Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Melissa Er-Raqabi, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
ESSAYS
FOR
YOUNG LADIES.
ESSAYS
ON
VARIOUS SUBJECTS,
Principally designed for
YOUNG LADIES.
AS for you, I shall advise you in a few words: aspire only to
those virtues that are PECULIAR TO YOUR SEX; follow your natural
modesty, and think it your greatest commendation not to be talked
of one way or the other.
_Oration of Pericles to the Athenian Women._
LONDON:
Printed for J. WILKIE, in St. Paul's Church-Yard;
and T. CADELL, in the Strand.
MDCCLXXVII.
TO
MRS. MONTAGU.
MADAM,
IF you were only one of the finest writers of your time, you would
probably have escaped the trouble of this address, which is drawn on
you, less by the lustre of your understanding, than by the amiable
qualities of your heart.
AS the following pages are written with an humble but earnest wish, to
promote the interests of virtue, as far as the very limited abilities
of the author allow; there is, I flatter myself, a peculiar propriety in
inscribing them to you, Madam, who, while your works convey instruction
and delight to the best-informed of the other sex, furnish, by your
conduct, an admirable pattern of life and manners to your own. And I can
with truth remark, that those graces of conversation, which would be the
first praise of almost any other character, constitute but an inferior
part of yours.
I am, MADAM,
With the highest esteem,
Your most obedient
Humble Servant,
_Bristol_, HANNAH MORE.
_May 20, 1777._
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION Page 1
ON DISSIPATION 15
ON CONVERSATION 37
ON ENVY 63
ON SENTIMENTAL CONNEXIONS 77
ON TRUE AND FALSE MEEKNESS 107
ON EDUCATION 123
ON RELIGION 158
MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS ON WIT 178
INTRODUCTION.
IT is with the utmost diffidence that the following pages are submitted
to the inspection of the Public: yet, however the limited abilities of
the author may have prevented her from succeeding to her wish in the
execution of her present attempt, she humbly trusts that the uprightness
of her intention will procure it a candid and favourable reception. The
following little Essays are chiefly calculated for the younger part of
her own sex, who, she flatters herself, will not esteem them the less,
because they were written immediately for their service. She by no means
pretends to have composed a regular system of morals, or a finished plan
of conduct: she has only endeavoured to make a few remarks on such
circumstances as seemed to her susceptible of some improvement, and on
such subjects as she imagined were particularly interesting to young
ladies, on their first introduction into the world. She hopes they will
not be offended if she has occasionally pointed out certain qualities,
and suggested certain tempers, and dispositions, as _peculiarly
feminine_, and hazarded some observations which naturally arose from the
subject, on the different characters which mark the sexes. And here
again she takes the liberty to repeat that these distinctions cannot be
too nicely maintained; for besides those important qualities common to
both, each sex has its respective, appropriated qualifications, which
would cease to be meritorious, the instant they ceased to be
appropriated. Nature, propriety, and custom have prescribed certain
bounds to each; bounds which the prudent and the candid will never
attempt to break down; and indeed it would be highly impolitic to
annihilate distinctions from which each acquires excellence, and to
attempt innovations, by which both would be losers.
WOMEN therefore never understand their own interests so little, as when
they affect those qualities and accomplishments, from the want of which
they derive their highest merit. "The _porcelain_ clay of human kind,"
says an admired writer, speaking of the sex. Greater delicacy evidently
implies greater fragility; and this weakness, natural and moral, clearly
points out the necessity of a superior degree of caution, retirement,
and reserve.
IF the author may be allowed to keep up the allusion of the poet, just
quoted, she would ask if we do not put the finest vases, and the
costliest images in places of the greatest security, and most remote
from any probability of accident, or destruction? By being so situated,
they find their protection in their weakness, and their safety in their
delicacy. This metaphor is far from being used with a design of placing
young ladies in a trivial, unimportant light; it is only introduced to
insinuate, that where there is more beauty, and more weakness, there
should be greater circumspection, and superior prudence.
MEN, on the contrary, are formed for the more public exhibitions on the
great theatre of human life. Like the stronger and more substantial
wares, they derive no injury, and lose no polish by being always
exposed, and engaged in the constant commerce of the world. It is their
proper element, where they respire their natural air, and exert their
noblest powers, in situations which call them into action. They were
intended by Providence for the bustling scenes of life; to appear
terrible in arms, useful in commerce, shining in counsels.
THE Author fears it will be hazarding a very bold remark, in the opinion
of many ladies, when she adds, that the female mind, in general, does
not appear capable of attaining so high a degree of perfection in
science as the male. Yet she hopes to be forgiven when she observes
also, that as it does not seem to derive the chief portion of its
excellence from extraordinary abilities of this kind, it is not at all
lessened by the imputation of not possessing them. It is readily
allowed, that the sex have lively imaginations, and those exquisite
perceptions of the beautiful and defective, which come under the
denomination of Taste. But pretensions to that strength of intellect,
which is requisite to penetrate into the abstruser walks of literature,
it is presumed they will readily relinquish. There are green pastures,
and pleasant vallies, where they may wander with safety to themselves,
and delight to others. They may cultivate the roses of imagination, and
the valuable fruits of morals and criticism; but the steeps of
Parnassus few, comparatively, have attempted to scale with success.
And when it is considered, that many languages, and many sciences, must
contribute to the perfection of poetical composition, it will appear
less strange. The lofty Epic, the pointed Satire, and the more daring
and successful flights of the Tragic Muse, seem reserved for the bold
adventurers of the other sex.
NOR does this assertion, it is apprehended, at all injure the
interests of the women; they have other pretensions, on which to value
themselves, and other qualities much better calculated to answer their
particular purposes. We are enamoured of the soft strains of the
Sicilian and the Mantuan Muse, while, to the sweet notes of the
pastoral reed, they sing the Contentions of the Shepherds, the
Blessings of Love, or the innocent Delights of rural Life. Has it ever
been ascribed to them as a defect, that their Eclogues do not treat of
active scenes, of busy cities, and of wasting war? No: their simplicity
is their perfection, and they are only blamed when they have too little
of it.
ON the other hand, the lofty bards who strung their bolder harps to
higher measures, and sung the _Wrath_ of _Peleus' Son_, and _Man's first
Disobedience_, have never been censured for want of sweetness and
refinement. The sublime, the nervous, and the masculine, characterise
their compositions; as the beautiful, the soft, and the delicate, mark
those of the others. Grandeur, dignity, and force, distinguish the one
species; ease, simplicity, and purity, the other. Both shine from their
native, distinct, unborrowed merits, not from those which are foreign,
adventitious, and unnatural. Yet those excellencies, which make up the
essential and constituent parts of poetry, they have in common.
WOMEN have generally quicker perceptions; men have juster
sentiments.--Women consider how things may be prettily said; men how
they may be properly said.--In women, (young ones at least) speaking
accompanies, and sometimes precedes reflection; in men, reflection is
the antecedent.--Women speak to shine or to please; men, to convince or
confute.--Women admire what is brilliant; men what is solid.--Women
prefer an extemporaneous sally of wit, or a sparkling effusion of
fancy, before the most accurate reasoning, or the most laborious
investigation of facts. In literary composition, women are pleased with
point, turn, and antithesis; men with observation, and a just deduction
of effects from their causes.--Women are fond of incident, men of
argument.--Women admire passionately, men approve cautiously.--One sex
will think it betrays a want of feeling to be moderate in their
applause, the other will be afraid of exposing a want of judgment by
being in raptures with any thing.--Men refuse to give way to the
emotions they actually feel, while women sometimes affect to be
transported beyond what the occasion will justify.
