THOUGHTS on the CULTIVATION of the HEART and TEMPER in the EDUCATION of DAUGHTERS.

I have not the fooliſh preſumption to imagine, that I can offer any thing new on a ſubject, which has been ſo ſucceſſfully treated by many learned and able writers. I would only, with all poſſible deference, beg leave to hazard a few ſhort remarks on that part of the ſubject of education, which I would call the education of the heart. I am well aware, that this part alſo has not been leſs ſkilfully and forcibly diſcuſſed than the reſt, though I cannot, at the ſame time, help remarking, that it does not appear to have been ſo much adopted into common practice.

It appears then, that notwithſtanding the great and real improvements, which have been made in the affair of female education, and notwithſtanding the more enlarged and generous views of it, which prevail 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 to the diſpoſitions of the mind, that the indications of the temper are not properly cheriſhed, nor the affections of the heart ſufficiently regulated.

In the firſt education of girls, as far as the cuſtoms which faſhion eſtabliſhes are right, they ſhould undoubtedly be followed. Let the exterior be made a conſiderable object of attention, but let it not be the principal, let it not be the only one.—Let the graces be induſtriouſly cultivated, but let them not be cultivated at the expence of the virtues.—Let the arms, the head, the whole perſon be carefully poliſhed, but let not the heart be the only portion of the human anatomy, which ſhall be totally overlooked.

The neglect of this cultivation ſeems to proceed as much from a bad taſte, as from a falſe principle. The generality of people form their judgment of education by ſlight and ſudden appearances, which is certainly a wrong way of determining. Muſic, dancing, and languages, gratify thoſe who teach them, by perceptible and almoſt immediate effects; and when there happens to be no imbecillity in the pupil, nor deficiency in the matter, every ſuperficial obſerver can, in ſome meaſure, judge of the progreſs.—The effects of moſt of theſe accompliſhments addreſs themſelves to the ſenſes; and there are more who can ſee and hear, than there are who can judge and reflect.

Personal perfection is not only more obvious, it is alſo more rapid; and even in very accompliſhed characters, elegance uſually precedes principle.

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

There is another reaſon, which proves this mental cultivation to be more important, as well as more difficult, than any other part of education. In the uſual faſhionable accompliſhments, the buſineſs of acquiring them is almoſt always getting forwards, and one difficulty is conquered before another is ſuffered to ſhew itſelf; for a prudent teacher will level the road his pupil is to paſs, and ſmooth the inequalities which might retard her progreſs.

But in morals, (which ſhould be the great object conſtantly kept in view) the talk is far more difficult. The unruly and turbulent deſires of the heart are not ſo obedient; one paſſion will ſtart up before another is ſuppreſſed. The ſubduing Hercules cannot cut off the heads ſo often as the prolific Hydra can produce them, nor fell the ſtubborn Antæus ſo faſt as he can recruit his ſtrength, and riſe in vigorous and repeated oppoſition.

If all the accompliſhments could be bought at the price of a ſingle virtue, the purchaſe would be infinitely dear! And, however ſtartling it may ſound, I think it is, notwithſtanding, true, that the labours of a good and wiſe mother, who is anxious for her daughter's moſt important intereſts, will ſeem to be at variance with thoſe of her inſtructors. She will doubtleſs rejoice at her progreſs in any polite art, but ſhe will rejoice with trembling:—humility and piety form the ſolid and durable baſis, on which ſhe wiſhes to raiſe the ſuperſtructure of the accompliſhments, while the accompliſhments themſelves are frequently of that unſteady nature, that if the foundation is not ſecured, in proportion as the building is enlarged, it will be overloaded and deſtroyed by thoſe very ornaments, which were intended to embelliſh, what they have contributed to ruin.

