Chapter III: Part 3

“But if you would have friends, you must show yourselves friendly; that is, you must be careful to act the part you wish from another. If your friend have faults, mildly and tenderly represent them to her; but conceal them as much as possible from the observation of the world. Endeavor to convince her of her errors, to rectify her mistakes, and to confirm and increase every virtuous sentiment.

“Should she so far deviate, as to endanger her reputation and happiness; and should your admonitions fail to reclaim her, become not, like Augusta, an abettor of her crimes. It is not the part of friendship to hide transactions which will end in the ruin of your friend. Rather acquaint those who ought to have the rule over her of her intended missteps, and you will have discharged your duty; you will merit, and very probably may afterwards receive her thanks.

“Narcissa and Florinda were united in the bonds of true and generous friendship. Narcissa was called to spend a few months with a relation in the metropolis, where she became acquainted with, and attached to a man who was much her inferior; but whose specious manners and appearance deceived her youthful heart, though her reason and judgment informed her, that her parents would disapprove the connexion. She returned home, the consciousness of her fault, the frankness which she owed to her friend, and her partiality to her lover, wrought powerfully upon her mind, and rendered her melancholy. Florinda soon explored the cause, and warmly remonstrated against her imprudence in holding a moment’s intercourse with a man, whom she knew, would be displeasing to her parents. She searched out his character, and found it far inadequate to Narcissa’s merit. This she represented to her in its true colours, and conjured her not to sacrifice her reputation, her duty and her happiness, by encouraging his addresses; but to no purpose were her expostulations. Narcissa avowed the design of permitting him to solicit the consent of her parents, and the determination of marrying him without it, if they refused.

“Florinda was alarmed at this resolution; and, with painful anxiety, saw the danger of her friend. She told her plainly, that the regard she had for her demanded a counteraction of her design; and that if she found no other way of preventing its execution, she should discharge her duty by informing her parents of her proceedings. This Narcissa resented, and immediately withdrew her confidence and familiarity; but the faithful Florinda neglected not the watchful solicitude of friendship; and when she perceived that Narcissa’s family were resolutely opposed to her projected match and that Narcissa was preparing to put her rash purpose into execution, she made known the plan which she had concerted and by that mean prevented her destruction. Narcissa thought herself greatly injured, and declared that she would never forgive so flagrant a breach of fidelity. Florinda endeavoured to convince her of her good intentions, and the real kindness of her motives; but she refused to hear the voice of wisdom, till a separation from her lover, and a full proof of his unworthiness opened her eyes to a sight of her own folly and indiscretion, and to a lively sense of Florinda’s friendship, in saving her from ruin without her consent. Her heart overflowed with gratitude to her generous preserver. She acknowledged herself indebted to Florinda’s benevolence, for deliverance from the baneful impetuosity of her own passions. She sought and obtained forgiveness; and ever after lived in the strictest amity with her faithful benefactress.”

_Saturday, A. M._

LOVE.

“The highest state of friendship which this life admits, is in the conjugal relation. On this refined affection, love, which is but a more interesting and tender kind of friendship, ought to be founded. The same virtues, the same dispositions and qualities which are necessary in a friend, are still more requisite in a companion for life. And when these enlivening principles are united, they form the basis of durable happiness. But let not the mask of friendship, or of love, deceive you. You are now entering upon a new stage of action where you will probably admire, and be admired. You may attract the notice of many, who will select you as objects of adulation, to discover their taste and gallantry; and perhaps of some whose affections you have really and seriously engaged. The first class your penetration will enable you to detect; and your good sense and virtue will lead you to treat them with the neglect they deserve. It is disreputable for a young lady to receive and encourage the officious attentions of those mere pleasure-hunters, who rove from fair to fair, with no other design than the exercise of their art, addresses, and intrigue. Nothing can render their company pleasing, but a vanity of being caressed, and a false pride in being thought an object of general admiration, with a fondness for flattery which bespeaks a vitiated mind. But when you are addressed by a person of real merit, who is worthy your esteem and may justly demand your respect, let him be treated with honor, frankness and sincerity. It is the part of a prude, to affect a shyness, reserve, and indifference, foreign to the heart. Innocence and virtue will rise superior to such little arts, and indulge no wish which needs disguise.

“Still more unworthy are the insidious and deluding wiles of the coquette. How disgusting must this character appear to persons of sentiment and integrity! how unbecoming the delicacy and dignity of an uncorrupted female!

“As you are young and inexperienced, your affections may possibly be involuntarily engaged, where prudence and duty forbid a connexion. Beware, then how you admit the passion of love. In young minds, it is of all others the most uncontrollable. When fancy takes the reins, it compels its blinded votary to sacrifice reason, discretion and conscience to its impetuous dictates. But a passion of this origin tends not to substantial and durable happiness. To secure this, it must be quite of another kind, enkindled by esteem, founded on merit, strengthened by congenial dispositions and corresponding virtues, and terminating in the most pure and refined affection.

“Never suffer your eyes to be charmed by the mere exterior; nor delude yourselves with the notion of unconquerable love. The eye, in this respect, is often deceptious, and fills the imagination with charms which have no reality. Nip, in the bud, every particular liking, much more all ideas of love, till called forth by unequivocal tokens as well as professions of sincere regard. Even then, harbor them not without a thorough knowledge of the temper, disposition and circumstances of your lover, the advice of your friends; and, above all the approbation of your parents. Maturely weigh every consideration for and against, and deliberately determine with yourselves, what will be most conducive to your welfare and fidelity in life. Let a rational and discreet plan of thinking and acting, regulate your deportment, and render you deserving of the affection you wish to insure. This you will find far more conducive to your interest, than the indulgence of that romantic passion, which a blind and misguided fancy paints in such alluring colors to the thoughtless and inexperienced.

