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THE LADIES MONITOR.

MENTOR.
LADY, behold the King of Day arise,
And march majestick up the burnish'd skies!
The forest glitters in his golden gleams,
The hill-tops blaze beneath his brightest beams—

NARCISSA.
See now he flings from heaven's sublimest height
The headlong day in silver seas of light!
The crystal currents round th' horizon roll,
And floods of radiance stream from pole to pole.


14

MENTOR.
While hill and dale and moss-clad mountain ring
With joy-inspiring symphonies of spring,
The chirping choir, and glittering grove invite
To taste the pure and exquisite delight,
An early ramble in the country yields
O'er velvet lawns, and flower-enamell'd fields.

NARCISSA.
Those poplar leaves, like parasols display'd,
Seem beckoning us beneath their friendly shade,
Yon prostrate trunk will furnish us a seat,
That spear-grass spread a carpet for our feet.
There let us sit, and spend an hour at ease,
Fann'd by the fragrance of the balmy breeze,
While you perform the promise you have pledg'd,
That ere the robin's callow young are fledg'd,
You would disclose your tenets as respects
The Powers, and Duties of the Female Sex;—
Set forth their Influence, how it should be us'd,
Or heaven's best gift to mortals be abus'd,
And, in some hints of general application,
The subject sketch of Female Education


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MENTOR.
If we believe what has been said or sung
By Dryden, Swift, Pope, Addison, and Young,
By many a wit, by half-wits many a score,
From luscious Ovid, to licentious Moore,
A harder task, fair lady, you've assign'd
Than his, who thought to trace the viewless wind,
And give us charts and definitions clear
Of every current in the atmosphere,
From lightest zephyr, that with noiseless creep,
Scarce the smooth surface dimples of the deep,
To rash tornado, that resistless flings
Dire desolation from his raven wings.

VOLNEY, a famous French writer, thought it very practicable to form a theory of winds, by which atmospherical currents could be prognosticated by philosophers, with as much precision, as the times of high and low water, by Almanack-makers. Dr. Darwin seems likewise to have embraced similar ideas, which are alluded to by the author of the “Pursuits of Literature,” who says that he

“Could give with Darwin, to the hectic kind, Receipts in verse to shift the north-east wind,” and observes that “Dr. Darwin, as appears by a long and pleasant note, in his “Loves of the Plants,” thinks it very feasible to manage the winds at his pleasure by a little philosophy.”



NARCISSA.
True, if we credit what they say or sing,
It would be more a practicable thing
To trace a humming-bird from spray to spray,
And note her wanderings through the month of May.
Than well describe the leading mental features
Of such a race of fluctuating creatures.
Nay, some sarcastic, scribbling sons of spite

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Denounce us all as demi-devils quite,
So obstinate, that if a hand divine
Should paint in sun-beams each important line
Of duty's path, its characters display
More broad and brilliant than the milky way,
One might as well affect to ape the god,
And shake creation with Olympic nod,
As to confine the ever-erring sex,
By duty's limits, or by reason's checks.

MENTOR.
Most of those wits, and would-be wits appear
Sometimes wrong-headed, sometimes too severe,
Their writings shew, in many a snarling line
The Cynic grafted on the libertine;
But few can trace with touches, nice and bland.
Your moral features with a master's hand;
The vulgar herd of painters will be sure
To daub with flattery or caricature;
They draw some monster, with mistaken aim
Then give the prodigy a woman's name


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NARCISSA.
By long experience having learnt the art
To trace the labyrinth of the human heart,
You, I am told, a better humour'd sage,
Can better sketch the follies of the age,
Each subterfuge of artifice detect,
Our virtues strengthen, and our faults correct—
An enemy to vices, which disgrace,
But ever friendly to the human race,
You have the power to chasten those who trip
Without the aid of satire's scorpion whip.
Of such rare talents be no more a miser,
Become our sex's patron and adviser,
And make, to benefit the rising race,
“The path of duty plain before our face.”

MENTOR.
Lady, you urge me on a vain career,
Above my limits, and beyond my sphere,
Still, what I can, with pleasure I impart,
The honest dictates of a friendly heart,

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“Plain sense and truth, and surely these are mine,
Shall check my wanderings, and my flights confine.”
The fairer sex possess resistless powers,
Which may be bent to meliorating ours,
Or beauty's matchless fascinations may,
As erst in Eve, lead erring man astray.
You reign supreme and at your option can
Make man a brute, or make a God of man.
Urg'd by the mandate of the Queen of Hearts,
See woman's puppets personate their parts!
Now play the coward, now enact the hero,
The element Titus, or the cruel Nero!
The wisest sage she makes the imp of folly,
Mirth metamorphoses to melancholy;
And now she smooths the wrinkled brow of care.
With rapture thrills the bosom of despair
Love, charity, and pity are the blest
Celestial inmates of the female breast:
The drear abodes of poverty she seeks,
And wipes the fear from misery's pallid cheeks

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The way-worn traveller, shelterless, distrest,
With gentle woman is a welcome guest.
Thus when our Ledyard wander'd faint and weary,
O'er desarts, dismal, desolate and dreary,
No kind companion cheer'd his lonely way,—
Man was as savage as the beasts of prey,
But woman's care, his every want supplied,
By woman's tenderness his every tear was dried.

Ledyard was an American by birth and made himself eminent by his travels in wild and unhospitable countries. Although his “Eulogy on Woman” has been frequently published, perhaps, it ought not to be omitted in a work devoted principally to the service of the sex.

“I have always remarked that women in all countries are civil, obliging, tender and humane; that they are ever inclined to be gay and cheerful, timorous and modest; and that they do not hesitate, like men, to perform a generous action. Not haughty, arrogant, nor supercilious, they are all full of courtesy, and fond of society; more liable in general to err than men, but generally more virtuous, and performing more meritorious actions. To a woman, whether civilized or savage, I never addressed myself in the language of decorum and friendship without receiving a decent and friendly answer—with men it has been otherwise.

In wandering over the barren plains of inhospitable Denmark, honest Sweden, and frozen Lapland, and rude and churlish Finland, unprincipled Russia, and the wide spreading regions of the wandering Tartars—if hungry, dry, cold, wet or sick, the women have been universally friendly to me: and this virtue so worthy the appellation of benevolence— these actions have been performed in so free and so kind a manner, that if I was dry I drank the sweetest draught, and if hungry I eat the coarsest morsel with a double relish.”


So when in France the madness of the times
Made the whole land a theatre of crimes,
When seas of blood by human fiends were spilt,
And all was terror, cruelty, and guilt,
Woman remain'd, fond, faithful, and serene,
To mitigate the horrors of the scene,
Shar'd every grief, bound every broken heart,
And play'd a Howard's, or an angel's part.

It would transcend the limits of this work, to mention many particular instances of the successful exertions of French women, to allay the ferocity of the savages, who were the principal actors in the horrid scenes of the French revolution. They abound in every history of that period, and were most honourably conspicuous in the civil wars of La Vendee. I cannot, however, omit one instance which proves that the most flinty and ferocious bosoms are not always callous to the appeals of humanity, when urged by a female advocate.

“Among the small number of prisoners who were saved from the swords of the assassins, on the bloody second of September 1792, was M. Cazotte, a man of seventy four years of age, formerly Commissioner-General of the Marine, but who had for several years lived in retirement at his village near Epernay.

“This old gentleman had been arrested at his house in the country, and brought to the prison of the Abbaye, in consequence of letters written by him and found among the papers of a M. Pouteau, Secretary to M. de la Porte; from which it appeared that he was in correspondence with the emigrants that he advised the king to escape from Paris, and had transmitted a plan for that purpose, that he had also advised the dissolution of the National Assembly: for these, and other parts of his conduct, to the same tendency, he was detained in the Abbaye, in expectation of a legal trial

“But on the second of September, when determined murderers made a mockery of the forms of law, and chosen assassins seized the sword of Justice; when the prisoner was surrounded at his trial by pikes smoking from recent slaughter, and within hearing of the screams of those who had just been dragged from the bar where he stood: on that dreadful day, M. Cazotte was brought before the horrid tribunal within the prison. Several prisoners had already been carried there—none had survived their short examination above two minutes! A sign from the pretended Judge, or an equivocal word, was the fatal sentence, and the blow of death followed as the prisoner was led from the bar.

“When M. Cazotte appeared—the list of names were examined by these inquisitors, no mark of favour was seen at his—the signal of death was given, and he was led out to slaughter! But, before he received the stroke of death, his daughter, a beautiful young lady of seventeen, sprung upon her father's neck, exclaiming in a transport of terror and filial affection, Mercy! mercy! O, mercy!—my father! my father!

“The grey hairs of the old man, the affecting appearance and exclamations of the young lady, arrested the arms of the assassins and melted the hearts of the people! The cries of grace! grace! and Vive la Nation were heard. The old gentleman and his daughter were conducted in safety to the house of a friend, amidst the applause of the multitude!

“This admirable young woman had never separated from her father, overcoming her horror for a prison crouded with men; surmounting her terror, her delicacy, and every consideration which could reader the situation repugnant to her mind filial love, and a strong sense of duty, enabled her to attend him during his confinement in the Abbaye. and to administer every comfort and consolation in her power.


In Spain, what valour, patriotism pure
Prompted the sex to dare, and to endure,
Let Saragossa's crimson annals say,
And faithful history's deathless page pourtray.

The defence of Saragossa, a city in Spain, against the French invaders, was one of the most desperate recorded history. The women signalized themselves in a most remarkable manner, and many of them were killed upon the ramparts, while exhibiting glorious proofs of active valour, and daring patriotism.



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The God of Nature to your sex imparts
The power to melt the most ferocious hearts,
When woman pleads, as mercy's advocate,
Stern cruelty, revenge, and steadfast hate
Are soften'd into tenderness and love,
And Ate's serpent chang'd to pity's dove.
Thus when the Roman, and the Sabine bands
Spread desolation o'er Italia's lands,
When fell revenge, and brute defiance stood,
Ready to plunge in seas of kindred blood,
When ruthless rage, which dar'd e'en heav'n defy,
Nerv'd every arm, and flam'd in every eye,
Woman appear'd, and bade the tempest cease,
She smil'd, and all was harmony and peace.

In a war between the Romans and the Sabines, the wives of the former, who were of Sabine origin and had been carried away by force from a public festival, intervened between the combatants and by their tears and entreaties persuaded the two hostile nations to unite and become one people.


Stern Coriolanus, to revenge the doom
Pronounc'd against him by ungrateful Rome,
Led hostile bands of Volsci to her wall,
Her towers already nodded to their fall,
But woman pleaded, with an angel's tongue,
To her embrace the ardent warrior sprung,

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Then hush'd the hurricane of war's alarms,
And Rome, once more, was sav'd by female charms.

Coriolanus, a noble Roman having been banished by his countrymen, was bent upon revenge and joining with Volsci, who were enemies of the Romans, took many of their towns and encamped within five miles of the city of Rome itself. The people now saw their error, and a deputation being sent to treat with him, he received them with haughtiness and refused to give them any hopes of a reconciliation. To a second and third message of the same kind he shewed himself inexorable. At length his mother, wife and children came out to plead their country's cause. To their entreaties he at length yielded. Raising his venerable parent from the ground, he exclaimed, “You have saved Rome, my mother, but you have destroyed your son.” He returned to his tent, and soon after took measures for a retreat.


My Pætus, 'tis not painful, Arria said,
As from her breast she tore the reeking blade,
This dagger's point can never injure me,
But by the wound it will inflict on thee.
All ages, nations, boast of annals stor'd,
With bright examples, which your sex afford
Of all the virtues, graces, talents join'd
With all that blesses and adorns mankind.
To woman's charms that passion owes its birth
Which may be styl'd heaven's harbinger on earth,
The source of holy matrimonial ties,
Which wisdom sanctions, and God sanctifies;
Man's sweetest solace in this vale of strife,
The purest cordial in the cup of life;
The prototype of brighter bliss above,
In hallow'd raptures of immortal love,
That bliss ecstatic of th' ethereal race,

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Which e'en a Milton's bold attempts to trace
Have merely shewn to Adam's grovelling tribe,
Immortal joys no mortal can describe.
Bear with me then, if lawful, what I ask,
Love not the heav'nly spirits, and how their love,
Express they—by looks only, or do they mix
Irradiance, virtual or immediate truth?
To whom the angel, with a smile that glow'd
Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue,
Answer'd: Let it suffice thee that thou know'st
Us happy, and without love no happiness.
Whatever pure thou in the body enjoy'st,
(And pure thou wert created) we enjoy
In eminence, and obstacle find none,
Of membrane, joint or limb, exclusive bars:
Easier than air with air, if spirits embrace,
Total they mix, union of pure with pure,
Desiring; no restrained conveyance need,
As flesh to mix with flesh or soul with soul.
Paradise Lost.


NARCISSA.
Now elevate your lofty lays still higher,
And borrow Campbell's Caledonian lyre,
Then, while you wake to ecstasy its strings,
Steal inspiration from the bard, who sings,
“Without the smile from partial beauty won,
“O what were man, a world without a sun!”

MENTOR.
But ere your sex are fairly deified,
Turn we to view our picture's darker side,
Beauty deprav'd, becomes a baleful sprite,
A demon, flaunting in a robe of light.
Beauty commands, the assassin draws his dirk,
And midnight murder crowns her horrid work.
Her Syren charms, like necromantic spell,
Urge the fell conqueror to the deeds of hell,
Her lily hands dig many a nation's grave,

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For she rewards and stimulates the brave;
She bids an Ilion or Persepolis burn,

Helen, a beautiful and accomplished woman, was the cause of a war between Greece and Troy or Ilion, which terminated in the destruction of the latter. Thais, a courtezan, during a debauch, instigated Alexander the Great to set fire to Persepolis, a city in Persia.


And cruel wars vast empires overturn—
Thrones and dominions wait on her decree,
Th' infernal gates obey her potent key,
Courage and strength her sorceries to resist,
Powerless and fleeting as the morning mist,
Serve but to gild the trophies of disgrace,
Like Sampson in a courtezan's embrace.
See Anthony, 'twixt love and honour tost,
To gain a woman think a world well lost—

In the midst of the famous battle of Actium, between Antony and Octavius, Cleopatra, queen of Egypt, mistress to Antony fled, and her gallant Lad the weakness to follow her. He thus overwhelmed his character with perpetual ignominy, and lost his chance for the Empire of the world, which depended on the issue of the combat.


See Israel's king from virtue's path allur'd,
His kingdom rent, his father's God abjur'd,
A sad example to the world display
Of wisdom bow'd to meretricious sway—
See cruel Herod bid the Baptist bleed,
While woman prompts the execrable deed.
In modern times, see many a Millwood fair,
For many a Barnwell spread the fatal snare,
And those who would your sex with angels rate
Must own that some have lost their “high estate.”

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As arbiter of fashion and propriety,
Woman gives tone to civiliz'd society,
Passports presents to wealth, and fame and power,
Or dooms to misery's all-enduring hour,
As fickle fancy dictates these or those,
Who chance to be her favourites or her foes.
Oft have I seen, and shudder'd oft to see
The smile of beauty bless the debauchee—
A hair-brain'd, heartless, heav'n-abandon'd rake,
Whose vile vocation is the heart to break,
And humble female beauty to the dust
That puts in him her violated trust—
Who has with pangs ineffable distress'd
Full many a husband's, many a father's breast,
A sort of walking, moral pestilence,
Who poisons youth, and murders innocence,
Seals temporal misery with damnation's doom,
And vice's trophy builds on beauty's tomb,
By fashion honor'd, and by beauty priz'd,
E'en by his wretched victim idoliz'd

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O can it be the bard made no mistake,
Who said each woman is at heart a rake,
That such vile characters too often are
The favorites of our fashionable fair?
Such folly beggars measure and description,
'Twere better, like the beautiful Egyptian,
If self destruction be in such request,
To hug the deadly aspick to your breast.
Some of those cavaliers their arts employ
The founts to poison of domestic joy,
Adulterers by your vulgar people call'd,
But Knights of Fashion, by th' Arch-Fiend install'd,
Not wrongs to right, not injuries to redress,
Not for relieving damsels in distress,
But dubb'd by Beelzebub, in dark divan,
The sex to injure more than devils can.
See the poor wantons, that our streets annoy,
While with the smirk of counterfeited joy,
And sickly leer, they greet each passing youth;
Their breasts are torn by misery's sharpest tooth,

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Forever haunted, as they roam forlorn,
By blasting infamy, and hissing scorn!
Of human destinies, theirs is the worst,
The primal murderer less supremely curst.
Yet these were once pre-eminently blest,
Of beauty, friends, and innocence possest,
In evil hour the bland seducer came,
And fir'd their bosoms with a lawless flame,
Robb'd them of honour, and of peace, a prize
To lubrick arts, and well dissembled lies:—
One guilty moment of forbidden joys,
All hope of future happiness destroys,
For like the angels laps'd, from native skies
Woman once fal'n again can never rise,
Her only solace must be found in heaven,
On earth her fault will never be forgiven.

