Chapter V: Part 5

Your observations upon our sex I believe to be just, though many would probably deem them severe. However, I think it not much to the honor of the masculine character, which the God of nature designed for a defence and safeguard to female virtue and happiness, to take advantage of the tender affection of the unsuspecting and too credulous fair; and, in return for her love and confidence, perfidiously to destroy her peace of mind, and deprive her of that reputation which might have rendered her a useful and ornamental member of society. True, we ought to take warning by such examples of treachery and deceit; yet how much more conducive to the honor and happiness of our species, were there no occasion to apprehend such ungenerous requitals of our sincerity and frankness.

Yesterday, my mamma took the liberty to read that part of your letter, which contains the story of Clarinda, to her pupils, and to make such comments upon it as the subject suggested; during which we could not but observe the extreme emotion of one of the misses, a most amiable girl of about sixteen. When the paragraph respecting Clarinda’s disowning her child was read, she hastily rose and in broken accents begged leave to withdraw. This was granted without any inquiry into the cause; though our curiosity, as you may well suppose, was much excited. After we were dismissed, my mamma prevailed on her to tell the reason of her agitation.

“I am,” said she, “the illegitimate offspring of parents, whom I am told are people of fortune and fashion. The fear of disgrace overcame the dictates of natural affection, and induced my mother to abandon me in my infancy. She accordingly gave me away, with a large sum of money, which she vainly imagined would procure me kind and good treatment. But unhappily for me the people to whom I was consigned, availed themselves of their security from inspection and inquiry, abused the trust reposed in them, and exposed me to the greatest hardships. As they were persons of vulgar minds and unfeeling hearts, they did not commiserate my friendless condition. My quick sensibility incurred their displeasure or derision. I was often insultingly reproached with the misfortune of my birth; while the tears which these ungenerous reflections extorted from me, were either mocked or punished. I had a thirst for knowledge; but they allowed me no time for acquiring it, alleging they could not support me in idleness, but that I must earn my living as they did theirs, by hard labor. Oppressed by these insults, I bore the galling yoke of their authority with the utmost impatience. When screened from observation, my tears flowed without restraint; and the idea of my parents’ cruelty, in thus subjecting me to infamy and wretchedness, continually haunted my imagination. Sometimes I fancied my mother in view, and exposing my tattered raiment, expostulated with her concerning the indignities I suffered, and the unreasonable hardship of leaving me to bear all the punishment of my guilty birth! At other times I painted to myself a father, in some gentleman of pleasing aspect; and fondly indulged the momentary transport of throwing myself at the feet of one, whom I could call by that venerable and endearing name! Too soon, however, did the reverse of parental tenderness awake me from my delusive reveries.

“In this manner I lingered away my existence, till I was twelve years old; when going one day to the house of a gentleman in the neighborhood, to which I was often sent to sell herbs, and other trifles, I was directed into the parlor, where the most beautiful sight in nature opened to my view; while the contrast between my own situation, and that of children blessed with affectionate parents, gave me the most painful sensations. The lady of the house was surrounded by her four sons, the eldest of whom was reading lessons, which she most pathetically inculcated upon all. As the door was open, I stood some minutes unobserved; and was so delighted with the tender accents in which her instructions were imparted, and the cheerful obedience with which they were received, that I had no disposition to interrupt them.

“At length I was seen, and bid to come in. But when questioned about my errand I was so absorbed in the contemplation of maternal and filial love, exhibited in this happy group, that my tongue refused utterance, and I burst into tears. The children gathered around and inquired what ailed the poor little girl? But when the lady took me by the hand, and kindly asked what was the matter, I could not restrain or conceal my feelings. When my tears had relieved me, I related the cause of my grief; describing my own situation, and the effect which its contrast had produced on my mind.

“She was affected by my story, and seemed pleased with my sensibility; while the children lamented my misfortunes, and artlessly requested their mamma to let me come and live with them.

“Little did I then expect so great a favor; but to my surprise as well as joy, Mrs. ——, the lady of whom I have been speaking, and by whom I am put under your care, came a few days after, and asked the people where I lived, if they were willing to part with me. By their consent she took me home, and has ever since treated me like a child.

“I am now happy beyond expression. My gratitude to my benefactress, who, guided by a wise and good Providence, has snatched me from obscurity and misery, and given me so many advantages for improvement, is unbounded.

“But the idea that any helpless innocent should be unnaturally exposed to the sufferings which I have experienced, is insupportably distressing to my imagination.

“Let my story, if possible, be told to Clarinda, that she may be induced to have compassion upon her defenceless offspring.”

You are at liberty, therefore, my dear Julia, to make what use you please of this letter. I shall make no comments upon the subject of it, nor add any thing more to its length, but that I am affectionately yours.

MARIA WILLIAMS.

_To Miss_ ANNA WILLIAMS.

SALEM.

DEAR ANNA,

My contemplated visit to Harmony-Grove must be deferred. A severe illness has lately confined my mamma to her chamber. This claimed all my time and attention, and called me to a new scene of care; that of a family which I was obliged to superintend during her indisposition. Her recovery has, at length, restored tranquillity and joy to our abode; but she has not yet resumed the direction of her household affairs. To this, she tells me she is reconciled by the hope that experience may render me an adept in domestic economy. Indeed, Anna, I think this an essential branch of female education; and I question whether it can be acquired by mere speculation. To me it is plain that every lady ought to have some practice in the management of a family, before she takes upon herself the important trust.

