{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_35890/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_35890","id":"gutenberg_35890","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35890","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Teaching & Education","Women -- Education","Young women -- Conduct of life"],"text":"I consider an human Soul, without Education, like marble in\n     the Quarry, which shows none of its inherent Beauties till\n     the Skill of the Polisher fetches out the colours, makes the\n     surface shine, and discovers every ornamental Cloud, Spot,\n     and Vein, that runs through the Body of it. Education, after\n     the same manner, when it works upon a noble Mind, draws out\n     to view every latent Virtue and Perfection, which, without\n     such Helps, are never able to make their Appearance.\n\n                               ADDISON.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n                  A New Edition.\n\n                     _LONDON_:\n\n     Printed by Weed and Rider, Little Britain,\n\n     FOR SCATCHERD AND LETTERMAN, AVE-MARIA LANE; LONGMAN, HURST,\n     REES, ORME, AND BROWN; CADELL AND DAVIES; F. C. AND J.\n     RIVINGTON; SHERWOOD, NEELY, AND JONES; G. AND W. B.\n     WHITTAKER; BALDWIN, CRADOCK, AND JOY; J. MAWMAN; J. HARRIS\n     AND SONS; HARVEY AND DARTON; AND C. TAYLOR.\n\n                       1820.\n\n\n\n\n                    _CONTENTS._\n\n\n    Letter                                        Page\n\n          DEDICATION                                 v\n\n          Life of Hester Chapone                   vii\n\n       I. On the first Principles of Religion        1\n\n      II. On the Study of the Holy Scriptures       15\n\n     III. The same Subject continued                34\n\n      IV. On the Regulation of the Heart\n            and Affections                          51\n\n       V. The same Subject continued                66\n\n      VI. On the Government of the Temper           98\n\n     VII. On Economy                               121\n\n    VIII. On Politeness and Accomplishments        143\n\n      IX. On Geography and Chronology              170\n\n       X. On the Manner and Course of reading\n            History                                186\n\n          Conclusion                               209\n\n\n\n\nTO\n\n_MRS. MONTAGU_.\n\n\n    MADAM,\n\nI BELIEVE you are persuaded that I never entertained a thought of\nappearing in public, when the desire of being useful to one dear child,\nin whom I take the tenderest interest, induced me to write the following\nLetters:--perhaps it was the partiality of friendship, which so far\nbiassed your judgment as to make you think them capable of being more\nextensively useful, and warmly to recommend the publication of them.\nThough this partiality could alone prevent your judgment from being\nconsidered as decisive in favour of the work, it is more flattering to\nthe writer than any literary fame; if, however, you will allow me to\nadd, that some strokes of your elegant pen have corrected these Letters,\nI may hope, they will be received with an attention, which will insure a\ncandid judgment from the reader, and perhaps will enable them to make\nsome useful impressions on those, to whom they are now particularly\noffered.\n\nThey only, who know how your hours are employed, and of what important\nvalue they are to the good and happiness of individuals, as well as to\nthe delight and improvement of the public, can justly estimate my\nobligation to you for the time and consideration you have bestowed on\nthis little work. As _you_ have drawn it forth, I may claim a sort of\nright to the ornament and protection of your name, and to the privilege\nof publicly professing myself, with the highest esteem,\n\n    MADAM,\n\n    Your much obliged friend,\n      and most obedient\n        humble servant,\n\n            HESTER CHAPONE.\n\n\n\n\n          LIFE\n           OF\n    _HESTER CHAPONE_.\n\n\nAmong the illustrious women whose literary productions adorned and\nimproved the age in which they appeared, and are likely to be\ntransmitted with reputation to posterity, Mrs. Chapone is entitled to\ndistinguished consideration. However, incited by the persuasions and\nencouraged by the applauses of Richardson, she had many prejudices to\nencounter, many impediments to overcome. Female writers, always severely\nscrutinized, and often condemned, had not then obtained the estimation\nthey have since commanded.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHester Mulso, better known as Chapone, was the daughter of Thomas Mulso,\nEsq. of Twywell, in Northamptonshire; who, in the year 1719, married the\nposthumous daughter of Colonel Thomas, of the Guards. She lived long\nenough to see the last props of an ancient and towering family fall to\nthe dust.\n\nOf the immediate connections of Mr. Mulso, his elder sister, Anne, was\nmarried to the Rev. Dr. Donne, formerly Prebendary of Canterbury; and\nthe younger, Susanna, to the brother of his own wife, the Rev. Dr. John\nThomas, who was preceptor to his Majesty King George III., and who\nsuccessively held the bishoprics of Peterborough, Salisbury, and\nWinchester. Mr. Mulso had himself several children; but of these only\nfive lived to grow up, and even of the five, Charles, his third son, who\nwas an officer in the navy, died, in the Mediterranean, at the age of\ntwenty-one.\n\nThomas, the eldest of Mr. Mulso's sons, was bred to the law; and, for\nsome years, he went the Oxford circuit. He declined legal practice on\ncoming to the possession of his paternal inheritance; but was afterwards\nmade Registrar of Peterborough, and a Commissioner of Bankrupts. He\npublished, in 1768, 'Calistus, or the Man of Fashion;' and 'Sophronius,\nor the Country Gentleman.' Thomas was the elect brother of Mrs. Chapone.\nHe died early in February, 1799; and, as his death was not thought near,\nshe lost, in him, the tie that bound her to life.\n\nJohn, the second of Mr. Mulso's sons, became Prebendary of the\ncathedrals of Winchester and Salisbury, and held two valuable benefices\nin Hampshire. It was at the houses of this brother that Mrs. Chapone\nspent much of her time; and to one of his children, her beloved niece,\nthe world owes her best work. He died at the prebendal residence at\nWinchester, in 1791, having survived his wife one year.\n\nEdward, the youngest son, was in the Excise Office. He was skilled in\nmusic, and for many years President of the Anacreonic Society. Of this\nbrother, the life of her youth, Mrs. Chapone was also fond; and, as his\ndeath was sudden and quick, his loss seriously affected her. He died\nduring the April of 1782.\n\nHester Mulso, the main subject of this sketch, was born on the 27th of\nOctober, 1727; and was the only daughter whom her father had the\npleasure of seeing arrive to mature years. How soon Miss Mulso\naccustomed herself to investigate what she read, and how well, may be\ninferred from a passage in her published 'Miscellanies;' where, she\nsays, that when fifteen years old, being charmed with many of the\ndoctrines of the mystics, she then began to canvass them deeply; and\nthat, as reason grew, she was able to detect and to reject the fanciful\ntheology with which they were fraught. Even at nine years of age she was\nan author. Accustomed to read the old romance, which suited her then\nchildish taste, she wrote 'The Loves of Amorat and Melissa,' which,\nhowever defective, gave promise of the genius that distinguished her\nmaturer compositions. Her mind could not, however, long dwell on such\nworks. 'I make no scruple,' declares Miss Mulso, writing to Miss Carter,\nfrom Peterborough, July, 1750, 'to call romances the worst of all the\nspecies of writing: unnatural representations of the passions, false\nsentiments, false precepts, false wit, false honour, and false modesty,\nwith a strange heap of improbable unnatural incidents, mixed up with\ntrue history, and fastened upon some of the great names of antiquity,\nmake up the composition of a romance--at least of such as I have read,\nwhich have been mostly French ones. Then the prolixity and poverty of\nthe style is unsupportable. I have (and yet I am still alive) drudged\nthrough Le Grand Cyrus in twelve large volumes, Cleopatra in eight or\nten, Polexander, Ibrahim, Clelie, and some others, whose names, as well\nas all the rest of them, I have forgotten; but this was in the days when\nI did not choose my own books, for there was no part of my life in which\nI loved romances.' This censure of romances, ancient or modern, is not\nmore severe than it is just. With scarcely an exception, the business of\nromances is to make good bad, and bad good; to misplace and misstate\nevents, falsify characters, and mislead readers. They are full of grave\nlies, well told, to an ill end. These are the Will o' Wisps of the mind.\n\nSomething of importance is stated, where Miss Mulso says, that she read\nromances, volume upon volume, in the days when she did not choose her\nown books; and when, therefore, she could not avoid this infantile\ncourse of reading. She was not then permitted to go in her own way.\nSuperadded to the disadvantages then attending female education, she\nstruggled under domestic discouragements. Maternal vanity set itself\nagainst her advances in literature; and it was not till the death of her\nmother took place, that Miss Mulso, liberated from all impediments, felt\nherself free to pursue the cultivation of her own understanding. 'I\nbelieve,' she writes, referring to her new situation, early in 1750,\n'there are few people who are better pleased and contented with their\nlot than I; for I am qualified to feel my present happiness; by having\nearly experienced very different sensations.'\n\nHere then is one marked era in the life of Miss Mulso. Being now\nmistress of herself, as to the disposal of her time, she rapidly\ncompassed the circle of intellectual improvement. Notwithstanding that\nshe was self-instructed, she soon became mistress of the French and\nItalian languages, and made some proficiency even in the Latin. Attached\nthus to literature, she was also careful to select her acquaintance from\namong persons who were likely to improve her own taste. It was in this\nway that she cultivated an intimacy with the celebrated Richardson; and\nthat, in 1750, when she was twenty-three years of age, she ventured to\ncontrovert his opinions on 'Filial Obedience.'[1]\n\nRichardson delighted to stimulate female talents to honourable and\npersevering exertions. Perhaps his partiality for epistolary\nintercourse, in which he successively engaged his fair friends,\neventually decided Mrs. Chapone as to the mode of communicating her\ninstructions to a beloved niece.\n\nAbout this time, 1749 to 1752, she wrote some poems. Her 'Ode to Peace,'\nand that to Miss Carter, prefixed to Epictetus, were the first fruits of\nher muse. Her verse comes up to what she thought of verse, and this\nseems as much as can with truth be said of it. 'As fond as I am of the\nworks of fancy,' says she, 'of the bold imagery of a Shakspeare, or a\nMilton, and the delicate landscapes of Thomson, I receive much greater\nand more solid pleasure from their poetry, as it is the dress and\nornament of wisdom and morality, than all the flowers of fancy, and the\ncharms of harmonious numbers, can give\n\n    'When gay description holds the place of sense.'\n\nPursuing the satisfactions of literature, Miss Mulso now produced the\n'Story of Fidelia.' Although this tale was written for the 'Adventurer,'\nshe is represented as hesitating to give it to the world; and as\npublishing it only in compliance with the wishes of friendship. Little\nis to be said in praise of this story. Designed, as it was, to expose\nthe miseries of freethinking in women, its reasoning tends rather to\nstagger the unlettered moralist than to confute intellectual scepticism.\nIt is affected as to its style, and problematical as to its end.\n\nWhile Miss Mulso was hesitating as to what should be Fidelia's fate, 'to\nprint or not to print,' Miss Carter, to whom she was now known, decided\nher for the press. Miss Mulso idolized Miss Carter. Astonished at her\nacquirements, humbled by her talents, she approaches to her as to one of\nsuperior existence[2]. Miss Carter accepts the homage of Miss Mulso; and\nseems, throughout her deportment, to view it as due to herself. Such\nfriends as they were, for their friendship was not mutual in kind, so\nthey lasted for more than fifty years. Letters were the chief cement of\ntheir long friendship.\n\nNearly at the same time that Miss Mulso commenced acquaintance with Miss\nCarter, it was her lot to meet with Mr. Chapone, to whom she was at last\nmarried. This gentleman, who was practising the law, was introduced to\nRichardson's friends, at North-End, near Hammersmith, and fully admitted\namong them in the year 1750. 'Most heartily do I thank good Mrs. Dewes,'\nwrites Richardson, August 20, 1750, 'for her recommendation of Mr.\nChapone to my acquaintance and friendship. I am greatly taken with him.\nA sensible, and ingenious, a modest young gentleman.' Miss Mulso's\nfriends own, that, from 'their first introduction, she entertained a\ndistinguished esteem for Mr. Chapone. It was, with her, love at first\nsight; but, according to her relations, as their intimacy improved, and\nher attachment became rooted, she had the gratification to perceive that\nit was mutual.' She was certainly in love. 'Your opinion of the lordly\nsex,' she says, writing to Miss Carter, in 1754, 'I know is not a very\nhigh one, but yet I will one day or other make you confess that a man\nmay be capable of all the delicacy, purity, and tenderness, which\ndistinguish our sex, joined with all the best qualities that dignify his\nown.' Whatever were her father's original objections to her marriage,\nthese were for some time found to be insuperable; for, having been made\nacquainted with her passion, he, instead of immediately countenancing\nher wishes, made her promise that she would not contract any matrimonial\nengagement without his previous permission. Prudence forbad him to\napprove, we are told, what kindness would not suffer him to prohibit.\n\nVisiting the coterie of Richardson, during the summer of 1753, Miss\nMulso was gratified by an interview with Dr. Johnson, with whom she\nbefore had no personal acquaintance. Her whole account of this interview\nmay be fitly told here. 'Mr. Johnson' (Miss Mulso is writing to Miss\nCarter) 'was very communicative and entertaining, and did me the honour\nto address most of his discourse to me. I had the assurance to dispute\nwith him on the subject of human malignity[3]; and wondered to hear a\nman, who by his actions shows so much benevolence, maintain that the\nhuman heart is naturally malevolent, and that all the benevolence we\nsee, in the few who are good, is acquired by reason and religion. You\nmay believe I entirely disagreed with him, being, as you know, fully\npersuaded that benevolence, or the love of our fellow-creatures, is as\nmuch a part of our nature as self-love; and that it cannot be\nsuppressed, or extinguished, without great violence from the force of\nother passions. I told him I suspected him of these bad notions from\nsome of his Ramblers, and had accused him to you; but that you persuaded\nme I had mistaken his sense. To which he answered, that if he had\nbetrayed such sentiments in his Ramblers, it was not with design; for\nthat he believed _the doctrine of human malevolence, though a true one,\nis not an useful one_, and ought not to be published to the world. Is\nthere any truth,' subjoins Miss Mulso, 'that would not be useful, or\nthat should not be known?'\n\nThe misfortune is, that, on such topics as this, which must implicate\nthe character of man, generally as well as personally, each one writes\nas each sees things, and not as things might or ought to be seen.\nEstablishing our individual experience as the criterion of universal\nopinion, we are too apt to speak of the world as we find it; and to\nconclude, that what happens to us must of necessity happen to others,\nand that uniformity of experience will terminate in similarity of\ndecision. Perhaps truth is still clear of extremes. Man is not so bad as\nsome state him to be; nor is man so good as some think him to be.\n\nMiss Mulso is now to be known as Mrs. Chapone. Perceiving that her\ninclination to matrimony was decisive, Mr. Mulso, though he still\nobjected to the match, consented to such arrangements, towards the close\nof 1760, as to admit of the union, in one day, of his eldest son,\nThomas, with Miss Prescott, and of his only daughter, Hester, with Mr.\nChapone. Living with her father, who was indulgently attached to her,\nMiss Mulso had previously been permitted to enjoy, fairly and fully, the\nsociety of Mr. Chapone.[4]\n\n'Give me your congratulations,' writes the now Mrs. Chapone, to Miss\nCarter, from town, December the 9th, 1760, 'my dear friend; but, as much\nfor my brother and friend (Mr. Thomas Mulso and Miss Prescott) as for\nmyself; for, in truth, I could not have enjoyed my own happiness in an\nunion with the man of my choice, had I been forced to leave them in the\nsame uncomfortable state of tedious and almost hopeless expectation in\nwhich they have suffered so long. I shall rejoice to hear that you are\ncoming to town, and shall hope for many a comfortable tete-a-tete with\nyou in my lodgings in Carey Street; for there I must reside till Mr.\nChapone can get a house that suits him, which is no easy matter, as he\nis so confined in point of situation,' &c. &c. Pleasing as might be the\nprospect of her marriage pleasures, it will soon be seen that, as Mrs.\nBarbauld wrote, 'her married life was short, and,' short as it was, 'not\nvery happy!'\n\nScarcely is Mrs. Chapone first settled, when _she seems to complain of\nbeing in lodgings_; and, when her husband has taken a house, _still she\nregrets living_ in Arundel Street, as this is '_very wide from_ Clarges\nStreet, where' she supposes that her friend _Miss Carter's_ '_residence_\nis fixed.' Even now, dissatisfied with 'a life of hurry and\nengagement,' she puts 'the drudgery of answering all the congratulatory\nletters,' heaped on them as newly married, 'upon Mr. Chapone; who, _poor\nman_,' says his wife, 'was _forced to humour_ me _a little at first_.'\nHere is not the worst. '_I have more hours to myself_,' she adds, '_than\nI wish for_; for business usually allows me _very little of my husband's\ncompany_, except at meals.' Instead of 'many a comfortable tete-a-tete\nwith' Miss Carter, whom she assures of her 'most perfect dissent' from\nthe maxim of Johnson's school, 'that a married woman can have no\nfriendship but with her husband,' Chapone himself, pleased with Miss\nCarter's old friendship, is represented as wondering why she never\nvisits his wife. 'Surely, my dear,' he would say to her, 'if Miss Carter\nloved you, she would sometimes have spent a day with you; and then I\nshould have known her better. _If ever she loved you, I fancy she left\nit off on your being married._' Mrs. Chapone's letters may explain the\nabsence of Miss Carter. What friend would be in haste to run to her, who\ntells that she 'lived in dirt,' and in 'puddling lodgings;' and who\nadds, 'at last,' that she reckons herself to be but 'tolerably settled?'\n\nLengthened courtships too seldom conclude with happy marriages. Six\nyears of the lives of one pair, 1754 to 1760, was by far too long to\nmake love. Our choice may prove to be our lot, just when our lot is no\nmore our choice.\n\nMiss Mulso was also more than old enough for Mrs. Chapone. When women\nare of disputatious dispositions[5], fixed in their notions, and do not\nlike learned husbands[6], because they may hope to rule simple ones,\nthey should marry before the age of thirty-three.\n\nPoverty is inimical to felicity; but marriage penury, worst of woes, is\ninevitably calamitous. Pecuniary difficulties long protracted the union\nof Miss Mulso with Mr. Chapone, who at last died in embarrassing\ncircumstances. Much may be borne; but to court long, wait for wealth,\nwed late, and fare ill, seem more than the griefs to which flesh is\nheir.\n\nIn her advice to a beloved niece, and in the letter to a new-married\nlady, there are passages perhaps referable to the fate of Mrs. Chapone.\n'Young women,' she observes, '_know so little_ of the world, especially\n_of the other sex_, and _such pains are usually taken to deceive them_,\nthat they are every way unqualified to choose for themselves, &c. Many a\nheart-ache shall _I_ feel for _you_, my sweet girl, if I live a few\nyears longer[7]!' Equally impressive is her delineation of matrimonial\nbickerings. 'Whatever may be said of the _quarrels of lovers_, (believe\n_me_!) _those of married people have always dreadful consequences_,\nespecially if they are not very short and very slight. If _they_ are\nsuffered to _produce bitter or contemptuous expressions_, or betray\n_habitual dislike_ in one party _of any thing in the person or mind_ of\nthe other, _such wounds can scarcely ever be thoroughly healed_: and\nthough regard to principle and character lays the married couple under a\nnecessity to make up the breach as well as they can, yet is their\naffiance in each other's affection so rudely shaken in such conflicts,\nthat it can hardly ever be perfectly fixed again. _The painful\nrecollection of what is passed, will often intrude upon the tenderest\nhours_; and every trifle will awaken and renew it. You must, _even now_,\n(it is to a lady _newly married_ that Mrs. C. is addressing herself) be\nparticularly on your guard against _this_ source of misery.'\n\nWithin the short space of ten months after marriage, Mr. Chapone, whose\nhealth could not have been good, was seized by a fever, which, in about\na week, terminated his mortal career. Though his illness was short, and\nthought fatal at first, Mrs. Chapone was not with him for five days\nbefore _his death_, 'as her presence was judged to be very hurtful to\nhim!' She then heard of his death 'with _her accustomed meekness_;' and,\ncontinues Miss Burrows, writing to Miss Carter, September the 22d, 1761,\n'you would hardly believe me were I to describe to you _her calmness and\ncomposure_,' &c., or, 'half _the noble things she says and does_,' &c.\n'_She suffered herself_,' again writes Miss Burrows, October 5, 1761,\n'_to be the most consoled_, by the kindness of her friends, _I ever saw\nany body in her situation_.' Mrs. Chapone was yet for some time ill, on\nthe death of Mr. Chapone; and she found some other difficulties[8]\nagainst which to bear up. Circumstances shortly after induced her to\nretire into lodgings upon a small but decent income, where, cultivating\nher connections, she contrived to preserve her independence and\nrespectability. Her small property was soon augmented by the death of\nher father, who did not survive her husband quite two years.\n\nMrs. Chapone now spent much of her time with friends. Dr. John Thomas,\nher maternal uncle, being then Bishop of Winchester, she was always\nwelcome either at Farnham Castle, or at Winchester House. Of her various\nletters from Farnham Castle, the following one, relating to royalty, is\nsufficiently interesting to find its place here. It must be remembered,\nthat the Bishop had been preceptor to our late and venerable King.--'Mr.\nBuller went to Windsor on Saturday,' writes Mrs. Chapone to Mr. Burrows,\nAugust 20, 1778, 'saw the King, who enquired much about the Bishop; and\nhearing that he would be eighty-two next Monday, \"Then,\" said he, \"I\nwill go and wish him joy.\" \"And I,\" said the Queen, \"will go too.\" Mr.\nB. then dropped a hint of the additional pleasure it would give the\nBishop if he could see the Princes. \"_That_,\" said the King, \"requires\ncontrivance; but, if I can manage it, we will _all_ go\".' ... Monday\nmorning, a little after eleven o'clock, 'came the King and Queen in\ntheir phaeton, three coaches and six, and one coach and four, with a\nlarge retinue of servants. They were all conducted into the great\ndrawing-room, by Mr. and Mrs. Buller, where, after paying their\ncompliments to the Bishop and Mrs. Thomas, those of the first column\nremained there to breakfast; those of the second column left the room,\nand were led by Mrs. T. to the dressing-room, where Mrs. T. and I were,\nand where I made tea for them. After our breakfast was over, as well as\nthat of the upper house, the royal guests[9] came to visit me in the\ndressing-room. The King sent the Princes in to pay their compliments to\n_Mrs. Chapone_: himself, he said, was an old acquaintance. Whilst the\nPrinces were speaking to me, Mr. Arnold, sub-preceptor, said, \"These\ngentlemen are well acquainted with a certain Ode[10] prefixed to Mrs.\nCarter's Epictetus, if you know any thing of it.\" Afterwards the King\ncame and spoke to us; and the Queen led the Princess Royal to me,\nsaying, \"This is a young lady, who, I hope, has profited much by your\ninstructions[11]. She has read them more than once, and will read them\noftener;\" and the Princess assented to the praise which followed, with a\nvery modest air. She has a sweet countenance, and simple unaffected\nmanners. I was pleased with all the Princes, but particularly with\nPrince William, who is little of his age, but so sensible and engaging,\nthat he won the Bishop's heart; to whom he particularly attached\nhimself, and would stay with him while all the rest ran about the house.\nHis conversation was surprisingly manly and clever for his age: yet with\nthe young Bullers he was quite the boy; and said to John Buller, by way\nof encouraging him to talk, \"Come, we are both boys, you know.\" All of\nthem showed affectionate respect to the Bishop; the Prince of Wales\npressed his hand so hard that he hurt it. Mrs. B----'s two girls were\nhere, and the eldest son, and great notice was taken of them all. The\nyoungest girl, a comical natural little creature between eight and nine,\nsays she thinks it hard that Princes may not marry whom they please; and\nseems not without hopes, that, if it were not for this restriction, the\nPrince of Wales might prove a lover of hers.'\n\nDr. Thomas, to whom these royal honours were thus paid, died in May\n1781, at the age of eighty-six years.\n\nSeveral months of the year 1766 were passed by Mrs. Chapone at the\nparsonage of her second brother, John, at Thornhill, near Wakefield, in\nYorkshire. It was then she conceived that partiality for her niece, his\neldest daughter, to which society is indebted for her 'Letters on the\nImprovement of the Mind.'\n\nHaving become acquainted with Mrs. Montagu some time in 1762, she about\neight years after joined her in her tour into Scotland; a tour from\nwhich she derived both information and amusement, and which her pen has\ndescribed with fidelity and interest. 'I am grown as bold as a lion with\nMrs. Montagu,' asserts Mrs. Chapone, two years before their tour, to\nMrs. Carter, 'and fly in her face whenever I have a mind: in short, I\nenjoy her society with the most perfect _gout_; and find my love for her\ntakes off my fear and awe, though my respect for her character\ncontinually increases.' Mrs. Montagu's great friendship was found\neminently conducive to the welfare of Mrs. Chapone. It added to her\nsources of intellectual gratification, extended the old circle of her\nacquaintance, and emboldened and encouraged her to submit her writings\nto the world.\n\nWe are now to consider Mrs. Chapone's literary performances; which,\nfollowing the order of publication, consist of\n\n  Letters on the Improvement of the Mind; 1773.\n\n  Miscellanies, in Prose and Verse; 1775.\n\n  Posthumous Works; two volumes, 1804.\n\nThese latter volumes contain Mrs. Chapone's Correspondence with Mr.\nRichardson, on Filial Obedience; a Matrimonial Creed, sent by her to\nhim; Letters to her friends; some Fugitive Poetry; and 'An Account of\nher _Life and Character_, drawn up _by her own Family_.' Dismissing the\nconsideration of its partiality, this account, justly so called, has no\nclaim to the character of biography.\n\nHer 'Letters on the Improvement of the Mind' owed much of their early\nsuccess to the talents and kindness of Mrs. Montagu. 'The bookseller,'\nwrites their Author, July the 20th, 1773, 'is preparing the second\nedition with all haste, the whole of the first being gone out of his\nhands; which, considering that he printed off fifteen hundred at first,\nis an extraordinary quick sale. _I attribute this success principally to\nMrs. Montagu's name, and patronage_,' &c. More of this is told in the\nDedication of the work to her. 'I believe you (Mrs. Montagu) are\npersuaded that I (Mrs. Chapone) never entertained a thought of appearing\nin public, when the desire of being useful to one dear child, in whom I\ntake the tenderest interest[12], induced me to write the following\nletters: perhaps it was the partiality of friendship which so far\nbiassed your judgment as to make you think them capable of being more\nextensively useful, and warmly to recommend the publication of them.\nIf,' proceeds the author, 'you will allow me to add that _some strokes\nof your elegant pen_ have corrected these Letters, I may hope _they will\nbe received with an attention_ which will insure a candid judgment from\nthe reader; and, perhaps, will enable them to _make some useful\nimpressions_ on those to whom they are now particularly offered.'\n\nNotwithstanding their intrinsic excellence, various circumstances\nco-operated to give to her Letters immediate popularity. Besides the\nbeginning preference for books on education, epistolary composition, the\nstyle of her work, was then in very general estimation. It was the style\nto which the volumes of Richardson, the correspondence of Pope, the\nletters of Chesterfield and of Orrery, had familiarized the public mind.\nNor could expectation have been indifferent to any production from the\npen of one who was the friendly pupil of Samuel Richardson; in favour of\nwhom the discerning part of readers were already prepossessed, by the\ncommendation he had bestowed on her talents, and the assiduity with\nwhich he had cultivated her correspondence. What might not be hoped from\na lady, who, when not much above twenty years of age, was considered\nqualified to controvert with him the subject of paternal authority and\nfilial obedience? But, if admiration had been excited, it was only in\norder to be gratified. Mrs. Chapone did not disappoint the expectations\nentertained concerning Miss Mulso.\n\nIt is the imperishable honour of Mrs. Chapone, that the foundation of\n_her_ temple of education is on the rock, and not in the sands; that the\nsuperstructure is therefore not only beautiful, but lasting. On the\nbeing of a God, she fixes the tottering hopes of mere mortality: and by\nhis Revealed Will would direct its steps, to certainty, happiness, and\nglory. Nor has she been unsuccessful in displaying the benevolent\nattributes of Deity, and in exciting the gratitude of the heart towards\nhim. Without impeaching his justice, she has exalted his mercy; without\ndiminishing the awe, she has increased the fervency of pious adoration;\nwithout depreciating prayer, she has insisted on a spirit of\nthanksgiving. Devotion, in her view, becomes attractive as well as\nimportant. We love, while we obey; while we tremble, we rejoice. Resting\nthe ground-work of all morality on religion, _assent_ is insisted upon\nprior to _investigation_; not that the latter is excluded. Since,\nhowever, we are compelled to _act_ before we become qualified to\n_think_, it is of the utmost importance that some standard be\nestablished in the mind, for the regulation of the conduct. Religion\nsupplies this deficiency. Its penalties and rewards are offered, at a\ntime when we are principally governed by our hopes or fears; and are,\nindeed, incapable of being acted upon by abstracted considerations of\nright and wrong.\n\nOf the early _historical_ parts of the Old Testament, Mrs. Chapone\nspeaks with the commendation they will always obtain from discriminating\nminds. Nothing in profane history is equal to their beautiful\nsimplicity, their affecting minuteness. They are not sufficiently\nstudied.\n\nOn the scope of the Gospel, as delivered in the New Testament, it is\njustly affirmed--'The whole tenor of the Gospel is to offer us every\nhelp, direction, and motive, that can enable us to attain that degree of\nperfection, on which depends our eternal good.' Exception must\nnevertheless be taken to a few epithets, by which she endeavours to\npicture a future state of blessedness; as, 'the richest imagination can\npaint:' for, what imagination shall paint that which 'it hath not\nentered into the heart of man to conceive?'\n\nLetters the Fourth and Fifth, _On the Regulation of the Heart and\nAffections_, display considerable knowledge of human nature, exhibit\nhigh reasoning powers on the part of the writer, and are fraught with\nexcellent moral distinctions. The fifth, however, owing to the subjects\nit embraces, is particularly valuable to the sex to whom it is\naddressed. This encomium will apply to her sentiments _On Household\nEconomy_, and _On Deportment towards Servants_. The course of _Studies_\nand _Accomplishments_ recommended by her, perhaps, still includes all\nthat is essential.\n\nUnornamental, but not ungraceful, Mrs. Chapone's style, though plain, is\ndeserving of commendation. If there be one main fault in it, one\nreigning vice, it is that it abounds with parentheses, which tend to\nobscure it.\n\nThe success of her Letters is stated by herself to have been the source\nof much good to her: she who, only ten years before, declared that 'this\nworld had nothing for her but a few friends,' who owns that 'a certain\nweariness of life, and a sense of insignificance and insipidity,' did\nthen 'deject' her, now feels that the success of her writings appeased\n'that uneasy sense of helplessness and insignificancy which often\ndepressed and afflicted her.' Her work gave her some tie to the world.\nHer intellectual existence, her new life, succeeded to her sympathetic\nstate.\n\nOf her next work, the 'Miscellanies,' not much need be said.\nUnqualified in her admiration of the author's abilities, Mrs. Barbauld\nseems to labour to explain the unpopularity of this publication. The\ntoil was not worth the pains. Excepting the _Letter to a New-married\nLady_, and _Three Essays_, the contents of this volume did not authorize\nthe distinction to which friendship conceived it to be entitled.\n\nHer long epistolary controversy with Richardson, respecting 'Filial\nObedience' generally, evidences great superiority of thought. It extends\nto three letters; of which the first is dated October 12, and the second\nNovember 10, 1750; and the third, which is her last, bears date the 3d\nof January, 1750-51. Perhaps Miss Carter was not far from the fact,\nwhen, as now appears from one of Mrs. Chapone's Letters to her, she\ncalled this controversy 'an unmerciful prolixity upon a plain simple\nsubject.' Still it is, in such hands, of much worth. Differing from\nRichardson in some essential particulars, Mrs. Chapone, young as she\nthen was, magnanimously promulgated, and resolutely defended, her own\nsentiments. Authority seems to have been here considered by Richardson\nas synonymous with what most men think tyranny. Parents were to be\ndespots, and children to live as their bond-slaves. Obligation is\nreciprocal. Subjection necessarily supposes protection; and paternal\nauthority has the best claim to filial obedience, where benevolence\nendears dependance, and where conduct demands respect. Goldsmith told no\nmore than truth, when, as his Essays will show, he declared that there\nwere parents who got children for the gratification of tyrannising over\nthem.\n\nMrs. Chapone had the gift of letter-writing. When she writes to her few\nfriends, it is with ease, with sense, and with life. She does not then\nwrite for the press. She read much, thought more, and wrote as she\nthought. Many of her judgments, both of men and books, deserve to be\nweighed.\n\nThe last years of life, it is painful to add, were not her best years.\nSurviving those by whom life was to her rendered estimable, unshaken as\nwas her religion, her mind, it is acknowledged by friends, yielded to\nits afflictions; 'her memory became visibly and materially impaired; and\nher body was so much affected by the sufferings of her mind, that she\nsoon sank into a state of alarming debility.' She who bore with\n'calmness and composure' the death of a husband, of him whom she calls\n'the man of her choice,' felt that she lost on the death of a brother,\n'her strongest tie to this world,' and 'sank into a state of alarming\ndebility!' Where the treasure is, there also will the heart still be\nfound. Sublunary happiness is at the best uncertain as unstable; and\nthose whose plans of good are made for this earth, will see, sooner or\nlater, that they have built on the sands instead of the rock.\n\nContracted in circumstances, and limited in the number of her friends,\nMrs. Chapone, with her youngest niece, retired to Hadley, in the autumn\nof 1800; where her living near to Miss Amy Burrows[13], who had been\nthere for some years, opened new prospects of comfort for her rapidly\ndeclining age.\n\nIt was now that Mrs. Chapone needed all that the most affectionate\nassiduity could do for her. 