“But, it may be asked, will not penitence recsind the severe interdict which bars the doors of society against female frailty! Most unquestionably, so far as friendship or kindred are concerned. A very able instructress, of our sex has determined, that true penitence will not wish to exceed those bounds, or to mix in the crowded haunts of public life. Nor let a decision be censured for severity, which is really the dictate of mercy, sanctioned by a thorough knowledge of the human heart, and proceeding from lively sympathy for those who, though no longer offending continue to be unfortunate. When the soul is really awakened to a sense of its backslidings, when it feels the reproofs of conscience and the shame of contrition, it will naturally shrink from returning to those scenes which it knows are dangerous to reputation and peace. Convinced of her own weakness, afraid to trust her scarcely confirmed resolutions, and concluding by the publicity of her story, that all who see her will look upon her with contempt, reproach or pity, the true Magdalene wishes alike to avoid the hazard of falling into new transgressions and the contumely attending the past. She is deafer than an adder to the syren strains of adulation! she knows too well the “ills that spring from beauty;” splendor has lost its attractions; she cannot derive amusements from crowds, because she can no longer mingle in them without feeling a sense of degradation. She considers too, that if she should again aspire to fashionable celebrity, her's would be an uphill task; every eye would be fixed upon her conduct; every tongue inclined to question the sincerity of her profession; what would be thought mere vivacity in unsuspected innocence, would in her be levity; and marked reserve would be construed into a prudish vizard thrown over the worst designs. Her whispers would be supposed to convey assignations, her reproofs would be called the splenetic dictates of jealousy. Besides, can she who has so weighty a task to perform afford to trifle away the important hours? Turn thee, backsliding daughter, turn to the cool sequestered vale of life, and thy troubled day may yet have a happy close. Rational amusement, renovated esteem, friendship, contentment, tranquillity, and religious hope, may still be all thine own.

“It is not, therefore, the harsh decree of outrageous virtue, but the mild counsels of kindness and sympathy, that determines the preservation of those distinctions which custom has long preserved between unsuspected and forfeited characters. And if those in whose favour these barriers might be broken down with safety, are too well convinced of their expedience to require their abolition, let us determine to defend the privileges of innocence from the pertinacious attacks of impudence and hardened depravity. The increasing facility of intercourse between the most profligate and the most irreproachable women, which is a marked and peculiar feature of these times, threatens more than our manners. The transition is very easy, and generally very rapid from unrestrained freedom of behaviour to unrestrained freedom of conduct; and especially when the mind has not been deeply imbued with religious truths, in which case the opinion of the world forms one of the strongest bulwarks of virtue. Banishment from parties of high ton, and estrangement from amusements, which every one talks of have often intimidated the wavering fair one, and imposed a guarded decorum of manner on the determined wanton. Let us not then, when the cardinal virtue of our sex is assaulted by unusual perils, resign one of its most material outworks.”

Mrs. West's Letters to a Young Lady.

Such matchless misery is the direful work,
Of whom,—some savage Algerine or Turk?
O no, but men of fashion, such as those
Fine ladies number with their favourite beaux,
Ladies, forsooth! who flutter round a rake,

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Like fascinated birds about a snake,
Until, at length, the wily reptile draws
The silly things to saturate its jaws!
O that some friendly monitor severe
These truths would thunder in each tho'tless ear;
Tell me no more of vile Platonic schemes,
Dispel those vapid, but pernicious dreams,
Of friendship female innocence may make
With every vile contaminating rake!
Think not to scape from infamy exempt,
While you those tempters undertake to tempt.
As well might lambs and wolves in herds combine,
Or the neat ermine congregate with swine.
Is that important truth to you unknown,
By cherish'd friendship characters are shewn?
Let us suppose, my most audacious miss,
That you escape from infamy's abyss,
Your conduct is an outrage on propriety,
And undermines the pillars of society.
If females, moving in the highest sphere,
Thus careless of appearances appear,
Those who are destin'd to a lower state

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(The worst examples sure to emulate)
Will come as near as possibly they can
The dashing belles, who shine in fashion's van.

NARCISSA.
But wild young gentlemen, when once reclaim'd,
For tender husbands have been ever fam'd,
Their aberrations indicate their spirit,
Are trifling drawbacks on their general merit,
That ardor, which leads generous youth astray,
And holds their better qualities at bay,
When melted down to conjugal affection
Will serve to bless and sweeten the connection.

MENTOR.
Full many a novel reader's fancy teems,
With these, and other most pernicious dreams,
Visions as well adapted to deceive
As satan's whispers to backsliding Eve
Granting you could effect a reformation,
In one inur'd to vice and dissipation,
One who has either feign'd or felt a flame

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For every fair that fashion's annals name,
Secure a heart your mutual bliss to crown
Which has, for years, been hawk'd about the town,
What do you gain by your judicious plan?
A feeble wretch, a shadow of a man!
Your batter'd beau, the favourite of each toast,
You wed a husband, but embrace a ghost,
Are self condemn'd to torture of the kind,
Where dead with living, were together join'd,
In loathsome union, which the poet mentions
Among a tyrant's horrible inventions.

NARCISSA.
A very gross caricature you make
Of your vile super-annuated rake,
And doubtless would his budding laurels crop
From that fine animal some style a fop,
And pleasant folk, we meet with now and then,
By spiteful people christen'd “ladies' men.”
Though true it is, they cannot claim a place
Among the noblest of the human race,
Will never figure in th' historic page,

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Ne'er play the hero, nor enact the sage,
Still if a toast should feel herself inclin'd
To keep a brilliant bevy of the kind,
A vapid race, like Pope's aerial fencibles,
“Know then, unnumber'd spirits round thee fly,
The light militia of the lower sky;
These, though unseen are ever on the wing,
Hang o'er the box, and hover round the ring.”
Rape of the Lock.

But still as useful as our indispensables,
Why need your authors bastinade the things,
Who dangle in a lady's leading strings,
Whom we allow to caper and to prate,
But with our monkey, and our parrot rate?

MENTOR.
Though, possibly, you may at heart despise them,
And merely but as pretty playthings prize them,
Still, in the world's and their own estimation,
They have the sanction of your approbation,
You set your stamp on counterfeited trash,
And make it circulate as current cash;
Though men of sense despise the paltry pack,
And turn a deaf ear to their ceaseless clack,
The fools may prosper, with the world's majority,
By dint of fashion, and of your authority.
But if your sex upon a par would prize,

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Rakes, fools and fops, wolves, geese and butterflies,
The former creatures would, in just gradation,
Below the latter take their proper station.

NARCISSA.
'Tis not an object, sir, of my ambition
To join in this most curious coalition;
Nor will I sanction any stupid plan
T' annihilate your pretty woman's man,
And substitute your hum-drum man of sense,
To gallantry without the least pretence.

MENTOR.
These my monitions, lady, are directed
To make you happy, innocent, respected;
When I behold your trifling lures, design'd
To catch the plaudits of the coxcomb kind,
And see you flirting with the vile and vain,
The silliest fops that flaunt in folly's train,
My fears I own I can no more dissemble,
The precipice before you makes me tremble;
Tremble like Moses upon Sinai's Mount,

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Through mere solicitude on your account.
From high behest of prudence, while you swerve,
Your honour should you luckily preserve
To me 'tis evident your reputation
Is on the high way to annihilation;
All men of sense will presently despise
A flower that blooms for nought but butterflies,
And if for insects beauty's toils are set,
Nothing but insects will approach her net.
Since 'tis a truth, by fashion's annals shewn,
The fair sex gives Society its tone,
'Tis to be wish'd our leading belles would learn
The man of real merit to discern,
And not in preference place preposterous pride
In foplings foolish, frivolous, Frenchified,
Nor list complacent to a coxcomb's prattle,
His heart a puff-ball, and his head a rattle.

NARCISSA.
Those you style coxcombs, silly as they are
Rank high above your literary bear!

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Your “book-full blockhead ignorantly read,
With loads of learned lumber in his bead,”
Is the most hateful animal I know,
Much more disgusting than a booby beau,
Or weakest fop e'er bred beneath the moon,
With head as empty as an air-balloon.
Lend your attention, pray, while I describe
A Sachem of the literary tribe,
Hight Decius Dumps, a Solomon, and fool,
Could put the seven wise men of Greece to school,
But is uncouth as elephant just caught,
Or Oran Outan fresh from Afric brought,
A stalking statue could not be more rigid,
Nor walking mummy seem a jot more frigid.
When this mirth-murderer steps into a room,
It is pervaded by a general gloom,
While he sits scowling with an aspect grave,
As tenant of Trophonius's cave—

Trophonius was an eminent Soothsayer, who is said to have dwelt in a cave, into which if any person entered, they would never afterwards feel an inclination to laugh.


His speeches set as Cicero's orations,
Larded with latin, and with Greek quotations,
Thunder in words of most remorseless length,
“The oaks nodosity without its strength,”

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He undertakes to woo some luckless fair
By rules as intricate as Euclid's are,
Lays formal siege as if a town to win,
And drives his courtship on through thick and thin,
But makes approaches in a zig-zag line,
As if he fear'd the springing of a mine.
His clothes of some old fashion'd taylor's fangling
Round his swart carcase shiver loose and dangling,
And often common decency is martyr'd
By waistcoat buttonless and hose ungarter'd.
Dire Hobomoko, or a Kalmuck God,
As large as life could hardly seem so odd.
O could you see him at our country dances,
Clumsy, but coltlike, how the creature prances
At his approach the ladies quake and quail,
A fiery comet, with a blazing tail,
Threat'ning the world a general conflagration
Could hardly cause a greater consternation,
Than this phenomenon among the fair,
For each one trembles lest the learned bear
Should pounce on her as partner for a prance,
And drag her dreadful down the desperate dance.

35

Now he approximates the shuddering band,
Seizes his palpitating victim's hand,
Swinging his truant legs from door to door,
Heavy as Dutch horse thunders down the floor!
Sideways and lengthways, every way he bounces,
Gowntails and gauzes, furbelows and flounces,
Are torn beneath his elbows, hoofs and paws,
That rip and rend and rive like saw mill-saws!
Earthquakes and hurricanes together met,
Could scarcely furnish so confus'd a set,
(Roaring above, and rumbling under ground,)
As those condemn'd to thrid the mazy round,
With this your famous literary ass,
As mere a brute as ever went to grass.
Thus the poor peasant all astounded stands,
Who sees a whirlwind traversing his lands,
And demons, dancing in the hurricane,
Scatter his haycocks, and beat down his grain.
Dost think that any decent female can
Endure the company of such a man?
I'd sooner wed a legendary ghost,

Narcissa here alludes to a tale of terror, told in rhyme, by one of the late British bards, respecting a certain prince, who at a certain time wedded a beautiful lady. By an awkward accident however, the wedding ring was placed on the finger of a statue of a dead goddess, whose ghost, of course, had a legitimate claim upon the prince, and on the night of the wedding day, took the liberty to obtrude itself between the bride and bridegroom, to the unspeakable terror and discomfiture of terrestrial part of the concern. This hobgoblin story is done into poetry, I believe, by Mr. Lewis, author of the “Monk,” a novel, which is infinitely terrific, and (to some folks) not less agreeable.



36

Or monkey, fresh from Afric's torrid coast,
Or bid the carpenter cut out for me
A husband from a blasted hemlock tree.
So much for science, now, sir, if you please,
I'll etch you one of his antipodes.
Spruce Dicky Dangle is a lady's man,
Fine as the spangles on a lady's fan;
With dress unsullied, linen white as snow,
A coat “the tippy,” white topp'd boots “the go,”
A high crown'd hat, with half an inch of rim,
To crown a figure delicately slim,
He hovers round one, nimble as a fay,
Mild as a moon beam in the month of May,
Always contriving schemes for one's diversion,
Some city jaunt, or sleighing ride excursion—
Anticipates each wish at half a glance,
And such a partner for a country dance!
Graceful and light, in air he seems to swim,
And all Adonis shines in every limb!
What though 'tis true some envious folks have said
His heels are hardly lighter than his head,

37

Such pretty creatures can't be made in vain,
But find their proper place in beauty's train;
Besides, he whispers in my ear full oft
Things all so sentimental, sweet and soft,
A heart of adamant cannot but shew
Some kindness to so delicate a beau.

MENTOR.
Lady, you've sketch'd a highly finish'd pair,
Your polish'd monkey, and your learned bear,
Though characters we meet with every day,
Not every painter could so well pourtray.
Learning presents no privilege to dispense
With rules of complaisance and common sense.
The muses have no quarrel with the graces,
But hold, when hand in hand, their proper places.
Men I have known of knowledge most profound,
For polish'd manners scarcely less renown'd,

It might have the appearance of flattery to name living individuals to whom the above lines would be appicable, We shall therefore mention Sir William Jones, whose literary acquisitions and dignity of character, are thus alluded to by the author of The Pursuits of Literature.

“He too, whom Indies and the Ganges mourn,
The glory of their banks from Isis torn,
In learning's strength is fled, in Judgment's prime,
In science temperate, various, and sublime:
To him familiar every legal doom.
The courts of Athens, or the halls of Rome,
Or Hindoo vidas taught; for him the Muse
Distill'd from every flow'r Hyblæan dews;
Firm, when exalted; in demeanour grave,
Mercy and truth were his, he lov'd to save.”

That Sir William Jones was little less a favourite of the Graces than the Muses appears from his biography by Lord Teignmouth; and, in Mrs. Piozzi's Advice to a New Married Man, is the following passage which proves that a man or woman of letters, in Great Britain, is treated with that attention and deference which are not always accorded to wealth or nobility, and that Sir William Jones held a high station in the circles of fashion as well as in those of literature.

“The age we live in pays, I think, peculiar attention to the higher distinctions of wit, knowledge, and virtue. The giddy flirt of quality frets at the respect she sees paid to Lady Edgecumbe, and the gay dunce sit pining for a partner, while Jones the Orientalist leads up the ball.”