Do not many of the mistakes and infelicities of life arise from a deficiency in this point?

Young ladies of fashion are not obliged to the task, and have too seldom any inclination to perform duties which require so much time and attention; and with which, perhaps, they have injudiciously been taught to connect the idea of servility. Hence it is, that when called to preside over families, they commit many errors, during their novitiate, at least, which are alike detrimental to their interest and happiness. How necessary is it, then, to avoid this complication of evils by a seasonable application to those offices of housewifery, which may one day become our province.

Early rising, I find a great assistance in my present occupation. It is almost incredible how much may be gained by a diligent improvement of those hours which are but too commonly lost in sleep. I arose this morning with the dawn. The serenity of the sky and the fragrance of the air invited me abroad. The calmness which universally prevailed served to tranquillize my mind, while the receding shades of night, and the rising beams of day, formed a contrasted assemblage of the beautiful, the splendid, the solemn, and the sublime. The silence which pervaded the surrounding scenery was interrupted only by the melody of the feathered songsters, who seemed to rejoice in this undisturbed opportunity of praising their maker. My heart expanded with gratitude and love to the all-bountiful Author of nature; and so absorbed was I in the most delightful meditations, that I saw with regret the hour approaching which must again call me to the active duties of domestic and social life. These however, are objects of real moment, and cannot innocently be disregarded. They give a relish to amusement, and even to devotion, which neither the dissipated nor the recluse can know. Adieu.

CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

_To Miss_ HARRIOT HENLY.

BEVERLY.

DEAR HARRIOT,

I sincerely thank you for your affectionate letter, by the last post, and for the book with which it was accompanied. The very title is sufficient to rouse the feelings and attract the attention of the patriotic mind. Beacon-Hill claims a conspicuous place in the history of our country. The subject of this poem must be highly interesting to every true American; while the genius it displays cannot fail to gratify every poetical taste. Philenia’s talents justly entitle her to a rank among the literary ornaments of Columbia.

I have been reviewing Millot’s Elements of Ancient and Modern History; and recommend it to your re-perusal. It is undoubtedly the most useful compendium extant. The tedious minuteness and prolix details of sieges and battles, negotiations and treaties, which fatigue the reader and oppress the memory in most works of the kind, are happily avoided in this; while the elegance, simplicity, conciseness and perspicuity of the style, render it intelligible to every capacity, and pleasing to every taste. To those who have a relish for history, but want leisure to give full scope, Millot is well calculated to afford both information and entertainment. It is an objection, commonly made by our sex to studies of this nature, that they are dry and elaborate; that they yield little or no exercise to the more sprightly faculties of the mind; that the attention is confined to an uninteresting and barren detail of facts, while the imagination pants in vain for the flowery wreaths of decoration.

This is a plausible excuse for those who read only for amusement, and are willing to sacrifice reason, and the enlargement of their minds, to the gaudy phantom of a day; but it can never be satisfactory to the person, who wishes to combine utility with pleasure, and dignity with relaxation.

History improves the understanding, and furnishes a knowledge of human nature and human events, which may be useful as well as ornamental through life. “History,” says the late celebrated Gauganelli, “brings together all ages and all mankind in one point of view. Presenting a charming landscape to the mental eye, it gives colour to the thoughts, soul to the actions, and life to the dead; and brings them upon the stage of the world, as if they were again living; but with this difference, that it is not to flatter, but to judge them.”

The duties and avocations of our sex will not often admit of a close and connected course of reading. Yet a general knowledge of the necessary subjects may undoubtedly be gained even in our leisure hours; provided we bestow them not on works of mere taste and fancy, but on the perusal of books calculated to enrich the understanding with durable acquisitions.

The sincerest wishes for your health and happiness glow in the breast of your affectionate

MATILDA FIELDING.

_To Miss_ MARIA WILLIAMS.

BOSTON.

MY DEAR MARIA,

Since I wrote you last, I have made an agreeable visit to my good friend Sylvia Star. After rambling in the fields and gardens till we were fatigued, we went into her brother’s library. He was in a studious attitude, but gave us a polite reception. We are come, Amintor, said I. Be so kind as to furnish us with some instructive page, which combines entertainment and utility; and while it informs the mind, delights the imagination. I am not happy enough to know your taste respecting books, said he; and therefore, may not make a proper selection. Here, however, is an author highly spoken of by a lady who has lately added to the number of literary publications; handing me Sterne’s Sentimental Journey. I closed and returned the book. You have, indeed, mistaken my taste, said I. Wit, blended with indelicacy, never meets my approbation. While the fancy is allured, and the passions awakened, by this pathetic humourist, the foundations of virtue are insidiously undermined, and modest dignity insensibly betrayed. Well, said he, smilingly, perhaps you are seriously inclined. If so, this volume of sermons may possibly please you. Still less, rejoined I. The serious mind must turn with disgust from the levity which pervades these discourses, and from the indecent flow of mirth and humour, which converts even the sacred writings, and the most solemn subjects of religion, into frolic and buffoonery. Since such is your opinion of this celebrated writer, said he, I will not insult your feelings by offering you his Tristram Shandy. But here is another wit, famous for his “purity.” Yes, said I, if obscene and vulgar ideas, if ill-natured remarks and filthy allusions by purity, Swift undoubtedly bears the palm from all his contemporaries. As far as grammatical correctness and simplicity of language can deserve the epithet, his advocates may enjoy their sentiments unmolested; but in any other sense of the word, he has certainly no claim to “purity.” I conceive his works, notwithstanding, to be much less pernicious in their tendency, than those of Sterne. They are not so enchanting in their nature, nor so subtle in their effects. In the one, the noxious insinuations of licentious wit are concealed under the artful blandishments of sympathetic sensibility; while we at once recoil from the rude assault which is made upon our delicacy, by the roughness and vulgarity of the other.

