telling you that M^r. & M^{rs}. Fenton, experienced the good effects of
coming to an Éclaircissement, and having a real dependance on the
Generosity & good sense of each other, it may be unnecessary to add
perhaps, that they became the esteem, & admiration of their
neighbourhood; still I tell you of it, because it’s pleasant to dwell on
such subjects, & not to leave a doubt on the mind of those who
contemplate them with satisfaction, as every judge of real merit must,
from their own fund of Natural Benevolence—M^r. Fenton, from a Man
distinguished for his Indifference and Taciturnity—became as remarkable
for his Even Chearfulness, and social Humour—Lydia lost nothing of her
Sprightly Talents, by making many of his Maxims, her own—and added to
the reputation of being a most agreable Woman, that of being as
respectable, as lively. A numerous offspring, together with the Habit of
acting in Concert upon all occasions, has so rivited their affections, &
Principles, that a description of their manners has rather the air of a
romantic Fiction, than any thing which exists in real Life—consequently
the truest reflection, and at the same time the bitterest satyr, which
can be made on the present system of Wedlock is, that to think & act as
they do, will be the ready means, of making a Couple pass for
Romantic.—Sincerity, Constancy, Generosity, and tenderness, are rarely
to be found. They are so much out of use, that People of Mode imagine
them to be out of Nature. I borrow this Thought from a letter in Swifts
Collection—it is, There applied to Friendship, I remember, and as the
Passage struck me, I will endeavor to give you the whole of it, I quote
from Memory. “We meet, with few Friends: the greatest part of those,
who, pass for such, are properly speaking, nothing more than
acquaintances; and no Wonder, since Tully’s Maxim is certainly true,
that Friendship can subsist non nisi inter bonus [_sic_], at that age of
Life, when there is balm in the Blood, and that Confidence in the Mind,
which the innocency of our own heart inspires, and the Experience of
other People’s destroys. I was apt to confound my Acquaintance & my
friends together. I never doubted but I had a numerous Cohort of the
Latter.—but the fire of Adversity has purged the mass of my
Acquaintances, and the separation made, I discover on one side, a
handful of friends; but on the other, a Legion of Enemies, at least of
strangers.—Happily this fiery trial has had an effect on me, which makes
me some amends. I have found less Resource in other People, and more in
myself, than I expected.” Have you formed an Acquaintance with my dear
M^{rs}. Stratton, James? I hope you have, because I think her Mind of
that Cast, which must inevitably please you when once known—her reserve
is imputed to be as a foible in this part of the world, by superficial
observers—but to me, it speaks an Additional Charm in her Character—As I
love those Dispositions, which do not unfold themselves to all alike,
but reserve for a few, a distinguished Few! their Ingenuousness and
pleasing Powers—Such Persons, never attract the Notice of the World in a
great Measure, but they generally make the steadiest Friends and kindest
support in every serious relation of Life.—and this once known, We must
feel a Superior degree of esteem for Them—As the very Indifference which
displeases mere Acquaintance, is a tacit acknowledgement of their
sincerity when they profess to like any Individual; and in fact, a very
high Compliment to the Person so noticed; as We may observe, that
Reserve and, Indifference immediately give Place, to Ingenuous
Communications, and a desire to please, when once they profess to regard
any body with real affection—I own to you, I greatly admire those
Characters, who can hold general applause so cheap, as never to think of
trying for it—a wariness to prevent Censure, every delicate mind must
practise—but any thing farther from the World than mere Indifference or
silence, seems not to be the aim, of these rightly formed Creatures, and
truely, when one sees the Scandal, Malice, & Detraction, which Vivacity
Address—and the Desire of pleasing, Subjects People of Brilliant Talents
to—there’s nothing methinks very enviable, in their Powers—especially if
they are not (as I’ve heard is the case) so well qualified to discharge
the softer Engagements of Society, as the undisplaying Tempers of a