And every rightly cultivated mind
Adds to his lore a knowledge of mankind:
But your fine fop's a character I deem
Not quite so harmless as the thing would seem,

38

What though the creature has an empty head,
It is an animal one ought to dread;
It has no heart, ne'er felt for other's pain,
And strives to be as vicious as 'tis vain.
Small talents with great wickedness combin'd,
May work a world of woe to woman-kind.
I would not wish your pedant lumber-headed,
Nor shapeless clown to youth and beauty wedded;
The drivelling dotard, hypochondriac-mad,
The wild enthusiast with visage sad,
The selfish being, with affections cold,
The sordid miser, brooding o'er his gold,
Nature ne'er meant for those intense delights,
Which wait on youth and beauty's favourites.
Your savage-seeming, verjuice-visag'd noddies,
Have minds in general fitted to their bodies;
The deity, in kindness to our race,
Has set a stamp on every human face,
By which, together with the shape and air,
A shrewd observer may at once declare,
From characters of no ambiguous kind,

39

What are the leading lineaments of mind.
Nature, with all her whims is, rarely known,
To gild the casket of a worthless stone.
Of reptiles venomous there are but few
That are not likewise loathsome to the view.
There are exceptions to these general rules,
When wise men shew the indices of fools;
Shrewd Æsop, and sage Socrates, we're told,
Had features fashio'd in the roughest mould.
But these are rank'd among anomalous cases,
And few bright minds are blurr'd with ugly faces;
Where e'er the soul is barbarous and rough,
The visage is of corresponding stuff;
Nature ne'er meant to mask her human creatures,
But bade the passions mould the pliant features,
Till one as plainly may peruse their traces,
As read a label, in their tell-tale faces.
The signs are sure as text of holy book,
For thus we say one has a hanging look;
This man's appearance indicates a quiz,
That man exhibits an assassin's phiz.
The Kalmuck-features, and the Eskimeaux,

40

The stupid melancholy savage shew.
In our poor natives' faces, not a line
Displays the human countenance divine.
But grief and care too commonly we find,
Or hopeless love eclipse the brightest mind;
Anxiety the fairest visage shrouds,
And mental light scarce glimmers through the clouds.
When we perceive the wan brew overcast,
Scath'd by the lightning of misfortune's blast,
'Tis worth one's tender and judicious care
To seek what caus'd the tempest gather'd there,
And if it rose from carking care, or love,
Which time, and tender treatment may remove,
The wand of friendship, haply you may find,
May bring back sunshine to the darken'd mind
When you behold a genuine “son of soul;”
Bending to beauty's magical control,
Doting on some shrewd, cold, capricious fair,
And stung by all the scorpions of despair,
Your smile, perhaps, or glance of approbation
May wake this senseless block to animation,

41

And you perform as great a wonder then
As Pyrrha erst transforming stones to men.

NARCISSA.
But if I find that my admirer is
A bashful, awkward, and unhandy quiz,
Odd, though officious, forward, yet embarrass'd,
Must I be ever and forever harrass'd?
Were it not better to dismiss the dunce,
And give the dolt his destiny at once?

MENTOR.
Your penetration, lady, will discover
The character, and motives of your lover;
David appear'd insane to common eyes,

And he changed his behaviour before them, and feigned himself mad in their hands.

I. Samuel 21. xiii.

And angels have been seen in rustic guise.
Sometimes a truly meritorious youth,
By love's embarrassments is made uncouth,
His hesitating speech and odd address
Proclaim the Satyr of the wilderness,
A sort of semi-vegetating lout,
As coarse as Cloddipole, or Colin Clout,

42

Until, at length, from bashful durance freed,
Your Pan's transfigur'd to a Ganymede.
Cupid, like Circe strange mutations makes,
Coarse country clowns, transforms to courtly rakes:
Or bids the courtier over act the clown,
And makes a fool's cap of a monarch's crown.
Desponding love the brightest eye can dim,
And like the night-mare fetter every limb,
By hope inspir'd, it bids an air divine,
In every feature, every gesture shine.
Licentious love assumes as many shapes
As did the old celestial jackanapes,
Who in a course of vile intrigues, we're told,
Became a bull, a swan, a shower of gold.
But if your suitor be indeed sincere
The following indications will appear,
Looks, actions, words proclaim his pure intention,
Now flush'd with hope, now pale with apprehension,
The cautious, silent but enraptur'd gaze,

43

His half-express'd, half stifled wish betrays,
Emotions speak, he trembles to reveal,
But yet too powerful wholly to conceal;
Impell'd by fond solicitude he tries,
To scan your accents, and to read your eyes;
Dwells on each gesture, treasures every word
With all the anxiety of hope deferr'd.
No toils nor dangers were to him amiss
To gain that certainty of waking bliss,
Which an assurance, would to him impart,
He had obtain'd an interest in your heart.
He will not stun you with a coxcomb's tattle,
Nor vague unmeaning artificial prattle,
Far fetch'd allusions, and quaint similes,
Which speak a quibbling head, and heart at ease,—
Will not attempt your morals to pervert,
Feelings to wound, nor delicacy hurt,
Awkward he seems, on meditation bent,
His every gesture shews embarrassment;
And every feature characters of care,
For true love ever borders on despair;
And if the spell's of long continuation,

44

He falls a victim to its fascination.
A settled gloom his miseries complete,
And shatter'd reason abdicates its seat:
Before his merits you can fairly rate,
His diffidence, 'tis your's to dissipate,
And bid the lenitive of hope impart
Some consolation to his wounded heart.
When the lorn lover feels relief from pain,
And sighing Strephon is “himself again,”
In this new modell'd being you may find
A constant lover, and a husband kind,
A quick proficient in those witching arts,
Which form the ligaments of kindred hearts.
Should you perceive your lover's case forlorn,
Let not the pains and penalties of scorn,
When you are forc'd to disallow his plea,
Add double damages to your decree;
For though your sentence may be strictly just,
Yet it may humble merit in the dust,
Put purest innocence upon the rack,
'Till reason staggers, and the heart-strings crack.

45

Suffer no vain nor frivolous pretence
To keep an anxious suitor in suspense,
“If hope's creative spirit cannot raise
One trophy, sacred to your future days,”
The fated negative with kindness blend,
Dismiss the suitor, but retain the friend.
What disappointment can be more severe,
What more deserves commiseration's tear,
Than his hard fate, who seeks a friend for life,
A lovely, loving, and beloved wife—
Who has so long on her perfections dwelt,
And at her shrine, so long, so often knelt
His very being seems identified
With that of his anticipated bride—
Already bound by flattering hope's affiance,
And all his wishes centred in th' alliance,
Yet trembling waits his arbiter's decree
For all he is or e'er expects to be—
Can dream of nought but joining hands and hearts,
Of kindred souls created counter parts—
Has built no doubt, to please his matchless fair,

46

A thousand stately palaces in air,
Fabric on fabric rearing in a trice,
Glittering like Russian palaces of ice—
One look severe, conveys a fatal blow
Which lays his visionary prospects low,
And when affection's chords you rudely sever,
His sun of happiness seems set forever?
But such solicitudes your heartless beau,
Has never known, nor can he ever know,
Incapable of any generous passion,
He bows to every deity of fashion.
From your levee discard the fickle fop,
Away the imp of levity will hop,
Like silly insect, ever on the wing,
And flutter round some other giddy thing.
Should you be doom'd with one of this pert train,
To wear for life, the loath'd hymeneal chain,
Soon would you curse the inauspicious hour,
Which put you in the paltry tyrant's power.
With all such vapid votaries of variety,
Sickly disgust succeeds to dull satiety;
Their sun of love declines before its noon,

47

Wanes with the waning of the honey moon,
Then, like queen Mary and her favourite Scot,
The pair unite to execrate their lot,
Half smother'd hatred in each bosom burns,
Or cold indifference into fury turns.
But if a milder destiny await,
Your ill starr'd union with a worthless mate,
One half yourself can never fit the other,
And though the flames of discord you may smother,
And act in style the modish man and wife,
You lead an anxious, yet insipid life:
Embraces cold, civility constrain'd,
Compliances with which the heart is pain'd,
The look ungentle, summoning a tear,
Petty vexatations, nameless, yet severe,
Taunts half express'd that border upon strife,
The heart corrode and taint the springs of life;
No other love his bestial nature suits,
But what is his in common with the brutes,
A sordid appetite, unhallow'd fire,
In which no friendship purifies desire.

48

Soon, hapless pair, you fall in time's arrears,
Plod, peevishly adown the vale of years,
And where will then your boasted partner rank,
His heart a sink of vice, his head a blank?
Alas! too late you find no charms can bind
Save those which serve for linking mind to mind,
And bid affection's buds forever bloom,
When all that's mortal moulders in the tomb.
Nor time alone your pleasures may invade,
The most angelic human form may fade,
Blasted in youth by premature decay,
And furnish death an unexpected prey.
When life's gay morn is wrapp'd in Stygian gloom,
And beauty hovers o'er th' untimely tomb;
Those lovely lips, and cherub-cheeks disclose
No more the lily, blended with the rose,
Sunk in their sockets of extinguish'd fire,
Those eyes, which now might apathy inspire,
Who of the tribe of coxcombs has the power
To sooth the sorrows of the torturing hour?
Who then, with silent step, suspended breath,

49

Would hover round you, on the bed of death,
With softest spell of sympathy appease
The ruthless pangs of merciless disease;
Bend in mute anguish o'er that fading form,
Print on cold lips affection's kisses warm?
Who then in spite of manacles of clay,
Spite of the loathsome symptoms of decay,
Spurning at sense, and sensual control,
Then, even then would mingle soul with soul,
And in one charming character would blend
Divine, physician, husband, lover, friend?

NARCISSA.
Your rhetorick triumphs, sir, and I propose
No more to flirt with fickle, faithless beaux,
But banish bipeds of the coxcomb kind,
Whose vows are vapours, and whose oaths are wind.
But should I chance a man of sense to meet,
Who is withal a gentleman complete,
Who would unite his destiny with mine,
While Cupid's torch illumines Hymen's shrine,
No more I'll shun th' indissoluble band,

50

But dedicate to him my heart and hand,
E'en condescend to set me down for life,
And be that hum drum animal, a wife.
But e'er I'm tangled in the fatal noose,
And tie the knot death only can unloose,
Perhaps your worship's monitorial voice
May furnish rules to regulate my choice.
Please give a full length likeness of the man.
Whom you would have me marry, if I can.

MENTOR.
Before you venture on a wedded state,
Be cautious that you clearly estimate
Your suitor's conduct, character and views,
And all that gives to life its varied hues,
Age, morals, prospects, temper, education,
Require a most minute examination;
Ne'er wed, for sake of managing a fool,
Lest you be mangled by a blunt-edg'd tool—
United to a simpleton, you'll find
That folly is as obstinate as blind,
For often men with scarcely common sense

51

Become great plagues, to prove their consequence
I've seen a stupid, sullen, lordly lout,
With barely wit enough to walk about,
The doughty hero of domestic war,
To shew he's not the fool he's taken for:
Though destitute of every other merit,
His fireside skirmishes display his spirit;
His poor domesticks' backs and sides attest
To the puissance of his manly breast,
And china crash'd beneath his churlish cane,
Displays his prowess in his own domain.
Abroad he would not treat the meanest man ill,
The tiger fawns, and crouches like a spaniel,
Pockets each insult, sneaks away from strife,
At home he vents, his fury on his wife!
The tyrant thus engrafted on the brute,
The tree produces execrable fruit.
Ne'er run the risk, a wedded life attends,
Without the sanction of experienced friends,
But as you wish to shun extremest wo,
Reserve the privilege of saying no.

52

Should kindred, friends, and parents all unite,
To recommend a worthy favourite,
Evince your gratitude for favours meant,
But do not wed without your own consent.
Mistaken friendship only could advise
To make your heart a loathing sacrifice,
And thus a horrid living death contrive,
Like vestal prostitutes inhum'd alive,

The Vestales Virgines, vestal virgins, of Rome, were women, devoted to the service of the goddess Vesta. They made a vow of perpetual chastity, and if they were guilty of its violation were buried alive.


And what would make most terrible your doom
A hated husband's arms, your living tomb!
Nor is it oft a less mistake to deem,
You cannot love a suitor you esteem,
For love may be by gratitude excited,
And oft lies dormant, till a pair's united.
Ne'er wed a man, whom his own sex despise,
Mowever pleasing to your partial eyes,
For such have always something in their nature,
In common with a fop or petit maitre.
Should both the Indies all their mines unfold,
And bid you barter happiness for gold,
Never be dup'd by any venal plan,
To wed the treasure and detest the man.

53

But though I would not wish a lady's heart
Set up for sale in matrimonial mart,
Unless the purchaser make better proffers
Than that of all the wealth in Mammon's coffers,
Let not the blind God urge you to dispense
With a fair prospect of a competence;
The most affectionate and well match'd pair,
Will find it hard to live on love and air,
Wrapt in th' Elysium of connubial bliss,
Food, fire, and raiment will not come amiss;
Love is an epicure, and never din'd
Like a chameleon on the north east wind.
Let not a transient, visionary flame,
Lure thee to paths of misery and shame,
Love's delirious and destructive dream,
Unless 'tis built on rational esteem;
Despise those silly and romantic notions
Of wonderful and non-descript emotions,
Which set two kindred spirits, at first sight,
A loving furiously with main and might,
So suddenly, so ardently attach'd,

54

The simpletons suppose their souls were match'd,
By gentle mandate of resistless fate,
In Dr. Watts' pre-existing state,
And ten to one their tempers, educations,
Their views of life and favourite occupations,
Proclaim them opposites, by more degrees,
Than those which separate antipodes.
Though novel writers have for aye insisted
That love's a power which cannot be resisted;
Such trash is mischievous and merely meet
To qualify pert misses for the street;
Love without hope will commonly expire,
Hope fans and feeds the fascinating fire,
Which oft is kindled by imagination,
Or what physicians call hallucination;
And may be overcome by any mean
That's found of efficacy in the spleen;
Amusement, occupation of some kind,
Which may agreeably engross the mind,
Nine times in ten, the lover disenchant,
And Cupid's viewless arrows turn aslant

55

In spite of all small poets say and sing,
He rarely hits a bird that's on the wing.
Are you in love unless on ruin bent,
Sit not like patience on a monument,
Fancy's pernicious visions to indulge,
A prey to feelings you dare not divulge,
But to some prudent common friend impart
The sentiments, which agitate your heart,
By whom, with proper management, no doubt,
An eclaircissement may be brought about,
And yet your confident need not reveal,
A sentiment, which honor would conceal.
But, if by these, or other means you learn,
That your partiality meets no return,
Let none discover that you have been slighted,
Or that affections' blossoms have been blighted;
In such mischance 'tis bootless to complain,
For e'en a Sappho's lyre was tun'd in vain,
And Sappho's fate describ'd in Sappho's lays,
Would be the scoff and scorn of modern days;
Then, though with her intensity you feel,
Your sentiments if possible conceal.

56

Some pre-engagement may perhaps exist,
Perhaps your favourite's not on Hymen's list.
The urchin God, besides his being blind
Is volatile and faithless as the wind;
'Tis folly like the love-lorn lass of Greece,
To yield to such a Deity's caprice.
Some foolish fair suppose that they discover
In each male visitant, a desperate lover,
And make themselves ridiculous in th' extreme,
'Till they perceive their conquest is a dream;
And others fall the victims, by surprise,
Of love, approaching under friendship's guise,
To shun these gulphs requires some little art,
And rules laid down to read a suitor's heart.
Let no repugnance to a single state,
Lead to a union with a worthless mate,
At Hymen's vestibule, though long you tarry,
Never betray solicitude to marry,
For brutal men are ever prone to vex
A seeming suitor of the fairer sex;

57

And men of sense can hardly be expected,
To seek a hand that's often been rejected;
And though 'tis true, you'll find full many a fool
Would make old maids the butts of ridicule,
A single lady, though advanc'd in life,
Is much more happy than an ill-match'd wife.
Of frivolous ball-room flutterers beware,
For dissipation's annals will declare,
Like ignes fatui hovering o'er a swamp,
They've led to ruin many a pretty romp.
I would not have a fashionable belle,
Discard her beau beause he dances well,
Nor wed the man of minuets, jigs and reels,
Whose merits all are center'd in his heels;
Partners for life should higher claims advance,
Than those which serve for partners in a dance.
The scoffing infidel and wretch profane,
Should be expell'd from youth and beauty's train,
With victims of that fatal fascination,
Which drowns the faculties in dissipation;
No general rules, however, can embrace
The cautions due in every special case,

58

Your own discretion is your safest guide,
But these my hints may aid you to decide.

NARCISSA.
Since this important subject is dispatch'd,
Our matchless fair will be divinely match'd,
Cupid will cease from customary pranks,
And Hymen's lottery furnish no more blanks,
Henceforth “no hot hearts” will be led astray,
But pair as quietly as birds in May.
Our Powers and Duties you have dwelt upon,
And given us rules to regulate the ton,
But we have rights, of which you know a draught,
Was sketch'd by one Miss Mary Wolstonecraft,
And which, I take it, as a lady's friend,

The vagaries of Miss Wolstonecrost are, thus animadverted upon by a lady whose writings may be exhibited among other irrefragable proof, that nature has not disqualified the female sex from becoming eminently useful to the community, in the most arduous and honourable pursuits of literature.

