University of Virginia Library

LETTERS.

Conformably to my promise, when
I left your abode, the first efforts of my pen are
dedicated to you. The pleasure which arises
from the recollection of your more than maternal
kindness to me, especially your unwearied endeavours
to refine and embellish my mind, and to
lay the foundation of right principles and practices,
is interwoven with my existence; and no
time or circumstances can erase my gratitude.

I arrived last evening safely; and was affectionately
received by my honored parents, and
beloved brothers and sisters. The emotions of
regret which I felt in the morning, at the painful
separation from you and my dear school-mates,
with whom I have lived so happily, had not wholly
subsided. I could not help listening, now and
then, for some judicious observation from my
Preceptress; and frequently cast my eyes around

in search of some of the amiable companions,
among whom I had been used to unbend every
thought.

The splendor of the apartments gave me ideas
of restraint that were painful; and I looked
abroad for the green, where we were wont to
gambol, and the lawn where we so often held our
twilight sports, and almost fancied that we sometimes
caught a glimpse of the attendant Sylphs
who played around us; but in vain. Stately
domes, crowded streets, rattling carriages, and
all the noise and confusion of a commercial city
were substituted. I retired to bed, and was
awaked in the night by the riotous mirth of a
number of Bachanalians, reeling from the haunts
of intemperance and excess.

Alas! said I, this is not the æolian harp that
used to soothe our slumbers at the boarding school.
I composed myself again; but awoke at the accustomed
hour of five. I arose; and, having
praised my Maker for the preservations of the
night, walked down. Not a living creature was
stirring in the house.

I took a turn in the garden. Here art seemed
to reign so perfectly mistress, that I was apprehensive
lest I should injure her charms by viewing
them.

I accordingly retired to the summer-house, and,
having a book in my hand, sat down and read
till the clock struck seven. I then thought it

must be breakfast time, and returned to the house;
but was much disappointed to find none of the
family up, except one man-servant and the housemaid,
who had just crept down.

They appeared perfectly astonished to see me
come in from abroad; and the girl respectfully
inquired if indisposition had occasioned my rising
so early. I told her no; that the wish to
preserve my health had called me up two hours
before. Well, rejoined she, you will not find any
body to keep you company here, for two hours
to come. I was chagrined at the information,
and asked her for a bowl of milk, it being past
my usual breakfast time. The milk man had just
arrived, and I drank some; but it had lost its
flavour on the road. It was not like that which
was served us at Harmony-Grove. I stepped to
the harpsichord, and having sung and played a
morning hymn, returned to my chamber, where,
taking my work, I sat down by the window to
view the listless tribe of yawning mortals who
were beginning to thicken in the streets. One
half of these appeared to be dragged forth by necessity,
rather than any inclination to enjoy the
beauties of a fine morning.

At nine, I was summoned into the parlour to
breakfast. My sisters gently chid me for disturbing
their repose with my music. I excused myself
by alleging that I had been so long accustomed

to early rising that I should find it difficult
to alter the habit.

Here, madam, you have an account of my first
night and morning's occupation. Were I to proceed
with every new occurrence, through the
year, and subjoin my own remarks, I must write
volumes instead of letters.

Please to communicate this scroll to your amiable
daughters, and remind them of their promise
to write.

A line from Harmony-Grove would be a luxury
to me:

Meanwhile, permit me still to subscribe myself,
with the utmost respect, your grateful pupil,

I DID not intend, when we parted at the
boarding school, that a whole month should have
elapsed without bearing you some testimony of
my continued friendship and affection; but so
numerous have been my avocations, and so various
my engagements, that I have scarcely called
a moment my own since I returned home.
Having been from town a year, I was considered
as too antique to appear in company abroad, till
I had been perfectly metamorphosed. Every part
of my habit has undergone a complete change, in
conformity to the present fashion. It was with
extreme regret that I parted with the neatness
and simplicity of my country dress; which, according
to my ideas of modesty, was more becoming.
But, I trust, this alteration of appearance
will have no tendency to alienate those
sentiments from my heart, which I imbibed
under the tuition of Mrs. Williams.

I went, last evening, to the assembly; but
though dazzled, I was by no means charmed, by
the glare of finery and tinselled decorations that
were displayed.

There were some ladies, whose gentility and
fashionable dress were evidently the product of

a correct taste; but others were so disguised by
tawdry gewgaws, as to disgust me exceedingly.

Mrs. Williams used to say, that the dress was
indicative of the mind. If this observation be
just, what opinion am I to form of the gay multitudes
who trip along the streets, and throng the
places of public resort in this metropolis; the
lightness and gaudiness of whose appearance,
bespeak a sickly taste, to say no more!

I am furnished with feathers, flowers, and
ribbons, in profusion. I shall, however, use
them very sparingly; and though I would not
be entirely singular, yet I must insist on consulting
my own fancy a little, and cannot willingly
sacrifice my own opinion to the capricious whims
of fashion, and her devotees. My aunt Laurence,
who, you know, is extravagantly genteel, is
making us a visit. She laughs very heartily at
my silly notions, as she calls them, and styles me
a novice in the ways of the world; but hopes,
notwithstanding, that I shall acquire a better
taste, when I am more acquainted with fashionable
life. That I may be much improved by a
more extensive knowledge of the world, I doubt
not; yet may I never be corrupted by that levity
and folly, which are too prevalent among a part
of my sex.

I will not, however, censure and condemn
others; but attend to myself and be humble.
Adieu.

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 often 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 regards 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 recal 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 favour
me with your observations on the polite
world. I shall receive every line as a pledge of
your continued love to your

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's 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 circumspct 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.

I AM disappointed and displeased, Cleora!
I have long been anxious to procure the Marchioness
de Sevignè'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

I RECEIVED your's with those lively sensations
of pleasure which your favours 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 Sevignè's letters.
I am not, therefore, a 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 essayifts 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 endeavour
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 Fitzosborne'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 dicting such manly tenderness of
expression, and such pathetic energy of generous
love, I should be willing to give my hand in return,
and affent to those solemn words, “love,
honor, and—(I had almost said) obey.” Adieu.

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
neighbours.

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.

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,
send you mine in a scribble.

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 unsoreseen 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.

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 favour.

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.

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
and the 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.

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 preser.

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 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.

Adieu.

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
candour to excuse its futility, and give a favourable
interpretation to its design.

I am, &c.

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 have 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 frizeur
or the man-millener; either of which would afford
them more frequent opportunities for the
display of their abilities, and render their labours
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.

The assembly was extremely brilliant; the ladies
seemed to vie with each other in magnificent
decorations. So much loveliness was visible in
their native charms, that, without any hint from
the speakers of the day, I should have thought it
a pity to add those foreign ornaments, which
rather obscure than aid them.

I was a little displeased by the unbecoming
levity of some of my sex; and apprehensive left
it might induce misjudging and censorious people
to imagine that they were led thither more by

the vanity of attracting notice, than to receive
any mental entertainment.

Without our consent, we ran a race back to
town, which endangered our necks. The avaricious
hackman, desirous of returning for another
freight, had no mercy on his passengers or horses.
However, we arrived safely, though much fatigued
by the pleasure of the day.

Pleasure carried to excess degenerates into pain.
This I actually experienced; and fighed for the
tranquil enjoyments of Harmony-Grove, to which
I propose soon to return, and convince you how
affectionately I am your's.

Your enlivening letter restored us, in
some measure, to your society; or at least alleviated
the pain of your absence.

I am glad you attended Commencement. It
was a new scene, and consequently extended
your ideas. I think you rather severe on the
classical gentlemen. We simple country-folks
must not presume to arraign their taste, whose
learning and abilities render them conspicuous
on the literary stage. They, doubtless, write on
subjects best adapted to their capacities. As for
the follies of fashion, I think the gentlemen are
under obligations to the ladies for adopting them;
since it gives exercise to their genius and pens.

You were tired, you say, with pleasure. I believe
those dissipating scenes, which greatly exhilarate
the spirits, call for the whole attention, and
oblige us to exert every power, are always fatiguing.

Pleasures of a calmer kind, which are moderately
enjoyed, which enliven rather than exhaust,
and which yield a serenity of mind on reflection,
are the most durable, rational, and satisfying.
Pleasure is the most alluring object which is presented
to the view of the young and inexperienced.

Under various forms it courts our attention;
but, while we are still eager in the pursuit,
it eludes our grasp. Its fascinating charms deceive
the imagination, and create a bower of bliss
in every distant object. But let us be careful not
to six our affections on any thing which bears
this name, unless it be founded on virtue, and
will endure the severest scrutiny of examination.

