Part 9
Yesterday I received a visit from a young lady, lately moved into this neighbourhood, who is reputed a wit. Her conversation reminded me of Pope’s satirical remark:
“There are, whom Heaven has bless’d with store of wit; But want as much again to manage it.”
I found her’s to consist in smart sayings, lively repartees, and ludicrous allusions.
So strong was her propensity to display this talent, that she could not resist any temptation which offered, though it led her to offend against the rules of politeness and generosity. As some persons of real genius were present, topics of literature and morality were discussed. Upon these she was mute as a statue; but whenever the playfulness of her fancy could find a subject, she was extremely loquacious. This induced me to suspect that the brilliance of her imagination had dazzled her understanding, and rendered her negligent of the more solid and useful acquisitions of the mind.
Is it not often the case, that those who are distinguished by any superior endowment, whether personal or mental, are too much elated by the consciousness of their pre-eminence, and think it sufficient to counterbalance every deficiency?
This, Mrs. Williams used to say, is owing to the want of self-knowledge; which, if once possessed, will enable us properly to estimate our own characters, and to ascertain with precision wherein we are defective, as well as wherein we excel. But it is the misfortune of us, young people, that we seldom attain this valuable science, till we have experienced many of the ills which result from the want of it. Ambition, vanity, flattery, or some such dazzling meteor, engrosses our attention, and renders us blind to more important qualifications.
But to return to this same wit, of which I was speaking. It is certainly a very dangerous talent, when imprudently managed. None that we can possess tends so directly to excite enmity, or destroy friendship.
An ill-natured wit is of all characters the most universally dreaded. People of this description are always feared, but rarely loved. Humanity and benevolence are essentially necessary to render wit agreeable. Accompanied by these, it cannot fail to please and entertain.
“Wit, how delicious to man’s dainty taste! ’Tis precious as the vehicle of sense; But as its substitute, a dire disease! Pernicious talent! flatter’d by mankind, Yet hated too.———————— Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound; When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam; Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still. Wit, widow’d of good sense, is worse than naught; It hoists more sail to run against a rock.”
But I believe I cannot give a better proof of my own wit, than to conclude this scribble before your patience is quite exhausted by the perusal. Adieu.
CAROLINE LITTLETON.
_To Miss_ HARRIOT HENLY.
HARMONY-GROVE.
DEAR HARRIOT,
The first moment which I have been able to snatch from the affectionate embraces of my honored mamma, and my dear sister Maria, is devoted to you. Judging by the anxious solicitude of my own heart, I know you are impatient to hear of my safe arrival. It is needless to tell you how cordially I was received. You have witnessed the mutual tenderness which actuates our domestic circle. Where this is the governing principle, it is peculiarly interesting to sensibility. It is extremely exhilarating to the mind to revisit, after the shortest absence, the place of our nativity and juvenile happiness. “There is something so seducing in that spot, in which we first had our existence, that nothing but it can please. Whatever vicissitudes we experience in life, however we toil, or wheresoever we wander, our fatigued wishes still recur to home for tranquillity. We long to die in that spot which gave us birth, and in that pleasing expectation opiate every calamity.”[2]
Footnote 2:
Goldsmith.
The satisfaction of returning home, however, has not obliterated the pleasure which I enjoyed on my visit to you. Does not a change of scene and situation contribute to the happiness of life? The natural love of this variety seems wisely implanted in the human breast; for it enables us to accommodate ourselves with facility to the different circumstances in which we are placed. I believe that no pleasures make so deep an impression on the memory, as those of the first and most innocent period of our lives. With what apparent delight do persons, advanced in years, re-trace their puerile feats and diversions! “The hoary head looks back with a smile of complacency, mixed with regret, on the season when health glowed on the cheek, when lively spirits warmed the heart, and when toil strung the nerves with vigour.”[3]
Footnote 3:
Knox.
The pleasures of childhood and youth, when regulated by parental wisdom, and sweetened by filial affection and obedience, must be grateful to the recollection at any age: and for this plain reason, because innocence and simplicity are their leading traits. How soothing, how animating, then, must be reflection, at the evening of a life, wholly spent in virtue and rectitude!
Pope observes that “Every year is a critique on the last. The man despises the boy, the philosopher the man, and the Christian all.” Happy are those who can take a retrospect of all, with the supporting consciousness that each part has been rightly performed! Adieu.
ANNA WILLIAMS.
_To Miss_ MATILDA FIELDING.
BOSTON.
