LETTER I. To MISS LUCY —

THOUGH I myself have sustained an heavy loss by the death of your excellent mother, who lived so much in my friendship and esteem, and by her letters and society had conferred upon me some of the sweetest pleasures in human life, yet you alas! are the principal sufferer by this afflict­ing dispensation. It would give me the sincerest pleasure, if I knew how to alleviate your grief, or afford you a single moment's consolation.

I need not press on you the doctrines of religion. You have, doubtless, considered who it is, that has deprived you of this invaluable parent; a God of infinite wisdom, who never strikes, but at the sittest moment; a God of equal goodness, who without the strongest reasons, would not afflict, [Page 2]and a being of unbounded power, who is abund­antly able to make up your loss, and open to you a thousand sources of comfort.

Christianity should exclude all unreasonable sor­row. If we believe that our friends are dead in God; we know that this life is only a vapour; that our separation is but for a moment, and that we shall soon be restored to them in a world, where life is without pain, and where friendship is im­mortal.

Though you are, in the literal sense, an orphan, yet the number of friends, to whom you are so justly dear, will render your situation neither soli­tary, nor defenceless. The sensible, the elegant and the good will think themselves honoured by your acquaintance. They will give you credit for inheriting all the amiable qualities of a mother, who was revered, as far as known, whilst nature has so strongly imprinted, on your face, the resem­blance of her features.

The scene is still fresh upon my memory, when, in her last moments, she so strongly recommended you to my protection. And though she paid a compliment to my abilities, which only a partial friendship could have excited, she did nothing more than strict justice to the warmth of my affec­tion. I shall really think myself complimented by your correspondence. If you will call me father or brother, you will give an unusual lustre to my name. This fond heart shall vibrate to your wish­es and your happiness: and, if you will occasion­ally visit my little cot, it shall put on all its loveliest charms, and smile in all its gayest attire, to receive so dear and so amiable a stranger. The roses of my humble garden shall, if possible, be doubly [Page 3]sweet; my Jessamines shall emit an unusual fra­grance; and if nature will but obey, I will order the general scenery to be delightful.

We shall reap, I am assured, mutual benefits by this acquaintance. If I am able to communicate to you any little knowledge, you will more than repay it by that ease, delicacy, refinement, confi­dence and expansion, which the mind never effec­tually feels, but in the friendship of a sensible and an interesting woman. Such a friendship is the richest cordial of life. Either of the sexes with­out it, are never what they should be. Like the best figures, mutilated, they appear to disadvantage. Unnatural expedients may be tried to supply its place. Business, ambition, an over-strained pru­dence, or peculiar situations may lead us to deny ourselves so sweet a pleasure; but, in fact, all hu­man projects and successes are insipid without it. They are roseless thorns, a winter without a spring. Pleasures have not their relish, and sor­row wants a bosom to recline on. Our man­ners have not their proper softness; our morals their purity, and our souls feel an uncomfortable void.

They, who talk degradingly of women, do not know the value of the treasure they despise. They have not sufficient taste to relish their excellencies, or purity enough to court their acquaintance. They have taken the portrait of abandoned women, and they think the features applicable to all.

The softer sex, it is certain, are exceedingly in­jured by their education. If they were, what they should be, they are those lights in the picture of human life, that are intended to cheer all its dark­ness and its shades.

LETTER II.

THE education of women is unfortunately di­rected rather to such accomplishments, as will enable them to make a noise and sparkle in the world, than to those qualities, which might ensure their comfort here, and happiness hereafter. Board­ing schools consult but little those domestic qual­ifications, which are confessedly the highest point of usefulness in your sex, and still less that solid piety and virtue, which alone, to an intelligent crea­ture, can be the source of any real, heart-felt enjoy­ment.

Though religion is indispensably necessary to both sexes, and in every possible character and sta­tion, yet a woman seems, more puculiarly, to need its enlivening supports, whilst her frame must be confessed to be admirably calculated for the exer­cise of all the tender and devout affections.

The timidity, arising from the natural weakness and delicacy of your frame; the numerous disea­ses, to which you are liable; that exquisite sensi­bility, which in many of you, vibrate to the slight­est touch of joy or sorrow; the tremulous anxiety you have for friends, children, a family, which nothing can relieve, but a sense of their being un­der the protection of God; the sedentariness of your life, naturally followed with low spirits or ennui, whilst we are seeking health and pleasure in the field; and the many, lonely hours, which in almost every situation, are likely to be your lot, will expose you to a number of peculiar sorrows, [Page 5]which you cannot, like the men, either drown in wine, or divert by dissipation.

From the [...]a, that you become marriageable, the sphere of your anxieties and afflictions will be enlarged. The generality of men are far from act­ing on such strict principles of honour and integri­ty, in their connexions with you, as they would rigidly observe, in matters of a much more trivial importance. Some delight in sporting with your nicest sensibilities, and afterwards exposing with an illiberal triumph, the fondness of a credulous and unsuspecting heart; others, from fashion merely, and to be called men of gallantry, will say a thousand civil things, and shew as many prefer­ences, with no other view, than to amuse the mo­ment, or acquire a fantastic, visionary honour. A third sort of men (yes it is possible that there should be male coquettes!) will do and say every thing to inspire you with fondness, and get posses­sion of your heart, whithout proceeding to that ex­planation, which nature has intended to come from us, and which the delicacy of your sex, whatever you may suffer, will not permit you to demand. Others, without any particular designs upon you, or improper attentions, (for attachments spring up insensibly, and are as possible in one sex. as the other,) may be too agreeable for your safety and repose, and leave you to a silent, heartfelt concern, which will prey doubly in proportion to its conceal­ment —or even when the indissoluble knot of mar­riage is tied, and you have resigned every thing, till it comes to your name and person, it may be to a man of mere integrity, who knows nothing of those many, little, tender attentions, which involve so great a share of a woman's happiness—it may [Page 6]be to a person of great ambition, who has neither leisure nor inclination for soft domestic scenes—it may be to a fashionable Insipid, who, for the sake of flirting with some elegant fair, and giving your jealousy the wildest range, leaves your charms and the endearments of his children to perish in neg­lect—nay stakes, perhaps, his very last thousand on the uncertainty of game, when the unhappy throw may consign both you and your helpless babes to poverty and ruin—or it may be to a person of a peevish, ill-natured, saturnine cast, artfully con­cealed, till he had you in possession, which no at­tentions can alter, no charms can sweeten, and no vivacity can cheer. Under these, or indeed any other distresses, religion is the only true and unfail­ing resource, and its hopes and prospects, the only solid basis of consolation. In your many, solitary moments, what can afford the mind so sovereign a relief, as the exercise of devotion to an all-present God? and, when domestic sorrows cluster upon you, which you cannot reveal to any friend on earth, what method have you left, but to pour them into the bosom of your father in heaven, who is confessedly the friend of the friendless, always willing to hear their cries, and always able to protect.

The period, my dear girl, I trust, is distant, when such afflictions shall attack your glowing sensibility. They may come, however, when I am no more; when this tongue cannot give a word of comfort, nor these eyes drop a sympathizing tear. If they should, remember my advice, and let your friendship strew a few, purple flowers over the grave of

LETTER III.

I CONSIDERED devotion, in my last letter, only as an advantage for relieving solitude, or as the best resource under any afflictions. But it is, indeed, in itself one of the highest and most exqui­site pleas [...]; opening the mind to the sublimest contemplations, expanding it with the most de­lightful hopes, and soothing all its powers with feelings and consolations, that are infinitely be­yond the reach, the nature and the littleness of all human things.

There must be a thousand moments in the life of every person, that is not elevated by this devo­tion, when all earthly blessings will be cold and insipid, and the soul must feel an inexpressible lan­guor, though possessed of all the kingdoms of the world, and the glories of them.

Though some fanatics have made the love of God ridiculous by couching it in too sensual, rap­turous, or extravagant language, yet such a pas­sion there is, gro [...]nded on the most rational princi­ples, and springing from the purest source; with­out which our lives would frequently be misera­ble, and our duties, the formal, unanimated service of a body without a soul.

If we admire what is great, sublime and magni­ficent, on other occasions; if we love what is amiable, disinterested, benevolent and merciful in many of our fellow-creatures, whom we have ne­ver seen, what principle either of reason or philo­sophy forbids us to admire and love the same in [Page 8]God, who is the primary author of all amiable­ness, and at once the source and fulness of all possi­ble perfection; and, if we acknowledge him as the parent of all real happiness, where is the absurdity of cultivating an incercourse and friendship with him, in order to obtain that happiness, by prayer, reflection, and pious aspirations?

Thou shalt love the Lord thy God, with all thy heart, and with all thy soul: This is the first and great commandment.

If a virtuous attachment to an imperfect crea­ture here is attended with such [...]ransports; if friendship, pure and disinterested, has such exqui­site enjoyments, the pleasure, resulting from an in­timacy with God must far surpass all human com­prehension, and be infinitely mo [...] exalted and sub­lime. It is heaven, compared with earth, or the immensity of space, with the little, narrow boun­daries of a prison, or a convent.

LETTER IV.

NEVER fancy, that religion will render you gloomy, or unpleasing. If indeed you take it from the coarse daubings of superstition or of en­thusiasm, it is a frightful monster, or a melancholy s [...]ectre, that will discourage people from appreach­ing you. If you deduce it from the scriptures, and ground it upon reason, solid argument and truth, it will become a source of pertual cheer­fulness [Page 9]to yourself, that will be reflected on every person and object about y [...]

Never fair to treat, with the greatest reverence, every thing, that relates to the house of God, to his ministers, to his sacraments, and to his word. To mention any thing, that is sacred, with levity, is a certain mark of a depraved heart, and a weak understanding. A witty sheer or sarcasm, on such subjects, is not to be [...]given. It shocks all the sensible and better part of mankind, and, is a spe­cies of blasphemy or sacrilege.

You remember who has said, that ‘every wo­man is at heart a rake.’ This sentence is se­vere, and not to be admitted without restrictions. Pope was a rancorous satirist of women. What­ever be his merit in the world of letters, they, at least, owe no extraordinary gratitude to his memo­ry or talents. ‘Tread lightly upon the ashes of the dead,’ is a maxim I revere. I would, otherwise, retaliate his insults on the sex, and be­come the champion of their injured honour. I would insinuate, that the poet was little and de­formed, and had experienced few of their caresses or attentions. Other writers, however, have charg­ed you with a strong preference for dissipated men. But this, surely is the ungenerous aspersion of your enemies, or of those, who have not known the most deserving amongst you, and have formed an unjust and unfavorable conclusion, from the un­amiableness of a few.

Your example, I trust, will always contradict such indiscriminate censure. The idea, if we could admit it in its full extent, would be unfriendly to the social happiness of life. It would destroy that esteem and confidence in your virtues, which the [Page 10]best and wisest men have uniformly thought no in­adequate counterpoise to their sorrows, and their cares. A bad man is terrible in society; but an unprincipled woman is a monster. The peace, hap­piness and honor of our sex are so very much in the power of yours after marriage, that the most abandoned libertine shudders at the thought of an union with a woman, who has not piety and vir­tue. His intimacy with some females, of a certain description, has given him such a disgusting picture, as will never be forgotten. In his moments of reflexion, he execrates his folly, and, when he deliberates, whom he should chuse for the compa­nion of his life, appeals from the treacherous, ruf­fled bosom of an harlot, to one, that will be al­ways faithful, and always serene. Without piety, indeed, a woman can never fully possess the true powers of pleasing. She will want that meek be­nevolence, sympathy and softness, which give an inexpressible lustre to her features, and such a won­derful ascendancy over our affections. We shall not otherwise approach her with confidence, or dare to repose any of our secrets, our concerns or our sorrows, in her sympathizing breast.

LETTER V.

IF your mind is in a proper frame, every thing in you and about you will inculcate the necessity, and prompt you to the continual exercise of, devo­tion. [Page 11]You will find yourself encompassed with innumerable fears, weaknesses, wants, sorrows, diseases, wishes, hopes, under which all human creatures will be unable to assist, or give you any adequate relief; but wherever you cast your eyes, you will, at the same time, be environed with the immensity of a Being, who is possessed of all possi­ble perfections, and who holdeth the issues of life and death, of happiness and misery, solely in his hands.

The power, majesty, grandeur and wisdom of this Being are discernable in every part of your frame, in every function of your body, and oper­ation of your mind, nay in the curious and ex­quisite formation of every animal and insect. They are seen, on a still sublimer scale, in the size, the distances, grandeur, and wonderful revolution of the heavenly bodies; in the beautifully variegated canopy of heaven, in all the delicious landskips of nature, in the pleasing succession of day and night, spring and autumn, summer and winter. In short, winds and storms, thunder and lightning, earth­quakes and volcanos, the grand, magnificent ocean, waves and comets, fulfilling his word, ap­pearing and receding, at his sovereign command; flowers, blossoms, fruits, fossils, minerals, petrefac­tions, precipices, hills, caverns, vallies, all tell you, that their former is immensely magnificent, ‘that he doeth what he will in the armies of heaven, and amongst the inhabitants of the earth, and that none can withstand the thunder of his power.’

This God then is able to gratify your wishes, and support you under all your sufferings; he has wisdom enough to protect and guide you; the [Page 12]question then is; is he willing? On this head, hearken to all nature, for it speaks aloud. Look through the numberless orders and gradations of animals, insects, nay the meanest reptiles, and you will be astonished with the attention, that has been lavished on them, in the contrivance of their frame, the allotment of their situation, and the provision, made for their continual support. They are happy. Shift your eye to all the inanimate creation, and you will find it a scene of harmony, of order, and beauty, and seemingly constructed for our gratification. Lovely picturesque views delight our imagination; shrubs and plants and flowers regale us with aromatic smells. But a poet, of very descriptive talents, shall speak on this occasion.

Indeed, if you reason for a moment why could the Almighty create at all, but to diffuse and va­riegate enjoyment? Inexhaustible source of happi­ness, from all eternity, he needed not, and, in fact, could not receive, an addition to his own. In him­self supremely blessed, fountain of eternal majesty and splendour, adored by seraphs, surrounded by miriads of angels and archangels, what dignity could he derive from the existence, or services of man, who is but a worm, or the production of ten thousand worlds? It was infinite wisdom, therefore, that sketched out the plan of universal nature, and all-communicative goodness, that bade so many worlds exist, and bade them to be happy. The supreme and gracious former wished to com­municate some scattered rays of his glory and his blessedness to this extended world of matter and of life, and has therefore replenished every leaf, every drop of water, and every possibility of space with shoals of inhabitants; for

Is it not then a certain conclusion, that he creat­ed you, as well as all inferior animals for happiness? On this you may depend, as much as you can up­on the certainty of your existence, and that he is [Page 14]always more willing to be your protector, than you are ready to request it.

Open the sacred book, and, from beginning to end, it will confirm this opinion, and exalt your ideas of the divine perfections. ‘I delight in ex­ercising loving-kindness, saith the Lord.—The Lord is good to all, and his tender mercies are over, all his works. If he clothes the grass of the field, which, to-day, is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, how much more shall he clothe you, O ye of little faith?’ That religi­on is built on wrong notions, or a melancholy tem­per, that fills us with imaginary terrors. All na­ture breathes a language of hope and mercy. And nature is the messenger of God.

It is true there is evil in the world, as well as good; there are marks of judgment, as well as mer­cy. There are hurricanes, as well as fanning breezes; noxious are intermixed with useful ani­mals; poisonous and salutary herbs grow beside each other, and roses have their thorns. There are wars and rumours of wars; there are earthquakes, that desolate whole countries; a thousand forms of disease; a thousand modifications of sorrow, anxiety, death. If he, who sits at the helm, be so gracious, whence all this disorder? If his infi­nite power be combined with equal wisdom and goodness, why did he not prevent it?

If men were not to be free agents, the total pre­vention of sin and evil seems an impossibility. Moral liberty could not consist with a mechanical, forced obedience; and if we had not been free, the idea of punishments or rewards, of an heaven or an hell, would be the greatest of all possible absurdities. So that the question ultimately amounts to this, [Page 15]whether it was proper for the Almighty to create such a world at all? Had we not better reserve the propriety of this conduct to be disputed with him, at his great tribunal? There, I doubt not, we shall be amply convinced, that the creation was a work of infinite mercy, as well as power, and that a greater degree of happiness, than misery has arisen from it. There too, when we are able to discern with glorified eyes, the whole chain of causes and effects, from the beginning, to the end, of time; the dependence of one link of being on another, and of worlds, on worlds; this evil we now complain of, may become a means of exalting our ideas of the attributes of the Almighty; and we shall blush at ourselves for even having ques­tioned his goodness for a moment, or encouraged a reasoning pride, so ill becoming creatures, whose days are few, whose strength is weakness, whose wisdom folly; and who, in the present immure­ment of their understanding, scarcely know the na­ture of a blade of grass, or of the very pebbles, on which they tread.

This question concerning the origin of evil has puzzled the whole tribe of reasoners and philoso­phers, from the creation, to the present moment. The scripture alone has solved the enigma to our satisfaction. This deranged state of things is the providential punishment of guilt, but at the same time, contrived in mercy, as a salutary regimen, and as a mode of purifying fallen creatures for the innocence and happiness of a better world. It is a chao;, fitted to our present constitution, and will refine, as we do, into its primitive beauty and splendour. ‘There shall then be new heavens and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteous­ness. [Page 16]The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard lie down with the kid, when the earth is full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the seas.’ Resignation, in the mean time, has a balm for suffering, and the faith of a christian ‘looketh to a better country, with foundations, whose builder and maker is God.’

But speculations apart, if you draw nigh to the Almighty, he will draw nigh to you; if you seek his favor and friendship, all things shall work to­gether for your good. Tribulation, anguish, na­kedness, or famine, or peril, or the sword will all be so many instruments, in his hands, of procuring your eternal happiness and glory.

Remember the gift of his only Son to be a sacrifice for your sins, and it is more than a thousand lessons of a mercy beyond a parallel, and that far exceeds all human comprehension.

On so delightful a subject, it is difficult to sto [...] one's pen, or restrain the sallies of imagination. This idea of the supreme being casts a delicious fragrance over all the real enjoyments of life. It gives an inexpressible poignancy to friendship, and to the affection, with which I shall ever feel myself inviolably yours.

LETTER VI.

DEVOTION, considered simply in itself, is an intercourse betwixt us and God; betwixt the su­preme, [Page 17]self-existent, inconceivable spirit, which formed and preserves the universe, and that parti­cular spirit, with which, for awful reasons, he has animated a portion of matter upon earth, that we call man. It is a silent act, in which the soul divests itself of outward things, flies into heaven, and pours forth all its wants, wishes, hopes, fears, guilt or pleasures, into the bosom of an almighty friend.

Though this devotion, in its first stages, may be a wearisome or insipid exercise, yet this arises mere­ly from the depravity of nature, and of our pas­sions. A little habit will overcome this reluctance. When you have fairly entered on your journey, ‘the ways of this wisdom will be ways of plea­santness, and all its paths, peace.’

True devotion, doubtless, requires a considera­ble degree of abstraction from the world. Hence modern christians treat it, as a vision. Hence ma­ny modern writers have little of its unction. But it glows in the scriptures. It warms us in the fa­thers. It burned in an Austin, and in many other of those persecuted martyrs, who now are with God.

That we hear little of it, is not wonderful. It makes no noise in the circles of the learned or of the elegant. Under an heap of worldly cares, we smother the lovely infant, and will not let it breathe. Vanity, ambition, pleasure, avarice, quench the celestial fire. And these alas! are too much the god of mortals! Ever since the world began, writers have been amusing us only with shadows of this piety, instead of giving us its soul and substance. Superstition has placed it in opini­ons, ceremonies, austerities, pilgrimages, persecu­tion, [Page 18]an august temple, or splendid imagery, which had little connexion with sentiment or spirit. Enthusiasm has swelled with unnatural conceptions, and obtruded a spurious offspring on the world, instead of this engaging child of reason and truth; whilst the lukewarm have rested in a few out­ward duties, which have had no vigour, and, as they sprung not from the heart, never entered the temple of the most High.

Real piety is of a very different, and of a much more animated, nature. It looks up to God, sees, hears, feels him, in every event, in every vicissi­tude, in all places, in all seasons, and upon all oc­casions. It is theory, vivified by experience. It is faith, substantiated by mental enjoyment. It is heaven, transplanted into the human bosom. It is the radiance of the Divinity, warming and incir­cling man. It is spiritual sense, gratified by spi­ritual sensations. Without this, all ceremonies are inefficacious. Books, prayers, sacraments and meditations are but a body, without a soul, or a statue, without animation.

That man is capable of such an intercourse with his maker, there are many living witnesses to prove. Without having recourse to the visions of fanatics, or the dreams of enthusiasts, it may be proved to spring from natural and philosophical causes. God is a spirit; so is the mind. Bodies can have intercourse; so can souls. When minds are in an assimilating state of purity, they have union with their Maker. This was the bliss of paradise; sin interrupted, and holiness must restore it. To a soul, thus disposed, the creator commu­nicates himself, in a manner, which is as insensible to the natural eye, as the falling of dews, but not [Page 19]less refreshing to its secret powers, than that is to vegetation.

The primitive saints are describing this, when they speak of their transports. David felt it, when he longed for God, as the heart panteth after the water brooks. St. Paul knew it, when he gloried in his tribulations. It was embodied in him, when he was carried up into the third heavens, and heard things, impossible to be uttered. St. Stephen was filled with it, when he saw the heavens open, and prayed for his murderers. By it, martyrs were supported, when they were stoned, and sawn asun­der. And till we feel it in ourselves, we shall ne­ver fully know, how gracious the Lord is.

If you can acquire this spiritual abstraction, you will, at once, have made your fortune for eterni­ty. It will be of little moment, what is your lot on earth, or what the distinguishing vicissitudes of your life. Prosperity or adversity, health or sick­ness, honor or disgrace, a cottage or a crown, will all be so many instruments of glory. The whole creation will become a temple. Every event and every object will lead your mind to God, and in his greatness and perfections, you will insensi­bly lose the littleness, the glare and tinsel of all human things.

If I wished only to set off your person to the greatest advantage, I would recommend this true sublime of religion. It gives a pleasing serenity to the countenance, and a cheerfulness to the spirits beyond the reach of art, or the power of affecta­tion. It communicates a real transport to the mind, which dissipation mimics only for a mo­ment; a sweetness to the disposition, and a lustre to the manners, which all the airs of modern po­liteness [Page 20]study but in vain. Easy in yourself, it will make you in perfect good humour with the world, and when you are diffusing happiness around you, ‘you will only be dealing out the broken fragments, that remain after you have eaten.’

LETTER VII.

THIS devotion, however, though essentially a silent intercourse betwixt the soul and God, yet, to creatures, consisting of matter, as well as spirit, must be nourished by external forma. It must strike the senses, in order to awaken the imagina­tion.

The bulk of people, indeed, are so far materi­alized, (if I may thus express it,) and sunk in sense, that nothing but outward ceremonies would give them any adequate perception either of the necessity or pleasures, of devotion; and even the most spi­ritual, in a state of frailty, will need these power­ful calls and lessons to retrace the vanishing im­pressions of their duty.

Public worship and the sacraments are the grand outwork of piety. They are the doors, by which we enter the sanctuary of God. They are the channels for conveying heavenly grace and vigour to the soul. It is here the Redeemer gives us food, that nourishes to eternal life. It is here he rains down fountaine of living water.

[Page 21] Whoever pretends to be above these forms, is the fanatic, who might as well tell us, that his animal life can be supported without food; who­ever despises them, is the Infidel, that does every thing in his power, to root out the remembrance of God from the earth, and violate the dearest in­terests of mankind. Whoever, conscientiously at­tends, yet considers them, only as introductory to good, is a true, rational christian, that unites the separate links of matter and spirit, and lets his light shine before men, that they may see his good works, and glorify his father, who is in heaven.

Lukewarmness, an insensibility to all sacred things, scepticism, profligacy, and licentious plea­sures are the discriminating traits of those, who neglect, from whatever vain pretences, these means of grace. The best disposed are gradually hardened, and the poor are plunged into such disorders, as bring them to the fata [...] tree.

LETTER VIII.

ANOTHER excellent method of inkindling piety, is reading the scriptures. A christian, in­deed, should have this sacred book, ever folded in his breast. There is a richness and a comfort in it, that nothing else can equal. Every word is big with instruction; every sentence is divine. It is a mine, perpetually opening; the deeper we [Page 22]dig, the richer is the ore. It is a feast, adapted to every taste; the most exalted understanding must admire, and the lowest cannot fail to comprehend, its instructions.

If people only read for the sake of entertainment, where can they find a book equal to the Bible? What other production, either ancient or modern, has such striking passages of the pathetic and sub­lime, the vehement and impassioned? Where are there such lofty images, such grand conceptions, or such picturesque and animated descriptions, as in the psalms? There is scarcely a person in the world, to whose case some of them are not adapted, nor a sorrow which they cannot sooth. In one part, plaintive, affecting, penitential; in another full of triumph and exultation, ennobling elevat­ing; here describing the immensity, majesty, om­nipotence and omnipresence of God; there the littleness of the world, and the vanity of man; whoever can read them without emotion, must be pronounced void both of piety and taste.

The prophets are the true sublime of holy reading. The bold images, metaphors, allusions and descriptions, with which they abound, have been the admiration of the most accomplished scholars, orators and critics in the world. The proverbs of Solomon and the book of Ecclesi­asticus are an excellent system for the government of private life, as well as a fund of spiritual in­struction! They have all the marrow of our mo­dern systems of good breeding, without any of their poison. The sacred stories of the scripture are related with amazing simplicity and pathos; the parables are beautifully pointed and instruc­tive; and the epistles of St. Paul are a model [Page 23]of the sublimest and most energetic eloquence, that can be found in any age, or in any language.

When the immortal Locke and Newton had dived into every other kind of knowledge, they sat down to contemplate the vanity and poverty of all, in the richness of the scriptures. The famous Bacon, an oracle of learning, in his day, and the wonder of all succeeding ages, confessed them to be the source of all real wisdom. The il­lustrious Selden, on his death-bed, assured arch­bishop Usher, that the whole of his immense library could not give him half the comfort, which he derived from one single sentence of the inspired writings; and Addison, whose name must be ever dear to every friend of religion and virtue, spent no little time in collecting together, and arranging into one common point of view, the united evidences of the christian religion.

The primitive christians used to read this book, on their knees. Their preface was, ‘Open thou mine eyes, that I may see the wondrous things of thy law.’ Imitate them on earth, and in time you shall join that illustrious choir of saints, that are continually worshipping before the throne in heaven.

LETTER IX.

THE old Scriptures may appear, in themselves, dry and insipid; but when you consider them, as typical of the new, and affording a strong, colla­teral [Page 24]testimony to the truth of revelation; as de­scribing the circumstances, manners, and anec­dotes of a peculiar, chosen people, whose history, rebellion, captivity and dispersion are interwoven with the whole system of christianity, you will read them with a greater relish, and more godly edification.

Jesus Christ is the foundation of the apostles and prophets; all the incidents you read, point to him, as their origin, and as their end; ‘the great corner stone in Zion; the lamb slain from the foundation of the world.’

The bondage of the children of Israel in Egypt, is an image of our captivity to sin and their deli­verance, of our redemption through the blood of Christ; their journeying through the wilderness, is a strong picture of our wearisome passage through this vale of tears. Moses is the Saviour, making waters of comfort gush from the stony rock; the manna is the food of his word, and the waters are the graces of his holy spirit; the beau­tiful and affecting history of Joseph is an emblem of that better personage, who was envied, hated, persecuted and murdered by his brethren, for the general salvation: Abraham is a striking image of the Almighty, offering up his only son, and all the ceremonies of the law point to that true blood of sprinkling, which alone can take away the sins of the world. Thus is every page holy; thus do you tread, every moment, on consecrated ground, and thus every word, when properly understood, is spirit and is life.

But of all the scriptures, the gospels are cer­tainly the most edifying and instructive. They are plain, forcible, spiritual; they come from the [Page 25]very mouth of holiness and wisdom, and do not admit of any wrong constructions or doubtful in­terpretations. If there was only the fifth chapter of St. Matthew's gospel extant, we should have an incomparable abridgement of christianity, suffici­ent to direct our faith, to animate our practice, and flash confusion on that host of writers, who have built so many strong and dangerous opinions on the pretended basis of revelation.

Commentators may serve to explain an eastern custom, ceremony, allusion or mode of expression, but I cannot in general, recommend them, at least to young people. They embarrass more frequent­ly, than they direct; they have often perplexed, what, in itself, was clear, and darkened, where they affected to illuminate. The sayings of our Lord are so very obvious, as to need little or no explanation. They are a precious wine, which the profane wisdom of scholars and philosophers has mixed with water. If men had only studied them with earnestness, instead of their own interests, prejudices and passions, we should never have been distracted with so many systems of error and su­perstition.

Do not read much, at a time. Meditation is the stomach, which digests this food; you should reflect many hours, for reading one. And there is such a condensed richness in the scriptures, that one single verse will often suggest an ample fund for serious contemplation.

Every moment, that you peruse this book, consider yourself as in the immediate presence of your Maker. Fancy that you heard him, deli­vering the commandments, in all the thunder and lightning of the mount. Remember that, though [Page 26]heaven and earth fail, one jot or one tittle shall, in no wise, pass from the law, till all be fulfilled. Consider what a number of holy men have sealed the truth of this testimony with their blood. Ex­amine yourself by the promises and threatenings, as you go along, and do not forget to bless God, upon your knees, that he has given you such a lamp for your feet, and such a light to your paths.

Without this sacred volume, the world would have been, at this very moment, considerably un­enlightened; worshipping stocks or stones, per­haps offering human blood, and tormenting them­selves with burdensome ceremonies, that had no manner of connection with the heart; immersed in sorrows, which they could not have eased, and perplexed with a thousand, gloomy enigmas, which they never could have solved. The light, which superficial sceptics vaunt, as that of nature or phi­losophy, or, in a great degree, derived from the scriptures. The arguments, which they level against christianity, have been suggested by the light of christianity itself.

LETTER X.

THOUGH I have reprobated prolix commen­tators, there are, however, several little books, which will illustrate and enliven the sacred writ­ings, and enable you to read them with greater [Page 27]pleasure and advantage. Melmoth, on the beau­tiful and sublime of scripture, falls under this description. He will suggest some striking pas­sages, which before may have escaped your ob­servation.

The Comtesse le Genlis is intitled to the gra­titude of all young people. She is possessed of an elegant taste, a splendid style, and a very enlighten­ed understanding. She has thrown into a dramatic form, several of the historical parts of the Bible; and though the chastity of an English taste is not easily reconciled to seriousness "in so questionable a shape," her ingenuity sparkles through the whole performance, and has given it a pathos, an interest and a brilliancy, that will both improve your heart, and delight your imagination.

I scarcely know a woman, that deserves so much from the community at large, as Mrs. Trimmer. Her sacred History is a well known, useful per­formance: her unwearied labours for the service of the poor, in her Family Magazine, and her act­ive patronage of Sunday Schools, bespeak an heart, that is warm with benevolence, and an un­derstanding of no ordinary size. The pride of philosophy and profound learning may, perhaps look down on such attempts, as beneath their am­bition. But how can talents be so usefully, or so amiably employed, as when stripped of their gau­dy plumage, they condescend to instruct, to bless and reform the meanest of mankind. Metaphysical reasonings are for the learned few, and often mis­lead them; these practical labours consult the good of millions, and will continue to edify, when all such cobweb systems are totally demolished, and their authors consigned to the oblivion, they de­serve.

[Page 28] There is not, perhaps, a better method of turn­ing scripture to advantage, than that used by the good bishop Wilson, in his Sacra Privata. He se­lects a few, detached verses, and, in his natural and easy style, raises upon each, a train of reflexions, which must inkindle and animate the devotion of every reader.

Doddridges paraphrase on the new testament may be justly recommended for its zeal, piety, earnestness and animation. Nor does it want the embellishments of a lively fancy, or of an easy and unadorned language. But, like most dissen­ters of his time, he was a pupil of the Calvinistic school; and though I shall never be a convert to his system, I cannot but approve the general air and spirit of his writings. There are few things or characters in life, any more than authors, that are formed to command an unreserved admiration. The most delightful landskip has its shades. The most animated countenance has frequently some feature imperfect, or distorted. There will be accidental heats and flushes on the most delicate complexion.

LETTER XI.

THERE are several, excellent manuals of private devotion. But I have no great opinion of these forms. Look into the history of your pri­vate life and the dispensations of Providence; to [Page 29]what is daily happening within you, and about you, and your own heart will be the best prayer book in the world. If you attend to its wishes, its breathings and its wants; you can never want language; or if you should, God is ever present and will accept the naked wishes of your [...]o [...]l. A beg­gar, in great distress, is always clo [...]ent. His fighs and tears speak; he feels what he wants, and he needs no artificial arrange [...] of words. Still babes must be nourished with [...]. There is a pe­riod in the christian, as well as the [...]ral, life, when leading strings are accessary to the infant.

I have know people [...] into a total disuse of private devotion, so [...] [...] [...]ed poverty of words. This is a very da [...] [...] error. Prayers, drawn from books, are surely, pre [...]erable to no [...]ers at all. Arti [...]al exemise is better than to­ [...] inaction. But praye not the heart is that supe­rior glow, which arise them motion in the open air, and ex [...]ilar [...]e [...] with a view of all the charm­ing pictures and [...]ductions of nature.

As a public system of devocion, that of our church is excellent. How simple and energetic is the language! How rich and beautifully varied, are the collects! How unconfined and universal the prayers, extending to all conditions of men, s [...]a­tions of life, and comprizing every wish and sor­row of the heart. If other forms do not please your taste, you may contrive to adapt some por­tion of this to your private occasions.

Two capital traits will strike you in our liturgy; the great stress, laid upon Jesus Christ and the continual intercession for the blessings of the body spirit. These are, indeed, the grand losson to be learned from it, as well as from the scriptures. [Page 30]They are the pillars of the church; the life and blood of the christian system.

Without the atonement of Christ, criminals as we are, there never could have been any hope of mercy; without the assistance and graces of the spirit, we could not have been purified for the mansions of glory. If Christ has been called the fun of righteousness, the holy spirit is the air, which purifies and invigorates the whole moral world, and preserves it from stagnation and putre­faction.

Meditate frequently on these sufferings of Christ, till you abhor every sin, that produced them; and in order to be enriched with all graces and bless­ings, pray daily and fervently for this holy spirit. The good Bishop Kenn has a few words, in one of his hymns, which wonderfully epitomize out peti­tions and our wants:

LETTER XII.

YOUR sacred reading needs not to be wholly confined to the scriptures. A few, other serious [Page 31]books will assist your piety, as well as serve to il­lustrate and confirm the scriptures themselves.

I cannot, in this respect, so much recommend modern sermons, as some little practical treatises of piety. English discourses in general, by a ftrange, scholastic mismanagement, are not suffi­ciently addressed to the heart. Either they are learned disquisitions, on some speculative, contro­verted subject, more calculated to display abili­ties, than to edify; or they are spruce, moral es­says with little more of christianity in them, than might be gleaned from the works of Plato or Epic­tetus. They want that simplicity, fire, energy, animation, that boldness of images, appeal to the conscience, and that picturesque display of heaven and hell, which give such an unction to the writ­ings of St. Paul, and of the fathers. They do not thunder and lighten at the sinner: they do not carry us by a whirlwind, into heaven, and shew us thrones and sceptres; they convince, but they do not animate; they glitter, but they do not warm.

Ancient divines have more fire and matter. They studied the scriptures, more than human systems. "They were filled with the spirit;" they were men of watchfulness and prayers. A pro­fane spirit of criticism or of philosophy, falsely so called, makes us cold and languid. In pervading many learned or splendid pages, the heart is often left devoid of one, pious emotion.

Many sermons, no doubt, are to be excepted from this censure. Those of Archbishop Secker contain a fund of solid matter, piety and instruc­tion; but the style is rather singular and uncouth. The marble is rich, but it is unpolished, There [Page 32]is such a thing, as an elegant simplicity. Seeker had a simplicity without this elegance.

Few prelates, however, have deserved so well from the church, or posterity. The metropolitan, though placed in the bosom of a court, had neither pride, indolence, nor adulation. His vigilance was extraordinary; his labours unremitting, and his crofier but an imperfect emblem of the real pas­toral zeal, "which eat up his soul." The present bishop of London has all the simplicity of his illus­trious patron, tissued with that elegance, which the archbishop wanted. His sermous have been uni­versally read; they are written on a truly evangel­ical plan; and their object is not merely to amuse, but to instruct and edify.

LETTER XIII.

EVERY person should read the discourses of Sherlock, who wishes to see the grand doctrines of christianity properly illustrated, and inforced with equal energy of argument and language. Sherlock is one of the few, original writers of ser­mons. He is the Locke of divinity, who anato­mizes the whole system, and displays its compo­nent parts.

Many authors glean all their matter from other books. He borrowed his from the scriptures and reflexion. He thought many hours, for writing [Page 33]one, If all men did the same, the press would not groan with such continual abortions.

Ogden's Sermons have very great, original me­rit. Perhaps I miscalled them; they are, more properly, sketches on sacred subjects; on the fun­damental articles of the christian faith. There is more vigour, and energy and conviction in one page of this writer, than in whole volumes of some others, who have received a much more general applause.

The doctor seems particularly to have studied conciseness, and his miniature plan sometimes leaves the features of his pieces indistinct. There is a singular abruptness in his transitions, and the mind is frequently obliged to pause, in order to discover the invisible connexion, and unite the, seemingly, broken chain of ideas. These dis­courses were, probably, in their original state, much more diffuse. He retrenched by degrees, and, as an ingenious, French writer once said, "had leisure to be concise."

LETTER XIV.

THERE is more popular eloquence, argument and pathos in Archbishop Tillorson, than in al­most any ancient writer of sermons, that I recol­lect. But his works are much incumbered with the scholastic divinity of his age, and strangely perplexed with divisions and subdivisions. Unity [Page 34]of design is the beauty of all writings. A religi­ous discourse should tend only to the enforcing of one grand point. This should, always, be kept in fight, and the way to it should be as direct, con­cise and simple, as possible. Divines of the last century spent more time in proving what was self-evident, and illustrating it by learned quotations, than would have sufficed for inculcating some les­son of piety, that would never have been forgot­ten. Modern writers have judiciously corrected this mistake. They come more immediately to the point, and would think it as downright pedantry to amuse their hearers with a long list of writers, as to retail little scraps of Greek or Latin in con­versation.

Atter [...]nry was the pulpit Cicero of his day, and, for the beauty, sweetness and harmony of his style, has still an admirer in every person of ele­gance and taste. But to me he has always appeared rather graceful, than forcible, and more splendid, than impassioned. He is always dressed for court; and studied ornaments, however rich, cannot but have an uninteresting uniformity. He is invaria­bly a fine, flowing, pellucid stream, never that impetuous torrent, which overflows its b [...]ks, carries all before it, and gives us the idea of sub­limity and grandeur. Nature would have tired, if she had presented us with nothing but fine, level extended lawns. She has wisely intermixed wild heaths, barren rocks, and craggy precipices in her infinitely beautiful and variegated landskips.

LETTER XV.

THE late, unfortunate Dr. Dodd owed, I should conceive, his great popularity to the ad­vantage of his voice, person, manner, gesture and address. For indeed his compositions have not intrinsic merit enough to have challenged any ex­traordinary applause.

Weak, flimsy, superficial in his arguments, and rather plausible, than energetic in his language, it must have been only the popularity of his sub­jects, the new vein of pathetic, which he attempt­ed, and his fortunate congenial situation at the Magdalen, and in a metropolis, which, under the management of such advantages, procured him his extensive, temporary reputation.

But alas! his popularity was very dearly pur­chased! It was built on the ruins of his innocence and virtue. Happy, if he had lived and died in obscurity, or been an humble curate in some se­questered village, where jessamines had clasped round his unenvied mansion, with unenlightened rustics only for his associates! Admiration would not then have dazzled his eyes. His vanity could not have sought those unequal connexions, which he afterwards found himself unable to support, nor expensive pleasures led him to an action, which wounded religion in its very vitals, and brought so much disgrace on his sacred profession.

He might, then, like many other excellent men, have "fallen asleep," amidst the tender offices of bewailing friends; and grateful villagers, [Page 36]would have wetted his monument with tears of heart-felt gratitude and esteem. He is now a bea­con, rising high in the bosom of the ocean, which says to the wary mariner, ‘beware of rocks and quicksands.’ It has been said, that Dodd, in the beginning of his sacred office, was remarka­bly pious. What is the conclusion? Hear it from compassion. Bathed in tears. she lifts up her voice, and cries aloud, ‘Let him who thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall.’

Faringdon's Sermons have very singular merit. It is but seldom that so much vivacity finds its way into this species of writing. They will im­prove your heart; they will please your taste, and inchant your imagination. It is many years since I read them; but the impression they made upon my mind, will never be erased.

If I durst invidiously, amidst their many excel­lencies, mention a defect, it is, that they are not sufficiently full of scriptural allusions. It is amaz­ing what force and energy the judicious introduction of scriptural passages, authorities and images gives to discourses of this nature. The rest may be the ingenious conjectures of the author. These strike the reader with all the certainty and irresistible evidence of mathematical demonstration.

Though genius and taste may be permitted to embellish, the sacred writings should be the ground­work of all pulpit productions. They should check our flights into the regions of fancy, and they should guide us through the bewildering mazes of metaphysics.

Faringdon is long since dead, but the real ^* [Page 37]author of these Discourses is yet alive. I have long had the honor of knowing him, and as long have admired his talents. And of his virtues and great benevolence, he exhibited, I think, no ordi­nary proof, when, to serve the family of a deceas­ed brother clergyman, he gave his time, his la­bour, his abilities, and (what is more,) denied himself the dazzling prospect of reputation.

LETTER XVI.

YOUNG people are in raptures with (what they chuse to call) Sterne's Sermons. But true criticism will not give them so dignified a name. They are the sacred stories of scripture, embellish­ed with his original talent at the descriptive and pathetic. They are his sentimental journey to Zion; but have little more of true divinity in them, than they might have had, if such an hea­venly personage, as Jesus Christ, had never lived in the world, nor published his gospel.

Sermons, that aim only to amuse or entertain, are beneath the pulpit. They are the moral bean­ism of divines; an attempt to mix all the colours of the rainbow, with the dark solemnity of a most serious garb. They are music playing in the ears of a man, whose house is on fire, and can only beguile the moment, which should be spent in sav­ing all the valuables of his furniture, and escaping for his life. Discourses of this nature should [Page 38]alarm the conscience; should display at once our misery and the mode of cure; should probe all the rankling [...] of the heart, and pour in the precious oil of divine consolation.

Sterne was a very great, eccentric, original ge­nius, but he was never formed for a clergy man. He had a levity of mind, that ill befitted so serious a character. What painter, in fancying an altar-pi [...]ce, would have grouped a beau d'esprit, or a facetious bon vi [...]ant, with our Saviour and his apostles at the last supper?