Our honored mamma, and all your friends
here, are impatient for your return. They unitedly
long to embrace, and bid you welcome to
these seats of simplicity and ease: but none more
ardently, than your affectionate sister,

Anxious to make the best possible use
of the education I have received; and fully impressed
with the idea, that the human mind is
capable of continual improvements, it is my constant
endeavour to extract honey from every
flower which falls in my way, or, to speak without
a figure, to derive advantage from every incident.
Pursuant to the advice of our excellent
Preceptress, I keep this perpetually in view;
and am therefore disappointed when defeated in
the attempt.

This afternoon I have been in company with
three ladies, celebrated for their beauty and wit.
One of them, I think, may justly claim the reputation
of beauty. To a finished form, a fair
complexion, and an engaging, animating countenance
are added. Yet a consciousness of superior
charms was apparent in her deportment;
and a supercilious air counteracted the effects of
her personal accomplishments. The two others
were evidently more indebted to art than to nature
for their appearance. It might easily be
discovered that paint constituted all the delicacy
of their complexion!

What a pity, that so many are deceived in their
ideas of beauty! Certain it is, that artificial additions
serve rather to impair than increase its
power. “Who can paint like nature?” What
hand is skilful enough to supply her defects?
Do not those who attempt it always fail, and
render themselves disgusting? Do they not really
injure what they strive to mend; and make it
more indifferent than usual, when. divested of its
temporary embellishments? Beauty cannot possibly
maintain its sway over its most obsequious
votaries, unless the manners and the mind unitedly
contribute to secure it. How vain then is
this subterfuge! It may deceive the eye, and
gain the flattery of the prattling coxcomb; but
accumulated neglect and mortification inevitably
await those who trust in the wretched alternative.

From their good sense, I had been led to
expect the greatest entertainment. I therefore
waited impatiently till the first compliments were
over, and conversation commenced.

But, to my extreme regret, I found it to consist
of ludicrous insinuations hackneyed jests, and
satirical remarks upon others of their acquaintance
who were absent. The pretty fellows of
the town were criticised; and their own adventures
in shopping were related with so much minuteness,
hilarity, and glee, that I blushed for the
frivolous levity of those of my sex, who could

substitute buffoonery for wit, and the effusions of
a perverted imagination for that refined and improving
conversation, which a well cultivated
mind and a correct taste are calculated to afford!

If, said I to myself, this be the beauty and
the wit of polished society, restore me again to
the native simplicity and sincerity of Harmony-Grove!

I took my leave as soon as politeness would
allow; and left them to animadvert upon me.
Independent for happiness on the praise or censure
of superficial minds, let me ever be conscious
of meriting approbation, and I shall rest contented
in the certain prospect of receiving it.
Adieu.

I SYMPATHIZE with you, my dear
Sophia, in the disappointment you received in
your expectations from beauty and wit.

You may nevertheless derive advantage from
it. Your refined and delicate ideas raise you too
far above the scenes of common life. They paint
the defects of your inferiors in such lively
colours, that the greater part of the community
must be displeasing to you. Few, you should
remember, have had the advantages which you
have enjoyed; and still fewer have your penetrating
eye, correct taste, and quick sensibility. Let
charity then draw a veil over the foibles of others,
and candour induce you to look on the best
and brightest side.

It is both our duty and interest to enjoy life,
as far as integrity and innocence allow; and, in
order to this, we must not soar above, but accommodate
ourselves to its ordinary state. We
cannot stem the torrent of folly and vanity; but
we can step aside and see it roll on, without suffering
ourselves to be borne down by the stream.

Empty conversation must be disgusting to every
rational and thinking mind; yet, when it
partakes not of malignity, it is harmless in its effects,
as the vapour which floats over the mead in

a summer's eve. But, when malice and envy
join to give scope to detraction, we ought to
avoid their contagion, and decidedly condemn
the effusions of the ill-natured merriment which
they inspire.

Our sex have been taxed as desamers. I am
convinced, however, that they are not exclusively
guilty; yet, for want of more substantial matter
of conversation, I fear they too often give occasion
for the accusation! A mind properly cultivated,
and stored with useful knowledge, will despise
a pastime which must be supported at the
expense of others. Hence only the superficial
and the giddy are reduced to the necessity of
filling the time in which they associate together,
with the degrading and injurious subjects of
slander. But I trust that our improved country-women
are rising far superior to this necessity,
and are able to convince the world, that the
American fair are enlightened, generous, and
liberal. The false notions of sexual disparity, in
point of understanding and capacity, are justly
exploded; and each branch of society is uniting
to raise the virtues and polish the manners of
the whole.

I am, &c.

From your recommendation of Mrs. Chapone's
letters; and, what is still more, from the
character given them by Mrs. Williams, I was
anxious to possess the book; but, not being able
to procure it here, my clerical brother, who was
fortunately going to Boston, bought and presented
it to me.

I am much gratified by the perufal and flatter
myself that I shall derive lasting benefit from it.

So intricate is the path of youth, and so many
temptations lurk around to beguile our feet astray,
that we really need some skilful pilot to guide us
through the delusive maze. To an attentive and
docile mind, publications of this sort may afford
much instruction and aid. They ought, therefore,
to be carefully collected, and diligently perused.

Anxious to make my brother some acknowledgment
for his present, I wrought and sent him
a purse, accompanied with a dedication which I
thought might amuse some of his solitary moments;
and which, for that purpose, I here transcribe
and convey to you.

I have spent a very agreeable summer in
the country; but am now preparing to return
to town. I anticipate, with pleasure, a restoration
to your society, and that of my other friends
there. I should, however, quit these rural scenes
with reluctance, were it not that they are giving
place to the chilling harbingers of approaching
winter. They have afforded charms to me,
which the giddy round of fashionable amusements
can never equal. Many, however, think
life insupportable, except in the bustle and diffipation
of a city. Of this number is the volatile
Amelia Parr, whom you know as well as I. So
extreme is her gaiety, that the good qualities of
her mind are suffered to lie dormant; while the
most restless passions are indulged without restraint.
I have just received a letter from her,
which you will see to be characteristic of her
disposition. I enclose that, and my answer to it
for your perusal. Read both with candour; and
believe me ever your's.

Where are you, Harriot; and what
are you doing? Six long months absent from
the town! What can you find to beguile the
tedious hours? Life must be a burden to you!
How can you employ yourself? Employ, did I
say? Pho! I will not use so vulgar a term! I
meant amuse! Amusement surely is the prime
end of our existence! You have no plays, no
card-parties, nor assemblies that are worth mentioning!
Intolerably heavy must the lagging
wheels of time roll on! How shall I accelerate
them for you? A new novel may do something
towards it! I accordingly send you one, imported
in the last ships. Foreign, to be sure; else
it would not be worth attention. They have
attained to a far greater degree of refinement in
the old world, than we have in the new; and
are so perfectly acquainted with the passions,
that there is something extremely amusing and
interesting in their plots and counter-plots,
operating in various ways, till the dear creatures
are jumbled into matrimony in the prettiest
manner that can be conceived!

We, in this country, are too much in a state
of nature to write good novels yet. An American

novel is such a moral, sentimental thing,
that it is enough to give any body the vapours to
read one. Pray come to town as soon as possible,
and not dream away your best days in obscurity
and insignificance.

But this boarding school; this Harmony-Grove,
where you formerly resided, has given
you strange ideas of the world. With what
raptures I have heard you relate the dull scenes
in which you were concerned there! I am
afraid that your diseased taste has now come to a
crisis, and you have commenced prude in earnest!
But return to your city friends; and we will
lend our charitable assistance, in restoring you
to gaiety and pleasure.

The Answer.

