ESSAYSFORYOUNG LADIES. 

ESSAYSONVARIOUS SUBJECTS, Principally designed forYOUNG LADIES. 

 AS for you, I shall advise you in a few words: aspire only to those virtues that are PECULIAR TO YOUR SEX; follow your natural modesty, and think it your greatest commendation not to be talked of one way or the other. 

 _Oration of Pericles to the Athenian Women. _

LONDON:Printed for J. WILKIE, in St. Paul's Church-Yard;and T. CADELL, in the Strand. MDCCLXXVII. 

TOMRS. MONTAGU. 

MADAM, IF you were only one of the finest writers of your time, you wouldprobably have escaped the trouble of this address, which is drawn onyou, less by the lustre of your understanding, than by the amiablequalities of your heart. 

AS the following pages are written with an humble but earnest wish, topromote the interests of virtue, as far as the very limited abilitiesof the author allow; there is, I flatter myself, a peculiar propriety ininscribing them to you, Madam, who, while your works convey instructionand delight to the best-informed of the other sex, furnish, by yourconduct, an admirable pattern of life and manners to your own. And I canwith truth remark, that those graces of conversation, which would be thefirst praise of almost any other character, constitute but an inferiorpart of yours. 

 I am, MADAM, With the highest esteem, Your most obedient Humble Servant, _Bristol_, HANNAH MORE. _May 20, 1777. _

CONTENTS. 

INTRODUCTION Page 1ON DISSIPATION 15ON CONVERSATION 37ON ENVY 63ON SENTIMENTAL CONNEXIONS 77ON TRUE AND FALSE MEEKNESS 107ON EDUCATION 123ON RELIGION 158MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS ON WIT 178

INTRODUCTION. 

IT is with the utmost diffidence that the following pages are submittedto the inspection of the Public: yet, however the limited abilities ofthe author may have prevented her from succeeding to her wish in theexecution of her present attempt, she humbly trusts that the uprightnessof her intention will procure it a candid and favourable reception. Thefollowing little Essays are chiefly calculated for the younger part ofher own sex, who, she flatters herself, will not esteem them the less, because they were written immediately for their service. She by no meanspretends to have composed a regular system of morals, or a finished planof conduct: she has only endeavoured to make a few remarks on suchcircumstances as seemed to her susceptible of some improvement, and onsuch subjects as she imagined were particularly interesting to youngladies, on their first introduction into the world. She hopes they willnot be offended if she has occasionally pointed out certain qualities, and suggested certain tempers, and dispositions, as _peculiarlyfeminine_, and hazarded some observations which naturally arose from thesubject, on the different characters which mark the sexes. And hereagain she takes the liberty to repeat that these distinctions cannot betoo nicely maintained; for besides those important qualities common toboth, each sex has its respective, appropriated qualifications, whichwould cease to be meritorious, the instant they ceased to beappropriated. Nature, propriety, and custom have prescribed certainbounds to each; bounds which the prudent and the candid will neverattempt to break down; and indeed it would be highly impolitic toannihilate distinctions from which each acquires excellence, and toattempt innovations, by which both would be losers. 

WOMEN therefore never understand their own interests so little, as whenthey affect those qualities and accomplishments, from the want of whichthey derive their highest merit. "The _porcelain_ clay of human kind, "says an admired writer, speaking of the sex. Greater delicacy evidentlyimplies greater fragility; and this weakness, natural and moral, clearlypoints out the necessity of a superior degree of caution, retirement, and reserve. 

IF the author may be allowed to keep up the allusion of the poet, justquoted, she would ask if we do not put the finest vases, and thecostliest images in places of the greatest security, and most remotefrom any probability of accident, or destruction? By being so situated, they find their protection in their weakness, and their safety in theirdelicacy. This metaphor is far from being used with a design of placingyoung ladies in a trivial, unimportant light; it is only introduced toinsinuate, that where there is more beauty, and more weakness, thereshould be greater circumspection, and superior prudence. 

MEN, on the contrary, are formed for the more public exhibitions on thegreat theatre of human life. Like the stronger and more substantialwares, they derive no injury, and lose no polish by being alwaysexposed, and engaged in the constant commerce of the world. It is theirproper element, where they respire their natural air, and exert theirnoblest powers, in situations which call them into action. They wereintended by Providence for the bustling scenes of life; to appearterrible in arms, useful in commerce, shining in counsels. 

THE Author fears it will be hazarding a very bold remark, in the opinionof many ladies, when she adds, that the female mind, in general, doesnot appear capable of attaining so high a degree of perfection inscience as the male. Yet she hopes to be forgiven when she observesalso, that as it does not seem to derive the chief portion of itsexcellence from extraordinary abilities of this kind, it is not at alllessened by the imputation of not possessing them. It is readilyallowed, that the sex have lively imaginations, and those exquisiteperceptions of the beautiful and defective, which come under thedenomination of Taste. But pretensions to that strength of intellect, which is requisite to penetrate into the abstruser walks of literature, it is presumed they will readily relinquish. There are green pastures, and pleasant vallies, where they may wander with safety to themselves, and delight to others. They may cultivate the roses of imagination, andthe valuable fruits of morals and criticism; but the steeps ofParnassus few, comparatively, have attempted to scale with success. And when it is considered, that many languages, and many sciences, mustcontribute to the perfection of poetical composition, it will appearless strange. The lofty Epic, the pointed Satire, and the more daringand successful flights of the Tragic Muse, seem reserved for the boldadventurers of the other sex. 

NOR does this assertion, it is apprehended, at all injure theinterests of the women; they have other pretensions, on which to valuethemselves, and other qualities much better calculated to answer theirparticular purposes. We are enamoured of the soft strains of theSicilian and the Mantuan Muse, while, to the sweet notes of thepastoral reed, they sing the Contentions of the Shepherds, theBlessings of Love, or the innocent Delights of rural Life. Has it everbeen ascribed to them as a defect, that their Eclogues do not treat ofactive scenes, of busy cities, and of wasting war? No: their simplicityis their perfection, and they are only blamed when they have too littleof it. 

ON the other hand, the lofty bards who strung their bolder harps tohigher measures, and sung the _Wrath_ of _Peleus' Son_, and _Man's firstDisobedience_, have never been censured for want of sweetness andrefinement. The sublime, the nervous, and the masculine, characterisetheir compositions; as the beautiful, the soft, and the delicate, markthose of the others. Grandeur, dignity, and force, distinguish the onespecies; ease, simplicity, and purity, the other. Both shine from theirnative, distinct, unborrowed merits, not from those which are foreign, adventitious, and unnatural. Yet those excellencies, which make up theessential and constituent parts of poetry, they have in common. 

WOMEN have generally quicker perceptions; men have justersentiments. --Women consider how things may be prettily said; men howthey may be properly said. --In women, (young ones at least) speakingaccompanies, and sometimes precedes reflection; in men, reflection isthe antecedent. --Women speak to shine or to please; men, to convince orconfute. --Women admire what is brilliant; men what is solid. --Womenprefer an extemporaneous sally of wit, or a sparkling effusion offancy, before the most accurate reasoning, or the most laboriousinvestigation of facts. In literary composition, women are pleased withpoint, turn, and antithesis; men with observation, and a just deductionof effects from their causes. --Women are fond of incident, men ofargument. --Women admire passionately, men approve cautiously. --One sexwill think it betrays a want of feeling to be moderate in theirapplause, the other will be afraid of exposing a want of judgment bybeing in raptures with any thing. --Men refuse to give way to theemotions they actually feel, while women sometimes affect to betransported beyond what the occasion will justify. 

AS a farther confirmation of what has been advanced on the differentbent of the understanding in the sexes, it may be observed, that we haveheard of many female wits, but never of one female logician--of manyadmirable writers of memoirs, but never of one chronologer. --In theboundless and aërial regions of romance, and in that fashionable speciesof composition which succeeded it, and which carries a nearerapproximation to the manners of the world, the women cannot be excelled:this imaginary soil they have a peculiar talent for cultivating, becausehere, Invention labours more, and judgment less. 

THE merit of this kind of writing consists in the _vraisemblance_ toreal life as to the events themselves, with a certain elevation in thenarrative, which places them, if not above what is natural, yet abovewhat is common. It farther consists in the art of interesting the tenderfeelings by a pathetic representation of those minute, endearing, domestic circumstances, which take captive the soul before it has timeto shield itself with the armour of reflection. To amuse, rather than toinstruct, or to instruct indirectly by short inferences, drawn from along concatenation of circumstances, is at once the business of thissort of composition, and one of the characteristics of femalegenius[1]. 

IN short, it appears that the mind in each sex has some natural kind ofbias, which constitutes a distinction of character, and that thehappiness of both depends, in a great measure, on the preservation andobservance of this distinction. For where would be the superior pleasureand satisfaction resulting from mixed conversation, if this differencewere abolished? If the qualities of both were invariably and exactly thesame, no benefit or entertainment would arise from the tedious andinsipid uniformity of such an intercourse; whereas considerableadvantages are reaped from a select society of both sexes. The roughangles and asperities of male manners are imperceptibly filed, andgradually worn smooth, by the polishing of female conversation, and therefining of female taste; while the ideas of women acquire strength andsolidity, by their associating with sensible, intelligent, andjudicious men. 

ON the whole, (even if fame be the object of pursuit) is it not betterto succeed as women, than to fail as men? To shine, by walkinghonourably in the road which nature, custom, and education seem to havemarked out, rather than to counteract them all, by moving awkwardly in apath diametrically opposite? To be good originals, rather than badimitators? In a word, to be excellent women, rather than indifferentmen?

[1] THE author does not apprehend it makes against her GENERAL position, that this nation can boast a female critic, poet, historian, linguist, philosopher, and moralist, equal to most of the other sex. To theseparticular instances others might be adduced; but it is presumed, thatthey only stand as exceptions against the rule, without tending toinvalidate the rule itself. 

ONDISSIPATION. 

 DOGLIE CERTE, ALLEGREZZE INCERTE! PETRARCA. 

AS an argument in favour of modern manners, it has been pleaded, thatthe softer vices of Luxury and Dissipation, belong rather to gentleand yielding tempers, than to such as are rugged and ferocious: thatthey are vices which increase civilization, and tend to promoterefinement, and the cultivation of humanity. 

BUT this is an assertion, the truth of which the experience of allages contradicts. Nero was not less a tyrant for being a fiddler: He[2]who wished the whole Roman people had but one neck, that he mightdispatch them at a blow, was himself the most debauched man in Rome; andSydney and Russel were condemned to bleed under the most barbarous, though most dissipated and voluptuous, reign that ever disgraced theannals of Britain. 

THE love of dissipation is, I believe, allowed to be the reigning evilof the present day. It is an evil which many content themselves withregretting, without seeking to redress. A dissipated life is censuredin the very act of dissipation, and prodigality of time is as gravelydeclaimed against at the card table, as in the pulpit. 

THE lover of dancing censures the amusements of the theatre for theirdulness, and the gamester blames them both for their levity. She, whosewhole soul is swallowed up in "_opera extacies_" is astonished, that heracquaintance can spend whole nights in preying, like harpies, on thefortunes of their fellow-creatures; while the grave sober sinner, whopasses her pale and anxious vigils, in this fashionable sort ofpillaging, is no less surprised how the other can waste her precioustime in hearing sounds for which she has no taste, in a language shedoes not understand. 

IN short, every one seems convinced, that the evil so much complained ofdoes really exist somewhere, though all are inwardly persuaded that itis not with themselves. All desire a general reformation, but few willlisten to proposals of particular amendment; the body must be restored, but each limb begs to remain as it is; and accusations which concernall, will be likely to affect none. They think that sin, like matter, isdivisible, and that what is scattered among so many, cannot materiallyaffect any one; and thus individuals contribute separately to that evilwhich they in general lament. 

THE prevailing manners of an age depend more than we are aware, or arewilling to allow, on the conduct of the women; this is one of theprincipal hinges on which the great machine of human society turns. Those who allow the influence which female graces have, in contributingto polish the manners of men, would do well to reflect how great aninfluence female morals must also have on their conduct. How much thenis it to be regretted, that the British ladies should ever sit downcontented to polish, when they are able to reform, to entertain, whenthey might instruct, and to dazzle for an hour, when they are candidatesfor eternity!

UNDER the dispensation of Mahomet's law, indeed, these mentalexcellencies cannot be expected, because the women are shut out from allopportunities of instruction, and excluded from the endearing pleasuresof a delightful and equal society; and, as a charming poet sings, aretaught to believe, that

 For their inferior natures Form'd to delight, and happy by delighting, Heav'n has reserv'd no future paradise, But bids them rove the paths of bliss, secure Of total death, and careless of hereafter. 

 IRENE. 

THESE act consistently in studying none but exterior graces, incultivating only personal attractions, and in trying to lighten theintolerable burden of time, by the most frivolous and vain amusements. They act in consequence of their own blind belief, and the tyranny oftheir despotic masters; for they have neither the freedom of a presentchoice, nor the prospect of a future being. 

BUT in this land of civil and religious liberty, where there is aslittle despotism exercised over the minds, as over the persons of women, they have every liberty of choice, and every opportunity of improvement;and how greatly does this increase their obligation to be exemplary intheir general conduct, attentive to the government of their families, and instrumental to the good order of society!

SHE who is at a loss to find amusements at home, can no longer apologizefor her dissipation abroad, by saying she is deprived of the benefitand the pleasure of books; and she who regrets being doomed to a stateof dark and gloomy ignorance, by the injustice, or tyranny of the men, complains of an evil which does not exist. 

IT is a question frequently in the mouths of illiterate and dissipatedfemales--"What good is there in reading? To what end does it conduce?"It is, however, too obvious to need insisting on, that unless perverted, as the best things may be, reading answers many excellent purposesbeside the great leading one, and is perhaps the safest remedy fordissipation. She who dedicates a portion of her leisure to usefulreading, feels her mind in a constant progressive state ofimprovement, whilst the mind of a dissipated woman is continuallylosing ground. An active spirit rejoiceth, like the sun, to run hisdaily course, while indolence, like the dial of Ahaz, goes backwards. The advantages which the understanding receives from polite literature, it is not here necessary to enumerate; its effects on the moraltemper is the present object of consideration. The remark may perhaps bethought too strong, but I believe it is true, that next to religiousinfluences, an habit of study is the most probable preservative of thevirtue of young persons. Those who cultivate letters have rarely astrong passion for promiscuous visiting, or dissipated society;study therefore induces a relish for domestic life, the most desirabletemper in the world for women. Study, as it rescues the mind from aninordinate fondness for gaming, dress, and public amusements, is anoeconomical propensity; for a lady may read at much less expence thanshe can play at cards; as it requires some application, it gives themind an habit of industry; as it is a relief against that mentaldisease, which the French emphatically call _ennui_, it cannot fail ofbeing beneficial to the temper and spirits, I mean in the moderatedegree in which ladies are supposed to use it; as an enemy to indolence, it becomes a social virtue; as it demands the full exertion of ourtalents, it grows a rational duty; and when directed to the knowledge ofthe Supreme Being, and his laws, it rises into an act of religion. 

THE rage for reformation commonly shews itself in a violent zeal forsuppressing what is wrong, rather than in a prudent attention toestablish what is right; but we shall never obtain a fair garden merelyby rooting up weeds, we must also plant flowers; for the naturalrichness of the soil we have been clearing will not suffer it to liebarren, but whether it shall be vainly or beneficially prolific, dependson the culture. What the present age has gained on one side, by a moreenlarged and liberal way of thinking, seems to be lost on the other, byexcessive freedom and unbounded indulgence. Knowledge is not, asheretofore, confined to the dull cloyster, or the gloomy college, butdisseminated, to a certain degree, among both sexes and almost allranks. The only misfortune is, that these opportunities do not seem tobe so wisely improved, or turned to so good an account as might bewished. Books of a pernicious, idle, and frivolous sort, are too muchmultiplied, and it is from the very redundancy of them that trueknowledge is so scarce, and the habit of dissipation so muchincreased. 

