will be happy enough to find it. The wise son of Sirach pronounces that
you will. "[21]A faithful friend," saith he, "is the medicine of life;
and he that feareth the Lord shall find him. Whoso feareth the Lord
shall direct his friendship aright; for, as he is, so shall his
neighbour be also." In the same admirable book, you will find directions
how to choose and preserve a friend. Indeed there is hardly a
circumstance in life concerning which you may not there meet with the
best advice imaginable. Caution in making friendships is particularly
recommended. "[22]Be in peace with many, nevertheless have but one
counsellor of a thousand. If thou wouldst get a friend, prove him first,
and be not hasty to credit him; for some man is a friend for his own
occasion, and will not abide in the day of trouble. And there is a
friend, who, being turned to enmity and strife, will discover thy
reproach." Again, "Some friend is a companion at the table, and will not
continue in the day of thy affliction; but in thy prosperity he will be
as thyself, and will be bold over thy servants: if thou be brought low,
he will be against thee, and will hide himself from thy face." Chap. ix.
10. "Forsake not an old friend; for the new is not comparable to him--A
new friend is as new wine; when it is old, thou shalt drink it with
pleasure."
When you have discreetly chosen, the next point is how to preserve your
friend. Numbers complain of the fickleness and ingratitude of those on
whom they bestowed their affection; but few examine, whether what they
complain of is not owing to themselves. Affection is not like a portion
of freehold land, which once settled upon you is a possession for ever,
without further trouble on your part. If you grow less deserving, or
less attentive to please, you must expect to see the effects of your
remissness, in the gradual decline of your friend's esteem and
attachment. Resentment and reproaches will not recal what you have lost;
but, on the contrary, will hasten the dissolution of every remaining
tie. The best remedy is, to renew your care and assiduity to deserve and
cultivate affection, without seeming to have perceived its abatement.
Jealousy and distrust are the bane of friendship, whose essence is
esteem and affiance. But if jealousy is expressed by unkind upbraidings,
or, what is worse, by cold haughty looks and insolent contempt, it can
hardly fail, if often repeated, to realize the misfortune, which at
first perhaps was imaginary. Nothing can be more an antidote to
affection than such behaviour, or than the cause of it, which, in
reality, is nothing but pride; though the jealous person would fain
attribute it to uncommon tenderness and delicacy: but tenderness is
never so expressed: it is indeed deeply sensible of unkindness, but it
cannot be unkind;--it may subsist with anger, but not with contempt;--it
may be weakened, or even killed, by ingratitude; but it cannot be
changed into hatred. Remember always, that if you would be _loved_, you
must be _amiable_. Habit may, indeed, for a time, supply the deficiency
of merit; what we have long loved we do not easily cease to love; but
habit will at length be conquered by frequent disgusts.--"[23]Whoso
casteth a stone at the birds, frayeth them away; and he that upbraideth
his friend, breaketh friendship. Though thou drewest a sword at thy
friend, yet despair not, for there may be a returning to favour. If thou
hast opened thy mouth against thy friend, fear not, for there may be a
reconciliation; excepting for _upbraiding_, or _pride_, or _disclosing
of secrets_, or a _treacherous wound_,--for, for these things every
friend will depart."
I have hitherto spoken of a friend in the singular number, rather in
compliance with the notions of most writers, who have treated of
friendship, and who generally suppose it can have but one object, than
from my own ideas. The highest kind of friendship is indeed confined to
one;--I mean the conjugal, which, in its perfection, is so entire and
absolute an union of interest, will, and affection, as no other
connection can stand in competition with. But there are various degrees
of friendship, which can admit of several objects, esteemed, and
delighted in, for different qualities, and whose separate rights are
perfectly compatible. Perhaps it is not possible to love two persons
exactly in the same degree; yet, the difference may be so small, that
none of the parties can be certain on which side the scale
preponderates.
It is narrowness of mind to wish to confine your friend's affection
solely to yourself; since you are conscious that, however perfect your
attachment may be, you cannot possibly supply to her all the blessings
she may derive from several friends, who may each love her as well as
you do, and may each contribute largely to her happiness. If she depends
on you alone for all the comforts and advantages of friendship, your
absence or death may leave her desolate and forlorn. If therefore you
prefer her good to your own selfish gratification, you should rather
strive to multiply her friends, and be ready to embrace in your
affections all who love, and deserve her love: this generosity will
bring its own reward, by multiplying the sources of your pleasures and
supports; and your first friend will love you the more for such an
endearing proof of the extent of your affection, which can stretch to
receive all who are dear to her. But if, on the contrary, every mark of
esteem shewn to another excites uneasiness or resentment in you, the
person you love must soon feel her connection with you a burden and
restraint. She can own no obligation to so selfish an attachment; nor
can her tenderness be increased by that which lessens her esteem. If she
is really fickle and ungrateful, she is not worth your reproaches: If
not, she must be reasonably offended by such injurious imputations.