An eccentric writer, who thought audacity a proof of genius, and mistook insubordination for independence and greatness of soul, seemed to suppose that the professions of a lawyer, a physician, and a merchant were no ways incompatible with women. Little ingenuity is necessary to disprove a theory, which puzzled for an hour, and sunk into oblivion, overwhelmed by the weight of its own absurdity, till it was fished up again by some second-hand dealers in paradox and innovation. That we can neither gain happiness or advantage, from renouncing the habits, which nature communicated and custom has ratified, is evident, by considering the qualities for which we have been most valued. and how far they would amalgamate with an alteration in our relative situation. Could modesty endure the stare of public attention; could meekness preserve her olive wand unbroken amid the noisy contention of the bar; could delicacy escape uninjured through the initiatory studies of medicine; could cautious discretion venture upon those hazardous experiments, which private as well as public utility often require; could melting compassion be the proper agent of impartial justice; or could gentleness dictate those severe but wholesome restraints, which often preserve a nation from ruin! Though I am inclined to think highly of my own sex, I confess that I can see nothing in this scheme of an Amazonian Republic, which is not in the highest degree ridiculous and laughable. My conviction that we should make wretched generals, patriots, politicians, legislators and advocates, proceeds from my having never yet seen a private family well conducted that has been subjected to female usurpation. Notwithstanding any degree of science or talent which may have illuminated the fair vicegerent, the awkward situation of the good man in the corner has always excited risibility, and awakened such prying scrutiny into interior arrangements, as has never failed to discover “something rotten in the state of Denmark.” It is not only the temperament of our virtues, which indicate the necessity of our being shielded from the broad glare of observation; there is, generally speaking, (and Providence acts by general rules, both in the natural and moral world) too much impetuosity of feeling, quickness of determination, and locality of observation in women, to enable us to discharge public trusts, or extensive duties with propriety. The warmth of our hearts overpowers the ductility of our judgments; and in our extreme desire to act very right, we want forbearance and accommodation, which makes our best designs often terminate exactly opposite to what we proposed. The qualities that we possess are admirably fitted to enable us to perform a second part in life's concert; but when we attempt to lead the band, our soft notes become scrannel and discordant, by being strained beyond their pitch; and our tremulous melodies cause disgusting dissonance, if they attempt to overpower the grand full tones of manly harmony, instead of agreeably filling up its pauses.”

Mrs. West.

Your worship's etching ought to comprehend.
Since you esteem our sex so good and great,
Why not hold offices in Church and State?
Some female warriors have been found as famous
As any heroes history can name us,
In private life, each day's experience teaches,

59

We cannot be surpass'd in making speeches,
And none can doubt but lady-legislators
Would make at least most capital debaters.

MENTOR.
Dame Nature tells us Mary's rights are wrong,
Her female freedom is a Syren-Song;
What though our Sampsons, Solomons are found,
By artful women, led astray or bound—
Though female counsellors, time out of mind,
Have rul'd the mighty rulers of mankind;
Fierce fighting heroes and despotic kings,
Fasten'd in triumph to their apron strings,
And lady politicians, I confess
Are quite unmatchable, in sheer finesse,
Those who give motion to such state machines,
Succeed the best, when plac'd behind the scenes
Should ladies-errant undertake to deal
In “gun, drum, trumpet, blunderbuss” and steel,
Perhaps some incidents might much perplex
The boldest warriors of the gentler sex.
Should fighting fair ones, take the field in state,

60

They'll capture fewer than they'll captivate;
And though, no doubt a battery of bright eyes,
Would cause a dismal quantity of sighs,
Still, warriors, smitten with celestial charms,
But rarely run away from female arms,
The kind of death, in which fair heroines deal,
Are not like those dispens'd by griding steel,
For men, though murder'd by your eye-beam shot.
Still live to own they'd rather die than not;
And lovers' deaths present a kind of bourne
From whence your travellers commonly return.
In lapse of ages, true, we now and then
Viragos find, who ape ambitious men,
And once or twice, in several hundred years,
A Catharine or Elizabeth appears;
But still, the annals of mankind declare,
That such phenomena are very rare—
That female power but rarely has its source
In martial deeds, or is maintain'd by force.

61

In savage life to woman is assign'd,
All offices of mean laborious kind,
Her stupid spouse condemns her to a place
Scarce one remove above the bestial race.
An hopeless state of servitude for life,
And holds his dog far dearer than his wife.
By toil degraded, and depress'd by fear,
She feels no tie that makes existence dear,
Life is a burthen, heavy to endure,
A long disease, which death alone can cure,
And lest her offspring meet the dreadful doom
Of hopeless servitude and rayless gloom,
She murders them!—esteems the fatal blow,
The highest boon affection can bestow!

“In the Brazils,” says a writer whose name I can not now recollect, “the females are obliged to follow their husbands to war, to supply the place of beasts of burthen, and to carry on their backs their children, provisions, hammocks, and every thing wanted in the field.

“In the isthmus of Darien, they are sent along with warriors and travellers as we do baggage horses. Even their queen appeared before some English gentlemen, carrying her sucking child wrapt up in a red blanket.

“The women among the Indians of America, were, what the Helotes were, among the Spartans, a vanquished people obliged to toil for their conquerors. Hence, on the banks of the Oronoko, we have heard of mothers slaying their daughters out of compassion, and smothering them in the hour of their birth. They consider this barbarous pity as a virtue.

“Father Joseph Gumella, reproving one of them for this inhuman crime, received the following answer. “I wish to God, Father, I wish to God that my mother had, by my death, prevented the manifold distresses that I have endured, and have yet to endure as long as I live. Had she kindly stifled me in my birth, I should not have felt the pain of death, nor the numberless other pains to which life has subjected me. Consider, Father, our deplorable condition. Our husbands go to hunt with their bows and arrows, and trouble themselves no father: we are dragged along with an infant at our breast, and another in a basket. They return in the evening without any burden. We return with the burden of our children. Though tired with long walking, we are not allowed to sleep, but must labour the whole night, in grinding maize to make chica for them. They get drunk and in their drunkenness beat us, draw us by the hair of our heads, and tread us under foot. What then have we to comfort us for a slavery, perhaps of twenty years? A young wife is brought upon us and permitted to abuse us and our children. Can human nature endure such tyranny? What kindness can we show to our female children, equal to that of relieving them from such serritude, more bitter a thousand times than death? I repeat again, would to God my mother had put me under ground the moment I was born.”

“If the great outlines of this complaint be true, they fully evince the deplorable condition of savage women; and that they are probable, similar instances among barbarous nations will not permit us to doubt.


Scarce less the evils which your sex await,
When man emerging from a savage state,
Has fill'd his sconce with strange erratic fancies,
Such as we see in legends and romances;
When, honour'd with his lady's scarf or glove,
Boiling with valour, terribly in love,

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Arm'd capapee, the formidable knight
Rides forth to conquer, in his lady's right,
To prove beyond the shadow of a doubt
His mistress beautiful as he is stout;
And cut men's throats in right heroic fashion.
To shew the influence of the tender passion.
Mean while the fair one, who inspir'd his flame,
Her desperate champion scarcely knows by name;
In castle gloomy and remote confin'd,
Shut out from all communion with mankind,
Scarce visited by e'en a solar ray,
She vegetates a torpid life away.
Again what evils and temptations wait
On woman in a highly polish'd state?
She then becomes a truant, trifling thing,
Destin'd to dally, dandle, dance and sing,
To paint, parade, play, prattle, and excite
The grossest cravings of gross appetite—
A kind of love that's foreign to the heart,
In which esteem can never bear a part.
But when mankind are duly civiliz'd,
The sex are honour'd and their virtues priz'd,

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'Tis then recogniz'd as the omniscient plan
That woman be the equal friend of man,
That those alike most dangerously misjudge,
Who make her or a goddess, or a drudge.

NARCISSA.
Bound fast in fate's indissoluble tether,
The paths of life the sexes trace together,
Are fellow travellers, weal or woe betide,
And when one slips the other's sure to slide,
Thus 'tis recorded in th'historic page,
In every nation, and in every age,
When man's deprav'd by folly or by crimes,
Woman becomes a sample of the times,
Our foibles, themes of moral declamation,
Are mostly lures to gain your approbation,
For true it is, in every scheme we plan,
We are but anglers for that odd-fish, man,
Our very crimes, to catch male gudgeons meant,
Are but too well adapted to th' intent.


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MENTOR.
For this cause fashion's whim whams are embrac'd,
Her now no body, now three quarters waist,
Her fickle followers play as many pranks,
As could a troop of crazy mountebanks;
With garments now, as Indian blanket loose,
And now tight lac'd, as stiff as spitted goose,
Anon behold a neck and bosom bare,
Allures the biped game to beauty's lair.
But still, with all your toils and pains immense,
Such fool-traps rarely take a man of sense,
And I would warn our fashionable misses
Against this sporting upon precipices.
Though rakes and coxcombs, malapert and vain,
And paltry parasites may swell your train
Yet these false-hearted simpletons despise
The flirts whom they pretend to idolize:
Believe them silly things, who have the power
To speed the pinions of an idle hour,
But genuine love and rational esteem,
Are qualities of which they never dream,
And prudent people will be apt to fear,

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Such liberal ladies are what they appear.
When e'er a dress of gew gaws and of flounces
Is quite transparent and scarce weighs four ounces,
I'm led to think its silly owner's brains,
Can hardly muster half as many grains:
For who would wed a nymph, though passing fair,
Whose boasted charms are common as the air?
What chapman, if he's not a block-head buys,
A property he can't monopolize?
What showman, who is not a stupid wight,
Displays his greatest rarities in sight?
One would suppose the answers must be plain,
And strike all intellects not quite insane,
And yet sometimes I fear our modern Eves
Will quite forget their grandam wore fig leaves,
And by and by at fashion's frivolous call,
Appear quite naked at a public ball,
Like fine French ladies, who by fashion led on,
Once grac'd a theatre, without a thread on.

It is asserted by Professor Robison, in his work upon illuminism, as well as by other writers, who have treated upon the French Revolution, that Madam Tallien, accompanied by other beautiful women, laying aside all modesty, came into the public theatre, and presented themselves to public view, with bared limbs, a la Sauvage as the alluring objects of desire.

See Robison's Proofs, &c. p. 197.

Full many a beauty blasted in her bloom,
This stripping mania hurries to the tomb;—
There's one old Boreas woos your thin clad fair,

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Salutes them boldly, and with such an air!
But this rough gallant has a baneful breath,
And his embraces are the assaults of death.

NARCISSA.
Now, Mr. Monitor, you play the scrub,
And act Diogenes, without his tub!
For fashion's models you would wish, I'll venture ye,
To send us back for more than half a century;
By your sagacity we shall be told
That nought is excellent but what is old.
Wouldst thou revive the fooleries of dress,
Which mark'd “the golden age of good queen Bess”
In whale-bone boddices lace beauty's train,
'Till like a wasp they're nearly cut in twain?
With huge hoop petticoats gay nymphs surround,
And trains that trail for yards upon the ground?
Or would those old French fashions be preferr'd,
Which were, if possible still more absurd,
When caps, and bonnets, menacing the moon,
Glar'd like a meteor, or an air balloon—
Head dresses tall as towers were all the ton,

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And dashing beauties when they put them on,
Arrang'd their toilets in the open street,
And when their upper-story was complete,
Love's apparatus fitted to a pin,
The widest street door would not take them in?
The fascinating creatures then, no doubt,
Play'd off their charms on passengers without.
Thus erst, in France they strove for fashion's prize,
Unless grave authors state enormous lies.

“In the early part of the French monarchy, the ladies paid scarce any attention to dress. It would appear that they thought of nothing more than pleasing their husbands, and giving a proper education to their children, and that the rest of their time was employed in family concerns, and rural economy. If their dress was subject to little change in those primitive times, we ought not to be astonished to see the fair sex indemnify themselves at present for their inaction. Their dress, however, has experienced the same revolutions as that of men. There was a time when their robes rose so high, that they absolutely covered the breast; but under Charles VI. Queen Isabella, of Bavaria, as remarkable for her gallantry as her beauty, brought back the fashion of leaving the shoulders and part of the neck uncovered.

“Let us hear what Juvenal des Urtias says respecting the manner in which the women dressed their heads.

“Both married and unmarried ladies were very extravagant in their dress, and wore caps wonderfully high and large, having two great ears at each side, which were of such magnitude that when they wished to enter a door it was impossible for them.”

The reign of Charles the VII. brought back the use of earrings, bracelets, and collars. Some years before the death of that prince, the dress of the ladies was ridiculous in the highest degree. They wore robes so exceedingly long, that several yards of the train dragged behind; the sleeves were to wide that they swept the ground; and their heads were lost under immense bonnets, which were three-fourths of their breadth in height. To this ridiculous fashion another succeeded, which was not less so. The ladies placed a kind of cushion upon their heads, loaded with ornaments, which displayed the worst taste imaginable. The head dress was so large, that it was two yards in breadth. At that period it was absolutely necessary to enlarge the doors of all the houses.”

Sketches of the Sex, p. 209–10.

The belles of that period, however, could not claim an exclusive of right to the palm of extravagance. The beaux were scarely less ridiculous in their attire. “Figure to yourself,” says a French writer, “a petit maitre, with his hair flat and bushy, dressed in a doublet, shaped like an under waistcoat, which scarcely covered his reins; his breeches exceedingly close, rising very high, and his middle bound round with a ribband, in a most whimsical manner, as may still be seen in some ancient paintings; add to all this artificial shoulders, in form of a cushion, which were placed upon each shoulder blade, to make him appear to have a large chest, and to give him a robust and vigorous appearance. This strange caricature was terminated by shoes, the points of which for people of quality were full two feet in length.” In England the fashion of shoes with long peaks, was carried to such extravagance that it was found expedient to support them by a gold chain extending from the extremity of the shoe to a band placed above the knee.


Or will your worship be so good as state,
What follies please you of less ancient date?
You would be raptur'd, if I right opine,
With high-heel'd shoes, crape cushions to combine,
Would wish our toilets fix'd upon the scale,
Of Richard Steele's good lady Fardingale.

MENTOR.
I am no Cynic, lady, who would lay
A stumbling block in youth and beauty's way,
With candor too, I willingly avow,
That fashion's follies are less foolish now,
Than were the pranks she formerly display'd,

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When on life's stage my foolish part was play'd.
I wish you not to altogether brave
The laws of fashion, nor to be its slave,
While at your toilet decency presides,
Let taste and judgment be your constant guides,
Your age, shape, rank, the season, your complexion,
With your apparel claim a due connexion;
Let your attire, at proper times be airy,
And if you please fantastic as a fairy,
But never sacrifice your health and ease,
To a vain hope by fashion's whims to please.
Let not your wardrobe be disgrac'd by means
Of modern, modish, mischievous machines,
With which, unless they're dolefully belied,
Some fools of fashion have been fortified,
And bitterly, regretted their presumption,
When squeez'd and pinion'd into a consumption.
My pupils should not be allow'd the use
Of too much vinegar and lemon juice,
With which some ladies, not so nice a prim,
For sake of seeming delicately slim,
Have drugg'd themselves (may heaven such fools forgive)

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'Till they became too delicate to live!
These and a thousand such pernicious arts,
Folly's artillery aim'd at heedless hearts,
May now and then a fop or fool decoy,
But cannot fail that influence to destroy,
Which, if it were to truth and virtue giv'n,
Might make this earth a prototype of heav'n.
If vice and folly bask in beauty's smile,
Like noxious reptiles on the banks of Nile,
Their votaries vile soon swarm on either hand,
And spread like locusts o'er a ruin'd land.
Ladies who “stoop to conquer” fashion's elves,
Injure mankind, and over reach themselves,
For beauty under affectation's guise,
Is sheer deformity, in reason's eyes.
See Fanny Flytrap glitter at a ball,
A brisk automaton, a walking doll,
But such a paragon in shape and air,
Venus de Medicis would seem less fair,

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What shoals of fops around the fair one caper,
Like giddy insects, buzzing round a taper!
Cælebs by chance within the circle strays,
A man of sense, attracted by the blaze
Of beauty so transcendent, with design,
His heart to offer at so fair a shrine.
The pretty idiot opes her coral lips,
Where love of course his choicest nectar sips;
Bolts out crude nonsense, with affected lisp,
And beauty's sun becomes a will-o-wisp.
To catch all hearts, see now she's on th' alert,
Now plays the prude, now overacts the flirt,
Ogles and stares, and languishes and tries,
To look ineffably with both her eyes,
Now gives her fan it's fascinating flutter,
And titters every syllable she utters.
Behold what attitudes, display of shapes,
Held out as lures to fashionable apes,
Each gesture says “how beautiful I be,”
And every look “Lord only look of me”!
With Cælebs now the charm dissolves a pace.