I am impatient for an opportunity of returning your civilities, my dear Matilda; and if possible, of repaying you some part of the pleasure, which you so liberally afforded me, during my late visit to your hospitable mansion. For this purpose, I must insist on the performance of your promise to spend the winter in town. It is true that I cannot contribute to your amusement in kind. Yet, according to the generally received opinion, that variety is necessary to the enjoyment of life, we may find ours mutually heightened by the exchange. Delightful rambles, and hours of contemplative solitude, free from the interruptions of formality and fashion, I cannot insure; but you may depend on all that friendship and assiduity can substitute; and while the bleak winds are howling abroad, a cheerful fireside, and a social circle, may dispel the gloom of the season. The pleasures of our family are very local. Few are sought, in which the understanding and affections can have no share. For this reason, a select, not a promiscuous acquaintance is cultivated. And however unfashionable our practice may be deemed, we can find entertainment, even in the dull hours of winter, without recourse to cards. Almost every other recreation affords some exercise and improvement to the body or mind, or both; but from this neither can result. The whole attention is absorbed by the game. Reason lies dormant, and the passions only are awake. However little is depending, the parties are frequently as much agitated by hope and fear, as if their all were at stake. It is difficult for the vanquished not to feel chagrin; while the victors are gratified at the expense of their friends. But the principal objection with me, is the utter exclusion of conversation; a source of pleasure, and of profit too, for which I can admit nothing as an equivalent. Winter evenings are peculiarly adapted to this rational and refined entertainment. Deprived of that variety of scenery, and those beauties of nature, which the vernal and autumnal seasons exhibit, we are obliged to have recourse to the fireside for comfort. Here we have leisure to collect our scattered ideas, and to improve, by social intercourse, and the exertion of our mental powers.
Our sex are often rallied on their volubility: and, for myself, I frankly confess, that I am so averse to taciturnity, and so highly prize the advantages of society and friendship, that I had rather plead guilty to the charge than relinquish them.
“Hast thou no friend to set thy mind a-broach? Good sense will stagnate. Thoughts shut up, want air, And spoil, like bales unopen’d to the sun. Had thought been all, sweet speech had been deny’d; Speech, thought’s canal! Speech, thought’s criterion too. Thought, in the mine, may come forth gold or dross; When coin’d in word, we know its real worth: If sterling, store it for thy future use; ’Twill buy thee benefit, perhaps renown. Thought, too, deliver’d, is the more possess’d; Teaching, we learn; and giving, we retain The births of intellect: when dumb, forgot. Speech ventilates our intellectual fire: Speech burnishes our mental magazine: Brightens for ornament, and whets for use.”
Come then, Matilda, participate the pleasures, and accelerate the improvement, of your affectionate friend,
LAURA GUILFORD.
_To Miss_ LAURA GUILFORD.
BEVERLY.
DEAR LAURA,
Yours of the 9th ult. has just come to hand. It gave me renewed experience of the truth of the observation, that next to the personal presence and conversation, is the epistolary correspondence of a friend. I am preparing, with the most lively sensations of pleasure, to gratify my own wishes, and comply with your polite invitation. The romantic beauty of the rural scenes has forsaken me; and what can so amply compensate for their absence, as the charms you offer?
I envy you nothing which the town affords, but the advantages you derive from the choice of society adapted to your own taste. Your sentiments of the fashionable diversion of card-playing, are, in my view, perfectly just. I believe that many people join in it, because it is the _ton_, rather than from any other motive. And as such persons generally pay the greatest deference to Lord Chesterfield’s opinions and maxims, I have often wondered how they happened to overlook, or disregard his animadversions upon this subject; and have felt a strong inclination to tell them, that this _all-accomplished_ master of politeness, and oracle of pleasure, expressly says, “All amusements, where neither the understanding nor the senses can have the least share, I look upon as frivolous, and the resources of little minds, who either do not think, or do not love to think.”
We had a pretty party here, last evening; and a party it literally was; for it consisted entirely of ladies. This singular circumstance was remarked by one of the company, who, at least, pretended to think it agreeable, because, said she, we can now speak without restraint, or the fear of criticism. I confess that I was not prude enough to acquiesce in her opinion.
Ladies of delicacy and refinement will not countenance or support a conversation, which gentlemen of sense and sentiment can disapprove. As each were formed for social beings, and depend on the other for social happiness, I imagine that society receives its greatest charm from a mutual interchange of sentiment and knowledge.
“Both sexes are reciprocal instruments of each other’s improvement. The rough spirit of the one is tempered by the gentleness of the other, which has likewise its obligations to that spirit. Men’s sentiments contract a milder turn in the company of women, who, on the other hand, find their volatility abated in that of the men. Their different qualities, intermingling, form a happy symphony. From their intimate conjunction, their real advantages must be common and inseparable; and as for those ridiculous wranglings about superiority, they may be reckoned insults to nature, and betray a want of a due sense of its wise and gracious dispensations.”[4]
Footnote 4:
The Ladies’ Friend.
