LETTERS.

To Mrs. M. WILLIAMS,

Boston.

RESPECTED AND DEAR MADAM,

Conformably to my promise, when I left your abode, the first efforts of my pen are dedicated to you. The pleasure which arises from the recollection of your more than maternal kindness to me, especially your unwearied endeavors to refine and embellish my mind and to lay the foundation of right principles and practices, is interwoven with my existence; and no time or circumstances can erase my gratitude.

I arrived last evening safely; and was affectionately received by my honored parents, and beloved brothers and sisters. The emotions of regret which I felt in the morning, at the painful separation from you and my dear school-mates, with whom I have lived so happily, had not wholly subsided. I could not help listening, now and then, for some judicious observation from my Preceptress; and frequently cast my eyes around in search of some of the amiable companions, among 104whom I had been used to unbend every thought.

The splendor of the apartments gave me ideas of restraint that were painful; and I looked abroad for the green, where we were wont to gambol, and the lawn where we so often held our twilight sports, and almost fancied that we sometimes caught a glimpse of the attendant Sylphs who played around us; but in vain. Stately domes, crowded streets, rattling carriages, and all the noise and confusion of a commercial city were substituted. I retired to bed, and was awaked in the night by the riotous mirth of a number of Bacchanalians, reeling from the haunts of intemperance and excess.

Alas! said I, this is not the Æolian harp that used to soothe our slumbers at the boarding school. I composed myself again; but awoke at the accustomed hour of five. I arose; and, having praised my Maker for the preservations of the night, walked down. Not a living creature was stirring in the house.

I took a turn in the garden. Here art seemed to reign so perfectly mistress, that I was apprehensive lest I should injure her charms by viewing them.

I accordingly retired to the summer-house, and, having a book in my hand, sat down and read till the clock struck seven. I then thought it must be breakfast time, and returned to the house; but was much disappointed 105to find none of the family up, except one man servant and the house maid who had just crept down.

They appeared perfectly astonished to see me come in from abroad; and the girl respectfully inquired if indisposition had occasioned my rising so early. I told her no; that the wish to preserve my health had called me up two hours before. Well, rejoined she, you will not find any body to keep you company here for two hours to come. I was chagrined at the information, and asked her for a bowl of milk, it being past my usual breakfast time. The milk man had just arrived, and I drank some; but it had lost its flavor on the road. It was not like that which was served us at Harmony-Grove. I stepped to the harpsichord, and having sung and played a morning hymn, returned to my chamber, where, taking my work, I sat down by the window to view the listless tribe of yawning mortals who were beginning to thicken in the streets. One half of these appeared to be dragged forth by necessity, rather than any inclination to enjoy the beauties of a fine morning.

At nine, I was summoned into the parlor to breakfast. My sisters gently chid me for disturbing their repose with my music. I excused myself by alleging that I had been so long accustomed to early rising that I should find it difficult to alter the habit.

Here, madam, you have an account of my first night and morning’s occupation. Were 106I to proceed with every new occurrence, through the year, and subjoin my own remarks, I must write volumes instead of letters.

Please to communicate this scroll to your amiable daughters, and remind them of their promise to write.

A line from Harmony-Grove would be a luxury to me.

Meanwhile, permit me still to subscribe myself, with the utmost respect your grateful pupil,

HARRIOT HENLY.

To Miss MATILDA FIELDING.

Boston.

DEAR MATILDA,

I did not intend when we parted at the boarding school, that a whole month should have elapsed without bearing you some testimony of my continued friendship and affection; but so numerous have been my avocations, and so various my engagements, that I have scarcely called a moment my own since I returned home. Having been from town a year, I was considered as too antique to appear 107in company abroad, till I had been perfectly metamorphosed. Every part of my habit has undergone a complete change, in conformity to the present fashion. It was with extreme regret that I parted with the neatness and simplicity of my country dress; which, according to my ideas of modesty, was more becoming. But I trust, this alteration of appearance will have no tendency to alienate those sentiments from my heart which I imbibed under the tuition of Mrs. Williams.

I went, last evening, to the assembly; but though dazzled, I was by no means charmed, by the glare of finery and tinselled decorations that were displayed.

There were some ladies, whose gentility and fashionable dress were evidently the product of a correct taste; but others were so disguised by tawdry gewgaws, as to disgust me exceedingly.

Mrs. Williams used to say, that the dress was indicative of the mind. If this observation be just, what opinion am I to form of the gay multitudes who trip along the streets and throng the places of public resort in this metropolis; the lightness and gaudiness of whose appearance, bespeak a sickly taste, to say no more.

I am furnished with feathers, flowers, and ribbons in profusion. I shall, however, use them very sparingly; and though I would not be entirely singular, yet I must insist on consulting my own fancy a little, and cannot willingly 108sacrifice my own opinion to the capricious whims of fashion, and her devotees. My aunt Lawrence, who you know, is extravagantly genteel, is making us a visit. She laughs very heartily at my silly notions, as she calls them, and styles me a novice in the ways of the world: but hopes, notwithstanding, that I shall acquire a better taste when I am more acquainted with fashionable life. That I may be much improved by a more extensive knowledge of the world, I doubt not; yet may I never be corrupted by that levity and folly, which are too prevalent among a part of my sex.

“I will not, however, censure and condemn others; but attend to myself and be humble. Adieu.”

LAURA GUILFORD

To Miss MATILDA FIELDING.

Harmony-Grove.

DEAR MATILDA,

The tear of regret for your departure is scarcely dried from the cheek of your Maria; and the pleasing remembrance of the happiness I have enjoyed in your society is accompanied 109with a sigh, whenever I reflect that it exists no more.

My mamma has observed that those friendships which are formed in youth, provided they be well founded, are the most sincere, lively and durable. I am sure that the ardency of mine can never abate; my affectionate regard for you can never decay.

We have another class of boarders; but you and your amiable companions had so entirely engrossed my confidence and esteem, that I shall find it difficult to transfer them, in any degree, to others. The sensations of Anna are very different, though she is capable of the most refined friendship. The natural vivacity, and, as I tell her, the volatility of her disposition, renders a variety of associates pleasing to her.

In order to recall your ideas to the exercises of Harmony-Grove, I enclose the sallies of my pen for this morning, fully assured of your candour and generosity in the perusal.

Pray omit no opportunity of writing, and favor me with your observations on the polite world. I shall receive every line as a pledge of your continued love to your

MARIA WILLIAMS.

110AN ODE ON SPRING.

Enclosed in the preceding Letter.

Hail delight-restoring spring!

Balmy pleasures with thee bring;

Aromatic gales dispense,

Misty vapours banish hence.

Blithe the jocund hinds appear,

Joy supports returning care,

Mirth the ready hand attends,

Pleasing hope the toil befriends.

Hark! the shady groves resound,

Love and praise re-echo round,

Music floats in every gale,

Peace and harmony prevail.

Here no stormy passions rise,

Here no feuds impede our joys,

Here ambition never roams,

Pride or envy never comes.

Come Matilda; ruddy morn

Tempts us o’er the spacious lawn;

Spring’s reviving charms invite

Every sense to taste delight;

Such delights as never cloy,

Health and innocence enjoy.

Youth’s the spring-time of our years,

Short the rapid scene appears;

Let’s improve the fleeting hours,

Virtue’s noblest fruits be ours.

To Miss CAROLINE LITTLETON.

Boston.

You have left—you have forsaken me, Caroline! But I will haunt you with my letters; 111obtrude myself upon your remembrance; and extort from you the continuance of your friendship!

What do I say? Obtrude and extort! Can these harsh words be used when I am addressing the generous and faithful Caroline?

But you have often encouraged my eccentricities by your smile, and must therefore still indulge them.

Nature has furnished me with a gay disposition; and happy is it for me, that a lax education has not strengthened the folly too commonly arising from it.

Mrs. Williams’ instructions were very seasonably interposed to impress my mind with a sense of virtue and propriety. I trust they have had the desired effect; and that they will prove the guardian of my youth, and the directory of maturer age. How often has the dear, good woman taken me into her chamber, and reminded me of indecorums of which I was unconscious at the time; but thankful afterwards that they had not escaped her judicious eye; as her observations tended to rectify my errors, and render me more cautious and circumspect in future. How salutary is advice like her’s; conveyed, not with the dogmatic air of supercilious wisdom, but with the condescending ease and soothing kindness of an affectionate parent, anxiously concerned for the best good of those under her care!

I was very happy at Harmony-Grove; and the result of that happiness, I hope, will accompany me through life.

112Yet I find the gaiety of the town adapted to my taste; nor does even Mrs. Williams condemn the enjoyment of its pleasures.

I was, last evening, at a ball, and I assure you, the attention I gained, and the gallantry displayed to attract my notice and approbation, were very flattering to my vanity; though I could not forbear inwardly smiling at the futile arts of the pretty fellows who exhibited them.

Their speeches appeared to have been so long practised, that I was on the point of advising them to exercise their genius, if they had any, in the invention of something new. But a polite conformity to the ton restrained my satire, Adieu.

JULIA GREENFIELD.

To Miss CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

Newburyport.

I am disappointed and displeased, Cleora! I have long been anxious to procure the Marchioness de Sevigne’s letters, having often heard them mentioned as standards of taste and elegance in the epistolary way. This excited my curiosity, and raised my hopes of finding a rich entertainment of wit and sentiment. I 113have perused, and perused in vain; for they answer not my ideas of either. They are replete with local circumstances, which to indifferent readers, are neither amusing nor interesting. True, the style is easy and sprightly; but they are chiefly composed of family matters, such as relate to her own movements and those of her daughter; many of which are of too trifling a nature to be ranked in the class of elegant writing. I own myself, however, not a competent judge of their merit as a whole, even in my own estimation; for I have read the two first volumes only.