Choose then, said Amintor, for yourself. I availed myself of his offer, and soon fixed my eyes upon Dr. Belknap’s History of New Hampshire, and American Biography; both of which I have since read with the greatest satisfaction.

By this judicious and impartial historian, we are led from its first settlement to trace the progress of the infant colony. We accompany its inhabitants in their enterprizes, their dangers, their toils, and their successes. We take an interest in their prosperity; and we tremble at the dreadful outrages of the barbarous foe. Our imagination is again recalled to the gradual advance of population and agriculture. We behold the wilderness blooming as the rose, and the haunts of savage beasts, and more savage men, converted into fruitful fields and pleasant habitations. The arts and sciences flourish; peace and harmony are restored; and we are astonished at the amazing contrast, produced in little more than a century.

When we return to the American Biography, gratitude glows in our bosoms towards those intrepid and active adventurers, who traversed a trackless ocean, explored an unknown region, and laid the foundation of empire and independence in this western hemisphere. The undaunted resolution, and cool, determined wisdom of Columbus, fill us with profound admiration. We are constrained to pay a tribute of just applause to the generosity of a female mind exemplified in Isabella, who, to surmount every obstacle, nobly consented to sacrifice even her personal ornaments to the success of this glorious expedition.

The daring spirit of Captain Smith, and the prudence, policy and magnanimity of his conduct to the treacherous natives, and to his equally treacherous and ungrateful countrymen, exhibit an example of patriotism and moderation, which at once commands our applause, and interests our feelings. While we tremble and recoil at his dreadful situation, when bending his neck to receive the murderous stroke of death, the native virtues of our sex suddenly reanimate our frame; and with sensations of rapture, we behold compassion, benevolence, and humanity, triumphant even in a savage breast; and conspicuously displayed in the conduct of the amiable though uncivilized Pocahontas! Nor are the other characters in this work uninteresting; and I am happy to find that the same masterly pen is still industriously employed for the public good;[6] and that a second volume of American Biography is now in press.

Footnote 6:

How vain are our expectations! While the types were setting for this
very page, Dr. Belknap suddenly expired in a fit.—_Printer._

In reviewing this letter, I am astonished at my own presumption, in undertaking to play the critic. My imagination has outstripped my judgment; but I will arrest its career, and subscribe myself most affectionately yours.

SOPHIA MANCHESTER.

_To Miss_ ANNA WILLIAMS.

BOSTON.

DEAR ANNA,

I retired, after breakfast this morning, determined to indulge myself in my favorite amusement, and write you a long letter. I had just mended my pen and folded my paper, when I was informed that three ladies waited for me in the parlor. I stepped down and found Lucinda P——, Flavia F——, and Delia S——. They were gaily dressed, and still more gaily disposed. “We called,” said they, “to invite you, Miss Maria, to join our party for a shopping tour.” Loath to have the ideas dissipated, which I had collected in my pericranium, for the purpose of transmitting to a beloved sister, I declined accepting their invitation; alleging that I had no occasion to purchase any thing to day; and therefore begged to be excused from accompanying them. They laughed at my reason for not engaging in the expedition. “Buying,” said their principal speaker, “is no considerable part of our plan, I assure you. Amusement is what we are after. We frankly acknowledge it a delightful gratification of our vanity, to traverse Cornhill, to receive the obsequious congees, and to call forth the gallantry and activity of the beaux, behind the counter; who, you must know, are extremely alert when we belles appear. The waving of our feathers, and the attractive airs we assume, command the profoundest attention, both of master and apprentices; who, duped by our appearance, suffer less brilliant customers to wait, or even to depart without notice, till we have tumbled over and refused half the goods in the shop. We then bid a very civil adieu; express our regret at having given so much trouble; are assured in return that it has been rather a pleasure; and leave them their trouble for their pains.”

A most insignificant amusement this, said I to myself! How little can it redound to the honor and happiness of these unthinking girls, thus to squander their time in folly’s giddy maze! They undoubtedly wish to attract eclat; but they would do well to remember those words of the satirist, which, with the alteration of a single term, may be applied to them.

“Columbia’s daughters, much more fair than nice,
Too fond of admiration, lose their price!
Worn in the public eye, give cheap delight
To throngs, and tarnish to the sated sight.”

Viewing their conduct in this light, I withstood their solicitations, though I palliated my refusal in such a manner as to give no umbrage.

Of all expedients to kill time, this appears to me, as I know it will to you, the most ridiculous and absurd.

What possible satisfaction can result from such a practice? It certainly fatigues the body; and is it any advantage to the mind? Does it enlarge the understanding, inspire useful ideas, or furnish a source of pleasing reflection? True, it may gratify a vitiated imagination, and exhilarate a light and trifling mind. But these ought to be restrained and regulated by reason and judgment, rather than indulged.

I wish those ladies, who make pleasure the supreme object of their pursuit, and argue in vindication of their conduct, that

“Pleasure is good, and they for pleasure made,”

would confine themselves to that species which

“Neither blushes nor expires.”