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He wonders now she sports so plain a face!
Her arts and attitudes have lost their aim,
And chill'd the fervour of his rising flame;
Like lxion now, he finds his goddess proud,
Is metamorpos'd to a vapid cloud.
Though fops and fools admire such dainty dolts,
With scarce the intellect of yearling colts,
Not Venus' self the man of sense would bind,
Without some portion of Minerva's mind.
“Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll,
Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.”
Yet this fine thing, with neither head nor heart,
Is not the fool of nature, but of art,
From earliest infancy has been appris'd,
That such a beauty must be idoliz'd,
E'en by her nurse, while yet a tiny elf,
Taught not to reverence, but adore herself.
Fond foolish parents, blest with wealth and rank,
Worshipp'd her form, but left her head a blank,
Hence that fine shape, gay air, and lily skin,
But make more evident the blank within,

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Her beauty's found, when brought to reason's trial.
A flaring label on an empty vial.
Her contrast see in yonder timid fair,
With such an artless, notice shunning air,
Not trick'd, and furbelow'd from head to feet,
Her dress plain, elegant, and simply neat,
An unaffected modesty display'd
In every look, and motion of the maid,
Which e'en the greatest libertines admire,
Commands esteem and over awes desire,
An apprehension quick, a mind serene,
Stamp their divinity upon her mien,
Like that majestic virtue, which subdued
As Milton sings, the monsters of the wood—

These lines allude to Milton's Eulogy on chastity, from which the following lines are extracted.

“She that has that, is clad in complete steel,
And like a quiver'd nymph with arrows keen,
May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd heaths,
Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds,
Where through the sacred rays of chastity,
No savage fierce, bandit or mountaineer,
Will dare to soil her virgin purity;
Yea there where very desolation dwells
By grots, and caverns shagg'd with horrid shades,
She may pass on with unblench'd majesty,
Be it not done in pride, or in presumption.”

Adorn a simple village maiden more,
Than could the cestus Cythereis wore,

The cestus or girdle of Venus was supposed by the ancients to be endued with peculiar powers of fascination.


Still there is nothing in her shape or face,
The painter's or the sculptor's hand can trace,
Which gives a claim to beauty's envied mead,
Whence then can so much loveliness proceed?
There is a beauty, which transcends their art,

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A cultur'd mind, and rectitude of heart,
Speak in her looks, in every action shine,
And tell the world their mansion is divine.
Familiar beauty's sure to be neglected,
Respect yourself, if you would be respected,
Imprudent females, when too late discover,
A lover blest no longer is a lover,
That lovers half-blest loose one half their flame,
Is shewn by many a disappointed aim.
Selina fears you'll take her for a prude,
Unless she suffers suitors to be rude,
Her ready lips celestial sweets disclose,
Without a forfeit to a herd of beaux,
Who hover round her, as in grocer's shop,
A swarm of flies beset a treacle drop;
With rumpled dress, she flirts about the town,
Squir'd by some knight of infamous renown;
“A youth of fire who has drunk deep and play'd,
And kill'd his man, and triumph'd o'er his maid,”
She makes her beau, for ball or sleighing ride,
Her chief fan-flirter, and her shopping guide—

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“For him, as yet unhang'd she spreads her charms,
Snatches the dear destroyer to her arms,
And amply gives, (though treated long amiss,)
The man of merit his revenge in this.”
'Tis thus that beauty, brought to vice's aid,
Your sex may ruin, and our sex degrade

NARCISSA.
While thus you follow fashion's crazy crew,
One half your subject has escap'd your view.
If satire's tribute you must stop to pay,
To every nude that shivers in your way,
With critical and scrutinizing eye,
Note every pin we chance to stick awry—
Misrepresent our sex as monstrous creatures,
As faithless mirrors mar the brightest features,
And Quixotte-like deal doughty random blows
To overthrow imaginary beaux,
Make effigies of straw, then claim renown
For prowess shewn in hunting of them down,
Your straggling Pegasus, as I perpend,
Will founder long before his journey's end;

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By well bred critics, you'll be dubb'd, I fear,
Rather a caviller than a cavallier;
Your rambling dissertation will be said
To be a labyrinth without a thread—
Your favourite themes of foppery and flirtation,
Are foreign quite to female education.

MENTOR.
“'Tis education forms the tender mind,
Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclin'd”
This hacknied adage, not more trite than true,
Applies with most propriety to you,
Life's cares are apt to counteract the checks
Of education in the ruder sex,
In woman's mind the characters first trac'd
Are much less liable to be eras'd,
Hence woman's almost every aberration,
Flows from some fault in early education.
Though beauty's province can but ill afford
The laurels of the sceptre or the sword,
No valid reason thence can be assign'd,

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Against improvement of the female mind,
The fairer sex are blest with mental powers,
Which well may bear comparison with ours,
Different in kind, but equal in degree,
'Tis surely then a most unjust decree,
Which dooms your beauties, frivolous and vain,
To lavish life away in fashion's train,
As if like Turks we held that God had giv'n
The sex no souls, nor made them heirs of heaven;
Their duties in the most secluded station,
Demand a mind improv'd by education,
As mothers, sisters, mistresses and wives,
They give, support, sooth, sweeten, charm our lives;
In every station, destiny or sphere,
The fruits of education will appear.
Perhaps as mothers of the human race,
Your influence shews its most important trace,
A mother's care should form the infant mind
To knowledge, virtue, sentiment refin'd,
Her plastic hand bids virtue's cion shoot,
Or blasts its blossom and extirps its root,

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She bids the nascent sage or hero aim,
By honour's path to climb the steep of fame,
Or she debases into low pursuits,
Like Circe changes human kind to brutes;
Thus Spartan mothers their bold offspring steel'd,
Sent them invincible to glory's field.

The Spartan mother exulting over the body of her son, slain in battle, is thus described by a lady, whose productions add one to very many proofs, that female hands are competent to “wake to extacy the living lyre.”

“Fierce with strange joy she stands, the battle won,
Elate and tearless o'er her slaughter'd son,
“He died for Sparta, died unknown to fear,
His wounds all honest, and his shield his bier;
And shall I weep!”—stern daughters of the brave,
Thus maids and matrons hail'd the Spartan's grave,
By turns they caught, they lit the hero-flame,
And scorn'd the woman's for the patriot's name.
Epistles on women by Lucy Aikin.

Cornelia, noble, and ambitious dame,
Thus fann'd that spark of glory to a flame,
Which urg'd the patriot-brothers to their doom,
And the fond parent triumph'd o'er their tomb,

Cornelia, a celebrated Roman matron, was left a widow in the flower of her age, and devoted her whole time and undivided attention, to the education of her offspring. When a lady had exhibited her jewels at Cornelia's house, and begged to be indulged with the sight of her own, the affectionate parent produced her two sons. Cains and Tiberius Gracchus, saying, “These are the only jewels I have to shew.” Too ambitious of being distinguished, she probably urged them to that career, which terminated in their destruction. She is said to have reproached them in their youth, that they had not rendered her illustrious as the mother of the Gracchi; and after their death she replied to one, who would have condoled with her on their account, that “the woman, who had given birth to the Gracchi could not be deemed unfortunate.” After her decease the Romans erected a statue to her memory, with this inscription: “To Cornelia mother of the Gracchi.”


Thus Nero's mother was the instigator,
Of every crime of every name and nature,
Maternal influence likewise did impart,
To Borgia, model of satanic art,
His serpent-head, and adamantine heart.

Cæsar Borgia was a son to Pope Alexander VI. one who was initiated by his mother Vanozza, into all the mysteries of iniquity which could qualify him for a career of guilty ambition. He was made an Archbishop, and a Cardinal, which offices did not deter him from destroying those who were in any degree opposed to his nefarious projects, by poison or assassination. In 503 Borgia lost his father, who was supposed to have died by poison, which they had prepared for a rich Cardinal, whose estate they wished to appropriate to themselves, but which they both took by mistake. It proved fatal to the father; but the son, by strength of constitution escaped with life, though he long experienced its penicious effects. He was killed in a skirmish and stripped by the victors. Notwithstanding he has been held up to admiration, by Machiavel as the perfect specimen of a “great man,” “yet,” says one of his biographers, “he was hated in prosperity, detested in adversity, stripped of all his honours and possessions, even such as he fairly might have claimed, and leaving behind him a name, consigned to universal detestation, it would seem that he gained nothing by being a villain.”


Let those to whom the task may be assign'd,
The important task to mould the infant mind,
With ceaseless care, and diligence inspect,
The earliest buddings of the intellect,
The shoots of vanity and pride erase,
And sow the seeds of wisdom in their place.

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The infant mind not long remains a blank,
The weeds of vice soon spring up wild and rank,
In every mental field, not early till'd,
And virtue's finest plants are chok'd and kill'd,
But fashion's tares the produce rarely spoil,
Of a correctly cultivated soil.
Let the first lessons given to female youth
Be fraught with moral and religious truth,
And every sentiment, which you impart,
At once improve the head and mend the heart.
Never pervert the young imagination
With tales of terror, fancy's fabrication,
Teach her the scale of reason to apply,
To every thing which meets the ear or eye;
Nor fill her little head with whims and fancies,
You must obliterate as life advances.
'Tis worse than useless, labour to bestow,
In planting seeds you cannot wish should grow,
When you, perhaps, may find your efforts vain,
To extirpate those very seeds again.
In words and actions cautious and correct,

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Despise that gibberish-nursery-dialect,
Which silly people are so apt to use,
The faculties of infants to abuse;
Let tales of goblin, ghost, or church yard sprite,
Or grisly apparition cloth'd in white,
Death-watches, omens, never meet her ear,
The mind t' enslave with superstitious fear.
Study the texture of the pupil's mind,
As with a microscope that you may find,
What faults or foibles interwoven there,
Demand your earliest counteracting care,
Erase each sully, while it yet is rife,
Which else might blurr the character for life.
If little Miss should boast of beauty bright,
Consult her glass with symptoms of delight.
Doat on her charms, as misers doat on pelf
And like Narcissus pines for pretty self,
Check her betimes, before too late you find
Self love the ruling passion of her mind;
Ere she assume those gestures, and grimaces,

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Which pretty simpletons mistake for graces,
Who set themselves up beauties by profession,
And think to hold all hearts in their possession,
(As boys string bird's eggs on a bit of thread)
By charms, which rival goddesses might dread.
When first she seems solicitous to trace
The budding beauties of a blooming face,
Tell her, though now, so comely to the sight,
She might have been, and still may be a fright—
That mental charms give beauty to the features,
But pretty idiots are most ugly creatures—
That beauty, when by vanity alloy'd,
For all good purposes is quite destroy'd—
That 'twould be great impiety to venture
To boast of charms, which Providence but lent her,
Which if they merely serve to make her vain,
He who bestow'd will take away again—
That, should she 'scape diseases, which await
All mortals in a sublunary state,
Which blight the brightest beauty in the bloom,
And send the charmer to an early tomb,

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Yet youth's gay holiday will soon be past,
The thoughtless-fair one will be doom'd at last
To such a gallant as she does not dream on,
Old, spiteful, ugly as a very demon,
Ee'n gaffer Time will riot on her charms,
And hug her life out in his shrivell'd arms!
Is she inordinately fond of dress,
Maxims like these 'twere proper to impress,
The gay habiliments of art must yield
To simplest flowerets that adorn the field—
That spite of fashion's efforts so absurd,
To dress a lady like a humming-bird,
Full many a despicable worm and snake
Wear finer robes than art could ever make—
Could she appear like Esther at a feast,
Blazing in all the diamonds of the east,
While plunder'd provinces are put to rack,
To decorate her royal head and back,
Her regal robes could not in splendor vie
With the apparel of a butterfly.

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Are angry passions potent to molest
The little sanctuary of her breast,
Display themselves, as discipline permits,
In sullen, peevish, or outrageous fits,
Your moral antidotes betimes apply
Before the mental fever rages high,
For soon it baffles every human art
To drive the poison from the tainted heart.
You may present the furious little lass
With her own image in a looking glass—
Tell her the passion which her peace annoys,
Disturbs her person, and her mind destroys,
Can only serve to make her tortur'd breast
An emblem of a raging hornet's nest;
Her friends will shun her as they would a toad,
Or rattle snake that hisses in the road—
That ladies who such paltry passions share,
Should wear, like furies, snakes instead of hair—
That anger's slave must serve the worst of masters,
Expos'd each hour to terrible disasters,
And in a moment may be led astray,
The guilty victim of some sad affray,

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Then to some tale or adage have recourse,
Your precepts to illustrate and enforce—
Tell how the haughty conqueror of the world,
By passion's power from glory's summit hurl'd,
His guilty hand in friendly blood imbued,
Sunk self abas'd, though never self subdued—
A mighty warrior, a ferocious elf,
Who rul'd a world but could not rule himself.

When Alexander the Great had arrived at the zenith of his power, he was surrounded by a number of sycophants, who by indulging his humour and soothing his passions, precipitated him into extravagance of conduct, and deprived him of that equanimity and moderation, which were necessary for preserving the acquisitions he had made. One faithful friend declined concurring in the general adulation. At a banquet which succeeded the sacrifices performed at the anniversary festival of Bacchus, the honour of which Alexander had transferred to Castor and Pollux, some of the attendants extolled the actions of the Macedonian prince above those of the gods. Clytus remonstrated, alledging that “he could not bear to hear such indignities offered to the gods, or the credit of ancient heroes undervalued, to tickle the ears of a living prince.” As to Alexander's actions he allowed that they were great and glorious, but he maintained that they were not supernatural; that the army had shared in them, and that they had a right to participate in the praise belonging to them. Alexander was indignant; and as Clytus proceeded in the same strains, and affimed that he had preserved the life of the king at the battle of Granicus, stretching out his arm and saying, “this hand, O Alexander, has saved thee,” the king rushed upon him, and endeavoured to kill him, but was prevented by the interposition of friends. At length, however, when his friends had retired, he seized a lance and laid Clytus dead on the spot. His passion, however, soon subsided, and reflecting on the deed he had perpetrated, he indulged in excessive grief, refused food for three days, neglected his apparel, and, as some say would have killed himself with the pike that had killed Clytus.


Describe a method sometimes us'd of old
To quell the fury of a common scold,
When fever heat infallibly to cool,
To beldam seated on a ducking stool,
The merry mob applied the gelid bath,
A sovereign antidote to powerless wrath,
And oftentimes, sans medical advice,
Cur'd petulant eruptions in a trice.

By the common law of England, a common scold is considered as a public nuisance to her neighborhood, and may be indicted, and if convicted is sentenced to be placed in a certain engine of correction called the cucking stool, or ducking stool, because the residue of the judgment is, that when she is so placed therein, she shall be plunged into the water for her punishment.

Blackstone's Com. IV. p. 163–9.

To tame a shrew you must betimes begin.
Ere pamper'd passion such ascendant win.
Reason may find her every effort vain,
To re-assume her abdicated reign.
But if you find the temper of a child,

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By nature timid, delicate and mild,
Be cautious lest a discipline severe
Should be the cause of many a needless tear,
Feelings excite of that indignant kind,
Which serve to harden, and depress the mind,
If reasoning fails, and punish her you must,
Make her perceive the punishment is just,
Ere you correct the culprit, let her know,
Friendship, not anger, meditates the blow.
You spare the rod, and you may spoil the child,
And yet the rod has many children spoil'd,
And parents often play the tyrant's part,
To break the temper till they break the heart.
Teachers of youth, of either sex there are,
Whose rigor drives their pupils to despair.
No winning arts the autocrats can please,
Their little charge ne'er know a moment's ease,
The awful apparatus, plac'd before them,
The rod and ferule, hung up in terrorem,
Bid slavish fear, the faculties enchain,
Numb every nerve and petrify the brain.