IT has been remarked, that the prevailing character of the present ageis not that of gross immorality: but if this is meant of those in thehigher walks of life, it is easy to discern, that there can be butlittle merit in abstaining from crimes which there is but littletemptation to commit. It is however to be feared, that a gradualdefection from piety, will in time draw after it all the badconsequences of more active vice; for whether mounds and fences aresuddenly destroyed by a sweeping torrent, or worn away through gradualneglect, the effect is equally destructive. As a rapid fever and aconsuming hectic are alike fatal to our natural health, so are flagrantimmorality and torpid indolence to our moral well-being. 

THE philosophical doctrine of the slow recession of bodies from thesun, is a lively image of the reluctance with which we first abandonthe light of virtue. The beginning of folly, and the first entrance on adissipated life cost some pangs to a well-disposed heart; but it issurprising to see how soon the progress ceases to be impeded byreflection, or slackened by remorse. For it is in moral as in naturalthings, the motion in minds as well as bodies is accelerated by a nearerapproach to the centre to which they are tending. If we recede slowly atfirst setting out, we advance rapidly in our future course; and to havebegun to be wrong, is already to have made a great progress. 

A CONSTANT habit of amusement relaxes the tone of the mind, and rendersit totally incapable of application, study, or virtue. Dissipation notonly indisposes its votaries to every thing useful and excellent, butdisqualifies them for the enjoyment of pleasure itself. It softens thesoul so much, that the most superficial employment becomes a labour, andthe slightest inconvenience an agony. The luxurious Sybarite must havelost all sense of real enjoyment, and all relish for true gratification, before he complained that he could not sleep, because the rose leaveslay double under him. 

LUXURY and dissipation, soft and gentle as their approaches are, andsilently as they throw their silken chains about the heart, enslave itmore than the most active and turbulent vices. The mightiest conquerorshave been conquered by these unarmed foes: the flowery setters arefastened, before they are felt. The blandishments of Circe were morefatal to the mariners of Ulysses, than the strength of Polypheme, orthe brutality of the Læstrigons. Hercules, after he had cleansed theAugean stable, and performed all the other labours enjoined him byEuristheus, found himself a slave to the softnesses of the heart; andhe, who wore a club and a lion's skin in the cause of virtue, condescended to the most effeminate employments to gratify a criminalweakness. Hannibal, who vanquished mighty nations, was himself overcomeby the love of pleasure; and he who despised cold, and want, and danger, and death on the Alps, was conquered and undone by the dissoluteindulgences of Capua. 

BEFORE the hero of the most beautiful and virtuous romance that ever waswritten, I mean Telemachus, landed on the island of Cyprus, heunfortunately lost his prudent companion, Mentor, in whom wisdom is sofinely personified. At first he beheld with horror the wanton anddissolute manners of the voluptuous inhabitants; the ill effects oftheir example were not immediate: he did not fall into the commissionof glaring enormities; but his virtue was secretly and imperceptiblyundermined, his heart was softened by their pernicious society; and thenerve of resolution was slackened: he every day beheld with diminishedindignation the worship which was offered to Venus; the disorders ofluxury and prophaneness became less and less terrible, and theinfectious air of the country enfeebled his courage, and relaxed hisprinciples. In short, he had ceased to love virtue long before hethought of committing actual vice; and the duties of a manly piety wereburdensome to him, before he was so debased as to offer perfumes, andburn incense on the altar of the licentious goddess[3]. 

"LET us crown ourselves with rosebuds before they be withered, " saidSolomon's libertine. Alas! he did not reflect that they withered in thevery gathering. The roses of pleasure seldom last long enough to adornthe brow of him who plucks them; for they are the only roses which donot retain their sweetness after they have lost their beauty. 

THE heathen poets often pressed on their readers the necessity ofconsidering the shortness of life, as an incentive to pleasure andvoluptuousness; lest the season for indulging in them should passunimproved. The dark and uncertain notions, not to say the absolutedisbelief, which they entertained of a future state, is the only apologythat can be offered for this reasoning. But while we censure theirtenets, let us not adopt their errors; errors which would be infinitelymore inexcusable in us, who, from the clearer views which revelation hasgiven us, shall not have their ignorance or their doubts to plead. Itwere well if we availed ourselves of that portion of their precept, which inculcates the improvement of every moment of our time, but notlike them to dedicate the moments so redeemed to the pursuit of sensualand perishable pleasures, but to the securing of those which arespiritual in their nature, and eternal in their duration. 

IF, indeed, like the miserable[4] beings imagined by Swift, with a viewto cure us of the irrational desire after immoderate length of days, wewere condemned to a wretched earthly immortality, we should have anexcuse for spending some portion of our time in dissipation, as wemight then pretend, with some colour of reason, that we proposed, at adistant period, to enter on a better course of action. Or if we neverformed any such resolution, it would make no material difference tobeings, whose state was already unalterably fixed. But of the scantyportion of days assigned to our lot, not one should be lost in weakand irresolute procrastination. 

THOSE who have not yet determined on the side of vanity, who, likeHercules, (before he knew the queen of Lydia, and had learnt to spin)have not resolved on their choice between VIRTUE and PLEASURE, mayreflect, that it is still in their power to imitate that hero in hisnoble choice, and in his virtuous rejection. They may also reflect withgrateful triumph, that Christianity furnishes them with a better guidethan the tutor of Alcides, and with a surer light than the doctrines ofpagan philosophy. 

IT is far from my design severely to condemn the innocent pleasures oflife: I would only beg leave to observe, that those which are criminalshould never be allowed; and that even the most innocent will, byimmoderate use, soon cease to be so. 

THE women of this country were not sent into the world to shun society, but to embellish it; they were not designed for wilds and solitudes, butfor the amiable and endearing offices of social life. They have usefulstations to fill, and important characters to sustain. They are of areligion which does not impose penances, but enjoins duties; a religionof perfect purity, but of perfect benevolence also. A religion whichdoes not condemn its followers to indolent seclusion from the world, butassigns them the more dangerous, though more honourable province, ofliving uncorrupted in it. In fine, a religion, which does not directthem to fly from the multitude, that they may do nothing, but whichpositively forbids them to follow a multitude to do evil. 

[2] The Emperor Caligula. 

[3] NOTHING can be more admirable than the manner in which this allegoryis conducted; and the whole work, not to mention its images, machinery, and other poetical beauties, is written in the very finest strain ofmorality. In this latter respect it is evidently superior to the worksof the ancients, the moral of which is frequently tainted by thegrossness of their mythology. Something of the purity of the Christianreligion may be discovered even in Fenelon's heathens, and they catch atincture of piety in passing through the hands of that amiable prelate. 

[4] The Struldbrugs. See Voyage to Laputa. 

THOUGHTSONCONVERSATION. 

IT has been advised, and by very respectable authorities too, that inconversation women should carefully conceal any knowledge or learningthey may happen to possess. I own, with submission, that I do notsee either the necessity or propriety of this advice. For if a younglady has that discretion and modesty, without which all knowledge islittle worth, she will never make an ostentatious parade of it, becauseshe will rather be intent on acquiring more, than on displaying what shehas. 

I AM at a loss to know why a young female is instructed to exhibit, inthe most advantageous point of view, her skill in music, her singing, dancing, taste in dress, and her acquaintance with the most fashionablegames and amusements, while her piety is to be anxiously concealed, andher knowledge affectedly disavowed, lest the former should draw on herthe appellation of an enthusiast, or the latter that of a pedant. 

IN regard to knowledge, why should she for ever affect to be on herguard, lest she should be found guilty of a small portion of it? Sheneed be the less solicitous about it, as it seldom proves to be so veryconsiderable as to excite astonishment or admiration: for, after all theacquisitions which her talents and her studies have enabled her to make, she will, generally speaking, be found to have less of what is called_learning_, than a common school-boy. 

IT would be to the last degree presumptuous and absurd, for a youngwoman to pretend to give the _ton_ to the company; to interrupt thepleasure of others, and her own opportunity of improvement, by talkingwhen she ought to listen; or to introduce subjects out of the commonroad, in order to shew her own wit, or expose the want of it in others:but were the sex to be totally silent when any topic of literaturehappens to be discussed in their presence, conversation would losemuch of its vivacity, and society would be robbed of one of its mostinteresting charms. 

HOW easily and effectually may a well-bred woman promote the most usefuland elegant conversation, almost without speaking a word! for the modesof speech are scarcely more variable than the modes of silence. Thesilence of listless ignorance, and the silence of sparklingintelligence, are perhaps as separately marked, and as distinctlyexpressed, as the same feelings could have been by the mostunequivocal language. A woman, in a company where she has the leastinfluence, may promote any subject by a profound and invariableattention, which shews that she is pleased with it, and by anilluminated countenance, which proves she understands it. This obligingattention is the most flattering encouragement in the world to men ofsense and letters, to continue any topic of instruction or entertainmentthey happen to be engaged in: it owed its introduction perhaps toaccident, the best introduction in the world for a subject of ingenuity, which, though it could not have been formally proposed without pedantry, may be continued with ease and good humour; but which will be frequentlyand effectually stopped by the listlessness, inattention, orwhispering of silly girls, whose weariness betrays their ignorance, andwhose impatience exposes their ill-breeding. A polite man, howeverdeeply interested in the subject on which he is conversing, catches atthe slightest hint to have done: a look is a sufficient intimation, andif a pretty simpleton, who sits near him, seems _distraite_, he puts anend to his remarks, to the great regret of the reasonable part of thecompany, who perhaps might have gained more improvement by thecontinuance of such a conversation, than a week's reading would haveyielded them; for it is such company as this, that give an edge to eachother's wit, "as iron sharpeneth iron. "

THAT silence is one of the great arts of conversation is allowed byCicero himself, who says, there is not only an art but even an eloquencein it. And this opinion is confirmed by a great modern[5], in thefollowing little anecdote from one of the ancients. 

WHEN many Grecian philosophers had a solemn meeting before theambassador of a foreign prince, each endeavoured to shew his parts bythe brilliancy of his conversation, that the ambassador might havesomething to relate of the Grecian wisdom. One of them, offended, nodoubt, at the loquacity of his companions, observed a profound silence;when the ambassador, turning to him, asked, "But what have you to say, that I may report it?" He made this laconic, but very pointed reply:"Tell your king, that you have found one among the Greeks who knew howto be silent. "

THERE is a quality infinitely more intoxicating to the female mind thanknowledge--this is Wit, the most captivating, but the most dreaded ofall talents: the most dangerous to those who have it, and the mostfeared by those who have it not. Though it is against all the rules, yetI cannot find in my heart to abuse this charming quality. He who isgrown rich without it, in safe and sober dulness, shuns it as a disease, and looks upon poverty as its invariable concomitant. The moralistdeclaims against it as the source of irregularity, and the frugalcitizen dreads it more than bankruptcy itself, for he considers it asthe parent of extravagance and beggary. The Cynic will ask of what useit is? Of very little perhaps: no more is a flower garden, and yet it isallowed as an object of innocent amusement and delightful recreation. Awoman, who possesses this quality, has received a most dangerouspresent, perhaps not less so than beauty itself: especially if it be notsheathed in a temper peculiarly inoffensive, chastised by a mostcorrect judgment, and restrained by more prudence than falls to thecommon lot. 

THIS talent is more likely to make a woman vain than knowledge; for asWit is the immediate property of its possessor, and learning is onlyan acquaintance with the knowledge of other people, there is much moredanger, that we should be vain of what is our own, than of what weborrow. 

BUT Wit, like learning, is not near so common a thing as is imagined. Let not therefore a young lady be alarmed at the acuteness of her ownwit, any more than at the abundance of her own knowledge. The greatdanger is, lest she should mistake pertness, flippancy, or imprudence, for this brilliant quality, or imagine she is witty, only because sheis indiscreet. This is very frequently the case, and this makes the nameof wit so cheap, while its real existence is so rare. 

LEST the flattery of her acquaintance, or an over-weening opinion of herown qualifications, should lead some vain and petulant girl into a falsenotion that she has a great deal of wit, when she has only a redundancyof animal spirits, she may not find it useless to attend to thedefinition of this quality, by one who had as large a portion of it, asmost individuals could ever boast:

 'Tis not a tale, 'tis not a jest, Admir'd with laughter at a feast, Nor florid talk, which can that title gain, The proofs of wit for ever must remain. Neither can that have any place, At which a virgin hides her face; Such dross the fire must purge away; 'tis just, The author blush there, where the reader must. 

 COWLEY. 

BUT those who actually possess this rare talent, cannot be tooabstinent in the use of it. It often makes admirers, but it never makesfriends; I mean, where it is the predominant feature; and theunprotected and defenceless state of womanhood calls for friendship morethan for admiration. She who does not desire friends has a sordid andinsensible soul; but she who is ambitious of making every man heradmirer, has an invincible vanity and a cold heart. 

BUT to dwell only on the side of policy, a prudent woman, who hasestablished the reputation of some genius will sufficiently maintainit, without keeping her faculties always on the stretch to say _goodthings_. Nay, if reputation alone be her object, she will gain a moresolid one by her forbearance, as the wiser part of her acquaintance willascribe it to the right motive, which is, not that she has less wit, butthat she has more judgment. 

THE fatal fondness for indulging a spirit of ridicule, and the injuriousand irreparable consequences which sometimes attend the _too promptreply_, can never be too seriously or too severely condemned. Not tooffend, is the first step towards pleasing. To give pain is as much anoffence against humanity, as against good breeding; and surely it is aswell to abstain from an action because it is sinful, as because it isimpolite. In company, young ladies would do well before they speak, toreflect, if what they are going to say may not distress some worthyperson present, by wounding them in their persons, families, connexions, or religious opinions. If they find it will touch them in either ofthese, I should advise them to suspect, that what they were going to sayis not so _very_ good a thing as they at first imagined. Nay, if even itwas one of those bright ideas, which _Venus has imbued with a fifth partof her nectar_, so much greater will be their merit in suppressing it, if there was a probability it might offend. Indeed, if they have thetemper and prudence to make such a previous reflection, they will bemore richly rewarded by their own inward triumph, at having suppresseda lively but severe remark, than they could have been with thedissembled applauses of the whole company, who, with that complaisantdeceit, which good breeding too much authorises, affect openly to admirewhat they secretly resolve never to forgive. 

I HAVE always been delighted with the story of the little girl'seloquence, in one of the Children's Tales, who received from a friendlyfairy the gift, that at every word she uttered, pinks, roses, diamonds, and pearls, should drop from her mouth. The hidden moral appears to bethis, that it was the sweetness of her temper which produced this prettyfanciful effect: for when her malicious sister desired the same giftfrom the good-natured tiny Intelligence, the venom of her own heartconverted it into poisonous and loathsome reptiles. 

A MAN of sense and breeding will sometimes join in the laugh, which hasbeen raised at his expence by an ill-natured repartee; but if it wasvery cutting, and one of those shocking sort of truths, which as theycan scarcely be pardoned even in private, ought never to be uttered inpublic, he does not laugh because he is pleased, but because he wishesto conceal how much he is hurt. As the sarcasm was uttered by a lady, sofar from seeming to resent it, he will be the first to commend it; butnotwithstanding that, he will remember it as a trait of malice, when thewhole company shall have forgotten it as a stroke of wit. Women are sofar from being privileged by their sex to say unhandsome or cruelthings, that it is this very circumstance which renders them moreintolerable. When the arrow is lodged in the heart, it is no relief tohim who is wounded to reflect, that the hand which shot it was a fairone. 

