John Gregory, _A Father's Legacy_ - _Poems_ (1773) by Anna Laetitia Aikin

A

FATHER's LEGACY

TO

HIS DAUGHTERS.

BY THE LATE DR. GREGORY,
OF EDINBURGH.

LONDON:

Printed for W. STRAHAN; T.CADELL, in the
Strand; and W.CREECH, at Edinburgh.

M DCC LXXIV.

P R E F A C E.

THAT the ƒubƒequent Letters were written by a tender father, in a declining state of health, for the inƒtruction of his daughters, and not intended for the Public, is a circumƒtance which will recommend them to every one who conƒiders them in the light of admonition and advice. In ƒuch domeƒtic intercourƒe, no ƒacrifices are made to
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prejudices, to cuƒtoms, to faƒhionable opinions. Paternal love, paternal care, ƒpeak their genuine ƒentiments, undiƒguiƒed and unreƒtrained. A father's zeal for his daughter's improvement, in whatever can make a woman amiable, with a father's quick apprehenƒion of the dangers that too often ariƒe, even from the attainment of that very point, ƒuggeƒt his admonitions, and render him attentive to a thouƒand little graces and little decorums, which would eƒcape

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the niceƒt moraliƒt who ƒhould undertake the ƒubject on unintereƒted ƒpeculation. Every faculty is on the alarm, when the objects of ƒuch tender affection are concerned.

In the writer of theƒe Letters paternal tenderneƒs and vigilance were doubled, as he was at that time ƒole parent, death having before deprived the young ladies of their excellent mother. His own precarious ƒtate of health inƒpired him with the moƒt tender ƒolicitude for their future

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welfare; and though he might have concluded, that the impreƒƒion made by his inƒtruction and uniform example could never be effaced from the memory of his children, yet his anxiety for their orphan condition ƒuggeƒted to him this method of continuing to them thoƒe advantages.

The Editor is encouraged to offer this Treatiƒe to the Public, by the very favourable reception which the reƒt of his father's works have met with. The Comparative View of the State
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of Man and other Animals, and the Eƒƒay on the Office and Duties of a Phyƒician, have been very generally read; and, if he is not deceived by the partiality of his friends, he has reaƒon to believe they have met with general approbation.

In ƒome of thoƒe tracts the Author's object was to improve the taƒte and underƒtanding of his reader ; in others, to mend his heart ; in others, to point out to him the proper uƒe of philoƒophy, by ƒhewing its applica-

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tion to the duties of common life. In all his writings his chief view was the good of his fellow-creatures ; and as thoƒe among his friends, in whoƒe taƒte and judgment he moƒt confided, think the publication of this ƒmall work will contribute to that general deƒign, and at the ƒame time do honour to his memory, the Editor can no longer heƒitate to comply with their advice in communicating it to the Public.

THE
C O N T E N T S.

Introduction, -- --	Page 1
Religion, -- -- --	9
Conduct and Behaviour, --	26
Amuƒements, -- --	47
Friendƒhip, Love, Marriage,	63

MY DEAR GIRLS,

YOU had the misfortune to be deprived of your mother, at a time of life when you were inƒenƒible of your loƒs, and could receive little benefit, either from her inƒtruction,

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or her example.--Before this comes to your hands, you will likewiƒe have loƒt your father.

I have had many melancholy reflections on the forlorn and helpleƒs ƒituation you muƒt be in, if it ƒhould pleaƒe God to remove me from you, before you arrive at that period of life, when you will be able to think and act for yourƒelves. I know mankind too well. I know their falƒehood, their diƒƒipation, their coldneƒs to all the duties of friendƒhip and humanity. I know the little attention paid to helpleƒs infancy.--You will meet with few friends diƒintereƒted

enough to do you good offices, when you are incapable of making them any return, by contributing to their intereƒt or their pleaƒure, or even to the gratification of their vanity.

I have been ƒupported under the gloom naturally ariƒing from theƒe reflections, by a reliance on the goodneƒs of that Providence which has hitherto preƒerved you, and given me the moƒt pleaƒing proƒpect of the goodneƒs of your diƒpoƒitions ; and by the ƒecret hope that your mother's virtues will entail a bleƒƒing on her children.
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The anxiety I have for your happineƒs has made me reƒolve to throw together my ƒentiments relating to your future conduct in life. If I live for ƒome years, you will receive them with much greater advantage, ƒuited to your different geniuƒes and diƒpoƒitions. If I die ƒooner, you muƒt receive them in this very imperfect manner,--the laƒt proof of my affection.

You will all remember your father's fondneƒs, when perhaps every other circumƒtance relating to him is forgotten. This remembrance, I hope, will induce you to give a ƒe-

rious attention to the advices I am now going to leave with you.--I can requeƒt this attention with the greater confidence, as my ƒentiments on the moƒt intereƒting points that regard life and manners, were entirely correƒpondent to your mother's, whoƒe judgment and taƒte I truƒted much more than my own.