LETTER XVII.

THE Christian Pattern with abundantly recom­mend itself by the name. The translation of it by Stanhope, is too diffuse. Wesley has, more faithfully, preserved the spirit and concise energy of the excellent original.

The fingular merit of this little book is obvious from its translation into almost all languages. Ganganelli ascribes it, with pride, to an Italian author. But, whatever country gave it birth, it is filled with a sacred unction, and "the wisdom which cometh from above." Read a chapter of it every day, and you will never want a fund of christian meditations.

There is more true piety and information, couched in reflexions on the seven Days of the Week, by Mrs. Talbot, than you will sometimes [Page 39]meet with in large and splendid volumes. You cannot have a better train of reflexions for the be­ginning of your every day. This good lady lived in the family of Archbishop Secker, and seems to have imbibed that spirit of piety, which so emi­nently distinguished this illustrious prelate. She is long since dead; but her little book will live in the hearts of the pious, when time has tarnished all the lustre of more sounding names.

I have always thought, that little, short trea­tises of this kind have done the most extensive good. We can carry them about us, and the size does not deter us from looking within. People will not read large treatises of religion, and wri­ters, in this respect, should accommodate them­selves to the weakness of mankind. Tender stomachs cannot digest rich, substantial food, nor much, at a time.

Addison's Saturday's papers are all of them in­imitable. They contain a rich fund of knowledge and entertainment, raise the imagination, and im­prove the heart. The good man very judiciously appointed them for Saturdays. They are the best preparatives for being ‘truly in the spirit, on the Lord's day.’

Scott is not, perhaps, a lively or entertaining writer; but his Christian Life is a most excellent and rational system of divinity. [...]ndeed subjects of this nature do not admit of so much colouring, as some others. Imagination may better lend its charms to painters, poets, orators, than to system­atic divines. I think, however, that, even on sacred topics, genius might more frequently, em­bellish, than it does. Young people will have language, pathos and picturesque images, or they [Page 40]will not read. Some little condescension is due to their weakness. Children must be cheated in­to the taking of useful medicines. The pill should be gilded, and the bitter mixed with a swa [...].

LETTER XVIII.

THE immortal Locke analyzed the powers of the human understanding. Mason on Self know­ledge is the anatomist of the heart. If you would see yourself in your true colours, you must be daily conversant with this book. You should take it to your pillow, when you go to sleep. You should read it, when you rise. It has, however, in my idea, one capital defect. It is too much ramified into heads, divisions and subdivisions. The size of the house is too small for the nume­rous apartments.

Though I am, by no means, partial to the lat­ter, fanciful writings of Mr. Law, I will venture to recommend the two, first books he ever produc­ed, his Serious Call, and Christian Perfection. They are very awakening, animated treatises, written with great simplicity of style, strength of argument, and originality of manner. His Mi­randa is a very amiable character; and, though her piety has something of the monastic, in its air, there are traits in the portrait that deserve your emulation.

[Page 41] One cannot recollect the beginning of this good man's life, when his conceptions were so clear, and his manner so impassioned, without shudder­ing at the danger of giving way to fanciful theories, or visionary writers. It is wonderful, that so very discriminating a genius should have been, after­wards, shackled with the spiritual chymistry, and the unintelligible rhapsodies of Behmen. But even the great and amiable Fenelon was the disci­ple of a visionary. He who wrote Telemachus, fell into reveries. "We have this treasure in earthen vessels, and it will be tinged with our par­ticular complexions."

LETTER XIX.

YOUNG's Night-Thoughts have considera­ble merit, and may occasionally, be read with ad­vantage. But they are much discoloured with melancholy, and give christiany, which is natu­rally cheerful, too dark a complexion.

Born with no slender share of ambition, Young had anxiously and unsuccessfully courted promotion. The bubble always burst, as he attempted to grasp it; the ignis fatuus deluded him, as it has done thousands besides. Disappointment is generally followed with disgust, and disgust will always dic­tate to the pen.

With all that sensibility, which is the insepara­ble concomitant of genius, the author of the Night [Page 42]Thoughts had likewise the misfortune to be de­prived, by an early death, of several of those re­latives, from whose tender offices and soothing attentions, he might naturally have expected, in the evening of a gloomy life, to have received some consolation. His poems, therefore, have much the strain of elegy, and his piety is breathed in sighs. But his Night Thoughts have awakened many into seriousness, and you must take them, as you do all other, human things, with their good and their bad. The brightest pearl is sur­rounded with a mud. It is the business of taste and judgment to make the separation.

The works of Wilson (the once bishop of Sodor and Man,) are a treasure of plain, practical devo­tion. His Indian instructed, his Parochialia, his Sacra Privata, and his treatise on the sacrament, are all serious and interesting.

This good prelate has not displayed much ge­nius or learning. But his writings are useful, in proportion to their plainness, and will edify thou­sands, who could never have comprehended the depths of learning, or the subtilties of meta­physics.

Thrown into an ignorant and superstitions diocess, he stooped to the level of the meanest understand­ing. He considered himself as the father of his people, and they paid him a filial duty and respect. The islander still visits his grave, and weeps at the recollection of his deceased virtues. Such bishops will live in the memory of the faithful, when splendour is forgotten. His labours were unre­mitting, his zeal, primitive; and if he gave no brilliance to the mitre, he added to its solid weight.

LETTER XX.

THE meditations of St. Austin are admirable, but have suffered not a little from the translation. It is, I still repeat it, in these old books, that we chiefly find the true spirit of piety. Has it evapo­rated, like some mineral waters, by a long preser­vation? Or is it that we would be men of philo­sophy and criticism, rather than divines? A mo­dern theologian plays about the head, but scarcely warms the heart; an ancient writer carries us, by an irresistible impulse, into heaven, and fills us with all the raptures of devotion.

The difference will be very forcibly illustrated by the different construction of ancient and modern churches. The wide magnificence, the luminous darkness, the mouldering wells and long drawn aile of gothic structures inspire us with a pleasing melancholy, thoughtfulness and devotion; whilst the glaring light, artificial ornaments, primness and convenience of our modern synagogues fill us only with little, worldly ideas of elegance and taste.

Beveridge's private thoughts and resolutions rich­ly deserve a place in your collection. They are not animated or elegant, but they are pious and useful. He is one of those hospitable friends, that gives us a very comfortable and rich repast with­out ceremony or ostentation.

Taylor is the Shakespeare of divinity. The fer­tility of his invention, the force of his arguments, the richness of his images and the copiousness of [Page 44]his style are not often to be paralleled in the works of ancient or modern writers. His holy living and dying is a chef d'oeuvre.

I do not remember to have received more plea­sure and improvement from any book, that I have read for some time past, than from the two first vo­lumes of Ganganelli's Letters. Besides being sur­prized to see such a generous mode of thinking in the sovereign pontiff, so much vivacity in a monk, tempered with so great a share of unaffected piety, I was quite charmed with the simplicity of his style, the beauty of his metaphors, and that spirit of philanthropy, which pervades the whole, and does, all along, more honour to his heart, than his easy periods, to his understanding.

There is something in the climate of Italy, which wonderfully heats and sublimes the imagin­ation. It is the garden of Europe, and its writers breathe that agreeable perfume with which it is scented. Ganganelli's description of this coun­try is particularly splendid. His statues breathe. His torrents absolutely murmur on the ear. His cliffs have an impending horror on the fancy, and his gardens waft upon us aromatic smells. I would still gladly hope, notwithstanding all that has been advanced to the contrary, that these let­ters really came from this distinguished person. I am not willing to give up the idea, that liberality of sentiment has extended itself even to the papal throne.

LETTER XXI.

YOU would observe from the complexion of my last letter, that I have recommended writers of very different sects, and from various denomina­tions of christians. The truth is, I have consider­ed their spirit and tendency, and not their name or party. I do not want to make you a methodist, a dissenter, a mystic, a papist, a fanatic, an enthusi­ast, or any thing but a real christian. I should wish to divest your mind of every species of bigotry, and convince you, that real piety has existed under every communion.

When your judgment is more matured, you should examine authors of all different persuasions, as the Grecian artist did women, when he wished to paint his Venus of Medici. He selected from every one he saw, that particular limb or feature, in which they, separately, excelled. From one, he borrowed the most beautiful eye; from another, an hand; from a third, a bosom, &c. These, by a wonderful effort of genius, he combined into a perfect whole.

All systems, like all human figures, have their defects; but they have, likewise, their excellen­cies. Collect these, distinct charms, and work them up in the crucible of your heart, till they produce "the very beauty of holiness" in your life and conversation.

[Page 46] Above all, look through all books and forms and ordinances, up to your God. Cherish, by every method, a spirit of devotion. Set the Lord always before you. Consider him, as the soul of the world, the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. Think, act, live, as in his presence, and do every thing to his glory. Begin, continue and end every day, as in his sight, and every ac­tion, as under his direction. Remember that all things on earth are but a shadow; that time is tum­bling down the system of the universe, and that re­ligion only can rise upon the ruins, by the labours it has inscribed to Eternity and God.

LETTER XXII.

THOUGH it may appear to be dealing with you in dry, abstracted subjects above your age, yet I do think it necessary, that you should understand the grounds, on which your faith is built, or the testimony, which confirms the truth of christianity, and of the scriptures. You will thus be preserved from an uncomfortable fluctuation of opinions, and guarded from the false insinuations of those, that lie in wait to deceive.

I believe, indeed, we very falsely estimate the period, at which the talents of women begin to [Page 47]open, as well as the degree of their extent and comprehension, and superciliously withhold from you, that solid information which, alone in either sex, can be the true foundation of a rational, a steady and consistent conduct.

This restimony in favour of revelation, is di­vided, for the sake of order, into two kinds, internal and external. The internal is that, which arises from the nature and excellency of the pre­cepts themselves, and from the writers having had no private or sinister views to answer, but consult­ing only the general good and edification of man­kind.

This first mark of authenticity is fixed on every page of the scriptures. The laws of Christ are of such a nature, as no man would have framed, who wished to avail himself of the passions, prejudices and interests of mankind; for they prescribe, on the other hand, an universal humility, mortifica­tion and self-denial; exhibit, in the strongest col­ours, the emptiness of riches, and the vanity of ambition, and have no other view, but to elevate the affections, regenerate the heart, and put all men on looking beyond the transient concerns of this life, to the happiness of another. What else could happen to the original promulgers of these laws, but that, which actually did, violence and persecution?

Our blessed Lord positively declared, that his kingdom was not of this world. He sought none of its distinctions, and he feceived none, unless, by a strange perversion of ideas, we place them in the poverty of a manger, or the tortures of his cross. His apostles were inflamed with the very same, disinterested zeal. They willingly resigned [Page 48]lucrative employments at the call of their master; they cheerfully abandoned weeping friends; un­dertook the most hazardous voyages and travels; had no rest day or night, were carried before kings and governors of the earth, "and even hat­ed by all men for his name's sake."

Read the account of their labours, persecution, banishment, death; peruse the history of all the martyrs, written with their blood, and tell me, whether their zeal must not have come from heaven, or what could ever have inspired it, but a sincere conviction of duty, "a faith, which looked to a city with foundations, whose builder and maker was God."

LETTER XXIII.

THINK, my dear girl, for yourself. Are there any marks of secular wisdom or policy or imposture, in the conduct of the primitive apostles and christians? Examine the history of the whole world, as it relates to religion, and where else will you discover any portion of the same, disinterested spirit, which actuated these original publishers of the gospel?

The Roman Emperor instituted a sacred code to work upon the consciences, and to keep the minds of a savage and a barbarous people in sub­jection to government. Zoroaster, Lycurgus, Solon, all celebrated in their day, and certainly [Page 49]men of extraordinary talents, had more a view to policy, than any moral interests, in their respective systems of legislation. Mahomet availed himself of the narrow, sensual views, and passions of his fol­lowers, and of the particular complexion and dis­sensions of his times, merely to be the sole, exclu­sive monarch of an extensive empire, and procure a little fading honor and distinction.

‘The kingdom of all these men was certainly of this world,’ and their laws, in many in­stances, were repugnant to right reason, and the best and dearest interests of their fellow creatures. Of Christ, his very enemies said, "never man spake, like this man;" his injunctions had but one aspect—to universul happiness, and one, simple method to it—universal reformation. The angels that announced him, at his first appearance, pro­claimed "peace on earth, and good-will towards men."

Nor is the wonderful progress of this religion, in so short a space of time, over all Asia, and a great part of Europe, indeed over almost the whole of the, then, known world, the least convincing proof of its divine original. Consider the mission­aries—illiterate fishermen and mechanics, and you must conclude, either that they were endowed with supernatural gifts and assistance, or that their wonderful success was even a greater miracle, than the endowment, you dispute.

On this subject, permit me to recommend to your serious perusal, Soame Jenyn's Internal Evi­dence of the Christian Religion. He is, on the whole, a fanciful writer; but this is an excellent, little book, that has done much good, and comes with greater force, to every bosom, as he was [Page 50]once, according to his own candid confession, in the number of those, who disputed the sacred truths of revelation. You will receive great plea­sure and improvement, likewise, from Addison's Evidences of Christianity, arranged and collected into one volume, and from a late, similar produc­tion of the celebrated Dr. Beattie.

Every word of the scriptures, indeed, must con­vince any candid or thoughtful person, that they come from God. The passions, pride vices and interests of mankind have induced not a few to set up for sceptics. "Much learning has made them mad," or a little has rendered them frivolous and conceited. They have sought only to distin­guish themselves by uncommon opinions; they have been dupes to their own fancied penetration; they have attempted to grasp the immensity of the Deity, in arms of flesh, or have shrunk into scep­ticism, as a refuge from their vices.

Hear what the scripture saith, ‘Every one, that doeth evil, hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved. Except ye become as little children, (humble, docile, tractable,) ye cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven. How can ye believe, which receive honour one of another, and seck not the honour, which cometh of God only!’

LETTER XXIV.

THE external testimony, in favour of the chris­tian religion, arises from prophecy, miracles, and the corresponding evidence of history. And these [Page 51]seem to include all the probable methods, which heaven could employ for the conversion of man­kind.

The whole sacred book of the Old Testament is, from beginning to end, a clear prediction of the Messiah. One of the prophets has foretold the precise year, in which this "righteous branch" should make his appearance. And this event, you know, has taken place to the comfort of the chris­tian world.

Others have predicted the destruction of Jeru­salem, Babylon, Tyre, the dispersion and calami­ties of the Jews, &c. long before they happened;— and all prosane history, which has been written since their time, will inform you, that these aw­sul judgments were wonderfully accomplished, in their proper season.

The Revelation contains darker hints of some events, that are visibly, though gradually fulfilling, at this moment. But as I can only glance at the subject, you will see it treated in such a manner, as to confirm your faith and exait your devotion, in the late Bishop of Bristol (Dr. Newton's) dis­courses on the Prophecies.

The miracles of our Saviour and of his imme­diate apostles meet you in every page of the in­spired book; and in profane history, you will learn from those, who were avowed enemies to the cause, that, at a particular period of time, there did exist such a sacred personage, as Jesus Christ, who wrought miracles, healed the sick, and raised the dead; such a sect, as that of Christians, who met to receive the sacrament, who bound themselves by this oath, to commit no iniquity, practised a wonderful innocence and austerity of manners, and, [Page 52]beyond all example, loved one another. You will see likewise, in the same pages, a full description of their manners, morals, ceremonies and religi­ous institutions.

The lapse of time, moreover, to us, who live in these later times, has given an additional force to the evidences, in favour of revelation. The ingenious author of the Spectator, in his day, con­sidered the particular case of the Jews, their cala­mities, dispersion, vagabond, unsettled state, &c. as a standing and incontestable miracle, in support of the sacred writings. They still continue (what is there so circumstantially foretold,) unable to in­corporate with any people, and loaded with the hatred and abhorrence of all. The testimony, therefore, from their history is proportionably more illustrated and confirmed.

The destruction of the Romish church, like­wise, is palpably predicted in the scriptures. And, if we may judge from strong appearances, is daily approaching. The great and general diffusion of knowledge; the consequent progress of religious toleration, and that dispersion of the mists of pre­judice from all eyes, produced by the genial rays of a meridian sun, must, in time, effect the down­fall of all tyranny and superstition: whilst the em­peror, employed in destroying monasteries, and encouraging population, appears an instrument in the hand of Providence, for accelerating the ap­proach of this auspicious moment. The late dis­memberment, moreover, of territory from the Holy See; the contentions, in which the sovereign pontiff has been involved by those monarchs, who once trembled at his frown; and the mere external deference only, which is paid to his authority, [Page 53]prove that his throne is tottering from its base, and, like all other human things, approaching to its dissolution. Thus is our holy religion founded on a rock, against which the winds and waves of infidelity beat in vain. Proud men may reason, and wicked men pretend to doubt, but ‘the very gates of hell shall not prevail against it.’

LETTER XXV.

WONDER not at the diversity of opinions in religion. It has been from the beginning, and will continue to be the case, to the end, of the world.— Men will never have the same religious sentiments, till you can give them the very same natural dispo­sitions of humility, candour, teachableness; the same capacity, education, acquaintance, or even the same set of feat [...]es or the same complexion.

The history of the church, from the first mo­ment, to the present, is an history of these diffen­sions. So soon as Christ and his apostles disappean­ed, men mixed ‘tares of human opinion with this good seed of the word.’ Even two of these apostles had a sharp contention, and the spirit has never vanished from their successors.

There has been the same fashion in religions opinions, as in common things. Particular notions [Page 54]have been abetted, laid aside, resumed and dismissed again, under different names and leaders, exactly like the varying modes of dress, furniture or en­tertainments.

Nor is this the least impeachment of our holy religion. The truth of that, like the God, whence it comes, is the "same yesterday, to-day and for ever." It is reserved, as the privilege of a more glorious era, that all men shall be of one ‘heart and of one soul and keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace.’

In all human systems of faith, there must be er­ror. Where error is involuntary, and springs from no criminal passions, but only from a weakness or misdirection of judgment, the Almighty, who look­eth chiefly at the heart, doubtless will forgive. Charity, in the mean time, is the great bond of union, amongst all parties. ‘They shall come from the east, and from the west, and sit down in the kingdom of God.’ If we hope to be companions in glory, we ‘should not surely fall out by the way.’

The christian blood, which has stained so many ages of the church, has flowed from the most ma­lignant and selfish passions. The gospel breathes nothing but universal love, and candour and for­bearance. ‘Ye know not what manner of spir­it ye are of,’ is the mild rebuke to every perse­ [...]tor, that would slay with the sword.

LETTER XXVI.

THOUGH it is really invidious, yet for the sake of directing your judgment, and gratifying a very natural and laudable curiosity, I will give you a brief, comprehensive sketch of the opinions of the more celebrated, religious sects, that have pre­vailed in this kingdom. You will thus be able to form some comparative idea of their merits or de­fects; you will not be so likely to be "tossed a­bout with every blast of vain doctrine," and you will never feel yourself at a loss, in company, when they become the subject of conversation.

Pagan are those who are wholly unenlightened with revelation, and worship idols, instead of the true God. These idols have been various, as the caprices or imaginations of the people amongst whom they are found; sometimes fictitious beings, such as Jupiter, Apollo, Mercury, Mars, Juno, Venus, Minerva, &c. sometimes, good qualities personified; Faith, Hope, Victory, Concord; sometimes animals, as Serpents, Crocodiles, &c. or even vegetables; as Leek, Onion, Garlic. These last were objects of adoration amongst the Egyptians.

Before the appearance of Christ, almost the whole world was covered with paganism. All the learning and politeness of Athens and of Rome could not dispel this ignorance. It has only vanished ‘where the sun of righteousness has ap­peared with healing in his wings.’

An ingenious writer has said, that, if we divide [...] known countries of the globe into thirty equal [Page 56]parts, five will be Christians; six, Mahometans, and nineteen, Pagans. How dreadful the reflection, that the greatest of all possible blessings should have penetrated but so small a way! When we consider the privileges of the gospel, how gladly would one carry it, if it were possible, into every country of the known world! How ardently should we pray to our father in heaven, that his kingdom of grace may daily come on earth, and how thankful should we be to that gracious Pro­vidence, that has fixed our lot in a christian land, and under the enlivening beams of revelation!

LETTER XXVII.

MAHOMETANS are so called from being followers of the great impostor, Mahomet. This extraordinary man was born at Mecca, in Arabia, about the middle of the sixth century; and, in his fortieth year, after some time previously spent in the silence, retirement and austerity of a cave, presumed to stile himself, the Apostle of God; pre­tended to have received from heaven, a new and a last revelation, which was to illustrate and in­force, what had been mistaken or perverted, in the christian, by the lapse of time or the sophistry of men. He affected, likewise, a commission [Page 57]from above, if gentler methods should prove inef­fectual, to propagate his particular religion by the sword.

His tenets are contained in the Koran, which, for its singularity, is worth your reading. To give them plausibility, they are interpersed with some christian doctrines, but, at the same time, carry a most artful address to the passions; allow­ing polygamy, and describing the future paradise, as consisting principally, of sensual pleasures; splen­did, silken garments; rivers of water, wine, milk, honey; music, feasting and most beautiful wo­men.

Mahomet was a man of great talents and ambi­tion. He had no view, but to render himself the sole and formidable monarch of an extensive em­pire. Religion was made the instrument for exe­cuting his wicked and tyrannical designs. Hence all his austerities, disguises, deceptions. Hence he pretended such a familiar intercourse with hea­ven, and, by his singular address, founded a reli­gion, which has continued since his time, with little variation, to overspread a considerable part of the world. It is professed by the Turks and Persians, by several nations amongst the Africans, and by many amongst the East-Indians.

The outline of it was sketched by the hands of a great master. It was suited to the climate; it took advantage of the disorders and differ [...]ons, then prevailing amongst Christians, and i [...]oro­mised a species of gratifications, to which our na­ture will always feel the strongest propensity.

The bulk of people, in any country, do not, indeed cannot, think or judge for themselves; it will therefore, always be in the power of those, [Page 58]who have any popular talents to make the multi­tude, their proselytes and slaves; and thus, if we turn over the history of the world, shall we find the ambition, lust, and avarice of a few, trampling on the dearest interests of the many.

LETTER. XXVIII.

UNDER the name of Christians, however dif­fering from each other in private opinions, or di­vided and subdivided amongst themselves, are in­cluded all those, who embrace the sacred revela­tion and doctrines of Jesus Christ. Amongst these, the Roman Catholics, both in point of numbers, and the figure they have made in the history of Europe, may seem to claim some degree of prece­dence.^*

This religion, which has subsisted for such a length of time, and covered so considerable a part of the world, is little else but a system of political tyranny established by the clergy, over the conscien­ces and fortunes of men, merely to enrich and ag­grandize themselves. They who should have aspi­red to no other greatness, but to become the servants of all for their eternal good, have un­dertaken [Page 59]"to lord it over God's heritage, and rule it with a rod of iron."

Can any thing in the world be more inconsist­ent? The Pope in all the plenitude of temporal power, presumptuously stiles himself the vicar gene­ral of Jesus Christ! that Jesus, who appeared in a manger, emptied himself of all his glory, and dis­claimed all temporal greatness and distinction!

The public worship of the papists is overloaden with ceremony. It is performed in a learned lan­guage, unknown to the vulgar, and intermixed with such a continual change of dress, attitude and ceremonies, as are only calculated to excite the ri­dicule of a rational and enlightened mind. The great, Supreme incomprehensible Spirit is only to be served with the heart and affections, and the most unlearned person in a congregration should surely understand every prayer, that is uttered.

The Roman Catholics acknowledge the Pope for their head. They think the church infallible in its councils and decisions, and brand all, who differ from them, with the odious name of heretics, as people, who are not within the pale of salvation. They keep the minds of poor people in ignorance; they do not permit them to read the scriptures, but refer them for instruction solely to their priests; they maintain the nec [...]sity of confessing their sins and frailties to their pastor, and the validity of human absolution; they believe the absurd and incomprehensible doctrine of transubstantiation, or that the elements of bread and wine, in the sacra­ment, are changed into the real body and blood of Christ; they have been accused of worshipping images; saints, they certainly invoke, to be me­diators for them; they have swelled the number [Page 60]of sacraments to-seven; these are baptism, confir­mation, the eucharist, penance, extreme unction, holy orders, and marriage; they admit the doc­trine of a purgatory after death, in which souls are refined from their former pollutions; they forbid their priests to marry, preach up the n [...]cessity, or superior sanctity of a single life, and induce as many people of fortune, as possible, to bury themselves in convents and monasteries, and pour their for­tunes into the bosom of the church; in some of the more corrupt ages, indulgencies for the greated crimes might be purchased with money, ^* and every degree of guilt has had its stated sum of acquittance; persecution for conscience sake, has been deemed meritorious, and their annals are stained with the blood of thousands.

There are, doubtless, multitudes of papists, who, in an enlightened age, shudder at many of these dreadf [...] opinions, and laugh at others; the gay and volatile people of France, in general ridi­cule them all; and make a natural transition from the extreme of superstition to that of unbelief.—Whether these be, or be not, the principles of the present members, they are indisputably, the esta­blished doctrines of the church, however varnish­ed over by art, or evaned by affectation; and though this people at present, are loyal, inoffen­sive subjects, and seemingly attached to the sove­reign [Page 61]on the throne, yet there is reason to fear, that a renewal of their power would be attended with a repetition of their violence, and blow up the seemingly extinguished embers of hatred and persecution. Such a many-headed monster should be carefully guarded. Deluges of human blood are not to be forgotten.

For their sake, and for the honour of Christi­anity, I do most ardently wish their conversion. I long to embrace, as brethren, a thousand excel­lent men, who now live, as I cherish the memo­ries of many, who have died, within their com­munion. Nor do I think the period is very distant. Bigotry cannot much longer be a weed in the pre­sent highly cultivated state of Great-Britain. I have before mentioned the emperor, as a probable instrument of this good work. His ambition, I trust, will thus be consecrated to the glory of God, and the welfare of mankind. The happiest events we celebrate, have sometimes, sprung from the impurest passions. Our own reformation from this church was singularly effected.^* The Almighty can bend the counsels of men, in such a manner, as to answer his sovereign designs. ‘He doeth what he will, in the armies of heaven, and amongst all the inhabitants of the earth.’

LETTER XXIX.

THE Greek church is much less known amongst us, as to its doctrine or discipline, than the Roman. [Page 62]Indeed there are, comparatively, but few mem­bers of it in England. It was first established in Greece, from whence it derived its name, and ex­tends to some other parts of Turkey.^* It is often called the eastern, in contradistinction to the Ro­mish, which is the western, church.

Though the professors of this religion disavow the supremacy of the Pope, and many other opin­ions of the Holy See, yet they are considerably tinctured with superstition. Their worship is o­verloaden with ceremony, shew, splendid dresses, fastings, austerities, &c. as well as the former.— They are governed by bishops and patriarchs.— Their head is the patriarch of Constantinople.

LETTER XXX.

DISSENTER is a vague word, which, in its full latitude, may be applied to all, who differ from the established religion. Originally, how­ever, it meant only one kind of people, then dis­tinguished by the name of presbyterians, who ra­ther dissented from the discipline and polity, than the opinions, of the church. These, in general, embraced the sentiments of Calvin, relating to foreknowledge, divine decrees, irresistible grace, predestination, reprobation, &c. They disclaimed episcopacy, and their government was vested in [Page 63]presbyters and synods. The word presbyter, means an elder, and synod, an ecclesiastical council or as­sembly.

The present race of dissenters may be strictly subdivided into two classes; those who still retain the doctrines of Calvin, and his mode of discipline, and call themselves, from their form of govern­ment, Independants; and such as assume the more specious title of protestant dissenters. The first are extremely rigid and puritanical in their out­ward deportment; but they do not breathe all the sweetness of piety, not are their annals unstained with instances of intolerance and persecution.— Their leader was a furious and unrelenting bigot. His murder of the poor honest Servetus will be an eternal stigma on his memory, and throw a dark shade over his pretended virtues.

Indeed how can people, with such sentiments, act otherwise? If their God be only merciful to a few, elect, how should they think of a general benevolence? If he can be cruel to so many millions of creatures, where is the harm of imitating his example, or exterminating thousands?

I do not know that the latter kind of dissenters have any settled code of faith. ‘Every minister has a psalm of his own, has a doctrine, has an interpretation,’ so that very opposite sentiments may be consistently delivered by different persons, in the same pulpit. They value themselves high­ly, with whatever justice, on their learning, can­dour and liberality. Far from being actuated with any blind or enthusiastic zeal, they seem to worship reason, as their guide, and sacrilegiously exalt it, almost on the ruins of revelation. Their danger is of falling into scepticism, the most alarming and [Page 64] incurable of all spiritual disorders. They are said, in general, to disbelieve the doctrine of the Trini­ty, of the atonement, and divinity of Christ, and unite with the Calvinists, in one sentiment, at least—that of abhorring episcopacy, and of consid­ering the established church, as a system, raised by priestcraft, and supported by superstition.

LETTER XXXI.

THE methodists are comparatively a new sect, and sprung up about sixty years ago, under the auspices of John Wesley, and George Whitfield, then students at Oxford. They received their name, from affecting to live by a stricter regimen and method, than other people.

They have been long divided into two classes according to the different principles, espoused by their leaders. The first follow the opinions of Arminius, under the guidance of Wesley, who is still a very venerable looking patriarch, at their head; and the other, believing divine decrees, foreknowledge, reprobation and election, are more strictly members of the kirk, (only that they do not admit its discipline) having long since lost their original director.^*

I do not know, that the methodists, (particu­larly they, who follow Wesley,) are dissenters [Page 65]from the establishment, further than in having separate meetings to inkindle and inspirit the zeal of their followers; a circumstance, which they conceive to be much neglected by the regular cler­gy. They are baptized with us; attend our ser­vices and sacrament; admire our liturgy; and only blame us for our lukewarmness and want of ener­gy and animation. This censure, it is true, comes but with a very ill grace from such a people; but, I fear, we cannot easily refute it.

They had originally a great share of enthusiasm.— But it is greatly softened by the indulgence they have received, and mellowed down by time. They are no longer, a new; they are no longer a perse­cuted sect.

The journals of Wesley, written in the infancy of his career, are a strange medley of goodness and enthusiasm. The old man has lived long enough to have seen his error. That glow of imaginati­on is considerably abated, which mistook shadows for substance, and made fiction pass for truth.

The great error amongst this people, is their employing such low, illiterate men as their in­structors, and fancying them under the immediate guidance of divine inspiration—preaching up the necessity of instantaneous conversion and justificati­on by a sort of miracle—making faith to consist in a full assurance of salvation, and denouncing dam­nation against those, who have it not in this super­eminent degree—and lastly, in supposing this as­surance to depend on certain, inward extraordinary impulses, rather than the scriptures.

These sentiments lead many artful people into a wicked pretence of feelings and assurances, which they have not; others of warm imagination [...] [Page 66]the belief of what is only chimerical, and plunge still more of honest, timid minds or an hyponchon­driacal temperament into melancholy and despair.

The Saviour, doubtless, can forgive sins to whom, and at whatever moment, he pleases. A thief, upon the cross, was a miracle of his mercy; but this is not the ordinary method of his provi­dence; there are, undoubtedly, thousands of ex­cellent people, who pass through the world with­out such a full assurance of faith; and the spiritual life, like that of animals or vegetables, is generally progressive. We grow imperceptibly "from strength to strength," and, though the peace of God may be diffused through our consciences, we dare not say, "that we have already attained."

The methodists were, once, extremely lavish in their censures of others; but justice obliges me to confess, that they are now in general, an harmless, inoffensive and pious people. If they be gloomy, it is their own misfortune; if they go mourning all their days, theirs is the sorrow; the world in general, is too dissipated and unreflecting.

As to their leader, he is doubtless a prodigy.— Whatever be the merit or demerit of his opinions, his indefatigable labours, activity, pilgrimages, zeal, and resolution challenge our amazement. An old man of nearly ninety rising constantly at four o'clock in the depth of winter, preaching frequently, on the same day, journeying from place to place, ‘and from one people to another kindom;’ himself the bishop, secretary, judge, governor of his people, the main spring of such a vast, and complicated machine, is a phenomenon, that will vanish from our earthly horizon, when he ceases to exist. His opinions, it is said, do not [Page 67]injure his cheerfulness. Time has planted few wrinkles on his forehead, though it has covered his head with snow.

Notwithstanding the religious zeal, which works wonders in his favour, and the deference natural­ly paid to the first founder of a sect, particularly when possessed of any genius or learning, yet his peaceful government of so numerous a people, for such a length of time, is a proof of extraordinary talents and address. Whenever he dies, his disci­ples will dwindle. They will not easily agree about a successor. No successor can have so un­disputed a sovereignty, or possess so unmolested a throne. They will separate from the church; and the separation will be fatal. It will be the loss of union, consequence and power. The re­public will probably be divided in its councils, and have less dispatch and energy in the execution.

LETTER XXXII.

THE Baptists or Anabaptists are a species of the independent dissenters, who differ from their bre­thren, chiefly in the mode of administering baptism, which they conceive, should all ways be by immersion. ^* There were many of this persuasion, amongst the reformed abroad. In Holland, German [...], and the North, they were called Anabaptists, or Menno­nites; [Page 68]in Piedmont and the south, they were found amongst the Albigenses. In England, they are few, and, and at present, little mentioned.

The Quakers arose about the middle of the seventeenth century,^* and had their name affixed upon them in derision, from the violent emotions, with which they affected to be agitated, when they conceived themselves under the more imme­diate impulse of the spirit. They explain the whole letter of scripture into a kind of inward, and spiritual allusion. They never speak, preach or exhort in public, but when they fancy them­selves to be moved by the spirit; they set aside the necessity of the external sacraments, baptism and the Lord's supper, and would certainly be right, if men had no matter in their composition, and if the imagination was not to be awakened through the medium of the senses.

They acknowledge no head, but Christ, no mas­ter but God; refuse to pay tithes, and think the common civilities of life profane and unchristian. They even appear covered in the presence of their sovereign, and address him with the familiar ap­pellation of thou. They are a religious commu­nity within themselves, and their government is wholly internal. You may see their principles ably delineated by their ingenious apologist, Bar­clay.

There are however, many excellent traits in the character of the quakers. They are, on the whole, a peaceable, inoffensive people; support their own poor, have manifested, for a long time, [Page 69]from a spirit of humanity, a strong and pointed op­position to the very infamous practice of the slave trade; they never disturb the peace of the church, or shackle the wheels of government, and are to­lerated in all their innocent peculiarities by a liberal and an enlightened kingdom.

LETTER XXXIII.

THE Moravians, or the brethren, are a species of protestants, who, in the fifteenth century, threw off the despotic yoke of Rome, animated by the zealous exhortations and heroic example of John Muss^* Count Zinzendorff was a very eminent leader of this sect, and, for his signal services a­mongst them, has been distinguished by the name of Papa^† or spiritual father; and a Monsieur la Trobe, who lived in the metropolis, and made continual circuits amongst them, has, more lately, acquired great celebrity in their annals.

They have more than once passed through the fiery ordeal of persecution. Their religious prin­ciples, however, are sound and orthodox. At a period, when great clamours were raised against them, Potter, the then learned Archbishop of [Page 70]Canterbury, pronounced them a protestant, epis­copal community, as they retained no doctrines that were repugnant to the articles of the church of England; and the pious bishop of Sodor and Man (Wilson) was created an honorary president of (what is called) the reformed Tropus, in the Unitas fratrum, (the unity of the brethren.)

Their discipline and mode of government are very singular. They form within themselves a religious community, independent of every other, and extending to all their brethren throughout the wor [...]. They are not suffered to intermarry with people, of a different persuasion; they have groups of religious houses, scattered through the king­dom; they have choirs of single sisters and breth­ren; the first are occupied in every kind of ingeni­ous needle-work, in which they have made an amazing proficiency, and the latter in all sorts of mechanical employments; and their earnings, after a maintenance for themselves, which they receive in the house, go into one common fund for the support of the general society^*, and parti­cularly of the children, belonging to the married brethren and sisters, which are fed, educated and clothed in these religious seminaries.

The morals and chastity of their women are guarded with a very peculiar vigilance; they are not permitted to step without the walls of their asylum, unaccompanied by a superintendent of their own sex^†: when any of them, or the brethren [Page 71]is married, it is transacted by the casting of lots, and supposed to be ordained by a particular pro­vidence, and the union is generally formed with some members of their society abroad ^*. They much resemble the methodists in having private conferences, classes, leaders, and examinations concerning the state and progress of grace in the soul, and none are permitted to receive the sacra­ment, without having previously passed thro' a very severe process of religious examination.

Their worship consists principally in singing, and hence, perhaps, their societies are called choirs. Their residences have much the air of religious houses; and their single brethren and sisters are often in the mortified state of involuntary friars or nuns. Their devotions, like those of a convent, are almost perpetual^†; and they seem to have for­gotten, that they were born for society, as well as for themselves^‡.

Such restraints on nature are not tolerable, and nature will, sometimes, assert her rights, and stain their history with indiscretions. We were [Page 72]sent here to be tried. Innocence, that subsists on­ly by the absence of temptation, scarcely deserves the name; perpetual devotion is an impossibility; it is as impracticable, as that the eye should be ever looking at the same object; and, if I do not much mistake, that piety is most ardent, which knows most of the world, from dear-bought experience, and finding it a scene of mortification and vanity, appeals to heaven, for more substantial satisfaction.

There are many scattered societies of Moravians in England, but they appear to be a declining sect. It is immured ignorance or prejudice, which has led Christians to separate from each other for little, frivolous distinctions. The era, I hope, is coming which will bring us ‘more into one com­mon fold, under one shepherd, Christ Jesus, the Righteous.’

There is certainly a great mixture of good in this people. What a pity, that they cannot join with us in offering a rational service, and lifting up one common hallelujah, to the great God and Father of all.

LETTER XXXIV.

I KNOW not why the mystics are so called, unless it be for discovering mystical passages in the scripture, or making religion at large wear the [Page 73]appearance of mystery. They are a very ancient sect, and sprung up so early, as about the close of the third century.

This people, by a very singular kind of ingenui­ty, discover a spiritual or hidden sense in the most literal passages of scripture, and indeed convert the whole, rather into an amusing allegory, than a plain and simple narrative of facts.

The hold all divine truth to come, by an im­mediate influx, from the spiritual world, and pre­tend to a knowledge of God, and heavenly things, that can only be attained in this extraordinary manner. Sometimes they are called quietists, because they maintain, that the soul should be in a still, quiet, passive state, undistracted with noise and cares, and almost superior to sense or matter, in order to receive this divine illumination.— Their station, in the thermometer of different, re­ligious orders, in that of lighter elements, carried by superior subtilty into the air, whilst others, composed of grosser matter, adhere, by an invin­cible necessity, to the earth, till death dissolves the union betwixt soul and body.

The mystic theology seems to be the philoso­phy of Plato, refined and grafted upon a Christian stock; the quixotism of religion, which affects to attain in life, what the scriptures have taught us to expect only after death; an intimate knowledge of the Almighty, visions, revelations, almost intuition!

If the mystics would reason for a moment, (but people, under the guidance of immediate illumi­nation are far above the vulgar shackles of reason,) they would see that such a subtile, metaphysical system is poorly fitted for the reception of mankind [Page 74]at large, who can scarcely be brought to under­stand, relish, or practise the most obvious truths; they would acknowledge that divinity to be the best, which does not, with the lightness of some matter, ascend into the air, but contents itself on earth, with inculcating and enforcing the most obvious duties of common life; the reciprocal obli­gations of parents and children, masters and ser­vants, kings and subjects; the subjection of the passions, the discipline of reason, and the duty of all to one common God. They would know, that their opinions must create an indifference, or a fancied superiority to those established ordinances, which are the very basis of all religion, and that if all men were governed by their passive quietude, there would be none to encounter with the vices and disorders of a mixed, heterogenous state.— Christians would "cease to be the light of the world, or the salt of the earth;" there would be none to stem, by powerful, turbid eloquence the ragings of iniquity, or let the lustre of their example shine before men."

Our Lord's piety was not of this kind. It sought not the indulgence of recluse contemplati­on. It was not passive, but active; every where, with the sinner and the saint, to reprove the one, and encourage the other; in the wilderness to pray, and in the world, to reform; at a marriage, "to rejoice with them, that did rejoice, and at the grave of Lazarus, to weep with his afflicted friends.

LETTER XXXV.

THE mystic theology boasts some great names. Madame de Guion was a warm espouser of it in France; a woman of great fashion and conse­quence, remarkable for the goodness of her heart, and the regularity of her conduct, but of a capri­cious unsettled temper, and liable to the seductions of a warm imagination.

The opinions of this lady made a great noise in that country, about the year 1687. They were confuted, some time afterwards, by the celebra­ted Bossuet. The great and good Fenelon under­took her vindication; but his book was condem­ned by Pope Innocent the twelfth.

The Teutonic philosopher (Jacob Behemen,) was a kind of father to this sect, and published a book, which contains a system of the most absurd and incoherent reveries, that perhaps ever gained an admission into the world. It is a species of moral chymistry, and occult philosophy, a bewil­dering explanation, and a cloudy light, which I will venture to say, that neither Sir Isaac Newton, nor Mr. Locke, with all their clearness of concep­tion, could have been able to understand.

Law, who wrote the Serious Call (a nonjuror of Northamptonshire), was an abettor of these doc­trines; a man of very exemplary life, and dis­criminating talents; but it was an honour, reserv­ed for the late Baron Swedenborg to carry them to their very height of perfection^†. Compared with [Page 76] his, all other writings, on the subject, are but the morning contrasted with the perfect day. He tells us confidently of his unrestrained communications with the spiritual world, visions, revelations; he gives to every portion of scripture, a natural, a spiritual, and a celestial sense; he describes to us the very form, and furniture, and apparatus of heaven; he retails to the reader his conversations with angels; he describes the condition of Jews, Mahometans, Christians, of the English, French, Dutch, of clergymen of every denomination, lai­ty, &c. in another world; he has a key to unlock all the hitherto impenetrable secrets of futurity, and already, whilst in the body, "knows even as he is known."

What is the inference? When imagination is permitted to usurp the place of reason, fanaticism becomes a christian duty, and enthusiasm the more credible, in proportion as it exceeds all bounds of credibility.

What can induce men of sense to hearken to these dreams? Early prejudices, confined reading, singular acquaintance, a recluse life, a gloomy. speculative, abstracted turn of mind, and associa­ting together, for a long time, particular, how­ever incongruous, ideas.

This will account for any reveries. It accounts for insanity. And men, from this cause, may, in a particular instance (suppose religion), be insane, though in all other respects, their minds are ever so enlightened, or ever so expansive.

It must, however, be said in favour of the mys­tics, that their principles inculcate in the strongest manner, the necessity of spiritual holiness and re­generation; that their lives in general, are [Page 77]unblemished and exemplary. They are a quiet, retired people, who let the world go as it will, as to riches or promotions; who enjoy indeed, in a passive superiority, those tumults of the crowd, as higher spirits may condescend to look down, with a pitying smile, on the toils of mortals; and who deny themselves all the gayer pleasures, in order to relish, in a sublimer degree, all the raptures of devotion.