“Recollect the favourite air you so often sing:

“Ye fair, who would be blessed in love,
Take your pride a little lower:
Let the swain that you approve,
Rather like you than adore.

Love that rises into passion,
Soon will end in hate or strife:
But from tender inclination
Flow the lasting joys of life.”

“I by no means undervalue that love which is the noblest principle of the human mind; but wish only to guard you against the influence of an ill-placed and ungovernable passion, which is improperly called by this name.

“A union, formed without a refined and generous affection for its basis, must be devoid of those tender endearments, reciprocal attentions, and engaging sympathies, which are peculiarly necessary to alleviate the cares, dispel the sorrows, and soften the pains of life. The exercise of that prudence and caution which I have recommended, will lead you to a thorough investigation of the character and views of the man by whom you are addressed.

“Without good principles, both of religion and morality, (for the latter cannot exist independent of the former) you can not safely rely, either upon his fidelity or his affection. Good principles are the foundation of a good life.

“If the fountain be pure, the streams which issue from it will be of the same description.

“Next to this, an amiable temper is essentially requisite. A proud, a passionate, a revengeful, a malicious, or a jealous temper, will render your lives uncomfortable, in spite of all the prudence and fortitude you can exert.

“Beware, then, lest, before marriage, love blind your eyes to those defects, to a sight of which, grief and disappointment may awaken you afterwards. You are to consider marriage as a connexion for life; as the nearest and dearest of all human relations; as involving in it the happiness or misery of all your days; and as engaging you in a variety of cares and duties, hitherto unknown. Act, therefore, with deliberation, and resolve with caution; but, when once you come to a choice, behave with undeviating rectitude and sincerity.

“Avarice is not commonly a ruling passion in young persons of _our_ sex. Yet some there are, sordid enough to consider wealth as the chief good, and to sacrifice every other object to a splendid appearance. It often happens, that these are miserably disappointed in their expectations of happiness. They find, by dear bought experience, that external pomp is but a wretched substitute for internal satisfaction.

“But I would not have outward circumstances entirely overlooked. A proper regard should always be had to a comfortable subsistence in life. Nor can you be justified in suffering a blind passion, under whatever pretext, to involve you in those embarrassing distresses of want, which will elude the remedies of love itself, and prove fatal to the peace and happiness at which you aim.

“In this momentous affair, let the advice and opinion of judicious friends have their just weight in your minds. Discover, with candor and frankness, the progress of your amour, so far as is necessary to enable them to judge aright in the cause; but never relate the love tales of your suitor, merely for your own, or any other person’s amusement. The tender themes inspired by love, may be pleasing to you; but to an uninterested person, must be insipid and disgusting in the extreme.

“Never boast of the number, nor of the professions of your admirers. That betrays an unsufferable vanity, and will render you perfectly ridiculous in the estimation of observers. Besides, it is a most ungenerous treatment of those who may have entertained, and expressed a regard for you. Whatever they have said upon this subject, was doubtless in confidence, and you ought to keep it sacred, as a secret you have no right to divulge.

“If you disapprove the person, and reject his suit, that will be sufficiently mortifying, without adding the insult of exposing his overtures.

“Be very careful to distinguish real lovers from mere gallants. Think not every man enamoured with you, who is polite and attentive. You have no right to suppose any man in love with you, till he declares it in plain, unequivocal and decent terms.

“Never suffer, with impunity, your ear to be wounded by indelicate expressions, double entendres, and insinuating attempts to seduce you from the path of rectitude. True love will not seek to degrade its object, much less to undermine that virtue which ought to be its basis and support. Let no protestations induce you to believe that person your friend, who would destroy your dearest interests, and rob you of innocence and peace. Give no heed to the language of seduction; but repel the insidious arts of the libertine, with the dignity and decision of insulted virtue. This practice will raise you superior to the wiles of deceivers, and render you invulnerable by the specious flattery of the unprincipled and debauched.

“Think not the libertine worthy of your company and conversation even as an acquaintance.

“That reformed rakes make the best husbands,” is a common, and I am sorry to say, a too generally received maxim. Yet I cannot conceive, that any lady who values, or properly considers her own happiness, will venture on the dangerous experiment. The term _reformed_ can, in my opinion, have very little weight; since those, whose principles are vitiated, and whose minds are debased by a course of debauchery and excess, seldom change their pursuits, till necessity, or interest requires it; and, however circumstances may alter or restrain their conduct, very little dependence can be placed on men whose disposition is still the same, but only prevented from indulgence by prudential motives. As a rake is most conversant with the dissolute and abandoned of both sexes, he doubtless forms his opinion of others by the standard to which he has been accustomed, and therefore supposes all women of the same description. Having been hackneyed in the arts of the baser sort, he cannot form an idea, that any are in reality superior to them. This renders him habitually jealous, peevish and tyrannical. Even if his vicious inclinations be changed, his having passed his best days in vice and folly, renders him a very unsuitable companion for a person of delicacy and refinement.

“But whatever inducements some ladies may have to risk themselves with those who have the reputation of being reformed, it is truly surprising that any should be so inconsiderate as to unite with such as are still professed libertines. What hopes of happiness can be formed with men of this character?