Many ladies affect to think it inconsistent with female reserve, to acknowledge themselves pleased with the company of the other sex; but while such are the objects and advantages of a mixed society, I blush not to own myself desirous of its cultivation. Adieu.
MATILDA FIELDING.
_To Miss_ CAROLINE LITTLETON.
BOSTON.
DEAR CAROLINE,
I take the liberty to send you Bennet’s Letters. When my mamma put them into my hand, Sophia, said she, I recommend this book to your attentive perusal. It highly deserves it, and will richly reward your labour. You have, indeed, completed your school education; but you have much yet to learn. Improvements in knowledge are necessarily progressive. The human mind is naturally active and eager in pursuit of information; which we have various and continual means of accumulating: but never will you have a more favourable opportunity for the cultivation of your mind, than you now enjoy. You are now free from those domestic cares and avocations, which may hereafter fall to your lot, and occupy most of your time. Speculation must then give place to practice. Be assiduous, therefore, to increase the fund, that it may yield you a competent interest, and afford you a constant resource of support and enjoyment.
With these words she withdrew, while I was still listening to the sweet accents of maternal tenderness and discretion, which vibrated on my ear, even after her departure.
I find it worthy the recommendation of so good a judge. As a moral writer, the precepts and observations of its author are excellent; as a religious one, his piety is exemplary, and his instructions improving. His selection of books, which he deems most proper for our sex, though too numerous, perhaps, may, notwithstanding, assist and direct the young in their course of reading.
Who would not imitate his Louisa? In her he has forcibly displayed the beauties of an amiable disposition, and the advantages which even _that_ may derive from a virtuous and religious education.
These letters are not scholastic and elaborate dissertations; they are addressed to the heart; they are the native language of affection: and they can hardly fail to instil the love of virtue into every mind susceptible of its charms.
If you have not read them, I will venture to predict that they will afford you entertainment, as well as instruction; and if you _have_, they will bear a second perusal. Indeed, every valuable book should be re-perused. On a first reading, our curiosity to know something of all it contains, hurries us forward with a rapidity which outstrips both the memory and judgment.
When this predominant passion is gratified, an attentive review will commonly furnish many useful and important lessons, which had nearly or quite escaped our notice before.
This, by some, is deemed too laborious a task. They prefer company and conversation to reading of any kind; and allege, in defence of their opinion, that a knowledge of the world, and of human nature, together with that ease and gracefulness of manners, which are of the utmost consequence to all who would make a respectable figure in life, are much better obtained in this way, than by the cold and unimpassioned perusal of books.
But is not every acquisition of this sort merely superficial? Need we not a guide, superior to our own judgment and experience, to point out the line of duty and propriety, in the various conditions and relations of our existence?
Our acquaintance with living characters and manners can afford us but a very limited view of mankind, in the different periods and stages of society. The inquisitive mind labours to extend its knowledge to the most distant climes and remote antiquity; and craves other materials for the exercise of its reflecting powers, than can be derived from occasional and desultory conversation. Now, by what means can this laudable curiosity be so effectually satisfied, as by the perusal of judicious and well chosen books? Not that I would depreciate the value of good company (for I esteem it highly;) but add its many advantages to those which reading affords. This combination must have a happy tendency to give us possession, both of the virtues and graces; and to render our attainments at once solid and ornamental.
What think you, Caroline? Do you agree with me in opinion? Let me hear from you by the first opportunity; and believe me yours most sincerely.
SOPHIA MANCHESTER.
_To Miss_ SOPHIA MANCHESTER.
NEWBURYPORT.
I thank you, my dear friend, for the book you were so obliging as to send me; and for the letter which accompanied it. The book I had read; but as you justly observe, I must be a gainer by a second perusal.
Upon the subject of reading, I perfectly accord with you in sentiment. It is an amusement, of which I was always enthusiastically fond. Mrs. Williams regulated my taste; and, by directing and maturing my judgment, taught me to make it a source of refined and substantial pleasure. I do not wish to pursue study as a profession, nor to become a learned lady; but I would pay so much attention to it, as to taste the delights of literature, and be qualified to bear a part in rational and improving conversation. Indeed, I would treasure up such a fund of useful knowledge, as may properly direct my course through life, and prove an antidote against the vexations and disappointments of the world. I think, Sophia, that our sex stand in special need of such a resource to beguile the solitary hours which a domestic station commonly imposes. Is it not for the want of this that some females furnish a pretext for the accusation (which is illiberally brought against all) of having recourse to scandal, and the sallies of indelicate mirth? Conversation requires a perpetual supply of materials from the mind: and accordingly as the mind has been cultivated or neglected, dignified or degrading subjects will be introduced.
I received a letter yesterday from our lively and lovely friend, Anna Williams. How delightfully blended in this charming girl, are vivacity and sentiment, ease and propriety. Adieu.
CAROLINE LITTLETON.
