society, restore me again to the native simplicity and sincerity of
Harmony-Grove.
I took my leave as soon as politeness would allow; and left them to
animadvert upon me. Independent for happiness on the praise or censure
of superficial minds, let me ever be conscious of meriting approbation,
and I shall rest contented in the certain prospect of receiving it.
Adieu.
SOPHIA MANCHESTER.
_To Miss_ SOPHIA MANCHESTER.
BEVERLY.
I sympathize with you, my dear Sophia, in the disappointment you
received in your expectations from beauty and wit.
You may nevertheless derive advantage from it. Your refined and delicate
ideas raise you too far above the scenes of common life. They paint the
defects of your inferiors in such lively colours, that the greater part
of the community must be displeasing to you. Few, you should remember,
have had the advantages which you have enjoyed; and still fewer have
your penetrating eye, correct taste, and quick sensibility. Let charity
then draw a veil over the foibles of others, and candor induce you to
look on the best and brightest side.
It is both our duty and interest to enjoy life as far as integrity and
innocence allow; and in order to this, we must not soar above, but
accommodate ourselves to its ordinary state. We cannot stem the torrent
of folly and vanity; but we can step aside and see it roll on, without
suffering ourselves to be borne down by the stream.
Empty conversation must be disgusting to every rational and thinking
mind; yet, when it partakes not of malignity, it is harmless in its
effects, as the vapour which floats over the mead in a summer’s eve. But
when malice and envy join to give scope to detraction, we ought to avoid
their contagion, and decidedly condemn the effusions of the ill-natured
merriment which they inspire.
Our sex have been taxed as defamers. I am convinced, however, they are
not exclusively guilty; yet, for want of more substantial matter of
conversation, I fear they too often give occasion for the accusation! A
mind properly cultivated and stored with useful knowledge, will despise
a pastime which must be supported at the expense of others. Hence only
the superficial and the giddy are reduced to the necessity of filling
the time in which they associate together, with the degrading and
injurious subjects of slander. But I trust that our improved
country-women are rising far superior to this necessity, and are able to
convince the world, that the American fair are enlightened, generous,
and liberal. The false notions of sexual disparity, in point of
understanding and capacity, are justly exploded; and each branch of
society is uniting to raise the virtues and polish the manners of the
whole.
I am, &c.
MATILDA FIELDING.
_To Miss_ JULIA GREENFIELD.
SALEM.
DEAR JULIA,
From your recommendation of Mrs. Chapone’s letters; and, what is still
more, from the character given them by Mrs. Williams, I was anxious to
possess the book; but, not being able to procure it here, my clerical
brother, who was fortunately going to Boston, bought and presented it to
me.
I am much gratified by the perusal, and flatter myself that I shall
derive lasting benefit from it.
So intricate is the path of youth, and so many temptations lurk around
to beguile our feet astray, that we really need some skilful pilot to
guide us through the delusive maze. To an attentive and docile mind,
publications of this sort may afford much instruction and aid. They
ought, therefore, to be carefully collected, and diligently perused.
Anxious to make my brother some acknowledgment for his present, I
wrought and sent him a purse, accompanied with a dedication which I
thought might amuse some of his solitary moments; and which, for that
purpose, I here transcribe and convey to you.
The enclosed, with zeal and with reverence due,
Implor’d my permission to wait upon you;
And begg’d that the muse would her favor extend,
To briefly her worth and her service commend.
The muse, who by dear bought experience had known
How little her use to the clergy had grown,
With officious advice thus attacked the poor purse:
Why, you novice! ’tis plain that you cannot do worse!
If the end of your being you would ever attain,
And honor, preferment and influence gain,
Go quick to the pocket of some noble knave,
Whose merit is wealth, and his person is slave:
Or enter the mansion where splendor appears,
And pomp and eclat are the habit she wears:
Or hie to the court, where so well you are known,
So highly esteem’d and so confident grown,
That without your assistance and recommendation,
None claims any merit, or fills any station!
Seek either of these; and with joy you’ll behold
Yourself crown’d with honor, and filled with gold.
