIELDING.
eaf105.n4[4] The Ladies' Friend.
-- 178 --
To Mi&longs;s CAROLINE LITTLETON.
Boston.
DEAR CAROLINE,
[figure description] Page 178.[end figure description]
I take the liberty to &longs;end you Bennet's
Letters. When my mamma put them into my
hand, Sophia, &longs;aid &longs;he, I recommend this book
to your attentive peru&longs;al. It highly de&longs;erves it,
and will richly reward your labour. You have,
indeed, completed your &longs;chool education; but
you have much yet to learn. Improvements
in knowledge are nece&longs;&longs;arily progre&longs;&longs;ive. The
human mind is naturally active and eager in
pur&longs;uit of information; which we have various
and continual means of accumulating: but never
will you have a more favourable opportunity for
the cultivation of your mind, than you now
enjoy. You are now free from tho&longs;e dome&longs;tic
cares and avocations, which may hereafter fall
to your lot, and occupy mo&longs;t of your time.
Speculation mu&longs;t then give place to practice.
Be affiduous, therefore, to increa&longs;e the &longs;und, that
it may yield you a competent intere&longs;t, and afford
you a con&longs;tant re&longs;ource of &longs;upport and enjoyment.
With the&longs;e words &longs;he withdrew, while I was
&longs;till li&longs;tening to the &longs;weet accents of maternal
tenderne&longs;s and di&longs;cretion, which vibrated on my
ear, even after her departure.
-- 179 --
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I find it worthy the recommendation of &longs;o
good a judge. As a moral writer, the precepts
and ob&longs;ervations of its author are excellent; as a
religious one, his piety is exemplary, and his
in&longs;tructions improving. His &longs;election of books,
which he deems mo&longs;t proper for our &longs;ex, though
too numerous, perhaps, may, notwith&longs;tanding,
a&longs;&longs;i&longs;t and direct the young, in their cour&longs;e of
reading.
Who would not imitate his Loui&longs;a? In her
he has forcibly di&longs;played the beauties of an
amiable di&longs;po&longs;ition, and the advantages which
even that may derive from a virtuous and
religious education.
The&longs;e letters are not &longs;chola&longs;tic and elaborate
di&longs;&longs;ertations; they are addre&longs;&longs;ed to the heart;
they are the native language of affection: and
they can hardly fail to in&longs;til the love of virtue
into every mind &longs;u&longs;ceptible of its charms.
If you have not read them, I will venture to
predict that they will afford you entertainment,
as well as in&longs;truction; and if you have, they will
bear a &longs;econd peru&longs;al. Indeed, every valuable
book &longs;hould be re-peru&longs;ed. On a fir&longs;t reading,
our curio&longs;ity to know &longs;omething of all it contains,
hurries us forward with a rapidity which out-strips
both the memory and judgment.
When this predominant pa&longs;&longs;ion is gratified, an
attentive review will commonly furni&longs;h many
-- 180 --
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u&longs;eful and important le&longs;&longs;ons, which had nearly
or quite e&longs;caped our notice before.
This, by &longs;ome, is deemed too laborious a ta&longs;k.
They prefer company and conver&longs;ation to reading
of any kind; and allege, in defence of their
opinion, that a knowledge of the world, and of
human nature, together with that ea&longs;e and gracefulness
of manners, which are of the utmo&longs;t
con&longs;equence to all who would make a re&longs;pectable
figure in life, are much better obtained in this
way, than by the cold and unimpa&longs;&longs;ioned peru&longs;al
of books.
But is not every acqui&longs;ition of this &longs;ort merely
&longs;uperficial? Need we not a guide, &longs;uperior to
our own judgment and experience, to point out
the line of duty and propriety, in the various
conditions and relations of our exi&longs;tence?
Our acquaintance with living characters and
manners can afford us but a very limited view of
mankind, in the different periods and &longs;tages of
&longs;ociety. The inqui&longs;itive mind labours to extend
its knowledge to the mo&longs;t di&longs;tant climes and remote
antiquity; and craves other materials for
the exerci&longs;e of its reflecting powers, than can be
derived from occa&longs;ional and de&longs;ultory conversation.
Now, by what means can this laudable
curio&longs;ity be &longs;o effectually &longs;atisfied, as by the perusal
of judicious and well cho&longs;en books? Not
that I would depreciate the value of good company
(for I e&longs;teem it highly;) but add its many
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advantages to tho&longs;e which reading affords. This
combination mu&longs;t have a happy tendency to give
us po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ion, both of the virtues and graces;
and to render our attainments at once &longs;olid and
ornamental.
What think you, Caroline? Do you agree
with me in opinion? Let me hear from you
by the fir&longs;t opportunity; and believe me your's
mo&longs;t &longs;incerely.
SOPHIA MANCHESTER.
-- 182 --
To Mi&longs;s SOPHIA MANCHESTER.
Newbury-Port.
[figure description] Page 182.[end figure description]
I thank you, my dear friend, for the
book you were &longs;o obliging as to &longs;end me; and
for the letter which accompanied it. The book
I had read; but, as you ju&longs;tly ob&longs;erve, I mu&longs;t
be a gainer by a &longs;econd peru&longs;al.
Upon the &longs;ubject of reading, I perfectly accord
with you in &longs;entiment. It is an amusement,
of which I was always enthu&longs;ia&longs;tically fond.
Mrs. Williams regulated my ta&longs;te; and, by directing
and maturing my judgment, taught me
to make it a &longs;ource of refined and &longs;ub&longs;tantial
plea&longs;ure. I do not wi&longs;h to pur&longs;ue &longs;tudy as a
profe&longs;&longs;ion, nor to become a learned lady; but I
would pay &longs;o much attention to it, as to ta&longs;te the
delights of literature, and be qualified to bear a
part in rational and improving conver&longs;ation.
Indeed, I would trea&longs;ure up &longs;uch a fund of useful
knowledge, as may properly direct my cour&longs;e
through life, and prove an antidote again&longs;t the
vexations and di&longs;appointments of the world. I
think, Sophia, that our &longs;ex &longs;tand in &longs;pecial need
of &longs;uch a re&longs;ource to beguile the &longs;olitary hours
which a dome&longs;tic &longs;tation commonly impo&longs;es. Is
it not for want of this that &longs;ome females furni&longs;h
a pretext for the accu&longs;ation (which is illiberally
brought again&longs;t all) of having recour&longs;e to
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scandal, and the &longs;allies of indelicate mirth? Conversation
requires a perpetual &longs;upply of materials
from the mind: and, accordingly as the mind has
been cultivated or neglected, dignified or degrading
&longs;ubjects will be introduced.
I received a letter, ye&longs;terday, from our lively
and lovely friend, Anna Williams. How delightfully
blended in this charming girl, are vivacity
and &longs;entiment, ea&longs;e and propriety. Adieu.
CAROLINE LITTLETON.
-- 184 --
To Mi&longs;s MARIA WILLIAMS.
Boston.
[figure description] Page 184.[end figure description]
So often, my dear Maria, has the pen of the
divine, the morali&longs;t, and the noveli&longs;t been employed
on the &longs;ubject of female frailty and seduction;
and &longs;o pathetically has each de&longs;cribed the
folly and mi&longs;ery of the fatal delu&longs;ion which involves
many in di&longs;grace, that I am a&longs;toni&longs;hed
when I &longs;ee tho&longs;e, who have the be&longs;t means of information,
heedle&longs;sly &longs;acrificing their reputation,
peace and happine&longs;s, to the &longs;pecious arts of the
libertine! In this ca&longs;e, it is common for our &longs;ex
to rail again&longs;t the other, and endeavour to excite
the pity of the world by painting the advantage
which has been taken of their credulity and
weakne&longs;s. But are we not &longs;ufficiently appri&longs;ed
of the enemies we have to encounter? And have
we not adequate motives to circum&longs;pection and
firmne&longs;s?
I am generally an advocate for my own &longs;ex;
but when they &longs;uffer them&longs;elves to fall a prey to
&longs;educers, their pu&longs;illanimity admits no excu&longs;e. I
am bold to affirm that every woman, by behaving
with propriety on all occa&longs;ions, may not only resist
temptation, but repel the fir&longs;t attempts upon
her honor and virtue.
That levity of deportment, which invites and
encourages de&longs;igners, ought &longs;tudiou&longs;ly to be
-- 185 --
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avoided. Flattery and vanity are two of the
mo&longs;t dangerous foes to the &longs;ex. A fondne&longs;s for
admiration in&longs;en&longs;ibly throws them off their guard,
and leads them to li&longs;ten and give credit to the
pro&longs;e&longs;&longs;ions of tho&longs;e who lie in wait to deceive.
The following remarks, though &longs;evere, perhaps,
can hardly be deemed incon&longs;i&longs;tent with the
character which their author a&longs;&longs;umes.[5] “Women
would do well to forbear their declamations
again&longs;t the fal&longs;ity and wickedne&longs;s of men; the
fault is theirs, to fall into &longs;uch coar&longs;e-&longs;pun &longs;nares
as are laid for them.
“That &longs;ervile ob&longs;equiou&longs;ne&longs;s which women
&longs;hould immediately look upon as the mark of fraud,
and which &longs;hould make them apprehend a &longs;urpri&longs;e,
is the very thing which allures them, and renders
them &longs;oon the victims of perjury and inconstancy;
the ju&longs;t puni&longs;hment of a di&longs;po&longs;ition which
fixes their inclinations on &longs;uperficial qualities. It
is this di&longs;po&longs;ition which draws after them a crowd
of empty fops, who, if they have any meaning at
all, it is only to deceive. Something plea&longs;ing in
a man's per&longs;on, a giddy air, a perpetual levity,
&longs;upply the place of valuable endowments.”
A recent, and &longs;ingular adventure has rendered
ob&longs;ervations of this &longs;ort peculiarly &longs;triking to
my mind; which may account for the &longs;ubject
and the length of this letter.
-- 186 --
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I will give you a detail of it, though I mu&longs;t
conceal the real names of the parties concerned.
Ye&longs;terday, the weather being very fine, and
the &longs;leighing excellent, &longs;everal of our family,
with two or three friends, were induced to make
an excur&longs;ion a few miles into the country. We
&longs;topped at a hou&longs;e which had formerly been a
tavern, and in which we had often been well entertained
on &longs;imilar occa&longs;ions. As we were in
ha&longs;te to receive the benefit of a good fire, we
did not notice the removal of the &longs;ign, nor advert
to the po&longs;&longs;ibility of its being converted to a private
man&longs;ion. Being very cold, I &longs;tepped fir&longs;t
out of the &longs;leigh, and ran ha&longs;tily in; leaving the
gentlemen to exerci&longs;e their gallantry with the
other ladies. The room I entered had no fire.
I therefore opened the door which led to the
next apartment, when I beheld the beautiful and
admired Clarinda &longs;itting in an ea&longs;y chair, pale
and wan, with an infant in her arms! I &longs;tood
mute and motionle&longs;s, till the woman of the hou&longs;e
appeared to conduct me to another room. Confusion
and &longs;hame were vi&longs;ibly depicted in Clarinda's
countenance; and, unable to meet my
eye, &longs;he threw her handkerchief over her face,
and fell back in her chair.
I followed the good woman, and, apologizing
for my intru&longs;ion, told her the cau&longs;e. She recollected
my having been there before, and readily
excu&longs;ed my freedom.
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By this time the re&longs;t of the company, who
had been &longs;hown into a decent parlour, were inquiring
for me; and I could &longs;carcely find opportunity
to reque&longs;t my conductre&longs;s to a&longs;k Clarinda's
forgivene&longs;s in my name, and to a&longs;&longs;ure her of my
&longs;ilence, before I had joined them. I a&longs;&longs;umed an
appearance of cheerfulne&longs;s very foreign to the
feelings of my heart, and related my mi&longs;take
without any mention of the melancholy discovery
I had made. We prevailed on the woman
to accommodate us with tea and coffee, as we
wi&longs;hed to ride no further. While preparations
were making, &longs;he came in to lay the table, and
as &longs;he withdrew gave me a token to follow her;
when &longs;he informed me that Clarinda had been
extremely overcome by my detecting her situation;
but being &longs;omewhat recovered, de&longs;ired a
private interview. I accordingly repaired to her
apartment, where I found her bathed in tears.
Pity operated in my brea&longs;t, and with an air of
tenderne&longs;s I offered her my hand; but &longs;he withheld
her's, exclaiming in broken accents, O no!
I am polluted—I have forfeited your friend&longs;hip—
I am unworthy even of your compa&longs;&longs;ion!
I begged her to be calm, and promi&longs;ed her
that &longs;he &longs;hould &longs;uffer no inconvenience from my
knowledge of her condition.
She thanked me for my a&longs;&longs;urances, and subjoined
that, &longs;ince &longs;he knew the candour and generosity
of my di&longs;po&longs;ition, &longs;he would entru&longs;t me
-- 188 --
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with every circum&longs;tance relative to her &longs;hameful
fall; when, after a con&longs;iderable pau&longs;e, &longs;he proceeded
nearly in the following words.
“Though our acquaintance has been for &longs;ome
time &longs;u&longs;pended, and though we have lived in
different parts of the town, yet common &longs;ame
has doubtle&longs;s informed you that I was addre&longs;&longs;ed
by the gay, and to me, too charming Florimel!