'Mrs. and Miss Burrows,' continues the short\naccount by her family, 'were her constant visitors; and while they\nsurveyed, with compassion and humiliation, the awful lesson to nature\nwhich the wreck of so bright an ornament to it presented, they omitted\nno opportunity to administer every soothing means of relief she was then\ncapable of experiencing.' Mr. Cottrell, also, successor to the Rev. Mr.\nBurrows, at Hadley, and his family, with their friends, sometimes\nenlivened the solitary seclusion to which she was doomed; but her\ninfirmities augmented so much, at this time, that she was not able to go\ndown stairs more than three or four times.\n\nHer life was near its close. October 1801, she completed her 74th year;\nand on the Christmas-day following, without any direct illness, having\ndescribed herself as unusually well the day before, and after\nexperiencing less distemper during the last than any of the years of her\nlife, she fell into a doze, from which nothing could rouse her; and at\nthe eighth hour of the night, she drew her last breath, tranquilly and\nimperceptibly, in the arms of her niece. Mrs. Burrows was also with her.\n\nMrs. Chapone is not represented as one who had pretensions to what men\nterm beauty. If, however, any credit is due to the opinion of\nRichardson, who knew her in her best days, and who could judge of the\nsex, there was in her something of physiognomical fascination, that\nbright emanation of soul, illuminating the countenance, which, candid\nand benign, gave to the face its best charm.\n\nMusic was one of her delights. Naturally possessing a voice both\nmellifluous and powerful, with much true taste, and great accuracy of\near, she, without the aid of science, would often surpass the efforts of\nprofessional excellence. Aided by her brother[14] on the violin, her\nsinging frequently astonished those who were the highest judges of that\ntalent.[15]\n\nAccomplished in deportment, intelligent in conversation, uniformly\nagreeable to society generally, her company was coveted by all who knew\nher, and sought for by numbers of persons with whom she never\nassociated.\n\nPhysical infirmities were to her the source of habitual misery. Cold and\nwet seem to have been too much for her frame; and, by the medium of\nthat, for her mind.\n\nWith all her faults, for some there were in her, she was still great.\nHer life may teach much that it will be well to learn; nor can too much\nbe said in praise of her best work.\n\nMrs. Chapone holds out one bright proof of what intelligence and\nperseverance may in due time hope to accomplish. She cast her own lot.\nHerself made herself; and to the honours of her name, great as they are,\nthose who tread in her steps may yet aspire.\n\nConsidering the high importance of her literary exertions, no task would\nhave been more pleasing than that of bestowing unqualified approbation\non her character. Her writings, already productive of good the most\nextensively beneficial, will stand the imperishable monument of her\nworth. While the sentiments which they inculcate are valued, and the\nlanguage in which they are conveyed is known, while virtue is loved, or\npiety revered among us, the 'Letters on the Improvement of the Mind'\nwill suffer no diminution of that reputation in which they have been so\nlong held by the world.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] 'I am at present engaged with a most admirable young lady of little\nmore than twenty, Miss Mulso, on the subject of Filial Obedience and\nPaternal Authority, &c. Miss Mulso is a charming writer, &c. Your\nladyship will be charmed with her part of the subject.' _Richardson to\nLady Bradshaigh, 1751._\n\n'I have been engaged in a kind of amicable controversy with my honoured\nfriend Mr. Richardson, which has occasioned letters of so immoderate a\nlength between us, that I have been quite tired of pen and ink, and\ninexcusably negligent of all my other correspondents. Does it not sound\nstrange, my dear Miss Carter, that a girl like me should have dared to\nengage in a dispute with such a man? Indeed I have often wondered at my\nown assurance; but the pleasure and improvement I expected from his\nletters were motives too strong to be resisted, and the kind\nencouragement he gave me got the better of my fear of exposing myself.'\n_Miss Mulso to Miss Carter, March 1750._\n\nThis correspondence is dated from October 1750, to January 1751.\n\n[2] 'I shall still find in her (Miss Mulso is writing _to_ and _of_ Miss\nCarter) that amiable condescension, and unreserved benevolence, which\nendears her conversation, and enhances the value of her understanding;\nwhich teaches her how to improve her companions without appearing to\ninstruct them, to correct without seeming to reprove, and even to\nreprove without offending.' _Miss Mulso to Miss Carter, September 11,\n1749._\n\n'It is impossible not to be better, as well as happier, for an intimate\nacquaintance with _Miss Carter_; take her for all in all, I think, I may\nventure to pronounce her _the first of women_!' _Miss Mulso to Mr.\nRichardson, July 24, 1752._\n\n[3] 'I think I read the 'Rambler' with great attention, yet I cannot\nentirely acquit him of the charge of severity in his satires on mankind.\nI believe him a worthy humane man; but I think I see a little of the\nasperity of disappointment in his writings.' _Miss Mulso to Miss Carter,\nOctober 1752._\n\n'I am very unwilling to believe those that fright us with shocking\npictures of human nature, and could almost quarrel with my very great\nfavourite, 'The Rambler,' for his too-general censures on mankind; and\nfor speaking of envy and malice as universal passions.' _Ibid._\n\n[4] 'I thank God, (Canterbury, August 29, 1757,) my best soul has now\nthe upper hand, by the assistance of medicine and cool weather, much\nmore than of reason; and perhaps by the hope of two or three days of\nfancied good, in the presence of a _fancied essential_ (Mr. Chapone) to\nmy happiness, who has promised to come down and see me some time before\nthe middle of next month.'----'I shall now tell you something of myself,\nwho live here (Salisbury, John, the second brother to her, being then\nits Prebendary) uncorrupted by grandeur, &c. &c. &c. who could prefer _a\nlittle attorney_ (Chapone) even to my Lord Feversham; had he offered to\nme, instead of the fair young lady he has so happily won.' _Miss Mulso\nto Miss Carter._\n\n[5] 'Nothing can ever make me amends for that luxurious ease and\nsecurity, in the kindness of all around me, which enables me to wrangle,\nabuse, and dispute, till I am black in the face,' &c. &c. _Mrs. Chapone\nto Mr. Burrows, 1773._\n\n[6] 'It has always been one of my prayers, that I might never be the\nwife of an overgrown scholar.' _Miss Mulso to Miss Carter, 1754._\n\n[7] Letters on the Improvement of the Mind, edit. 1801, pages 93, 94.\n\n[8] 'I have been very near death; and, at the time he threatened me\nmost, it was the most earnest wish of my heart to meet and embrace him.\nBut, I bless God, I am restored not only to life, but to a sense of the\ngreat mercy indulged me in the grant of a longer tern of trial.'--'You\nare so obligingly solicitous about my circumstances, that I would\nwillingly inform you of the state of them, if I had any certainty about\nthem. But my dear Mr. Chapone's affairs were left in great confusion and\nperplexity by his sudden death; which happened just at the time of year\nin which he should have settled his accounts, and made out his bills. As\nthese are very considerable, his estate must suffer a great loss from\nthis circumstance. At present, things are in a very melancholy state,\nand my own prospects such as would probably have appeared very dreadful\nto me at any other time.' _Mrs. Chapone to Miss Carter, December 6,\n1761._\n\n[9] King George III. and Queen Charlotte; his present Majesty, then\nPrince of Wales, and sixteen years old; Prince Frederic, Duke of York,\nthen fifteen years old; Prince William, Duke of Clarence, then thirteen\nyears old; Princess Royal, now Queen of Wirtemberg, then about fourteen\nyears old, and Princess Augusta, then about ten years old.\n\n[10] Addressed by Mrs. Chapone to her friend Mrs. Carter.\n\n[11] 'Letters on the Improvement of the Mind.' They had been published\nfive years then.\n\n[12] This young lady, of whom the reader must wish to know more, was the\neldest daughter of Mrs. Chapone's second brother, John, who was\nPrebendary of the cathedrals of Winchester and Salisbury. She became\nattached to this niece in 1766, while on a visit at her home; wrote the\nLetters, to her, in 1772; and, stimulated by her literary friends,\npublished them in 1773.--'I had great satisfaction,' writes Mrs. Chapone\nto Miss Carter, November 1797, 'in seeing my darling niece established\nin the happiest manner, at Winchester, with husband (Rev. Benjamin\nJeffreys) who seems in every respect calculated to make her happy.' Mrs.\nChapone passed the autumns 1797 and 1798 at the Deanery at Winchester.\nHere she awaited the approaching accouchement of her dearest niece,\nwhich was destined to terminate one or her fondest hopes. This last joy\nof her life, this child of her heart, was now torn from her, after the\nbirth of a dead infant, in March 1799.\n\n[13] Of the family of the Burrows's, who were her tried friends, 'I am\nglad,' writes Mrs. Chapone to Miss Carter, July 31, 1761, 'that you love\nmy Burrows's, who are, indeed, some of the most valuable persons I have\never known.----Poor Miss Amy (who was her last prop!) is still\ncomplaining, and consequently her sisters are anxious and unhappy.----I\nwish you were to hear Mr. Burrows preach. There is a simplicity and an\nearnestness in his manner more affecting than any thing I ever heard\nfrom the pulpit.' Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Elizabeth Burrows, two of the\nsisters mentioned in this place, together with Mr. and Mrs. Burrows,\ndied before Mrs. Chapone's final retreat to Hadley; so that 'out of that\namiable and happy circle with whom she delighted to associate, and on\nwhom she relied as the sources of the most refined enjoyments, only one\nsister, the present Mrs. Amy Burrows, remained to bestow on her that\nheartfelt consolation which this inestimable friend never failed to\nadminister.' The houses of Mr. Burrows, with his wife and two younger\nsisters, and of his eldest sister, wife of Sir Culling Smith, Bart. were\nlong her favourite asylums, and the hours spent by her in them were\namong the most happy of her life.\n\n[14] Edward Mulso. 'Since you went,' (Miss Carter had just left the then\nMiss Mulso,) 'I have done nothing,' writes Mrs. C., 'but sing\nMetastasio's song. I am distracted for a tune that will go to the\nTranslation, that I might sing that, from morning to night. I have made\n_Neddy_ walk with me to the tree, by Sir _Edward_ Hale's park; and\nintend often to reconnoitre the spot where you sat by me there.'--'Your\nfriend _Edward_ is with us; and we make a pretty little concert at home,\npretty often,' &c. &c.\n\n[15] The following compliment to the vocal powers of Mrs. C., though\nhigh, appears to be ingenuous. Dr. Kennicott, relating the University\nFestival, at Oxford, in a letter to Richardson, dated Exeter College,\nJune 9, 1754, observes--\"The first clap of applause was upon _Forasi's_\ntaking her place in the orchestra; _Signiora_ seemed a little too\nsensible of the honour, &c. But I forgive her; for indeed _she_ sings--I\ncannot say _most_ delightfully--for have I not heard Miss _Mulso_?\"\n\n\n\n\nLETTERS ON THE IMPROVEMENT OF THE MIND.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER I.\n\nON THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF RELIGION.\n\n\n    _MY DEAREST NIECE_,\n\nTHOUGH you are so happy as to have parents, who are both capable and\ndesirous of giving you all proper instruction, yet I, who love you so\ntenderly, cannot help fondly wishing to contribute something, if\npossible, to your improvement and welfare: and, as I am so far separated\nfrom you, that it is only by pen and ink I can offer you my sentiments,\nI will hope that your attention may be engaged, by seeing on paper, from\nthe hand of one of your warmest friends, Truths of the highest\nimportance, which, though you may not find new, can never be too deeply\nengraven on your mind. Some of them perhaps may make no great\nimpression at present, and yet may so far gain a place in your memory as\nreadily to return to your thoughts when occasion recalls them. And, if\nyou pay me the compliment of preserving my letters, you may possibly\nre-peruse them at some future period, when concurring circumstances may\ngive them additional weight:--and thus they may prove more effectual\nthan the same things spoken in conversation. But, however this may\nprove, I cannot resist the desire of trying in some degree to be useful\nto you on your setting out in a life of trial and difficulty; your\nsuccess in which must determine your fate for ever.\n\nHitherto you have \"thought as a child, and understood as a child; but it\nis time to put away childish things.\" You are now in your fifteenth\nyear, and must soon act for yourself; therefore it is high time to store\nyour mind with those principles, which must direct your conduct, and fix\nyour character. If you desire to live in peace and honour, in favour\nwith God and man, and to die in the glorious hope of rising from the\ngrave to a life of endless happiness--if these things appear worthy your\nambition, you must set out in earnest in the pursuit of them. Virtue\nand happiness are not attained by chance, nor by a cold and languid\napprobation: they must be sought with ardour, attended to with\ndiligence, and every assistance must be eagerly embraced that may enable\nyou to obtain them. Consider, that good and evil are now before you;\nthat, if you do not heartily choose and love the one, you must\nundoubtedly be the wretched victim of the other. Your trial is now\nbegun; you must either become one of the glorious _children_ of _God_,\nwho are to rejoice in his love for ever, or a _child_ of\n_destruction_--miserable in this life, and punished with eternal death\nhereafter. Surely, you will be impressed by so awful a situation! you\nwill earnestly pray to be directed into that road of life, which leads\nto excellence and happiness; and you will be thankful to every kind hand\nthat is held out, to set you forward in your journey.\n\nThe first step must be to awaken your mind to a sense of the importance\nof the task before you, which is no less than to bring your frail nature\nto that degree of Christian perfection, which is to qualify it for\nimmortality, and without which, it is necessarily incapable of\nhappiness; for it is a truth never to be forgotten, that God has annexed\nhappiness to virtue, and misery to vice, by the unchangeable nature of\nthings; and that a wicked being (while he continues such) is in a\nnatural incapacity of enjoying happiness, even with the concurrence of\nall those outward circumstances, which in a virtuous mind would produce\nit.\n\nAs there are degrees of virtue and vice, so are there of reward and\npunishment, both here and hereafter: But, let not my dearest Niece aim\nonly at escaping the dreadful doom of the wicked--let your desires take\na nobler flight, and aspire after those transcendent honours, and that\nbrighter crown of glory, which await those who have excelled in virtue;\nand, let the animating thought, that every secret effort to gain his\nfavour is noted by your all-seeing Judge, who will, with infinite\ngoodness, proportion your reward to your labours, excite every faculty\nof your soul to please and serve him. To this end you must _inform your\nunderstanding_ what you ought to _believe_ and to _do_.--You must\n_correct_ and _purify_ your _heart_; cherish and improve all its good\naffections, and continually mortify and subdue those that are evil.--You\nmust _form_ and _govern_ your _temper_ and _manners_, according to the\nlaws of benevolence and justice; and qualify yourself, by all means in\nyour power, for an _useful_ and _agreeable_ member of society. All this\nyou see is no light business, nor can it be performed without a sincere\nand earnest application of the mind, as to its great and constant\nobject. When once you consider life, and the duties of life, in this\nmanner, you will listen eagerly to the voice of instruction and\nadmonition, and seize every opportunity of improvement; every useful\nhint will be laid up in your heart, and your chief delight will be in\nthose persons, and those books, from which you can learn true wisdom.\n\nThe only sure foundation of human virtue is Religion, and the foundation\nand first principle of religion is in the belief of the one only God,\nand a just sense of his attributes. This you will think you have learned\nlong since, and possess in common with almost every human creature in\nthis enlightened age and nation; but, believe me, it is less common than\nyou imagine, to believe in the true God--that is, to form such a notion\nof the Deity as is agreeable to truth, and consistent with those\ninfinite perfections, which all profess to ascribe to him. To form\nworthy notions of the Supreme Being, as far as we are capable, is\nessential to true religion and morality; for as it is our duty to\nimitate those qualities of the Divinity, which are imitable by us, so is\nit necessary we should know what they are, and fatal to mistake them.\nCan those who think of God with servile dread and terror, as of a gloomy\ntyrant, armed with almighty power to torment and destroy them, be said\nto believe in the true God?--in that God, who, the scriptures say, is\nlove?--the kindest and best of Beings, who made all creatures in\nbountiful goodness, that he might communicate to them some portion of\nhis own unalterable happiness!--who condescends to style himself our\nFather; and who pitieth us, as a father pitieth his own children! Can\nthose, who expect to please God by cruelty to themselves or to their\nfellow-creatures--by horrid punishments of their own bodies for the sin\nof their souls--or, by more horrid persecution of others for difference\nof opinion, be called true believers? Have they not set up another God\nin their own minds, who rather resembles the worst of beings than the\nbest? Nor do those act on surer principles who think to gain the favour\nof God by senseless enthusiasm and frantic raptures, more like the wild\nexcesses of the most depraved human love, than that reasonable\nadoration, that holy reverential love, which is due to the pure and holy\nFather of the universe. Those likewise, who murmur against his\nprovidence, and repine under the restraint of his commands, cannot\nfirmly believe him infinitely wise and good. If we are not disposed to\ntrust him for future events, to banish fruitless anxiety, and to believe\nthat all things work together for good to those that love him, surely we\ndo not really believe in the God of mercy and truth. If we wish to avoid\nall remembrance of him, all communion with him, as much as we dare,\nsurely we do not believe him to be the source of joy and comfort, the\ndispenser of all good.\n\nHow lamentable it is, that so few hearts should feel the pleasures of\nreal piety; that prayer and thanksgiving should be performed, as they\ntoo often are, not with joy, and love, and gratitude; but, with cold\nindifference, melancholy dejection, or secret horror! It is true, we\nare all such frail and sinful creatures, that we justly fear to have\noffended our gracious Father: but let us remember the condition of his\nforgiveness: If you have sinned, \"sin no more.\" He is ready to receive\nyou whenever you sincerely turn to him--and he is ready to assist you,\nwhen you do but desire to obey him. Let your devotion then be the\nlanguage of filial love and gratitude; confide to this kindest of\nfathers every want and every wish of your heart; but submit them all\nto his will, and freely offer him the disposal of yourself, and of all\nyour affairs. Thank him for his benefits, and even for his\npunishments--convinced that these also are benefits, and mercifully\ndesigned for your good. Implore his direction in all difficulties; his\nassistance in all trials; his comfort and support in sickness or\naffliction; his restraining grace in time of prosperity and joy. Do not\npersist in desiring what his providence denies you; but be assured it\nis not good for you. Refuse not any thing he allots you, but embrace it\nas the best and properest for you. Can you do less to your heavenly\nFather than what your duty to an earthly one requires? If you were to\nask permission of your father to do or to have any thing you desire,\nand he should refuse it to you, would you obstinately persist in\nsetting your heart upon it notwithstanding his prohibition? Would you\nnot rather say, My father is wiser than I am; he loves me, and would\nnot deny my request, if it was fit to be granted; I will therefore\nbanish the thought, and cheerfully acquiesce in his will? How much\nrather should this be said of our heavenly Father, whose wisdom cannot\nbe mistaken, and whose bountiful kindness is infinite! Love him,\ntherefore, in the same manner you love your earthly parents, but in a\nmuch higher degree--in the highest your nature is capable of. Forget\nnot to dedicate yourself to his service every day; to implore his\nforgiveness of your faults, and his protection from evil, every night:\nand this not merely in formal words, unaccompanied by any act of the\nmind, but \"in spirit and in truth;\" in grateful love and humble\nadoration. Nor let these stated periods of worship be your only\ncommunication with him; accustom yourself to think often of him, in all\nyour waking hours,--to contemplate his wisdom and power, in the works\nof his hands,--to acknowledge his goodness in every object of use or of\npleasure,--to delight in giving him praise in your inmost heart in the\nmidst of every innocent gratification--in the liveliest hour of social\nenjoyment. You cannot conceive, if you have not experienced, how much\nsuch silent acts of gratitude and love will enhance every pleasure; nor\nwhat sweet serenity and cheerfulness such reflections will diffuse over\nyour mind. On the other hand, when you are suffering pain or sorrow,\nwhen you are confined to an unpleasant situation, or engaged in a\npainful duty, how will it support and animate you, to refer yourself to\nyour Almighty Father!--to be assured that he knows your state and your\nintentions; that no effort of virtue is lost in his sight, nor the\nleast of your actions or sufferings disregarded or forgotten!--that his\nhand is ever over you, to ward off every real evil, which is not the\neffect of your own ill-conduct, and to relieve every suffering that is\nnot useful to your future well-being.\n\nYou see, my dear, that true devotion is not a melancholy sentiment, that\ndepresses the spirits, and excludes the ideas of pleasure, which youth\nis fond of: on the contrary, there is nothing so friendly to joy, so\nproductive of true pleasure, so peculiarly suited to the warmth and\ninnocence of a youthful heart. Do not therefore think it too soon to\nturn your mind to God; but offer him the first fruits of your\nunderstanding and affections: and be assured, that the more you increase\nin love to him, and delight in his laws, the more you will increase in\nhappiness, in excellence, and honour:--that in proportion as you improve\nin true piety, you will become dear and amiable to your\nfellow-creatures; contented and peaceful in yourself; and qualified to\nenjoy the best blessings of this life, as well as to inherit the\nglorious promise of immortality.\n\nThus far I have spoken of the first principles of all religion; namely,\nbelief in God, worthy notions of his attributes, and suitable\naffections towards him--which will naturally excite a sincere desire of\nobedience. But before you can obey his will, you must know what that\nwill is; you must enquire in what manner he has declared it, and where\nyou may find those laws which must be the rule of your actions.\n\nThe great laws of morality are indeed written in our hearts, and may be\ndiscovered by reason: but our reason is of slow growth, very unequally\ndispensed to different persons, liable to error, and confined within\nvery narrow limits in all. If, therefore, God vouchsafed to grant a\nparticular revelation of his will--if he has been so unspeakably\ngracious, as to send his Son into the world to reclaim mankind from\nerror and wickedness--to die for our sins--and to teach us the way to\neternal life--surely it becomes us to receive his precepts with the\ndeepest reverence; to love and prize them above all things; and to study\nthem constantly, with an earnest desire to conform our thoughts, our\nwords, and actions to them.\n\nAs you advance in years and understanding, I hope you will be able to\nexamine for yourself the evidences of the Christian religion, and be\nconvinced, on rational grounds, of its divine authority. At present,\nsuch inquiries would demand more study, and greater powers of reasoning,\nthan your age admits of. It is your part, therefore, till you are\ncapable of understanding the proofs, to believe your parents and\nteachers, that the holy scriptures are writings inspired by God,\ncontaining a true history of facts, in which we are deeply concerned--a\ntrue recital of the laws given by God to Moses, and of the precepts of\nour blessed Lord and Saviour, delivered from his own mouth to his\ndisciples, and repeated and enlarged upon in the edifying epistles of\nhis apostles--who were men chosen from amongst those who had the\nadvantage of conversing with our Lord, to bear witness of his miracles\nand resurrection--and who, after his ascension, were assisted and\ninspired by the Holy Ghost. This sacred volume must be the rule of your\nlife. In it you will find all truths necessary to be believed; and plain\nand easy directions for the practice of every duty. Your Bible then must\nbe your chief study and delight: but as it contains many various kinds\nof writing--some parts obscure and difficult of interpretation, others\nplain and intelligible to the meanest capacity--I would chiefly\nrecommend to your frequent perusal such parts of the sacred writings as\nare most adapted to your understanding, and most necessary for your\ninstruction. Our Saviour's precepts were spoken to the common people\namongst the Jews; and were therefore given in a manner easy to be\nunderstood, and equally striking and instructive to the learned and\nunlearned; for the most ignorant may comprehend them, whilst the wisest\nmust be charmed and awed, by the beautiful and majestic simplicity with\nwhich they are expressed. Of the same kind are the Ten Commandments,\ndelivered by God to Moses; which, as they were designed for universal\nlaws, are worded in the most concise and simple manner, yet with a\nmajesty which commands our utmost reverence.\n\nI think you will receive great pleasure, as well as improvement, from\nthe Historical Books of the Old Testament--provided you read them as an\nhistory, in a regular course, and keep the thread of it in your mind, as\nyou go on. I know of none, true or fictitious, that is equally\nwonderful, interesting, and affecting; or that is told in so short and\nsimple a manner as this, which is, of all histories, the most authentic.\n\nIn my next letter, I will give you some brief directions, concerning the\nmethod and course I wish you to pursue, in reading the Holy Scriptures.\nMay you be enabled to make the best use of this most precious gift of\nGod--this sacred treasury of knowledge! May you read the Bible, not as a\ntask, nor as the dull employment of that day only in which you are\nforbidden more lively entertainments--but with a sincere and ardent\ndesire of instruction; with that love and delight in God's word which\nthe holy psalmist so pathetically felt, and described, and which is the\nnatural consequence of loving God and virtue! Though I speak this of the\nBible in general, I would not be understood to mean that every part of\nthe volume is equally interesting. I have already said, that it consists\nof various matter, and various kinds of books, which must be read with\ndifferent views and sentiments. The having some general notion of what\nyou are to expect from each book may possibly help you to understand\nthem, and heighten your relish of them. I shall treat you as if you were\nperfectly new to the whole; for so I wish you to consider yourself;\nbecause the time and manner, in which children usually read the Bible,\nare very ill-calculated to make them really acquainted with it; and too\nmany people who have read it thus, without understanding it in their\nyouth, satisfy themselves that they know enough of it, and never\nafterwards study it with attention, when they come to a maturer age.\n\nAdieu, my beloved Niece! If the feelings of your heart, whilst you read\nmy letters, correspond with those of mine, whilst I write them, I shall\nnot be without the advantage of your partial affection, to give weight\nto my advice; for, believe me, my own dear girl, my heart and eyes\noverflow with tenderness while I tell you, with how warm and earnest\nprayers for your happiness here, and hereafter, I subscribe myself\n\n    Your faithful friend\n\n      and most affectionate AUNT.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER II.\n\nON THE STUDY OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.\n\n\nI NOW proceed to give my dear Niece some short sketches of the matter\ncontained in the different books of the Bible, and of the course in\nwhich they ought to be read.\n\nThe first Book, GENESIS, contains the most grand, and, to us, the most\ninteresting, events that ever happened in the universe: The creation of\nthe world, and of man:--The deplorable fall of man, from his first state\nof excellence and bliss, to the distressed condition in which we see all\nhis descendants continue:--The sentence of death pronounced on Adam, and\non all his race, with the reviving promise of that deliverance which has\nsince been wrought for us by our blessed Saviour:--The account of the\nearly state of the world:--Of the universal deluge:--The division of\nmankind into different nations and languages:--The story of Abraham, the\nfounder of the Jewish people, whose unshaken faith and obedience, under\nthe severest trial human nature could sustain, obtained such favour in\nthe sight of God, that he vouchsafed to style him his friend, and\npromised to make his posterity a great nation; and that in his\nseed--that is, in one of his descendants--all the kingdoms of the earth\nshould be blessed: this, you will easily see, refers to the Messiah, who\nwas to be the blessing and deliverance of all nations. It is amazing\nthat the Jews, possessing this prophecy among many others, should have\nbeen so blinded by prejudice, as to have expected from this great\npersonage only a temporal deliverance of their own nation from the\nsubjection to which they were reduced under the Romans: it is equally\namazing, that some Christians should, even now, confine the blessed\neffects of his appearance upon earth to this or that particular sect or\nprofession, when he is so clearly and emphatically described as the\nSaviour of the whole world! The story of Abraham's proceeding to\nsacrifice his only son at the command of God, is affecting in the\nhighest degree, and sets forth a pattern of unlimited resignation, that\nevery one ought to imitate, in those trials of obedience under\ntemptation, or of acquiescence under afflicting dispensations, which\nfall to their lot: of this we may be assured, that our trials will be\nalways proportioned to the powers afforded us: if we have not Abraham's\nstrength of mind, neither shall we be called upon to lift the bloody\nknife against the bosom of an only child: but, if the almighty arm\nshould be lifted up against him, we must be ready to resign him, and all\nwe hold dear, to the Divine will. This action of Abraham has been\ncensured by some, who do not attend to the distinction between obedience\nto a special command, and the detestably cruel sacrifices of the\nheathens, who sometimes voluntarily, and without any Divine injunctions,\noffered up their own children, under the notion of appeasing the anger\nof their gods. An absolute command from God himself--as in the case of\nAbraham--entirely alters the moral nature of the action; since he, and\nhe only, has a perfect right over the lives of his creatures, and may\nappoint whom he will, either angel or man, to be his instrument of\ndestruction. That it was really the voice of God which pronounced the\ncommand, and not a delusion, might be made certain to Abraham's mind, by\nmeans we do not comprehend, but which we know to be within the power of\n_him_ who made our souls as well as bodies, and who can control and\ndirect every faculty of the human mind: and we may be assured, that, if\nhe was pleased to reveal himself so miraculously, he would not leave a\npossibility of doubting whether it was a real or an imaginary\nrevelation: thus the sacrifice of Abraham appears to be clear of all\nsuperstition, and remains the noblest instance of religious faith and\nsubmission that was ever given by a mere man: we cannot wonder that the\nblessings bestowed on him for it should have been extended to his\nposterity. This book proceeds with the history of Isaac, which becomes\nvery interesting to us, from the touching scene I have mentioned; and\nstill more so, if we consider him as the type of our Saviour: it\nrecounts his marriage with Rebecca--the birth and history of his two\nsons, Jacob, the father of the twelve tribes, and Esau, the father of\nthe Edomites or Idumeans--the exquisitely affecting story of Joseph and\nhis brethren--and of his transplanting the Israelites into Egypt, who\nthere multiplied to a great nation.\n\nIn EXODUS you read of a series of wonders wrought by the Almighty, to\nrescue the oppressed Israelites from the cruel tyranny of the Egyptians,\nwho, having first received them as guests, by degrees reduced them to a\nstate of slavery. By the most peculiar mercies and exertions in their\nfavour, God prepared his chosen people to receive, with reverent and\nobedient hearts, the solemn restitution of those primitive laws, which\nprobably he had revealed to Adam and his immediate descendants, or\nwhich, at least, he had made known by the dictates of conscience, but\nwhich, time, and the degeneracy of mankind, had much obscured. This\nimportant revelation was made to them in the wilderness of Sinah: there,\nassembled before the burning mountain, surrounded \"with blackness, and\ndarkness, and tempest,\" they heard the awful voice of God pronounce the\neternal law, impressing it on their hearts with circumstances of terror,\nbut without those encouragements and those excellent promises, which\nwere afterwards offered to mankind by Jesus Christ. Thus were the great\nlaws of morality restored to the Jews, and through them transmitted to\nother nations; and by that means a great restraint was opposed to the\ntorrent of vice and impiety, which began to prevail over the world.\n\nTo those moral precepts, which are of perpetual and universal\nobligation, were superadded, by the ministration of Moses, many peculiar\ninstitutions, wisely adapted to different ends--either to fix the memory\nof those past deliverances, which were figurative of a future and far\ngreater salvation--to place inviolable barriers between the Jews and the\nidolatrous nations, by whom they were surrounded--or, to be the civil\nlaw, by which the community was to be governed.\n\nTo conduct this series of events, and to establish these laws with his\npeople, God raised up that great prophet Moses, whose faith and piety\nenabled him to undertake and execute the most arduous enterprises, and\nto pursue, with unabated zeal, the welfare of his countrymen: even in\nthe hour of death, this generous ardour still prevailed: his last\nmoments were employed in fervent prayers for their prosperity, and in\nrapturous gratitude for the glimpse vouchsafed him of a Saviour, far\ngreater than himself, whom God would one day raise up to his people.\n\nThus did Moses, by the excellency of his faith, obtain a glorious\npre-eminence among the saints and prophets in heaven; while, on earth,\nhe will be ever revered, as the first of those benefactors to mankind,\nwhose labours for the public good have endeared their memory to all\nages.\n\nThe next book is LEVITICUS, which contains little besides the laws for\nthe peculiar ritual observance of the Jews, and therefore affords no\ngreat instruction to us now: you may pass it over entirely; and, for the\nsame reason, you may omit the first eight chapters of NUMBERS. The rest\nof Numbers is chiefly a continuation of the history, with some ritual\nlaws.\n\nIn DEUTERONOMY, Moses makes a recapitulation of the foregoing history,\nwith zealous exhortations to the people, faithfully to worship and obey\nthat God, who had worked such amazing wonders for them: he promises them\nthe noblest temporal blessings, if they prove obedient, and adds the\nmost awful and striking denunciations against them, if they rebel or\nforsake the true God. I have before observed, that the sanctions of the\nMosaic law were _temporal_ rewards and punishments, those of the New\nTestament are _eternal_: these last, as they are so infinitely more\nforcible than the first, were reserved for the last, best gift to\nmankind--and were revealed by the Messiah, in the fullest and clearest\nmanner. Moses, in this book, directs the method in which the Israelites\nwere to deal with the seven nations, whom they were appointed to punish\nfor their profligacy and idolatry! and whose land they were to possess,\nwhen they had driven out the old inhabitants. He gives them excellent\nlaws, civil as well as religious, which were ever after the standing\nmunicipal laws of that people. This book concludes with Moses' song and\ndeath.