University of Virginia Library

WILLIAM FORBES.

Akenside

`What answer did Elizabeth give?'

Those readers, who have been sufficiently
interested in the work, to retain a recollection
of the contents of the fifth Sketch, may remember,
that `The Village Schoolmistress' was
left undecided respecting the answer she should
make to the matrimonial suggestion of her recreant
but repentant lover, William Forbes.

We have given her six months to consider
the matter, and in this steam age of the world,
no woman ought to require a longer time to
make up her mind. What enviable advantages
the antediluvian ladies enjoyed! They
might reflect and reject, doubt and delay, consider
and coquet, for at least three hundred
years, without any risk of incurring that appalling
epithet, which now, in the brief period of
thirty, is sure to be bestowed on the fair one

who dares to remain in `single blessedness.'
Yet I never envied that longlived race. I am
inclined to believe, the movement of the spirit
was then as sluggish as the course of time.
It must have been so, or the body could not
for so long a season have resisted the efforts
of the soul to escape from its prison house.
And this sluggishness must have infected their
literature. What interminable, prosing articles,
many of our writers are even now inclined
to perpetrate, and if their hours might be
lengthened to years, would infallibly inflict
upon the public! Nothing but the necessity
of accommodating himself to the proverbial
speed of time, will induce your thorough quillloving
author, to come to the conclusion of his
favorite argument or article. And from this
mania of `long talks,' which seems inherent
in most writers, we may safely conclude, that
those men of a thousand years, would not neglect
their mighty privilege of making folios.
To be sure, in the dullest of all dull matter-of-fact
knowledge, chronology and genealogy,
they had the means of excelling. But romance
—dear, delightful romance—what chance for
a romance writer, when every event that had
occurred since creation was within the memory
of man! And how could they write poetry,
among such an unchanging and deathless
generation? It would not certainly be the
poetry of feeling—melting, moving, melancholy
poetry; for instance, like that most
beautiful of all Burns's beautiful productions,
`Highland Mary.' And where did they find
metaphors to express the long unfading duration
of the youth they must have enjoyed?
Not in those bright, beautiful, but evanescent,
or shifting things—buds and flowers—the
morning and the moon. Only think of comparing
the charms of a lovely girl, to the firmness
of the mountain oak, or the unwasting,
unvarying appearance of the solid rock! Then
they had no rainbow. Ah, they never wrote
poetry—that's certain!

Other reasons, quite as pertinent and conclusive,
might easily be offered, to prove what
a dull, cold, formal, changeless and charmless
race they must have been,—but of all kinds
of knowledge, I consider antiquarian lore as
the most unwomanly. It must be gained by
so much research, and explained by such learned
terms, and defended by so many arguments,
in the Sir Pertinax style of obstinacy, that,
heaven defend me from ever meeting with that
anomaly in our species—an antiquarian without
a beard. Leaving it therefore, to some
future Jonathan Oldbuck, as curious and communicative
as he of Monkbarns, to pursue the
inquiry respecting the precise age at which we
may conclude a belle of the Nimrodian era,
became an old maid, I will return to the explanation
of those modern causes which gave
to Elizabeth Brooks that uncoveted title.

I have said, or ought to have said, that William
Forbes was an excellent scholar, the very
first in his class, and, undoubtedly indebted
for much of his mental superiority, to that circumstance,
which is so often, and truly too,

considered a serious obstacle to the literary
career of a collegian—namely, his love engagement.

This unusual result, must be attributed to
the fact, that Elizabeth Brooks had the good
sense, to use rightly and rationally, the influence
she possessed over the heart and soul of
the young student. Instead of wishing to engross
his mind and time, with the trifles which
must occupy much of the life of a young girl,
she admired, and sought to imitate him in his
studies. And that simple circumstance, contributed
more to animate him in his exertion,
than all the lectures of his tutors, or the prospect
of obtaining triumphs over his class-mates.
How eagerly he read, and how early he answered
all her long epistles with letters still
longer;—and yet their correspondence was
like that of literary friends. To a stranger,
their letters would scarcely have betrayed that
they were lovers. His were filled with translations
from the classics, beautiful sentiments
that enchanted him, and must therefore enchant
Elizabeth—explanations of ancient customs
and costumes, which threw light on some
otherwise obscure passages he had read to
Elizabeth,—solutions of problems, or explanations
of questions that had been proposed by
Elizabeth. Her answers were more sprightly
than his, (a woman who can write at all, seldom
writes a dull letter,) but nevertheless, were
sufficiently learned to have entitled her, had
they been seen by a literary coxcomb, to that
frightful appellation, a bas bleu. I say frightful,

because the terror of that name, has prevented,
and still prevents more women from
cultivating their minds, than would the fear
of the dungeon or the rack. It is the intellectual
Blue Beard, threatening an awful and unknown
punishment to those women, who dare
a single peep into the secret chambers of
knowledge—and where is the learned lady,
who can ever hope for a generous Selim to
rescue her from the keen, uplifted edge of the
sword of sarcasm?