To the mo&longs;t captivating form, he &longs;uperadded
the winning graces of politene&longs;s, and all tho&longs;e
in&longs;inuating arts which imperceptibly engage the
female heart.
“His flattering attentions, and apparent ardour
of affection were to my inexperienced and susceptible
mind proofs of his &longs;incerity; and the
effu&longs;ions of the mo&longs;t lively pa&longs;&longs;ion were returned
with un&longs;u&longs;pecting confidence.
“My father, &longs;trict in his principles, and watchful
for my real welfare, di&longs;approved his &longs;uit; alleging
that although Florimel was calculated to
plea&longs;e in the gayer moments of life, he was nevertheless
de&longs;titute of tho&longs;e &longs;entiments of religion
and virtue, which are e&longs;&longs;entially requi&longs;ite to durable
felicity. But I could not be per&longs;uaded
that he lacked any perfection which maturer
years would not give him; and therefore finding
my attachment unconquerable, my father reluctantly
acquie&longs;ced in the propo&longs;ed connexion.
My ill-judged partiality for this ungenerous man
ab&longs;orbed every other pa&longs;&longs;ion and pur&longs;uit; while
-- 189 --
[figure description] Page 189.[end figure description]
he took advantage of my yielding fondne&longs;s, and
a&longs;&longs;umed liberties which I knew to be incon&longs;i&longs;tent
with delicacy, but had not re&longs;olution to repel.
One encroachment &longs;ucceeded another, and every
conce&longs;&longs;ion was claimed and granted as a proof of
love, till at length he became ab&longs;olute ma&longs;ter of
my will and my per&longs;on! Shame and remor&longs;e
&longs;oon rou&longs;ed me to a &longs;en&longs;e of my guilt, and I demanded
an immediate performance of his promise
of marriage. This, under one pretext or another,
he con&longs;tantly evaded. His vi&longs;its daily became
le&longs;s frequent, and his attentions le&longs;s assiduous;
while the mo&longs;t poignant angui&longs;h of mind
deprived me of every comfort. I found my&longs;elf
reduced to the humiliating alternative of entreating
my &longs;educer to &longs;creen me from infamy by the
name of wife, though he &longs;hould never con&longs;ider
or treat me as &longs;uch. To this he in&longs;ultingly replied,
that my &longs;ituation mu&longs;t nece&longs;&longs;arily detect
our illicit commerce; and his pride could never
brook the reputation of having a wife who&longs;e
cha&longs;tity had been &longs;acrificed. As &longs;oon as rage
and re&longs;entment, which at fir&longs;t took from me the
power of utterance, would permit, Wretch! exclaimed
I, is it not to you the &longs;acrifice has been
made? Who but you has triumphed over my
virtue, and &longs;ubjected me to the di&longs;grace and
wretchedne&longs;s I now &longs;uffer? Was it not in token
of my regard for you that I yielded to your solicitations?
And is this the requital I am to
-- 190 --
[figure description] Page 190.[end figure description]
receive? Ba&longs;e, ungrateful man! I de&longs;pi&longs;e your
meanne&longs;s! I dete&longs;t the ungenerous di&longs;po&longs;ition
you betray, and henceforth reject all intercour&longs;e
and &longs;ociety with you! I will throw my&longs;elf on
the mercy of my injured parents, and renounce
you forever.
“Seeing me almo&longs;t frantic, he endeavoured to
&longs;oothe and appea&longs;e me. He apologized for the
har&longs;hne&longs;s of his language, and even made professions
of unabated affection; but gave as a reason
for deferring the conjugal union, at pre&longs;ent,
that commercial affairs obliged him to &longs;ail immediately
for Europe; a&longs;&longs;uring me at the &longs;ame
time that on his return he would not fail to renew
and con&longs;ummate the connexion. To this I
gave no credit, and therefore made no reply.
He then reque&longs;ted me to accept a pur&longs;e to defray
my expen&longs;es, during his ab&longs;ence, which I
rejected with di&longs;dain; and he departed. The
di&longs;tre&longs;s and de&longs;pair of my mind were inexpressible.
For &longs;ome days, I re&longs;igned my&longs;elf entirely
to the agonizing pangs of grief. My parents
imputed my dejection to Florimel's departure,
and &longs;trove to con&longs;ole me. It was not long,
however, before my mother di&longs;covered the real
cau&longs;e. In her, re&longs;entment gave place to compassion;
but the anger of my father could not
be appea&longs;ed. He ab&longs;olutely forbad me his presence
for &longs;ome time; but my mother at length
prevailed on him to &longs;ee, and a&longs;&longs;ure me of
-- 191 --
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forgiveness and re&longs;toration to favour, if I would
con&longs;ent to renounce and di&longs;own my child; to
which, not then knowing the force of maternal
affection, I readily con&longs;ented. This place was
privately procured for me, and hither, under
pretence of &longs;pending a month or two with a
friend in the country, I retired. To-morrow my
dear babe is to be taken from me! It is to be
put to nur&longs;e, I know not where! All I am told
is, that it &longs;hall be well taken care of! Constantly
will its moans haunt my imagination, while I
am deprived even of the hope of mini&longs;tering to
its wants; but mu&longs;t leave it to execrate the hour
which gave it birth, and deprived it of a parent's
attention and kindne&longs;s.
“As &longs;oon as po&longs;&longs;ible, I &longs;hall return to my father's
hou&longs;e; and as I am unknown here, and
you are the only per&longs;on, out of our family, who
&longs;hares the dreadful &longs;ecret, I flatter my&longs;elf that my
crime may &longs;till be concealed from the world.
The reproaches of my own mind I can never escape.
Con&longs;cious guilt will give the a&longs;pect of
accu&longs;ation to every eye that beholds me; and
however policy may compel me to wear the
ma&longs;k of gaiety and ea&longs;e, my heart will be wrung
with inexpre&longs;&longs;ible angui&longs;h by the remembrance
of my folly, and always alive to the di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;ing
&longs;en&longs;ations of remor&longs;e and &longs;hame! Oh Julia!
you have witne&longs;&longs;ed my di&longs;grace! pity and forgive
me! Perhaps I once appeared as virtuous
-- 192 --
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and re&longs;pectable, as you now do; but how
changed! how fallen! how deba&longs;ed! Learn
from my fate to de&longs;pi&longs;e the flattery of the worthless
coxcomb, and the arts of the abandoned
libertine.”
By this time I was &longs;ummoned to tea; when,
giving all the con&longs;olation in my power to the
unhappy Clarinda, I rejoined my company; and
to prevent their inqui&longs;itivene&longs;s about my absence,
told them I had been with a &longs;ick woman,
upon whom I accidentally intruded when I fir&longs;t
came in; and that &longs;he had detained me, all this
time, by a recital of her complaints and misfortunes.
This account &longs;atisfied their curio&longs;ity;
but the melancholy into which my mind had
been thrown was not ea&longs;ily di&longs;&longs;ipated; nor could
I, without doing violence to my feelings, put on
the appearance of my u&longs;ual cheerfulne&longs;s and
ca&longs;e.
Here, my dear Maria, is a picture of the frailty
and weakne&longs;s of our &longs;ex! How much rea&longs;on
have we then to “watch and pray that we enter
not into temptation!”
With affectionate regards to your mamma and
&longs;i&longs;ter, I &longs;ub&longs;cribe my&longs;elf your's mo&longs;t &longs;incerely,
JULIA GREENFIELD.
eaf105.n5[5] The Ladies' Friend.
-- 193 --
To Mi&longs;s JULIA GREENFIELD.
Harmony-Gaovz.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
[figure description] Page 193.[end figure description]
I was much affected by the woe-fraught
tale which you gave me in your la&longs;t. We cannot
too much regret that &longs;uch in&longs;tances of duplicity
and folly are ever exhibited. They are
alike di&longs;graceful to both &longs;exes, and demon&longs;trate
the deba&longs;ing and fatal tendency of the pa&longs;&longs;ions,
when &longs;uffered to predominate.
Your ob&longs;ervations upon our &longs;ex I believe to be
ju&longs;t, though many would probably deem them
&longs;evere. However, I think it not much to the
honor of the ma&longs;culine character, which the God
of nature de&longs;igned for a defence and &longs;afeguard
to female virtue and happine&longs;s, to take advantage
of the tender affection of the un&longs;u&longs;pecting and
too credulous fair; and, in return for her love
and confidence, perfidiou&longs;ly to de&longs;troy her peace
of mind, and deprive her of that reputation,
which might have rendered her a u&longs;eful and ornamental
member of &longs;ociety. True, we ought
to take warning by &longs;uch examples of treachery
and deceit; yet, how much more conducive to
the honor and happine&longs;s of our &longs;pecies, were
there no occa&longs;ion to apprehend &longs;uch ungenerous
requitals of our &longs;incerity and frankne&longs;s!
-- 194 --
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Ye&longs;terday, my mamma took the liberty to read
that part of your letter, which contains the &longs;tory
of Clarinda, to her pupils, and to make &longs;uch
comments upon it as the &longs;ubject &longs;ugge&longs;ted; during
which we could not but ob&longs;erve the extreme
emotion of one of the miffes, a mo&longs;t amiable
girl of about &longs;ixteen. When the paragraph respecting
Clarinda's di&longs;owning her child was read,
&longs;he ha&longs;tily ro&longs;e, and in broken accents begged
leave to withdraw. This was granted, without
any inquiry into the cau&longs;e; though our curiosity,
as you may well &longs;uppo&longs;e, was much excited.
After we were di&longs;mi&longs;&longs;ed, my mamma prevailed
on her to tell the rea&longs;on of her agitation.
“I am,” &longs;aid &longs;he, “the illegitimate offspring
of parents, whom I am told are people of fortune
and fa&longs;hion. The fear of di&longs;grace overcame
the dictates of natural affection, and induced my
mother to abandon me in my infancy. She accordingly
gave me away, with a large &longs;um of money,
which &longs;he vainly imagined would procure me
kind and good treatment. But, unhappily for
me, the people to whom I was con&longs;igned, availing
them&longs;elves of their &longs;ecurity from in&longs;pection
and inquiry, abu&longs;ed the tru&longs;t repo&longs;ed in them,
and expo&longs;ed me to the greate&longs;t hard&longs;hips. As
they were per&longs;ons of vulgar minds and unfeeling
hearts, they did not commi&longs;erate my friendle&longs;s
condition. My quick &longs;en&longs;ibility incurred their
di&longs;plea&longs;ure or deri&longs;ion. I was often in&longs;ultingly
-- 195 --
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reproached with the misfortune of my birth;
while the tears which the&longs;e ungenerous reflections
extorted from me, were either mocked or
puni&longs;hed. I had a thir&longs;t for knowledge; but
they allowed me no time for acquiring it, alleging
that they could not &longs;upport me in idlene&longs;s,
but that I mu&longs;t earn my living, as they did their's,
by hard labour. Oppre&longs;&longs;ed by the&longs;e in&longs;ults, I
bore the galling yoke of their authority with the
utmo&longs;t impatience. When &longs;creened from observation,
my tears &longs;lowed without re&longs;traint; and
the idea of my parents' cruelty, in thus subjecting
me to infamy and wretchedne&longs;s, continually
haunted my imagination. Sometimes I fancied
my mother in view, and, expo&longs;ing my tattered
raiment, expo&longs;tulated with her concerning the
indignities I &longs;uffered, and the unrea&longs;onable hardship
of leaving me to bear all the puni&longs;hment of
my guilty birth! At other times I painted to
my&longs;elf a father, in &longs;ome gentleman of plea&longs;ing
a&longs;pect; and fondly indulged the momentary transport
of throwing my&longs;elf at the feet of one, whom
I could call by that venerable and endearing
name! Too &longs;oon, however, did the rever&longs;e of
parental tenderne&longs;s awake me from my delu&longs;ive
reveries.
“In this manner I lingered away my existence,
till I was twelve years old; when going,
one day, to the hou&longs;e of a gentleman in the
neighbourhood, to which I was often &longs;ent to &longs;ell
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herbs, and other trifles, I was directed into the
parlour, where the mo&longs;t beautiful &longs;ight in nature
opened to my view; while the contra&longs;t between
my own &longs;ituation, and that of children ble&longs;&longs;ed
with affectionate parents, gave me the mo&longs;t painful
&longs;en&longs;ations. The lady of the hou&longs;e was surrounded
by her four &longs;ons, the elde&longs;t of whom
was reading le&longs;&longs;ons, which &longs;he mo&longs;t pathetically
inculcated upon all. As the door was open, I
&longs;tood &longs;ome minutes unob&longs;erved; and was &longs;o delighted
with the tender accents in which her instructions
were imparted, and the cheerful obedience
with which they were received, that I had
no di&longs;po&longs;ition to interrupt them.
“At length I was &longs;een, and bid to come in.
But, when que&longs;tioned about my errand, I was &longs;o
ab&longs;orbed in the contemplation of maternal and
filial love, exhibited in this happy group, that my
tongue refu&longs;ed utterance, and I bur&longs;t into tears.
The children gathered around, and inquired what
ailed the poor little girl? But when the lady
took me by the hand, and kindly a&longs;ked what
was the matter, I could not re&longs;train or conceal
my feelings. When my tears had relieved me, I
related the cau&longs;e of my grief; de&longs;cribing my
own &longs;ituation, and the effect which its contra&longs;t
had produced on my mind.