AS a farther confirmation of what has been advanced on the different
bent of the understanding in the sexes, it may be observed, that we have
heard of many female wits, but never of one female logician--of many
admirable writers of memoirs, but never of one chronologer.--In the
boundless and aërial regions of romance, and in that fashionable species
of composition which succeeded it, and which carries a nearer
approximation to the manners of the world, the women cannot be excelled:
this imaginary soil they have a peculiar talent for cultivating, because
here,
Invention labours more, and judgment less.
THE merit of this kind of writing consists in the _vraisemblance_ to
real life as to the events themselves, with a certain elevation in the
narrative, which places them, if not above what is natural, yet above
what is common. It farther consists in the art of interesting the tender
feelings by a pathetic representation of those minute, endearing,
domestic circumstances, which take captive the soul before it has time
to shield itself with the armour of reflection. To amuse, rather than to
instruct, or to instruct indirectly by short inferences, drawn from a
long concatenation of circumstances, is at once the business of this
sort of composition, and one of the characteristics of female
genius[1].
IN short, it appears that the mind in each sex has some natural kind of
bias, which constitutes a distinction of character, and that the
happiness of both depends, in a great measure, on the preservation and
observance of this distinction. For where would be the superior pleasure
and satisfaction resulting from mixed conversation, if this difference
were abolished? If the qualities of both were invariably and exactly the
same, no benefit or entertainment would arise from the tedious and
insipid uniformity of such an intercourse; whereas considerable
advantages are reaped from a select society of both sexes. The rough
angles and asperities of male manners are imperceptibly filed, and
gradually worn smooth, by the polishing of female conversation, and the
refining of female taste; while the ideas of women acquire strength and
solidity, by their associating with sensible, intelligent, and
judicious men.
ON the whole, (even if fame be the object of pursuit) is it not better
to succeed as women, than to fail as men? To shine, by walking
honourably in the road which nature, custom, and education seem to have
marked out, rather than to counteract them all, by moving awkwardly in a
path diametrically opposite? To be good originals, rather than bad
imitators? In a word, to be excellent women, rather than indifferent
men?
[1] THE author does not apprehend it makes against her GENERAL position,
that this nation can boast a female critic, poet, historian, linguist,
philosopher, and moralist, equal to most of the other sex. To these
particular instances others might be adduced; but it is presumed, that
they only stand as exceptions against the rule, without tending to
invalidate the rule itself.
ON
DISSIPATION.
DOGLIE CERTE, ALLEGREZZE INCERTE!
PETRARCA.
AS an argument in favour of modern manners, it has been pleaded, that
the softer vices of Luxury and Dissipation, belong rather to gentle
and yielding tempers, than to such as are rugged and ferocious: that
they are vices which increase civilization, and tend to promote
refinement, and the cultivation of humanity.
BUT this is an assertion, the truth of which the experience of all
ages contradicts. Nero was not less a tyrant for being a fiddler: He[2]
who wished the whole Roman people had but one neck, that he might
dispatch them at a blow, was himself the most debauched man in Rome; and
Sydney and Russel were condemned to bleed under the most barbarous,
though most dissipated and voluptuous, reign that ever disgraced the
annals of Britain.
THE love of dissipation is, I believe, allowed to be the reigning evil
of the present day. It is an evil which many content themselves with
regretting, without seeking to redress. A dissipated life is censured
in the very act of dissipation, and prodigality of time is as gravely
declaimed against at the card table, as in the pulpit.
THE lover of dancing censures the amusements of the theatre for their
dulness, and the gamester blames them both for their levity. She, whose
whole soul is swallowed up in "_opera extacies_" is astonished, that her
acquaintance can spend whole nights in preying, like harpies, on the
fortunes of their fellow-creatures; while the grave sober sinner, who
passes her pale and anxious vigils, in this fashionable sort of
pillaging, is no less surprised how the other can waste her precious
time in hearing sounds for which she has no taste, in a language she
does not understand.
IN short, every one seems convinced, that the evil so much complained of
does really exist somewhere, though all are inwardly persuaded that it
is not with themselves. All desire a general reformation, but few will
listen to proposals of particular amendment; the body must be restored,
but each limb begs to remain as it is; and accusations which concern
all, will be likely to affect none. They think that sin, like matter, is
divisible, and that what is scattered among so many, cannot materially
affect any one; and thus individuals contribute separately to that evil
which they in general lament.
THE prevailing manners of an age depend more than we are aware, or are
willing to allow, on the conduct of the women; this is one of the
principal hinges on which the great machine of human society turns.
Those who allow the influence which female graces have, in contributing
to polish the manners of men, would do well to reflect how great an
influence female morals must also have on their conduct. How much then
is it to be regretted, that the British ladies should ever sit down
contented to polish, when they are able to reform, to entertain, when
they might instruct, and to dazzle for an hour, when they are candidates
for eternity!
UNDER the dispensation of Mahomet's law, indeed, these mental
excellencies cannot be expected, because the women are shut out from all
opportunities of instruction, and excluded from the endearing pleasures
of a delightful and equal society; and, as a charming poet sings, are
taught to believe, that
For their inferior natures
Form'd to delight, and happy by delighting,
Heav'n has reserv'd no future paradise,
But bids them rove the paths of bliss, secure
Of total death, and careless of hereafter.
IRENE.
THESE act consistently in studying none but exterior graces, in
cultivating only personal attractions, and in trying to lighten the
intolerable burden of time, by the most frivolous and vain amusements.
They act in consequence of their own blind belief, and the tyranny of
their despotic masters; for they have neither the freedom of a present
choice, nor the prospect of a future being.
BUT in this land of civil and religious liberty, where there is as
little despotism exercised over the minds, as over the persons of women,
they have every liberty of choice, and every opportunity of improvement;
and how greatly does this increase their obligation to be exemplary in
their general conduct, attentive to the government of their families,
and instrumental to the good order of society!
SHE who is at a loss to find amusements at home, can no longer apologize
for her dissipation abroad, by saying she is deprived of the benefit
and the pleasure of books; and she who regrets being doomed to a state
of dark and gloomy ignorance, by the injustice, or tyranny of the men,
complains of an evil which does not exist.
IT is a question frequently in the mouths of illiterate and dissipated
females--"What good is there in reading? To what end does it conduce?"
It is, however, too obvious to need insisting on, that unless perverted,
as the best things may be, reading answers many excellent purposes
beside the great leading one, and is perhaps the safest remedy for
dissipation. She who dedicates a portion of her leisure to useful
reading, feels her mind in a constant progressive state of
improvement, whilst the mind of a dissipated woman is continually
losing ground. An active spirit rejoiceth, like the sun, to run his
daily course, while indolence, like the dial of Ahaz, goes backwards.
The advantages which the understanding receives from polite literature,
it is not here necessary to enumerate; its effects on the moral
temper is the present object of consideration. The remark may perhaps be
thought too strong, but I believe it is true, that next to religious
influences, an habit of study is the most probable preservative of the
virtue of young persons. Those who cultivate letters have rarely a
strong passion for promiscuous visiting, or dissipated society;
study therefore induces a relish for domestic life, the most desirable
temper in the world for women. Study, as it rescues the mind from an
inordinate fondness for gaming, dress, and public amusements, is an
oeconomical propensity; for a lady may read at much less expence than
she can play at cards; as it requires some application, it gives the
mind an habit of industry; as it is a relief against that mental
disease, which the French emphatically call _ennui_, it cannot fail of
being beneficial to the temper and spirits, I mean in the moderate
degree in which ladies are supposed to use it; as an enemy to indolence,
it becomes a social virtue; as it demands the full exertion of our
talents, it grows a rational duty; and when directed to the knowledge of
the Supreme Being, and his laws, it rises into an act of religion.