“Vice and virtue can never assimilate; and hearts divided by them can never coalesce. The former is the parent of discord, disease and death; the latter, of harmony, health and peace. A house divided against itself cannot stand; much less can domestic felicity subsist between such contrasted dispositions.

“But however negligent or mistaken many women of real merit may be, relative to their own interest, I cannot but wish they would pay some regard to the honor and dignity of their sex. Custom only has rendered vice more odious in a woman than in a man. And shall we give our sanction to a custom, so unjust and destructive in its operation; a custom which invites and encourages the enemies of society to seek our ruin? Were those who glory in the seduction of innocence, to meet with the contempt they deserve, and to be pointedly neglected by every female of virtue, they would be ashamed of their evil practices, and impelled to relinquish their injurious designs.

“But while they are received and caressed in the best companies, they find restraint altogether needless; and their being men of spirit and gallantry (as they style themselves) is rather a recommendation than a reproach!

“I cannot help blushing with indignation, when I see a lady of sense and character gallanted and entertained by a man who ought to be banished from society, for having ruined the peace of families, and blasted the reputation of many, who but for him, might have been useful and happy in the world; but who by his insidious arts, are plunged into remediless insignificance, disgrace and misery.”

_Saturday, P. M._

RELIGION.

“Having given you my sentiments on a variety of subjects which demand your particular attention, I come now to the closing and most important theme; and that is religion. The virtuous education you have received, and the good principles which have been instilled into your minds from infancy, will render the enforcement of Christian precepts and duties a pleasing lesson.

“Religion is to be considered as an essential and durable object; not as the embellishment of a day; but an acquisition which shall endure and increase through the endless ages of eternity.

“Lay the foundation of it in youth, and it will not forsake you in advanced age; but furnish you with an adequate substitute for the transient pleasures which will then desert you, and prove a source of rational and refined delight: a refuge from the disappointments and corroding cares of life, and from the depressions of adverse events. “Remember now your creator, in the days of your youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when you shall say we have no pleasure in them.” If you wish for permanent happiness, cultivate the divine favour as your highest enjoyment in life, and your safest retreat when death shall approach you.

“That even the young are not exempt from the arrest of this universal conqueror, the tombstone of Amelia will tell you. Youth, beauty, health and fortune, strewed the path of life with flowers, and left her no wish ungratified. Love, with its gentlest and purest flame, animated her heart, and was equally returned by Julius. Their passion was approved by their parents and friends; the day was fixed, and preparations were making for the celebration of their nuptials. At this period Amelia was attacked by a violent cold, which seating on her lungs, baffled the skill of the most eminent physicians, and terminated in a confirmed hectic. She perceived her disorder to be incurable, and with inexpressible regret and concern anticipated her approaching dissolution. She had enjoyed life too highly to think much of death; yet die she must! “Oh,” said she, “that I had prepared, while in health and at ease, for this awful event! Then should I not be subjected to the keenest distress of mind, in addition to the most painful infirmities of body! Then should I be able to look forward with hope, and to find relief in the consoling expectation of being united beyond the grave, with those dear and beloved connexions, which I must soon leave behind! Let my companions and acquaintance learn from me the important lesson of improving their time to the best of purposes; of acting at once as becomes mortal and immortal creatures!”

“Hear, my dear pupils, the solemn admonition, and be ye also ready!

“Too many, especially of the young and gay, seem more anxious to live in pleasure, than to answer the end of their being, by the cultivation of that piety and virtue which will render them good members of society, useful to their friends and associates, and partakers of that heart-felt satisfaction which results from a conscience void of offence both towards God and man.

“This, however, is an egregious mistake; for in many situations, piety and virtue are our only source of consolation; and in all, they are peculiarly friendly to our happiness.

“Do you exult in beauty, and the pride of external charms? Turn your eyes for a moment, on the miserable Flirtilla.[1] Like her, your features and complexion may be impaired by disease; and where then will you find a refuge from mortification and discontent, if destitute of those ennobling endowments which can raise you superior to the transient graces of a fair form, if unadorned by that substantial beauty of mind which can not only ensure respect from those around you, but inspire you with resignation to the divine will, and a patient acquiescence in the painful allotments of a holy Providence. Does wealth await your command, and grandeur with its fascinating appendages beguile your fleeting moments? Recollect, that riches often make themselves wings and fly away. A single instance of mismanagement; a consuming fire, with various other misfortunes which no human prudence can foresee or prevent, may strip you of this dependence; and, unless you have other grounds of comfort than earth can boast, reduce you to the most insupportable wretchedness and despair. Are you surrounded by friends, and happy in the society of those who are near and dear to you? Soon may they be wrested from your fond embrace, and consigned to the mansions of the dead!

Footnote 1:

See page 48.

“Whence, then, will you derive support, if unacquainted with that divine Friend, who will never fail nor forsake you; who is the same yesterday, to-day and forever.

“Health and youth, my dear girls, are the seasons for improvement. Now you may lay up a treasure which neither sickness nor adversity can impair.

“But the hour of distress is not the only time, in which religion will be advantageous to you. Even in prosperity, it will prove the best solace and the highest ornament of your lives. What can be more dignified, respectable, and lovely, than the Christian character? The habitual practice of those duties which the gospel inculcates will give lustre to your beauty and durability to your charms. By correcting your passions, it will improve your joys, endear you to your friends and connexions, and render you contented, happy, and useful in every stage and condition of life.