“She was affected by my &longs;tory, and &longs;eemed
plea&longs;ed with my &longs;en&longs;ibility; while the children
lamented my misfortunes, and artle&longs;sly
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requested their mamma to let me come and live with
them.
“Little did I then expect &longs;o great a favour;
but to my &longs;urpri&longs;e, as well as joy, Mrs. —,
the lady of whom I have been &longs;peaking, and by
whom I am put under your care, came, a few
days after, and a&longs;ked the people where I lived, if
they were willing to part with me. By their
con&longs;ent &longs;he took me home, and has ever &longs;ince
treated me like a child.
“I am now happy beyond expre&longs;&longs;ion. My
gratitude to my benefactre&longs;s, who, guided by a
wife and good Providence, has &longs;natched me from
ob&longs;curity and mi&longs;ery, and given me &longs;o many advantages
for improvement, is unbounded.
“But the idea that any helple&longs;s innocent &longs;hould
be unnaturally expo&longs;ed to the &longs;ufferings which I
have experienced, is in&longs;upportably di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;ing to
my imagination.
“Let my &longs;tory, if po&longs;&longs;ible, be told to Clarinda,
that &longs;he may be induced to have compa&longs;&longs;ion upon
her defencele&longs;s offspring.”
You are at liberty, therefore, my dear Julia,
to make what u&longs;e you plea&longs;e of this letter. I
&longs;hall make no comments upon the &longs;ubject of it,
nor add any thing more to its length, but that I
am affectionately your's.
MARIA WILLIAMS.
-- 198 --
To Mi&longs;s ANNA WILLIAMS.
Salem.
DEAR ANNA,
[figure description] Page 198.[end figure description]
My contemplated vi&longs;it to Harmony-Grove
mu&longs;t be deferred. A &longs;evere illne&longs;s has lately confined
my mamma to her chamber. This claimed
all my time and attention, and called me to a new
&longs;cene of care; that of a family, which I was obliged
to &longs;uperintend during her indi&longs;po&longs;ition. Her
recovery has, at length, re&longs;tored tranquillity and
joy to our abode; but &longs;he has not yet re&longs;umed the
direction of her hou&longs;ehold affairs. To this, &longs;he
tells me, &longs;he is reconciled by the hope, that experience
may render me an adept in dome&longs;tic economy.
Indeed, Anna, I think this an e&longs;&longs;ential
branch of female education; and I que&longs;tion
whether it can be acquired by mere speculation.
To me it is plain, that every lady ought
to have &longs;ome practice in the management of a
family, before &longs;he takes upon her&longs;elf the important
tru&longs;t.
Do not many of the mi&longs;takes and infelicities of
life ari&longs;e from a deficiency in this point?
Young ladies of fa&longs;hion are not obliged to the
ta&longs;k, and have too &longs;eldom any inclination to perform
duties which require &longs;o much time and attention;
and with which, perhaps, they have
-- 199 --
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injudiciously been taught to connect the idea of
fervility. Hence it is, that when called to pre&longs;ide
over families, they commit many errors, during
their novitiate, at lea&longs;t, which are alike detrimental
to their intere&longs;t and happine&longs;s. How necessary
is it, then, to avoid this complication of evils
by a &longs;ea&longs;onable application to tho&longs;e offices of
hou&longs;ewifery, which may one day become our
province.
Early ri&longs;ing, I find a great a&longs;&longs;i&longs;tance in my
pre&longs;ent occupation. It is almo&longs;t incredible how
much may be gained by a diligent improvement
of tho&longs;e hours which are but too commonly lo&longs;t
in &longs;leep. I aro&longs;e this morning with the dawn.
The &longs;erenity of the &longs;ky and the fragrance of the
air invited me abroad. The calmne&longs;s which universally
prevailed &longs;erved to tranquillize my mind,
while the receding &longs;hades of night, and the ri&longs;ing
beams of day formed a contra&longs;ted a&longs;&longs;emblage of
the beautiful, the &longs;plendid, the &longs;olemn, and the
&longs;ublime. The &longs;ilence which pervaded the surrounding
&longs;cenery was interrupted only by the
melody of the feathered &longs;ong&longs;ters, who &longs;eemed to
rejoice in this undi&longs;turbed opportunity of praifing
their Maker. My heart expanded with gratitude
and love to the all-bountiful Author of nature;
and &longs;o ab&longs;orbed was I in the mo&longs;t delightful
meditations, that I &longs;aw with regret the hour
approaching which mu&longs;t again call me to the
-- 200 --
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active duties of dome&longs;tic and &longs;ocial life. The&longs;e, however,
are objects of real moment, and cannot innocently
be di&longs;regarded. They give a reli&longs;h to
amu&longs;ement, and even to devotion, which neither
the di&longs;&longs;ipated nor the reclu&longs;e can know.
Adieu.
CLEORA PARTRIDGE.
-- 201 --
To Mi&longs;s HARRIOT HENLY.
Beverly.
DEAR HARRIOT,
[figure description] Page 201.[end figure description]
I SINCERELY thank you for your affectionate
letter, by the la&longs;t po&longs;t, and for the book
with which it was accompanied. The very title
is &longs;ufficient to rou&longs;e the feelings and attract
the attention of the patriotic mind. Beacon-Hill
claims a con&longs;picuous place in the hi&longs;tory of our
country. The &longs;ubject of this poem mu&longs;t be
highly intere&longs;ting to every true American; while
the genius it di&longs;plays cannot fail to gratify every
poetical ta&longs;te. Philenia's talents ju&longs;tly entitle
her to a rank among the literary ornaments of
Columbia.
I have been reviewing Millot's Elements of Ancient
and Modern Hi&longs;tory; and recommend it to
your re-peru&longs;al. It is undoubtedly the mo&longs;t useful
compendium extant. The tedious minuteness
and prolix details of &longs;ieges and battles, negociations
and treaties, which fatigue the reader
and oppre&longs;s the memory, in mo&longs;t works of the
kind, are happily avoided in this; while the elegance,
&longs;implicity, conci&longs;ene&longs;s and per&longs;picuity of
the &longs;tyle, render it intelligible to every capacity,
and plea&longs;ing to every ta&longs;te. To tho&longs;e who have
a reli&longs;h for hi&longs;tory, but want lei&longs;ure to give it
full &longs;cope, Millot is well calculated to afford both
-- 202 --
[figure description] Page 202.[end figure description]
information and entertainment. It is an objection,
commonly made by our &longs;ex to &longs;tudies of
this nature, that they are dry and elaborate; that
they yield little or no exerci&longs;e to the more sprightly
faculties of the mind; that the attention is
confined to an unintere&longs;ting and barren detail of
facts, while the imagination pants in vain for the
flowery wreaths of decoration.
This is a plau&longs;ible excu&longs;e for tho&longs;e who read
only for amu&longs;ement, and are willing to &longs;acrifice
rea&longs;on, and the enlargement of their minds, to
the gaudy phantom of a day; but it can never
be &longs;atisfactory to the per&longs;on, who wi&longs;hes to
combine utility with plea&longs;ure, and dignity with
relaxation. Hi&longs;tory improves the under&longs;tanding,
and furni&longs;hes a knowledge of human nature and
human events, which may be u&longs;eful, as well as
ornamental, through life. “Hi&longs;tory,” &longs;ays the
late celebrated Ganganelli, “brings together all
ages and all mankind into one point of view.
Pre&longs;enting a charming land&longs;cape to the mental
eye, it gives colour to the thoughts, &longs;oul to the
actions, and life to the dead; and brings them
again upon the &longs;tage of the world, as if they were
again living; but with this difference, that it is
not to flatter, but to judge them.”
The duties and avocations of our &longs;ex will not
often admit of a clo&longs;e and connected cour&longs;e of
reading. Yet a general knowledge of the mo&longs;t
nece&longs;&longs;ary &longs;ubjects may undoubtedly be gained,
-- 203 --
[figure description] Page 203.[end figure description]
even in our lei&longs;ure hours; provided we be&longs;tow
them not on works of mere ta&longs;te and fancy, but
on the peru&longs;al of books calculated to enrich the
under&longs;tanding with durable acqui&longs;itions.
The &longs;incere&longs;t wi&longs;hes for your health and happiness
glow in the brea&longs;t of your affectionate
MATILDA FIELDING.
-- 204 --
To Mi&longs;s MARIA WILLIAMS.
Boston.
MY DEAR MARIA,
[figure description] Page 204.[end figure description]
Since I wrote you la&longs;t, I have made an
agreeable vi&longs;it to my good friend, Sylvia Star.
After rambling in the fields and gardens till we
were fatigued, we went into her brother's library.
He was in a &longs;tudious attitude, but gave us a polite
reception. We are come to &longs;olicit a portion
of your repa&longs;t, Amintor, &longs;aid I. Be &longs;o kind as
to furni&longs;h us with &longs;ome in&longs;tructive page, which
combines entertainment and utility; and while it
informs the mind, delights the imagination. I
am not happy enough to know your ta&longs;te respecting
books, &longs;aid he; and, therefore, may not make
a proper &longs;election. Here, however, is an author
highly &longs;poken of by a lady, who has lately added
to the number of literary publications; handing
me Sterne's Sentimental Journey. I clo&longs;ed and
returned the book. You have indeed mi&longs;taken
my ta&longs;te, &longs;aid I. Wit, blended with indelicacy,
never meets my approbation. While the fancy
is allured, and the pa&longs;&longs;ions awakened, by this pathetic
humouri&longs;t, the foundations of virtue are
in&longs;idiou&longs;ly undermined, and mode&longs;t dignity insensibly
betrayed. Well, &longs;aid he, &longs;imiling, perhaps
you are &longs;eriou&longs;ly inclined. If &longs;o, this volume of
&longs;ermons may po&longs;&longs;ibly plea&longs;e you. Still le&longs;s,
-- 205 --
[figure description] Page 205.[end figure description]
rejoined I. The &longs;erious mind mu&longs;t turn with disgust
from the levity which pervades the&longs;e discourses,
and from the indecent flow of mirth and
humour, which converts even the &longs;acred writings,
and the mo&longs;t &longs;olemn &longs;ubjects of religion,
into frolic and buffoonery. Since &longs;uch is your
opinion of this celebrated writer, &longs;aid he, I will
not in&longs;ult your feelings by offering you his Tristram
Shandy. But here is another wit, famous
for his “purity.” Yes, &longs;aid I, if ob&longs;cene and vulgar
ideas, if ill-natured remarks and filthy allusions
be purity, Swift undoubtedly bears the palm
from all his contemporaries. As far as grammatical
correctne&longs;s and &longs;implicity of language can
de&longs;erve the epithet, his advocates may enjoy their
&longs;entiments unmole&longs;ted; but, in any other &longs;en&longs;e
of the word, he has certainly no claim to “purity.”
I conceive his works, notwith&longs;tanding, to be
much le&longs;s pernicious in their tendency, than
tho&longs;e of Sterne. They are not &longs;o enchanting in
their nature, nor &longs;o &longs;ubtle in their effects. In the
one, the noxious in&longs;inuations of licentious wit
are concealed under the artful blandi&longs;hments of
&longs;ympathetic &longs;en&longs;ibility; while we at once recoil
from the rude affault which is made upon our
delicacy, by the roughne&longs;s and vulgarity of the
other.
Choo&longs;e then, &longs;aid Amintor, for your&longs;elf. I
availed my&longs;elf of his offer, and &longs;oon fixed my
eyes upon Doctor Belknap's Hi&longs;tory of
-- 206 --
[figure description] Page 206.[end figure description]
New-Hampshire, and American Biography; both of
which I have &longs;ince read with the greate&longs;t satisfaction.
By this judicious and impartial hi&longs;torian, we
are led, from its fir&longs;t &longs;ettlement, to trace the
progre&longs;s of the infant colony. We accompany
its inhabitants in their enterprizes, their dangers,
their toils, and their &longs;ucce&longs;&longs;es. We take an interest
in their pro&longs;perity; and we tremble at the
dreadful outrages of the barbarous foe. Our imagination
is again recalled to the gradual advance
of population and agriculture. We behold the
wilderne&longs;s blooming as the ro&longs;e, and the haunts
of &longs;avage bea&longs;ts, and more &longs;avage men, converted
into fruitful fields and plea&longs;ant habitations.
The arts and &longs;ciences flouri&longs;h; peace and harmony
are re&longs;tored; and we are a&longs;toni&longs;hed at
the amazing contra&longs;t, produced in little more
than a &longs;ingle century!
When we turn to the American Biography,
gratitude glows in our bo&longs;oms towards tho&longs;e intrepid
and active adventurers, who traver&longs;ed a
trackle&longs;s ocean, explored an unknown region,
and laid the foundation of empire and independence
in this we&longs;tern hemi&longs;phere. The undaunted
re&longs;olution, and cool, determined wi&longs;dom of
Columbus, fill us with profound admiration. We
are con&longs;trained to pay a tribute of ju&longs;t applau&longs;e
to the genero&longs;ity of a female mind, exemplified
in I&longs;abella, who, to &longs;urmount every ob&longs;tacle, no
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[figure description] Page 207.[end figure description]
bly con&longs;ented to &longs;acrifice even her per&longs;onal ornaments
to the &longs;ucce&longs;s of this glorious expedition.
