MY DEAR LADY G.,

You desire to have a little specimen of my _nursery tales_ and

_stories_, with which, as Miss Fenwick told you, on her return to

Lincolnshire, I entertain my Miss Goodwin and my little boys. But you

make me too high a compliment, when you tell me, it is for your

_own_ instruction and example. Yet you know, my dear Lady G., be your

motives what they will, I must obey you, although, were others to see

it, I might expose myself to the smiles and contempt of judges less

prejudiced in my favour. So I will begin without any further apology;

and, as near as I can, give you those very stories with which Miss

Fenwick was so pleased, and of which she has made so favourable a

report.

Let me acquaint you, then, that my method is to give characters of

persons I have known in one part or other of my life, in feigned

names, whose conduct may serve for imitation or warning to my dear

attentive Miss; and sometimes I give instances of good boys and

naughty boys, for the sake of my Billy and my Davers; and they are

continually coming about me, "Dear Madam, a pretty story," now cries

Miss: "and dear mamma, tell me of good boys, and of naughty boys,"

cries Billy.

Miss is a surprising child of her age, and is very familiar with many

of the best characters in the Spectators; and having a smattering

of Latin, and more than a smattering of Italian, and being a perfect

mistress of French, is seldom at a loss for a derivation of such words

as are not of English original. And so I shall give you a story in

feigned names, with which she is so delighted, that she has written

it down. But I will first trespass on your patience with one of my

childish tales.

Every day, once or twice, I cause Miss Goodwin, who plays and sings

very prettily, to give a tune or two to me, my Billy and my Davers,

who, as well as my Pamela, love and learn to touch the keys, young as

the latter is; and she will have a sweet finger; I can observe that;

and a charming ear; and her voice is music itself!-"O the fond, fond

mother!" I know you will say, on reading this.

Then, Madam, we all proceed, hand-in-hand, together to the nursery, to

my Charley and Jemmy: and in this happy retirement, so much my

delight in the absence of my best beloved, imagine you see me seated,

surrounded with the joy and the hope of my future prospects, as well

as my present comforts. Miss Goodwin, imagine you see, on my right

hand, sitting on a velvet stool, because she is eldest, and a Miss;

Billy on my left, in a little cane elbow-chair, because he is eldest,

and a good boy; my Davers, and my sparkling-ey'd Pamela, with

my Charley between them, on little silken cushions, at my feet,

hand-in-hand, their pleased eyes looking up to my more delighted ones;

and my sweet-natured promising Jemmy, in my lap; the nurses and the

cradle just behind us, and the nursery maids delightedly pursuing some

useful needle-work for the dear charmers of my heart-All as hush and

as still as silence itself, as the pretty creatures generally are,

when their little, watchful eyes see my lips beginning to open: for

they take neat notice already of my rule of two ears to one tongue,

insomuch that if Billy or Davers are either of them for breaking the

mum, as they call it, they are immediately hush, at any time, if I put

my finger to my lip, or if Miss points hers to her ear, even to the

breaking of a word in two, as it were: and yet all my boys are as

lively as so many birds: while my Pamela is cheerful, easy, soft,

gentle, always smiling, but modest and harmless as a dove.

I began with a story of two little boys, and two little girls, the

children of a fine gentleman, and a fine lady, who loved them dearly;