But to wait on a priest! How absurd is the scheme;
His reward’s in reversion; the future’s his theme.
Will these, for the present, your craving’s supply,
Or soften the din of necessity’s cry?
Of hunger and want, the loud clamours repel;
Or crush the poor moth that would on you revel!
For poets and prophets the world has decreed,
On fame and on faith may luxuriously feed!
Here the puss interpos’d with a strut and a stare,
Pray good madam muse, your suggestions forbear!
On virtue and worth I’m resolved to attend,
A _firm_, if I am not a _plentiful_ friend.
Tho’ not swell’d with gold, and with metal extended,
What little I have shall be rightly expended:
And a trifle, by justice and wisdom obtained,
Is better than millions dishonestly gain’d!
Yet I hope and presume that I never shall be
excluded his pocket for the lack of a fee!
Thus the muse and the purse—till I took the direction,
And destin’d the latter to your kind protection.
My wishes attend her, with fervor express’d,
That in yellow or white she may always be dress’d;
And e’er have the power each dull care to beguile;
Make the summer more gay, and the bleak winter smile!
But if Fortune be blind; or should she not favor
These wishes of mine, you must scorn the deceiver:
And, rising superior to all she can do,
Find a bliss more substantial than she can bestow!
CLEORA PARTRIDGE.
_To Miss_ LAURA GUILFORD.
WORCESTER.
DEAR LAURA,
I have spent a very agreeable summer in the country; but am now
preparing to return to town. I anticipate, with pleasure, a restoration
to your society, and that of my other friends there. I should, however,
quit these rural scenes with reluctance, were it not that they are
giving place to the chilling harbingers of approaching winter. They have
afforded charms to me, which the giddy round of fashionable amusements
can never equal. Many, however, think life insupportable, except in the
bustle and dissipation of a city. Of this number is the volatile Amelia
Parr, whom you know as well as I. So extreme is her gaiety, that the
good qualities of her mind are suffered to lie dormant; while the most
restless passions are indulged without restraint. I have just received a
letter from her, which you will see to be characteristic of her
disposition. I enclose that, and my answer to it, for your perusal. Read
both with candour; and believe me ever yours,
HARRIOT HENLY.
_To Miss_ HARRIOT HENLY.
(_Enclosed in the preceding._)
BOSTON.
Where are you, Harriot; and what are you doing? Six long months absent
from the town! What can you find to beguile the tedious hours? Life must
be a burden to you! How can you employ yourself? Employ, did I say? Pho!
I will not use so vulgar a term! I meant amuse! Amusement surely is the
prime end of our existence! You have no plays, no card-parties, nor
assemblies, that are worth mentioning! Intolerably heavy must the
lagging wheels of time roll on! How shall I accelerate them for you? A
new novel may do something towards it! I accordingly send you one,
imported in the last ships. Foreign, to be sure; else it would not be
worth attention. They have attained to a far greater degree of
refinement in the old world, than we have in the new; and are so
perfectly acquainted with the passions, that there is something
extremely amusing and interesting in their plots and counterplots,
operating in various ways, till the dear creatures are jumbled into
matrimony in the prettiest manner that can be conceived!
_We_, in this country, are too much in a state of nature to write good
novels yet. An American novel is such a moral, sentimental thing, that
it is enough to give any body the vapours to read one. Pray come to town
as soon as possible, and not dream away your best days in obscurity and
insignificance.
But this boarding school, this Harmony-Grove, where you formerly
resided, has given you strange ideas of the world. With what raptures I
have heard you relate the dull scenes in which you were concerned there!
I am afraid that your diseased taste has now come to a crisis, and you
have commenced prude in earnest! But return to your city friends; and we
will lend our charitable assistance, in restoring you to gaiety and
pleasure.
AMELIA PARR.
* * * * *
_The Answer._
WORCESTER.