THE rage for reformation commonly shews itself in a violent zeal for
suppressing what is wrong, rather than in a prudent attention to
establish what is right; but we shall never obtain a fair garden merely
by rooting up weeds, we must also plant flowers; for the natural
richness of the soil we have been clearing will not suffer it to lie
barren, but whether it shall be vainly or beneficially prolific, depends
on the culture. What the present age has gained on one side, by a more
enlarged and liberal way of thinking, seems to be lost on the other, by
excessive freedom and unbounded indulgence. Knowledge is not, as
heretofore, confined to the dull cloyster, or the gloomy college, but
disseminated, to a certain degree, among both sexes and almost all
ranks. The only misfortune is, that these opportunities do not seem to
be so wisely improved, or turned to so good an account as might be
wished. Books of a pernicious, idle, and frivolous sort, are too much
multiplied, and it is from the very redundancy of them that true
knowledge is so scarce, and the habit of dissipation so much
increased.
IT has been remarked, that the prevailing character of the present age
is not that of gross immorality: but if this is meant of those in the
higher walks of life, it is easy to discern, that there can be but
little merit in abstaining from crimes which there is but little
temptation to commit. It is however to be feared, that a gradual
defection from piety, will in time draw after it all the bad
consequences of more active vice; for whether mounds and fences are
suddenly destroyed by a sweeping torrent, or worn away through gradual
neglect, the effect is equally destructive. As a rapid fever and a
consuming hectic are alike fatal to our natural health, so are flagrant
immorality and torpid indolence to our moral well-being.
THE philosophical doctrine of the slow recession of bodies from the
sun, is a lively image of the reluctance with which we first abandon
the light of virtue. The beginning of folly, and the first entrance on a
dissipated life cost some pangs to a well-disposed heart; but it is
surprising to see how soon the progress ceases to be impeded by
reflection, or slackened by remorse. For it is in moral as in natural
things, the motion in minds as well as bodies is accelerated by a nearer
approach to the centre to which they are tending. If we recede slowly at
first setting out, we advance rapidly in our future course; and to have
begun to be wrong, is already to have made a great progress.
A CONSTANT habit of amusement relaxes the tone of the mind, and renders
it totally incapable of application, study, or virtue. Dissipation not
only indisposes its votaries to every thing useful and excellent, but
disqualifies them for the enjoyment of pleasure itself. It softens the
soul so much, that the most superficial employment becomes a labour, and
the slightest inconvenience an agony. The luxurious Sybarite must have
lost all sense of real enjoyment, and all relish for true gratification,
before he complained that he could not sleep, because the rose leaves
lay double under him.
LUXURY and dissipation, soft and gentle as their approaches are, and
silently as they throw their silken chains about the heart, enslave it
more than the most active and turbulent vices. The mightiest conquerors
have been conquered by these unarmed foes: the flowery setters are
fastened, before they are felt. The blandishments of Circe were more
fatal to the mariners of Ulysses, than the strength of Polypheme, or
the brutality of the Læstrigons. Hercules, after he had cleansed the
Augean stable, and performed all the other labours enjoined him by
Euristheus, found himself a slave to the softnesses of the heart; and
he, who wore a club and a lion's skin in the cause of virtue,
condescended to the most effeminate employments to gratify a criminal
weakness. Hannibal, who vanquished mighty nations, was himself overcome
by the love of pleasure; and he who despised cold, and want, and danger,
and death on the Alps, was conquered and undone by the dissolute
indulgences of Capua.
BEFORE the hero of the most beautiful and virtuous romance that ever was
written, I mean Telemachus, landed on the island of Cyprus, he
unfortunately lost his prudent companion, Mentor, in whom wisdom is so
finely personified. At first he beheld with horror the wanton and
dissolute manners of the voluptuous inhabitants; the ill effects of
their example were not immediate: he did not fall into the commission
of glaring enormities; but his virtue was secretly and imperceptibly
undermined, his heart was softened by their pernicious society; and the
nerve of resolution was slackened: he every day beheld with diminished
indignation the worship which was offered to Venus; the disorders of
luxury and prophaneness became less and less terrible, and the
infectious air of the country enfeebled his courage, and relaxed his
principles. In short, he had ceased to love virtue long before he
thought of committing actual vice; and the duties of a manly piety were
burdensome to him, before he was so debased as to offer perfumes, and
burn incense on the altar of the licentious goddess[3].
"LET us crown ourselves with rosebuds before they be withered," said
Solomon's libertine. Alas! he did not reflect that they withered in the
very gathering. The roses of pleasure seldom last long enough to adorn
the brow of him who plucks them; for they are the only roses which do
not retain their sweetness after they have lost their beauty.
THE heathen poets often pressed on their readers the necessity of
considering the shortness of life, as an incentive to pleasure and
voluptuousness; lest the season for indulging in them should pass
unimproved. The dark and uncertain notions, not to say the absolute
disbelief, which they entertained of a future state, is the only apology
that can be offered for this reasoning. But while we censure their
tenets, let us not adopt their errors; errors which would be infinitely
more inexcusable in us, who, from the clearer views which revelation has
given us, shall not have their ignorance or their doubts to plead. It
were well if we availed ourselves of that portion of their precept,
which inculcates the improvement of every moment of our time, but not
like them to dedicate the moments so redeemed to the pursuit of sensual
and perishable pleasures, but to the securing of those which are
spiritual in their nature, and eternal in their duration.
IF, indeed, like the miserable[4] beings imagined by Swift, with a view
to cure us of the irrational desire after immoderate length of days, we
were condemned to a wretched earthly immortality, we should have an
excuse for spending some portion of our time in dissipation, as we
might then pretend, with some colour of reason, that we proposed, at a
distant period, to enter on a better course of action. Or if we never
formed any such resolution, it would make no material difference to
beings, whose state was already unalterably fixed. But of the scanty
portion of days assigned to our lot, not one should be lost in weak
and irresolute procrastination.
THOSE who have not yet determined on the side of vanity, who, like
Hercules, (before he knew the queen of Lydia, and had learnt to spin)
have not resolved on their choice between VIRTUE and PLEASURE, may
reflect, that it is still in their power to imitate that hero in his
noble choice, and in his virtuous rejection. They may also reflect with
grateful triumph, that Christianity furnishes them with a better guide
than the tutor of Alcides, and with a surer light than the doctrines of
pagan philosophy.
IT is far from my design severely to condemn the innocent pleasures of
life: I would only beg leave to observe, that those which are criminal
should never be allowed; and that even the most innocent will, by
immoderate use, soon cease to be so.
THE women of this country were not sent into the world to shun society,
but to embellish it; they were not designed for wilds and solitudes, but
for the amiable and endearing offices of social life. They have useful
stations to fill, and important characters to sustain. They are of a
religion which does not impose penances, but enjoins duties; a religion
of perfect purity, but of perfect benevolence also. A religion which
does not condemn its followers to indolent seclusion from the world, but
assigns them the more dangerous, though more honourable province, of
living uncorrupted in it. In fine, a religion, which does not direct
them to fly from the multitude, that they may do nothing, but which
positively forbids them to follow a multitude to do evil.