MANY women, when they have a favourite point to gain, or an earnest wishto bring any one over to their opinion, often use a very disingenuousmethod: they will state a case ambiguously, and then avail themselves ofit, in whatever manner shall best answer their purpose; leaving yourmind in a state of indecision as to their real meaning, while theytriumph in the perplexity they have given you by the unfair conclusionsthey draw, from premises equivocally stated. They will also frequentlyargue from exceptions instead of rules, and are astonished when you arenot willing to be contented with a prejudice, instead of a reason. 

IN a sensible company of both sexes, where women are not restrained byany other reserve than what their natural modesty imposes; and where theintimacy of all parties authorises the utmost freedom of communication;should any one inquire what were the general sentiments on someparticular subject, it will, I believe, commonly happen, that theladies, whose imaginations have kept pace with the narration, haveanticipated its end, and are ready to deliver their sentiments on it assoon as it is finished. While some of the male hearers, whose minds werebusied in settling the propriety, comparing the circumstances, andexamining the consistencies of what was said, are obliged to pause anddiscriminate, before they think of answering. Nothing is soembarrassing as a variety of matter, and the conversation of women isoften more perspicuous, because it is less laboured. 

A MAN of deep reflection, if he does not keep up an intimate commercewith the world, will be sometimes so entangled in the intricacies ofintense thought, that he will have the appearance of a confused andperplexed expression; while a sprightly woman will extricate herselfwith that lively and "rash dexterity, " which will almost always please, though it is very far from being always right. It is easier to confoundthan to convince an opponent; the former may be effected by a turn thathas more happiness than truth in it. Many an excellent reasoner, wellskilled in the theory of the schools, has felt himself discomfited by areply, which, though as wide of the mark, and as foreign to thequestion as can be conceived, has disconcerted him more than the moststartling proposition, or the most accurate chain of reasoning couldhave done; and he has borne the laugh of his fair antagonist, as well asof the whole company, though he could not but feel, that his ownargument was attended with the fullest demonstration: so true is it, that it is not always necessary to be right, in order to be applauded. 

BUT let not a young lady's vanity be too much elated with this falseapplause, which is given, not to her merit, but to her sex: she has notperhaps gained a victory, though she may be allowed a triumph; and itshould humble her to reflect, that the tribute is paid, not to herstrength but her weakness. It is worth while to discriminate betweenthat applause, which is given from the complaisance of others, and thatwhich is paid to our own merit. 

WHERE great sprightliness is the natural bent of the temper, girlsshould endeavour to habituate themselves to a custom of observing, thinking, and reasoning. I do not mean, that they should devotethemselves to abstruse speculation, or the study of logic; but she whois accustomed to give a due arrangement to her thoughts, to reasonjustly and pertinently on common affairs, and judiciously to deduceeffects from their causes, will be a better logician than some of thosewho claim the name, because they have studied the art: this is being"learned without the rules;" the best definition, perhaps, of that sortof literature which is properest for the sex. That species ofknowledge, which appears to be the result of reflection rather than ofscience, sits peculiarly well on women. It is not uncommon to find alady, who, though she does not know a rule of Syntax, scarcely everviolates one; and who constructs every sentence she utters, with morepropriety than many a learned dunce, who has every rule of Aristotle byheart, and who can lace his own thread-bare discourse with the goldenshreds of Cicero and Virgil. 

IT has been objected, and I fear with some reason, that femaleconversation is too frequently tinctured with a censorious spirit, andthat ladies are seldom apt to discover much tenderness for the errors ofa fallen sister. 

 If it be so, it is a grievous fault. 

NO arguments can justify, no pleas can extenuate it. To insult over themiseries of an unhappy creature is inhuman, not to compassionate themis unchristian. The worthy part of the sex always express themselveshumanely on the failings of others, in proportion to their ownundeviating goodness. 

AND here I cannot help remarking, that young women do not alwayscarefully distinguish between running into the error of detraction, andits opposite extreme of indiscriminate applause. This proceeds from thefalse idea they entertain, that the direct contrary to what is wrongmust be right. Thus the dread of being only suspected of one fault makesthem actually guilty of another. The desire of avoiding the imputationof envy, impels them to be insincere; and to establish a reputation forsweetness of temper and generosity, they affect sometimes to speak ofvery indifferent characters with the most extravagant applause. Withsuch, the hyperbole is a favourite figure; and every degree ofcomparison but the superlative is rejected, as cold and inexpressive. But this habit of exaggeration greatly weakens their credit, anddestroys the weight of their opinion on other occasions; for people verysoon discover what degree of faith is to be given both to their judgmentand veracity. And those of real merit will no more be flattered by thatapprobation, which cannot distinguish the value of what it praises, thanthe celebrated painter must have been at the judgment passed on hisworks by an ignorant spectator, who, being asked what he thought of suchand such very capital but very different pieces, cried out in anaffected rapture, "All alike! all alike!"

IT has been proposed to the young, as a maxim of supreme wisdom, tomanage so dexterously in conversation, as to appear to be wellacquainted with subjects, of which they are totally ignorant; and this, by affecting silence in regard to those, on which they are known toexcel. --But why counsel this disingenuous fraud? Why add to thenumberless arts of deceit, this practice of deceiving, as it were, on asettled principle? If to disavow the knowledge they really have be aculpable affectation, then certainly to insinuate an idea of theirskill, where they are actually ignorant, is a most unworthy artifice. 

BUT of all the qualifications for conversation, humility, if not themost brilliant, is the safest, the most amiable, and the most feminine. The affectation of introducing subjects, with which others areunacquainted, and of displaying talents superior to the rest of thecompany, is as dangerous as it is foolish. 

There are many, who never can forgive another for being more agreeableand more accomplished than themselves, and who can pardon any offencerather than an eclipsing merit. Had the nightingale in the fableconquered his vanity, and resisted the temptation of shewing a finevoice, he might have escaped the talons of the hawk. The melody of hissinging was the cause of his destruction; his merit brought him intodanger, and his vanity cost him his life. 

[5] Lord Bacon. 

ONENVY. 

 Envy came next, Envy with squinting eyes, Sick of a strange disease, his neighbour's health; Best then he lives when any better dies, Is never poor but in another's wealth: On best mens harms and griefs he feeds his fill, Else his own maw doth eat with spiteful will, Ill must the temper be, where diet is so ill. 

 FLETCHER'S PURPLE ISLAND. 

"ENVY, (says Lord Bacon) has no holidays. " There cannot perhaps be amore lively and striking description of the miserable state of mindthose endure, who are tormented with this vice. A spirit of emulationhas been supposed to be the source of the greatest improvements; andthere is no doubt but the warmest rivalship will produce the mostexcellent effects; but it is to be feared, that a perpetual state ofcontest will injure the temper so essentially, that the mischief willhardly be counterbalanced by any other advantages. Those, whose progressis the most rapid, will be apt to despise their less successfulcompetitors, who, in return, will feel the bitterest resentment againsttheir more fortunate rivals. Among persons of real goodness, thisjealousy and contempt can never be equally felt, because everyadvancement in piety will be attended with a proportionable increase ofhumility, which will lead them to contemplate their own improvementswith modesty, and to view with charity the miscarriages of others. 

WHEN an envious man is melancholy, one may ask him, in the words ofBion, what evil has befallen himself, or what good has happened toanother? This last is the scale by which he principally measures hisfelicity, and the very smiles of his friends are so many deductions fromhis own happiness. The wants of others are the standard by which herates his own wealth, and he estimates his riches, not so much by hisown possessions, as by the necessities of his neighbours. 

WHEN the malevolent intend to strike a very deep and dangerous stroke ofmalice, they generally begin the most remotely in the world from thesubject nearest their hearts. They set out with commending the object oftheir envy for some trifling quality or advantage, which it is scarcelyworth while to possess: they next proceed to make a generalprofession of their own good-will and regard for him: thus artfullyremoving any suspicion of their design, and clearing all obstructionsfor the insidious stab they are about to give; for who will suspect themof an intention to injure the object of their peculiar and professedesteem? The hearer's belief of the fact grows in proportion to theseeming reluctance with which it is told, and to the conviction he has, that the relater is not influenced by any private pique, or personalresentment; but that the confession is extorted from him sorelyagainst his inclination, and purely on account of his zeal for truth. 

ANGER is less reasonable and more sincere than envy. --Anger breaks outabruptly; envy is a great prefacer--anger wishes to be understood atonce: envy is fond of remote hints and ambiguities; but, obscure as itsoracles are, it never ceases to deliver them till they are perfectlycomprehended:--anger repeats the same circumstances over again; envyinvents new ones at every fresh recital--anger gives a broken, vehement, and interrupted narrative; envy tells a more consistent and moreprobable, though a falser tale--anger is excessively imprudent, for itis impatient to disclose every thing it knows; envy is discreet, for ithas a great deal to hide--anger never consults times or seasons; envywaits for the lucky moment, when the wound it meditates may be made themost exquisitely painful, and the most incurably deep--anger uses moreinvective; envy does more mischief--simple anger soon runs itself out ofbreath, and is exhausted at the end of its tale; but it is for thatchosen period that envy has treasured up the most barbed arrow in itswhole quiver--anger puts a man out of himself: but the truly maliciousgenerally preserve the appearance of self-possession, or they couldnot so effectually injure. --The angry man sets out by destroying hiswhole credit with you at once, for he very frankly confesses hisabhorrence and detestation of the object of his abuse; while the enviousman carefully suppresses all his own share in the affair. --The angryman defeats the end of his resentment, by keeping _himself_ continuallybefore your eyes, instead of his enemy; while the envious man artfullybrings forward the object of his malice, and keeps himself out ofsight. --The angry man talks loudly of his own wrongs; the envious of hisadversary's injustice. --A passionate person, if his resentments arenot complicated with malice, divides his time between sinning andsorrowing; and, as the irascible passions cannot constantly be atwork, his heart may sometimes get a holiday. --Anger is a violent act, envy a constant habit--no one can be always angry, but he may be alwaysenvious:--an angry man's enmity (if he be generous) will subside whenthe object of his resentment becomes unfortunate; but the envious mancan extract food from his malice out of calamity itself, if he finds hisadversary bears it with dignity, or is pitied or assisted in it. Therage of the passionate man is totally extinguished by the death of hisenemy; but the hatred of the malicious is not buried even in the graveof his rival: he will envy the good name he has left behind him; he willenvy him the tears of his widow, the prosperity of his children, theesteem of his friends, the praises of his epitaph--nay the verymagnificence of his funeral. 

"THE ear of jealousy heareth all things, " (says the wise man) frequentlyI believe more than is uttered, which makes the company of personsinfected with it still more dangerous. 

WHEN you tell those of a malicious turn, any circumstance that hashappened to another, though they perfectly know of whom you arespeaking, they often affect to be at a loss, to forget his name, or tomisapprehend you in some respect or other; and this merely to have anopportunity of slily gratifying their malice by mentioning some unhappydefect or personal infirmity he labours under; and not contented "totack his every error to his name, " they will, by way of fartherexplanation, have recourse to the faults of his father, or themisfortunes of his family; and this with all the seeming simplicity andcandor in the world, merely for the sake of preventing mistakes, and toclear up every doubt of his identity. --If you are speaking of a lady, for instance, they will perhaps embellish their inquiries, by asking ifyou mean her, whose great grandfather was a bankrupt, though she has thevanity to keep a chariot, while others who are much better born walk onfoot; or they will afterwards recollect, that you may possibly meanher cousin, of the same name, whose mother was suspected of such orsuch an indiscretion, though the daughter had the luck to make herfortune by marrying, while her betters are overlooked. 

TO _hint at a fault_, does more mischief than speaking out; for whateveris left for the imagination to finish, will not fail to be overdone:every hiatus will be more then filled up, and every pause more thansupplied. There is less malice, and less mischief too, in telling aman's name than the initials of it; as a worthier person may be involvedin the most disgraceful suspicions by such a dangerous ambiguity. 

IT is not uncommon for the envious, after having attempted to deface thefairest character so industriously, that they are afraid you will beginto detect their malice, to endeavour to remove your suspicionseffectually, by assuring you, that what they have just related is onlythe popular opinion; they themselves can never believe things are so badas they are said to be; for their part, it is a rule with them always tohope the best. It is their way never to believe or report ill of anyone. They will, however, mention the story in all companies, that theymay do their friend the service of protesting their disbelief of it. More reputations are thus hinted away by false friends, than are openlydestroyed by public enemies. An _if_, or a _but_, or a mortified look, or a languid defence, or an ambiguous shake of the head, or a hasty wordaffectedly recalled, will demolish a character more effectually, thanthe whole artillery of malice when openly levelled against it. 

IT is not that envy never praises--No, that would be making a publicprofession of itself, and advertising its own malignity; whereas thegreatest success of its efforts depends on the concealment of their end. When envy intends to strike a stroke of Machiavelian policy, itsometimes affects the language of the most exaggerated applause; thoughit generally takes care, that the subject of its panegyric shall be avery indifferent and common character, so that it is well aware none ofits praises will stick. 

IT is the unhappy nature of envy not to be contented with positivemisery, but to be continually aggravating its own torments, by comparingthem with the felicities of others. The eyes of envy are perpetuallyfixed on the object which disturbs it, nor can it avert them from it, though to procure itself the relief of a temporary forgetfulness. Onseeing the innocence of the first pair, Aside the devil turn'd, For Envy, yet with jealous leer malign, Eyed them askance. 

As this enormous sin chiefly instigated the revolt, and brought on theruin of the angelic spirits, so it is not improbable, that it will be aprincipal instrument of misery in a future world, for the envious tocompare their desperate condition with the happiness of the children ofGod; and to heighten their actual wretchedness by reflecting on whatthey have lost. 

PERHAPS envy, like lying and ingratitude, is practised with morefrequency, because it is practised with impunity; but there being nohuman laws against these crimes, is so far from an inducement to committhem, that this very consideration would be sufficient to deter the wiseand good, if all others were ineffectual; for of how heinous a naturemust those sins be, which are judged above the reach of humanpunishment, and are reserved for the final justice of God himself!

ON THEDANGEROFSENTIMENTAL OR ROMANTICCONNEXIONS. 

AMONG the many evils which prevail under the sun, the abuse of words isnot the least considerable. By the influence of time, and the perversionof fashion, the plainest and most unequivocal may be so altered, as tohave a meaning assigned them almost diametrically opposite to theiroriginal signification. 

THE present age may be termed, by way of distinction, the age ofsentiment, a word which, in the implication it now bears, was unknown toour plain ancestors. Sentiment is the varnish of virtue to conceal thedeformity of vice; and it is not uncommon for the same persons to make ajest of religion, to break through the most solemn ties and engagements, to practise every art of latent fraud and open seduction, and yet tovalue themselves on speaking and writing _sentimentally_. 

BUT this refined jargon, which has infested letters and tainted morals, is chiefly admired and adopted by _young ladies_ of a certain turn, whoread _sentimental books_, write _sentimental letters_, and contract_sentimental friendships_. 

ERROR is never likely to do so much mischief as when it disguises itsreal tendency, and puts on an engaging and attractive appearance. Many ayoung woman, who would be shocked at the imputation of an intrigue, isextremely flattered at the idea of a sentimental connexion, thoughperhaps with a dangerous and designing man, who, by putting on this maskof plausibility and virtue, disarms her of her prudence, lays herapprehensions asleep, and involves her in misery; misery the moreinevitable because unsuspected. For she who apprehends no danger, willnot think it necessary to be always upon her guard; but will ratherinvite than avoid the ruin which comes under so specious and so fair aform. 

