her; but his person, and, much more, his disposition and manners, were
extremely disgusting to her. Averse to the very idea of a connexion with
him, she accordingly refused his addresses. Yet he had art sufficient to
interest her friends in his behalf; who, pitying his situation,
endeavored to soften the heart of the obdurate fair. But in vain they
strove to conciliate her affections.
In defiance of all opposition, however, he intruded his visits, till she
reluctantly admitted them; and being somewhat coquetish, she at times
received him more benignly; which flattered his hopes of ultimately
accomplishing his wishes. Finding his ardent suit of but little avail,
and perceiving that he made but small progress towards gaining her
favor, he had recourse to art. Surprising her one day in close
confabulation with a fortune-teller, the idea immediately struck him,
that he might effect, through this mean, what all his assiduity and
solicitations could never insure. He communicated his plan to a female
friend, who was equally the confident of both parties. Directed by him,
she conversed with Sylvia on the subject; professed her belief in the
skill of these jugglers; and appeared desirous of taking this measure to
learn her fate. Sylvia joined in her opinion and wishes; and away they
tripped together on the important errand. Meanwhile, Sylvander had been
to the fellow who was to reveal their destinies? and, bribing him to
favor the design, left him instructed what answers to make to their
interrogations.
They arrived and proposed their business. The mediums of information, a
pack of cards, were brought forth, and mysteriously arranged. Sylvia’s
curiosity was on tip-toe. She listened with profound attention to his
oracular wisdom; and believed him really inspired when he told her that
her former lover, for-whom she had a great regard, was gone to a foreign
country. This she knew to be true and therefore gave him a full
credence, when he added, that he would never live to return; and when he
proceeded still further to observe that another gentleman of great merit
now courted her; that she was not fond of his addresses, but would soon
see his worth and her own error, and give him her hand, and be happy.
In short, he so artfully blended the past and present, which she knew,
with the future which Sylvander wished, and had therefore dictated, that
she was firmly persuaded that he dealt with some invisible power, and
that fate had indeed predestined her to the arms of Sylvander. Convinced
of this, she attended to his overtures more placidly, contemplated his
person and endowments with less aversion, and endeavored to reconcile
herself to the unavoidable event.
This she effected; and not long after, he obtained her in marriage, and
triumphed in the success of his duplicity.
In process of time her other lover returned. Disappointment and despair
presided in his breast. He saw Sylvia, upbraided her with her
inconstancy, and declared himself utterly ruined. Pity and returning
love operated in her mind, and rendered her completely wretched. She
most severely condemned her own folly, in listening to the dictates of a
misguided curiosity; and acknowledged herself justly punished, for
presuming to pry in the secret designs of Heaven.
These strolling pretenders to foreknowledge are peculiarly dangerous to
the weak-minded and credulous part of the community; and how it happens
that they are encouraged, is to me inconceivable. Did they actually give
the information they promise, how much reason should we have to avoid
them! How many sources of grief would be opened, by the anticipation of
future evils, of which now we have no apprehension! and how often should
we be deprived of the consolatory hope of a speedy deliverance from
present sufferings.
With every sentiment of respect and affection, I am most sincerely
yours.
SOPHIA MANCHESTER.
_To Miss_ ANNA WILLIAMS.
BOSTON.
DEAR ANNA,
A most melancholy and distressing event has spread a gloom over the face
of the metropolis. Every heart heaves the sympathetic sigh, and every
eye drops the tear of regret. The very sudden death of Doctor Clarke,
who was seized with an apoplectic fit, in the midst of his sermon,
yesterday afternoon, and expired this morning, is a subject of universal
lamentation.
Not only we, who had the happiness to sit under his ministry, and to
enjoy his particular friendship and attention, but the whole town; and,
indeed, the public at large have sustained a great loss in his
departure. Amiable in his disposition, engaging in his manners, and
benevolent in his whole deportment, he conciliated the affections of
every class. His talents as a scholar, philosopher, and divine,
commanded the respect of the most judicious and learned; while the
elegance, perspicuity and delicacy of his style, joined with the
undissembled seriousness of his manner, rendered him uniformly
acceptable to the devout. In every condition and relation of life, he
was exemplary as a Christian; and as a preacher, an air of persuasion
invariably accompanied him, which arrested the attention of the most
heedless auditors.
——“By him, in strains as sweet
As angels use, the gospel whisper’d peace.
Grave, simple and sincere: in language plain:
And plain in manner. Decent, solemn, chaste
And natural in gesture. Much impress’d
Himself as conscious of his awful charge,
And anxious mainly that the flock he fed
Might feel it too. Affectionate in look,
And tender in address, as well becomes
A messenger of grace to guilty men.”
He was particularly attractive to young people. While he charmed their
ear, he convinced their understanding and excited them to the love and
practice of virtue.