Your letter—your rattle, rather, came
to hand yesterday. I could not avoid smiling at
your erroneous opinions; and, in my turn, beg
leave to express my wonder at your entertainments
in town. True, we have no plays. We
are not obliged by fashion to sit, half suffocated
in a crowd, for the greater part of the night, to
hear the rantings, and see the extravagant actions
of the buskin heroes, (and those not always

consistent with female modesty to witness!) We
have no card-parties, avowedly formed for the
purpose of killing time! But we have an agreeable
neighbourhood; among which we can easily
collect a social circle; and persons of taste,
politeness and information compose it. Here
we enjoy a rational and enlivening conversation,
which is at once refined and improving. We
have no assemblies, composed of a promiscuous
crowd of gaudy belles and beaux; many of
whom we should despise in a private company,
and deem unworthy our notice. But we have
genteel balls, the company of which is select,
none being admitted but such as do honor to
themselves and each other. The amusement is
not protracted till the yawning listlessness of the
company proclaims their incapacity for enjoyment;
but we retire at a seasonable hour, and
add to the pleasure of the evening that of undisturbed
rest through the night. Of course, we
can rise with the fun, and sip the nectarious
dews, wasted in the aromatic gale. We breakfast
before the heat of the day has brought on
a languor, and deprived us of appetite; after
which, we amuse ourselves with our needles,
books, or music; recline on the sofa, or ramble
in the grove, as fancy or convenience directs.
In the shady bower we enjoy either the luxury
of solitude, or the pleasures of society; while
you are, the whole time, in the midst of hurry
and bustle. Eager in the chase, you fly from
one scene of dissipation to another; but the fatigue
of this ceaseless round, and the exertion of
spirits necessary to support it, render the objects
of pursuit tasteless and insipid.

Which mode of life, yours or mine, do you
now think the most rational, and productive of
the greatest happiness? The boarding school,
which you affect to despise, has, it is true, formed
my taste; and I flatter myself that I shall
never wish it altered.

I shall soon return to town; but not for pleasure.
It is not in crowds that I seek it. Adieu.

Having been with my aunt Burchel
for a fortnight past, I have indulged myself in
reading novels; with which her library is well
supplied.

Richardson's works have occupied a large portion
of the time. What a surprising command
has this great master of the passions over our
feelings! It is happy for his own and succeeding
ages, that he embarked in the cause of virtue.
For his influence on the affections of his readers
is so great, that it must have proved very pernicious,
had he enlisted on the side of vice. Though
I am not much of a novel reader, yet his pen
has operated like magic on my fancy; and so extremely
was I interested, that I could have dispensed
with sleep or food for the pleasure I
found in reading him.

By this circumstance I am more than ever
convinced of the great caution which ought to
be used in perusing writings of the kind. How
secretly, and how insidiously may they undermine
the fabric of virtue, by painting vice and folly in
the alluring colours, and with the lively style of

this ingenious author. The mind should be well
informed, and the judgment properly matured,
before young people indulge themselves in the
unrestrained perusal of them.

The examples of virtue and noble qualities,
exhibited by the author I have mentioned, are
truly useful; but every writer of novels is not a
Richardson: and what dreadful effects might the
specious manners of a Lovelace have on the inexperienced
mind, were they not detected by a
just exhibition of his vices!

The noble conduct of Clementina and Miss
Byron are worthy of imitation; while the indifcretion
of Clarissa, in putting herself under the
protection of a libertine, is a warning to every
fair. But both examples are often overlooked.
While the ear is charmed with the style, and
the fancy riots on the luxuriance of description,
which so intimately blend the charms of virtue
and the fascinations of vice; they are not readily
distinguished by all.

I am not equally pleased with all Richardson's
writings; yet so multifarious are his excellencies,
that his faults appear but specks, which serve as
soils to display his beauties to better advantage.

Before I went from home I was engaged in
reading a course of history; but I fear I shall

not return from this flowery field to the dry and
less pleasing path of more laborious studies.
This is one disadvantage of novel reading. It
dissipates the ideas, relaxes the mind, and renders
it inattentive to the more solid and useful branches
of literature. Adieu.

Neither change of place nor situation
can alienate my affections from you, or obliterate
my grateful remembrance of your kindness.

Your admonitions and counsels have been the
guide of my youth. The many advantages
which I have already received from them, and
the condescending readiness with which they
were always administered, embolden me to solicit
your direction and advice in a still more important
sphere. The recommendation of my
parents and friends, seconded by my own inclination,
have induced me to yield my heart and
engage my hand to Mr. Sylvanus Farmington,
with whose character you are not unacquainted.
Next Thursday is the era fixed for our union.
O madam, how greatly shall I need a monitor
like you! Sensible of my own impersections, I
look forward with diffidence and apprehension,
blended with pleasing hopes, to this new and
untried state!

Your experienced pen can teach me how to
discharge the duties, divide the cares, and enjoy
the pleasures, peculiar to the station on which I
am entering. Pray extend your benevolence,

and communicate your sentiments on female deportment
in the connubial relation. Practising
upon such a model, I may still be worthy the
appellation, which it will ever be my ambition
to deserve, of your affectionate friend and pupil,

Indeed, my dear Harriot, you are making
an important change of situation; a change interesting
to you and your friends; a change
which involves, not only your own happiness,
but the happiness of the worthy man whom you
have chosen, of the family, over which you are
to preside, and perhaps, too, of that with which
you are to be connected.

I rejoice to hear that this connexion, on which
so much depends, is not hastily formed; but
that it is the result of long acquaintance, is
founded on merit, and consolidated by esteem.
From characters like yours, mutually deserving
and excellent, brilliant examples of conjugal virtue
and felicity may be expected. Yet as human
nature is imperfect, liable to errors, and apt
to deviate from the line of rectitude and propriety,
a monitorial guide may be expedient and
useful. Your partiality has led you to request
this boon of me; but diffidence of my own abilities
compels me to decline the arduous task.
Nevertheless, I have it happily in my power to
recommend an abler instructor, who has written
professedly upon the subject. The American
Spectator, or Matrimonial Preceptor, lately
published by Mr. David West, of Boston,

contains all you can wish. The judicious compiler
has collected and arranged his materials
with admirable skill and address. Peruse this
book, and you will be at no loss for counsels to
direct, and cautions to guard you through the
intricate cares and duties of the connubial life.
The essays are, chiefly, extracted from the most
approved English writers. The productions of
so many able pens, properly disposed, and exhibited
in a new and agreeable light, must not
only be entertaining, but useful to every reader
of taste and judgment. I wish this publication
to be considered as a necessary piece of furniture
by every housekeeper. The editor has certainly
deserved well of his country; and Hymen
should crown him with unfading garlands.

I shall visit you, my dear Harriot, after the
happy knot (for such I flatter myself it will
prove) is tied. In the mean time, I subscribe
myself, with the most ardent wishes for your
prosperity and happiness, your sincere friend,

What think you of wit, Cleora? If you
estimate it by the worth of your own, you think
it an invaluable jewel. But this jewel is variously
set. Yours is in the pure sterling gold of
good sense: yet, as displayed by some, it glistens
on the mere tinsel of gaiety, which will not bear
the scrutinizing eye of judgment.

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:

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.

But I believe I cannot give a better proof of
my own wit, than to conclude this seribble before
your patience is quite exhausted by the perusal.
Adieu.

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.”[1]

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.”[2]

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.

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 our's 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 fire-side
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.

Come then, Matilda, participate the pleasures,
and accelerate the improvement, of your affec-tionate
friend,

Your's 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.”[3]

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
custivation. Adieu.

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 affiduous, therefore, to increase the sund, 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 out-strips
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 your's
most sincerely.

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 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.

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 endeavour 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 them off their guard,
and leads them to listen and give credit to the
prosessions 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.[4] “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.

“That servile obsequiousness which women
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 into 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 to 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 her chair.

I followed the good woman, and, apologizing
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
her's, 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 candour 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 same
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.

“My father, strict in his principles, and watchful
for my real welfare, disapproved his suit; alleging
that although Florimel was calculated to
please in the gayer moments of life, he was nevertheless
destitute of those sentiments of religion
and virtue, which are essentially requisite to durable
felicity. But I could not be persuaded
that he lacked any perfection which maturer
years would not give him; and therefore finding
my attachment unconquerable, my father reluctantly
acquiesced in the proposed connexion.
My ill-judged partiality for this ungenerous man
absorbed every other passion and pursuit; while

he took advantage of my yielding fondness, and
assumed liberties which I knew to be inconsistent
with delicacy, but had not resolution to repel.
One encroachment succeeded another, and every
concession was claimed and granted as a proof of
love, till at length he became absolute master of
my will and my person! Shame and remorse
soon roused me to a sense of my guilt, and I demanded
an immediate performance of his promise
of marriage. This, under one pretext or another,
he constantly evaded. His visits daily became
less frequent, and his attentions less assiduous;
while the most poignant anguish of mind
deprived me of every comfort. I found myself
reduced to the humiliating alternative of entreating
my seducer to screen me from infamy by the
name of wife, though he should never consider
or treat me as such. To this he insultingly replied,
that my situation must necessarily detect
our illicit commerce; and his pride could never
brook the reputation of having a wife whose
chastity had been sacrificed. As soon as rage
and resentment, which at first took from me the
power of utterance, would permit, Wretch! exclaimed
I, is it not to you the sacrifice has been
made? Who but you has triumphed over my
virtue, and subjected me to the disgrace and
wretchedness I now suffer? Was it not in token
of my regard for you that I yielded to your solicitations?
And is this the requital I am to receive?
Base, ungrateful man! I despise your
meanness! I detest the ungenerous disposition
you betray, and henceforth reject all intercourse
and society with you! I will throw myself on
the mercy of my injured parents, and renounce
you forever.