The domestic virtues, if duly cultivated, might certainly occupy those hours, which they are now solicitous to dissipate, both with profit and delight. “But it is time enough to be domesticated,” say they, “when we are placed at the head of families, and necessarily confined to care and labor.”

Should not the mind, however, be seasonably inured to the sphere of life which Providence assigns us?

“To guide the pencil, turn th’ instructive page;
To lend new flavor to the fruitful year,
And heighten nature’s dainties; in their race
To rear their graces into second life;
To give society its highest taste;
Well-ordered home man’s beet delight to make;
And, by submissive wisdom, modest skill,
With every gentle care eluding art,
To raise the virtues, animate the bliss,
And sweeten all the toils of human life;
This be the female dignity and praise.”

A proper attention to these necessary duties and embellishments, would not only correct this rambling disposition, but happily leave neither leisure nor temptation for its indulgence.

I intended to have given you some account of my agreeable visit here; but the chit-chat of the ladies I have mentioned, has occupied a large portion of my time this morning, and an engagement to dine abroad claims the rest.

I hope soon to embrace you in our beloved retirement, and again to enjoy the sweets of my native home.

“Had I the choice of sublunary good,
What could I wish that I possess not there?
Health, leisure, means t’ improve it, friendship, peace.”

My most dutiful affections await mamma; and my kind regards attend the young ladies residing with her. How great a share of my ardent love is at your command, need not be renewedly testified.

MARIA WILLIAMS.

_To Miss_ SOPHIA MANCHESTER.

NEWBURYPORT.

The extracts which you transmitted to me in your last letter, my dear Sophia, from your favorite author, Dr. Young, corresponded exactly with the solemnity infused into my mind by the funeral of a neighbor, from which I had just returned.

I agree with you that the Night-Thoughts are good devotional exercises. It is impossible to read them with that degree of attention which they merit, without being affected by the important and awful subjects on which they treat. But Young, after all, is always too abstruse, and in many instances too gloomy for me. The most elaborate application is necessary to the comprehension of his meaning and design; which when discovered often tend rather to depress than to elevate the spirits.

Thompson is much better adapted to my taste. Sentiment, elegance, perspicuity and sublimity are all combined in his Seasons. What an inimitable painter! How admirably he describes the infinitely variegated beauties and operations of nature! To the feeling and susceptible heart they are presented in the strongest light. Nor is the energy of his language less perceivable, when he describes the Deity riding on the wings of the wind, and directing the stormy tempest.

“How chang’d the scene! In blazing height of noon,
The sun oppress’d, is plunged in thickest gloom,
Still horror reigns, a dismal twilight round,
Of struggling night and day malignant mix’d,
Far to the hot equator crowding fast,
Where highly rarefy’d, the yielding air,
Admits their stream, incessant vapours roll,
Amazing clouds on clouds continual heap’d;
Or whirl’d tempestuous by the gusty wind,
Or silent, borne along, heavy and slow,
With the big stores of streaming oceans charg’d:
Meantime, amid these upper sea’s condens’d
Around the cold aerial mountain’s brow,
And by conflicting winds together dash’d,
The thunder holds his black tremendous throne,
From cloud to cloud the rending lightnings rage;
Till in the furious elemental war
Dissolve the whole precipitated mass,
Unbroken floods and torrents pours.”

Conscious of our own weakness and dependence, we can hardly fail to adore and to fear that Divine Power, whose agency this imagery exhibits to our minds. Nor are the devout affections of our hearts less excited, when we behold the same glorious Being arrayed in love, and accommodating the regular succession of summer and winter, seed time and harvest to our convenience and comfort. When nature, obedient to his command, revives the vegetable world, and diffuses alacrity and joy throughout the animal, and even rational creation, we involuntarily exclaim with the

“HAIL, SOURCE OF BEING! UNIVERSAL SOUL
Of heaven and earth! ESSENTIAL PRESENCE, hail!
To THEE I bend the knee; to THEE my thoughts
Continual climb; who, with a master hand,
Hast the great whole into perfection touch’d.
By THEE various vegetative tribes,
Wrapt in a filmy net and clad with leaves,
Draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew.
By THEE disposed into cogenial foils,
Stands each attractive plant, and sucks, and swells
The juicy tide; a twining mass of tubes.
At THY command, the vernal sun awakes
The torpid sap, detruded to the root
By wintry winds; which now in fluent dance,
And lively fermentation, mounting spreads
All this inumerous-colour’d scene of things.”

Aided in our observations by this pathetic and pious writer, our hearts beat responsive to the sentiments of gratitude, which he indirectly, yet most forcibly inculcates in that devout address to the Supreme Parent:

“——Were every faltering tongue of man,
Almighty Father! silent in thy praise,
Thy works themselves would raise a general voice,
Even in the depth of solitary woods,
By human foot untrod: proclaim the power,
And to the quire celestial Thee resound,
Th’ eternal cause, support, and End of all!”

By this beautiful poem we are allured to the study of nature, and to the contemplation of nature’s God. Our hearts glow with devotion and love to the sovereign Lord and benefactor of the universe; and we are drawn, by the innumerable displays of his goodness, to the practice of virtue and religion.