85

There lives in Buzzardshire one Master Gruff,
A thorough book-worm, absolute, and rough,
With manners ruder than a dancing bear,
His learning gave him a preceptor's chair,
Entitled him, on Doctor Busby's level,
To homage such as Indians pay the devil.
A frightful frown his beetling brow deforms,
And e'en his smiles are harbingers of storms;
No slave-compelling despot of Algiers,
In greater mimic-majesty appears—
He never deigns to touch affection's chords:
His blue laws, never sanction'd by rewards,
Seem form'd by Athens' sanguinary sage.
Or rescripts of inquisitorial rage.
His pupils in the pedagogue descry
A Jove that rarely lays his thunders by.
Not the most trivial mark of approbation
Repays the most successful application;
Save when king scorpion, plays the monarch log,
From morn to night, 'tis mutter, scold and flog.
The trembling younkers, harden'd by degrees,
Dismiss the hope, and loose the wish to please

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Take the first steps, with desperation callous,
Which persever'd in lead them to the gallows.
I've known a youth his lesson con with care,
Till he could say it like a witch's prayer,
Backwards or forwards, sideways or across,
Among his playmates never at a loss,
Yet, summon'd by his tyrant master's call,
The frighten'd innocent had lost it all,
Was dubb'd a dunce, whipp'd, order'd to depart,
With mind embruted, and a broken heart.
When constant fears the faculties o'erwhelm,
Judgment, and memory desert the helm,
The mind, at length is paraliz'd with dread,
A sword, suspended o'er a student's head,
Would little aid a mental exercise,
Or help to gain a literary prize.
And children beat'n like breaking asses' colts,
Are disciplin'd to villains or to dolts.

Locke's Treatise on Education contains many excellent observations relative to the system of terror, which is too frequently employed in educating children. Miss More likewise observes that “parental severity drives the gentle spirit to artifice, and the rugged to despair. It generates deceit and cunning, the most hopeless and hateful in the whole catalogue of female failings. Ungoverned anger in the teacher, and inability to discriminate between venial errors and premeditated offence, though they may lead a timid creature to hide wrong tempers, or to conceal bad actions, will not help her to subdue the one or correct the other. Severity will drive terrified children to seek not for reformation, but for impunity. A readiness to forgive them promotes frankness. And we should above all things, encourage them to be frank, in order to come at their faults. They have not more faults for being open, they only discover more.”

Strictures on Female Education, Chap. vi.



87

NARCISSA.
By some good writers publick schools are tax'd
With discipline improperly relax'd,
Cowper condemns them in severest style,
As almost nuisances in Britain's Isle.
“Would you your son should be a sot or dunce,
Lascivious, headstrong, or all these at once,
That, in good time the stripling's finish'd taste
May prove your ruin, and his own at last,
Train him in publick with a herd of boys,
Children in mischief only and in noise.”
So sings the British bard, and most maintain
That teachers govern with too lax a rein,
Sure then 'tis hardly orthodox to dream
Of danger in the opposite extreme.

MENTOR.
'Tis difficult, in discipline's career,
Rightly between the two extremes to steer,
The rough and sturdy younker to command,
Requires a heavy, and a steady hand,
But means to check the burly and the bold

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Might ruin tempers of a milder mould,
The reign of terror frequently we find,
Beyond recovery blasts the growth of mind,
For slavish apprehension's stern control,
Freezes the “genial current of the soul;”
And too much licence suffers youth to stray,
Along destruction's broad and beaten way.
The pupil's genius, rank and destination
Should be consulted in her education,
Let not your lessons open to her view
A path she cannot possibly pursue;
Nor fill her head with fine, fallacious schemes,
With grandeur's gorgeous and deceitful dreams—
Present no prospects to her wishful eyes
Which she can never hope to realize,
Thus make existence one continual strife,
Against the sad realities of life.
Though formerly, as Addison has written,
There were no women to be found in Britain,
But all were ladies, the Spectator said,

89

“Though born in garrets, and in kitchens bred,”
From Anne the Queen, who fill'd the throne of State,
To Moll, the quean enthron'd in Billingsgate;—

The Spectator, No. 4. observes that the fair sex “compose the most powerful part of our people.” In another number he declares that the passion for admiration, which is so universal among the fair sex, had moulded them into “Idols” of all degrees and qualities. “Most of them are worshipped, like Moloch in fire and flames. Some of them, like Baal love to see their votaries cut and slashed, and shedding blood for them. Some of them, like the Idol in the Apocrypha, must have treats and collations prepared for them every night.” We are likewise informed by the same author, that females of the lowest classes were an inferior kind of “idols,” and were used by their worshippers sometimes like Chinese Idols, who are whipped and scourged when they refuse to comply with the prayers that are offered to them.


Though this is freedom's highly favour'd land,
Where all of course must have the upper hand—
Where every female, past the age of ten,
Becomes a lady, pray what follows then?
With all the plans, a Tom Paine could contrive,
Our body politick will never thrive,
Whate'er our July orators have said,
Unless its heels are lower than its head.
Let friends to anarchy new dogmas twist,
And still distinctions must and will exist.
To give a learn'd and polish'd education,
To one pre-destin'd to a menial station,
Is taking pains to teach a part in fact,
The pupil never can be call'd to act,
A part moreover, which must be forgot,
To reconcile her to her humble lot.
Fine arts are useless to a country charmer,
The future help-mate of an honest farmer,

90

Graces, and airs, though ever so bewitching,
Little become the dairy and the kitchen—
A Miss may chaunt a lullaby, quite prettily,
Without the aid of Signior Squeak, from Italy.
Yet some fond parents, with less brains than cash,
Wishing their “dafters dear” to cut a dash,
Their hard-earn'd gains have worse than thrown away,
Teaching their sweet Jemimas to display
The half-accomplish'd, semi-genteel fool,
In Lady Hawbuck's country boarding school,
Where village maids are taught to write and read ill,
And plain cloth to disfigure with a needle—
To paint a thing, to make “the old ones” stare,
A pig, a puppy, bullock or a bear,
But which of these the artist would pourtray,
No mortal save a conjuror can say.
A little French is learn'd by rote perhaps,
Useful in filling conversation gaps,
And with a quantity of novel reading
Makes up a lady of prodigious breeding!
Who, by herself, at least is look'd upon,
As quite the tip-end of the topmost ton!

91

With such accomplishments, and so much learning,
Our finish'd lady cannot help discerning
Her parents are uncouth and countrified,
Whom educated people can't abide—
Disdains to pay to vulgar folks so rude,
Her debt of duty and of gratitude,
Such obligations she believes design'd
Merely for people of the lowest kind—
Now execrates that pitiable lot,
Which dooms her talents to a country cot,
In fruitless plaints expectorates her spleen,
That so much beauty's “born to blush unseen,”
And if some ensign, or recruiting sergeant,
Admires said beauty, and will take the charge on't,
She finds herself the next imprudent step,
A soldier's trull, or vagrant demi-rep.

NARCISSA.
Oh monstrous! wouldst thou, with a Gothic hand,
Destroy our Ladies' schools throughout the land,
And plough their sites to raise potatoe-crops,
Or turn them into barns, or black-smith's shops?

92

Such work of ruin would, beyond comparison.
Surpass the ravages of Hun or Saracen.

MENTOR.
No Lady, but the world shall be my debtor,
For certain hints to regulate them better.
First let each teacher be well qualified
To be a female's guardian friend and guide,
When at a tender, inexperienc'd age,
She first comes forward on life's slippery stage;
Next let the pupils' studies, occupations,
Be suited to their geniuses and stations—
Be such as cannot fail in life's career,
To make them useful in their proper sphere.
“Honour and shame from no condition rise,
Act well your part there all the honour lies.”
'Tis folly then for one to crack his head
Striving to hammer gold leaf out of lead,
Nor greater wisdom can a teacher boast,
Who thinks to change a dowdy to a toast.
If one could alter Abigails and Nellies,
With three months' schooling into Cinderellas,

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The transformation doubtless, would undo them,
Unless they could find princes proud to woe them,
To set a lass, who should be taught to spin,
A daubing canvas is a glaring sin;
And some embroiderers had much better learn
To twirl the distaff, and to dash the churn,
Than spend their time poor patch-work to produce,
Unfit for either ornament or use.
There is a class of flaring would-be beauties,
Who fain would rise above life's cares and duties,
With little minds and ordinary faces,
Would set themselves up goddesses and graces;
But when gross bodies undertake to soar,
Their flighty efforts serve to sink them lower,
So half-way ladies finish their career
Beneath the level of their proper sphere,
And make themselves affected laughing stocks,
Like Æsop's frog, who strove to ape the ox.
You cannot well teach optics to the blind,
Nor make Minervas where there's little mind,

94

And spite of muslins, gauzes, and brocades,
Beauties, like poets must be born not made.

NARCISSA.
Ladies-Academies are well, perhaps,
As theatres in which to set our caps,
Serve as apologies beyond a doubt,
For what is call'd in London “coming out,”
Misses, who live at a secluded distance,
In solitude might while away existence,
Sans some excuse to shew their airs and faces
In country towns, and other publick places,
Where lovely Lauras may, perhaps be woo'd
By sighing Strephons of the neighborhood.
A nymph, though counterpart to beauty's queen.
Will rarely be admir'd if seldom seen.
We find no swains to roam our wildernesses,
In quest of Dryads and of Shepherdesses,
No Corydons to pipe by purling fountains,
And chace coy Daphnes over verdant mountains.


95

MENTOR.
Our Ladies schools then you would set apart.
And licence each a matrimonial mart,
Where sweetest seraphim, beneath the sun,
By merest mortals may be woo'd and won.
Still rustic Corydon, if not a fool,
Won't choose his Daphne from a boarding school,
For fear his lady, when a farmer's wife,
Should chance too long for what is call'd high life,
Be liable to fits of whims and fancies,
Which might prove mortal to her dear's finances.
Though public schools no doubt in certain cases,
For teaching fine arts, sciences and graces,
Are useful under certain regulations,
For pupils destin'd to the higher stations,
Some grave good authors, it must be confest,
Have thought a private education best;

I shall not multiply authorities in support of the assertion to which this note refers, but produce one, which contains the substance of what has well been observed on the subject. The writer in the following passage is treating of the education of boys, but his observations apply with equal if not superior force to young females.

“A public education may be formed on the very best plan, may be conducted by the best rules, and yet in many points it may fall short of what may be effected by domestic instruction. The one cannot in the nature of things be so elaborate as the other: besides what tutorage can equal that which proceeds from the attentive zeal of an elightened parent? What affection less warm and intense will prescribe and follow such rules of self denial, as are necessary to preserve the pupil from receiving any impression which may be mischievous to his future innocence and peace? When the object is viewed in this light, it would be folly to give up the privilege of forming our offspring according to the brightest model of virtue, which our imagination can conceive. Indeed so forcible and so important appears in my eyes, this last urged reason for the preference of domestic education, that to those opulent idlers, who have neither the capacity, nor the inclination to fulfil in their own persons this most important of parental duties, and who consign their children over to the care of school-masters, I would recommend to them to be very liberal of their treasures to the enlightened persons who are every way qualified for the education of youth, and to insist on their limiting their pupils to a small number; for though the languages may be very well taught in large schools, yet the morals must necessarily be totally neglected.” Graham's Letters on Education.

There are cases, however, in which public schools are to be preferred, such as the want of health, knowledge or leisure in the parents, or the father's being a widower, &c.


Besides the seminaries of the kind,
To what is styl'd the better sort confin'd,
May be the means of leaving channels dry,
Which should our common, village-schools supply.

96

To mould the mental features of the fair
Is best entrusted to a mother's care,
Unless by nature, or by education,
She lacks the requisites for such a station;
Some female friend, in such unhappy case
Should be selected to supply her place,
But let no small degree of care attend,
The choice of such a confidential friend,
On whom a parent's dearest hopes depend.
Should you perceive by indications clear.
Your pupil born to grace a higher sphere,
Be doubly sedulous to train her mind,
To virtue, knowledge, and to taste refin'd.
From Edgworth's tales select each pleasing page.
Adapted to the pupil's sex and age,
And as the intellect becomes mature,
To higher subjects her attention lure,
In the best British classics you may find
Much to enrich the treasury of mind,
Select their jewels and unite to those
Some cis-atlantic works in verse and prose.

97

And cull from Dennie, Humphreys, Barlow, Dwight
And Livingstone, whatever may unite
Lessons of profit, prudence and delight.
The poets furnish much improper trash,
Not Macbeth's witches could have made a hash
More poisonous than the venom, which embues
The works of many a noted British muse,
The “witty, dirty, patriotic Dean,”
The kenneis rak'd for similes unclean.
Much of the mirth of Prior's comic Muse
Seems calculated only for the stews.
Keen are his jests, tales laughable, but then,
Such tainted viands, season'd with cayenne,
Though food in which wild libertines delight
Can only suit a bestial appetite.
The mightiest masters of the British lyre,
Too oft have tamper'd with unhallow'd fire.
E'en Pope and Dryden, High Priests of the Nine.
Have bow'd to Baal, and sacrific'd to swine,
And literary scavengers think fit
To rake the kennels for each scrap of wit,

The author of “The Pursuits of Literature” animadverts with just severity on those commentators on Shakespeare who “are peculiarly and even zealously studious in minutely explaining and declaring all the various modes and receipts which the age of the Virgin Queen afforded, or recommended for the Queen of Love and soft desire.” He likewise declares “it was very bold and very indecent in the Reverend Dr. Warton, to publish Pope's imitation of the Second Satire of the first Book of Horace. Pope never printed it in his works himself; Dr. Warburton refused to admit it; no common edition whatsoever of Pope has admitted it; and it is printed only in a vulgar appendix in two volumes.” He says “Mr. Pope's works are distinguished for peculiar correctness in taste and morals; and are intended for the most general and unqualified perusal. But, speaking of some particular passages which Pope himself had designed should be buried in oblivion, but which Dr. Warton with perverse diligence had collected and caused to be printed, the Author of the Pursuits of Literature observes. “If Mr. Pope had often written thus his works must have been consigned to the library of a brothel. This edition of Pope's works will be sent into all parts of the civilized world, and can it be said that I speak without reason? Surely I am not pleading for public decency in vain.”

Since that period, as appears by English Reviews, the looser productions of Dryden, and other eminent poets, have been drawn from the sink of oblivion, and incorporated with the body of their works, by men who have at once degraded themselves, injured the reputation of the authors whose writings they have collected, and deserved the execration of all who wish well to the morals and happiness of the community.


To which some loose and giddy hour gave birth,

98

To furnish food for Bacchanalian mirth.
Productions vile, whose origin we trace
To want of cash and greater want of grace,
Are thus brought forward with the highest claims—
Beneath the sanction of the noblest names—
Books manufactur'd of the grossest kind,
Which should be letter'd, “poison for the mind”—
And thus the authors' characters we blot
By lines, which, living, they had wish'd forgot,
And sentiments, which dying, conscience smitten,
They would have given worlds they had not written
The lucid language and the dark designs
Of Moore's delusive fascinating lines,
Betray a much more deleterious drift,
Than e'en the coarsest images of Swift,
And, like the tables Monk-Lewis fabricated,
Are more seductive, and more calculated
For leading female innocence astray,
Than grossest ribaldry of Rabelais.
There are editions of the British bards,
Where decency has met its due regards,

99

With not a word or sentiment retain'd
By which the soul of purity is pain'd,
And I could wish that only such as those
Might a young lady's library compose.

An Edition of the works of the principal English Poets, has been published by Arthur Aikin, from which every thing is expunged which can shock the feelings of delicacy, wound the ear of modesty, or that has a tendency to seduce the reader from the path of moral rectitude.