“Seeing me almost frantic, he endeavoured to
soothe and appease me. He apologized for the
harshness of his language, and even made professions
of unabated affection; but gave as a reason
for deferring the conjugal union, at present,
that commercial affairs obliged him to sail immediately
for Europe; assuring me at the same
time that on his return he would not fail to renew
and consummate the connexion. To this I
gave no credit, and therefore made no reply.
He then requested me to accept a purse to defray
my expenses, during his absence, which I
rejected with disdain; and he departed. The
distress and despair of my mind were inexpressible.
For some days, I resigned myself entirely
to the agonizing pangs of grief. My parents
imputed my dejection to Florimel's departure,
and strove to console me. It was not long,
however, before my mother discovered the real
cause. In her, resentment gave place to compassion;
but the anger of my father could not
be appeased. He absolutely forbad me his presence
for some time; but my mother at length
prevailed on him to see, and assure me of forgiveness

and restoration to favour, if I would
consent to renounce and disown my child; to
which, not then knowing the force of maternal
affection, I readily consented. This place was
privately procured for me, and hither, under
pretence of spending a month or two with a
friend in the country, I retired. To-morrow my
dear babe is to be taken from me! It is to be
put to nurse, I know not where! All I am told
is, that it shall be well taken care of! Constantly
will its moans haunt my imagination, while I
am deprived even of the hope of ministering to
its wants; but must leave it to execrate the hour
which gave it birth, and deprived it of a parent's
attention and kindness.

“As soon as possible, I shall return to my father's
house; and as I am unknown here, and
you are the only person, out of our family, who
shares the dreadful secret, I flatter myself that my
crime may still be concealed from the world.
The reproaches of my own mind I can never escape.
Conscious guilt will give the aspect of
accusation to every eye that beholds me; and
however policy may compel me to wear the
mask of gaiety and ease, my heart will be wrung
with inexpressible anguish by the remembrance
of my folly, and always alive to the distressing
sensations of remorse and shame! Oh Julia!
you have witnessed my disgrace! pity and forgive
me! Perhaps I once appeared as virtuous

and respectable, as you now do; but how
changed! how fallen! how debased! Learn
from my fate to despise the flattery of the worthless
coxcomb, and the arts of the abandoned
libertine.”

By this time I was summoned to tea; when,
giving all the consolation in my power to the
unhappy Clarinda, I rejoined my company; and
to prevent their inquisitiveness about my absence,
told them I had been with a sick woman,
upon whom I accidentally intruded when I first
came in; and that she had detained me, all this
time, by a recital of her complaints and misfortunes.
This account satisfied their curiosity;
but the melancholy into which my mind had
been thrown was not easily dissipated; nor could
I, without doing violence to my feelings, put on
the appearance of my usual cheerfulness and
case.

Here, my dear Maria, is a picture of the frailty
and weakness of our sex! How much reason
have we then to “watch and pray that we enter
not into temptation!”

With affectionate regards to your mamma and
sister, I subscribe myself your's most sincerely,

I was much affected by the woe-fraught
tale which you gave me in your last. We cannot
too much regret that such instances of duplicity
and folly are ever exhibited. They are
alike disgraceful to both sexes, and demonstrate
the debasing and fatal tendency of the passions,
when suffered to predominate.

Your observations upon our sex I believe to be
just, though many would probably deem them
severe. However, I think it not much to the
honor of the masculine character, which the God
of nature designed for a defence and safeguard
to female virtue and happiness, to take advantage
of the tender affection of the unsuspecting and
too credulous fair; and, in return for her love
and confidence, perfidiously to destroy her peace
of mind, and deprive her of that reputation,
which might have rendered her a useful and ornamental
member of society. True, we ought
to take warning by such examples of treachery
and deceit; yet, how much more conducive to
the honor and happiness of our species, were
there no occasion to apprehend such ungenerous
requitals of our sincerity and frankness!

Yesterday, my mamma took the liberty to read
that part of your letter, which contains the story
of Clarinda, to her pupils, and to make such
comments upon it as the subject suggested; during
which we could not but observe the extreme
emotion of one of the miffes, a most amiable
girl of about sixteen. When the paragraph respecting
Clarinda's disowning her child was read,
she hastily rose, and in broken accents begged
leave to withdraw. This was granted, without
any inquiry into the cause; though our curiosity,
as you may well suppose, was much excited.
After we were dismissed, my mamma prevailed
on her to tell the reason of her agitation.

“I am,” said she, “the illegitimate offspring
of parents, whom I am told are people of fortune
and fashion. The fear of disgrace overcame
the dictates of natural affection, and induced my
mother to abandon me in my infancy. She accordingly
gave me away, with a large sum of money,
which she vainly imagined would procure me
kind and good treatment. But, unhappily for
me, the people to whom I was consigned, availing
themselves of their security from inspection
and inquiry, abused the trust reposed in them,
and exposed me to the greatest hardships. As
they were persons of vulgar minds and unfeeling
hearts, they did not commiserate my friendless
condition. My quick sensibility incurred their
displeasure or derision. I was often insultingly

reproached with the misfortune of my birth;
while the tears which these ungenerous reflections
extorted from me, were either mocked or
punished. I had a thirst for knowledge; but
they allowed me no time for acquiring it, alleging
that they could not support me in idleness,
but that I must earn my living, as they did their's,
by hard labour. Oppressed by these insults, I
bore the galling yoke of their authority with the
utmost impatience. When screened from observation,
my tears slowed without restraint; and
the idea of my parents' cruelty, in thus subjecting
me to infamy and wretchedness, continually
haunted my imagination. Sometimes I fancied
my mother in view, and, exposing my tattered
raiment, expostulated with her concerning the
indignities I suffered, and the unreasonable hardship
of leaving me to bear all the punishment of
my guilty birth! At other times I painted to
myself a father, in some gentleman of pleasing
aspect; and fondly indulged the momentary transport
of throwing myself at the feet of one, whom
I could call by that venerable and endearing
name! Too soon, however, did the reverse of
parental tenderness awake me from my delusive
reveries.

“In this manner I lingered away my existence,
till I was twelve years old; when going,
one day, to the house of a gentleman in the
neighbourhood, to which I was often sent to sell

herbs, and other trifles, I was directed into the
parlour, where the most beautiful sight in nature
opened to my view; while the contrast between
my own situation, and that of children blessed
with affectionate parents, gave me the most painful
sensations. The lady of the house was surrounded
by her four sons, the eldest of whom
was reading lessons, which she most pathetically
inculcated upon all. As the door was open, I
stood some minutes unobserved; and was so delighted
with the tender accents in which her instructions
were imparted, and the cheerful obedience
with which they were received, that I had
no disposition to interrupt them.

“At length I was seen, and bid to come in.
But, when questioned about my errand, I was so
absorbed in the contemplation of maternal and
filial love, exhibited in this happy group, that my
tongue refused utterance, and I burst into tears.
The children gathered around, and inquired what
ailed the poor little girl? But when the lady
took me by the hand, and kindly asked what
was the matter, I could not restrain or conceal
my feelings. When my tears had relieved me, I
related the cause of my grief; describing my
own situation, and the effect which its contrast
had produced on my mind.

“She was affected by my story, and seemed
pleased with my sensibility; while the children
lamented my misfortunes, and artlessly requested

their mamma to let me come and live with
them.

“Little did I then expect so great a favour;
but to my surprise, as well as joy, Mrs. —,
the lady of whom I have been speaking, and by
whom I am put under your care, came, a few
days after, and asked the people where I lived, if
they were willing to part with me. By their
consent she took me home, and has ever since
treated me like a child.

“I am now happy beyond expression. My
gratitude to my benefactress, who, guided by a
wife and good Providence, has snatched me from
obscurity and misery, and given me so many advantages
for improvement, is unbounded.