“Religion will not deprive you of temporal enjoyments; it will heighten and increase them. It will not depress, but exhilarate your spirits. For it consists not in a gloomy, misanthropic temper, declining the social and innocent delights of life; but prepares the mind to partake with satisfaction of every pleasure which reason approves, and which can yield serenity and peace in the review. Be not ashamed then of appearing religious, and of rising by that mean above the vain, unthinking crowd.

“Let not the idle jests of heedless and unprincipled companions deter you from a stedfast adherence to the path of truth and righteousness. ‘Follow not the multitude to do evil.’ Never conform to fashion, even though it claim the patronage of politeness, so far as to countenance irreligion in any of its modifications.

“Jesting upon sacred subjects, ridiculing the professors of Christianity, light and irreverent conduct upon solemn occasions, ought to be cautiously avoided and decidedly condemned. Too many girls are so extremely thoughtless as to carry the levity of their manners even to the sanctuary; and by whispering, winking, tittering and other indecent actions, display their folly to their own disgrace, and to the great disgust of all judicious and sober people. Such behaviour is not only offensive to the Deity, but insulting to all who would worship him free from interruption. It is not only an indignity offered to religion, but a flagrant breach of the rules of good breeding. Content not yourselves, therefore, with a bare attendance on the institutions of religion; but conduct with propriety, decorum, and seriousness, while engaged in the solemn service. Bear in mind, that you assemble with a professed purpose of paying homage to the Supreme; and consider yourselves as in his immediate presence!

“The offices of devotion demand your attention in private, as well as in public.

“Accustom yourselves, therefore, to stated periods of retirement for meditation and prayer; and adopt every other mean which is calculated to keep alive in your minds a due sense of your dependence and obligations, and to inspire you with that uniform love to God and benevolence to the human kind, which will prove your greatest glory here, as well as your crown of rejoicing hereafter.”

The hour of departure having arrived, on Monday morning, Mrs. Williams assembled with her pupils; when the regret, visibly depicted on every countenance, was variously expressed. The tear of grateful regard stole silently down the bloomy cheeks of some; others betrayed their sensibility by audible sobs, which they could not repress; and all united in testifying the sense they entertained of the advantages they had received from Mrs. Williams’s tuition, the happiness they had enjoyed in each other’s society, and their determination to remember her counsels, cultivate continued friendship among themselves, and endeavor to be worthy of her’s.

Mrs. Williams then took an affectionate leave of each one, and left them with her daughters. The most cordial good wishes were mutually interchanged, till their carriages received and separated them.

The friendship and unity thus commenced and confirmed, were never obliterated. They always cherished the most sincere affection for their Preceptress, and each other; which they displayed in an unreserved and social correspondence, both personal and epistolary. The residence of Mrs. Williams they denominated Harmony-Grove, which it ever after retained, and by which it is designated in the following selection of their letters.

LETTERS.

_To Mrs._ M. WILLIAMS,

BOSTON.

RESPECTED AND DEAR MADAM,

Conformably to my promise, when I left your abode, the first efforts of my pen are dedicated to you. The pleasure which arises from the recollection of your more than maternal kindness to me, especially your unwearied endeavors to refine and embellish my mind and to lay the foundation of right principles and practices, is interwoven with my existence; and no time or circumstances can erase my gratitude.

I arrived last evening safely; and was affectionately received by my honored parents, and beloved brothers and sisters. The emotions of regret which I felt in the morning, at the painful separation from you and my dear school-mates, with whom I have lived so happily, had not wholly subsided. I could not help listening, now and then, for some judicious observation from my Preceptress; and frequently cast my eyes around in search of some of the amiable companions, among whom I had been used to unbend every thought.

The splendor of the apartments gave me ideas of restraint that were painful; and I looked abroad for the green, where we were wont to gambol, and the lawn where we so often held our twilight sports, and almost fancied that we sometimes caught a glimpse of the attendant Sylphs who played around us; but in vain. Stately domes, crowded streets, rattling carriages, and all the noise and confusion of a commercial city were substituted. I retired to bed, and was awaked in the night by the riotous mirth of a number of Bacchanalians, reeling from the haunts of intemperance and excess.

Alas! said I, this is not the Æolian harp that used to soothe our slumbers at the boarding school. I composed myself again; but awoke at the accustomed hour of five. I arose; and, having praised my Maker for the preservations of the night, walked down. Not a living creature was stirring in the house.

I took a turn in the garden. Here art seemed to reign so perfectly mistress, that I was apprehensive lest I should injure her charms by viewing them.

I accordingly retired to the summer-house, and, having a book in my hand, sat down and read till the clock struck seven. I then thought it must be breakfast time, and returned to the house; but was much disappointed to find none of the family up, except one man servant and the house maid who had just crept down.

They appeared perfectly astonished to see me come in from abroad; and the girl respectfully inquired if indisposition had occasioned my rising so early. I told her no; that the wish to preserve my health had called me up two hours before. Well, rejoined she, you will not find any body to keep you company here for two hours to come. I was chagrined at the information, and asked her for a bowl of milk, it being past my usual breakfast time. The milk man had just arrived, and I drank some; but it had lost its flavor on the road. It was not like that which was served us at Harmony-Grove. I stepped to the harpsichord, and having sung and played a morning hymn, returned to my chamber, where, taking my work, I sat down by the window to view the listless tribe of yawning mortals who were beginning to thicken in the streets. One half of these appeared to be dragged forth by necessity, rather than any inclination to enjoy the beauties of a fine morning.