You may, possibly call me an enthusiast. Be it so. Yet I contend for the honor, but especially for the privilege, of being a cheerful one. For I think we dishonor our heavenly father by attaching any thing gloomy or forbidding to his character. In this participation of divine blessings, let us rather exercise a thankful, and contented disposition.

I remain your’s most affectionately.

CAROLINE LITTLETON.

_To Mrs._ WILLIAMS.

BOSTON.

DEAR MADAM,

By her desire in conjunction with my own inclination, I inform you that Harriot Henly, is no more——Yesterday she gave her hand, and renounced her name together; threw aside the sprightly girl we have been so long accustomed to admire, and substituted in her place the dignified and respectable head of a family, in Mrs. Farmington.

Have I not lost my amiable friend and associate! Will not her change of situation tend to lessen our intercourse, and alienate our affections?

When I contemplate the social circle, so firmly cemented in the bands of friendship, at the boarding school, where the most perfect harmony, ease and satisfaction presided, I recoil at the idea of becoming less dear, less interesting, and less necessary to each other. It is with the utmost reluctance that I admit the idea of rivals to that affection and benevolence which we have, so long, and so sincerely interchanged.

The charm however is broken. Harriot is already married; and my friends are extremely solicitous that I should follow her example. But in a connexion which requires so many precautions, before it is formed, and such uninterrupted circumspection and prudence afterwards; the great uncertainty of the event inspires me with timidity and apprehension.

Harriot put into my hands, and I read with pleasure, the book which you recommended to her on the subject. But still we wished for your instruction and advice. The sentiments of a person so dear and interesting to us, are particularly calculated to engage our attention, and influence our conduct. Relying, too, on your judgment and experience, your forming pen may render us more worthy objects of attachment.

We, however, unite in assuring you of our gratitude for all past favours; and in presenting our sincere regards to the young ladies.

I am, with great respect, your affectionate and grateful

LAURA GUILFORD.

_To Miss_ LAURA GUILFORD.

HARMONY-GROVE.

DEAR LAURA,

The obligations under which you lay me, by your generous confidence, and affectionate expressions of regard, induce me again to assume the Preceptress towards you, and to gratify your wishes, by imparting my sentiments on your present situation and prospects.

I am told by my daughter, who had the honor of bearing your letter, that you are what I always expected you would be, an object of general admiration. Yet, I trust, your good sense will enable you duly to distinguish and treat the several candidates for your favor.

It is, indeed, my young friend, a matter of the most serious consequence, which lies upon your mind, and awakens your anxiety. Your friends are studious of your welfare, and kindly concerned that the important die on which the happiness of your life depends, should be judiciously cast. You doubtless remember, that I discoursed upon this subject in my concluding lessons to your class.

Disparity of tempers, among other things which were then suggested, and which you will doubtless recollect, was represented, as tending to render life uncomfortable. But there are other disparities which may be equally hostile to your peace.

Disparity of years is very apt to occasion the indulgence of passions destructive of conjugal felicity. The great difference between the sprightly vivacity, and enterprise of youth, and the deliberate caution, phlegmatic coldness, and sententious wisdom of age render them very unpleasant companions to each other. Marriage between persons of these opposite descriptions is commonly the result of pecuniary motives, with one party, at least: the suspicion of this, in the other, must necessarily produce discontent, uneasiness, and disaffection.

Age is naturally jealous of respect, and apprehensive of being slighted. The most trifling and unmeaning inattentions will therefore be construed amiss. For an excessive desire of being objects of supreme regard is almost invariably accompanied with a strong persuasion of being the reverse. Hence accusations, reproaches and restraints, on the one side, produce disgust, resentment and alienation on the other, till mutual and unceasing wretchedness ensue. Indeed, where interest alone, without this inequality of years, is the principal inducement, marriage is seldom happy. Esteem and love are independent of wealth and its appendages. They are not to be sold or bought. The conjugal relation is so near and interesting, the mind as well as the person is so intimately concerned in it, that something more substantial and engaging than gold is requisite to make it a blessing.

Marriage, being the commencement of a domestic life, beside the many agreeable circumstances attending it, has its peculiar cares and troubles which require the solace of a companion actuated by better principles, and possessed of more amiable endowments than outward splendor and magnificence can afford. In the hour of sickness and distress, riches it is true, can bestow bodily comforts and cordials; but can they be made an equivalent for the tender sympathy, the endearing kindness, and the alleviating attention of a bosom friend, kindly assiduous to ease our pains, animate our prospects, and beguile the languid moments which elude all other consolations? The sorrows as well as the joys of a family state, are often such as none but a bosom friend can participate. The heart must be engaged before it can repose with ease and confidence. To a lady of sensibility, the confinement of the body, without the consent and union of according minds, must be a state of inexpressible wretchedness.

Another situation, not less to be deplored, is a connexion with the immoral and profane.

How shocking must it be, to hear that sacred NAME, which you revere and love, constantly treated with levity and irreverence! And how painful the necessity of being constrained, for the sake of peace, to witness in silence, and without even the appearance of disapprobation, the most shameful outrages upon religion and virtue! May you never taste the bitterness of this evil.

Intemperance is a vice, which one would imagine no lady would overlook in a suitor. But, strange to tell! there are those even among our own sex, who think and speak of inebriation in the other, at the jovial and well furnished board, as a mark of conviviality and good fellowship.