If the opinions of the quietists spring from spi­ritual pride, it is more than they suspect; for they preach up the deepest self-abasement, anni­hilation, and poverty of spirit; they almost starve the animal part of their nature, to nurse the angelic, and half live on meditation.

If such people have errors, they should be touch­ed with a gentle hand. If they are misled, it is in amiable company. There is not a much more lovely name than that of Fenelon. Few men have possessed such a sweetness of piety.

I have but one wish for them, myself, or any other sect, and it is a wish of charity; that what is wrong in any of us, may be done away, because I long to meet them all in the kingdom of heaven.

LETTER XXXVI.

THEOLOGY, like arts and sciences, has its scholastic, technical terms, and I will endeavour to explain them.

[Page 78] The Arians are so called from Arius, a presby­ter of the church of Alexandria, in the year 315. He believed Christ to be God, but conceived him inferior to the Father, as to his deity and essence. The term, at present, is indiscriminately applied to all, who, in any degree, embrace this opinion.

This heresy was first revived by Mr. Whiston, in the beginning of the eighteenth century. The wo [...] of Dr. Clarke afterwards entailed upon him the name of Semi-Arian (Half-Arian.)

Socinians derive their name from the illustrious family of Sozzini, which flourished, a long time, at Sienna in Tuscany, and produced several great, and eminent men. Faustus Socinus, the great author of this sect, was born at Sienna in 1539. denied the divinity of Christ, the personality of the Holy Ghost, and the perpetuity of baptism, as a divine ordinance.

The most distinguished men, who have favoured this opinion, are Le Clere, Biddle, Lardner, Low­man, Fleming, Lindsey, &c.

LETTER XXXVII.

THE Deists are so called, perhaps, from the Latin word, Deus, a God; because they acknow­ledge only the existence of a God, profess no par­ticular form or system of religion, and only follow the law and light of nature. Of these, however, there are many degrees, from the moderate ones, who believe revelation in a certain, qualified sense, [Page 79]to those, who absolutely disavow it in all. The first who figured or wrote, in this country, was Baron Herbert of Cherbury.

Deism is generally embraced, either by men of a cold, phlegmatic, philosophical cast, who are indisposed to believe any thing, for which they have not absolute demonstration, or by those, who, having never thought or reasoned, consider it as a mark of wit and talents, to set up for un­believers.

The first deserve an answer, and it is easy. All nature is full of mysteries, as well as revelation; the union of soul and body is a miracle; the infinite divisibility of matter, and the idea of an eternal duration are absolutely incomprehensible; nothing can be more so, than the necessary self-existence of God. The latter are better answered with irony. Their infidelity is a fashionable livery. When deism is not in vogue amongst the gay cireles, they will soon put it off, and disavow their ever having worn so absolete a garb.

A third class of deists may be said to spring up from the superstitions of Rome. Great men, who live in catholic countries, are disgusted with their bigotry, and are apt to think religion in general only an imposition on the credulity of mankind. Was not this the case with all that splendid group, Rousseau, Voltaire, the Abbe de Raynal, and Helvetius, who wrote a famous treatise de l' Esprit? Genius hates shackles, and shackles are the peculiar manufacture of Rome.

A fourth class of deists are continually produced by the love of fame, venting itself in paradoxes, and singular opinions to make a noise; by an aversion to the strictness of gospel morality, and [Page 80]by criminal passions, which endeavour to hide their guilt in the shades of unbelief. Some of these have commenced authors, and endeavoured to im­mortalize their errors by the press. But their books, on a near view, have been found only gist and lettered with vanity, and have quickly been consigned to the oblivion, they deserved. Whilst we are in this world, enemies will mix these tares with the good seed of the gospel. We must wait till harvest, to see the final separation.

The deists are the greatest enemies, of all others, to true religion. Their pride and scepticism stop up every avenue, by which divine grace and con­viction should be conveyed to the soul. Nature, with them, is only a necessary system of causes and effects. Creation rose into its present splendour, by a kind of fatality. Thunders roar, lightnings flash, volcanos vomit, tempests rage, seas overflow, millions perish, and kingdoms are desolated, only by a train of stated, inevitable causes. They ex­clude a first efficient mover, and think not of the providence, which, at a certain moment, and for the wisest, moral causes, predestined such events.

Few of these men have died in peace. Their fortitude has deserted them, when they wanted its support. Their philosophy has vanished, as their strength has abated. The blast of death has de­molished their splendid fabric, and their hopes and peace have perished in the ruins^*

LETTER XXXVIII.

TRAVELLERS, that have made (what is call­ed) the grand tour, felicitate themselves on their return to England, and pronounce it the happiest country in the world. And such it certainly is, if not in beauty and deliciousness of climate, yet in that absolute security of property it enjoys above all other nations, and that liberty, which endears eve­ry possession.

If you have made proper observations on the different, religious sects, that have passed in review before us, you will feel much the same sentiment, when you compare them with your own church.— You will be the moral traveller returned from more unpleasant scenes, to taste the blessings of true re­pose and dignity at home. Nor is this idea, I hope, the effect of prejudice, but springs from solid rea­son and conviction.

The Church of England^* [...] enough of cere­mony and external deconcy to strike the senses, and to support the dignity of religion, in the eyes of the vulgar, and yet nothing, that can justly [Page 82]offend the delicacy of the sublimest understanding. It aims not at the total abstraction of dissenters, nor affects the superstitious forms and ceremonies of the Church of Rome. Its piety has a rational, sedate, composed air, and is uniformly grave and decent without pretending to the flights, the fer­vours, and the visions of some, modern fanatics.

The sacraments are not ridiculously multiplied, nor has human policy inveated them. They are but two in number, baptism and the Lord's sup­per; both positively enjoined by Christ, and nei­ther of them supposed to have any further merit, than as they lead to purity of heart and conduct. The liturgy has been admired by the greatest men; the ministers of this church are, in general, an ornament to their sacred profession, and perhaps, on the whole, men of as great learning, candour, piety and moderation, as are to be found under any communion. That there were no exceptions, would be a miracle. There was a Judas amongst twelve apostles.

After all the fine-spun theories of liberty, every society must have a mode of government; and that government supposes power to be lodged some where for the general good. That of the Church of England is vested in bishops; no one will dispute the antiquity, or perhaps usefulness of the order, whatever he may object to its temporal distinctions. St. Paul appointed bishops in the primitive church.

Much abuse is often levelled against the sacred bench. But the shafts come from envy, and are pointed by religious prejudice and resentment. It is, in fact, their temporal emoluments, that pro­voke this ungenerous kind of persecution. But if they must attend parliament, they have indeed no [Page 83] super-abundant provision. Whilst it is thought ex­pedient to have a national church, the interests of it, as connected with the state, must frequently be a subject of parliamentary discussion; and it would be very extraordinary indeed, if they, who are most immediately concerned should not have the liberty of giving their opinion and votes on the occasion. Whatever equal right, from education or abilities, the bishops may possess, along with the temporal peers of the realm, to deliver their sentiments on any other subject, they exercise it very rarely, and with great discretion. Their hon­ours too, it should be observed, usually come late in life, and the hope of attaining them, at some distant period, is doubtless, amongst the younger clergy, a strong incentive to emulation.

But prejudice apart, the bishops, in general, perform their sacred duties with great decorum, and the present bench can boast the names of seve­ral who, without the aid of purple, would be an ornament to human nature.

To suppose the Church of England without de­fects, would be supposing it not an human establish­ment. But innovation in religious systems, is a dangerous experiment Projects of a reformation in our liturgy and articles have come from very suspicious quarters, and worn no very prom­ising appearance. The little errors of this church are better trusted to the enlightened prudence and moderation of its governors, than the rash and daring spirit of adventurers, who, under the pretence of only attempting to remove its rubbish, might art­ [...] undermine the very foundation, on which it rests. They who have talked most loudly on the subject of an alteration, have certainly displayed no [Page 84]very great attachment to the essentials of our holy faith.

We might, perhaps, borrow from sectaries, without any inconvenience, a little more zeal, fer­vour and animation. If our internal discipline, like theirs, was more rigidly inforced, and if, like them, we had a few more conferences with our people, and an opportunity of keeping the un­worthy from the altar, we should be so much nearer the model of perfection.

But alas! the great evil amongst us, is a want of encouragement. The church, at any rate, has but a small pittance. A learned prelate^* has ob­served, that, if all its dignities, (bishopricks in­cluded,) were annulled, and their produce thrown into one common, equalizing fund, for the general support, the amount of annual salary, to every individual would not exceed £. 120, or at most, £. 150.

Under such circumstances, who can be very animated? Or what energy can attend the exer­cise of our profession in the eyes of a world, that superciliously appreciates the characters of men in­finitely more by their temporal possessions, than by the graces of their heart, or the sublimity of their understanding. To a person of any refine­ment or sensibility, houses without conveniences, and children, without provision, are but a me­lancholy portion! If merchants or lawyers had no better prospects, what would be their exertions? And yet under all this heavy load of embarrass­ment, what great and good men do our annals boast?

[Page 85] Fanatics, indeed, alledge, that pastors should be superior to all hopes of reward, except in heaven. Plato has likewise said that we should be raised above the sense of pain. But neither those visionaries nor this philosopher have been able to change the nature of things; to take from nerves, their sensibility; from the world, its insolence, from education, its delicacy, or from poverty, its stings.

And we have learned from an higher authority, that either of theirs, that ‘the christian labour­er is worthy of his hire, and that he who serves at the altar, should live of the altar.’

LETTER XXXIX.

BOOKS and rules of all kinds are the theory of religion, and can have no further use, than as they lead to practice. We have then profited by systems and opinions, when our life is a continual comment on what we have read, and we make the light of our example shine before men.

Christianity has but two, capital features; love to God, evidenced in acts of piety; and good will towards man, exemplified in all the possibilities of doing good. As devotion, however necessary, can bring no profit to our Maker, any more than a little taper can add to the splendors of the sun, the scriptures have laid the greatest stress on charity to our fellow-creatures. This is called the ‘end [Page 86]of the commandment;’ it is the embodying of our piety; and the world could not subsist without it. Human life is full of woe. Charity is the angel, that binds up the sores of our fellow-crea­tures, heals the broken in heart, clothes the na­ked, and feeds the hungry. The poor are made the representatives of Christ; whatever we give to them is, in scripture language, bestowed on the Saviour. Moth and rust corrupt the treasures we hoard up, but this is placed in those funds of hea­ven, which never fail.

The Saviour has said, that ‘it is more blessed to give than to receive.’ And the pleasures, which spring from charity, prove its origin to be divine. What value has an heap of money, or what conscious dignity do we derive from it, if it is not employed in giving comfort to the misera­ble, and protection to the distressed?

The very poor are provided for by the laws of the kingdom. And common beggars are far from being the most deserving objects. Charity should rather seek out the modest and uncomplaining who have seen better days, and have all the pains of a delicate sensibility, annexed to their distress.

True charity does not so much consist in multi­plying little alms to a number of poor people, as in making some grand and well directed efforts in favour of a few. Educating one child of an over­burthened family is a greater act of beneficence, than retailing to them, occasionally, a thousand, petty benefactions. It is not a few, scattered drops of rain, but it is a generous shower, coming all at once, which revives the parched earth, and quick­ens vegetation.

[Page 87] It is amazing what charities even a small fortune will enable people to perform, if under the influ­ence of a christian oeconomy. A few re [...]ench­ments from dress, vanity or pleasure, poured into the christian stock, will make it rich indeed.

I do not know a better practice, than that of the primitive christians—laying by, on the first day of the week, a little pittance for this purpose.— These drops will not be missed from the general reservoir, and yet, collectively, will rain a shower of blessings on many indigent and distressed.

LETTER XL.

YOUNG ladies have many methods of charity besides the mere act of giving money. That time, which sometimes hangs heavy on their hands, might be usefully employed in making garments for the naked, or providing cordials for the sick. Such an active benevolence would likewise be an excellent recipe for their health and spirits; it would dignify their character, and when the last moment came, gratitude would ‘shew the gar­ments which a Dorcas had made,’ and the good name ‘they had acquired, would be infinitely richer, and more precious than ointment.’

If I wished a woman to be universally charming, I would recommend this expedient. Compassion is the highest excellence of your sex, and charity [Page 88]is the sacred root from which it springs. The soft bosom of a woman, throbbing with sympathy, or her eye glistening with crystal drops of pity, are some of the finest touches in nature's pencil. The whole train of accomplishments, the whole group of graces do not exalt her half so much in the esti­mation of the worthy, the amiable and the discern­ing. Alas! when death comes, what will be all the accomplishments and graces? But charity shall never fail; its pleasures then are gaining their meridian of perfection. Remember what the scripture has said, ‘alms giving delivereth from death, and will not suffer us to come into dark­ness.’ The young lady you have so frequent­ly [...]ard me mention, as standing high in my es­teem, is very eminently distinguished by this grace. Nature has been sufficiently kind to her person; but it is not her sweet complexion, it is not her flow­ing, unartificial ringlets, it is not the softness of her voice and manner, or the mild lustre of her eyes, that would have called forth a penegyric from my pen, or touched a breast, that is considerably petrified with philosophy and reflection. It is a conviction that she lives in the constant exercise of piety; that her excellencies are chiefly those of the mind, and that her benevolence is bounded on­ly by creation.

When others are at plays or assemblies, her fair hands are making garments for the naked, or re­storatives for the sick. The ingenuity, which some of her sister females employ to adorn them­selves, is consecrated by her, to the service of the poor.

This is laying up in store against the day of necessity. This is weaving for herself a chaplet [Page 89]of laurels, that shall be green in age. Her coun­tenance shall smile even in dissolution. A beaute­ous ruin ‘even in death she shall have power to charm;’ and the gratitude of some admiting bard shall collect her scattered merits into an urn that shall long secure the precious relicks from the ravages of time.

But I will not add another touch to the portrait, for fear of discovering the excellent original. I should would that soft and delicate timidity, which is, in my idea, the enamel of her graces. Her true merit wishes to be unknown. It is satis­fied with its own, and the approbation of its God.

LETTER XLI.

ALMS, however, to the body, which must very soon perish, are but, if I may so say, the threshold, of charity. The true sublime of it is compassion to the soul; because that is immortal, and can never die.

Every effort to save this, is exalted in its nature, and the nearest approach we can make, in these houses of clay, to the ministry of angels, to the attributes of Jehovah, and to the unbounded com­passion of him, who died for the sins of all.

A few, timely advices, instructions or reproofs to those, over whom our fortune or station give us any influence, may have more lasting and bene­ficial consequences, than all the food or raiment, [Page 90]or money we can possibly bestow; at least when we give our temporal things, they should be perfum­ed with spiritual, ‘wi [...]h words, thus spoken in due season.’

The institution of Sunday Schools promises the happiest consequences to the poor, and the commu­nity at large. It has, indeed, already produced a surprizing reformation. The present age beholds the dawn of a blessed morning, which in another, may brighten into a more perfect day.

If it fails, it will be from careless and indo­lence in the parents themselves, or for want of at­tention from the higher orders of people. Many, who will give their money, are not equally liberal of their exertion. This grand scheme, however, requires an unremitting labour and vigilance. It is the watchful eye of superiors, which alone will produce exemplariness in the teachers, or, in the scholars, emulation. And I do not know a great­er charity within the sphere of a young lady, than to visit the girls in these useful seminaries, in or­der to correct their foibles, encourage their dawn­ing virtues, and stimulate them to improvement. Close, uncomfortable rooms, it is true, in cellars or garrets, poisoned with unpleasant smells, and but filled with poor children, are no very inviting objects to those, who live in houses, ‘cieled with cedar, and painted with vermillion.’ But the merit of the action is, doubtless, in proportion to its unpleasantness; and it is done for him, who on our account, refused neither hardship nor distress. These poor children, he has vouchsafed to call "his lambs," and it is a most christian effort to "feed them."

[Page 91] Such advice will, doubtless, sound very strange in the ears of some young ladies, who dare ‘scarcely set their feet upon the ground for de­licateness and tenderness.’ But this, alas! is a false and over-acted refinement. They were not born merely to vegetate, like tulips, for ostentation. The world, their friends, the poor, religion, have claims upon them. All nature, sun, moon, stars, tides, preach up the necessity of continual action; and I will venture to say, that this kind of exertion would be recompensed with such a secret pleasure, as they never found in the gayest circles of fashion, or the most crowded haunts of dissipation.

Another excellent mode of charity, is dispersing little, religious tracts amongst your poor neighbors. These, with the blessing of God, may have a won­derful effect, and in [...]eed be doing most extensive good, when you are no more. Every family of servants should have small christian library; the benefits, I doubt not, would soon be felt in their orderly deportment.

The Society for promoting christian knowledge abounds with a variety of little, plain, useful trea­tises, that are suited to all occasions. You may easily procure a catalogue of the whole, and select such, as are most adapted to the state of your par­ticular dependents.

On the whole, my dear girl, that time which tarnisheth the glory of all human things, will quickly lay both you and me, in the dust of the earth. Let us endeavour to extend this little span by amiable actions, and, if possible, render our memories immortal.

LETTER XLII.

THE very first thing I should recommend after religious duties, as absolutely essential to your private comfort, is self-government in the fullest sense of the word. This may be supposed to be included under the article of religion. And so in fact it is. But there are many well disposed people, that seem to think little things of this kind almost beneath their notice, though in reality they are interwoven with the repose of every day, and almost every moment.

The discipline of the imagination is the first thing to be attempted. This, in young people, is na­turally warm; and if they are not cautious, will be apt to mislead them into very dangerous errors.

Thus whatever captivates their fancy, they take, without examination, to be all over excellence. Tinsel, because it glitters more, will be preferred to solid gold; a luxuriant, florid style in a writer; to the soundest and best arranged arguments; the shewy and brilliant in characters, to the truly va­luable, and the gaudy in dress, to that artless sim­plicity, which is the offspring of an elegant and well cultivated taste.

Young people, almost universally subject them­selves to this kind of illusion. They enter upon life, as an inchanted country. The world, in [Page 93] their idea, has no caprice; fortune, no vicissitude; friendship is without sincerity; attachment without bitters, and marriage is all happiness without allay. What the scripture has called a wilderness, they make a paradise, whose landskips are deliciously picturesque, and whose spring is ever green.

Experience, be assured, will not realize such high expectations. You will find, that every object has its imperfections; that the world at best is but a mixture of good and ill, and that the lights of the picture will be interspersed with shades.

You will ask, where is the great harm of indulg­ing, fo [...] a little while, these high colourings of fancy? The inconvenience is obvious. It will ex­pose you to perpetual disappointments, and disap­pointments will create disgust. By such a false sublimation, you will have no relish for the ration­al pleasures, and no resolution to perform the solid duties of your condition. At any rate, you will want a proper share of fortitude and patience to encounter the many unavoidable ills and calamities of life.

LETTER XLIII.

THE next, most important thing is the govern­ment of your temper. I know many persons, that would not, for the world, be absent from the sacra­ment, or refuse to do a generous action, yet in­dulge themselves, seemingly without remorse, in [Page 94]such little instances of ill-nature, peevishness, ty­ranny, and caprice towards their servants and in­feriors, as render their houses a perpetual scene of discord, and hang, on every countenance, an un­comfortable gloom.

Such people should consider, that religion was intended to reg [...]ate the most ordinary actions of our lives; that prayers, sacraments, and oppor­tunities of doing great good come, comparatively, but seldom; but that it is, every moment, in our power to diffuse happiness amongst our domestics, and that this, if it proceeds from proper motives, will be an acceptable service to the God, who has appointed all the different ranks in society, and is the father of all compassion. Nor have we much imbibed the true spirit of the gospel, if it has not taught us to bear patiently the imperfections of our fellow-creatures, and to temper authority with gentleness and good nature.

No Consequence can justify one single act of ca­price, sullenness or ill-humour. It is a direct vio­lation of that universal law of charity, which re­quires us, in all our actions, to keep in view, the happiness of others, as well as our own.

Tyranny is a downright insult to any creature formed in the image of God; it would be unpar­donable, if exercised even to a worm or insect, and generally proceeds from causes, which reflect no honour on the heart or understanding. It is often the result of a new-born greatness, that has not yet learned how to bear superiority; of a spleen, collected from want of employment, or a natural, ill temper, that never has submitted to the discipline of virtue.

[Page 95] Mildness is necessary to our own comfort. They, who are continually tormenting others, must be wretched themselves. It is essential to the dignity of our own character; and it is, I am sure, the highest policy, whether we mean to secure the affections, or the good services of our dependents.

It is a pitiful condescension in a woman of for­tune to aggravate every little cause of complaint. A ruffled, angry, scolding woman is so far vulgar and disgusting, and, for the moment, a sort of virage.

Moderation is the great secret of government. To be always dissatisfied is the way to lose all authority and respect, The consequence of those people is most cheerfully acknowledged, who seem the least forward to assert it.

And what says the law of all wisdom and of all perfection? ‘Masters, give unto your servants, that which is just and equal, knowing that ye also have a moster in heaven. Put on, as the elect of God, bowels of mercies, kindness, hum­bleness of mind, long suffering, forbearing one another, and forgiving one another. Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart. Be piti­ful, be courteous.’

If the gospel was published ‘to bring peace on earth, and good-will towards men,’ this kind affection should begin with families, which, col­lectively, compose all the nations of the world.

LETTER XLIV.

THE piety, I have recommended, will make you always happy in yourself, and respected by all the worthy and discerning, though you should happen to have none of those intellectual endow­ments, which procure a greater share of fame and admiration. But you may be sensible, as well as pious; you may be entertaining, as well as good. Your reason and understanding were given you to be improved; a proper pursuit of knowledge, at the same time, will aid and inflame your piety, and ren­der you much more valuable and interesting to all your acquaintance. When the foundation is laid in virtue, the superstructure may have every graceful embellishment.

Knowledge will recommend you to many, over whom mere piety would have no power. It will give a greater energy to your goodness. The pic­ture will be thus elegantly framed, and placed in the best point of view.

Learned women, however, have been often a proverb of reproach, feared by their own sex, and disliked by ours. A neglect of their person, and of family concerns, as of little things beneath a superior understanding; a vain ostentation of their abilities in company, and upon all occasions, a su­percilious contempt of their sister women in gene­ral, and an ungraceful avidity for the company of men, have been reckoned amongst their distin­guished characteristics.

[Page 97] The truth is, some females have been viragos in their knowledge, not only injudicious in the kind they have aspired to, but the use they have made of it, and an indiscriminate stigma has been fixed upon all, who have endeavoured rationally to improve their understandings.

On the other hand, it is said of women, that they are so ignorant, frivolus and insipid, as to be unfit for friendship, society or conversation; that they are unable to amuse, entertain or edify a lonely hour, much more to bless or grace that connexion, for which they were principally formed.

What, my dear girl, can a judicious woman do, in such a dilemma? How must she act to avoid the imputation of pedantry on the one hand, and ignorance on the other.

There is a narrow, middle path betwixt these extremes. Judgment must point it out, and good sense direct you in the execution.

The prominent excellencies of your minds are taste and imagination, and your knowledge should be of a kind, which assimilates with these faculties. Politics, philosophy, mathematics, or metaphy­sics are not your province. Machiavel, Newton, Euclid, Malebranche or Locke would lie with a very ill grace in your closets. They would ren­der you unwomanly indeed. They would damp that vivacity and destroy that disengaged ease and softness, which are the very essence of your graces.

The elegant studies are, more immediately, your department. They do not require so much time, abstraction or comprehensiveness of mind; they bring no wrinkles, and they will give a polish to your manners, and such a liberal expansion to [Page 98]your understanding, as every rational creature should endeavour to attain.

Whilst men, with solid judgment and a superior vigour are to combine ideas, to discriminate, and examine a subject to the bottom, you are to give it all its brillioncy and all its charms. They provide the furniture; you dispose it with propriety. They baild the house; you are to fancy, and to orna­ment the cieling.

Cultivate, then, such studies, [...]s lie within the region of sentiment and taste. Let your know­ledge be seminine, as well as your person. And let it glow within you, rather than sparkle upon others about you. A diamond, so polished, will always be valued. You will charm all, but the ignorant and vulgar. You will be a rational, en­tertaining companion, and the symmetry of your features will derive a double lustre from the beauties of your mind.

LETTER XLV.

ENDEAVOUR to acquire a taste for the beauties of fine writing, as it is displayed in our present, numerous list of English classics, the Spectators, Tatlers, the Guardian, the Rambler, the Adventurer, the World, &c. I have placed Addison at the head of this catalogue, because he, more frequently than any of the rest, gives lessons of morality and prudence to your sex, and, for [Page 99]delicacy of sentiment, is peculiarly adapted to fe­male reading. There is sometimes perhaps, a languor in his papers. He may not have all that fire and energy and pathos, which have since characterized some celebrated writers; but for ease, gracefulness, simplicity and nature, he is absolutely without a rival, and, perhaps, ever will be without a superior. A critic^* of modern times has said, that whoever would write the English language with ease, should spend his days and nights in reading the works of Addison.

To this frequent perusal of the best writers, add, if possible, an acquaintance with some living characters of improved education. Conversation with people of ge [...]s and sentiment is the easiest and quickest way to improvement. It gives us all its graces, without [...]s an [...]erities; its depth, without its wrinkles. We soon grow languid and gloomy with abstracted studies, weary of ourselves, and sated with our pursuits. Conversation gently agitates the sedentary frame, and gives a brisker motion to the blood and spirits. The countenance is flushed with pleasure; the eyes sparkle, and the heart expands and glows with emulation.

LETTER XLVI.

TO write letters well is a very desirable excel­lence in a woman. Every situation, character, connexion, devotion, friendship, love, business, [Page 100] all require the exercise of this talent. It is an of­fice particularly suited to the liveliness of your fancy, and the sensibility of your heart; and your sex, in general, much excels our own, in the ease and graces of epistolary correspondence. Not cramped with the shackles and formality of rules, their thoughts are expressed spontaneously, as they flow, and become, more immediately, (what a let­ter always should be,) a lively, amusing, written conversation. A man attends to the niceties of grammar, or well turned periods; a woman gives us the effusions of her soul. The first may please a few, languid critics; the latter will delight every person of sensibility and discernment.

I had once the honour of corresponding with a lady, whose letters astonished me. Imagery, taste, pathos, spirit, fire and ease vied with each other, which should be the most conspicuous feature in the productions of her pen. They came not from the head; it was the heart, which wrote them. They were not faultless, but they were impassioned. They had defects, but they had likewise beauties, which must have warmed the coldest critic, that ever existed. They were interesting to an high degree, and lest this conviction strongly on my mind, that we often labour only to be dull, and, in the search of distant ornaments, chill the natural fervours of the soul.

LETTER XLVII.

WITH the history of your own country you cannot decently be unacquainted. It would be­tray [Page 101]an unpardonable ignorance, if you could not tell, on being asked in company, the general cha­racter of all the sovereigns, that have sat upon the British throne; what were the religion, man­ners, customs, ceremonies of the primitive inhab­itants of the island; by what means the present state of civilization has been gradually introduced; what contributed to bring about our reformation from the Church of Rome; at what period the outline of our happy constitution first began to be sketched out, and what is the particular excellence of our government, over all others in the known world.

If indeed you consider history in its proper light, not as a mere detail of names, facts, epochs, and events, but as a picture of human nature, and of the wonderful administration of Providence, ap­portioning rewards and punishments to nations, and frequently to individuals, according their ac­tions, it will become not only an entertaining stu­dy, but a source of the sublimest, moral improve­ment. It will give you the richest knowledge of men and things; from what has happened, you may deduce what will, in similar situations; and you will learn to adore the wisdom, justice and perfections of him, who, under all the changes of time, falls of empire, the conflicts of passion, and the interests of man, is the same ‘yesterday, to­day, and for ever;’ carrying on, amidst all ap­parent disorder, one grand and comprehensive scheme of happiness and probation.

Gold smith has agreeably abridged and condens­ed the English history, in a well-known work of two small volumes intitled Letters from a Noble­man to his Son. If your curiosity is excited to [Page 102]pursue this study on a larger scale, Henry will give you every thing that delights in genius, language, colouring and description^†

Hume is by no means, an impartial historian, but he is a very splendid, captivating writer. If he is not dispassionate, he is always inchanting; and, if he does not uniformly convince, he never fails to charm.

It had been happy for this writer, if he had never attempted any thing but history. He might then have gone to his grave with unequivocal ap­plause. But in his moral and metaphysical works, he is an enemy to the dearest interests of mankind. He has endeavoured to sap the foundations of that religion, which is the only source of every hope and every comfort. His cold and sullen scepticism has done infinite mischief. It more than sullies all the lustre of his literary fame.

LETTER XLVIII.

ROBERTSON's history of Charles the fifth, and of Mary Queen of Scots, will both instruct and entertain you. The historiographer has been esteemed an excellent writer. But I have always, in private, thought his style too laboured and stately. It has not the ease and simplicity of the ancients. It does not equal several of the moderns. It has neither the concise energy of Hume, nor the more flowing and easy graces of Gibbon.

[Page 103] The late Dr. Stewart, in a very elegant work, has controverted almost all the assertions of his predecessor, concerning Mary, and become the champion of this unfortunate queen. But you have nothing to do with literary controversy. Leave them to the tribunal of an impartial public. Time will weight their separate merits in the balance of truth. Either or both of them will exercise your taste, and improve your understanding.

Stretch's Beauties of History^* will furnish you with many short, agreeable anecdotes, both anci­ent and modern, at a very small expence of time and trouble. Knowledge thus epitomized, is what I should recommend. On such subjects, you want short and pithy sketches, rather than laboured and prolix dissertations.

The history of Greece and Rome is so frequent­ly alluded to, so connected with that of almost all other nations, and so full of curious incidents and anecdotes, that a little knowledge of it would be very useful and entertaining. But, in general, the writers on the subject are too voluminous for a female. They make up no little share of the labour, in a classical education. Goldsmith has likewise given his assistance to epitomize this branch of history. I know no other writer so pro­per for your purpose.

To attain just a glimpse of general history, the most useful work I recollect, is the Abbé Millot's Elements sur l'Histoire. On his comprehensive and condensed plan, there is much in a little com­pass. By travelling over a few fields, you gain a most immense and extended horizon, and many [Page 104]tracts of hitherto undiscovered country. History at large is so voluminous and complicated, that, to a young lady, who should understand, as it were, but the outline, it very much wants such a mode of abridgment, and simplification.

LETTER XLIX.

ROLLIN's ancient history is a treasure to young people, if the number of volumes does not alarm you. This man was one of the most excel­lent preceptors, that the world ever saw. It was his ambition to unite the scholar, and the christian. He labours to promote religious improvement by every incident, he relates. He holds forth Provi­dence, as continually superintending the govern­ment of the universe, and its finger, as directing all the movements of the system; and, when he has related a number of surprizing vicissitudes and events, he takes his pupil up ‘to an high moun­tain, from whence he shows him all the king­doms of the world, and all the glories of them’ to be continually under the control and direction of heaven, and not collectively to possess half the lustre of the excellence of one, pious disposition.

Under the pen of this most christia [...] writer, eve­ry baser metal is purified from its alloy. Every sounding action is divested of its bombast, and tra­ced to its real source. Splendour has no dignity, if unassociated with virtue. Ambition is painted [Page 105]as a fury, that destroys. Heroism is represented, as murder in disguise. The laurels of an Alexan­der are wrested from his brow. Caesar is stripped of his fictitious plumage. They are both descri­bed, as vultures, preying on their species, who were born to be only the scourges of humanity, and a terror to the world.

This man deserves universal veneration. His pupils should have raised a monument to his me­mory, and posterity have rendered that monument immortal. Learning and religion should be group­ed over his tomb, mingling their united tears for the loss of his virtues.

If you have not leisure to peruse his writings, yet be careful to read all other history with this view, and it will lead you to God. It will teach you, no longer, to be dazzled with grandeur, be­cause grandeur fades away. It will show you, that vices have demolished the mightiest empires, and swept the finest cities "with the besom of destruction." It will convince you, that every thing on earth is a shadow, and that neither men nor nations "continue in one stay." It will assure you, that, ‘though clouds and darkness may be about the throne of God, yet righteousness and judgment are the habitation of his seat.’ It will instruct you, that every action is "weighed in its balance;" that, however, seemingly, disregard­ed for a time, vice and virtue will have their just proportion of punishment or reward, and that noth­ing but religion will be able to triumph, amidst the crush of elements, of matter, and the world.

LETTER L.

THOUGH I think every woman in the world should execrate the memory of the late Lord Chesterfield, as having written the most scandalous libels on her sex, yet his sketches of heathen my­thology, of Grecian, Roman, and British history, in the first volume of his letters, are well worth your attention. If this ingenious nobleman had given us more specimens of this nature, and fewer lectures on the graces and intrigue, the gratitude of posterity would have imbalmed his ashes. He was certainly possessed of an elegant style, and had a very happy method of conveying his instructions.

But in order to make any real improvement in this, or any other of your studies, let me advise you to read only one half hour, at a time, and to employ a double space, in abridging and expressing what you recollect, in your own language. This will have the double advantage of impressing it very strongly on your memory, and enabling you to form a style of your own.

Though a good style is, doubtless, a mark of genius, and not attainable by every person, yet it depends amazingly on mechanical habit, as well as our gait, countenance or gesture. The pen accus­tomed to a certain routine of period, performs it as insensibly, as the memory retraces all the vari­ations [Page 107]of notes in a song, whilst, perhaps, we are silently, occupied with some other object.

Be so kind as to indulge me with a sight of these sheets exactly as they are penned from your first impressions, and I will endeavour to correct them. Banish the childish fear of betraying any ignorance, where I cannot expect you to be informed; and, if some, essential alterations should be made, re­member it is the pen of friendship, which erases, guided by that affection, with which I have the honour to be.

LETTER LI.

THAT species of history, which describes the lives and characters of particular persons, and is included under the name of biography, is by fat the most useful and interesting to a woman. In­stead of wars, sieges, victories or great atchieve­ments, which are not so much within the province of a female, it presents those domestic anecdotes and events, which come more forcibly home to her bo­som and her curiosity.

I have always thought that one great advan­tage of boys over girls, is their having the most il­lustrious characters of antiquity to form their sen­timents, and fire their emulation. Biography will open to you the same source of improvement. [Page 108]You will read of persons, elevated with every no­ble sentiment and virtue; and your judgment and taste will select some particular favorite from the group, as a model for your imitation.

Though Johnson has been so very much cele­brated in the republic of letters for all his produc­tions, yet I have always thought his Lives of the Poets by far his most agreeable performance. It has not that turgid pomposity of style, which ap­pears in some of his more juvenile labours; it is, all along, interspersed with judicious sentiments and moral reflections; it abounds with an original vein of criticism, and anecdotes of so many illus­trious men, as cannot fail to amuse, as well as to instruct. His criticisms, it is true, have been con­troverted, and traduced: but what writings of merit are exempt from such a tax; The enthu­siastic admirers of Milton, in particular, have handled him with severity. But who does not know, that favourites, at any rate, will be de­sended?

But indeed all men of sense unite in paying a sincere tribute of respect to the memory of John­son. In spite of all his petty and ungenerous bio­graphers, the sneers of party malice, or the still sha [...]per arrows of insidious friends, he stands an hug [...] colossus, in the bosom of an ocean, unmoved with the angry dashing of its waves.

Johnson in all his multipled productions, has not a single period, that can patronize indecency, [...] unhinge belief. And, though, now, it signifies b [...] little to this extraordinary man, that no was considered as an oracle of knowledge in his day, as an ornament to his country, and a blessing to the world, it must transport him to recollect, that he [Page 109]has carefully endeavoured to diffuse happiness, as widely as his writings, and to render piety diffu­sive as his fame. The death of the author will ex­empt me from suspicions of flattery or design in this little panegyric. Gratitude may be allowed to offer, without any censure, this little incense to his venerable shade.

If all the private anecdotes of every person's life and temper must be arraigned before the tribunal of the public, who could escape? If Johnson was unaccommodating, rough and morose, let it be remembered, that these were but little pimples on a skin, where the heart glowed with universal benev­olence; let it be considered, that conflicts, disap­pointments and misfortunes are unfriendly to sweetness of manners or disposition; that severe application has a tendency to render any man irri­table and peevish; that gaiety and sprightliness considerably arises from an ease of circumstances; and let us oppose to these a piety, that was pro­found and warm, almost, to superstition, and unwea­ried labours for the service of mankind, which scarcely knew a moment's interruption.

LETTER LII.

SULLY's Memoirs, in five volumes, are inter­spersed with very curious and interesting adecdotes; and the private life of Louis XV. is a very enter­taining work. Indeed the French particularly [Page 110]shine in biographical writing. It is quite in their province, and forms a part of the national taste. Their imagination sparkles, in an especial manner, in painting the complexion of courts, monarchs or personages of distinction. They feel as great an ardour for extolling the virtues of their le roi and his attendants, as we do for recording all the great atchievements of the field or ocean.

The Marquis Caraccioli is universally known, as an author of great vivacity and talents. He has written the life of Pope Clement XIV. and it does honour to his pen, as well as to the memory of the sovereign pontiff.

If the Marquis really wrote the letters, which go under the name of Ganganelli, he has hit off, with a wonderful address, the air and features of the illustrious original. The habits, sentiments, man­ners and disposition of the Pope, as couched in this life, all breathe through these letters.

The name of Dr. Johnson, and the intimacy known to have subsisted betwixt the parties, have given a great currency to Mrs. Piozzi's anecdotes, relating to this literary hero. But they have not immortalized either her talents, or the goodness of her heart. They are a most disgusting specimen of treachery in friendship; a copious effusion of spleen, that had long been collecting. They re­mind one forcibly of a number of little insects, nimbling at their ease, on the carcase of some no­ble animal, that a single motion of the living crea­ture would have dispersed in an instant, or crushed into atoms.

LETTER LIII.

WRAXALL is a very agreeable author, and he has chosen a fruitful, happy subject, in his Memoirs of the Kings of France, of the House of Valois. The execution is not inferior to the judiciousness of the design. His book has an ad­mirer in every person of sentiment and taste.

The late Mr. Sheridan is allowed to have pos­sessed considerable abilities. He has given the world a specimen of them in his life of Swift. It is, however, in my idea, too flattering a portrait. The painter was a countryman, and an admirer. No talents can convert deformity into beauty, or make darkness to be light.

Swift was a very great, original genius; but the indecency of some of his writings is intolera­ble; his spleen, excessive, and his behaviour to Stella an eternal stigma on his memory and his virtues. Ever dabbling in the turbid ocean of politics, what business had he with the quiet and retired haven of the church? But genius and ta­lents can embellish any side of a subject, and the biographer has poured, on his favourite author, a deluge of panegyric.

The life of Garrick is so much interspersed with the domestic history, and the most illustrious persons of his time, that it will highly engage and gratify your curiosity. It is written by Davies in two volumes.

England has long laboured with a disorder, that I cannot call by a better name, than the theatrical [Page 112]mania. A principal actor is more distinguished, caressed and enriched by a luxurious nation, than many of the most deserving persons, in the learn­ed professions. An Abingdon, a Siddons, and a Mara (as once a Garrick, a Henderson, and a Yates,) inchant the feelings of a British audience, drain the money which should be sacred to better purposes, acquire, in a few years, an indepen­dent fortune and are admitted to the first circles in the kingdom, whilst a thousand, amiable and me­ritorious clergymen are suffered to live in want, and to die in the most uncomfortable obscurity. This is not a very favourable trait in the moral history of a nation. It seems rather a symptom of its approaching dissolution.

Hume was a great champion of infidelity, and as such, a character, that excites uncommon curio­sity. He has written his own life, and, as an unique in biography, it is worthy your reading.

Bolingbroke was another of the sceptical family. His history is agreeably recorded by Dr. Gold­smith.

On the subject of biography, you will meet with a great variety of other, entertaining writers; but I must not close this article, without particularly recommending a book, that has given me so much pleasure and information, as the life and writings of Gray, by Mr. Mason.

A particular friendship of the warmest and most disinterested kind, subsisted betwixt these celebrat­ed authors. It commenced in that early period of life, when souls are incapable of guile or selfish­ness and mutally expand; and Mason has endeav­oured to immortalize it in a manner, which does equal credit to his heart and understanding.

[Page 113] The history of a retired, literary person cannot, generally, present much variety of entertainment. But in the character of Gray, there is somewhat very interesting; and his friend has displayed it to the greatest advantage. No man, perhaps, by such slight sketches, as the author of an Elegy in a country church-yard has left behind him, ever acquired so extensive a reputation. And there was a dignity, a softness and a delicacy in his whole manner of thinking and acting, which com­pensate for the want of more remarkable anec­dotes, and of more sounding connexions.

LETTER LIV.

‘THERE is not (says a sensible writer,) a son or daughter of Adam, who has not some concern in the knowledge of Geography.’ It is neces­sary to your understanding the connexion, which this globe has with the other planetary system, and with all the wonderful works of God. It is indis­pensible to your comprehending history, or having a proper idea of the events and transactions it re­lates, as well as to divest your mind of little, nar­row prejudices by giving you a view of the cus­toms, manners, ceremonies and institutions of all the different nations over the world.

[Page 114] A celebrated writer^* has called geography and chronology, the two eyes of history; the first in­forms you where events happened, and the latter, at what particular period; if it was not for these helps your reading would be a confused chaos, without order, light or perspicuity.

Geography is, indeed, so much attended to at all schools, that there is little occasion to dwell on its necessity; if you have learned the use of the globes, and the division of it by names, which are only fancied for the sake of reducing the immensity of it to the narrow scale of human comprehension, the best method, I know, is never to read the name of a place in a common news paper, or any other history, without immediately recurring to authorities for the situation and division of the country in which it lies, the manners of the in­habitants, their ceremonies, civil government, and religious institutions. It is this mode of studying from the urgency of the occasion, which gives energy to our researches and vigour to improve­ment.

Guthrie is one of the best authors in geography; and for chronology, the tables of Dr. Priestley (a name, which I would only mention, where science and not religion, is concerned,) are so compendious and comprehensive, as to afford you, on a single glance, considerable information. There is no species of knowledge, that is so easily attained, as that of geography: nor any of which the want is more flagrant and awkward.

I lately blushed for a young lady, who was asked in company, the latitude and situation of a [Page 115]particular place, which happened to be mention­ed in the public papers of the day. She was dress­ed in the highest taste. The roses and carnations vied in her countenance. She piques herself on her smartness and vivacity; but in this instance, could make no reply. Her embarrassment betray­ed her ignorance, and politeness relieved it by a change of conversation.

How much higher would her character have stood in the estimation of all sentible and discern­ing men, if she had come down stairs, dressed in an elegant plainness, and, instead of standing so long before her glass, had devoted some little share of her time to this species of improvement. Not that I have any objection to a blush upon a wo­man's cheek. I think the crimson tint ornamen­tal; but I would have yours to be the blush of deli­cacy and reserve, not of ignorance, shyness or ill-breeding.