At nine, I was summoned into the parlor to breakfast. My sisters gently chid me for disturbing their repose with my music. I excused myself by alleging that I had been so long accustomed to early rising that I should find it difficult to alter the habit.

Here, madam, you have an account of my first night and morning’s occupation. Were I to proceed with every new occurrence, through the year, and subjoin my own remarks, I must write volumes instead of letters.

Please to communicate this scroll to your amiable daughters, and remind them of their promise to write.

A line from Harmony-Grove would be a luxury to me.

Meanwhile, permit me still to subscribe myself, with the utmost respect your grateful pupil,

HARRIOT HENLY.

_To Miss_ MATILDA FIELDING.

BOSTON.

DEAR MATILDA,

I did not intend when we parted at the boarding school, that a whole month should have elapsed without bearing you some testimony of my continued friendship and affection; but so numerous have been my avocations, and so various my engagements, that I have scarcely called a moment my own since I returned home. Having been from town a year, I was considered as too antique to appear in company abroad, till I had been perfectly metamorphosed. Every part of my habit has undergone a complete change, in conformity to the present fashion. It was with extreme regret that I parted with the neatness and simplicity of my country dress; which, according to my ideas of modesty, was more becoming. But I trust, this alteration of appearance will have no tendency to alienate those sentiments from my heart which I imbibed under the tuition of Mrs. Williams.

I went, last evening, to the assembly; but though dazzled, I was by no means charmed, by the glare of finery and tinselled decorations that were displayed.

There were some ladies, whose gentility and fashionable dress were evidently the product of a correct taste; but others were so disguised by tawdry gewgaws, as to disgust me exceedingly.

Mrs. Williams used to say, that the dress was indicative of the mind. If this observation be just, what opinion am I to form of the gay multitudes who trip along the streets and throng the places of public resort in this metropolis; the lightness and gaudiness of whose appearance, bespeak a sickly taste, to say no more.

I am furnished with feathers, flowers, and ribbons in profusion. I shall, however, use them very sparingly; and though I would not be entirely singular, yet I must insist on consulting my own fancy a little, and cannot willingly sacrifice my own opinion to the capricious whims of fashion, and her devotees. My aunt Lawrence, who you know, is extravagantly genteel, is making us a visit. She laughs very heartily at my silly notions, as she calls them, and styles me a novice in the ways of the world: but hopes, notwithstanding, that I shall acquire a better taste when I am more acquainted with fashionable life. That I may be much improved by a more extensive knowledge of the world, I doubt not; yet may I never be corrupted by that levity and folly, which are too prevalent among a part of my sex.

“I will not, however, censure and condemn others; but attend to myself and be humble. Adieu.”

LAURA GUILFORD

_To Miss_ MATILDA FIELDING.

HARMONY-GROVE.

DEAR MATILDA,

The tear of regret for your departure is scarcely dried from the cheek of your Maria; and the pleasing remembrance of the happiness I have enjoyed in your society is accompanied with a sigh, whenever I reflect that it exists no more.

My mamma has observed that those friendships which are formed in youth, provided they be well founded, are the most sincere, lively and durable. I am sure that the ardency of mine can never abate; my affectionate regard for you can never decay.

We have another class of boarders; but you and your amiable companions had so entirely engrossed my confidence and esteem, that I shall find it difficult to transfer them, in any degree, to others. The sensations of Anna are very different, though she is capable of the most refined friendship. The natural vivacity, and, as I tell her, the volatility of her disposition, renders a variety of associates pleasing to her.

In order to recall your ideas to the exercises of Harmony-Grove, I enclose the sallies of my pen for this morning, fully assured of your candour and generosity in the perusal.

Pray omit no opportunity of writing, and favor me with your observations on the polite world. I shall receive every line as a pledge of your continued love to your

MARIA WILLIAMS.

AN ODE ON SPRING.

_Enclosed in the preceding Letter._

Hail delight-restoring spring!
Balmy pleasures with thee bring;
Aromatic gales dispense,
Misty vapours banish hence.
Blithe the jocund hinds appear,
Joy supports returning care,
Mirth the ready hand attends,
Pleasing hope the toil befriends.
Hark! the shady groves resound,
Love and praise re-echo round,
Music floats in every gale,
Peace and harmony prevail.
Here no stormy passions rise,
Here no feuds impede our joys,
Here ambition never roams,
Pride or envy never comes.
Come Matilda; ruddy morn
Tempts us o’er the spacious lawn;
Spring’s reviving charms invite
Every sense to taste delight;
Such delights as never cloy,
Health and innocence enjoy.
Youth’s the spring-time of our years,
Short the rapid scene appears;
Let’s improve the fleeting hours,
Virtue’s noblest fruits be ours.

_To Miss_ CAROLINE LITTLETON.

BOSTON.

You have left—you have forsaken me, Caroline! But I will haunt you with my letters; obtrude myself upon your remembrance; and extort from you the continuance of your friendship!

What do I say? Obtrude and extort! Can these harsh words be used when I am addressing the generous and faithful Caroline?

But you have often encouraged my eccentricities by your smile, and must therefore still indulge them.

Nature has furnished me with a gay disposition; and happy is it for me, that a lax education has not strengthened the folly too commonly arising from it.