_To Miss_ MARIA WILLIAMS.
BOSTON.
So often, my dear Maria, has the pen of the divine, the moralist, and the novelist been employed on the subject of female frailty and seduction; and so pathetically has each described the folly and misery of the fatal delusion which involves many in disgrace, that I am astonished when I see those, who have the best means of information, heedlessly sacrificing their reputation, peace and happiness to the specious arts of the libertine! In this case it is common for our sex to rail against the other, and endeavor to excite the pity of the world by painting the advantage which has been taken of their credulity and weakness. But are we not sufficiently apprised of the enemies we have to encounter? And have we not adequate motives to circumspection and firmness?
I am generally an advocate for my own sex—but when they suffer themselves to fall a prey to seducers, their pusillanimity admits no excuse. I am bold to affirm that every woman, by behaving with propriety on all occasions, may not only resist temptation, but repel the first attempts upon her honor and virtue.
That levity of deportment, which invites and encourages designers, ought studiously to be avoided. Flattery and vanity are two of the most dangerous foes to the sex. A fondness for admiration insensibly throws off their guard, and leads them to listen and give credit to the professions of those who lie in wait to deceive.
The following remarks, though severe, perhaps can hardly be deemed inconsistent with the character which their author assumes.[5] “Women would do well to forbear their declamations against the falsity and wickedness of men; the fault is theirs, to fall into such coarse-spun snares as are laid for them.
Footnote 5:
The Ladies’ Friend.
“That servile obsequiousness which woman should immediately look upon as the mark of fraud, and which should make them apprehend a surprise, is the very thing which allures them, and renders them soon the victims of perjury and inconstancy; the just punishment of a disposition which fixes their inclinations on superficial qualities. It is this disposition which draws after them a crowd of empty fops, who if they have any meaning at all, it is only to deceive. Something pleasing in a man’s person, a giddy air, a perpetual levity, supply the place of valuable endowments.”
A recent and singular adventure has rendered observations of this sort peculiarly striking to my mind; which may account for the subject and the length of this letter.
I will give you a detail of it, though I must conceal the real names of the parties concerned.
Yesterday, the weather being very fine, and the sleighing excellent, several of our family, with two or three friends, were induced to make an excursion a few miles in the country. We stopped at a house which had formerly been a tavern, and in which we had often been well entertained on similar occasions. As we were in haste to receive the benefit of a good fire, we did not notice the removal of the sign, nor advert to the possibility of its being converted into a private mansion. Being very cold, I stepped first out of the sleigh and ran hastily in; leaving the gentlemen to exercise their gallantry with the other ladies. The room I entered had no fire. I therefore opened the door which led to the next apartment, when I beheld the beautiful and admired Clarinda sitting in an easy chair, pale and wan, with an infant in her arms! I stood mute and motionless, till the woman of the house appeared, to conduct me to another room. Confusion and shame were visibly depicted in Clarinda’s countenance; and, unable to meet my eye, she threw her handkerchief over her face, and fell back in the chair.
I followed the good woman, and apologising for my intrusion, told her the cause. She recollected my having been there before, and readily excused my freedom.
By this time the rest of the company, who had been shown into a decent parlour, were inquiring for me; and I could scarcely find opportunity to request my conductress to ask Clarinda’s forgiveness in my name, and to assure her of my silence, before I had joined them. I assumed an appearance of cheerfulness very foreign to the feelings of my heart, and related my mistake without any mention of the melancholy discovery I had made. We prevailed on the woman to accommodate us with tea and coffee, as we wished to ride no further. While preparations were making she came in to lay the table, and as she withdrew, gave me a token to follow her; when she informed me that Clarinda had been extremely overcome by my detecting her situation, but being somewhat recovered desired a private interview. I accordingly repaired to her apartment, where I found her bathed in tears. Pity operated in my breast, and with an air of tenderness I offered her my hand; but she withheld hers, exclaiming in broken accents, O no! I am polluted—I have forfeited your friendship—I am unworthy even of your compassion.
I begged her to be calm, and promised her that she should suffer no inconvenience from my knowledge of her condition.
She thanked me for my assurances, and subjoined that, since she knew the candor and generosity of my disposition, she would entrust me with every circumstance relative to her shameful fall; when, after a considerable pause, she proceeded nearly in the following words.
“Though our acquaintance has been for some time suspended, and though we have lived in different parts of the town, yet common fame has doubtless informed you that I was addressed by the gay, and to me, too charming Florimel! To the most captivating form, he superadded the winning graces of politeness, and all those insinuating arts which imperceptibly engage the female heart.
“His flattering attentions, and apparent ardour of affection, were to my inexperienced and susceptible mind, proofs of his sincerity; and the effusions of the most lively passion, were returned with unsuspecting confidence.