You do not want to be told, that the strictest fidelity is required in
friendship: and though possibly instances might be brought, in which
even the secret of a friend must be sacrificed to the calls of justice
and duty, yet these are rare and doubtful cases; and we may venture to
pronounce that, "[24]Whoso discovereth secrets, loseth his credit, and
shall never find a friend to his mind."--"Love thy friend, and be
faithful unto him: but if thou betrayest his secrets, follow no more
after him. For as a man that hath destroyed his enemy, so hast thou
destroyed the love of thy friend. As one that letteth a bird go out of
his hand, so hast thou let thy neighbour go. Follow no more after him,
for he is too far off; he is as a roe escaped out of the snare. As for a
wound, it may be bound up; and after revilings there may be
reconcilement; but he that betrayeth secrets is without hope."
But in order to reconcile this inviolable fidelity with the duty you owe
to yourself or others, you must carefully guard against being made the
repository of such secrets as are not fit to be kept. If your friend
should engage in any unlawful pursuit--if, for instance, she should
intend to carry on an affair of love, unknown to her parents--you must
first use your utmost endeavours to dissuade her from it; and if she
persists, positively and solemnly declare against being a confidant in
such a case. Suffer her not to speak to you on the subject, and warn her
to forbear acquainting you with any step she may propose to take towards
a marriage unsanctified by parental approbation. Tell her, you would
think it your duty to apprize her parents of the danger into which she
was throwing herself. However unkindly she may take this at the time,
she will certainly esteem and love you the more for it, whenever she
recovers a sense of her duty, or experiences the sad effects of swerving
from it.
There is another case, which I should not choose to suppose possible, in
addressing myself to so young a person, was it not that too many
instances of it have of late been exposed to public animadversion: I
mean the case of a married woman, who encourages or tolerates the
addresses of a lover. May no such person be ever called a friend of
your's! but if ever one, whom, when innocent, you had loved, should fall
into so fatal an error, I can only say that, after proper remonstrances,
you must immediately withdraw from all intimacy and confidence with her.
Nor let the absurd pretence of _innocent intentions_, in such
circumstances, prevail with you to lend your countenance a moment to
disgraceful conduct. There cannot be innocence, in any degree of
indulgence to unlawful passion. The sacred obligations of marriage are
very ill understood by the wife, who can think herself innocent, while
she parleys with a lover, or with love, and who does not shut her heart
and ears against the most distant approaches of either. A virtuous
wife--though she should be so unhappy as not to be secured, by having
her strongest affections fixed on her husband--will never admit an idea
of any other man, in the light of a lover; but if such an idea should
unawares intrude into her mind, she would instantly stifle it, before it
grew strong enough to give her much uneasiness. Not to the most intimate
friend--hardly to her own soul--would she venture to confess a weakness,
she would so sincerely abhor. Whenever therefore such infidelity of
heart is made a subject of confidence, depend upon it the corruption has
spread far, and has been faultily indulged. Enter not into her counsels:
show her the danger she is in, and then withdraw yourself from it,
whilst you are yet unsullied by contagion.
It has been supposed a duty of friendship to lay open every thought and
every feeling of the heart to our friend. But I have just mentioned a
case, in which this is not only unnecessary, but wrong. A disgraceful
inclination, which we resolve to conquer, should be concealed from every
body; and is more easily subdued when denied the indulgence of talking
of its object; and, I think, there may be other instances, in which it
would be most prudent to keep our thoughts concealed even from our
dearest friend. Some things I would communicate to one friend, and not
to another, whom perhaps I loved better, because I might know that my
first friend was not so well qualified as the other to counsel me on
that particular subject: a natural bias on her mind, some prevailing
opinion, or some connection with persons concerned, might make her an
improper confidant with regard to one particular, though qualified to be
so on all other occasions.
This confidence of friendship is indeed one of its sweetest pleasures
and greatest advantages. The human heart often stands in need of some
kind and faithful partner of its cares, in whom it may repose all its
weaknesses, and with whom it is sure of finding the tenderest sympathy.
Far be it from me to shut up the heart with cold distrust, and rigid
caution, or to adopt the odious maxim, that "we should live with a
friend, as if he were one day to become an enemy." But we must not
wholly abandon prudence in any sort of connection; since, when every
guard is laid aside, our unbounded openness may injure others as well as
ourselves. Secrets entrusted to us must be sacredly kept even from our
nearest friend: for we have no right to dispose of the secrets of
others.
If there is danger in making an improper choice of friends, my dear
child, how much more fatal would it be to mistake in a stronger kind of
attachment--in that which leads to an irrevocable engagement for life!
yet so much more is the understanding blinded, when once the fancy is
captivated, that it seems a desperate undertaking to convince a girl in
love that she has mistaken the character of the man she prefers.
