Chapter XIII: Letter XII: Mrs. Holmes to Myra

IN CONTINUATION.

MY good father-in-law being so strenuous in proving the eligibility of reading satire, had spurn out, what he called his _new idea_, to such a metaphysical nicety, that he unhappily diminished the number of his hearers; for Mrs. _Bourn_, to whom he directed his discourse, had taken down a book and was reading to herself, and Miss was diverting herself with the cuts in _Gay’s_ Fables.

A CONSIDERABLE silence ensued, which _Worthy_ first broke, by asking Mrs. _Bourn_ what book she had in her hand. Everyone’s attention was alarmed at this important enquiry. Mrs. _Bourn_, with little difficulty, found the title page, and began to read. “_A Sentimental Journey through France and Italy, by Mr. Yorick._”

“I DO not like the _title_,” said Miss _Bourn_.

“WHY, my dear!” apostrophized the mother, “you are mistaken—it is a very famous book.”

“WHY, my dear!” retorted the daughter, “It is sentimental—I abominate everything that is sentimental—it is so unfashionable too.”

“I NEVER knew before,” said Mr. _Holmes_, “that wit was subject to caprice of fashion.”

“WHY ’Squire _Billy_,” returned Miss, “who is just arrived from the centre of politeness and fashion, says the bettermost genii never read any sentimental books—so you see sentiment is out of date.”

THE company rose to go out.—

“SENTIMENT out of date!” cries _Worthy_, repeating the words of Miss _Bourn_, and taking the book from her mother, as she walked towards the door—“Sentiment out of date—alas! poor _Yorick_—may thy pages never be soiled by the fingers of prejudice.” He continued his address to them, as they went out, in the same _Shandean_ tone—“_These_ antisentimentalists would banish thee from the society of all books! Unto what a pitiful size are the race of _readers_ dwindled! Surely these _antis_ have more to do with thee, than the gods of the Canaanites—In character and understanding they are alike—eyes have _they_, but they see not—ears have _they_, but they hear not, neither is there any knowledge to be found in them.” “It is hardly worth while to beat it into them,” said my father-in-law, “so let us follow the company.”

WE did so—they walked toward the house, and _Worthy_ and myself brought up the rear.

I COULD not but remark, as we went on, that Miss _Bourn_ had spoken the sentiments of many of her sex;—“and whence,” said I to _Worthy_, “arises this detestation of books in _some_ of us females, and why are _they_ enemies to anything that may be called sentiment and conversation: I grant it often happens there is such rapidity of speeches that one may be at a loss to distinguish the speakers; but why is there such a calm silence, should an unfortunate sentiment inadvertently”—“I will tell you,” interrupted he, “You all read, and it is from the books which engage your attention, that you generally imbibe your ideas of the principal subjects discussed in company—now, the books which employ your hours of study, happen to be Novels; and the _subjects_ contained in these Novels are commonly confined to _dress_, _balls_, _visiting_, and the like _edifying_ topicks; does it not follow, that these must be the subjects of your conversation? I will not dispute whether the Novel makes the woman, or the woman makes the Novel; or whether they are written to engage your attention, or flatter your vanity. I believe the results will shew they depend, in some measure, upon each other; and an uninformed woman, by reading them, only augments the number of her futile ideas. _The female mind_, notwithstanding, _is competent to any talk_, and the accomplishments of an elegant woman depend on a proper cultivation of her intelligent powers; a barrenness—a sterility of conversation—immediately discovers where this cultivation is wanting.”

“GIVE me leave,” answered I, “to espouse the cause of this class of females. Tell me candidly, Mr. _Worthy_, whether that insipid flattery, perhaps sacrificed at the expense of truth, does not misguide many of us into erroneous paths? You declare we are handsome—and your conduct demonstrates you to be more solicitous for the possession of _beautiful_, than of _mental_ charms. Hence is the deluded female persuaded of the force of her fascinating powers, and vainly imagines, one glance of her eye sufficient to reduce a million of hearts whenever she chooses: Her aims, therefore, are confined to the decoration of her person, and her views centre solely in finishing herself in those attractive, all-powerful graces, with which you declare yourselves to be enchanted. How then are they to be censured for neglecting to improve the mind, when your adulation diverts their attention to an external object?”

“I JOIN with you,” replied _Worthy_, “in calling it insipid flattery—and the vain cox-comb, the powdered beau, the insignificant _petit maître_, are those who make use of it. Will women of real merit, and sound sense, believe what is said by _them_ to be _their_ real sentiments?—No—There must be a congeniality in the minds of those who give and receive flattery—Has not the vain coquette as much inclination to be thought a goddess, as the empty admirer to declare her so?

“FLATTERY is become a kind of epidemical distemper: many run into it, perhaps, without designing it, or only through civility. There are some women who expect it—who dress to be admired—and who deem it a mark of impoliteness and rudeness in men, who do not pay them the tribute of compliment and adulation. A man of sense _may_ comply with their expectation—he will still think them agreeable _playthings_, to divert him at an hour of relaxation; but I cannot suppose he will entertain any serious thoughts of _a more permanent connection_.

“MAY we not conclude these things to be productive of many evils that happen in society—do they not frighten all sentiment from conversation—introduce affectation—pride—envy—clandestine marriages—elopements—division of families—and ultimately terminate in the ruin of very many innocent, but inconsiderate females?”

By this time we had got into the house, and our company soon after departed, leaving us at full leisure to contemplate on the many wrong ideas entertained, and fallacious steps pursued by the generality of mankind, in the sentimental part of female education.

Adieu!