Mrs. Williams’ instructions were very seasonably interposed to impress my mind with a sense of virtue and propriety. I trust they have had the desired effect; and that they will prove the guardian of my youth, and the directory of maturer age. How often has the dear, good woman taken me into her chamber, and reminded me of indecorums of which I was unconscious at the time; but thankful afterwards that they had not escaped her judicious eye; as her observations tended to rectify my errors, and render me more cautious and circumspect in future. How salutary is advice like her’s; conveyed, not with the dogmatic air of supercilious wisdom, but with the condescending ease and soothing kindness of an affectionate parent, anxiously concerned for the best good of those under her care!

I was very happy at Harmony-Grove; and the result of that happiness, I hope, will accompany me through life.

Yet I find the gaiety of the town adapted to my taste; nor does even Mrs. Williams condemn the enjoyment of its pleasures.

I was, last evening, at a ball, and I assure you, the attention I gained, and the gallantry displayed to attract my notice and approbation, were very flattering to my vanity; though I could not forbear inwardly smiling at the futile arts of the pretty fellows who exhibited them.

Their speeches appeared to have been so long practised, that I was on the point of advising them to exercise their genius, if they had any, in the invention of something new. But a polite conformity to the ton restrained my satire, Adieu.

JULIA GREENFIELD.

_To Miss_ CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

NEWBURYPORT.

I am disappointed and displeased, Cleora! I have long been anxious to procure the Marchioness de Sevigne’s letters, having often heard them mentioned as standards of taste and elegance in the epistolary way. This excited my curiosity, and raised my hopes of finding a rich entertainment of wit and sentiment. I have perused, and perused in vain; for they answer not my ideas of either. They are replete with local circumstances, which to indifferent readers, are neither amusing nor interesting. True, the style is easy and sprightly; but they are chiefly composed of family matters, such as relate to her own movements and those of her daughter; many of which are of too trifling a nature to be ranked in the class of elegant writing. I own myself, however, not a competent judge of their merit as a whole, even in my own estimation; for I have read the two first volumes only.

That letters ought to be written with the familiarity of personal conversation, I allow; yet many such conversations, even between persons of taste and refinement, are unworthy the public attention.

Equal was my chagrin, not long since, on reading Pope’s letters. He, said I to myself, who bears the palm from all contemporary poets, and who is so consummate a master of this divine art, must surely furnish a source of superior entertainment, when he descends to friendly and social communications.

Indeed, there are good sentiments and judicious observations, interspersed in his letters; but the greater part of them have little other merit than what arises from the style.

Perhaps you will charge me with arrogance for presuming to criticise, much more to condemn, publications which have so long been sanctioned by general approbation. Independent in opinion, I write it without reserve, and censure not any one who thinks differently. Give me your sentiments with the same freedom upon the books which you honor with a perusal, and you will oblige your affectionate

CAROLINE LITTLETON.

_To Miss_ CAROLINE LITTLETON.

SALEM.

DEAR CAROLINE,

I received yours with those lively sensations of pleasure which your favors always afford. As I was perusing it, my papa came into the room. He took it out of my hand and read it; then returning it with the smile of approbation, I think, said he, that your correspondent has played the critic very well. Has she played it justly, Sir? said I. Why, it is a long time, said he, since I read the Marchioness de Sevigne’s letters. I am not, therefore, judge of their merit. But with regard to Pope, I blame not the sex for retaliating upon him; for he always treated them satirically. I believe revenge was no part of my friend’s plan, said I. She is far superior to so malignant a passion, though, were she capable of seeking it, it would be in behalf of her sex.

Company now coming in, the conversation shifted.

I have often smiled at the pitiful wit of those satirists and essayists, who lavish abundant eloquence on trifling foibles, the mere whims of a day; and of no consequence to the body natural, moral, or political. The extension of a hoop, the contraction of the waist, or the elevation of the head-dress, frequently afford matter for pages of elaborate discussion. These reformers, too, always aim at the good of our sex! I think it a great pity they do not lop off some of their own exuberant follies; though perhaps they wish us to exchange labours; and in return for their benevolent exertions, that we endeavor to expose and correct their errors. I have sometimes thought their satire to be tinctured with malice; and that the cause of their disaffection may generally be found in personal resentment. Had Pope and his coadjutors been favourites with the ladies, I doubt not but they would have found more excellencies in them than they have ever yet allowed.

I have lately been reading the generous and polite Fitzorsborne’s letters; and I need not tell you how much I was pleased and charmed with them.

The justness of his sentiments, and the ease and elegance of his diction, are at once interesting and improving. His letter and ode to his wife on the anniversary of their marriage, surpass any thing of the kind I have ever read. I verily think, that, had I the offer of a heart capable of dictating such manly tenderness of expression, and such pathetic energy of generous love, I should be willing to give my hand in return, and assent to those solemn words, “love, honor, and—(I had almost said) obey.” Adieu.

CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

_To Miss_ CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

NEWBURYPORT.

DEAR CLEORA,

I agree with you, that the habits of the weak and vain are too insignificant to employ the pens of those, whose literary talents might produce great and good effects in the political, moral, and religious state of things. Were absurd fashions adopted only by those whose frivolity renders them the dupes of folly, and whose example can have no effect on the considerate and judicious part of the community, I should think them below the attention of statesmen, philosophers, and divines: but this is not the case. The votaries and the inventors of the most fantastical fashions are found in the ranks of, what is called, refined and polished society; from whom we might hope for examples of elegance and propriety, both in dress and behaviour. By these, luxury and extravagance are sanctioned. Their influence upon the poorer class is increased; who, emulous of imitating their superiors, think _that_ the most eligible appearance, (however beyond their income, or unsuitable to their circumstances and condition in life) which is preferred and countenanced by their wealthier neighbors.