If the passions would wait for the decision of judgment, and if a young
woman could have the same opportunities of examining into the real
character of her lover, as into that of a female candidate for her
friendship, the same rules might direct you in the choice of both: for
marriage being the highest state of friendship, the qualities requisite
in a friend are still more important in a husband. But young women know
so little of the world, especially of the other sex, and such pains are
usually taken to deceive them, that they are every way unqualified to
choose for themselves, upon their own judgment. Many a heart-ache shall
I feel for you, my sweet girl, if I live a few years longer! Since, not
only all your happiness in this world, but your advancement in religion
and virtue, or your apostacy from every good principle you have been
taught, will probably depend on the companion you fix to for life. Happy
will it be for you, if you are wise and modest enough to withdraw from
temptation, and preserve your heart free and open to receive the just
recommendation of your parents: further than a recommendation, I dare
say they will never go, in an affair which, though it should be begun by
them, ought never to be proceeded in without your free concurrence.
Whatever romantic notions you may hear or read of, depend upon it, those
matches are the happiest which are made on rational grounds--on
suitableness of character, degree, and fortune--on mutual esteem, and the
prospect of a real and permanent friendship. Far be it from me to advise
you to marry where you do not love;--a mercenary marriage is a detestable
prostitution. But, on the other hand, an union formed upon mere personal
liking, without the requisite foundation of esteem, without the sanction
of parental approbation, and, consequently, without the blessing of God,
can be productive of nothing but misery and shame. The passion, to which
every consideration of duty and prudence is sacrificed, instead of
supplying the loss of all other advantages, will soon itself be changed
into mutual distrust--repentance--reproaches--and, finally, perhaps into
hatred. The distresses it brings will be void of every consolation; you
will have disgusted the friends who should be your support--debased
yourself in the eyes of the world--and, what is much worse, in your own
eyes, and even in those of your husband: above all, you will have
offended that God, who alone can shield you from calamity.
From an act like this, I trust, your duty and gratitude to your kind
parents--the first of dudes next to that we owe to God, and inseparably
connected with it--will effectually preserve you. But most young people
think they have fulfilled their duty, if they refrain from actually
marrying against prohibition: they suffer their affections, and even
perhaps their word of honour, to be engaged, without consulting their
parents; yet satisfy themselves with resolving not to marry without
their consent: not considering, that, besides the wretched, useless,
uncomfortable state they plunge _themselves_ into, when they contract an
hopeless engagement, they must likewise involve a _parent_ in the
miserable dilemma of either giving a forced consent against his
judgment, or of seeing his beloved child pine away her prime of life in
fruitless anxiety--seeing her accuse him of tyranny, because he
restrains her from certain ruin--seeing her affections alienated from
her family--and all her thoughts engrossed by one object, to the
destruction of her health and spirits, and of all improvements and
occupations. What a cruel alternative for parents, whose happiness is
bound up with that of their child! The time to consult them is before
you have given a lover the least encouragement; nor ought you to listen
a moment to the man who would wish you to keep his addresses secret;
since he thereby shows himself conscious that they are not fit to be
encouraged.
But perhaps I have said enough on this subject at present; though, if
ever advice on such a topic can be of use, it must be before passion has
got possession of the heart, and silenced both reason and principle. Fix
therefore in your mind, as deeply as possible, those rules of duty and
prudence which now seem reasonable to you, that they may be at hand in
the hour of trial, and save you from the miseries, in which strong
affections, unguided by discretion, involve so many of our sex.
If you love virtue sincerely, you will be incapable of loving an openly
vicious character. But, alas! your innocent heart may be easily ensnared
by an artful one--and from this danger nothing can secure you but the
experience of those, to whose guidance God has entrusted you: may you be
wise enough to make use of it!--So will you have the fairest chance of
attaining the best blessings this world can afford, in a faithful and
virtuous union with a worthy man, who may direct your steps in safety
and honour through this life, and partake with you the rewards of virtue
in that which is to come. But, if this happy lot should be denied you,
do not be afraid of a single life. A worthy woman is never destitute of
valuable friends, who in a great measure supply to her the want of
nearer connections. She can never be slighted or disesteemed, while her
good temper and benevolence render her a blessing to her companions.
Nay, she must be honoured by all persons of sense and virtue, for
preferring the single state to an union unworthy of her. The calamities
of an unhappy marriage are so much greater than can befall a single
person, that the unmarried woman may find abundant argument to be
contented with her condition, when pointed out to her by Providence.
Whether married or single, if your first care is to please God, you will
undoubtedly be a blessed creature;--"For that which he delights in _must
be happy_." How earnestly I wish you this happiness, you can never know,
unless you could read the heart of
Your truly affectionate.