SUCH an engagement will be infinitely dearer to her vanity than anavowed and authorised attachment; for one of these sentimental loverswill not scruple very seriously to assure a credulous girl, that herunparalleled merit entitles her to the adoration of the whole world, andthat the universal homage of mankind is nothing more than theunavoidable tribute extorted by her charms. No wonder then she should beeasily prevailed on to believe, that an individual is captivated byperfections which might enslave a million. But she should remember, thathe who endeavours to intoxicate her with adulation, intends one day mosteffectually to humble her. For an artful man has always a secret designto pay himself in future for every present sacrifice. And thisprodigality of praise, which he now appears to lavish with suchthoughtless profusion, is, in fact, a sum oeconomically laid out tosupply his future necessities: of this sum he keeps an exact estimate, and at some distant day promises himself the most exorbitant interestfor it. If he has address and conduct, and, the object of his pursuitmuch vanity, and some sensibility, he seldom fails of success; for sopowerful will be his ascendancy over her mind, that she will soon adopthis notions and opinions. Indeed, it is more than probable shepossessed most of them before, having gradually acquired them in herinitiation into the sentimental character. To maintain that characterwith dignity and propriety, it is necessary she should entertain themost elevated ideas of disproportionate alliances, and disinterestedlove; and consider fortune, rank, and reputation, as mere chimericaldistinctions and vulgar prejudices. 

THE lover, deeply versed in all the obliquities of fraud, and skilled towind himself into every avenue of the heart which indiscretion has leftunguarded, soon discovers on which side it is most accessible. Heavails himself of this weakness by addressing her in a languageexactly consonant to her own ideas. He attacks her with her own weapons, and opposes rhapsody to sentiment--He professes so sovereign acontempt for the paltry concerns of money, that she thinks it her dutyto reward him for so generous a renunciation. Every plea he artfullyadvances of his own unworthiness, is considered by her as a freshdemand which her gratitude must answer. And she makes it a point ofhonour to sacrifice to him that fortune which he is too noble to regard. These professions of humility are the common artifice of the vain, andthese protestations of generosity the refuge of the rapacious. And amongits many smooth mischiefs, it is one of the sure and successful fraudsof sentiment, to affect the most frigid indifference to those externaland pecuniary advantages, which it is its great and real object toobtain. 

A SENTIMENTAL girl very rarely entertains any doubt of her personalbeauty; for she has been daily accustomed to contemplate it herself, andto hear of it from others. She will not, therefore, be very solicitousfor the confirmation of a truth so self-evident; but she suspects, thather pretensions to understanding are more likely to be disputed, and, for that reason, greedily devours every compliment offered to thoseperfections, which are less obvious and more refined. She is persuaded, that men need only open their eyes to decide on her beauty, while itwill be the most convincing proof of the taste, sense, and elegance ofher admirer, that he can discern and flatter those qualities in her. Aman of the character here supposed, will easily insinuate himself intoher affections, by means of this latent but leading foible, which may becalled the guiding clue to a sentimental heart. He will affect tooverlook that beauty which attracts common eyes, and ensnares commonhearts, while he will bestow the most delicate praises on the beautiesof her mind, and finish the climax of adulation, by hinting that she issuperior to it. 

 And when he tells her she hates flattery, She says she does, being then most flatter'd. 

BUT nothing, in general, can end less delightfully than these sublimeattachments, even where no acts of seduction were ever practised, butthey are suffered, like mere sublunary connexions, to terminate in thevulgar catastrophe of marriage. That wealth, which lately seemed to belooked on with ineffable contempt by the lover, now appears to be theprincipal attraction in the eyes of the husband; and he, who but a fewshort weeks before, in a transport of sentimental generosity, wished herto have been a village maid, with no portion but her crook and herbeauty, and that they might spend their days in pastoral love andinnocence, has now lost all relish for the Arcadian life, or any otherlife in which she must be his companion. 

ON the other hand, she who was lately

 An angel call'd, and angel-like ador'd, is shocked to find herself at once stripped of all her celestialattributes. This late divinity, who scarcely yielded to her sisters ofthe sky, now finds herself of less importance in the esteem of the manshe has chosen, than any other mere mortal woman. No longer is shegratified with the tear of counterfeited passion, the sigh ofdissembled rapture, or the language of premeditated adoration. Nolonger is the altar of her vanity loaded with the oblations offictitious fondness, the incense of falsehood, or the sacrifice offlattery. --Her apotheosis is ended!--She feels herself degraded from thedignities and privileges of a goddess, to all the imperfections, vanities, and weaknesses of a slighted woman, and a neglected wife. Her faults, which were so lately overlooked, or mistaken for virtues, are now, as Cassius says, set in a note-book. The passion, which wasvowed eternal, lasted only a few short weeks; and the indifference, which was so far from being included in the bargain, that it was not somuch as suspected, follows them through the whole tiresome journey oftheir insipid, vacant, joyless existence. 

THUS much for the _completion_ of the sentimental history. If we traceit back to its beginning, we shall find that a damsel of this cast hadher head originally turned by pernicious reading, and her insanityconfirmed by imprudent friendships. She never fails to select a beloved_confidante_ of her own turn and humour, though, if she can help it, notquite so handsome as herself. A violent intimacy ensues, or, to speakthe language of sentiment, an intimate union of souls immediately takesplace, which is wrought to the highest pitch by a secret and voluminouscorrespondence, though they live in the same street, or perhaps in thesame house. This is the fuel which principally feeds and supplies thedangerous flame of sentiment. In this correspondence the two friendsencourage each other in the falsest notions imaginable. They representromantic love as the great important business of human life, anddescribe all the other concerns of it as too low and paltry to merit theattention of such elevated beings, and fit only to employ the daughtersof the plodding vulgar. In these letters, family affairs aremisrepresented, family secrets divulged, and family misfortunesaggravated. They are filled with vows of eternal amity, andprotestations of never-ending love. But interjections and quotations arethe principal embellishments of these very sublime epistles. Everypanegyric contained in them is extravagant and hyperbolical, and everycensure exaggerated and excessive. In a favourite, every frailty isheightened into a perfection, and in a foe degraded into a crime. Thedramatic poets, especially the most tender and romantic, are quoted inalmost every line, and every pompous or pathetic thought is forced togive up its natural and obvious meaning, and with all the violence ofmisapplication, is compelled to suit some circumstance of imaginary woeof the fair transcriber. Alicia is not too mad for her heroics, norMonimia too mild for her soft emotions. 

FATHERS _have flinty hearts_ is an expression worth an empire, and isalways used with peculiar emphasis and enthusiasm. For a favourite topicof these epistles is the groveling spirit and sordid temper of theparents, who will be sure to find no quarter at the hands of theirdaughters, should they presume to be so unreasonable as to direct theircourse of reading, interfere in their choice of friends, or interrupttheir very important correspondence. But as these young ladies arefertile in expedients, and as their genius is never more agreeablyexercised than in finding resources, they are not without their secretexultation, in case either of the above interesting events shouldhappen, as they carry with them a certain air of tyranny and persecutionwhich is very delightful. For a prohibited correspondence is one of thegreat incidents of a sentimental life, and a letter clandestinelyreceived, the supreme felicity of a sentimental lady. 

NOTHING can equal the astonishment of these soaring spirits, when theirplain friends or prudent relations presume to remonstrate with them onany impropriety in their conduct. But if these worthy people happen tobe somewhat advanced in life, their contempt is then a little softenedby pity, at the reflection that such very antiquated poor creaturesshould pretend to judge what is fit or unfit for ladies of their greatrefinement, sense, and reading. They consider them as wretches utterlyignorant of the sublime pleasures of a delicate and exalted passion;as tyrants whose authority is to be contemned, and as spies whosevigilance is to be eluded. The prudence of these worthy friends theyterm suspicion, and their experience dotage. For they are persuaded, that the face of things has so totally changed since their parents wereyoung, that though they might then judge tolerably for themselves, yetthey are now (with all their advantages of knowledge and observation) byno means qualified to direct their more enlightened daughters; who, ifthey have made a great progress in the sentimental walk, will no morebe influenced by the advice of their mother, than they would go abroadin her laced pinner or her brocade suit. 

BUT young people never shew their folly and ignorance moreconspicuously, than by this over-confidence in their own judgment, andthis haughty disdain of the opinion of those who have known more days. Youth has a quickness of apprehension, which it is very apt to mistakefor an acuteness of penetration. But youth, like cunning, though veryconceited, is very short-sighted, and never more so than when itdisregards the instructions of the wife, and the admonitions of theaged. The same vices and follies influenced the human heart in theirday, which influence it now, and nearly in the same manner. One whowell knew the world and its various vanities, has said, "The thing whichhath been, it is that which shall be, and that which is done is thatwhich shall be done, and there is no new thing under the sun. "

IT is also a part of the sentimental character, to imagine that none butthe young and the beautiful have any right to the pleasures of society, of even to the common benefits and blessings of life. Ladies of thisturn also affect the most lofty disregard for useful qualities anddomestic virtues; and this is a natural consequence: for as this sort ofsentiment is only a weed of idleness, she who is constantly and usefullyemployed, has neither leisure nor propensity to cultivate it. 

A SENTIMENTAL lady principally values herself on the enlargement of hernotions, and her liberal way of thinking. This superiority of soulchiefly manifests itself in the contempt of those minute delicacies andlittle decorums, which, trifling as they may be thought, tend at once todignify the character, and to restrain the levity of the younger part ofthe sex. 

PERHAPS the error here complained of, originates in mistaking_sentiment_ and _principle_ for each other. Now I conceive them to beextremely different. Sentiment is the virtue of _ideas_, and principlethe virtue of _action_. Sentiment has its seat in the head, principle inthe heart. Sentiment suggests fine harangues and subtile distinctions;principle conceives just notions, and performs good actions inconsequence of them. Sentiment refines away the simplicity of truth andthe plainness of piety; and, as a celebrated wit[6] has remarked of hisno less celebrated contemporary, gives us virtue in words and vice indeeds. Sentiment may be called the Athenian, who _knew_ what was right, and principle the Lacedemonian who _practised_ it. 

BUT these qualities will be better exemplified by an attentiveconsideration of two admirably drawn characters of Milton, which arebeautifully, delicately, and distinctly marked. These are, Belial, whomay not improperly be called the _Demon of Sentiment_; and Abdiel, whomay be termed the _Angel of Principle_. 

SURVEY the picture of Belial, drawn by the sublimest hand that ever heldthe poetic pencil. 

 A fairer person lost not heav'n; he seem'd For dignity compos'd, and high exploit, But all was false and hollow, tho' his tongue Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, to perplex and dash Maturest counsels, for his thoughts were low, To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds Tim'rous and slothful; yet he pleas'd the ear. 

 PARADISE LOST, B. II. 

HERE is a lively and exquisite representation of art, subtilty, wit, fine breeding and polished manners: on the whole, of a very accomplishedand sentimental spirit. 

NOW turn to the artless, upright, and unsophisticated Abdiel, Faithful found Among the faithless, faithful only he Among innumerable false, unmov'd, Unshaken, unseduc'd, unterrified; His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal. Nor number, nor example with him wrought To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind, Though single. 

 BOOK V. 

BUT it is not from these descriptions, just and striking as they are, that their characters are so perfectly known, as from an examination oftheir conduct through the remainder of this divine work: in which it iswell worth while to remark the consonancy of their actions, with whatthe above pictures seem to promise. It will also be observed, that thecontrast between them is kept up throughout, with the utmost exactnessof delineation, and the most animated strength of colouring. On areview it will be found, that Belial _talked_ all, and Abdiel _did_ all. The former, With words still cloath'd in reason's guise, Counsel'd ignoble ease, and peaceful sloth, Not peace. 

 BOOK II. 

IN Abdiel you will constantly find the eloquence of action. When temptedby the rebellious angels, with what _retorted scorn_, with what honestindignation he deserts their multitudes, and retreats from theircontagious society!

 All night the dreadless angel unpursued Through heaven's wide champain held his way. 

 BOOK VI. 

NO wonder he was received with such acclamations of joy by the celestialpowers, when there was

 But one, Yes, of so many myriads fall'n, but one Return'd not lost. 

 IBID. 

AND afterwards, in a close contest with the arch fiend, A noble stroke he lifted high On the proud crest of Satan. 

 IBID. 

WHAT was the effect of this courage of the vigilant and active seraph?

 Amazement seiz'd The rebel throne, but greater rage to see Thus foil'd their mightiest. 

ABDIEL had the superiority of Belial as much in the warlike combat, asin the peaceful counsels. 

 Nor was it ought but just, That he who in debate of truth had won, Shou'd win in arms, in both disputes alike Victor. 

BUT notwithstanding I have spoken with some asperity against sentimentas opposed to principle, yet I am convinced, that true genuinesentiment, (not the sort I have been describing) may be so connectedwith principle, as to bestow on it its brightest lustre, and its mostcaptivating graces. And enthusiasm is so far from being disagreeable, that a portion of it is perhaps indispensably necessary in an engagingwoman. But it must be the enthusiasm of the heart, not of the senses. Itmust be the enthusiasm which grows up with a feeling mind, and ischerished by a virtuous education; not that which is compounded ofirregular passions, and artificially refined by books of unnaturalfiction and improbable adventure. I will even go so far as to assert, that a young woman cannot have any real greatness of soul, or trueelevation of principle, if she has not a tincture of what the vulgarwould call Romance, but which persons of a certain way of thinking willdiscern to proceed from those fine feelings, and that charmingsensibility, without which, though a woman may be worthy, yet she cannever be amiable. 

BUT this dangerous merit cannot be too rigidly watched, as it is veryapt to lead those who possess it into inconveniencies from which lessinteresting characters are happily exempt. Young women of strongsensibility may be carried by the very amiableness of this temper intothe most alarming extremes. Their tastes are passions. They love andhate with all their hearts, and scarcely suffer themselves to feel areasonable preference before it strengthens into a violent attachment. 

WHEN an innocent girl of this open, trusting, tender heart, happens tomeet with one of her own sex and age, whose address and manners areengaging, she is instantly seized with an ardent desire to commence afriendship with her. She feels the most lively impatience at therestraints of company, and the decorums of ceremony. She longs to bealone with her, longs to assure her of the warmth of her tenderness, and generously ascribes to the fair stranger all the good qualities shefeels in her own heart, or rather all those which she has met with inher reading, dispersed in a variety of heroines. She is persuaded, thather new friend unites them all in herself, because she carries in herprepossessing countenance the promise of them all. How cruel and howcensorious would this inexperienced girl think her mother was, whoshould venture to hint, that the agreeable unknown had defects in hertemper, or exceptions in her character. She would mistake these hints ofdiscretion for the insinuations of an uncharitable disposition. At firstshe would perhaps listen to them with a generous impatience, andafterwards with a cold and silent disdain. She would despise them as theeffect of prejudice, misrepresentation, or ignorance. The moreaggravated the censure, the more vehemently would she protest in secret, that her friendship for this dear injured creature (who is raised muchhigher in her esteem by such injurious suspicions) shall know no bounds, as she is assured it can know no end. 

YET this trusting confidence, this honest indiscretion, is, at thisearly period of life as amiable as it is natural; and will, if wiselycultivated, produce, at its proper season, fruits infinitely morevaluable than all the guarded circumspection of premature, and thereforeartificial, prudence. Men, I believe, are seldom struck with thesesudden prepossessions in favour of each other. They are not sounsuspecting, nor so easily led away by the predominance of fancy. Theyengage more warily, and pass through the several stages of acquaintance, intimacy, and confidence, by slower gradations; but women, if they aresometimes deceived in the choice of a friend, enjoy even then an higherdegree of satisfaction than if they never trusted. For to be always cladin the burthensome armour of suspicion is more painful and inconvenient, than to run the hazard of suffering now and then a transient injury. 

BUT the above observations only extend to the young and theinexperienced; for I am very certain, that women are capable of asfaithful and as durable friendship as any of the other sex. They canenter not only into all the enthusiastic tenderness, but into all thesolid fidelity of attachment. And if we cannot oppose instances of equalweight with those of Nysus and Euryalus, Theseus and Pirithous, Pyladesand Orestes, let it be remembered, that it is because the recorders ofthose characters were men, and that the very existence of them is merelypoetical. 