\n\nThe book of JOSHUA contains the conquests of the Israelites over the\nseven nations, and their establishment in the promised land. Their\ntreatment of these conquered nations must appear to you very cruel and\nunjust, if you consider it as their own act, unauthorized by a positive\ncommand: but they had the most absolute injunctions, not to spare these\ncorrupt people--\"to make no covenant with them, nor shew mercy to them,\nbut utterly to destroy them.\" And the reason is given--\"lest they should\nturn away the Israelites from following the Lord, that they might serve\nother gods[16].\" The children of Israel are to be considered as\ninstruments in the hand of the Lord, to punish those whose idolatry and\nwickedness had deservedly brought destruction on them: this example,\ntherefore, cannot be pleaded in behalf of cruelty, or bring any\nimputation on the character of the Jews. With regard to other cities,\nwhich did not belong to these seven nations, they were directed to deal\nwith them, according to the common law of arms at that time. If the city\nsubmitted, it became tributary, and the people were spared; if it\nresisted, the men were to be slain, but the women and children\nsaved[17]. Yet, though the crime of cruelty cannot be justly laid to\ntheir charge on this occasion, you will observe in the course of their\nhistory many things recorded of them very different from what you would\nexpect from the chosen people of God, if you supposed them selected on\naccount of their own merit: their national character was by no means\namiable; and we are repeatedly told, that they were not chosen for their\nsuperior righteousness--\"for they were a stiff-necked people, and\nprovoked the Lord with their rebellions from the day they left\nEgypt.\"--\"You have been rebellious against the Lord,\" says Moses, \"from\nthe day that I knew you[18].\" And he vehemently exhorts them, not to\nflatter themselves that their success was, in any degree, owing to their\nown merits. They were appointed to be the scourge of other nations,\nwhose crimes rendered them fit objects of Divine chastisement. For the\nsake of righteous Abraham, their founder, and perhaps for many other\nwise reasons, undiscovered to us, they were selected from a world\nover-run with idolatry, to preserve upon earth the pure worship of the\none only God, and to be honoured with the birth of the Messiah amongst\nthem. For this end, they were precluded, by Divine command, from mixing\nwith any other people, and defended by a great number of peculiar rites\nand observances from falling into the corrupt worship practised by their\nneighbours.\n\nThe book of JUDGES, in which you will find the affecting stories of\nSamson and of Jephtha, carries on the history from the death of Joshua,\nabout two hundred and fifty years; but the facts are not told in the\ntimes in which they happened, which makes some confusion; and it will be\nnecessary to consult the marginal dates and notes, as well as the index,\nin order to get any clear idea of the succession of events during that\nperiod.\n\nThe history then proceeds regularly through the two books of SAMUEL, and\nthose of KINGS: nothing can be more interesting and entertaining than\nthe reigns of Saul, David, and Solomon: but, after the death of Solomon,\nwhen the ten tribes revolted from his son Rehoboam, and became a\nseparate kingdom, you will find some difficulty in understanding\ndistinctly the histories of the two kingdoms of Israel and Judah, which\nare blended together, and, by the likeness of the names, and other\nparticulars, will be apt to confound your mind, without great attention\nto the different threads thus carried on together: the Index here will\nbe of great use to you. The Second Book of Kings concludes with the\nBabylonish captivity, 588 years before Christ; till which time, the\nkingdom of Judea had descended uninterruptedly in the line of David.\n\nThe first book of CHRONICLES begins with a genealogy from Adam, through\nall the tribes of Israel and Judah; and the remainder is the same\nhistory which is contained in the books of Kings, with little or no\nvariation, till the separation of the ten tribes: from that period, it\nproceeds with the history of the kingdom of Judah alone, and gives\ntherefore a more regular and clear account of the affairs of Judah than\nthe book of Kings. You may pass over the first book of Chronicles, and\nthe nine first chapters of the second book: but, by all means, read the\nremaining chapters, as they will give you more clear and distinct ideas\nof the history of Judah, than that you read in the second book of Kings.\nThe second of Chronicles ends, like the second of Kings, with the\nBabylonish captivity.\n\nYou must pursue the history in the book of EZRA, which gives an account\nof the return of some of the Jews, on the edict of Cyrus, and of the\nrebuilding the Lord's temple.\n\nNEHEMIAH carries on the history for about twelve years, when he himself\nwas governor of Jerusalem, with authority to rebuild the walls, &c.\n\nThe story of ESTHER is prior in time to that of Ezra and Nehemiah; as\nyou will see by the marginal dates: however, as it happened during the\nseventy years captivity, and is a kind of episode, it may be read in its\nown place.\n\nThis is the last of the canonical books that is properly historical; and\nI would therefore advise, that you pass over what follows, till you have\ncontinued the history through the apocryphal books.\n\nThe history of JOB is probably very ancient, though that is a point upon\nwhich learned men have differed: It is dated, however, 1520 years before\nChrist: I believe it is uncertain by whom it was written: many parts of\nit are obscure, but it is well worth studying, for the extreme beauty of\nthe poetry, and for the noble and sublime devotion it contains. The\nsubject of the dispute, between Job and his pretended friends, seems to\nbe, whether the providence of God distributes the rewards and\npunishments of this life in exact proportion to the merit or demerit of\neach individual. His antagonists suppose that it does: and therefore\ninfer, from JOB'S uncommon calamities, that, notwithstanding his\napparent righteousness, he was in reality a grievous sinner: they\naggravate his supposed guilt, by the imputation of hypocrisy, and call\nupon him to confess it, and to acknowledge the justice of his\npunishment. Job asserts his own innocence and virtue in the most\npathetic manner, yet does not presume to accuse the Supreme Being of\ninjustice. Elihu attempts to arbitrate the matter, by alleging the\nimpossibility that so frail and ignorant a creature as man should\ncomprehend the ways of the Almighty, and, therefore, condemns the unjust\nand cruel inference the three friends had drawn from the sufferings of\nJob. He also blames Job for the presumption of acquitting himself of all\niniquity, since the best of men are not pure in the sight of God--but\nall have something to repent of; and he advises him to make this use of\nhis affliction. At last, by a bold figure of poetry, the Supreme Being\nhimself is introduced, speaking from the whirlwind, and silencing them\nall by the most sublime display of his own power, magnificence, and\nwisdom, and of the comparative littleness and ignorance of man. This\nindeed is the only conclusion of the argument which could be drawn, at\na time when life and immortality were not yet brought to light. A future\nretribution is the only satisfactory solution of the difficulty arising\nfrom the sufferings of good people in this life.\n\nNext follow THE PSALMS, with which you cannot be too conversant. If you\nhave any taste, either for poetry or devotion, they will be your\ndelight, and will afford you a continual feast. The Bible translation is\nfar better than that used in the Common Prayer Book: and will often give\nyou the sense, when the other is obscure. In this, as well as in all\nother parts of the scripture, you must be careful always to consult the\nmargin, which gives you the corrections made since the last translation,\nand is generally preferable to the words of the text. I would wish you\nto select some of the Psalms that please you best, and get them by\nheart; or, at least, make yourself mistress of the sentiments contained\nin them: Dr. Delany's Life of David will show you the occasions on which\nseveral of them were composed, which add much to their beauty and\npropriety; and, by comparing them with the events of David's life, you\nwill greatly enhance your pleasure in them. Never did the spirit of true\npiety breathe more strongly than in these divine songs; which, being\nadded to a rich vein of poetry, makes them more captivating to my heart\nand imagination than any thing I ever read. You will consider how great\ndisadvantages any poems must sustain from being rendered literally into\nprose, and then imagine how beautiful these must be in the original. May\nyou be enabled, by reading them frequently, to transfuse into your own\nbreast that holy flame which inspired the writer!--to delight in the\nLord, and in his laws, like the Psalmist--to rejoice in him always, and\nto think \"one day in his courts better than a thousand!\" But may you\nescape the heart-piercing sorrow of such repentance as that of David, by\navoiding sin, which humbled this unhappy king to the dust, and which\ncost him such bitter anguish, as it is impossible to read of without\nbeing moved. Not all the pleasures of the most prosperous sinner could\ncounterbalance the hundredth part of those sensations described in his\nPenitential Psalms; and which must be the portion of every man, who has\nfallen from a religious state into such crimes, when once he recovers a\nsense of religion and virtue, and is brought to a real hatred of sin:\nhowever available such repentance may be to the safety and happiness of\nthe soul after death, it is a state of such exquisite suffering here,\nthat one cannot be enough surprised at the folly of those, who indulge\nin sin, with the hope of living to make their peace with God by\nrepentance. Happy are they who preserve their innocence unsullied by any\ngreat or wilful crimes, and who have only the common failings of\nhumanity to repent of: these are sufficiently mortifying to a heart\ndeeply smitten with the love of virtue, and with the desire of\nperfection. There are many very striking prophecies of the Messiah in\nthese divine songs; particularly in Psalm xxii: such may be found\nscattered up and down almost throughout the Old Testament. To bear\ntestimony to _him_ is the great and ultimate end, for which the spirit\nof prophecy was bestowed on the sacred writers:--but this will appear\nmore plainly to you, when you enter on the study of prophecy, which you\nare now much too young to undertake.\n\nThe PROVERBS and ECCLESIASTES are rich stores of wisdom; from which I\nwish you to adopt such maxims as may be of infinite use, both to your\ntemporal and eternal interest. But detached sentences are a kind of\nreading not proper to be continued long at a time: a few of them well\nchosen and digested will do you much more service than to read half a\ndozen chapters together: in this respect they are directly opposite to\nthe historical books, which, if not read in continuation, can hardly be\nunderstood, or retained to any purpose.\n\nThe SONG of SOLOMON is a fine poem; but its mystical reference to\nreligion lies too deep for a common understanding: if you read it,\ntherefore, it will be rather as matter of curiosity than of edification.\n\nNext follow the PROPHECIES, which, though highly deserving the greatest\nattention and study, I think you had better omit for some years, and\nthen read them with a good exposition; as they are much too difficult\nfor you to understand without assistance. Dr. Newton on the Prophecies\nwill help you much, whenever you undertake this study; which you should\nby all means do, when your understanding is ripe enough; because one of\nthe main proofs of our religion rests on the testimony of the\nprophecies; and they are very frequently quoted and referred to in the\nNew Testament: besides the sublimity of the language and sentiments,\nthrough all the disadvantages of antiquity and translation, must, in\nvery many passages, strike every person of taste; and the excellent\nmoral and religious precepts found in them must be useful to all.\n\nThough I have spoken of these books in the order in which they stand, I\nrepeat, that they are not to be read in that order; but that the thread\nof the history is to be pursued, from Nehemiah, to the first book of\nMACCABEES, in the Apocrypha; taking care to observe the Chronology\nregularly, by referring to the Index, which supplies the deficiencies of\nthis history, from _Josephus's Antiquities of the Jews_. The first of\nMaccabees carries on the story till within 195 years of our Lord's\ncircumcision: the second book is the same narrative, written by a\ndifferent hand, and does not bring the history so forward as the first;\nso that it may be entirely omitted, unless you have the curiosity to\nread some particulars of the heroic constancy of the Jews, under the\ntortures inflicted by their heathen conquerors; with a few other things\nnot mentioned in the first book.\n\nYou must then connect the history by the help of the Index, which will\ngive you brief heads of the changes that happened in the state of the\nJews, from this time, till the birth of the Messiah.\n\nThe other books of the Apocrypha, though not admitted as of sacred\nauthority, have many things well worth your attention; particularly the\nadmirable book called ECCLESIASTICUS, and the BOOK OF WISDOM. But, in\nthe course of reading which I advise, these must be omitted till after\nyou have gone through the Gospels and Acts, that you may not lose the\nhistorical thread. I must reserve, however, what I have to say to you\nconcerning the New Testament to another letter.\n\n    Adieu, my dear!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[16] Deut. chap. ii.\n\n[17] Ibid. chap. xx.\n\n[18] Deut. chap. ix. ver. 24.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER III.\n\n\n    _MY DEAREST NIECE_,\n\nWE come now to that part of scripture, which is the most important of\nall; and which you must make your constant study, not only till you are\nthoroughly acquainted with it, but all your life long; because how often\nsoever repeated, it is impossible to read the life and death of our\nblessed Saviour, without renewing and increasing in our hearts that\nlove, and reverence, and gratitude, towards him, which is so justly due\nfor all he did and suffered for us! Every word that fell from his lips\nis more precious than all the treasures of the earth; for his \"are the\nwords of eternal life!\" They must therefore be laid up in your heart,\nand constantly referred to on all occasions, as the rule and direction\nof all your actions; particularly those very comprehensive moral\nprecepts he has graciously left with us, which can never fail to direct\nus aright, if fairly and honestly applied: such as, _whatsoever ye would\nthat men should do unto you, even so do unto them_. There is no\noccasion, great or small, on which you may not safely apply this rule,\nfor the direction of your conduct: and, whilst your heart honestly\nadheres to it, you can never be guilty of any sort of injustice or\nunkindness. The two great commandments, which contain the summary of our\nduty to God and man, are no less easily retained, and made a standard by\nwhich to judge our own hearts.--_To love the Lord our God with all our\nhearts, with all our minds, with all our strength; and our neighbour_\n(or fellow-creature) _as ourselves_. \"Love worketh no ill to his\nneighbour;\" therefore, if you have true benevolence, you will never do\nany thing injurious to individuals, or to society. Now, all crimes\nwhatever are (in their remoter consequences at least, if not immediately\nand apparently) injurious to the society in which we live. It is\nimpossible _to love God_ without desiring to please him; and, as far as\nwe are able, to resemble him; therefore, the love of God must lead to\nevery virtue in the highest degree; and, we may be sure, we do not truly\nlove him, if we content ourselves with avoiding flagrant sins, and do\nnot strive in good earnest, to reach the greatest degree of perfection\nwe are capable of. Thus do those few words direct us to the highest\nChristian virtue. Indeed, the whole tenor of the gospel is to offer us\nevery help, direction, and motive, that can enable us to attain that\ndegree of perfection, on which depends our eternal good.\n\nWhat an example is set before us in our blessed Master! How is his whole\nlife, from earliest youth, dedicated to the pursuit of true wisdom, and\nto the practice of the most exalted virtue! When you see him, at _twelve\nyears of age_, in the temple amongst the doctors, hearing them, and\nasking them questions on the subject of religion, and astonishing them\nall with his understanding and answers, you will say, perhaps, \"Well\nmight the Son of God, even at those years, be far wiser than the aged;\nbut, can a mortal child emulate such heavenly wisdom? Can such a pattern\nbe proposed to _my_ imitation?\" Yes, my dear; remember that he has\nbequeathed to you his heavenly wisdom, as far as concerns your own good.\nHe has left you such declarations of his will, and of the consequences\nof your actions, as you are, even now, fully able to understand, if you\nwill but attend to them. If then you will imitate his zeal for\nknowledge, if you will delight in gaining information and improvement,\nyou may, even now, become _wise unto salvation_. Unmoved by the praise\nhe acquired amongst those learned men, you see him meekly return to the\nsubjection of a child, under those who appeared to be his parents,\nthough he was in reality their Lord: you see him return to live with\nthem, to work for them, and to be the joy and solace of their lives;\ntill the time came, when he was to enter on that scene of public action,\nfor which his heavenly Father had sent him from his own right hand, to\ntake upon him the form of a poor carpenter's son. What a lesson of\nhumility is this, and of obedience to parents. When, having received\nthe glorious testimony from heaven, of his being the beloved Son of the\nMost High, he enters on his public ministry, what an example does he\ngive us, of the most extensive and constant benevolence!--how are all\nhis hours spent in doing good to the souls and bodies of men!--not the\nmeanest sinner is below his notice: to reclaim and save them, he\ncondescends to converse familiarly with the most corrupt as well as the\nmost abject. All his miracles are wrought to benefit mankind; not one to\npunish and afflict them. Instead of using the almighty power, which\naccompanied him, to the purpose of exalting himself and treading down\nhis enemies, he makes no other use of it than to heal and to save.\n\nWhen you come to read of his sufferings and death, the ignominy and\nreproach, the sorrow of mind, and torment of body, which he submitted\nto--when you consider, that it was for all our sakes--\"that by his\nstripes we are healed\"--and by his death we are raised from destruction\nto everlasting life--what can I say that can add any thing to the\nsensations you must then feel? No power of language can make the scene\nmore touching than it appears in the plain and simple narrations of the\nevangelists. The heart that is unmoved by it can be scarcely human.\nBut, my dear, the emotions of tenderness and compunction, which almost\nevery one feels in reading this account, will be of no avail, unless\napplied to the true end--unless it inspires you with a sincere and warm\naffection towards your blessed Lord--with a firm resolution to obey his\ncommands:--to be his faithful disciple--and ever to renounce and abhor\nthose sins, which brought mankind under Divine condemnation, and from\nwhich we have been redeemed at so dear a rate. Remember, that the title\nof Christian, or follower of Christ, implies a more than ordinary degree\nof holiness and goodness. As our motives to virtue are stronger than\nthose which are afforded to the rest of mankind, our guilt will be\nproportionably greater if we depart from it.\n\nOur Saviour appears to have had three great purposes, in descending from\nhis glory and dwelling amongst men. The first, to teach them true\nvirtue, both by his example and precepts: the second, to give them the\nmost forcible motives to the practice of it, \"by bringing life and\nimmortality to light,\" by showing them the certainty of a resurrection\nand judgment, and the absolute necessity of obedience to God's laws:\nthe third, to sacrifice himself for us, to obtain by his death the\nremission of our sins upon our repentance and reformation, and the power\nof bestowing on his sincere followers the inestimable gift of immortal\nhappiness.\n\nWhat a tremendous scene of the _last day_ does the gospel place before\nour eyes?--of _that day_ when you, and every one of us, shall awake from\nthe grave, and behold the Son of God, on his glorious tribunal, attended\nby millions of celestial beings, of whose superior excellence we can now\nform no adequate idea:--When, in presence of all mankind, of those holy\nangels, and of the great Judge himself, you must give an account of your\npast life, and hear your final doom, from which there can be no appeal,\nand which must determine your fate to all eternity. Then think--if for a\nmoment you can bear the thought--what will be the desolation, shame, and\nanguish of those wretched souls, who shall hear these dreadful\nwords:--_Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for\nthe devil and his angels_. Oh! my beloved child! I cannot support even\nthe idea of your becoming one of those undone, lost creatures. I trust\nin God's mercy, that you will make a better use of that knowledge of his\nwill, which he has vouchsafed you, and of those amiable dispositions he\nhas given you. Let us therefore turn from this horrid, this\ninsupportable view, and rather endeavour to imagine, as far as is\npossible, what will be the sensation of your soul, if you shall hear our\nheavenly Judge address you in these transporting words--_Come, thou\nblessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the\nfoundation of the world_. Think, what it must be, to become an object of\nthe esteem and applause, not only of all mankind assembled together, but\nof all the host of heaven, of our blessed Lord himself, nay, of his and\nour Almighty Father: to find your frail flesh changed in a moment into a\nglorious celestial body, endowed with perfect beauty, health, and\nagility--to find your soul cleansed from all its faults and infirmities;\nexalted to the purest and noblest affections, overflowing with divine\nlove and rapturous gratitude;--to have your understanding enlightened\nand refined, your heart enlarged and purified, and every power and\ndisposition of mind and body adapted to the highest relish of virtue and\nhappiness! Thus accomplished, to be admitted into the society of\namiable and happy beings, all united in the most perfect peace and\nfriendship, all breathing nothing but love to God, and to each\nother;--with them to dwell in scenes more delightful than the richest\nimagination can paint--free from every pain and care, and from all\npossibility of change or satiety:--but, above all, to enjoy the more\nimmediate presence of God himself--to be able to comprehend and admire\nhis adorable perfections in a high degree, though still far short of\ntheir infinity--to be conscious of his love and favour, and to rejoice\nin the light of his countenance!--but here all imagination fails:--We\ncan form no idea of that bliss which may be communicated to us by such a\nnear approach to the source of all beauty and all good:--We must content\nourselves with believing, that it is what _mortal eye hath not seen, nor\near heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive_.\nThe crown of all our joys will be to know that we are secure of\npossessing them _for ever_--What a transporting idea!\n\nMy dearest child! can you reflect on all these things, and not feel the\nmost earnest longings after immortality? Do not all other views and\ndesires seem mean and trifling when compared with this? And does not\nyour inmost heart resolve that this shall be the chief and constant\nobject of its wishes and pursuit, through the whole course of your life?\nIf you are not insensible to that desire of happiness, which seems woven\ninto our nature, you cannot surely be unmoved by the prospect of such a\ntranscendent degree of it; and that, continued to all eternity--perhaps\ncontinually increasing. You cannot but dread the forfeiture of such an\ninheritance as the most insupportable evil! Remember then--remember the\nconditions on which alone it can be obtained. God will not give to vice,\nto carelessness, or sloth, the prize he has proposed to virtue. You have\nevery help that can animate your endeavours:--You have written laws to\ndirect you--the example of Christ and his disciples to encourage\nyou--the most awakening motives to engage you--and you have, besides,\nthe comfortable promise of constant assistance from the Holy Spirit, if\nyou diligently and sincerely pray for it. O, my dear child! let not all\nthis mercy be lost upon you; but give your attention to this your only\nimportant concern, and accept, with profound gratitude, the inestimable\nadvantages that are thus affectionately offered you.\n\nThough the four gospels are each of them a narration of the life,\nsayings, and death of Christ; yet, as they are not exactly alike, but\nsome circumstances and sayings, omitted in one, are recorded in another,\nyou must make yourself perfectly mistress of them all.\n\nThe ACTS of the holy Apostles, endowed with the Holy Ghost, and\nauthorized by their divine Master, come next in order to be read.\nNothing can be more interesting and edifying, than the history of their\nactions--of the piety, zeal, and courage, with which they preached the\nglad tidings of salvation--and of the various exertions of the wonderful\npowers conferred on them by the Holy Spirit, for the confirmation of\ntheir mission.\n\nThe character of St. Paul, and his miraculous conversion, demand your\nparticular attention: most of the apostles were men of low birth and\neducation; but St. Paul was a Roman citizen; that is, he possessed the\nprivileges annexed to the freedom of the city of Rome, which was\nconsidered as an high distinction in those countries that had been\nconquered by the Romans. He was educated amongst the most learned sect\nof the Jews, and by one of their principal doctors. He was a man of\nextraordinary eloquence, as appears not only in his writings, but in\nseveral speeches in his own defence, pronounced before governors and\ncourts of justice, when he was called to account for the doctrines he\ntaught. He seems to have been of an uncommon warm temper, and zealous in\nwhatever religion he professed: this zeal, before his conversion, showed\nitself in the most unjustifiable actions, by furiously persecuting the\ninnocent Christians: but though his actions were bad, we may be sure his\nintentions were good; otherwise we should not have seen a miracle\nemployed to convince him of his mistake, and to bring him into the right\nway. This example may assure us of the mercy of God towards mistaken\nconsciences, and ought to inspire us with the most enlarged charity and\ngood-will towards those whose erroneous principles mislead their\nconduct: instead of resentment and hatred against their persons, we\nought only to feel an active wish of assisting them to find the truth;\nsince we know not whether, if convinced, they might not prove, like St.\nPaul, chosen vessels to promote the honour of God, and of true religion.\nIt is not my intention now to enter with you into any of the arguments\nfor the truth of Christianity, otherwise it would be impossible wholly\nto pass over that which arises from this remarkable conversion, and\nwhich has been so admirably illustrated by a noble writer,[19] whose\ntract on this subject is in every body's hand.\n\nNext follow the EPISTLES, which make a very important part of the New\nTestament: and you cannot be too much employed in reading them. They\ncontain the most excellent precepts and admonitions, and are of\nparticular use in explaining more at large several doctrines of\nChristianity, which we could not so fully comprehend without them. There\nare indeed in the Epistles of St. Paul many passages hard to be\nunderstood; such, in particular, are the first eleven chapters to the\nRomans; the greater part of his Epistles to the Corinthians and\nGalatians; and several chapters of that to the Hebrews. Instead of\nperplexing yourself with these more obscure passages of Scripture, I\nwould wish you to employ your attention chiefly on those that are plain;\nand to judge of the doctrines taught in the other parts, by comparing\nthem with what you find in these. It is through the neglect of this\nrule, that many have been led to draw the most absurd doctrines from\nthe Holy Scriptures. Let me particularly recommend to your careful\nperusal the 12th, 13th, 14th, and 15th chapters of the Epistle to the\nRomans. In the 14th chapter, St. Paul has in view the difference between\nthe Jewish and Gentile (or Heathen) converts at that time; the former\nwere disposed to look with horror on the latter, for their impiety in\nnot paying the same regard to the distinctions of days and meats, that\nthey did; and the latter, on the contrary, were inclined to look with\ncontempt on the former, for their weakness and superstition. Excellent\nis the advice which the apostle gives to both parties: he exhorts the\nJewish converts not to judge, and the Gentiles not to despise;\nremembering that the kingdom of heaven is not meat and drink, but\nrighteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost. Endeavour to\nconform yourself to this advice; to acquire a temper of universal\ncandour and benevolence: and learn neither to despise nor condemn any\npersons on account of their particular modes of faith and worship;\nremembering always, that goodness is confined to no party; that there\nare wise and worthy men among all the sects of Christians; and that, to\nhis own master, every one must stand or fall.\n\nI will enter no further into the several points discussed by St. Paul in\nhis various epistles--most of them too intricate for your understanding\nat present, and many of them beyond my abilities to state clearly. I\nwill only again recommend to you, to read those passages frequently,\nwhich, with so much fervour and energy, excite you to the practice of\nthe most exalted piety and benevolence. If the effusions of a heart,\nwarmed with the tenderest affection for the whole human race--if\nprecept, warning, encouragement, example, urged by an eloquence which\nsuch affection only could inspire, are capable of influencing your mind,\nyou cannot fail to find, in such parts of his epistles as are adapted to\nyour understanding, the strongest persuasives to every virtue that can\nadorn and improve your nature.\n\nThe Epistle of St. James is entirely practical, and exceedingly fine;\nyou cannot study it too much. It seems particularly designed to guard\nChristians against misunderstanding some things in St. Paul's writings,\nwhich have been fatally perverted to the encouragement of a dependance\non faith alone, without good works. But the more rational commentators\nwill tell you, that by the works of the law, which the apostle asserts\nto be incapable of justifying us, he means not the works of moral\nrighteousness, but the ceremonial works of the Mosaic law; on which the\nJews laid the greatest stress, as necessary to salvation. But St. James\ntells us, that, \"If any man among us seem to be religious, and bridleth\nnot his tongue, but deceiveth his own heart, that man's religion is\nvain.\" And that pure religion, and undefiled before God the Father, is\nthis: \"to visit the fatherless and widow in their affliction, and to\nkeep himself unspotted from the world.\" Faith in Christ, if it produce\nnot these effects, he declares is dead, or of no power.\n\nThe Epistles of St. Peter are also full of the best instructions and\nadmonitions, concerning the relative duties of life; amongst which are\nset forth the duties of women in general, and of wives in particular.\nSome part of the second Epistle is prophetical; warning the church of\nfalse teachers, and false doctrines, which would undermine morality, and\ndisgrace the cause of Christianity.\n\nThe first of St. JOHN is written in a highly figurative style, which\nmakes it in some parts hard to be understood: but the spirit of divine\nlove, which it so fervently expresses, renders it highly edifying and\ndelightful.--That love of God and of man, which this beloved apostle so\npathetically recommends, is in truth the essence of religion, as our\nSaviour himself informs us.\n\nThe book of REVELATIONS contains a prophetical account of most of the\ngreat events relating to the Christian church, which were to happen from\nthe time of the writer, St. John, to the end of the world. Many learned\nmen have taken a great deal of pains to explain it; and they have done\nthis in many instances very successfully: but, I think, it is yet too\nsoon for you to study this part of scripture; some years hence perhaps\nthere may be no objection to your attempting it, and taking into your\nhands the best expositions to assist you in reading such of the most\ndifficult parts of the New Testament as you cannot now be supposed to\nunderstand. May Heaven direct you in studying this sacred volume, and\nrender it the means of making you wise unto salvation! May you love and\nreverence, as it deserves, this blessed and invaluable book, which\ncontains the best rule of life, the clearest declaration of the will\nand laws of the Deity, the reviving assurance of favour to true\npenitents, and the unspeakably joyful tidings of eternal life and\nhappiness to all the truly virtuous, through Jesus Christ, the Saviour\nand Deliverer of the world!\n\n    Adieu.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[19] Lord Lyttelton.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER IV.\n\nON THE REGULATION OF THE HEART AND AFFECTIONS.\n\n\nYOU will have read the New Testament to very little purpose, my dearest\nNiece, if you do not perceive the great end and intention of all its\nprecepts to be the improvement and regulation of the heart: not the\noutward actions alone, but the inward affections, which give birth to\nthem, are the subjects of those precepts; as appears in our Saviour's\nexplanation[20] of the commandments delivered to Moses; and in a\nthousand other passages of the gospels, which it is needless to recite.\nThere are no virtues more insisted on, as necessary to our future\nhappiness, than humility, and sincerity, or uprightness, of heart; yet\nnone more difficult and rare. Pride and vanity, the vices opposite to\nhumility, are the sources of almost all the worst faults, both of men\nand women. The latter are particularly accused--and not without\nreason--of _vanity_, the vice of _little_ minds, chiefly conversant with\ntrifling subjects. Pride and vanity have been supposed to differ so\nessentially, as hardly ever to be found in the same person. \"Too proud\nto be vain,\" is no uncommon expression; by which I suppose is meant, too\nproud to be over anxious for the admiration of others: but this seems to\nbe founded on mistake. Pride is, I think, an high opinion of one's self,\nand an affected contempt of others: I say _affected_, for that it is not\na _real_ contempt is evident from this, that the lowest object of it is\nimportant enough to torture the proud man's heart, only by refusing him\nthe homage and admiration he requires. Thus Haman could relish none of\nthe advantages in which he valued himself, whilst that Mordecai, whom he\npretended to despise, sat still in the king's gate, and would not bow to\nhim as he passed. But as the proud man's contempt of others is only\nassumed with a view to awe them into reverence by his pretended\nsuperiority, so it does not preclude an extreme inward anxiety about\ntheir opinions, and a slavish dependance on them for all his\ngratifications. Pride, though a distinct passion, is seldom\nunaccompanied by vanity, which is an extravagant desire of admiration.