I think there is not a subject that admits so little of reasoning on as
love; nor can rules be laid down that will not appear to lean too much
one way or the other. Circumstances must, in a great measure, govern the
conduct in this particular; yet who can be a judge in their own case?
Perhaps, before they begin to consider the matter, they see through the
medium of passion, and its suggestions are often mistaken for those of
reason. We can no other way account for the absurd matches we every day
have an opportunity of observing; for in this respect, even the most
sensible men and women err. A variety of causes will occasion an
attachment; an endeavour to supplant another, or being by some accident
confined to the society of one person. Many have found themselves
entangled in an affair of honor, who only meant to fill up the heavy
hours in an amusing way, or raise jealousy in some other bosom.
It is a difficult task to write on a subject when our own passions are
likely to blind us. Hurried away by our feelings, we are apt to set
those things down as general maxims, which only our partial experience
gives rise to. Though it is not easy to say how a person should act
under the immediate influence of passion, yet they certainly have no
excuse who are actuated only by vanity, and deceive by an equivocal
behaviour in order to gratify it. There are quite as many male coquets
as female, and they are far more pernicious pests to society, as their
sphere of action is larger, and they are less exposed to the censure of
the world. A smothered sigh, downcast look, and the many other little
arts which are played off, may give extreme pain to a sincere, artless
woman, though she cannot resent, or complain of, the injury. This kind
of trifling, I think, much more inexcusable than inconstancy; and why it
is so, appears so obvious, I need not point it out.
People of sense and reflection are most apt to have violent and constant
passions, and to be preyed on by them. Neither can they, for the sake of
present pleasure, bear to act in such a manner, as that the retrospect
should fill them with confusion and regret. Perhaps a delicate mind is
not susceptible of a greater degree of misery, putting guilt out of the
question, than what must arise from the consciousness of loving a person
whom their reason does not approve. This, I am persuaded, has often been
the case; and the passion must either be rooted out, or the continual
allowances and excuses that are made will hurt the mind, and lessen the
respect for virtue. Love, unsupported by esteem, must soon expire, or
lead to depravity; as, on the contrary, when a worthy person is the
object, it is the greatest incentive to improvement, and has the best
effect on the manners and temper. We should always try to fix in our
minds the rational grounds we have for loving a person, that we may be
able to recollect them when we feel disgust or resentment; we should
then habitually practise forbearance, and the many petty disputes which
interrupt domestic peace would be avoided. A woman cannot reasonably be
unhappy, if she is attached to a man of sense and goodness, though he
may not be all she could wish.
I am very far from thinking love irresistible, and not to be conquered.
“If weak women go astray,” it is they, and not the stars, that are to be
blamed. A resolute endeavour will almost always overcome difficulties. I
knew a woman very early in life warmly attached to an agreeable man, yet
she saw his faults; his principles were unfixed, and his prodigal turn
would have obliged her to have restrained every benevolent emotion of
her heart. She exerted her influence to improve him, but in vain did she
for years try to do it. Convinced of the impossibility, she determined
not to marry him, though she was forced to encounter poverty and its
attendants.
It is too universal a maxim with novelists, that love is felt but once;
though it appears to me, that the heart which is capable of receiving an
impression at all, and can distinguish, will turn to a new object when
the first is found unworthy. I am convinced it is practicable, when a
respect for goodness has the first place in the mind, and notions of
perfection are not affixed to constancy. Many ladies are delicately
miserable, and imagine that they are lamenting the loss of a lover, when
they are full of self-applause, and reflections on their own superior
refinement. Painful feelings are prolonged beyond their natural course,
to gratify our desire of appearing heroines, and we deceive ourselves as
well as others. When any sudden stroke of fate deprives us of those we
love, we may not readily get the better of the blow; but when we find we
have been led astray by our passions, and that it was our own
imaginations which gave the high colouring to the picture, we may be
certain time will drive it out of our minds. For we cannot often think
of our folly without being displeased with ourselves, and such
reflections are quickly banished. Habit and duty will co-operate, and
religion may overcome what reason has in vain combated with; but
refinement and romance are often confounded, and sensibility, which
occasions this kind of inconstancy, is supposed to have the contrary
effect.
Nothing can more tend to destroy peace of mind, than platonic
attachments. They are begun in false refinement, and frequently end in
sorrow, if not in guilt. The two extremes often meet, and virtue carried
to excess will sometimes lead to the opposite vice. Not that I mean to
insinuate that there is no such thing as friendship between persons of
different sexes; I am convinced of the contrary, I only mean to observe,
that if a woman’s heart is disengaged, she should not give way to a
pleasing delusion, and imagine she will be satisfied with the friendship
of a man she admires, and prefers to the rest of the world. The heart is
very treacherous, and if we do not guard its first emotions, we shall
not afterwards be able to prevent its sighing for impossibilities. If
there are any insuperable bars to an union in the common way, try to
dismiss the dangerous tenderness, or it will undermine your comfort, and
betray you into many errors. To attempt to raise ourselves above human
beings is ridiculous; we cannot extirpate our passions, nor is it
necessary that we should, though it may be wise sometimes not to stray
too near a precipice, lest we fall over before we are aware. We cannot
avoid much vexation and sorrow, if we are ever so prudent; it is then
the part of wisdom to enjoy those gleams of sunshine which do not
endanger our innocence, or lead to repentance. Love gilds all the
prospects of life, and though it cannot always exclude apathy, it makes
many cares appear trifling. Dean Swift hated the world, and only loved
particular persons; yet pride rivalled them. A foolish wish of rising
superior to the common wants and desires of the human species made him
singular, but not respectable. He sacrificed an amiable woman to his
caprice, and made those shun his company who would have been entertained
and improved by his conversation, had he loved any one as well as
himself. Universal benevolence is the first duty, and we should be
careful not to let any passion so engross our thoughts, as to prevent
our practising it. After all the dreams of rapture, earthly pleasures
will not fill the mind, or support it when they have not the sanction of
reason, or are too much depended on. The tumult of passion will subside,
and even the pangs of disappointment cease to be felt. But for the
wicked there is a worm that never dies—a guilty conscience. While that
calm satisfaction which resignation produces, which cannot be described,
but may be attained, in some degree, by those who try to keep in the
strait, though thorny path which leads to bliss, shall sanctify the
sorrows, and dignify the character of virtue.