sombre hue.—If you observe, throughout your whole acquaintance my dear
James—I dare say you’ll find—that the most serious, & quiet natures,
attach Husbands, Lovers, friends, & children to them much more strongly
than the Gay Agreables do—and this might be easily accounted for.—I dare
say too—that Minds of such a Cast are much more capable of any thing
Great, and worthy of Record, than the Vivacious fair ones—for it is the
Curse of these to fail in exciting esteem—tho’ they often Charm—and
seldom fail to amuse—but such is the degeneracy of the Times, that a
Woman must have deep Reflection indeed, who, unassisted by Excellent
Advisers can rise superior to the Amiable Triflers Character—As Men of
almost all Denominations prefer it to that of any other species—and no
Wonder—for where Marriage is made subservient to a wretch’d plan’d
system of Convenience, Men Doubtless, will often find their Home a seat
of Irksomeness; and fly to any thing, or any body, who can divest them
of Thinking—’tis then, that the agreable Trifler, feels her own
Importance—and judges, that it ought to be, the summit of female
Perfection, because it often pleases when Sense, Birth & Prudence, fail
to attach or Amuse; not considering, poor Thing, that it’s Merit, is
principally founded, on the Defects of the other Sex—for if Men were
Wise, at all times they would always Act from Principle—consequently
only be amused by the Trifling, and give their serious attachments to
the seriously Deserving—but this can never be till Marriage becomes an
affair of the Heart, as till then, Men never can be satisfied to ponder
& reflect on the spring of their own actions with impartiality, that is
if they have any remain of sensibility in them—for so true a reverence
has every one for himself, when He comes clearly to appear before his
Close Companion Conscience; that He had rather profess the Vilest Things
of himself in Company, than hear his Character privately from his own
mouth. So that we may from hence conclude, That the chief Interest of
Ambition, Avarice, Corruption, and every sly, insinuating Vice, is to
prevent this Intimacy, and familiarity of Discourse which is consequent
upon close Retirement, and inward Recess.—and to avoid it—the Man, or
Woman, of frailty, will ever seek Dissipation in all its forms, till
that even becomes toilsome as the severest Manual Labour—I never had so
high an Idea of the Recluse Character as I have at Present, nor so
contemptible a one of the frivolous—as I cannot help thinking that the
former must be conscious of his own superiority in every thing which
regards the Heart, or He never could submit to live without those aids
which society furnishes—and as to the latter, He could not be insensible
enough, to make a toil of Diversion (the Wise intention of which was to
unbend the Mind only) if He had that Credit with himself which enables a
Man to question his own Heart, without any fear of its Reproofs on the
score of Vice—Here’s—Morality for you my dear James—but I hope it will
not displease you—as I cannot help thinking it confirms my own good
Resolutions, when I thus, give forth—a voice to its Dictates either in
writing or Discourse——I shall strenuously urge M^r. Draper to let me
return to England next year—that is about January next at farthest—As he
always promised—that I should be with my Girl, by the time she was
twelve years old, whether He was desirous, or ready to quit India, by
that time, or not—in October next, she will be eleven—& I hope—I hope!
M^r. Draper will not forfeit his Word to me—his Prospects, as to the
Broach Affair will be then settled—and his fortune is so easy, that He
may without prejudice to it, allow me four or five hundred a year, I
desire no more—my Residence of Choice, would be in some one of the
Villages near Town, as I mean to have Eliza entirely with me—& must be
near the Metropolis on account of the necessary Masters for her
Instruction—otherwise I should have to fix at some distance from
London—as I know, the Self Denial requisite to avoid Participation in
Gay Scenes, is by no means a pleasing Sensation, tho’ a very necessary
one, to Persons of greater taste than affluence—and I would at any time
rather avoid Temptation, than be obliged to resist it (which I must
do—if seated in the midst of it)—as I have no Idea that my Philosophy is
of that Invulnerable sort, that may safely defy all outward attacks,