You must expect that the advices which I ƒhall give you will be very imperfect, as there are many nameleƒs delicacies, in female manners, of which none but a woman can judge.--You will have one advantage by attending to what I am going to leave
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with you ; you will hear, at leaƒt for once in your lives, the genuine ƒentiments of a man who has no intereƒt in flattering or deceiving you.--I ƒhall throw my reflections together without any ƒtudied order, and ƒhall only, to avoid confuƒion, range them under a few general heads.

You will ƒee, in a little Treatiƒe of mine juƒt publiƒhed, in what an honourable point of view I have conƒidered you ƒex ; not as domeƒtic drudges, or the ƒlaves of our pleaƒures, but as our companions and equals ; as deƒigned to ƒoften our

hearts and poliƒh our manners ; and, as Thomƒon finely ƒays,

To raiƒe the virtues, animate the bliƒs,
And ƒweeten all the toils of human life.

I ƒhall not repeat what I have there ƒaid on this ƒubject, and ƒhall only obƒerve, that from the view I have given of your natural character and place in ƒociety, there ariƒes a certain propriety of conduct peculiar to your ƒex. It is this peculiar propriety of female manners of which I intend to give you my ƒentiments, without touching on thoƒe general rules of conduct by which men and women are equally bound.
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While I explain to you that ƒyƒtem of conduct which I think will tend moƒt to your honour and happineƒs, I ƒhall, at the ƒame time, endeavour to point out thoƒe virtues and accompliƒhments which render you moƒt reƒpectable and moƒt amiable in the eyes of my own ƒex.

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RELIGION.

THOUGH the duties of religion, ƒtrictly speaking, are equally binding on both ƒexes, yet certain differences in their natural character and education, render ƒome vices in your ƒex particularly odious. The natural hardneƒs of our hearts, and ƒtrength of our paƒƒions, inflamed by the uncontrolled licence we are too often indulged with in our youth, are apt to render our manners more diƒƒolute, and make us leƒs ƒuƒceptible of the finer feelings of the

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heart. Your ƒuperior delicacy, your modeƒty, and the uƒual ƒeverity of your education, preƒerve you, in a great meaƒure, from any temptation to thoƒe vices to which we are moƒt ƒubjected. The natural ƒoftneƒs and ƒenƒibility of your diƒpoƒitions particularly fit you for the practice of thoƒe duties where the heart is chiefly concerned. And this, along with the natural warmth of your imaginations, renders you peculiarly ƒuƒceptible of the feelings of devotion.

There are many circumƒtances in your ƒituation that peculiarly require the ƒupports of religion to enable you

to act in them with ƒpirit and propriety. Your whole life is often a life of ƒuffering. You cannot plunge into buƒineƒs, or diƒƒipate yourƒelves in pleaƒure and riot, as men too often do, when under the preƒƒure of miƒfortunes. You muƒt bear your ƒorrows in ƒilence, unknown and unpitied. You muƒt often put on a face of ƒerenity and chearfulneƒs, when your hearts are torn with anguiƒh, or ƒinking in deƒpair. Then your only reƒource is in the conƒolations of religion. It is chiefly owing to theƒe that you bear domeƒtic misfortunes better than we do.

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But you are ƒometimes in very different circumƒtances, that equally require the reƒtraints of religion. The natural vivacity, and perhaps the natural vanity of your ƒex, is very apt to lead you into a diƒƒipated ƒtate of life, that deceives you, under the appearance of innocent pleaƒure ; but which in reality waƒtes your ƒpirits, impairs your health, weakens all the ƒuperior faculties of your minds, and often ƒullies your reputations. Religion, by checking this diƒƒipation, and rage for pleaƒure, enables you to draw more happineƒs, even from thoƒe very ƒources of amuƒement, which, when too frequently applied

to, are often productive of ƒatiety and diƒguƒt.

Religion is rather a matter of ƒentiment than reaƒoning. The important and intereƒting articles of faith are ƒufficiently plain. Fix your attention on theƒe, and do not meddle with controverƒy. If you get into that, you plunge into a chaos, from which you will never be able to extricate yourƒelves. It ƒpoils the temper, and, I ƒuƒpect, has no good effect on the heart.

Avoid all books, and all converƒation, that tend to ƒhake your faith

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on thoƒe great points of religion which ƒhould ƒerve to regulate your conduct, and on which your hopes of future and eternal happineƒs depend.

Never indulge yourƒelves in ridicule on religious ƒubjects ; nor give countenance to it in others, by ƒeeming diverted with what they ƒay. This, to people of good breeding, will be a ƒufficient check.

I wiƒh you to go no farther than the Scriptures for your religious opinions. Embrace thoƒe you find clearly revealed. Never perplex your-

ƒelves about ƒuch as you do not underƒtand, but treat them with ƒilent and becoming reverence.--I would adviƒe you to read only ƒuch religious books as are addreƒƒed to the heart, ƒuch as inƒpire pious and devout affections, ƒuch as are proper to direct you in your conduct, and not ƒuch as tend to entangle you in the endleƒs maze of opinions and systems.