LETTER LV.

NATURAL history is another study, which I conceive to be particularly feminine. It has, of late, been cultivated with uncommon attention. Botany has been, particularly, fashionable. It has found a place in the amusements of the elegant, [Page 116]as well as the learned. Nothing is more calculated to amuse the mind, improve the health and spirits, and to inspire at once cheerfulness and devotion.

The suprizing history of plants and flowers, the immense variety, the mechanism, order, government and economy of animals, fowls with their plumage and fishes with their scales, fossils, minerals, petrefactions, mountains, vallies, vol­canos, all nature full of life, full of happiness and full of miracles, will crowd your mind with the sublimest images, and teach you to adore the great, almighty former and preserver of the world. What beauty in each flower! What traits of divine wisdom and goodness in an insect! Surveyed with a truly philosophical eye, the whole creation is a temple! Not a shrub, but is eloquent, not an ani­malcule, but is a powerful monitor of virtue!

I never spend an afternoon with Miss Louisa —without being both instructed and delighted. I never take a walk with her in the garden, but she unfolds a thousand, natural curiosities, which had hitherto escaped my unscienced or inattentive eyes. I never ramble with her into the fields, but she gives me such an history of the most common plants and flowers, as at once surprizes my curiosi­ty, and gratifies my taste. In her closet she has a large collection of insects, which her microscope clothes with most exquisite beauty, and a museum, filedd with shells, corals, and petrefactions, the sparkling of which is exceeded by nothing, but the vivacity of her eyes, or the stronger or more per­manent lustre of her virtues.

I would infinitely rather have her taste, than her fortune. And I never quit her without se­cretly envying her enjoyments. She is ever [Page 117]sprightly, because she has never a moment unem­ployed. She always smiles, because she is always innocent. Her pleasures are of the rational and refined kind. They never leave a thorn in the heart, or pluck one, blushing rose from her cheeks. How solid and how calm, if compared with the midnight revels of fashion, or the giddiness of ad­miration!

Be like Louisa, my dear girl, and you will al­ways be happy. Study nature, till it leads you up to nature's God. Pore on plants and flowers, till they perfume you with a real devotion; and I will engage you to become, in your turn, one of the most beautiful flowers in the creation.

LETTER LVI.

NATURAL history is divided into three grand parts, as it respects the animal, the mineral, and the vegetable kingdoms, and under these different ar­ticles, assumes the name of zoology, or an history of animals; lithology, or a description of stones, fossils, &c. and botany, or an account of herbs, plants, flowers. These again have, each their res­pective subdivisions.

Linnaeus, who was born at Upsal, is the great father of this science, and from the Swedish school have issued the works of the most eminent masters. But he is too voluminous and scientific for a female, who wants only a general knowledge [Page 118]of nature, and not to penetrate the minutiae of her plan.

The Amaenitates Academicae are a number of ingenious essays on a variety of subjects, selected from the works of the most capital disciples of the Linnaean school. Some of those have been translated by Stillingfleet, under the name of Tracts on Natural History, and are very valuable and instructive; 'others by Brand, in two volumes, which contain a number of very curious and en­tertaining descriptions.

Pulteny's View of the Works of Linnaeus you may read, likewise, with great pleasure and im­provement. Next to these I should recommend to a mere English reader, the works of Ray: him, who wrote "The wisdom of God in the creation." They are highly useful and valuable, though writ­ten before this study had arrived to its present state of perfection.

Goldsmith's History of the Earth and animated Nature is but a mere compilation. Still it may have its use, as affording some collateral lights and instruction.

Buffon is an author of first rate abilities. His style is splendid; his knowledge is extensive, and his eloquence, in a high degree, brilliant and se­ducing. But I cannot recommend him for many reasons. He is too voluminous; the extensiveness of his plan leads him into a great variety of detail, and of inddicate descriptions. He is more attached to systems of his own, than the discovery of trath; and he is a sort of sceptic, who resolves every thing into a chain of secondary causes, and sacrilegiously excludes the Deity from his creation. This tem­per is the bane of modern philosophers. They en­deavour [Page 119]to account for every thing upon natural principles, and wherever they are puzzled, ridicu­lously disbelieve. Instead of making their know­ledge, a scaffolding to God, they build on it, a monument to their own vanity and folly, which will not stand, "when winds and storms arise." Do people of such distinguished abilities need to be reminded, that a world without design, or an act­ive machine, without a first, moving principle, in­volves the greatest and most palpable of contradic­tions? Nature, in the hands of a true philosopher, reads a continual lesson of piety; in those of a false one, it is the parent of scepticism, gloom and despair. Sir Isaac Newton was the most pious of men; many of his humble followers have been as impious retailers of infidelity.

You will derive great pleasure and improvement from all the writings of Mr. Pennant, and they are numerous. Always lively and always authentic, they entertain the man of taste, the scholar, and the antiquarian, as well as the naturalist. Few persons have published so much, in any one de­partment of science, with so great success.

The Flora Londinensis of Curtis is a splendid work, that does credit to the author. It is embel­lished with beautiful engravings of all the com­mon plants and flowers of this country, and is still in continuation.

Volcanoes are amongst the prodigies of nature, which fill the mind with the grandest and sublimest images. Hamilton's account of them, and Raspe on the volcanos in Germany, will astonish your imagination. You may add to the list Swammer­dam's History of Insects, translated by Floyd, and revised by Dr. Hill.

[Page 120] But I will desist, for if I was to give you only the names of writers on the subject, they would fill a volume. No private fortune would be suffi­cient to purchase them, and the perusal would re­quire more time, than would consist with your other, various engagements.

LETTER LVII.

WHEN you have viewed the wonders of na­ture in miniature, astronomy will shew them in the sublime. Telescopes will present you with a most stupendous view of the heavens; suns, piled on suns; worlds on worlds; and the great creator, presiding over all, in the majesty of perfection. You will be lost and absorbed in the magnificent con­templation. You will feel yourself as nothing be­fore God, and confess him to be all in all.

A real astronomer must be pious, or insensible. However some have thought revelation partial, the language of these orbs is certainly universal, ‘Their sound is gone out into all lands, and their words unto the ends of the world.’ The sentiment they proclaim, is majesty to God; to man, humil­ity, self-abasement, devotion.

Nicholson's Introduction to Natural Philoso­phy, in two volumes, octavo, is an excellent book upon this subject, and Derham's Astro-theology must elevate the mind, and improve the heart of every reader. Gregory's Astronomy, and [Page 121]Huygen's Celestial Worlds discovered, are very useful and entertaining, and may together form a sufficient library for this department of science. Perhaps I should have added Ray's Wisdom of God, in the Creation. They, who declaim against knowledge, in a woman, have not surely consi­dered how much this, and many, other branches of it, are connected with all the sublime and pious affections.

LETTER LVIII.

POETRY, I do not with you to cultivate, fur­ther than to possess a relish for its beauties. Verses, if not excellent, are execrable indeed. The muses live upon a mount, and there is no enjoying any of their favours, unless you can climb to the heights of Parnassus.

Besides a passion for poetry is dangerous to a woman. It heightens her natural sensibility to an extravagant degree, and frequently inspires such a romantic turn of mind, as is utterly incon­sistent with all the solid duties and proprieties of life.

To increase the number of imaginary, when life abounds with such real sorrows, by nursing a sickly extravagant sensibility, is, in a rational creature, the very height of imprudence. The ancients endeavoured to cherish fortitude, and re­solution, by giving strength to the body and vigour to the mind. From some of their states. [Page 122]poetry, amongst other things, was absolutely ex­cluded, as tending to enervate the minds of a peo­ple, and unfit them for the struggles and activities of life; and it is certain that the owners of an exquisite sensibility, for a few moments of pleasure, have days of vexation. In this human wilderness, thorns are perennials. Roses are but the perishable ornaments of summer.

The late Mr. shenstone, amongst many others, is an unhappy instance of the misfortune, I have mentioned. His works, though not of the first magnitude, are exceedingly agreeable; but his poetical enthusiasm was a source of perpetual irri­tation and misfortune. Having cultivated his taste, more than his prudence, his feelings, more than his fortitude, and his imagination, more than his judgment, his life was one, unvaried train of inquietudes. His mind was ruffled with imaginary injuries; his peace disturbed with fanciful affronts, and his disordered finances left him every thing, but comfort, dignity, and independence.

With a fortune, that only justified a neat and homely dwelling, his genius was not content with less than the superb appendages of a palace. In forming the Leaseowes, he sacrificed to enthusiasm, what he owed to contentment. He panted for a paradise, and a paradise he had; but it soon be­came a wilderness of thorns. Merciless creditors had no candour for the poet, and made no allow­ance for the exquisiteness of his taste.

They saw no charms in shrubs, in blossoms, or in prospects, and they awoke him with an iron grasp, from his delicious intrancement. Whilst a noble neighbour, emulating and outvying, on a larger scale, the beauties of his elysium, or exhi­biting [Page 123]it to a stranger, from an unfavourable point of view, inflicted on his sickly feelings, an heart­felt affliction, which he had neither the possibility of avoiding, nor the philosophy to support.

LETTER LIX.

THOUGH I do not with you to become a poet, it is, however, necessary, that you should not be wholly unacquainted with the writings of many, inimitable bards. They will certainly re­fine your taste, and spread a very elegant repast for your private amusement.

Shakespeare is, perhaps, the first genius of the world; and some of his dramatic works, whilst they astonish, will give you an useful fund of his­torical information.

The immortal poem of Paradise Lost should not only be in the hands, but graven on the heart, of every woman, because Milton, above all other authors, describes the distinguishing graces of the sex, and in his Eve, has exhibited an exquisite pattern of female perfection. On this subject, his feelings were always awakened in an extraordinary manner; his imagination glowed, and he has given it the finest touches of his pencil.

Milton like all great men, was fully sensible of the blessings we derive from the society of wo­men, and how cheerless the face of nature would have been without them. He, therefore, labours [Page 124]to make the mother of his Paradise every thing, that could charm, and every thing that could alle­viate the infelicities of life. Let the libertine read his description of marriage, and tell me what he thinks of the prevailing rage for impurity and seduction.

Homer is universally celebrated; and, though you cannot read his poem in the original language, Pope has given an admirable translation. The same may be said of Dryden's Virgil, if you wish to taste the exquisite richness of these ancient authors.

Mason's poems have great merit, and have ac­quired him a considerable celebrity. His Carac­tacus, his Elfrida, and his English Garden have all been admired. Nothing, however, from his pen, has pleased me more, than the epitaph upon his lady. His talents seem to be particularly formed for the pensive and pathetic. But poetry, after all, is but an embellishment, and, in the cha­racter of a divine, a very secondary distinction. How much more important and useful to man­kind, are the labours of that pastor, who, by one judicious, impassioned and well directed discourse, appals the sinner, encourages the faint, revives the drooping, guides the perplexed, or conde­scends to cheer the bed of sickness with divine consolations!

This remark, however, is not particularly in­tended to depreciate the ingenious author of Ca­ractacus. He is said to excel likewise, as a preacher.

LETTER LX.

IN poetry, the ladies have, of late, asserted their claim to genius, and the trampled honours of their understanding. Several of them appear, in the walks of Parnassus, with considerable lustre.

Miss Seward, in my idea, is a star of the first magnitude in the hemisphere of imagination. She has given us chiefly little, fugitive pieces; a monody on the death of captain Cook, and major Andre; a poem to the memory of lady Miller, and a few stanzas to Mr. Wright, on taking her father's picture. The last always gave me the highest pleasure. It required indeed no great effort, but is a most pleasing specimen of filial af­fection, and of a rich, fervid, glowing imagina­tion. Her Louisa, though her largest, is not, in my idea, her happiest performance. A novel is too much dignified by the charms of poetry. It is a courtesan, dressed like a queen.

Whenever Miss Hannah More takes up her pen, she never loses sight of piety and virtue. Her Bleeding rock, Search after Happiness, Sir Eldred of the Bower, Sacred Dramas, Female Fables, &c. will please and instruct you. The little tract, lately published, intitled, "Thoughts on the Manners of the Great," which has had so very extensive a circulation, is said to have come from her ingenious pen. The design is excellent, and the execution displays a considerable knowledge of human life and manners. I wish it may leave some lasting impressions. But alas! the dissipated have few intervals for reflection.

[Page 126] Miss Williams bids fair for a poetic laurel, that shall long be green. Her Peru, is awork of con­siderable merit.

The little sonnets of Miss Charlotte Smith are soft, pensive, sentimental and pathetic, as a wo­man's productions should be. The muses, if I mist ake not, will, in time, raise her to a consider­able eminence. She has, as yet, stepped forth only in little things, with a diffidence that is cha­racteristic of real genius in its first attempts. Her next, public entre may be more in style, and more consequential.

The Comtesse le Genlis I have before mention­ed, as a woman of a fine taste, and a cultivated un­derstanding. Her Theatre sur l'Education, as found­ed on a dramatic plan, may be recommended a­mongst other poetical productions. There is not a sweeter rose in the garden of nature, than hers of Salency.

Lord Lyttleton was not, by any means, a capi­tal poet. There is, however, such a delicacy, softness, piety, and tender pathos in his strains, as do the highest credit to his own heart, and must improve that of every attentive reader. His mo­nody upon his Lucy has immortalized his sensi­bility, his affection, and his virtue.

Akenside's work on the Pleasures of Imagina­tion, needs no other recommendation, than what it has received from a generous and a discerning public. It is highly interesting; it required a very considerable effort, and his genius has ren­dered it beautifully picturesque.

Cowper's poems are calculated to do consider­able service. He has made the muses hand-maids to religion. He has chosen verses, only as a ve­hicle [Page 127]for conveving instructions of so important a nature, as would not, by any means, have disho­noured the pulpit. His style is simple, bold, man­ly, spirited and energetic, his judgment, strong and penetrating; his metaphors, forcible and hap­pily conceived; his observations on life and man­ners, accurate, and his satire, just and poignant.

He does not seem so much to have studied the production of a poem, with unity for its design, and harmony in all its parts, as to serve the cause of piety and virtue by general, desultory and im­passioned reflexions. His work on the whole, is a strong specimen of genius and talents; rigid criticism, perhaps, would say, that his piety wants a little mildness, and seems to breathe the spirit of a party.

But the most finished poet of the age is Hayley. His Essay on History and on Epic Poetry, his Ode to Howard, and his Triumphs of Temper have received very great and very general applause.

LETTER LXI.

YOUR question is a very proper one, and I will give you the best satisfaction in my power.

Pronunciation or that part of grammar, called Orthoepy, as to any uncommon or difficult words, is governed by the quantity, which those words have in the original language, from which they are derived. As you cannot be supposed to under­stand [Page 128]the dead languages, you will of course, fre­quently, be at a loss how to pronounce many words with propriety. The only method is recourse to a dictionary, and the best in my opinion, are those of Sheridan and Johnson. Pronunciation, how­ever, is a very fluctuating thing; and though there certainly is a standard of propriety, over which mere fashion ought to have no power, yet I should always recommend a conformity to the manners of the politest people you may happen to converse with, rather than a pedantic affectation of gram­matical strictness. The latter would be thought a conceited ostentation of knowledge, which, in a young lady, would not be forgiven.

The allusions to Jupiter, Pallas, Venus, the Graces, the Muses, Helicon, Parnassus, which have so much puzzled you in the poets you have lately read, will be fully explained in Tooke's Pantheon, or History of the Heathen Gods. The general fact is, that before the knowledge of the true God dawned on their minds, these poor, ig­norant heathens never dreamed of one omnipotent, all sufficient, all pervading spirit, which the scrip­tures have revealed, and described, as possessed of all possible perfections. They, therefore, formed to themselves a multiplicity of gods, and attributed to one of them in particular, with a specific name, every great quality or superior excellence, that appeared beyond the ability of mortals. These deities they arranged into different classes, accord­ing to their supposed degrees of pre-eminence; and fancied some of them to inhabit the heavens, and others, the woods, groves, rivers, springs, mountains, &c.

[Page 129] You will be amused with their fanciful opinions; and if you think aright, you will learn to bless the Almighty, on your knees, for having cast your lot in an age and country, where the gospel has dis­persed these mists and errors, dignified our views and nature beyond all expression, and given us the clearest knowledge of our duty. You will feel the force and propriety of that clause in our liturgy. ‘We bless thee for our creation, preservation, and all the blessings of this life; but above all, for thine inestimable love in the redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ, for the means of grace, and for the hope of glory.’

LETTER LXII.

A LITTLE taste for the fine arts of painting, sculpture, architecture, will be of singular use. It will render every excursion you make, and every curiosity you behold, exceedingly delightful, and enable you to become entertaining to all, with whom you converse.

A person thus accomplished, surveys an elegant pile of building, the designs of a Palladio, the [...]d-scape of a Claude Lorrain, the portraits of a [...]i­tian, or the transfiguration of a Raphael [...] common rapture, and can entertain herse [...] [...] hours, with a ruin or a castle, in which the un­skilful [Page 130]can see nothing but deformity, or the cor­rosions of time.

Writers on Sculpture and Architecture are not numerous, and I am wading beyond my depth, when I attempt to recommend them. Winkle­man's reflexions on the sculpture of the Greeks, Evelyn's Parallel of ancient and modern Architec­ture, and Morris's Lectures may give you some ideas on the subject.

On the art of painting, more has been written; yet without a natural genius for it, and some pre­vious instructions from a master, I do not know, whether you will be able to make any great pro­ficiency.

Webb's Inquiry into the Beauties of Painting is a very learned, elegant, ingenious work, and in­teresting, in an high degree, even to those, who are, by no means, to be ranked amongst the cog­noscenti. The quotations from Homer, Virgil, Shakespeare, Milton, Boileau, Moliere, Racine, Tasso, Ariosto and Metastasio are not only well contrived to illustrate the subject, but to delight every person of reading and taste; whilst the pic­toresque imagery and splendid language would stamp a value on any production.

I remember to have been charmed, some years ago, with reading a small work, intided an ‘Essay on Prints and Picturesque Beauty.’ I do not recollect, whether it bore the name of any author; but it struck me as a very interesting and valuable performance. Genius and knowledge were won­derfully united, and embellished the whole.

Ferguson's Art of Drawing in Perspective, I conceive to be useful, as an elementary work. An Essay on Landscape may be considered in the same [Page 131]light; and you will be instructed and delighted, at the same time, with [...]lay [...] two epistles to Romney, and Fresnoy [...] Art of Painting, transtated by Mason. This last mentioned author is said to excel in the three sister arts of painting, poetry and music. In the two first, he has given the world specimens of his skill; with the latter he is said frequently to entertain the circle of his private friends.

But the best place for gratifying your curiosity, and I should think, for improving your taste in paintings, is the annual exhibition of them, at Somerset-house. The metropolis, amidst all its variety of invention, does not furnish in my idea, a more elegant, or a more improving amusement. We see, with pride, some artists of our own coun­try, v [...]ing with the most celebrated masters of an­tiquity. Under the hands of a Reynolds, a Wright, a West, and many others, the English canvass glows with inimitable beauty. A Raphael, a Ti­tian, a Dorreggio, a Rubens, a Poussin, or a Sal­vator Rosa, seem, in some degree, transplanted to the British isle.

A stranger, indeed is, at first sight, so much dazzled, with the splendour and elegance of the company about him, that, in the charms of living beauty, he is tempted to overlook the efforts of the pencil. In no other place, that I ever saw or re­collect, do art and nature so powerfully combine to bewitch the senses, and captivate the imaginati­on.

If my time and place of residence were at my own command, I should frequently in the season, devote to this pleasure, one of those languid, after­noon hours, when the spirits are exhausted with [Page 132]the employments of the morning, and want renew­ed vigour, elasticity and animation.

I am much interested, believe me, in the relish I would give you for this species of improvement.— I look forward, with a degree of pleasure, to the time, when I may be the companion of your little tours, and delighted with your observations;— when we may hang in curiosity, over fossils and petrefactions; when we shall pore over paintings, buildings, ruins with all the luxury of artists and in such rational, innocent pleasures endeavour to forget the sorrows, that will crowd on this varie­gated life.

LETTER LXIII.

IT is so very agreeable to peruse voyages and travels into foreign countries by way of coming ea­sily at a knowledge of their history, customs, cere­monies and degrees of civilization, that I do not wonder at the number and multiplicity of these productions. Authors wish to be read, and this is the sort of work, which, if judiciously executed, suits every taste. It has a tendency to enlarge the mind, and divest it of illiberal prejudices. Books of this kind are now become so numerous, that the difficulty only is how to make the selection.

I will begin with Moore, for he has pleased universally. Your collection will be graced by his View of Society and Manners in France, [Page 133]Switzerland, and Germany, in two volumes, and his View of Society in Italy, in two more.

Wraxall is another writer in this way, who has superior merit. He has published a tour through the northern parts of Europe, and through France.

Pennant has been singularly happy in all his at­tempts. He interests the antiquarian, the scholar and the man of genius in his various productions. His works are numerous. A Tour through Scot­land, Voyages to the Hebrides, a Tour in North Wales; a Journey to Snowdon; and a Journey from Chester to London, &c.

Switzerland is one of those, romantic countries, that delights us in idea. Coxe has given sketches of it, in a very pleasing and picturesque manner.

Sherlock's English Traveller is a very original and entertaining book. The author is evidently a man of fanc [...] and genius, but rather fulsome in his panegyries on particular characters, and excentric both in his sentiments and manner. He will, sometimes, make you smile with egotisms and the appearance of conceit; but he will likewise en­lighten your understanding.

Cordiner's Antiquities and Scenery of the North of Scotland is an entertaining work. The plates annexed to it, please the eye, and invigorate the imagination.

A tour to the lakes is become very fashionable, and is said abundantly to repay the travellers cu­riosity. West's description of them may be useful, though the language appears too florid and poeti­cal.

The Tour to Ermenonville I have never seen; but it is mentioned as possessing considerable merit. Gilpin's Description of the River Wye abounds [Page 134]with beautiful scenery, and is a most lively and entertaining production.

But the catalogue would be endless. A thou­sand, other books of this kind, are at hand, when­ever you are disposed to travel with them in your closet.

If you have a little knowledge of Heraldry, it will be an embellishment; an agreeable exercise of your taste and ingenuity, and may, occasionally, suggest a channel, through which you may serve a valuable friend. The only books I recollect, are the Elements of it, by Porney; Gwillim, a large folio, and Edmondson's Complete Body of it; in two volumes.

But after all this recommendation of different studies, do not mistake me. I do not want to make you a fine writer, an historian, a naturalist, a geographer, an astronomer, a poet, a painter, a connoisseur, or a virtuoso of any kind. But I would have you to possess such a general know­ledge, as will usefully and innocently fill up your leisure hours, raise your taste above fantastic levi­ties, render you an agreeable friend and acquaint­ance, qualify you for the solid duties of y [...] sta­tion, whatever they may be, and elevate, above all, your soul to him, who is the source of all know­ledge, greatness and perfection.

LETTER LXIV.

THE accomplishments of a woman may be comprized under some, or all of the following ar­ticles; [Page 135]needle-work, embroidery, &c. drawing, music, dancing, dress, politeness, &c.

To wield the needle with advantage, so as to unite the useful and beautiful, is her particular pro­vince, and a sort of ingenuity, which shews her in the most amiable and attracting point of view.— Solomon describes his excellent daughter, as em­ployed in the labours of the distaff or the needle. Homer paints his lovely matrons as engaged in such domestic avocations. Andromache is thus relieving her solitude, when she is surprised into transport by the unexpected return of Hector from the war.

The heart glows with pleasure, when we read the accounts of the good Roman matrons in the purer and unvitiated ages of their republic. The greatest men, princes, warriors, senators and phi­losophers were clothed in the labours of their wives and daughters. Industry in this happy pe­riod, was esteemed a virtue, and it was not beneath a woman of the first quality or understanding to be an excellent economist, who ‘looked well to the ways of her household.’

Employment is the grand preservative of health and innocence. When we have nothing to do, we immediately become a burden to ourselves; the mind and body languish for want of exercise, and we fall into a thousand dangerous temptations.

LETTER LXV.

IF you have any natural taste for drawing, I should wish you to indulge it. I think it an ac­complishment, [Page 136]very well adapted both to the taste and delicacy of your sex. It will agreeably exer­cise your ingenuity and invention. It will teach you to discover a superior finish in all the varied landscapes and scenery of nature; to survey the works of our distinguished masters, with an higher relish and a more poignant curiosity; and it will heighten all the innocent pleasures of your retire­ment. When nature howls with winds, or is cov­ered with snow, you will be able in a moment, to call a fancy spring upon the canvas, of which the blossoms will be ever fragant, and the trees ever green. You may thus have birds always on the spray, and larks, apparently thrilling out praise to their bountiful Creator.

LETTER LXVI.

MUSIC, by which I mean playing on an instrument, or occasionally singing, is a very desir­able acquisition in any woman, who has time and money enough to devote to the purpose, for it re­quires no inconsiderable portion of both. It will enable you to entertain your friends; to confer pleasure upon others, must increase your own hap­piness, and it will inspire tranquility, and harmo­nize your mind and spirits, in many of those ruffled or lonely hours, which, in almost every situation, will be your lot.

[Page 137] The passions of mankind, however, have very much debased and profaned this art, which, like others was originally sacred, and intended to chant the praises of the Almighty. Many songs are couched in such indelicate language, and convey such a train of luscious ideas, as are only calculated to soil the purity of a youthful mind. I should therefore recommend, (if I may so express myself,) rather the sacred, than the profane, of this study.— Indeed church music is, in itself, more delightful than any other. What can be superror to some passages of Judas Maccabaeus, or the Messiah?— There is not, perhaps, an higher amongst the me­lancholy pleasures than a funeral dirge.

Dancing, in a degree, is professedly an essential part of a good education, as correcting any awk­wardness of gesture, giving an easy and graceful motion to the body, and if practised early, perhaps even in directing its growth. Modern manners, however, have carried the fondness for this accom­plishment to an immoderate extreme. A passion for making the best figure in a minuet, is vastly beneath the dignity of a woman's understanding. And I am not sure, whether excelling in this par­ticular does not inspire too great a fondness for dissipating pleasures, and proportionably abate the ardour for more retired virtues. A woman, who can sparkle and engage the admiration of ev­ery beholder, at a birth night or a ball, is not a­ways content with the graver office of managing a family, or the still and sober innocence of do­mestic scenes. Besides dancing is not, at certain moments, without its temptations. An elegant, illuminated room, brilliant company, the enchant­ing powers of music, admiring eyes, obsequious [Page 138]beaus, attitude, &c. are apt to transport the mind a little beyond the rational medium of gentle agi­tation.

I would not, however, be a cynical moralist, that would abridge you of any harmless amusement. I have only my apprehensions for your innocence, for indeed it is a plant of a very delicate com­plexion. And you will then have attained the per­fection of your character, when you can mix a passion for these elegant accomplishments, with a turn for solid and domestic virtue; when you can, one night be distinguished at a ball, and the next want no other entertainment, than what the shade, your family, a well chosen book or an agreeable walk are able to afford. I should wish you to be innocent, and if possible, accomplished at the same time; but at any rate, I would have you inno [...] [...], because otherwise you cannot be happy.

LETTER LXVII.

WILL you bear with my impertinence, if I attempt to give you my directions on a subject where your sex are allowed to possess infinitely more taste and judgment than our own—that of dress. I offer however, my plain and undisguised sentiments, only for your advantage; and I am [Page 139]sure you will receive them with that candour and indulgence, to which my friendship for you has an indisputable claim.

Neatness, you cannot cultivate with too much attention. I would press it on every female, as strongly, if possible, as Lord Chesterfield did the graces on his son. The want of it is unpardonable in a man, but in a woman, it is shocking. It dis­ [...]ts all her friends and intimates; has estranged [...] affections of many an husband, and made him [...] that satisfaction abroad, which he found not at home.

Some ladies, who were remarkably attentive to their persons before marriage, neglect them after­wards, in an egregious manner. They cannot pay a worse compliment to their own delicacy, or to their husbands. If they conceived some efforts necessary to gain the prize, more, I am sure, are required to preserve it.

It is the opinion of (I believe,) Rochefoucault, that nice observer of life and manners, that the affection of woman increases after marriage, whilst that of man is apt to decline. Whatever be the cause, a prudent woman will, at least, use every method in her power, to guard against so mortify­ing a charge. Neatness, however, is easily practi­sed, and will always have considerable weight.

In the eyes of servants and domestics, indeed, a woman loses her consequence and authority by a neglect of her person. She will not be obeyed with cheerfulness, and she will become an object of ridicule, in all their private parties and conversa­tions. If inferiors must be subject, they will pay an unconstrained homage only to a person, who at­tracts by propriety, the estimation of the world.

[Page 140] Neatness is the natural garb of a well ordered mind, and has a near alliance with purity of heart. Law has said of his Miranda, that she was always clean without, because she was always pure within. And Richardson, whose taste was as exquisite, as his imagination glowing, has painted his Clarissa, as always dressed, before she came down stairs, for any company, that might break in upon her during the whole day.

Finery is seldom graceful. The easy undress of a morning often pleases more, than the most ela­borate and costly ornaments. I need not say of how much time and money they rob us, which are sacred to virtue and to the poor, nor how soon this very embellished body will be dust and ashes. The perfection of the art is conveyed in two words; an elegant simplicity. Ladies are certainly injudi­cious in employing so many male friseurs about their persons. The custom is indelicate; it is contrary to cleaniness, and all their manoeuvres cannot equal the beauty of natural, easy ringlets, untortured and unadorned.

The nearer you approach to the masculine in your apparel, the further you will recede from the ap­propriate graces and softness of your sex. Addison, in his day, lashed, with a delicate vein of irony, this absurd transformation. The present age wants such an inimitabl [...] censor. The riding habits, particularly, that have been so fashionable, and even made their appearance at all public places, conceal every thing that is attractive in a woman's person, her figure, her manner, and her graces. They wholly unsex her, and give her the unpleasing air of an Amazon, or a virago. Who likes the idea? or if you would be more struck with the absurdity, tell [Page 141]me what you would think of petite maitres in muffs? You immediately despise the ridiculous­ness of the one; we daily feel the unnaturalness of the other. We forget that you are women in such a garb, and we forget to love.

Every public paper one opens, is a violation of your delicacy and an insult to your understanding. Powders, perfumes, pomatums, cosmetics, essence of roses, Olimpian dew, artificial eyes, teeth, hair advertised for your advantage, would be an heavy stigma, if some kind and well disposed per­sons amongst our own sex, were not willing to share with you a part of the burden. Blush, my dear girl, at such unseemly practices. Be content to be what God, and nature intended you: appear in your true colours; abhor any thing, like deceit in your appearance, as well as your character.— What must all sensible men think of a woman, who has a room, filled with a thousand preparations and mixtures to deceive him? What money, what time must be given to this odious, insufferable vani­ty! Under such unnatural management; how different must be the female of the evening and the morning! What must we think of marriage; dress­ing rooms and toilets! What an opening for ex­postulation, coldnesses, aversions! If an ‘ele­gant simplicity’ be the perfection of dress, this is surely, as far as possible, removed from perfec­tion. It is not simplicity; it is not elegant.

It would be cruel to add any thing to the punish­ment of the men, who can have recourse to such effeminate artifices. They have already the scorn and ridicule of one sex, and the stern contempt and indignation of the other. They are poor, amphi­bious [Page 142]animals, that the best naturalists know not, under what class to arrange.

Painting is indecent, offensive, criminal. It hastens the approach of wrinkles; it destroys con­stitutions, and defaces the image of your maker.

Would you think of giving the last touch to the pieces of a Pouffin, or a Salvator Rosa? Believe for a moment, that the Almighty is, at least, as great in his way, as either of these artists.

Let the martyrs of fashion, luxury and dissipati­on who turn night into day, have recourse to this filthy and abominable practice. Let them seek a resource from the rebukes of their conscience in gaiety and noise. But let the fairness of your com­plexion be only that of nature, and let your rouge be the crimson blush of health, arising from tem­perance, regularity, exercise and air.

Such simplicity will recommend you to God;— and, if you retain any fears of offending him, how dare you deface his image, in your countenance, by artificial decorations. Such innocence will charm, when paint is dissolved. It will call up a bloom, and cast a fragrance even on the latest win­ter of your age.

LETTER 1. TO MISS LUCY —

A WOMAN may be fairly allowed a little more attention to ornament, than would be pardon­able in the other sex. Nature, through all her works has lavished more external brilliancy, co­louring and plumage on the female. And though dress, in itself, is no essential quality, we are indu­ced to judge more of your real character and dis­position from it, than you are apt to imagine. We fancy it, in its different modifications, a mark of good sense, delicacy and discretion, or of the very opposite defects. Every sensible wo­man, therefore, will study it so far, as not to subject herself to unfavorable constructions. She will endeavour to convince every beholder, that she knows the proper medium betwixt a ridiculous [Page 4] profusion, and a total want, of ornament; that she can tissue plainness with elegance; that she does not wish to seduce by her appearance, but only to please; that she has cultivated her mind, much more than her person, and placed the highest value, not on the outward, perishable casket, but the diamond within.

I rejoice that the good sense of my country­women has corrected some late glaring indecencies of dress. Young ladies should not be too liberal in the display of their charms, Too much exposure does not enhance their value. And it approaches, too nearly, to the manner of those women, whom they would surely think it no honour to resemble. Bosoms should throb unseen. The bouffant was an ornament of too transparent a kind. Wherever delicacy throws its modest drapery, imagination always lends inexpressible charms. As fine a wo­man, as the Venus of Medici, would cease to be admired, if curiosity ceased to be suspended.

There is a great neatness in the dress of quakers, and of some other sectaries, who have copied their example. It has, however, more primness, than ease. In this respect, you have too much good sense to affect singularity. Religion consists in something more substantial, than any particular modes of appearance. And there is, if I mistake not, some conceit and pride, under this prodigious, ever-acted plainness. Many, whom these narrow minded persons would sentence, perhaps to tor­ments, for being elegantly dressed, have hearts that overflow with universal benevolence and in­finitely more piety and goodness, than themselves.

You know what young lady I mean by Emelia. I do not know a person, that dresses better. She [Page 5]is singularly happy in her choice of colours. Like her virtues they are of the soft and shaded kind, not the brilliant or the gaudy. I never saw her sine; but she never is fantastic. She is seldom splendid; but neatness is all her own. If she puts on only a ribbon, it is selected with all the exquisite modesty of her mind, and disposed of by the hands of taste. The graces always appear to have been in waiting for the few moments, that she ever suffers dress to take up her attention.

I very much admire the sashes, which, of late, have been so fashionable amongst young ladies.— They give me the idea of a childish simplicity, in­nocence and ease. These, and [...]owing ringlets are on the system of nature. And nature will always please.

I am sorry, however, to observe that these girl­ish ornaments should likewise have encircled the less delicate waists of some married women.— There cannot be a more absurd or disgusting affec­tation. If I was not writing to ladies, I would be humourous. Or [...]ch a subject, I could be severe. But some improp [...] [...] as might be suggested, and I will only say, that [...] sober, aged autumn, is nev­er clad in the cheerful Every of spring.

On the whole, my dear girl, as a reasonable creature, and as a christian, never suffer yourself to be led away by an extravagant fondness for dress. What is finery, compared with under­standing? What is finery, compared with under­standing? What is splendor contrasted with rea­son? What is your body, but a temporary recepta­cle for an immortal mind? It is but the casket; the jewel is the soul. And how very low and poor in itself is the ambition of apparel? After all our efforts, we can never make it equal the beauty of lillies, or to vie with the exquisite tints [Page 6]of the rose. Whatever you can spare, from such expence, to give to the poor, will be a solid trea­sure, when beauty is but dust and ashes, and when gaiety is forgotten.

LETTER II.

POLITENESS, if supposed, like Lord Ches­terfield's, to be made up of dissimulation, or to consist [...]n a number of ceremonious attitudes or f [...]some compliments, without any meaning, is ri [...]culously frivolous: but on the other hand, if it springs from principle, from a real desire of pleasing, and is directed to its proper ends, it is, at least, a most amiable quality, if it does not rank in the number of the virtues. In the inter­course of life and the present state of society, this good breeding is necessary to our own peace, and to that of other. It prevents a thousand inquie­tudes, irritations, offences; it diffuses an innocent pleasure, and it diffuses it every moment. We daily conve [...]se with many persons, considerably indifferent to us, and from whom we expect nei­ther services nor obligations, who, yet, have it in their power, by a rough, ungracious manner, by unguarded sayings, or speaking (as it is called) their minds, essentially to hurt our feelings, sour our spirits, give us a bad head ach, or to break our rest; there are as many, on the other hand, who look up to us for no essential favours, whom, [Page 7]yet, in our turn, we may, not a little, irritate and distress, by a want of civility, by any hauteur or superciliousness in our looks or carriage, or a with­holding of those kind attentions, which, on every principle of reason, humanity and civilization are reciprocally due from every human creature to another.

This reasoning, still more forcibly, applies to members of the same family; to wives and hus­bands; children and parents; brothers and sisters. If this kind of good breeding be ever violated amongst them, the consequence is coldness, quar­rels, and gradual aversion.

So great, indeed, is the influence of true polite­ness over the mind, that even favours conferred in an unpleasing manner, without it, becomes an insupportable insult; whilst a refusal, softens by it, into an obligation, and is, sometimes, made the basis of a lasting gratitude, affection or esteem.

This grace may be defined the art of being easy ourselves, in company, and of making all others easy about us. It is the proper medium betwixt the total want of, and an officious, over-acted, civility. It consists in a general, indiscriminate at­tention; in doing little civil offices, and saying o­bliging things to all the parties we converse with in accommodating ourselves, as well as the conver­sation to their particular tastes, habits and inclina­tions; in keeping every offensive subject and idea out of view; in never glancing at our own affairs, and always paying the minutest regard to those of others, in annihilating, as it were, ourselves, and as studiously exalting all that are about us.

[Page 8] If I have not much mistaken, the best rules for it will be found in that religion, which requires us ‘to love one another; to be gentle and courteous; to avoid offences; to become innocently all things to all men; in honour to prefer one another, and to esteem others better than our­selves.’

The exteriors of good breeding, such as present­ing yourself gracefully, entering or quitting a room with ease, a proper gait, air, gesture, &c. I am not, at present, considering. These are only acquired by early education, habits of good company, or by a general intercourse with the world; and though they may be wanting, I will venture to say, that the person will always please, and always be respected, who possess only this prin­ciple within.

True politeness gives a lustre to all our good qualities. It is a sovereign e [...]a [...]l to all the vir­tues, and proportionably extends our power of doing good. Learning, riches, station, talents, genius, without it, are overbearing and insufferable, or at least may be very awkward and unpleasing. They resemble a rich, unfinished picture, thrown into a dark and an unpleasant room. Politeness gives them the last [...]ch, raises them into a pro­per light, and clothes them with the most beauti­ful drapery.

Religion itself has often suffered for want of this grace. Good people, have not, always, been gentle, courteous or well bred, and an odium has been fixed on their profession, which has deterred many from becoming converts.

Many bad men, on the other hand, by a plea­sing manner, have so successfully varnished over [Page 9]their vices, as to have acquired a considerable re­putation. Their crimes have been forgotten in their politeness. Can I mention a stronger argu­ment to recommend this accomplishment? We should not, surely, for want of a little care, ‘suf­fer our good to be evil spoken of.’

LETTER III.

IT is a great unhappiness to many ladies of for­tune, that they have not sufficient employment to fill up their time; and in order to prevent that, langour and ennuì, which are the most unpleasant feelings of human life, either fall into a low state of spirits, or have recourse to play, public plea­sures, or a perpetual round of visits, for their amuse­ment.

The religious exercises, however, and the stu­dies, I have recommended, will not only occupy your hours in a rational and useful manner, but some of them, from their very nature, will become an inexhaustible source of the purest pleasure.— Still uniformity in any one pursuit, however pleasing, will exhaust the spirits, and they will frequently want a rolles. The eye could not constantly behold, without injury, the most beau­tiful landscape. It may, perhaps, be the privi­lege of angels and superior spirits, to serve their Maker without weariness or distraction; but a mind, united to a body of clay, must have very frequent intervals of langour, and want as many of intermission.

[Page 10] Innocent relaxation is as much a part of true wisdom, as employment itself. Indeed it is ne­cessary to fit us for our duties. The earth itself would not be able to vegetate and shoot forth in­to all the bloom and verdure of spring, if it did not regain its exhausted powers during the som­brous leisure of the winter.

The rule is, we should amuse ourselves, in order to live, in the true sense of the word, and not live to be amused. Relaxation, conducted on this principle, will never occupy too great a share of our time or attention. It will be consistent with the universal principle of "doing all things to the glory of God."

A woman's amusements should, as much as pos­sible, be domestic; and her own walls will present many excellent opportunities of such a nature. The exercise of parental or filial affection is a source of heart-felt and refined pleasure. Inter­courses of tenderness betwixt branches of the same family, and the little engaging attentions they create, stimulate the finer movements of the body, and give play to all the refreshing emotions. A mother, in particular, must have these natural de­lights in perfection. Her heart must vibrate, with an exquisite sondness, to the playful graces of a little offspring, and their continually unfolding charms.

Exercise in the open air, is another great amuse­ment. Fresh breezes, variety of objects, gentle motion, and all the charming pictures of nature cheer the mind, and invigorate the spirits. The sedentary life of women is the parent of many fashionable complaints; weak nerves, low spirits, vapours, hysterics, languors. No constitution can [Page 11]long withstand the bad effects of luxury and in­action. Such people may exist but they cannot live.

In a rich entertainment, Mr. Addison saw fe­vers, dropsies, gouts and rheumatisms in embryo. Who, that looks at women, emaciated with mid­night pleasures, and pale for want of exercise and air, must not behold the seeds of infinite disorders, and likewise tremble for the rising generation?

The ancients paid a very nice attention to the constitution of females. To give them, in particu­lar situations, every degree of firmness, was not thought beneath the attention of those great men, who by their eloquence and valour, astonished the world.

Attention to a garden is truly feminine amuse­ment. If you mix it with a taste for botany and a knowledge of plants and flowers, you will never be in want of an excellent restorative. Our first parents are described by Milton, as tending the shrubs and flowers of their paradise, with unceas­ing assiduity, and as rising with the dawn to work:

There is an inexpressible tranquility in a garden, which sooths the spirits into that kind of cheerful pensiveness, which is, perhaps, the right tempera­ture of the moral constitution. Our Saviour often resorted to a garden. Innocence and piety found it the happiest place for meditation and repose. It is impossible, indeed, to have a richer blessing, [Page 12]than a taste for the general beauties of nature. It is an inexhaustible fund of pleasure within every person's reach; it purifies and resines the mind, and raises it above the artificial gaieties, which are purchased at so great an expence of time, money, and often, of constitution.

But friendship, after all, is the great medicine of life. We were horn for society, and the mind never so effectually unburdens itself, as in the con­versation of a well chosen friend. Happy the woman who finds such a treasure! "It is more precious, than thousands of gold or silver."