\nIndeed, I never saw an insolent person, in whom a discerning eye might\nnot discover a very large share of vanity, and of envy, its usual\ncompanion. One may nevertheless see many _vain_ persons who are not\n_proud_; though they desire to be admired, they do not always admire\nthemselves: but as timid minds are apt to despair of those things they\nearnestly wish for, so you will often see the woman who is most anxious\nto be thought handsome, most inclined to be dissatisfied with her looks,\nand to think all the assistance of art too little to attain the end\ndesired. To this cause, I believe, we may generally attribute\naffectation; which seems to imply a mean opinion of one's own real form,\nor character, while we strive against nature to alter ourselves by\nridiculous contortions of body, or by feigned sentiments and unnatural\nmanners. There is no art so mean, which this mean passion will not\ndescend to for its gratification--no creature so insignificant, whose\nincense it will not gladly receive. Far from despising others, the vain\nman will court them with the most assiduous adulation; in hopes, by\nfeeding their vanity, to induce them to supply the craving wants of his\nown. He will put on the guise of benevolence, tenderness, and\nfriendship, where he feels not the least degree of kindness, in order to\nprevail on good-nature and gratitude to like and to commend him; but if,\nin any particular case, he fancies the airs of insolence and contempt\nmay succeed better, he makes no scruple to assume them; though so\nawkwardly, that he still appears to depend on the breath of the person\nhe would be thought to despise. Weak and timid natures seldom venture to\ntry this last method; and, when they do, it is without the assurance\nnecessary to carry it on with success: but a bold and confident mind\nwill oftener endeavour to command and extort admiration than to court\nit. As women are more fearful than men, perhaps this may be one reason\nwhy they are more vain than proud; whilst the other sex are oftener\nproud than vain. It is, I suppose, from some opinion of a certain\ngreatness of mind accompanying the one vice rather than the other, that\nmany will readily confess their pride, nay, and even be proud of their\npride, whilst every creature is ashamed of being convicted of vanity.\nYou see, however, that the end of both is the same, though pursued by\ndifferent means; or, if it differs, it is in the importance of the\nsubject. Whilst men are proud of power, of wealth, dignity, learning, or\nabilities, young women are usually ambitious of nothing more than to be\nadmired for their persons, their dress, or their most trivial\naccomplishments. The homage of men is their grand object; but they only\ndesire them to be in love with their persons, careless how despicable\ntheir minds appear, even to these their pretended adorers. I have known\na woman so vain as to boast of the most disgraceful addresses; being\ncontented to be thought meanly of, in points the most interesting to her\nhonour, for the sake of having it known, that her person was attractive\nenough to make a man transgress the bounds of respect due to her\ncharacter, which was not a vicious one, if you except this intemperate\nvanity. But this passion too often leads to the most ruinous actions,\nalways corrupts the heart, and, when indulged, renders it, perhaps, as\ndispleasing in the sight of the Almighty, as those faults which find\nleast mercy from the world; yet, alas! it is a passion so prevailing, I\nhad almost said universal, in our sex, that it requires all the efforts\nof reason, and all the assistance of grace, totally to subdue it.\nReligion is indeed the only effectual remedy for this evil. If our\nhearts are not dedicated to God, they will in some way or other be\ndedicated to the world, both in youth and age. If our actions are not\nconstantly referred to him, if his approbation and favour is not our\nprincipal object, we shall certainly take up with the applause of men,\nand make that the ruling motive of our conduct. How melancholy is it to\nsee this phantom so eagerly followed through life! whilst all that is\ntruly valuable to us is looked upon with indifference; or, at best, made\nsubordinate to this darling pursuit!\n\nEqually vain and absurd is every scheme of life that is not subservient\nto, and does not terminate in, that great end of our being--the\nattainment of real excellence, and of the favour of God. Whenever this\nbecomes sincerely our object, then will pride and vanity, envy,\nambition, covetousness, and every evil passion, lose their power over\nus; and we shall, in the language of scripture, \"walk humbly with our\nGod.\" We shall then cease to repine under our natural or accidental\ndisadvantages, and feel dissatisfied only with our moral defects;--we\nshall love and respect all our fellow-creatures, as the children of the\nsame dear parent, and particularly those who seek to do his will: All\nour delight will be \"in the saints that are in the earth, and in such as\nexcel in virtue.\" We shall wish to cultivate good-will, and to promote\ninnocent enjoyment wherever we are:--we shall strive to please, not from\nvanity, but from benevolence. Instead of contemplating our own fancied\nperfections, or even real superiority with self-complacence, religion\nwill teach us to \"look into ourselves, and fear:\" the best of us, God\nknows, have enough to fear, if we honestly search into all the dark\nrecesses of the heart, and bring out every thought and intention fairly\nto the light, to be tried by the precepts of our pure and holy religion.\n\nIt is with the rules of the gospel we must compare ourselves, and not\nwith the world around us; for we know, \"that the many are wicked: and\nthat we must not be conformed to the world.\"\n\nHow necessary it is frequently thus to enter into ourselves, and search\nout our spirit, will appear, if we consider, how much the human heart is\nprone to insincerity, and how often, from being first led by vanity into\nattempts to impose upon others, we come at last to impose on ourselves.\n\nThere is nothing more common than to see people fall into the most\nridiculous mistakes, with regard to their own characters; but I can by\nno means allow such mistakes to be unavoidable, and therefore innocent:\nthey arose from voluntary insincerity, and are continued for want of\nthat strict honesty towards ourselves and others, which the Scripture\ncalls \"_singleness of heart_;\" and which in modern language is termed\n_simplicity_,--the most enchanting of all qualities, esteemed and\nbeloved in proportion to its rareness.\n\nHe, who \"requires truth in the inward parts,\" will not excuse our\nself-deception; for he has commanded us to examine ourselves diligently,\nand has given us such rules as can never mislead us, if we desire the\ntruth, and are willing to see our faults, in order to correct them. But\nthis is the point in which we are defective; we are desirous to gain our\nown approbation, as well as that of others, at a cheaper rate than that\nof being really what we ought to be; and we take pains to persuade\nourselves that we are that which we indolently admire and approve.\n\nThere is nothing in which this self-deception is more notorious than in\nwhat regards sentiment and feeling. Let a vain young woman be told that\ntenderness and softness is the peculiar charm of the sex, that even\ntheir weakness is lovely, and their fears becoming, and you will\npresently observe her grow so tender as to be ready to weep for a fly;\nso fearful, that she starts at a feather; and so weak-hearted, that the\nsmallest accident quite overpowers her. Her fondness and affection\nbecome fulsome and ridiculous; her compassion grows contemptible\nweakness; and her apprehensiveness the most abject cowardice: for, when\nonce she quits the direction of Nature, she knows not where to stop, and\ncontinually exposes herself by the most absurd extremes.\n\nNothing so effectually defeats its own ends as this kind of affectation:\nfor though warm affections and tender feelings are beyond measure\namiable and charming, when perfectly natural, and kept under the due\ncontrol of reason and principle, yet nothing is so truly disgusting as\nthe affectation of them, or even the unbridled indulgence of such as are\nreal.\n\nRemember, my dear, that our feelings were not given us for our ornament,\nbut to spur us on to right actions. Compassion, for instance, was not\nimpressed upon the human heart, only to adorn the fair face with tears,\nand to give an agreeable languor to the eyes; it was designed to excite\nour utmost endeavours to relieve the sufferer. Yet, how often have I\nheard that selfish weakness, which flies from the sight of distress,\ndignified with the name of tenderness!--\"My friend is, I hear, in the\ndeepest affliction and misery;--I have not seen her--for indeed I cannot\nbear such scenes--they affect me too much!--those who have less\nsensibility are fitter for this world;--but, for my part, I own, I am\nnot able to support such things.--I shall not attempt to visit her, till\nI hear she has recovered her spirits.\" This have I heard said, with an\nair of complacence; and the poor selfish creature has persuaded herself\nthat she had finer feelings than those generous friends, who are sitting\npatiently in the house of mourning, watching, in silence, the proper\nmoment to pour in the balm of comfort;--who suppressed their own\nsensations, and only attended to those of the afflicted person; and\nwhose tears flowed in secret, whilst their eyes and voice were taught to\nenliven the sinking heart with the appearance of cheerfulness.\n\nThat sort of tenderness which makes us useless, may indeed be pitied and\nexcused, if owing to natural imbecility; but, if it pretends to\nloveliness and excellence, it becomes truly contemptible.\n\nThe same degree of active courage is not to be expected in woman as in\nman; and, not belonging to her nature, it is not agreeable in her: but\npassive courage--patience, and fortitude under sufferings--presence of\nmind, and calm resignation in danger--are surely desirable in every\nrational creature; especially in one professing to believe in an\nover-ruling Providence, in which we may at all times quietly confide,\nand which we may safely trust with every event that does not depend upon\nour own will. Whenever you find yourself deficient in these virtues, let\nit be a subject of shame and humiliation--not of vanity and\nself-complacence: do not fancy yourself the more amiable for that which\nreally makes you despicable; but content yourself with the faults and\nweaknesses that belong to you, without putting on more by way of\nornament. With regard to tenderness, remember that compassion is best\nshown by an ardour to relieve; and affection, by assiduity to promote\nthe good and happiness of the persons you love; that tears are\nunamiable, instead of being ornamental, when voluntarily indulged; and\ncan never be attractive but when they flow irresistibly, and avoid\nobservation as much as possible: the same may be said of every other\nmark of passion. It attracts our sympathy, if involuntary, and not\ndesigned for our notice--It offends, if we see that it is purposely\nindulged and obtruded on our observation.\n\nAnother point, on which the heart is apt to deceive itself, is\ngenerosity: we cannot bear to suspect ourselves of base and ungenerous\nfeelings, therefore we let them work without attending to them, or we\nendeavour to find out some better motive for those actions, which really\nflow from envy and malignity. Before you flatter yourself that you are a\ngenerous benevolent person, take care to examine whether you are really\nglad of every advantage and excellence, which your friends and\ncompanions possess, though they are such as you are yourself deficient\nin. If your sister or friend makes a greater proficiency than yourself\nin any accomplishment, which you are in pursuit of, do you never wish to\nstop her progress, instead of trying to hasten your own?\n\nThe boundaries between virtuous emulation and vicious envy are very\nnice, and may be easily mistaken. The first will awaken your attention\nto your own defects, and excite your endeavours to improve; the last\nwill make you repine at the improvements of others, and wish to rob them\nof the praise they have deserved. Do you sincerely rejoice when your\nsister is enjoying pleasure or commendation, though you are at the same\ntime in disagreeable or mortifying circumstances? Do you delight to see\nher approved and beloved, even by those who do not pay you equal\nattention? Are you afflicted and humbled, when she is found to be in\nfault, though you yourself are remarkably clear from the same offence?\nIf your heart assures you of the affirmative to these questions, then\nmay you think yourself a kind sister and a generous friend: for you must\nobserve, my dear, that scarcely any creature is so depraved as not to be\ncapable of kind affections in some circumstances. We are all naturally\nbenevolent, when no selfish interest interferes, and where no advantage\nis to be given up: we can all pity distress, when it lies complaining at\nour feet, and confesses our superiority and happier situation: but I\nhave seen the sufferer himself become the object of envy and ill-will,\nas soon as his fortitude and greatness of mind had begun to attract\nadmiration, and to make the envious person feel the superiority of\nvirtue above good fortune.\n\nTo take sincere pleasure in the blessings and excellencies of others, is\na much surer mark of benevolence than to pity their calamities: and you\nmust always acknowledge yourself ungenerous and selfish, whenever you\nare less ready to \"rejoice with them that do rejoice,\" than to \"weep\nwith them that weep.\" If ever your commendations of others are forced\nfrom you, by the fear of betraying your envy--or if ever you feel a\nsecret desire to mention something that may abate the admiration given\nthem, do not try to conceal the base disposition from yourself, since\nthat is not the way to cure it.\n\nHuman nature is ever liable to corruption, and has in it the seeds of\nevery vice, as well as of every virtue; and the first will be\ncontinually shooting forth and growing up, if not carefully watched and\nrooted out as fast as they appear. It is the business of religion to\npurify and exalt us, from a state of imperfection and infirmity, to that\nwhich is necessary and essential to happiness. Envy would make us\nmiserable in heaven itself, could it be admitted there; for we must\nthere see beings far more excellent, and consequently more happy than\nourselves; and till we can rejoice in seeing virtue rewarded in\nproportion to its degree, we can never hope to be among the number of\nthe blessed.\n\nWatch then, my dear child, and observe every evil propensity of your\nheart, that you may in time correct it, with the assistance of that\ngrace which alone can conquer the evils of our nature, and which you\nmust constantly and earnestly implore.\n\nI must add, that even those vices which you would most blush to own, and\nwhich most effectually defile and vilify the female heart, may by\ndegrees be introduced into yours--to the ruin of that virtue, without\nwhich, misery and shame must be your portion--unless the avenues of the\nheart are guarded by a sincere abhorrence of every thing that\napproaches towards evil. Would you be of the number of those blessed,\n\"who are pure in heart,\" you must hate and avoid every thing, both in\nbooks and in conversation, that conveys impure ideas, however neatly\nclothed in decent language, or recommended to your taste by pretended\nrefinements, and tender sentiments--by elegance of style, or force of\nwit and genius.\n\nI must not now begin to give you my thoughts on the regulation of the\naffections, as that is a subject of too much consequence to be soon\ndismissed. I shall dedicate to it my next letter: in the mean time,\nbelieve me,\n\n    Your ever affectionate.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[20] Matt. v.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER V.\n\nON THE REGULATION OF THE AFFECTIONS.\n\n\nTHE attachments of the heart, on which almost all the happiness or\nmisery of life depends, are most interesting objects of our\nconsideration. I shall give my dear niece the observations which\nexperience has enabled me to draw from real life, and not from what\nothers have said or written, however great their authority.\n\nThe first attachment of young hearts is _friendship_--the noblest and\nhappiest of affections, when real, and built on a solid foundation; but,\noftener pernicious than useful to very young people, because the\nconnection itself is ill understood, and the subject of it frequently\nill chosen. Their first error is that of supposing equality of age, and\nexact similarity of disposition, indispensably requisite in friends;\nwhereas these are circumstances which in great measure disqualify them\nfor assisting each other in moral improvements, or supplying each\nother's defects; they expose them to the same dangers, and incline them\nto encourage rather than correct each other's failings.\n\nThe grand cement of this kind of friendship is telling secrets, which\nthey call confidence: and I verily believe that the desire of having\nsecrets to tell, has often helped to draw silly girls into very unhappy\nadventures. If they have no lover or amour to talk of, the too frequent\nsubject of their confidence is betraying the secrets of their families;\nor conjuring up fancied hardships to complain of against their parents\nor relations: this odious cabal, they call friendship; and fancy\nthemselves dignified by the profession; but nothing is more different\nfrom the reality, as is seen by observing how generally those early\nfriendships drop off, as the parties advance in years and understanding.\n\nDo not you, my dear, be too ready to profess a friendship with any of\nyour young companions. Love them, and be always ready to serve and\noblige them, and to promote all their innocent gratifications: but, be\nvery careful how you enter into confidence with girls of your own age.\nRather choose some person of riper years and judgment, whose good-nature\nand worthy principles may assure you of her readiness to do you a\nservice, and of her candour and condescension towards you.\n\nI do not expect that youth should delight to associate with age, or\nshould lay open its feelings and inclinations to such as have almost\nforgot what they were, or how to make proper allowance for them; but if\nyou are fortunate enough to meet with a young woman eight or ten years\nolder than yourself, of good sense and good principles, to whom you can\nmake yourself agreeable, it may be one of the happiest circumstances of\nyour life. She will be able to advise and to improve you--and your\ndesire of this assistance will recommend you to her taste, as much as\nher superior abilities will recommend her to you. Such a connection will\nafford you more pleasure, as well as more profit, than you can expect\nfrom a girl like yourself, equally unprovided with knowledge, prudence,\nor any of those qualifications which are necessary to make society\ndelightful.\n\nWith a friend, such as I have described, of twenty-three or twenty-four\nyears of age, you can hardly pass an hour without finding yourself\nbrought forward in some useful knowledge; without learning something of\nthe world or of your own nature, some rule of behaviour, or some\nnecessary caution in the conduct of life: for even in the gayest\nconversations, such useful hints may often be gathered from those whose\nknowledge and experience are much beyond our own. Whenever you find\nyourself in real want of advice, or seek the relief of unburdening your\nheart, such a friend will be able to judge of the feelings you describe,\nor of the circumstances you are in--perhaps from her own experience--or,\nat least, from the knowledge she will have gained of human nature! she\nwill be able to point out your dangers, and to guide you into the right\npath; or, if she finds herself incapable, she will have the prudence to\ndirect you to some abler adviser. The age I have mentioned will not\nprevent her joining in your pleasures, nor will it make her a dull or\ngrave companion; on the contrary, she will have more materials for\nentertaining conversation, and her liveliness will shew itself more\nagreeably than in one of your own age. Your's therefore will be the\nadvantage in such a connection; yet do not despair of being admitted\ninto it, if you have an amiable and docile disposition. Ingenuous youth\nhas many charms for a benevolent mind; and, as nothing is more endearing\nthan the exercise of benevolence, the hope of being useful and\nbeneficial to you will make her fond of your company.\n\nI have known some of the sweetest and most delightful connections\nbetween persons of different ages, in which the elder has received the\nhighest gratification from the affection and docility of the younger;\nwhilst the latter has gained the noblest advantages from the\nconversation and counsels of her wiser friend. Nor has the attachment\nbeen without use as well as pleasure to the elder party. She has found\nthat there is no better way of improving one's own attainments, than by\nimparting them to another; and the desire of doing this in the most\nacceptable way has added a sweetness and gentleness to her manner, and\ntaught her the arts of insinuating instruction, and of winning the\nheart, whilst she convinces the understanding.\n\nI hope, my dear, you in your turn will be this useful and engaging\nfriend to your younger companions, particularly to your sisters and\nbrothers, who ought ever--unless they should prove unworthy--to be your\nnearest and dearest friends, whose interest and welfare you are bound to\ndesire as much as your own. If you are wanting here, do not fancy\nyourself qualified for friendship with others, but, be assured, your\nheart is too narrow and selfish for so generous an affection.\n\nRemember, that the end of true friendship is the good of its object, and\nthe cultivation of virtue, in two hearts emulous of each other, and\ndesirous to perpetuate their society beyond the grave. Nothing can be\nmore contrary to this end than that mutual intercourse of flattery,\nwhich some call friendship. A real friend will venture to displease me,\nrather than indulge my faulty inclinations, or increase my natural\nfrailties; she will endeavour to make me acquainted with myself, and\nwill put me upon guarding the weak parts of my character.\n\nFriendship, in the highest sense of the word, can only subsist between\npersons of strict integrity and true generosity. Before you fancy\nyourself possessed of such a treasure, you should examine the value of\nyour own heart, and see how well it is qualified for so sacred a\nconnection; and then a harder task remains--to find out whether the\nobject of your affection is also endued with the same virtuous\ndisposition. Youth and inexperience are ill able to penetrate into\ncharacters: the least appearance of good attracts their admiration, and\nthey immediately suppose they have found the object they pursued.\n\nIt is a melancholy consideration, that the judgement can only be formed\nby experience, which generally comes too late for our own use, and is\nseldom accepted for that of others. I fear it is in vain for me to tell\nyou what dangerous mistakes I made in the early choice of friends--how\nincapable I then was of finding out such as were fit for me, and how\nlittle I was acquainted with the true nature of friendship, when I\nthought myself most fervently engaged in it! I am sensible all this will\nhardly persuade you to choose by the eyes of others, or even to suspect\nthat your own may be deceived. Yet, if you should give any weight to my\nobservations, it may not be quite useless to mention to you some of the\nessential requisites in a friend; and to exhort you never to choose one\nin whom they are wanting.\n\nThe first of these is a deep and sincere regard for religion. If your\nfriend draws her principles from the same source with yourself, if the\ngospel precepts are the rule of her life, as well as your's, you will\nalways know what to expect from her, and have one common standard of\nright and wrong to refer to, by which to regulate all material points of\nconduct. The woman who thinks lightly of sacred things, or who is ever\nheard to speak of them with levity or indifference, cannot reasonably be\nexpected to pay a more serious regard to the laws of friendship, or to\nbe uniformly punctual in the performance of any of the duties of\nsociety; take no such person to your bosom, however recommended by\ngood-humour, wit, or any other qualification; nor let gaiety or\nthoughtlessness be deemed an excuse for offending in this important\npoint: a person habituated to the love and reverence of religion and\nvirtue, no more wants the guard of serious consideration to restrain her\nfrom speaking disrespectfully of them, than to prevent her speaking ill\nof her dearest friend. In the liveliest hour of mirth, the innocent\nheart can dictate nothing but what is innocent; it will immediately take\nalarm at the apprehension of doing wrong, and stop at once in the full\ncareer of youthful sprightliness, if reminded of the neglect or\ntransgression of any duty. Watch for these symptoms of innocence and\ngoodness, and admit no one to your entire affection, who would ever\npersuade you to make light of any sort of offence, or who can treat with\nlevity or contempt any person or thing that bears a relation to\nreligion.\n\nA due regard to reputation is the next indispensable\nqualification.--\"Have regard to thy name,\" saith the wise son of Sirach,\n\"for that will continue with thee above a thousand great treasures of\ngold.\" The young person, who is careless of blame, and indifferent to\nthe esteem of the wise and prudent part of the world, is not only a most\ndangerous companion, but gives a certain proof of the want of rectitude\nin her own mind. Discretion is the guardian of all the virtues; and,\nwhen she forsakes them, they cannot long resist the attacks of an enemy.\nThere is a profligacy of spirit in defying the rules of decorum, and\ndespising censure, which seldom ends otherwise than in extreme\ncorruption and utter ruin. Modesty and prudence are qualities that early\ndisplay themselves, and are easily discerned: where these do not appear,\nyou should avoid, not only friendship, but every step towards intimacy,\nlest your own character should suffer with that of your companion; but,\nwhere they shine forth in any eminent degree, you may safely cultivate\nan acquaintance, in the reasonable hope of finding the solid fruits of\nvirtue beneath such sweet and promising blossoms: should you be\ndisappointed, you will at least have run no risk in the search after\nthem, and may cherish as a creditable acquaintance the person so\nadorned, though she may not deserve a place in your inmost heart.\n\nThe understanding must next be examined: and this is a point which\nrequires so much understanding to judge of in another, that I must\nearnestly recommend to you, not to rely entirely on your own, but to\ntake the opinion of your older friends. I do not wish you to seek for\nbright and uncommon talents, though these are sources of inexhaustible\ndelight and improvement, when found in company with solid judgment and\nsound principles. Good sense (by which I mean a capacity for reasoning\njustly and discerning truly) applied to the uses of life, and exercised\nin distinguishing characters and directing conduct, is alone _necessary_\nto an intimate connection; but, without this, the best intentions,\nthough certain of reward hereafter, may fail of producing their effects\nin this life; nor can they singly constitute the character of an useful\nand valuable friend. On the other hand, the most dazzling genius, or the\nmost engaging wit and humour, can but ill answer the purposes of\nfriendship, without plain common sense and a faculty of just reasoning.\n\nWhat can one do with those who will not be answered with reason, and\nwho, when you are endeavouring to convince or persuade them by serious\narguments, will parry the blow with a witty repartee or a stroke of\npoignant raillery? I know not whether such a reply is less provoking\nthan that of an obstinate fool, who answers your strongest reasons\nwith--\"What you say may be very true, but this is my way of thinking.\" A\nsmall acquaintance with the world will show you instances of the most\nabsurd and foolish conduct in persons of brilliant parts and\nentertaining faculties. But how trifling is the talent of diverting an\nidle hour, compared with true wisdom and prudence, which are perpetually\nwanted to direct us safely and happily through life, and to make us\nuseful and valuable to others!\n\nFancy, I know, will have her share in friendship, as well as in\nlove:--you must please as well as serve me, before I can love you as the\nfriend of my heart. But the faculties that please for an evening may not\nplease for life. The humourous man soon runs through his stock of odd\nstories, mimickry, and jest; and the wit, by constant repeated flashes,\nconfounds and tires one's intellect, instead of enlivening it with\nagreeable surprise: but good sense can neither tire nor wear out; it\nimproves by exercise, and increases in value, the more it is known: the\npleasure it gives in conversation is lasting and satisfactory, because\nit is accompanied with improvement; its worth is proportioned to the\noccasion that calls for it, and rises highest on the most interesting\ntopics; the heart, as well as the understanding, finds its account in\nit; and our noblest interests are promoted by the entertainment we\nreceive from such a companion.\n\nA good temper is the next qualification; the value of which in a friend,\nyou will want no arguments to prove, when you are truly convinced of the\nnecessity of it in yourself, which I shall endeavour to show you in a\nfollowing letter. But, as this is a quality in which you may be\ndeceived, without a long and intimate acquaintance, you must not be\nhasty in forming connections, before you have had sufficient opportunity\nfor making observations on this head. A young person, when pleased and\nenlivened by the presence of her youthful companions, seldom shows ill\ntemper; which must be extreme indeed, if it is not at least controllable\nin such situations. But, you must watch her behaviour to her own family,\nand the degree of estimation she stands in with them. Observe her manner\nto servants and inferiors--to children--and even to animals. See in\nwhat manner she bears disappointments, contradiction, and restraint;\nand what degree of vexation she expresses on any accident of loss or\ntrouble. If in such little trials she shows a meek, resigned, and\ncheerful temper, she will probably preserve it on greater occasions; but\nif she is impatient and discontented under these, how will she support\nthe far greater evils which may await her in her progress through life?\nIf you should have an opportunity of seeing her in sickness, observe\nwhether her complaints are of a mild and gentle kind, forced from her by\npain, and restrained as much as possible; or whether they are\nexpressions of a turbulent rebellious mind, that hardly submits to the\nDivine hand. See whether she is tractable, considerate, kind, and\ngrateful, to those about her: or whether she takes the opportunity,\nwhich their compassion gives her, to tyrannize over and torment them.\nWomen are in general very liable to ill health, which must necessarily\nmake them in some measure troublesome and disagreeable to those they\nlive with. They should therefore, take the more pains to lighten the\nburden as much as possible, by patience and good humour; and be careful\nnot to let their infirmities break in on the health, freedom, or\nenjoyments of others, more than is needful and just. Some ladies seem\nto think it very improper for any person within their reach to enjoy a\nmoment's comfort while they are in pain; and make no scruple of\nsacrificing to their own least convenience, whenever they are\nindisposed, the proper rest, meals, or refreshments of their servants,\nand even sometimes of their husbands and children. But their selfishness\ndefeats its own purpose, as it weakens that affection and tender pity\nwhich excites the most assiduous services, and affords the most healing\nbalm to the heart of the sufferer.\n\nI have already expressed my wishes that your chosen friend may be some\nyears older than yourself; but this is an advantage not always to be\nobtained. Whatever be her age, _religion_, _discretion_, _good sense_,\nand _good temper_, must on no account be dispensed with; and till you\ncan find one so qualified, you had better make no closer connection than\nthat of a mutual intercourse of civilities and good offices. But if it\nis always your aim to mix with the best company, and to be worthy of\nsuch society, you will probably meet with some one among them deserving\nyour affection, to whom you may be equally agreeable.\n\nWhen I speak of the best company, I do not mean, in the common\nacceptation of the word, persons of high rank and fortune--but rather\nthe most worthy and sensible. It is however very important to a young\nwoman to be introduced into life on a respectable footing, and to\nconverse with those whose manners and style of life may polish her\nbehaviour, refine her sentiments, and give her consequence in the eye of\nthe world. Your equals in rank are most proper for intimacy, but to be\nsometimes amongst your superiors is every way desirable and\nadvantageous, unless it should inspire you with pride, or with the\nfoolish desire of emulating their grandeur and expense.\n\nAbove all things avoid intimacy with those of low birth and education!\nnor think it a mark of humility to delight in such society; for it much\noftener proceeds from the meanest kind of pride,--that of being the head\nof the company, and seeing your companions subservient to you. The\nservile flattery and submission, which usually recommend such people,\nand make amends for their ignorance and want of conversation, will\ninfallibly corrupt your heart, and make all company insipid from whom\nyou cannot expect the same homage. Your manners and faculties, instead\nof improving, must be continually lowered, to suit you to your\ncompanions; and, believe me, you will find it no easy matter to raise\nthem again to a level with those of polite and well-informed people.\n\nThe greatest kindness and civility to inferiors is perfectly consistent\nwith proper caution on this head. Treat them always with affability, and\ntalk to them of their own affairs with an affectionate interest; but\nnever make them familiar, nor admit them as associates in your\ndiversions: but, above all, never trust them with your secrets, which is\nputting yourself entirely in their power, and subjecting yourself to the\nmost shameful slavery. The only reason for making choice of such\nconfidants, must be the certainty that they will not venture to blame or\ncontradict inclinations, which you are conscious no true friend would\nencourage. But this is a meanness into which I trust you are in no\ndanger of falling. I rather hope you will have the laudable ambition of\nspending your time chiefly with those, whose superior talents,\neducation, and politeness, may continually improve you, and whose\nsociety will do you honour. However, let no advantage of this kind\nweigh against the want of principle. I have long ago resolved with\nDavid, that, as far as lies in my power, \"I will not know a wicked\nperson.\" Nothing can compensate for the contagion of bad example, and\nfor the danger of wearing off by use that abhorrence of evil actions and\nsentiments, which every innocent mind sets out with, but which an\nindiscriminate acquaintance in the world soon abates, and at length\ndestroys.\n\nIf you are good, and seek friendship only among the good, I trust you\nwill be happy enough to find it. The wise son of Sirach pronounces that\nyou will. \"[21]A faithful friend,\" saith he, \"is the medicine of life;\nand he that feareth the Lord shall find him. Whoso feareth the Lord\nshall direct his friendship aright; for, as he is, so shall his\nneighbour be also.\" In the same admirable book, you will find directions\nhow to choose and preserve a friend. Indeed there is hardly a\ncircumstance in life concerning which you may not there meet with the\nbest advice imaginable. Caution in making friendships is particularly\nrecommended. \"[22]Be in peace with many, nevertheless have but one\ncounsellor of a thousand. If thou wouldst get a friend, prove him first,\nand be not hasty to credit him; for some man is a friend for his own\noccasion, and will not abide in the day of trouble. And there is a\nfriend, who, being turned to enmity and strife, will discover thy\nreproach.\" Again, \"Some friend is a companion at the table, and will not\ncontinue in the day of thy affliction; but in thy prosperity he will be\nas thyself, and will be bold over thy servants: if thou be brought low,\nhe will be against thee, and will hide himself from thy face.\" Chap. ix.\n10. \"Forsake not an old friend; for the new is not comparable to him--A\nnew friend is as new wine; when it is old, thou shalt drink it with\npleasure.\"\n\nWhen you have discreetly chosen, the next point is how to preserve your\nfriend. Numbers complain of the fickleness and ingratitude of those on\nwhom they bestowed their affection; but few examine, whether what they\ncomplain of is not owing to themselves. Affection is not like a portion\nof freehold land, which once settled upon you is a possession for ever,\nwithout further trouble on your part. If you grow less deserving, or\nless attentive to please, you must expect to see the effects of your\nremissness, in the gradual decline of your friend's esteem and\nattachment. Resentment and reproaches will not recal what you have lost;\nbut, on the contrary, will hasten the dissolution of every remaining\ntie. The best remedy is, to renew your care and assiduity to deserve and\ncultivate affection, without seeming to have perceived its abatement.