The daring &longs;pirit of Captain Smith, and the
prudence, policy, and magnanimity of his conduct
to the treacherous natives, and to his equally
treacherous and ungrateful countrymen, exhibit
an example of patrioti&longs;m and moderation,
which at once commands our applau&longs;e, and interests
our feelings. While we tremble and recoil
at his dreadful &longs;ituation, when bending his
neck to receive the murderous &longs;troke of death,
the native virtues of our &longs;ex &longs;uddenly reanimate
our frame; and, with &longs;en&longs;ations of rapture, we
behold compa&longs;&longs;ion, benevolence, and humanity
triumphant even in a &longs;avage brea&longs;t; and conspicuously
di&longs;played in the conduct of the amiable,
though uncivilized Pocahontas! Nor are
the other characters in this work unintere&longs;ting:
and I am happy to find that the &longs;ame ma&longs;terly
pen is &longs;till indu&longs;triou&longs;ly employed for the public
good;[6] and that a &longs;econd volume of American
Biography is now in the pre&longs;s.
In reviewing this letter, I am a&longs;toni&longs;hed at my
own pre&longs;umption, in undertaking to play the
critic. My imagination has out&longs;tripped my
judgment; but I will arre&longs;t its career, and subscribe
my&longs;elf mo&longs;t affectionately your's.
SOPHIA MANCHESTER.
eaf105.n6[6] How vain are our expectations! While the types were
&longs;etting for this very page, Dr. Belknap &longs;uddenly expired in
a fit.
-- 208 --
To Mi&longs;s ANNA WILLIAMS.
Boston.
DEAR ANNA,
[figure description] Page 208.[end figure description]
I retired, after breakfa&longs;t this morning,
determined to indulge my&longs;elf in my favourite
amu&longs;ement, and write you a long letter. I had
ju&longs;t mended my pen and folded my paper, when
I was informed that three ladies waited for me
in the parlour. I &longs;tepped down and found Lucinda
P—, Fulvia F—, and Delia S—.
They were gaily dre&longs;&longs;ed, and &longs;till more gaily disposed.
“We called,” &longs;aid they, “to invite you,
Mi&longs;s Maria, to join our party for a &longs;hopping
tour.” Loath to have the ideas di&longs;&longs;ipated, which
I had collected in my pericranium, for the purpose
of tran&longs;mitting to a beloved &longs;i&longs;ter, I declined
accepting their invitation; alleging that I had
no occa&longs;ion to purcha&longs;e any thing to-day; and
therefore begged to be excu&longs;ed from accompanying
them. They laughed at my rea&longs;on for not
engaging in the expedition. “Buying,” &longs;aid their
principal &longs;peaker, “is no con&longs;iderable part of our
plan, I a&longs;&longs;ure you. Amu&longs;ement is what we are
after. We frankly acknowledge it a delightful
gratification of our vanity, to traver&longs;e Cornhill,
to receive the ob&longs;equious congees, and to call
forth the gallantry and activity of the beaux behind
the counter; who, you mu&longs;t know, are
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extremely alert when we belles appear. The waving
of our feathers, and the attractive airs we assume,
command the profounde&longs;t attention, both
of ma&longs;ter and apprentices; who, duped by our
appearance, &longs;uffer le&longs;s brilliant cu&longs;tomers to wait,
or even to depart without notice, till we have
tumbled over and refu&longs;ed half the goods in the
&longs;hop. We then bid a very civil adieu; expre&longs;s
our regret at having given &longs;o much trouble; are
a&longs;&longs;ured, in return, that it has been rather a pleasure;
and leave them their labour for their pains.”
A mo&longs;t in&longs;ignificant amu&longs;ement this, &longs;aid I
to my&longs;elf I How little can it redound to the
honor and happine&longs;s of the&longs;e unthinking girls,
thus to &longs;quander their time in folly's giddy
maze! They undoubtedly wi&longs;h to attract eclat;
but they would do well to remember tho&longs;e words
of the &longs;atiri&longs;t, which, with the alteration of a
&longs;ingle term, may be applied to them:
“Columbia's daughters, much more fair than nice.
Too fond of admiration, lo&longs;e their price;
Worn in the public eye, give cheap delight
To throngs, and tarni&longs;h to the &longs;ated &longs;ight.”
Viewing their conduct in this light, I withstood
their &longs;olicitations, though I palliated my refusal
in &longs;uch a manner as to give no umbrage.
Of all expedients to kill time, this appears to
me, as I know it will to you, the mo&longs;t ridiculous
and ab&longs;urd.
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What po&longs;&longs;ible &longs;atisfaction can re&longs;ult from &longs;uch
a practice? It certainly fatigues the body; and
is it any advantage to the mind? Does it enlarge
the under&longs;tanding, in&longs;pire u&longs;eful ideas, or furni&longs;h
a &longs;ource of plea&longs;ing reflection? True, it may
gratify a vitiated imagination, and exhilarate a
light and trifling mind. But the&longs;e ought to be
re&longs;trained and regulated by rea&longs;on and judgment,
rather than indulged.
I wi&longs;h tho&longs;e ladies, who make plea&longs;ure the supreme
object of their pur&longs;uit, and argue in vindication
of their conduct, that
“Plea&longs;ure is good, and they for plea&longs;ure made,”
would confine them&longs;elves to that &longs;pecies which
“Neither blu&longs;hes, nor expires.”
The dome&longs;tic virtues, if duly cultivated, might
certainly occupy tho&longs;e hours, which they are now
&longs;olicitous to diffipate, both with profit and delight:
“But it is time enough to be dome&longs;ticated,” &longs;ay
they, “when we are placed at the head of families,
and nece&longs;&longs;arily confined to care and labour.”
Should not the mind, however, be &longs;ea&longs;onably
inured to the &longs;phere of life which Providence
affigns us?
“To guide the pencil, turn th' in&longs;tructive page;
To lend new flavour to the fruitful year,
And heighten nature's dainties; in their race
To rear their graces into &longs;econd life;
To give &longs;ociety its highe&longs;t ta&longs;te;
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Well-ordered home man's be&longs;t delight to make;
And, by &longs;ubmi&longs;&longs;ive wi&longs;dom, mode&longs;t &longs;kill,
With every gentle care-cluding art,
To rai&longs;e the virtues, animate the bli&longs;s,
And &longs;weeten all the toils of human life:
This be the female dignity and prai&longs;e.”
A proper attention to the&longs;e nece&longs;&longs;ary duties
and embelli&longs;hments would not only correct this
rambling di&longs;po&longs;ition, but happily leave neither
lei&longs;ure nor temptation for its indulgence.
I intended to have given you &longs;ome account of
my agreeable vi&longs;it here; but the chit-chat of the
ladies I have mentioned, has occupied a large
portion of my time this morning, and an engagement
to dine abroad claims the re&longs;t.
I hope &longs;oon to embrace you in our beloved retirement,
and again to enjoy the &longs;weets of my
native home.
“Had I the choice of &longs;ublunary good,
What could I wi&longs;h that I po&longs;&longs;e&longs;s not there?
Health, lei&longs;ure, means t' improve it, friend&longs;hip, peace.”
My mo&longs;t dutiful affections await mamma; and
my kind regards attend the young ladies re&longs;iding
with her. How great a &longs;hare of my ardent love
is at your command need not be renewedly testified
by
MARIA WILLIAMS.
-- 212 --
To Mi&longs;s SOPHIA MANCHESTER.
Newbury-Port.
[figure description] Page 212.[end figure description]
The extracts which you tran&longs;mitted to
me in your la&longs;t kind letter, my dear Sophia, from
your favourite author, Doctor Young, corresponded
exactly with the &longs;olemnity infu&longs;ed into
my mind by the funeral of a neighbour, from
which I had ju&longs;t returned.
I agree with you, that the Night-Thoughts are
good devotional exerci&longs;es. It is impo&longs;&longs;ible to
read them with that degree of attention which
they merit, without being affected by the important
and awful &longs;ubjects on which they treat.
But Young, after all, is always too ab&longs;tru&longs;e, and
in many in&longs;tances, too gloomy for me. The
mo&longs;t elaborate application is nece&longs;&longs;ary to the
comprehen&longs;ion of his meaning and de&longs;ign;
which, when di&longs;covered, often tend rather to
depre&longs;s than to elevate the &longs;pirits.
Thomp&longs;on is much better adapted to my
ta&longs;te. Sentiment, elegance, per&longs;picuity, and
&longs;ublimity are all combined in his Sea&longs;ons. What
an inimitable painter! How admirably he describes
the infinitely variegated beauties and operations
of nature! To the feeling and susceptible
heart they are pre&longs;ented in the &longs;tronge&longs;t
light. Nor is the energy of his language le&longs;s
perceivable, when he de&longs;cribes the Deity riding
-- 213 --
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on the wings of the wind, and directing the
&longs;tormy tempe&longs;t.
“How chang'd the &longs;cene! In blazing height of noon,
The &longs;un, oppre&longs;s'd, is plung'd in thicke&longs;t gloom;
Still horror reigns, a di&longs;mal twilight round,
Of &longs;truggling night and day malignant mix'd.
Far to the hot equator crowding fa&longs;t,
Where, highly rarefy'd, the yielding air
Admits their &longs;tream, ince&longs;&longs;ant vapours roll,
Amazing clouds on clouds continual heap'd;
Or whirl'd tempe&longs;tuous by the gu&longs;ty wind,
Or &longs;ilent, borne along, heavy and &longs;low,
With the big &longs;tores of &longs;treaming oceans charg'd.
Meantime, amid the&longs;e upper &longs;eas, conden&longs;'d
Around the cold aërial mountain's brow,
And by conflicting winds together da&longs;h'd,
The thunder holds his black tremendous throne.
From cloud to cloud the rending lightnings rage;
Till, in the furious elemental war
Di&longs;&longs;olv'd, the whole precipitated ma&longs;s
Unbroken floods and torrents pours.”
Con&longs;cious of our own weakne&longs;s and dependence,
we can hardly fail to adore and to fear
that Divine Power, who&longs;e agency this imagery
exhibits to our minds. Nor are the devout affections
of our hearts le&longs;s excited, when we behold
the &longs;ame glorious Being arrayed in love,
and accommodating the regular &longs;ucce&longs;&longs;ion of
&longs;ummer and winter, &longs;eed-time and harve&longs;t to our
convenience and comfort. When nature, obedient
to his command, revives the vegetable
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world, and diffu&longs;es alacrity and joy throughout
the animal, and even rational creation, we involuntarily
exclaim with the poet,
“Hail, Source of Being! Universal Soul
Of heaven and earth! Essential Presence, hail!
To Thee I bend the knee; to Thee my thoughts
Continual climb; who, with a ma&longs;ter hand,
Ha&longs;t the great whole into perfection touch'd.
By Thee the various vegetative tribes,
Wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves,
Draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew.
By Thee, di&longs;po&longs;'d into congenial &longs;oils,
Stands each attractive plant, and &longs;ucks, and &longs;wells
The juicy tide; a twining ma&longs;s of tubes.
At Thy command, the vernal fun awakes
The torpid &longs;ap, detruded to the root
By wintry winds; which now in fluent dance,
And lively fermentation, mounting, &longs;preads
All this innumerous-colour'd &longs;cene of things.”
Aided in our ob&longs;ervations by this pathetic and
pious writer, our hearts beat re&longs;ponfive to the
&longs;entiments of gratitude, which he indirectly, yet
mo&longs;t forcibly inculcates in that devout addre&longs;s to
the Supreme Parent:
“—Were every faultering tongue of man,
Almighty Father! &longs;ilent in thy prai&longs;e,
Thy works them&longs;elves would rai&longs;e a general voice,
Even in the depth of &longs;olitary woods,
By human foot untrod; proclaim thy power,
And to the quire cele&longs;tial Thee re&longs;ound,
Th' eternal Cau&longs;e, Support, and End of all!”
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By this beautiful poem we are allured to the
&longs;tudy of nature, and to the contemplation of nature's
God. Our hearts glow with devotion and
love to the &longs;overeign Lord and Benefactor of the
univer&longs;e; and we are drawn, by the innumerable
di&longs;plays of his goodne&longs;s, to the practice of virtue
and religion.
You may, po&longs;&longs;ibly, call me an enthu&longs;ia&longs;t.
Be it &longs;o. Yet I contend for the honor, but especially
for the privilege, of being a cheerful one.
For I think we di&longs;honor our heavenly Father by
attaching any thing gloomy or forbidding to his
character. In the participation of divine blessings,
let us rather exerci&longs;e a thankful, and contented
di&longs;po&longs;ition.
I remain your's mo&longs;t affectionately.
CAROLINE LITTLETON.
-- 216 --
To Mrs. WILLIAMS.
Boston.
DEAR MADAM,
[figure description] Page 216.[end figure description]
By her de&longs;ire, in conjunction with my own
inclination, I inform you that Harriot Henly is
no more—Ye&longs;terday &longs;he gave her hand, and
renounced her name together; threw a&longs;ide the
&longs;prightly girl we have been &longs;o long accu&longs;tomed
to admire, and &longs;ub&longs;tituted in her place the dignified
and re&longs;pectable head of a family, in Mrs.