DEAR AMELIA,
Your letter——your rattle, rather, came to hand yesterday. I could not
avoid smiling at your erroneous opinions; and, in my turn, beg leave to
express my wonder at your entertainments in town. True, we have no
plays. We are not obliged by fashion, to sit, half suffocated in a
crowd, for the greater part of the night, to hear the rantings, and see
the extravagant actions of the buskin heroes, (and those not always
consistent with female modesty to witness!) We have no card-parties,
avowedly formed for the purpose of _killing time_! But we have an
agreeable neighborhood, among which we can easily collect a social
circle; and persons of taste, politeness and information, compose it.
Here we enjoy a rational and enlivening conversation, which is at once
refined and improving. We have no assemblies, composed of a promiscuous
crowd of gaudy belles and beaux; many of whom we should despise in a
private company, and deem unworthy of our notice. But we have genteel
balls, the company of which is select, none being admitted but such as
do honor to themselves and each other. The amusement is not protracted
till the yawning listlessness of the company proclaims their incapacity
for enjoyment; but we retire at a seasonable hour, and add to the
pleasure of the evening, that of undisturbed rest through the night. Of
course, we can rise with the sun, and sip the nectarious dews, wafted in
the aromatic gale. We breakfast before the heat of the day has brought
on a languor and deprived us of appetite; after which, we amuse
ourselves with our needles, books, or music; recline on the sofa, or
ramble in the grove, as fancy or convenience directs. In the shady bower
we enjoy either the luxury of solitude, or the pleasures of society;
while you are, the whole time, in the midst of hurry and bustle. Eager
in the chase, _you_ fly from one scene of dissipation to another; but
the fatigue of this ceaseless round, and the exertion of spirits
necessary to support it, render the objects of pursuit tasteless and
insipid.
Which mode of life, yours or mine, do you now think the most rational,
and productive of the greatest happiness? The boarding school, which you
affect to despise, has, it is true, formed my taste; and I flatter
myself that I shall never wish it altered.
I shall soon return to town; but not for pleasure. It is not in crowds
that I seek it. Adieu.
HARRIOT HENLY.
_To Miss_ SOPHIA MANCHESTER.
CONCORD.
DEAR SOPHIA,
Having been with my aunt Burchel for a fortnight past, I have indulged
myself in reading novels; with which her library is well supplied.
Richardson’s works have occupied a large portion of the time. What a
surprising command has this great master of the passions over our
feelings! It is happy for his own and succeeding ages, that he embarked
in the cause of virtue. For his influence on the affections of his
readers is so great, that it must have proved very pernicious, had he
enlisted on the side of vice. Though I am not much of a novel-reader,
yet his pen has operated like magic on my fancy; and so extremely was I
interested, that I could have dispensed with sleep or food for the
pleasure I found in reading him.
By this circumstance I am more than ever convinced of the great caution
which ought to be used in perusing writings of the kind. How secretly
and how insidiously may they undermine the fabric of virtue, by painting
vice and folly in the alluring colours, and with the lively style of
this ingenious author. The mind should be well informed, and the
judgment properly matured, before young people indulge themselves in the
unrestrained perusal of them.
The examples of virtue and noble qualities, exhibited by the author I
have mentioned, are truly useful; but every writer of novels is not a
Richardson: and what dreadful effects might the specious manners of a
Lovelace have on the inexperienced mind, were they not detected by a
just exhibition of his vices!
The noble conduct of Clementina and Miss Byron, are worthy of imitation;
while the indiscretion of Clarissa, in putting herself under the
protection of a libertine, is a warning to every fair. But both examples
are often overlooked. While the ear is charmed with the style, and the
fancy riots on the luxuriance of description, which so intimately blend
the charms of virtue and the fascinations of vice, they are not readily
distinguished by all.
I am not equally pleased with all Richardson’s writings; yet so
multifarious are his excellencies, that his faults appear but specks,
which serve as foils to display his beauties to better advantage.
Before I went from home I was engaged in reading a course of history;
but I fear I shall not return from this flowery field to the dry and
less pleasing path of more laborious studies. This is one disadvantage
of novel reading. It dissipates the ideas, relaxes the mind, and renders
it inattentive to the more solid and useful branches of literature.
Adieu.