The more oſtenſible qualifications ſhould be carefully regulated, or they will be in danger of putting to flight the modeſt train of retreating virtues, which cannot ſafely ſubſiſt before the bold eye of public obſervation, or bear the bolder tongue of impudent and audacious flattery. A tender mother cannot but feel an honeſt triumph, in contemplating 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 naturally teach a girl to ſet her improvements in the moſt conſpicuous point of light. Se faire valoir is the great principle induſtriouſly inculcated into her young heart, and ſeems to be conſidered as a kind of fundamental maxim in education. It is however the certain and effectual ſeed, from which a thouſand yet unborn vanities will ſpring. This dangerous doctrine (which yet is not without its uſes) will be counteracted by the prudent mother, not in ſo many words, but by a watchful and ſcarcely perceptible dexterity. Such an one will be more careful 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 conteſt was, who ſhould be beſt enabled to excel in the ſports and games that were to be celebrated on it. Merely ornamental accompliſhments will but indifferently qualify a woman to perform the duties of life, though it is 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 life without ſome preparation for the buſineſs of living? A lady may ſpeak a little French and Italian, repeat a few paſſages in a theatrical tone, play and ſing, have her dreſſing-room hung with her own drawings, and her perſon covered with her own tambour work, and may, notwithſtanding, have been very badly educated. Yet I am far from attempting to depreciate the value of theſe qualifications: they are moſt of them not only highly becoming, but often indiſpenſably neceſſary, and a polite education cannot be perfected without them. But as the world ſeems to be very well appriſed of their importance, there is the leſs occaſion to inſiſt on their utility. Yet, though well-bred young women ſhould learn to dance, ſing, recite and draw, the end of a good education is not that they may become dancers, ſingers, players or painters: its real object is to make them good daughters, good wives, good miſtreſſes, good members of ſociety, and good chriſtians. The above qualifications therefore are intended to adorn their leiſure, not to employ their lives; for an amiable and wiſe woman will always have ſomething better to 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 of which I am complaining. Do they not often ſet a higher value on thoſe acquiſitions which are calculated to attract obſervation, and catch the eye of the multitude, than on thoſe which are valuable, permanent, and internal? Are they not ſometimes more ſolicitous about the opinion of others, reſpecting their children, than about the real advantage and happineſs of the children themſelves? To an injudicious and ſuperficial eye, the beſt educated girl may make the leaſt brilliant figure, as ſhe will probably have leſs flippancy in her manner, and leſs repartee in her 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 taſte enough 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 the haunts of diſſipation, for he knows he ſhall not find her there; but he will ſeek for her in the boſom of retirement, in the practice of every domeſtic virtue, in the exertion of every amiable accompliſhment, exerted in the ſhade, to enliven retirement, to heighten the endearing pleaſures of ſocial intercourſe, and to embelliſh the narrow but charming circle of family delights. To this amiable purpoſe, a truly good and well educated young lady will dedicate her more elegant accompliſhments, inſtead of exhibiting them to attract admiration, or depreſs inferiority.

Young girls, who have more vivacity than underſtanding, will often make a ſprightly figure in converſation. But this agreeable talent for entertaining others, is frequently dangerous to themſelves, nor is it by any means to be deſired or encouraged very early in life. This immaturity of wit is helped on by frivolous reading, which will produce its effect in much leſs time than books of ſolid inſtruction; for the imagination is touched ſooner than the underſtanding; and effects are more 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 if precipitated by forced and unnatural means, it will in the end become vapid, in proportion as it is artificial.

The beſt effects of a careful and religious education are often very remote: they are to be diſcovered in future ſcenes, and exhibited in untried connexions. Every event of life will be putting the heart into freſh ſituations, and making demands on its prudence, its firmneſs, its integrity, or its piety. Thoſe whoſe buſineſs it is to form it, can foreſee none of theſe ſituations; yet, as far as human wiſdom will allow, they muſt enable it to provide for them all, with an humble dependence on the divine aſſiſtance. A well-diſciplined ſoldier muſt learn and practiſe all his evolutions, though he does not know on what ſervice 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 to become too acute by unneceſſary awakening, nor too obtuſe by the want of exertion. The former renders them the ſource of calamity, and totally ruins the temper; while the latter blunts and debaſes them, and produces a 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 precious ſenſibility of an open temper, to chill the amiable glow of an ingenuous ſoul, and to quench the bright flame of a noble and generous ſpirit! Theſe are of higher worth than all the documents of learning, of dearer price than all the advantages, which can be derived from the moſt refined and artificial mode of education.

But ſenſibility and delicacy, and an ingenuous temper, make no part of education, exclaims the pedagogue—they are reducible to no claſs—they come under no article of inſtruction—they belong neither to languages nor to muſic.—What an error! They are a part of education, and of infinitely more value,

It is true, they are ranged under no claſs, but they are ſuperior to all; they are of more eſteem than languages or muſic, for they are the language of the heart, and the muſic of the according paſſions. Yet this ſenſibility is, in many inſtances, ſo far from being cultivated, that it is not uncommon to ſee thoſe who affect more than uſual ſagacity, caſt a ſmile of ſupercilious pity, at any indication of a warm, generous, or enthuſiaſtic temper in the lively and the young; as much as to ſay, "they will know better, and will have more diſcretion when they are older." But every appearance of amiable ſimplicity, or of honeſt ſhame, Nature's haſty conſcience, will be dear to ſenſible hearts; they will carefully cheriſh every ſuch indication in a young female; for they will perceive that it is this temper, wiſely cultivated, which will one day make her enamoured of the lovelineſs of virtue, and the beauty of holineſs: from which ſhe will acquire a taſte for 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, and ſeek to diſpoſſeſs her of it, will, it is to be feared, give her nothing better in exchange. But whoever reflects at all, will eaſily diſcern how carefully this enthuſiaſm is to be directed, and how judiciouſly its redundances are to be lopped away.