Farmington.
Have I not lo&longs;t my amiable friend and associate?
Will not her change of &longs;ituation tend to
le&longs;&longs;en our intercour&longs;e, and to alienate our affections?
When I contemplate the &longs;ocial circle, &longs;o firmly
cemented in the bands of friend&longs;hip, at the
boarding &longs;chool, where the mo&longs;t perfect harmony,
ea&longs;e and &longs;atisfaction pre&longs;ided, I recoil at
the idea of becoming le&longs;s dear, le&longs;s intere&longs;ting,
and le&longs;s nece&longs;&longs;ary to each other. It is with the
utmo&longs;t reluctance that I admit the idea of rivals
to that affection and benevolence which we have,
&longs;o long, and &longs;o &longs;incerely interchanged.
The charm however is broken. Harriot is already
married; and my friends are extremely solicitous
that I &longs;hould follow her example. But
in a connexion which requires &longs;o many
-- 217 --
[figure description] Page 217.[end figure description]
precautions before it is formed, and &longs;uch uninterrupted
circum&longs;pection and prudence afterwards;
the great uncertainty of the event in&longs;pires me
with timidity and apprehen&longs;ion.
Harriot put into my hands, and I read with
plea&longs;ure, the book which you recommended to
her on the &longs;ubject. But &longs;till we wi&longs;hed for your
in&longs;truction and advice. The &longs;entiments of a
per&longs;on &longs;o dear and intere&longs;ting to us, are particularly
calculated to engage our attention, and influence
our conduct. Relying, too, on your
judgment and experience, your forming pen may
render us more worthy objects of attachment.
We, however, unite in a&longs;&longs;uring you of our
gratitude for all pa&longs;t favours; and in pre&longs;enting
our &longs;incere regards to the young ladies.
I am, with great re&longs;pect, your affectionate
and grateful
LAURA GUILFORD.
-- 218 --
To Mi&longs;s LAURA GUILFORD.
Harmony-Grove.
DEAR LAURA,
[figure description] Page 218.[end figure description]
The obligations under which you lay me,
by your generous confidence, and affectionate
expre&longs;&longs;ions of regard, induce me again to a&longs;&longs;ume
the Preceptre&longs;s towards you, and to gratify your
wi&longs;hes, by imparting my &longs;entiments on your present
&longs;ituation and pro&longs;pects.
I am told by my daughter, who had the honor
of bearing your letter, that you are, what I always
expected you would be, an object of general
admiration. Yet, I tru&longs;t, your good &longs;en&longs;e
will enable you duly to di&longs;tingui&longs;h and treat the
&longs;everal candidates for your favour.
It is, indeed, my young friend, a matter of the
mo&longs;t &longs;erious con&longs;equence, which lies upon your
mind, and awakens your anxiety. Your friends
are &longs;tudious of your welfare, and kindly concerned
that the important die on which the happine&longs;s of
your life depends, &longs;hould be judiciou&longs;ly ca&longs;t. You
doubtle&longs;s remember, that I di&longs;cour&longs;ed upon this
&longs;ubject in my concluding le&longs;&longs;ons to your cla&longs;s.
Di&longs;parity of tempers, among other things which
were then &longs;ugge&longs;ted, and which you will doubtle&longs;s
recollect, was repre&longs;ented, as tending to render
life uncomfortable. But there are other disparities
which may be equally ho&longs;tile to your peace.
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Di&longs;parity of years is very apt to occa&longs;ion the
indulgence of pa&longs;&longs;ions de&longs;tructive of conjugal felicity.
The great difference between the sprightly
fancy, vivacity, and enterprize of youth, and
the deliberate caution, phlegmatic coldne&longs;s, and
&longs;ententious wi&longs;dom of age, render them very
unplea&longs;ant companions to each other. Marriage
between per&longs;ons of the&longs;e oppo&longs;ite de&longs;criptions is
commonly the re&longs;ult of pecuniary motives, with
one party, at lea&longs;t: the &longs;u&longs;picion of this, in the
other, mu&longs;t nece&longs;&longs;arily produce di&longs;content, uneasiness,
and di&longs;affection.
Age is naturally jealous of re&longs;pect, and apprehensive
of being &longs;lighted. The mo&longs;t trifling and
unmeaning inattentions will therefore be construed
ami&longs;s. For an exce&longs;&longs;ive de&longs;ire of being objects
of &longs;upreme regard is almo&longs;t invariably accompanied
with a &longs;trong per&longs;ua&longs;ion of being the rever&longs;e.
Hence accu&longs;ations, reproaches, and re&longs;traints, on
the one &longs;ide, produce di&longs;gu&longs;t, re&longs;entment and alienation
on the other, till mutual and uncea&longs;ing
wretchedne&longs;s en&longs;ue. Indeed, where intere&longs;t
alone, without this inequality of years, is the
principal inducement, marriage is &longs;eldom happy.
E&longs;teem and love are independent of wealth and
its appendages. They are not to be fold or
bought. The conjugal relation is &longs;o near and interesting;
the mind, as well as the per&longs;on, is &longs;o
intimately concerned in it, that &longs;omething more
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&longs;ub&longs;tantial and engaging than gold is requi&longs;ite to
make it a ble&longs;&longs;ing.
Marriage, being the commencement of a domestic
life, be&longs;ide the many agreeable circumstances
attending it, has its peculiar cares and
troubles, which require the &longs;olace of a companion
actuated by better principles, and po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed of
more amiable endowments than outward splendour
and magnificence can afford. In the hour
of &longs;ickne&longs;s and di&longs;tre&longs;s, riches, it is true, can bestow
bodily comforts and cordials; but can they
be made an equivalent for the tender &longs;ympathy,
the endearing kindne&longs;s, and the alleviating attention
of a bo&longs;om friend, kindly a&longs;&longs;iduous to ea&longs;e
our pains, animate our pro&longs;pects, and beguile the
languid moments which elude all other consolations?
The &longs;orrows as well as the joys of a
family &longs;tate, are often &longs;uch as none but a bo&longs;om
friend can participate. The heart mu&longs;t be engaged
before it can repo&longs;e with ea&longs;e and confidence.
To a lady of &longs;en&longs;ibility, the confinement of the
body, without the con&longs;ent and union of according
minds, mu&longs;t be a &longs;tate of inexpre&longs;&longs;ible wretchedness.
Another &longs;ituation, not le&longs;s to be deplored, is a
connexion with the immoral and profane.
How &longs;hocking mu&longs;t it be, to hear that &longs;acred
NAME, which you revere and love, con&longs;tantly
treated with levity and irreverence! And how
painful the nece&longs;&longs;ity of being con&longs;trained, for the
-- 221 --
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&longs;ake of peace, to witne&longs;s in &longs;ilence, and without
even the appearance of di&longs;approbation, the mo&longs;t
&longs;hameful outrages upon religion and virtue! May
you never ta&longs;te the bitterne&longs;s of this evil!
Intemperance is a vice, which one would imagine
no lady would overlook in a &longs;uitor. But,
&longs;trange to tell! there are tho&longs;e, even among our
own &longs;ex, who think and &longs;peak of inebriation in
the other, at the jovial and well-furni&longs;hed board,
as a mark of conviviality and good fellow&longs;hip!
What, then, is the di&longs;tingui&longs;hing badge of humanity?
Can that rea&longs;on, which alone rai&longs;es us
&longs;uperior to the brute creation, be wantonly sacrificed
with impunity; yea, with reputation?
How degrading and how dreadful mu&longs;t this
enormity appear to an intere&longs;ted, affectionate,
and virtuous wife! What agonizing pangs of
mortification and angui&longs;h mu&longs;t &longs;he endure, when
&longs;he meets him, in who&longs;e &longs;ociety &longs;he delights, who&longs;e
return &longs;he has anticipated with impatience, and
who&longs;e happine&longs;s and honor are the moving &longs;prings
of her life, intoxicated with wine; the powers of
his mind &longs;u&longs;pended by the poi&longs;onous cup, and
every faculty ab&longs;orbed in the deadly draught!
What a perpetual &longs;ource of dread and apprehension
mu&longs;t hence ari&longs;e; and how often mu&longs;t the
blu&longs;h of indignant virtue and wounded delicacy
be called forth!
The game&longs;ter is an equally dangerous companion.
His family is robbed, not only of his company
-- 222 --
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and his talents, but of that property, to the benefit
of which they have an indi&longs;putable claim.
His earnings are &longs;quandered among worthle&longs;s and
profligate a&longs;&longs;ociates abroad; while the faithful
partner of his life, and perhaps, too, a ri&longs;ing offspring,
langui&longs;h at home for want of bread!
How fatal is the tendency of &longs;uch examples!
How can that father inculcate the duties of piety,
virtue and decency, who exhibits the rever&longs;e
of each in his own conduct? And under what
an un&longs;peakable di&longs;advantage mu&longs;t that mother
labour, in the in&longs;truction and education of her
children, who&longs;e admonitions, coun&longs;els, and directions
are practically counteracted by him who
ought to bear an equal &longs;hare of the burden!
The government and &longs;uperintendence of a family
are objects of &longs;uch magnitude and importance,
that the union and co-operation of its
heads are indi&longs;pen&longs;ably nece&longs;&longs;ary. It is a little
commonwealth; and if internal feuds and dissensions
ari&longs;e, anarchy and confu&longs;ion mu&longs;t en&longs;ue.
Dome&longs;tic happine&longs;s is the foundation of every
other &longs;pecies. At times, indeed, we may enjoy
our&longs;elves abroad, among our friends; but a good
heart will return home, as to the &longs;eat of felicity.
“ — Home is the re&longs;ort
Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where,
Supporting and &longs;upported, poli&longs;h'd friends
And dear relations mingle into bli&longs;s.”
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Since &longs;o much, then, depends upon a judicious
choice, how important is it, that you examine
well before you decide; and that you di&longs;pen&longs;e
with no quality in the man to whom you &longs;hall
give your hand, which is e&longs;&longs;ential to the virtue
and happine&longs;s of your life. For this purpo&longs;e,
con&longs;ult your judgment, rather than your fancy;
and &longs;uffer not &longs;uperficial accompli&longs;hments, but
&longs;olid merit to preponderate.
I have now endeavoured to point out the
mo&longs;t apparent and threatening dangers to which
you may be expo&longs;ed. But though the&longs;e are
avoided, many unfore&longs;een accidents will doubtless
occur to cloud your &longs;anguine hopes. The&longs;e,
when there are no vices to produce them, may
ari&longs;e from follies, and from the indulgence of erroneous
expectations. Little mi&longs;under&longs;tandings
&longs;ometimes occa&longs;ion di&longs;agreements which terminate
in coldne&longs;s and di&longs;affection, and plant a
root of bitterne&longs;s which can hardly be eradicated.
Let prudence, therefore, be your pole-&longs;tar,
when you enter the married &longs;tate. Watch with
the greate&longs;t circum&longs;pection over your&longs;elf; and
always exerci&longs;e the tendere&longs;t affection, the mo&longs;t
unwearied patience, and the mo&longs;t cheerful acquiescence
in the treatment of your companion.
Guard e&longs;pecially again&longs;t being affected by tho&longs;e
little inattentions and foibles, which too often
give pain and umbrage without de&longs;ign; and
produce tho&longs;e remon&longs;trances, criminations, and
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retorts, which are the great inlets of &longs;trife, and
bane of love.
You mu&longs;t bear, with calmne&longs;s, every thing that
the &longs;incere&longs;t de&longs;ire of peace can dictate; and studiously
avoid every expre&longs;&longs;ion, and even look,
which may irritate and offend. Your own happiness,
you will con&longs;ider &longs;o intimately connected
with that of your hu&longs;band, as to be in&longs;eparable;
and con&longs;equently, that all your hopes of comfort
in this life, and perhaps, too, in the next, depend
upon your conducting with propriety and wisdom
towards him.
I take the liberty, through you, to convey my
congratulations to Mrs. Farmington. May her
change of condition be happy, to the full extent
of our mo&longs;t &longs;anguine expectations, and benevolent
wi&longs;hes. I fully intended writing her on
the &longs;ubject, but have unwarily be&longs;towed &longs;o much
time upon you, that for the pre&longs;ent, I mu&longs;t fore-go
the plea&longs;ure. Some things in this letter,
which you will doubtle&longs;s communicate, are applicable
to her ca&longs;e. The&longs;e &longs;he will receive as
friendly hints from me; and I am confident that
her known di&longs;cretion will continue to &longs;hed a benign
and engaging influence upon her whole deportment,
and render her uniformly re&longs;pected
and beloved.
The bearer is waiting, and I can only add,
that I remain your &longs;incere and affectionate friend.
MARY WILLIAMS.
-- 225 --
To Mi&longs;s CLEORA PARTRIDGE.
Boston.
DEAR CLEORA,
[figure description] Page 225.[end figure description]
The plea&longs;ing hope with which you inspired
me, when we parted la&longs;t, of receiving a
vi&longs;it from you in town, has been con&longs;tantly
cheri&longs;hed. I have anticipated your arrival with
the utmo&longs;t impatience; but have endeavoured,
notwith&longs;tanding, to beguile the &longs;low-paced hours
by a u&longs;eful and plea&longs;ing occupation; the revision
of my geographical &longs;tudies.