A striking example of this occurred some years ago, which I will take
the liberty to relate. He preached in a neighboring church on these
words, “She that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth.”[7] In
this discourse he painted those allurements of pleasure which surround
the young and gay; more especially of our sex, in the most just and
lively colours. He represented, in pathetic, engaging and refined
language, the snares to which they are exposed, and the most probable
means of escaping them. He exhibited with all their attractions, the
native charms of virtue, and portrayed vice in its true deformity. He
described in the most animating terms, the respectability, usefulness,
and happiness of those who undeviatingly adhere to the path of rectitude
and innocence; and with the most energetic and affectionate tenderness,
warned the youth to avoid the devious walks of vice and dissipation.
Footnote 7:
1 Timothy, v. 6.
A number of young ladies, who had been his hearers, happening to be
together in the evening, united in the wish to express their gratitude
to him; but not having a personal acquaintance with him, could devise no
better method than writing.
The following anonymous letter was accordingly penned by one of the
company, and privately conveyed to the Doctor, at the request of all.
* * * * *
BOSTON.
“REVEREND SIR,
“The well known candour of your disposition, and your apparent zeal for
the promotion of religion and virtue, embolden us to flatter ourselves
that you will pardon this method of conveying to you our sincere and
united thanks for your very seasonable, judicious, and useful discourse,
delivered last Sunday morning, at our meeting.
“It is much to be lamented, that the depravity of the age is such, as to
render sermons of this nature just and necessary; and it is almost
matter of equal regret, that we have so seldom opportunities of being
benefitted by them.
“That we oftener hear than receive instruction, is a truth which can
neither be denied or evaded; and can only be accounted for, by that
passionate fondness for pleasure, which prevails to such a degree of
enthusiasm, as to precipitate its votaries into whatever presents itself
under this deluding aspect, without considering whether it be durable or
fleeting.
“It is certainly a most humiliating reflection, that our sex (which is
the female) should ever take more pains to gain the qualifications of
agreeable triflers than of rational friends; or be more anxious to
become amusing, than useful companions. But sir, does not such conduct
in ladies too often receive the most flattering encouragement from the
gentlemen? How seldom is intrinsic merit distinguished; and the serious,
prudent female preferred even by those who style themselves men of sense
and penetration, to the airy, flaunting coquette!
“The constant attention which is paid to those who make the gayest
appearance, and the applause which is lavished upon her who has the
largest portion of external graces and fashionable embellishments,
induce many who entertain the good natured desire of pleasing to bestow
more of their time and care on the cultivation of those superficial
accomplishments, which they find necessary to render them acceptable to
most circles in which they fall, than upon the acquisition of those
substantial virtues which they daily see neglected and ridiculed; though
at the same time, perhaps they are convinced of the superior
satisfaction which the latter would afford.
“But it is needless for one sex to criminate the other. We allow, that,
generally speaking, they are equally to blame. In this instance,
however, as the male assume the prerogative of superior judgment and
intellectual abilities, they ought to prove the justice of their claim
by setting nobler examples, and by endeavoring to reform whatever tends
to vitiate the taste and corrupt the morals of society.
“Yet, after all, the evil cannot be effectually remedied, but by the
concurrent exertions of both; and we are humbly of opinion, that if this
reformation were more frequently inculcated from the pulpit, in the
delicate, engaging and pious manner of the discourse which now excites
our gratitude to you, and our resolutions to conduct accordingly, it
would be efficacious in bringing about so desirable an event.
“We entreat your pardon, Reverend Sir, for the freedom, prolixity, and
errors of this epistle.
“Though personally unknown to you, we doubt not you will readily grant
it, when we assure you, that we are actuated by a sincere regard to the
interests of religion and morality, and by a grateful sense of your
exertions in the glorious cause.
“The united sentiments of a number of young ladies, who heard and
admired your sermon, last Sunday morning, are expressed above.
Rev. JOHN CLARKE.”
It is much to be regretted that Doctor Clarke did not publish more of
his literary labours.
The universal approbation bestowed upon those, which he suffered to see
the light, is an unequivocal evidence of his merit, as an author. His
“Letters to a Student in the University of Cambridge,” are written in a
most pleasing style, and contain instruction and advice of which no
person in pursuit of a public education ought to be ignorant. His
“Answer to the question, Why are you a Christian?” which has already had
three editions in Boston, and three in England, is one of the best
compendiums of the external and internal evidences of our holy religion,
extant. It is plain and intelligible to the lowest capacity and may
enable every one, without much study, to give a reason for the hope that
is in him.
From these specimens we may form an opinion of what the world has lost
by his early exit.
I shall make no other apology for the length of this letter, than the
interest which I feel in the subject; and this, I am persuaded, you will
deem sufficient.