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

But if the natural indications of the temper are to be ſuppreſſed and ſtifled, where are the diagnoſtics, by which the ſtate of the mind is to be known? The wiſe Author of all things, who did nothing in vain, doubtleſs intended them as ſymptoms, by which to judge of the diſeaſes of the heart; and it is impoſſible diſeaſes ſhould be cured before they 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 the ſource, 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. If thoſe about them expreſs violent and unreaſonable anger at every trivial offence, it will always promote this temper, and will very frequently create it, where there was a natural tendency to frankneſs. The indiſcreet tranſports of rage, which many betray on every ſlight occaſion, and the little diſtinction they make between venial errors and premeditated crimes, naturally diſpoſe a child to conceal, what ſhe does not however care to ſuppreſs. Anger in one will not remedy the faults of another; for how can an inſtrument of ſin cure ſin? If a girl is kept in a ſtate of perpetual and ſlaviſh terror, ſhe will perhaps have artifice enough to conceal thoſe propenſities which ſhe knows are wrong, or thoſe actions which ſhe thinks are moſt obnoxious to puniſhment. But, nevertheleſs, ſhe will not ceaſe to indulge thoſe propenſities, and to commit 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 be effected but by a careful courſe of religious inſtruction, and a patient and laborious cultivation of the moral temper.

But, notwithſtanding girls ſhould not be treated with unkindneſs, nor the firſt openings of the paſſions blighted by cold ſeverity; yet I am of opinion, that young females ſhould be accuſtomed very early in life to a certain degree of reſtraint. The natural caſt of character, and the moral diſtinctions between the ſexes, ſhould not be diſregarded, even in childhood. That bold, independent, enterpriſing ſpirit, which is ſo much admired in boys, ſhould not, when it happens to diſcover itſelf in the other ſex, be encouraged, but ſuppreſſed. Girls ſhould be taught to give up their opinions betimes, and not pertinaciouſly to carry on a diſpute, even if they ſhould know themſelves to be in the right. I do not mean, that they ſhould be robbed of the liberty of private judgment, but that they ſhould by no means be encouraged to contract a contentious or contradictory turn. It is of the greateſt importance to their future happineſs, that they ſhould acquire a ſubmiſſive temper, and a forbearing ſpirit: for it is a leſſon which the world will not fail to make them frequently practiſe, when they come abroad into it, and they will not practiſe it the worſe for having learnt it the ſooner. Theſe early reſtraints, in the limitation here meant, are ſo far from being an effect of cruelty, that they are the moſt indubitable marks of affection, and are the more meritorious, as they are ſevere trials of tenderneſs. But all the beneficial effects, which a mother can expect from this watchfulneſs, will be entirely defeated, if it is practiſed occaſionally, and not habitually, and if it ever appears to be uſed to gratify caprice, ill-humour, or reſentment.

Those who have children to educate ought to be extremely patient: it is indeed a labour of love. They ſhould reflect, that extraordinary talents are neither eſſential to the well-being of ſociety, nor to the happineſs of individuals. If that had been the caſe, the beneficent Father of the univerſe would not have made them ſo rare. For it is as eaſy for an Almighty Creator to produce a Newton, as an ordinary man; and he could have made thoſe powers common which we now conſider as wonderful, without any miraculous exertion of his omnipotence, if the exiſtence of many Newtons had been neceſſary to the perfection of his wiſe and gracious plan.

Surely, therefore, there is more piety, as well as more ſenſe, in labouring to improve the talents which children actually have, than in lamenting that they do not poſſeſs ſupernatural endowments or angelic perfections. A paſſage of Lord Bacon's furniſhes an admirable incitement for endeavouring to carry the amiable and chriſtian grace of charity to its fartheſt extent, inſtead of indulging an over-anxious care for more brilliant but leſs important acquiſitions. "The deſire of power in exceſs (ſays he) cauſed the angels to fall; the deſire of knowledge 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 underſtanding enough 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 by diſappointment, the defect will as often be diſcovered to proceed from the neglect or the error of cultivation, as from the natural temper; and thoſe who lament the evil, will ſometimes be found to have occaſioned it.