How degrading and how dreadful must this enormity appear to an interested, affectionate and virtuous wife! What agonizing pangs of mortification and anguish must she endure, when she meets him, in whose society she delights; whose return she has anticipated with impatience, and whose happiness and honor are the moving springs of her life, intoxicated with wine; the powers of his mind suspended by the poisonous cup, and every faculty absorbed in the deadly draught! What a perpetual source of dread and apprehension must hence arise; and how often must the blush of indignant virtue and wounded delicacy be called forth.

The gamester is an equally dangerous companion. His family is robbed, not only of his company and his talents, but of that property, to the benefit of which they have an indisputable claim. His earnings are squandered among worthless and profligate associates abroad; while the fruitful partner of his life, and perhaps, too, a rising offspring, languish at home for want of bread!

How fatal is the tendency of such examples! How can that father inculcate the duties of piety, virtue and decency, who exhibits the reverse of each in his own conduct? And under what an unspeakable disadvantage, must that mother labor, in the instruction and education of her children, whose admonitions, counsels, and directions are practically counteracted by him who ought to bear an equal share of the burden! The government and superintendence of a family are objects of such magnitude and importance, that the union and co-operation of its heads are indispensably necessary. It is a little commonwealth; and if internal feuds and dissentions arise, anarchy and confusion must ensue.

Domestic happiness is the foundation of every other species. At times, indeed, we may enjoy ourselves abroad, among our friends—but a good heart will return home, as to the seat of felicity.

“——Home is the resort
Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where
Supporting and supported, polish’d friends
And dear relations mingle into bliss.”

Since so much, then, depends upon a judicious choice, how important is it, that you examine well before you decide; and that you dispense with no quality in the man to whom you shall give your hand, which is essential to the virtue and happiness of your life. For this purpose, consult your judgment rather than your fancy; and suffer not superficial accomplishments, but solid merit to preponderate.

I have now endeavored to point out the most apparent and threatening dangers to which you may be exposed. But though these are avoided, many unforeseen accidents will doubtless occur to cloud your sanguine hopes. These, when there are no vices to produce them, may arise from follies, and from the indulgence of erroneous expectations. Little misunderstandings sometimes occasion disagreements which terminate in coldness and disaffection, and plant a root of bitterness which can hardly be eradicated.

Let prudence, therefore, be your pole-star, when you enter the married state. Watch with the greatest circumspection over yourself; and always exercise the tenderest affection, the most unwearied patience, and the most cheerful acquiescence in the treatment of your companion. Guard especially against being affected by those little inattentions and foibles, which too often give pain and umbrage without design; and produce those remonstrances, criminations, and retorts, which are the great inlets of strife, and bane of love.

You must bear with calmness, every thing that the sincerest desire of peace can dictate; and studiously avoid every expression, and even look, which may irritate and offend. Your own happiness, you will consider so intimately connected with that of your husband, as to be inseparable; and consequently, that all your hopes of comfort in this life, and perhaps too, in the next, depend upon your conducting with propriety and wisdom towards him.

I take the liberty, through you, to convey my congratulations to Mrs. Farmington. May her change of condition be happy, to the full extent of our most sanguine expectations, and benevolent wishes. I fully intended writing her on the subject, but having unwarily bestowed so much time upon you, that for the present, I must forego the pleasure. Some things in this letter, which you will doubtless communicate, are applicable to her case. These she will receive as friendly hints from me; and I am confident that her known discretion will continue to shed a benign and engaging influence upon her whole deportment and render her uniformly respected and beloved.

The bearer is waiting, and I can only add, that I remain your sincere and affectionate friend.

MARY WILLIAMS.

_To Miss_ CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

BOSTON.

DEAR CLEORA,

The pleasing hope with which you inspired me, when we parted last, of receiving a visit from you in town, has been constantly cherished. I have anticipated your arrival with the utmost impatience; but have endeavored, notwithstanding, to beguile the slow-paced hours by a useful and pleasing occupation; the revision of my geographical studies.

My papa has kindly procured me Doctor Morse’s last and much improved edition of Universal Geography, which with the assistance of a pair of globes he possessed, has afforded me the most delightful entertainment. When at school, I thought this the most agreeable study allotted me; never deeming it a task, but an amusement.

It affords me, as it must every true American, the sincerest pleasure to be furnished with the means of acquiring this favorite science, by my own countryman; and the spirit of Columbian independence exults in my bosom, at the idea of being able to gain an accurate acquaintance with my own and other countries, without recourse to the labors of foreigners.

I think the present generation are under special obligations to the active industry of Dr. Morse, in providing us with that necessary and rich fund of information, which his Geography and Gazeteer contain. From these sources we may derive a sufficient knowledge of the world we inhabit, without departing from our domestic sphere.

Come then, my dear Cleora, and without fatigue or expense, we will make the tour of the globe together. After investigating the local situation of different and distant climes, we will turn to the historic page, and examine the manners, government, character and improvements of their inhabitants. We will traverse the frozen wastes of the frigid zones, and the burning sands of the equatorial region; then return and bless the temperate and happy medium in which we are placed; and casting an eye around, exult in our peculiar advantages of soil and situation, peace and good government, virtue and religion.

The fine mornings of this season afford many delightful hours, before the heat of the day relaxes the mind and enervates the body. Come, then, enjoy and improve these, in concert with your faithful and affectionate friend,

JULIA GREENFIELD.

_To Miss_ MATILDA FIELDING.

HARMONY-GROVE.