“But the idea that any helpless innocent should
be unnaturally exposed to the sufferings which I
have experienced, is insupportably distressing to
my imagination.

“Let my story, if possible, be told to Clarinda,
that she may be induced to have compassion upon
her defenceless offspring.”

You are at liberty, therefore, my dear Julia,
to make what use you please of this letter. I
shall make no comments upon the subject of it,
nor add any thing more to its length, but that I
am affectionately your's.

My contemplated visit to Harmony-Grove
must be deferred. A severe illness has lately confined
my mamma to her chamber. This claimed
all my time and attention, and called me to a new
scene of care; that of a family, which I was obliged
to superintend during her indisposition. Her
recovery has, at length, restored tranquillity and
joy to our abode; but she has not yet resumed the
direction of her household affairs. To this, she
tells me, she is reconciled by the hope, that experience
may render me an adept in domestic economy.
Indeed, Anna, I think this an essential
branch of female education; and I question
whether it can be acquired by mere speculation.
To me it is plain, that every lady ought
to have some practice in the management of a
family, before she takes upon herself the important
trust.

Do not many of the mistakes and infelicities of
life arise from a deficiency in this point?

Young ladies of fashion are not obliged to the
task, and have too seldom any inclination to perform
duties which require so much time and attention;
and with which, perhaps, they have injudiciously

been taught to connect the idea of
fervility. Hence it is, that when called to preside
over families, they commit many errors, during
their novitiate, at least, which are alike detrimental
to their interest and happiness. How necessary
is it, then, to avoid this complication of evils
by a seasonable application to those offices of
housewifery, which may one day become our
province.

Early rising, I find a great assistance in my
present occupation. It is almost incredible how
much may be gained by a diligent improvement
of those hours which are but too commonly lost
in sleep. I arose this morning with the dawn.
The serenity of the sky and the fragrance of the
air invited me abroad. The calmness which universally
prevailed served to tranquillize my mind,
while the receding shades of night, and the rising
beams of day formed a contrasted assemblage of
the beautiful, the splendid, the solemnn, and the
sublime. The silence which pervaded the surrounding
scenery was interrupted only by the
melody of the feathered songsters, who seemed to
rejoice in this undisturbed opportunity of praifing
their Maker. My heart expanded with gratitude
and love to the all-bountiful Author of nature;
and so absorbed was I in the most delightful
meditations, that I saw with regret the hour
approaching which must again call me to the active

duties of domestic and social life. These, however,
are objects of real moment, and cannot innocently
be disregarded. They give a relish to
amusement, and even to devotion, which neither
the dissipated nor the recluse can know.
Adieu.

I SINCERELY thank you for your affectionate
letter, by the last post, and for the book
with which it was accompanied. The very title
is sufficient to rouse the feelings and attract
the attention of the patriotic mind. Beacon-Hill
claims a conspicuous place in the history of our
country. The subject of this poem must be
highly interesting to every true American; while
the genius it displays cannot fail to gratify every
poetical taste. Philenia's talents justly entitle
her to a rank among the literary ornaments of
Columbia.

I have been reviewing Millot's Elements of Ancient
and Modern History; and recommend it to
your re-perusal. It is undoubtedly the most useful
compendium extant. The tedious minuteness
and prolix details of sieges and battles, negociations
and treaties, which fatigue the reader
and oppress the memory, in most works of the
kind, are happily avoided in this; while the elegance,
simplicity, conciseness and perspicuity of
the style, render it intelligible to every capacity,
and pleasing to every taste. To those who have
a relish for history, but want leisure to give it
full scope, Millot is well calculated to afford both

information and entertainment. It is an objection,
commonly made by our sex to studies of
this nature, that they are dry and elaborate; that
they yield little or no exercise to the more sprightly
faculties of the mind; that the attention is
confined to an uninteresting and barren detail of
facts, while the imagination pants in vain for the
flowery wreaths of decoration.

This is a plausible excuse for those who read
only for amusement, and are willing to sacrifice
reason, and the enlargement of their minds, to
the gaudy phantom of a day; but it can never
be satisfactory to the person, who wishes to
combine utility with pleasure, and dignity with
relaxation. History improves the understanding,
and furnishes a knowledge of human nature and
human events, which may be useful, as well as
ornamental, through life. “History,” says the
late celebrated Ganganelli, “brings together all
ages and all mankind into one point of view.
Presenting a charming landscape to the mental
eye, it gives colour to the thoughts, soul to the
actions, and life to the dead; and brings them
again upon the stage of the world, as if they were
again living; but with this difference, that it is
not to flatter, but to judge them.”

The duties and avocations of our sex will not
often admit of a close and connected course of
reading. Yet a general knowledge of the most
necessary subjects may undoubtedly be gained,

even in our leisure hours; provided we bestow
them not on works of mere taste and fancy, but
on the perusal of books calculated to enrich the
understanding with durable acquisitions.

The sincerest wishes for your health and happiness
glow in the breast of your affectionate

Since I wrote you last, I have made an
agreeable visit to my good friend, Sylvia Star.
After rambling in the fields and gardens till we
were fatigued, we went into her brother's library.
He was in a studious attitude, but gave us a polite
reception. We are come to solicit a portion
of your repast, Amintor, said I. Be so kind as
to furnish us with some instructive page, which
combines entertainment and utility; and while it
informs the mind, delights the imagination. I
am not happy enough to know your taste respecting
books, said he; and, therefore, may not make
a proper selection. Here, however, is an author
highly spoken of by a lady, who has lately added
to the number of literary publications; handing
me Sterne's Sentimental Journey. I closed and
returned the book. You have indeed mistaken
my taste, said I. Wit, blended with indelicacy,
never meets my approbation. While the fancy
is allured, and the passions awakened, by this pathetic
humourist, the foundations of virtue are
insidiously undermined, and modest dignity insensibly
betrayed. Well, said he, similing, perhaps
you are seriously inclined. If so, this volume of
sermons may possibly please you. Still less, rejoined

I. The serious mind must turn with disgust
from the levity which pervades these discourses,
and from the indecent flow of mirth and
humour, which converts even the sacred writings,
and the most solemn subjects of religion,
into frolic and buffoonery. Since such is your
opinion of this celebrated writer, said he, I will
not insult your feelings by offering you his Tristram
Shandy. But here is another wit, famous
for his “purity.” Yes, said I, if obscene and vulgar
ideas, if ill-natured remarks and filthy allusions
be purity, Swift undoubtedly bears the palm
from all his contemporaries. As far as grammatical
correctness and simplicity of language can
deserve the epithet, his advocates may enjoy their
sentiments unmolested; but, in any other sense
of the word, he has certainly no claim to “purity.”
I conceive his works, notwithstanding, to be
much less pernicious in their tendency, than
those of Sterne. They are not so enchanting in
their nature, nor so subtle in their effects. In the
one, the noxious insinuations of licentious wit
are concealed under the artful blandishments of
sympathetic sensibility; while we at once recoil
from the rude affault which is made upon our
delicacy, by the roughness and vulgarity of the
other.

Choose then, said Amintor, for yourself. I
availed myself of his offer, and soon fixed my
eyes upon Doctor Belknap's History of New-Hampshire,

and American Biography; both of
which I have since read with the greatest satisfaction.

By this judicious and impartial historian, we
are led, from its first settlement, to trace the
progress of the infant colony. We accompany
its inhabitants in their enterprizes, their dangers,
their toils, and their successes. We take an interest
in their prosperity; and we tremble at the
dreadful outrages of the barbarous foe. Our imagination
is again recalled to the gradual advance
of population and agriculture. We behold the
wilderness blooming as the rose, and the haunts
of savage beasts, and more savage men, converted
into fruitful fields and pleasant habitations.
The arts and sciences flourish; peace and harmony
are restored; and we are astonished at
the amazing contrast, produced in little more
than a single century!

When we turn to the American Biography,
gratitude glows in our bosoms towards those intrepid
and active adventurers, who traversed a
trackless ocean, explored an unknown region,
and laid the foundation of empire and independence
in this western hemisphere. The undaunted
resolution, and cool, determined wisdom of
Columbus, fill us with profound admiration. We
are constrained to pay a tribute of just applause
to the generosity of a female mind, exemplified
in Isabella, who, to surmount every obstacle, no

bly consented to sacrifice even her personal ornaments
to the success of this glorious expedition.