Absurd and expensive fashions, then, are injurious to society at large, and require some check; and why is not satire levelled against them, laudable in its design, and likely to produce a good effect? Adieu.

CAROLINE LITTLETON.

_To Miss_ MATILDA FIELDING.

HARMONY-GROVE.

DEAR MATILDA,

Notwithstanding the coldness of the season, every heart seems to be enlivened, and every mind exhilarated by the anniversary of the new year. Why this day is so peculiarly marked out for congratulations, I shall not now inquire; but in compliance with the prevailing custom of expressing good wishes on the occasion, I send you mine in a scribble

Early I greet the opening year,
While friendship bids the muse appear,
To wish Matilda blest.
The muse, devoid of selfish art,
Obeys the dictates of a heart,
Which warms a friendly breast.

The rolling earth again has run
Her annual circuit round the sun,
And whirl’d the year away;
She now her wonted course renews,
Her orbit’s track again pursues;
Nor feels the least decay.

How soon the fleeting hours are gone!
The rapid wheels of time glide on,
Which bring the seasons round.
Winter disrobes the smiling plain,
But spring restores its charms again,
And decks the fertile ground.

The sweet returns of cheerful May
Come with a vivifying ray,
Inspiring new delight:
Beclad with every various charm
To please the eye, the fancy warm,
And animate the sight.

But youth no kind renewal knows;
Swiftly the blooming season goes,
And brings the frost of age!
No more the vernal sun appears,
To gild the painful round of years,
And wintry damps assuage.

With rapid haste, the moments fly,
Which you and I, my friend, enjoy;
And they return no more!
Then let us wisely now improve
The downy moments, as they rove,
Which nature can’t restore.

O source of wisdom! we implore
Thy aid to guide us safely o’er
The slippery paths of youth:
O deign to lend a steady ray
To point the sure, the certain way
To honor and to truth!

Let thy unerring influence shed
Its blessings on Matilda’s head,
While piety and peace,
Thy genuine offspring round her wait,
And guard her through this transient state,
To joys that never cease!

May constant health its charms extend,
And fortune every blessing lend,
To crown each passing day;
May pleasures in succession shine,
And every heart-felt bliss be thine,
Without the least allay.

MARIA WILLIAMS.

_To Miss_ CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

BOSTON.

DEAR CLEORA,

I have this week engaged in the celebration of the nuptials of my friend, Amanda South. A splendid wedding, a gay company, an elegant supper, and a magnificent ball, were the sum of our entertainment.

I imagine such exhilarating scenes designed to dispel the anxiety and thoughtfulness, which every reflecting person must feel on this solemn occasion. This untried state presents to the apprehensive mind such a variety of new cares and duties, that cheerfulness, festivity and hilarity seem necessary to banish the thought of them, so far as to render a delicate and sensible female sufficiently composed to conduct with propriety. But I must confess that were I called to the trial, I should choose to retire from the observation of those indifferent and unfeeling spectators, to whom the blushing modesty of a bride is often a pastime.

Indeed, Cleora, when we look around the world and observe the great number of unhappy marriages, which were contracted with the brightest prospects, yet from some unforeseen cause, have involved the parties in wretchedness for life, we may well indulge a diffidence of our own abilities to discharge the duties of the station, and be solicitous that our future companion should in all respects be qualified to assist in bearing the burdens of the conjugal state.

Experience only can determine how far we are right in the judgment we form of ourselves, and of the person of our choice. So many are the deceptions which love and courtship impose upon their votaries, that I believe it very difficult for the parties concerned to judge impartially, or to discern faults, where they look only for virtues. Hence they are so frequently misled in their opinions, and find, too late, the errors into which they have been betrayed.

When do you come to Boston, Cleora? I am impatient for your society; because your friendship is void of flattery, and your sincerity and cheerfulness are always agreeable and advantageous. Adieu.

HARRIOT HENLY.

_To Miss_ HARRIOT HENLY.

SALEM.

Indeed, Harriot, I open your letters with as much gravity as I would a sermon; you have such a knack of moralizing upon every event! What mortal else would feel serious and sentimental at a wedding? Positively, you shall not come to mine. Your presence, I fear, would put such a restraint upon me, as to render me quite foolish and awkward in my appearance.

However, I must acknowledge it a weighty affair; and what you say has, perhaps, too much truth in it to be jested with. I believe, therefore, we had better resolve not to risk the consequences of a wrong choice, or imprudent conduct; but wisely devote ourselves to celibacy. I am sure we should make a couple of very clever old maids. If you agree to this proposition, we will begin in season to accustom ourselves to the virtues and habits of a single life. By observing what is amiss in the conduct of others in the same state, and avoiding their errors, I doubt not but we may bring even the title into repute. In this way we shall be useful to many of our own sex, though I am aware it would be a most grievous dispensation to a couple of the other; but no matter for that.

The world needs some such examples as we might become; and if we can be instrumental of retrieving _old-maidism_ from the imputation of ill-nature, oddity, and many other mortifying charges, which are now brought against it, I believe we shall save many a good girl from an unequal and unhappy marriage. It might have a salutary effect on the other sex too. Finding the ladies independent in sentiment, they would be impelled to greater circumspection of conduct to merit their favor.