\nJealousy and distrust are the bane of friendship, whose essence is\nesteem and affiance. But if jealousy is expressed by unkind upbraidings,\nor, what is worse, by cold haughty looks and insolent contempt, it can\nhardly fail, if often repeated, to realize the misfortune, which at\nfirst perhaps was imaginary. Nothing can be more an antidote to\naffection than such behaviour, or than the cause of it, which, in\nreality, is nothing but pride; though the jealous person would fain\nattribute it to uncommon tenderness and delicacy: but tenderness is\nnever so expressed: it is indeed deeply sensible of unkindness, but it\ncannot be unkind;--it may subsist with anger, but not with contempt;--it\nmay be weakened, or even killed, by ingratitude; but it cannot be\nchanged into hatred. Remember always, that if you would be _loved_, you\nmust be _amiable_. Habit may, indeed, for a time, supply the deficiency\nof merit; what we have long loved we do not easily cease to love; but\nhabit will at length be conquered by frequent disgusts.--\"[23]Whoso\ncasteth a stone at the birds, frayeth them away; and he that upbraideth\nhis friend, breaketh friendship. Though thou drewest a sword at thy\nfriend, yet despair not, for there may be a returning to favour. If thou\nhast opened thy mouth against thy friend, fear not, for there may be a\nreconciliation; excepting for _upbraiding_, or _pride_, or _disclosing\nof secrets_, or a _treacherous wound_,--for, for these things every\nfriend will depart.\"\n\nI have hitherto spoken of a friend in the singular number, rather in\ncompliance with the notions of most writers, who have treated of\nfriendship, and who generally suppose it can have but one object, than\nfrom my own ideas. The highest kind of friendship is indeed confined to\none;--I mean the conjugal, which, in its perfection, is so entire and\nabsolute an union of interest, will, and affection, as no other\nconnection can stand in competition with. But there are various degrees\nof friendship, which can admit of several objects, esteemed, and\ndelighted in, for different qualities, and whose separate rights are\nperfectly compatible. Perhaps it is not possible to love two persons\nexactly in the same degree; yet, the difference may be so small, that\nnone of the parties can be certain on which side the scale\npreponderates.\n\nIt is narrowness of mind to wish to confine your friend's affection\nsolely to yourself; since you are conscious that, however perfect your\nattachment may be, you cannot possibly supply to her all the blessings\nshe may derive from several friends, who may each love her as well as\nyou do, and may each contribute largely to her happiness. If she depends\non you alone for all the comforts and advantages of friendship, your\nabsence or death may leave her desolate and forlorn. If therefore you\nprefer her good to your own selfish gratification, you should rather\nstrive to multiply her friends, and be ready to embrace in your\naffections all who love, and deserve her love: this generosity will\nbring its own reward, by multiplying the sources of your pleasures and\nsupports; and your first friend will love you the more for such an\nendearing proof of the extent of your affection, which can stretch to\nreceive all who are dear to her. But if, on the contrary, every mark of\nesteem shewn to another excites uneasiness or resentment in you, the\nperson you love must soon feel her connection with you a burden and\nrestraint. She can own no obligation to so selfish an attachment; nor\ncan her tenderness be increased by that which lessens her esteem. If she\nis really fickle and ungrateful, she is not worth your reproaches: If\nnot, she must be reasonably offended by such injurious imputations.\n\nYou do not want to be told, that the strictest fidelity is required in\nfriendship: and though possibly instances might be brought, in which\neven the secret of a friend must be sacrificed to the calls of justice\nand duty, yet these are rare and doubtful cases; and we may venture to\npronounce that, \"[24]Whoso discovereth secrets, loseth his credit, and\nshall never find a friend to his mind.\"--\"Love thy friend, and be\nfaithful unto him: but if thou betrayest his secrets, follow no more\nafter him. For as a man that hath destroyed his enemy, so hast thou\ndestroyed the love of thy friend. As one that letteth a bird go out of\nhis hand, so hast thou let thy neighbour go. Follow no more after him,\nfor he is too far off; he is as a roe escaped out of the snare. As for a\nwound, it may be bound up; and after revilings there may be\nreconcilement; but he that betrayeth secrets is without hope.\"\n\nBut in order to reconcile this inviolable fidelity with the duty you owe\nto yourself or others, you must carefully guard against being made the\nrepository of such secrets as are not fit to be kept. If your friend\nshould engage in any unlawful pursuit--if, for instance, she should\nintend to carry on an affair of love, unknown to her parents--you must\nfirst use your utmost endeavours to dissuade her from it; and if she\npersists, positively and solemnly declare against being a confidant in\nsuch a case. Suffer her not to speak to you on the subject, and warn her\nto forbear acquainting you with any step she may propose to take towards\na marriage unsanctified by parental approbation. Tell her, you would\nthink it your duty to apprize her parents of the danger into which she\nwas throwing herself. However unkindly she may take this at the time,\nshe will certainly esteem and love you the more for it, whenever she\nrecovers a sense of her duty, or experiences the sad effects of swerving\nfrom it.\n\nThere is another case, which I should not choose to suppose possible, in\naddressing myself to so young a person, was it not that too many\ninstances of it have of late been exposed to public animadversion: I\nmean the case of a married woman, who encourages or tolerates the\naddresses of a lover. May no such person be ever called a friend of\nyour's! but if ever one, whom, when innocent, you had loved, should fall\ninto so fatal an error, I can only say that, after proper remonstrances,\nyou must immediately withdraw from all intimacy and confidence with her.\nNor let the absurd pretence of _innocent intentions_, in such\ncircumstances, prevail with you to lend your countenance a moment to\ndisgraceful conduct. There cannot be innocence, in any degree of\nindulgence to unlawful passion. The sacred obligations of marriage are\nvery ill understood by the wife, who can think herself innocent, while\nshe parleys with a lover, or with love, and who does not shut her heart\nand ears against the most distant approaches of either. A virtuous\nwife--though she should be so unhappy as not to be secured, by having\nher strongest affections fixed on her husband--will never admit an idea\nof any other man, in the light of a lover; but if such an idea should\nunawares intrude into her mind, she would instantly stifle it, before it\ngrew strong enough to give her much uneasiness. Not to the most intimate\nfriend--hardly to her own soul--would she venture to confess a weakness,\nshe would so sincerely abhor. Whenever therefore such infidelity of\nheart is made a subject of confidence, depend upon it the corruption has\nspread far, and has been faultily indulged. Enter not into her counsels:\nshow her the danger she is in, and then withdraw yourself from it,\nwhilst you are yet unsullied by contagion.\n\nIt has been supposed a duty of friendship to lay open every thought and\nevery feeling of the heart to our friend. But I have just mentioned a\ncase, in which this is not only unnecessary, but wrong. A disgraceful\ninclination, which we resolve to conquer, should be concealed from every\nbody; and is more easily subdued when denied the indulgence of talking\nof its object; and, I think, there may be other instances, in which it\nwould be most prudent to keep our thoughts concealed even from our\ndearest friend. Some things I would communicate to one friend, and not\nto another, whom perhaps I loved better, because I might know that my\nfirst friend was not so well qualified as the other to counsel me on\nthat particular subject: a natural bias on her mind, some prevailing\nopinion, or some connection with persons concerned, might make her an\nimproper confidant with regard to one particular, though qualified to be\nso on all other occasions.\n\nThis confidence of friendship is indeed one of its sweetest pleasures\nand greatest advantages. The human heart often stands in need of some\nkind and faithful partner of its cares, in whom it may repose all its\nweaknesses, and with whom it is sure of finding the tenderest sympathy.\nFar be it from me to shut up the heart with cold distrust, and rigid\ncaution, or to adopt the odious maxim, that \"we should live with a\nfriend, as if he were one day to become an enemy.\" But we must not\nwholly abandon prudence in any sort of connection; since, when every\nguard is laid aside, our unbounded openness may injure others as well as\nourselves. Secrets entrusted to us must be sacredly kept even from our\nnearest friend: for we have no right to dispose of the secrets of\nothers.\n\nIf there is danger in making an improper choice of friends, my dear\nchild, how much more fatal would it be to mistake in a stronger kind of\nattachment--in that which leads to an irrevocable engagement for life!\nyet so much more is the understanding blinded, when once the fancy is\ncaptivated, that it seems a desperate undertaking to convince a girl in\nlove that she has mistaken the character of the man she prefers.\n\nIf the passions would wait for the decision of judgment, and if a young\nwoman could have the same opportunities of examining into the real\ncharacter of her lover, as into that of a female candidate for her\nfriendship, the same rules might direct you in the choice of both: for\nmarriage being the highest state of friendship, the qualities requisite\nin a friend are still more important in a husband. But young women know\nso little of the world, especially of the other sex, and such pains are\nusually taken to deceive them, that they are every way unqualified to\nchoose for themselves, upon their own judgment. Many a heart-ache shall\nI feel for you, my sweet girl, if I live a few years longer! Since, not\nonly all your happiness in this world, but your advancement in religion\nand virtue, or your apostacy from every good principle you have been\ntaught, will probably depend on the companion you fix to for life. Happy\nwill it be for you, if you are wise and modest enough to withdraw from\ntemptation, and preserve your heart free and open to receive the just\nrecommendation of your parents: further than a recommendation, I dare\nsay they will never go, in an affair which, though it should be begun by\nthem, ought never to be proceeded in without your free concurrence.\n\nWhatever romantic notions you may hear or read of, depend upon it, those\nmatches are the happiest which are made on rational grounds--on\nsuitableness of character, degree, and fortune--on mutual esteem, and the\nprospect of a real and permanent friendship. Far be it from me to advise\nyou to marry where you do not love;--a mercenary marriage is a detestable\nprostitution. But, on the other hand, an union formed upon mere personal\nliking, without the requisite foundation of esteem, without the sanction\nof parental approbation, and, consequently, without the blessing of God,\ncan be productive of nothing but misery and shame. The passion, to which\nevery consideration of duty and prudence is sacrificed, instead of\nsupplying the loss of all other advantages, will soon itself be changed\ninto mutual distrust--repentance--reproaches--and, finally, perhaps into\nhatred. The distresses it brings will be void of every consolation; you\nwill have disgusted the friends who should be your support--debased\nyourself in the eyes of the world--and, what is much worse, in your own\neyes, and even in those of your husband: above all, you will have\noffended that God, who alone can shield you from calamity.\n\nFrom an act like this, I trust, your duty and gratitude to your kind\nparents--the first of dudes next to that we owe to God, and inseparably\nconnected with it--will effectually preserve you. But most young people\nthink they have fulfilled their duty, if they refrain from actually\nmarrying against prohibition: they suffer their affections, and even\nperhaps their word of honour, to be engaged, without consulting their\nparents; yet satisfy themselves with resolving not to marry without\ntheir consent: not considering, that, besides the wretched, useless,\nuncomfortable state they plunge _themselves_ into, when they contract an\nhopeless engagement, they must likewise involve a _parent_ in the\nmiserable dilemma of either giving a forced consent against his\njudgment, or of seeing his beloved child pine away her prime of life in\nfruitless anxiety--seeing her accuse him of tyranny, because he\nrestrains her from certain ruin--seeing her affections alienated from\nher family--and all her thoughts engrossed by one object, to the\ndestruction of her health and spirits, and of all improvements and\noccupations. What a cruel alternative for parents, whose happiness is\nbound up with that of their child! The time to consult them is before\nyou have given a lover the least encouragement; nor ought you to listen\na moment to the man who would wish you to keep his addresses secret;\nsince he thereby shows himself conscious that they are not fit to be\nencouraged.\n\nBut perhaps I have said enough on this subject at present; though, if\never advice on such a topic can be of use, it must be before passion has\ngot possession of the heart, and silenced both reason and principle. Fix\ntherefore in your mind, as deeply as possible, those rules of duty and\nprudence which now seem reasonable to you, that they may be at hand in\nthe hour of trial, and save you from the miseries, in which strong\naffections, unguided by discretion, involve so many of our sex.\n\nIf you love virtue sincerely, you will be incapable of loving an openly\nvicious character. But, alas! your innocent heart may be easily ensnared\nby an artful one--and from this danger nothing can secure you but the\nexperience of those, to whose guidance God has entrusted you: may you be\nwise enough to make use of it!--So will you have the fairest chance of\nattaining the best blessings this world can afford, in a faithful and\nvirtuous union with a worthy man, who may direct your steps in safety\nand honour through this life, and partake with you the rewards of virtue\nin that which is to come. But, if this happy lot should be denied you,\ndo not be afraid of a single life. A worthy woman is never destitute of\nvaluable friends, who in a great measure supply to her the want of\nnearer connections. She can never be slighted or disesteemed, while her\ngood temper and benevolence render her a blessing to her companions.\nNay, she must be honoured by all persons of sense and virtue, for\npreferring the single state to an union unworthy of her. The calamities\nof an unhappy marriage are so much greater than can befall a single\nperson, that the unmarried woman may find abundant argument to be\ncontented with her condition, when pointed out to her by Providence.\nWhether married or single, if your first care is to please God, you will\nundoubtedly be a blessed creature;--\"For that which he delights in _must\nbe happy_.\" How earnestly I wish you this happiness, you can never know,\nunless you could read the heart of\n\n    Your truly affectionate.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[21] Ecclus v.\n\n[22] Ibid. vi.\n\n[23] Ecclus. xxii. 20.\n\n[24] Ecclus. xxvii. 16.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER VI.\n\nON THE GOVERNMENT OF THE TEMPER.\n\n\nTHE next great point of importance to your future happiness, my dear, is\nwhat your parents have, doubtless, been continually attentive to from\nyour infancy, as it is impossible to undertake it too early--I mean the\ndue Regulation of your Temper. Though you are in great measure indebted\nto their forming hands for whatever is good in it, you are sensible, no\ndoubt, as every human creature is, of propensities to some infirmity of\ntemper, which it must now be _your own_ care to correct and to subdue:\notherwise the pains that have hitherto been taken with you may all\nbecome fruitless; and, when you are your own mistress, you may relapse\ninto those faults, which were originally in your nature, and which will\nrequire to be diligently watched and kept under, through the whole\ncourse of your life.\n\nIf you consider, that the constant tenor of the gospel precepts is to\npromote love, peace, and good-will amongst men, you will not doubt that\nthe cultivation of an amiable disposition is a great part of your\nreligious duty: since nothing leads more directly to the breach of\ncharity, and to the injury and molestation of our fellow-creatures, than\nthe indulgence of an ill-temper. Do not therefore think lightly of the\noffences you may commit, for want of a due command over it, or suppose\nyourself responsible for them to your fellow-creatures only; but, be\nassured, you must give a strict account of them all to the Supreme\nGovernor of the world, who has made this a great part of your appointed\ntrial upon earth.\n\nA woman, bred up in a religious manner, placed above the reach of want,\nand out of the way of sordid or scandalous vices, can have but few\ntemptations to the flagrant breach of the Divine laws. It particularly\nconcerns her therefore to understand them in their full import, and to\nconsider how far she trespasses against them, by such actions as appear\ntrivial when compared with murder, adultery, and theft, but which become\nof very great importance, by being frequently repeated, and occurring in\nthe daily transactions of life.\n\nThe principal virtues or vices of a woman must be of a private and\ndomestic kind. Within the circle of her own family and dependents lies\nher sphere of action--the scene of almost all those tasks and trials,\nwhich must determine her character, and her fate, here and hereafter.\nReflect, for a moment, how much the happiness of her husband, children,\nand servants, must depend on her temper, and you will see that the\ngreatest good, or evil, which she ever may have in her power to do, may\narise from her correcting or indulging its infirmities.\n\nThough I wish the principle of duty towards God to be your ruling motive\nin the exercise of every virtue, yet, as human nature stands in need of\nall possible helps, let us not forget how essential it is to present\nhappiness, and to the enjoyment of this life, to cultivate such a temper\nas is likewise indispensably requisite to the attainment of higher\nfelicity in the life to come. The greatest outward blessings cannot\nafford enjoyment to a mind ruffled and uneasy within itself. A fit of\nill-humour will spoil the finest entertainment, and is as real a torment\nas the most painful disease. Another unavoidable consequence of\nill-temper is the dislike and aversion of all who are witnesses to it,\nand, perhaps, the deep and lasting resentment of those who suffer from\nits effects. We all, from social or self-love, earnestly desire the\nesteem and affection of our fellow-creatures; and indeed our condition\nmakes them so necessary to us, that the wretch who has forfeited them,\nmust feel desolate and undone, deprived of all the best enjoyments and\ncomforts the world can afford, and given up to his inward misery,\nunpitied and scorned. But this can never be the fate of a good-natured\nperson: whatever faults he may have, they will generally be treated with\nlenity; he will find an advocate in every human heart; his errors will\nbe lamented rather than abhorred; and his virtues will be viewed in the\nfairest point of light. His good humour, without the help of great\ntalents or acquirements, will make his company preferable to that of the\nmost brilliant genius, in whom this quality is wanting; in short, it is\nalmost impossible that you can be sincerely beloved by any body, without\nthis engaging property, whatever other excellencies you may possess;\nbut, with it, you will scarcely fail of finding some friends and\nfavourers, even though you should be destitute of almost every other\nadvantage.\n\nPerhaps you will say, all this is very true; \"but our tempers are not in\nour own power; we are made with different dispositions, and, if mine is\nnot amiable, it is rather my unhappiness than my fault.\" This, my dear,\nis commonly said by those who will not take the trouble to correct\nthemselves. Yet, be assured, it is a delusion, and will not avail in our\njustification before Him, \"who knoweth whereof we are made,\" and of what\nwe are capable. It is true, we are not all equally happy in our\ndispositions; but human virtue consists in cherishing and cultivating\nevery good inclination, and in checking and subduing every propensity to\nevil. If you had been born with a bad temper, it might have been made a\ngood one, at least with regard to its outward effects, by education,\nreason, and principle: and, though you are so happy as to have a good\none while young, do not suppose it will always continue so, if you\nneglect to maintain a proper command over it. Power, sickness,\ndisappointments, or worldly cares, may corrupt and embitter the finest\ndisposition, if they are not counteracted by reason and religion.\n\nIt is observed, that every temper is inclined, in some degree, either to\npassion, peevishness, or obstinacy. Many are so unfortunate as to be\ninclined to each of the three in turn: it is necessary therefore to\nwatch the bent of our nature, and to apply the remedies proper for the\ninfirmity to which we are most liable. With regard to the first, it is\nso injurious to society, and so odious in itself, especially in the\nfemale character, that one would think shame alone would be sufficient\nto preserve a young woman from giving way to it: for it is as unbecoming\nher character to be betrayed into ill-behaviour by _passion_, as by\n_intoxication_, and she ought to be ashamed of the one as much as of the\nother. Gentleness, meekness, and patience, are her peculiar\ndistinctions; and an enraged woman is one of the most disgusting sights\nin nature.\n\nIt is plain, from experience, that the most passionate people can\ncommand themselves, when they have a motive sufficiently strong--such as\nthe presence of those they fear, or to whom they particularly desire to\nrecommend themselves; it is therefore no excuse to persons, whom you\nhave injured by unkind reproaches, and unjust aspersions, to tell them\nyou was in a passion; the allowing yourself to speak to them in a\npassion is a proof of an insolent disrespect, which the meanest of your\nfellow-creatures would have a right to resent. When once you find\nyourself heated so far as to desire to say what you know would be\nprovoking and wounding to another, you should immediately resolve either\nto be silent, or to quit the room, rather than give utterance to any\nthing dictated by so bad an inclination. Be assured, you are then unfit\nto reason or to reprove, or to hear reason from others. It is therefore\nyour part to retire from such an occasion of sin; and wait till you are\ncool, before you presume to judge of what has passed. By accustoming\nyourself thus to conquer and disappoint your anger, you will, by\ndegrees, find it grow weak and manageable, so as to leave your reason at\nliberty. You will be able to restrain your tongue from evil, and your\nlooks and gestures from all expressions of violence and ill-will. Pride,\nwhich produces so many evils in the human mind, is the great source of\npassion. Whoever cultivates in himself a proper humility, a due sense of\nhis own faults and insufficiencies, and a due respect for others, will\nfind but small temptation to violent or unreasonable anger.\n\nIn the case of real injuries, which justify and call for resentment,\nthere is a noble and generous kind of anger, a proper and necessary part\nof our nature, which has nothing in it sinful or degrading. I would not\nwish you insensible to this; for the person, who feels not an injury,\nmust be incapable of being properly affected by benefits. With those,\nwho treat you ill without provocation, you ought to maintain your own\ndignity. But, in order to do this, whilst you show a sense of their\nimproper behaviour, you must preserve calmness, and even good-breeding;\nand thereby convince them of the impotence as well as injustice of\ntheir malice. You must also weigh every circumstance with candour and\ncharity, and consider whether your showing the resentment deserved may\nnot produce ill consequences to innocent persons--as is almost always\nthe case in family quarrels; and whether it may not occasion the breach\nof some duty, or necessary connection, to which you ought to sacrifice\neven your just resentments. Above all things, take care that a\nparticular offence to you does not make you unjust to the general\ncharacter of the offending person. Generous anger does not preclude\nesteem for whatever is really estimable, nor does it destroy good-will\nto the person of its object: it even inspires the desire of overcoming\nhim by benefits, and wishes to inflict no other punishment than the\nregret of having injured one who deserved his kindness: it is always\nplacable, and ready to be reconciled, as soon as the offender is\nconvinced of his error; nor can any subsequent injury provoke it to\nrecur to past disobligations, which had been once forgiven. But it is\nperhaps unnecessary to give rules for this case. The consciousness of\ninjured innocence naturally produces dignity, and usually prevents\nexcess of anger. Our passion is most unruly, when we are conscious of\nblame, and when we apprehend that we have laid ourselves open to\ncontempt. Where we know we have been wrong, the least injustice in the\ndegree of blame imputed to us, excites our bitterest resentment; but,\nwhere we know ourselves faultless, the sharpest accusation excites pity\nor contempt, rather than rage. Whenever, therefore, you feel yourself\nvery angry, suspect yourself to be in the wrong, and resolve to stand\nthe decision of your own conscience before you cast upon another the\npunishment, which is perhaps due to yourself. This self-examination will\nat least give you time to cool, and, if you are just, will dispose you\nto balance your own wrong with that of your antagonist, and to settle\nthe account with him on equal terms.\n\nPeevishness, though not so violent and fatal in its immediate effects,\nis still more unamiable than passion, and, if possible, more destructive\nof happiness, inasmuch as it operates more continually. Though the\nfretful man injures us less, he disgusts us more than the passionate\none; because he betrays a low and little mind, intent on trifles, and\nengrossed by a paltry self-love, which knows not how to bear the very\napprehension of any inconvenience. It is self-love then, which we must\ncombat, when we find ourselves assaulted by this infirmity; and, by\nvoluntarily induring inconveniences, we shall habituate ourselves to\nbear them with ease and good-humour, when occasioned by others. Perhaps\nthis is the best kind of religious mortification; as the chief end of\ndenying ourselves any innocent indulgences, must be to acquire a habit\nof command over our passions and inclinations, particularly such as are\nlikely to lead us into evil. Another method of conquering this enemy, is\nto abstract our minds from that attention to trifling circumstances,\nwhich usually creates this uneasiness. Those, who are engaged in high\nand important pursuits, are very little affected by small\ninconveniences. The man, whose head is full of studious thought, or\nwhose heart is full of care, will eat his dinner without knowing whether\nit was well or ill dressed, or whether it was served punctually at the\nhour or not: and though absence from the common things of life is far\nfrom desirable--especially in a woman--yet too minute and anxious an\nattention to them seldom fails to produce a teasing, mean, and fretful\ndisposition. I would therefore wish your mind to have always some object\nin pursuit worthy of it, that it may not be engrossed by such as are in\nthemselves scarce worth a moment's anxiety. It is chiefly in the decline\nof life, when amusements fail, and when the more importunate passions\nsubside, that this infirmity is observed to grow upon us; and perhaps it\nwill seldom fail to do so, unless carefully watched, and counteracted by\nreason. We must then endeavour to substitute some pursuits in the place\nof those, which can only engage us in the beginning of our course. The\npursuit of glory and happiness in another life, by every means of\nimproving and exalting our own minds, becomes more and more interesting\nto us, the nearer we draw to the end of all sublunary enjoyments.\nReading, reflection, rational conversation, and, above all, conversing\nwith God, by prayer and meditation, may preserve us from taking that\nanxious interest in the little comforts and conveniences of our\nremaining days, which usually gives birth to so much fretfulness in old\npeople. But though the aged and infirm are most liable to this evil--and\nthey alone are to be pitied for it--yet we sometimes see the young, the\nhealthy, and those who enjoy most outward blessings, inexcusably guilty\nof it. The smallest disappointment in pleasure, or difficulty in the\nmost trifling employment, will put wilful young people out of temper,\nand their very amusements frequently become sources of vexation and\npeevishness. How often have I seen a girl, preparing for a ball, or for\nsome other public appearance--unable to satisfy her own vanity--fret\nover every ornament she put on, quarrel with her maid, with her clothes,\nher hair; and growing still more unlovely as she grew more cross, be\nready to fight with her looking-glass for not making her as handsome as\nshe wished to be! She did not consider, that the traces of this\nill-humour on her countenance would be a greater disadvantage to her\nappearance than any defect in her dress, or even than the plainest\nfeatures enlivened by joy and good-humour. There is a degree of\nresignation necessary even to the enjoyment of pleasure: we must be\nready and willing to give up some part of what we could wish for, before\nwe can enjoy that which is indulged to us. I have no doubt that she, who\nfrets all the while she is dressing for an assembly, will suffer still\ngreater uneasiness when she is there. The same craving restless vanity\nwill there endure a thousand mortifications, which, in the midst of\nseeming pleasure, will secretly corrode her heart; whilst the meek and\nhumble generally find more gratification than they expected, and return\nhome pleased and enlivened from every scene of amusement, though they\ncould have staid away from it with perfect ease and contentment.\n\nSullenness, or obstinacy, is perhaps a worse fault of temper than either\nof the former, and, if indulged, may end in the most fatal extremes of\nstubborn melancholy, malice, and revenge. The resentment which, instead\nof being expressed, is nursed in secret, and continually aggravated by\nthe imagination, will, in time, become the ruling passion; and then, how\nhorrible must be his case, whose kind and pleasurable affections are all\nswallowed up by the tormenting as well as detestable sentiments of\nhatred and revenge? \"[25]Admonish thy friend, peradventure he hath not\ndone it: or, if he hath, that he do it no more.--Admonish thy friend,\nperadventure he hath not said it: or, if he hath, that he speak it not\nagain.\" Brood not over a resentment which perhaps was at first\nill-grounded, and which is undoubtedly heightened by an heated\nimagination. But when you have first subdued your own temper, so as to\nbe able to speak calmly, reasonably, and kindly, then expostulate with\nthe person you suppose to be in fault--hear what she has to say; and\neither reconcile yourself to her, or quiet your mind under the injury by\nthe principle of Christian charity. But, if it should appear that you\nyourself have been most to blame, or if you have been in an error,\nacknowledge it fairly and handsomely; if you feel any reluctance to do\nso, be certain that it arises from pride, to conquer which is an\nabsolute duty. \"A soft answer turneth away wrath,\" and a generous\nconfession oftentimes more than atones for the fault which requires it.\nTruth and justice demand, that we should acknowledge conviction, as soon\nas we feel it, and not maintain an erroneous opinion, or justify a wrong\nconduct, merely from the false shame of confessing our past ignorance. A\nfalse shame it undoubtedly is, and as impolitic as unjust, since your\nerror is already seen by those who endeavour to set you right; but your\nconviction, and the candour and generosity of owning it freely, may\nstill be an honour to you, and would greatly recommend you to the person\nwith whom you disputed. With a disposition strongly inclined to\nsullenness or obstinacy, this must be a very painful exertion; and to\nmake a perfect conquest over yourself at once may perhaps appear\nimpracticable, whilst the zeal of self-justification, and the abhorrence\nof blame, are strong upon you. But, if you are so unhappy as to yield to\nyour infirmity, at one time, do not let this discourage you from\nrenewing your efforts. Your mind will gain strength from the contest,\nand your internal enemy will by degrees be forced to give ground. Be not\nafraid to revive the subject, as soon as you find yourself able to\nsubdue your temper; and then frankly lay open the conflict you sustained\nat the time: by this you will make all the amends in your power for your\nfault, and will certainly change the disgust you have given into pity at\nleast, if not admiration. Nothing is more endearing than such a\nconfession; and you will find such a satisfaction in your own\nconsciousness, and in the renewed tenderness and esteem you will gain\nfrom the person concerned, that your task for the future will be made\nmore easy, and your reluctance to be convinced will on every occasion\ngrow less and less.\n\nThe love of truth, and a real desire of improvement, ought to be the\nonly motives of argumentation; and, where these are sincere, no\ndifficulty can be made of embracing the truth, as soon as it is\nperceived. But, in fact, people oftener dispute from vanity and pride,\nwhich makes it a grievous mortification to allow that we are the wiser\nfor what we have heard from another. To receive advice, reproof, and\ninstruction, properly, is the surest sign of a sincere and humble heart;\nand shows a greatness of mind, which commands our respect and reverence,\nwhile it appears so willingly to yield to us the superiority.\n\nObserve, notwithstanding, that I do not wish you to hear of your faults\nwithout pain: Such an indifference would afford small hopes of\namendment. Shame and remorse are the first steps to true repentance; yet\nwe should be willing to bear this pain, and thankful to the kind hand\nthat inflicts it for our good. Nor must we, by sullen silence under it,\nleave our kind physician in doubt, whether the operation has taken\neffect or not, or whether it has not added another malady, instead of\ncuring the first. You must consider that those who tell you of your\nfaults, if they do it from motives of kindness, and not of malice, exert\ntheir friendship in a painful office, which must have cost them as great\nan effort as it can be to you to acknowledge the service; and, if you\nrefuse this encouragement, you cannot expect that any one, who is not\nabsolutely obliged to it by duty, will a second time undertake such an\nill-requited trouble. What a loss would this be to yourself!--How\ndifficult would be our progress to that degree of perfection, which is\nnecessary to our happiness, was it not for the assistance we receive\nfrom each other!--This certainly is one of the means of grace held out\nto us by our merciful Judge, and, if we reject it, we are answerable for\nall the miscarriages we may fall into for want of it.\n\nI know not, whether that strange caprice, that inequality of taste and\nbehaviour, so commonly attributed to our sex, may be properly called a\nfault of temper,--as it seems not to be connected with, or arising from,\nour animal frame,--but to be rather the fruit of our own\nself-indulgence, degenerating by degrees into such a wantonness of will\nas knows not how to please itself. When, instead of regulating our\nactions by reason and principle, we suffer ourselves to be guided by\nevery slight and momentary impulse of inclination, we shall, doubtless,\nappear so variable and inconstant, that nobody can guess, by our\nbehaviour to day, what may be expected from us to-morrow; nor can we\nourselves tell, whether what we delighted in a week ago will now afford\nus the least degree of pleasure. It is in vain for others to attempt to\nplease us--we cannot please ourselves, though all we could wish for\nwaits our choice: and thus does a capricious woman become \"sick of\nherself, through very selfishness:\" And, when this is the case, it is\neasy to judge how sick others must be of her, and how contemptible and\ndisgusting she must appear. This wretched state is the usual consequence\nof power and flattery. May my dear child never meet with the temptation\nof that excessive and ill-judged indulgence from a husband, which she\nhas happily escaped from her parents, and which seldom fails to reduce\nwomen to the miserable condition of a humoured child, always unhappy\nfrom having nobody's will to study but its own! The insolence of such\ndemands for yourself, and such disregard to the choice and inclinations\nof others, can seldom fail to make you as many enemies as there are\npersons obliged to bear with your humours; whilst a compliant,\nreasonable, and contented disposition, would render you happy in\nyourself, and beloved by all your companions; particularly by those, who\nlive constantly with you; and, of what consequence this is to your\nhappiness, a moment's reflection will convince you. Family friendships\nare the friendships made for us, if I may so speak, by God himself. With\nthe kindest intentions, he has knit the bands of family love, by\nindispensable duties; and wretched are they who have burst them asunder\nby violence and ill-will, or worn them out by constant little\ndisobligations, and by the want of that attention to please, which the\npresence of a stranger always inspires, but which is so often shamefully\nneglected towards those, whom it is most our duty and interest to\nplease. May you, my dear, be wise enough to see that every faculty of\nentertainment, every engaging qualification, which you possess, is\nexerted to the best advantage for those, whose love is of most\nimportance to you--for those who live under the same roof, and with whom\nyou are connected for life, either by the ties of blood, or by the still\nmore sacred obligations of a voluntary engagement.