Part 7
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.