That letters ought to be written with the familiarity of personal conversation, I allow; yet many such conversations, even between persons of taste and refinement, are unworthy the public attention.

Equal was my chagrin, not long since, on reading Pope’s letters. He, said I to myself, who bears the palm from all contemporary poets, and who is so consummate a master of this divine art, must surely furnish a source of superior entertainment, when he descends to friendly and social communications.

Indeed, there are good sentiments and judicious observations, interspersed in his letters; but the greater part of them have little other merit than what arises from the style.

Perhaps you will charge me with arrogance for presuming to criticise, much more to condemn, 114publications which have so long been sanctioned by general approbation. Independent in opinion, I write it without reserve, and censure not any one who thinks differently. Give me your sentiments with the same freedom upon the books which you honor with a perusal, and you will oblige your affectionate

CAROLINE LITTLETON.

To Miss CAROLINE LITTLETON.

Salem.

DEAR CAROLINE,

I received yours with those lively sensations of pleasure which your favors always afford. As I was perusing it, my papa came into the room. He took it out of my hand and read it; then returning it with the smile of approbation, I think, said he, that your correspondent has played the critic very well. Has she played it justly, Sir? said I. Why, it is a long time, said he, since I read the Marchioness de Sevigne’s letters. I am not, therefore, judge of their merit. But with regard to Pope, I blame not the sex for retaliating upon him; for he always treated them satirically. I believe revenge was no part 115of my friend’s plan, said I. She is far superior to so malignant a passion, though, were she capable of seeking it, it would be in behalf of her sex.

Company now coming in, the conversation shifted.

I have often smiled at the pitiful wit of those satirists and essayists, who lavish abundant eloquence on trifling foibles, the mere whims of a day; and of no consequence to the body natural, moral, or political. The extension of a hoop, the contraction of the waist, or the elevation of the head-dress, frequently afford matter for pages of elaborate discussion. These reformers, too, always aim at the good of our sex! I think it a great pity they do not lop off some of their own exuberant follies; though perhaps they wish us to exchange labours; and in return for their benevolent exertions, that we endeavor to expose and correct their errors. I have sometimes thought their satire to be tinctured with malice; and that the cause of their disaffection may generally be found in personal resentment. Had Pope and his coadjutors been favourites with the ladies, I doubt not but they would have found more excellencies in them than they have ever yet allowed.

I have lately been reading the generous and polite Fitzorsborne’s letters; and I need not tell you how much I was pleased and charmed with them.

The justness of his sentiments, and the ease 116and elegance of his diction, are at once interesting and improving. His letter and ode to his wife on the anniversary of their marriage, surpass any thing of the kind I have ever read. I verily think, that, had I the offer of a heart capable of dictating such manly tenderness of expression, and such pathetic energy of generous love, I should be willing to give my hand in return, and assent to those solemn words, “love, honor, and—(I had almost said) obey.” Adieu.

CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

To Miss CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

Newburyport.

DEAR CLEORA,

I agree with you, that the habits of the weak and vain are too insignificant to employ the pens of those, whose literary talents might produce great and good effects in the political, moral, and religious state of things. Were absurd fashions adopted only by those whose frivolity renders them the dupes of folly, and whose example can have no effect on the considerate and judicious part of the community, I should think them below the attention of 117statesmen, philosophers, and divines: but this is not the case. The votaries and the inventors of the most fantastical fashions are found in the ranks of, what is called, refined and polished society; from whom we might hope for examples of elegance and propriety, both in dress and behaviour. By these, luxury and extravagance are sanctioned. Their influence upon the poorer class is increased; who, emulous of imitating their superiors, think that the most eligible appearance, (however beyond their income, or unsuitable to their circumstances and condition in life) which is preferred and countenanced by their wealthier neighbors.

Absurd and expensive fashions, then, are injurious to society at large, and require some check; and why is not satire levelled against them, laudable in its design, and likely to produce a good effect? Adieu.

CAROLINE LITTLETON.

To Miss MATILDA FIELDING.

Harmony-grove.

DEAR MATILDA,

Notwithstanding the coldness of the season, every heart seems to be enlivened, and 118every mind exhilarated by the anniversary of the new year. Why this day is so peculiarly marked out for congratulations, I shall not now inquire; but in compliance with the prevailing custom of expressing good wishes on the occasion, I send you mine in a scribble

Early I greet the opening year,

While friendship bids the muse appear,

To wish Matilda blest.

The muse, devoid of selfish art,

Obeys the dictates of a heart,

Which warms a friendly breast.

The rolling earth again has run

Her annual circuit round the sun,

And whirl’d the year away;

She now her wonted course renews,

Her orbit’s track again pursues;

Nor feels the least decay.

How soon the fleeting hours are gone!

The rapid wheels of time glide on,

Which bring the seasons round.

Winter disrobes the smiling plain,

But spring restores its charms again,

And decks the fertile ground.

The sweet returns of cheerful May

Come with a vivifying ray,

Inspiring new delight:

Beclad with every various charm

To please the eye, the fancy warm,

And animate the sight.

But youth no kind renewal knows;

Swiftly the blooming season goes,

And brings the frost of age!

No more the vernal sun appears,

To gild the painful round of years,

And wintry damps assuage.

119With rapid haste, the moments fly,

Which you and I, my friend, enjoy;

And they return no more!

Then let us wisely now improve

The downy moments, as they rove,

Which nature can’t restore.

O source of wisdom! we implore

Thy aid to guide us safely o’er

The slippery paths of youth:

O deign to lend a steady ray

To point the sure, the certain way

To honor and to truth!

Let thy unerring influence shed

Its blessings on Matilda’s head,

While piety and peace,

Thy genuine offspring round her wait,

And guard her through this transient state,

To joys that never cease!

May constant health its charms extend,

And fortune every blessing lend,

To crown each passing day;

May pleasures in succession shine,

And every heart-felt bliss be thine,

Without the least allay.

MARIA WILLIAMS.

To Miss CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

Boston.

DEAR CLEORA,

I have this week engaged in the celebration of the nuptials of my friend, Amanda 120South. A splendid wedding, a gay company, an elegant supper, and a magnificent ball, were the sum of our entertainment.

I imagine such exhilarating scenes designed to dispel the anxiety and thoughtfulness, which every reflecting person must feel on this solemn occasion. This untried state presents to the apprehensive mind such a variety of new cares and duties, that cheerfulness, festivity and hilarity seem necessary to banish the thought of them, so far as to render a delicate and sensible female sufficiently composed to conduct with propriety. But I must confess that were I called to the trial, I should choose to retire from the observation of those indifferent and unfeeling spectators, to whom the blushing modesty of a bride is often a pastime.

Indeed, Cleora, when we look around the world and observe the great number of unhappy marriages, which were contracted with the brightest prospects, yet from some unforeseen cause, have involved the parties in wretchedness for life, we may well indulge a diffidence of our own abilities to discharge the duties of the station, and be solicitous that our future companion should in all respects be qualified to assist in bearing the burdens of the conjugal state.

Experience only can determine how far we are right in the judgment we form of ourselves, and of the person of our choice. So many are the deceptions which love and courtship 121impose upon their votaries, that I believe it very difficult for the parties concerned to judge impartially, or to discern faults, where they look only for virtues. Hence they are so frequently misled in their opinions, and find, too late, the errors into which they have been betrayed.

When do you come to Boston, Cleora? I am impatient for your society; because your friendship is void of flattery, and your sincerity and cheerfulness are always agreeable and advantageous. Adieu.

HARRIOT HENLY.

To Miss HARRIOT HENLY.

Salem.

Indeed, Harriot, I open your letters with as much gravity as I would a sermon; you have such a knack of moralizing upon every event! What mortal else would feel serious and sentimental at a wedding? Positively, you shall not come to mine. Your presence, I fear, would put such a restraint upon me, as to render me quite foolish and awkward in my appearance.

122However, I must acknowledge it a weighty affair; and what you say has, perhaps, too much truth in it to be jested with. I believe, therefore, we had better resolve not to risk the consequences of a wrong choice, or imprudent conduct; but wisely devote ourselves to celibacy. I am sure we should make a couple of very clever old maids. If you agree to this proposition, we will begin in season to accustom ourselves to the virtues and habits of a single life. By observing what is amiss in the conduct of others in the same state, and avoiding their errors, I doubt not but we may bring even the title into repute. In this way we shall be useful to many of our own sex, though I am aware it would be a most grievous dispensation to a couple of the other; but no matter for that.

The world needs some such examples as we might become; and if we can be instrumental of retrieving old-maidism from the imputation of ill-nature, oddity, and many other mortifying charges, which are now brought against it, I believe we shall save many a good girl from an unequal and unhappy marriage. It might have a salutary effect on the other sex too. Finding the ladies independent in sentiment, they would be impelled to greater circumspection of conduct to merit their favor.

You see that my benevolence is extensive. I wish to become a general reformer. What say you to my plan, Harriot? If you approve 123it, dismiss your long train of admirers immediately, and act not the part of a coquette, by retaining them out of pride or vanity. We must rise above such narrow views, and let the world know that we act from principle, if we mean to do good by our example. I shall continue to receive the addresses of this same Junius, till I hear that you have acceded to my proposal; and then, display my fortitude by renouncing a connexion which must be doubtful as to the issue, and will certainly expose me to the mortification of being looked at, when I am married. Farewell.

CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

To Miss CAROLINE LITTLETON.

Boston.

DEAR CAROLINE,

I have just returned from a rural excursion, where, in the thicket of a grove, I enjoyed all the luxury of solitude. The sun had nearly finished his diurnal course, and was leaving our hemisphere to illuminate the other with his cheering rays.