It is as injudicious for parents to ſet out with too ſanguine a dependence on the merit of their children, as it is for them to be diſcouraged at every repulſe. When their wiſhes are defeated in this or that particular inſtance, where they had treaſured up ſome darling expectation, this is ſo far from being a reaſon for relaxing their attention, 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. If they know any thing of the malignity of ſin, the blindneſs of prejudice, or the corruption of the human heart, they will alſo know, that that heart will always remain, after the very beſt poſſible education, full of infirmity and imperfection. Extraordinary allowances, therefore, muſt be made for the weakneſs of nature in this its weakeſt ſtate. After much is done, much will remain to do, and much, very much, will ſtill be left undone. For this regulation of the paſſions and affections cannot be the work of education alone, without the concurrence of divine grace operating on the heart. Why then ſhould parents repine, if their efforts are 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 little then can be expected from them in the weakneſs and imbecillity of infancy! I have dwelt on this part of the ſubject the longer, becauſe I am certain that many, who have ſet out with a warm and active zeal, have cooled on the very firſt diſcouragement, and have afterwards almoſt totally remitted their vigilance, through a criminal kind of deſpair.

Great allowances muſt be made for a profuſion of gaiety, loquacity, and even indiſcretion in children, that there may be animation enough left to ſupply an active and uſeful character, when the firſt fermentation of the youthful paſſions is over, and the redundant ſpirits ſhall come to ſubſide.

If it be true, as a conſummate judge of human nature has obſerved,

it is alſo true, that there is ſcarcely a ſingle paſſion, which may not be turned to ſome good account, if prudently rectified, and ſkilfully turned into the road of ſome neighbouring virtue. It cannot be violently bent, or unnaturally forced towards an object of a totally oppoſite nature, but may be gradually inclined towards a correſpondent but ſuperior affection. Anger, hatred, reſentment, and ambition, the moſt reſtleſs and turbulent paſſions which ſhake and diſtract the human ſoul, may be led to become the moſt active oppoſers of ſin, after having been its moſt ſucceſſful inſtruments. Our anger, for inſtance, which can never be totally ſubdued, may be made to turn againſt ourſelves, for our weak and imperfect obedience—our hatred, againſt every ſpecies of vice—our ambition, which will not be diſcarded, may be ennobled: it will not change its name, but its object: it will deſpiſe what it lately valued, nor be contented to graſp at leſs than immortality.

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

That the very paſſions which appear the moſt uncontroulable and unpromiſing, may be intended, in the great ſcheme of Providence, to anſwer ſome important purpoſe, is remarkably evidenced in the character and hiſtory of Saint Paul. A remark on this ſubject by an ingenious old Spaniſh writer, which I will here take the liberty to tranſlate, will better illuſtrate my meaning.

"To convert the bittereſt enemy into the moſt zealous advocate, is the work of God for the inſtruction of man. Plutarch has obſerved, that the medical ſcience would be brought to the utmoſt perfection, when poiſon ſhould be converted into phyſic. Thus, in the mortal diſeaſe of Judaiſm and idolatry, our bleſſed Lord converted the adder's venom of Saul the perſecutor, into that cement which made Paul the choſen veſſel. That manly activity, that reſtleſs ardor, that burning zeal for the law of his fathers, that ardent thirſt for the blood of Chriſtians, did the Son of God find neceſſary in the man who was one day to become the defender of his ſuffering people.[7]"

To win the paſſions, therefore, over to the cauſe of virtue, anſwers a much nobler end than their extinction would poſſibly do, even if that could be effected. But it is their nature never to obſerve a neutrality; they are either rebels or auxiliaries, and an enemy ſubdued is an ally obtained. If I may be allowed to change the alluſion ſo ſoon, I would ſay, that the paſſions alſo reſemble fires, which are friendly and beneficial when under proper direction, but if ſuffered to blaze without reſtraint, they carry devaſtation along with them, and, if totally extinguiſhed, leave the benighted mind in a ſtate of cold and comfortleſs inanity.

But in ſpeaking of the uſefulneſs of the paſſions, as inſtruments of virtue, envy and lying muſt always be excepted: theſe, I am perſuaded, muſt either go on in ſtill progreſſive miſchief, or elſe be radically cured, before any good can be expected from the heart which has been infected with them. For I never will believe that envy, though paſſed through all the moral ſtrainers, can be refined into a virtuous emulation, or lying improved into an agreeable turn for innocent invention. Almoſt all the other paſſions may be made to take an amiable hue; but theſe two muſt either be totally extirpated, or be always contented to preſerve their original deformity, and to wear their native black.