[6] See Voltaire's Prophecy concerning Rousseau. 

ONTRUE AND FALSEMEEKNESS. 

A LOW voice and soft address are the common indications of a well-bredwoman, and should seem to be the natural effects of a meek and quietspirit; but they are only the outward and visible signs of it: for theyare no more meekness itself, than a red coat is courage, or a black onedevotion. 

YET nothing is more common than to mistake the sign for the thingitself; nor is any practice more frequent than that of endeavouring toacquire the exterior mark, without once thinking to labour after theinterior grace. Surely this is beginning at the wrong end, likeattacking the symptom and neglecting the disease. To regulate thefeatures, while the soul is in tumults, or to command the voice whilethe passions are without restraint, is as idle as throwing odours intoa stream when the source is polluted. 

THE _sapient king_, who knew better than any man the nature and thepower of beauty, has assured us, that the temper of the mind has astrong influence upon the features: "Wisdom maketh the face to shine, "says that exquisite judge; and surely no part of wisdom is more likelyto produce this amiable effect, than a placid serenity of soul. 

IT will not be difficult to distinguish the true from the artificialmeekness. The former is universal and habitual, the latter, local andtemporary. Every young female may keep this rule by her, to enable herto form a just judgment of her own temper: if she is not as gentle toher chambermaid as she is to her visitor, she may rest satisfied thatthe spirit of gentleness is not in her. 

WHO would not be shocked and disappointed to behold a well-bred younglady, soft and engaging as the doves of Venus, displaying a thousandgraces and attractions to win the hearts of a large company, and theinstant they are gone, to see her look mad as the Pythian maid, and allthe frightened graces driven from her furious countenance, only becauseher gown was brought home a quarter of an hour later than she expected, or her ribbon sent half a shade lighter or darker than she ordered?

ALL men's characters are said to proceed from their servants; and thisis more particularly true of ladies: for as their situations are moredomestic, they lie more open to the inspection of their families, towhom their real characters are easily and perfectly known; for theyseldom think it worth while to practise any disguise before those, whose good opinion they do not value, and who are obliged to submit totheir most insupportable humours, because they are paid for it. 

AMONGST women of breeding, the exterior of gentleness is so uniformlyassumed, and the whole manner is so perfectly level and _uni_, that itis next to impossible for a stranger to know any thing of their truedispositions by conversing with them, and even the very features are soexactly regulated, that physiognomy, which may sometimes be trustedamong the vulgar, is, with the polite, a most lying science. 

A VERY termagant woman, if she happens also to be a very artful one, will be conscious she has so much to conceal, that the dread ofbetraying her real temper will make her put on an over-acted softness, which, from its very excess, may be distinguished from the natural, by apenetrating eye. That gentleness is ever liable to be suspected for thecounterfeited, which is so excessive as to deprive people of theproper use of speech and motion, or which, as Hamlet says, makes themlisp and amble, and nick-name God's creatures. 

THE countenance and manners of some very fashionable persons may becompared to the inscriptions on their monuments, which speak nothing butgood of what is within; but he who knows any thing of the world, or ofthe human heart, will no more trust to the courtesy, than he will dependon the epitaph. 

AMONG the various artifices of factitious meekness, one of the mostfrequent and most plausible, is that of affecting to be always equallydelighted with all persons and all characters. The society of theselanguid beings is without confidence, their friendship withoutattachment, and their love without affection, or even preference. Thisinsipid mode of conduct may be safe, but I cannot think it has eithertaste, sense, or principle in it. 

THESE uniformly smiling and approving ladies, who have neither the noblecourage to reprehend vice, nor the generous warmth to bear their honesttestimony in the cause of virtue, conclude every one to be ill-naturedwho has any penetration, and look upon a distinguishing judgment as wantof tenderness. But they should learn, that this discernment does notalways proceed from an uncharitable temper, but from that longexperience and thorough knowledge of the world, which lead those whohave it to scrutinize into the conduct and disposition of men, beforethey trust entirely to those fair appearances, which sometimes veil themost insidious purposes. 

WE are perpetually mistaking the qualities and dispositions of our ownhearts. We elevate our failings into virtues, and qualify our vices intoweaknesses: and hence arise so many false judgments respectingmeekness. Self-ignorance is at the root of all this mischief. Manyladies complain that, for their part, their spirit is so meek they canbear nothing; whereas, if they spoke truth, they would say, their spiritis so high and unbroken that they can bear nothing. Strange! to pleadtheir meekness as a reason why they cannot endure to be crossed, andto produce their impatience of contradiction as a proof of theirgentleness!

MEEKNESS, like most other virtues, has certain limits, which it nosooner exceeds than it becomes criminal. Servility of spirit is notgentleness but weakness, and if allowed, under the specious appearancesit sometimes puts on, will lead to the most dangerous compliances. Shewho hears innocence maligned without vindicating it, falsehoodasserted without contradicting it, or religion prophaned withoutresenting it, is not gentle but wicked. 

TO give up the cause of an innocent, injured friend, if the popular cryhappens to be against him, is the most disgraceful weakness. This wasthe case of Madame de Maintenon. She loved the character and admired thetalents of Racine; she caressed him while he had no enemies, butwanted the greatness of mind, or rather the common justice, to protecthim against their resentment when he had; and her favourite wasabandoned to the suspicious jealousy of the king, when a prudentremonstrance might have preserved him. --But her tameness, if notabsolute connivance in the great massacre of the protestants, in whosechurch she had been bred, is a far more guilty instance of her weakness;an instance which, in spite of all her devotional zeal and incomparableprudence, will disqualify her from shining in the annals of good women, however she may be entitled to figure among the great and thefortunate. Compare her conduct with that of her undaunted and piouscountryman and contemporary, Bougi, who, when Louis would have prevailedon him to renounce his religion for a commission or a government, nobly replied, "If I could be persuaded to betray my God for a marshal'sstaff, I might betray my king for a bribe of much less consequence. "

MEEKNESS is imperfect, if it be not both active and passive; if itwill not enable us to subdue our own passions and resentments, as wellas qualify us to bear patiently the passions and resentments ofothers. 

BEFORE we give way to any violent emotion of anger, it would perhaps beworth while to consider the value of the object which excites it, and toreflect for a moment, whether the thing we so ardently desire, or sovehemently resent, be really of as much importance to us, as thatdelightful tranquillity of soul, which we renounce in pursuit of it. If, on a fair calculation, we find we are not likely to get as much as weare sure to lose, then, putting all religious considerations out of thequestion, common sense and human policy will tell us, we have made afoolish and unprofitable exchange. Inward quiet is a part of one's self;the object of our resentment may be only a matter of opinion; and, certainly, what makes a portion of our actual happiness ought to be toodear to us, to be sacrificed for a trifling, foreign, perhaps imaginarygood. 

THE most pointed satire I remember to have read, on a mind enslaved byanger, is an observation of Seneca's. "Alexander (said he) had twofriends, Clitus and Lysimachus; the one he exposed to a lion, the otherto himself: he who was turned loose to the beast escaped, but Clitus wasmurdered, for he was turned loose to an angry man. "

A PASSIONATE woman's happiness is never in her own keeping: it is thesport of accident, and the slave of events. It is in the power of heracquaintance, her servants, but chiefly of her enemies, and all hercomforts lie at the mercy of others. So far from being willing to learnof him who was meek and lowly, she considers meekness as the want of abecoming spirit, and lowliness as a despicable and vulgar meanness. Andan imperious woman will so little covet the ornament of a meek andquiet spirit, that it is almost the only ornament she will not besolicitous to wear. But resentment is a very expensive vice. How dearlyhas it cost its votaries, even from the sin of Cain, the first offenderin this kind! "It is cheaper (says a pious writer) to forgive, and savethe charges. "

IF it were only for mere human reasons, it would turn to a betteraccount to be patient; nothing defeats the malice of an enemy like aspirit of forbearance; the return of rage for rage cannot be soeffectually provoking. True gentleness, like an impenetrable armour, repels the most pointed shafts of malice: they cannot pierce throughthis invulnerable shield, but either fall hurtless to the ground, orreturn to wound the hand that shot them. 

A MEEK spirit will not look out of itself for happiness, because itfinds a constant banquet at home; yet, by a sort of divine alchymy, itwill convert all external events to its own profit, and be able todeduce some good, even from the most unpromising: it will extractcomfort and satisfaction from the most barren circumstances: "It willsuck honey out of the rock, and oil out of the flinty rock. "

BUT the supreme excellence of this complacent quality is, that itnaturally disposes the mind where it resides, to the practice of everyother that is amiable. Meekness may be called the pioneer of all theother virtues, which levels every obstruction, and smooths everydifficulty that might impede their entrance, or retard their progress. 

THE peculiar importance and value of this amiable virtue may be fartherseen in its permanency. Honours and dignities are transient, beauty andriches frail and fugacious, to a proverb. Would not the truly wise, therefore, wish to have some one possession, which they might calltheir own in the severest exigencies? But this wish can only beaccomplished by acquiring and maintaining that calm and absoluteself-possession, which, as the world had no hand in giving, so itcannot, by the most malicious exertion of its power, take away. 

THOUGHTSON THECULTIVATIONOF THEHEART AND TEMPERIN THEEDUCATION OF DAUGHTERS. 

I HAVE not the foolish presumption to imagine, that I can offer anything new on a subject, which has been so successfully treated by manylearned and able writers. I would only, with all possible deference, beg leave to hazard a few short remarks on that part of the subject ofeducation, which I would call the _education of the heart_. I am wellaware, that this part also has not been less skilfully and forciblydiscussed than the rest, though I cannot, at the same time, helpremarking, that it does not appear to have been so much adopted intocommon practice. 

IT appears then, that notwithstanding the great and real improvements, which have been made in the affair of female education, andnotwithstanding the more enlarged and generous views of it, whichprevail in the present day, that there is still a very material defect, which it is not, in general, enough the object of attention to remove. This defect seems to consist in this, that too little regard is paid tothe dispositions of the _mind_, that the indications of the _temper_ arenot properly cherished, nor the affections of the _heart_ sufficientlyregulated. 

IN the first education of girls, as far as the customs which fashionestablishes are right, they should undoubtedly be followed. Let theexterior be made a considerable object of attention, but let it not bethe principal, let it not be the only one. --Let the graces beindustriously cultivated, but let them not be cultivated at the expenceof the virtues. --Let the arms, the head, the whole person be carefullypolished, but let not the heart be the only portion of the humananatomy, which shall be totally overlooked. 

THE neglect of this cultivation seems to proceed as much from a badtaste, as from a false principle. The generality of people form theirjudgment of education by slight and sudden appearances, which iscertainly a wrong way of determining. Music, dancing, and languages, gratify those who teach them, by perceptible and almost immediateeffects; and when there happens to be no imbecillity in the pupil, nordeficiency in the matter, every superficial observer can, in somemeasure, judge of the progress. --The effects of most of theseaccomplishments address themselves to the senses; and there are more whocan see and hear, than there are who can judge and reflect. 

PERSONAL perfection is not only more obvious, it is also more rapid; andeven in very accomplished characters, elegance usually precedesprinciple. 

BUT the heart, that natural seat of evil propensities, that littletroublesome empire of the passions, is led to what is right by slowmotions and imperceptible degrees. It must be admonished by reproof, andallured by kindness. Its liveliest advances are frequently impeded bythe obstinacy of prejudice, and its brightest promises often obscured bythe tempests of passion. It is slow in its acquisition of virtue, andreluctant in its approaches to piety. 

THERE is another reason, which proves this mental cultivation to be moreimportant, as well as more difficult, than any other part of education. In the usual fashionable accomplishments, the business of acquiring themis almost always getting forwards, and one difficulty is conqueredbefore another is suffered to shew itself; for a prudent teacher willlevel the road his pupil is to pass, and smooth the inequalities whichmight retard her progress. 

BUT in morals, (which should be the great object constantly kept inview) the talk is far more difficult. The unruly and turbulent desiresof the heart are not so obedient; one passion will start up beforeanother is suppressed. The subduing Hercules cannot cut off the headsso often as the prolific Hydra can produce them, nor fell the stubbornAntæus so fast as he can recruit his strength, and rise in vigorous andrepeated opposition. 

IF all the accomplishments could be bought at the price of a singlevirtue, the purchase would be infinitely dear! And, however startlingit may sound, I think it is, notwithstanding, true, that the labours ofa good and wise mother, who is anxious for her daughter's most importantinterests, will _seem_ to be at variance with those of her instructors. She will doubtless rejoice at her progress in any polite art, but shewill rejoice with trembling:--humility and piety form the solid anddurable basis, on which she wishes to raise the superstructure of theaccomplishments, while the accomplishments themselves are frequently ofthat unsteady nature, that if the foundation is not secured, inproportion as the building is enlarged, it will be overloaded anddestroyed by those very ornaments, which were intended to embellish, what they have contributed to ruin. 

THE more ostensible qualifications should be carefully regulated, orthey will be in danger of putting to flight the modest train ofretreating virtues, which cannot safely subsist before the bold eye ofpublic observation, or bear the bolder tongue of impudent and audaciousflattery. A tender mother cannot but feel an honest triumph, incontemplating those excellencies in her daughter which deserve applause, but she will also shudder at the vanity which that applause may excite, and at those hitherto unknown ideas which it may awaken. 

THE master, it is his interest, and perhaps his duty, will naturallyteach a girl to set her improvements in the most conspicuous point oflight. SE FAIRE VALOIR is the great principle industriously inculcatedinto her young heart, and seems to be considered as a kind offundamental maxim in education. It is however the certain and effectualseed, from which a thousand yet unborn vanities will spring. Thisdangerous doctrine (which yet is not without its uses) will becounteracted by the prudent mother, not in so many words, but by awatchful and scarcely perceptible dexterity. Such an one will be morecareful to have the talents of her daughter _cultivated_ than_exhibited_. 

ONE would be led to imagine, by the common mode of female education, that life consisted of one universal holiday, and that the only contestwas, who should be best enabled to excel in the sports and games thatwere to be celebrated on it. Merely ornamental accomplishments will butindifferently qualify a woman to perform the _duties_ of life, though itis highly proper she should possess them, in order to furnish the_amusements_ of it. But is it right to spend so large a portion of lifewithout some preparation for the business of living? A lady may speak alittle French and Italian, repeat a few passages in a theatrical tone, play and sing, have her dressing-room hung with her own drawings, andher person covered with her own tambour work, and may, notwithstanding, have been very _badly educated_. Yet I am far from attempting todepreciate the value of these qualifications: they are most of them notonly highly becoming, but often indispensably necessary, and a politeeducation cannot be perfected without them. But as the world seems to bevery well apprised of their importance, there is the less occasion toinsist on their utility. Yet, though well-bred young women should learnto dance, sing, recite and draw, the end of a good education is not thatthey may become dancers, singers, players or painters: its real objectis to make them good daughters, good wives, good mistresses, goodmembers of society, and good christians. The above qualificationstherefore are intended to _adorn_ their _leisure_, not to _employ_ their_lives_; for an amiable and wise woman will always have something betterto value herself on, than these advantages, which, however captivating, are still but subordinate parts of a truly excellent character. 