Both sexes should in infancy be taught
To read no book, to entertain no thought,
Which, were they urg'd in publick to proclaim,
The cheek would mantle with the flush of shame,
Let them remember they can never fly
An omnipresent and omniscient eye,
No sudden urge, no secresy imparts
Exemption from the searches of all hearts.
But there exists a prudery of mind,
A delicacy over much refin'd,
A modesty, which every touch can wound
Which shews its owner rather sore than sound,
That fabrick, which the slightest breeze can shock,
Is not a building founded on a rock.
Whene'er a perspicacity absurd,
Spies something wrong in every look and word,

100

Takes great offence, with no offence design'd,
The fault that's found is in the finder's mind.
Geography and history should afford,
Their treasures to your pupil's mental hoard,
Treasures which conversation may produce,
And conduct turn to some some substantial use—
Bid her adore the works of her creator,
As manifest in animated nature,
In rudiments of botany discern
Omniscient power, and all admiring turn,
With astronomic tube, God's works to trace
Through the high heaven's illimitable space,
Those boundless realms where countless planets rolls
And worlds on worlds form one stupendous whole.
Now introduce her to the sacred choir,
Of bards who sweep the consecrated lyre,
And hid her innocent infantile tongue
Repeat the strains of Milton, Watts and Young,
Which mortals teach the language of the skies,
And heav'n unfold to our enraptur'd eyes.

101

Teach her to prize beyond all Ophir's gold
Truths which the bible only can unfold,
Disclose those mysteries of a future state,
Philosophy can ne'er investigate;
In reason's dawn that sacred light display,
That emanation of eternal day,
Which, lacking erst, the best of heathen were
Children of darkness, pupils of despair.
Let the young mind its earliest efforts bend
To gain a heavenly, and Almighty Friend,
Whose smile that beatific beam displays,
Which makes the sunshine of our brightest days,
And smooths the bed of languishment and pain,
A sure support when earthly aid is vain.
Dress not religion in a garb of gloom
The hopes of happiness beyond the tomb,
This life's enjoyment never can decrease,
For true religion's paths are paths of peace.
Epistolary writing should comprise
Part of your pupil's mental exercise,

102

Which teaches thoughts in “proper words” to dress,
Teaches to think as well as to express,
And often opens where we least expect,
What may be styl'd a mine of intellect.
But too much time in composition, may
If prematurely spent, be thrown away;
First let her gain materials fit for thought,
For nought but nothing is produc'd from nought,
The state effusions of an empty head,
Are not worth writing and will scarce be read,
They make, whatever chance to be the theme,
The vapid whimsies of a waking dream,
The lawless offspring of imagination.
Which soils the paper and the reputation,
By meet instruction labour to insure
A style grammatical, and diction pure,
Mark and avoid provincial words and phrases.

It may, perhaps, not be amiss to give a list of some provincial words and phrases, which ought to be avoided by all who aspire to speak or write the English language correctly.

Ant, for am not, arbs for herbs, arm'd for earned, any for any or either, ax'd for asked, bate for beet, a garden vegetable, ban't for are not or be not, beyond for beyond, bile for boil, brassels for bristles, cheer for chair, chimbly for chimney, compel for propel, as the boat is compelled by steam, cutlash for cutlass, cute for acute, come for came, disgest for digest, dicker for deal, driv for drove, drovyer for drover, drownded for drowned, eat for ate in the preterite, sit for sought, furder for further, gal for girl, greggy for intoxicated, gin for gave, hash for harsh, housen for household, hubble a rough projection or knoll, han't for have not, his'n and her'n for his and hers, jest for just, kag for keg, hiver for cover, lasses for molasses, larnt for learned, meaching for mean, million for melon, nother for neither, neeger for negro, nurly for gnarled, obstrepolous for obstreperous, ourn for ours, pesky for troublesome, popular for populous, as a popular village, popple for poplar, quoto for quota, raly for really, refuge for refuse, rid for rode, and rid for riddance, resk for risk, rutes for roots, sallet for sallads, says I, for I said, scrabble for scribble, sich, or sicher for such, sign for design, sile for soil, splosh for splash, smudder for smother, squirm for writhe, or twist, spry for nimble, stunded for stunned, tantrum for tandem, taint for it is not, tenant for tenon, timorsome for timorous, valley for volley, vinge for voyage, yender for yonder.

This catalogue may be greatly enlarged, and if teachers of youth would generally turn their attention to the subject, it would not only induce a uniformity of dialect, but prevent that ridicule, which so frequently attaches to the use of what are sometimes called yankeyisms.


And shun those wildering metaphoric mazes,
Which merely serve the meaning to obscure,
And form a style inflated and impure.
To skill in figures, plain book-keeping join,

103

And lead your pupil to Apollo's shrine,
Not to adore the idle heathen God,
Nor wait subservient on the Muses' nod,
But merely as a holiday resort,
To learn the language of the Delphic court.
A task in rhyming now and then, bestows
A sort of happiness in writing prose,
The poet, led to glance the language through,
Before his proper epithet's in view,
By due degrees insensibly is taught
What forms of speech best decorate a thought.
“Though few there are, who feel indeed the fire
The muse imparts, and can command the lyre,
Can sweep the strings with such a power, so loud,
The storm of music shakes th' astonish'd crowd,”
Most may themselves, amuse—perhaps their friends
By measur'd lines, which gingle at their ends,
Which though not quite to extacy refin'd,
May serve to strengthen and improve the mind.

104

Some other callings only claim a place,
Where liberal nature furnishes the base,
Musicians, painters, look to her for aid,
And like the poet must be “born not made,”
Their arts essay'd with inauspicious stars,
You daub the canvas, the piano jars.
The portrait frowns, in lamentable tones,
The fiddle screams, the violoncello groans,
The voice presents as dissonant a note,
As ever broke from boding screech owl's throat,
Vengeance invoking on the violator
Of the immutable decrees of nature.
In fit amusements let some time be spent,
The bow is weaken'd that is ever bent,
The pupil's health should be the teacher's care,
Light food, due exercise, salubrious air,
Are means by which those blessings are combin'd,
A healthy body and a vigorous mind.
Too oft a powerful intellect is spoil'd,
By rash attempts to make a learned child,

105

Precocious talents, urg'd to their display,
Will “o'er inform this tenement of clay,”
And tend at length to premature decay.
Weakness of body must at length be join'd,
By corresponding feebleness of mind.
Since the most precious hordes of mental wealth,
Furnish no recompense for loss of health,
The robust blockhead's happier, past a doubt,
Than Bayles or Bentleys tortur'd with the gout.

Bayle was an eminent French critic and philosopher of the 17th century, Bentley was an Englishman, his cotemporary, of distinguished abilities and erudition. These are used to represent learned men in general, as warriors are sometimes denominated Alexanders, or Statesmen “Solomons in council,” &c.


Let no example of a looser kind
Impart contagion to a youthful mind.
Children are censors, critical and shrewd,
By whom our conduct is minutely view'd,
They mark each action, treasure every word,
And what is wicked, whimsical, absurd,
Makes an impression which too late you find,
Deeply indented on the youthful mind.
Example is the most effective mode,
By which the pearls of wisdom are bestow'd,

106

And 'twill be vain, with seraph-tongue to teach,
Unless you practice principles you teach.
Hold forth as models worthy imitation,
Illustrious females of each age and nation,
If blest with genius teach her mind to soar,
To vie with Edgworth, Burney, Adams, More,
A poet's fancy, you may bid it glow,
Kindled to rapture at the shrine of Rowe.
But if their talents are denied by fate,
Their virtues surely she may emulate.
Let the associates of her early youth
Be known for virtue, modesty, and truth,
And no pert belles, nor misses over-smart,
Corrupt her morals, and deprave her heart,
Domestics choose, if possible, alone
From those whose characters are fully known;
Whose converse and examples may impart,
Nought which can soil that purity of heart,
Which once destroy'd, adieu to every grace,
Wit, wealth, and science cannot fill its place,

107

And all the Cyprian goddess can confer,
Is but the painting of the sepulchre.
In reason's dawning, teach her to despise
The shuffling wile, and subterfuge of lies,
And let confession commonly attone,
For faults to which her infancy is prone,
Unless you find that malice in th'intent,
Which calls imperiously for punishment.
However high the station of the fair,
However promising her prospects are,
Still let it be your study to impart,
A knowledge of each necessary art,
By which she may, should adverse fortune lower,
Defy gaunt poverty's distressing power,
She should be taught, betimes to overlook,
With skillful eye the dairy maid and cook,
And every duty, care, and occupation,
That is incumbent on a house-wife's station—
What time, and toil, and method it would ask
To properly complete each household task—
Should know, while tracing her domestic round,

108

What servants worthy, and what worthless found,
Industrious, indolent, or indiscreet,
Her censure, merit, or applause should meet.
Still let some faithful monitorial eye,
As far as possible be ever nigh,
To watch your pupil's every sportive hour,
And counteract each subtle tempter's power.
If children may, the moment out of school
Throw off restraints of discipline and rule,
Escap'd their parents, and their teacher's view,
Join with some thoughtless and abandon'd crew.
'Tis to be fear'd your efforts will be vain,
To find an antidote to such a bane,
Nor can the hours, devoted to instruction,
Obliterate the stains of their seduction.
But while the rising generation are
Objects of tender, and judicious care
From such attentions cautiously refrain
As serve to make them volatile and vain,
Full many a garrulous and giddy child

109

Fond flattering fools have sedulously spoil'd,
And turn'd them o'er to vanity's dominion,
Great personages in their own opinion,
Whose talents give a licence to dispense,
With prudence, decency and common sense—
Lead them to count economy a hoax,
A sordid virtue made for vulgar folks,
While they, forsooth, to that high class belong,
Who claim a patent right for doing wrong.
Thus great displays of genius oft portend
A wretched life, and sad untimely end.
Some spend their days in one perpetual pet,
It seems their maxim, “man was made to fret,”
But finding fault with accidents and trifles,
All claims to reverence and affection stifles.
'Tis to be wish'd that Misses might escape
From being press'd and pinion'd into shape,
Like wax-work models moulded so precise,
That every limb seems fasten'd in a vice,
While every feature of their made up faces,

110

Shewe affectation mimicking the graces,
And every look coerc'd by awkward art,
Puts on expressions foreign from the heart.
'Tis hop'd indeed that simple nature may,
In simple matters sometimes have her way,
But then 'tis fear'd this never will take place
With what is call'd your fashionable race;
And parents, will, humanity is such,
Govern too little, or restrain too much.
Fools will be simpletons, when all is said,
And brains be lacking in an empty head,
Your fashion-mongers therefore will go on,
To torture tippies, destin'd for the ton,
Inflict more pain than savages would bribe,
To make them leaders of an Indian tribe.

The Aborigines of America inflict a variety of tortures on those young candidates for martial eminence, who aspire to take the lead in their predatory and murderous excursions. This is done to test the fortitude of the would be warriors, and to ascertain whether they have a sufficient strength of constitution to endure the privations and sufferings which result from the honourable vocation of wielding the tomahawk, and scalping knife. The savages of South America have likewise their people of quality. But as they are all nearly or quite naked, they cannot display their gentility by the shape or colour of their garments. Of course the body itself must be subjected to the operation of fashion. They pierce the nose, slit the ears, mould the head into various shapes, either round, flat, conical or lengthened out, and in short do and suffer as much or more than is performed by, or inflicted upon a pretty Miss who is training for a toast, and is intended for a leader of the ton.



NARCISSA.
In your capacity of Ladies' Friend,
Pray what amusements would you recommend,
And with official dignity declare,
The fittest pastimes for the youthful fair?


111

MENTOR.
In all diversions carefully unite
Pleasure with profit, learning with delight,
And when the mind is suffer'd to unbend,
Still let instruction with amusement blend.
The ingenious teacher, doubtless may devise
Some pleasing labour, useful exercise,
In which th' essential requisites are join'd,
Which brace the body and improve the mind.

Madame de Geniis recommends that children of ten or twelve years of age should be taught house keeping, cooking accounts, washing, ironing, and weighing out medicines, in their play hours, with small doll's furniture and utensils. She thinks this would save much time, and prevent their mixing with servants as those plays would be always carried on in the presence of their mother or governess or under her direction. The girls, she observes, might dress dolls according to the fashion described in their geographical lessons, and prints of the costames of various nations, might be procured for that purpose. Girls should not be excluded from active exercise. “It is a material error,” says an able writer on education, “to make that ill-founded distinction between the sexes, which condemns young females, almost from their cradles, to a sedentary life, by giving them scarcely any other playthings but dolls, and tinsel work, or trinkets, while the sprightly boy amuses himself with his noisy drum and other active diversions. Such premature modesty is dearly purchased at the expense of health and of a cheerful mind. What an infatuation to train up sickly women, debilitated mothers, and consequently a debilitated offspring! “Sedentary diversions,” says Buchan, “are of no use but to consume time. Instead of relieving the mind they often require more thought than either study or business. Every thing which induces young people to sit still, unless it be some necessary employment should be avoided.


Dancing, perhaps, with proper regulations,
May find a place among your recreations,
Though genteel people doubtless may be found,
Who ne'er were taught to tread the mazy round,
A ball-room seems the fittest of all places,
For exhibitions of the loves and graces—
The vestibule which leads to Hymen's fane,
Where blameless beauty's fascinating train,
Those ties may twine, which bind our hearts & hands
In holy wedlock's consecrated bands.
In dancing too, perhaps with Fancy's aid,
I've ever seen much character display'd;

112

Each child of mirth, who trips fantastic rounds,
In due accordance with harmonic sounds,
To me appears to give an exhibition,
By which the temper, views, and disposition,
And cast of mind are more precisely shewn,
Than by the rules, Lavater has made known,
Thus Homer's beauty look'd indeed the queen,
But by her movements was the goddess seen,
Dancing, 'tis said, may lead to dissipation,
The bosom fire with dangerous emulation,
Passions excite, like those which were display'd,
By rival goddesses in Ida's shade—
That such preposterous, profitless parading,
Tends to connexions dangerous, and degrading—
That ladies oft, their graces to display,
Have rigadoon'd their hands and hearts away
To men of minuets, congees, jigs and reels,
Whose mind's head-quarters seem to be their heels:
That witching waltzes, with a wanton whirl,
The prudence prostrate of a giddy girl,
And give to passion such resistless force

113

That honour's but a feather in its course—
That scarce the sword, which guarded Eden's wall,
Such freedoms granted, could prevent her fall:
True every talent, grace, accomplishment,
May be perverted to a base intent,
Wit, wealth and beauty lead to many a mare,
Yet who would not be witty, wealthy, fair?

I shall give the testimony of a few eminent writers in favour of the uses of dancing. Its abuses have been adverted to in the lines immediately preceding those to which this note refers, “I know an eminent physician who used to say, that he made his children dance, instead of giving them physic. It were well if more people followed his example.”—

Buchan.

I consider dancing as conducive to health, and as sometimes a mean of preventing deformity; and even when there is no danger of that, all must see that it is the mean of making young people of both sexes stand, walk and sit, and even look and speak to advantage. It should be remembered that the end of dancing is not so much to make young people shine at a ball, as to give an easy air and grace to all the motions of the body.”—

Nelson.

“Let opulent parents put their children, as soon as they can walk with firmness under the care of the best dancing master they can engage. But let the tutor treat the learning to dance as a pastime not as a task.”—

Berkenhout.

“Dancing is now so universal that it cannot be dispensed with in the education of a gentleman.”—

Chapons. So likewise The Spectator, No. 466.

Though dancing is by some esteem'd a crime,
In every nation, and in every clime,
It has been practis'd since the world began,
And has the sanction of the wisest man.
But vanity oft prematurely calls,
Her titman-votaries to your baby-balls,
Where tiny belles, and Lilliputian beaux,
Like wooden images at puppet shows,
Strut round the hall with counterfeit gentility,
And port sublime as Brobdignag nobility:
Little the pigmies, or their parents think,
While sporting thus on dissipation's brink,
That hot bed flowers of premature display,

114

Are always sickly, always soon decay;
That such untimely junketing, in truth
Will prove a canker in the bud of youth,
And sad experience shew, in riper years,
Seeds sown in revelry are reap'd in tears.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven,” said the wise man; but he said it before the invention of babyballs. This modern device is a sort of triple conspiracy against the innocence, the health, and the happiness of children; thus by factitious amusements to rob them of a relish for the simple joys, the unbought delights, which naturally belong to their blooming seasons, is like blotting out spring from the year. To sacrifice the true and proper enjoyments of sprightly and happy children, is to make them pay a dear and disproportionate price for their artificial pleasures. They step at once from the nursery to the ball-room, and by a preposterous change of habits, are thinking of dressing themselves, at an age when they used to be dressing their dolls.