Elizabeth Brooks, however, was wiser than
most wise ladies,—that is, she did not assume
those airs, which some learned women think
so indispensable to distinguish their important
selves from the crowd. She might be a little
proud of her learning, she was certainly proud
of William's learning, but the pride of teaching
him—that pride which makes men so thoroughly
dread, detest, and ridicule a learned woman,
she never displayed. Even when, as was frequently
the case, he acknowledged, the superior
justness of her remarks, or submitted to
the justness of her criticisms, she did not express
any triumph—but modestly ascribed her
discernment to some hint or information he
had before given her; thus making his self-love
aid in the influence she possessed over
him. And for many years, the attachment
fostered between these young persons, appeared,
and indeed was of that pure, refined, intellectual
and exalted character, which poets
would tell us, was `half divine' and would be
quite eternal. It was that kind of affection

which, if aught dependent on human passion
were changeless, might hope to be so. But,
alas! the heart—Who can answer for the
wayward heart, or more wayward fancy?

The parting, and as affecting one as a novel
writer ever witnessed, maugre all their sentimental
descriptions,—the parting of William
and Elizabeth has been already recorded, and
it irks me quite as much to tell a story twice,
as to listen to a twice told tale. So we will
without further ceremony, accompany my hero
to Albany, and consider him entered as a
student-at-law, in the office of Judge Morse.
(Note. Almost every lawyer in New-York,
has, or might have, the title of Judge.) Mr.
Morse was a good, that is, a true, specimen of
the professional, political, popular men in
New-York. He was social and hospitable,
frank, cheerful, and fond of humor, if not himself
a wit. He was also rich and respected,
had a gay, agreeable wife, and several children,
and his house was one of the most fashionable
in the city, and the resort of all the fashionables.

Here was a marvellous change to William.
He was transferred at once from the formal
routine and rigid rules of a college life, where
no flirting with the ladies was permitted to be
thought of, except the ethereal flirtation of
wooing those shy lasses, the `sweet and sacred
Nine,' and where nothing in this round world
was considered so important, as to have the
first appointment in the class, or be able to
write the best `ode to Hope, or sonnet to Despair,'

and introduced into the society of elegant
and, as he thought, the most enchanting
people on earth, and to the bustle and business
of a large city.

Judge Morse had been long and intimately
acquainted with the father of William Forbes,
and to that circumstance, the young student
was indebted for the enviable privileges he enjoyed
of being admitted to the family parties
of the distinguished lawyer. Indeed, William
was soon considered and treated as one of the
family. (What an excellent passport to really
good society those young people enjoy who
have good parents.) William Forbes had
promised to write particularly of all that befell
him—all his adventures, and all his reflections
were to be communicated to Elizabeth. But
he soon found it very perplexing and disagreeable,
if not impossible, to keep his word. He
could describe the country tolerably well, and
the people en masse—but to tell Elizabeth of
all the parties, balls, &c., he attended would, he
feared, make her unhappy in her retirement;
to tell her of the pretty and fascinating girls he
met, might make her jealous. His amusements,
therefore, could not be described to
Elizabeth. Neither would his employments
figure much better in an epistolary display.
In all his studies at college she had participated
in inclination, if not in understanding—but
Law—dry, musty, unintelligible, inexplicable
Law—how could he make her comprehend
what was to himself incomprehensible. He
knew indeed, that she was so devoted to him

and his pursuits, that had she been near him
she would, for his sake, have looked on the
volumes of Blackstone without shuddering;
perhaps have looked into them sufficiently to
have learned the difference between lex non
scripta, and lex scripta. At any rate she would
have been interested, and listened delightedly
to the history of her lover's progress in that
study so exclusively masculine. But this sympathy
could not be excited by a written correspondence;
so William relinquished the idea
of describing his studies to Elizabeth.