LAURA GUILFORD.
_To Mrs._ WILLIAMS.
BOSTON.
DEAR MADAM,
Neither change of place nor situation can alienate my affections from
you, or obliterate my grateful remembrance of your kindness.
Your admonitions and counsels have been the guide of my youth. The many
advantages which I have already received from them, and the
condescending readiness with which they were always administered,
embolden me to solicit your direction and advice in a still more
important sphere. The recommendation of my parents and friends, seconded
by my own inclination, have induced me to yield my heart and engage my
hand to Mr. Sylvanus Farmington, with whose character you are not
unacquainted. Next Thursday is the era fixed for our union. O madam, how
greatly shall I need a monitor like you! Sensible of my own
imperfections, I look forward with diffidence and apprehension, blended
with pleasing hopes, to this new and untried state!
Your experienced pen can teach me how to discharge the duties, divide
the cares, and enjoy the pleasures, peculiar to the station on which I
am entering. Pray extend your benevolence, and communicate your
sentiments on female deportment in the connubial relation. Practising
upon such a model, I may still be worthy the appellation, which it will
ever be my ambition to deserve, of your affectionate friend and pupil,
HARRIOT HENLY.
_To Miss_ HARRIOT HENLY.
HARMONY-GROVE.
Indeed, my dear Harriot, you are making an important change of
situation; a change interesting to you and your friends; a change which
involves not only your own happiness, but the happiness of the worthy
man whom you have chosen; of the family, over which you are to preside;
and perhaps, too, of that with which you are to be connected.
I rejoice to hear that this connexion, on which so much depends, is not
hastily formed; but that it is the result of long acquaintance, is
founded on merit, and consolidated by esteem. From characters like
yours, mutually deserving and excellent, brilliant examples of conjugal
virtue and felicity may be expected. Yet as human nature is imperfect,
liable to errors, and apt to deviate from the line of rectitude and
propriety, a monitorial guide may be expedient and useful. Your
partiality has led you to request this _boon_ of me; but diffidence of
my own abilities compels me to decline the arduous task. Nevertheless, I
have it happily in my power to recommend an abler instructor, who has
written professedly upon the subject. THE AMERICAN SPECTATOR, or
MATRIMONIAL PRECEPTOR, lately published by Mr. David West, of Boston,
contains all you can wish. The judicious compiler has collected and
arranged his materials with admirable skill and address. Peruse this
book, and you will be at no loss for counsels to direct, and cautions to
guard you through the intricate cares and duties of the connubial life.
The essays are, chiefly, extracted from the most approved English
writers. The productions of so many able pens, properly disposed, and
exhibited in a new and agreeable light, must not only be entertaining,
but useful to every reader of taste and judgment. I wish this
publication to be considered as a necessary piece of furniture by every
housekeeper. The editor has certainly deserved well of his country; and
Hymen should crown him with unfading garlands.
I shall visit you, my dear Harriot, after the happy knot (for such I
flatter myself it will prove) is tied. In the mean time, I subscribe
myself, with the most ardent wishes for your prosperity and happiness,
your sincere friend,
MARY WILLIAMS.
_To Miss_ CLEORA PARTRIDGE.
NEWBURYPORT.
What think you of wit, Cleora? If you estimate it by the worth of your
own, you think it an invaluable jewel. But this jewel is variously set.
Yours is in the pure sterling gold of good sense: yet, as displayed by
some, it glistens on the mere tinsel of gaiety, which will not bear the
scrutinizing eye of judgment.
Yesterday I received a visit from a young lady, lately moved into this
neighbourhood, who is reputed a wit. Her conversation reminded me of
Pope’s satirical remark:
“There are, whom Heaven has bless’d with store of wit;
But want as much again to manage it.”
I found her’s to consist in smart sayings, lively repartees, and
ludicrous allusions.
So strong was her propensity to display this talent, that she could not
resist any temptation which offered, though it led her to offend against
the rules of politeness and generosity. As some persons of real genius
were present, topics of literature and morality were discussed. Upon
these she was mute as a statue; but whenever the playfulness of her
fancy could find a subject, she was extremely loquacious. This induced
me to suspect that the brilliance of her imagination had dazzled her
understanding, and rendered her negligent of the more solid and useful
acquisitions of the mind.