“To behold liliputian coquettes, projecting dresses, studying colours, assorting ribbands and feathers, their little hearts beating with hopes about partners, and fears about rivals; and to see their fresh cheeks pale, after a midnight supper, their aching heads and unbraced nerves, disqualify the little languid beings for the next day's task, and hear the grave apology “that it is owing to the wine, the crowd, the heated room of the last night's ball,” all this, I say, would be very ridiculous, if the mischief of the thing did not take off from the merriment of it.”

Miss More's Strictures on Female Education.

Cards we allow are not without their uses,
Though liable to infinite abuses,
In gamblers' hands are plagues of worse description
Than those which curs'd the obstinate Egyptian.
The tempting toys, the tiny thieves of time,
Merit queen Margaret's menaces sublime,

Queen Margaret's bans and menaces are pretty liberally strewed through several of Shakspeare's plays. Her anathemas, however, on the “humpback'd tyrant,” in Richard III, commencing

“If heaven have any grievous plague in store,
Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, &c.
are peculiarly terrific, and though uttered by a woman, may be considered as master pieces of execration.


In every pack I see, or seem to see
A mickle magazine of misery—
A poison'd fountain, whence incessant flow
The streams of want, of wickedness and woe
Of all the arts, by pleasure's imps design'd,
T' amuse an indolent and vacant mind,
None vie with cards in ruinous control,
Fatal alike to body and to soul.
At one “fell swoop,” they oft annihilate
Time, talents, reputation, health, estate;

115

Wives, children, friends—all that in life is priz'd,
And life itself to cards are sacrific'd;
Although their votaries suffer pain severe,
Stretch'd on the rack of hope, suspense, and fear,
Round hazard's shrine, how eagerly they press,
To woo misfortune, and to court distress!
Conscious, amid the dreadful risks they run,
They must undo, or they must be undone,
Each wears the visage of a sans culotte,
Holding a dagger to his neighbour's throat!
Each breast becomes the seat of passions dire,
Like those, which doom their victims to the fire,
When savages infernal offerings make,
Of captives writhing round a burning stake.

NARCISSA.
But cards may serve some purpose to amuse,
When not devoted to the gambler's views,
And one must learn to shuffle, cut and deal,
Or be accounted monstrous ungenteel.


116

MENTOR.
But here again as murderers of time,
The culprits stand pre-eminent in crime.
Whoso, by satan's counsel and assistance,
Robs me of time, deprives me of existence,
('Tis plain as proof from holy writ to me,)
And is a murderer in the first degree.
Cards then as truly act the felon's part,
As if they pierc'd their victims through the heart,
And each malicious maculated elf
Has kill'd off more than Buonaparte himself.
Scarce less malignity the imps disclose,
As female beauty's most inveterate foes,
Nature in vain, may lavish gifts and graces,
To finest figures add the fairest faces,
If gambling vigils are allow'd to blight,
And sink the seraph to the fiend and fright.
'Tis said indeed among Columbian fair,
A lady-gambler is extremely rare,
Yet our prescription may perhaps insure

117

Against a malady so hard to cure.
Then lest our dashing belles seould ape the style
Of Fashion's devotees in Britain's isle,
We now proceed to publish our decree,
Binding on all of high or low degree;
Cards from henceforth, in due abhorrence held
From genteel circles are hereby expell'd;
But then their use is graciously allow'd
To rich or poor, who form the vulgar crowd,
Whose want of taste and emptiness of mind,
Forbid them pastimes of a nobler kind—
Thieves, tavern-haunters, bullies, prostitutes,
(To keep such gentry out of worse pursuits)
The juggling showman, and the idle rover,
The swaggering tar that's more than half-seas over,
In taking dissipation's last degrees,
May play at cut-throat, when and where they please:
Decay'd coquettes, old rakes confin'd with gout,
Who can't well bear the load of life without,
Are granted cards, or some such kind of fooling,
To cheat the time with, while their gruel's cooling.


118

NARCISSA.
'Tis hop'd, dread sir, that your reforming rage,
May be induc'd to tolerate the stage,
And that your pupils, having learn'd to darn well,
May sometimes grace the tragedy of Barnwell.
You would not hide the intellectual rays,
Which emanate from some of Shakespeare's plays.
Nor place a rough, exterminating hand
On those of Addison and Cumberland,
And other play-wrights, some of whom I'm sure
In style sublimely, elegant and pure,
Inculcate lessons of a moral kind,
T' instruct, amuse and elevate the mind.
If so, your zeal, so over orthodox,
Might rank you with the worshipful John Knox,
Who thought a picture wickeder by half,
Than Achan's thing accurs'd, or Aaron's calf.

MENTOR.
Of all amusements, in an age like ours,
None boast of stronger fascinating powers,
Or have more influence on the public mind,

119

Than those which hold the mirror to mankind—
Give Panoramic views of human nature,
As drawn by some expert delineator,
But oft the hair-brain'd histrionic muse,
Gives vice those gaudy and alluring hues,
Whose splendor dazzles only to betray,
And lead admiring innocence astray—
Atrocious ends by more atrocious means,
Exhibited in bold voluptuous scenes,
Destroy the moral sense, the soul embrute,
And form full many a mental prostitute,
Where honour's barriers may as yet prevail,
The fair to guard within decorum's pale.
When pimps of passion make it all their aim,
To stimulate desire and stifle shame,
Their pupils fall, for what is there to hinder,
Since any spark can fire a bit of tinder?
Temptation adequate to such a case,
Is never wanting to complete disgrace,
And many a wretch, in wickedness that grovels,
Destruction drew from theatres and novels.
The theatre, however, may be made

120

A school of morals, virtue's fairest aid,
And should that happen we will not refuse
Our acclamations to the scenic muse.

NARCISSA.
Novels, no doubt, to meet your worship's aims,
En masse must be devoted to the flames.

MENTOR.
In spite of all that moralists have said,
Novels have always, always will be read,
And always may, with my assenting voice,
At proper times, and with a proper choice,
Tales, fables, jest-books, anecdotes, romances,
With Milton's Comus, Shakespeare's fairy-fancies,
And apologues, where truth is veil'd in fiction
May be permitted under due restriction;
But these, and other writings of the kind,
Are merely tarts and sweet-meats of the mind,
Requiring caution, lest in time they should
Be substitutes for more substantial food,
And all that is not vicious, vain, or light

121

Should pall upon the mental appetite—
The odd adventures, strange, romantic scenes,
Miraculous ends, by more miraculous means,
Bustle and bluster, incident, intrigue,
Man's noblest attributes, join'd in a league
With all that's vengeful, venomous and vile,
Sketch'd in gaudy, meretricious style,
Of sounding periphrases, sans pretence,
To perspicuity or common sense,
Which modern novels commonly embrace,
Where nought correct or natural has a place,
Have given the reading world a worthless waste,
To taint its morals, and corrupt its taste.
Some novel-writers take especial pride,
In painting human nature's darkest side;
They gloss with colours, delicate, and nice,
The horrid features of the monster, vice,
And give the hag such artificial charms,
As serve to lure th' unwary to her arms—
They place a halo round the devil's head,
And hide the cloven foot which mortals dread.

122

Shed o'er the fiend a counterfeited grace.
Then lead their readers to his dire embrace,
This class of writers with pernicious aim,
Give crime the sanction of some specious name,
The duellist they place in honour's van,
The vile seducer is a gallant man,
A man of honour too, beyond compare,
Save little falsehoods to deceive the fair;
Which, say these writers, few consider blots
On young men's characters, but rather spots,
Somewhat like those, which fashion sometimes places
By way of ornament on pretty faces—
That, petty treacheries, and puny lies,
Your men of gallantry and fashion prize,
As merely things of course, which are
To be employ'd in every love affair;
Scarce worthy reprehension, though they doom
Confiding beauty to an early tomb,
And stigmatize, with undeserv'd disgrace,
The innocent survivors of her race!
Such is the burthen of full many a tale,
Form'd on your modern fashionable scale,

123

Couch'd in a style that either struts or grovels,
Thro' more than nine tenths of our common novels.
Such things, the scandal of the British press,
Our yankey chapmen always buy by guess,
Because forsooth, your London literature
Must be instructive, elegant, and pure—
Because, Americans, we've all agreed in,
Have never written what was worth a reading!
So very villanous such writings are,
That one is almost tempted to declare,
Had certain novels, common nowadays,
Shar'd with their authors in a common blaze,
Ere 'twas presum'd their trash to circulate,
Humanity would scarce lament their fate,
And justice would pronounce their doom design'd
To be an act of mercy to mankind.
But there are novels of another class
Which form exceptions to the general mass,
By whose perusal we at once may see,
Both what man is, and what he ought to be,
Where pleasing means pursue an upright end,
Which may our manners, and our morals mend.

124

Penmen inspir'd have oftentimes seen fit
To give us novels e'en in holy writ;
The apologue of Job appears design'd
To be a novel of the sacred kind,
And in th' Evangelists are novels found,
Which in the shape of parables abound.

Dr. Barrow, in an essay on education, treating of novels, observes, “Many works of this description in our language, may be read with innocence and safety. The novels of Fielding, of Richardson, and of Radcliffe, no man of taste will peruse without pleasure, and no man of reflection without improvement.”

Another celebrated author says, “I would by no means exclude this kind of reading which young people are so fond of, tho' I think the greatest care should be taken in the choice of those fictitious stories, which so enchant the mind, most of which have a tendency to inflame the passions of youth, while the chief purpose of education should be to moderate and restrain them. There are, however, works of this class, in which excellent morality is joined with the most lively pictures of the human mind, and with all that can entertain the imagination and interest the heart. But young people should never read any thing of the sentimental kind, with out taking the judgment of their best friends in the choice; for I am persuaded that the indiscriminate reading of such kinds of books corrupt more female hearts than any other cause whatsoever.”

Chapone's Letters.


NARCISSA.
By shrewd observers, I have heard it said,
Learning should never pose a woman's head,
(Which if 'tis handsome, is not much the worse,
For being empty as a poet's purse,)
Whose wealth and beauty sanction higher aims,
Than those of village-school instructing dames—
Nature, they say, the sterner sex design'd,
Th' exclusive empire over realms of mind,
And ladies by their literary flights,
Invade your province, and usurp your rights,
Knowledge, to us, is fruit which is forbidden,
As absolutely as it was in Eden;
Of course all books are useless to the fair,
Saving the bible and the book of prayer—

125

That many a fair experiment has shewn,
That we had best let literature alone—
That ladies listed in the Muses' train,
Have ever prov'd insufferably vain,
And are in fact but little better than
The silly thing you style a lady's man—
That none should dare fleet Pegasus to ride,
But those who manfully can set astride,
And drive him with the majesty and sleight,
Of Phœbus managing his steeds of light.
Books too, they tell us cause an awkward air,
And give the countenance a cast of care,
Which frightens suitors, most of whom we find,
Dread every symptom of superior mind,
A gallant of the fashionable cut,
Fears to become of ridicule the butt,
If he should wed a literary wise,
More than his match in intellectual strife,
And trembles lest, perchance, her mental store,
By contrast shew his emptiness the more—
That learning proves an injury beside,

126

By giving rise to that pedantic pride,
Which is so oft disgustingly display'd
In pompous phrases quoted for parade,
Words, which although sonorous and sublime,
Yet us'd without regard to place or time,
To men of science and of sense appear,
Like jewels pendant from an Æthiop's ear.
They say a miss had better learn the arts
Of making puddings, pickles, pies and tarts,
Than store her intellects with useless knowledge,
The musty lore and lumber of a college—
In short a female's learning is complete,
When she can guess and spell a cook's receipt.

MENTOR.
The best of gifts, we know may be abus'd,
The light of heaven is frequently misus'd,
And sight the noblest of our senses may,
Through optical illusions lead astray;
Eyes are too useful, ne'ertheless, no doubt,
For sound philosophy to pluck them out,

127

And 'twould be bold impiety to say—
Blot out the sun, exterminate the day,
And every “lesser light” that ever glow'd,
To light the thief or robber on his road.
And that harsh doctrine is as far from right,
Which robs one half our race of mental light,
For fear some partially pernicious thing,
From universal benefit should spring.
Sure then your sex may spend their leisure hours,
In cultivating intellectual flowers,
Which in full of bloom and fragrance will remain,
When youth is fled and beauty in its wane.
A woman may in literature delight,
And not become a slattern or a fright,
Few in this land of liberty are found,
Condemn'd to toil in such unceasing round,
But books may save from suffering more or less,
“The pains and penalties of idleness,”
Learning, tis said, in woman is allied
With arrant airs of pedantry and pride,
But let it be as common as the air,

128

Let all the sex its privileges share,
In other words let all have educations
Adapted to their geniuses and stations,
And sure no individual will be proud,
Of what she holds joint tenant with the crowd.
One might possess of cash as great a store,
As care-worn miser ever counted o'er,
And not be telling it one half his time,
Nor treat his friends forever with its chime;
And past a doubt a well-read lady may
Not keep her learning merely for display,
Nor urg'd by female vanity, disclose
To every body every thing she knows;
Nay, if she's gifted with a grain of sense,
She'll shew no learning where it gives offence,
Her mental store will sedulously hide,
When e'er its exhibition looks like pride—
Will not talk latin to a petit maitre,
Unless she means the simpleton should hate her,
But if the dread of her superior mind
Should frighten suitors of the coxcomb-kind,
That happy circumstance may save the trouble

129

Of being tantaliz'd by many a bubble,
And useful prove, in dealing with the creatures,
As nets of gauze for keeping off musketoes.
Like seeks its likeness, block-heads marry fools,
(For that I take it's one of Hymen's rules.)
Let silly fops their gallantry address
To nymphs, (if possible) who know still less,
For if a flirt should wed a lady's man,
They may be happy as such creatures can,
But sure no pair can happiness expect
Where there's no parity of intellect.
If woman's power of mind should be applied
To useful subjects, and to dignified,
Not thrown away on objects light and vain,
The foolish whims of fashion's giddy train,
The chances for improvement must be greater
In arts which meliorate our common nature.
Give woman knowledge, and the frivolous race
Of fops would meet with merited disgrace,
Give woman science, mole-eyed ignorance then

130

Must consort with the savage in his den,
Pert macaronies find their race is run,
And plants of genius thrive in beauty's sun.

“If women knew more men must learn more— for ignorance would then be shameful—and it would be the fashion to be instructed.”

Edingburgh Review.

Books give a social intercourse with sages,
Who have adorn'd all nations and all ages,
Confer the power without a sail unfurl'd,
To pass with Cook or Anson round the world,
O'er Afric's sands to wend no weary way,
View the wreck'd ship, nor feel the ocean's spray,
Attend the poet's most adventurous flight,
Unwind with Newton filaments of light;
Aided by books we “we mount where science guides
To measure earth, weigh air, and state the tides,
Survey the world, behold the chain of love,
Combining all below with all above,”
And trace the path, by saints and sages trod,
Which leads “through nature up to nature's God.”
Sure that decree can merit no regard,
By which the fairer sex would be debarr'd,
Such blameless luxuries of literature,

131

Pleasures so elegant, delights so pure.
So profitable and scarce less intense,
Than those most exquisite of corporal sense—
Pleasures by which a prelibation's given,
Of unalloy'd felicity in heaven.
But see the Sun his parting lustre sheds,
And night her mantle o'er the landscape spreads;
Let us through verdant labyrinths retrace
The paths which lead to this delightful place,
Lest our companions should believe us strays,
Lost in the windings of the woodland maze.

 

See Mrs More's Essays, and Strictures on Education.

Page 85. 11th London Edition.

Pursuits of Literature, 407–3–9

Cowper.