BUT I am afraid parents themselves sometimes contribute to the error ofwhich I am complaining. Do they not often set a higher value on thoseacquisitions which are calculated to attract observation, and catch theeye of the multitude, than on those which are valuable, permanent, andinternal? Are they not sometimes more solicitous about the opinion ofothers, respecting their children, than about the real advantage andhappiness of the children themselves? To an injudicious and superficialeye, the best educated girl may make the least brilliant figure, as shewill probably have less flippancy in her manner, and less repartee inher expression; and her acquirements, to borrow bishop Sprat's idea, will be rather _enamelled than embossed_. But her merit will be known, and acknowledged by all who come near enough to discern, and have tasteenough to distinguish. It will be understood and admired by the man, whose happiness she is one day to make, whose family she is to govern, and whose children she is to educate. He will not seek for her in thehaunts of dissipation, for he knows he shall not find her there; buthe will seek for her in the bosom of retirement, in the practice ofevery domestic virtue, in the exertion of every amiable accomplishment, exerted in the shade, to enliven retirement, to heighten the endearingpleasures of social intercourse, and to embellish the narrow butcharming circle of family delights. To this amiable purpose, a trulygood and well educated young lady will dedicate her more elegantaccomplishments, instead of exhibiting them to attract admiration, ordepress inferiority. 

YOUNG girls, who have more vivacity than understanding, will often makea sprightly figure in conversation. But this agreeable talent forentertaining others, is frequently dangerous to themselves, nor is it byany means to be desired or encouraged very early in life. Thisimmaturity of wit is helped on by frivolous reading, which will produceits effect in much less time than books of solid instruction; for theimagination is touched sooner than the understanding; and effects aremore rapid as they are more pernicious. Conversation should be the_result_ of education, not the _precursor_ of it. It is a golden fruit, when suffered to grow gradually on the tree of knowledge; but ifprecipitated by forced and unnatural means, it will in the end becomevapid, in proportion as it is artificial. 

THE best effects of a careful and religious education are often veryremote: they are to be discovered in future scenes, and exhibited inuntried connexions. Every event of life will be putting the heart intofresh situations, and making demands on its prudence, its firmness, itsintegrity, or its piety. Those whose business it is to form it, canforesee none of these situations; yet, as far as human wisdom willallow, they must enable it to provide for them all, with an humbledependence on the divine assistance. A well-disciplined soldier mustlearn and practise all his evolutions, though he does not know on whatservice his leader may command him, by what foe he shall be attacked, nor what mode of combat the enemy may use. 

ONE great art of education consists in not suffering the feelings tobecome too acute by unnecessary awakening, nor too obtuse by the wantof exertion. The former renders them the source of calamity, and totallyruins the temper; while the latter blunts and debases them, and producesa dull, cold, and selfish spirit. For the mind is an instrument, which, if wound too high, will lose its sweetness, and if not enough strained, will abate of its vigour. 

HOW cruel is it to extinguish by neglect or unkindness, the precioussensibility of an open temper, to chill the amiable glow of an ingenuoussoul, and to quench the bright flame of a noble and generous spirit!These are of higher worth than all the documents of learning, of dearerprice than all the advantages, which can be derived from the mostrefined and artificial mode of education. 

BUT sensibility and delicacy, and an ingenuous temper, make no part ofeducation, exclaims the pedagogue--they are reducible to no class--theycome under no article of instruction--they belong neither to languagesnor to music. --What an error! They _are_ a part of education, and ofinfinitely more value, Than all their pedant discipline e'er knew. 

It is true, they are ranged under no class, but they are superior toall; they are of more esteem than languages or music, for they are thelanguage of the heart, and the music of the according passions. Yetthis sensibility is, in many instances, so far from being cultivated, that it is not uncommon to see those who affect more than usualsagacity, cast a smile of supercilious pity, at any indication of awarm, generous, or enthusiastic temper in the lively and the young; asmuch as to say, "they will know better, and will have more discretionwhen they are older. " But every appearance of amiable simplicity, or ofhonest shame, _Nature's hasty conscience_, will be dear to sensiblehearts; they will carefully cherish every such indication in a youngfemale; for they will perceive that it is this temper, wiselycultivated, which will one day make her enamoured of the loveliness ofvirtue, and the beauty of holiness: from which she will acquire a tastefor the doctrines of religion, and a spirit to perform the duties of it. And those who wish to make her ashamed of this charming temper, andseek to dispossess her of it, will, it is to be feared, give hernothing better in exchange. But whoever reflects at all, will easilydiscern how carefully this enthusiasm is to be directed, and howjudiciously its redundances are to be lopped away. 

PRUDENCE is not natural to children; they can, however, substitute artin its stead. But is it not much better that a girl should discover thefaults incident to her age, than conceal them under this dark andimpenetrable veil? I could almost venture to assert, that there issomething more becoming in the very errors of nature, where they areundisguised, than in the affectation of virtue itself, where the realityis wanting. And I am so far from being an admirer of prodigies, that Iam extremely apt to suspect them; and am always infinitely betterpleased with Nature in her more common modes of operation. The preciseand premature wisdom, which some girls have cunning enough to assume, is of a more dangerous tendency than any of their natural failings canbe, as it effectually covers those secret bad dispositions, which, ifthey displayed themselves, might be rectified. The hypocrisy ofassuming virtues which are not inherent in the heart, prevents thegrowth and disclosure of those real ones, which it is the great end ofeducation to cultivate. 

BUT if the natural indications of the temper are to be suppressed andstifled, where are the diagnostics, by which the state of the mind is tobe known? The wise Author of all things, who did nothing in vain, doubtless intended them as symptoms, by which to judge of the diseasesof the heart; and it is impossible diseases should be cured beforethey are known. If the stream be so cut off as to prevent communication, or so choked up as to defeat discovery, how shall we ever reach thesource, out of which are the issues of life?

THIS cunning, which, of all the different dispositions girls discover, is most to be dreaded, is increased by nothing so much as by fear. Ifthose about them express violent and unreasonable anger at every trivialoffence, it will always promote this temper, and will very frequentlycreate it, where there was a natural tendency to frankness. Theindiscreet transports of rage, which many betray on every slightoccasion, and the little distinction they make between venial errors andpremeditated crimes, naturally dispose a child to conceal, what she doesnot however care to suppress. Anger in one will not remedy the faults ofanother; for how can an instrument of sin cure sin? If a girl is kept ina state of perpetual and slavish terror, she will perhaps have artificeenough to conceal those propensities which she knows are wrong, or thoseactions which she thinks are most obnoxious to punishment. But, nevertheless, she will not cease to indulge those propensities, and tocommit those actions, when she can do it with impunity. 

GOOD _dispositions_, of themselves, will go but a very little way, unless they are confirmed into good _principles_. And this cannot beeffected but by a careful course of religious instruction, and apatient and laborious cultivation of the moral temper. 

BUT, notwithstanding girls should not be treated with unkindness, northe first openings of the passions blighted by cold severity; yet I amof opinion, that young females should be accustomed very early in lifeto a certain degree of restraint. The natural cast of character, and themoral distinctions between the sexes, should not be disregarded, even inchildhood. That bold, independent, enterprising spirit, which is so muchadmired in boys, should not, when it happens to discover itself in theother sex, be encouraged, but suppressed. Girls should be taught togive up their opinions betimes, and not pertinaciously to carry on adispute, even if they should know themselves to be in the right. I donot mean, that they should be robbed of the liberty of private judgment, but that they should by no means be encouraged to contract a contentiousor contradictory turn. It is of the greatest importance to their futurehappiness, that they should acquire a submissive temper, and aforbearing spirit: for it is a lesson which the world will not fail tomake them frequently practise, when they come abroad into it, and theywill not practise it the worse for having learnt it the sooner. Theseearly restraints, in the limitation here meant, are so far from being aneffect of cruelty, that they are the most indubitable marks ofaffection, and are the more meritorious, as they are severe trials oftenderness. But all the beneficial effects, which a mother can expectfrom this watchfulness, will be entirely defeated, if it is practisedoccasionally, and not habitually, and if it ever appears to be used togratify caprice, ill-humour, or resentment. 

THOSE who have children to educate ought to be extremely patient: it isindeed a labour of love. They should reflect, that extraordinary talentsare neither essential to the well-being of society, nor to thehappiness of individuals. If that had been the case, the beneficentFather of the universe would not have made them so rare. For it is aseasy for an Almighty Creator to produce a Newton, as an ordinary man;and he could have made those powers common which we now consider aswonderful, without any miraculous exertion of his omnipotence, if theexistence of many Newtons had been necessary to the perfection of hiswise and gracious plan. 

SURELY, therefore, there is more piety, as well as more sense, inlabouring to improve the talents which children actually have, than inlamenting that they do not possess supernatural endowments or angelicperfections. A passage of Lord Bacon's furnishes an admirableincitement for endeavouring to carry the amiable and christian grace ofcharity to its farthest extent, instead of indulging an over-anxiouscare for more brilliant but less important acquisitions. "The desire ofpower in excess (says he) caused the angels to fall; the desire ofknowledge in excess caused man to fall; but in charity is no excess, neither can men nor angels come into danger by it. "

A GIRL who has docility will seldom be found to want understandingenough for all the purposes of a social, a happy, and an useful life. And when we behold the tender hope of fond and anxious love, blasted bydisappointment, the defect will as often be discovered to proceed fromthe neglect or the error of cultivation, as from the natural temper; andthose who lament the evil, will sometimes be found to have occasionedit. 

IT is as injudicious for parents to set out with too sanguine adependence on the merit of their children, as it is for them to bediscouraged at every repulse. When their wishes are defeated in this orthat particular instance, where they had treasured up some darlingexpectation, this is so far from being a reason for relaxing theirattention, that it ought to be an additional motive for redoubling it. Those who hope to do a great deal, must not expect to do every thing. Ifthey know any thing of the malignity of sin, the blindness of prejudice, or the corruption of the human heart, they will also know, that thatheart will always remain, after the very best possible education, fullof infirmity and imperfection. Extraordinary allowances, therefore, mustbe made for the weakness of nature in this its weakest state. After muchis done, much will remain to do, and much, very much, will still be leftundone. For this regulation of the passions and affections cannot bethe work of education alone, without the concurrence of divine graceoperating on the heart. Why then should parents repine, if their effortsare not always crowned with immediate success? They should consider, that they are not educating cherubims and seraphims, but men and women;creatures, who at their best estate are altogether vanity: how littlethen can be expected from them in the weakness and imbecillity ofinfancy! I have dwelt on this part of the subject the longer, because Iam certain that many, who have set out with a warm and active zeal, havecooled on the very first discouragement, and have afterwards almosttotally remitted their vigilance, through a criminal kind of despair. 

GREAT allowances must be made for a profusion of gaiety, loquacity, andeven indiscretion in children, that there may be animation enough leftto supply an active and useful character, when the first fermentation ofthe youthful passions is over, and the redundant spirits shall cometo subside. 

IF it be true, as a consummate judge of human nature has observed, That not a vanity is given in vain, it is also true, that there is scarcely a single passion, which maynot be turned to some good account, if prudently rectified, andskilfully turned into the road of some neighbouring virtue. It cannot beviolently bent, or unnaturally forced towards an object of a totallyopposite nature, but may be gradually inclined towards a correspondentbut superior affection. Anger, hatred, resentment, and ambition, themost restless and turbulent passions which shake and distract thehuman soul, may be led to become the most active opposers of sin, afterhaving been its most successful instruments. Our anger, for instance, which can never be totally subdued, may be made to turn againstourselves, for our weak and imperfect obedience--our hatred, againstevery species of vice--our ambition, which will not be discarded, may beennobled: it will not change its name, but its object: it will despisewhat it lately valued, nor be contented to grasp at less thanimmortality. 

THUS the joys, fears, hopes, desires, all the passions and affections, which separate in various currents from the soul, will, if directed intotheir proper channels, after having fertilised wherever they haveflowed, return again to swell and enrich the parent source. 

THAT the very passions which appear the most uncontroulable andunpromising, may be intended, in the great scheme of Providence, toanswer some important purpose, is remarkably evidenced in the characterand history of Saint Paul. A remark on this subject by an ingenious oldSpanish writer, which I will here take the liberty to translate, willbetter illustrate my meaning. 

"TO convert the bitterest enemy into the most zealous advocate, is thework of God for the instruction of man. Plutarch has observed, that themedical science would be brought to the utmost perfection, when poisonshould be converted into physic. Thus, in the mortal disease of Judaismand idolatry, our blessed Lord converted the adder's venom of Saulthe persecutor, into that cement which made Paul the chosen vessel. That manly activity, that restless ardor, that burning zeal for the lawof his fathers, that ardent thirst for the blood of Christians, did theSon of God find necessary in the man who was one day to become thedefender of his suffering people. [7]"

TO win the passions, therefore, over to the cause of virtue, answers amuch nobler end than their extinction would possibly do, even if thatcould be effected. But it is their nature never to observe a neutrality;they are either rebels or auxiliaries, and an enemy subdued is an allyobtained. If I may be allowed to change the allusion so soon, I wouldsay, that the passions also resemble fires, which are friendly andbeneficial when under proper direction, but if suffered to blaze withoutrestraint, they carry devastation along with them, and, if totallyextinguished, leave the benighted mind in a state of cold andcomfortless inanity. 

BUT in speaking of the usefulness of the passions, as instruments ofvirtue, _envy_ and _lying_ must always be excepted: these, I ampersuaded, must either go on in still progressive mischief, or else beradically cured, before any good can be expected from the heart whichhas been infected with them. For I never will believe that envy, thoughpassed through all the moral strainers, can be refined into avirtuous emulation, or lying improved into an agreeable turn forinnocent invention. Almost all the other passions may be made to takean amiable hue; but these two must either be totally extirpated, or bealways contented to preserve their original deformity, and to wear theirnative black. 

[7] Obras de Quevedo, vida de San Pablo Apostol. 

ON THEIMPORTANCE OF RELIGIONTO THEFEMALE CHARACTER. 

VARIOUS are the reasons why the greater part of mankind cannot applythemselves to arts or letters. Particular studies are only suited to thecapacities of particular persons. Some are incapable of applying tothem from the delicacy of their sex, some from the unsteadiness ofyouth, and others from the imbecillity of age. Many are precluded by thenarrowness of their education, and many by the straitness of theirfortune. The wisdom of God is wonderfully manifested in this happy andwell-ordered diversity, in the powers and properties of his creatures;since by thus admirably suiting the agent to the action, the wholescheme of human affairs is carried on with the most agreeing andconsistent oeconomy, and no chasm is left for want of an object tofill it, exactly suited to its nature. 

BUT in the great and universal concern of religion, both sexes, and allranks, are equally interested. The truly catholic spirit of christianityaccommodates itself, with an astonishing condescension, to thecircumstances of the whole human race. It rejects none on account oftheir pecuniary wants, their personal infirmities, or their intellectualdeficiencies. No superiority of parts is the least recommendation, noris any depression of fortune the smallest objection. None are too wiseto be excused from performing the duties of religion, nor are any toopoor to be excluded from the consolations of its promises. 

IF we admire the wisdom of God, in having furnished different degrees ofintelligence, so exactly adapted to their different destinations, and inhaving fitted every part of his stupendous work, not only to serve itsown immediate purpose, but also to contribute to the beauty andperfection of the whole: how much more ought we to adore that goodness, which has perfected the divine plan, by appointing one wide, comprehensive, and universal means of salvation: a salvation, which allare invited to partake; by a means which all are capable of using; whichnothing but voluntary blindness can prevent our comprehending, andnothing but wilful error can hinder us from embracing. 