Is it not often the case, that those who are distinguished by any
superior endowment, whether personal or mental, are too much elated by
the consciousness of their pre-eminence, and think it sufficient to
counterbalance every deficiency?
This, Mrs. Williams used to say, is owing to the want of self-knowledge;
which, if once possessed, will enable us properly to estimate our own
characters, and to ascertain with precision wherein we are defective, as
well as wherein we excel. But it is the misfortune of us, young people,
that we seldom attain this valuable science, till we have experienced
many of the ills which result from the want of it. Ambition, vanity,
flattery, or some such dazzling meteor, engrosses our attention, and
renders us blind to more important qualifications.
But to return to this same wit, of which I was speaking. It is certainly
a very dangerous talent, when imprudently managed. None that we can
possess tends so directly to excite enmity, or destroy friendship.
An ill-natured wit is of all characters the most universally dreaded.
People of this description are always feared, but rarely loved. Humanity
and benevolence are essentially necessary to render wit agreeable.
Accompanied by these, it cannot fail to please and entertain.
“Wit, how delicious to man’s dainty taste!
’Tis precious as the vehicle of sense;
But as its substitute, a dire disease!
Pernicious talent! flatter’d by mankind,
Yet hated too.————————
Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound;
When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam;
Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still.
Wit, widow’d of good sense, is worse than naught;
It hoists more sail to run against a rock.”
But I believe I cannot give a better proof of my own wit, than to
conclude this scribble before your patience is quite exhausted by the
perusal. Adieu.
CAROLINE LITTLETON.
_To Miss_ HARRIOT HENLY.
HARMONY-GROVE.
DEAR HARRIOT,
The first moment which I have been able to snatch from the affectionate
embraces of my honored mamma, and my dear sister Maria, is devoted to
you. Judging by the anxious solicitude of my own heart, I know you are
impatient to hear of my safe arrival. It is needless to tell you how
cordially I was received. You have witnessed the mutual tenderness which
actuates our domestic circle. Where this is the governing principle, it
is peculiarly interesting to sensibility. It is extremely exhilarating
to the mind to revisit, after the shortest absence, the place of our
nativity and juvenile happiness. “There is something so seducing in that
spot, in which we first had our existence, that nothing but it can
please. Whatever vicissitudes we experience in life, however we toil, or
wheresoever we wander, our fatigued wishes still recur to home for
tranquillity. We long to die in that spot which gave us birth, and in
that pleasing expectation opiate every calamity.”[2]
Footnote 2:
Goldsmith.
The satisfaction of returning home, however, has not obliterated the
pleasure which I enjoyed on my visit to you. Does not a change of scene
and situation contribute to the happiness of life? The natural love of
this variety seems wisely implanted in the human breast; for it enables
us to accommodate ourselves with facility to the different circumstances
in which we are placed. I believe that no pleasures make so deep an
impression on the memory, as those of the first and most innocent period
of our lives. With what apparent delight do persons, advanced in years,
re-trace their puerile feats and diversions! “The hoary head looks back
with a smile of complacency, mixed with regret, on the season when
health glowed on the cheek, when lively spirits warmed the heart, and
when toil strung the nerves with vigour.”[3]
Footnote 3:
Knox.
The pleasures of childhood and youth, when regulated by parental wisdom,
and sweetened by filial affection and obedience, must be grateful to the
recollection at any age: and for this plain reason, because innocence
and simplicity are their leading traits. How soothing, how animating,
then, must be reflection, at the evening of a life, wholly spent in
virtue and rectitude!
Pope observes that “Every year is a critique on the last. The man
despises the boy, the philosopher the man, and the Christian all.” Happy
are those who can take a retrospect of all, with the supporting
consciousness that each part has been rightly performed! Adieu.
ANNA WILLIAMS.
_To Miss_ MATILDA FIELDING.
BOSTON.