The daring spirit of Captain Smith, and the
prudence, policy, and magnanimity of his conduct
to the treacherous natives, and to his equally
treacherous and ungrateful countrymen, exhibit
an example of patriotism and moderation,
which at once commands our applause, and interests
our feelings. While we tremble and recoil
at his dreadful situation, when bending his
neck to receive the murderous stroke of death,
the native virtues of our sex suddenly reanimate
our frame; and, with sensations of rapture, we
behold compassion, benevolence, and humanity
triumphant even in a savage breast; and conspicuously
displayed in the conduct of the amiable,
though uncivilized Pocahontas! Nor are
the other characters in this work uninteresting:
and I am happy to find that the same masterly
pen is still industriously employed for the public
good;[5] and that a second volume of American
Biography is now in the press.

In reviewing this letter, I am astonished at my
own presumption, in undertaking to play the
critic. My imagination has outstripped my
judgment; but I will arrest its career, and subscribe
myself most affectionately your's.

I retired, after breakfast this morning,
determined to indulge myself in my favourite
amusement, and write you a long letter. I had
just mended my pen and folded my paper, when
I was informed that three ladies waited for me
in the parlour. I stepped down and found Lucinda
P—, Fulvia F—, and Delia S—.
They were gaily dressed, and still more gaily disposed.
“We called,” said they, “to invite you,
Miss Maria, to join our party for a shopping
tour.” Loath to have the ideas dissipated, which
I had collected in my pericranium, for the purpose
of transmitting to a beloved sister, I declined
accepting their invitation; alleging that I had
no occasion to purchase any thing to-day; and
therefore begged to be excused from accompanying
them. They laughed at my reason for not
engaging in the expedition. “Buying,” said their
principal speaker, “is no considerable part of our
plan, I assure you. Amusement is what we are
after. We frankly acknowledge it a delightful
gratification of our vanity, to traverse Cornhill,
to receive the obsequious congees, and to call
forth the gallantry and activity of the beaux behind
the counter; who, you must know, are extremely

alert when we belles appear. The waving
of our feathers, and the attractive airs we assume,
command the profoundest attention, both
of master and apprentices; who, duped by our
appearance, suffer less brilliant customers to wait,
or even to depart without notice, till we have
tumbled over and refused half the goods in the
shop. We then bid a very civil adieu; express
our regret at having given so much trouble; are
assured, in return, that it has been rather a pleasure;
and leave them their labour for their pains.”

A most insignificant amusement this, said I
to myself I How little can it redound to the
honor and happiness of these unthinking girls,
thus to squander their time in folly's giddy
maze! They undoubtedly wish to attract eclat;
but they would do well to remember those words
of the satirist, which, with the alteration of a
single term, may be applied to them:

Viewing their conduct in this light, I withstood
their solicitations, though I palliated my refusal
in such a manner as to give no umbrage.

Of all expedients to kill time, this appears to
me, as I know it will to you, the most ridiculous
and absurd.

What possible satisfaction can result from such
a practice? It certainly fatigues the body; and
is it any advantage to the mind? Does it enlarge
the understanding, inspire useful ideas, or furnish
a source of pleasing reflection? True, it may
gratify a vitiated imagination, and exhilarate a
light and trifling mind. But these ought to be
restrained and regulated by reason and judgment,
rather than indulged.

I wish those ladies, who make pleasure the supreme
object of their pursuit, and argue in vindication
of their conduct, that

would confine themselves to that species which

The domestic virtues, if duly cultivated, might
certainly occupy those hours, which they are now
solicitous to diffipate, both with profit and delight:
“But it is time enough to be domesticated,” say
they, “when we are placed at the head of families,
and necessarily confined to care and labour.”

Should not the mind, however, be seasonably
inured to the sphere of life which Providence
affigns us?

A proper attention to these necessary duties
and embellishments would not only correct this
rambling disposition, but happily leave neither
leisure nor temptation for its indulgence.

I intended to have given you some account of
my agreeable visit here; but the chit-chat of the
ladies I have mentioned, has occupied a large
portion of my time this morning, and an engagement
to dine abroad claims the rest.

I hope soon to embrace you in our beloved retirement,
and again to enjoy the sweets of my
native home.

My most dutiful affections await mamma; and
my kind regards attend the young ladies residing
with her. How great a share of my ardent love
is at your command need not be renewedly testified
by

The extracts which you transmitted to
me in your last kind letter, my dear Sophia, from
your favourite author, Doctor Young, corresponded
exactly with the solemnity infused into
my mind by the funeral of a neighbour, from
which I had just returned.

I agree with you, that the Night-Thoughts are
good devotional exercises. It is impossible to
read them with that degree of attention which
they merit, without being affected by the important
and awful subjects on which they treat.
But Young, after all, is always too abstruse, and
in many instances, too gloomy for me. The
most elaborate application is necessary to the
comprehension of his meaning and design;
which, when discovered, often tend rather to
depress than to elevate the spirits.

Thompson is much better adapted to my
taste. Sentiment, elegance, perspicuity, and
sublimity are all combined in his Seasons. What
an inimitable painter! How admirably he describes
the infinitely variegated beauties and operations
of nature! To the feeling and susceptible
heart they are presented in the strongest
light. Nor is the energy of his language less
perceivable, when he describes the Deity riding

on the wings of the wind, and directing the
stormy tempest.

Conscious of our own weakness and dependence,
we can hardly fail to adore and to fear
that Divine Power, whose agency this imagery
exhibits to our minds. Nor are the devout affections
of our hearts less excited, when we behold
the same glorious Being arrayed in love,
and accommodating the regular succession of
summer and winter, seed-time and harvest to our
convenience and comfort. When nature, obedient
to his command, revives the vegetable

world, and diffuses alacrity and joy throughout
the animal, and even rational creation, we involuntarily
exclaim with the poet,

Aided in our observations by this pathetic and
pious writer, our hearts beat responfive to the
sentiments of gratitude, which he indirectly, yet
most forcibly inculcates in that devout address to
the Supreme Parent:

By this beautiful poem we are allured to the
study of nature, and to the contemplation of nature's
God. Our hearts glow with devotion and
love to the sovereign Lord and Benefactor of the
universe; and we are drawn, by the innumerable
displays of his goodness, to the practice of virtue
and religion.

You may, possibly, call me an enthusiast.
Be it so. Yet I contend for the honor, but especially
for the privilege, of being a cheerful one.
For I think we dishonor our heavenly Father by
attaching any thing gloomy or forbidding to his
character. In the participation of divine blessings,
let us rather exercise a thankful, and contented
disposition.

I remain your's most affectionately.

By her desire, in conjunction with my own
inclination, I inform you that Harriot Henly is
no more—Yesterday she gave her hand, and
renounced her name together; threw aside the
sprightly girl we have been so long accustomed
to admire, and substituted in her place the dignified
and respectable head of a family, in Mrs.
Farmington.

Have I not lost my amiable friend and associate?
Will not her change of situation tend to
lessen our intercourse, and to alienate our affections?

When I contemplate the social circle, so firmly
cemented in the bands of friendship, at the
boarding school, where the most perfect harmony,
ease and satisfaction presided, I recoil at
the idea of becoming less dear, less interesting,
and less necessary to each other. It is with the
utmost reluctance that I admit the idea of rivals
to that affection and benevolence which we have,
so long, and so sincerely interchanged.

The charm however is broken. Harriot is already
married; and my friends are extremely solicitous
that I should follow her example. But
in a connexion which requires so many precautions

before it is formed, and such uninterrupted
circumspection and prudence afterwards;
the great uncertainty of the event inspires me
with timidity and apprehension.

Harriot put into my hands, and I read with
pleasure, the book which you recommended to
her on the subject. But still we wished for your
instruction and advice. The sentiments of a
person so dear and interesting to us, are particularly
calculated to engage our attention, and influence
our conduct. Relying, too, on your
judgment and experience, your forming pen may
render us more worthy objects of attachment.

We, however, unite in assuring you of our
gratitude for all past favours; and in presenting
our sincere regards to the young ladies.

I am, with great respect, your affectionate
and grateful

The obligations under which you lay me,
by your generous confidence, and affectionate
expressions of regard, induce me again to assume
the Preceptress towards you, and to gratify your
wishes, by imparting my sentiments on your present
situation and prospects.

I am told by my daughter, who had the honor
of bearing your letter, that you are, what I always
expected you would be, an object of general
admiration. Yet, I trust, your good sense
will enable you duly to distinguish and treat the
several candidates for your favour.