Great care, indeed, judgment, taste and vigi­lance are absolutely necessary to direct you in the choice. A strict friendship is adopting, as it were, the sentiments, the manners, the morals, and, alm [...]st the happiness or misery of others. Religion should guide you on this occasion. None but a good person is capable of true attachment, and, I trust, with you no other would assimilate. If you can meet with such a character, who, at the same time, has a liberal and cultivated mind, you are rich indeed!

[Page 13] Sincere friendships are, most generally, formed at an early age. The heart, in this tender season, is soft and unsuspicious. It is a mazing how the little tumults of life afterwards jostle us against and put us out of humour and conceit with, one another. Sensibility becomes petrified by age and observation. Ambition, avarice, and the little paltry competitions, freeze up the generous cur­rent of the soul.

LETTER IV.

PUBLIC pleasures are esteemed and called the amusements of women. But I think them far from answering the name. In fact they agitate, rather than relieve, and are more frequently sources of vexation, than repose. Superior rivals eclipse; fancied friends are inattentive, and the gaiety of the scene has no connection with quiet of the heart. The time, money, and preparation they require, are a serious consideration, and their frequency renders them a business; instead of preserv­ing health, they undermine and destroy it. Late hours, hot rooms, and an agitated mind are unfa­vourable to rest; and the God of sleep will not long be defrauded of his rights, without retaliating the offence.

What we call pleasure, is but a splendid and a voluntary service. If it had not the name of amuse­ment, we should shrink from it, as an intolerable burden.

[Page 14] Who are so great slaves as the votaries of fashi­on? What requires more systematical diligence, than the watching of every, varying mode of dress, and "catching these living manners, as they rise?

Of all women, they who call themselves fashi­onable, are the most unhappy; ever idly busy; ever vainly agitated; their peace depends on a whisper, on a look, or a thousand, little emulati­ons, too ridiculous to be mentioned! They dread a private moment more than an assassin, and with very great reason; they cannot glance into them­selves with comfort; they cannot look into eternity with hope! Reason suggests, that they were born for something higher, and there are moments, when conscience will be heard.

How unheeded are the cries and prattle of their infants! How unhappy must be the man, who has received from such women, vows which they will not perform, of fidelity and of attachment!

After all, it is only in the practice of virtue; it is only in domestic life, that lies all the solid, be­cause all the untumultuous, joy.

LETTER V.

IT would be uncomfortable to yourself to live wholly alone in the midst of society; and to others, it would carry the appearance of great pride, or conceit, or singularity. As we were born to be citizens of the world, we feel ourselves uncomforta­ble, when we are not in the exchange of little [Page 15]civilities with people about us; and they in their turn, contract unpleasant piques and prejudices against us. Mixing with company has certainly the good effect of promoting benevolence, and preventing many little shynesses and misconstruc­tions. Nay, even the lightest and most insignifi­cant conversation has a tendency to relieve intense thoughtfulness, and keep the mind from preying too much upon itself.

Tea parties are the general mode of society, amongst ladies. And you must give into them in some degree, if you will cultivate any acquaintance with people of fortune. Some of your sex spend their time in a continual rotation of these visits, and have so many preconcerted engagements on their hands, as require a very orderly arrange­ment upon paper. But this is a most useless and insipid life; and, where there is a family, cannot fail to intersere with many duties of far higher im­portance. The time that is taken up in dress alone, and the money it requires, are a prodigious sacrifice.

Nor in the light of amusement alone, is this con­tinual visiting to be much recommended. It affords neither air nor exercise, and, frequently, not much agreeable or useful conversation. The ge­nerality of men are so much undomesticated, so lost to every thing, that is innocent in taste, or natural in pleasure, that they are but seldom to be met with in these parties. A group of beautiful females are not, unfrequently seen together, without one sin­gle person of the other sex, to share the enjoy­ment; and it is, I conceive, in mixed companies alone, that conversation has its proper interest, fla­vour or improvement.

[Page 16] Your visits, therefore, I trust, will be, com­paratively, rare, and nicely selected; and I hope you will always preserve yourself from the re­proach, that is generally thrown on these meetings, as being vehicles of gossiping and scandal. It has been objected to your sex, that they are prone to satire. At a certain age, and under some disappoint­ments, perhaps this is true. They have been col­lecting, for many years, a quantity of spleen, and imprudently discharge it on every person, that falls in their way. This renders a woman unlovely indeed. Nay the attempt at wit, or saying smart things, is, by no means to be encouraged. True humour is the lot of few, and can never be an ad­vantage to a woman. From her we expect the qualities, that please, sooth and enliven. Unfor­tunately they, who think themselves in possession of this weapon, are brandishing it indiscriminately on all occasions, so as sometimes to wound their very nearest friends. If you could really say the smartest things, you might be feared, but you never would be loved.

The curiosity of women is a proverbial object of satire, and gives birth to all that little gossiping, which I have reprobated. Never convince the world, by an attention to mere trifles, that you have so unfurnished a mind, or so little to engage it. Read Hayley's truly humorous Essays on Old Maids, and blush at the practice. Remember the fate of the poor, unhappy spinster, who caught her death by her immoderate curiosity.

You can surely find infinite subjects for the en­tertainment of an hour, without descending to these little things. If you cannot, it is high time to give up (what is only called) an amusement, [Page 17]for that, which is a real one, a walk, a ride, a book, a garden, or the society of a chosen friend.

It is astonishing into how many difficulties a woman betrays herself, who is fond of this prac­tice; what quarrels, misconstructions, and expla­nations, what secret shynesses, aversions, mis­chiefs such babblers create; what friends they se­parate, and what a badge of infamy they fix upon themselves, in the eyes of all the sensible and the good!

There was a famous school amongst the anci­ents, where the pupils spent several years in learn­ing the very necessary art of being silent. Re­member, my dear girl, that nature has given you two ears, and only one tongue; and that scripture had said, "be swift to hear, but slow to speak."

LETTER VI.

CARDS, which are the inseparable concomit­ants of tea visits, and introduced as soon as per­sons are well seated in company, are a very equiv­ocal pleasure, and, by no means, to be much re­commended. Little habits insensibly beget a pas­sion for them; and a passion for cards murders time, money, talents, understanding, every thing, that is rational in our nature, and every thing, that is divine.

If experience did not convince us of the fact, one should never have imagined, that a rea­sonable creature would ever have been able to con­sume hours, days, weeks, months, years, in counting [Page 18]over the black and red spots upon paper, and child­ishly to quarrel about their success—a creature, who has an understanding, that is capable of im­provement, to an infinite degree! a creature, living in a world, where knowledge is immense, and every flower or shrub a subject of astonishment— who has a temper, that requires continual watchfulness; a soul that needs unremitting culti­vation; perhaps children, that call for incessant instruction; amidst objects of distress, for which heaven begs each superfluous penny, and in a body, that may, any moment, drop into the grave!

I will advert, no longer, to the moral consequen­ces. A woman, who has a wish only to please, should not be much addicted to this practice. It is very apt to ruffle the temper, and discompose the features; and a sour or an angry look is more de­structive to female charms, than an high scorbutic flush, or the small-pox.

It is said in favour of cards, that they prevent scandal, and are a substitute to many, for the want of conversation. This conveys a severe stigma both on our hearts and understanding. It supposes, that we have few stores of entertainment within ourselves; and that the only way to avoid a greater crime, is to fall into a less. Our moments, I fear, will not bear the scrutiny of conscience or reason, much less of the great day, if we cannot contrive to spend them in an innocent and useful manner, without the low resource of either scandal or play!

LETTER VII.

THE defenders of cards, however, will say no­thing in favour of gaming. No fortune, they know, is equal to its extravagant demands. An unlucky throw loses thousands in a moment. It has reduced the most opulent families to indigence; has led some to forgery, and an ignominious death; others, whose pride would not brook the degradation, to the fatal act of suicide; at best it has plunged into poverty and distress, many heirs of honourable and illustrious houses, who were born, in all appearance to happier days.

Your moderate card players (as they call them­selves,) have often wondered, what can tempt peo­ple of fortune to such a dreadful and ruinous a­musement, as that of gaming. I will venture to say, that this shocking practice is nothing more, than the spirit of card playing, carried to its ex­treme; that equal temptations would probably have led them to the very same imprudence; that they both, generally, originate in the same princi­ple, (the want of something substantial to fill and exercise the mind,) and are only an artificial meth­od of destroying that ennui and languor, which are the most insupportable feelings of human life; and that the cure of both must, equally, spring from so­lid knowledge, and from solid virtue.

Though gaming, at first, rises from no worse a principle, than a want of amusemet, or of having something to call the passions into exercise, yet, in its consequences, it has a tendency to eradicate every religious and moral disposition, every social [Page 20]duty, every laudable and virtuous affection. It renders the mind selfish in the extreme, and callous to the touch of woe, in every shape; whilst it stops up the sluices of charity, it extinguishes the inclina­tion for it; it is deaf to every call of friendship or of prudence. There can be no such thing, as an attentive parent, mother, wife, brother, sister or a sympathizing heart, where this infernal rage has taken possession of the soul. Every thing else is swallowed up in the all-devouring vortex. A game­ster would stake the last thousand on a throw, though a prison, for her husband, rags for her chil­dren, or a gallows for her nearest friend, were the melancholy prospect!

If you disbelieve this reasoning, look into life. What effects has this passion gradually produced on women, who had once hearts full of tenderness and virtue, and were affected with every appearance of distress; who had from nature, every refinement of taste, and every elegance of manners to captivate and charm.

If it were not invidious, I could produce many living characters to support my assertions. They would make a dismal picture, and the motto would be, "beware of beginnings."

Though I abhor novels, yet, perhaps, the cele­brated one of Cecilia is worth reading, if it was only to guard our fashionable ladies from splitting on the dreadful rock of the Harrels. Many cha­racters, in that book, are overstrained; but this is borrowed from real life, and daily observa­tion.

LETTER VIII.

LAY down a little plan for yourself, and all your studies, exercises and employments will be easy and practicable. You will have time for ev­ery thing; and you will never seem in an hurry or embarrassed.

Order is the first law of nature, and of nature's God. The moon, stars and tides vary not a mo­ment, and the sun knoweth the "hour of its going down."

Without order, a thousand things will be impro­perly delayed, or wholly neglected. Whilst we are hesitating where to begin, or what to do, hours fly away, insensibly, never to return!

If every thing knows its place, you will escape the loss of many, valuable moments, and the anxiety of as many unprofitable searches. Exact­ness is, by no means, the necessary appendage of an old maid.

Order is the very parent of tranquility. A per­son is always easy, whose affairs are, always, in a regular arrangement. At the same time, let the mechanism of your process be invisible. The per­fection of art, you know, is to conceal it.

Be always ready to receive your friends with an open countenance, and a cheerful heart. Society and connection have claims upon us, to which we should sacrifice every selfish consideration.

If you are an early riser, you may sind time for every thing. It is amazing how much is gain­ed by lopping off an hour or two, from indulgence [Page 22]in the morning. Nor is the mere saving of time the only advantage. Our spirits are more lively, and our faculties are more awake.

I do not know a practice which I should more recommend, whether devotion, health, beauty, or improvement of the mind, were the objects in view. How cheerful and how animated are the meditations of the morning! What a delightful bloom flus [...]es into the cheeks from its balmy exha­lations! What an unspeakable cheerfulness glides into the sould from hearing the devotional matins of the lark, and from beholding the new-born scenery of nature! How necessary is such a regi­men to preserve that sweetness of complexion, and of breath, which are the very essence and per­fume of beauty! When people think of account­ing to God for the talents, they have received, they overlook the hours, which are lost in morn­ing sloth, and unreasonable indulgence.

I have inured myself, for many years, to this habit of early rising. In the spring months of April and May, particularly, I grudge every mo­ment that is wasted after five. I consider it as a rude neglect to all those sweets, which opened to salute me. And I always find so much more de­ducted from the firmness of my health, and the vigour of my understanding.

LETTER IX.

I HAVE indeed, as you say, frequently dwelt with pleasure on Miss Lou [...]sa —, and do [Page 23]think her a charming woman. She always struck me as possessing, in a superior degree, those quali­ties, which constitute the graceful and attractive, and therefore as a very proper pattern to all young people. Not that I think a servile imitation of any original, however excellent, would render another pleasing. Nature no more intended any two persons to have precisely the same manner, than the same eyes, or features, or complexion. But still a familiar intimacy with such a woman must insensibly communicate some traits of resem­blance, which by incorporating with the general mass of a character, will form a beautiful and con­sistent whole.

Though I have always admired her only in the gross, and was charmed, without considering the constituent principles of her excellence, I will, as you request it, endeavour to analyze and trace them to their source.

He [...] person is rather genteel, than beautiful, so that she is more indebted to herself, than to nature, for her attractions. And a wonderful energy in­deed they have. For I have often seen this girl steal the notice of the whole company from others of her sex, who were infinitely more distinguished by the beauty of their persons, as well as the ad­vantage of birth and fortune.

The ground work of all her charms, is, (what I cannot call by a better name, than that of) simplici­ty; an artless, undesigning, unstudied manner, flowing from an innocent and virtuous heart, which, ne [...]r seeks concealment, as having indeed nothing to conceal. Louisa never affects to be any thing, but what she is. She does not exalt herself [Page 24]above measure, nor ever ridiculously degrades herself, in order to be exalted. Her gestures, atti­tude, voice, pronunciation are all under the im­mediate impression and guidance of nature. Louisa expresses an innocent pleasure, because she feels it in the company of sensible and agreeable men, and yet never seeks it with an improper avidity. She never harangues upon, or vaunts a superior sensi­bility, but frequently displays no inconsiderable share of it, by involuntary emotions. She never, in any respect, affects connections, appearance or any thing above her fortune, nor endeavours to shine at the expence of others.

This, though very imperfectly described, is, ac­cording to my idea, the first excellence in the character of this lady. It is the very reverse of that absurd affectation, which, by assuming a thousand, fanciful shapes, renders graces unlovely, and even beauty disgusting. Louisa charms every person, because she is always amiable and oblig­ing, without studying to charm. Her face is al­ways welcome in company, though she throws no artificial lightning into her eyes, softness into her features, nor lisping into her articulation.

The common systematic education of girls is un­favourable to this simplicity. The tendency of modern culture is to raise art, upon the ruins of nature. Such a method would not succeed in any thing else, and how should it in the treatment of women? If there be one object in the world, more disgusting than all others, it is a girl, whom nature formed to be innocent and artless, reducing affecta­tion and disguise to a system.

It is with simplicity of manner, as it is with ease of style, in a writer. When we read his [Page 25]works, it appears the most easy attainment imagi­nable; but, in fact, nothing is so uncommon, either in conduct or in writings. And the reason must be, that, instead of attending to the guidance of nature, people make an extraordinary effort to be something great, or superior, and uncommon. Sim­plicity may be styled the easy and the graceful negligence of conduct, yet, as in dress, it charms more than the most elaborate ornaments.

Through all the wonderful works of God there is a majestic simplicity. Nature knows no affec­tation. Her prospects, hills, vallies, alcoves, grot­tos are all unstudied; her magnificence is wild and artless. There is a simplicity of design and effect in all her wonders, in the construction and revolu­tion of planets, in the flow and ebbing of the tides, and in the vomiting of immense volcanos. The carnation never aims at the stately magnificence of the ostentatious hoary oak. Every rose is con­tent with its own natural hues and odours; and affects not the elegant sweetness of the Reseda, (minionette.)

Nature is the standard of perfection. Every character and every art is only so far finished, as it approaches to her likeness. No paintings are beautiful without this ground-work of simplicity. It charms in a Correggio. It was the excellence of a Raphael. It lives in the exquisite touches of a Reynolds.

The beauty of all writing is founded in simpli­city. It was with Homer, Virgil and Milton, when they sketched out their inimitable poems. Of Shakespeare it was the very soul. Statuaries, sculptors, architects have only gained an extensive [Page 26]reputation, in proportion as they have studied this divine simplicity.

No woman can be graceful without it. It will go further, in the art of pleasing, without any ac­complishments, than all the accomplishments will go, without it.

LETTER X.

ANOTHER striking quality in Louisa, is her constant cheerfulness. Though few women in the world are more serious or thoughtful, where any solid duties are concerned, where the health, peace, comfort, convenience of her friends and parents, or any domestic attentions are at stake, and though she is possessed of such an exquisite sensibility, as is apt to produce an unevenness of spirits, yet, whenever I see this lovely girl, she always beguiles me into a temporary cheerfulness, by the force of her own. This gaiety of heart, equally removed from a thoughtless levity or a moping gloom, is a most desirable quality in women. Men are per­plexed with various anxieties of business and am­bition, and are naturally more thoughtful, pro­found, and melancholy; women certainly were formed to sooth and to enliven. It is one of the greatest blessings we derive from their society, and from the most sacred of all connections.

Cheerfulness (saith the wise man) doeth good, like a medicine. It has a wonderful effect on all [Page 27]the finer organs of the body. If it was not for lit­tle innocent sallies of this kind, it would be im­possible to bear severe application. The year would be insupportable, if it was wholly composed of the dark and gloomy days of November.

There are many unavoidable ills, sicknesses and misfortunes in human life, which will come uncall­ed to deject our spirits, and poison our repose; but we should not anticipate them by gloomy apprehen­sions, nor ever suffer an unnecessary melancholy to sit upon our looks. It is the truest policy to be innocently gay and cheerful, whilst we can. It for­bids the approach of wrinkles, and adds many years to the little fleeting span of human life. Some pietists have encouraged gloom by their er­roneous notions of the Deity, and of christian self-denial. But I should strongly suspect their good­ness, or their judgment. If any thing can make a person truly cheerful, it should be a good con­science. And true religion is doubly charming, when it wears a smile.

A melancholy countenance is, by no means, feminine. It is as remote from the true point of gracefulness, in the sex, as ill-natured wit, or ironical pertness.

LETTER XI.

THOUGH Louisa is the most remote from prudery, of any woman I know, easy and accessible to the other sex, and cheerful, lively and uncon­strained, [Page 28] [...] her conversation with them, yet she has really so great a share of true, female delicacy, that the most licentious man living would not dare to use a double entendre in her company, or give the conversation an improper turn. Nor is it, that she has reduced rules of propriety to a system. She has really a native feeling, which vibrates to the most distant touch of what is proper and be­coming, and would tremble, like the sensitive plant, where any thing, that could stain the deli­cacy of her mind, was conveyed in the most distant allusion.

Fashionable manners have been long attempting to banish delicacy, as a sort of incumbrance; but no woman will ever long be lovely without it. Let France or Italy do what they will, it is that sacred fence, which is never broken down, without me­lancholy consequences. Delicacy is a very gene­ral and comprehensive quality. It extends to every thing, where woman is coneerned. Conversation, books, pictures, attitude, gesture, pronunciation, should all be under its salutary restraints. If a girl ever loses it, farewel, a long farewel to all her greatness! If this "salt have lost its savour, where­with shall it be seasoned?"

How unfit are many parents to educate a daugh­ter! What injudicious pleasantries do they some­times use, even in their presence! A girl should hear, she should see, nothing, that can call forth a blush, or even stain the purity of her mind.

Another distinguishing grace of Louisa is softness. She is (what nature intended her to be,) wholly a woman. She has a quality, that is the direct op­posite to manliness and vigour. Her voice is gentle; her pronunciation delicate; her passions [Page 29]are never suffered to be boisterous: she never talks politics: she never foams with anger: she is sei­dom seen in any masculine amusements: she does not practise archery. I will venture to prophesy, that she will never canvass for votes at an election. I never saw her in an unfeminine dress, or her fea­tures, discomposed with play. She really trembles with the apprehension of danger. She feels, unaf­fectedly, for every person, exposed to it. A friend, leaving her father's house, only for a short time, calls forth her concern. The farewel tear stands big in its transparent sluice. And whenever he returns, the easy, undissembled smile testifies her joy. She displays more symphathy for the indisposition of a servant, than some do for the death of their nearest friends.

Of all the women I ever saw, Louisa has the most universal and indiscriminate affability. She never meets any poor persons in her neighbour­hood, without entering into a very minute inquiry about the health of their children, family and friends; and the villagers revere her. They know that she is constantly planning for them some assistance and relief.

Little minds endeavour to support a consequence by distance and hauteur. But this is a mistake. True dignity arises from condescension, and is sup­ported by noble actions.

Superciliousness is almost a certain mark of low birth, and ill breeding. People, who have just emerged into greatness, think it necessary to main­tain their superiority by a proud look and an high stomach. The consequence is general hatred and contempt.

In fact this proud, high-bearing reserve is a very [Page 30]great crime. Every person, that bears the image of his Maker, is entitled to our attentions, and in­deed our benevolence. Inferiority is, of itself, a sufficient burden, without our endeavouring to aggravate it by ill-nature or neglect.

I have often heard Louisa dwell, with rapture, on the entertainment and edification she has receiv­ed in many cottages when she has been carrying clothing, cordials or money to the distressed in­habitants; and tell me which is the more digni­fied character? a woman, who would turn from her poor neighbours with disdain, or one, who for her kindness and attention to them, is praised, as often as her name is mentioned, and followed, whithersoever she moveth, with their tears and with their blessings.

There is not a greater charm in any character, than such a condescension. A woman, thus forget­ting all her distinctions, to sympathize with the unfortunate, must captivate every man, who has either a single grain of piety or understanding. Even the plainest face would be forgotten in such real and unaffected goodness.

The manner of Louisa finishes her character. It is a beautiful bordering to all her graces and her virtues. It is impossible for me to define, (what I mean by,) manner; yet no one can be, half an hour, in the company of this lady, without feeling its astonishing effects. Though she frequently says nothing, but what might have dropped from any other person, yet in her it becomes so very in­teresting, as to command attention, and even to delight. She embellish [...], in a wonderful manner, a look, a gesture, an attitude, nay even silence it­self. She confers a grace on the most common [Page 31]civility. She heightens every favour by the mode of doing it, and she oblige [...], almost, by refusal.

The best definition I can give of this quality must be imperfect. I should call it, however, a quick discernment of what is graceful, directed by an exquisite sensibility, and saying in an in­stant, to airs, g [...]stures, features, looks, come with corresponding energy, and they "come." No rules can be laid down for its attainment. Na­ture must have been propitious, where it is seen in any high perfection.

Manner is more engaging, than the most finish­ed beauty. The latter is an agreeable prospect, that soon grows insipid, and fatigues by uniformity. The first is a continual change of country, with landscapes ever new, interesting and delicious.

LETTER XII.

THE father of Louisa is one of the most wor­thy elergymen, I ever knew, and has long lived in my esteem. He married, early in life, a woman of considerable beauty and fortune, but infinitely more distinguished by her piety and understanding. He has learning and goodness enough to have graced the highest stations in the church; but he suffers not ambition to disturb his tranquility, and prefers the silent pleasures of retirement to all the pomp and splendour of a court. He is rector of a small parish in the county of —, and has [Page 32]such a pastoral tender [...]ss and affection for his flock that I do not think he would be tempted to leave them for any temporal considerations what­soever. ‘I would not resign (he has frequent­ly said to me) the fragrant shrubs and plants that encircle this little cot for the most envia­ble promotions; nor should the tumults and anxieties of the highest station deprive me of those domestic endearments, which after all its bewitching gaiety and bustle, are the only real sweetness of life. What could equal the heartfelt joys I derive from the fond and ever grow­ing attachment of my Harriet, or the pleasure of watching the continually expanding graces and improvements of my lovely girl?’

It has, long, been my private opinion, that a good clergyman is more likely to have a dutiful and affectionate family, than a person of almost any other character. And I am not a little con­firmed in it by the instance before us.

Whoever sees this happy pair, is delighted with that mutual esteem and fondness, which revolving years have not been able to diminish, but only to mature; and must form a very high idea of that union, which the licentious only endeavour to ridi­cule, because they have not taste and innocence enough for its unpurchased, and refined sweets. I have lately spent a few days with this amiable group, and returned, quite disgusted with my own situation. It appeared, uncommonly solitary and insipid. I began to blame my books, as the ob­stacle of [...]m, felicity, and to ask philosophy and cold-hearted prudence, what joy they had to boast, if compared with these natural transports of the soul.

[Page 33] Fortunately for my friend, a comfortable, pater­nal fortune, in conjunction with that, which he received with his lady, has placed him in very easy, and rather affluent, circumstances. Provi­dence has crowned their virtuous friendship only with Louisa; but indeed, in her alone, has rained down a profusion of its blessings. In her, there­fore, all their cares and anxieties concenter; and her education, you may well suppose, has not been neglected.

Her parents are both averse to boarding schools, as inspiring a young person with improper notions, and undermining the taste for pure simplicity and domestic worth. She has, therefore, been always kept under their own, immediate inspection; but her hours are as strictly arranged, as they could have been, at any school, into a regular plan of employment. She has her allotted intervals for domestic duties, needle-work, reading, corres­pondence, exercise and recreation; and every hour knows its particular engagement.

She opens every morning, and closes every day with an hymn of praise to her bountiful Creator, which is chanted to the harpsichord, with so sweet a voice, as I cannot even at this distance of time, recollect without emotion.

If you saw the beautiful fancy-work, which has been wrought by this girl, in carpers, baskets of flowers, embroidery, &c. you would imagine, that she could have but little leisure for the improve­ment of her understanding. But a strict economy of time, an invariable adherence to order, and an habit of early rising have enabled her to do won­ders. Her father superintends that part of her education, which is connected with books; and [Page 34]has such an happy method of conveying his idea as wonderfully mixes instruction with delight.

Natural history and botany, on fine days, they study in the fields; and when the weather is less favourable, she has such a collection of animals, insects, and other curiosities as would adorn the museum of a connoisseur. This is called her grot­to; and is placed in a shady part of the garden, over-arched with an alcove of entwined elms.

History, in the hands of her able instructor, be­comes a fund of unspeakable improvement. When events are recorded, she is asked what causes gave them birth; what instruments were made use of for their completion, and what traces she can discover, of a wonderful and an all-wise Providence, govern­ing the whole.

Geography and chronology are inseparable guides consulted on the occasion; and when characters are described, she is interrogated con­cerning the praise-worthy or the reprehensible, in them; where the historian has been too sparing of his praise, or extolled beyond the bounds of reason and of truth. Her sentiments, on all these subjects, are given, in her own language, upon paper; and afterwards corrected by the mature judgment and critical taste of her incomparable tutor.

On Sundays, she prepares a concise abridgment of the sermon, which undergoes the same rigid examination; and she has a little volume, filled with such sacred reflections, as would not dishon­our the understanding, or the repository of a pro­fessed divine.

You would suppose from this account, that Louisa would appear (what the world calls,) a [Page 35]very learned woman. No such thing. In a mixed company, you would not discern, that she possessed any superior knowledge or advantage over her sex, except in an elegant mode of expression. She en­ters into other people's views, feelings, interests and concerns, with a politeness, that very few possess; and converses with all her country neigh­bours, on such easy terms, as banish every un­pleasant feeling of distance or restraint.

The heart of this lovely girl is, all over, sympa­thy and softness. The big tear trembles in her eye, on every trying occasion; and in her closet, along with a small, but well chosen collection of books, she has a little box, with this inscription, "sacred to the poor." Into this, she puts, every night, be­fore she sleeps, something to be a fund for merit and distress. She enriches it with the savings she has made, by retrenching some expensive articles of dress or pleasure. It is filled with money, that others would have spent on plays, concerts or assemblies; and I will venture to say, that she has infinitely sweeter music in her heart, and a more innocent, sparkling brilliance in her eyes, than any of the most admired frequenters of these gay amusements.

LETTER XIII.

FROM Louisa's strict consinement and system­atic life you would conclude, perhaps, that she had almost contracted a disrelish for books. But, indeed, it is far otherwise; her studies are her [Page 36] pleasure; they are so judiciously mixed with en­tertainment, and so interwoven, as it were, with the common casual occurrences of the day, that she considers them more as an amusement, than a business. Her private moments, when she is left to her own choice, are not unfrequently beguiled with the very same employments, which had en­grossed the other parts of the day.

The garden is the scene, where she indulges all the luxury of her taste; and her rambles into it are as frequent, as the great variety of her avoca­tions will permit. One day, I found her in this retizement. The place was very happily fancied. Large clumps of trees, on both sides, with their intervening foliage, had rendered it impervious to any human eye. Nature had wantoned with particular luxuriance. A clear, transparent spring murmured through the valley. And it was fenc­ed, on both sides, with a very lofty mound, cast up as on purpose, and planted with perennial shrubs. A shady arbour, in the middle, catching through a beautiful vista, the spire of the village church, invited to meditation and to repose. She was reclined here rather in a pensive attitude, read­ing Burke's Essays on the Beautiful and Sublime; and to me she appeared, I must confess, more en­chanting, more beautiful and more sublime, than the admired work of that well known and admired author.

On another occasion, her mother being much indisposed, she had stolen from the domestic circle, to indulge, at leisure, a solitary grief. The book she held in her hands, was Lord Lyttleton's Dia­logues of the Dead. The soft melancholy visible in her countenance, the very apparent agitation of [Page 37]her spirits, and the grief, bursting through her animated eyes, formed a very interesting whole; whilst her observations on a future life, on the comfort she derived from the hope of conversing with her friends after death; on the probable na­ture and happiness of heaven, and the permanency of virtuous friendship and affection, would no have disgraced any divine or philosopher of the age.

A third time of her elopement, she was reading the only novel, which she permits herself to read, that of Sir Charles Grandison. Tears, like an April shower, tinged with the sun, were mingled with her joy.

The book was opened, where the once-amiable Harriet Byron is now Lady Grandison; where the painful suspense of her virtuous, though pre­mature, attachment, is crowned by an eternal union with its object, and she is kneeling to her ever-venerable grandmother, to implore a blessing. "Heavens!" (said she,) ‘what an exquisite and inimitable painter was Richardson! How over­whemled with admiration, esteem and self-annihilation do I, always, feel myself, when I read the description of his Harriet Byron. So much piety, yet so much cheerfulness; such filial duty, tenderness, affection, so exquisite a sensibility; so deep and glowing a passion, con­ducted with so much delicacy; such beauty of person, lost in so much greater sweetness of temper, and such a winning candour and open­ness of heart, complete my idea of every thing that is noble and aimable in woman.’

‘I never read this writer without weeping. He had an amazing talent for the pathetic and [Page 38]descriptive. He opens all the sluices of tender­ness, and tears flow down our cheeks, like a river. And (what is most of all,) I never open his book without feeling my sentiments elevated and sublimed, and my heart more alive to all the suggestions of piety and virtue. If all novels had been written on such a plan, they would, doubtless, have been very excellent vehicles of wisdom and goodness.’

The last time I broke in upon Louisa's retire­ment, she was surrounded with authors. She seem­ed bent upon indulging her elegant taste, in all its extravagance.

Addison's papers on the Pleasures of Imagina­tion; several pieces of Miss Seward: Mason's English Garden; Ariosto, with Hoole's Transla­tion, and Webb's Inquiry into the Beauties of Painting, together with a Collection of Poems, lay, in promiscuous dignity, beside her. She has accustomed herself to enter into a sort of com­mon-place book, passages, which she thinks parti­cularly striking. I am happy in being able to give you a little specimen of her choice, for she indulg­ed me with a sight of the valuable manuscript.

The first, poetical rose she had plucked, was from the Italian poet, Ariosto. It was his beau­tiful picture of Alcina, the enchantress. I will transcribe a few of the lines, and the translation, though a modest blush tinged her cheeks, whilst I read the description.

Mrs. Carter's celebrated Ode to Wisdom always makes one thrill with a melancholy pleasure, and it had furnished Louisa with these beautiful stanzas:

Miss Seward's poetical address to Mr. Wright, engaged in taking her father's picture, had sup­plied her with these four most interesting and pathetic lines: [Page 41]

The ever graceful and elegant Fontaine, so justly esteemed the Correggio of poetry, had sup­plied her with the fables of Le Chene et le Roseau, La Fille; and from the theatre Sur l' Education of the Comtesse le Genlis, she had stolen the fragrant rose of Salency.

From a judicious arrangement of these separate sweets, she had composed a very elegant bouquet which casts a delicious fragrance on her character and virtues.

And now, tell me, what think you of Louisa? If she was married to the first sovereign of Europe, would she not be the richest jewel in his crown?

LETTER XIV.

I WILL now give you another picture. It is that of a young lady, whom I have lately had the honour of seeing, just arrived from a boarding school. It is Lady Harriet —. But I will not undertake to say, that the features will please you. They are certainly different from those of Louisa.

She was almost incessantly practising little arts, and adjusting all her airs and graces to engage ad­miration. When she spoke, she minced her sylla­bles, and when she looked, she threw an unnatural vivacity into her eyes. She is a fine, blooming girl; and, if she had not taken such uncommon [Page 42] pains to please, must necessarily have charmed every beholder.

How long will it be before people learn, that nothing engages so much, as the ease of nature? An artless simplicity is the highest charm. What­ever sludies admiration, raises disgust. System and constraint destroy ease. And ease is the parent of all the graces.

It is the business of education to lop off some little, luxuriant boughs from the tree of nature, but not to constrain it, that it cannot vegetate, or give to every branch, an unnatural direction. I should prefer the plain, honest awkwardness of a more country girl to over-acted refinement.

Though Lady Harriet—is not yet four­teen years old, she has more than the airs and for­wardness of a woman. Who can have taught this girl, that roses are expected to open all at once, and not by degrees?

Timidity and diffidence are the most attracting qualities of a girl; a countenance always modest, and undesigning; a tongue, often silent, and ears, always attentive.

Boarding schools, it should seem, may be com­pared to hot-beds. They bring fruits and flowers quickly to their growth. But they have not their proper essence, healthiness or flavour.

The girlish state is so pleasing, in itself, that we wish not to see it exchanged, before its time, for the caution, the artifices, or the subtil policy of age.

It is desirable, that a girl should retain, as long as possible, the innocent dress, manners, habit and sentiments of childhood. She will never be more captivating, when she is a woman. Natural, [Page 43] untortured ringlets, sashes, frocks, &c. are superior to all the laboured trappings of fashion. Nature has given to every age, as well as to every season of the year, its appropriate charms. We should be greatly disappointed, if the soft breezes and the pleasing, new born scenery of the spring were im­patient to dissolve into the sultry heats of summer.

A forward girl always alarms me. Indelicacy, imprudence and improper connections start up to my view. I tremble for her friends, and see her history, gradually, unfolding into indiscretion.

Children are apt enough, of themselves, to aspire into womanhood. A governess should check this spirit, and nip it in the bud. A long nonage, if I may so call it, is savourable to your sex. Dur­ing this period, a girl is acquiring some solid im­provement. When she fancies herself a woman, company, pleasures and conversation with the other sex, unhinge her mind, and bid unquiet thoughts take possession of her fancy.

I could discover from the conversation of Lady Harriet, that she was deeply read in novels and romances. Her expressions were beyond nature, turgid and overstrained, where she only wished to convey a common idea.

A volume would not be sufficient to expose the dangers of these books. They lead young people into an enchanted country, and open to their view an imaginable world, full of inviolable friendships, attachments, ecstacies, accomplishments, prodi­gies, and such visionary joys, as never will be realized in the coarseness of common life. The romantic turn, they create, indisposes for every thing that is rational or substantial. They corrupt all principle. Fortitude they unnerve, and substi­tute [Page 44]in its place; a sickly sensibility, that cannot relish common blessings or common things; that is continually wounded with its own fancies, and even "ready to expire of a rose, in aromatic pain." Their sentiment is but a fine-spun word for indeli­cate emotions. Their sympathy and friendship are often but a specious, flimsy covering for criminal attachments. Such false, over-strained ideas have led many a poor girl to ruin. Under the notion of superior refinement, similarity of souls, and invo­luntary friendship, she has gradually been seduced from the paths of virtue, to the commission of the gros [...]est crimes. A fine, splendid idea has been used to palliate the dreadful action. Sentiment has triumphed over the vulgar shackles of conscience, and of every social and moral obligation.

Plays, operas, masquerades, and all the other fashionable pleasures have not half so much danger to young people, as the reading of these books. With them, the most delicate girl can entertain herself, in private, without any censure; and the poison operates, more forcibly, because unperceiv­ed. The most profligate villain, that was bent on the infernal purpose of seducing a woman, could not wish a symptom, more favourable to his pur­pose, than an imagination, inflamed with the rhapsodies of novels.

Lady H— betrayed great pride, in disavowing any acquaintance with some young ladies, at the same school, because their parents were not equal to hers in point of fortune. She had formed, poor girl wrong notions of importance; and they had not, it should seem, been properly corrected.

Under the idea of teaching young people, what is due to their rank, boarding schools encourage [Page 45]pride by a system. Whoever consults the happiness of a daughter, should, as systematically, endeavour to propagate humility.

Alas! my dear girl, what have any of us to boast of? What dignity is there in an heap of money, unless it be devoted to charitable actions? To be carried in state, to eat deliciously, or to sleep on down, may have something in it, to weak mor­tals, that elevates and charms; but to an inhabi­tant of heaven, or to superior spirits, must be as frivolous, as the toils or little play things of chil­dren appear to us.

What supreme importance does it give to a ra­tional creature, that the silk worm has spun for her a robe of elegance, or that the milliner has be spangled her with ornaments? These ornaments alas! cover only a "poor worm," a sinner! a creature, subject to innumerable infirmities and sorrows! and after all, the peacock has more gaudy plumage, and flowers of the field are more beautifully decked!

Where again [...]t the dignity of high birth, un­less it leads to dignified conduct? And what are all these distinctions to a creature, that, any instant, may be stripped of every thing; that may die any hour; and must be called to a very severe account, if they have not been religiously improved?

If you are ever disposed to be proud, look for­ward to the moment, which will bury, along with you, in the dust, titles, honours, riches, beauty, friends, connections—to the moment, when the world will be shrivelled into atoms—when you must stand, a naked and unprotected criminal, be­fore the supreme Majesty of heaven: and endeavour to acquire tha [...] [...]niversal love, which, for the sake [Page 46]of doing a religious action, is content to "become the servant of all." This love will be a sovereign balsam to the soul. It will heal a thousand dis­orders, and prevent as many more.

The Author of all wisdom and greatness was "meek and lowly in heart." He, who could have commanded kingdoms, inhabited a cottage. Humility is the distinguishing badge of his religion. And, whenever you are his real disciple, you will not exalt yourself above the meanest creature, but under an accumulation of all worldly distinctions, will smite upon your breast with the publican, and say, "God be merciful to me a sinner."

Happiness and pride are absolutely incompatible. Continual vexations, fanciful slights and injuries and provocations wound the self-sufficient mind.

Pride is contrary to every thing, that pleases in a woman. It has no softness, no benignity, no ease. The apostle has justly called "a meek and quiet spirit, an ornament." It is the robe, in which a woman should always be dressed, who wishes to secure a permanent esteem.

LETTER XV.

I GAVE you a description of the true delicacy of Louisa. I have lately seen it over-acted by ano­ther person, in such a manner, as to disgust me beyond expression. The virtues and graces have [Page 47]all their limits. If pushed further, they degene­rate into the very opposite defects. The lady, who hurt my feelings, had not considered this max­im. Or she had not taste and sense enough to ap­ply it. Her delicacy was absolute prudery and af­fectation.

True delicacy is nothing more, than the refine­ment of modesty. It is the sensitive plant of woman, which gives the quickest notice of approaching danger, and trembles at the bare apprehension of any thing, which can injure her honour, her safety, or repose. So amiable in itself, one cannot won­der, that every female wishes to be thought in possession of it. But it is a shy and timid plant, and least displays itself, where it is known to exist in the highest cultivation.

Some women are so over-loaden with this virtue, as to be almost insufferable in society; so outrage­ously virtuous, that they render all their purity and principles suspected.

This tremblingly modest female, in a company, of which I had lately the honour of making one, on hearing that a number of gentlemen were com­ing to drink tea, seemed very much alarmed, and pretended to make an apology for retiring. Now this was nothing less than downright hypocrisy. If it had been possible to look into her heart, proba­bly, at the very moment, it was thrilling with joy, for the agreable information.

Every woman in the world is fond of our socie­ty, unless she had formed some particular attach­ment, and wishes to indulge the greater luxury of solitary recollection. It is a natural and an inno­cent pl [...]asure, and it would be the falsest delicacy to disown it. We always suspect these prudes. [Page 48]We fancy, that their modesty diminishes in private in proportion, as it appears to dilate and to mag­nify itself, before the public inspection.

Upon hearing, again, that a young lady had been smart and lively with a gentleman of her ac­quaintance, she blessed her stars, and wondered, how such forwardness escaped reprobation! Now this girl acted from nature. The gentleman was agreeable. She felt the pleasure. She dared to express it. She wished to entertain him, and she did right. The other blamed her from envy or from affectation.

These over-nice and over-virtuous people would do well to consider, that an odious restraint would banish all the sweets of an intercourse betwixt the sexes, and fix a moping and a dismal gloom on the face of the creation. It is no breach of true deli­cacy to comply with the innocent dictates of nature. A woman may, very modestly, avow a virtuous at­tachment. She may express an approbation of particular men, and do justice to their merit. She may shew a fondness for being in their company. She may chat, in a sociable and an easy manner with them; nay she may think of being a wife or a mother, without injuring the finest tints of this laudable quality. Providence intended her for such circumstances and connections, and they need not a blush.

That piety is most solid, which affects no gloomy rigours, or singularities; which makes no noise, and courts no observation. It is so with delicacy. That is always the most exquisite, which is least ostentatious. An unstudied openness and simplicity of manners are the strongest symptoms of a guiltless heart, and a virtu [...]s intention. Those young [Page 49]people are, generally the most amiable, that are most undisguised. Having nothing to conceal, they have studied no art. They may, sometimes, give way to little sallies, which the rigid would con­demn; but they are sallies of good humour, and generosity forgives them.

Another instance, in which this Lady offended me, and yet from an over desire of pleasing, was by assuming a mistaken dignity. In fact, true dig­nity, in any person, consists in the virtues; humi­lity, condescension, candour; and is only sup­ported by great qualities, or by a train of amiable actions. But in a woman's manner, if she consid­ered only what is graceful, there should always be more of the lovely, than the great; of the enga­ging, than the magnificent or sublime. Her au­thority should be lost in sweetness; the dazzling, in the mild.

Women were not formed to awe us by their ma­jesty, but to sooth us by their graces. We may be struck with a Cleopatra, but we love an Antiope. A Catharine may astonish us, but we are charmed with a — C — e.

LETTER XVI.

THE tour of affectation is unbounded. I have just returned from a circle of ladies, who have been entertaining me with a very long harangue, on (what they choose to call,) fine feelings. This is quite a fashionable subject. The truth is, sensi­bility [Page 50]is considered, as a matter of refinement, and a proof of being raised above the vulgar; and ma­ny young people, I do believe, would be more hurt by any reflection on their sensibility, than if you suspected their piety and virtue.