My papa has kindly procured me Doctor
Mor&longs;e's la&longs;t, and much improved edition of Universal
Geography, which, with the a&longs;&longs;i&longs;tance of
a pair of globes he po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed, has afforded me the
mo&longs;t delightful entertainment. When at &longs;chool,
I thought this the mo&longs;t agreeable &longs;tudy allotted
me; never deeming it a ta&longs;k, but an amu&longs;ement.
It affords me, as it mu&longs;t every true American,
the &longs;incere&longs;t plea&longs;ure to be furni&longs;hed with the
means of acquiring this favourite &longs;cience, by my
own countryman; and the &longs;pirit of Columbian
independence exults in my bo&longs;om, at the idea of
being able to gain an accurate acquaintance with
my own and other countries, without recour&longs;e to
the labours of foreigners.
I think the pre&longs;ent generation under &longs;pecial
obligations to the active indu&longs;try of Dr. Mor&longs;e,
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in providing us with that nece&longs;&longs;ary and rich fund
of information, which his Geography and Gazetteer
contain. From the&longs;e &longs;ources we may derive
a &longs;ufficient knowledge of the world we inhabit,
without departing from our dome&longs;tic
&longs;phere.
Come, then, my dear Cleora, and without fatigue
or expen&longs;e, we will make the tour of the
globe together. After inve&longs;tigating the local situation
of different and di&longs;tant climes, we will
turn to the hi&longs;toric page, and examine the manners,
government, character, and improvements
of their inhabitants. We will traver&longs;e the frozen
wa&longs;tes of the frigid zones, and the burning &longs;ands
of the equatorial region; then return and ble&longs;s
the temperate and happy medium in which we
are placed; and, ca&longs;ting an eye around, exult in
our peculiar advantages of &longs;oil and &longs;ituation,
peace and good government, virtue and religion.
The fine mornings of this &longs;ea&longs;on afford many
delightful hours, before the heat of the day relaxes
the mind and enervates the body. Come,
then, enjoy and improve the&longs;e, in concert with
your faithful and affectionate friend,
JULIA GREENFIELD.
-- 227 --
To Mi&longs;s MATILDA FIELDING.
Harmony-Grove.
DEAR MATILDA,
[figure description] Page 227.[end figure description]
Last Thur&longs;day, after having concluded
the u&longs;ual occupations and &longs;edentary amu&longs;ements
of the day, I walked out, towards evening, to
enjoy the benefit of a cool and fragrant air, and
the &longs;erenity and beauty of tho&longs;e rural &longs;cenes
which have a powerful tendency to &longs;oothe and
tranquillize the mind. When I had rambled in
the fields, to a con&longs;iderable di&longs;tance, I cro&longs;&longs;ed
into the road, to return home free from the inconvenience
of the dew, which had begun to fall.
I had not proceeded far, when I ob&longs;erved a
female, who had the appearance of youth and
misfortune, &longs;itting by the wall in a pen&longs;ive attitude,
with an infant in her lap. When I approached
her, &longs;he aro&longs;e, and in the mo&longs;t humble
and pathetic accents, be&longs;ought me to direct her
to &longs;ome &longs;helter, where &longs;he might repo&longs;e her
weary limbs for the night. The a&longs;pect and language
of di&longs;tre&longs;s awakened my compa&longs;&longs;ion. To
know &longs;he really needed charity, was a &longs;ufficient
inducement with me to be&longs;tow it, without scrupulously
inquiring whether &longs;he de&longs;erved it or
not. I therefore told her to follow me, and I
would conduct her to a lodging.
As we walked on, I que&longs;tioned her re&longs;pecting
the place of her nativity, her parentage, and the
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rea&longs;on of her being reduced to the &longs;ituation in
which I had found her. She informed me that
&longs;he was born in Ireland; that her parents
brought her into this country, before her remembrance;
that while &longs;he was very young, they
both died, and left her to the protection and
mercy of &longs;trangers; that &longs;he was bandied from
one to another, in the village where Providence
had ca&longs;t her lot, till &longs;he was able to earn her
own living: “and &longs;ince that time,” &longs;aid &longs;he, “I
believe the character of an hone&longs;t and industrious
girl will not be refu&longs;ed me.” How then,
&longs;aid I, came you by this incumbrance? pointing
to the child. “In that,” replied &longs;he, “I am
verily guilty. Brought up in ignorance of tho&longs;e
principles of decency, virtue and religion, which
have kept you innocent, Madam, I was ruined by
a deceitful man, who, under the ma&longs;k of love,
and with the mo&longs;t &longs;olemn promi&longs;es of marriage,
betrayed my confidence, and left me to
reap the bitter fruits of my credulity. The
woman where I lived, when &longs;he di&longs;covered my
&longs;ituation, ordered me to leave her hou&longs;e immediately.
It was no matter, &longs;aid &longs;he, how much I
&longs;uffered, or what became of me. On my own
head, &longs;he told me, my iniquity &longs;hould fall; &longs;he
would not lighten the burden, if it were in her
power.
“Some of the neighbours informed me, that
&longs;he had rea&longs;on to be &longs;evere upon my fault, being
once in the &longs;ame condemnation her&longs;elf.
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“Having no friend who could a&longs;&longs;i&longs;t me, I applied
to the &longs;election of the town, who provided
for me till I was able to work, and then told me
I mu&longs;t &longs;hift for my&longs;elf; offering, however, to
keep the child, which I refu&longs;ed, being determined
it &longs;hould never &longs;uffer for want of a mother's care,
while I had life.
“I am now wandering in pur&longs;uit of employment,
that the labour of my hands may &longs;upport
my&longs;elf and little one. This has been often denied
me, either for fear my child &longs;hould be
trouble&longs;ome, or becau&longs;e my character was suspected.
I have &longs;ometimes &longs;uffered &longs;o much
from fatigue and want, that I have de&longs;paired of
relief, and heartily wi&longs;hed both my&longs;elf and my
babe in the grave.”
On examination, I found her knowledge confined
entirely to dome&longs;tic drudgery; that &longs;he had
never been taught either to read or write. She
appears, notwith&longs;tanding, to have good natural
&longs;en&longs;e; and a quickne&longs;s of apprehen&longs;ion, and
readine&longs;s of expre&longs;&longs;ion, &longs;eldom equalled in her
&longs;phere of life.
I conducted her into the kitchen, and de&longs;ired
&longs;he might have &longs;upper, and a bed provided for
her. My mamma, who&longs;e benevolent heart and
liberal hand are always ready to relieve the necessitous,
was plea&longs;ed to approve my conduct; and
having kept her through the next day, and observed
her di&longs;po&longs;ition and behaviour, hired her as
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a &longs;ervant; and we have rea&longs;on to believe, from
her apparent fidelity and grateful exertions, that
our kindne&longs;s will be well repaid. I have even
extended my charity further, and undertaken to
teach her to read. She is very tractable; and I
expect to be amply rewarded for my labour, by
her improvements.
Indeed, Matilda, it is melancholy to &longs;ee our
fellow-creatures reared up, like the brute creation;
neither in&longs;tructed how to live above their
animal appetites, nor how to die as Chri&longs;tians,
when they have fini&longs;hed their toil&longs;ome career!
This girl is only &longs;eventeen. Her age, therefore,
as well as her docility and &longs;ubmi&longs;&longs;ivene&longs;s,
encourage the plea&longs;ing hope of re&longs;toring her to
the paths of rectitude and peace. I &longs;hall endeavour,
as opportunity offers, to in&longs;til into her
&longs;u&longs;ceptible mind, the principles of virtue and religion;
and, perhaps, I may lead her to the love
and practice of both, and render her a u&longs;eful
member of &longs;ociety. Her fate impre&longs;&longs;es, more
forcibly than ever, on my mind, the importance
of a good education, and the obligations it confers.
Had you or I been &longs;ubjected to the &longs;ame
ignorance, and the &longs;ame temptations, who can
&longs;ay that we &longs;hould have conducted better? How
many fall for want of the directing hand of that
parental love and friend&longs;hip, with which we are
ble&longs;&longs;ed! Contra&longs;ting our &longs;ituation with her's,
how much have we to account for, and how
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inexcusable &longs;hall we be, if we violate our duty, and
forfeit our dignity, as rea&longs;onable creatures!
That extreme bitterne&longs;s and acrimony, which
is &longs;ometimes indulged, again&longs;t per&longs;ons who are
unhappily &longs;educed from the way of virtue, may
operate as a di&longs;couragement to all de&longs;igns and endeavours
to regain it: whereas, the &longs;oothing
voice of forgivene&longs;s, and the con&longs;equent pro&longs;pect
of being re&longs;tored to reputation and u&longs;efulne&longs;s,
might rou&longs;e the attention, and call forth the exertions
of &longs;ome, at lea&longs;t, who, through de&longs;pair of
retrieving their characters, abandon them&longs;elves
to vice, and adopt a cour&longs;e, alike di&longs;graceful to
their &longs;ex, and to human nature.
But, though I advocate the principles of philanthropy
and Chri&longs;tian charity, as extending to
&longs;ome very &longs;pecial ca&longs;es, I am far from &longs;uppo&longs;ing
this fault generally capable of the lea&longs;t extenuation.
Whatever allowance may be made for
tho&longs;e, who&longs;e ignorance occa&longs;ions their ruin, no
excu&longs;e can be offered for others, who&longs;e education,
and opportunities for knowing the world and
them&longs;elves, have taught them a better le&longs;&longs;on.
I need not, however, be at the pains to enforce
this truth upon you: and, as my head is &longs;o full
of the &longs;ubject, that I have no di&longs;po&longs;ition to write
upon any thing el&longs;e, I will put an end to this incoherent
&longs;croll, by annexing the name of your
&longs;incere and faithful friend,
MARIA WILLIAMS.
-- 232 --
To Mi&longs;s CAROLINE LITTLETON.
Boston.
DEAR CAROLINE,
[figure description] Page 232.[end figure description]
Happening to be in my chamber, this
morning, the maid came running up &longs;tairs in &longs;uch
violent ha&longs;te, as to put her&longs;elf fairly out of breath.
Will you be &longs;o kind, Mi&longs;s Sophia, &longs;aid &longs;he, as to
lend me a quarter of a dollar? I put my hand
into my pocket, and found I had no &longs;mall change.
I have nothing le&longs;s than a dollar, Su&longs;an, &longs;aid I;
but, if it is a matter of con&longs;equence to you, I
will go to my mamma, and procure it for you.
She was loath to give me that trouble; but, if I
would, it would really oblige her very much indeed.
Her &longs;olicitude excited my curio&longs;ity. Will
you inform me what you want it for? &longs;aid I.
O yes; &longs;he believed it was no harm—But there
was a woman in the wood-hou&longs;e, who told fortunes;
and &longs;he wi&longs;hed to know her's, but could
not without the money. A woman who tells
fortunes! &longs;aid I. What fortunes? the pa&longs;t, or
the future? The future, to be &longs;ure, Ma'am, rejoined
&longs;he. Ay, how does &longs;he know them? &longs;aid
I. Has &longs;he been let into the &longs;ecret de&longs;igns of
Providence? or can &longs;he divine the my&longs;teries of
fate? She tells fortunes by cards, Ma'am, &longs;aid
&longs;he; and I really believe &longs;he tells true. Can you
imagine, &longs;aid I, that a knowledge of your de&longs;tiny
in life, is to be gained from any po&longs;&longs;ible
-- 233 --
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arrangement of a pack of cards? Why not, Ma'am?
Many people have been told exactly what was to
happen. You may depend on it, Su&longs;an, &longs;aid I,
you are deceived. The Almighty, who di&longs;po&longs;es
all events according to his &longs;overeign plea&longs;ure,
does not unveil futurity to mortals, e&longs;pecially to
&longs;uch mortals, who, by an idle vicious cour&longs;e of
life, counteract his laws, and di&longs;regard his authority.
I would willingly give you the money,
twice told, if you needed it; but I cannot consent
to your being impo&longs;ed on, by this worthle&longs;s
vagrant, who has no other de&longs;ign than to pick
your pocket.
The girl departed at the&longs;e words; and, though
I felt an emotion of regret at refu&longs;ing to gratify
her, yet my rea&longs;on and con&longs;cience forbad my being
acce&longs;&longs;ary to the fraud.
This curio&longs;ity to explore the hidden coun&longs;els of
the Mo&longs;t High, prevails not only among &longs;ervants,
but even many, from whom better things might
be expected, are under its infatuating influence.
The Supreme Being has, for wi&longs;e and benevolent
rea&longs;ons, concealed from us the future incidents
of our lives. A humble reliance on his
power and goodne&longs;s, accompanied with a cheerful
&longs;ubmi&longs;&longs;ion to the di&longs;pen&longs;ations of his providence,
is what the Lord our God requireth of us.
I have heard my mamma relate an anecdote of
a particular friend of her's, who was impo&longs;ed on
very &longs;eriou&longs;ly in this way.