\n\nTo make you the delight and darling of your family, something more is\nrequired than barely to be exempt from ill-temper and troublesome\nhumours. The sincere and genuine smiles of complacency and love must\nadorn your countenance. That ready compliance, that alertness to assist\nand oblige, which demonstrates true affection, must animate your\nbehaviour, and endear your most common action. Politeness must accompany\nyour greatest familiarities, and restrain you from every thing that is\nreally offensive, or which can give a moment's unnecessary pain.\nConversation, which is so apt to grow dull and insipid in families, nay,\nin some to be almost wholly laid aside, must be cultivated with the\nfrankness and openness of friendship, and by the mutual communication of\nwhatever may conduce to the improvement or innocent entertainment of\neach other.\n\nReading, whether apart or in common, will furnish useful and pleasing\nsubjects; and the sprightliness of youth will naturally inspire harmless\nmirth and native humour, if encouraged by a mutual desire of diverting\neach other, and making the hours pass agreeably in your own house: every\namusement that offers will be heightened by the participation of these\ndear companions, and by talking over every incident together and every\nobject of pleasure. If you have any acquired talent of entertainment,\nsuch as music, painting, or the like, your own family are those before\nwhom you should most wish to excel, and for whom you should always be\nready to exert yourself; not suffering the accomplishments which you\nhave gained, perhaps by their means, and at their expense, to lie\ndormant, till the arrival of a stranger gives you spirit in the\nperformance. Where this last is the case, you may be sure vanity is the\nonly motive of the exertion: a stranger will praise you more: but how\nlittle sensibility has that heart which is not more gratified by the\nsilent pleasure painted on the countenance of a partial parent, or of an\naffectionate brother, than by the empty compliment of a visitor, who is\nperhaps inwardly more disposed to criticise and ridicule than to admire\nyou!\n\nI have been longer in this letter than I intended, yet it is with\ndifficulty I can quit the subject, because I think it is seldom\nsufficiently insisted on, either in books or in sermons; and because\nthere are many persons weak enough to believe themselves in a safe and\ninnocent course of life, whilst they are daily harassing every body\nabout them by their vexatious humours. But you will, I hope, constantly\nbear in mind, that you can never treat a fellow-creature unkindly,\nwithout offending the kind Creator and Father of all; and that you can\nno way render yourself so acceptable to him, as by studying to promote\nthe happiness of others, in every instance, small as well as great. The\nfavour of God, and the love of your companions, will surely be deemed\nrewards sufficient to animate your most fervent endeavours; yet this is\nnot all: the disposition of mind, which I would recommend, is its own\nreward, and is in itself essential to happiness. Cultivate it therefore,\nmy dear child, with your utmost diligence; and watch the symptoms of\nill-temper, as they rise, with a firm resolution to conquer them, before\nthey are even perceived by any other person. In every such inward\nconflict, call upon our Maker, to assist the feeble nature he hath given\nyou, and sacrifice to _Him_ every feeling that would tempt you to\ndisobedience: so will you at length attain the true Christian meekness,\nwhich is blessed in the sight of God and man; \"which has the promise of\nthis life as well as of that which is to come.\" Then will you pity, in\nothers, those infirmities, which you have conquered in yourself; and\nwill think yourself as much bound to assist, by your patience and\ngentleness, those who are so unhappy as to be under the dominion of evil\npassions, as you are to impart a share of your riches to the poor and\nmiserable.\n\n    Adieu, my dearest.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[25] Ecclus. xix. 13.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER VII.\n\nON ECONOMY.\n\n\n    _MY DEAREST NIECE_,\n\nECONOMY is so important a part of a woman's character, so necessary to\nher own happiness, and so essential to her performing properly the\nduties of a wife and of a mother, that it ought to have the precedence\nof all other accomplishments, and take its rank next to the first duties\nof life. It is, moreover, an _art_ as well as a _virtue_; and many\nwell-meaning persons, from ignorance, or from inconsideration, are\nstrangely deficient in it. Indeed it is too often wholly neglected in a\nyoung woman's education; and she is sent from her father's house to\ngovern a family, without the least degree of that knowledge which should\nqualify her for it: this is the source of much inconvenience; for though\nexperience and attention may supply, by degrees, the want of\ninstruction, yet this requires time: the family in the meantime may get\ninto habits, which are very difficult to alter; and, what is worse, the\nhusband's opinion of his wife's incapacity may be fixed too strongly to\nsuffer him ever to think justly of her gradual improvements. I would\ntherefore earnestly advise you to make use of every opportunity you can\nfind, for the laying in some store of knowledge on this subject, before\nyou are called upon to the practice; by observing what passes before\nyou--by consulting prudent and experienced mistresses of families--and\nby entering in a book a memorandum of every new piece of intelligence\nyou acquire; you may afterwards compare these with more mature\nobservations, and you can make additions and corrections, as you see\noccasion. I hope it will not be long before your mother entrusts you\nwith some part, at least, of the management of your father's house.\nWhilst you are under her eye, your ignorance cannot do much harm, though\nthe relief to her at first may not be near so considerable as the\nbenefit to yourself.\n\nEconomy consists of so many branches, some of which descend to such\nminutenesses, that it is impossible for me in writing to give you\nparticular directions. The rude outlines may be perhaps described, and I\nshall be happy if I can furnish you with any hint that may hereafter be\nusefully employed.\n\nThe first and greatest point is, to lay out your general plan of living\nin a just proportion to your fortune and rank: if these two will not\ncoincide, the last must certainly give way; for, if you have right\nprinciples, you cannot fail of being wretched under the sense of the\ninjustice as well as danger of spending beyond your income, and your\ndistress will be continually increasing. No mortifications, which you\ncan suffer from retrenching in your appearance, can be comparable to\nthis unhappiness. If you would enjoy the real comforts of affluence, you\nshould lay your plan considerably within your income; not for the\npleasure of amassing wealth--though, where there is a growing family, it\nis an absolute duty to lay by something every year--but to provide for\ncontingencies, and to have the power of indulging your choice in the\ndisposal of the overplus, either in innocent pleasures, or to increase\nyour funds for charity and generosity, which are in fact the true funds\nof pleasure. In some circumstances indeed this would not be prudent:\nthere are professions in which a man's success greatly depends on his\nmaking some figure, where the bare suspicion of poverty would bring on\nthe reality. If by marriage you should be placed in such a situation, it\nwill be your duty to exert all your skill in the management of your\nincome: yet, even in this case, I would not strain to the utmost for\nappearance, but would choose my models among the most prudent and\nmoderate of my own class; and be contented with slower advancement, for\nthe sake of security and peace of mind.\n\nA contrary conduct is the ruin of many; and, in general, the wives of\nmen in such professions might live in a more retired and frugal manner\nthan they do, without any ill consequence, if they did not make the\nscheme of advancing the success of their husbands an excuse to\nthemselves for the indulgence of their own vanity and ambition.\n\nPerhaps it may be said, that the settling the general scheme of expenses\nis seldom the wife's province, and that many men do not choose even to\nacquaint her with the real state of their affairs. Where this is the\ncase, a woman can be answerable for no more than is entrusted to her.\nBut I think it a very ill sign, for one or both of the parties where\nthere is such a want of openness, in what equally concerns them. As I\ntrust you will deserve the confidence of your husband, so I hope you\nwill be allowed free consultation with him on your mutual interest; and\nI believe there are few men, who would not hearken to reason on their\nown affairs, when they saw a wife ready and desirous to give up her\nshare of vanities and indulgences, and only earnest to promote the\ncommon good of the family.\n\nIn order to settle your plan, it will be necessary to make a pretty\nexact calculation: and if, from this time, you accustom yourself to\ncalculations, in all the little expenses entrusted to you, you will grow\nexpert and ready at them, and be able to guess very nearly, where\ncertainty cannot be obtained. Many articles of expense are regular and\nfixed: these may be valued exactly; and, by consulting with experienced\npersons, you may calculate nearly the amount of others: any material\narticle of consumption, in a family of any given number and\ncircumstances, may be estimated pretty nearly. Your own expenses of\nclothes and pocket-money should be settled and circumscribed, that you\nmay be sure not to exceed the just proportion. I think it an admirable\nmethod to appropriate such a portion of your income, as you judge\nproper to bestow in charity, to be sacredly kept for that purpose, and\nno longer considered as your own. By which means you will avoid the\ntemptation of giving less than you ought, through selfishness, or more\nthan you ought, through good-nature or weakness. If your circumstances\nallow of it, you might set apart another fund for acts of liberality or\nfriendship, which do not come under the head of charity. The having such\nfunds ready at hand, makes it easy and pleasant to give; and when acts\nof bounty are performed without effort, they are generally done more\nkindly and effectually. If you are obliged in conscience to lay up for a\nfamily, the same method of an appropriated fund for saving will be of\nexcellent use, as it will prevent that continual and often ineffectual\nanxiety, which a general desire of saving, without having fixed the\nlimits, is sure to create.\n\nRegularity of payments and accounts is essential to Economy:--your\nhouse-keeping should be settled at least once a week, and all the bills\npaid: all other tradesmen should be paid, at furthest, once a year.\nIndeed I think it more advantageous to pay oftener: but, if you make\nthem trust you longer, they must either charge proportionally higher, or\nbe losers by your custom. Numbers of them fail, every year, from the\ncruel cause of being obliged to give their customers so much longer\ncredit than the dealers, from whom they take their goods, will allow to\nthem. If people of fortune considered this, they would not defer their\npayments, from mere negligence, as they often do, to the ruin of whole\nfamilies.\n\nYou must endeavour to acquire skill in purchasing: in order to this, you\nshould begin now to attend to the prices of things, and take every\nproper opportunity of learning the real value of every thing, as well as\nthe marks whereby you are to distinguish the good from the bad.\n\nIn your table, as in your dress, and in all other things, I wish you to\naim at _propriety_ and _neatness_, or, if your state demands it,\n_elegance_, rather than _superfluous figure_. To go beyond your sphere,\neither in dress or in the appearance of your table, indicates a greater\nfault in your character than to be too much within it. It is impossible\nto enter into the _minutiae_ of the table; good sense and observation on\nthe best models must form your taste, and a due regard to what you can\nafford must restrain it.\n\nLadies, who are fond of needle-work, generally choose to consider that\nas a principal part of good housewifery: and though I cannot look upon\nit as of equal importance with the due regulation of a family, yet, in a\nmiddling rank, and with a moderate fortune, it is a necessary part of a\nwoman's duty, and a considerable article in expense is saved by it. Many\nyoung ladies make almost _every thing_ they wear; by which means they\ncan make a genteel figure at a small expense. This, in your station, is\nthe most profitable and desirable kind of work; and, as much of it as\nyou can do, consistently with a due attention to your health, to the\nimprovement of your mind, and to the discharge of other duties, I should\nthink highly commendable. But, as I do not wish you to impose upon the\nworld by your appearance, I should be contented to see you worse\ndressed, rather than see your whole time employed in preparations for\nit, or any of those hours given to it, which are needful to make your\nbody strong and active by exercise, or your mind rational by reading.\nAbsolute idleness is inexcusable in a woman, because the needle is\nalways at hand for those intervals in which she cannot be otherwise\nemployed. If you are industrious, and if you keep good hours, you will\nfind time for all your proper employments. Early rising, and a good\ndisposition of time, is essential to Economy. The necessary orders, and\nexaminations into household affairs, should be dispatched as soon in the\nday and as privately as possible, that they may not interrupt your\nhusband or guests, or break in upon conversation, or reading, in the\nremainder of the day. If you defer any thing that is necessary, you may\nbe tempted by company, or by unforeseen avocations, to forget or to\nneglect it: hurry and irregularity will ensue, with expensive expedients\nto supply the defect.\n\nThere is in many people, and particularly in youth, a strange aversion\nto regularity--a desire to delay what ought to be done immediately, in\norder to do something else, which might as well be done afterwards. Be\nassured it is of more consequence to you than you can conceive, to get\nthe better of this idle procrastinating spirit, and to acquire habits of\nconstancy and steadiness, even in the most trifling matters: without\nthem there can be no regularity, or consistency of action or\ncharacter--no dependence on your best intentions, which a sudden humour\nmay tempt you to lay aside for a time, and which a thousand unforeseen\naccidents will afterwards render it more and more difficult to execute:\nno one can say what important consequences may follow a trivial neglect\nof this kind. For example--I have known one of these _procrastinators_\ndisoblige and gradually lose very valuable friends, by delaying to write\nto them so long, that, having no good excuse to offer, she could not get\ncourage enough to write at all, and dropped their correspondence\nentirely.\n\nThe neatness and order of your house and furniture is a part of Economy,\nwhich will greatly affect your appearance and character, and to which\nyou must yourself give attention, since it is not possible even for the\n_rich_ and _great_ to rely wholly on the care of servants, in such\npoints, without their being often neglected. The more magnificently a\nhouse is furnished, the more one is disgusted with that air of\nconfusion, which often prevails where attention is wanting in the owner.\nBut, on the other hand, there is a kind of neatness, which gives a lady\nthe air of a housemaid, and makes her excessively troublesome to every\nbody, and particularly to her husband: in this, as in all other branches\nof Economy, I wish you to avoid all parade and bustle. Those ladies who\npique themselves on the particular excellence of neatness, are very apt\nto forget that the decent order of the house should be designed to\npromote the convenience and pleasure of those who are to be in it; and\nthat, if it is converted into a cause of trouble and constraint, their\nhusbands and guests would be happier without it. The love of fame, that\nuniversal passion, will sometimes show itself on strangely insignificant\nsubjects; and a person who acts for praise only, will always go beyond\nthe mark in every thing. The best sign of a house being well governed\nis, that nobody's attention is called to any of the little affairs of\nit, but all goes on so well of course, that one is not led to make\nremarks upon any thing, nor to observe any extraordinary effort that\nproduces the general result of ease and elegance, which prevails\nthroughout.\n\nDomestic Economy, and the credit and happiness of a family, depend so\nmuch on the choice and proper regulation of servants, that it must be\nconsidered as an essential part both of prudence and duty. Those who\nkeep a great number of them, have a heavy charge on their consciences,\nand ought to think themselves in some measure responsible for the morals\nand happiness of so many of their fellow-creatures, designed like\nthemselves for immortality. Indeed the cares of domestic management are\nby no means lighter to persons of high rank and fortune, if they perform\ntheir duty, than to those of a retired station. It is with a family, as\nwith a commonwealth, the more numerous and luxurious it becomes, the\nmore difficult it is to govern it properly. Though the great are placed\nabove the little attentions and employments, to which a private\ngentlewoman must dedicate much of her time, they have a larger and more\nimportant sphere of action, in which, if they are indolent and\nneglectful, the whole government of their house and fortune must fall\ninto irregularity. Whatever number of deputies they may employ to\noverlook their affairs, they must themselves overlook those deputies,\nand be ultimately answerable for the conduct of the whole. The\ncharacters of those servants, who are entrusted with power over the\nrest, cannot be too nicely inquired into; and the mistress of the\nfamily must be ever watchful over their conduct; at the same time that\nshe must carefully avoid every appearance of suspicion, which, whilst it\nwounds and hinders a worthy servant, only excites the artifice and\ncunning of an unjust one.\n\nNone, who pretend to be friends of religion and virtue, should ever keep\na domestic, however expert in business, whom they know to be guilty of\nimmorality. How unbecoming a serious character is it, to say of such an\none, \"He is a bad man, but a good servant!\" What a preference does it\nshow of private convenience to the interests of society, which demand\nthat vice should be constantly discountenanced, especially in every\none's own household; and that the sober, honest, and industrious, should\nbe sure of finding encouragement and reward, in the houses of those who\nmaintain respectable characters! Such persons should be invariably\nstrict and peremptory with regard to the behaviour of their servants, in\nevery thing which concerns the general plan of domestic government; but\nshould by no means be severe on small faults, since nothing so much\nweakens authority as frequent chiding. Whilst they require precise\nobedience to their rules, they must prove by their general conduct,\nthat these rules are the effect, not of humour but of reason. It is\nwonderful that those, who are careful to conceal their ill-temper from\nstrangers, should be indifferent how peevish and even contemptibly\ncapricious they appear before their servants, on whom their good name so\nmuch depends, and from whom they can hope for no real respect, when\ntheir weakness is so apparent. When once a servant can say, \"I cannot do\nany thing to please my mistress to-day,\" all authority is lost.\n\nThose, who continually change their servants, and complain of perpetual\nill usage, have good reason to believe that the fault is in themselves,\nand that they do not know how to govern. Few indeed possess the skill to\nunite authority with kindness, or are capable of that steady and\nuniformly reasonable conduct, which alone can maintain true dignity, and\ncommand a willing and attentive obedience. Let us not forget that human\nnature is the same in all stations. If you can convince your servants,\nthat you have a generous and considerate regard to their health, their\ninterest, and their reasonable gratifications--that you impose no\ncommands but what are fit and right, nor ever reprove but with justice\nand temper--why should you imagine that they will be insensible to the\ngood they receive, or whence suppose them incapable of esteeming and\nprizing such a mistress? I could never, without indignation, hear it\nsaid, that \"servants have no gratitude;\" as if the condition of\nservitude excluded the virtues of humanity! The truth is, masters and\nmistresses have seldom any real claim to gratitude. They think highly of\nwhat they bestow, and little of the service they receive: they consider\nonly their own convenience, and seldom reflect on the kind of life their\nservants pass with them: they do not ask themselves, whether it is such\nan one as is consistent with the preservation of their health, their\nmorals, their leisure for religious duties, or with a proper share of\nthe enjoyments and comforts of life. The dissipated manners, which now\nso generally prevail, perpetual absence from home, and attendance on\nassemblies or at public places, is, in all these respects, pernicious to\nthe whole household, and to the _men-servants_ absolutely ruinous. Their\nonly resource, in the tedious hours of waiting, whilst their masters and\nladies are engaged in diversions, is to find out something of the same\nkind for themselves. Thus they are led into gaming, drinking,\nextravagance, and bad company; and thus, by a natural progression, they\nbecome distressed and dishonest. That attachment and affiance, which\nought to subsist between the dependant and his protector, are destroyed.\nThe master looks on his attendants as thieves and traitors, whilst they\nconsider him as one whose money only gives him power over them, and who\nuses that power without the least regard to their welfare.\n\n\"[26]The fool saith, I have no friends--I have no thanks for all my good\ndeeds, and they that eat my bread speak evil of me.\" Thus foolishly do\nthose complain, who choose their servants, as well as their friends,\nwithout discretion, or who treat them in a manner that no worthy person\nwill bear.\n\nI have been often shocked at the want of politeness, by which masters\nand mistresses sometimes provoke impertinence from their servants: a\ngentleman, who would resent to death an imputation of falsehood, from\nhis equal, will not scruple, without proof, to accuse his servant of it\nin the grossest terms. I have heard the most insolent contempt of the\nwhole class expressed at a table, whilst five or six of them attended\nbehind the chairs, who the company seemed to think were without senses,\nwithout understanding, or the natural feelings of resentment: these are\ncruel injuries, and will be retorted in some way or other.\n\nIf you, my dear, live to be at the head of a family, I hope you will not\nonly avoid all injurious treatment of your domestics, but behave to them\nwith that courtesy and good breeding, which will heighten their respect\nas well as their affection. If, on any occasion, they do more than you\nhave a right to require, give them, at least, the reward of seeing that\nthey have obliged you. If, in your service, they have any hardship to\nendure, let them see that you are concerned for the necessity of\nimposing it. When they are sick, give them all the attention and every\ncomfort in your power, with a free heart and kind countenance; \"[27]not\nblemishing thy good deeds, not using uncomfortable words when thou\ngivest any thing. Is not a word better than a gift? but both are with a\ngracious man. A fool will upbraid churlishly, and a gift of the envious\nconsumeth the eyes.\"\n\nWhilst you thus endear yourself to all your servants, you must ever\ncarefully avoid making a favourite of any; unjust distinctions, and weak\nindulgences to one, will of course excite envy and hatred in the rest.\nYour favourite may establish whatever abuses she pleases; none will dare\nto complain against her, and you will be kept ignorant of her ill\npractices, but will feel the effects of them, by finding all your other\nservants uneasy in their places, and, perhaps, by being obliged\ncontinually to change them.\n\nWhen they have spent a reasonable time in your service, and have behaved\ncommendably, you ought to prefer them, if it is in your power, or to\nrecommend them to a better provision. The hope of this keeps alive\nattention and gratitude, and is the proper support of industry. Like a\nparent, you should keep in view their establishment in some way, that\nmay preserve their old age from indigence; and to this end, you should\nendeavour to inspire them with care to lay up part of their gains, and\nconstantly discourage in them all vanity in dress, and extravagance in\nidle expenses. That you are bound to promote their eternal as well as\ntemporal welfare, you cannot doubt, since, next to your children, they\nare your nearest dependants. You ought therefore to instruct them as far\nas you are able, furnish them with good books suited to their capacity,\nand see that they attend the public worship of God: and you must take\ncare so to pass the sabbath-day as to allow them time, on that day, at\nleast, for reading and reflection at home, as well as for attendance at\nchurch. Though this is part of your religious duty, I mention it here,\nbecause it is also a part of family management: for the same reason I\nshall here take occasion earnestly to recommend family prayers, which\nare useful to all, but more particularly to servants, who, being\nconstantly employed, are led to the neglect of private prayer, and whose\nignorance makes it very difficult for them to frame devotions for\nthemselves, or to choose proper helps, amidst the numerous books of\nsuperstitious or enthusiastic nonsense, which are printed for that\npurpose. Even, in a political light, this practice is eligible, since\nthe idea which it will give them of your regularity and decency, if not\ncounteracted by other parts of your conduct, will probably increase\ntheir respect for you, and will be some restraint at least on their\noutward behaviour, though it should fail of that inward influence, which\nin general may be hoped from it.\n\nThe prudent distribution of your charitable gifts may not improperly be\nconsidered as a branch of Economy, since the great duty of almsgiving\ncannot be truly fulfilled without a diligent attention so to manage the\nsums you can spare as to produce the most real good to your\nfellow-creatures. Many are willing to give money, who will not bestow\ntheir time and consideration, and who therefore often hurt the\ncommunity, when they mean to do good to individuals. The larger are your\nfunds, the stronger is the call upon you to exert your industry and care\nin disposing of them properly. It seems impossible to give rules for\nthis, as every case is attended with a variety of circumstances, which\nmust all be considered. In general, charity is most useful, when it is\nappropriated to animate the industry of the young, to procure some ease\nand comforts to old age, and to support in sickness those, whose daily\nlabour is their only maintenance in health. They, who are fallen into\nindigence, from circumstances of ease and plenty, and in whom education\nand habit have added a thousand wants to those of nature, must be\nconsidered with the tenderest sympathy by every feeling heart. It is\nneedless to say, that to such the bare support of existence is scarcely\na benefit, and that the delicacy and liberality of the manner, in which\nrelief is here offered, can alone make it a real act of kindness. In\ngreat families, the waste of provisions, sufficient for the support of\nmany poor ones, is a shocking abuse of the gifts of Providence: nor\nshould any lady think it beneath her to study the best means of\npreventing it, and of employing the refuse of luxury in the relief of\nthe poor. Even the smallest families may give some assistance in this\nway, if care is taken that nothing be wasted.\n\nI am sensible, my dear child, that very little more can be gathered from\nwhat I have said on Economy, than the general importance of it, which\ncannot be too much impressed on your mind, since the natural turn of\nyoung people is to neglect and even to despise it; not distinguishing\nit from parsimony and narrowness of spirit. But, be assured, my dear,\nthere can be no true generosity without it; and that the most enlarged\nand liberal mind will find itself not debased but ennobled by it.\nNothing is more common than to see the same person, whose want of\nEconomy is ruining his family, consumed with regret and vexation at the\neffect of his profusion; and, by endeavouring to save, in such trifles\nas will not amount to twenty pounds in a year, that which he wastes by\nhundreds, incur the character and suffer the anxieties of a miser,\ntogether with the misfortunes of a prodigal. A rational plan of expense\nwill save you from all these corroding cares, and will give you the full\nand liberal enjoyment of what you spend. An air of ease, of hospitality,\nand frankness, will reign in your house, which will make it pleasant to\nyour friends and to yourself. \"Better is a morsel of bread,\" where this\nis found, than the most elaborate entertainment, with that air of\nconstraint and anxiety, which often betrays the grudging heart through\nall the disguises of civility.\n\nThat you, my dear, may unite in yourself the admirable virtues of\nGenerosity and Economy, which will be the grace and crown of all your\nattainments, is the earnest wish of\n\n    Your ever affectionate.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[26] Ecclus. xx. 16.\n\n[27] Ecclus. xviii.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER VIII.\n\nON POLITENESS AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS.\n\n\nWHILST you labour to enrich your mind with the essential virtues of\nChristianity--with piety, benevolence, meekness, humility, integrity,\nand purity--and to make yourself useful in domestic management, I would\nnot have my dear child neglect to pursue those graces and acquirements,\nwhich may set her virtue in the most advantageous light, adorn her\nmanners, and enlarge her understanding: and this, not in the spirit of\nvanity, but in the innocent and laudable view of rendering herself more\nuseful and pleasing to her fellow-creatures, and consequently more\nacceptable to God. Politeness of behaviour, and the attainment of such\nbranches of knowledge and such arts and accomplishments as are proper to\nyour sex, capacity, and station, will prove so valuable to yourself\nthrough life, and will make you so desirable a companion, that the\nneglect of them may reasonably be deemed a neglect of duty; since it is\nundoubtedly our duty to cultivate the powers entrusted to us, and to\nrender ourselves as perfect as we can.\n\nYou must have often observed, that nothing is so strong a recommendation\non a slight acquaintance as _politeness_; nor does it lose its value by\ntime or intimacy, when preserved, as it ought to be, in the nearest\nconnections and strictest friendships. This delightful qualification--so\nuniversally admired and respected, but so rarely possessed in any\neminent degree--cannot but be a considerable object of my wishes for\nyou: nor should either of us be discouraged by the apprehension, that\nneither I am capable of teaching, nor you of learning it, in\n_perfection_; since whatever degree you attain will amply reward our\npains.\n\nTo be perfectly polite, one must have great _presence of mind_, with a\ndelicate and quick _sense of propriety_; or, in other words, one should\nbe able to form an instantaneous judgment of what is fittest to be said\nor done, on every occasion as it offers. I have known one or two\npersons, who seemed to owe this advantage to nature only, and to have\nthe peculiar happiness of being born, as it were, with another sense, by\nwhich they had an immediate perception of what was proper and improper,\nin cases absolutely new to them: but this is the lot of very few; in\ngeneral, propriety of behaviour must be the fruit of instruction, of\nobservation, and reasoning; and is to be cultivated and improved like\nany other branch of knowledge or virtue. A good temper is a necessary\ngroundwork of it; and, if to this is added a good understanding, applied\nindustriously to this purpose, I think it can hardly fail of attaining\nall that is essential in it. Particular modes and ceremonies of\nbehaviour vary in different countries, and even in different parts of\nthe same town. These can only be learned by observation on the manners\nof those who are best skilled in them, and by keeping what is called\ngood company. But the principles of politeness are the same in all\nplaces. Wherever there are human beings, it must be impolite to hurt the\ntemper or to shock the passions of those you converse with. It must\nevery where be good-breeding, to set your companions in the most\nadvantageous point of light, by giving each the opportunity of\ndisplaying their most agreeable talents, and by carefully avoiding all\noccasions of exposing their defects;--to exert your own endeavours to\nplease, and to amuse, but not to outshine them;--to give each their due\nshare of attention and notice--not engrossing the talk, when others are\ndesirous to speak, nor suffering the conversation to flag, for want of\nintroducing something to continue or renew a subject;--not to push your\nadvantages in argument so far that your antagonist cannot retreat with\nhonour:--In short, it is an universal duty in society to consider others\nmore than yourself--\"in honour preferring one another.\" Christianity, in\nthis rule, gives the best lesson of politeness; yet judgment must be\nused in the application of it: our humility must not be strained so far\nas to distress those we mean to honour; we must not quit our proper\nrank, nor force others to treat us improperly; or to accept, what we\nmean as an advantage, against their wills. We should be perfectly easy,\nand make others so, if we can. But this happy ease belongs perhaps to\nthe last stage of perfection in politeness, and can hardly be attained\ntill we are conscious that we know the rules of behaviour, and are not\nlikely to offend against propriety. In a very young person, who has\nseen little or nothing of the world, this cannot be expected; but a real\ndesire of obliging, and a respectful attention, will in a great measure\nsupply the want of knowledge, and will make every one ready to overlook\nthose deficiencies, which are owing only to the want of opportunities to\nobserve the manners of polite company. You ought not therefore to be too\nmuch depressed by the consciousness of such deficiencies, but endeavour\nto get above the shame of wanting what you have not had the means of\nacquiring. Nothing heightens this false shame, and the awkwardness it\noccasions, so much as vanity. The humble mind, contented to be known for\nwhat it is, and unembarrassed by the dread of betraying its ignorance,\nis present to itself, and can command the use of understanding, which\nwill generally preserve you from any great indecorum, and will secure\nyou from that ridicule, which is the punishment of affectation rather\nthan of ignorance. People of sense will never despise you, whilst you\nact naturally; but, the moment you attempt to step out of your own\ncharacter, you make yourself an object of just ridicule.