My affectionate regards wait on your mamma and sister, while I subscribe
myself yours most sincerely,
JULIA GREENFIELD.
_To Miss_ CLEORA PARTRIDGE.
BEVERLY.
DEAR CLEORA,
The shortness of time is a very common subject of complaint; but I think
the misuse of it, a much more just one. Its value is certainly
underrated by those who indulge themselves in morning sloth.
Sweet, indeed, is the breath of morn; and after the body has been
refreshed by the restoring power of sleep, it is peculiarly prepared to
procure and participate the pleasures of the mind. The jarring passions
are then composed, and the calm operations of reason succeed of course;
while
“———————————Gentle gales,
Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense
Native perfumes, and whisper when they stole
These balmy spoils.”
The morning is undoubtedly a season, of all others, most favorable to
useful exertions. Those, therefore, who lose three or four hours of it,
in slumbering inaction, make a voluntary sacrifice of the best part of
their existence. I rose to-day, not with the sun, but with the dawn; and
after taking a few turns in the garden, retired to the summer-house.
This you know is a favorite hour with me.
“To me be nature’s volume broad display’d;
And to peruse its all-instructing page,
Or, haply catching inspiration thence,
Some easy passage raptur’d to translate,
My sole delight; as thro’ the falling glooms,
Pensive I stray, or with the rising dawn
On fancy’s eagle wing excursive soar.”
Having a memorandum book and pencil in my pocket, I descend from the
lofty heights to which the immortal bard, my beloved Thompson, had
insensibly raised my imagination, to the humble strains of simple rhyme,
in order to communicate my sensations to you. These I enclose, without
attempting to tell you, either in prose or verse, how affectionately I
am yours.
MATILDA FIELDING.
* * * * *
The morning dawns, the russet grey
Slowly avoids the opening day:
Receding from the gazing eye,
The misty shades of twilight fly.
The ruddy streaks of light appear,
To guide our western hemisphere;
While tuneful choirs responsive join
To praise the gracious Pow’r Divine,
Whose mighty hand with sov’reign sway,
Restores, alternate, night and day.
Hail, opening morn! thy sober rays
Demand the contemplative gaze:
Unnumber’d beauties please the sight,
And give the mental eye delight.
O dawn! thy sombre shades I love!
With thee in solitude I’ll rove:
While health expansive gives the mind
To taste thy pleasures unconfin’d.
Here free from fashion’s artful forms,
Benevolence the bosom warms:
Persuasive virtue charms the soul,
And reason’s laws alone control.
Let others, lost in sloth forego
The joys thy early hours bestow:
Thy zephyrs far more sweets dispense,
Than Somnus yield to drowsy sense!
Mild as the beams of radiance shine,
May piety my powers refine:
Pure as the mimic pearls, that spread
Their liquid beauties o’er the mead:
And like yon rising orb of day,
May wisdom guide my dubious way.
_To Miss_ MATILDA FIELDING.
HARMONY-GROVE.
DEAR MATILDA,
I was last week at Boston; and having occasion for a new hat, stepped
into a milliner’s shop to inquire the mode. The milliner replied that it
was not yet in her power to answer my question. “The spring ships,” said
she, “are later than common; but their arrival is hourly expected, when
we shall be furnished with memorandum books which will ascertain and
determine the fashion for the season.” What she meant by memorandum
books, I could not conceive. I had always supposed them blanks, designed
for noting whatever occurred without inconvenience. Unwilling, however,
to be thought a simple country girl, totally unacquainted with the
world, I sought no explanation from her; but repaired to a particular
friend for instruction; from whom I learned that the chief value of
these same memorandum books consists in their containing imported cuts
of ladies’ headdresses, hats and other habiliments, which are always
sure to be admired and imitated, as the perfection of taste and
propriety.
This discovery mortified me exceedingly. It justified, beyond any thing
which I had ever suspected to exist as a fact, what I once heard a
European assert, “that Americans had neither character nor opinion of
their own.”
With due deference to those better judges, who despise the simplicity of
our ancestors, and labor to introduce the corrupt manners and customs of
the old world into our country, I cannot but think it extremely
ridiculous for an independent nation, which discards all foreign
influence, glories in its freedom, and boasts of its genius and taste,
servilely to ape exotic fashions, even in articles of dress and fanciful
ornaments.
Have not the daughters of Columbia sufficient powers of invention to
decorate themselves? Must we depend upon the winds and waves for the
form, as well as the materials of our garb? Why may we not follow our
own inclination; and not be deemed finical or prudish in our appearance,
merely because our habit is not exactly correspondent with the pretty
pictures in the memorandum books, last imported.
It is sincerely to be regretted that this subject is viewed in so
important a light. It occupies too much of the time, and engrosses too
much of the conversation of our sex. For one, I have serious thoughts of
declaring independence.