The sprightly songsters had retired to their bowers, and were distending their little 124throats with a tribute of instinctive gratitude and praise.

The vocal strains re-echoed from tree to tree and invited me to join the responsive notes. My heart expanded with devotion and benevolence. I wished the whole human kind to share the feelings of happiness which I enjoyed; while the inanimate creation around seemed to partake of my satisfaction! Methought the fields assumed a livelier verdure; and the zephyrs were unusually officious in wafting the fragrance of aromatic gales. I surveyed the surrounding scenery with rapturous admiration; and my heart glowed with inexpressible delight at the lovely appearance of nature, and the diffusive bounties of its almighty author.

Let others, said I, exult in stately domes, and the superfluities of pomp; immerse themselves in the splendid novelties of fashion, and a promiscuous crowd of giddy amusements! I envy them not.

Give me a mind to range the sylvan scene,

And taste the blessings of the vernal day;

While social joys, and friendly, intervene

To chase the gloomy cares of life away.

I wish not to abandon society, nor to resign the pleasures which it affords; but it is a select number of friends, not a promiscuous crowd, which I prefer.

When the mind is much engrossed by dissipating pleasures, it is apt to forget itself, and 125neglect its own dignity and improvement. It is necessary often to retreat from the noise and bustle of the world, and commune with our own hearts. By this mean we shall be the better qualified both to discharge the duties and participate in the enjoyments of life.

Solitude affords a nearer and more distinct view of the works of creation; elevates the mind, and purifies its passions and affections.

O solitude! in thee the boundless mind

Expands itself, and revels unconfin’d;

From thee, each vain, each grov’lling passion flies,

And all the virtues of the soul arise.

Adieu,

JULIA GREENFIELD.

To Miss LAURA GUILFORD.

Boston.

MY DEAR LAURA,

Rambling in the garden, I have picked a nosegay, which I transmit to you as a token of my remembrance. Though the poetical bagatelle which accompanies it, is not equal to the elegance of the subject; yet I confide in your candor to excuse its futility, and give a favorable interpretation to its design.

126Laura, this little gift approve,

Pluck’d by the hand of cordial love!

With nicest care the wreath I’ve dress’d,

Fit to adorn your friendly breast.

The rose and lily are combin’d,

As emblems of your virtuous mind!

Pure as the first is seen in thee

Sweet blushing sensibility.

Carnations here their charms display,

And nature shines in rich array,

Od’rous, as virtue’s accents sweet,

From Laura’s lips with wit replete.

The myrtle with the laurel bound,

And purple amaranthus crown’d,

Within this little knot unite,

Like Laura’s charms, to give delight!

Fair, fragrant, soft, like beauty dress’d;

So she unrivalled stands confess’d;

While blending still each finish’d grace,

Her virtues in her mien we trace!

Virtues, which far all tints outshine,

And, verdant brave the frost of time.

I am, &c.

SOPHIA MANCHESTER.

To Miss MARIA WILLIAMS.

Boston.

DEAR SISTER,

I am not so far engaged by the new scenes of fashionable gaiety which surround me, as to 127forget you and the other dear friends, whom I left at Harmony-Grove. Yet so great is the novelty which I find in this crowded metropolis, that you cannot wonder if my attention is very much engrossed. Mr. and Mrs. Henly, with their amiable daughters, are extremely polite and attentive to me; and having taken every method to contribute to my amusement, I went yesterday, in their company, to Commencement, at Cambridge; and was very much entertained with the exhibition. I pretend not to be a judge of the talents displayed by the young gentlemen who took an active part, or of the proficiency they had made in science. I have an opinion of my own, notwithstanding; and can tell how far my eye and ear were gratified.

I never knew before, that dress was a classical study; which I now conclude it must be, or it would not have exercised the genius of some of the principal speakers on this public occasion.

The female garb too, seemed to claim particular attention. The bon ton, taste and fashions of our sex, afforded a subject of declamation to the orator; and of entertainment to the audience, composed, in part, of our legislators, politicians, and divines! I could not but think that those scholars who employ their time in studying, investigating and criticising the ladies’ dresses, might as well be occupied in the business of a friseur or the man-milliner; either of which would afford them more 128frequent opportunities for the display of their abilities, and render their labors more extensively useful to the sex. Others might then improve the time, which they thus frivolously engrossed on this anniversary, in contributing to the entertainment of the literati, who doubtless expect to be gratified by the exertions of genius and an apparent progress in those studies, which are designed to qualify the rising youth of America for important stations both in church and state.

The assembly was extremely brilliant; the ladies seemed to vie with each other in magnificent decorations. So much loveliness was visible in their native charms, that without any hint from the speakers of the day, I should have thought it a pity to add those foreign ornaments, which rather obscure than aid them.

I was a little displeased by the unbecoming levity of some of my sex; and am apprehensive lest it might induce misjudging and censorious people to imagine that they were led thither more by the vanity of attracting notice, than to receive any mental entertainment.

Without our consent, we ran a race back to town, which endangered our necks. The avaricious hackman, desirous of returning for another freight, had no mercy on his passengers or horses. However, we arrived safely, though much fatigued by the pleasure of the day.

129Pleasure carried to excess degenerates into pain. This I actually experienced; and sighed for the tranquil enjoyments of Harmony grove, to which I propose soon to return, and convince you how affectionately I am your’s,

ANNA WILLIAMS.

To Miss ANNA WILLIAMS.

Harmony-grove.

DEAR ANNA,

Your enlivening letter restored us, in some measure, to your society; or at least, alleviated the pain of your absence.

I am glad you attended commencement. It was a new scene, and consequently extended your ideas. I think you rather severe on the classical gentlemen. We simple country folks must not presume to arraign their taste, whose learning and abilities render them conspicuous on the literary stage. They, doubtless, write on subjects better adapted to their capacities. As for the follies of fashion, I think the gentlemen are under obligations to the ladies for adopting them; since it gives exercise to their genius and pens.

130You were tired, you say, with pleasure. I believe those dissipating scenes, which greatly exhilarate the spirits, call for the whole attention, and oblige us to exert every power, are always fatiguing.

Pleasures of a calmer kind, which are moderately enjoyed, which enliven rather then exhaust, and which yield a serenity of mind on reflection, are the most durable, rational and satisfying. Pleasure is the most alluring object which is presented to the view of the young and inexperienced. Under various forms it courts our attention; but while we are still eager in the pursuit, it eludes our grasp. Its fascinating charms deceive the imagination, and create a bower of bliss in every distant object.

But let us be careful not to fix our affections on any thing, which bears this name, unless it be founded on virtue, and will endure the severest scrutiny of examination.

Our honored mamma, and all your friends here, are impatient for your return. They unitedly long to embrace, and bid you welcome to these seats of simplicity and ease: but none more ardently than your affectionate sister,

MARY WILLIAMS.

131

To Miss MATILDA FIELDING.

Boston.

DEAR MATILDA,

Anxious to make the best possible use of the education I have received; and fully impressed with the idea, that the human mind is capable of continual improvements, it is my constant endeavor to extract honey from every flower which falls in my way, or, to speak without a figure, to derive advantage from every incident. Pursuant to the advice of our excellent Preceptress, I keep this perpetually in view; and am therefore disappointed when defeated in the attempt.

This afternoon I have been in company with three ladies, celebrated for their beauty and wit. One of them I think may justly claim the reputation of beauty. To a finished form, and florid complexion, an engaging, animating countenance is added. Yet a consciousness of superior charms was apparent in her deportment; and a supercilious air counteracted the effects of her personal accomplishments. The two others were evidently more indebted to art than to nature for their appearance. It might easily be discovered that paint constituted all the delicacy of their complexion.

132What a pity that so many are deceived in their ideas of beauty! Certain it is, that artificial additions serve rather to impair than increase its power. “Who can paint like nature?” What hand is skilful enough to supply her defects? Do not those who attempt it always fail, and render themselves disgusting? Do they not really injure what they strive to mend; and make it more indifferent than usual, when divested of its temporary embellishments? Beauty cannot possibly maintain its sway over its most obsequious votaries, unless the manners and the mind unitedly contribute to secure it. How vain then is this subterfuge! It may deceive the eye and gain the flattery of the prattling coxcomb; but accumulated neglect and mortification inevitably await those who trust in the wretched alternative.

From their good sense, I had been led to expect the greatest entertainment. I therefore waited impatiently till the first compliments were over, and conversation commenced.

But to my extreme regret, I found it to consist of ludicrous insinuations, hackneyed jests and satirical remarks upon others of their acquaintance who were absent. The pretty fellows of the town were criticised; and their own adventures in shopping, were related with so much minuteness, hilarity, and glee, that I blushed for the frivolous levity of those of my sex, who could substitute buffoonery for 133wit, and the effusions of a perverted imagination, for that refined and improving conversation, which a well cultivated mind and a correct taste are calculated to afford.

If, said I, to myself, this be the beauty and the wit of polished society, restore me again to the native simplicity and sincerity of Harmony-Grove.

I took my leave as soon as politeness would allow; and left them to animadvert upon me. Independent for happiness on the praise or censure of superficial minds, let me ever be conscious of meriting approbation, and I shall rest contented in the certain prospect of receiving it. Adieu.

SOPHIA MANCHESTER.

To Miss SOPHIA MANCHESTER.

Beverly.

I sympathize with you, my dear Sophia, in the disappointment you received in your expectations from beauty and wit.

You may nevertheless derive advantage from it. Your refined and delicate ideas raise 134you too far above the scenes of common life. They paint the defects of your inferiors in such lively colours, that the greater part of the community must be displeasing to you. Few, you should remember, have had the advantages which you have enjoyed; and still fewer have your penetrating eye, correct taste, and quick sensibility. Let charity then draw a veil over the foibles of others, and candor induce you to look on the best and brightest side.