without the least risk of endangering it. The Parthian Discipline, to
fight Flying is the properest Method of Defence a Woman can make when
Danger or Temptations assail her Courage—but to guard against their
approaches is still better Policy, as well as more Amiable—because it
evinces Wisdom & Modesty too—both highly praiseworthy in the Female
Character—and reflective of Light upon each other—when gracefully
exerted—I am as sensible, as yourself, my dear, of the necessity there
may be for my being in England before Betsey is much older—I can, and
will speak plainer than you have done—as a proof of which I now tell
you, that I do not think M^{rs}. Whitehills at all a proper Protection
for Betsey—in the first Place, because she has never been a Parent
herself—in the next, because Misfortunes in the Early part of her Life,
when her Affections were warm, and Expectations high, have given, to a
mind naturally active & Chearful—both an Indolent, & reserved Cast—the
former disqualifies her, for attending to the Minutiæ in a Childs
Education, and the latter for encouraging, that species of
Communicativeness, which is the Cement of Affection between a Child and
it’s Monitress—I have another objection to M^{rs}. Whitehills
Patronage—which may seem at first, to have an ungenerous
sound—but I mean nothing illiteral by it—and that is, her narrow
Circumstances——Betsey has a chance for living Elegantly, and I am afraid
from the natural bent of her mind that if she is suddenly translated
from one extreme of Life to another, she may be apt to forget her
obligations to M^{rs}. Whitehall, and regulate her opinion of her, by
her situation—this is but too natural, to Girls of lively Propensities,
especially if they are taught to look forward to the luxuries, as to a
real Good—and all Preceptors, & Preceptress’s teach this, more or less,
for what else can be implied, by their servile Attention to Parents and
Persons of Wealth—however Denominated, as to Character. A conduct of the
above sort, in Betsey, to M^{rs}. Whitehill, would indeed distress me
exceedingly; & well I know, it would to the Soul, mortify that sensible
Woman—for she has all those finer Sensibilities, w’ch Affliction &
Pecuniary Embarrassments, rather gives a sharper edge to, than blunts by
the trial of perverse Accidents—and for this reason—Independent of my
Wishes on her own Account, I do most seriously wish, that her situation
in Life had been perfectly easy—Children, in general—have amazing Powers
as to observation & memory—Betsey, I am confident, possesses these—&
they may enable her to retain as to matters in which I had rather she
was perfectly ignorant. Had M^{rs}. Whitehill been a Mother—had her
fortune been affluent, and her tenderness of Heart a little more
Conspicuous—I know not the Woman who could have been more capable of
forming the Minds of Young People, for she has great Good Sense,
Generosity of Temper, a Mind Naturally Chearful, & prone to make every
thing it’s own with the assistance of very little Application, then she
reads, writes, speakes, not only correctly but gracefully, these are all
Important Advantages. I can & do feel the weight of them, & shall for
ever think my self obliged for Her—unsolicited offer to take Charge of
the Children—I should have loved her better perhaps, if I had thought it
proceeded from a Principle of Affection to myself rather than
Generosity—but this is foolish to say—or think—as We certainly can rely
more securely on those Qualities which are implanted in the breast by
nature herself & confirmed by Choice & Habit, than on those partial
Affections, which Caprice, Absence, Time, or Chance Eradicate.’Tis
certain that I in my Life, could never be induced to Unbend my whole
soul in the Presence of M^{rs}. Whitehill—there was a consent of Minds,
a something wanting, which enables the playful sincere Heart, to
disclose it’s follies, it’s Wishes, with the genuine warmth of kind
Simplicity, and without the suspicion of being any way a sufferer, by
the frank disclosure. Betsey’s Temper, partakes much of the nature of my
own, & if her observation is of the same stamp—she will have her
Reserves to M^{rs}. Whitehill, & this will inculcate an artifice which
is at all times hateful, and more particularly so in the Girlish
Character—which ought to be composed of frankness, Generosity, and all
the mild Attributes, suitable to the Age of Innocence.—Oh my dear James!