that they were all so good, and loved one another so well, that every

body who saw them, admired them, and talked of them far and near; that

they would part with any thing to the another; loved the poor; spoke

kindly to the servants; did every thing they were bid to do; were not

proud; knew no strife, but who should learn their books best, and be

the prettiest scholar; that the servants loved them, and would do any

thing they desired; that they were not proud of fine clothes; let

not their heads run upon their playthings when they should mind their

books; said grace before they eat, their prayers before they went to

bed, and as soon as they rose; were always clean and neat; would not

tell a fib for the world, and were above doing any thing that required

one; that God blessed them more and more, and blessed their papa and

mamma, and their uncles and aunts, and cousins, for their sakes. "And

there was a happy family, my dear loves!-No one idle; all prettily

employed; the Masters at their books; the Misses at their books too,

or at their needles; except at their play-hours, when they were never

rude, nor noisy, nor mischievous, nor quarrelsome: and no such word

was ever heard from their mouths, as, 'Why mayn't I have this or that,

as well as Billy or Bobby?' Or, 'Why should Sally have this or that,

any more than I?' But it was, 'As my mamma pleases; my mamma knows

best;' and a bow and a smile, and no surliness, or scowling brow to be

seen, if they were denied any thing; for well did they know that

their papa and mamma loved them so dearly, that they would refuse them

nothing that was for their good; and they were sure when they were

refused, they asked for something that would have done them hurt, had

it been granted. Never were such good boys and girls as these I

And they grew up; and the Masters became fine scholars, and fine

gentlemen, and every body honoured them: and the Misses became fine

ladies, and fine housewives; and this gentleman, when they grew to

be women, sought to marry one of the Misses, and that gentleman the

other; and happy was he that could be admitted into their companies I

so that they had nothing to do but to pick and choose out of the best

gentlemen in the country: while the greatest ladies for birth and the

most remarkable for virtue (which, my dears, is better than either

birth or fortune), thought themselves honoured by the addresses of the

two brothers. And they married, and made good papas and mammas, and

were so many blessings to the age in which they lived. There, my dear

loves, were happy sons and daughters; for good Masters seldom fail

to make good gentlemen; and good Misses, good ladies; and God blesses

them with as good children as they were to their parents; and so the

blessing goes round!-Who would not but be good?"

"Well, but, mamma, we will all be good:-Won't we, Master Davers?"

cries my Billy. "Yes, brother Billy. But what will become of the

naughty boys? Tell us, mamma, about the naughty boys!"

"Why, there was a poor, poor widow woman, who had three naughty sons,

and one naughty daughter; and they would do nothing that their mamma

bid them do; were always quarrelling, scratching, and fighting; would

not say their prayers; would not learn their books; so that the little

boys used to laugh at them, and point at them, as they went along, for

blockheads; and nobody loved them, or took notice of them, except

to beat and thump them about, for their naughty ways, and their

undutifulness to their poor mother, who worked hard to maintain them.

As they grew up, they grew worse and worse, and more and more stupid

and ignorant; so that they impoverished their poor mother, and at last

broke her heart, poor poor widow woman!--And her neighbours joined

together to bury the poor widow woman: for these sad ungracious

children made away with what little she had left, while she was ill,

before her heart was quite broken; and this helped to break it the

sooner: for had she lived, she saw she must have wanted bread, and had

no comfort with such wicked children."

"Poor poor widow woman!" said my Billy, with tears; and my little dove

shed tears too, and Davers was moved, and Miss wiped her fine eyes.

"But what became of the naughty boys, and the naughty girl, mamma?"

"Became of them! Why one son was forced to go to sea, and there he was

drowned: another turned thief (for he would not work), and he came to

an untimely end: the third was idle and ignorant, and nobody, who knew

how he used his poor mother, would employ him; and so he was forced to

go into a far country, and beg his bread. And the naughty girl, having

never loved work, pined away in sloth and filthiness, and at last

broke her arm, and died of a fever, lamenting, too late, that she had

been so wicked a daughter to so good a mother!--And so there was a

sad end to all the four ungracious children, who never would mind what

their poor mother said to them; and God punished their naughtiness as

you see!--While the good children I mentioned before, were the glory

of their family, and the delight of every body that knew them."

"Who would not be good?" was the inference: and the repetition from

Billy, with his hands clapt together, "Poor widow woman!" gave me much

pleasure.