It is both our duty and interest to enjoy life as far as integrity and innocence allow; and in order to this, we must not soar above, but accommodate ourselves to its ordinary state. We cannot stem the torrent of folly and vanity; but we can step aside and see it roll on, without suffering ourselves to be borne down by the stream.

Empty conversation must be disgusting to every rational and thinking mind; yet, when it partakes not of malignity, it is harmless in its effects, as the vapour which floats over the mead in a summer’s eve. But when malice and envy join to give scope to detraction, we ought to avoid their contagion, and decidedly condemn the effusions of the ill-natured merriment which they inspire.

Our sex have been taxed as defamers. I am convinced, however, they are not exclusively guilty; yet, for want of more substantial matter of conversation, I fear they too often give occasion for the accusation! A 135mind properly cultivated and stored with useful knowledge, will despise a pastime which must be supported at the expense of others. Hence only the superficial and the giddy are reduced to the necessity of filling the time in which they associate together, with the degrading and injurious subjects of slander. But I trust that our improved country-women are rising far superior to this necessity, and are able to convince the world, that the American fair are enlightened, generous, and liberal. The false notions of sexual disparity, in point of understanding and capacity, are justly exploded; and each branch of society is uniting to raise the virtues and polish the manners of the whole.

I am, &c.

MATILDA FIELDING.

To Miss JULIA GREENFIELD.

Salem.

DEAR JULIA,

From your recommendation of Mrs. Chapone’s letters; and, what is still more, from the character given them by Mrs. Williams, 136I was anxious to possess the book; but, not being able to procure it here, my clerical brother, who was fortunately going to Boston, bought and presented it to me.

I am much gratified by the perusal, and flatter myself that I shall derive lasting benefit from it.

So intricate is the path of youth, and so many temptations lurk around to beguile our feet astray, that we really need some skilful pilot to guide us through the delusive maze. To an attentive and docile mind, publications of this sort may afford much instruction and aid. They ought, therefore, to be carefully collected, and diligently perused.

Anxious to make my brother some acknowledgment for his present, I wrought and sent him a purse, accompanied with a dedication which I thought might amuse some of his solitary moments; and which, for that purpose, I here transcribe and convey to you.

The enclosed, with zeal and with reverence due,

Implor’d my permission to wait upon you;

And begg’d that the muse would her favor extend,

To briefly her worth and her service commend.

The muse, who by dear bought experience had known

How little her use to the clergy had grown,

With officious advice thus attacked the poor purse:

Why, you novice! ’tis plain that you cannot do worse!

If the end of your being you would ever attain,

And honor, preferment and influence gain,

Go quick to the pocket of some noble knave,

Whose merit is wealth, and his person is slave:

Or enter the mansion where splendor appears,

And pomp and eclat are the habit she wears:

137Or hie to the court, where so well you are known,

So highly esteem’d and so confident grown,

That without your assistance and recommendation,

None claims any merit, or fills any station!

Seek either of these; and with joy you’ll behold

Yourself crown’d with honor, and filled with gold.

But to wait on a priest! How absurd is the scheme;

His reward’s in reversion; the future’s his theme.

Will these, for the present, your craving’s supply,

Or soften the din of necessity’s cry?

Of hunger and want, the loud clamours repel;

Or crush the poor moth that would on you revel!

For poets and prophets the world has decreed,

On fame and on faith may luxuriously feed!

Here the puss interpos’d with a strut and a stare,

Pray good madam muse, your suggestions forbear!

On virtue and worth I’m resolved to attend,

A firm, if I am not a plentiful friend.

Tho’ not swell’d with gold, and with metal extended,

What little I have shall be rightly expended:

And a trifle, by justice and wisdom obtained,

Is better than millions dishonestly gain’d!

Yet I hope and presume that I never shall be

excluded his pocket for the lack of a fee!

Thus the muse and the purse—till I took the direction,

And destin’d the latter to your kind protection.

My wishes attend her, with fervor express’d,

That in yellow or white she may always be dress’d;

And e’er have the power each dull care to beguile;

Make the summer more gay, and the bleak winter smile!

But if Fortune be blind; or should she not favor

These wishes of mine, you must scorn the deceiver:

And, rising superior to all she can do,

Find a bliss more substantial than she can bestow!

CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

138

To Miss LAURA GUILFORD.

Worcester.

DEAR LAURA,

I have spent a very agreeable summer in the country; but am now preparing to return to town. I anticipate, with pleasure, a restoration to your society, and that of my other friends there. I should, however, quit these rural scenes with reluctance, were it not that they are giving place to the chilling harbingers of approaching winter. They have afforded charms to me, which the giddy round of fashionable amusements can never equal. Many, however, think life insupportable, except in the bustle and dissipation of a city. Of this number is the volatile Amelia Parr, whom you know as well as I. So extreme is her gaiety, that the good qualities of her mind are suffered to lie dormant; while the most restless passions are indulged without restraint. I have just received a letter from her, which you will see to be characteristic of her disposition. I enclose that, and my answer to it, for your perusal. Read both with candour; and believe me ever yours,

HARRIOT HENLY.

139

To Miss HARRIOT HENLY.

(Enclosed in the preceding.)

Boston.

Where are you, Harriot; and what are you doing? Six long months absent from the town! What can you find to beguile the tedious hours? Life must be a burden to you! How can you employ yourself? Employ, did I say? Pho! I will not use so vulgar a term! I meant amuse! Amusement surely is the prime end of our existence! You have no plays, no card-parties, nor assemblies, that are worth mentioning! Intolerably heavy must the lagging wheels of time roll on! How shall I accelerate them for you? A new novel may do something towards it! I accordingly send you one, imported in the last ships. Foreign, to be sure; else it would not be worth attention. They have attained to a far greater degree of refinement in the old world, than we have in the new; and are so perfectly acquainted with the passions, that there is something extremely amusing and interesting in their plots and counterplots, operating in various ways, till the dear creatures are jumbled into matrimony in the prettiest manner that can be conceived!

We, in this country, are too much in a state of nature to write good novels yet. An American 140novel is such a moral, sentimental thing, that it is enough to give any body the vapours to read one. Pray come to town as soon as possible, and not dream away your best days in obscurity and insignificance.

But this boarding school, this Harmony-Grove, where you formerly resided, has given you strange ideas of the world. With what raptures I have heard you relate the dull scenes in which you were concerned there! I am afraid that your diseased taste has now come to a crisis, and you have commenced prude in earnest! But return to your city friends; and we will lend our charitable assistance, in restoring you to gaiety and pleasure.

AMELIA PARR.

The Answer.

Worcester.

DEAR AMELIA,

Your letter——your rattle, rather, came to hand yesterday. I could not avoid smiling at your erroneous opinions; and, in my turn, beg leave to express my wonder at your entertainments 141in town. True, we have no plays. We are not obliged by fashion, to sit, half suffocated in a crowd, for the greater part of the night, to hear the rantings, and see the extravagant actions of the buskin heroes, (and those not always consistent with female modesty to witness!) We have no card-parties, avowedly formed for the purpose of killing time! But we have an agreeable neighborhood, among which we can easily collect a social circle; and persons of taste, politeness and information, compose it. Here we enjoy a rational and enlivening conversation, which is at once refined and improving. We have no assemblies, composed of a promiscuous crowd of gaudy belles and beaux; many of whom we should despise in a private company, and deem unworthy of our notice. But we have genteel balls, the company of which is select, none being admitted but such as do honor to themselves and each other. The amusement is not protracted till the yawning listlessness of the company proclaims their incapacity for enjoyment; but we retire at a seasonable hour, and add to the pleasure of the evening, that of undisturbed rest through the night. Of course, we can rise with the sun, and sip the nectarious dews, wafted in the aromatic gale. We breakfast before the heat of the day has brought on a languor and deprived us of appetite; after which, we amuse ourselves with our needles, books, or music; recline on the sofa, or ramble in the grove, as 142fancy or convenience directs. In the shady bower we enjoy either the luxury of solitude, or the pleasures of society; while you are, the whole time, in the midst of hurry and bustle. Eager in the chase, you fly from one scene of dissipation to another; but the fatigue of this ceaseless round, and the exertion of spirits necessary to support it, render the objects of pursuit tasteless and insipid.

Which mode of life, yours or mine, do you now think the most rational, and productive of the greatest happiness? The boarding school, which you affect to despise, has, it is true, formed my taste; and I flatter myself that I shall never wish it altered.

I shall soon return to town; but not for pleasure. It is not in crowds that I seek it. Adieu.

HARRIOT HENLY.

To Miss SOPHIA MANCHESTER.

Concord.

DEAR SOPHIA,

Having been with my aunt Burchel for a fortnight past, I have indulged myself in reading novels; with which her library is well supplied.

143Richardson’s works have occupied a large portion of the time. What a surprising command has this great master of the passions over our feelings! It is happy for his own and succeeding ages, that he embarked in the cause of virtue. For his influence on the affections of his readers is so great, that it must have proved very pernicious, had he enlisted on the side of vice. Though I am not much of a novel-reader, yet his pen has operated like magic on my fancy; and so extremely was I interested, that I could have dispensed with sleep or food for the pleasure I found in reading him.

By this circumstance I am more than ever convinced of the great caution which ought to be used in perusing writings of the kind. How secretly and how insidiously may they undermine the fabric of virtue, by painting vice and folly in the alluring colours, and with the lively style of this ingenious author. The mind should be well informed, and the judgment properly matured, before young people indulge themselves in the unrestrained perusal of them.