[2] The Emperor Caligula.
[3] NOTHING can be more admirable than the manner in which this allegory
is conducted; and the whole work, not to mention its images, machinery,
and other poetical beauties, is written in the very finest strain of
morality. In this latter respect it is evidently superior to the works
of the ancients, the moral of which is frequently tainted by the
grossness of their mythology. Something of the purity of the Christian
religion may be discovered even in Fenelon's heathens, and they catch a
tincture of piety in passing through the hands of that amiable prelate.
[4] The Struldbrugs. See Voyage to Laputa.
THOUGHTS
ON
CONVERSATION.
IT has been advised, and by very respectable authorities too, that in
conversation women should carefully conceal any knowledge or learning
they may happen to possess. I own, with submission, that I do not
see either the necessity or propriety of this advice. For if a young
lady has that discretion and modesty, without which all knowledge is
little worth, she will never make an ostentatious parade of it, because
she will rather be intent on acquiring more, than on displaying what she
has.
I AM at a loss to know why a young female is instructed to exhibit, in
the most advantageous point of view, her skill in music, her singing,
dancing, taste in dress, and her acquaintance with the most fashionable
games and amusements, while her piety is to be anxiously concealed, and
her knowledge affectedly disavowed, lest the former should draw on her
the appellation of an enthusiast, or the latter that of a pedant.
IN regard to knowledge, why should she for ever affect to be on her
guard, lest she should be found guilty of a small portion of it? She
need be the less solicitous about it, as it seldom proves to be so very
considerable as to excite astonishment or admiration: for, after all the
acquisitions which her talents and her studies have enabled her to make,
she will, generally speaking, be found to have less of what is called
_learning_, than a common school-boy.
IT would be to the last degree presumptuous and absurd, for a young
woman to pretend to give the _ton_ to the company; to interrupt the
pleasure of others, and her own opportunity of improvement, by talking
when she ought to listen; or to introduce subjects out of the common
road, in order to shew her own wit, or expose the want of it in others:
but were the sex to be totally silent when any topic of literature
happens to be discussed in their presence, conversation would lose
much of its vivacity, and society would be robbed of one of its most
interesting charms.
HOW easily and effectually may a well-bred woman promote the most useful
and elegant conversation, almost without speaking a word! for the modes
of speech are scarcely more variable than the modes of silence. The
silence of listless ignorance, and the silence of sparkling
intelligence, are perhaps as separately marked, and as distinctly
expressed, as the same feelings could have been by the most
unequivocal language. A woman, in a company where she has the least
influence, may promote any subject by a profound and invariable
attention, which shews that she is pleased with it, and by an
illuminated countenance, which proves she understands it. This obliging
attention is the most flattering encouragement in the world to men of
sense and letters, to continue any topic of instruction or entertainment
they happen to be engaged in: it owed its introduction perhaps to
accident, the best introduction in the world for a subject of ingenuity,
which, though it could not have been formally proposed without pedantry,
may be continued with ease and good humour; but which will be frequently
and effectually stopped by the listlessness, inattention, or
whispering of silly girls, whose weariness betrays their ignorance, and
whose impatience exposes their ill-breeding. A polite man, however
deeply interested in the subject on which he is conversing, catches at
the slightest hint to have done: a look is a sufficient intimation, and
if a pretty simpleton, who sits near him, seems _distraite_, he puts an
end to his remarks, to the great regret of the reasonable part of the
company, who perhaps might have gained more improvement by the
continuance of such a conversation, than a week's reading would have
yielded them; for it is such company as this, that give an edge to each
other's wit, "as iron sharpeneth iron."
THAT silence is one of the great arts of conversation is allowed by
Cicero himself, who says, there is not only an art but even an eloquence
in it. And this opinion is confirmed by a great modern[5], in the
following little anecdote from one of the ancients.
WHEN many Grecian philosophers had a solemn meeting before the
ambassador of a foreign prince, each endeavoured to shew his parts by
the brilliancy of his conversation, that the ambassador might have
something to relate of the Grecian wisdom. One of them, offended, no
doubt, at the loquacity of his companions, observed a profound silence;
when the ambassador, turning to him, asked, "But what have you to say,
that I may report it?" He made this laconic, but very pointed reply:
"Tell your king, that you have found one among the Greeks who knew how
to be silent."
THERE is a quality infinitely more intoxicating to the female mind than
knowledge--this is Wit, the most captivating, but the most dreaded of
all talents: the most dangerous to those who have it, and the most
feared by those who have it not. Though it is against all the rules, yet
I cannot find in my heart to abuse this charming quality. He who is
grown rich without it, in safe and sober dulness, shuns it as a disease,
and looks upon poverty as its invariable concomitant. The moralist
declaims against it as the source of irregularity, and the frugal
citizen dreads it more than bankruptcy itself, for he considers it as
the parent of extravagance and beggary. The Cynic will ask of what use
it is? Of very little perhaps: no more is a flower garden, and yet it is
allowed as an object of innocent amusement and delightful recreation. A
woman, who possesses this quality, has received a most dangerous
present, perhaps not less so than beauty itself: especially if it be not
sheathed in a temper peculiarly inoffensive, chastised by a most
correct judgment, and restrained by more prudence than falls to the
common lot.
THIS talent is more likely to make a woman vain than knowledge; for as
Wit is the immediate property of its possessor, and learning is only
an acquaintance with the knowledge of other people, there is much more
danger, that we should be vain of what is our own, than of what we
borrow.
BUT Wit, like learning, is not near so common a thing as is imagined.
Let not therefore a young lady be alarmed at the acuteness of her own
wit, any more than at the abundance of her own knowledge. The great
danger is, lest she should mistake pertness, flippancy, or imprudence,
for this brilliant quality, or imagine she is witty, only because she
is indiscreet. This is very frequently the case, and this makes the name
of wit so cheap, while its real existence is so rare.
LEST the flattery of her acquaintance, or an over-weening opinion of her
own qualifications, should lead some vain and petulant girl into a false
notion that she has a great deal of wit, when she has only a redundancy
of animal spirits, she may not find it useless to attend to the
definition of this quality, by one who had as large a portion of it, as
most individuals could ever boast:
'Tis not a tale, 'tis not a jest,
Admir'd with laughter at a feast,
Nor florid talk, which can that title gain,
The proofs of wit for ever must remain.
Neither can that have any place,
At which a virgin hides her face;
Such dross the fire must purge away; 'tis just,
The author blush there, where the reader must.
COWLEY.
BUT those who actually possess this rare talent, cannot be too
abstinent in the use of it. It often makes admirers, but it never makes
friends; I mean, where it is the predominant feature; and the
unprotected and defenceless state of womanhood calls for friendship more
than for admiration. She who does not desire friends has a sordid and
insensible soul; but she who is ambitious of making every man her
admirer, has an invincible vanity and a cold heart.
BUT to dwell only on the side of policy, a prudent woman, who has
established the reputation of some genius will sufficiently maintain
it, without keeping her faculties always on the stretch to say _good
things_. Nay, if reputation alone be her object, she will gain a more
solid one by her forbearance, as the wiser part of her acquaintance will
ascribe it to the right motive, which is, not that she has less wit, but
that she has more judgment.