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A gentleman, whom I &longs;hall call Sylvander, was
very deeply in love with her; but his per&longs;on,
and, much more, his di&longs;po&longs;ition and manners,
were extremely difgu&longs;ting to her. Aver&longs;e to the
very idea of a connexion with him, &longs;he accordingly
refu&longs;ed his addre&longs;&longs;es. Yet he had art fussicient
to intere&longs;t her friends in his behalf; who,
pitying his &longs;ituation, endeavoured to &longs;often the
heart of the obdurate fair. But in vain they
&longs;trove to conciliate her affections.
In defiance of all oppo&longs;ition, however, he incessantly
obtruded his vi&longs;its, till &longs;he reluctantly
admitted them; and being &longs;omewhat coquetti&longs;h,
&longs;he at times received him more benignly; which
flattered his hopes of ultimately accompli&longs;hing
his wi&longs;hes. Finding his ardent &longs;uit of but little
avail, and perceiving that he made but &longs;mall
progre&longs;s towards gaining her favour, he had recourse
to art. Surpri&longs;ing her, one day, in clo&longs;e
confabulation with a fortune-teller, the idea immediately
&longs;truck him, that he might effect, through
this mean, what all his a&longs;&longs;iduity and &longs;olicitations
could never in&longs;ure. He communicated his plan
to a female friend, who was equally the confident
of both parties. Directed by him, &longs;he converfed
with Sylvia on the &longs;ubject; profe&longs;&longs;ed her
belief in the &longs;kill of the&longs;e jugglers; and appeared
de&longs;irous of taking this mea&longs;ure to learn her fate.
Sylvia joined in her opinion and wi&longs;hes; and
away they tripped together on the important
-- 235 --
[figure description] Page 235.[end figure description]
errand. Meanwhile, Sylvander had been to the
fellow who was to reveal their de&longs;tinies; and,
bribing him to favour the de&longs;ign, left him, instructed
what an&longs;wers to make to their interrogations.
They arrived, and propo&longs;ed their bu&longs;ine&longs;s. The
mediums of information, a pack of cards, were
brought forth, and my&longs;tcriou&longs;ly arranged. Sylvia's
curio&longs;ity was on tip-toe. She li&longs;tened with
profound attention to his oracular wi&longs;dom; and
believed him really in&longs;pired, when he told her,
that her former lover, for whom &longs;he had a great
regard, was gone to a foreign country. This &longs;he
knew to be true, and therefore gave him full credence,
when he added, that he would never live
to return; and when he proceeded &longs;till further
to ob&longs;erve, that another gentleman of great merit
now courted her; that &longs;he was not fond of his
addre&longs;&longs;es, but would &longs;oon &longs;ee his worth and her
own error; give him her hand, and be happy.
In &longs;hort, he &longs;o artfully blended the pa&longs;t and
pre&longs;ent, which &longs;he knew, with the future which
Sylvander wi&longs;hed, and had therefore dictated,
that &longs;he was firmly per&longs;uaded he dealt with &longs;ome
invi&longs;ible power, and that fate had, indeed, predestined
her to the arms of Sylvander. Convinced
of this, &longs;he attended to his overtures more
placidly, contemplated his per&longs;on and endowments
with le&longs;s aver&longs;ion, and endeavoured to
reconcile her&longs;elf to the unavoidable event.
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This &longs;he effected; and not long after, he obtained
her in marriage, and triumphed in the
&longs;ucce&longs;s of his duplicity.
In proce&longs;s of time, her other lover returned.
Di&longs;appointment and de&longs;pair pre&longs;ided in his
brea&longs;t. He &longs;aw Sylvia, upbraided her with her
incon&longs;tancy, and declared him&longs;elf utterly ruined.
Pity and returning love operated in her mind,
and rendered her completely wretched. She
mo&longs;t &longs;everely condemned her own folly, in liftening
to the dictates of a mi&longs;guided curio&longs;ity;
and acknowledged her&longs;elf ju&longs;tly puni&longs;hed, for
pre&longs;uming to pry into the &longs;ecret de&longs;igns of
Heaven.
The&longs;e &longs;trolling pretenders to foreknowledge
are peculiarly dangerous to the weak-minded and
credulous part of the community; and how it
happens that they are ever encouraged, is to me
inconceivable. Did they actually give the information
they promi&longs;e, how much rea&longs;on &longs;hould
we have to avoid them! How many &longs;ources of
grief would be opened, by the anticipation of
future evils, of which, now, we have no apprehension!
and how often &longs;hould we be deprived
of the con&longs;olatory hope of a &longs;peedy deliverance
from pre&longs;ent &longs;ufferings!
With every &longs;entiment of re&longs;pect and affection,
I am mo&longs;t &longs;incerely your's.
SOPHIA MANCHESTER.
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To Mi&longs;s ANNA WILLIAMS.
Boston.
DEAR ANNA,
[figure description] Page 237.[end figure description]
A MOST melancholy and di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;ing event
has &longs;pread a gloom over the face of the metropolis.
Every heart heaves the &longs;ympathetic &longs;igh,
and every eye drops the tear of regret. The
very &longs;udden death of Doctor Clarke, who was
&longs;eized with an apoplectic fit, in the mid&longs;t of his
&longs;ermon, ye&longs;terday afternoon, and expired this
morning, is a &longs;ubject of univer&longs;al lamentation.
Not only we, who had the happine&longs;s to &longs;it under
his mini&longs;try, and to enjoy his particular
friend&longs;hip and attention, but the whole town;
and, indeed, the public at large have &longs;u&longs;tained a
great lo&longs;s in his departure. Amiable in his disposition,
engaging in his manners, and benevolent
in his whole deportment, he conciliated the
affections of every cla&longs;s. His talents as a &longs;cholar,
philo&longs;opher, and divine, commanded the re&longs;pect
of the mo&longs;t judicious and learned; while the
elegance, per&longs;picuity and delicacy of his &longs;tyle,
joined with the undi&longs;&longs;embled &longs;eriou&longs;ne&longs;s of his
manner, rendered him uniformly acceptable to the
devout. In every condition and relation of life,
he was exemplary as a Chri&longs;tian; and as a
preacher, an air of per&longs;ua&longs;ion invariably accompanied
him, which arre&longs;ted the attention of the
mo&longs;t heedle&longs;s auditors.
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[figure description] Page 238.[end figure description]
—“By him, in &longs;trains as &longs;weet
As angels u&longs;e, the go&longs;pel whi&longs;per'd peace.
Grave, &longs;imple and &longs;incere; in language plain;
And plain in manner. Decent, &longs;olemn, cha&longs;te,
And natural in ge&longs;ture. Much impre&longs;s'd
Him&longs;elf, as con&longs;cious of his awful charge,
And anxious mainly that the flock he &longs;ed
Might feel it too. Affectionate in look,
And tender in addre&longs;s, as well becomes
A me&longs;&longs;enger of grace to guilty men.”
He was particularly attractive to young people.
While he charmed their ear, he convinced their
under&longs;tanding, and excited them to the love and
practice of virtue.
A &longs;triking example of this occurred &longs;ome years
ago, which I will take the liberty to relate. He
preached in a neighbouring church on the&longs;e words,
“She that liveth in plea&longs;ure is dead while &longs;he
liveth.”[7] In this di&longs;cour&longs;e he painted tho&longs;e allurements
of plea&longs;ure which &longs;urround the young
and gay; more e&longs;pecially of our &longs;ex, in the
mo&longs;t ju&longs;t and lively colours. He repre&longs;ented, in
pathetic, engaging and refined language, the &longs;nares
to which they are expo&longs;ed, and the mo&longs;t probable
means of e&longs;caping them. He exhibited, with all
their attractions, the native charms of virtue, and
pourtrayed vice in its true deformity. He described,
in the mo&longs;t animating terms, the respectability,
u&longs;efulne&longs;s, and happine&longs;s of tho&longs;e who
undeviatingly adhere to the path of rectitude
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and innocence; and, with the mo&longs;t energetic
and affectionate tenderne&longs;s, warned the youth to
avoid the devious walks of vice and di&longs;&longs;ipation.
A number of young ladies, who had been his
hearers, happening to be together in the evening,
united in the wi&longs;h to expre&longs;s their gratitude to
him; but not having a per&longs;onal acquaintance
with him, could devi&longs;e no better method than writing.
The following anonymous letter was accordingly
penned by one of the company, and privately
conveyed to the Doctor, at the reque&longs;t of all.
Boston.
“REVEREND SIR,
“The well known candour of your disposition,
and your apparent zeal for the promotion
of religion and virtue, embolden us to flatter
our&longs;elves, that you will pardon this method of
conveying to you our &longs;incere and united thanks
for your very &longs;ea&longs;onable, judicious, and u&longs;eful
di&longs;cour&longs;e, delivered la&longs;t Sunday morning, at our
meeting.
“It is much to be lamented, that the depravity
of the age is &longs;uch, as to render &longs;ermons of this
nature ju&longs;t and nece&longs;&longs;ary; and it is almo&longs;t matter
of equal regret, that we have &longs;o &longs;eldom opportunities
of being benefited by them.
“That we oftener hear than receive instruction,
is a truth which can neither be denied, nor
evaded; and can only be accounted for, by that
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pa&longs;&longs;ionate fondne&longs;s for plea&longs;ure, which prevails
to &longs;uch a degree of enthu&longs;ia&longs;m, as to precipitate
its votaries into whatever pre&longs;ents it&longs;elf under
this deluding a&longs;pect, without con&longs;idering whether
it be durable, or fleeting.
“It is certainly a mo&longs;t humiliating reflection,
that our &longs;ex (which is the female) &longs;hould ever take
more pains to gain the qualifications of agreeable
triflers than of rational friends; or be more
anxious to become amufing, than u&longs;eful companions.
But, Sir, does not &longs;uch conduct in ladies
too often receive the mo&longs;t flattering encouragement
from the gentlemen? How &longs;eldom
is intrin&longs;ic merit di&longs;tingui&longs;hed; and the &longs;erious,
prudent female pre&longs;erred, even by tho&longs;e who
&longs;tyle them&longs;elves men of &longs;en&longs;e and penetration,
to the airy flaunting coquette!
“The con&longs;tant attention which is paid to tho&longs;e
who make the gaye&longs;t appearance, and the applause
which is lavi&longs;hed upon her who has the
large&longs;t portion of external graces and fa&longs;hionable
embelli&longs;hments, induce many who entertain the
good-natured de&longs;ire of plea&longs;ing, to be&longs;tow more
of their time and care on the cultivation of tho&longs;e
&longs;uper&longs;icial accompli&longs;hments, which they find
nece&longs;&longs;ary to render them acceptable to mo&longs;t circles
into which they fall, than upon the acqui&longs;ition
of tho&longs;e &longs;ub&longs;tantial virtues, which they daily &longs;ee
neglected and ridiculed; though, at the &longs;ame
time, perhaps, they are convinced of the superior
&longs;atisfaction which the latter would afford.
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“But it is needle&longs;s for one &longs;ex to criminate the
other. We allow, that, generally &longs;peaking, they
are equally to blame. In this in&longs;tance, however,
as the male a&longs;&longs;ume the prerogative of &longs;uperior
judgment and intellectual abilities, they ought
to prove the ju&longs;tice of their claim by &longs;etting nobler
examples, and by endeavouring to reform
whatever tends to vitiate the ta&longs;te and corrupt
the morals of &longs;ociety.
“Yet, after all, the evil cannot be effectually
remedied, but by the concurrent exertions of both:
and we are humbly of opinion, that if this reformation
were more frequently inculcated from the
pulpit, in the delicate, engaging, and pious manner
of the di&longs;cour&longs;e which now excites our gratitude
to you, and our re&longs;olutions to conduct accordingly,
it would be efficacious in bringing
about &longs;o de&longs;irable an event.
“We entreat your pardon, Reverend Sir, for
the freedom, prolixity, and errors of this epi&longs;tle.
“Though per&longs;onally unknown to you, we
doubt not you will readily grant it, when we a&longs;&longs;ure
you, that we are actuated by a &longs;incere regard to the
intere&longs;ts of religion and morality, and by a grateful
&longs;en&longs;e of your exertions in the glorious cau&longs;e.
“The united &longs;entiments of a number of young
ladies, who heard and admired your &longs;ermon, la&longs;t
Sunday morning, are expre&longs;&longs;ed above.
Rev. John Clarke.”
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It is much to be regretted, that Dr. Clarke did
not publi&longs;h more of his literary labours.
The univer&longs;al approbation be&longs;towed upon tho&longs;e,
which he &longs;uffered to &longs;ee the light, is an unequivocal
evidence of his merit, as an author. His “Letters
to a Student in the Univer&longs;ity of Cambridge,”
are written in a mo&longs;t plea&longs;ing &longs;tyle, and contain
in&longs;truction and advice, of which no per&longs;on in pursuit
of a public education ought to be ignorant.
His “An&longs;wer to the que&longs;tion, Why are you a
Chri&longs;tian?” which has already had three editions in
Bo&longs;ton, and three in England, is one of the be&longs;t
compendiums of the external and internal evidences
of our holy religion, extant. It is plain
and intelligible to the lowe&longs;t capacity, and may
enable every one without much &longs;tudy, to give a
rea&longs;on for the hope that is in him.
From the&longs;e &longs;pecimens we may form an opinion
of what the world has lo&longs;t by his early exit.
I &longs;hall make no other apology for the length
of this letter, than the intere&longs;t which I feel in
the &longs;ubject; and this, I am per&longs;uaded, you will
deem &longs;ufficient.