The examples of virtue and noble qualities, exhibited by the author I have mentioned, are truly useful; but every writer of novels is not a Richardson: and what dreadful effects might the specious manners of a Lovelace have on the inexperienced mind, were they not detected by a just exhibition of his vices!

The noble conduct of Clementina and Miss Byron, are worthy of imitation; while the indiscretion 144of Clarissa, in putting herself under the protection of a libertine, is a warning to every fair. But both examples are often overlooked. While the ear is charmed with the style, and the fancy riots on the luxuriance of description, which so intimately blend the charms of virtue and the fascinations of vice, they are not readily distinguished by all.

I am not equally pleased with all Richardson’s writings; yet so multifarious are his excellencies, that his faults appear but specks, which serve as foils to display his beauties to better advantage.

Before I went from home I was engaged in reading a course of history; but I fear I shall not return from this flowery field to the dry and less pleasing path of more laborious studies. This is one disadvantage of novel reading. It dissipates the ideas, relaxes the mind, and renders it inattentive to the more solid and useful branches of literature. Adieu.

LAURA GUILFORD.

To Mrs. WILLIAMS.

Boston.

DEAR MADAM,

Neither change of place nor situation can alienate my affections from you, or obliterate my grateful remembrance of your kindness.

145Your admonitions and counsels have been the guide of my youth. The many advantages which I have already received from them, and the condescending readiness with which they were always administered, embolden me to solicit your direction and advice in a still more important sphere. The recommendation of my parents and friends, seconded by my own inclination, have induced me to yield my heart and engage my hand to Mr. Sylvanus Farmington, with whose character you are not unacquainted. Next Thursday is the era fixed for our union. O madam, how greatly shall I need a monitor like you! Sensible of my own imperfections, I look forward with diffidence and apprehension, blended with pleasing hopes, to this new and untried state!

Your experienced pen can teach me how to discharge the duties, divide the cares, and enjoy the pleasures, peculiar to the station on which I am entering. Pray extend your benevolence, and communicate your sentiments on female deportment in the connubial relation. Practising upon such a model, I may still be worthy the appellation, which it will ever be my ambition to deserve, of your affectionate friend and pupil,

HARRIOT HENLY.

146

To Miss HARRIOT HENLY.

Harmony-Grove.

Indeed, my dear Harriot, you are making an important change of situation; a change interesting to you and your friends; a change which involves not only your own happiness, but the happiness of the worthy man whom you have chosen; of the family, over which you are to preside; and perhaps, too, of that with which you are to be connected.

I rejoice to hear that this connexion, on which so much depends, is not hastily formed; but that it is the result of long acquaintance, is founded on merit, and consolidated by esteem. From characters like yours, mutually deserving and excellent, brilliant examples of conjugal virtue and felicity may be expected. Yet as human nature is imperfect, liable to errors, and apt to deviate from the line of rectitude and propriety, a monitorial guide may be expedient and useful. Your partiality has led you to request this boon of me; but diffidence of my own abilities compels me to decline the arduous task. Nevertheless, I have it happily in my power to recommend an abler instructor, who has written professedly upon the subject. The American Spectator, or Matrimonial Preceptor, lately published by Mr. David West, of Boston, contains all you can 147wish. The judicious compiler has collected and arranged his materials with admirable skill and address. Peruse this book, and you will be at no loss for counsels to direct, and cautions to guard you through the intricate cares and duties of the connubial life. The essays are, chiefly, extracted from the most approved English writers. The productions of so many able pens, properly disposed, and exhibited in a new and agreeable light, must not only be entertaining, but useful to every reader of taste and judgment. I wish this publication to be considered as a necessary piece of furniture by every housekeeper. The editor has certainly deserved well of his country; and Hymen should crown him with unfading garlands.

I shall visit you, my dear Harriot, after the happy knot (for such I flatter myself it will prove) is tied. In the mean time, I subscribe myself, with the most ardent wishes for your prosperity and happiness, your sincere friend,

MARY WILLIAMS.

To Miss CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

Newburyport.

What think you of wit, Cleora? If you estimate it by the worth of your own, you think 148it an invaluable jewel. But this jewel is variously set. Yours is in the pure sterling gold of good sense: yet, as displayed by some, it glistens on the mere tinsel of gaiety, which will not bear the scrutinizing eye of judgment.

Yesterday I received a visit from a young lady, lately moved into this neighbourhood, who is reputed a wit. Her conversation reminded me of Pope’s satirical remark:

“There are, whom Heaven has bless’d with store of wit;

But want as much again to manage it.”

I found her’s to consist in smart sayings, lively repartees, and ludicrous allusions.

So strong was her propensity to display this talent, that she could not resist any temptation which offered, though it led her to offend against the rules of politeness and generosity. As some persons of real genius were present, topics of literature and morality were discussed. Upon these she was mute as a statue; but whenever the playfulness of her fancy could find a subject, she was extremely loquacious. This induced me to suspect that the brilliance of her imagination had dazzled her understanding, and rendered her negligent of the more solid and useful acquisitions of the mind.

Is it not often the case, that those who are distinguished by any superior endowment, whether personal or mental, are too much elated by the consciousness of their pre-eminence, 149and think it sufficient to counterbalance every deficiency?

This, Mrs. Williams used to say, is owing to the want of self-knowledge; which, if once possessed, will enable us properly to estimate our own characters, and to ascertain with precision wherein we are defective, as well as wherein we excel. But it is the misfortune of us, young people, that we seldom attain this valuable science, till we have experienced many of the ills which result from the want of it. Ambition, vanity, flattery, or some such dazzling meteor, engrosses our attention, and renders us blind to more important qualifications.

But to return to this same wit, of which I was speaking. It is certainly a very dangerous talent, when imprudently managed. None that we can possess tends so directly to excite enmity, or destroy friendship.

An ill-natured wit is of all characters the most universally dreaded. People of this description are always feared, but rarely loved. Humanity and benevolence are essentially necessary to render wit agreeable. Accompanied by these, it cannot fail to please and entertain.

“Wit, how delicious to man’s dainty taste!

’Tis precious as the vehicle of sense;

But as its substitute, a dire disease!

Pernicious talent! flatter’d by mankind,

Yet hated too.————————

Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound;

When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam;

150Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still.

Wit, widow’d of good sense, is worse than naught;

It hoists more sail to run against a rock.”

But I believe I cannot give a better proof of my own wit, than to conclude this scribble before your patience is quite exhausted by the perusal. Adieu.

CAROLINE LITTLETON.

To Miss HARRIOT HENLY.

Harmony-Grove.

DEAR HARRIOT,

The first moment which I have been able to snatch from the affectionate embraces of my honored mamma, and my dear sister Maria, is devoted to you. Judging by the anxious solicitude of my own heart, I know you are impatient to hear of my safe arrival. It is needless to tell you how cordially I was received. You have witnessed the mutual tenderness which actuates our domestic circle. Where this is the governing principle, it is peculiarly interesting to sensibility. It is extremely exhilarating to the mind to revisit, after the shortest absence, the place of our nativity and juvenile happiness. “There is something so seducing 151in that spot, in which we first had our existence, that nothing but it can please. Whatever vicissitudes we experience in life, however we toil, or wheresoever we wander, our fatigued wishes still recur to home for tranquillity. We long to die in that spot which gave us birth, and in that pleasing expectation opiate every calamity.”^[2]

The satisfaction of returning home, however, has not obliterated the pleasure which I enjoyed on my visit to you. Does not a change of scene and situation contribute to the happiness of life? The natural love of this variety seems wisely implanted in the human breast; for it enables us to accommodate ourselves with facility to the different circumstances in which we are placed. I believe that no pleasures make so deep an impression on the memory, as those of the first and most innocent period of our lives. With what apparent delight do persons, advanced in years, re-trace their puerile feats and diversions! “The hoary head looks back with a smile of complacency, mixed with regret, on the season when health glowed on the cheek, when lively spirits warmed the heart, and when toil strung the nerves with vigour.”^[3]

The pleasures of childhood and youth, when regulated by parental wisdom, and sweetened by filial affection and obedience, must be grateful to the recollection at any age: and for this 152plain reason, because innocence and simplicity are their leading traits. How soothing, how animating, then, must be reflection, at the evening of a life, wholly spent in virtue and rectitude!

Pope observes that “Every year is a critique on the last. The man despises the boy, the philosopher the man, and the Christian all.” Happy are those who can take a retrospect of all, with the supporting consciousness that each part has been rightly performed! Adieu.

ANNA WILLIAMS.

To Miss MATILDA FIELDING.

Boston.

I am impatient for an opportunity of returning your civilities, my dear Matilda; and if possible, of repaying you some part of the pleasure, which you so liberally afforded me, during my late visit to your hospitable mansion. For this purpose, I must insist on the performance of your promise to spend the winter in town. It is true that I cannot contribute to your amusement in kind. Yet, according to the generally received opinion, that 153variety is necessary to the enjoyment of life, we may find ours mutually heightened by the exchange. Delightful rambles, and hours of contemplative solitude, free from the interruptions of formality and fashion, I cannot insure; but you may depend on all that friendship and assiduity can substitute; and while the bleak winds are howling abroad, a cheerful fireside, and a social circle, may dispel the gloom of the season. The pleasures of our family are very local. Few are sought, in which the understanding and affections can have no share. For this reason, a select, not a promiscuous acquaintance is cultivated. And however unfashionable our practice may be deemed, we can find entertainment, even in the dull hours of winter, without recourse to cards. Almost every other recreation affords some exercise and improvement to the body or mind, or both; but from this neither can result. The whole attention is absorbed by the game. Reason lies dormant, and the passions only are awake. However little is depending, the parties are frequently as much agitated by hope and fear, as if their all were at stake. It is difficult for the vanquished not to feel chagrin; while the victors are gratified at the expense of their friends. But the principal objection with me, is the utter exclusion of conversation; a source of pleasure, and of profit too, for which I can admit nothing as an equivalent. Winter evenings are peculiarly adapted to this rational and refined entertainment. Deprived of 154that variety of scenery, and those beauties of nature, which the vernal and autumnal seasons exhibit, we are obliged to have recourse to the fireside for comfort. Here we have leisure to collect our scattered ideas, and to improve, by social intercourse, and the exertion of our mental powers.