THE fatal fondness for indulging a spirit of ridicule, and the injurious
and irreparable consequences which sometimes attend the _too prompt
reply_, can never be too seriously or too severely condemned. Not to
offend, is the first step towards pleasing. To give pain is as much an
offence against humanity, as against good breeding; and surely it is as
well to abstain from an action because it is sinful, as because it is
impolite. In company, young ladies would do well before they speak, to
reflect, if what they are going to say may not distress some worthy
person present, by wounding them in their persons, families, connexions,
or religious opinions. If they find it will touch them in either of
these, I should advise them to suspect, that what they were going to say
is not so _very_ good a thing as they at first imagined. Nay, if even it
was one of those bright ideas, which _Venus has imbued with a fifth part
of her nectar_, so much greater will be their merit in suppressing it,
if there was a probability it might offend. Indeed, if they have the
temper and prudence to make such a previous reflection, they will be
more richly rewarded by their own inward triumph, at having suppressed
a lively but severe remark, than they could have been with the
dissembled applauses of the whole company, who, with that complaisant
deceit, which good breeding too much authorises, affect openly to admire
what they secretly resolve never to forgive.
I HAVE always been delighted with the story of the little girl's
eloquence, in one of the Children's Tales, who received from a friendly
fairy the gift, that at every word she uttered, pinks, roses, diamonds,
and pearls, should drop from her mouth. The hidden moral appears to be
this, that it was the sweetness of her temper which produced this pretty
fanciful effect: for when her malicious sister desired the same gift
from the good-natured tiny Intelligence, the venom of her own heart
converted it into poisonous and loathsome reptiles.
A MAN of sense and breeding will sometimes join in the laugh, which has
been raised at his expence by an ill-natured repartee; but if it was
very cutting, and one of those shocking sort of truths, which as they
can scarcely be pardoned even in private, ought never to be uttered in
public, he does not laugh because he is pleased, but because he wishes
to conceal how much he is hurt. As the sarcasm was uttered by a lady, so
far from seeming to resent it, he will be the first to commend it; but
notwithstanding that, he will remember it as a trait of malice, when the
whole company shall have forgotten it as a stroke of wit. Women are so
far from being privileged by their sex to say unhandsome or cruel
things, that it is this very circumstance which renders them more
intolerable. When the arrow is lodged in the heart, it is no relief to
him who is wounded to reflect, that the hand which shot it was a fair
one.
MANY women, when they have a favourite point to gain, or an earnest wish
to bring any one over to their opinion, often use a very disingenuous
method: they will state a case ambiguously, and then avail themselves of
it, in whatever manner shall best answer their purpose; leaving your
mind in a state of indecision as to their real meaning, while they
triumph in the perplexity they have given you by the unfair conclusions
they draw, from premises equivocally stated. They will also frequently
argue from exceptions instead of rules, and are astonished when you are
not willing to be contented with a prejudice, instead of a reason.
IN a sensible company of both sexes, where women are not restrained by
any other reserve than what their natural modesty imposes; and where the
intimacy of all parties authorises the utmost freedom of communication;
should any one inquire what were the general sentiments on some
particular subject, it will, I believe, commonly happen, that the
ladies, whose imaginations have kept pace with the narration, have
anticipated its end, and are ready to deliver their sentiments on it as
soon as it is finished. While some of the male hearers, whose minds were
busied in settling the propriety, comparing the circumstances, and
examining the consistencies of what was said, are obliged to pause and
discriminate, before they think of answering. Nothing is so
embarrassing as a variety of matter, and the conversation of women is
often more perspicuous, because it is less laboured.
A MAN of deep reflection, if he does not keep up an intimate commerce
with the world, will be sometimes so entangled in the intricacies of
intense thought, that he will have the appearance of a confused and
perplexed expression; while a sprightly woman will extricate herself
with that lively and "rash dexterity," which will almost always please,
though it is very far from being always right. It is easier to confound
than to convince an opponent; the former may be effected by a turn that
has more happiness than truth in it. Many an excellent reasoner, well
skilled in the theory of the schools, has felt himself discomfited by a
reply, which, though as wide of the mark, and as foreign to the
question as can be conceived, has disconcerted him more than the most
startling proposition, or the most accurate chain of reasoning could
have done; and he has borne the laugh of his fair antagonist, as well as
of the whole company, though he could not but feel, that his own
argument was attended with the fullest demonstration: so true is it,
that it is not always necessary to be right, in order to be applauded.
BUT let not a young lady's vanity be too much elated with this false
applause, which is given, not to her merit, but to her sex: she has not
perhaps gained a victory, though she may be allowed a triumph; and it
should humble her to reflect, that the tribute is paid, not to her
strength but her weakness. It is worth while to discriminate between
that applause, which is given from the complaisance of others, and that
which is paid to our own merit.
WHERE great sprightliness is the natural bent of the temper, girls
should endeavour to habituate themselves to a custom of observing,
thinking, and reasoning. I do not mean, that they should devote
themselves to abstruse speculation, or the study of logic; but she who
is accustomed to give a due arrangement to her thoughts, to reason
justly and pertinently on common affairs, and judiciously to deduce
effects from their causes, will be a better logician than some of those
who claim the name, because they have studied the art: this is being
"learned without the rules;" the best definition, perhaps, of that sort
of literature which is properest for the sex. That species of
knowledge, which appears to be the result of reflection rather than of
science, sits peculiarly well on women. It is not uncommon to find a
lady, who, though she does not know a rule of Syntax, scarcely ever
violates one; and who constructs every sentence she utters, with more
propriety than many a learned dunce, who has every rule of Aristotle by
heart, and who can lace his own thread-bare discourse with the golden
shreds of Cicero and Virgil.
IT has been objected, and I fear with some reason, that female
conversation is too frequently tinctured with a censorious spirit, and
that ladies are seldom apt to discover much tenderness for the errors of
a fallen sister.
If it be so, it is a grievous fault.
NO arguments can justify, no pleas can extenuate it. To insult over the
miseries of an unhappy creature is inhuman, not to compassionate them
is unchristian. The worthy part of the sex always express themselves
humanely on the failings of others, in proportion to their own
undeviating goodness.
AND here I cannot help remarking, that young women do not always
carefully distinguish between running into the error of detraction, and
its opposite extreme of indiscriminate applause. This proceeds from the
false idea they entertain, that the direct contrary to what is wrong
must be right. Thus the dread of being only suspected of one fault makes
them actually guilty of another. The desire of avoiding the imputation
of envy, impels them to be insincere; and to establish a reputation for
sweetness of temper and generosity, they affect sometimes to speak of
very indifferent characters with the most extravagant applause. With
such, the hyperbole is a favourite figure; and every degree of
comparison but the superlative is rejected, as cold and inexpressive.
But this habit of exaggeration greatly weakens their credit, and
destroys the weight of their opinion on other occasions; for people very
soon discover what degree of faith is to be given both to their judgment
and veracity. And those of real merit will no more be flattered by that
approbation, which cannot distinguish the value of what it praises, than
the celebrated painter must have been at the judgment passed on his
works by an ignorant spectator, who, being asked what he thought of such
and such very capital but very different pieces, cried out in an
affected rapture, "All alike! all alike!"
IT has been proposed to the young, as a maxim of supreme wisdom, to
manage so dexterously in conversation, as to appear to be well
acquainted with subjects, of which they are totally ignorant; and this,
by affecting silence in regard to those, on which they are known to
excel.--But why counsel this disingenuous fraud? Why add to the
numberless arts of deceit, this practice of deceiving, as it were, on a
settled principle? If to disavow the knowledge they really have be a
culpable affectation, then certainly to insinuate an idea of their
skill, where they are actually ignorant, is a most unworthy artifice.