Most of our scholars pass their three years
of preparation and four years at college, solely
with the view of being better qualified for active
life. Few, if any, are intending to devote
themselves to science or the cultivation of elegant
literature. The necessary details of business,
and the feverish anxiety of politics, in a
few years wholly engross their minds, and unless
the memory be exceedingly tenacious, of
all the rich hoards of Greek and Roman lore
they had once boasted, only a few sparkling
gems, kept for display, remain. This does not
happen because Americans are incapable of
comprehending the profound depths of science,
or of appreciating and admiring the sublimities
of genius—it is purely the effect of our situation.
With such a vast country to cultivate
and control, unceasing activity is demanded,
and there are, at present, no supernumeraries.
Then the chance of success in public life is so
tempting to the ambitious,—and who will not
be ambitious, when there is a chance of success?

that almost all our men of talents are, at
least once in their lives, members of Congress
—in expectation, I mean. William Forbes
had thus visited the Capitol, and been installed
in the speaker's chair before he had spent six
months with Judge Morse. And that was a
Quixotic speculation which he would by no
means have been willing to communicate to
Elizabeth.

Thus the sources of confidence and sympathy
seemed, on his part, constantly contracting,
and he grew formal without intending it. If
Elizabeth noticed this change she did not note
it. She had much of that kind of good sense,
commonly called sagacity, which means, the
faculty of foreseeing consequences; and she
must have reflected that reproaches never have
the effect of enkindling the passion of a lover,
however they may operate on that of a husband.
So she did not complain that William's letters
were cold, formal, short; but she wrote often
and affectionately, and described her business
and her pleasures, her school and the neighbours,
just as if she felt confident he would be
interested in everything that concerned her.
It was the best plan she could have adopted,
to maintain her sway over the heart of William;
and it served, not withstanding the temptations
by which he was surrounded, to keep him for
more than two years, constant to the idea of
making Elizabeth his wife. And though he
might sometimes show a little more gallantry,
than is usually displayed by an engaged man,
towards the fair and fascinating ladies with

whom he associated, and about whom he was
often rallied, yet he never regretted his engagement,
never, in his secret soul, meditated
proving, what he did prove,—a traitor to his
love;—never till the fair Clarinda appeared.
I must describe her. Clarinda Curtis was the
daughter of a New-York merchant, a successful
merchant, for at the age of twenty, he left
the vicinity of the Green Mountain, with only
two changes of apparel and two dollars in cash,
and in thirty years, passed in the `Commercial
Emporium,' he had acquired a princely fortune.
Clarinda was the only child by his first
wife, and from her mother inherited a large
estate. She was also rich, in expectations,
from her maternal grandmother, by whom she
had been brought up. Then she was beautiful,
splendidly beautiful: tall, even to the majestic,
as Vermont beauties usually are, and so
finely formed! Her height she inherited from
her father; but the symmetry, so gracefully
elegant, the rounded arm, taper fingers and
slender foot, were not quite so strictly Vermontese;
though these perfections are much
oftener possessed by your rural lasses, than the
city belle, or the more fastidious city beau,
who is usually a perfect Chinese in his admiration
of small feet, imagines possible. Clarinda's
features, with one exception, were perfect
as statuary could be moulded. Her forehead
was too narrow and receding, but examined by
the rules of art, no other fault could have been
discovered. Arched eyebrows, Grecian nose,
the rose-bud mouth, with the sweet curl on the
upper lip that so easily and advantageously
displays the white teeth—the round dimpled
cheek, and exquisite chin, defying all adjective
descriptions of round or square, or long or
short,—all we can say of it is, that it was
shaped precisely as a beautiful chin should be.
And these features were harmonized by a brilliant
complexion; pure red and white, and both
in their proper places; and enlivened by a pair
of blue eyes, of a softness that would have looked
almost sleepy in a small girl, but belonging
as they did, to a majestic beauty, seemed to
throw an additional grace, the grace of repose
over her loveliness. Fine, glossy, `nut brown'
hair, which she wore in a peculiarly becoming
style, completed all we shall describe of her
outward form of beauty. Alas, that this should
be a show merely, not the index of inward excellence,
that this comeliness should not extend
to mind! Who can imagine such a lovely
looking being as I have described and believe
her a simpleton! Yet Clarinda Curtis with all
her charms, was a dunce; that thing which sensible
and educated young men often admire for
a mistress; but which sensible and educated
married men will always find exceedingly disagreeable
for a wife—an accomplished dunce!
Nature was not wholly in fault. The original
constitution of her mind was undoubtedly dull,
she was slow to comprehend—but then she was
brought up by a doting grandmamma, and
never, till she was full twelve years old, suffered
to do anything save to grow. Could her
tender relative have spared her that trouble,
she would, as she used often to express her
fears that the poor child would weary herself
with so much stretching and yawning. At
length Mr. Curtis interfered, and threatened to
take his daughter home if she was not better
instructed; and frightened at the prospect of
losing her darling, grandmamma resolved the
child should learn everything. Masters of all
kinds and professions were engaged, and poured
their lessons like a mingled flood over the
unprepared mind of their pupil, till the few
ideas, that had, by the kindly influence of nature,
began to shoot, were deluged or uprooted,
and no other ever had time to fix. All her
knowledge seemed floating, unsystematized,
and unconnected as the sentiments in a scrapbook,
where, although you may have collected
something on every subject, you can never be
sure of finding that which is needed, or appropriate
to the subject under discussion. Not
one of her numerous masters but was ashamed
of their pupil, except the dancing master.
Strange as it may seem, with her indolent habits,
she did love to dance. The excitement of
motion was so novel, she was in perfect ecstasies
with dancing, and she soon danced gracefully.
For the rest, she could play a little,
sing a little, draw a little, and speak a few
French phrases; but she could not have told
whether Mexico was in North or South America;
nor have subtracted 7 from 15;—nor wrote
a letter of a dozen lines without mispelling as
many words; nor read a paragraph in a newspaper
intelligibly. She was a dunce; and yet
William Forbes, with all his learning and penetration,
his taste and talent, did not discover
it. She passed a fortnight with her aunt,
(Mrs. Morse was her aunt,) and William saw
her every day, and conversed with her every
day, and fell in love with her, and never discovered
she was a dunce. It was strange, he
afterwards acknowledged, but then she was so
beautiful it would have seemed profane to have
doubted the elegance of her mind, the propriety
and beauty of her thoughts.