what an important Task is it to train a young mind properly to all the
Duties of Society! and yet how shamefully is it neglected by
Guardians—Teachers, and even by Parents themselves! and for what is it
too often Neglected? even for some sorry purpose of dirty interest—or
more contemptible one, of Thoughtless Dissipation—the first ought ever
to be subservient to our childrens Welfare—instead of taking place of
it—as a primary Consideration, and the last can only amuse for a While,
at best, and yet to pursue these Ideal Satisfactions—we too, too often,
neglect a permanent Good—in leaving to the blind guidance of Chance, a
study, which if properly cultivated, might be the source of all our
Pleasures—when Age & Decency urges the Propriety of making way for
Younger Actors in the busy Scenes of Life’s Stage.—I know not a more
disgraceful Picture of human nature—than that of Old People frequenting
the paths assigned to Youth—& folly—or a more delightful survey to the
Intelligent Mind, than that of Age, retiring to the Sequester’d Valley,
beloved by it’s Offspring, Honor’d by it’s Dependants—and Reverenced by
All—But this can only, with reason be expected, when in Youth—We give up
something to the Claims of our Children. Our _Time_, I must ever think
of as their lawful Property—this once Devoted to them, & judiciously
arranged for the Purpose of Solid Improvements—They must be a Blessing
to us—if Nature has not forgot indeed or much erred, in the Execution of
her part.—I do declare to you my friend, that when I am once settled in
England—Betsey shall be as inseparable from me, as my Right Hand is from
my left.—I am astonished at the Reasoning of those Parents, who can
imagine that a Venal person will do justice to their Children for the
sake of a Pecuniary Reward; when they themselves, betray an
unwillingness to forming their Principles, and Manners by the
resignation of Time, or the sacrifice of what’s call’d Diversions. I
have no Idea, but a Girl must improve a thousand times more, under the
Tutorage of a Prudent Mother, than from the Documents of the most
sensible & accomplished Governess whatever.—A Boarding School, may be a
very proper seminary for an Actress—as there she may learn to lisp
before a numerous audience—and to lose that Bashfulness so prejudicial
to the Cares of Fame, in the way of Public Excellence—but for a Child,
who is to aspire no higher, than to the Character of a private Gentle
Woman, it is I think, the very worst Nursery she can possibly be fixed
in—so thinking, do you not pity me James, when you connect the Idea of
Betseys situation with this plain assurance? take into the account too,
my Dear, that all my Prospects of Worldly Happiness are dependant on the
Rectitude, Manners & Establishment of this beloved Child—Think of my
being obliged to submit all these Important Concerns to Chance, and that
for no better Reason, than to remain an useless Spectator in a
detestable Country, where my Health is declining, my Mind tortured by
the Sacrifice of my own just Wishes—to a most illiberal species of
Reasoning, founded on Caprice—and then my Dear Woman, You will but do
justice to my sorrow—if you think, and pronounce—that of all Beings the
most worthy your Compassion at present is your unfortunate Friend—your
almost, broken Hearted Eliza.——I am indeed—Unhappy! I think,
superlatively so!—but I will try to divest myself of this Notion,—as,
with Nerves like Mine, it might accelerate a Fate, I wish to avoid, for
the sake of my Dearer self—for Betsey, would never get such another
Monitress—as I am Qualified to be to her—My Disappointments—real
Afflictions, & Natural turn of Mind—all have added to a tenderness for
her, which ever, I think, was fondly maternal—and encouraged me, to
stake my last Chance for Happiness on her Head—May Heaven crown my
pleased Hopes with Success, and I think I shall not repine at whatever
else, it’s Providence imposes.—I am going to some Warm Springs of the
same quality nearly, as the Bath Waters—a Bilious Complaint, obliges me
to this Expedition—I wish it did not—for a change of scene here, is
attended with great fatigue, as well as an immoderate Expence—owing to
the necessity of our carrying, Tents, Equipage, and every Household
Convenience along with us—I shall be absent only a Month—and yet my
Expences in that time, in spite of economy, will amount to as great a
sum, as would defray the Charges of a Voyage to England. Would to God!
the money was to be so appropriated in preference to my Laving, and
Commencing “Phthisical Nymph of the Fountain.”—but it will not be—and I
must endeavor to rest satisfied, till next year—I sometimes think, my
dear James—that our present Differences Here, may induce the Directors
to send us a Governor from England, in preference to appointing any of
the Gentlemen Here to succeed—in which Case, your Commodore I suppose
has a Chance of succeeding to the Chair, if he chooses to Exert his
Interest, to obtain it—I own to you, in that Case my dear, that my
wishes for seeing you accompany Him are not very sanguine—the
Climate—the Society—are dreadful Taxations, on the Mind as well as
Body’s Health—and I wish you to preserve yours, serene, and Chearful, as
long as you live, and to a good old age, without any of those Rubs of
Disturbances—ill Health, & worse spirits usually Creates.—Your little
Maiden too—how would you dispose of her? I like not your bringing her