So my childish story ended, with a kiss of each pretty dear, and their

thanks for my story: and then came on Miss's request for a woman's

story, as she called it. I dismissed my babies to their play; and

taking Miss's hand, she standing before me, all attention, began in a

more womanly strain to _her_; for she is very fond of being thought

a woman; and indeed is a prudent sensible dear, comprehends any thing

instantly, and makes very pretty reflections upon what she hears or

reads as you will observe in what follows:

"There is nothing, my dear Miss Goodwin, that young ladies should be

so watchful over, as their reputation: 'tis a tender flower that the

least frost will nip, the least cold wind will blast; and when once

blasted, it will never flourish again, but wither to the very root.

But this I have told you so often, I need not repeat what I have said.

So to my story.

"There were four pretty ladies lived in one genteel neighbourhood,

daughters of four several families; but all companions and visitors;

and yet all of very different inclinations. Coquetilla we will call

one, Prudiana another, Profusiana the third, and Prudentia the fourth;

their several names denoting their respective qualities.

"Coquetilla was the only daughter of a worthy baronet, by a lady very

gay, but rather indiscreet than unvirtuous, who took not the requisite

care of her daughter's education, but let her be over-run with the

love of fashion, dress, and equipage; and when in London, balls,

operas, plays, the Park, the Ring, the withdrawing-room, took up her

whole attention. She admired nobody but herself, fluttered about,

laughing at, and despising a crowd of men-followers, whom she

attracted by gay, thoughtless freedoms of behaviour, too nearly

treading on the skirts of immodesty: yet made she not one worthy

conquest, exciting, on the contrary, in all sober minds, that contempt

of herself, which she so profusely would be thought to pour down upon

the rest of the world. After she had several years fluttered about the

dangerous light, like some silly fly, she at last singed the wings of

her reputation; for, being despised by every worthy heart, she became

too easy and cheap a prey to a man the most unworthy of all her

followers, who had resolution and confidence enough to break through

those few cobweb reserves, in which she had encircled her precarious

virtue; and which were no longer of force to preserve her honour, when

she met with a man more bold and more enterprising than herself, and

who was as designing as she was thoughtless. And what then became of

Coquetilla?-Why, she was forced to pass over sea to Ireland, where

nobody knew her, and to bury herself in a dull obscurity; to go by

another name, and at last, unable to support a life so unsuitable

to the natural gaiety of her temper, she pined herself into a

consumption, and died, unpitied and unlamented, among strangers,

having not one friend but whom she bought with her money."

"Poor Lady Coquetilla!" said Miss Goodwin; "what a sad thing it is to

have a wrong education; and how happy am I, who have so good a lady

to supply the place of a dear distant mamma!-But be pleased, Madam, to

proceed to the next."

"Prudiana, my dear, was the daughter of a gentleman who was a widower,

and had, while the young lady was an infant, buried her mamma. He was

a good sort of man; but had but one lesson to teach to Prudiana, and

that was to avoid all sort of conversation with the men; but never

gave her the right turn of mind, nor instilled into it that sense

of her religious duties, which would have been her best guard in all

temptations. For, provided she kept out of the sight and conversation

of the gentlemen, and avoided the company of those ladies who more

freely conversed with the other sex, it was all her papa desired of

her. This gave her a haughty, sullen, and reserved turn; made her

stiff, formal, and affected. She had sense enough to discover early

the faults of Coquetilla, and, in dislike to them, fell the more

easily into that contrary extreme, which a recluse education, and

her papa's cautions, naturally led her. So that pride, reserve,

affectation, and censoriousness, made up the essentials of her

character, and she became more unamiable even than Coquetilla; and

as the other was too accessible, Prudiana was quite unapproachable by

gentlemen, and unfit for any conversation, but that of her servants,

being also deserted by those of her own sex, by whom she might have

improved, on account of her censorious disposition. And what was the

consequence? Why this: every worthy person of both sexes despising

her, and she being used to see nobody but servants, at last throws

herself upon one of that class: in an evil hour, she finds something

that is taking to her low taste in the person of her papa's valet,

a wretch so infinitely beneath her (but a gay coxcomb of a servant),

that every body attributed to her the scandal of making the first

advances; for, otherwise, it was presumed, he durst not have looked

up to his master's daughter. So here ended all her pride. All her

reserves came to this! Her censoriousness of others redoubled people's

contempt upon herself, and made nobody pity her. She was finally

turned out of doors, without a penny of fortune: the fellow was forced

to set up a barber's shop in a country town; for all he knew was to

shave and dress a peruke: and her papa would never look upon her more:

so that Prudiana became the outcast of her family, and the scorn

of all that knew her; and was forced to mingle in conversation and

company with the wretches of her husband's degree!"