But though William was enchanted with her
appearance, and actually in that most woful of
all lover-like predicaments, engrossed with the
charms of one fair maid, while he was engaged
to marry another not so fair, he might, and
I am inclined to believe he would have acted
the honorable part, and been true to Elizabeth,
had he not discovered that Clarinda was in love
with him. How the discovery was made I do
not know, but made it was, and William must
have been a hero indeed if, besides subduing
his own inclination, he could have rejected the
beauty and fortune that seemed, as Judge
Morse remarked, designed by Heaven to make
him blest, and insure his success in the world.

N. B. Judge Morse was not aware of the
ignorance and indolence of his niece; he had
seen her but seldom, and heard her less; for
she had the good luck to be naturally taciturn,
and real good luck it was, since her appearance
was so much in her favor, that her silence
was called eloquent. Had she spoke—but
she rarely did, except in monosyllables. She

was too indolent to converse. William Forbes
married her, as all my readers know, but they
do not know what mortifying disappointment
he endured, when he found with what a `soulless'
being he was destined to pass those hours
of domestic intercourse his fancy had always
painted as the most enviable privilege the married
state afforded. Had she been, as many
superficial ladies are, sprightly and amusing, he
might have thought, as many men do, that
learning was quite unnecessary for the sex;
but such indifference and inanity displayed
her ignorance in the most glaring and disagreeable
point of view. She seemed unfeeling,
because she could not enter into any of his
ideas, or respond to his sentiments. With
Elizabeth his intercourse had been so truly
and purely that of intellect, their affection had
been so founded on mutual esteem for each
other's capacity, that nothing but experience
would have convinced him, that the love of
rational and intelligent beings could be maintained
without some sympathy of mind. But he
knew his wife loved him, and wished to please
him, and that knowledge made him feel indulgent
towards her ignorance, which he pitied
more than he despised. So passed the time
for a few months, and though not happy, yet
he might have enjoyed the pride of being
thought happy, as the having a handsome wife
and rich wife, is pretty generally considered a
passport to happiness, had he not unwisely taken
it into his head, that it was possible to
make his bride wise. He thought she could improve,
and that she would improve if she only
knew how much his felicity depended on finding
a companion in his wife; and so he took a whole
evening for the purpose, and gravely as a
teacher, told her what he wished her to study
and read, and how he expected she would join
in the conversation with him and his friends,
&c., sketching precisely, though he might not
be aware of it, the intellectual character of
Elizabeth as a model for his Clarinda. He
might with just as much reason have drawn
the portrait of Clarinda's beautiful features,
and expected Elizabeth to mould hers by the
picture. There is an old and quaint verse that
I recollect reading when a child, which now
frequently recurs to my mind when I witness
some ridiculous displays of those who attempt
to fill a niche for which nature never designed
them.

