Part 12

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.

Not only we, who had the happiness to sit under his ministry, and to enjoy his particular friendship and attention, but the whole town; and, indeed, the public at large have sustained a great loss in his departure. Amiable in his disposition, engaging in his manners, and benevolent in his whole deportment, he conciliated the affections of every class. His talents as a scholar, philosopher, and divine, commanded the respect of the most judicious and learned; while the elegance, perspicuity and delicacy of his style, joined with the undissembled seriousness of his manner, rendered him uniformly acceptable to the devout. In every condition and relation of life, he was exemplary as a Christian; and as a preacher, an air of persuasion invariably accompanied him, which arrested the attention of the most heedless auditors.

——“By him, in strains as sweet As angels use, the gospel whisper’d peace. Grave, simple and sincere: in language plain: And plain in manner. Decent, solemn, chaste And natural in gesture. Much impress’d Himself as conscious of his awful charge, And anxious mainly that the flock he fed Might feel it too. Affectionate in look, And tender in address, as well becomes A messenger of grace to guilty men.”

He was particularly attractive to young people. While he charmed their ear, he convinced their understanding and excited them to the love and practice of virtue.

A striking example of this occurred some years ago, which I will take the liberty to relate. He preached in a neighboring church on these words, “She that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth.”[7] In this discourse he painted those allurements of pleasure which surround the young and gay; more especially of our sex, in the most just and lively colours. He represented, in pathetic, engaging and refined language, the snares to which they are exposed, and the most probable means of escaping them. He exhibited with all their attractions, the native charms of virtue, and portrayed vice in its true deformity. He described in the most animating terms, the respectability, usefulness, and happiness of those who undeviatingly adhere to the path of rectitude and innocence; and with the most energetic and affectionate tenderness, warned the youth to avoid the devious walks of vice and dissipation.

Footnote 7:

1 Timothy, v. 6.

A number of young ladies, who had been his hearers, happening to be together in the evening, united in the wish to express their gratitude to him; but not having a personal acquaintance with him, could devise no better method than writing.

The following anonymous letter was accordingly penned by one of the company, and privately conveyed to the Doctor, at the request of all.

* * * * *

BOSTON.

“REVEREND SIR,

“The well known candour of your disposition, and your apparent zeal for the promotion of religion and virtue, embolden us to flatter ourselves that you will pardon this method of conveying to you our sincere and united thanks for your very seasonable, judicious, and useful discourse, delivered last Sunday morning, at our meeting.

“It is much to be lamented, that the depravity of the age is such, as to render sermons of this nature just and necessary; and it is almost matter of equal regret, that we have so seldom opportunities of being benefitted by them.

“That we oftener hear than receive instruction, is a truth which can neither be denied or evaded; and can only be accounted for, by that passionate fondness for pleasure, which prevails to such a degree of enthusiasm, as to precipitate its votaries into whatever presents itself under this deluding aspect, without considering whether it be durable or fleeting.

“It is certainly a most humiliating reflection, that our sex (which is the female) should ever take more pains to gain the qualifications of agreeable triflers than of rational friends; or be more anxious to become amusing, than useful companions. But sir, does not such conduct in ladies too often receive the most flattering encouragement from the gentlemen? How seldom is intrinsic merit distinguished; and the serious, prudent female preferred even by those who style themselves men of sense and penetration, to the airy, flaunting coquette!

“The constant attention which is paid to those who make the gayest appearance, and the applause which is lavished upon her who has the largest portion of external graces and fashionable embellishments, induce many who entertain the good natured desire of pleasing to bestow more of their time and care on the cultivation of those superficial accomplishments, which they find necessary to render them acceptable to most circles in which they fall, than upon the acquisition of those substantial virtues which they daily see neglected and ridiculed; though at the same time, perhaps they are convinced of the superior satisfaction which the latter would afford.

“But it is needless for one sex to criminate the other. We allow, that, generally speaking, they are equally to blame. In this instance, however, as the male assume the prerogative of superior judgment and intellectual abilities, they ought to prove the justice of their claim by setting nobler examples, and by endeavoring to reform whatever tends to vitiate the taste and corrupt the morals of society.