"Poor, miserable Prudiana!" said Miss--"What a sad, sad fall was hers.

And all owing to the want of a proper education too!--And to the loss

of such a mamma, as I have an aunt; and so wise a papa as I have an

uncle!--How could her papa, I wonder, restrain her person as he

did, like a poor nun, and make her unacquainted with the generous

restraints of the mind?

"I am sure, my dear good aunt, it will be owing to you, that I shall

never be a Coquetilla, nor a Prudiana neither. Your table is always

surrounded with the best of company, with worthy gentlemen as well as

ladies: and you instruct me to judge of both, and of every new guest,

in such a manner, as makes me esteem them all, and censure nobody; but

yet to see faults in some to avoid, and graces in others to imitate;

but in nobody but yourself and my uncle, any thing so like perfection,

as shall attract one's admiration to one's own ruin."

"You are young, yet, my love, and must always doubt your own strength;

and pray to God, more and more, as your years advance, to give you

more and more prudence, and watchfulness over your conduct.

"But yet, my dear, you must think justly of yourself too; for let

the young gentlemen be ever so learned and discreet, your education

entitles you to think as well of yourself as of them: for, don't you

see, the ladies who are so kind as to visit us, that have not been

abroad, as you have been, when they were young, yet make as good

figures in conversation, say as good things as any of the gentlemen?

For, my dear, all that the gentlemen know more than the ladies, except

here and there such a one as your dear uncle, with all their learned

education, is only, that they have been _disciplined_, perhaps, into

an observation of a few accuracies in speech, which, if they know no

more, rather distinguish the _pedant_ than the _gentleman_: such as

the avoiding of a false concord, as they call it, and which you know

how to do, as well as the best; not to put a _was_ for a _were_, an

_are_ for an _is_, and to be able to speak in mood and tense, and such

like valuable parts of education: so that, my dear, you can have no

reason to look upon that sex in so high a light, as to depreciate your

own: and yet you must not be proud nor conceited neither; but make

this one rule your guide:

"In your _maiden state_, think yourself _above_ the gentlemen, and

they'll think you so too, and address you with reverence and respect,

if they see there be neither pride nor arrogance in your behaviour,

but a consciousness of merit, a true dignity, such as becomes virgin

modesty, and untainted purity of mind and manners, like that of an

angel among men; for so young ladies should look upon themselves to

be, and will then be treated as such by the other sex.

"In your _married state_, which is a kind of state of humiliation for

a lady, you must think yourself subordinate to your husband; for so it

has pleased God to make the wife. You must have no will of your own,

in _petty_ things; and if you marry a gentleman of sense and honour,

such a one as your uncle, he will look upon you as his equal; and will

exalt you the more for your abasing yourself. In short, my dear, he

will act by you, just as your dear uncle does by me: and then, what a

happy creature will you be!"

"So I shall, Madam! To be sure I shall!--But I know I shall be happy

whenever I marry, because I have such wise directors, and such an

example, before me: and, if it please God, I will never think of

any man (in pursuance of your constant advice to young ladies at the

tea-table), who is not a man of sense, and a virtuous gentleman. But

now, dear Madam, for your next character. There are two more yet to

come, that's my pleasure! I wish there were ten!"

"Why the next was Profusiana, you may remember, my love. Profusiana

took another course to _her_ ruin. She fell into some of Coquetilla's

foibles, but pursued them for another end, and in another manner.