Our sex are often rallied on their volubility: and, for myself, I frankly confess, that I am so averse to taciturnity, and so highly prize the advantages of society and friendship, that I had rather plead guilty to the charge than relinquish them.

“Hast thou no friend to set thy mind a-broach?

Good sense will stagnate. Thoughts shut up, want air,

And spoil, like bales unopen’d to the sun.

Had thought been all, sweet speech had been deny’d;

Speech, thought’s canal! Speech, thought’s criterion too.

Thought, in the mine, may come forth gold or dross;

When coin’d in word, we know its real worth:

If sterling, store it for thy future use;

’Twill buy thee benefit, perhaps renown.

Thought, too, deliver’d, is the more possess’d;

Teaching, we learn; and giving, we retain

The births of intellect: when dumb, forgot.

Speech ventilates our intellectual fire:

Speech burnishes our mental magazine:

Brightens for ornament, and whets for use.”

Come then, Matilda, participate the pleasures, and accelerate the improvement, of your affectionate friend,

LAURA GUILFORD.

155

To Miss LAURA GUILFORD.

Beverly.

DEAR LAURA,

Yours of the 9th ult. has just come to hand. It gave me renewed experience of the truth of the observation, that next to the personal presence and conversation, is the epistolary correspondence of a friend. I am preparing, with the most lively sensations of pleasure, to gratify my own wishes, and comply with your polite invitation. The romantic beauty of the rural scenes has forsaken me; and what can so amply compensate for their absence, as the charms you offer?

I envy you nothing which the town affords, but the advantages you derive from the choice of society adapted to your own taste. Your sentiments of the fashionable diversion of card-playing, are, in my view, perfectly just. I believe that many people join in it, because it is the ton, rather than from any other motive. And as such persons generally pay the greatest deference to Lord Chesterfield’s opinions and maxims, I have often wondered how they happened to overlook, or disregard his animadversions upon this subject; and have felt a strong inclination to tell them, that this all-accomplished master of politeness, and oracle of pleasure, expressly says, “All amusements, 156where neither the understanding nor the senses can have the least share, I look upon as frivolous, and the resources of little minds, who either do not think, or do not love to think.”

We had a pretty party here, last evening; and a party it literally was; for it consisted entirely of ladies. This singular circumstance was remarked by one of the company, who, at least, pretended to think it agreeable, because, said she, we can now speak without restraint, or the fear of criticism. I confess that I was not prude enough to acquiesce in her opinion.

Ladies of delicacy and refinement will not countenance or support a conversation, which gentlemen of sense and sentiment can disapprove. As each were formed for social beings, and depend on the other for social happiness, I imagine that society receives its greatest charm from a mutual interchange of sentiment and knowledge.

“Both sexes are reciprocal instruments of each other’s improvement. The rough spirit of the one is tempered by the gentleness of the other, which has likewise its obligations to that spirit. Men’s sentiments contract a milder turn in the company of women, who, on the other hand, find their volatility abated in that of the men. Their different qualities, intermingling, form a happy symphony. From their intimate conjunction, their real advantages must be common and inseparable; and as for those ridiculous wranglings about superiority, they may be reckoned insults to nature, 157and betray a want of a due sense of its wise and gracious dispensations.”^[4]

Many ladies affect to think it inconsistent with female reserve, to acknowledge themselves pleased with the company of the other sex; but while such are the objects and advantages of a mixed society, I blush not to own myself desirous of its cultivation. Adieu.

MATILDA FIELDING.

To Miss CAROLINE LITTLETON.

Boston.

DEAR CAROLINE,

I take the liberty to send you Bennet’s Letters. When my mamma put them into my hand, Sophia, said she, I recommend this book to your attentive perusal. It highly deserves it, and will richly reward your labour. You have, indeed, completed your school education; but you have much yet to learn. Improvements in knowledge are necessarily progressive. The human mind is naturally active and eager in pursuit of information; which 158we have various and continual means of accumulating: but never will you have a more favourable opportunity for the cultivation of your mind, than you now enjoy. You are now free from those domestic cares and avocations, which may hereafter fall to your lot, and occupy most of your time. Speculation must then give place to practice. Be assiduous, therefore, to increase the fund, that it may yield you a competent interest, and afford you a constant resource of support and enjoyment.

With these words she withdrew, while I was still listening to the sweet accents of maternal tenderness and discretion, which vibrated on my ear, even after her departure.

I find it worthy the recommendation of so good a judge. As a moral writer, the precepts and observations of its author are excellent; as a religious one, his piety is exemplary, and his instructions improving. His selection of books, which he deems most proper for our sex, though too numerous, perhaps, may, notwithstanding, assist and direct the young in their course of reading.

Who would not imitate his Louisa? In her he has forcibly displayed the beauties of an amiable disposition, and the advantages which even that may derive from a virtuous and religious education.

These letters are not scholastic and elaborate dissertations; they are addressed to the heart; they are the native language of affection: and they can hardly fail to instil the love 159of virtue into every mind susceptible of its charms.

If you have not read them, I will venture to predict that they will afford you entertainment, as well as instruction; and if you have, they will bear a second perusal. Indeed, every valuable book should be re-perused. On a first reading, our curiosity to know something of all it contains, hurries us forward with a rapidity which outstrips both the memory and judgment.

When this predominant passion is gratified, an attentive review will commonly furnish many useful and important lessons, which had nearly or quite escaped our notice before.

This, by some, is deemed too laborious a task. They prefer company and conversation to reading of any kind; and allege, in defence of their opinion, that a knowledge of the world, and of human nature, together with that ease and gracefulness of manners, which are of the utmost consequence to all who would make a respectable figure in life, are much better obtained in this way, than by the cold and unimpassioned perusal of books.

But is not every acquisition of this sort merely superficial? Need we not a guide, superior to our own judgment and experience, to point out the line of duty and propriety, in the various conditions and relations of our existence?

Our acquaintance with living characters and manners can afford us but a very limited view 160of mankind, in the different periods and stages of society. The inquisitive mind labours to extend its knowledge to the most distant climes and remote antiquity; and craves other materials for the exercise of its reflecting powers, than can be derived from occasional and desultory conversation. Now, by what means can this laudable curiosity be so effectually satisfied, as by the perusal of judicious and well chosen books? Not that I would depreciate the value of good company (for I esteem it highly;) but add its many advantages to those which reading affords. This combination must have a happy tendency to give us possession, both of the virtues and graces; and to render our attainments at once solid and ornamental.

What think you, Caroline? Do you agree with me in opinion? Let me hear from you by the first opportunity; and believe me yours most sincerely.

SOPHIA MANCHESTER.

To Miss SOPHIA MANCHESTER.

Newburyport.

I thank you, my dear friend, for the book you were so obliging as to send me; and for 161the letter which accompanied it. The book I had read; but as you justly observe, I must be a gainer by a second perusal.

Upon the subject of reading, I perfectly accord with you in sentiment. It is an amusement, of which I was always enthusiastically fond. Mrs. Williams regulated my taste; and, by directing and maturing my judgment, taught me to make it a source of refined and substantial pleasure. I do not wish to pursue study as a profession, nor to become a learned lady; but I would pay so much attention to it, as to taste the delights of literature, and be qualified to bear a part in rational and improving conversation. Indeed, I would treasure up such a fund of useful knowledge, as may properly direct my course through life, and prove an antidote against the vexations and disappointments of the world. I think, Sophia, that our sex stand in special need of such a resource to beguile the solitary hours which a domestic station commonly imposes. Is it not for the want of this that some females furnish a pretext for the accusation (which is illiberally brought against all) of having recourse to scandal, and the sallies of indelicate mirth? Conversation requires a perpetual supply of materials from the mind: and accordingly as the mind has been cultivated or neglected, dignified or degrading subjects will be introduced.

I received a letter yesterday from our lively and lovely friend, Anna Williams. How 162delightfully blended in this charming girl, are vivacity and sentiment, ease and propriety. Adieu.

CAROLINE LITTLETON.

To Miss MARIA WILLIAMS.

Boston.

So often, my dear Maria, has the pen of the divine, the moralist, and the novelist been employed on the subject of female frailty and seduction; and so pathetically has each described the folly and misery of the fatal delusion which involves many in disgrace, that I am astonished when I see those, who have the best means of information, heedlessly sacrificing their reputation, peace and happiness to the specious arts of the libertine! In this case it is common for our sex to rail against the other, and endeavor to excite the pity of the world by painting the advantage which has been taken of their credulity and weakness. But are we not sufficiently apprised of the enemies we have to encounter? And have we not adequate motives to circumspection and firmness?

163I am generally an advocate for my own sex—but when they suffer themselves to fall a prey to seducers, their pusillanimity admits no excuse. I am bold to affirm that every woman, by behaving with propriety on all occasions, may not only resist temptation, but repel the first attempts upon her honor and virtue.

That levity of deportment, which invites and encourages designers, ought studiously to be avoided. Flattery and vanity are two of the most dangerous foes to the sex. A fondness for admiration insensibly throws off their guard, and leads them to listen and give credit to the professions of those who lie in wait to deceive.