It is, indeed, my young friend, a matter of the
most serious consequence, which lies upon your
mind, and awakens your anxiety. Your friends
are studious of your welfare, and kindly concerned
that the important die on which the happiness of
your life depends, should be judiciously cast. You
doubtless remember, that I discoursed upon this
subject in my concluding lessons to your class.

Disparity of tempers, among other things which
were then suggested, and which you will doubtless
recollect, was represented, as tending to render
life uncomfortable. But there are other disparities
which may be equally hostile to your peace.

Disparity of years is very apt to occasion the
indulgence of passions destructive of conjugal felicity.
The great difference between the sprightly
fancy, vivacity, and enterprize of youth, and
the deliberate caution, phlegmatic coldness, and
sententious wisdom of age, render them very
unpleasant companions to each other. Marriage
between persons of these opposite descriptions is
commonly the result of pecuniary motives, with
one party, at least: the suspicion of this, in the
other, must necessarily produce discontent, uneasiness,
and disaffection.

Age is naturally jealous of respect, and apprehensive
of being slighted. The most trifling and
unmeaning inattentions will therefore be construed
amiss. For an excessive desire of being objects
of supreme regard is almost invariably accompanied
with a strong persuasion of being the reverse.
Hence accusations, reproaches, and restraints, on
the one side, produce disgust, resentment and alienation
on the other, till mutual and unceasing
wretchedness ensue. Indeed, where interest
alone, without this inequality of years, is the
principal inducement, marriage is seldom happy.
Esteem and love are independent of wealth and
its appendages. They are not to be fold or
bought. The conjugal relation is so near and interesting;
the mind, as well as the person, is so
intimately concerned in it, that something more

substantial and engaging than gold is requisite to
make it a blessing.

Marriage, being the commencement of a domestic
life, beside the many agreeable circumstances
attending it, has its peculiar cares and
troubles, which require the solace of a companion
actuated by better principles, and possessed of
more amiable endowments than outward splendour
and magnificence can afford. In the hour
of sickness and distress, riches, it is true, can bestow
bodily comforts and cordials; but can they
be made an equivalent for the tender sympathy,
the endearing kindness, and the alleviating attention
of a bosom friend, kindly assiduous to ease
our pains, animate our prospects, and beguile the
languid moments which elude all other consolations?
The sorrows as well as the joys of a
family state, are often such as none but a bosom
friend can participate. The heart must be engaged
before it can repose with ease and confidence.
To a lady of sensibility, the confinement of the
body, without the consent and union of according
minds, must be a state of inexpressible wretchedness.

Another situation, not less to be deplored, is a
connexion with the immoral and profane.

How shocking must it be, to hear that sacred
NAME, which you revere and love, constantly
treated with levity and irreverence! And how
painful the necessity of being constrained, for the

sake of peace, to witness in silence, and without
even the appearance of disapprobation, the most
shameful outrages upon religion and virtue! May
you never taste the bitterness of this evil!

Intemperance is a vice, which one would imagine
no lady would overlook in a suitor. But,
strange to tell! there are those, even among our
own sex, who think and speak of inebriation in
the other, at the jovial and well-furnished board,
as a mark of conviviality and good fellowship!

What, then, is the distinguishing badge of humanity?
Can that reason, which alone raises us
superior to the brute creation, be wantonly sacrificed
with impunity; yea, with reputation?

How degrading and how dreadful must this
enormity appear to an interested, affectionate,
and virtuous wife! What agonizing pangs of
mortification and anguish must she endure, when
she meets him, in whose society she delights, whose
return she has anticipated with impatience, and
whose happiness and honor are the moving springs
of her life, intoxicated with wine; the powers of
his mind suspended by the poisonous cup, and
every faculty absorbed in the deadly draught!
What a perpetual source of dread and apprehension
must hence arise; and how often must the
blush of indignant virtue and wounded delicacy
be called forth!

The gamester is an equally dangerous companion.
His family is robbed, not only of his company

and his talents, but of that property, to the benefit
of which they have an indisputable claim.
His earnings are squandered among worthless and
profligate associates abroad; while the faithful
partner of his life, and perhaps, too, a rising offspring,
languish at home for want of bread!

How fatal is the tendency of such examples!
How can that father inculcate the duties of piety,
virtue and decency, who exhibits the reverse
of each in his own conduct? And under what
an unspeakable disadvantage must that mother
labour, in the instruction and education of her
children, whose admonitions, counsels, and directions
are practically counteracted by him who
ought to bear an equal share of the burden!
The government and superintendence of a family
are objects of such magnitude and importance,
that the union and co-operation of its
heads are indispensably necessary. It is a little
commonwealth; and if internal feuds and dissensions
arise, anarchy and confusion must ensue.

Domestic happiness is the foundation of every
other species. At times, indeed, we may enjoy
ourselves abroad, among our friends; but a good
heart will return home, as to the seat of felicity.

Since so much, then, depends upon a judicious
choice, how important is it, that you examine
well before you decide; and that you dispense
with no quality in the man to whom you shall
give your hand, which is essential to the virtue
and happiness of your life. For this purpose,
consult your judgment, rather than your fancy;
and suffer not superficial accomplishments, but
solid merit to preponderate.

I have now endeavoured to point out the
most apparent and threatening dangers to which
you may be exposed. But though these are
avoided, many unforeseen accidents will doubtless
occur to cloud your sanguine hopes. These,
when there are no vices to produce them, may
arise from follies, and from the indulgence of erroneous
expectations. Little misunderstandings
sometimes occasion disagreements which terminate
in coldness and disaffection, and plant a
root of bitterness which can hardly be eradicated.

Let prudence, therefore, be your pole-star,
when you enter the married state. Watch with
the greatest circumspection over yourself; and
always exercise the tenderest affection, the most
unwearied patience, and the most cheerful acquiescence
in the treatment of your companion.
Guard especially against being affected by those
little inattentions and foibles, which too often
give pain and umbrage without design; and
produce those remonstrances, criminations, and

retorts, which are the great inlets of strife, and
bane of love.

You must bear, with calmness, every thing that
the sincerest desire of peace can dictate; and studiously
avoid every expression, and even look,
which may irritate and offend. Your own happiness,
you will consider so intimately connected
with that of your husband, as to be inseparable;
and consequently, that all your hopes of comfort
in this life, and perhaps, too, in the next, depend
upon your conducting with propriety and wisdom
towards him.

I take the liberty, through you, to convey my
congratulations to Mrs. Farmington. May her
change of condition be happy, to the full extent
of our most sanguine expectations, and benevolent
wishes. I fully intended writing her on
the subject, but have unwarily bestowed so much
time upon you, that for the present, I must fore-go
the pleasure. Some things in this letter,
which you will doubtless communicate, are applicable
to her case. These she will receive as
friendly hints from me; and I am confident that
her known discretion will continue to shed a benign
and engaging influence upon her whole deportment,
and render her uniformly respected
and beloved.

The bearer is waiting, and I can only add,
that I remain your sincere and affectionate friend.

The pleasing hope with which you inspired
me, when we parted last, of receiving a
visit from you in town, has been constantly
cherished. I have anticipated your arrival with
the utmost impatience; but have endeavoured,
notwithstanding, to beguile the slow-paced hours
by a useful and pleasing occupation; the revision
of my geographical studies.

My papa has kindly procured me Doctor
Morse's last, and much improved edition of Universal
Geography, which, with the assistance of
a pair of globes he possessed, has afforded me the
most delightful entertainment. When at school,
I thought this the most agreeable study allotted
me; never deeming it a task, but an amusement.

It affords me, as it must every true American,
the sincerest pleasure to be furnished with the
means of acquiring this favourite science, by my
own countryman; and the spirit of Columbian
independence exults in my bosom, at the idea of
being able to gain an accurate acquaintance with
my own and other countries, without recourse to
the labours of foreigners.

I think the present generation under special
obligations to the active industry of Dr. Morse,

in providing us with that necessary and rich fund
of information, which his Geography and Gazetteer
contain. From these sources we may derive
a sufficient knowledge of the world we inhabit,
without departing from our domestic
sphere.

Come, then, my dear Cleora, and without fatigue
or expense, we will make the tour of the
globe together. After investigating the local situation
of different and distant climes, we will
turn to the historic page, and examine the manners,
government, character, and improvements
of their inhabitants. We will traverse the frozen
wastes of the frigid zones, and the burning sands
of the equatorial region; then return and bless
the temperate and happy medium in which we
are placed; and, casting an eye around, exult in
our peculiar advantages of soil and situation,
peace and good government, virtue and religion.

