“SENTIMENT out of date!” cries _Worthy_, repeating the words of Miss
_Bourn_, and taking the book from her mother, as she walked towards
the door—“Sentiment out of date—alas! poor _Yorick_—may thy pages
never be soiled by the fingers of prejudice.” He continued his address
to them, as they went out, in the same _Shandean_ tone—“_These_
antisentimentalists would banish thee from the society of all books!
Unto what a pitiful size are the race of _readers_ dwindled! Surely
these _antis_ have more to do with thee, than the gods of the
Canaanites—In character and understanding they are alike—eyes have
_they_, but they see not—ears have _they_, but they hear not, neither
is there any knowledge to be found in them.” “It is hardly worth while
to beat it into them,” said my father-in-law, “so let us follow the
company.”
WE did so—they walked toward the house, and _Worthy_ and myself brought
up the rear.
I COULD not but remark, as we went on, that Miss _Bourn_ had spoken the
sentiments of many of her sex;—“and whence,” said I to _Worthy_, “arises
this detestation of books in _some_ of us females, and why are _they_
enemies to anything that may be called sentiment and conversation: I
grant it often happens there is such rapidity of speeches that one may
be at a loss to distinguish the speakers; but why is there such a calm
silence, should an unfortunate sentiment inadvertently”—“I will tell
you,” interrupted he, “You all read, and it is from the books which
engage your attention, that you generally imbibe your ideas of the
principal subjects discussed in company—now, the books which employ your
hours of study, happen to be Novels; and the _subjects_ contained in
these Novels are commonly confined to _dress_, _balls_, _visiting_, and
the like _edifying_ topicks; does it not follow, that these must be the
subjects of your conversation? I will not dispute whether the Novel
makes the woman, or the woman makes the Novel; or whether they are
written to engage your attention, or flatter your vanity. I believe the
results will shew they depend, in some measure, upon each other; and an
uninformed woman, by reading them, only augments the number of her
futile ideas. _The female mind_, notwithstanding, _is competent to any
talk_, and the accomplishments of an elegant woman depend on a proper
cultivation of her intelligent powers; a barrenness—a sterility of
conversation—immediately discovers where this cultivation is wanting.”
“GIVE me leave,” answered I, “to espouse the cause of this class of
females. Tell me candidly, Mr. _Worthy_, whether that insipid flattery,
perhaps sacrificed at the expense of truth, does not misguide many of us
into erroneous paths? You declare we are handsome—and your conduct
demonstrates you to be more solicitous for the possession of
_beautiful_, than of _mental_ charms. Hence is the deluded female
persuaded of the force of her fascinating powers, and vainly imagines,
one glance of her eye sufficient to reduce a million of hearts whenever
she chooses: Her aims, therefore, are confined to the decoration of her
person, and her views centre solely in finishing herself in those
attractive, all-powerful graces, with which you declare yourselves to be
enchanted. How then are they to be censured for neglecting to improve
the mind, when your adulation diverts their attention to an external
object?”
“I JOIN with you,” replied _Worthy_, “in calling it insipid flattery—and
the vain cox-comb, the powdered beau, the insignificant _petit maître_,
are those who make use of it. Will women of real merit, and sound sense,
believe what is said by _them_ to be _their_ real sentiments?—No—There
must be a congeniality in the minds of those who give and receive
flattery—Has not the vain coquette as much inclination to be thought a
goddess, as the empty admirer to declare her so?
“FLATTERY is become a kind of epidemical distemper: many run into it,
perhaps, without designing it, or only through civility. There are some
women who expect it—who dress to be admired—and who deem it a mark of
impoliteness and rudeness in men, who do not pay them the tribute of
compliment and adulation. A man of sense _may_ comply with their
expectation—he will still think them agreeable _playthings_, to divert
him at an hour of relaxation; but I cannot suppose he will entertain any
serious thoughts of _a more permanent connection_.
“MAY we not conclude these things to be productive of many evils that
happen in society—do they not frighten all sentiment from
conversation—introduce affectation—pride—envy—clandestine
marriages—elopements—division of families—and ultimately terminate in
the ruin of very many innocent, but inconsiderate females?”
By this time we had got into the house, and our company soon after
departed, leaving us at full leisure to contemplate on the many wrong
ideas entertained, and fallacious steps pursued by the generality of
mankind, in the sentimental part of female education.
Adieu!