My affectionate regards wait on your mamma
and &longs;i&longs;ter, while I &longs;ub&longs;cribe my&longs;elf your's mo&longs;t
&longs;incerely,
JULIA GREENFIELD.
eaf105.n7[7] I Timothy, v. 6.
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To Mi&longs;s CLEORA PARTRIDGE.
Beverly.
DEAR CLEORA,
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The &longs;hortne&longs;s of time is a very common
&longs;ubject of complaint; but I think the mi&longs;u&longs;e of
it, a much more ju&longs;t one. Its value is certainly
under-rated by tho&longs;e who indulge them&longs;elves in
morning &longs;loth.
Sweet, indeed, is the breath of morn; and after
the body has been refre&longs;hed by the re&longs;toring
power of &longs;leep, it is peculiarly prepared to procure
and participate the plea&longs;ures of the mind.
The jarring pa&longs;&longs;ions are then compo&longs;ed, and the
calm operations of rea&longs;on &longs;ucceed of cour&longs;e; while
“— Gentle gales,
Fanning their odoriferous wings, di&longs;pen&longs;e
Native perfumes, and whi&longs;per whence they &longs;tole
The&longs;e balmy &longs;poils.”
The morning is undoubtedly a &longs;ea&longs;on, of all others,
mo&longs;t favourable to u&longs;eful exertions. Tho&longs;e,
therefore, who lo&longs;e three or four hours of it, in
&longs;lumbering inaction, make a voluntary &longs;acrifice of
the be&longs;t part of their exi&longs;tence. I ro&longs;e to-day,
not with the &longs;un, but with the dawn; and after
taking a few turns in the garden, retired to the
&longs;ummer-hou&longs;e. This, you know, is a favourite
hour with me.
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“To me be nature's volume broad di&longs;play'd;
And to peru&longs;e its all-in&longs;tructing page,
Or, haply catching in&longs;piration thence,
Some ea&longs;y pa&longs;&longs;age, raptur'd, to tran&longs;late,
My &longs;ole delight; as thro' the falling glooms
Pen&longs;ive I &longs;tray, or with the rifing dawn
On fancy's eagle-wing excur&longs;ive &longs;oar.”
Having a memorandum-book and pencil in my
pocket, I de&longs;cended from the lofty heights to
which the immortal bard, my beloved Thomp&longs;on,
had in&longs;en&longs;ibly rai&longs;ed my imagination, to the humble
&longs;trains of &longs;imple rhyme, in order to communicate
my &longs;en&longs;ations to you. The&longs;e I enclo&longs;e,
without attempting to tell you, either in pro&longs;e or
ver&longs;e, how affectionately I am your's.
MATILDA FIELDING.
THE morning dawns, the ru&longs;&longs;et grey
Slowly avoids the opening day:
Receding from the gazing eye,
The mi&longs;ty &longs;hades of twilight fly.
The ruddy &longs;treaks of light appear,
To guide our we&longs;tern hemi&longs;phere;
While tuneful choirs re&longs;pon&longs;ive join
To prai&longs;e the gracious Pow'r Divine,
Who&longs;e mighty hand, with &longs;ov'reign &longs;way,
Re&longs;tores, alternate, night and day.
Hail, opening morn! thy &longs;ober rays
Demand the contemplative gaze;
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Unnumber'd beauties plea&longs;e the &longs;ight,
And give the mental eye delight.
O dawn! thy &longs;ombre &longs;hades I love;
With thee in &longs;olitude I'll rove;
While health expan&longs;ive gives the mind
To ta&longs;te thy plea&longs;ures unconfin'd.
Here, free from fa&longs;hions artful forms,
Benevolence the bo&longs;om warms;
Per&longs;ua&longs;ive virtue charms the &longs;oul,
And rea&longs;on's laws alone control.
Let others, lo&longs;t in &longs;loth, forego
The joys thy early hours be&longs;tow;
Thy zephyrs far more &longs;weets di&longs;pen&longs;e,
Than Somnus yields to drow&longs;y &longs;en&longs;e!
Mild as thy beams of radiance &longs;hine,
May piety my powers refine;
Pure as thy mimic pearls, that &longs;pread
Their liquid beauties o'er the mead;
And, like you ri&longs;ing orb of day,
May wi&longs;dom guide my dubious way.
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To Mi&longs;s MATILDA FIELDING.
Harmony-Grove.
DEAR MATILDA,
[figure description] Page 246.[end figure description]
I WAS, la&longs;t week, at Bo&longs;ton; and, having
occa&longs;ion for a new hat, &longs;tepped into a milliner's
&longs;hop to inquire the mode. The milliner replied,
that it was not yet in her power to an&longs;wer my
que&longs;tion. “The &longs;pring &longs;hips,” &longs;aid &longs;he “are later
than common; but their arrival is hourly expected,
when we &longs;hall be furni&longs;hed with memorandum-books
which will a&longs;certain and determine
the fa&longs;hion for the &longs;ea&longs;on.” What &longs;he
meant by memorandum-books, I could not conceive.
I had always &longs;uppo&longs;ed them blanks, designed
for noting whatever occurred, without inconvenience.
Unwilling, however, to be thought
a &longs;imple country-girl, totally unacquainted with
the world, I &longs;ought no explanation from her;
but repaired to a particular friend for in&longs;truction.
From whom I learned that the chief value of
the&longs;e &longs;ame memorandum-books con&longs;i&longs;ts in their
containing imported cuts of ladies' head-dre&longs;&longs;es,
hats, and other habiliments, which are always
&longs;ure to be admired and imitated, as the perfection
of ta&longs;te and propriety!
This di&longs;covery mortified me exceedingly. It
ju&longs;tified, beyond any thing which I had ever suspected
to exi&longs;t as a fact, what I once heard a
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European affert, “that Americans had neither character
nor opinion of their own.”
With due deference to tho&longs;e better judges, who
de&longs;pi&longs;e the &longs;implicity of our ance&longs;tors, and labour
to introduce the corrupt manners and cu&longs;toms of
the old world into our country, I cannot but
think it extremely ridiculous for an independent
nation, which di&longs;eards all foreign influence, glories
in its freedom, and boa&longs;ts of its genius and
ta&longs;te, &longs;ervilely to ape exotic fa&longs;hions, even in articles
of dre&longs;s and fanciful ornaments.
Have not the daughters of Columbia sufficient
powers of invention to decorate them&longs;elve?
Mu&longs;t we depend upon the winds and waves for
the form, as well as the materials of our garb?
Why may we not follow our own inclination;
and not be deemed finical or prudi&longs;h in our appearance,
merely becau&longs;e our habit is not exactly
corre&longs;pondent with the pretty pictures in the
memorandum-books, la&longs;t imported?
It is &longs;incerely to be regretted that this &longs;ubject
is viewed in &longs;o important a light. It occupies
too much of the time, and engro&longs;&longs;es too much
of the conver&longs;ation of our &longs;ex. For one, I have
&longs;erious thoughts of declaring independence.
ANNA WILLIAMS.
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To Mi&longs;s CAROLINE LITTLETON.
[On the Death of her Mother.]
Harmony-Grove.
MY DEAR CAROLINE,
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TO tell you that I am &longs;orry for your lo&longs;s,
or that I &longs;ympathize with you in your affliction,
would be but the language you daily hear; and
often, perhaps, from the unfeeling and indifferent.
But, you will do me the ju&longs;tice to believe,
that I take a particular intere&longs;t in your concerns,
and really &longs;hare your grief. A holy Providence
has wounded you by a &longs;troke, which is extremely
painful and fevere. Your be&longs;t friend is &longs;hrounded
in the grave. In the maternal brea&longs;t, your fondest
affections, and mo&longs;t un&longs;u&longs;pecting confidence
have hitherto concentred; and who can provide
you with an equivalent &longs;ub&longs;titute? To the almighty
Father and Friend of creation, it becomes
you to repair for comfort and &longs;upport.
The dying advice and coun&longs;el of your dear
mamma, which, you inform me, were pathetic,
in&longs;tructive and con&longs;olatory, will be a guide to
your feet. Often realize the &longs;olemn &longs;cene, and
remember, that, “though dead, &longs;he yet &longs;peaketh.”
You have great cau&longs;e of thankfulne&longs;s, that &longs;he
was &longs;pared to direct you &longs;o far through the intricate
and dangerous path of youth; to complete
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your education; to teach you, by her example,
how to acquit your&longs;elf with u&longs;efulne&longs;s and honor;
and, above all, to furni&longs;h you with that important
knowledge, to which every thing el&longs;e &longs;hould be
made &longs;ub&longs;ervient—how to die!
An era of your life has now commenced,
which is no le&longs;s important than affecting. That
a&longs;&longs;i&longs;ting hand, which formerly led you, is now cold
and lifele&longs;s! Tho&longs;e lips, from which you have
been accu&longs;tomed to receive information and advice,
are &longs;ealed in perpetual &longs;ilence! And that
heart, which always glowed with the warme&longs;t solicitude
for your happine&longs;s, has cea&longs;ed to palpitate!
You mu&longs;t now think and act for yourself. As
the elde&longs;t daughter, you will be placed at the
head of your father's family. You mu&longs;t, therefore,
adopt a plan of conduct, conducive to its
harmony, regularity, and intere&longs;t.
Filial duty to your &longs;urviving parent, more tenderly
inculcated by your participation of his
heavy bereavement, will lead you to con&longs;ult his
inclination, and &longs;edulou&longs;ly contribute all in your
power to lighten the burden of dome&longs;tic arrangements
devolved upon him. While he laments
the death of a prudent, affectionate, and beloved
wife, give him rea&longs;on to rejoice, that he is ble&longs;&longs;ed
with a daughter, capable of &longs;oothing the pains,
alleviating the cares, and heightening the enjoyments
of his life.
Your brothers and &longs;i&longs;ters will look up to you
as the guide of their tender years. While their
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weeping eyes and pathetic accents are directed
towards you, let kindne&longs;s, di&longs;cretion, and patience,
characterize your deportment, and engage their
confidence and love.
Having mentioned your duty to others, I cannot
di&longs;mi&longs;s the &longs;ubject without dropping a few
hints for your direction, in regard to your personal
behaviour.
A very important charge is committed to you,
as well in the duties which you owe to your&longs;elf,
as in the &longs;uperintendence of your father's family.
The &longs;overeign Di&longs;po&longs;er of all things has, at an
early age, made you, in a mea&longs;ure, your own
guardian. Your father's bu&longs;ine&longs;s calls him much
abroad. With you, therefore, he is obliged to
entru&longs;t, not only his dome&longs;tic concerns; but, what
is &longs;till more dear to his heart, the care of your
own per&longs;on and mind; of your own reputation
and happine&longs;s.
Circum&longs;tanced as you are, company has the
mo&longs;t powerful charms. Your's is now the prerogative
of receiving and returning vi&longs;its in your
own name. At home, you are &longs;ole mi&longs;tre&longs;s of
ceremonies. This is extremely alluring to the
&longs;prightly fancy of youth. But time, you will
remember, is too important a ble&longs;&longs;ing to be sacrificed
to a promi&longs;cuous crowd of unimproving
companions. Be&longs;ides, the character of a young
lady will nece&longs;&longs;arily be &longs;ullied by the imputation
of being con&longs;tantly engaged in parties of
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pleasure, and exhilarating amu&longs;ement. Flattery often
avails it&longs;elf of the unguarded moments of gaiety;
and, in&longs;inuating its in&longs;idious charms into the
heedle&longs;s and &longs;u&longs;ceptible mind, inflates it with
pride and vanity, and produces an affectation and
air of &longs;elf-importance, which are peculiarly difgusting,
becau&longs;e ea&longs;ily di&longs;tingui&longs;hed from that
true dignity of manners, which re&longs;ults from conscious
rectitude. Genuine merit is always mode&longs;t
and una&longs;&longs;uming; diffident of it&longs;elf, and respectful
to others.
Your father has a right to your unlimited confidence.
You will, therefore, make him your
chief friend and coun&longs;ellor. Though he may not
po&longs;&longs;e&longs;s all the winning &longs;oftne&longs;s of a mother, he
doubtle&longs;s has as ardent an affection for you, and
as &longs;incere a de&longs;ire to promote your welfare.
Hence you may &longs;afely repo&longs;e your deare&longs;t concerns
in his paternal brea&longs;t, and receive, with the
utmo&longs;t deference, his kind in&longs;truction and advice.
Let his judgment have an entire a&longs;cendency over
your mind and actions, e&longs;pecially in your intercourse
and &longs;ociety with the other &longs;ex. Con&longs;ider
him as better acquainted with their merit, circumstances,
and views, than you can be; and,
&longs;hould you contemplate a connexion for life, let
his opinion determine your choice.
Watch over your dear little &longs;i&longs;ters, with all the
tenderne&longs;s of fraternal affection; be their protecttor
and friend; in&longs;til into their minds the
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principles of virtue and religion; arm them again&longs;t
the &longs;nares and temptations by which they will
be &longs;urrounded; and lead them, by your own
conduct, in the way of truth and peace.
When you have lei&longs;ure and inclination to
write, the effu&longs;ions of your pen will always be
acceptable to your &longs;incere and faithful friend,
MARY WILLIAMS.
THE END.