The fine mornings of this season afford many
delightful hours, before the heat of the day relaxes
the mind and enervates the body. Come,
then, enjoy and improve these, in concert with
your faithful and affectionate friend,

Last Thursday, after having concluded
the usual occupations and sedentary amusements
of the day, I walked out, towards evening, to
enjoy the benefit of a cool and fragrant air, and
the serenity and beauty of those rural scenes
which have a powerful tendency to soothe and
tranquillize the mind. When I had rambled in
the fields, to a considerable distance, I crossed
into the road, to return home free from the inconvenience
of the dew, which had begun to fall.

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 from
one to 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
verily 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 neighbours 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 selection 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
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 labour 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 my
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 labour, 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 endeavour,
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 her's,
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 endeavours
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,

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 her's, 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, rejoined
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 her's, 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 difgusting to her. Averse to the
very idea of a connexion with him, she accordingly
refused his addresses. Yet he had art fussicient
to interest her friends in his behalf; who,
pitying his situation, endeavoured to soften the
heart of the obdurate fair. But in vain they
strove to conciliate her affections.

In defiance of all opposition, however, he incessantly
obtruded his visits, till she reluctantly
admitted them; and being somewhat coquettish,
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 favour, 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 converfed
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 favour 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 mystcriously 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 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; 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 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 endeavoured 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 liftening
to the dictates of a misguided curiosity;
and acknowledged herself justly punished, for
presuming to pry into 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 ever 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 your's.

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.

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 neighbouring church on these words,
“She that liveth in pleasure is dead while she
liveth.”[6] 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
pourtrayed 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.

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.

“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 benefited by them.

“That we oftener hear than receive instruction,
is a truth which can neither be denied, nor
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 amufing, 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 preserred, 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
supersicial accomplishments, which they find
necessary to render them acceptable to most circles
into 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 endeavouring 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.

It is much to be regretted, that Dr. 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 your's most
sincerely,

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
under-rated 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

The morning is undoubtedly a season, of all others,
most favourable 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 favourite
hour with me.

Having a memorandum-book and pencil in my
pocket, I descended 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 your's.

I WAS, last week, at Boston; and, having
occasion for a new hat, stepped into a milliner's
shop to inquire the mode. The milliner replied,
that it was not yet in her power to answer my
question. “The spring ships,” said she “are later
than common; but their arrival is hourly expected,
when we shall be furnished with memorandum-books
which will ascertain and determine
the fashion for the season.” What she
meant by memorandum-books, I could not conceive.
I had always supposed them blanks, designed
for noting whatever occurred, without inconvenience.
Unwilling, however, to be thought
a simple country-girl, totally unacquainted with
the world, I sought no explanation from her;
but repaired to a particular friend for instruction.
From whom I learned that the chief value of
these same memorandum-books consists in their
containing imported cuts of ladies' head-dresses,
hats, and other habiliments, which are always
sure to be admired and imitated, as the perfection
of taste and propriety!

This discovery mortified me exceedingly. It
justified, beyond any thing which I had ever suspected
to exist as a fact, what I once heard a European

affert, “that Americans had neither character
nor opinion of their own.”

With due deference to those better judges, who
despise the simplicity of our ancestors, and labour
to introduce the corrupt manners and customs of
the old world into our country, I cannot but
think it extremely ridiculous for an independent
nation, which diseards all foreign influence, glories
in its freedom, and boasts of its genius and
taste, servilely to ape exotic fashions, even in articles
of dress and fanciful ornaments.

Have not the daughters of Columbia sufficient
powers of invention to decorate themselve?
Must we depend upon the winds and waves for
the form, as well as the materials of our garb?
Why may we not follow our own inclination;
and not be deemed finical or prudish in our appearance,
merely because our habit is not exactly
correspondent with the pretty pictures in the
memorandum-books, last imported?

It is sincerely to be regretted that this subject
is viewed in so important a light. It occupies
too much of the time, and engrosses too much
of the conversation of our sex. For one, I have
serious thoughts of declaring independence.

TO tell you that I am sorry for your loss,
or that I sympathize with you in your affliction,
would be but the language you daily hear; and
often, perhaps, from the unfeeling and indifferent.
But, you will do me the justice to believe,
that I take a particular interest in your concerns,
and really share your grief. A holy Providence
has wounded you by a stroke, which is extremely
painful and fevere. Your best friend is shrounded
in the grave. In the maternal breast, your fondest
affections, and most unsuspecting confidence
have hitherto concentred; and who can provide
you with an equivalent substitute? To the almighty
Father and Friend of creation, it becomes
you to repair for comfort and support.

The dying advice and counsel of your dear
mamma, which, you inform me, were pathetic,
instructive and consolatory, will be a guide to
your feet. Often realize the solemn scene, and
remember, that, “though dead, she yet speaketh.”

You have great cause of thankfulness, that she
was spared to direct you so far through the intricate
and dangerous path of youth; to complete

your education; to teach you, by her example,
how to acquit yourself with usefulness and honor;
and, above all, to furnish you with that important
knowledge, to which every thing else should be
made subservient—how to die!

An era of your life has now commenced,
which is no less important than affecting. That
assisting hand, which formerly led you, is now cold
and lifeless! Those lips, from which you have
been accustomed to receive information and advice,
are sealed in perpetual silence! And that
heart, which always glowed with the warmest solicitude
for your happiness, has ceased to palpitate!

You must now think and act for yourself. As
the eldest daughter, you will be placed at the
head of your father's family. You must, therefore,
adopt a plan of conduct, conducive to its
harmony, regularity, and interest.

Filial duty to your surviving parent, more tenderly
inculcated by your participation of his
heavy bereavement, will lead you to consult his
inclination, and sedulously contribute all in your
power to lighten the burden of domestic arrangements
devolved upon him. While he laments
the death of a prudent, affectionate, and beloved
wife, give him reason to rejoice, that he is blessed
with a daughter, capable of soothing the pains,
alleviating the cares, and heightening the enjoyments
of his life.

Your brothers and sisters will look up to you
as the guide of their tender years. While their

weeping eyes and pathetic accents are directed
towards you, let kindness, discretion, and patience,
characterize your deportment, and engage their
confidence and love.

Having mentioned your duty to others, I cannot
dismiss the subject without dropping a few
hints for your direction, in regard to your personal
behaviour.

A very important charge is committed to you,
as well in the duties which you owe to yourself,
as in the superintendence of your father's family.

The sovereign Disposer of all things has, at an
early age, made you, in a measure, your own
guardian. Your father's business calls him much
abroad. With you, therefore, he is obliged to
entrust, not only his domestic concerns; but, what
is still more dear to his heart, the care of your
own person and mind; of your own reputation
and happiness.

Circumstanced as you are, company has the
most powerful charms. Your's is now the prerogative
of receiving and returning visits in your
own name. At home, you are sole mistress of
ceremonies. This is extremely alluring to the
sprightly fancy of youth. But time, you will
remember, is too important a blessing to be sacrificed
to a promiscuous crowd of unimproving
companions. Besides, the character of a young
lady will necessarily be sullied by the imputation
of being constantly engaged in parties of pleasure,

and exhilarating amusement. Flattery often
avails itself of the unguarded moments of gaiety;
and, insinuating its insidious charms into the
heedless and susceptible mind, inflates it with
pride and vanity, and produces an affectation and
air of self-importance, which are peculiarly difgusting,
because easily distinguished from that
true dignity of manners, which results from conscious
rectitude. Genuine merit is always modest
and unassuming; diffident of itself, and respectful
to others.

Your father has a right to your unlimited confidence.
You will, therefore, make him your
chief friend and counsellor. Though he may not
possess all the winning softness of a mother, he
doubtless has as ardent an affection for you, and
as sincere a desire to promote your welfare.
Hence you may safely repose your dearest concerns
in his paternal breast, and receive, with the
utmost deference, his kind instruction and advice.
Let his judgment have an entire ascendency over
your mind and actions, especially in your intercourse
and society with the other sex. Consider
him as better acquainted with their merit, circumstances,
and views, than you can be; and,
should you contemplate a connexion for life, let
his opinion determine your choice.

Watch over your dear little sisters, with all the
tenderness of fraternal affection; be their protecttor
and friend; instil into their minds the principles

of virtue and religion; arm them against
the snares and temptations by which they will
be surrounded; and lead them, by your own
conduct, in the way of truth and peace.

When you have leisure and inclination to
write, the effusions of your pen will always be
acceptable to your sincere and faithful friend,