\n\nMany are of opinion, that a very young woman can hardly be too silent\nand reserved in company; and, certainly, nothing is so disgusting in\nyouth as pertness and self-conceit. But modesty should be distinguished\nfrom an awkward bashfulness, and silence should be only enjoined, when\nit would be forward and impertinent to talk. There are many proper\nopportunities for a girl, young even as you are, to speak in company,\nwith advantage to herself; and, if she does it without conceit or\naffectation, she will always be more pleasing than those, who sit like\nstatues, without sense or motion. When you are silent, your looks should\nshow your attention and presence to the company: a respectful and\nearnest attention is the most delicate kind of praise, and never fails\nto gratify and please. You must appear to be interested in what is said,\nand endeavour to improve yourself by it: if you understand the subject\nwell enough to ask now and then a pertinent question, or if you can\nmention any circumstances relating to it that have not before been taken\nnotice of, this will be an agreeable way of showing your willingness to\nmake a part of the company; and will probably draw a particular\napplication to you, from some one or other. Then, when called upon, you\nmust not draw back as unwilling to answer, nor confine yourself merely\nto _yes_, or _no_, as is the custom of many young persons, who become\nintolerable burdens to the mistress of the house, whilst she strives in\nvain to draw them into notice, and to give them some share in the\nconversation.\n\nIn your father's house it is certainly proper for you to pay civility to\nthe guests, and to talk to them in your turn--with modesty and\nrespect--if they encourage you to it. Young ladies of near your own age,\nwho visit there, fall of course to your share to entertain. But, whilst\nyou exert yourself to make their visit agreeable to them, you must not\nforget what is due to the elder part of the company, nor, by whispering\nand laughing apart, give them cause to suspect, what is too often true,\nthat they themselves are the subjects of your mirth. It is so shocking\nan outrage against society, to talk of, or laugh at, any person in his\nown presence, that one would only think it could be committed by the\nvulgar. I am sorry however to say, that I have too often observed it\namongst young ladies, who little deserved that title whilst they\nindulged their overflowing spirits in defiance of decency and\ngood-nature. The desire of laughing will make such inconsiderate young\npersons find a subject of ridicule, even in the most respectable\ncharacter. Old age, which--if not disgraced by vice or affectation--has\nthe justest title to reverence, will be mimicked and insulted; and even\npersonal defects and infirmities will too often excite contempt and\nabuse, instead of compassion. If you have ever been led into such an\naction, my dear girl, call it seriously to mind, when you are confessing\nyour faults to Almighty God; and be fully persuaded, that it is not one\nof the least which you have to repent of. You will be immediately\nconvinced of this, by comparing it with the great rule of justice, that\nof doing to all as you would they should do unto you. No person living\nis insensible to the injury of contempt, nor is there any talent so\ninvidious, or so certain to create ill-will, as that of ridicule. The\nnatural effects of years, which all hope to attain, and the infirmities\nof the body, which none can prevent, are surely of all others the most\nimproper objects of mirth. There are subjects enough that are innocent,\nand on which you may freely indulge the vivacity of your spirits; for I\nwould not condemn you to perpetual seriousness; on the contrary, I\ndelight in a joyous temper, at all ages, and particularly at your's.\nDelicate and good-natured raillery amongst equal friends, if pointed\nonly against such trifling errors as the owner can hardly join to laugh\nat, or such qualities as they do not pique themselves upon, is both\nagreeable and useful; but then it must be offered in perfect kindness\nand sincere good-humour; if tinctured with the least degree of malice,\nits sting becomes venomous and detestable. The person rallied should\nhave liberty and ability to return the jest, which must be dropped upon\nthe first appearance of its affecting the temper.\n\nYou will wonder, perhaps, when I tell you, that there are some\ncharacters in the world, which I would freely allow you to laugh\nat--though not in their presence. Extravagant vanity and affectation are\nthe natural subjects of ridicule, which is their proper punishment. When\nyou see old people, instead of maintaining the dignity of their years,\nstruggling against nature to conceal them, affecting the graces, and\nimitating the follies of youth--or a young person assuming the\nimportance and solemnity of old age--I do not wish you to be insensible\nto the ridicule of such absurd deviations from truth and nature. You\nare welcome to laugh, when you leave the company, provided you lay up a\nlesson for yourself at the same time; and remember that, unless you\nimprove your mind whilst you are young, you also will be an\ninsignificant fool in old age; and that, if you are presuming and\narrogant in youth, you are as ridiculous as an old woman with a\nhead-dress of flowers.\n\nIn a young lady's behaviour towards gentlemen, great delicacy is\ncertainly required: yet, I believe, women oftener err from too great a\nconsciousness of the supposed views of men, than from inattention to\nthose views, or want of caution against them. You are at present rather\ntoo young to want rules on this subject; but I could wish that you\nshould behave almost in the same manner three years hence as now; and\nretain the simplicity and innocence of childhood, with the sense and\ndignity of riper years. Men of loose morals or impertinent behaviour\nmust always be avoided: or, if at any time you are obliged to be in\ntheir company, you must keep them at a distance by cold civility. But,\nwith regard to those gentlemen whom your parents think it proper for you\nto converse with, and who give no offence by their own manners, to them\nI wish you to behave with the same frankness and simplicity as if they\nwere of your own sex. If you have natural modesty, you will never\ntransgress its bounds, whilst you converse with a man, as one rational\ncreature with another, without any view to the possibility of a lover or\nadmirer, where nothing of that kind is professed; where it is, I hope\nyou will ever be equally a stranger to coquetry and prudery; and that\nyou will be able to distinguish the effects of real esteem and love from\nidle gallantry and unmeaning fine speeches: the slighter notice you take\nof these last, the better; and that, rather with good-humoured contempt\nthan with affected gravity: but the first must be treated with\nseriousness and well-bred sincerity; not giving the least encouragement,\nwhich you do not mean, nor assuming airs of contempt, where it is not\ndeserved. But this belongs to a subject, which I have touched upon in a\nformer letter. I have already told you, that you will be unsafe in every\nstep which leads to a serious attachment, unless you consult your\nparents, from the first moment you apprehend any thing of that sort to\nbe intended: let them be your first confidants, and let every part of\nyour conduct, in such a case, be particularly directed by them.\n\nWith regard to accomplishments, the chief of these is a competent share\nof reading, well chosen and properly regulated; and of this I shall\nspeak more largely hereafter. Dancing and the knowledge of the French\ntongue are now so universal, that they cannot be dispensed with in the\neducation of a gentlewoman; and indeed they both are useful as well as\nornamental; the first, by forming and strengthening the body, and\nimproving the carriage; the second, by opening a large field of\nentertainment and improvement for the mind. I believe there are more\nagreeable books of female literature in French than in any other\nlanguage; and, as they are not less commonly talked of than English\nbooks, you must often feel mortified in company, if you are too ignorant\nto read them. Italian would be easily learnt after French, and, if you\nhave leisure and opportunity, may be worth your gaining, though in your\nstation of life it is by no means necessary.\n\nTo write a free and legible hand, and to understand common arithmetic,\nare indispensable requisites.\n\nAs to music and drawing, I would only wish you to follow as Genius\nleads: you have some turn for the first, and I should be sorry to see\nyou neglect a talent, which will at least afford you an innocent\namusement, though it should not enable you to give much pleasure to your\nfriends. I think the use of both these arts is more for yourself than\nfor others: it is but seldom that a private person has leisure or\napplication enough to gain any high degree of excellence in them; and\nyour own partial family are perhaps the only persons who would not much\nrather be entertained by the performance of a professor than by your's:\nbut, with regard to yourself, it is of great consequence to have the\npower of filling up agreeably those intervals of time, which too often\nhang heavily on the hands of a woman, if her lot be cast in a retired\nsituation. Besides this, it is certain that even a small share of\nknowledge in these arts will heighten your pleasure in the performances\nof others: the taste must be improved before it can be susceptible of an\nexquisite relish for any of the imitative arts: an unskilful ear is\nseldom capable of comprehending _harmony_, or of distinguishing the most\n_delicate_ charms of _melody_. The pleasure of seeing fine paintings, or\neven of contemplating the beauties of Nature, must be greatly heightened\nby our being conversant with the rules of drawing, and by the habit of\nconsidering the most picturesque objects. As I look upon taste to be an\ninestimable fund of innocent delight, I wish you to lose no opportunity\nof improving it, and of cultivating in yourself the relish of such\npleasures as will not interfere with a rational scheme of life, nor lead\nyou into dissipation, with all its attendant evils of vanity and luxury.\n\nAs to the learned languages, though I respect the abilities and\napplication of those ladies who have attained them, and who make a\nmodest and proper use of them, yet I would by no means advise you--or\nany other woman who is not strongly impelled by a particular genius--to\nengage in such studies. The labour and time which they require are\ngenerally incompatible with our natures and proper employments: the real\nknowledge which they supply is not essential, since the English, French,\nor Italian tongues afford tolerable translations of all the most\nvaluable productions of antiquity, besides the multitude of original\nauthors which they furnish: and these are much more than sufficient to\nstore your mind with as many ideas as you will know how to manage. The\ndanger of pedantry and presumption in a woman--of her exciting envy in\none sex and jealousy in the other--of her exchanging the graces of\nimagination for the severity and preciseness of a scholar, would be, I\nown, sufficient to frighten me from the ambition of seeing my girl\nremarkable for learning. Such objections are perhaps still stronger with\nregard to the abstruse sciences.\n\nWhatever tends to embellish your fancy, to enlighten your understanding,\nand furnish you with ideas to reflect upon when alone, or to converse\nupon in company, is certainly well worth your acquisition. The wretched\nexpedient, to which ignorance so often drives our sex, of calling in\nslander to enliven the tedious insipidity of conversation, would alone\nbe a strong reason for enriching your mind with innocent subjects of\nentertainment, which may render you a fit companion for persons of sense\nand knowledge, from whom you may reap the most desirable improvements;\nfor, though I think reading indispensably necessary to the due\ncultivation of your mind, I prefer the conversation of such persons to\nevery other method of instruction: but this you cannot hope to enjoy,\nunless you qualify yourself to bear a part in such society, by, at\nleast, a moderate share of reading.\n\nThough _religion_ is the most important of all your pursuits, there are\nnot many _books_ on that subject which I should recommend to you at\npresent. Controversy is wholly improper at your age, and it is also too\nsoon for you to enquire into the evidence of the truth of revelation, or\nto study the difficult parts of scripture: when these shall come before\nyou, there are many excellent books, from which you may receive great\nassistance. At present, practical divinity--clear of superstition and\nenthusiasm, but addressed to the heart, and written with a warmth and\nspirit capable of exciting in it pure and rational piety--is what I wish\nyou to meet with.\n\nThe principal study, I would recommend, is _history_. I know of nothing\nequally proper to entertain and improve at the same time, or that is so\nlikely to form and strengthen your judgment, and, by giving you a\nliberal and comprehensive view of human nature, in some measure to\nsupply the defect of that experience, which is usually attained too late\nto be of much service to us. Let me add, that more materials for\nconversation are supplied by this kind of knowledge, than by almost any\nother; but I have more to say to you on this subject in a future letter.\n\nThe faculty, in which women usually most excel, is that of imagination;\nand, when properly cultivated, it becomes the source of all that is most\ncharming in society. Nothing you can read will so much contribute to the\nimprovement of this faculty as _poetry_; which, if applied to its true\nends, adds a thousand charms to those sentiments of religion, virtue,\ngenerosity, and delicate tenderness, by which the human soul is exalted\nand refined. I hope you are not deficient in natural taste for this\nenchanting art, but that you will find it one of your greatest pleasures\nto be conversant with the best poets, whom our language can bring you\nacquainted with, particularly those immortal ornaments of our nation,\n_Shakspeare_ and _Milton_. The first is not only incomparably the\nnoblest genius in dramatic poetry, but the greatest master of nature,\nand the most perfect characterizer of men and manners: in this last\npoint of view, I think him inestimable; and I am persuaded that, in the\ncourse of your life, you will seldom find occasion to correct those\nobservations on human nature, and those principles of morality, which\nyou may extract from his capital pieces. You will at first find his\nlanguage difficult; but, if you take the assistance of a friend, who\nunderstands it well, you will by degrees enter into his manner of\nphraseology, and perceive a thousand beauties, which at first lay buried\nin obsolete words and uncouth constructions. The admirable _Essay on\nShakespeare_, which has lately appeared, so much to the honour of our\nsex, will open your mind to the peculiar excellences of this author, and\nenlighten your judgment on dramatic poetry in general, with such force\nof reason and brilliancy of wit, as cannot fail to delight as well as\ninstruct you.\n\nOur great English poet, Milton, is as far above my praise as his\n_Paradise Lost_ is above any thing which I am able to read, except the\nsacred writers. The sublimity of his subject sometimes leads him into\nabstruseness; but many parts of his great poem are easy to all\ncomprehensions, and must find their way directly to every heart by the\ntenderness and delicacy of his sentiments, in which he is not less\nstrikingly excellent than in the richness and sublimity of his\nimagination. Addison's criticism in the Spectators, written with that\nbeauty, elegance, and judgment, which distinguish all his writings, will\nassist you to understand and to relish this poem.\n\nIt is needless to recommend to you the translations of Homer and Virgil,\nwhich every body reads that reads at all. You must have heard that Homer\nis esteemed the father of poetry, the original from whence all the\nmoderns--not excepting Milton himself--borrow some of their greatest\nbeauties, and from whom they extract those rules for composition, which\nare found most agreeable to nature and true taste. Virgil, you know, is\nthe next in rank among the classics: you will read his Eneid with\nextreme pleasure, if ever you are able to read Italian, in Annibal\nCaro's translation; the idiom of the Latin and Italian languages being\nmore alike, it is, I believe, much closer, yet preserves more of the\nspirit of the original than the English translations.\n\nFor the rest, fame will point out to you the most considerable of our\npoets; and I would not exclude any of name among those whose morality is\nunexceptionable: but of poets, as of all other authors, I wish you to\nread only such as are properly recommended to you--since there are many\nwho debase their divine art by abusing it to the purposes of vice and\nimpiety. If you could read poetry with a judicious friend, who could\nlead your judgment to a true discernment of its beauties and defects, it\nwould inexpressibly heighten both your pleasure and improvement. But,\nbefore you enter upon this, some acquaintance with the _Heathen\nMythology_ is necessary. I think that you must before now have met with\nsome book under the title of _The Pantheon_[28]: and, if once you know\nas much of the gods and goddesses as the most common books on the\nsubject will tell you, the rest may be learned by reading Homer: but\nthen you must particularly attend to him in this view. I do not expect\nyou to penetrate those numerous mysteries--those amazing depths of\nmorality, religion, and metaphysics--which some pretend to have\ndiscovered in his mythology, but to know the names and principal offices\nof the gods and goddesses, with some idea of their moral meaning, seems\nrequisite to the understanding almost any poetical composition. As an\ninstance of the _moral meaning_ I speak of, I will mention an\nobservation of Bossuet. That Homer's poetry was particularly recommended\nto the Greeks by the superiority which he ascribes to them over the\nAsiatics: this superiority is shown in the Iliad, not only in the\nconquest of Asia by the Greeks, and in the actual destruction of its\ncapital, but in the division and arrangement of the gods, who took part\nwith the contending nations. On the side of Asia was _Venus_--that is,\nsensual passion--pleasure--and effeminacy. On the side of Greece was\n_Juno_--that is, matronly gravity and conjugal love; together with\n_Mercury_--invention and eloquence--and _Jupiter_--or political wisdom.\nOn the side of Asia was _Mars_, who represents brutal valour and blind\nfury. On that of Greece was _Pallas_--that is, military discipline, and\nbravery, guarded by judgment.\n\nThis, and many other instances that might be produced, will show you how\nmuch of the beauty of the poet's art must be lost to you, without some\nnotion of these allegorical personages. Boys, in their school learning,\nhave this kind of knowledge impressed on their minds by a variety of\nbooks: but women, who do not go through the same course of instruction,\nare very apt to forget what little they read or hear on the subject: I\nadvise you, therefore, never to lose an opportunity of enquiring into\nthe meaning of any thing you meet with in poetry, or in painting,\nalluding to the history of any of the heathen deities, and of obtaining\nfrom some friend an explanation of its connection with true history, or\nof its allegorical reference to morality or to physics.\n\nNatural Philosophy, in the largest sense of the expression, is too wide\na field for you to undertake; but the study of nature, as far as may\nsuit your powers and opportunities, you will find a most sublime\nentertainment: the objects of this study are all the stupendous works of\nthe Almighty Hand, that lie within the reach of our observation. In the\nworks of man perfection is aimed at, but it can only be found in those\nof the Creator. The contemplation of perfection must produce delight,\nand every natural object around you would offer this delight, if it\ncould attract your attention. If you survey the earth, every leaf that\ntrembles in the breeze, every blade of grass beneath your feet, is a\nwonder as absolutely beyond the reach of human art to imitate as the\nconstruction of the universe. Endless pleasures, to those who have a\ntaste for them, might be derived from the endless variety to be found in\nthe composition of this globe and its inhabitants. The fossil--the\nvegetable--and the animal world--gradually rising in the scale of\nexcellence--the innumerable species of each, still preserving their\nspecific differences from age to age, yet of which no two individuals\nare ever perfectly alike--afford such a range for observation and\nenquiry, as might engross the whole term of our short life, if followed\nminutely. Besides all the animal creation obvious to our unassisted\nsenses, the eye, aided by philosophical inventions, sees myriads of\ncreatures, which by the ignorant are not known to have existence: it\nsees all nature teem with life; every fluid--each part of every\nvegetable and animal--swarm with its peculiar inhabitants--invisible to\nthe naked eye, but as perfect in all their parts, and enjoying life as\nindisputably, as the elephant or the whale.\n\nBut if from the earth, and from these minute wonders, the philosophic\neye is raised towards the heavens, what a stupendous scene there opens\nto its view!--those brilliant lights that sparkle to the eye of\nignorance as gems adorning the sky, or as lamps to guide the traveller\nby night, assume an importance that amazes the understanding!--they\nappear to be _worlds_, formed like ours for a variety of inhabitants--or\n_suns_, enlightening numberless other worlds too distant for our\ndiscovery! I shall ever remember the astonishment and rapture with which\nmy mind received this idea, when I was about your age: it was then\nperfectly new to me, and it is impossible to describe the sensations I\nfelt from the glorious boundless prospect of infinite beneficence\nbursting at once upon my imagination! Who can contemplate such a scene\nunmoved? If our curiosity is excited to enter upon this noble enquiry, a\nfew books on the subject, and those of the easiest sort, with some of\nthe common experiments, may be sufficient for your purpose--which is to\nenlarge your mind, and to excite in it the most ardent gratitude and\nprofound adoration towards that great and good Being, who exerts his\nboundless power in communicating various portions of happiness through\nall the immense regions of creation.\n\n_Moral_ philosophy, as it relates to human actions, is of still higher\nimportance than the study of nature. The works of the ancients on this\nsubject are universally said to be entertaining as well as instructive,\nby those who can read them in their original languages; and such of them\nas are well translated will undoubtedly, some years hence, afford you\ngreat pleasure and improvement. You will also find many agreeable and\nuseful books, written originally in French, and in English, on morals\nand manners: for the present, there are works, which, without assuming\nthe solemn air of philosophy, will enlighten your mind on these\nsubjects, and introduce instruction in an easier dress: of this sort are\nmany of the moral essays, that have appeared in periodical papers,\nwhich, when excellent in their kind--as are the _Spectators_,\n_Guardians_, _Ramblers_, and _Adventurers_--are particularly useful to\nyoung people, as they comprehend a great variety of subjects--introduce\nmany ideas and observations that are new to them--and lead to a habit of\nreflecting on the characters and events that come before them in real\nlife, which I consider as the best exercise of the understanding.\n\nBooks on taste and criticism will hereafter be more proper for you than\nat present: whatever can improve your discernment, and render your taste\nelegant and just, must be of great consequence to your enjoyments as\nwell as to the embellishment of your understanding.\n\nI would by no means exclude the kind of reading, which young people are\nnaturally most fond of: though I think the greatest care should be taken\nin the choice of those _fictitious stories_ that so enchant the mind;\nmost of which tend to inflame the passions of youth, whilst the chief\npurpose of education should be to moderate and restrain them. Add to\nthis, that both the writing and sentiments of most novels and romances\nare such as are only proper to vitiate your style, and to mislead your\nheart and understanding. The expectation of extraordinary\nadventures--which seldom ever happen to the sober and prudent part of\nmankind--and the admiration of extravagant passions and absurd conduct,\nare some of the usual fruits of this kind of reading; which, when a\nyoung woman makes it her chief amusement, generally render her\nridiculous in conversation, and miserably wrong-headed in her pursuits\nand behaviour. There are however works of this class in which excellent\nmorality is joined with the most lively pictures of the human mind, and\nwith all that can entertain the imagination and interest the heart. But\nI must repeatedly exhort you, never to read any thing of the sentimental\nkind without taking the judgment of your best friends in the choice;\nfor, I am persuaded that, the indiscriminate reading of such kind of\nbooks corrupts more female hearts than any other cause whatsoever.\n\nBefore I close this correspondence, I shall point out the course of\nhistory I wish you to pursue, and give you my thoughts of geography and\nchronology, some knowledge of both being, in my opinion, necessary to\nthe reading of history with any advantage.\n\n    I am, my dearest Niece,\n\n      Your ever affectionate.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[28] There has been lately published a work particularly adapted to the\nuse of young ladies, entitled, \"_A Dictionary of Polite Literature, or\nFabulous History of Heathen Gods and Illustrious Heroes._ Two Vols. with\nPlates.\"\n\n       _Editor._\n\n\n\n\nLETTER IX.\n\nON GEOGRAPHY AND CHRONOLOGY.\n\n\n    _MY DEAREST NIECE_,\n\nI HAVE told you, that you will not be able to read history, with much\npleasure or advantage, without some little knowledge of _Geography_ and\n_Chronology_. They are both very easily attained--I mean in the degree\nthat will be necessary for you. You must be sensible that you can know\nbut little of a country, whose situation with respect to the rest of the\nworld you are entirely ignorant of; and, that it is to little purpose\nthat you are able to mention a fact, if you cannot nearly ascertain the\n_time_ in which it happened, which alone, in many cases, gives\nimportance to the fact itself.\n\nIn Geography--the easiest of all sciences, and the best adapted to the\ncapacity of children--I suppose you to have made some beginning; to know\nat least the figure of the earth--the supposed lines--the degrees--how\nto measure distances--and a few of the common terms: If you do not\nalready know these, two or three lessons will be sufficient to attain\nthem; the rest is the work of memory, and is easily gained by reading\nwith maps; for I do not wish your knowledge to be exact and masterly;\nbut such only as is necessary for the purpose of understanding history,\nand, without which, even a newspaper would be unintelligible. It may be\nsufficient for this end, if, with respect to _ancient_ Geography, you\nhave a general idea of the situation of all the great states, without\nbeing able precisely to ascertain their limits. But, in the _modern_,\nyou ought to know the bounds and extent of every state in Europe, and\nits situation with respect to the rest. The other parts of the world\nwill require less accurate knowledge, except with regard to the European\nsettlements.\n\nIt may be an useful and agreeable method, when you learn the situation\nof any important country, to join with that knowledge some one or two\nleading facts or circumstances concerning it, so that its particular\nproperty may always put you in mind of the situation, and the situation,\nin like manner, recal the particular property. When, for instance, you\nlearn in what part of the globe to find Ethiopia, to be told at the same\ntime, that, in that vast unknown tract of country, the Christian\nreligion was once the religion of the state, would be of service;\nbecause the geographical and historical knowledge would assist each\nother. Thus, to join with Egypt, _the nurse and parent of arts and of\nsuperstition_--with Persia, _shocking despotism and perpetual\nrevolutions_--with ancient Greece, _freedom and genius_--with Scythia,\n_hardiness and conquest_, are hints which you may make use of as you\nplease. Perhaps annexing to any country the idea of some familiar form\nwhich it most resembles may at first assist you to retain a general\nnotion of it; thus Italy has been called a _boot_, and Europe compared\nto a _woman sitting_.\n\nThe difference of the ancient and modern names of places is somewhat\nperplexing; the most important should be known by both names at the same\ntime, and you must endeavour to fix a few of those which are of most\nconsequence so strongly in your mind, by thinking of them, and being\noften told of them, that the ancient name should always call up the\nmodern one to your memory, and the modern the ancient: Such as the AEgean\nSea, now _The Archipelago_--The Peloponnesus, now _The Morea_--Crete,\n_Candia_--Gaul, _France_--Babylon, _Bagdat_--Byzantium--to which the\nRomans transplanted their seat of empire--_Constantinople_, &c.\n\nThere have been so many ingenious contrivances to make Geography easy\nand amusing, that I cannot hope to add any thing of much service; I\nwould only prevail with you not to neglect acquiring, by whatever method\npleases you best, that share of knowledge in it which you will find\nnecessary, and which is so easily attained; and I entreat that you would\nlearn it in such a manner as to fix it in your mind, so that it may not\nbe lost and forgotten among other childish acquisitions, but that it may\nremain ready for use through the rest of your life.\n\nChronology indeed has more of difficulty; but if you do not bewilder\nyourself by attempting to learn too much and too minutely at first, you\nneed not despair of gaining enough for the purpose of reading history\nwith pleasure and utility.\n\nChronology may be naturally divided into three parts, _the\nAncient_--_the Middle_--and _the Modern_. With respect to all these, the\nbest direction that can be given is to fix on some periods or epochas,\nwhich, by being often mentioned and thought of, explained and referred\nto, will at last be so deeply engraven on the memory, that they will be\nready to present themselves whenever you call for them: these indeed\nshould be few, and ought to be well chosen for their importance, since\nthey are to serve as elevated stations to the mind, from which it may\nlook backwards and forwards upon a great variety of facts.\n\nTill your more learned friends shall supply you with better, I will take\nthe liberty to recommend the following, which I have found of service to\nmyself.\n\nIn the ancient chronology, you will find there were four thousand years\nfrom the creation to the redemption of man; and that Noah and his family\nwere miraculously preserved in the ark 1650 years after Adam's creation.\n\nAs there is no history, except that in the Bible, of any thing before\nthe flood, we may set out from that great event, which happened, as I\nhave said above, in the year of the world 1650.\n\nThe 2350 years, which passed from the deluge to our Saviour's birth, may\nbe thus divided.--There have been four successive _Empires_, called\n_Universal_, because they extended over a great part of the then known\nworld: these are usually distinguished by the name of _The Four great\nMonarchies_: the three first of them are included in ancient Chronology,\nand began and ended in the following manner.\n\n1st, The ASSYRIAN EMPIRE, founded by Nimrod in the year of the world\n1800, ended under Sardanapalus in 3250, endured 1450 years.\n\n     The Median--though not accounted one of the four great\n     monarchies, being conquests of rebels on the Assyrian\n     empire--comes in here for about 200 years.\n\n2d, THE PERSIAN EMPIRE, which began under Cyrus, in the year of the\nworld 3450, ended in Darius in 3670, before Christ 330, lasted a little\nmore than 200 years.\n\n3d, THE GRECIAN EMPIRE, began under Alexander the Great in 3670, was\nsoon after his death dismembered by his successors; but the different\nparcels into which they divided it were possessed by their respective\nfamilies, till the famous Cleopatra, the last of the race of Ptolemy,\none of Alexander's captains who reigned in Egypt, was conquered by\nJulius Caesar, about half a century before our Lord's birth, which is a\nterm of about 300 years.\n\nThus you see that, from the deluge to the establishment of the first\ngreat monarchy--the\n\n                                      Years\n    Assyrian--is                         150\n    The Assyrian empire continued       1450\n    The Median                           200\n    The Persian                          200\n    The Grecian                          300\n    From Julius Caesar, with whom began\n      the fourth great monarchy,--_viz._\n      the Roman--to Christ                50\n                                        ----\n                              In all    2350\n\nyears; the term from the deluge to Christ.\n\nI do not give you these dates and periods as correctly true, for I have\ntaken only round numbers, as more easily retained by the memory; so\nthat, when you come to consult chronological books or tables, you will\nfind variances of some years between them and the above accounts; but\nprecise exactness is not material to a beginner.\n\nI offer this short table as a little specimen of what you may easily do\nfor yourself; but even this sketch, slight as it is, will give you a\ngeneral notion of the ancient history of the world, from the deluge to\nthe birth of Christ.\n\nWithin this period flourished the Grecian and Roman republics, with the\nhistory and chronology of which it will be expected you should be\ntolerably well acquainted; and indeed you will find nothing in the\nrecords of mankind so entertaining. Greece was divided into many petty\nstates, whose various revolutions and annals you can never hope\ndistinctly to remember; you are therefore to consider them as forming\ntogether one great kingdom--like the Germanic body, or the United\nProvinces--composed separately of different governments, but sometimes\nacting with united force for their common interest. The _Lacedemonian_\ngovernment, formed by Lycurgus in the year of the world 3100--and the\n_Athenian_, regulated by Solon about the year 3440--will chiefly engage\nyour attention.\n\nIn pursuing the _Grecian_ chronology, you need only perhaps make one\nstand or epocha, at the time _Socrates_, that wisest of philosophers,\nwhom you must have heard of, who lived about 3570 years from the\ncreation, and about 430 before Christ: for within the term of 150 years\n_before_ Socrates, and 200 _after_ him, will fall in most of the great\nevents and illustrious characters of the Grecian history.\n\nI must inform you that the Grecian method of dating time was by\n_Olympiads_; that is, four complete years; so called from the\ncelebration, every fifty years, of the Olympic Games, which were\ncontests in all the manly exercises, such as wrestling, boxing, running,\nchariot-racing, &c. They were instituted in honour of Jupiter and took\ntheir name from Olympia, a city of Elis, near which they were performed:\nthey were attended by all ranks of people, from every state in Greece;\nthe noblest youths were eager to obtain the prize of victory, which was\nno other than an olive crown, but esteemed the most distinguishing\nornament. These games continued all the time that Greece retained any\nspark of liberty; and with them begins the authentic history of that\ncountry--all before being considered as fabulous. You must therefore\nendeavour to remember, that they began in the year of the world 3228;\nafter the flood 1570 years; after the destruction of Troy 400; before\nthe building of Rome 23; before Cyrus about 200; and 770 before Christ.\nIf you cannot retain _all_ these dates, at least you must not fail to\nremember the near coincidence of the first _Olympiad_ with the _building\nof Rome_, which is of great consequence, because, as the Grecians\nreckoned time by Olympiads, the Romans dated from the building of their\ncity; and as these two eras are within 23 years of each other, you may,\nfor the ease of memory, suppose them to begin together, in the year of\nthe world 3228.\n\nIn reading the history of the _Roman Republic_, which continued in that\nform of government to the time of Julius Caesar's dictatorship, about the\nyear of the world 3960, and about 48 years before Christ, you will make\nas many epochas as you shall find convenient: I will mention only two;\nthe sacking of Rome by the Gauls, which happened in the year of the\nworld 3620, in the 365th year of the city, in the 97th Olympiad, before\nChrist 385, and about 30 years before the birth of Alexander. The\nsecond epocha may be the 608th year of the city, when, after three\nobstinate wars, Carthage was destroyed, and Rome was left without a\nrival.\n\nPerhaps the following bad verses, which were given me when I was young,\nmay help to fix in your mind the important eras of the Roman and Grecian\ndates: You must not laugh at them, for chronologers do not pique\nthemselves on their poetry, but they make use of numbers and rhymes\nmerely as assistants to memory, being so easily learned by heart.\n\n    \"Rome and Olympiads bear the same date,\n    Three thousand two hundred and twenty-eight.\n    In three hundred and sixty[29] was Rome sack'd and torn,\n    Thirty summers before Alexander was born.