DEAR MATILDA,

Last Thursday, after having concluded the usual occupations and sedentary amusements of the day, I walked out, towards evening, to enjoy the benefit of a cool and fragrant air, and the serenity and beauty of those rural scenes which have a powerful tendency to soothe and tranquillize the mind. When I had rambled in the fields to a considerable distance, I crossed into the road, to return home free from the inconvenience of the dew, which had begun to fall.

I had not proceeded far, when I observed a female, who had the appearance of youth and misfortune, sitting by the wall in a pensive attitude, with an infant in her lap. When I approached her, she arose, and in the most humble and pathetic accents, besought me to direct her to some shelter, where she might repose her weary limbs for the night. The aspect and language of distress awakened my compassion. To know she really needed charity, was a sufficient inducement with me to bestow it, without scrupulously inquiring whether she deserved it or not. I therefore told her to follow me, and I would conduct her to a lodging.

As we walked on, I questioned her respecting the place of her nativity, her parentage, and the reason of her being reduced to the situation in which I had found her. She informed me that she was born in Ireland: that her parents brought her into this country before her remembrance; that while she was very young, they both died, and left her to the protection and mercy of strangers; that she was bandied one from another, in the village where Providence had cast her lot, till she was able to earn her own living: “and since that time,” said she, “I believe the character of an honest and industrious girl will not be refused me.” How then, said I, came you by this incumbrance? pointing to the child. “In that,” replied she, “I am very guilty. Brought up in ignorance of those principles of decency, virtue, and religion, which have kept you innocent, Madam, I was ruined by a deceitful man, who, under the mask of love, and with the most solemn promises of marriage, betrayed my confidence, and left me to reap the bitter fruits of my credulity. The woman where I lived, when she discovered my situation, ordered me to leave her house immediately. It was no matter, said she, how much I suffered, or what became of me. On my own head, she told me, my iniquity should fall; she would not lighten the burden, if it were in her power.

“Some of the neighbors informed me, that she had reason to be severe upon my fault, being once in the same condemnation herself.

“Having no friend who could assist me, I applied to the selectmen of the town, who provided for me till I was able to work, and then told me I must shift for myself; offering, however, to keep the child, which I refused, being determined that it should never suffer for want of a mother’s care, while I had life.

“I am now wandering in pursuit of employment, that the labor of my hands may support myself and little one. This has been often denied me, either for fear my child should be troublesome, or because my character was suspected. I have sometimes suffered so much from fatigue and want, that I have despaired of relief, and heartily wished both myself and babe in the grave.”

On examination, I found her knowledge confined entirely to domestic drudgery; that she had never been taught either to read or write. She appears, notwithstanding, to have good natural sense; and a quickness of apprehension, and readiness of expression, seldom equalled in her sphere of life.

I conducted her into the kitchen, and desired she might have supper and a bed provided for her. My mamma, whose benevolent heart and liberal hand are always ready to relieve the necessitous, was pleased to approve my conduct; and having kept her through the next day, and observed her disposition and behaviour, hired her as a servant; and we have reason to believe, from her apparent fidelity and grateful exertions, that our kindness will be well repaid. I have even extended my charity further, and undertaken to teach her to read. She is very tractable; and I expect to be amply rewarded for my labor, by her improvements.

Indeed, Matilda, it is melancholy to see our fellow-creatures reared up, like the brute creation; neither instructed how to live above their animal appetites, nor how to die as Christians, when they have finished their toilsome career!

This girl is only seventeen. Her age, therefore, as well as her docility and submissiveness, encourage the pleasing hope of restoring her to the paths of rectitude and peace. I shall endeavor, as opportunity offers, to instil into her susceptible mind, the principles of virtue and religion; and, perhaps, I may lead her to the love and practice of both, and render her a useful member of society. Her fate impresses more forcibly than ever, on my mind, the importance of a good education, and the obligations it confers. Had you or I been subjected to the same ignorance, and the same temptations, who can say that we should have conducted better? How many fall for want of the directing hand of that parental love and friendship, with which we are blessed! Contrasting our situation with hers, how much have we to account for, and how inexcusable shall we be, if we violate our duty, and forfeit our dignity, as reasonable creatures.

That extreme bitterness and acrimony, which is sometimes indulged against persons who are unhappily seduced from the way of virtue, may operate as a discouragement to all designs and endeavors to regain it; whereas, the soothing voice of forgiveness, and the consequent prospect of being restored to reputation and usefulness, might rouse the attention, and call forth the exertions of some, at least, who through despair of retrieving their characters, abandon themselves to vice, and adopt a course, alike disgraceful to their sex, and to human nature.

But though I advocate the principles of philanthropy and Christian charity, as extending to some very special cases, I am far from supposing this fault generally capable of the least extenuation. Whatever allowance may be made for those, whose ignorance occasions their ruin, no excuse can be offered for others, whose education, and opportunities for knowing the world and themselves, have taught them a better lesson.

I need not, however, be at the pains to enforce this truth upon you: and, as my head is so full of the subject, that I have no disposition to write upon any thing else, I will put an end to this incoherent scroll, by annexing the name of your sincere and faithful friend,

MARIA WILLIAMS.

_To Miss_ CAROLINE LITTLETON.

BOSTON.

