University of Virginia Library

LETTER XII.
Mrs. HOLMES to MYRA.

In Continuation.

My good father-in-law being so
strenuous in proving the eligibility of reading
satire, had spun out, what he called his
new idea, to such a metaphyfical nicety, that
he unhappily diminished the number of his
hearers; for Mrs. Bourn, to whom he directed his discourse, had taken down a book
and was reading to herself, and Miss was
diverting herself with the cuts in Gay's Fables.

A CONSIDERABLE silence ensued, which
Worthy first broke, by asking Mrs. Bouru
what book she had in her hand. Every

one's attention was alarmed at this important
enquiry. Mrs. Bourn, with little difficulty,
found the title page, and began to
read, “A Sentimental Journey through France
and Italy, by Mr. Yorick.”

“I DO not like the title,” said Miss Bourn.

“WHY, my dear!” apostrophized the
mother, “you are mistaken—it is a very famous
book.”

“WHY, my dear!” retorted the daughter,
“It is sentimental—I abominate every
thing that is sentimental—it is so unfashionable
too.”

“I NEVER knew before,” said Mr.
Holmes, “that wit was subject to the caprice
of fashion.”

“WHY 'Squire Biily,” returned Miss,
“who is just arrived from the centre of politeness
and fashion, says the bettermost genil
never read any sentimental books—so you
see sentiment is out of date.”

THE company rofe to go out.—

“SENTIMENT out of date!” cries Worthy,
repeating the words of Miss Bourn, and
taking the book from her mother, as she
walked towards the door—“Sentiment out
of date—alas! poor Yorick—may thy pages
never be foiled by the fingers of prejudice.”
He continued his address to the book, as they
went out, in the same Shandean tone—“These
antisentimentalists would banish thee from
the society of all books! Unto what a pitiful
size are the race of readers dwindled! Surely

these antis have no more to do with thee,
than the gods of the Canaanites—In character and understanding they are alike—eyes
have they, but they see not—ears have they,
but they hear not, neither is there any knowledge
to be found in them.” “It is hardly
worth while to beat it into them,” said
my father-in-law, “so let us follow the company.”

WE did so—they walked towards the
house, and Worthy and myself brought up
the rear.

I COULD not but remark, as we went on,
that Miss Bourn had spoken the sentiments
of many of her sex;—“and whence,” said
I to Worthy, “arises this detestation of books
in some of us females, and why are they enemies

to any thing that may be called sentiment
and conversation: I grant it often
happens there is such rapidity of speeches that
one may be at a loss to distinguish the speakers;
but why is there such a calm silence,
should an unfortunate sentiment inadvertantly—

“I WILL tell you,” interrupted he, “You
all read, and it is from the books which engage
your attention, that you generally imbibe
your ideas of the principal subjects discussed
in company—now, the books which
employ your hours of study, happen to be
Novels; and the subjects contained in these
Novels are commonly confined to dress, balls,
visiting, and the like edifying topicks; does it
not follow, that these must be the subjects

of your conversation? I will not dispute
whether the Novel makes the woman, or the
woman makes the Novel; or whether they
are written to engage your attention, or
flatter your vanity. I believe the result will
shew they depend, in some measure, upon
each other; and an uninformed woman,
by reading them, only augments the number
of her futile ideas. The female mind, notwithstanding,
is competent to any task, and the
accomplishments of an elegant woman depend
on a proper cultivation of her intelligent
powers; a barrennefs—a sterility of
conversation—immediately discovers where
this cultivation is wanting.”

“GIVE me leave,” answered I, “to efpouse
the cause of this class of females. Tell

me candidly, Mr. Worthy, whether that insipid
flattery, perhaps sacrificed at the expense
of truth, does not misguide many of
us into erroneous paths? You declare we
are handsome—and your conduct demonstrates
you to be more solicitous for the possession
of beautiful, than of mental charms.
Hence is the deluded female persuaded of
the force of her fascinating powers, and
vainly imagines one glance of her eye sufficient
to reduce a million of hearts whenever
she chooses: Her aims, therefore, are
confined to the decoration of her person, and
her views centre solely in finishing herself in
those attractive, allpowerful graces, with
which you declare yourselves to be enchanted.
How then are they to be censured for neglecting
to improve, and to adorn the mind,
when your adulation diverts their attention
to an external object?”

“I JOIN with you,” replied Worthy, “in
calling it insipid flattery—and the vain coxcomb,
the powdered beau, the insignificant
petit maitre, are those who make use of it.
Will women of real merit, and sound sense,
believe, what is said by them to be their real
sentiments?—No—There must be a congeniality
in the minds of those who give and
receive flattery—Has not the vain coquette
as much inclination to be thought a goddess,
as the empty admirer to declare her so?

“FLATTERY is become a kind of epidemical
distemper; many run into it, perhaps,
without designing it, or only through civility.
There are some women who expect it—

who dress to be admired—and who deem it
a mark of impoliteness and rudeness in men,
who do not pay them the tribute of compliment
and adulation. A man of sense may
comply with their expectation—he will still
think them agreeable playthings, to divert
him at an hour of relaxation; but I cannot
suppose he will entertain any ferious
thoughts of a more permanent connexion.

“MAY we not conclude these things to
be productive of many evils that happen in
society—do they not frighten all sentiment
from conversation—introduce affectation—
pride—envy—clandestine marriages—elopements
—division of families—and ultimately
terminate in the ruin of very many innocent,
but inconfiderate females?”

BY this time we had got into the house,
and our company soon after departed, leaving
us at full leisure to contemplate on the
many wrong ideas entertained, and fallacious
steps pursued by the generality of mankind,
in the sentimental part of female education.

Adieu!