The following remarks, though severe, perhaps can hardly be deemed inconsistent with the character which their author assumes.^[5] “Women would do well to forbear their declamations against the falsity and wickedness of men; the fault is theirs, to fall into such coarse-spun snares as are laid for them.

“That servile obsequiousness which woman should immediately look upon as the mark of fraud, and which should make them apprehend a surprise, is the very thing which allures them, and renders them soon the victims of perjury and inconstancy; the just punishment of a disposition which fixes their inclinations on superficial qualities. It is this 164disposition which draws after them a crowd of empty fops, who if they have any meaning at all, it is only to deceive. Something pleasing in a man’s person, a giddy air, a perpetual levity, supply the place of valuable endowments.”

A recent and singular adventure has rendered observations of this sort peculiarly striking to my mind; which may account for the subject and the length of this letter.

I will give you a detail of it, though I must conceal the real names of the parties concerned.

Yesterday, the weather being very fine, and the sleighing excellent, several of our family, with two or three friends, were induced to make an excursion a few miles in the country. We stopped at a house which had formerly been a tavern, and in which we had often been well entertained on similar occasions. As we were in haste to receive the benefit of a good fire, we did not notice the removal of the sign, nor advert to the possibility of its being converted into a private mansion. Being very cold, I stepped first out of the sleigh and ran hastily in; leaving the gentlemen to exercise their gallantry with the other ladies. The room I entered had no fire. I therefore opened the door which led to the next apartment, when I beheld the beautiful and admired Clarinda sitting in an easy chair, pale and wan, with an infant in her arms! I stood mute and motionless, till the woman of the house appeared, 165to conduct me to another room. Confusion and shame were visibly depicted in Clarinda’s countenance; and, unable to meet my eye, she threw her handkerchief over her face, and fell back in the chair.

I followed the good woman, and apologising for my intrusion, told her the cause. She recollected my having been there before, and readily excused my freedom.

By this time the rest of the company, who had been shown into a decent parlour, were inquiring for me; and I could scarcely find opportunity to request my conductress to ask Clarinda’s forgiveness in my name, and to assure her of my silence, before I had joined them. I assumed an appearance of cheerfulness very foreign to the feelings of my heart, and related my mistake without any mention of the melancholy discovery I had made. We prevailed on the woman to accommodate us with tea and coffee, as we wished to ride no further. While preparations were making she came in to lay the table, and as she withdrew, gave me a token to follow her; when she informed me that Clarinda had been extremely overcome by my detecting her situation, but being somewhat recovered desired a private interview. I accordingly repaired to her apartment, where I found her bathed in tears. Pity operated in my breast, and with an air of tenderness I offered her my hand; but she withheld hers, exclaiming in broken accents, O no! I am polluted—I have forfeited your 166friendship—I am unworthy even of your compassion.

I begged her to be calm, and promised her that she should suffer no inconvenience from my knowledge of her condition.

She thanked me for my assurances, and subjoined that, since she knew the candor and generosity of my disposition, she would entrust me with every circumstance relative to her shameful fall; when, after a considerable pause, she proceeded nearly in the following words.

“Though our acquaintance has been for some time suspended, and though we have lived in different parts of the town, yet common fame has doubtless informed you that I was addressed by the gay, and to me, too charming Florimel! To the most captivating form, he superadded the winning graces of politeness, and all those insinuating arts which imperceptibly engage the female heart.

“His flattering attentions, and apparent ardour of affection, were to my inexperienced and susceptible mind, proofs of his sincerity; and the effusions of the most lively passion, were returned with unsuspecting confidence.

“My father, strict in his principles, and watchful for my real welfare, disapproved his suit; alleging that although Florimel was calculated to please in the gayer moments of life, he was nevertheless destitute of those sentiments of religion and virtue, which are essentially requisite to durable felicity. But I 167could not be persuaded that he lacked any perfection which maturer years would not give him; and therefore finding my attachment unconquerable, my father reluctantly acquiesced in the proposed connexion. My ill-judged partiality for this ungenerous man absorbed every other passion and pursuit; while he took advantage of my yielding fondness, and assumed liberties which I knew to be inconsistent, with delicacy, but had not resolution to repel. One encroachment succeeded another, and every concession was claimed and granted as a proof of love, till at length he became absolute master of my will and my person. Shame and remorse soon roused me to a sense of my guilt, and I demanded an immediate performance of his promise of marriage. This, under one pretext or another, he constantly evaded. His visits daily became less frequent, and his attentions less assiduous—while the most poignant anguish of mind deprived me of every comfort. I found myself reduced to the humiliating alternative of entreating my seducer to screen me from infamy by the name of wife, though he should never consider or treat me as such. To this he insultingly replied, that my situation must necessarily detect our illicit commerce; and his pride could never brook the reputation of having a wife whose chastity had been sacrificed. As soon as rage and resentment, which at first took from me the power of utterance, would permit, Wretch! exclaimed I, is it not 168to you the sacrifice has been made? Who but you has triumphed over my virtue, and subjected me to the disgrace and wretchedness I now suffer? Was it not in token of my regard for you that I yielded to your solicitations? And is this the requital I am to receive? Base, ungrateful man! I despise your meanness! I detest the ungenerous disposition you betray, and henceforth reject all intercourse and society with you! I will throw myself on the mercy of my injured parents, and renounce you forever.

“Seeing me almost frantic, he endeavored to soothe and appease me. He apologized for the harshness of his language, and even made professions of unabated affection; but gave as a reason for deferring the conjugal union, at present, that commercial affairs obliged him to sail immediately for Europe; assuring me at the same time that on his return he would not fail to renew and consummate the connexion. To this I gave no credit, and therefore made no reply. He then requested me to accept a purse to defray my expenses, during his absence, which I rejected with disdain; and he departed. The distress and despair of my mind were inexpressible. For some days I resigned myself entirely to the agonizing pangs of grief. My parents imputed my dejection to Florimel’s departure, and strove to console me. It was not long, however, before my mother discovered the real cause. In her, resentment gave place to compassion; 169but the anger of my father could not be appeased. He absolutely forbade me his presence for some time; but my mother at length prevailed on him to see, and assure me of forgiveness and restoration to favor, if I would consent to renounce and disown my child; to which, not then knowing the force of maternal affection, I readily consented. This place was privately procured for me, and hither, under pretence of spending a month or two with a friend in the country, I retired. To-morrow my dear babe is to be taken from me! It is to be put to nurse, I know not where! All I am told is, that it shall be well taken care of! Constantly will its moans haunt my imagination, while I am deprived even of the hope of ministering to its wants; but must leave it to execrate the hour which gave it birth, and deprive it of a parent’s attention and kindness.

“As soon as possible, I shall return to my father’s house; and as I am unknown here, and you are the only person, out of our family, who shares the dreadful secret, I flatter myself that my crime may still be concealed from the world. The reproaches of my own mind I can never escape. Conscious guilt will give the aspect of accusation to every eye that beholds me; and however policy may compel me to wear the mask of gaiety and ease, my heart will be wrung with inexpressible anguish by the remembrance of my folly, and always alive to the distressing sensations 170of remorse and shame! Oh Julia! you have witnessed my disgrace! pity and forgive me! Perhaps I once appeared as virtuous and respectable as you now do; but how changed! how fallen! how debased! Learn from my fate to despise the flattery of the worthless coxcomb, and the arts of the abandoned libertine.”

By this time I was summoned to tea; when giving all the consolation in my power to the unhappy Clarinda, I rejoined my company; and to prevent their inquisitiveness about my absence, told them I had been with a sick woman, upon whom I had accidentally intruded when I first came in; and that she had detained me, all this time, by a recital of her complaints and misfortunes. This account satisfied their curiosity; but the melancholy into which my mind had been thrown, was not easily dissipated; nor could I, without doing violence to my feelings, put on the appearance of my usual cheerfulness and ease.

Here my dear Maria, is a picture of the frailty and weakness of our sex! How much reason have we then to “watch, and pray, that we enter not into temptation!”

With affectionate regards to your mamma and sister, I subscribe myself yours most sincerely,

JULIA GREENFIELD.

171

To Miss JULIA GREENFIELD.

Harmony-grove.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

I was much affected by the wo-fraught tale which you gave me in your last. We cannot too much regret that such instances of duplicity and folly are ever exhibited. They are alike disgraceful to both sexes, and demonstrate the debasing and fatal tendency of the passions, when suffered to predominate.

Your observations upon our sex I believe to be just, though many would probably deem them severe. However, I think it not much to the honor of the masculine character, which the God of nature designed for a defence and safeguard to female virtue and happiness, to take advantage of the tender affection of the unsuspecting and too credulous fair; and, in return for her love and confidence, perfidiously to destroy her peace of mind, and deprive her of that reputation which might have rendered her a useful and ornamental member of society. True, we ought to take warning by such examples of treachery and deceit; yet how much more conducive to the honor and happiness of our species, were there no occasion 172to apprehend such ungenerous requitals of our sincerity and frankness.

Yesterday, my mamma took the liberty to read that part of your letter, which contains the story of Clarinda, to her pupils, and to make such comments upon it as the subject suggested; during which we could not but observe the extreme emotion of one of the misses, a most amiable girl of about sixteen. When the paragraph respecting Clarinda’s disowning her child was read, she hastily rose and in broken accents begged leave to withdraw. This was granted without any inquiry into the cause; though our curiosity, as you may well suppose, was much excited. After we were dismissed, my mamma prevailed on her to tell the reason of her agitation.