BUT of all the qualifications for conversation, humility, if not the
most brilliant, is the safest, the most amiable, and the most feminine.
The affectation of introducing subjects, with which others are
unacquainted, and of displaying talents superior to the rest of the
company, is as dangerous as it is foolish.
There are many, who never can forgive another for being more agreeable
and more accomplished than themselves, and who can pardon any offence
rather than an eclipsing merit. Had the nightingale in the fable
conquered his vanity, and resisted the temptation of shewing a fine
voice, he might have escaped the talons of the hawk. The melody of his
singing was the cause of his destruction; his merit brought him into
danger, and his vanity cost him his life.
[5] Lord Bacon.
ON
ENVY.
Envy came next, Envy with squinting eyes,
Sick of a strange disease, his neighbour's health;
Best then he lives when any better dies,
Is never poor but in another's wealth:
On best mens harms and griefs he feeds his fill,
Else his own maw doth eat with spiteful will,
Ill must the temper be, where diet is so ill.
FLETCHER'S PURPLE ISLAND.
"ENVY, (says Lord Bacon) has no holidays." There cannot perhaps be a
more lively and striking description of the miserable state of mind
those endure, who are tormented with this vice. A spirit of emulation
has been supposed to be the source of the greatest improvements; and
there is no doubt but the warmest rivalship will produce the most
excellent effects; but it is to be feared, that a perpetual state of
contest will injure the temper so essentially, that the mischief will
hardly be counterbalanced by any other advantages. Those, whose progress
is the most rapid, will be apt to despise their less successful
competitors, who, in return, will feel the bitterest resentment against
their more fortunate rivals. Among persons of real goodness, this
jealousy and contempt can never be equally felt, because every
advancement in piety will be attended with a proportionable increase of
humility, which will lead them to contemplate their own improvements
with modesty, and to view with charity the miscarriages of others.
WHEN an envious man is melancholy, one may ask him, in the words of
Bion, what evil has befallen himself, or what good has happened to
another? This last is the scale by which he principally measures his
felicity, and the very smiles of his friends are so many deductions from
his own happiness. The wants of others are the standard by which he
rates his own wealth, and he estimates his riches, not so much by his
own possessions, as by the necessities of his neighbours.
WHEN the malevolent intend to strike a very deep and dangerous stroke of
malice, they generally begin the most remotely in the world from the
subject nearest their hearts. They set out with commending the object of
their envy for some trifling quality or advantage, which it is scarcely
worth while to possess: they next proceed to make a general
profession of their own good-will and regard for him: thus artfully
removing any suspicion of their design, and clearing all obstructions
for the insidious stab they are about to give; for who will suspect them
of an intention to injure the object of their peculiar and professed
esteem? The hearer's belief of the fact grows in proportion to the
seeming reluctance with which it is told, and to the conviction he has,
that the relater is not influenced by any private pique, or personal
resentment; but that the confession is extorted from him sorely
against his inclination, and purely on account of his zeal for truth.
ANGER is less reasonable and more sincere than envy.--Anger breaks out
abruptly; envy is a great prefacer--anger wishes to be understood at
once: envy is fond of remote hints and ambiguities; but, obscure as its
oracles are, it never ceases to deliver them till they are perfectly
comprehended:--anger repeats the same circumstances over again; envy
invents new ones at every fresh recital--anger gives a broken, vehement,
and interrupted narrative; envy tells a more consistent and more
probable, though a falser tale--anger is excessively imprudent, for it
is impatient to disclose every thing it knows; envy is discreet, for it
has a great deal to hide--anger never consults times or seasons; envy
waits for the lucky moment, when the wound it meditates may be made the
most exquisitely painful, and the most incurably deep--anger uses more
invective; envy does more mischief--simple anger soon runs itself out of
breath, and is exhausted at the end of its tale; but it is for that
chosen period that envy has treasured up the most barbed arrow in its
whole quiver--anger puts a man out of himself: but the truly malicious
generally preserve the appearance of self-possession, or they could
not so effectually injure.--The angry man sets out by destroying his
whole credit with you at once, for he very frankly confesses his
abhorrence and detestation of the object of his abuse; while the envious
man carefully suppresses all his own share in the affair.--The angry
man defeats the end of his resentment, by keeping _himself_ continually
before your eyes, instead of his enemy; while the envious man artfully
brings forward the object of his malice, and keeps himself out of
sight.--The angry man talks loudly of his own wrongs; the envious of his
adversary's injustice.--A passionate person, if his resentments are
not complicated with malice, divides his time between sinning and
sorrowing; and, as the irascible passions cannot constantly be at
work, his heart may sometimes get a holiday.--Anger is a violent act,
envy a constant habit--no one can be always angry, but he may be always
envious:--an angry man's enmity (if he be generous) will subside when
the object of his resentment becomes unfortunate; but the envious man
can extract food from his malice out of calamity itself, if he finds his
adversary bears it with dignity, or is pitied or assisted in it. The
rage of the passionate man is totally extinguished by the death of his
enemy; but the hatred of the malicious is not buried even in the grave
of his rival: he will envy the good name he has left behind him; he will
envy him the tears of his widow, the prosperity of his children, the
esteem of his friends, the praises of his epitaph--nay the very
magnificence of his funeral.
"THE ear of jealousy heareth all things," (says the wise man) frequently
I believe more than is uttered, which makes the company of persons
infected with it still more dangerous.
WHEN you tell those of a malicious turn, any circumstance that has
happened to another, though they perfectly know of whom you are
speaking, they often affect to be at a loss, to forget his name, or to
misapprehend you in some respect or other; and this merely to have an
opportunity of slily gratifying their malice by mentioning some unhappy
defect or personal infirmity he labours under; and not contented "to
tack his every error to his name," they will, by way of farther
explanation, have recourse to the faults of his father, or the
misfortunes of his family; and this with all the seeming simplicity and
candor in the world, merely for the sake of preventing mistakes, and to
clear up every doubt of his identity.--If you are speaking of a lady,
for instance, they will perhaps embellish their inquiries, by asking if
you mean her, whose great grandfather was a bankrupt, though she has the
vanity to keep a chariot, while others who are much better born walk on
foot; or they will afterwards recollect, that you may possibly mean
her cousin, of the same name, whose mother was suspected of such or
such an indiscretion, though the daughter had the luck to make her
fortune by marrying, while her betters are overlooked.
TO _hint at a fault_, does more mischief than speaking out; for whatever
is left for the imagination to finish, will not fail to be overdone:
every hiatus will be more then filled up, and every pause more than
supplied. There is less malice, and less mischief too, in telling a
man's name than the initials of it; as a worthier person may be involved
in the most disgraceful suspicions by such a dangerous ambiguity.
IT is not uncommon for the envious, after having attempted to deface the
fairest character so industriously, that they are afraid you will begin
to detect their malice, to endeavour to remove your suspicions
effectually, by assuring you, that what they have just related is only
the popular opinion; they themselves can never believe things are so bad
as they are said to be; for their part, it is a rule with them always to
hope the best. It is their way never to believe or report ill of any
one. They will, however, mention the story in all companies, that they
may do their friend the service of protesting their disbelief of it.
More reputations are thus hinted away by false friends, than are openly
destroyed by public enemies. An _if_, or a _but_, or a mortified look,
or a languid defence, or an ambiguous shake of the head, or a hasty word
affectedly recalled, will demolish a character more effectually, than
the whole artillery of malice when openly levelled against it.