This rage for the compliment of fine feelings seems to have originated in the writings of Sterne. His very eccentric talents were always contriving some fictitious tale of woe, and bidding the tear to drop; the general circulation of his works, and the novels which have, since, sprung up in the hot-bed of France, and of our own imaginations, have led young people to fancy every grace and almost eve­ry virtue, comprized under this specious and com­prehensive name.

Nothing certainly can be more nauseous and disgusting, than an affected sensibility, as nothing is more charming, than the pure and genuine. But, with all this noise about it, I am far from knowing whether there is much of the real in the world. They, who would be thought to have it in perfection, are only in possession of the artificial. For is it sensibility to prefer the turbid pleasures of midnight to opening buds and blossoms; to the lessons, which the Creator gives in every vegetable and every insect; to undisturbed contemplation; to the raptures of devotion, or all the fair and enchanting landscapes of creation; to the senti­ment the taste and knowledge, that are displayed in the works of the most learned and ingenious men, or the entertainment and delight and profit, we might receive from the volume of revelation? Is it sensibility to form a sacred connection with one per­son, and encourage a criminal attachment to ano­ther? Is it sensibility to leave the charms, the cries, the wants and tender pleadings of an infant offs­pring, [Page 51]for the vain and perishable splendour of a ball, a birth-night, or a levee?

Every thinking person must be disgusted with such a kind of sensibility. Rigid criticism would call it by a very harsh name, and society has reason to reprobate its tendency. Yet Sterne's sensibili­ty led to many of these evils; and who knows not, that a thousand ladies, who vaunt fine feelings, are dupes to this ridiculous illusion?

True feeling is of a very different complexion. Like genius, it must come from heaven; indeed it is a part of genius; and, like that, is very rare. It depends, considerably on temperament and or­ganization; is much heightened by particular ad­vantages of education, society, friends, reading. observation and reflection; and will generally be quickest in the most elevated minds. But, even when it is most gennine and poignant, it will never be a guide, safely to be trusted, till it is governed by reason, checked by discretion, and moulded by that religion, which requires us to devote every instinct we have, to the glory of God, and to the happiness of all our fellow-creatures, and of our­selves.

Thus consecrated, it is a source of the purest and the richest blessings. It is the parent of an earnest devotion to him, who gave it, and of a thousand blessings to mankind. It appropriates all the sor­rows of its brethren; it feels in every woe, ‘re­joices with them, that do rejoice, and weeps with them that weep;’ and doubly alive to all the exercises, of piety, in blossoms, in flowers, in minerals, in vegetables, in stars, in planets, in the azure vault of heaven, in thunders, in storms, in earthquakes, in volcanos, in the revolutions of [Page 52]empire, and destruction of cities, feels more exqui [...] ­sitely, adores and loves and venerates the wis­dom, the power, the goodness and wonders of an all-present, and all disposing God.

It is with this, as with every other grace and virtue. There is a false and a true. The false is loud and noisy, much addicted to egotism, and ob­trudes itself on public observation in order to gra­tify its own conceit and vanity; the other, modest, timid, retired shrinks into itself; feels, but says no­thing of its feelings; suffers, but conceals its suf­ferings; rejoices, but does not vaunt its joy, and is too delicate in its nature, and too much inte­rested to solicit pity, or to court approbation. The one is an humble fire work, which cracks an sparkles; the other is that lightning, which, in an instant, electrifies and shocks; this is the offs­pring of heaven; that, the artificial creature of the world.

I will conclude this letter with a contrast taken from life. Flavia lies in bed till noon; as soon as she rises, she opens a novel, or a play-book; weeps profusely at imaginary distress, sips strong tea, till she is almost in hysterics; concludes, that sensibility is all her own, and is perpetually com­plaining how her feelings are shocked with such a room, or such a prospect, the coarseness of this character, and of that conversation, and how the sight of a poor beggar gives her the vapours.

Emily never says a word about her feelings, rises with the dawn, endeavours to fortify her body with air and exercise, and her mind with devotion; is oftener seen with her bible, than any other book; seems pleased with every person and every object about her, and puts on a cheerful smile, when her [Page 53]bosom is really throbbing with pain, for the di­stresses of her fellow-creatures.

I was lately in her company, when a case of very singular distress happened to be related, of a lady reduced, from the height of affluen [...] ▪ to a poverty, which she attempted to conceal. She uttered not a syllable, but, in a little while, quit­ted the room, and returned, after a considerable interval, with eyes, that she had vainly bidden not to betray her emotions. The next circumstance I heard, was, that she had sent a £50 bank note without any signature, to the relief of the fair suf­ferer. The secret [...] discovered, contrary to the strictest injunction [...] the imprudence of the bear­er. She has, since, adopted one of the daughters to be educated for her own.

Tell me now, my Lucy, which of these is the true and the productive sensibility.

LETTER XVII.

I WILL give you candidly, at your request, my opinion of some celebrated writers. If you differ from me on reading them, it may produce a colli­sion of sentiments, which will be favourable to our mutual improvement. At any rate, it will serve to exercise your own judgment and discrimina­tion.

Voltaire is a graceful, but a superficial writer. He had more taste than genius, and more liveliness than authenticity. Volatile in his researches, im­patient [Page 54]of investigation and hasty in his decisions, you can scarcely rely on the truth or authority of any facts, he relates.

If I must recommend any of his works, it should be his Henriade. But I do not wish you to culti­vate any close acquaintance with so erroneous, and seductive an author.

Rousseau is very fanciful, but very engaging. His whims are all the ebullitions of genius; and, as such, they please. Nothing was ever so strange­ly romantic, as his Emilius, or system of Educa­tion; a mere, paper edifice of children, which the first and gentlest touch of experience totally de­stroys. You may read it to be amused, not to be instructed.

Why, you will naturally ask, were these distin­guished men enemies to revelation? The truth is, genius disdains to move in shackles, or to tread beaten paths. Originality is its constant aim. It must candidly, be owned, that revelation has some doctrines, superior to our reason. Otherwise, we should have no exercise for our faith; and our or­gans of perception would be too subtile and too refined for a mortal state. And these very en­lightened men choose not to stop at mysteries, but, in the pride of understanding, arrogantly disbe­lieve what they cannot comprehend.

Happy the humble christian, who submits and adores! who considers reason but as an imperfect guide, and patiently waits the moment, when the splendours of full discovery shall shine around him!

LETTER XVIII.

AFTER all the noise, that has been made about him, what has this great Lord Chesterfield writ­ten? What new ideas has he communicated to the world?

He has given us a few sketches of heathen my­thology, of the Grecian, Roman and English, histories, written in a pleasing style; and he has inculcated upon youth, that excellent maxim, of not loosing a single moment from improvement. A man of very moderate talents might have done like­wise. He had doubtless, some claim to taste; but very little strength or originality of genius appears through his writing, but he was a nobleman, who had been conspicuous for his station, and his coro­net had reflected a lustre on his page.

What real critic must not smile at his decision, when he boldly pronounces the Henriade of Vol­taire, superior to the Iliad, the Aeneid, and to Paradise Lost? Perhaps, this poem may be free from some, little spots of the others; but then it is not a sun, whose fire consumes every slighter blem­ish, and leaves the reader wrapped in a profound enthusiasm and amazement.

If it surpasses them in a cold correctness, has it their sublimity, their energy and fire? If it has not their excrescences, has it their impassioned beauties? Compared with the Iliad, or with the work of Milton, it is a neat spruce sir, placed near a spreading and majestic oak. It is a gentle rivu­let [Page 56]let by the side of a foaming torrent, or a magnifi­cent ocean. It is a pretty artificial fire-work, playing in the neighbourhood of a tremendous Aetna.

But Voltaire was a congenial writer, and a con­genial soul. In praising his superficial talents, Chesterfield did an honour to his own.

If this writer had not been a peer, who would have read his letters with so much avidity? All he has produced, would, immediately have perished with the other frothy bubbles of the day. His eternal repetition of "graces, graces," makes one abso­lutely sick; and the regimen he prescribes for the attainment of them, creates him an enemy, in every friend of religion and of virtue.

Society should burn his books. All the women, in the world, should form an unanimous confedera­cy against him. He has done every thing in his power to render them detestable; they should do every thing in theirs, to make the infamy of his character, immortal.

Read him, to despise his opinions and maxims. Read him that you may rescue the honours of your sex, and give the lie, in your own example, to every libel he has uttered, and every scandal he has endeavoured to propagate through the world.

LETTER XIX.

GIBBON is splendid, elaborate, elegant. To me, however, he is not, always, perspicuous. I [Page 57]am sometimes, obliged to p [...]se to discover his meaning. This arises from his having studied an uniform, condensed harmony of period, or at­tempting to graft the peculiarities of Tacitus, on the English idiom. He is, however, on the whole, a captivating writer; and I would not forbid you the pleasure of perusing his interesting work. You may admire his language, without imbibing his infidelity. It is, indeed, so artfully concealed under beds of roses, that, if you had not heard so much about it, you would not easily have discov­ered the venom of his pen.

What could induce this splendid historian so insidiously to attempt the undermining of chris­tianity, which is the greatest balm and sweetner of life? What are his rounded periods, if they have a tendency to rob the world of its sublimest pros­pects, and of all its supporting hopes? What will the fame of talents avail him, if he has done his utmost to circulate infidelity, as widely as his writings, and strew his paths, in every place, through which he has passed, with heaps of the murdered.

It is amazing that authors do not, more fre­quently, look forward to the moment, when [...] to have made a noise in the world, by singular opin­ions, will convey no joy or comfort to the heart; and when the only consolation must be, that they have laboured to promote the glory of God, and the benefit of man.

I would not, for the richest mitre in the king­dom, be a Gibbon, in my latest moments. In health and prosperity, we may be dazzled with tinsel. But when we come to die, every thing will vanish, but piety and truth.

[Page 58] Immoral writers may do the greatest mischief to society, of any other characters whatever. They may corrupt and taint the morals of the most distant posterity. In this sense, they may, for a long time, continue to be sinning, when their bodies are ent [...]bed. Their sentiments may convey a deadly poison, to operate on many generations yet unborn. And what reparation or atonement can they make for unhinged principle, for viola­ted integrity, and undermined hope. The Rom­ish Church has a very striking doctrine, that such people continue in purgatory, the longest of all others.

I bless God, that I never wrote a line, however fee [...]e, but with a good intention. And may this p [...] drop from my hands, before it ever leads me [...]o finish a period, that shall give me one uncom­fortables thought, or one feeling of remorse, in my e [...]pir [...]g moments.

LETTER XX.

THOUGH, from principle, a declaimer a­gainst novels, yet of one writer, who goes under this name, I profess myself a passionate admirer. I mean Richardson. His works, indeed, are not to be examined by the strict laws of a fasti [...]ous criticism. They have many luxuriancies, and too much prolixity. The language is natural and easy, but it is not condensed into the elegant con­ciseness [Page 59]and energy of the ancients. Richardson was a stranger to the inimitable models of Greece and Rome. He was not a classic; but he possessed a most extensive knowledge of human life and manners; his judgment was strong and penetra­ting; his taste, accurate; his sensibility, exqui­site; his imagination, wonderful; and his heart, impassioned. Master of the human character, he knew all its meandrings. Master of the human soul, he penetrated into all its foldings and recesses.

With the same breath, and in the same moment, he melts, he transports, he elevates, he dignifies, he convinces, and instructs. Pathos is all his own. ‘He opens the hardest rocks by the mere force of his narrative, and the waters flow.’

Richardson was, indeed, a writer of no trifling magnitude. He was a genius of no ordinary kind. Degrade this ethereal spirit, as you will, it will mount up to its kindred skies. Call him a novelist, his merit rises above names and forms. These cannot debase his talents. Handle this sub­stance, as roughly as you please, it returns, with an elastic vigour, to its usual shape, and defies opposition.

But the excellency of his intention is above all praise. The interests of virtue and religion were near his heart; and he chose the epistolatory plan merely to engage the attention of his readers, and that imagination might lend its liveliest charms to animate his precepts.

What a pattern of all virtues and graces is his Grandison! What a lovely and finished girl, is his Harriet Byron! What an unruffled piety! What a melting affection! What filial duty to her aged grandmother? What a kind sympathy [Page 60]with all her friends! What sensibility, yet what prudence! What tenderness, yet what discretion appear in her character! How nicely is her seri­ousness mixed with vivavity, her fine sense with modesty, and her frankness, with decorum! How fondly does she love, yet how delicately does she manage and regulate the flame!

When she pined, in secret, with an unconquera­ble attachment, what cheerfulness to all her friends burst through the heavy gloom, that lowered on her mind! What fear of giving any pain to others, though comfortless herself! What veneration did she express for the unhappy Clementina! What a generous concern for the innocent, girlish emo­tions of Emily! What an unaffected friendship for the lively Lady G —, and when she was really addressed by her Grandison, with what an open frankness, yet what a guarded delicacy and invo­luntary confusion, did she tell him that he had the full possession of her soul!

How venerable and engaging has this writer made the character of a clergyman, in the case of Dr. Bartlett! How judiciously has he mixed the pastor, with the friend, and combined the most rigid principles, with the softest and most attrac­tive graces. What innocence, integrity, and what prudence and caution about interfering in family concerns, has he given, in another work, to Dr. Lewen! What an independent spi­it, likewise; what a leaning to the side of the unfortunate Clarissa, in opposition to all the greatest of her friends; what a glowing, universal benevolence; what a serene, and undissembled piety! And how strikingly has he contrasted both with the cunning hypocrisy and [Page 61]pedantic affectation of another person, who, like­wise, wore, without really deserving, so sacred a ga [...]!

In opposition to modern customs, which, under a false idea of greatness, would trample on sacred ceremonies, and bring the holy ordinances of reli­gion, to their own fire-sides, in a manner, which divests them of all solemnity and decorum, what an invincible attachment does his Grandison dis­play to all the decencies and duties of the church! What a reluctance does he express against having his marriage desecrated by a private celebration; and how does he oblige his timid and his blushing Harriet to vow at the altar, in the presence of God, and in the face of day, her obedience, and her affection! In fact these outward decencies are the very fences of piety. Break them down, and the sacred enclosure will soon become ‘common and unclean.’

If, in short, I wished a girl to be every thing, that was great, I would have her continually study his Clarissa. If I was ambitious to make her every thing, that was lovely, she should spend her days and nights, in contemplating his Byron.

I must, however, confess a strong preference for the work of Sir Charles Grandison. The read­ing of Clarissa leaves, upon the mind, too melan­choly impressions. Her distresses are too deep and too unvaried for sensibility to bear. She was every thing, that was virtuous, and we look up with ad­miration. She was every thing, that was misera­ble, and we look down with despair. We are tempted to fancy, that ‘there is no reward for the righteous, nor any God that judgeth the earth.’

[Page 62] There is a certain point, beyond which our pas­sions will not bear to be racked. Beyond it even sympathy, the loveliest of them all, turns into the wildness of despair. Virtue may have its sor­rows and its trials; but they should not be perpetu­al. Hope would cease to bloom, and the year be­come intolerable, if it was wholly composed of a dull and dreary winter, without a spring. If Pro­vidence did not, generally, interfere in favour of its saints, religion, I should suspect, would soon lose one of its strongest encouragements, and most sovereign supports.

Miss Byron is always lovely, and always en­chanting. Her virtues are more within the reach of mortality. Her afflictions are less poignant; and when her long attachment is crowned with success, every good mind feels a pleasure, too big for expression. We are happy for Clarissa, only when she is dead. We are very agreeably inter­ested for Miss Byron, through every period of her life, and Lady Grandison charms us into congratu­lating triumph.

LETTER XXI.

YOU say very truly, that the pictures of Rich­ardson are drawn above life; that Sir Charles Grandison never existed, except in idea, nor so accomplished a woman, as Harriet Byron.

All this is granted. Mortality does not admit of perfection. Light and shade go together. Foibles and perfections are an inseparable mixture. The rich soil, which produces great [...]ents, by the same prolific energy, nurses the rankest weeds.

[Page 63] But what is all this against his writings? Why people, you say, are deterred from attempting to imitate so exalted a pattern. But that would be a mark of an ignoble soul, and of a luke warmness in the cause of religion and virtue. If we despair of attaining to all their perfections, is it nothing to approximate, as nearly as we can? Is it not a noble and a glorious emulation, at least, to exert our utmost strength, when we are running the race of immortality?

The founder of our holy religion is much more highly raised above our imitation, and yet do not the scriptures press us to make the necessary at­tempt? Who ever thought this pattern blameable, because so exalted? Or whoever dreamed of remit­ting his endeavours, because he could not reach the sublimity of its virtues?

The one, you will say, was real; the other is fictitious; this is human; that was divine.

True; but are we not to copy this divinity, in our degree? And who can blame fancy for pre­senting us with a perfect mirror of goodness? If imagination can be used to an important purpose, this, I think, is the plan; if it can be sanctified to aid the interests of piety, this appears the mode of sanctification. It is only to be blamed, and it then becomes, in all these books, a most dangerous and unholy principle, when it exhibits scenes and ima­ges to inflame those passions, which should always be, religiously, suppressed.

Nor do I blush, on the whole, cautious as I should be, to have borne this humble testimony to the merit of the author of Sir Charles Grandison, to have offered my unavailing incense, at his shrine. If I durst preach in some such manner, I [Page 64]could make more converts. The pulpit will never have its full influence and effect, till argument is mixed with strong appeals to the heart; and till, whilst the judgment is convinced, the imagination is permitted by lively, descriptive and energetic sallies, to captivate the soul.

LETTER XXII.

I REJOICE to find you disgusted with Tristram Shandy. I never thought these writings fit for a lady.

Let me candidly ask our modern fair ones? could they bear to hear such conversations, without blushing, or expressing their contempt? And should not then the eye be as chaste, as the ear? The first, indeed, can be gratified in private. But can that delicacy be very exquisite, which can re­gale, when alone, on sentiments and descriptions, from which, in public, it affects to turn away with indignation and abhorrence?

I have always, in private lamented, that Sterne was a clergyman. He might be a lively, humor­ous companion, but he had too much levity for this profession. It is true, he had talents, but what is ungoverned genius, but a violent flame, which burns, instead of warming, and dazzles, where it should enlighten and direct?

This writer has done inexpressible mischief. He has opened wide the flood-gates of indecency, and an overwhelming torrent has poured on the [Page 65]land. He has conveyed indelicate ideas into the minds of young people, under the specious vehicle of sentiment, and he has dignified eventual crimi­nality with the false, insidious title of involuntary attachment. The corrupted and unblushing fair has gloried in her shame. She has appealed for her justification, from the grossness of passion, to secret and irresistible feelings of the heart.

It is a just compliment to the present age, that the best writers preserve more decorum. An in­delicate allusion would, now, be esteemed an un­pardonable offence against the public taste. Even the stage is considerably reformed. It was far otherwise in (what was called) our Augustan age. Almost every author of that period (Addison ex­cepted,) breathes something of indelicacy. In many passages, Swift is intolerable; Pope inde­cent; and even Bolingbroke, with all his claims to birth, as well as eloquence, is not without some gross ideas, and some vulgar expressions.

But the great corrupter of them all was Swift. The reservoir of filthiness; all the separate streams might claim him for their parent source. I have already given my sentiments of this author. It is not necessary to swell the invective, or add any thing to the charges, adduced against him. His abilities I never suspected; but I always called in question his temper and his heart.

Panegyrists, however, have enumerated his many virtues. To Ireland, they say, he was a skilful patriot; to the church, a defender, and to the poor, a friend.

For the honour of human nature, I will not en­deavour to put a negative on these virtues. Let [Page 66]them all be taken into the general account. The balance will not still be heavy in his favour.

LETTER XXIII.

WHATEVER devotional writers increase your piety, by all means use them. I did not men­tion in my catalogue, Mrs. Rowe's Devout Exer­cises of the Heart, with which you are so much pleased, because to me they appeared, overstrained, and rather rhapsodies of a fervid imagination, than the dictates of a cool and a dispassionate judgment. But if they really warm and edify, that is the great and ultimate end of all religious writings; and no one can pretend, in this respect, to pre­scribe to the conscience or the feelings of others.

From my observations, however, upon life and manners, that piety has always appeared the most durable, which is most founded on reason and con­viction; and, though I abhor the cold rock of scepticism, yet there is, likewise, some danger, that a well disposed woman, whose sensibility is, as yet stronger than her judgment, may founder on the opposite quicksands of enthusiasm, or of superstition.

Still I would rather see a small mixture of credu­lity, than unbelief; but there is an happy medium betwixt the extremes; and it is very observable, that those people, who, in some peculiar period of their lives, or under some distressing circumstan­ces, have seemed to soar upon the wings of pious [Page 67]zeal, into the highest regions, have, afterwards, sunk below the common level, into a strange de­gree of carelesness and inatte [...]on.

There are moments in the moral life, when fancy plucks the reins out of the hands of reason; and though she drives at intervals with a furious rapidity, yet nature soon becomes exhausted with the violence, and cannot mount some intervening hills without stopping for refreshment. Sometimes she has been known to sit down in a listless lan­guor, and wholly to abandon the journey in de­spair.

We are not, in this state, formed for extremes. Any of the passions, too violently exercised, would wear out an imperfect frame. True piety is not the blazing meteor of an hour, fiery in its aspect, and engaging the astonishment of a gazing multi­tude, but that softer and settled light of the fir­mament, ‘which shineth more and more, unto the perfect day.’

LETTER XXIV.

I AM sorry to say, that you display a false taste in admiring Kilkhampton Abbey. I am now speak­ing of its merits, merely as a composition. It is not executed with the skill of a master. The same uniform turn of period and of sentiment, and the same laboured pomp of words, is visible through all the different inscriptions. Surely the epitaphs on so many characters, all written as might be [Page 68]supposed, by different hands, should be various and multiform.

I never thought epitaph an easy species of writ­ing. It requires such a nice discrimination of cha­racter, such a force of pathos, and so concise an elegance, as fall not to the lot of one man, in a thousand. Many have attempted this style of com­position; but, in my opinion, few have succeed­ed.

I do, indeed, most cordially detest this anony­mous abuse. It is contrary to all my ideas of civil­ization, politeness, fortitude, and even common gen­erosity, and militates against every thing, that should constitute the real character of a gentleman, or a christian.

No man lives, without foibles or particularities; and, if instead of making allowance for those of others, in order to receive an indulgence for our own, we ungenerously expose them to ridicule or contempt, the consequence, in society, must be a general coldness, disgust, rancour, hostility, and unceasing persecution.

No person can be so circumspect, particularly, in a public character, as to avoid creating, though without intending it, a number of little piques and enemies against himself; sometimes even by an inflexible discharge of necessary duties; and if his character must be taken from the colourings of those, whom he has thus innocently, perhaps laudably, offended, all his virtues will be thrown into the back ground, and his foibles aggravated with the utmost virulence of malice and resentment. Prejudice against, may render the most amiable person ridiculous, by concealing the great, and bringing forward the little; and prejudice for, may give some sort of merit to the most despicable and [Page 69]abandoned. Such a liberty of the press is down­right licentiousness; and every friend to order and virtue, if he will consult his own feelings, will not hesitate to pronounce, that, of all sacred things, character is most so.

If a person, however great, had used me ungene­rously, I would certainly expose him to public cen­sure, and drag him before the formidable tribunal of my country. I would appeal from the oppress­ion of any individual, to the general equity and can­dour of mankind. This, I should conceive, not merely an act of justice to myself, but likewise to the world. It is a common interest, that tyrants, however high in rank, or in self-estimation, should meet with their deserved infamy and contempt.— Such a display of true spirit wonderfully stops the progress of despotism, and teaches insolence the hard lesson of moderation. But, then, it should be done in the most open manner. I would can­didly subscribe my name to the charges, I adduo­ed; and, whilst I shewed the world that I feared not the person of man, I would convince mine ad­versary, that I was far above the meanness of tak­ing an unmanly or ungenerous revenge.

This honest courage was possessed, in an eminent degree, by the late Dr. Johnson. Nothing has pleased me more in the history of his life, than his troly magnanimous conduct to the late earl of Chesterfield. When he undertook to compose his elaborate dictionary, he solicited the favour of in­scribing it to his Lordship, who was then if I mis­take not Secretary of State. Flattered with appear­ing the patron of literature, Chesterfield accepted the honour of the dedication, and an honour it would have been to any nobleman in the world.— [Page 70]In the progress of this long and tedious work, he received no very solid marks of encouragement from his patron, and suspected on the whole, that the courtly peer meant only to amuse him.

Johnson had too much spirit either to brook the idea of neglect, the chicanery of a minister, the violation of a promise, or the servility of an abject dependence. He was not likely to be daz­zled with the glitter of a coronet, or intimidated with the ceremonious pageantry of office. He, therefore, wrote a formal letter to the nobleman, upbraiding him with insincerity, disclaiming his protection, and assuring him, that he did not want, and never would receive, any of his favours.— The consequence of this fracas was, that he after­wards stung Chesterfield with such bitter invec­tives, and so many pointed strokes of raillery and satire, as made him heartily repent of having roused his resentment, and desirous, at any rate, of a reconciliation. Johnson, however, persisted in his antipathy, and never afterwards, I believe wrote a dedication.

If Chesterfield intended only to dally with the author of this dictionary, he should certainly have considered, that men of great abilities have too much penetration not to see through any flimsy disguises of a minister; too much irritability not to be exasperated with hypocrisy or artifice, and too lofty a reliance on their own native powers to be afraid of any peer or monarch in the world.

Johnson, it is true, had not then attained all his eminence and distinction. He was comparatively, but rising into notice. The day that should an­nounce him the hero of literature, was only in its dawn. But contrasted with his solid merit, what [Page 71]is the paltry tinsel of station, from which some peo­ple immediately become so supercilious and for­bidding?

If Chesterfield did not think the author of the Rambler, greater than himself; if from the foot alone, he could not prognosticate the future strength and immense proportions of this literary Hercules, he had not a single grain of that shrewd­ness or discernment for which he has been so much complimented by the world.

Such is my idea of the true and genuine spirit, which should characterize a scholar and a gentle­man. It is not a stiletto, stabbing in the dark, but a challenge to a fair and generous onset, in which your antagonist has the opportunity of self-de­fence, and of managing all his weapons to ad­vantage.

LETTER XXV.

THE beauty of the lady you allude to, was her misfortune. It inspired her with an immoderate vanity, and that vanity paved the way to her ruin. It dug the grave, in which her peace and character are now intombed.

And after all, my dear girl, what is this beauty? It is a little clay, cast in an elegant mould, and by the hand of an exquisite artist, fashioned into some­thing of symmetry and order. It is a small mix­ture, in the cheek of roses and carnations.

But who needs to be informed that clay is very perishable, that roses and carnations are but for summer moments, and that afterwards there comes a [Page 72]long autumn of sickness, or a still more dreaty winter of infirmity and old age.

How transient are the power and duration of beauty! How very slight an accident or disease blasts it for ever! How fatal is a fever, the small pox, or a little corroding grief to all its allure­ments! and if they do not perish sooner, how dreadfully are they ravaged by the hand of time!

Whilst summer lasts, a few, fluttering insects light upon its lips, to sip the sweets. Some strag­gling birds of passage chirp upon the neighbouring spray, delighted with a view of the amiable object. The notice is enchanting, and imagination pro­mises that it shall be ternal. But the first storm, that comes, alas! these feathered songsters migrate to warmer climates, and a serener sky, leaving all its withered charms to perish in neglect!

How ridiculous is the girl, who wilfully swal­lows the poison of flattery for any personal charms, and, in the height of her intoxication, can be inso­lent or conceited! What woman of spirit should not aspire to qualities, that are less accidental and less subject to change! What woman of reflexion should not resolve to adorn and cultivate a mind, whose treasures may be inexhaustible, and whose attractions never die?

I pity every girl, whom nature has gifted with a very pretty face. She seems, by the very act, to have marked her out for trials and temptations, and our strength is not always in proportion to our conflicts.

Most of the unfortunate ladies, I have known, have been celebrated for their beauty. This has gathered all the worthless of our sex about them; [Page 75]and called them into battle, where, if they have not fallen, they have generally received considera­ble scars.

Beautiful women, flushed with conquest, often neglect the necessary cultivation of their heart and understanding: and, if every man would examine himself seriously, and was required to give in a list of the females he most respects, the prettiest, I believe, would not generally, be in the number.

LETTER XXVI.

DO you ask for patterns of conduct after what I have said of Louisa? I do not think you want any; but I will mention a few, which just occur, and endeavour to appreciate their merits or defects.

Addison has several in his spectators, which are wrought up with inimitable beauty.

The Antiope of Cambray, is a charming picture, but it betrays the touches of a popish ecclesiastic.

Law's Miranda is an heroine of virtue, but she breathes too much the austerity and the abstrac­tion of that very animated, but peculiar writer. Her piety is too monastic. It wants grace, cheer­fulness and ease.

Richardson's Clarissa has qualities above woman, and her sorrows plunge the reader into despair.

Miss Byron is every thing, that is finished in a female. We admire her greatly, but we love her more. The sweetness of the character swallows up its dignity; in the amiable, we forget the [Page 74]great. She is precisely what every man of princi­ple and taste would have a woman to be, when he wishes to be married, and wishes to be happy.

With some persons, his Clementina may have her superior excellencies. A passion, all sentiment, and all directed to the mind, and a superstitious re­ligion, in a particular country, wholly vanquish­ing that passion, may be a fine-span, amusing spe­culation. But to me it appears visionary and ro­mantic; and the admirers of this story will general­ly, I conceive, be found amongst those ladies who would gladly persuade us, that by a rant of good­ness, they can rise above the innocent passions of mortality, and all the natural weaknesses of their sex.

When I wish to be delighted and charmed w [...]h woman, I would always place before me the full-length piece of Harriet Byron. She has sentiment, but she has frailty; she has spirit, but she confesses herself to have, likewise, matter in her composi­tion.

LETTER XXVII.

POOR Louisa, notwithstanding all her good­ness, is, at present, in the greatest affliction, and for a reason, which reflects no little honour on her sensibility and virtue.

I have just received a letter from her father, in­forming me, that Dr. —, Rector of B—, and the confidential friend and intimate of their family, is very probable on his death bed. He [Page 75]was lately called upon, it seems, to visit one of his hearers, who was sick with a putrid, sore throat, and fever, and has taken the infection. The phy­sicians entertain but slender hopes of his recovery, and Philander^* has been administering to him that holy sacrament, which with prayers and blessings, he has himself so often, administered to others.— The whole village is in mourning. All the pea­sants, I am told, appear as sheep without a shepherd.

This good man was well acquainted with every person in his parish. He thought it his duty, to visit all his hearers, to investigate their spiritual, as well as temporal wants, and to remove the for­mer whilst he extended a liberal supply to the latter.

The death of such a person is more than the loss of the nearest relatives. A good clergyman, in the country, unites, in his own person, all the tender connections. He is father, brother, guardian, all in one. Dr. — was not only revered as a mi­nister, but in every family welcomed as a bosom friend.

A religious pastor, indeed, never fully knows the comforts of his office, till he is thus united to his people, ‘till he knows his sheep and they follow him.’ In such an intimacy, hearts expand; many excellent and seasonable advices may be giv­en which the solemnity of the pulpit would not admit; little griefs are unbosomed; little per­plexities are removed, and affection springs up by the side of duty.

I am going to make a visit to this worthy cler­gyman, and will give you the earliest intelligence of the state in which find him.

LETTER XXVIII.

THE apprehensions concerning Dr — were but too well founded. He is, I do believe, in the last stages of his life. Death is on the point of elosing his eyes, and opening for him the just re­ward of all his labours and his zeal.

I have been with him almost night and day, ever since I had the pleasure of writing to you, and have received a stronger lesson, than ever, of the vanity of all earthly things, and the supreme dig­nity of virtue.

These solemn scenes wonderfully improve the heart. They strip ambition of its plumage. The world appears a phantom! honours and promotions all a dream!

Though I have been much affected, yet I have been comforted in an equal degree, by his cheer­ful piety, and edifying conversation. His faith and resignation rise superior to his pains. They are literally big with immortality; and he longs to be dissolved and to be with Christ.

Unwearied and exemplary as he has always been in the discharge of his pastoral duties he is conti­nually lamenting his want of zeal, vigilance and exertion. The duties of the ministry are, I do be­lieve, beyond human ability: ‘who, said St. Paul, is sufficient for these things?’ But when I hear the declarations of this excellent man, and compare, as it is natural, his example with my own, I cannot but be seriously alarmed, and [Page 77]sketch out nothing for my own last moments, but remorse and fears.

My good friend and his lady have taken their last leave. It would have touched any heart to have seen this interview. I cannot do it justice by words. The pencil of a Raphael could not fully represent it. It was all heart and soul. Silent looks and manner were the principal language, and they spoke indeed! Such a woman's breast pant­ing with grief, upon such an occasion, rises above the powers of description.

"O (says the expiring christian, raising his languid eyes and endeavouring to use a tongue, which death had almost palsied,) ‘be as you have been, the comforters of my people (for they alas! will feel a transient void,) and our friendship, I doubt not, will shortly be renewed in another life. Death can only, for a little time, separate these bodies: our real interests. our souls and happiness must ever be united.’

Louisa is inconsolable. "Tears have been her meat day and night;" and her grief is the heavier, as she is not permitted, from motives of prudence, to see the last struggles of this excellent man, or receive his blessing.

‘Providence, (says the accomplished girl,) has now, but, one heavier stroke to inflict, and that is the death of my father, or my mother. In­deed a second father he has always been to me, in the fullest sense of the word. What has not this good man done, what has he not ever said to train my youthful sentiments to virtue, and direct my steps into the way of peace? To him I could disclose every rising fear. To him I could unbosom the anxious sorrow, that would [Page 78]have lurked at my heart. But why should I complain? Have I not still a thousand comforts, spread round my retirement? Have I not yet two parents left, accomplished, as they are ten­der, and watchful, as they are good? It is im­proper to grieve. I will dry these tears. It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth him good. The good Abraham was required to sacrifice on the altar, with his own hands, an only son. And I should surely learn to resign without mur­muring, whenever it shall seem meet to his wis­dom and goodness, the nearest friend.’

LETTER XXIX.

THE conflict is finished. The pangs are over. Dr. — is no more. He is now, I trust, a blessed spirit, and knows no longer pain, or sor­row or apprehension.

From the natural tenderness and sensibility of his temper you may wonder that he lived and died unmarried. But it is a secret known only to his intimate friends that he had formed an attachment, in his early years, which being disappointed by the death of the lady, the delicacy of his mind never afterwards admitted of another. His partiality was not of the common fugitive kind. It was a deep and permanent impression. Having once fondly loved, he attempted to love no more.

As his private fortune was comfortable, and his preferment, good, you will conclude, perhaps, [Page 79]that he died very rich. But this is not the case. The poor were constantly fed from his table, as well as edified by his counsels. He was a living example of the charity he recommended, and a witness of the truth, "that it is more blessed to give than to receive."

Though remarkable for his prudence, as well as pastoral zeal, yet having but a few, distant rela­tives, who were all in very easy circumstances, he has only left to each, an equal legacy of £100 and the remainder of the £5000, he possessed, is entirely devoted to charitable uses.

To each of his three servants, he has bequeathed an annual stipend of £20, on this easy condition, however, that they be never absent, when in health, from the church or sacrament; that they always appear neat and decent, and that they lay up, from their pittance, one single six pence on the first day of every week, to be expended in charity. The residue of his fortune is to be employed, part­ly in establising a fund for the distribution of re­ligious books and tracts, amongst the poor and ig­norant of his parish, at the discretion of the min­ister; and, partly, for the clothing and educating a specific number of boys and girls in a school, which he had founded, and very principally sup­ported in his life-time.

My friend and I are joint executors. To him he has demised a considerable part of his excellent library; to me a number of books, which are at once a monument of his taste and friendship; to Mrs.—, all the elegant furniture of his draw­ing room, and to his sweet, and, as he styles her, ever dear Louisa, his pictures, statues, busts and p [...]refactions, beside a number of devotional authors, [Page 80]gilt and finished with an elegance and beauty, which express the opinion he had justly conceived of her cultivated mind.

When the poor girl was informed of this legacy, she burst into a flood of tears, nor could all the tender offices of her friends console her. ‘How insupportable (said she,) is this man's genero­sity! with what a cruel kindness does he haunt me after death! Had it not been for this perhaps, I should more easily have learned the hard lesson of resignation. But this tenderness renews my grief, and tears open afresh the wounds, which I have been summoning all my fortitude to close. But why must I not see this good man on his death-bed, to testify, for the last time, the warmth of my gratitude, and the sincerity of my esteem?’

‘But tell me, ye, who were admitted to his presence, what said he of me, in his latest mo­ments? Did he, then, at all recollect his Loui­sa? Did he even glance at so humble a name? Did he send me one precious word of advice? Did he conjure me never to forget his directions? Did he bid me to be virtuous, did he bid me to be happy? Yes, blessed spirit, I will remem­ber thy example: I will treasure up thy coun­sels. Thy instructions shall never fade. Thy memory shall be immortal.’

And, now, what is your opinion of Louisa? What think you of such a clergyman? What are dignities, compared with such virtues? What are kingdoms, contrasted with such joys? Should not history embalm his relics, and should not grati­tude pour over his undying memory, an undying perfume?

LETTER XXX.

I REJOICE to hear that you have so great a taste for paintings. You will find it an inexhausti­ble source of pleasure and improvement. For,

I will give you a very handsome eulogy on this art, in the words of a great writer, Quintilian. ‘Picture (says he,) a silent and uniform address, yet penetrates so deeply into our inmost affecti­ons, that it seems often to exceed even the pow­ers of eloquence. Its effects, indeed, are some­times amazing. It is said, that Alexander trem­bled and grew pale, on seeing a picture of Pala­medes, betrayed to death by his friends; it bringing to his mind a stinging remembrance of his treatment of Aristonicus. Portia could bear, with an unshaken constancy, her last se­paration from Brutus; but when she saw, some hours after a picture of the parting of Hector and Andromache, she burst into a flood of tears. Full as seemed her sorrow, the painter suggested new ideas of grief, or impressed more strongly her own.’

Your question concerning the superiority of the ancients or moderns in this particular, is very easi­ly answered. In most, if not all the fine arts, in­deed, the former, according to my apprehension, are absolutely unrivalled. By the ancients, I now mean, particularly the Greeks.

Whether it was owing to the particular nature and freedom of their government—to the superior honours [Page 82]and encouragement that were lavished on genius and the arts in this more early period of so­ciety—whether to any particular superiority of organization in the natives of this country—whe­ther to its beautiful scenery or the allegorical na­ture of a religion, which so much called painting, poetry and sculpture into exercise—or whether we may not ascribe it to an happy combination of all these separate causes, it is certain, that their taste and imaginaton were exquisite beyond those of any other people, and produced a degree of ex­cellence in their artists, that we cannot find in any other age or country of the world.

Raphael, whom all Europe has so much praised, excelled only, as he formed himself upon the model of the Greeks. The Italians (observes an able judge,) may excel in colouring; but compo­sition, drawing, the art of grouping, attitude, movement, expression, contrast, drapery, charac­ter and grace—all these, this great genius con­fessedly borrowed from the ancient statues and bas reliefs.

Palladio is the first of architects, Michael An­gelo, Fiammingo, Algardi, the most celebrated sculptors, only for the same reason; they studied the Greeks. Yet Angelo was the boldest genius, that Italy ever had. "It was he, who conceived the idea of placing the pantheon in the air, and constructed the dome of St. Peter's on the same dimensions."

Nor in letters were the Greeks less the model of perfection. To emulate their best writers has been the ambition of every succeeding age. And ex­cellence has been attained only in proportion to the successfulness of this imitation.

[Page 83] The first and most complete poem in the world, is Grecian—the Iliad of Homer. It unites all the separate astonishing excellencies of this most difficult species of composition; the majestic, the terrible, the pathetic and the sublime. Natural­ists, philosophers, painters, poets, orators, metaphy­sicians have all, in various methods, dug from this mine, and still left it full of inexhaustible treasures. It is proverbially known how much the great Ro­man orator studied Homer, and indeed how much he has been praised by the whole world. I will give you a few testimonies in his favour.

The first critic, that ever existed, is Longinus, who wrote a treatise on the sublime: This is his opinion of the Iliad:

‘Those only, who have sublime and solid thoughts, can make elevated discourses and, in this part, Homer chiefly excels, whose thoughts are all sublime, as may be seen in the descripti­on of the goddess, Discord, who has, says he, her head in the skies, and her feet upon the earth; for it may be said, that that grandeur which he gives her, is less the measure of Dis­cord, than of the capacity and elevation of Homer's genius.’

Again in another place: ‘To Homer, that is, to him, who had received the applauses of the whole world.’

And, in a third passage, mentioning the num­ber of men, who had endeavoured to imitate Ho­mer, he observes:

‘Plato, however, is he, who has imitated him most, for he has drawn from this poet, as [Page 84]from a living spring, from which he has turned an infinite number of rivulets.’

Another excellent judge is Horace who bears to this prince of poets, this honourable testimony, that he taught philosophy better than many, who were philosophers by profession.

A third critic of no inconsiderable talents has these lines in his favour:

Pope's opinion of him it is not necessary to re­cite; and the Jerusalem Delivered of a great au­thor, is, from beginning to end, a tacit comment on, for it is an attempt to imitate, his greatness.

Let me not omit the compliment of Dante, for it is worth recording:

The best writers of the Augustan age of Rome formed themselves considerably on Grecian models. The most perfect authors in England, France and Italy; Addison, Pope. Racine, Boileau, Tasso and Metastasio took the same method to arrive at perfection; and one might challenge the whole world to produce any other poem, like the Iliad; an orator, equal to Demosthenes; such a finished tragedy as the Oedipus of Sophocles; any figure in marble, like the Belvedere Apollo; such fine and light drapery, as that of the Flora, or a fe­male beauty, as perfect as the Venus of Medici.

[Page 85] The great Montesquieu was, for some time, in Italy, and, as you may suppose, no superficial ob­server. This was his decision concerning the Greeks. ‘Taste and the arts have been carried by them to such an height, that to think to sur­pass, will be always not to know them.’

I have been thus diffuse on a subject, that may appear, but is, by no means foreign to your im­provement, or above your comprehension, merely that you might form just ideas in your favourite art; that you might know why we say so much of classic or ancient writers; and why every person should emulate their manner, who wishes, even by a single sentence, to please. I will close this letter with adding my own grateful tribute to the venerable shade of a bard, that so much delighted my early years, and yet fills me with a pleasing en­thusiasm, every time I peruse him. I will use the words of a French writer:

LETTER XXXI.

THE Italians excel in some of the fine arts. In music, perhaps, they may justly claim a decisive superiority. Of colouring they are great masters. Amongst many other distinguished painters, they boast a Corregio. No one could do more honour [Page 86]to any nation. He is the very pupil of nature, and has wonderfully united elegance and ease. If Raphael shines in the majestic, he has all the soft and amiable graces.