Struck with the grandeur and magnificence of what weak people call the

_upper life_, she gives herself up to the circus, to balls, to operas,

to masquerades, and assemblies; affects to shine at the head of all

companies, at Tunbridge, at Bath, and every place of public resort;

plays high, is always receiving and paying visits, giving balls, and

making treats and entertainments; and is so much _above_ the conduct

which mostly recommends a young lady to the esteem of the deserving

of the other sex, that no gentleman, who prefers solid happiness, can

think of addressing her, though she is a fine person, and has many

outward graces of behaviour. She becomes the favourite toast of the

place she frequents, is proud of that distinction; gives the fashion,

and delights in the pride, that she can make apes in imitation,

whenever she pleases. But yet endeavouring to avoid being thought

proud, makes herself cheap, and is the subject of the attempts of

every coxcomb of eminence; and with much ado, preserves her virtue,

though not her character.

"What, all this while, is poor Profusiana doing? She would be glad,

perhaps, of a suitable proposal, and would, it may be, give up some

of her gaieties and extravagances: for Profusiana has wit, and is not

totally destitute of reason, when she suffers herself to think. But

her conduct procures her not one solid friendship, and she has not

in a twelvemonth, among a thousand professions of service, one devoir

that she can attend to, or a friend that she can depend upon. All the

women she sees, if she excels them, hate her: the gay part of the men,

with whom she accompanies most, are all in a plot against her honour.

Even the gentlemen, whose conduct in the general is governed by

principles of virtue, come down to these public places to partake of

the innocent freedoms allowed there, and oftentimes give themselves

airs of gallantry, and never have it in their thoughts to commence a

treaty of marriage with an acquaintance begun upon that gay spot. What

solid friendships and satisfactions then is Profusiana excluded from!

"Her name indeed is written in every public window, and prostituted,

as I may call it, at the pleasure of every profligate or sot, who

wears a diamond to engrave it: and that it may be, with most vile and

barbarous imputations and freedoms of words, added by rakes, who very

probably never exchanged a syllable with her. The wounded trees are

perhaps also taught to wear the initials of her name, linked, not

unlikely, and widening as they grow, with those of a scoundrel. But

all this while she makes not the least impression upon one noble

heart: and at last, perhaps, having run on to the end of an

uninterrupted race of follies, she is cheated into the arms of some

vile fortune-hunter; who quickly lavishes away the remains of that

fortune which her extravagance had left; and then, after the worst

usage, abandoning her with contempt, she sinks into an obscurity that

cuts short the thread of her life, and leaves no remembrance, but on

the brittle glass, and still more faithless bark, that ever she had a

being."

"Alas, alas! what a butterfly of a day," said Miss (an expression she

remembered of Lady Towers), "was poor Profusiana!--What a sad thing

to be so dazzled by worldly grandeur, and to have so many admirers,

and not one real friend!"

"Very true, my dear; and how carefully ought a person of a gay and

lively temper to watch over it I And what a rock may public places be

to a lady's reputation, if she be not doubly vigilant in her conduct,

when she is exposed to the censures and observations of malignant

crowds of people; many of the worst of whom spare the least those who

are most unlike themselves."

"But then, Madam," said Miss, "would Profusiana venture to play at

public places? Will ladies game, Madam? I have heard you say, that

lords, and sharpers but just out of liveries, in gaming, are upon a

foot in every thing, save that one has nothing to lose, and the

other much, besides his reputation! And will ladies so disgrace their

characters, and their sex, as to pursue this pernicious diversion in

public?"

"Yes, my dear, they will too often, the more's the pity! And don't you

remember, when we were at Bath, in what a hurry I once passed by some

knots of genteel people, and you asked what those were doing? I told

you, whisperingly, they were gaming; and loath I was, that my Miss

Goodwin should stop to see some sights, to which, till she arrived at

the years of discretion, it was not proper to familiarize her eye;

in some sort acting like the ancient Romans, who would not assign

punishments to certain atrocious crimes, because they had such an high

idea of human nature, as to suppose it incapable of committing them;

so I was not for having you, while a little girl, see those things,

which I knew would give no credit to our sex, and which I thought,

when you grew older, should be new and shocking to you: but now you

are so much a woman in discretion, I may tell you any thing."