with you, nor yet the Idea of your seperating from her for years
together—James, I think, is rather attached to this Country, see, an
Instance, of the force of Habit, in this—for absolutely, it is not, not
otherwise to be justified on any one Principle of Sound Reasoning—or
Agreable Caprice for there never was a greater Dearth, of every thing
which could charm the Heart—please the Fancy, or speak to the Judgment,
than what reigns in Bombay, nor Wit, Beauty, Sense, Merit, have We—nor
yet Taste—Humour, Amusements—Social Converse—and as to Worth in it’s
different Species; of Honor, Character—benevolence, Industry—and what is
Emphatically meant, by Superior Abilities—We either are too ignorant to
know the real Estimation of Them—or so far degenerate, as to laugh at
their ascribed Powers, when any selfish Purpose can be gratified, by the
Derision of Them—Such are the People I associate with, such must be your
Fate, my dear Woman, if you visit this Country—Happy for you—that your
Mind is formed, & has that natural Bias to Goodness, which cannot now be
perverted, by the Maxims, & Examples of a wretched Community—I wish you
my dear Friend, all the Happiness, you can possibly wish yourself, and
therefore I never wish to see you in India.—Indeed you do me but justice
in thinking that my Regard for your little Treasure must equal the
tenderness you shew towards mine, for ’tis certain that I am just as
sincere in wishing her Welfare, as I am in wishing that of Betseys—and I
flatter myself, dear James, that these Young Plants of ours will not
Emulate us more in anything else, than they will in the affection they
bear to each other—for it would be a source of joy to me, to see them
capable of a lively friendship, and each considering the other as a
second self—for which purpose, I would endeavor to instill into the mind
of Eliza, how very superior the pleasure of obliging is, to that of
gratifying any Inclination which has self, only, or even principally,
for it’s object.—as I’m confident such a mode of thinking must lead to
the attainment of every social Virtue, and diffuse a Complacency
throughout the whole manner which would please every Sensible Observer,
and insure heartfelt peace to the Possesser of it—if any Acquisition in
nature can effect so desired a Purpose. I could wish my dear—when your
little Maiden begins to handle the Pen, that a Correspondence might be
commenced between her and Betsey, as an Intercourse of this kind between
young People is often promotive of the most endearing offices, & might
be made highly conducive to their reciprocal Improvement in various
ways, as well as lead to Perfection in an Art, which certainly is a
valuable accomplishment in Young Women—for nothing expands the Mind, and
gives advantages to style, more, than the early Practise of familiar
letter writing—for which Purpose, I would endeavor to make it agreable
to them, by suffering them to carry it on without the least Restraint—as
it is not to be imagined how quick the Progress of Improvement
frequently is in such Cases—both our Girls, seem to have lively
Talents—here’s a fine field for the Display of them—and their Ignorance,
their Innocence rather, renders it impossible that they should be the
means of Injuring each other—no matter if they spell incorrectly and
scribble nothing but nonsense—their doing even this, will pave the way
to their acquitting themselves better—and there is to young as well as
old, a joy in giving way to the dictates of fancy only, when they
imagine that none superior to themselves will pass judgment on the
Performance, and for this Reason my James—I would not attempt, or wish
to make them think that I had any desire to view their Epistles.—but
this my Friend, I submit entirely to you—What a letter have I wrote, and
how I have wrote it, but no matter, if you can but read it, for it is
too long to write over again—and indeed if it was not, I am not fond of
the practise of copying—it looks as if we wrote for applause, or were
afraid to entrust our friends with our first Thoughts, which certainly,
are in general the best Picture of our Minds—for tho’ after Reflection,
may enable us to improve the Drapery by heightening the Colouring, it’s
a great Doubt with me if we ever improve the likeness by attempting to
give grace to the Features, and quere whether we can be satisfied to
embellish some parts of a Portrait, without endeavoring to do as much by
the whole, when the Pencil is once in our hands, and the fancy of
improving very strong upon us—therefore I deem it more fair to give the
first sketch, whether of the rude or elegant sort, when we mean to
convey an Idea of Truth, to our Friends, or People of real Taste—For
such will always make kinder allowances for an Artist, than He in
Modesty could make for Himself. Adieu! my beloved Friend! I wish you
Health, and a large Portion of everything that’s desirable—Remember me
most kindly to your Husband. I will write to him by this opportunity if
I have time—I now enclose you a Duplicate & Triplicate, of Bills I have
sent you before for the use of the Sternes—by Cap^t. Taylor you would
receive some Trifles from me. Adieu! Adieu! I ever am most sincerely
Yours—with the tenderest affection.
E. DRAPER.
[Illustration: Handwritten letter.]
TO MRS. ELIZA MIHILL.
Bombay. Marine House,
January 14, 1773.
MY DEAR BETTY.—