“I am,” said she, “the illegitimate offspring of parents, whom I am told are people of fortune and fashion. The fear of disgrace overcame the dictates of natural affection, and induced my mother to abandon me in my infancy. She accordingly gave me away, with a large sum of money, which she vainly imagined would procure me kind and good treatment. But unhappily for me the people to whom I was consigned, availed themselves of their security from inspection and inquiry, abused the trust reposed in them, and exposed me to the greatest hardships. As they were persons of vulgar minds and unfeeling hearts, they did not commiserate my friendless condition. My quick sensibility incurred their displeasure or 173derision. I was often insultingly reproached with the misfortune of my birth; while the tears which these ungenerous reflections extorted from me, were either mocked or punished. I had a thirst for knowledge; but they allowed me no time for acquiring it, alleging they could not support me in idleness, but that I must earn my living as they did theirs, by hard labor. Oppressed by these insults, I bore the galling yoke of their authority with the utmost impatience. When screened from observation, my tears flowed without restraint; and the idea of my parents’ cruelty, in thus subjecting me to infamy and wretchedness, continually haunted my imagination. Sometimes I fancied my mother in view, and exposing my tattered raiment, expostulated with her concerning the indignities I suffered, and the unreasonable hardship of leaving me to bear all the punishment of my guilty birth! At other times I painted to myself a father, in some gentleman of pleasing aspect; and fondly indulged the momentary transport of throwing myself at the feet of one, whom I could call by that venerable and endearing name! Too soon, however, did the reverse of parental tenderness awake me from my delusive reveries.

“In this manner I lingered away my existence, till I was twelve years old; when going one day to the house of a gentleman in the neighborhood, to which I was often sent to sell herbs, and other trifles, I was directed 174into the parlor, where the most beautiful sight in nature opened to my view; while the contrast between my own situation, and that of children blessed with affectionate parents, gave me the most painful sensations. The lady of the house was surrounded by her four sons, the eldest of whom was reading lessons, which she most pathetically inculcated upon all. As the door was open, I stood some minutes unobserved; and was so delighted with the tender accents in which her instructions were imparted, and the cheerful obedience with which they were received, that I had no disposition to interrupt them.

“At length I was seen, and bid to come in. But when questioned about my errand I was so absorbed in the contemplation of maternal and filial love, exhibited in this happy group, that my tongue refused utterance, and I burst into tears. The children gathered around and inquired what ailed the poor little girl? But when the lady took me by the hand, and kindly asked what was the matter, I could not restrain or conceal my feelings. When my tears had relieved me, I related the cause of my grief; describing my own situation, and the effect which its contrast had produced on my mind.

“She was affected by my story, and seemed pleased with my sensibility; while the children lamented my misfortunes, and artlessly requested their mamma to let me come and live with them.

175“Little did I then expect so great a favor; but to my surprise as well as joy, Mrs. ——, the lady of whom I have been speaking, and by whom I am put under your care, came a few days after, and asked the people where I lived, if they were willing to part with me. By their consent she took me home, and has ever since treated me like a child.

“I am now happy beyond expression. My gratitude to my benefactress, who, guided by a wise and good Providence, has snatched me from obscurity and misery, and given me so many advantages for improvement, is unbounded.

“But the idea that any helpless innocent should be unnaturally exposed to the sufferings which I have experienced, is insupportably distressing to my imagination.

“Let my story, if possible, be told to Clarinda, that she may be induced to have compassion upon her defenceless offspring.”

You are at liberty, therefore, my dear Julia, to make what use you please of this letter. I shall make no comments upon the subject of it, nor add any thing more to its length, but that I am affectionately yours.

MARIA WILLIAMS.

176

To Miss ANNA WILLIAMS.

Salem.

Dear Anna,

My contemplated visit to Harmony-Grove must be deferred. A severe illness has lately confined my mamma to her chamber. This claimed all my time and attention, and called me to a new scene of care; that of a family which I was obliged to superintend during her indisposition. Her recovery has, at length, restored tranquillity and joy to our abode; but she has not yet resumed the direction of her household affairs. To this, she tells me she is reconciled by the hope that experience may render me an adept in domestic economy. Indeed, Anna, I think this an essential branch of female education; and I question whether it can be acquired by mere speculation. To me it is plain that every lady ought to have some practice in the management of a family, before she takes upon herself the important trust.

Do not many of the mistakes and infelicities of life arise from a deficiency in this point?

Young ladies of fashion are not obliged to 177the task, and have too seldom any inclination to perform duties which require so much time and attention; and with which, perhaps, they have injudiciously been taught to connect the idea of servility. Hence it is, that when called to preside over families, they commit many errors, during their novitiate, at least, which are alike detrimental to their interest and happiness. How necessary is it, then, to avoid this complication of evils by a seasonable application to those offices of housewifery, which may one day become our province.

Early rising, I find a great assistance in my present occupation. It is almost incredible how much may be gained by a diligent improvement of those hours which are but too commonly lost in sleep. I arose this morning with the dawn. The serenity of the sky and the fragrance of the air invited me abroad. The calmness which universally prevailed served to tranquillize my mind, while the receding shades of night, and the rising beams of day, formed a contrasted assemblage of the beautiful, the splendid, the solemn, and the sublime. The silence which pervaded the surrounding scenery was interrupted only by the melody of the feathered songsters, who seemed to rejoice in this undisturbed opportunity of praising their maker. My heart expanded with gratitude and love to the all-bountiful Author of nature; and so absorbed was I in the most delightful meditations, that I saw with regret the hour approaching which 178must again call me to the active duties of domestic and social life. These however, are objects of real moment, and cannot innocently be disregarded. They give a relish to amusement, and even to devotion, which neither the dissipated nor the recluse can know. Adieu.

CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

To Miss HARRIOT HENLY.

Beverly.

DEAR HARRIOT,

I sincerely thank you for your affectionate letter, by the last post, and for the book with which it was accompanied. The very title is sufficient to rouse the feelings and attract the attention of the patriotic mind. Beacon-Hill claims a conspicuous place in the history of our country. The subject of this poem must be highly interesting to every true American; while the genius it displays cannot fail to gratify every poetical taste. Philenia’s talents justly entitle her to a rank among the literary ornaments of Columbia.

179I have been reviewing Millot’s Elements of Ancient and Modern History; and recommend it to your re-perusal. It is undoubtedly the most useful compendium extant. The tedious minuteness and prolix details of sieges and battles, negotiations and treaties, which fatigue the reader and oppress the memory in most works of the kind, are happily avoided in this; while the elegance, simplicity, conciseness and perspicuity of the style, render it intelligible to every capacity, and pleasing to every taste. To those who have a relish for history, but want leisure to give full scope, Millot is well calculated to afford both information and entertainment. It is an objection, commonly made by our sex to studies of this nature, that they are dry and elaborate; that they yield little or no exercise to the more sprightly faculties of the mind; that the attention is confined to an uninteresting and barren detail of facts, while the imagination pants in vain for the flowery wreaths of decoration.

This is a plausible excuse for those who read only for amusement, and are willing to sacrifice reason, and the enlargement of their minds, to the gaudy phantom of a day; but it can never be satisfactory to the person, who wishes to combine utility with pleasure, and dignity with relaxation.

History improves the understanding, and furnishes a knowledge of human nature and human events, which may be useful as well 180as ornamental through life. “History,” says the late celebrated Gauganelli, “brings together all ages and all mankind in one point of view. Presenting a charming landscape to the mental eye, it gives colour to the thoughts, soul to the actions, and life to the dead; and brings them upon the stage of the world, as if they were again living; but with this difference, that it is not to flatter, but to judge them.”

The duties and avocations of our sex will not often admit of a close and connected course of reading. Yet a general knowledge of the necessary subjects may undoubtedly be gained even in our leisure hours; provided we bestow them not on works of mere taste and fancy, but on the perusal of books calculated to enrich the understanding with durable acquisitions.

The sincerest wishes for your health and happiness glow in the breast of your affectionate

MATILDA FIELDING.

181

To Miss MARIA WILLIAMS.

BOSTON.

MY DEAR MARIA,

Since I wrote you last, I have made an agreeable visit to my good friend Sylvia Star. After rambling in the fields and gardens till we were fatigued, we went into her brother’s library. He was in a studious attitude, but gave us a polite reception. We are come, Amintor, said I. Be so kind as to furnish us with some instructive page, which combines entertainment and utility; and while it informs the mind, delights the imagination. I am not happy enough to know your taste respecting books, said he; and therefore, may not make a proper selection. Here, however, is an author highly spoken of by a lady who has lately added to the number of literary publications; handing me Sterne’s Sentimental Journey. I closed and returned the book. You have, indeed, mistaken my taste, said I. Wit, blended with indelicacy, never meets my approbation. While the fancy is allured, and the passions awakened, by this pathetic humourist, the foundations of virtue are insidiously undermined, and modest dignity insensibly betrayed. Well, said he, smilingly, perhaps you 182are seriously inclined. If so, this volume of sermons may possibly please you. Still less, rejoined I. The serious mind must turn with disgust from the levity which pervades these discourses, and from the indecent flow of mirth and humour, which converts even the sacred writings, and the most solemn subjects of religion, into frolic and buffoonery. Since such is your opinion of this celebrated writer, said he, I will not insult your feelings by offering you his Tristram Shandy. But here is another wit, famous for his “purity.” Yes, said I, if obscene and vulgar ideas, if ill-natured remarks and filthy allusions by purity, Swift undoubtedly bears the palm from all his contemporaries. As far as grammatical correctness and simplicity of language can deserve the epithet, his advocates may enjoy their sentiments unmolested; but in any other sense of the word, he has certainly no claim to “purity.” I conceive his works, notwithstanding, to be much less pernicious in their tendency, than those of Sterne. They are not so enchanting in their nature, nor so subtle in their effects. In the one, the noxious insinuations of licentious wit are concealed under the artful blandishments of sympathetic sensibility; while we at once recoil from the rude assault which is made upon our delicacy, by the roughness and vulgarity of the other.