There is no disguise for such an one but in
silence; and thrice blest are those simpletons
who have the gift of silence. Clarinda possessed
it, but love, what will not the magical
power of love effect? loosened her tongue.
Her husband requested she would read, and
she determined to read; her husband wished
her to talk, and she resolved to talk. But unfortunately,
the jumble of ideas that had pervaded
her head, ever since she underwent the
penalty of listening to the lectures of six different
masters in the course of the twenty-four
hours, besides her grandmamma's advice to remember
all she heard, had so confounded her
memory and understanding, originally weak,
that though she read, she could neither compare,
reflect or generalize; and when she attempted
to introduce in her conversation, any
thought she had gathered from books, it was
done with such an effort, and her quotations
were so inappropriate, that her ignorance was
never so apparent as in her learned phrases.
Then she had the habit into which your poor
conversationalists usually fall, namely, asking
questions. I know nothing more disagreeable
that does not absolutely shock one's principles,
than to be subjected to the society of a
questioner. And William Forbes disliked it
exceedingly, but nevertheless, he bore with his
wife's questions for a long time magnanimously,
hoping she would, as she gained information,
become capable of maintaining a conversation
without such `questionable' aid. He
hoped in vain. She never, in society, could
speak upon any subject but by a question, and
the more confidence she gained in her own powers,
and the more she conversed, the more
ridiculously her questions were distributed
among her acquaintance. How often did her
husband wish, while his cheeks were glowing
with shame at some blunder she had committed,
that he had never urged her to talk. And
she did it to please him—what could he say?
No matter what the subject of conversation
was, she would question. To give a few instances.
One day when an eminent counsellor
dined with Mr. Forbes, they happened, in their
legal disquisitions to allude to a writ of fi. fa.
and Mrs. Forbes eagerly demanded if that
writ was not made against a singing master?
At another time, she asked a lawyer, with a
real compassionate voice, if John Doe and
Richard Roe, could not take advantage of the
insolvent act?—Those blunders to be sure,
related to matters which a lady is not obliged
to understand, yet she should understand
enough to say nothing when they are introduced;
but another blunder she made, could not
be so easily excused. Her husband was appointed
to deliver the address before an Agricultural
Society, and proud enough she was
of the honor conferred upon him. She could
talk of nothing else, and among her host of
questions on the occasion, she asked a celebrated
rearer of merinos, why he did not obtain
some cotton-wool-sheep and exhibit at the
show?

I mention these circumstances that young
men, intelligent and educated young men, may
be warned against marrying a dunce, though
she may be beautiful and rich, and affectionate,
yet if she be a dunce—`she must, she will bring
shame and sorrow' on her husband. And young
ladies—is there not a lesson to them in this exhibition?
Do they not feel that though they
may be beautiful and rich, and married to the
man they love, and who returns their affections,

yet, unless they have cultivated and improved
their minds, they cannot make their husband
happy or respectable.

Mrs. Forbes suddenly died during the tenth
year of her marriage, and those who think her
husband rejoiced, will do him foul wrong. He
shed tears of unaffected sorrow over her pale
corpse, for he felt she loved him, and that the
pang of death to her was separation from him.
But then his grief was not of that deep, enduring
kind which is cherished by the survivor
when kindred minds are torn asunder. He
grieved that his wife should die more for her
sake than his own, or that of his two little
daughters, to whom he knew she never could
have been a competent instructress or mother.
And we may conclude that he did not think
riches and beauty were the most important
qualifications a wife could possess, because, as
soon as decency would permit, he wrote to ascertain
if Elizabeth Brooks was still at liberty.

She said no! unhesitatingly, as any woman
of refinement and delicacy treated as she had
been, would say.

But Mr. Bennett would not send her answer
to his nephew, would not allow that she could
decide on so important a point without first seeing
William Forbes. `I wish my nephew to
visit me,' continued Mr. Bennett, `and if I send
him your rejection he will not come to New
Hampshire. No, no, Elizabeth, we will give
him a hearing before we pronounce his doom.'