In landscape painting, Italy is unrivalled. Those of Claude Lorrain are superior to any other mas­ter's. Perhaps one reason is, the beauty of the scenes, from which they are taken. Viewed col­lectively, there is not, I should conceive, a more delightful and enchanting country. It seems to mingle all the soft and milder beauties of climate, with the magnificent and tremendous; gentle hills, rich vallies, fruitful extensive vineyards, with craggy, rugged precipices, with the portentous aspect and caverns of Aetna; the bay of Naples, with the formidable grandeur and thunder of Ve­suvio.

No place has been the scene of so many memo­rable events, or given birth to such a number of distinguished men. Tuscany produced Dante, Petrarch, and Michael Angelo; Livy was born at Padua; Titian at Venice, and Ariosto at Ferrara. Urbino is justly proud of Raphael, and Parma of Corregio. Rome claims Tacitus and Lucretius, Arpinum, Cicero, and Venusium, Horace.

If my leisure and opportunities had been equal to my wishes, I should have gloried in traversing this country. Every step would have had a pecu­liar interest, and every scene revived those glowing descriptions of a Virgil or an Horace, that fasci­nated my earliest years. When a person has been some time, in the world, whatever recalls the first days of life, administers the sweetest pleasure. It is the picture of innocence and tranquility, whilst our maturer age is often a bustle or a storm.

[Page 87] In ancient Rome, it was a confessed maxim, that true politeness and taste were derived from the Grecians. And the Italian artists scill owe much of their excellence to these primitive masters.

The literary taste of the Italians is very excepti­onable. It is a false sublime, a fictitious glitter, and a barren abundance, and has lost the true Attic salt of nature, of truth and simplicity. Hence they are said to prefer the Gothic works of Dante, the absurdities of Ariosto, the extravagancies of Marini, and the tinsel puerilities of Tasso, to the tender and impassioned descriptions of Metastasio.

The French seem to think themselves exclusive proprietors of every thing, that goes under the denomination of taste. And, indeed, they are u­niversally esteemed a polished, easy, graceful and seducing people. Few of their writers, however, have much of the profound, or that bids fair for duration. Of all people, they seem least to have studied the classics. Their stile, in general, wants energy and compactness. In many words they communicate but few ideas, and their imagination is permitted to run wild without hearkening to the sober dictates of judgment. Though trees in blossom are a beautiful object, yet the solid ad­vantage lies in their fruit. I could except many great names from this, apparently, inviduous cen­sure. One, particularly, I will mention—that is Montesquieu. This man will do them honour with all other nations, and the most distant po­sterity. His Esprit de Loix is, indeed, a most astonishing performance. It unites the depth, the phlegm and patience of some other countries, with the vivacity of that, in which it sprung.

[Page 88] I do not think that England is, by any means, either from climate, or other fostering circumstan­stances, the natural soil of the fine arts. The hot bed of riches it is true, has raised a few exotics, in this way to a superior flavour; and public encour­agement called forth many virtuosos from other countries. But in fact, we are too much engaged with trade and politics to cultivate, in any extra­ordinary degree, the finer emotions. Commer­cial habits, manufactures, and the love of money, wherever they prevail, will always be the grave of virtù and of taste. In point of polite learning this kingdom has, long since, according to my ap­prehension, been at its zenith. The sun of its Au­gustan age appears to be set. But for profound knowledge and genius, no nation, perhaps in the known world has been more distinguished.— Shakespeare, Milton, Locke, Sir Isaac Newton! what other country can produce such a group?— Nor shall we want models of the most graceful in writing, whilst we can read the works of Addison, many papers in the World, the Letters of Lady Wortley Montague, or those of Chesterfield.

I do not mean to deny, but that general science is more cultivated among the moderns, than it ever was by the ancients, and, in the present age, more than at any former period whatever. Nat­ural philosophy in all its branches, chemistry, mathematics, history, politics, jurisprudence, and the mechanical arts have arrived to a wonderful degree of perfection, and are daily receiving fresh accessions of improvement. But I must still assert, that polite learning seems to have flourished most in the days of Swift, Pope and Addison. What can be the reason? Is it that being then more new, [Page 89]as having but just emerged from the darkness of the times, it was treated with that superior respect and deference, we extend to a stranger? Is there a greater dearth of real genius? That we cannot suppose, if we give ourselves only leisure to consi­der the many exalted characters, which Britain boasts. The case, I think, is clear, that a most extended commerce has debased our feelings and vitiated our taste; that the grand, political interests of the nation, as it is now circumstanced, require a most unremitting attention; that the high road to honours and emoluments chiefly lying through the bar or senate, the greatest talents in the king­dom are turned into these channels. Men rather chuse t [...] wrangle and debate themselves into afflu­ence and titles, than starve on the mere, shadowy fame of an elegant production.

Wherever there is hope of patronage, genius springs of course; and though his present Majesty has always been a liberal encourager of polite knowledge, yet nothing can effectually counteract the wide, and most unlimited agency of this nati­onal situation.

Many writers, in our Augustan age, arrived by their labours merely, not only to considerable af­fluence, but to high distinctions. They were ca­ressed and honoured in the most fashionable circles. To reward and patronize talents, was a glory and a pride. It is very observable, that all the grea [...], literary characters of the present times, who were born nearest to the p [...]riod, which I have described, retain most of this liberal, patronizing spirit. I could, with great truth and feeling mention some names, if situation and peculiar circumstances would not expose me to the false suspicion [...]n­tending [Page 90]to pronounce fulsome panegyrics. But will not the whole world acquit me of partiality, if I glance at such illustrious names as the A—b—p of Y—k, the present Lord C—l—r, or the Earl of M— [...]f—d?

LETTER XXXII.

YOUR knowledge of the Italian language is much superior to my own. The little that I have, was acquired merely to read a few productions of their best authors, and be able to form some com­parative idea of their merits or defects.

I am far from denying to this people the praise of great genius. But I should suppose, that it is not properly cultivated, and the reason, perhaps, may be, that, in modern Italy, learning meets but with little encouragement.

The bad taste of the Italians in poetry, is obvious from many instances. Dante, in their estimation, is superior to all men; and Ariosto, whom they consider as much beneath him, they exalt far above Homer himself.

Dante had, doubtless, wonderful abilities. He rises in many instances, to the sublime; and, for the times, in which he lived, may justly be con­sidered as a literary prodigy. But his work, on the whole, is but a gothic mass of various kinds of knowledge strangely heaped together without ar­rangement, design, or perspicuity. To compare [Page 91] him with the author of the Iliad, is to betray a total want of all the principles of enlightened criticism.

Ariosto shines in narrative. He tells a story with gracefulness and ease. Some of his descrip­tions are particularly splendid; and his Orlando Furioso is a lively, and wonderfully various pro­duction. But how frequently does he fall into ridiculous absurdities, where he entirely loses sight of nature and of truth, forgetting that excel­lent rule of a judicious critic:

Tasso's Gerusalemme Liberata has, indisputably, great merit. The subject is grand, and very hap­pily chosen; the language, elegant; the versifica­tion, harmonious: but who can say, that it does not abound with false thoughts, with infinite in­stances of playing upon words and a prodigious quan­tity of tinsel, or that it is not, in the main, disfi­gured with low conceits, and trifling puerilities.

No Italian writer interests so much, or has so nicely developed the human heart, as Metastasic. He had great advantages by being introduced, at an early period of his life, into the family of the celebrated Gravina, and there learning to explode the false taste of his country. He formed himself on the model of the ancients. He took Boileau and Horace for his guides, and few men have suc­ceeded better in painting tender scenes, or leaving a durable impression on the heart. Read his Can­zonettes, [Page 92]particularly that which begins with Gra­zie agl'inganni tuoi; and tell me whether I have formed an improper judgment.

LETTER XXXIII.

I HAVE now finished my recommendation of authors. I am apprehensive, indeed, of having mentioned too many. But from the whole you can select the few, you like, or which it is most convenient for you to purchase.

Some of these books, particularly those, which treat on religious subjects may not entertain you so much at present, as they will at some future period, when your taste and judgment are more effectually ripened; but I did not know whether then I might have the opportunity of writing to you or whether I should even be in the world; and I wished to give you something of a systematic plan, that might be consulted through every stage of your life.

The criticisms upon books, characters, &c. have not been introduced from a fastidious spirit, or with a view of displaying learning and talents, but to exercise and improve your discriminating facul­ties, and enliven the, otherwise, dull uniformity of didactic letters. I have only presumed to give my opinion; and to this, in a land of liberty, and in an enlightened age, I conceive myself to have an equal right with the first scholar, or critic of the world.

Louisa, you well know, is not a fictitious, but a real character; and, though my partiality may [Page 93]have heightened her merit, yet after all, it is inex­pressibly great; and I introduced her, as a pat­tern of female graces, merely to avoid the forma­lity of precepts, and the authoritative airs of a teacher. I considered this mode, as likely to communicate some little interest and variety to my letters; and that appeared to me a motive, which, with all young people, should be consulted.

On the whole, consider me not as dogmatizing, but only as communicating to you, with great freedom and sincerity, the best sentiments, I can; those, which convince your understanding, receive with candour; the rest reject, and do not fancy me so conceited; as even for a moment, to have persuaded myself that from my tribunal, there lies no appeal.

LETTER XXXIV.

IF I was called upon to write the history of a woman's trials and sorrows, I would date it from the moment when nature has pronounced her mar­riageble, and she feels that innocent desire of asso­ciating with the other sex, which needs not a blush. If I had a girl of my own, at this critical age, I should be full of the keenest apprehensions for her safety; and, like the great poet, when the tempt­er was bent on seducing our first parents from their innocence and happiness, I should invoke the as­sistance [Page 94]of some guardian angel, to conduct her through the slippery and dangerous paths.

You must remember the passage; ‘O for that warning voice, which he, who heard,’ &c.

Marriage is, doubtless, the most natural, inno­cent and useful state, if you can form it to any tolerable advantage. It bids fairest for that little portion of happiness, which this life admits; and is, in some degree, a duty which we owe to the world. If entered into from proper motives, it is a source of the greatest benefits to the community, as well as of private comfort to ourselves. What are the highest blessings, unsweetened by society? How poignant are many sorrows of life, without a friend to alleviate and divide them! How many are the moments, how many are the exigencies, in which we want sympathy, tenderness, attention! And what is a moping individual to the world, compared with the woman who acts in the tender character of a wife, or parent, and, by a religious culture of an offspring, is training up inhabitants for the kingdom of hea [...]en.

A single woman is, particularly, defenceless. She cannot move beyond the precincts of her house without apprehensions. She cannot go with ease or safety, into public. She is surrounded with many, real dangers, and fancy conjures up more spectres of its own, to disturb her repose.

As she goes down the hill of life, her friends gradually drop away from her, like leaves in the autumn, and [...]ea [...]e her a pining, solitary creature. Even brothers and sisters, when married themselves, lose their usual fondness for her, in the ardours of [Page 95]a newly acquired connection; and she wanders through a wide, bustling world, uncomfortable in herself, uninteresting to others, frequently the sport of wanton ridicule, or a proverb of re­proach.

Men are often too much engrossed with busi­ness, ambition, or criminal pursuits to think very seriously of this connection; but if they happen to remain single, their very efforts become their amusement, and keep them from experiencing that unquiet indolence, which, by enervating the mind, powerfully awakens imagination and the senses. A woman has abundant leisure to brood over her inquietude, and to nurse the vapours, till they ter­minate in disease. She has not so many methods for dissipating thought. Her element is her house­hold, and the management of her children; and till she becomes a mother, she has not objects of consequence enough to occupy the mind, and pre­serve it from feeling unpleasant agitations.

I mean not, however, to insinuate, that there is any thing really [...]eproachful in virginity, unless & woman chooses to render it such, by verifying the stigmas, which have been fixed upon it, and sub­stantiating, in her own practice, the malevolence, envy, scandal, curiosity and spleen, which have, so often, sarcastically been imputed to the sister­hood. It may be, and sometimes, is, the choice of very amiable women, who would not marry any, but the man of their affections, or with whom they had a rational prospect of happiness; who having been by death or disappointment deprived of one, had a delicacy, that never admitted the idea of a second, attachment, or who were not so devoid of principle and taste, as to be connected [Page 96]with a dissoluted drunken, or abandoned person, what­ever might be his fortune, or consequence or con­nexions. Women, who act from such principles, may be exposed to the indelicate scoffs of the licen­tions, but must have the unreserved esteem and veneration of all the sensible and the good.

It should not, however, be dissembled, (for it arises from natural principles,) that married wo­men are generally more pleasing, than such, as never formed this connection. Their heart is con­tinually refined, softened and enlarged by the ex­ercise of all the tender feelings to an offspring, whilst the weighty concerns of their particular fa­milies raise them above that frivilous insipidity, which, with whatever justice, is the proverbial stigma of a single state.

A married woman, likewise, has banished that shy reserve, which young ladies think themselves, and, indeed, in some degree, are obliged to prac­tise, but which, necessary as it may be, conceals many of their loveliest graces. The society, more­over, of a sensible man gives, to a female, a richer fund of ideas, a superior mode of thinking and act­ing, agreeably tempers her vivacity with serious­ness, and introduces her to many improving ac­quaintance, and entertaining circles, from which the ceremonious coldness of a virgin state, must have kept her, at an unapproachable distance.

Be not, however disappointed, if all your mer­it and amiableness do not secure to you such a connexion, as your principles and judgment can approve.

The lives of young men are so undomesticated, and, indeed, so criminal, that deserving women, in the present age, are far from receiving those at­tentions [Page 97]and civilities, to which, on every princi­ple of justice and politeness, they are certainly en­titled.

In proportion as the morals of men are depraved, marriage will, always, be unfashionable and rare▪ and there are thousands amongst us, who have nei­ther knowledge, sense or virtue enough to wish for all that delicacy of friendship, sprightliness of conversation or ease of manners, which only an accomplished woman can bestow, or for those in­nocent domestic enjoyments, which communicate the highest flavour to, and are the grand and ulti­mate end of, an intercourse betwixt the sexes.

Pleas of inability to support a family, of the expen­siveness of wives, and their propensity to splendour and dissipation are used. I know, by some to soften their misconduct, and throw a flimsy veil over their crimes.

This is not a proper place for reasoning with libertines or rakes. Still, from their arguments, however trifling or fallacious, you may deduce this useful lesson; that an extravagant turn for finery and shew is a great disadvantage to every woman; that it is adverse to all her happies. pros­pects and prevents not a few from ever addressing her, who, in reality, might have been the most faithful and obliging companions through life. Though immoral persons make this apology, from very unjustifiable motives, yet many others, in mo­derate circumstances, might advance it with truth; who, though they neither w [...] integrity, know­ledge, nor a sensibility to the charms and me [...]i [...] of a woman, would, yet, never think of degrading her to a condition, which they conceive to be be­neath her wishes and her habits.

[Page 98] I have long considered the immoderate expen­siveness of young ladies, as, by no means, favour­able to their prospects or happiness, in any view. No parent can take a more certain method to make a daughter's life a scene of continual irrita­tation and misfortune, than by thus ridiculously training her to high expectations. It has been the gradual death of many; it has made the existence of others a burden, heavy to be borne. Nor can there even, in point of real taste, be a greater mis­take in education. True dignity consisteth not in tinsel or shew. The nearest approach we can make to superior spirits, is to have as few wants, as possi­ble, whilst we inhabit this tenement of clay.

LETTER XXXV.

IN your manner with the sex at large, I could wish you to avoid the modern forwardness, as well as that shy reserve, which throws a damp on all the innocent gaieties of life. The first bears upon its face, a masculine indelicacy; the other is the ef­fect of downright prudery, ill breeding, or affecta­tion.

Some women affect a coldness in their deportment, and act, as if they supposed that every man, who ap­proaches them, had a design on their person. Alas! how miserably are they deceived! How ridicul­ous is the vanity which gives birth to such a con­duct! Men are so much engaged in business, pleasure, and the amusements of the world, that [Page 99]the conquest of a female heart is often thought beneath their ambition. At any rate it is time enough to be upon your guard, when you really perceive them bent on making serious advances.

Many of them will approach you with flattery. This, they have been led to think, the only, cur­rent coin, with the generality of females. If it be not very gross, bear it with good humour. Though you may despise, do not wantonly return, it with contempt. This is the method to make them ene­mies, and put them on avoiding your society for ever. You may easily be civil, and yet convince them by your looks and manner, that you perfect­ly understand how to appreciate indiscriminate complaisance.

Though, by no means, seriously bent upon matri­mony, yet not a few of them, will pay you flatter­ing attentions. These, if you be not cautions, may, very insensibly, soften your heart, and ensnare your affections, particularly if they come from men, whose general character or manners you esteem. One caution, therefore, permit me to give you, with an assurance that it must be religious­ly observed, as you value either your dignity or repose—never to believe any man in earnest, till he makes the most pointed declarations in your favour.

Fashion has made it so much a matter of form to pay attentions to a woman, and, particularly, if she is smart, witty, beautiful; if she is celebrated for high connections, or accomplishments, or makes a good figure in public, that numbers of men will be mechanically led to flutter about you, who, In fact, mean only to amuse the moment, [Page 100]or do honour to their own good breeding and politeness.

Believe me, my dear girl, this gay and lively sea­son will soon be at an end. Girls, that dwell on every body's tongue, and sport away, in all their gaudy colours, during summer months, like butter­fles, are never heard of in the winter, but sink into a torpid state. They do not, however, resemble some insects in the very happy, and enviable, pri­vilege of rising with renewed charms. Once for­gotten, they seldom revive, but are displaced by other, rising favourites for ever; and it has often been observed, that those women are most rarely thought of for wives, with whom we are the fond­est of (what is called,) flirting, and of saying a thousand, civil things, without meaning or design.

With men of principle and integrity, you are always secure. They will religiously beware of engaging your affections, without honourable views. But these alas! where women are concern­ed, are not so numerous, as might be expected. More breaches of fidelity are observable in this intercourse, than in any other instance of the most trifling importance.

To entertain a secret partiality for a man, with­out knowing it reciprocal, is dreadful indeed. If you have address and fortitude enough not to be­tray it, and thus expose yourself to ridicule and censure, (and yet what prudence is always equal to the task?) it will cost you infinite grief, anxiety and vexation; and a victory over yourself, if you do gain it, may be at the expence of your health and constitution. It will, at the same time, to­tally unfit you for any other connection; for who [Page 101]would take the body, when another person is in possession of the soul?

If any man, therefore, can deliberately be so cruel, as to visit you frequently, and shew you every par­ticularity, that is only short of this grand explana­tion, never see him in private; and, if that be in­sufficient, and you still feel tender sentiments to­wards him, determine to shun his company for ever. It is easier, remember, to extinguish a fire, that has but just broken out, than one, which has been gathering strength and violence, from a long concealment. Many have neglected this necessary precaution, and died silent martyrs to their fond­ness and imprudence. The eye of beauty has languished in solitude, or been dimmed with a flood of irremediable tears. The heart has throbbed with unconquerable tumults, which, gradually have dis­solved an elegant frame, that deserved a much bet­ter fate. Undiscovered by the physician, they have baffled all the resources of his skill; they have rendered ineffectual all the tenderness of friends, and death alone has administered that ease, which neither beauty, friends, not fortune could bestow.

It is possible, that men may not always act from unamiable motives, when they carry their atten­tions to a considerable height, without an explana­tion. Their taste may have privately singled you out from all the rest of the world, whilst Provi­dence has not propitiously raised them to circum­stances, which they conceive to be worth your ac­ceptance. They may have a delicacy, a dignity, and independence of mind, which would not easi­ly brook a repulse, or an inferior situation; and they may be, very honourably, probing by these, little methods, the state of your inclinations.

[Page 102] Of these circumstances you must endeavour to judge for yourself, or get some discerning, impar­tial and more experienced friend to be your adviser. If you suspect a person's conduct to arise from such motives, you cannot treat him with too much attention. He has paid you, in the most delicate and flattering manner, the highest compliment in the world; and you may depend on his affection being more sincere, in proportion as it is less assuming, confident, or obtrusive.

If you have any regard for such a character, his penetration will have discovered it. Use no affec­tation to him. He will see through all its flimsy disguises. Attempt no prudery; he will behold your bosom panting through the thin, slight veil, and the hypocrisy will disgust. Talk not of for­tune or circumstances; they have been the objects of his consideration. I know no method, but, with an honest candour, to throw yourself, a fair, en­chanting object, on his generous protection. If by any concealment, you should hurt that self-con­scious dignity and affection, which will, always, attend such a mind, as this, he will never again sue to your clemency, but leave you to ruminate on the artifices, you have used, in an hopeless repen­tance.

If you suppose on the other hand, that any per­son dallies with your feelings from wantonness, or mere amusement, you cannot shew him too mark­ed a contempt. Though delicacy will not per­mit you to glance at the particular impropriety of his conduct, yet there are a thousand methods of making him feel his own insignificance, and of changing the little plumage of his vanity, into a monument of his shame.

[Page 103] There is something so unmanly in sporting with the tender feelings of a woman; there is something so truly despicable in the character of a person, who wishes a consequence, built upon the tears and distresses of those, whom all great and gene­rous minds are disposed to protect, that if a fe­male coquette is odious to your sex, a male one should be doubly abhorted by his own.

If a person once comes to a serious declaration in your favour, affect no prudish airs of reserve. If you really, feel an affection for him, and can indulge it with prudence, do not scruple to acknow­ledge, or to treat him with the greatest openness and candour. This will engage, for ever, the esteem of every liberal and honest man. If, from any circumstances, unforeseen at the time, you should be under the necessity of dismissing him, as a lover, you would never fail to retain him as a friend; and though, with a base, designing person, such a conduct may expose you to some little in­convenience, yet whose will be the disgrace? Leave him to the contempt and indignatiion of the sen­sible, and let him make the most of the godlike re­flection, that he has endeavoured to triumph over artless innocence, and unsuspecting sensibility.

There is, generally, too much affectation of coy­ness in this intercourse betwixt the sexes. I have no idea of a woman's blushing to avow an attach­ment. If she has it indeed, it will appear to a penetrating mind, even from her very efforts to con­ceal it. The involuntary embarrassment, the timid look, the modest blush, and the downcast eye are indisputable symptoms of a strong partiality, which cannot either be concealed or mistaken.

[Page 104] Your sex, I know have ideas of suspense, and fancy, that it heightens the merit of the prize.— But I dare not recommend such a dangerous expe­dient. If the cunning be discovered, the punish­ment may be a lasting c [...]dness and neglect. I do not know any thing so really graceful as unaffected simplicity.

Never disclose the offers or preferences you re­ceive, except to those friends, who are immediate­ly interested in your decision. They are secrets of honour, which you should carry inviolate to your grave. It is ungenerous to make a man the sub­ject of observation, perhaps, of ridicule, because he has tendered you his warmest affections; and the envy of your own sex will not be disposed to spare you, for such a palpable display of vanity and pride. If you intend to marry, it is the high­est impolicy; and if you mean to dismiss him, it is truel to aggravate dismission with contempt.

LETTER XXXVI.

FROM the unfavourable sketch, I have given of the morals and sentiments of young men, it is not probable, that a woman of the greatest merit, will have any prodigious number of admirers to distract her choice. Generally in the present state of things, if a lady will be married, she has a number of accommodations to make, many wishes to sacrifice, and many instances of private taste to be resigned. She must be content with a [Page 105]fortune merely without expecting many good or great qualities, annexed; or if she seek the latter, she must often forego all hopes of the former.

If, however, you should have a number of suit­ors, (and, without any compliment, it is not im­possible,) there are a few, general principles of most essential consequence to regulate your choice.

Fortune, splendour, greatness are the alone cry of mercenary friends. I am not wholly of their o­pinion. I have seen many wr [...]tched in marriage, with all the trappings of gre [...]nes [...]. I have known a still greater number happy, who have had only "a dinner of herbs and love therewith."

Do not suffer your imagination to be dazzled with mere splendour. Never fancy, that brilliance is connected with the mind, or that the happiness of women, any more than that of men, ‘consist­eth in the abundance of the things, that she pos­sesseth.’

An immoderate fondness for shew is a great mis­fortune. It has led many a poor girl to sacrifice herself to some illiterate boor, who had nothing but his affluence to recommend him. If such should ever be your misfortune, I need not mention what would be your feelings. If you was pru­dent enough to avoid all other evil consequences, (and many such, experience records, but delicacy forbears to mention,) you might live to envy the ruddy un-ambitious milk-maid, whose toils are sweetened by conjugal attachment, and whose bloom­ing children cheer the seeming infelicities of life.

How wretched must be a woman, united to a man, whom she does not prefer to every other in the world! What secret preferences must steal into her heart! What unquiet thoughts take [Page 106]possession of her fancy! And what can men of principle call such an act, but legal prostitution?

If I was a despotic tyrant, I would inflict this punishment on the woman I abhorred. She should entertain a private partiality for one person, and be married to another.

Never suffer yourself to think of a person, who has not religious principle. A good man alone is capable of true attachment, fidelity and affection.

Others may feel a fugitive passion; but on this, alas! you can place no dependence. It may be abated by caprice, supplanted by some, new fa­vourite, palled by poss [...]ssion, and, at any rate, will last no longer, than your personal charms, though those charms may have faded by almost laying down your life for their sake, by bringing them a beautiful offspring into the world.

During the flattering season of courtship, men will always endeavour to appear in their best co­lours, and put on all the appearance of good hu­mour. But supposing this good humour, real, it is but a fluctuating, unsteady principle, depending on the motion of the blood and spirits. Nothing, but religion, is permanent and unchangeable, always consistent, and always the same.

A man of this cast will never fail to treat you with tenderness and attention. If little provocati­ons happen, he will soften them with gentleness; if offences come, he will be shielded with patience; if his own temper be unhappy, he will correct it by the assistance of divine grace and of reflection; if misfortunes assail you, he will bear them with resignation; in every exigence, he will be a friend; in all your troubles, a stay; in your sickness, a physician; and, when the last, convulsive moment [Page 107]comes, he will leave you with his tears, and with his blessings. All his impetuous passions he will sup­press, from a sense of duty; and if ever by an un­guarded sally, he should unfortunately have hurt your feelings, or violated your peace, he will suf­fer more pain from the private recollection, than he can possibly have inflicted upon you. Ten thou­sand cares, anxieties and vexations will mix with the married state. Religion is the only principle, that can infuse an healing balm, inspire both parties with serenity and hope, dispose them to mutual concessions and forbearance, and prompt them to share each others burdens with alacrity and ease.

Gay and volatile as your spirits may be before this union, when, as yet, no great trials or mis­fortunes have pressed on them, yet when you seri­ously think of having a family, and calling your­self mother of a numerous offspring, what possible comfort can you promise to yourself without a man of solid probity and virtue; one who will be regular in the discharge of all the religious, social and domestic duties; who will faithfully train up your common children in the fear of God, and not neglect their many interests and wants, and wishes for the turbid and licentious pleasures of the bottle, gaming, intrigue, the chace, the theatre, or for any other scenes of fashionable dissipation?

The next thing you should look for is a person of a domestic cast. This will, most frequently, be found in men of the most virtuous hearts and im­proved understandings. They will always have a­bundance of entertainment in private unknown to vulgar minds. And these will secure them from seeking their happiness in the factitious pleasures of the world.

[Page 108] Of what consequence are all the good qualities of your husband, if you must be constantly sepa­rated from him? Your tenderness in this case will only be the instrument of a poignant affliction —your anxiety will be perpetually on the rack; your jealousy may be a [...]rmed; and, in the best point of view, you will be a widow, with only a nominal husband, and unprotected with all the ap­pearance of protection.

Men, whose circumstances absolutely require such absences, should never think of this tender connexion. It is this necessary separation after marriage, and the artificial one, which fashion has created, that are the cause of half the disquiets, which infest this sacred state. True affection is only nursed by the parties living much together, in the stilness of retirement. It is in the shade chiefly, that the purest affections glow. It is from dwelling on the graces of a common offspring, and repeating, in the ease of familiar conversati­on, little domestic anecdotes, playfulness and e­vents, that matrimonial friendship rises to its pro­per maturity and vigour. By constantly growing together, even branches become inseparably in­twined.

The last thing, though I do not mention it, as absolutely necessary, yet highly desirable in a person, with whom you must spend all your days, is sentiment and taste. This will variegate every hour with a succession of pleasure, every scene with animated remarks, every incident with fresh conversation, and will make a little paradise of your deepest solitude, in which you will never want the poor resources of foreign entertainment.

[Page 109] Fortune surely should be considered. It were absurd to think of love, where there is not some prospect of a decent provision for your probable descendents. That decency depends on birth, ha­bit and education. But if you can compass the other requisites, be as moderate as possible, in your demands of fortune. Virtue and affection have an amazing power of inspiring contentment. A morsel thus sweetened, will be pleasant to the taste. In a cottage so enlivened, joy will spring. Children, so educated, will be rich in goodness. The Almighty will look down from heaven, with approbation and crown the happy pair with the choicest of his blessings!

LETTER XXXVII.

NEVER think of marrying a weak man, in hopes of governing him. Silly people are often more peevish and refractory, than you would sup­pose; but if you could even gain your point, and by great address and management rise to the helm, I should not, by any means, congratulate your success.

Women, that assume the reins, seldom manage them with dignity. Their authority breaks forth in numberless, petty instances of tyranny and ca­price, which only render them miserable in them­selves, as well as unamiable to every beholder. [Page 110]The quality, which shews a married lady to ad­vantage, is a modest submission of her understanding to the man, whom she has not been ashamed to honour with her choice.

I have frequently mentioned Milton, as peculi­arly happy in his ideas of, what constitutes, conju­gal propriety. His Eve reveres her husband. She listens to his conversation, in order to be instruct­ed. In him, she feels herself annihilated and absor­bed. She always shews that deference and con­sciousness of inferiority, which, for the sake of or­der, the all wise Author of nature, manifistly, in­tended. The consequence is, that her character appears lovely to all, and that her associate, (as all sensible men will,) treats her with double tender­ness, and gives her every mark of a delicate pro­tection:

When men have lived single for fifty or sixty years, through a multiplicity of business, ambiti­ous schemes, or perhaps from more criminal causes, it is no uncommon thing to see them, all at once, determined on wedlock, and paying their court to some fine, blooming girl of eighteen. Indeed, in the present state of things, if a woman be not mar­ried early, her chance is small; so violent is the rage for youth and beauty, even in decrepit beaus!

[Page 111] There is something in this practice, that very grossly insults both your delicacy and understand­ing It looks as if these sovereign lords of the crea­tion, at the moment, when they condescended to pi­ty your distress, and found no comfort in habits of another kind, could order the most elegant and fashionable amongst you, to come at a call!

It is true indeed, that they do make you a con­sideration. Your jointure is, generally, in pro­portion to the age of the party. The hundreds are increased, as the head is hoary, as the frame is enfeebled, or as wrinkles have contracted the countenance.

Never indulge the thought of marrying in this manner. Wherever there is great disparity of years, there cannot be any durable union of hearts. Gloom and gaiety do not easily assimilate. Na­ture has placed at a great distance from each o­ther, the torrid and the frigid zones.

People's views of life, their sentiments, projects, companies, pleasures and amusements differ so ex­ceedingly, at these different ages, that it is im­possible their affections should be united. A thou­sand conflicts of taste and opinion, and as many causes of jealousy and dislike will mingle with so injudicious a connection.

A woman, in such delicate circumstances, where the heart is not engrossed by a real attachment, may, and probably will, see many persons more agreeable, than him, to whom she is bound by an indissoluble tie. If she has prudence and principle enough to keep up appearances, and thus preserve her innocence in the eyes of the world, it can be no supreme felicity to be the wife of one man, whilst her heart is secretly panting for another. [Page 112]It is indeed a trial, which no splendour can re­compence and no fortune ease. If she should ever be so unguarded as to betray such a preference, in any part of her conduct, her peace and happiness are lost for ever! But admitting her to behave with the greatest propriety, and even to be attach­ed to the Sultan, who owns her, Rill the jealousy of old men is a most amazingly irritable passion. It is that watchful dragon, which guards the Hespe­rian fruit; and with a keen-eyed glance, will be apt to discover some hidden meaning in a look, impropriety in a gesture, or a violation of the mar­riage covenant in the most common civility. At any rate, it is no very flattering allotment to a woman, to be the nurse of a peavish, infirm or en [...]aciated, old man, at an age, when she might claim the most delicate passion, and reciprocal en­dearments. What woman of spirit would bear to be suspected? What christian should vow, at the altar of her God, an affection to a man, when her attachment was solely to his fortune? And who that has read one page of human life, must not tremble at the consequences, that have generally, attended such imprudent connexions?

"A reformed rake makes the best husband." Does he? It would be very extraordinary, if he should. Besides, are you very certain, that you have power to reform him? It is a matter, that re­quires some deliberation. This reformation, if it is to be accomplished, must take place before mar­riage. Then if ever, is the period of your power. But how will you be assured that he is reformed? If he appears so, is he not insidiously concealing his vices, to gain your affections? And when he knows, they are secured, may he not, gradually, throw off the [Page 113]mask, and be dissipated, as before? Profligacy of this kind is seldom eradicated. It resembles some cu­taneous disorders, which appear to be healed, and yet are, continually, making themselves visible by fresh eruptions.

A man, who has carried on a criminal inter­course with immoral women is not to be trusted, His opinion of all females is an insult to their deli­cacy. His attachment is to sex alone, under par­ticular modifications. On him virtue, knowledge, accomplishments and graces are miserably thrown away. To gratify an inextinguishable thirst for variety, such a wretch is often seen to forsake the most deserving wife, to [...]eek his usual, fugitive pleasure, with an abandon [...]d, mercenary harlot.

What would you think of this? Yet no graces, no affection, no delicacy, on your part, may be a­ble to prevent it. It seems the curse of heaven, entailed on his vices, and, generally, pursues him even to the grave.

The supposed predilection of your sex for rakes, must, probably, arise from their ostentatious ap­pearance, gaiety, spirits and assumed politeness. But how dearly is such tinsel purchased by an uni­on with them! How often has a long, harassed life of poverty and remorse been the dreadful sacrifice to this indiscretion of a moment.

LETTER XXXVIII.

MEN in professions may be expected to possess the most liberal sentiments, as having enjoyed a superior education; and their manners and socie­ty will, of course, be most agreeable and interest­ing to ladies. Military people are, proverbially, favourites.

I will not so much degrade the dignity of your sex, as to suppose, that it is the mere colour of their habits, which dazzles your eyes, and works such astonishing miracles in their favour. There are reasons, which may account, more rationally, for your partiality, whilst they do more credit to your understanding.

Undistracted with cares and business, they are happy in that easy disengagedness of mind, which can exhaust all its efforts upon the single article of pleasing. With much time upon their hands, they have frequent opportunities of being in your com­pany, and of feeling, or at least affecting admirati­on. Lively and volatile from an healthy life of activity and exercise, they easily assimilate with the manners of a sex, whose distinguishing grace is a cheerful vivacity. Having travelled through va­rious places and kingdoms, they necessarily ac­quire that ease and urbanity of manners, which re­sult from a general intercourse with mankind.— Expected, professionally, to be men of courage, you may suppose them the best protectors of your person and your weakness. Their very choice of the ar­my marks them for genteel notions and spirit; [Page 115]and any of these reasons is, perhaps, no disadvan­tage with a female heart. I should be sorry to suppose, that their general love of pleasure, gaiety and intrigue is amongst their recommendations to the favour of those, who should, uniformly, dis­courage by their blushes and their frowns, every species of levity and vice.

In fact, and to be impartial, the agreeableness of officers, is like that of other men. There is the human mixture of the good and the bad. I have always found, from my own observation, that the older and experienced are some of the most interesting characters in society. The vari­ous scenes, through which they have passed, give a sprightliness and diversity to their conversation, and their politeness lends it a charm. I have met with no many of the younger sort, who have seemed to think the petty ornament of a cockade an adequate substitute for all improvements of the mind; a shelter for litigious insolence and puppyism, and an exclusive security for the tenderest affections, and attachment of woman.

But this evil is not consined, merely, to the army. It is so in the church. How truly amiable are the experienced, the learned, and the exem­plary of this profession, whose knowledge is hap­pily tissued with devotion, and softened by a gen­eral intercourse with the world! How many, on the other hand, when they are just initiated into the sacred office, ridiculously pique themselves on a cassock and a scarf; and, under that solemn garb, go as far as possible, in the mazes of beauism, van­ity, and affectation!

There are, doubtless, very amiable people in the army; but their general notions and treatment [Page 116]of your sex, forbid me to wish that you should, ever, cultivate much acquaintance with them, because the circumstances, in which they are placed, render the thoughts of a serious connection, by no means desirable. If we could suppose their principles not to be injured by their mode of life; if they could resign, from the moment of marriage, all their notions of unlimited gallantry, and plea­sure, what is their pay, but a scanty subsistence for a solitary individual? What is their life, but an unsettled pilgrimage from one country to anoth­er? How often are they called, at a moment's warning, to sight, perhaps, to perish, for their king and country? or, to die more suddenly, and more ignominiously, by the hands of a Duelist, who challenges them into eternity for the slightest provo­cation, perhaps for the misplacing only of a sylla­ble!

In the midst of such alarming prospects, what has a woman to expect from marriage with them, but continual toils, unceasing dangers, perpetual apprehensions; poverty, remorse, vexation, chil­dren, without provision, and sorrows, which the lenient hand of time, scarcely can assuage.

If you was ever so happily united to a man of this description, how dreadful must be the absenc­es, you will have to bear, mixed as they will be, with a dissolving tenderness, and unavoidable a­larms; or, on the other hand, how insupportable your toils, ‘with perils in the wilderness, perils by the sea, and perils amongst false brethren; with weariness, and painfulness, with watch­ings, often; with hunger and thirst; with fast­ings, often; with cold and nakedness.’ Re­member the fate of lady C—w—s, and drop a tear. [Page 117]That gaiety of heart, which, once, doted on a man for his smartness or vivacity, will find too much exer­cise for its penitence and grief in such serious af­flictions.

LETTER XXXIX.

IN several requisites to an happy marriage pro­fessional men do not appear, by any means, the most eligible.

A great writer has called a physician, "the mere play-thing of fortune." However straitened in his circumstances, from having received an ex­pensive education, he must assume particularly in the metropolis, the appearance of property merely to gain employment. This fictitious grandeur may involve him in difficulties for many years.— His success, from the nature of things, must, ge­nerally be slow, nor will it ever depend so much on his own intrinsic merit, as on a fortunate coin­cidence of circumstances, wholly out of his power. If he succeeds, it will, frequently be late in life: and, if he does not, he must be embarrassed indeed! The children of such a person ‘cannot dig, and to beg they are ashamed.’ Poverty, sharpened by refinement and sensibility, is afflicting in the extreme!

I do not think the profession of the law, calcu­lated to render a man, the most agreeable compa­nion, in the still, unruffled shades of domestic life. It calls into continual exercise, the more turbid passions; it begets an unpleasant spirit of caviling [Page 118]and contradiction, and has less tendency to nurse the finer feelings, than any of the other learned pro­fessions.

By being crowded together, at a dangerous age, in the Temple or Lincoln's Inn, young men are apt to contract a licentiousness of morals, a laxity of principles, a species of scepticism to palliate their vices, habits of profaneness, not a little dissipation, and so far as your sex is concerned, very dangerous notions.

Before marriage, military men and young law­yers are not, in my idea, the safest acquaintance. The first are only bent, without looking any fur­ther, on domesticating themselves, in agreeable families, by every polite attention to wives and daughters, and thus amusing many, leisure hours, which, in their state of continual peregrination, would be, otherwise, insupportable; the latter, in general, scruple not to go great lengths in gallan­try where they have no serious intention.

Beware of such society; beware of your heart. Let not the unblushing front of a barrister, let not the mere scarlet habit of a petit maitre, who has studied the windings of the female heart, infinitely more, than tacties, or the art of war, let not a few civil sayings or flattering attentions beguile your imagination, or lay your prudence asleep. I do not think the commerce very safe. If I had a girl of my own, I would not expose her to so dangerous a trial. Many, doubtless, have come off conquer­ors, but more have fallen; and their wounds and tears have made, upon my memory, a lasting impres­sion.

Our imagination, however, annexes riches, honours, and even titles to the profession of the [Page 119]law. But this fancy often misleads us. It is true, that merit has a greater chance in this, than in any other profession; and it is certain, that a fortunate few have attained to very considerable greatness. We hear of a Mansfield, a Thurlow, a Kenyon, a Lough borough, a Law, an Erskine, and are dazzled with their names, their success, and hon­ours. But not a word is said of a thousand others of the fraternity, whom, though possessed of con­siderable talents, fortune never chose to bring into the public view, or to distinguish with any of her favours.

But all these discouragements apart, if a lawyer is eminent, he can scarcely ever be at home. Per­petual cares and business surround him, and poison his repose. His wife and children must be neglect­ed, and domestic endearments sacrificed to tumul­tuous cares. And if he be poor, no poverty can open the door to more chicanery, artifice, or meanness. At any rate, if he be a man of pure morals and religious principles, he has withstood the greatest temptations, that human nature can encounter, and for superior and heroic virtue, al­most deserves a place in the kalendar of saints.

See now a man's partiality to his own profession; but if it be not founded in reason, I beg you will reject it.

The office of clergymen calls them to a more re­gular and retired life, than that of most other men. Their exemption from the bustle and competitions of the world nurses innocence and sensibility; and if their heart be not very depraved, their employ­ments and studies must soften and resine it. Their education should have given them the power of en­tertaining, [Page 120]and their calling supposes not only in­tegrity, but piety and virtue.

A man of this cast seems particularly calculated not only to relish, but to enhance the happiness of a married state. With hours at command, he has leisure for the tender offices of friendship, and the little, sportive play fulness of amusing conversation. Whilst the woodbine and the jasmine surround his modest mansion, he dreads no unpropitous accident, that shall drag him from his retreat, and can tread, with the faithful partner of his cares, the lonely "silent haunts, which contemplation loves." He has time for superintending the instruction of his children, and calling their latent powers into exer­cise and action. He has opportunity to realize the pictures of a Milton, and watch the opening beau­ties of the paradise about him.

Let me, however, be candid, and give you the possible reverse of this piece. The church is in a very unhappy situation. That education, which renders the ecclesiastic agreeable, often sharpens his affliction. That refinement, which captivates the elegant and inexperienced, is the spear, which fetches drops of blood from his heart. Frequent­ly without an adequate provision, and incapable, by any secular employment, of improving his circum­stances, these apparent privileges are only his mis­fortune. The sensibility, which loves a woman, doubly mourns her allotment. That tenderness, which embraces children with such affection, shudders at their prospects. That independence, which results from liberal sentiments, startles at the thought of poverty or distress; and that peace, which he has found in the abodes of solitude, unties him for the turbulent agitations of the world.