FOOTNOTES:
[21] Ecclus v.
[22] Ibid. vi.
[23] Ecclus. xxii. 20.
[24] Ecclus. xxvii. 16.
LETTER VI.
ON THE GOVERNMENT OF THE TEMPER.
THE next great point of importance to your future happiness, my dear, is
what your parents have, doubtless, been continually attentive to from
your infancy, as it is impossible to undertake it too early--I mean the
due Regulation of your Temper. Though you are in great measure indebted
to their forming hands for whatever is good in it, you are sensible, no
doubt, as every human creature is, of propensities to some infirmity of
temper, which it must now be _your own_ care to correct and to subdue:
otherwise the pains that have hitherto been taken with you may all
become fruitless; and, when you are your own mistress, you may relapse
into those faults, which were originally in your nature, and which will
require to be diligently watched and kept under, through the whole
course of your life.
If you consider, that the constant tenor of the gospel precepts is to
promote love, peace, and good-will amongst men, you will not doubt that
the cultivation of an amiable disposition is a great part of your
religious duty: since nothing leads more directly to the breach of
charity, and to the injury and molestation of our fellow-creatures, than
the indulgence of an ill-temper. Do not therefore think lightly of the
offences you may commit, for want of a due command over it, or suppose
yourself responsible for them to your fellow-creatures only; but, be
assured, you must give a strict account of them all to the Supreme
Governor of the world, who has made this a great part of your appointed
trial upon earth.
A woman, bred up in a religious manner, placed above the reach of want,
and out of the way of sordid or scandalous vices, can have but few
temptations to the flagrant breach of the Divine laws. It particularly
concerns her therefore to understand them in their full import, and to
consider how far she trespasses against them, by such actions as appear
trivial when compared with murder, adultery, and theft, but which become
of very great importance, by being frequently repeated, and occurring in
the daily transactions of life.
The principal virtues or vices of a woman must be of a private and
domestic kind. Within the circle of her own family and dependents lies
her sphere of action--the scene of almost all those tasks and trials,
which must determine her character, and her fate, here and hereafter.
Reflect, for a moment, how much the happiness of her husband, children,
and servants, must depend on her temper, and you will see that the
greatest good, or evil, which she ever may have in her power to do, may
arise from her correcting or indulging its infirmities.
Though I wish the principle of duty towards God to be your ruling motive
in the exercise of every virtue, yet, as human nature stands in need of
all possible helps, let us not forget how essential it is to present
happiness, and to the enjoyment of this life, to cultivate such a temper
as is likewise indispensably requisite to the attainment of higher
felicity in the life to come. The greatest outward blessings cannot
afford enjoyment to a mind ruffled and uneasy within itself. A fit of
ill-humour will spoil the finest entertainment, and is as real a torment
as the most painful disease. Another unavoidable consequence of
ill-temper is the dislike and aversion of all who are witnesses to it,
and, perhaps, the deep and lasting resentment of those who suffer from
its effects. We all, from social or self-love, earnestly desire the
esteem and affection of our fellow-creatures; and indeed our condition
makes them so necessary to us, that the wretch who has forfeited them,
must feel desolate and undone, deprived of all the best enjoyments and
comforts the world can afford, and given up to his inward misery,
unpitied and scorned. But this can never be the fate of a good-natured
person: whatever faults he may have, they will generally be treated with
lenity; he will find an advocate in every human heart; his errors will
be lamented rather than abhorred; and his virtues will be viewed in the
fairest point of light. His good humour, without the help of great
talents or acquirements, will make his company preferable to that of the
most brilliant genius, in whom this quality is wanting; in short, it is
almost impossible that you can be sincerely beloved by any body, without
this engaging property, whatever other excellencies you may possess;
but, with it, you will scarcely fail of finding some friends and
favourers, even though you should be destitute of almost every other
advantage.
Perhaps you will say, all this is very true; "but our tempers are not in
our own power; we are made with different dispositions, and, if mine is
not amiable, it is rather my unhappiness than my fault." This, my dear,
is commonly said by those who will not take the trouble to correct
themselves. Yet, be assured, it is a delusion, and will not avail in our
justification before Him, "who knoweth whereof we are made," and of what
we are capable. It is true, we are not all equally happy in our
dispositions; but human virtue consists in cherishing and cultivating
every good inclination, and in checking and subduing every propensity to
evil. If you had been born with a bad temper, it might have been made a
good one, at least with regard to its outward effects, by education,
reason, and principle: and, though you are so happy as to have a good
one while young, do not suppose it will always continue so, if you
neglect to maintain a proper command over it. Power, sickness,
disappointments, or worldly cares, may corrupt and embitter the finest
disposition, if they are not counteracted by reason and religion.