William accordingly came. A noble looking
man he was; it seemed that his manly beauty
had improved by years. There was a striking
contrast between his appearance and that
of Elizabeth. He had a fine commanding figure,
his black eyes were still as bright, and
black hair as glossy as ever, only around his
temples it had grown thinner, and gave to his
ample forehead a more judicial dignity. She
was slender and pale, or rather inclining to
yellow; our villainous climate, cold winters
and rough winds, soon tarnish a fair complexion.
But then Elizabeth's countenance looked
so animated and intelligent, that I really believe
William Forbes thought her comely, for
he gazed on her with the look of a lover regarding
a beautiful girl.

That appealing look, or his eloquence, he
was said to be a very eloquent pleader, and
doubtless taxed his persuasive powers in the
suit he was urging, finally obtained him the victory.
Elizabeth, however, told Mr. Bennett,
the day before she was married, that she should
not have consented to wed Mr. Forbes but for
the sake of his children, his little girls who, he
said, so much needed her care and instructions.
Thus by appealing a little to her professional
pride, for all successful instructers are
somewhat proud of their vocation, the lawyer
succeeded, and carried home a sensible and
intelligent woman, and was never afterwards
ashamed to invite his friends to a dinner party
lest they should discover his wife was a dunce.

Reader, the `Sketch' is finished; and I think
it proper to announce it, lest those who read to
the end of the article should pronouce it dull;
merely because it is long. What follows is intended
entirely for the ladies; gentlemen, therefore,
will please to pass it over. Gentlemen
never indulge their curiosity about the forbidden,
so I feel perfectly secure they will not read
the next two pages. But the ladies must read
them.

In the preface to the Village Schoolmistress
were some remarks which, either from their
novelty or the ambiguous manner in which
they were expressed, will not, I fear, be understood
in the sense intended. I did not mean
that there was no difference in the minds of
women. I believe, in the original conformation
of soul, there exists as much dissimilarity
among women as men—and the reason that the
original capacity is not more distinctly developed
and displayed, is wholly to be attributed
to the situation of the female sex. There
is for them but one pursuit. Of what use is it
for us to deny the fact, that it is in the marriage
establishment only, that woman seeks her happiness
and expects her importance, when all
history and our own observation, confirm it to be
the truth. It is not so with men,—they have
more than one medium through which to seek
for fortune, fame and happiness, and that is, in
my opinion, the sole reason of their superiority
of mind over us. How I do wish women would
be sensible of this, and endeavour to find or
make an employment, consistent with propriety

—that must never be relinquished;—which
would give to their minds strength and dignity,
the strength and dignity which is acquired from
exertion and self-dependence. But while women
imagine they are gaining importance, and
are flattered with those compliments on their intellectual
progress, which the gentlemen sometimes
deign to bestow, they seem perfectly unconscious
that they have not made one step of
advancement in the scale of society, or at least,
they are only engaged in the same occupations,
namely, that of canvassing fashions and super-intending
household affairs, which occupied the
sex a thousand years ago. I do not say women
have not more learning, that they do not read
more, but pray tell me what difference this has
created in their pursuits? except to make them
less useful—because they now, many of them,
think that to `work with their hands' is disgraceful
for ladies, and yet there is no employment
provided, in which they can exercise their talents
and learning advantageously—or indeed,
at all. I would rouse them from this supineness,—I
would have them seek some employment,
have some aim that will, by giving energy
to their minds, and the prospect of an
honorable independence, should they choose
to continue single, make them less dependent
on marriage as the means of support.

They will then really improve, because their
minds will have a wider circle in which to move
and act. Women might succeed in many of
the fine arts; but still, I think the business of
instruction, the one best fitted to their character,

to the situation, which they must, indeed,
ought to hold in society, because it was evidently
assigned them by their Creator. It was for
these reasons I urged upon their consideration
the importance of school—keeping.

I seek to promote the happiness and the best
interest of my sex; but I do not think that happiness,
or those interests will be advanced by
flattering women that they are angels, or that
they have, as yet, much claim to a mental
equality with men, if equality consist in the
exertion of mind. We have reason, but we seldom
use it; we might about as well be guided
by instinct. We proceed day after day, and
year after year in the same routine, without
exhibiting one original idea. All new discoveries
and inventions are made by the men;
even the chemical combinations in cookery,
and their causes, are unknown to almost every
female, to those who have cooked all their days.
We do not think—there is the fault of our education—we
are not taught by necessity,—the
necessity that arises to men in their diversified
pursuits,—to reflect.'