\"\n\nYou will allow that what I have said in these few pages is very easily\nlearned; yet, little as it is, I will venture to say that, was you as\nperfectly mistress of it as of your alphabet, you might answer several\nquestions relating to ancient chronology more readily than many who\npretend to know something of this science. One is not so much required\nto tell the precise year, in which a great man lived, as to know, with\nwhom he was contemporary in other parts of the world. I would know then,\nfrom the slight sketch above given, about what year of the Roman\nrepublic Alexander the Great lived. You would quickly run over in your\nmind, \"Alexander lived in the 3670th year of the world, 330 before\nChrist; consequently he must have flourished about the 400th _of Rome_,\nwhich had endured 750 years when Christ was born.\" Or, suppose it was\nasked, what was the condition of Greece, at the time of the sacking of\nRome by the Gauls; had any particular state, or the united body, chosen\nthen to take advantage of the misfortunes of the Romans? You consider\nthat the 365th year of the city--the date of that event---is 385 before\nChrist; consequently this must have happened about the time of Philip of\nMacedon, father of Alexander, when the Grecians under such a leader\nmight have extirpated the Roman nation from the earth, had they ever\nheard of them, or thought the conquest of them an object worthy their\nambition.\n\nNumberless questions might be answered in like manner, even on this very\nnarrow circumscribed plan, if it was completely mastered. I might\nrequire that other periods or epochas should be learned with the same\nexactness; but these may serve to explain my meaning, and to show you\nhow practicable and easy it is. One thing, however, I must\nobserve--though perhaps it is sufficiently obvious--which is, that you\ncan make no use of this sketch of ancient Chronology, nor even hope to\nretain it, till you have read the ancient _history_. When you have gone\nthrough Rollin's Histoire Ancienne _once_, then will be the time to fix\nthe ancient Chronology deep in your mind, which will very much enhance\nthe pleasure and use of reading it a _second_ time; for you must\nremember, that nobody reads a history to much purpose, who does not go\nover it more than once.\n\nWhen you have got through your course of ancient history, and are come\nto the more modern, you must then have recourse to the second of the\nthree divisions; viz. _middle Chronology_: containing about 800 years,\nfrom the birth of our Lord, and from within 50 years of the rise of the\nRoman empire, to Charlemagne, who died in 814.\n\nThis period, except in the earliest part of it, is too much involved in\nobscurity to require a very minute knowledge of its history: it may be\nsufficient to fix two or three of the most singular circumstances by\ntheir proper dates.\n\nThe first epocha to be observed is the year of our Lord 330, when\nConstantine, the first Christian emperor, who restored peace to the\noppressed and persecuted church, removed the seat of empire from Rome to\nByzantium, called afterwards from him Constantinople. After his time,\nabout the year 400, began those irruptions of the Goths and Vandals, and\nother northern nations, who settled themselves all over the western\nparts of the Roman empire, and laid the foundation of the several states\nwhich now subsist in Europe.\n\nThe next epocha is the year 622--for the ease of memory say 600--when\nMahomet, by his successful imposture, became the founder of the Saracen\nempire, which his followers extended over a great part of Asia and\nAfrica, and over some provinces of Europe. At the same time, St.\nGregory, bishop of Rome, began to assume a spiritual power, which grew\nby degrees into that absolute and enormous dominion, so long maintained\nby the popes over the greatest part of Christendom. St. Augustine--a\nmissionary from St. Gregory--about this time, began the conversion of\nGreat Britain to Christianity.\n\nThe third and concluding epocha in this division, is the year 800; when\nCharlemagne, king of France--after having subdued the Saxons, repressed\nthe Saracens, and established the temporal dominion of the pope by a\ngrant of considerable territories--was elected emperor of the west, and\nprotector of the church. The date of this event corresponds with that\nremarkable period of our English history--the union of the Heptarchy, or\nseven kingdoms, under Egbert.\n\nAs to the _third_ part of Chronology, namely, the _Modern_, I shall\nspare you and myself all trouble about at present; for if you follow the\ncourse of reading which I shall recommend, it will be some years before\nyou reach modern history; and, when you do, you will easily make periods\nfor yourself, if you do but remember carefully to examine the dates as\nyou read, and to impress on your memory those of very remarkable reigns\nor events.\n\nI fear you are by this time tired of Chronology; but my sole intention,\nin what I have said, is to convince you that it is a science not out of\nyour reach, in the moderate degree that is requisite for you; _the last\nvolume of the Ancient Universal History_ is the best English\nChronological Work I know; if that does not come in your way, there is\nan excellent French one, called Tablettes Chronologiques de l'Histoire\nUniverselle, Du Fresnoy, 3 tomes, Paris; there is also a _chart_ of\nuniversal history, including Chronology, and a _Biographical_ chart,\nboth by Priestley, which you may find of service to you.\n\nIndeed, my dear, a woman makes a poor figure who affects, as I have\nheard some ladies do, to disclaim all knowledge of times and dates: the\nstrange confusion they make of events, which happened in different\nperiods, and the stare of ignorance when such are referred to as are\ncommonly known, are sufficiently pitiable: but the highest mark of folly\nis to be proud of such ignorance--a resource, in which some of our sex\nfind great consolation.\n\nAdieu, my dear child! I am, with the tenderest affection,\n\n    Ever your's.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[29] That is, in the 365th year of the city.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER X.\n\nON READING HISTORY.\n\n\n    _MY DEAREST NIECE_,\n\nWHEN I recommend to you to gain some insight into the general history of\nthe world, perhaps you will think I propose a formidable task; but your\napprehensions will vanish, when you consider that of near half the globe\nwe have no histories at all; that of other parts of it, a few facts only\nare known to us; and that, even of those nations which make the greatest\nfigure in history, the early ages are involved in obscurity and fable:\nit is not indeed allowable to be totally ignorant even of those fables,\nbecause they are the frequent subjects of poetry and painting, and are\noften referred to in more authentic histories.\n\nThe first recorders of actions are generally poets: in the historical\nsongs of the bards are found the only accounts of the first ages of\nevery state; but in these we must naturally expect to find truth mixed\nwith fiction, and often disguised in allegory. In such early times,\nbefore science has enlightened the minds of men, the people are ready to\nbelieve every thing; and the historian, having no restraints from the\nfear of contradiction or criticism, delivers the most improbable and\nabsurd tales as an account of the lives and actions of their\nforefathers; thus the first heroes of every nation are gods, or the sons\nof gods; and every great event is accompanied with some supernatural\nagency. Homer, whom I have already mentioned, as a poet, you will find\nthe most agreeable historian of the early ages of Greece; and Virgil\nwill show you the supposed origin of the Carthaginians and Romans.\n\nIt will be necessary for you to observe some regular plan in your\nhistorical studies, which can never be pursued with advantage otherwise\nthan in a continued series. I do not mean to confine you solely to that\nkind of reading; on the contrary, I wish you frequently to relax with\npoetry or some other amusement, whilst you are pursuing your course of\nhistory; I only mean to warn you against mixing _ancient_ history with\n_modern_, or _general_ histories of one place with _particular reigns_\nin another; by which desultory manner of reading, many people distract\nand confound their memories, and retain nothing to any purpose from such\na confused mass of materials.\n\nThe most ancient of all histories, you will read in your Bible: from\nthence you will proceed to l'Histoire Ancienne of Rollin, who very\ningeniously points out the connection of profane with sacred history,\nand enlivens his narrative with many agreeable and improving\nreflections, and many very pleasing detached stories and anecdotes,\nwhich may serve you as resting places in your journey. It would be an\nuseful exercise of your memory and judgment, to recount these\ninteresting passages to a friend, either by letter or in conversation;\nnot in the words of the author, but in your own natural style--by\nmemory, and not by book; and to add whatever remarks may occur to you. I\nneed not say that you will please me much, whenever you are disposed to\nmake this use of _me_.\n\nThe want of memory is a great discouragement in historical pursuits, and\nis what every body complains of. Many artificial helps have been\ninvented, of which those who have tried them can best tell you the\neffects; but the most natural and pleasant expedient is that of\nconversation with a friend, who is acquainted with the history which you\nare reading. By such conversations, you will find out how much is\nusually retained of what is read, and you will learn to select those\ncharacters and facts which are best worth preserving: for it is by\ntrying to remember every thing, without distinction, that young people\nare so apt to lose every trace of what they read. By repeating to your\nfriend what you can recollect, you will fix it in your memory: and if\nyou should omit any striking particular, which ought to be retained,\nthat friend will remind you of it, and will direct your attention to it\non a second perusal. It is a good rule to cast your eye each day over\nwhat you read the day before, and to look over the contents of every\nbook when you have finished it.\n\nRollin's work takes in a large compass: but, of all the ancient nations\nit treats of, perhaps there are only the Grecians and Romans, whose\nstories ought to be read with any anxious desire of retaining them\nperfectly: for the rest, such as the Assyrians, Egyptians, &c., I\nbelieve you would find, on examination, that most of those who are\nsupposed tolerably well read in history, remember no more than a few of\nthe most remarkable facts and characters. I tell you this, to prevent\nyour being discouraged on finding so little remain in your mind after\nreading these less interesting parts of ancient history.\n\nBut, when you come to the Grecian and Roman[30] stories, I expect to\nfind you deeply interested and highly entertained; and, of consequence,\neager to treasure up in your memory those heroic actions and exalted\ncharacters by which a young mind is naturally so much animated and\nimpressed. As Greece and Rome were distinguished as much for genius as\nvalour, and were the theatres, not only of the greatest military\nactions, the noblest efforts of liberty and patriotism, but of the\nhighest perfection of arts and sciences, their immortal fame is a\nsubject of wonder and emulation, even to these distant ages; and it is\nthought a shameful degree of ignorance, even in our sex, to be\nunacquainted with the nature and revolutions of their governments, and\nwith the characters and stories of their most illustrious heroes.\nPerhaps, when you are told that the government and the national\ncharacter of your own countrymen have been compared with those of the\nRomans, it may not be an useless amusement, in reading the Roman\nhistory, to carry this observation in your mind, and to examine how far\nthe parallel holds good. The French have been thought to resemble the\nAthenians in their genius, though not in their love of liberty. These\nlittle hints sometimes serve to awaken reflection and attention in young\nreaders--I leave you to make what use of them you please.\n\nWhen you have got through Rollin, if you add _Vertot's Revolutions\nRomaines_--a short and very entertaining work--you may be said to have\nread as much as is _absolutely necessary_ of ancient history. Plutarch's\nlives of famous Greeks and Romans--a book deservedly of the highest\nreputation--can never be read to so much advantage as immediately after\nthe histories of Greece and Rome: I should even prefer reading each life\nin Plutarch, immediately after the history of each particular hero, as\nyou meet with them in Rollin or in Vertot.\n\nIf hereafter you should choose to enlarge your plan, and should wish to\nknow more of any particular people or period than you find in Rollin,\nthe sources from which he drew may be open to you; for there are, I\nbelieve, French or English translations of all the original historians,\nfrom whom he extracted his materials.\n\nCrevier's continuation of Rollin, I believe, gives the best account of\nthe Roman emperors down to Constantine. What shocking instances will you\nthere meet with, of the terrible effects of lawless power on the human\nmind! How will you be amazed to see the most promising characters\nchanged by flattery and self-indulgence into monsters that disgrace\nhumanity! To read a series of such lives as those of Tiberius, Nero, or\nDomitian, would be intolerable, were we not consoled by the view of\nthose excellent emperors, who remained uncorrupted through all\ntemptations. When the mind--disgusted, depressed, and terrified--turns\nfrom the contemplation of those depths of vice, to which human nature\nmay be sunk, a Titus, the delight of mankind--a Trajan--an\nAntoninus--restore it to an exulting sense of the dignity, to which\nthat nature may be exalted by virtue. Nothing is more awful than this\nconsideration: a human creature given up to vice is infinitely below the\nmost abject brute; the same creature, trained by virtue to the utmost\nperfection of his nature, 'is but a little lower than the angels, and is\ncrowned with glory and immortality.'\n\nBefore you enter upon the modern history of any particular kingdom, it\nwill be proper to gain some idea of that interval between ancient and\nmodern times, which is justly called the dark and barbarous ages, and\nwhich lasted from Constantine to Charlemagne--perhaps one might say to\nsome centuries after. On the irruption of the northern Barbarians, who\nbroke the Roman empire, and dissipated all the treasures of knowledge,\nas well as of riches, which had been so long accumulating in that\nenormous state, the European world may be said to have returned to a\nsecond infancy; and the Monkish legends, which are the only records\npreserved of the times in which they were written, are not less fabulous\nthan the tales of the demi-gods. I must profess myself ignorant how to\ndirect you to any distinct or amusing knowledge of the History of Europe\nduring this period[31]: some collect it from _Puffendorf's\nIntroduction_; some from _The Universal History_; and now, perhaps, with\nmore advantage and delight, from the first volume of _Robertson's\nCharles the Fifth_, in which he traces the progress of civilization,\ngovernment, and arts, from the first settlements of the Barbarians; and\nshows the foundation of the several states into which Europe is now\ndivided, and of those laws, customs, and politics, which prevail in this\nquarter of the world.\n\nIn those dark ages, you will find no single character so interesting as\nthat of Mahomet; that bold impostor, who extended his usurped dominion\nequally over the minds and properties of men, and propagated a new\nreligion, whilst he founded a new empire, over a large portion of the\nglobe. His life has been written by various hands.\n\nWhen you come to the particular histories of the European states, your\nown country seems to demand the precedence; and there is no part more\ncommodious to set out from, since you cannot learn the history of Great\nBritain, without becoming in some degree acquainted with almost every\nneighbouring nation, and without finding your curiosity excited to know\nmore of those with whom we are most connected.\n\nBy the amazing progress of navigation and commerce, within the last two\nor three centuries, all parts of the world are now connected: the most\ndistant people are become well acquainted, who, for thousands of years,\nnever heard of one another's existence: we are still every day exploring\nnew regions; and every day see greater reason to expect that immense\ncountries may yet be discovered, and America no longer retain the name\nof the _New World_. You may pass to every quarter of the earth, and find\nyourself still in the British dominion: this island, in which we live,\nis the least portion of it; and, if we were to adopt the style of\nancient conquerors, we might call it the throne, from which we rule the\nworld. To this boast we are better entitled than some of those who\nformerly called themselves _Masters of the Globe_, as we possess an\nempire of greater extent, and from the superior advantages of our\ncommerce, much greater power and riches: but we have now too many\nrivals in dominion, to take upon us such haughty titles.\n\nYou cannot be said to know the history of that empire, of which you are\na subject, without knowing something of the East and West Indies, where\nso great a part of it is situated: and you will find the accounts of the\ndiscovery and conquest of America very entertaining, though you will be\nshocked at the injustice and cruelty of its conquerors. But, with which\nof the glorious conquerors of mankind must not humanity be shocked!\nAmbition, the most remorseless of all passions, pursues its object by\nall sorts of means: justice, mercy, truth, and every thing most sacred,\nin vain oppose its progress! Alas, my dear, shall I venture to tell you,\nthat the history of the world is little else than a shocking account of\nthe wickedness and folly of the ambitious! The world has ever been, and,\nI suppose, ever must be, governed and insulted by these aspiring\nspirits: it has always, in greater or less degree, groaned under their\nunjust usurpation.\n\nBut let not the horror of such a scene put a stop to your curiosity: it\nis proper you should know mankind as they are: you must be acquainted\nwith the heroes of the earth, and perhaps you may be too well reconciled\nto them: mankind have in general a strong bias in their favour; we see\nthem surrounded with pomp and splendour--every thing that relates to\nthem has an air of grandeur--and, whilst we admire their natural powers,\nwe are too apt to pardon the detestable abuse of them, to the injury and\nruin of the human race. We are dazzled with false glory, and willingly\ngive into the delusion; for mighty conquests, like great conflagrations,\nhave something of the sublime that pleases the imagination, though we\nknow, if we reflect at all, that the consequences of them are\ndevastation and misery.\n\nThe Western and Eastern world will present to you very different\nprospects. In _America_, the first European conquerors found nature in\ngreat simplicity; society still in its infancy; and consequently the\narts and sciences yet unknown: so that the facility with which they\noverpowered these poor innocent people, was entirely owing to their\nsuperior knowledge in the arts of destroying. They found the inhabitants\nbrave enthusiastic patriots, but without either the military or\npolitical arts necessary for their defence. The two great kingdoms of\nMexico and Peru had alone made some progress in civilization; they were\nboth formed into regular states, and had gained some order and\ndiscipline: from these therefore the Spaniards met with something like\nan opposition. At first indeed the invaders appeared supernatural\nbeings, who came upon them flying over the ocean, on the wings of the\nwind, and who, mounted on fiery animals, unknown in that country,\nattacked them with thunder and lightning in their hands; for such the\nfire-arms of the Spaniards appeared to this astonished people. But from\nbeing worshipped as gods, they soon came to be feared as evil spirits;\nand in time being discovered to be men--different from the Americans\nonly in their outrageous injustice, and in the cruel arts of\ndestroying--they were abhorred and boldly opposed. The resistance\nhowever of a million of these poor naked people, desperately crowding on\neach other to destruction, served only to make their ruin more complete.\nThe Europeans have destroyed, with the most shocking barbarity, many\nmillions of the original inhabitants of these countries, and have ever\nsince been depopulating Europe and Africa to supply their places.\n\nThough our own countrymen have no reason to boast of the justice and\nhumanity of their proceedings in America, yet, in comparison with those\nof the Spaniards, our possessions there were innocently acquired. Some\nof them gained by conquest, or cession, from Spain and from other\nEuropean powers; some by contract with the natives, or by settlements on\nuninhabited lands[32]. We are now possessed of a series of colonies,\nextending above two thousand miles along the whole Eastern coast of\nNorth-America, besides many islands of immense value. These countries,\ninstead of being thinly peopled by a few hordes of ignorant savages, are\nnow adorned with many great cities, and innumerable rich plantations,\nwhich have made ample returns to their mother-country, for the dangers\nand expenses which attended their first establishment. Blessed with more\nnatural advantages than almost any country in the world, they are making\na swift progress in wealth and grandeur, and seem likely, in some future\nperiod, to be as much the seat of empire and of science as Europe is at\npresent. Whether their attainments in virtue and happiness will keep\npace with their advancement in knowledge, wealth, and power, is much to\nbe questioned; for you will observe in your historical view of the\nseveral great empires of the world, that as each grew up towards the\nhighest pitch of greatness, the seeds of destruction grew up with it;\nluxury and vice, by debasing the minds, and enervating the bodies of the\npeople, left them all, in their turns, an easy prey to poorer and more\nvaliant nations.\n\nIn the East, the Europeans introduced themselves in a milder way;\nadmitted first as traders--and, for the more commodious carrying on\ntheir commerce, indulged by the powers of the country in establishing a\nfew small factories--they, by gentle degrees, extended and strengthened\ntheir settlements there, till their force became considerable enough to\nbe thought an useful auxiliary to contending princes; and, as it has\noften happened to those who have called in foreign powers to interfere\nin their domestic contentions, by availing themselves of the\ndisturbances of a dismembered monarchy, they at length raised a power\nalmost independent of their employers. Soon, the several European\nnations, who had thus got footing in the Indies, jealous of each other's\ngrowing greatness, made the feuds of the native princes subservient to\ntheir mutual contests; till within a few years, the English, by a happy\nconcurrence of circumstances, obtained the mastery, and expelled their\nrivals from all their considerable settlements.\n\nThe rapidity of our conquests here has been perhaps equal to that of the\nfirst invaders of America--but from different causes. Here we found an\nold-established empire advanced to its crisis; the magnificence and\nluxury of the great carried to the highest excess, and the people in a\nproportionable degree of oppression and debasement. Thus ripe for\ndestruction, the rivalship of the viceroys, from the weakness of the\ngovernment, become independent sovereigns; and the dastardly spirit of\nthe meaner people, indifferent to the cause for which they were\ncompelled to fight, encouraged these ambitious merchants to push their\nadvantages further than they could at first have supposed possible: with\nastonishment they saw the intrepid leaders of a few hundreds of brave\nfree Britons, boldly oppose and repeatedly put to flight millions of\nthese effeminate Indian slaves; and, in a short time, raised for them an\nempire much larger than their mother-country.\n\nFrom these remote quarters of the world, let us now return to Great\nBritain, with the history of which you ought certainly to acquaint\nyourself, before you enter upon that of any other European kingdom. If\nyou have courage and industry enough to begin so high as the invasion of\nJulius Caesar--before which nothing is known of the inhabitants of this\nisland--you may set out with Rapin, and proceed with him to William the\nConqueror. From this era there are other histories of England more\nentertaining than his, though I believe none esteemed more authentic.\nParty so strongly influences both historians and their readers, that it\nis a difficult and invidious task to point out the _best_ amongst the\nnumber of English histories that offer themselves: but, as _you_ will\nnot read with a critical view, nor enter deeply into politics, I think\nyou may be allowed to choose that which is most entertaining; and, in\nthis view, I believe the general voice will direct you to Hume, though\nhe goes no further than the Revolution. Among other _historians_, do not\nforget my darling _Shakspeare_--a faithful as well as a most agreeable\none--whose historical plays, if read in a series, will fix in your\nmemory the reigns he has chosen, more durable than any other history.\nYou need not fear his leading you into any material mistakes, for he\nkeeps surprisingly close to the truth, as well in the characters as in\nthe events. One cannot but wish he had given us a play on the reign of\nevery English king; as it would have been the pleasantest, and perhaps\nthe most useful, way of becoming acquainted with it.\n\nFor the other portion of Great Britain, Robertson's History of Scotland\nis a delightful work, and of a moderate size.\n\nNext to your own country, _France_ will be the most interesting object\nof your inquiries; our ancient possessions in that country, and the\nfrequent contests we have been engaged in with its inhabitants, connect\ntheir history with our own. The extent of their dominion and\ninfluence--their supposed superiority in elegance and politeness--their\neminence in the Arts and Sciences--and that intercourse of thought, if\nso I may call it, which subsists between us, by the mutual communication\nof literary productions--make them peculiarly interesting to us; and we\ncannot but find our curiosity excited to know their story, and to be\nintimately acquainted with the character, genius, and sentiments of this\nnation.\n\nI do not know of any general history of France, that will answer your\npurpose, except that of _Mezerai_, which even in the abridgment is a\npretty large work: there is a very modern one by _Velly and others_,\nwhich perhaps may be more lively, but is still more voluminous, and not\nyet completed. From Mezerai you may proceed with Voltaire to the end of\nthe reign of Louis the Fourteenth.\n\nIn considering the rest of Europe, your curiosity may be confined within\nnarrower limits. Modern history is, from the nature of it, much more\nminute and laborious than the ancient; and to pursue that of so many\nvarious kingdoms and governments, would be a task unequal to your\nleisure and abilities, at least for several years to come; at the same\ntime, it must be owned, that the present system of politics and commerce\nhas formed such a relation between the different powers of Europe, that\nthey are in a manner members of one great body, and a total ignorance of\nany considerable state would throw an obscurity even upon the affairs\nof your own country[33]; an acquaintance however with the most\nremarkable circumstances that distinguish the principal governments,\nwill sufficiently enlighten you, and will enable you to comprehend\nwhatever relates to them, in the histories with which you are more\nfamiliar. Instead of referring you for this purpose to dull and\nuninteresting abridgments, I choose rather to point out to you a few\nsmall Tracts, which exhibit striking and lively pictures, not easily\neffaced from the memory, of the constitutions and the most remarkable\ntransactions of several of these nations. Such are\n\n     Sir William Temple's Essay on the United Provinces.\n\n     His Essay on Heroic Virtue, which contains some account of\n     the Saracen Empire.\n\n     Vertot's Revolutions de Suede.\n\n     Vertot's Revolutions de Portugal.\n\n     Voltaire's Charles XII. de Suede.\n\n     Voltaire's Pierre le Grand.\n\n     Puffendorf's Account of the Popes, in his Introduction to\n     Modern History.\n\nSome part of the History of Germany and Spain, you will see more in\ndetail in Robertson's History of Charles the Vth, which I have already\nrecommended to you in another view.\n\nAfter all this, you may still be at a loss for the transactions of\nEurope, in the last fifty years: for the purpose of giving you, in a\nvery small compass, some idea of the state of affairs during that\nperiod, I will venture to recommend one book more--_Campbell's State of\nEurope_[34].\n\nThus much may suffice for that moderate scheme, which I think is best\nsuited to your sex and age. There are several excellent histories, and\nmemoirs of particular reigns and periods, which I have taken no notice\nof in this circumscribed plan; but with which, if you should happen to\nhave a taste for the study, you will hereafter choose to be acquainted:\nthese will be read with most advantage after you have gained some\ngeneral view of history; and they will then serve to refresh your\nmemory, and settle your ideas distinctly; as well as enable you to\ncompare different accounts of the persons and facts which they treat of,\nand to form your opinions of them on just grounds.\n\nAs I cannot, with certainty, foresee what degree of application or\ngenius for such pursuits you will be mistress of, I shall leave\ndeficiencies of this collection to be supplied by the suggestions of\nyour more informed friends; who, if you explain to them how far you wish\nto extend your knowledge, will direct you to the proper books.\n\nBut if, instead of an eager desire for this kind of knowledge, you\nshould happen to feel that distaste for it, which is too common in young\nladies who have been indulged in reading only works of mere amusement,\nyou will perhaps rather think that I want mercy in offering you so large\na plan, than that there needs an apology for the deficiencies of it:\nbut, comfort yourself with the assurance, that a taste for history will\ngrow and improve by reading; that, as you get acquainted with one period\nor nation, your curiosity cannot fail to be awakened for what concerns\nthose immediately connected with it: and thus you will insensibly be led\non from one degree of knowledge to another.\n\nIf you waste in trivial amusement the next three or four years of your\nlife, which are the prime season of improvement, believe me you will\nhereafter bitterly regret their loss: when you come to feel yourself\ninferior in knowledge to almost every one you converse with--and, above\nall, if you should ever be a mother, when you feel your own inability to\ndirect and assist the pursuits of your children--you will then find\nignorance a severe mortification and a real evil. Let this, my dear,\nanimate your industry; and let not a modest opinion of your own capacity\nbe a discouragement to your endeavours after knowledge: a moderate\nunderstanding, with diligent and well-directed application, will go much\nfurther than a more lively genius, if attended with that impatience and\ninattention, which too often accompanies quick parts. It is not from\nwant of capacity that so many women are such trifling insipid\ncompanions, so ill qualified for the friendship and conversation of a\nsensible man, or for the task of governing and instructing a family: it\nis much oftener from the neglect of exercising the talents which they\nreally have, and from omitting to cultivate a taste for intellectual\nimprovement: by this neglect, they lose the sincerest of pleasures; a\npleasure which would remain when almost every other forsakes them; which\nneither fortune nor age can deprive them of, and which would be a\ncomfort and resource in almost every possible situation of life.\n\nIf I can but inspire you, my dear child, with the desire of making the\nmost of your time and abilities, my end is answered; the means of\nknowledge will easily be found by those who diligently seek them, and\nthey will find their labours abundantly rewarded.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd now, my dear, I think it is time to finish this long correspondence,\nwhich, though in some parts it may have been tedious to you, will not, I\nhope, be found entirely useless in any. I have laid before you all that\nmy maturest reflections could enable me to suggest, for the direction of\nyour conduct through life. My love for you, my dearest child, extends\nits views beyond this frail and transitory existence; it considers you\nas a candidate for immortality--as entering the lists for the prize of\nyour high calling--as contending for a crown of unfading glory. It sees,\nwith anxious solicitude, the dangers that surround you, and the\neverlasting shame that must follow, if you do not exert all your\nstrength in the conflict. Religion therefore has been the basis of my\nplan--the principle to which every other pursuit is ultimately referred.\nHere then I have endeavoured to guide your researches; and to assist you\nin forming just notions on a subject of such infinite importance, I have\nshown you the necessity of regulating your heart and temper, according\nto the genuine spirit of that religion which I have so earnestly\nrecommended as the great rule of your life. To the same principle I\nwould refer your attention to domestic duties; and, even that refinement\nand elegance of manners, and all those graces and accomplishments, which\nwill set your virtues in the fairest light, and will engage the\naffection and respect of all who converse with you. Endeared to society\nby these amiable qualities, your influence in it will be more extensive,\nand your capacity of being useful proportionably enlarged. The studies,\nwhich I have recommended to you, must be likewise subservient to the\nsame views; the pursuit of knowledge, when it is guided and controlled\nby the principles I have established, will conduce to many valuable\nends: the habit of industry it will give you, the nobler kind of\nfriendships for which it will qualify you, and its tendency to promote a\ncandid and liberal way of thinking, are obvious advantages. I might add,\nthat a mind well informed in the various pursuits which interest\nmankind, and the influence of such pursuits on their happiness, will\nembrace with a clearer choice, and will more steadily adhere to, those\nprinciples of Virtue and Religion, which the judgment must ever approve,\nin proportion as it becomes enlightened.\n\nMay those delightful hopes be answered which have animated my heart,\nwhile with diligent attention I have endeavoured to apply to your\nadvantage all that my own experience and best observation could furnish.\nWith what joy should I see my dearest girl shine forth a bright example\nof every thing that is amiable and praiseworthy;--and how sweet would be\nthe reflection that I had, in any degree, contributed to make her\nso!--My heart expands with the affecting thought, and pours forth in\nthis adieu the most ardent wishes for your perfection! If the tender\nsolicitude expressed for your welfare by this 'labour of love' can\nengage your gratitude, you will always remember how deeply your conduct\ninterests the happiness of\n\n    Your most affectionate\n\n      AUNT.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[30] _Dr. Goldsmith's Histories of Greece and Rome_ are generally\nconsidered as most useful to young persons.\n\n        _Editor._\n\n[31] _Russel's History of Ancient Europe_ will give all the information\nrequisite.\n\n        _Editor._\n\n[32] This work was first printed in 1773.\n\n[33] _The History of Modern Europe_ may be read with particular\nadvantage.\n\n        _Editor._\n\n[34] This work has not been published for some years; _Guthrie's\nGeographical and Historical Grammar_ is the best work of the kind, at\npresent.\n\n        _Editor._\n\n\n                     FINIS.\n\nPrinted by Weed and Rider, Little Britain, London.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nObvious misspellings and punctuation errors repaired. Otherwise,\nunusual spellings retained when used consistently in original.\n\nHyphenated/nonhyphenated retained when occurring evenly.\n\nThought break on P.209 added, corresponds to \"Conclusion\" in Contents.\n\nP.205, list: Second occurrences of \"Vertot's Revolutions\" and\n\"Voltaire's\" added in place of \"repeat\" dashes.\n\n\"Ecclus\" = Sirach, or Ecclesiasticus\n\nP.xxxii, \"whole tenour of the Gospel\" to \"whole tenor of the Gospel\"\n\nP.26 \"himself was govenor\" to \"himself was governor\"\n\n\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"Letters on the Improvement of the Mind, Addressed to a Lady","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":50890}