THE Muses are coy, and will only be wooed and won by somehighly-favoured suitors. The Sciences are lofty, and will not stoop tothe reach of ordinary capacities. But "Wisdom (by which the royalpreacher means piety) is a loving spirit: she is easily seen of themthat love her, and found of all such as seek her. " Nay, she is soaccessible and condescending, "that she preventeth them that desireher, making herself first known unto them. "

WE are told by the same animated writer, "that Wisdom is the breath ofthe power of God. " How infinitely superior, in grandeur and sublimity, is this description to the origin of the _wisdom_ of the heathens, asdescribed by their poets and mythologists! In the exalted strains of theHebrew poetry we read, that "Wisdom is the brightness of the everlastinglight, the unspotted mirror of the power of God, and the image of hisgoodness. "

THE philosophical author of _The Defence of Learning_ observes, thatknowledge has something of venom and malignity in it, when taken withoutits proper corrective, and what that is, the inspired Saint Paulteaches us, by placing it as the immediate antidote: _Knowledge puffethup, but charity edifieth. _ Perhaps, it is the vanity of human wisdom, unchastised by this correcting principle, which has made so manyinfidels. It may proceed from the arrogance of a self-sufficient pride, that some philosophers disdain to acknowledge their belief in a being, who has judged proper to conceal from them the infinite wisdom of hiscounsels; who, (to borrow the lofty language of the man of Uz) refusedto consult them when he laid the foundations of the earth, when he shutup the sea with doors, and made the clouds the garment thereof. 

A MAN must be an infidel either from pride, prejudice, or bad education:he cannot be one unawares or by surprise; for infidelity is notoccasioned by sudden impulse or violent temptation. He may be hurried bysome vehement desire into an immoral action, at which he will blush inhis cooler moments, and which he will lament as the sad effect of aspirit unsubdued by religion; but infidelity is a calm, considerate act, which cannot plead the weakness of the heart, or the seduction of thesenses. Even good men frequently fail in their duty through theinfirmities of nature, and the allurements of the world; but the infidelerrs on a plan, on a settled and deliberate principle. 

BUT though the minds of men are sometimes fatally infected with thisdisease, either through unhappy prepossession, or some of the othercauses above mentioned; yet I am unwilling to believe, that there is innature so monstrously incongruous a being, as a _female infidel_. Theleast reflexion on the temper, the character, and the education ofwomen, makes the mind revolt with horror from an idea so improbable, andso unnatural. 

MAY I be allowed to observe, that, in general, the minds of girls seemmore aptly prepared in their early youth for the reception of seriousimpressions than those of the other sex, and that their less exposedsituations in more advanced life qualify them better for thepreservation of them? The daughters (of good parents I mean) are oftenmore carefully instructed in their religious duties, than the sons, andthis from a variety of causes. They are not so soon sent from under thepaternal eye into the bustle of the world, and so early exposed to thecontagion of bad example: their hearts are naturally more flexible, soft, and liable to any kind of impression the forming hand may stampon them; and, lastly, as they do not receive the same classicaleducation with boys, their feeble minds are not obliged at once toreceive and separate the precepts of christianity, and the documents ofpagan philosophy. The necessity of doing this perhaps somewhat weakensthe serious impressions of young men, at least till the understandingis formed, and confuses their ideas of piety, by mixing them with somuch heterogeneous matter. They only casually read, or hear read, thescriptures of truth, while they are obliged to learn by heart, construeand repeat the poetical fables of the less than human gods of theancients. And as the excellent author of _The Internal Evidence of theChristian Religion_ observes, "Nothing has so much contributed tocorrupt the true spirit of the christian institution, as that partialitywhich we contract, in our earliest education, for the manners of paganantiquity. "

GIRLS, therefore, who do _not_ contract this early partiality, ought tohave a clearer notion of their religious duties: they are not obliged, at an age when the judgment is so weak, to distinguish between thedoctrines of Zeno, of Epicurus, and of Christ; and to embarrass theirminds with the various morals which were taught in the _Porch_, in the_Academy_, and on the _Mount_. 

IT is presumed, that these remarks cannot possibly be somisunderstood, as to be construed into the least disrespect toliterature, or a want of the highest reverence for a learned education, the basis of all elegant knowledge: they are only intended, with allproper deference, to point out to young women, that however inferiortheir advantages of acquiring a knowledge of the belles-lettres are tothose of the other sex; yet it depends on themselves not to besurpassed in this most important of all studies, for which theirabilities are equal, and their opportunities, perhaps, greater. 

BUT the mere exemption from infidelity is so small a part of thereligious character, that I hope no one will attempt to claim any meritfrom this negative sort of goodness, or value herself merely for notbeing the very worst thing she possibly can be. Let no mistaken girlfancy she gives a proof of her wit by her want of piety, or that acontempt of things serious and sacred will exalt her understanding, orraise her character even in the opinion of the most avowed maleinfidels. For one may venture to affirm, that with all their profligateideas, both of women and of religion, neither Bolingbroke, Wharton, Buckingham, nor even _Lord Chesterfield himself_, would have esteemed awoman the more for her being irreligious. 

WITH whatever ridicule a polite freethinker may affect to treat religionhimself, he will think it necessary his wife should entertaindifferent notions of it. He may pretend to despise it as a matter ofopinion, depending on creeds and systems; but, if he is a man of sense, he will know the value of it, as a governing principle, which is toinfluence her conduct and direct her actions. If he sees herunaffectedly sincere in the practice of her religious duties, it will bea secret pledge to him, that she will be equally exact in fulfilling theconjugal; for he can have no reasonable dependance on her attachment to_him_, if he has no opinion of her fidelity to GOD; for she who neglectsfirst duties, gives but an indifferent proof of her disposition to fillup inferior ones; and how can a man of any understanding (whatever hisown religious professions may be) trust that woman with the care ofhis family, and the education of his children, who wants herself thebest incentive to a virtuous life, the belief that she is an accountablecreature, and the reflection that she has an immortal soul?

CICERO spoke it as the highest commendation of Cato's character, that heembraced philosophy, not for the sake of _disputing_ like a philosopher, but of _living_ like one. The chief purpose of christian knowledge is topromote the great end of a christian life. Every rational woman should, no doubt, be able to give a reason of the hope that is in her; but thisknowledge is best acquired, and the duties consequent on it bestperformed, by reading books of plain piety and practical devotion, andnot by entering into the endless feuds, and engaging in the unprofitablecontentions of partial controversialists. Nothing is more unamiable thanthe narrow spirit of party zeal, nor more disgusting than to hear awoman deal out judgments, and denounce vengeance against any one, whohappens to differ from her in some opinion, perhaps of no realimportance, and which, it is probable, she may be just as wrong inrejecting, as the object of her censure is in embracing. A furious andunmerciful female bigot wanders as far beyond the limits prescribed toher sex, as a Thalestris or a Joan d'Arc. Violent debate has made as fewconverts as the sword, and both these instruments are particularlyunbecoming when wielded by a female hand. 

BUT, though no one will be frightened out of their opinions, yet theymay be persuaded out of them: they may be touched by the affectingearnestness of serious conversation, and allured by the attractivebeauty of a consistently serious life. And while a young woman ought todread the name of a wrangling polemic, it is her duty to aspire afterthe honourable character of a sincere Christian. But this dignifiedcharacter she can by no means deserve, if she is ever afraid to avow herprinciples, or ashamed to defend them. A profligate, who makes it apoint to ridicule every thing which comes under the appearance of formalinstruction, will be disconcerted at the spirited yet modest rebuke of apious young woman. But there is as much efficacy in the manner ofreproving prophaneness, as in the words. If she corrects it withmoroseness, she defeats the effect of her remedy, by her unskilfulmanner of administring it. If, on the other hand, she affects to defendthe insulted cause of God, in a faint tone of voice, and studiedambiguity of phrase, or with an air of levity, and a certainexpression of pleasure in her eyes, which proves she is secretlydelighted with what she pretends to censure, she injures religion muchmore than he did who publickly prophaned it; for she plainly indicates, either that she does not believe, or respect what she professes. Theother attacked it as an open foe; she betrays it as a false friend. Noone pays any regard to the opinion of an avowed enemy; but the desertionor treachery of a professed friend, is dangerous indeed!

IT is a strange notion which prevails in the world, that religion onlybelongs to the old and the melancholy, and that it is not worth while topay the least attention to it, while we are capable of attending to anything else. They allow it to be proper enough for the clergy, whosebusiness it is, and for the aged, who have not spirits for any businessat all. But till they can prove, that none except the clergy and theaged _die_, it must be confessed, that this is most wretchedreasoning. 

GREAT injury is done to the interests of religion, by placing it in agloomy and unamiable light. It is sometimes spoken of, as if it wouldactually make a handsome woman ugly, or a young one wrinkled. But canany thing be more absurd than to represent the beauty of holiness as thesource of deformity?

THERE are few, perhaps, so entirely plunged in business, or absorbed inpleasure, as not to intend, at some future time, to set about areligious life in good earnest. But then they consider it as a kind of_dernier ressort_, and think it prudent to defer flying to thisdisagreeable refuge, till they have no relish left for any thing else. Do they forget, that to perform this great business well requires allthe strength of their youth, and all the vigour of their unimpairedcapacities? To confirm this assertion, they may observe how much theslightest indisposition, even in the most active season of life, disorders every faculty, and disqualifies them for attending to the mostordinary affairs: and then let them reflect how little able they will beto transact the most important of all business, in the moment ofexcruciating pain, or in the day of universal debility. 

WHEN the senses are palled with excessive gratification; when the eyeis tired with seeing, and the ear with hearing; when the spirits are sosunk, that the _grasshopper is become a burthen_, how shall the bluntedapprehension be capable of understanding a new science, or the worn-outheart be able to relish a new pleasure?

TO put off religion till we have lost all taste for amusement; to refuselistening to the "voice of the charmer, " till our enfeebled organs canno longer listen to the voice of "singing men and singing women, " andnot to devote our days to heaven till we have "no pleasure in them"ourselves, is but an ungracious offering. And it is a wretched sacrificeto the God of heaven, to present him with the remnants of decayedappetites, and the leavings of extinguished passions. 

MISCELLANEOUSOBSERVATIONSONGENIUS, TASTE, GOODSENSE, &c. [8]

GOOD _sense_ is as different from _genius_ as perception is frominvention; yet, though distinct qualities, they frequently subsisttogether. It is altogether opposite to _wit_, but by no meansinconsistent with it. It is not science, for there is such a thing asunlettered good sense; yet, though it is neither wit, learning, norgenius, it is a substitute for each, where they do not exist, and theperfection of all where they do. 

Good sense is so far from deserving the appellation of _common sense_, by which it is frequently called, that it is perhaps one of the rarestqualities of the human mind. If, indeed, this name is given it inrespect to its peculiar suitableness to the purposes of common life, there is great propriety in it. Good sense appears to differ from tastein this, that taste is an instantaneous decision of the mind, a suddenrelish of what is beautiful, or disgust at what is defective, in anobject, without waiting for the slower confirmation of the judgment. Good sense is perhaps that confirmation, which establishes a suddenlyconceived idea, or feeling, by the powers of comparing and reflecting. They differ also in this, that taste seems to have a more immediatereference to arts, to literature, and to almost every object of thesenses; while good sense rises to moral excellence, and exerts itsinfluence on life and manners. Taste is fitted to the perception andenjoyment of whatever is beautiful in art or nature: Good sense, to theimprovement of the conduct, and the regulation of the heart. 

YET the term good sense, is used indiscriminately to express either afinished taste for letters, or an invariable prudence in the affairs oflife. It is sometimes applied to the most moderate abilities, in whichcase, the expression is certainly too strong; and at others to themost shining, when it is as much too weak and inadequate. A sensible manis the usual, but unappropriated phrase, for every degree in the scaleof understanding, from the sober mortal, who obtains it by his decentdemeanor and solid dullness, to him whose talents qualify him to rankwith a Bacon, a Harris, or a Johnson. 

GENIUS is the power of invention and imitation. It is an incommunicablefaculty: no art or skill of the possessor can bestow the smallestportion of it on another: no pains or labour can reach the summit ofperfection, where the seeds of it are wanting in the mind; yet it iscapable of infinite improvement where it actually exists, and isattended with the highest capacity of communicating instruction, as wellas delight to others. 

IT is the peculiar property of genius to strike out great or beautifulthings: it is the felicity of good sense not to do absurd ones. Geniusbreaks out in splendid sentiments and elevated ideas; good senseconfines its more circumscribed, but perhaps more useful walk, withinthe limits of prudence and propriety. 

 The poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; And, as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name. 

THIS is perhaps the finest picture of human genius that ever was drawnby a human pencil. It presents a living image of a creative imagination, or a power of inventing things which have no actual existence. 

WITH superficial judges, who, it must be confessed, make up thegreater part of the mass of mankind, talents are only liked orunderstood to a certain degree. Lofty ideas are above the reach ofordinary apprehensions: the vulgar allow those who possess them to bein a somewhat higher state of mind than themselves; but of the vast gulfwhich separates them, they have not the least conception. Theyacknowledge a superiority, but of its extent they neither know thevalue, nor can conceive the reality. It is true, the mind, as well asthe eye, can take in objects larger than itself; but this is only trueof great minds: for a man of low capacity, who considers a consummategenius, resembles one, who seeing a column for the first time, andstanding at too great a distance to take in the whole of it, concludesit to be flat. Or, like one unacquainted with the first principles ofphilosophy, who, finding the sensible horizon appear a plain surface, can form no idea of the spherical form of the whole, which he does notsee, and laughs at the account of antipodes, which he cannot comprehend. 

WHATEVER is excellent is also rare; what is useful is more common. Howmany thousands are born qualified for the coarse employments of life, for one who is capable of excelling in the fine arts! yet so it oughtto be, because our natural wants are more numerous, and moreimportunate, than the intellectual. 

WHENEVER it happens that a man of distinguished talents has been drawnby mistake, or precipitated by passion, into any dangerousindiscretion; it is common for those whose coldness of temper hassupplied the place, and usurped the name of prudence, to boast of theirown steadier virtue, and triumph in their own superior caution; onlybecause they have never been assailed by a temptation strong enough tosurprise them into error. And with what a visible appropriation of thecharacter to themselves, do they constantly conclude, with a cordialcompliment to _common sense_! They point out the beauty and usefulnessof this quality so forcibly and explicitly, that you cannot possiblymistake whose picture they are drawing with so flattering a pencil. Theunhappy man whose conduct has been so feelingly arraigned, perhaps actedfrom good, though mistaken motives; at least, from motives of which hiscensurer has not capacity to judge: but the event was unfavourable, naythe action might be really wrong, and the vulgar maliciously take theopportunity of this single indiscretion, to lift themselves nearer on alevel with a character, which, except in this instance, has alwaysthrown them at the most disgraceful and mortifying distance. 

THE elegant Biographer of Collins, in his affecting apology for thatunfortunate genius, remarks, "That the gifts of imagination bring theheaviest task on the vigilance of reason; and to bear those facultieswith unerring rectitude, or invariable propriety, requires a degree offirmness, and of cool attention, which does not always attend the highergifts of the mind; yet difficult as Nature herself seems to haverendered the task of regularity to genius, it is the supreme consolationof dullness, and of folly to point with gothic triumph to thoseexcesses which are the overflowing of faculties they never enjoyed. "

WHAT the greater part of the world mean by common sense, will begenerally found, on a closer enquiry, to be art, fraud, or selfishness!That sort of saving prudence which makes men extremely attentive totheir own safety, or profit; diligent in the pursuit of their ownpleasures or interests; and perfectly at their ease as to what becomesof the rest of mankind. Furies, where their own property is concerned, philosophers when nothing but the good of others is at stake, andperfectly resigned under all calamities but their own. 

WHEN we see so many accomplished wits of the present age, as remarkablefor the decorum of their lives, as for the brilliancy of their writings, we may believe, that, next to principle, it is owing to their _goodsense_, which regulates and chastises their imaginations. The vastconceptions which enable a true genius to ascend the sublimest heights, may be so connected with the stronger passions, as to give it anatural tendency to fly off from the strait line of regularity; tillgood sense, acting on the fancy, makes it gravitate powerfully towardsthat virtue which is its proper centre. 

ADD to this, when it is considered with what imperfection the DivineWisdom has thought fit to stamp every thing human, it will be found, that excellence and infirmity are so inseparably wound up in each other, that a man derives the soreness of temper, and irritability of nerve, which make him uneasy to others, and unhappy in himself, from thoseexquisite feelings, and that elevated pitch of thought, by which, as theapostle expresses it on a more serious occasion, he is, as it were, out of the body. 