She kissed my hand, and made me a fine curtsey-and told me, that now

she longed to hear of Prudentia's conduct. "_Her_ name, Madam," said

she, "promises better things than those of her three companions; and

so it had need: for how sad is it to think, that out of four ladies

of distinction, three of them should be naughty, and, _of course_,

unhappy."-"These two words, _of course_, my dear," said I, "were

very prettily put in: let me kiss you for it: since every one that is

naughty, first or last, must be _certainly_ unhappy.

"Far otherwise than what I have related, was it with the amiable

Prudentia. Like the industrious bee, she makes up her honey-hoard from

every flower, bitter as well as sweet; for every character is of use

to her, by which she can improve her own. She had the happiness of an

aunt, who loved her, as I do you; and of an uncle who doated on her,

as yours does: for, alas! poor Prudentia lost her papa and mamma

almost in her infancy, in one week: but was so happy in her uncle and

aunt's care, as not to miss them in her education, and but just to

remember their persons. By reading, by observation, and by attention,

she daily added new advantages to those which her education gave her.

She saw, and pitied, the fluttering freedoms and dangerous nights of

Coquetilla. The sullen pride, the affectation, and stiff reserves,

which Prudiana assumed, she penetrated, and made it her study to

avoid. And the gay, hazardous conduct, extravagant temper, and love

of tinselled grandeur, which were the blemishes of Profusiana's

character, she dreaded and shunned. She fortifies herself with the

excellent examples of the past and present ages, and knows how to

avoid the faults of the faulty, and to imitate the graces of the most

perfect. She takes into her scheme of that future happiness, which she

hopes to make her own, what are the true excellencies of her sex, and

endeavours to appropriate to herself the domestic virtues, which

shall one day make her the crown of some worthy gentleman's earthly

happiness: and which, _of course_, as you prettily said, my dear, will

secure and heighten her own.

"That noble frankness of disposition, that sweet and unaffected

openness and simplicity, which shines in all her actions and

behaviour, commend her to the esteem and reverence of all mankind;

as her humility and affability, and a temper uncensorious, and ever

making the best of what she said of the absent person, of either sex,

do to the love of every lady. Her name, indeed, is not prostituted

on windows, nor carved on the barks of trees in public places: but it

smells sweet to every nostril, dwells on every tongue, and is engraven

on every heart. She meets with no address but from men of honour

and probity: the fluttering coxcomb, the inveigling parasite, the

insidious deceiver, the mercenary fortune-hunter, spread no snares for

a heart guarded by discretion and prudence, as hers is. They see, that

all her amiable virtues are the happy result of an uniform judgment,

and the effects of her own wisdom, founded in an education to which

she does the highest credit. And at last, after several worthy

offers, enough to perplex a lady's choice, she blesses some one happy

gentleman, more distinguished than the rest, for learning, good sense,

and _true politeness_, which is but another word for _virtue_ and

_honour_; and shines, to her last hour, in all the duties of domestic

life, as an excellent wife, mother, mistress, friend, and Christian;

and so confirms all the expectations of which her maiden life had

given such strong and such edifying presages."

Then folding my dear Miss in my arms, and kissing her, tears of

pleasure standing in her pretty eyes, "Who would not," said I, "shun

the examples of the Coquetilla's, the Prudiana's, and the Profusiana's

of this world, and choose to' imitate the character of Prudentia!-the

happy, and the happy-making Prudentia."

"O Madam! Madam!" said the dear creature, smothering me with her

rapturous kisses, "Prudentia is YOU!--Is YOU indeed!--It _can_ be

nobody else!--O teach me, good God! to follow _your_ example, and I

shall be a Second Prudentia--Indeed I shall!"

"God send you may, my beloved Miss! And may he bless you more, if

possible, than Prudentia was blessed!"

And so, my dear Lady G., you have some of my nursery tales; with

which, relying on your kind allowances and friendship, I conclude

myself _your affectionate and faithful_