IT is not that envy never praises--No, that would be making a public
profession of itself, and advertising its own malignity; whereas the
greatest success of its efforts depends on the concealment of their end.
When envy intends to strike a stroke of Machiavelian policy, it
sometimes affects the language of the most exaggerated applause; though
it generally takes care, that the subject of its panegyric shall be a
very indifferent and common character, so that it is well aware none of
its praises will stick.
IT is the unhappy nature of envy not to be contented with positive
misery, but to be continually aggravating its own torments, by comparing
them with the felicities of others. The eyes of envy are perpetually
fixed on the object which disturbs it, nor can it avert them from it,
though to procure itself the relief of a temporary forgetfulness. On
seeing the innocence of the first pair,
Aside the devil turn'd,
For Envy, yet with jealous leer malign,
Eyed them askance.
As this enormous sin chiefly instigated the revolt, and brought on the
ruin of the angelic spirits, so it is not improbable, that it will be a
principal instrument of misery in a future world, for the envious to
compare their desperate condition with the happiness of the children of
God; and to heighten their actual wretchedness by reflecting on what
they have lost.
PERHAPS envy, like lying and ingratitude, is practised with more
frequency, because it is practised with impunity; but there being no
human laws against these crimes, is so far from an inducement to commit
them, that this very consideration would be sufficient to deter the wise
and good, if all others were ineffectual; for of how heinous a nature
must those sins be, which are judged above the reach of human
punishment, and are reserved for the final justice of God himself!
ON THE
DANGER
OF
SENTIMENTAL OR ROMANTIC
CONNEXIONS.
AMONG the many evils which prevail under the sun, the abuse of words is
not the least considerable. By the influence of time, and the perversion
of fashion, the plainest and most unequivocal may be so altered, as to
have a meaning assigned them almost diametrically opposite to their
original signification.
THE present age may be termed, by way of distinction, the age of
sentiment, a word which, in the implication it now bears, was unknown to
our plain ancestors. Sentiment is the varnish of virtue to conceal the
deformity of vice; and it is not uncommon for the same persons to make a
jest of religion, to break through the most solemn ties and engagements,
to practise every art of latent fraud and open seduction, and yet to
value themselves on speaking and writing _sentimentally_.
BUT this refined jargon, which has infested letters and tainted morals,
is chiefly admired and adopted by _young ladies_ of a certain turn, who
read _sentimental books_, write _sentimental letters_, and contract
_sentimental friendships_.
ERROR is never likely to do so much mischief as when it disguises its
real tendency, and puts on an engaging and attractive appearance. Many a
young woman, who would be shocked at the imputation of an intrigue, is
extremely flattered at the idea of a sentimental connexion, though
perhaps with a dangerous and designing man, who, by putting on this mask
of plausibility and virtue, disarms her of her prudence, lays her
apprehensions asleep, and involves her in misery; misery the more
inevitable because unsuspected. For she who apprehends no danger, will
not think it necessary to be always upon her guard; but will rather
invite than avoid the ruin which comes under so specious and so fair a
form.
SUCH an engagement will be infinitely dearer to her vanity than an
avowed and authorised attachment; for one of these sentimental lovers
will not scruple very seriously to assure a credulous girl, that her
unparalleled merit entitles her to the adoration of the whole world, and
that the universal homage of mankind is nothing more than the
unavoidable tribute extorted by her charms. No wonder then she should be
easily prevailed on to believe, that an individual is captivated by
perfections which might enslave a million. But she should remember, that
he who endeavours to intoxicate her with adulation, intends one day most
effectually to humble her. For an artful man has always a secret design
to pay himself in future for every present sacrifice. And this
prodigality of praise, which he now appears to lavish with such
thoughtless profusion, is, in fact, a sum oeconomically laid out to
supply his future necessities: of this sum he keeps an exact estimate,
and at some distant day promises himself the most exorbitant interest
for it. If he has address and conduct, and, the object of his pursuit
much vanity, and some sensibility, he seldom fails of success; for so
powerful will be his ascendancy over her mind, that she will soon adopt
his notions and opinions. Indeed, it is more than probable she
possessed most of them before, having gradually acquired them in her
initiation into the sentimental character. To maintain that character
with dignity and propriety, it is necessary she should entertain the
most elevated ideas of disproportionate alliances, and disinterested
love; and consider fortune, rank, and reputation, as mere chimerical
distinctions and vulgar prejudices.
THE lover, deeply versed in all the obliquities of fraud, and skilled to
wind himself into every avenue of the heart which indiscretion has left
unguarded, soon discovers on which side it is most accessible. He
avails himself of this weakness by addressing her in a language
exactly consonant to her own ideas. He attacks her with her own weapons,
and opposes rhapsody to sentiment--He professes so sovereign a
contempt for the paltry concerns of money, that she thinks it her duty
to reward him for so generous a renunciation. Every plea he artfully
advances of his own unworthiness, is considered by her as a fresh
demand which her gratitude must answer. And she makes it a point of
honour to sacrifice to him that fortune which he is too noble to regard.
These professions of humility are the common artifice of the vain, and
these protestations of generosity the refuge of the rapacious. And among
its many smooth mischiefs, it is one of the sure and successful frauds
of sentiment, to affect the most frigid indifference to those external
and pecuniary advantages, which it is its great and real object to
obtain.
A SENTIMENTAL girl very rarely entertains any doubt of her personal
beauty; for she has been daily accustomed to contemplate it herself, and
to hear of it from others. She will not, therefore, be very solicitous
for the confirmation of a truth so self-evident; but she suspects, that
her pretensions to understanding are more likely to be disputed, and,
for that reason, greedily devours every compliment offered to those
perfections, which are less obvious and more refined. She is persuaded,
that men need only open their eyes to decide on her beauty, while it
will be the most convincing proof of the taste, sense, and elegance of
her admirer, that he can discern and flatter those qualities in her. A
man of the character here supposed, will easily insinuate himself into
her affections, by means of this latent but leading foible, which may be
called the guiding clue to a sentimental heart. He will affect to
overlook that beauty which attracts common eyes, and ensnares common
hearts, while he will bestow the most delicate praises on the beauties
of her mind, and finish the climax of adulation, by hinting that she is
superior to it.
And when he tells her she hates flattery,
She says she does, being then most flatter'd.
BUT nothing, in general, can end less delightfully than these sublime
attachments, even where no acts of seduction were ever practised, but
they are suffered, like mere sublunary connexions, to terminate in the
vulgar catastrophe of marriage. That wealth, which lately seemed to be
looked on with ineffable contempt by the lover, now appears to be the
principal attraction in the eyes of the husband; and he, who but a few
short weeks before, in a transport of sentimental generosity, wished her
to have been a village maid, with no portion but her crook and her
beauty, and that they might spend their days in pastoral love and
innocence, has now lost all relish for the Arcadian life, or any other
life in which she must be his companion.
ON the other hand, she who was lately
An angel call'd, and angel-like ador'd,
is shocked to find herself at once stripped of all her celestial
attributes. This late divinity, who scarcely yielded to her sisters of
the sky, now finds herself of less importance in the esteem of the man
she has chosen, than any other mere mortal woman. No longer is she
gratified with the tear of counterfeited passion, the sigh of
dissembled rapture, or the language of premeditated adoration. No
longer is the altar of her vanity loaded with the oblations of
fictitious fondness, the incense of falsehood, or the sacrifice of
flattery.--Her apotheosis is ended!--She feels herself degraded from the
dignities and privileges of a goddess, to all the imperfections,
vanities, and weaknesses of a slighted woman, and a neglected wife.