It is not astonishing, therefore, when THE spirit is carried away by themagnificence of its own ideas, Not touch'd but rapt, not waken'd but inspir'd, that the frail body, which is the natural victim of pain, disease, anddeath, should not always be able to follow the mind in its aspiringflights, but should be as imperfect as if it belonged only to anordinary soul. 

BESIDES, might not Providence intend to humble human pride, bypresenting to our eyes so mortifying a view of the weakness andinfirmity of even his best work? Perhaps man, who is already but alittle lower than the angels, might, like the revolted spirits, totallyhave shaken off obedience and submission to his Creator, had not Godwisely tempered human excellence with a certain consciousness of its ownimperfection. But though this inevitable alloy of weakness mayfrequently be found in the best characters, yet how can that be thesource of triumph and exaltation to any, which, if properly weighed, must be the deepest motive of humiliation to all? A good-natured manwill be so far from rejoicing, that he will be secretly troubled, whenever he reads that the greatest Roman moralist was tainted withavarice, and the greatest British philosopher with venality. 

IT is remarked by Pope, in his Essay on Criticism, that, Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss. 

But I apprehend it does not therefore follow that to judge, is moredifficult than to write. If this were the case, the critic would besuperior to the poet, whereas it appears to be directly the contrary. "The critic, (says the great champion of Shakespeare, ) but fashions thebody of a work, the poet must add the soul, which gives force anddirection to its actions and gestures. " It should seem that the reasonwhy so many more judge wrong, than write ill, is because the number ofreaders is beyond all proportion greater than the number of writers. Every man who reads, is in some measure a critic, and, with very commonabilities, may point out real faults and material errors in a very wellwritten book; but it by no means follows that he is able to write anything comparable to the work which he is capable of censuring. Andunless the numbers of those who write, and of those who judge, were moreequal, the calculation seems not to be quite fair. 

A CAPACITY for relishing works of genius is the indubitable sign of agood taste. But if a proper disposition and ability to enjoy thecompositions of others, entitle a man to the claim of reputation, it isstill a far inferior degree of merit to his who can invent and producethose compositions, the bare disquisition of which gives the critic nosmall share of fame. 

THE president of the royal academy in his admirable _Discourse_ on_imitation_, has set the folly of depending on unassisted genius, inthe clearest light; and has shewn the necessity of adding theknowledge of others, to our own native powers, in his usual striking andmasterly manner. "The mind, says he, is a barren soil, is a soil soonexhausted, and will produce no crop, or only one, unless it becontinually fertilized, and enriched with foreign matter. "

YET it has been objected that study is a great enemy to originality; buteven if this were true, it would perhaps be as well that an authorshould give us the ideas of still better writers, mixed andassimilated with the matter in his own mind, as those crude andundigested thoughts which he values under the notion that they areoriginal. The sweetest honey neither tastes of the rose, thehoneysuckle, nor the carnation, yet it is compounded of the veryessence of them all. 

IF in the other fine arts this accumulation of knowledge is necessary, it is indispensably so in poetry. It is a fatal rashness for any one totrust too much to their own stock of ideas. He must invigorate them byexercise, polish them by conversation, and increase them by everyspecies of elegant and virtuous knowledge, and the mind will not fail toreproduce with interest those seeds, which are sown in it by study andobservation. Above all, let every one guard against the dangerousopinion that he knows enough: an opinion that will weaken the energy andreduce the powers of the mind, which, though once perhaps vigorous andeffectual, will be sunk to a state of literary imbecility, by cherishingvain and presumptuous ideas of its own independence. 

FOR instance, it may not be necessary that a poet should be deeplyskilled in the Linnæan system; but it must be allowed that a generalacquaintance with plants and flowers will furnish him with a delightfuland profitable species of instruction. He is not obliged to trace Naturein all her nice and varied operations, with the minute accuracy of aBoyle, or the laborious investigation of a Newton; but his _good sense_will point out to him that no inconsiderable portion of philosophicalknowledge is requisite to the completion of his literary character. Thesciences are more independent, and require little or no assistancefrom the graces of poetry; but poetry, if she would charm and instruct, must not be so haughty; she must be contented to borrow of the sciences, many of her choicest allusions, and many of her most gracefulembellishments; and does it not magnify the character of true poesy, that she includes within herself all the scattered graces of everyseparate art?

THE rules of the great masters in criticism may not be so necessary tothe forming a good taste, as the examination of those original minesfrom whence they drew their treasures of knowledge. 

THE three celebrated Essays on the Art of Poetry do not teach so muchby their laws as by their examples; the dead letter of their rules isless instructive than the living spirit of their verse. Yet these rulesare to a young poet, what the study of logarithms is to a youngmathematician; they do not so much contribute to form his judgment, asafford him the satisfaction of convincing him that he is right. They donot preclude the difficulty of the operation; but at the conclusion ofit, furnish him with a fuller demonstration that he has proceeded onproper principles. When he has well studied the masters in whoseschools the first critics formed themselves, and fancies he has caught aspark of their divine Flame, it may be a good method to try his owncompositions by the test of the critic rules, so far indeed as themechanism of poetry goes. If the examination be fair and candid, thistrial, like the touch of Ithuriel's spear, will detect every latenterror, and bring to light every favourite failing. 

GOOD taste always suits the measure of its admiration to the merit ofthe composition it examines. It accommodates its praises, or itscensure, to the excellence of a work, and appropriates it to the natureof it. General applause, or indiscriminate abuse, is the sign of avulgar understanding. There are certain blemishes which the judiciousand good-natured reader will candidly overlook. But the false sublime, the tumour which is intended for greatness, the distorted figure, thepuerile conceit, and the incongruous metaphor, these are defects forwhich scarcely any other kind of merit can atone. And yet there may bemore hope of a writer (especially if he be a a young one), who is nowand then guilty of some of these faults, than of one who avoids themall, not through judgment, but feebleness, and who, instead of deviatinginto error is continually falling short of excellence. The meer absenceof error implies that moderate and inferior degree of merit with which acold heart and a phlegmatic taste will be better satisfied than with themagnificent irregularities of exalted spirits. It stretches some mindsto an uneasy extension to be obliged to attend to compositionssuperlatively excellent; and it contracts liberal souls to a painfulnarrowness to descend to books of inferior merit. A work of capitalgenius, to a man of an ordinary mind, is the bed of Procrustes to one ofa short stature, the man is too little to fill up the space assignedhim, and undergoes the torture in attempting it: and a moderate, or lowproduction to a man of bright talents, is the punishment inflicted byMezentius; the living spirit has too much animation to endure patientlyto be in contact with a dead body. 

TASTE sesms to be a sentiment of the soul which gives the bias toopinion, for we feel before we reflect. Without this sentiment, allknowledge, learning and opinion, would be cold, inert materials, whereasthey become active principles when stirred, kindled, and inflamed bythis animating quality. 

THERE is another feeling which is called Enthusiasm. The enthusiasm ofsensible hearts is so strong, that it not only yields to the impulsewith which striking objects act on it, but such hearts help on theeffect by their own sensibility. In a scene where Shakespeare andGarrick give perfection to each other, the feeling heart does not merelyaccede to the delirium they occasion: it does more, it is enamoured ofit, it solicits the delusion, it sues to be deceived, and grudginglycherishes the sacred treasure of its feelings. The poet and performerconcur in carrying us

 Beyond this visible diurnal sphere, they bear us aloft in their airy course with unresisted rapidity, ifthey meet not with any obstruction from the coldness of our ownfeelings. Perhaps, only a few fine spirits can enter into the detail oftheir writing and acting; but the multitude do not enjoy less acutely, because they are not able philosophically to analyse the sources oftheir joy or sorrow. If the others have the advantage of judging, thesehave at least the privilege of feeling: and it is not from complaisanceto a few leading judges, that they burst into peals of laughter, or meltinto delightful agony; their hearts decide, and that is a decision fromwhich there lies no appeal. It must however be confessed, that thenicer separations of character, and the lighter and almost imperceptibleshades which sometimes distinguish them, will not be intimatelyrelished, unless there be a consonancy of taste as well as feeling inthe spectator; though where the passions are principally concerned, the profane vulgar come in for a larger portion of the universaldelight, than critics and connoisseurs are willing to allow them. 

YET enthusiasm, though the natural concomitant of genius, is no moregenius itself, than drunkenness is cheerfulness; and that enthusiasmwhich discovers itself on occasions not worthy to excite it, is the markof a wretched judgment and a false taste. 

NATURE produces innumerable objects: to imitate them, is the province ofGenius; to direct those imitations, is the property of Judgment; todecide on their effects, is the business of Taste. For Taste, who sitsas supreme judge on the productions of Genius, is not satisfied when shemerely imitates Nature: she must also, says an ingenious French writer, imitate _beautiful_ Nature. It requires no less judgment to reject thanto choose, and Genius might imitate what is vulgar, under pretence thatit was natural, if Taste did not carefully point out those objects whichare most proper for imitation. It also requires a very nice discernmentto distinguish verisimilitude from truth; for there is a truth in Tastenearly as conclusive as demonstration in mathematics. 

GENIUS, when in the full impetuosity of its career, often touches on thevery brink of error; and is, perhaps, never so near the verge of theprecipice, as when indulging its sublimest flights. It is in thosegreat, but dangerous moments, that the curb of vigilant judgment is mostwanting: while safe and sober Dulness observes one tedious and insipidround of tiresome uniformity, and steers equally clear of eccentricityand of beauty. Dulness has few redundancies to retrench, fewluxuriancies to prune, and few irregularities to smooth. These, thougherrors, are the errors of Genius, for there is rarely redundancy withoutplenitude, or irregularity without greatness. The excesses of Geniusmay easily be retrenched, but the deficiencies of Dulness can never besupplied. 

THOSE who copy from others will doubtless be less excellent than thosewho copy from Nature. To imitate imitators, is the way to depart too farfrom the great original herself. The latter copies of an engravingretain fainter and fainter traces of the subject, to which the earlierimpressions bore so strong a resemblance. 

IT seems very extraordinary, that it should be the most difficult thingin the world to be natural, and that it should be harder to hit off themanners of real life, and to delineate such characters as we conversewith every day, than to imagine such as do not exist. But caricature ismuch easier than an exact outline, and the colouring of fancy lessdifficult than that of truth. 

PEOPLE do not always know what taste they have, till it is awakened bysome corresponding object; nay, genius itself is a fire, which in manyminds would never blaze, if not kindled by some external cause. 

NATURE, that munificent mother, when she bestows the power of judging, accompanies it with the capacity of enjoying. The judgment, which isclear sighted, points out such objects as are calculated to inspirelove, and the heart instantaneously attaches itself to whatever islovely. 

IN regard to literary reputation, a great deal depends on the state oflearning in the particular age or nation, in which an author lives. In adark and ignorant period, moderate knowledge will entitle itspossessor to a considerable share of fame; whereas, to bedistinguished in a polite and lettered age, requires striking parts anddeep erudition. 

WHEN a nation begins to emerge from a state of mental darkness, and tostrike out the first rudiments of improvement, it chalks out a fewstrong but incorrect sketches, gives the rude out-lines of general art, and leaves the filling up to the leisure of happier days, and therefinement of more enlightened times. Their drawing is a rude _Sbozzo_, and their poetry wild minstrelsy. 

PERFECTION of taste is a point which a nation no sooner reaches, than itovershoots; and it is more difficult to return to it, after havingpassed it, than it was to attain when they fell short of it. Where thearts begin to languish after having flourished, they seldom indeed fallback to their original barbarism, but a certain feebleness of exertiontakes place, and it is more difficult to recover them from this dyinglanguor to their proper strength, than it was to polish them from theirformer rudeness; for it is a less formidable undertaking to refinebarbarity, than to stop decay: the first may be laboured into elegance, but the latter will rarely be strengthened into vigour. 

TASTE exerts itself at first but feebly and imperfectly: it isrepressed and kept back by a crowd of the most discouragingprejudices: like an infant prince, who, though born to reign, yet holdsan idle sceptre, which he has not power to use, but is obliged to seewith the eyes, and hear through the ears of other men. 

A WRITER of correct taste will hardly ever go out of his way, even insearch of embellishment: he will study to attain the best end by themost natural means; for he knows that what is not natural cannot bebeautiful, and that nothing can be beautiful out of its own place; foran improper situation will convert the most striking beauty into aglaring defect. When by a well-connected chain of ideas, or a judicioussuccession of events, the reader is snatched to "Thebes or Athens, "what can be more impertinent than for the poet to obstruct the operationof the passion he has just been kindling, by introducing a conceitwhich contradicts his purpose, and interrupts his business? Indeed, wecannot be transported, even in idea, to those places, if the poet doesnot manage so adroitly as not to make us sensible of the journey: theinstant we feel we are travelling, the writer's art fails, and thedelirium is at an end. 

PROSERPINE, says Ovid, would have been restored to her mother Ceres, had not Ascalaphus seen her stop to gather a golden apple, when theterms of her restoration were, that she should taste nothing. A storypregnant with instruction for lively writers, who by neglecting the mainbusiness, and going out of the way for false gratifications, lose sightof the end they should principally keep in view. It was this false tastethat introduced the numberless _concetti_, which disgrace the brightestof the Italian poets; and this is the reason, why the reader only feelsshort and interrupted snatches of delight in perusing the brilliant butunequal compositions of Ariosto, instead of that unbroken andundiminished pleasure, which he constantly receives from Virgil, fromMilton, and generally from Tasso. The first-mentioned Italian is theAtalanta, who will interrupt the most eager career, to pick up theglittering mischief, while the Mantuan and the British bards, likeHippomenes, press on warm in the pursuit, and unseduced by temptation. 

A WRITER of real taste will take great pains in the perfection of hisstyle, to make the reader believe that he took none at all. The writingwhich appears to be most easy, will be generally found to be leastimitable. The most elegant verses are the most easily retained, theyfasten themselves on the memory, without its making any effort topreserve them, and we are apt to imagine, that what is remembered withease, was written without difficulty. 

To conclude; Genius is a rare and precious gem, of which few know theworth; it is fitter for the cabinet of the connoisseur, than for thecommerce of mankind. Good sense is a bank-bill, convenient for change, negotiable at all times, and current in all places. It knows the valueof small things, and considers that an aggregate of them makes up thesum of human affairs. It elevates common concerns into matters ofimportance, by performing them in the best manner, and at the mostsuitable season. Good sense carries with it the idea of equality, whileGenius is always suspected of a design to impose the burden ofsuperiority; and respect is paid to it with that reluctance which alwaysattends other imposts, the lower orders of mankind generally repiningmost at demands, by which they are least liable to be affected. 

AS it is the character of Genius to penetrate with a lynx's beam intounfathomable abysses and uncreated worlds, and to see what is _not_, so it is the property of good sense to distinguish perfectly, and judgeaccurately what really _is_. Good sense has not so piercing an eye, butit has as clear a sight: it does not penetrate so deeply, but as far asit _does_ see, it discerns distinctly. Good sense is a judiciousmechanic, who can produce beauty and convenience out of suitable means;but Genius (I speak with reverence of the immeasurable distance) bearssome remote resemblance to the divine architect, who produced perfectionof beauty without any visible materials, _who spake, and it wascreated_; who said, _Let it be, and it was_. 

[8] THE Author begs leave to offer an apology for introducing thisEssay, which, she fears, may be thought foreign to her purpose. But shehopes that her earnest desire of exciting a taste for literature inyoung ladies, (which encouraged her to hazard the following remarks)will not OBSTRUCT her general design, even if it does not actuallyPROMOTE it. 

THE END. 

Transcriber's Note:Two small typos have been corrected. 

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