You see that my benevolence is extensive. I wish to become a general reformer. What say you to my plan, Harriot? If you approve it, dismiss your long train of admirers immediately, and act not the part of a coquette, by retaining them out of pride or vanity. We must rise above such narrow views, and let the world know that we act from principle, if we mean to do good by our example. I shall continue to receive the addresses of this same Junius, till I hear that you have acceded to my proposal; and then, display my fortitude by renouncing a connexion which must be doubtful as to the issue, and will certainly expose me to the mortification of being looked at, when I am married. Farewell.

CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

_To Miss_ CAROLINE LITTLETON.

BOSTON.

DEAR CAROLINE,

I have just returned from a rural excursion, where, in the thicket of a grove, I enjoyed all the luxury of solitude. The sun had nearly finished his diurnal course, and was leaving our hemisphere to illuminate the other with his cheering rays.

The sprightly songsters had retired to their bowers, and were distending their little throats with a tribute of instinctive gratitude and praise.

The vocal strains re-echoed from tree to tree and invited me to join the responsive notes. My heart expanded with devotion and benevolence. I wished the whole human kind to share the feelings of happiness which I enjoyed; while the inanimate creation around seemed to partake of my satisfaction! Methought the fields assumed a livelier verdure; and the zephyrs were unusually officious in wafting the fragrance of aromatic gales. I surveyed the surrounding scenery with rapturous admiration; and my heart glowed with inexpressible delight at the lovely appearance of nature, and the diffusive bounties of its almighty author.

Let others, said I, exult in stately domes, and the superfluities of pomp; immerse themselves in the splendid novelties of fashion, and a promiscuous crowd of giddy amusements! I envy them not.

Give me a mind to range the sylvan scene,
And taste the blessings of the vernal day;
While social joys, and friendly, intervene
To chase the gloomy cares of life away.

I wish not to abandon society, nor to resign the pleasures which it affords; but it is a select number of friends, not a promiscuous crowd, which I prefer.

When the mind is much engrossed by dissipating pleasures, it is apt to forget itself, and neglect its own dignity and improvement. It is necessary often to retreat from the noise and bustle of the world, and commune with our own hearts. By this mean we shall be the better qualified both to discharge the duties and participate in the enjoyments of life.

Solitude affords a nearer and more distinct view of the works of creation; elevates the mind, and purifies its passions and affections.

O solitude! in thee the boundless mind
Expands itself, and revels unconfin’d;
From thee, each vain, each grov’lling passion flies,
And all the virtues of the soul arise.

Adieu,

JULIA GREENFIELD.

_To Miss_ LAURA GUILFORD.

BOSTON.

MY DEAR LAURA,

Rambling in the garden, I have picked a nosegay, which I transmit to you as a token of my remembrance. Though the poetical bagatelle which accompanies it, is not equal to the elegance of the subject; yet I confide in your candor to excuse its futility, and give a favorable interpretation to its design.

Laura, this little gift approve,
Pluck’d by the hand of cordial love!
With nicest care the wreath I’ve dress’d,
Fit to adorn your friendly breast.
The rose and lily are combin’d,
As emblems of your virtuous mind!
Pure as the first is seen in thee
Sweet blushing sensibility.
Carnations here their charms display,
And nature shines in rich array,
Od’rous, as virtue’s accents sweet,
From Laura’s lips with wit replete.
The myrtle with the laurel bound,
And purple amaranthus crown’d,
Within this little knot unite,
Like Laura’s charms, to give delight!
Fair, fragrant, soft, like beauty dress’d;
So she unrivalled stands confess’d;
While blending still each finish’d grace,
Her virtues in her mien we trace!
Virtues, which far all tints outshine,
And, verdant brave the frost of time.

I am, &c.

SOPHIA MANCHESTER.

_To Miss_ MARIA WILLIAMS.

BOSTON.

DEAR SISTER,

I am not so far engaged by the new scenes of fashionable gaiety which surround me, as to forget you and the other dear friends, whom I left at Harmony-Grove. Yet so great is the novelty which I find in this crowded metropolis, that you cannot wonder if my attention is very much engrossed. Mr. and Mrs. Henly, with their amiable daughters, are extremely polite and attentive to me; and having taken every method to contribute to my amusement, I went yesterday, in their company, to Commencement, at Cambridge; and was very much entertained with the exhibition. I pretend not to be a judge of the talents displayed by the young gentlemen who took an active part, or of the proficiency they had made in science. I have an opinion of my own, notwithstanding; and can tell how far my eye and ear were gratified.

I never knew before, that dress was a classical study; which I now conclude it must be, or it would not have exercised the genius of some of the principal speakers on this public occasion.

The female garb too, seemed to claim particular attention. The _bon ton_, taste and fashions of our sex, afforded a subject of declamation to the orator; and of entertainment to the audience, composed, in part, of our legislators, politicians, and divines! I could not but think that those scholars who employ their time in studying, investigating and criticising the ladies’ dresses, might as well be occupied in the business of a friseur or the man-milliner; either of which would afford them more frequent opportunities for the display of their abilities, and render their labors more extensively useful to the sex. Others might then improve the time, which they thus frivolously engrossed on this anniversary, in contributing to the entertainment of the _literati_, who doubtless expect to be gratified by the exertions of genius and an apparent progress in those studies, which are designed to qualify the rising youth of America for important stations both in church and state.