DEAR CAROLINE,

Happening to be in my chamber, this morning, the maid came running up stairs in such violent haste, as to put herself fairly out of breath. Will you be so kind, Miss Sophia, said she, as to lend me a quarter of a dollar? I put my hand into my pocket, and found I had no small change. I have nothing less than a dollar, Susan, said I; but if it is a matter of consequence to you, I will go to my mamma, and procure it for you. She was loath to give me that trouble; but, if I would, it would really oblige her very much indeed. Her solicitude excited my curiosity. Will you inform me what you want it for? said I. O yes; she believed it was no harm—But there was a woman in the wood-house who told fortunes; and she wished to know hers, but could not without the money. A woman who tells fortunes! said I. What fortunes? the past or the future? The future, to be sure, Ma’am, replied she. Ay, how does she know them? said I. Has she been let into the secret designs of Providence? or can she divine the mysteries of fate? She tells fortunes by cards, Ma’am, said she; and I really believe she tells true. Can you imagine, said I, that a knowledge of your destiny in life, is to be gained from any possible arrangement of a pack of cards? Why not Ma’am? Many people have been told exactly what was to happen. You may depend on it, Susan, said I, you are deceived. The Almighty who disposes all events according to his sovereign pleasure, does not unveil futurity to mortals, especially to such mortals, who by an idle, vicious course of life, counteract his laws, and disregard his authority. I would willingly give you the money, twice told, if you needed it; but I cannot consent to your being imposed on by this worthless vagrant, who has no other design than to pick your pocket.

The girl departed at these words; and though I felt an emotion of regret at refusing to gratify her, yet my reason and conscience forbad my being accessary to the fraud.

This curiosity to explore the hidden counsels of the Most High, prevails not only among servants, but even many from whom better things might be expected, are under its infatuating influence.

The Supreme Being has, for wise and benevolent reasons, concealed from us the future incidents of our lives. A humble reliance on his power and goodness, accompanied with a cheerful submission to the dispensations of his providence, is what the Lord our God requireth of us.

I have heard my mamma relate an anecdote of a particular friend of hers, who was imposed on very seriously in this way.

A gentleman, whom I shall call Sylvander, was very deeply in love with her; but his person, and, much more, his disposition and manners, were extremely disgusting to her. Averse to the very idea of a connexion with him, she accordingly refused his addresses. Yet he had art sufficient to interest her friends in his behalf; who, pitying his situation, endeavored to soften the heart of the obdurate fair. But in vain they strove to conciliate her affections.

In defiance of all opposition, however, he intruded his visits, till she reluctantly admitted them; and being somewhat coquetish, she at times received him more benignly; which flattered his hopes of ultimately accomplishing his wishes. Finding his ardent suit of but little avail, and perceiving that he made but small progress towards gaining her favor, he had recourse to art. Surprising her one day in close confabulation with a fortune-teller, the idea immediately struck him, that he might effect, through this mean, what all his assiduity and solicitations could never insure. He communicated his plan to a female friend, who was equally the confident of both parties. Directed by him, she conversed with Sylvia on the subject; professed her belief in the skill of these jugglers; and appeared desirous of taking this measure to learn her fate. Sylvia joined in her opinion and wishes; and away they tripped together on the important errand. Meanwhile, Sylvander had been to the fellow who was to reveal their destinies? and, bribing him to favor the design, left him instructed what answers to make to their interrogations.

They arrived and proposed their business. The mediums of information, a pack of cards, were brought forth, and mysteriously arranged. Sylvia’s curiosity was on tip-toe. She listened with profound attention to his oracular wisdom; and believed him really inspired when he told her that her former lover, for-whom she had a great regard, was gone to a foreign country. This she knew to be true and therefore gave him a full credence, when he added, that he would never live to return; and when he proceeded still further to observe that another gentleman of great merit now courted her; that she was not fond of his addresses, but would soon see his worth and her own error, and give him her hand, and be happy.

In short, he so artfully blended the past and present, which she knew, with the future which Sylvander wished, and had therefore dictated, that she was firmly persuaded that he dealt with some invisible power, and that fate had indeed predestined her to the arms of Sylvander. Convinced of this, she attended to his overtures more placidly, contemplated his person and endowments with less aversion, and endeavored to reconcile herself to the unavoidable event.

This she effected; and not long after, he obtained her in marriage, and triumphed in the success of his duplicity.

In process of time her other lover returned. Disappointment and despair presided in his breast. He saw Sylvia, upbraided her with her inconstancy, and declared himself utterly ruined. Pity and returning love operated in her mind, and rendered her completely wretched. She most severely condemned her own folly, in listening to the dictates of a misguided curiosity; and acknowledged herself justly punished, for presuming to pry in the secret designs of Heaven.

These strolling pretenders to foreknowledge are peculiarly dangerous to the weak-minded and credulous part of the community; and how it happens that they are encouraged, is to me inconceivable. Did they actually give the information they promise, how much reason should we have to avoid them! How many sources of grief would be opened, by the anticipation of future evils, of which now we have no apprehension! and how often should we be deprived of the consolatory hope of a speedy deliverance from present sufferings.

With every sentiment of respect and affection, I am most sincerely yours.

SOPHIA MANCHESTER.

_To Miss_ ANNA WILLIAMS.

BOSTON.

DEAR ANNA,

A most melancholy and distressing event has spread a gloom over the face of the metropolis. Every heart heaves the sympathetic sigh, and every eye drops the tear of regret. The very sudden death of Doctor Clarke, who was seized with an apoplectic fit, in the midst of his sermon, yesterday afternoon, and expired this morning, is a subject of universal lamentation.