[Page 121] Many men, however, there are in this profession, very amply provided for; and, if one of these falls to your lot, with the habits and dispositions, that should result from his character, I think you may form every rational hope of comfort and enjoy­ment. Still, do not suppose me narrow or illibe­ral. There are, doubtless, numbers of worthy and amiable men in the other professions; there are, as certainly, many worthless, immoral, and pro­fligate persons in the church. General rules admit of infinite exceptions. And as your heart is dis­engaged, I meant only to state the influence of different habits and employments on the mind, and the probability of their conducing to happi­ness or misery in this important connection. And I still must urge, that if a clergyman be a bad hus­band, it is in defiance of the strongest inducements to be otherwise, and of every disposition, which his studies and his prayers should have led him, either to cultivate in himself, or recommend to others.

LETTER XL.

A MERE country squire will be more attached to his dogs, his hunting parties, and horses, than he could be to any wife in the world. The most lovely graces, the most exquisite accomplishments will make no impression on his debased and vitiated mind. He will not be able even to discover them. [Page 122]From him, you must expect none of the little, soothing attentions. He will shock your delicacy with a thousand coarsenesses, without a sensibility that he is doing wrong; and if you should expos­tulate, he will place it only to the account of fe­male prudery, conceit or affectation. He will converse with you chiefly on the delicious subjects of the bottle or the chace; and he will occasionally introduce you to the honour of an acquaintance with a number of ignorant ill bred boors, who will esteem you in exact proportion, as you want elegance of manner, sentiment or understanding!

Young ladies never act so injudiciously, as when they sacrifice themselves to stupid vulgarity. Their charms are never lost on men of sense, deli­cacy and politeness. By them their throne is established. It is in their hearts, that they have al­ways a sovereign and undisputed sway.

I have now given you my sentiments very free­ly concerning a great variety of characters. But, marry whom you will, one further lesson is neces­sary to your happiness, as well as that of the per­son, with whom you are connected—and that is— to consider your home, as the chief seene of your pleasures, and your exertion.

Though a woman, before this union, may be ad­mited for her accomplishments of dancing, dress, pal [...]ting, singing, &c. yet after it, we expect her character to display something more substantial. To a man, who must spend his days in her com­pany, all these little superficial decorations will speedily become insipid and unimportant. Love must be preserved by the qualities of the heart, and esteem se [...]ed by the domestic virtues.

[Page 123] A man does not want to be dazzled in this con­ [...]ion, or to possess a partner, who seeks the ad­miration of coxcombs or beaux. He wants a per­son, who will kindly divide and alleviate his cares and prudently arrange his household concerns. He [...]s not a coquette, a fashionist, a flirt, but a comfortable assistant, companion and friend.

Let not a woman's fancy dream of perpetual ad­miration. Let it not be sketching out endless mazes of pleasure. The mistress of a family has ceased to be a girl. She can, no longer, be frivo­lous or childish with impunity. The angel of court­ship has sunk into a woman, and that woman will be valued principally as her fondness lies in retire­ment, and her pleasures near the nursery of her children. Nor are these pleasures small. Whate­ver fashion thinks, they have a secret relish, which the world cannot give.

If men are expected to distinguish themselves by science, valour, eloquence or the arts, a woman's greatest praise consists in the order and good go­vernment of her family. Nor is this beneath the dignity of any female in the world. Never is she greater than in such condescension. It spoils no fea­tures. It places the very finest in the happiest at­titude, and in the most favourable light.

This exercise will be a sovereign preventive of the vapours; and every family, without it, must be a scene of disorder; a state of anarchy, in which there is no head to govern, and all the members seem unwilling to obey.

If we could see the inside of some fashionable houses, what a prospect would they present! The mistress at a masquerade or an opera—servants, drunken, extravagant, criminal!—Children, re­ceiving [Page 124]their very first impressions from their oaths and curses—here, meat perishing, which might have fed the hungry—there, garments moulder­ing, which would have clothed the naked—in one place, filth and nastiness concealed—in another, valuable furniture tossed about, without decency and without care! No fortune can answer such immoderate expences. No comfort can consist with so much disorder. ‘A good woman looketh well to the ways of her household, and all her family is clothed in scariet.’

A turn for dissipation, in any woman, is unseem­ly, but, in a married one, it is criminal in the ex­treme. If she loves her children, what can so much entertain her, as their lively prattle, as their inno­cent endearments, or unfolding their latent pow­ers? If she loves her husband, what other society can be half so soothing, or half so delightful?

The tour of a woman's gaiety should terminate with marriage. From that moment, her pursuits should be solid, and her pleasures circumscribed within the limits of her household. So much as this, she vowed at the altar: so much her interests and her happiness require.

A wife, who is always gadding about, virtually tells the world, that she is unhappy in her connex­ion; that her vanity is most immoderate, or her taste most depraved.

What strips this union of its sweetest pleasures? What makes wives and husbands so indifferent to each other? Dissipation.

They spend so little time together in private; and it is chiefly in solitude, that affection springs.

[Page 125] If a man after the business and fatigues of the day, could return to an house, where a wife was engaged in domestic cares, and an attention to his offspring, he must be a monster of savageness and stupidity indeed, if he did not strongly feel the in­fluence of her virtues, and if they did not convey a soft rapture to his soul.

What woman is most really admired in the world? The domestic. What woman has all the suffrages of the sensible, and the good? The domestic.

If I wished a lady's picture to appear to advan­tage, it should not be taken when she was dressing for an assembly, a levee or a birth night. She should be holding one lovely infant in her arms, and presenting a moral page, for the instruction of another.

Such a painter would give us the finest object in the world, and wrap that world, libertines and stoics, in one, general admiration.

LETTER XLI.

I AM not at all surprized with the insipid life of the parties you mention. Their case is, by no means, uncommon. Nor would it have required any great penetration to have foretold the conse­quences of so hasty a connexion.

The truth is, the gentleman was strictly in the language of the world, a beau d'esprit, that is, he dressed smartly, frequented (what is esteemed) [Page 126]genteel company, and public places, drank, hunt­ed, ran into the extremes of fashion, and had some fortune to support it. In proportion as these little matters had engaged his mind, small attention had, you may suppose, been paid to the formation of his heart or understanding.

In this thoughtless period, it was the misfortune of this poor girl, with an elegant person and in­teresting manner, to fall in his way. She was beautiful; nature had designed her to please; and, if she had been connected with a sensible man, might have been moulded almost into any thing, that captivates in gracefulness, or astonishes in un­derstanding. Her personal accomplishments in­spired this petit maitre with a fugitive passion; his fortune was competent; dissimilarity of tastes, habits or abilities never was considered; tender tales were swallowed by her artless innocence, and his addresses were accepted. After a very short acquaintance, they are weary of each other. The force of beauty and of passion is exhausted. He has not taste enough for the delicacies of friendship, nor knowledge to entertain a lonely hour with edifying conversation, but flies to the bottle and his mad companions, for pleasures, which it is not in her power to bestow; whilst she, poor creature! has leisure to brood over her imprudence and mis­fortunes in still, domestic scenes, having learned, but alas! too late, that rational and durable en­joyment is only to be found with a person of virtue, principle and understanding.

For my own part, I had never any idea of such early marriages. If this girl had seen the world, and a variety of characters, she would not have submitted to such a connection; and if he had [Page 127]lived single, till he had learned the extent of his own understanding, or the nature of his frivolous and criminal habits, he would never have supposed, that mere innocence and beauty would have satis­fied his vagrant, and licentious wishes!

Besides, what knowledge can a girl, at her age, have of the government of a family, or the ar­rangement of domestic concerns? Servants will take advantage of her inexperience; and she must either be made a dupe to their artifices, or, from a narrow system of jealousy and suspicion, she will lose their confidence, and become the object of their persecution.

With respect to the other case, you mention, with so much concern, it was equally probable. People may accustom themselves to speak lightly of religion, in order to be esteemed men of spirit, and, in a thoughtless circle, pass for very excel­lent companions. But, when a man has a family, suc [...] a levity is infamous. If he believes his own principles, he cannot sail to be miserable; and he will find, that the fence he wishes to break down, is that, which guards the chastity and affection of a wife; the obedience, morals, and attention, of children; the respect, fidelity and principies of servants, and the whole of his affairs from sinking into a terrible ruin and confusion!

The general cause of suicide is a total want, or an unfortunate fluctuation of, principle. With­out the comforts of religion, what support has any man to lean upon, in the day of trouble? If a person accustoms himself to sceptical reasonings, he believes, by degrees, that ther [...] may be no fu­ture torments for the wicked; and if he can once bring his mind to this unwarrantable persuasion, he will be ready to lay violent hands upon himself, when­ever [Page 128]his pride is hurt by any fanciful degradation, and he cannot any longer, support the consequence, for which he has been distinguished by his fel­low mortals.

LETTER XLII.

I WILL now give you the description of an happier marriage. I have been spending a few days in a family, who have long lived in my esteem, and of whom you have often heard me speak in terms of veneration.

My friendship with Eugenio, (for so I will call the gentleman,) was formed in those early years, when unsuspicious hearts vibrate to each other, without ceremony or reserve. For his lady, so soon as introduced to her, I felt a very assimilating par­tiality. We mingled souls at our first meeting, and they have never since, discorded for a mo­ment.

Eugenio is a man of considerable learning, and still greater taste. In every thing that relates to polite knowledge, he has not many superiors in his age. He is complete master of music, painting and poetry. In architecture, his skill is very con­siderable. In all the phenomena of natural history, he is professedly, a connoisseur. The best writers of Greece and Rome lie constantly on his table, and amuse many of his leisure hours.

[Page 129] Nature has given to his amiable lady, superior understanding, which has been improved by a good education, and polished by the best compa­ny in the kingdom. Her mother was one of those uncommon women, who esteemed it her highest dig­nity to be herself the nurse and governess of her children, and taught them to mingle accomplish­ments with knowledge, the ornamental graces, with domestic assiduity.

I will leave you to judge, what must be the con­sequences of such an union. Think how Eugenio must have improved such a woman! Imagine how this lady must have bl [...]ssed such a man!

In this family, I am quite in my element. I read, stroll, think, or amuse myself without cen­sure or restraint. I feel a sovereign pity for the world of fashion, and forget that there are any charms in ambition, or any sorrows in disappointment.

Their fortune is just, what it should be, for sol­id contentment; too little to inspire a fantastic emulation with the manners of the great world; too large to admit of embarrassment or want. It is, in short, neither more nor less, than £ 1000 per annum. Their family consists of two fine boys, and one girl, who is half as amiable, and distin­guished, as Louisa.

Though the fashionable world would think such circumstances narrow, yet that economy, which can do every thing, has made them very comforta­ble, and their entire complacency in each other's company, rich indeed! They do not dissipate their fortune in expensive journeys to, or by resi­dence in, the metropolis, and are too happy in [Page 130] themselves, to be frequently seen in any other pla­ces of dissipation.

This, my dear LUCY, is the happiest of lives.—After all our ambition, and all our struggles, it is chiefly in the shade, that we must find contentment. The pleasures there are calm; they are pleasures of the heart.

Their house is situated, at two miles distance from a considerable town in the county of —, upon an eminence, which commands a full view of the city, but has its aspect to those woods and shades, with which its owners are infinitely more conversant, than the more noisy scenes of dissipated life. Elegant, but not superb, and spacious, tho' plain, it expresses the cultivated taste of its in­habitants, and the hospitable kindness that reigns within.

The pleasure grounds and gardens are in that unornamented style, which to me, is always par­ticularly pleasing. Nature has not been wholly sacrificed to art, nor wildness to refinement.—The wilderness here and there presents you with all its shaggy luxuriance, and venerable glooms.—You rove imbosomed in woods and thickets, and are mingled at a distance from every prying eye, in those silent haunts of solitude, which poetry has always decked with its charms. Here the hand of the Creator has formed a grotto, and art has not destroyed it; there an alcove, and the pruning knife has not officiously separated the intwining branches. In one place, a little fountain murmurs, at its ease, and nothing has attempted to divert it from its original channel. In another you have tufted beauties, a cascade, a lawn, an hill or a valley, beautifully interspersed, exactly as they [Page 131]were formed by the hand of nature, in one of those more sportive moments, when she wished to please.

Through the branches of a beautiful hanging wood, which lies before the house, you descry the glittering spire of the parish church, belonging to the village, of which Eugenio is the patron, and a very exemplary clergyman, the present in­cumbent. It is placed on a rising ground, as if continually aspiring to that heaven, to which its excellent pastor is always calling the affections of his people. It is built in that gothic style, which I always most approved in this sacred kind of structure, as best adapted to inspire the mind with seriousness and devotion. But it is not from the mere beauty of the place, or the deliciousness of its situation, that its enviable owners derive their happiness. They expect not from shrubs or blos­soms, or the most enchanting scenery, the plea­sures of the heart. They know, that the richest prospects would soon fade upon the eye, if they did not derive a fresh and lively bloom from princi­ple within.

In an age of levity, this happy pair are not a­shamed to be thought religious. They are per­suaded, that their blessings could have no permanen­cy or relish, if unsanctified with the smile and pro­tection of heaven. Their house is, in fact, a tem­ple, where prayers and praises, are regularly offer­ed up, every night and morning, to the great Au­thor and preserver of their lives. Every servant is required to attend the service; and they are all oc­casionally, instructed in their duties to God and man. They have likewise, each a little library of devotional tracts, which have been presented to [Page 132]them by their generous superiors. I had the curi­osity one day, to examine the title pages, and found them, principally to consist of the great im­portance of a Religious Life; Beveridge's Private Thought, and Resolutions; Taylor's Holy Living and Dying; Advice against swearing, drunkenness, profanness, &c. in little tracts from the Society, for promoting Christian Knowledge; Wilson on the Sacrament; the Christian Pattern; Henry's Pleasantness of a Religious Life, &c.

It would delight you to observe with what a mixture of love and reverence, these servants ap­proach their real benefactors. You hear nothing, under this roof of those feuds and animosines, which so much embitter the happiness of families. "They live as brethren together in unity." The only contention is, which shall be most ardent, assiduous and vigilant in the performance of their duty.

If Maria (Eugenio's lady,) has the slightest in­disposition, you might read it, without asking a syllable, in the anxious looks and gestures of all her attendants. She was lately confined with a nervous fever: and it would have astonished you to see the unaffected grief and concern, expressed in their looks. ‘What (said they) will become of our excellent master, if he should lose the most amiable woman in the world?’

The piety of these people is the more engaging, because it is always cheerful and serene. It pro­ceeds from reasen, and it encourages no unnatural authority or gloom. It is mixed with sentiment; it is graced with knowledge, and guided by dis­cretion, Who wold not pique himself on a friend­ship [Page 133]with such a family? Who would not wish that friendship to be eternal?

When I have added you to the group, I fancy myself in possession of almost every thing, that mortality can give, and wish only the continuance of my enjoyments.

LETTER XLIII.

MANY people of fortune are uncomfortable in marriage, for want of employment, or of something to give an interest to the, otherwise, insipid uni­formity of the same excursions, visits, company, or entertainments. This is never the case within the walls of Eugenio. He is always introducing, from incidents as they rise, some useful and en­tertaining topics of conversation. A news-paper, books, the garden, flowers, plants, shrubs, histo­ry, the azure vault of heaven, stars, planets, or even a common insect, furnish to this worthy fami­ly, ample subjects for observation, ever edifying, and ever new. His lady has taste and information enough to enter into the spirit of all these descrip­tions; and the general scene is, not a little enliv­ened by the mode, in which they treat and educate their children.

My good friend is persuaded, that public educa­tion, as it is generally managed, is more calculat­ed to teach languages and science, than to incul­cate principles or morals; and, therefore, keeps his sons at home till they have acquired a sufficient [Page 134]stock of virtue to serve them as an antidote against the dangers of the world. They have, however, their regular school hours and exercises, which are observed with the most undeviating punctuali­ty. The older of the boys has made a considera­ble proficiency in the Latin Language. He has abridged the English and the Roman histories, and is completely versed in heathen mythology. But, above all, he is instructed in the fundamentals of religion, and of his duty to God and man. The scriptures make a part of his daily reading; and the sensible parent embellishes them with such a number of striking observations, as greatly interest the curiosity, and fix the attention of his unvitiated pupil.

With Rollin's Belles Lettres, and the Abbe Millot's Elementes sur l'histoire, he is perfectly ac­quainted. The latter he is abridging; and Tele­machus is warmly pressed on his attention, as con­taining those immortal lessons of virtue, which a­lone can dignify any character or station.

Eugenio has been at the pains of throwing select parts of Seneca, Marcus Antoninus, and the Me­morabillia of Xenophon into an English dress, for the advantage of his little family. He has select­ed a system of Ethics, and almost of divinity, from the entertaining works of Addison, Johnson, The World, and the arrangement is so excel­lent, that i [...] ought to be made public for the bene­fit of mankind.

The first morning, that I spent under this happy roof, I was awakened from my slumbers by the soft harmonious voice of Miss—, who was chanting to the harpsicord, an early hymn of grati­tude [Page 135]and devotion to her merciful Creator. It was taken from the Spectator.

The whole reminded me of the words of an in­genious poet:

This is her constant practice every morning, at six o'clock; and it has the happiest effect on her temper and spirits, for the rest of the day. It sooths the soul to harmony, and cherishes all the gentler emotions.

Immediately after this was finished, the lovely girl took a walk into the garden, as she regularly does, when the weather will permit, to observe the gradual progress, health and vegetation of her plants and flowers. I requested the honor of at­tending her, and was amazed, young as she is, with her knowledge of natural history, and with the judicious remarks she made on the power and goodness, on the wisdom and contrivance of the magnificent Creator.

Before breakfast, Maria (their mother,) hears all the children together read the psalms and lessons for the day. To this pious exercise I was not in­vited; but I doubt not it was a specimen of fe­male eloquence, descanting on the vanity of every [Page 136]thing, but devotion, and glancing at the dangers and temptations of the world.

The employment of this good family is as strict, as usual, and not less pleasing even upon Sundays.

The first exercise of this day, after the accustom­ed hymn of praise to their Creator, is to abridge a few pages of Wilson's Indian Instructed, or of Secker's Lectures on the Catechism. After the service, all the children give in, to the best of their power, an account of the sermon, which they have heard. The comparison of their different merits is pleasing, and the very contest excites emu­lation.

When this is finished their father instructs them with a short comment on the lessons for the day. One happened to be the history of Dives and Lazarus. Very few have greater powers of the pathetic than my friend. He brought them all to tears with dwelling on the pitiable circumstances of the beggar, and poured this lesson into their softened minds, that riches are apt to harden the heart, and have no real dignity or use, but as em­ployed in acts of mercy to our neighbour. He gave, to the parable at large, a new and singular aspect. He observed, that luxury had led Dives to unbe­lief, and that unbelief had plunged him into hell.

On another occasion, he dwelt on the scriptural history of Haman. In him, he expatiated on the uncertainty and sickleness of all outward greatness, and the insufficiency of honours, stations, popular­ity to confer any real happiness on a mind, that had not submitted to internal government and the discipline of religion.

[Page 137] "What a trifle (said he,) deranged this great man's enjoyment! Because a poor Mordecai would not bow to his pomp, his honours lost their flavour, and his dignities their charm; his sleep went from him, and he refused to be comforted. If his pas­sions had been subdued, and his sould regenerated with divine grace, he would have been contented in the lowest obscurity. A cottage would have given him more satisfaction than this palace. It would have been irradiated with hope, and it would have smiled with divine consolations."

Eugenio is constant at church, and his deport­ment there is an excellent pattern to all its de­pandents. His features are marked with a serious fervour, and a cheerful dignity, when he is humbly presenting his supplications to the author of his being.

You would be charmed to see how the honest peasants dwell on his looks! what eulogies are ex­pressed in every countenance! what fervent bless­ings are poured forth, when he stops to enquire about their families and concerns, and what ear­nest wishes, that his mansion may long retain him, for its owner, and that his continuance amongst them, may be lasting as their days!

Not behind him in any of the milder virtues, his consort looks up to him, with a conscious infe­riority, as the pride of her heart. Blended with more Jofiness, her piety is, if possible, still more engaging; but she seems to decline all personal consequence, and to be wholly absorbed in the superior lustre of his character and virtues. She receives the prayers and blessings of their tenants, as if only due to the man of her affections; and, though the zeal of the populace would convey her, in their arms, yet, when Eugenio offers his hand [Page 138]to lift her into the carriage, her eyes sparkle with peculiar cheerfulness, and strongly express both her love and gratitude to her protector and her friend.

It is no wonder that they are so much admired. No wonder that every tongue loads them with blessings. This is but the speculative part of their piety; the practical is more useful and more en­gaging. They love their God; they love their Redeemer, and for his sake they go about doing good. Not a tenant experiences an uncomforta­ble year, but he receives a considerable abatement in his rent. Not a person is injured in all the neighbourhood, but his cause is pleaded, and his wrongs are redressed. Not an old man exists, but he has something, by way of pension, from this virtuous family, to ease his infirmities, and pillow his declining age. Not a great man endeavours to take advantage of a lesser, but my friend, who is an excellent lawyer, undertakes the business, and exposes the oppressor to his merited contempt.

Every hour, that Maria can spare from her par­ticular domestic employments, is spent in making garments, providing cordials, physic and accom­modations for the naked, the sick and indigent of her village; and there are times of the day, in which you would conclude, from the vast concourse of people, that their house was a professed asylum for poverty and distress.

But now comes out the great secret of their happi­ness. "Alas!" said this good man to me, one night, after supper, when he was reviewing the actions of the day, ‘your obliging partiality thinks me happy, and so inded I am. In the tenderness, friendship, fidelity and discretion of [Page 139]my Maria, I have more than the treasures even of a world. But this sweet abode would soon cease to please, and the lovely woman lose the gr [...]cer part of her charms, if we were not both animated with christian sentiments, and if we did not contrive to relieve the sameness and to dignity the littleness of life by the activities of virtue. That divine philanthropy, which is the essence of religion, is the source of our pleasures. And, when I drop into the grave, I shall have but one single wish, that this ami­able guide may be spared to my offspring, and that the poor may pronounce a last panegyric on me, with their prayers and tears. But how very selfish and how cruel is the desire! What would become of the, then, lonely and discon­solate Maria? Alas! continually together in this retirement, continually endeared by grow­ing acts of tenderness, you cannot think how very much our hearts are united! But this is the condition of all human happiness. The tenderest love must feel the bitterest pangs from a separation. It is the decree of infinite wis­dom, that this world should have no unmixed satisfaction, to put us on earnestly seeking it in one, which is unfading and eternal.’

These are the sentiments of as fine a gentleman, as the age can boast; of one, who would do ho­nour to the politest circles, and has power to charm the most improved understandings. But that gentleman is a christian. He has learned to sacrifice all glitter and accomplishments at the banners of the cross. And this has made him so charitable a landlord, so active a patron, so ten­der an husband, so agreeable a companion, so in­dulgent [Page 140]a parent, and so valuable a friend. Read this, ye conceited coxcombs, who fancy that the character of gentleman consists in levity or wicked­ness, and blush at your mistake!

LETTER XLIV.

I CANNOT fully satisfy your inquiry. So far, however, as scripture and reason will be our guides, I will endeavour to accompany you into the pleasing speculation.

To you, who have buried so many dear and ami­able friends, and had so short an enjoyment of them here, it is natural to inquire, what you may see, or know of them hereafter whether you shall be able to recognize departed spirits after death, and wherein the joys of heaven will consist.

It is plain from sacred writ, that our present, earthly, will be changed into glorious, bodies, and our souls, as it were, sublimed or re-modified, as necessary to the enjoyment of future bliss, whate­ver it may be. Whilst therefore we are, in part, composed of ma [...]ter, it is impossible that we should have a full [...]ception, or that any adequate re­presentation can be conveyed to us in words, of the real nature and essence of such pleasures, as in fact, are only adapted to minds of a much super­ior texture, and bodies of a more celestial and divine organization. Thus the scriptural images ‘of thrones, sceptres, kingdoms, of shining as the stars of the firmament, of being clothed in white robes, and having palms in our hands, of [Page 141]feeding in green pastures, and being led beside living fountains of waters,’ are not to be under­stood, as constituting any thing of the real quality of future happiness, but as imperfectly shadowing forth, by the analogy of sensible objects, joys, which, both in their nature and degree, are wholly raised above our present comprehension.

So strong and literally just is that passage; ‘Eye has not seen nor ear heard, neither has it entered into the heart of man to conceive the things, which God has prepared for them, that love him.’

The same idea is, in some degree, intended by St. Paul, when he says, that, ‘when carried up into the third heaven, he heard things, which it was impossible for man to utter:’ he had, it should seem, the idea of them, but could not convey it, in human words, to the human under­standing. It is sufficient for us to know, that these delights will be of a spiritual nature, pro­ceeding from the supreme, all-perfect spirit, and adapted to the fullest capacities of those, he has been pleased to glorify; that they will be exquisite, as unbounded power and wisdom and goodness can bestow, and lasting, as the days of that eternal heaven, in which, they spring.

That we shall be able to recognize spirits, and amongst others, those of our nearest intimates after death, is probable from the very nature of the soul, which cannot be supposed to lose its consciousness or recollection, whilst the body is sleeping in the dust of the earth—from the possibility, that an exqui­site part of future happiness will arise from review­ing, along with present friends, the trials, tempta­tions, and sorrows, which we overcame, along [Page 142]with them, upon earth—and, more especially, from the attributes of God, which seem pledged to convince us, by, (as it were,) ocular demonstration, that those, who, we are well assured, suffered un­deservedly, in various methods here, are reward­ed hereafter, and that some guilty persons, who wanted no prosperities in this world, experience all the horrors of another.

To this doctrine, there is but one weak, and ill-founded objection; that witnessing the misery of friends, if they died in a sinful state, must be a dreadful abatement of our own felicity. That is impossible. The affection betwixt relatives here was implanted only for temporary purposes, and will, in some cases, cease after death. The only attachment, then, will be, (as the only rational one, always was,) to souls, that assimilate in real wis­dom, purity and goodness. We shall love, in our de­gree, even as God loveth, not with the weakness of passion or instinct, but the unchangable subli­mity of order. ‘They, that do the will of our Father in heaven, will be our fathers and bre­thren, our sisters and mothers.’

How glorious and inexhaustible a source of hap­piness does such a prospect open to the mind! With what rapture will a tender mother, who left a number of children behind her, with a thousand, anxious apprehensions for their safety, meet them in heaven, where their innocence is crowned, their trials are finished, and their eternal happiness se­cured! With what dutiful transports will children embrace the religious parent, to whose counsels under Providence, they owe considerably their pre­sent glorification! And what delight must it give both parties to reflect, that death can, no more, [Page 143]divorce them from each other, nor a grain of sor­row poison their cup of bliss! Affectionate broth­ers and sisters, unavoidably severed here, by various, important exigences, with what ardour will they renew their natural connection, and reciprocate each other's joys! Not a fear to rise upon their future prospects, not a cloud to darken the celestial sky!

Another delightful idea of heaven is, that it will bring to maturity all those amiable instincts, which were planted in us by the Deity, whilst we were on earth, but from a multitude of obstacles, or the shortness of life, could not attain their per­fection.

Our strong thirst for happiness, it is, on all hands, allowed, that was only mocked in a world of shadows, will be fully gratified in one of glory.

It will, probably, be so with our passion for knowledge — friendship—society — which, when properly directed, are equally virtuous and useful, propensities, and, therefore, alike proceed from the Author of every perfect gift.

How eagerly do some men thirst after know­ledge, but how much are they retarded in the pur­suit, by the imperfection of their present organs, the weakness of their bodily frame, by the long, lost space of childhood and old age, by the want of books, acquaintance, and other opportunities, or by the transitoriness of life itself!—or when all human advantages center in one, privileged man, enlightened as he may seem, what is his wis­dom, but comparative folly? When contrasted with the immensity of science, and the inexha [...]sti­ble wonders of creation, what does it resemble, but a grain, an atom, a drop of water, or a par­ticle [Page 144]of sand on the sea shore? Here we see but through "a glass darkly." A Newton and a Locke, after all their improvements, felt and con­fessed this poverty of soul.

But how sublime will be the pleasures of this in­tercourse in heaven, when the greatest men, that have ever lived, are all collected together from all quarters of the world! When there are no little envies, jealousies, interests or bigotries to inter­rupt their mutual concord and improvements! nor any languor, fatigue or disease in the renovat­ed frame! When the Almighty shall have unlock­ed all the treasures of his wisdom, all the secrets of his government, and the wonders of his grace [...]. When the sould shall have received such fresh and superior inlets of intelligence, and "we shall know, even as we are known." The wondrous page of nature will then be plain. The book of Providence will open, in the most legible charact­ers, on the enlarged mind. That mystery of re­demption, into which the very angels have been desirous to look, will be unfolded, in all its abysses; and the consequence of such discoveries must be an inexpressible sensation of love, astonishment and rapture. ‘We shall not cease, day or night, to worship him, that sitteth on the throne, and the Lamb, that has washed us from our sins, in his own blood.’

The case, in all probability, will be the same with friendship. Friendship, balm of this uneasy state! inspirer of virtuous thoughts and counsels! medi­cine of life! still chequered, still imperfect upon earth, mixed with caprice, with passion, with in­sincerity, and often chilled by death, (thousands of congenial souls prevented by seas, mountains, [Page 145]reserve of sex, bigotries of religion, peculiarities of education, from ever uniting,) this friendship shall, there, have all its fullest poignancy, and flourish in immortal bloom! The amiable of all ages and nations shall be assembled together, frailties and death, and the possibility of separation, wholly done away!

Think only of the expansion and luxury the mind enjoys from unbosoming its pleasures or sor­rows to a person upon earth, from the social glow and confidential conversation! and imagine, for a moment, what this privilege must be, where all around us are friends—where friends are angels— and angels are continually imbibing fresh streams of knowledge, of purity and graces in the pre­sence of their God!

Our social instinct likewise, will, doubtless, have a similar gratification. People are drawn to­gether into societies on earth, by a similarity of tastes, pursuits, habits and improvements. The principle is natural and has many laudable effects; and from the nature of the human soul, which will, probably, be going through successive stages of improvement to all eternity, may be supposed likely to continue in a glorified state. Thus, though holiness and purity be the alone medium of admission into these blessed mansions, yet societies may be formed of people of similar improvements and congenial tastes; of holy philosophers, (suppose,) naturalists, divines, doubly endeared by this re­semblance, and carrying their various researches to perfection, in a world, where knowledge is to­tally unobstructed, and in the presence of him, from whom all wisdom and all goodness flows. Whilst the different mansions of heaven may re­semble, [Page 146]on this principle, the scattered groups of stars in the firmament, and administer that charm­ing and exquisite variety, which seems to be the wonderful plan of Providence through the whole creation.

Thus much, at least, may be fairly inferred, that the intellectual improvements, we have made here, will not perish in the grave. We shall, doubtless, in this respect, rise with the same views and habits of thinking, with which we died. How much men at present, differ, from this cause alone, so that the least, and the most enlightened, almost appear creatures of another species, needs not be ob­served. And, though a Boyle or a Bacon, would from an union in goodness only, be happy in the conversation of the most illiterate saint, yet, on all principles of analogy, it may, reasonably, be presumed, that their bliss could not fail to be in­finitely heightened by the society of those, who, like them, had spent a whole life in laudable in­vestigations.

But the grand idea is, that the "great I AM will be present!" He, who is the source of all per­fection and blessings! He, who can open, in the mind, innumerable avenues of inconceivable enjoy­ment! Whose whole creation is but a ray, eman­ing from the plenitude of his happiness and glory, and who will certainly give his children all that their enlarged faculties can admit of pleasure and fruition.

Here we are continually mocked with the ap­pearance of happiness, which, on trial, is always found checkered with ill. Here the sweetest odour has attendant briars; the most delicious landscape has its shade; the most, apparently, finished enjoyment, [Page 147]its alloy. Even the sweet, engaging child and friend, dear to us, as our own souls, bring insepa­rable anxieties, and a thousand unquiet apprehen­sions for their health, their innocence and peace. Every enviable acquisition is followed with its trouble; every accession of fortune or interest, with its cares; and, in the height of seeming, wordly bliss, trouble, still, will find, through various chinks, its moments of admission. But, in heaven, all will be unmixed, all will be perfect, all will be serene!

Such is my private opinion of heaven. Such is the paradise of my imagination. If it be innocent, I have a right to indulge it; if you think it visiona­ry, you are at liberty to reject it. If it be an error, it is, at least, a pleasing one; and, if it serves to comfort life, or excite us to any laudable im­provements, it has its uses in society, and must, ultimately, promote the glory of God.

I hope it is true, because time, which dissolves all earthly things, is ever on the wing, and I wish to have my intimacy with you, perpetuated through immortality.

LETTER XLV.

I AM truly concerned for your indisposition. Your ner [...]es are relaxed, and your sipirits cannot sail to be affected in proportion. The complaints of this age, principally, arise from inactivity and over-indulgence. We thwart nature, in a thou­sand instances, and, in as many, she retaliates the offence.

[Page 148] We almost dissolve in hot, carpeted rooms, in­stead of continually exposing our bodies to the open air. We go to sleep, when we should be rising. We invent artificial methods of provoking an ap­petite, which can only be excited, in a proper manner, by labour and application. And factitious amusements are vainly bidden to create those spi­rits, which should arise from exercise and air.

This may answer a temporary purpose, but, in the end, it would destroy the firmest constitution. It is, in fact, undermining the very ground, upon which we stand, and digging a premature grave un­der our feet.

To me, who follow nature, and am only a spectator of the bustling scenes around me, these things appear to have serious consequences. When I look at fine, enervated ladies, I tremble, by a sort of involuntary instinct, for the rising generation.

What a vigilant, systematic care did the ancient legislators bestow upon this sex! To give them an healthy, vigorous constitution, and to consult, in particular situations, their ease and cheerfulness, was an object not beneath the attention of those heroes, who, by their valour and their talents, go­verned the world.

If you intend to have any comfort yourself, or be of any solid usefulness to others, you must be careful of your health. It is a plant, that requires continual nursing, and without the greatest atten­tion, will gradually die.

You must not dissolve on downy pillows, till your frame is almost thrown into convulsions. You should rise with the dawn, and exercise gent­ly, in the open air, particularly, on horseback. A little cheerful company will amuse, and keep your [Page 149]mind, from preying too much upon itself. Too much, on the other hand, will oppress your spirits, and aggravate your complaints.

Above all, if you wish a removal of your pre­sent indisposition, you must cautiously abstain from tea, particularly in mornings. However agreea­ble this beverage may be, it is, doubtless, the source of weak nerves, hysterical and hypochon­driac affections, and of half those dreadful, para­lytic symptoms, which have lately become so gene­ral and alarming.

Instead of languishing in elegant rooms, you should frequently be strolling into the fields or garden, if you would avoid the bitter draught of an apothecary, or innocently rob the physician of his fee. Your diet should be simple and moderate, confined to one dish, and that rather animal, than vegetable. You should eat sparingly, but often, and ‘use a little wine for your stomach's sake, and your, often, infirmities.’ The town has, doubtless, contributed to your disorder. When you return into the country, its pure air, I trust, and tranquil scenes will considerably restore you. Nature never intended such multitudes of people to be crowded together, and breathe the infinite, noxious effluvia of great cities. They are, in fact, the graves of mankind. We may exist in them for a time; but it is only in the country, that health has any thing of its natural vigour, or life, of its enjoyment.

Do not tamper with your constitution. The whole power of medicine, in your case, does not afford the shadow of relief. Disorders of this kind baffle all the penetration of the medi [...] fraternity. When they pronounce our case [...]e [...]us, it is only [Page 150]saying, in so many words, that they cannot give us any adequate assistance.

The very nature, form, or texture of the nerves are, to this day, by no means, clearly ascertained, or fully understood. Perhaps, they compose that subtil and amazing union of body and soul, of matter and spirit, which eludes all enquiry. When they are disordered, I know no method, but to avoid all extremes, to fly into the country and keep the mind, if possible, easy and serene.

LETTER XLVI.

IF I had the opportunity, it would give me great pleasure to the of your party to Bath. But indeed I am quite fixed and stationary here; unable to move, or visit even my nearest friends. Every day brings, along with it, a train of engagements; and almost every hour, substantial duties, that cannot be omitted.

Nature, at times, is disposed to repine, and think such confinement an intolerable hardship, till I begin to reflect, that all durable pleasure is de­rived from employment, and that the only, real di [...]nity of life consists in d [...]ing good.

They, who are continually in motion, and vary­ing the scene, are not that I can discover, more satisfied than myself. They carry their private burdens, along with them, over hills and moun­tains; and, when they have exhausted the [Page 151]whole circle of pleasures, still there is a great void in the soul.

I was once, for five weeks at Bath, and recollect it with a mixture of gratitude and pleasure. It was particularly serviceable to my health; and, on the whole, made impressions on my mind, that will never be erased.

The very ride to this place wil amazingly re­vive you. Worcestershire, at this season of the year, is one grand magnificent garden, whose air is perfume, whose scenery is blossoms, and whose walls are the spacious canopy of heaven. If you make Bristol in your way, I dare promise, that your curiosity will be amply gratified by a sight of that ancient and extensive city. Though the place, in itself, is low and dirty, yet the adjacent country is, perhaps, the most picturesque and beau­tiful in Britain. Clifton Hill is deliciously ro­mantic; on one side commanding a full prospect of the city, and looking, on the other, towards that magnificent ocean, which brings the inhabitants all their merchandize and riches. At the foot of this eminence, you will descry the medicinal spring of the hot-wells, so celebrated for their efficacy in consumptive cases. Here you will be shocked with a number of walking skeletons, who are yellow with sickness, dying of consumptions, and breathing in their sighs, the emptiness and vanity of all hu­man things. Thus is no human pleasure to be un­mixed; and thus are thorns to be intwined with the rose.

King's Weston Hill, in the environs of this place, has lately been celebrated by a poet. But the copy comes not up to the original. Nature has painted better, than the bard. It is visited by [Page 152]all strangers not only for its own, magnificent beauties, and wonderful scenery, but as an oppor­tunity of beholding the sea, which here opens, all at once, in a grand and unexpected expansion, on the astonished eye. If you are fortunate enough to have a fine day, you cannot behold a more sub­lime or striking curiosity.

When you arrive at your journey's end, every thing will desight you. Regular streets, magnifi­cent buildings, sumptuous public rooms, delight­ful prospects, walls, hills, vallies, fountains, gar­dens, company, amusements—all will proclaim, that you are at Bath. You will feel, that this is the paradise of Britain; and that the goddess of health has here, more particularly, fixed her abode. The mind, it is true, carries its secret burdens with it, into every situation; but I know no place more calculated to efface melancholy impressions, or do away tho bad effects of over exertion. The waters are a wonderful cordial to the stomach, and a powerful remover of that indigestion, which, to the studious and the fair of sedentary lives, is be­come so very general a complaint; and the mind insensibly, loses its little, fanciful burdens in the general gaiety and sprightliness of the scene.— There are, it must be confessed, many invalids; but there are, likewise, multitudes of young people of both sexes, whose manners are very highly engag­ing, and whose faces wear a perpetual smile.

The amusements, to which you are admitted at a very moderate expence, are conducted with the s [...]rictest order and decorum; and in the charms and splendour of a ball, as it is managed here, one would be led to fancy, that life was wholly com­posed of pleasure, if it did not occur, that all this [Page 153]brilliant throng have their private vexations, and the heart its own bitterness within.

The Abbey church pleases me more, than almost any sacred edifice, I have seen in the kingdom.— It has not the grandeur and magnificence of some others, but it is more calculated for use, and yields to none in elegance and neatness.

Lady H—'s chapel is visited by all strangers, as an elegant curiosity of the solemn kind, more perhaps, from the melody and sweetness of the singing, than motives of devotion. The good woman, probably founded it in this bosom of pleasure, with a view of calling sinners of distinc­tion to repentance. Her intention was amiable; and her piety, though grounded on the narrow and intolerant principles of Calvin, is entitled to respect. When people openly give their-money, zeal, talents and labour to any cause, we may trust their sincerity. Nor should criticism expose the little involuntary errors of those, who scrupulously act up to the dictates of their conscience, and have thus literally, "left all and followed Christ."

Lady H—, it is said, has much injured her private fortune by her religious generosity; in building chapels, supporting preachers, and many other public, and private donations. Prudence, surely did not warrant so extravagant a sacrifice. But it is not necessary to expose a conduct, which so sew will ever be disposed to imitate. Over­righteousness is not, by any means, the sin of this age.

I was indeed, not a little disgusted with the preacher of the evening, on which I happened to be at her ladyship's chapel. His discourse was a violent, inflammatory harangue without elegance, reasoning or connexion; and consisted, for the [Page 154]greater part, of a severe abuse of the established [...]gy. We are, perhaps, too languid and remiss in the discharge of our duty; but to expose with virulence and rancour, is not surely the method to reform us. Declamation or satire irritates. It is solid argument alone, mixed with love and gentle­ness, which soften and converts.

These people have not the gracefulness of piety. They display not in their looks or manner, or cen­sures, the "beauty of holiness." A severe critic, perhaps, would accuse them of spiritual pride, and give them this motto, ‘Stand from me, for I am holier than thou.’ Their preachers appear de­ficient in general knowledge. They do not study force of argument or embellishments of style.— They are not, indeed, without zeal; but it is wild, extravagant and frantic. They do not seem ‘pit­iful or courteous, or to be possessed of that char­ity, which thinke [...] not evil.’

The greatest disgrace to Bath are the gambling parties at the lower rooms. Would you believe it possible? You may see people of the first distinc­tion who are actuated with the infernal rage of play, mixing with a set of the very lowest, merce­nary sharpers! One would suppose that their pride and taste alone would not submit to such a degra­dation. But so little is all station, when it has for­gotten its real dignity; so groveling is the human mind, when it has [...] sight of the true source of happiness, and ‘ [...] hewing out for itself, broken cisterns, that can hold no water!’ Even Ches­terfield himself, with all his parade of graces, was a dupe to this most abominable practice!

The Avon, which runs through this city, filled me with great ideas. Shakespeare, Stratford, the [Page 155]Jubilee, immortal talents and immortal fame rush­ed into my mind, as often as I saw its soft, flow­ing stream roll silently along.

I should wish you to take a view of Prior Park, as a place which has so long been sacred to science and the muses. The late Mr. Allen was the Mae­cenas of his times. You cannot tread the ground about it, without recollecting many of those cele­brated wits, who were often invited to this hospi­table retreat, and entertained its possessor with all that luxury of taste and luscious flow of soul which genius inspires.

A great character stamps an immortality on the places he frequents, or the houses he inhabits.— Prior Park will be remembered, when its elegance is mouldered. Fancy will plant a laurel round this mansion of taste, which will continue to be green when the mansion itself shall have crumbled into atoms.

You will much oblige me by a frequency of let­ters, whilst you are at Bath. They will improve your own talent at the descriptive. To me they will give a more lively recollection of pleasures, which I once enjoyed. They will retrace upon my mind, agreeable scenes and images, which I have, formerly, beheld. They will interest an heart, that always vibrates to your pleasures or your pains. They will relieve spirits that are too much oppressed by a variety of thoughts. Whilst I read them, I shall forget, that I had ever a com­plaint, or that I ever was unhappy.