“Yet, after all, the evil cannot be effectually remedied, but by the concurrent exertions of both; and we are humbly of opinion, that if this reformation were more frequently inculcated from the pulpit, in the delicate, engaging and pious manner of the discourse which now excites our gratitude to you, and our resolutions to conduct accordingly, it would be efficacious in bringing about so desirable an event.

“We entreat your pardon, Reverend Sir, for the freedom, prolixity, and errors of this epistle.

“Though personally unknown to you, we doubt not you will readily grant it, when we assure you, that we are actuated by a sincere regard to the interests of religion and morality, and by a grateful sense of your exertions in the glorious cause.

“The united sentiments of a number of young ladies, who heard and admired your sermon, last Sunday morning, are expressed above.

Rev. JOHN CLARKE.”

It is much to be regretted that Doctor Clarke did not publish more of his literary labours.

The universal approbation bestowed upon those, which he suffered to see the light, is an unequivocal evidence of his merit, as an author. His “Letters to a Student in the University of Cambridge,” are written in a most pleasing style, and contain instruction and advice of which no person in pursuit of a public education ought to be ignorant. His “Answer to the question, Why are you a Christian?” which has already had three editions in Boston, and three in England, is one of the best compendiums of the external and internal evidences of our holy religion, extant. It is plain and intelligible to the lowest capacity and may enable every one, without much study, to give a reason for the hope that is in him.

From these specimens we may form an opinion of what the world has lost by his early exit.

I shall make no other apology for the length of this letter, than the interest which I feel in the subject; and this, I am persuaded, you will deem sufficient.

My affectionate regards wait on your mamma and sister, while I subscribe myself yours most sincerely,

JULIA GREENFIELD.

_To Miss_ CLEORA PARTRIDGE.

BEVERLY.

DEAR CLEORA,

The shortness of time is a very common subject of complaint; but I think the misuse of it, a much more just one. Its value is certainly underrated by those who indulge themselves in morning sloth.

Sweet, indeed, is the breath of morn; and after the body has been refreshed by the restoring power of sleep, it is peculiarly prepared to procure and participate the pleasures of the mind. The jarring passions are then composed, and the calm operations of reason succeed of course; while

“———————————Gentle gales, Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense Native perfumes, and whisper when they stole These balmy spoils.”

The morning is undoubtedly a season, of all others, most favorable to useful exertions. Those, therefore, who lose three or four hours of it, in slumbering inaction, make a voluntary sacrifice of the best part of their existence. I rose to-day, not with the sun, but with the dawn; and after taking a few turns in the garden, retired to the summer-house. This you know is a favorite hour with me.

“To me be nature’s volume broad display’d; And to peruse its all-instructing page, Or, haply catching inspiration thence, Some easy passage raptur’d to translate, My sole delight; as thro’ the falling glooms, Pensive I stray, or with the rising dawn On fancy’s eagle wing excursive soar.”

Having a memorandum book and pencil in my pocket, I descend from the lofty heights to which the immortal bard, my beloved Thompson, had insensibly raised my imagination, to the humble strains of simple rhyme, in order to communicate my sensations to you. These I enclose, without attempting to tell you, either in prose or verse, how affectionately I am yours.

MATILDA FIELDING.

* * * * *

The morning dawns, the russet grey Slowly avoids the opening day: Receding from the gazing eye, The misty shades of twilight fly. The ruddy streaks of light appear, To guide our western hemisphere; While tuneful choirs responsive join To praise the gracious Pow’r Divine, Whose mighty hand with sov’reign sway, Restores, alternate, night and day.

Hail, opening morn! thy sober rays Demand the contemplative gaze: Unnumber’d beauties please the sight, And give the mental eye delight.

O dawn! thy sombre shades I love! With thee in solitude I’ll rove: While health expansive gives the mind To taste thy pleasures unconfin’d.

Here free from fashion’s artful forms, Benevolence the bosom warms: Persuasive virtue charms the soul, And reason’s laws alone control.

Let others, lost in sloth forego The joys thy early hours bestow: Thy zephyrs far more sweets dispense, Than Somnus yield to drowsy sense!