ANNA WILLIAMS.
_To Miss_ CAROLINE LITTLETON.
(_On the Death of her Mother._)
HARMONY-GROVE.
MY DEAR CAROLINE,
To tell you that I am sorry for your loss, or that I sympathize in your
affliction, would be but the language you daily hear; and often perhaps,
from the unfeeling and indifferent. But you will do me the justice to
believe, that I take a particular interest in your concerns, and really
share your grief. A holy Providence has wounded you by a stroke, which
is extremely painful and severe. Your best friend is shrouded in the
grave. In the maternal breast our fondest affections, and most
unsuspecting confidence have hitherto concentrated; and who can provide
you with an equivalent substitute? To the Almighty Father and Friend of
creation, it becomes you to repair for comfort and support.
The dying advice and counsel of your dear mamma, which you inform me,
were pathetic, instructive and consolatory, will be a guide to your
feet. Often realize the solemn scene, and remember, that, “though dead,
she yet speaketh.”
You have great cause of thankfulness, that she was spared to direct you
so far through the intricate and dangerous path of youth; to complete
your education; to teach you, by her example, how to acquit yourself
with usefulness and honor; and above all, to furnish you with that
important knowledge, to which every thing else should be made
subservient—how to die.
An era of your life has now commenced, which is no less important than
affecting. That assisting hand which formerly led you is now cold and
lifeless! Those lips, from which you have been accustomed to receive
information and advice, are sealed in perpetual silence! And that heart,
which always glowed with the warmest solicitude for your happiness has
ceased to palpitate.
You must now think and act for yourself. As the eldest daughter, you
will be placed at the head of your father’s family. You must, therefore,
adopt a plan of conduct, conducive to its harmony, regularity and
interest.
Filial duty to your surviving parent, more tenderly inculcated by your
participation of his heavy bereavement, will lead you to consult his
inclination, and sedulously contribute all in your power to lighten the
burden of domestic arrangements devolved upon him. While he laments the
death of a prudent, affectionate, and beloved wife, give him reason to
rejoice that he is blessed with a daughter, capable of soothing the
pains, alleviating the cares, and heightening the enjoyments of his
life.
Your brothers and sisters will look up to you as the guide of their
tender years. While their weeping eyes and pathetic accents are directed
towards you, let kindness, discretion, and patience, characterize your
deportment, and engage their confidence and love.
Having mentioned your duty to others, I cannot dismiss the subject
without dropping a few hints for your direction, in regard to your
personal behaviour.
A very important charge is committed to you, as well in the duties which
you owe to yourself, as in the superintendence of your father’s family.
The sovereign disposer of all things has, at an early age, made you, in
a measure, your own guardian. Your father’s business calls him much
abroad. With you, therefore, he is obliged to entrust, not only his
domestic concerns; but, what is still more dear to his heart, the care
of your own person and mind; of your own reputation and happiness.
Circumstanced as you are, company has the most powerful charms. Yours is
now the prerogative of receiving and returning visits in your own name.
At home, you are sole mistress of ceremonies. This is extremely alluring
to the sprightly fancy of youth. But time, you will remember, is too
important a blessing to be sacrificed to a promiscuous crowd of
unimproving companions. Besides, the character of a young lady will
necessarily be sullied by the imputation of being constantly engaged in
parties of pleasure, and exhilarating amusement. Flattery often avails
itself of the unguarded moments of gaiety; and insinuating its insidious
charms into the heedless and susceptible mind, inflates it with pride
and vanity, and produces an affectation and air of self-importance,
which are peculiarly disgusting, because easily distinguished from that
true dignity of manners, which results from conscious rectitude. Genuine
merit is always modest and unassuming; diffident of itself and
respectful to others.
Your father has a right to your unlimited confidence. You will,
therefore, make him your chief friend and counsellor. Though he may not
possess all the winning softness of a mother, he doubtless has as ardent
an affection for you, and as sincere a desire to promote your welfare.
Hence you may safely repose your dearest concerns in his paternal
breast, and receive, with the utmost deference, his kind instruction and
advice. Let his judgment have an entire ascendency over your mind and
actions, especially in your intercourse and society with the other sex.
Consider him as better acquainted with their merit, circumstances, and
views, than you can be; and should you contemplate a connexion for life,
let his opinion determine your choice.
Watch over your dear little sisters with all the tenderness of fraternal
affection; be their protector and friend; instil into their minds the
principles of virtue and religion; arm them against the snares and
temptations by which they will be surrounded; and lead them by your own
conduct, in the way of truth and peace.
When you have leisure and inclination to write, the effusions of your
pen will always be acceptable to your sincere and faithful friend
MARY WILLIAMS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Added Table of CONTENTS.
2. Silently corrected typographical errors.
3. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.
4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Boarding School, by Hannah Webster Foster