Her faults, which were so lately overlooked, or mistaken for virtues,
are now, as Cassius says, set in a note-book. The passion, which was
vowed eternal, lasted only a few short weeks; and the indifference,
which was so far from being included in the bargain, that it was not so
much as suspected, follows them through the whole tiresome journey of
their insipid, vacant, joyless existence.
THUS much for the _completion_ of the sentimental history. If we trace
it back to its beginning, we shall find that a damsel of this cast had
her head originally turned by pernicious reading, and her insanity
confirmed by imprudent friendships. She never fails to select a beloved
_confidante_ of her own turn and humour, though, if she can help it, not
quite so handsome as herself. A violent intimacy ensues, or, to speak
the language of sentiment, an intimate union of souls immediately takes
place, which is wrought to the highest pitch by a secret and voluminous
correspondence, though they live in the same street, or perhaps in the
same house. This is the fuel which principally feeds and supplies the
dangerous flame of sentiment. In this correspondence the two friends
encourage each other in the falsest notions imaginable. They represent
romantic love as the great important business of human life, and
describe all the other concerns of it as too low and paltry to merit the
attention of such elevated beings, and fit only to employ the daughters
of the plodding vulgar. In these letters, family affairs are
misrepresented, family secrets divulged, and family misfortunes
aggravated. They are filled with vows of eternal amity, and
protestations of never-ending love. But interjections and quotations are
the principal embellishments of these very sublime epistles. Every
panegyric contained in them is extravagant and hyperbolical, and every
censure exaggerated and excessive. In a favourite, every frailty is
heightened into a perfection, and in a foe degraded into a crime. The
dramatic poets, especially the most tender and romantic, are quoted in
almost every line, and every pompous or pathetic thought is forced to
give up its natural and obvious meaning, and with all the violence of
misapplication, is compelled to suit some circumstance of imaginary woe
of the fair transcriber. Alicia is not too mad for her heroics, nor
Monimia too mild for her soft emotions.
FATHERS _have flinty hearts_ is an expression worth an empire, and is
always used with peculiar emphasis and enthusiasm. For a favourite topic
of these epistles is the groveling spirit and sordid temper of the
parents, who will be sure to find no quarter at the hands of their
daughters, should they presume to be so unreasonable as to direct their
course of reading, interfere in their choice of friends, or interrupt
their very important correspondence. But as these young ladies are
fertile in expedients, and as their genius is never more agreeably
exercised than in finding resources, they are not without their secret
exultation, in case either of the above interesting events should
happen, as they carry with them a certain air of tyranny and persecution
which is very delightful. For a prohibited correspondence is one of the
great incidents of a sentimental life, and a letter clandestinely
received, the supreme felicity of a sentimental lady.
NOTHING can equal the astonishment of these soaring spirits, when their
plain friends or prudent relations presume to remonstrate with them on
any impropriety in their conduct. But if these worthy people happen to
be somewhat advanced in life, their contempt is then a little softened
by pity, at the reflection that such very antiquated poor creatures
should pretend to judge what is fit or unfit for ladies of their great
refinement, sense, and reading. They consider them as wretches utterly
ignorant of the sublime pleasures of a delicate and exalted passion;
as tyrants whose authority is to be contemned, and as spies whose
vigilance is to be eluded. The prudence of these worthy friends they
term suspicion, and their experience dotage. For they are persuaded,
that the face of things has so totally changed since their parents were
young, that though they might then judge tolerably for themselves, yet
they are now (with all their advantages of knowledge and observation) by
no means qualified to direct their more enlightened daughters; who, if
they have made a great progress in the sentimental walk, will no more
be influenced by the advice of their mother, than they would go abroad
in her laced pinner or her brocade suit.
BUT young people never shew their folly and ignorance more
conspicuously, than by this over-confidence in their own judgment, and
this haughty disdain of the opinion of those who have known more days.
Youth has a quickness of apprehension, which it is very apt to mistake
for an acuteness of penetration. But youth, like cunning, though very
conceited, is very short-sighted, and never more so than when it
disregards the instructions of the wife, and the admonitions of the
aged. The same vices and follies influenced the human heart in their
day, which influence it now, and nearly in the same manner. One who
well knew the world and its various vanities, has said, "The thing which
hath been, it is that which shall be, and that which is done is that
which shall be done, and there is no new thing under the sun."
IT is also a part of the sentimental character, to imagine that none but
the young and the beautiful have any right to the pleasures of society,
of even to the common benefits and blessings of life. Ladies of this
turn also affect the most lofty disregard for useful qualities and
domestic virtues; and this is a natural consequence: for as this sort of
sentiment is only a weed of idleness, she who is constantly and usefully
employed, has neither leisure nor propensity to cultivate it.
A SENTIMENTAL lady principally values herself on the enlargement of her
notions, and her liberal way of thinking. This superiority of soul
chiefly manifests itself in the contempt of those minute delicacies and
little decorums, which, trifling as they may be thought, tend at once to
dignify the character, and to restrain the levity of the younger part of
the sex.
PERHAPS the error here complained of, originates in mistaking
_sentiment_ and _principle_ for each other. Now I conceive them to be
extremely different. Sentiment is the virtue of _ideas_, and principle
the virtue of _action_. Sentiment has its seat in the head, principle in
the heart. Sentiment suggests fine harangues and subtile distinctions;
principle conceives just notions, and performs good actions in
consequence of them. Sentiment refines away the simplicity of truth and
the plainness of piety; and, as a celebrated wit[6] has remarked of his
no less celebrated contemporary, gives us virtue in words and vice in
deeds. Sentiment may be called the Athenian, who _knew_ what was right,
and principle the Lacedemonian who _practised_ it.
BUT these qualities will be better exemplified by an attentive
consideration of two admirably drawn characters of Milton, which are
beautifully, delicately, and distinctly marked. These are, Belial, who
may not improperly be called the _Demon of Sentiment_; and Abdiel, who
may be termed the _Angel of Principle_.
SURVEY the picture of Belial, drawn by the sublimest hand that ever held
the poetic pencil.
A fairer person lost not heav'n; he seem'd
For dignity compos'd, and high exploit,
But all was false and hollow, tho' his tongue
Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear
The better reason, to perplex and dash
Maturest counsels, for his thoughts were low,
To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds
Tim'rous and slothful; yet he pleas'd the ear.
PARADISE LOST, B. II.
HERE is a lively and exquisite representation of art, subtilty, wit,
fine breeding and polished manners: on the whole, of a very accomplished
and sentimental spirit.
NOW turn to the artless, upright, and unsophisticated Abdiel,
Faithful found
Among the faithless, faithful only he
Among innumerable false, unmov'd,
Unshaken, unseduc'd, unterrified;
His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal.
Nor number, nor example with him wrought
To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind,
Though single.
BOOK V.
BUT it is not from these descriptions, just and striking as they are,
that their characters are so perfectly known, as from an examination of
their conduct through the remainder of this divine work: in which it is
well worth while to remark the consonancy of their actions, with what
the above pictures seem to promise. It will also be observed, that the
contrast between them is kept up throughout, with the utmost exactness
of delineation, and the most animated strength of colouring. On a
review it will be found, that Belial _talked_ all, and Abdiel _did_ all.
The former,
With words still cloath'd in reason's guise,
Counsel'd ignoble ease, and peaceful sloth,
Not peace.