Be punctual in the ƒtated performance of your private devotions, morning and evening. If you have any ƒenƒibility or imagination, this will eƒtabliƒh ƒuch an intercourƒe between you and the Supreme Being, as will

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be of infinite conƒequence to you in life. It will communicate an habitual chearfulneƒs to your tempers, give a firmneƒs and ƒteadineƒs to your virtue, and enable you to go through all the viciƒƒitudes of human life with propriety and dignity.

I wiƒh you to be regular in your attendance on public worƒhip, and in receiving the communion. Allow nothing to interrupt your public or private devotions, except the performance of ƒome active duty in life, to which they ƒhould always give place.--In your behaviour at public worƒhip, obƒerve an exemplary attention and gravity.

That extreme ƒtrictness which I recommend to you in theƒe duties, will be conƒidered by many of your acquaintance as a ƒuperƒtitious attachment to forms ; but in the advices I give you on this and other ƒubjects, I have an eye to the ƒpirit and manners of the age. There is a levity and diƒƒipation in the preƒent manners, a coldneƒs and liƒtleƒƒneƒs in whatever relates to religion, which cannot fail to infect you, unleƒs you purpoƒely cultivate in your minds a contrary bias, and make the devotional taƒte habitual.
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Avoid all grimace and oƒtentation in your religious duties. They are the uƒual cloaks of hypocriƒy ;at leaƒt they ƒhew a weak and vain mind.

Do not make religion a ƒubject of common converƒation in mixed companies. When it is introduced, rather ƒeem to decline it. At the ƒame time, never ƒuffer any perƒon to inƒult you by any fooliƒh ribaldry on your religious opinions, but ƒhew the ƒame reƒentment you would naturally do on being offered any other perƒonal inƒult. But the ƒureƒt way to

avoid this, is by a modeƒt reƒerve on the ƒubject, and by uƒing no freedom with others about their religious ƒentiments.

Cultivate an enlarged charity for all mankind, however they may differ from you in their religious opinions. That difference may probably ariƒe from cauƒes in which you had no ƒhare, and from which you can derive no merit.

Shew your regard to religion, by a diƒtinguiƒhing reƒpect to all its miniƒters, of whatever perƒuaƒion, who do not by their lives diƒhonour their
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profeƒƒion ; but never allow them the direction of your conƒciences, leƒt they taint you with the narrow ƒpirit of their party.

The beƒt effect of your religion will be a diffuƒive humanity to all in diƒtreƒs.--Set apart a certain proportion of your income as ƒacred to charitable purpoƒes. But in this, as well as in the practice of every other duty, carefully avoid oƒtentation. Vanity is always defeating her own purpoƒes. Fame is one of the natural rewards of virtue. Do not purƒue her, and ƒhe will follow you.

Do not confine your charity to giving money. You may have many opportunities of ƒhewing a tender and compaƒƒionate ƒpirit where your money is not wanted.--There is a falƒe and unnatural refinement in ƒenƒibility, which makes ƒome people ƒhun the ƒight of every object in diƒtreƒs. Never indulge this, eƒpecially where your friends or acquaintances are concerned. Let the days of their misfortunes, when the world forgets or avoids them, be the ƒeaƒon for you to exerciƒe your humanity and friendƒhip. The ƒight of human miƒery ƒoftens the heart, and makes it better ; it checks the pride of health and
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proƒperity, and the diƒtreƒs it occaƒions is amply compenƒated by the conƒciouƒneƒs of doing your duty, and by the ƒecret endearment which nature has annexed to all our ƒympathetic ƒorrows.

Women are greatly deceived, when they think they recommend themƒelves to our ƒex by their indifference about religion. Even theƒe men who are themƒelves unbelievers diƒlike infidelity in you. Every man who knows human nature, connects a religious taƒte in your ƒex with ƒoftneƒs and ƒenƒibility of heart ; at leaƒt we always conƒider the want of it as a

proof of that hard and maƒculine ƒpirit, which of all your faults we diƒlike the moƒt. Beƒides, men conƒider your religion as one of their principal ƒecurities for that female virtue in which they are moƒt intereƒted. If a gentleman pretends an attachment to any of you, and endeavours to ƒhake your religious principles, be aƒƒured he is either a fool, or has deƒigns on you which he dares not openly avow.

You will probably wonder at my having educated you in a church different from my own. The reaƒon was plainly this : I looked on the
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differences between our churches to be of no real importance, and that a preference of one to the other was a mere matter of taƒte. Your mother was educated in the church of England, and had an attachment to it, and I had a prejudice in favour of every thing ƒhe liked. It never was her deƒire that you ƒhould be baptized by a clergyman of the church of England, or be educated in that church. On the contrary, the delicacy of her regard to the ƒmalleƒt circumƒtance that could affect me in the eye of the world, made her anxiouƒly inƒiƒt it might be otherwiƒe. But I could not yield to her

in that kind of generoƒity.--When I loƒt her, I became ƒtill more determined to educate you in that church, as I feel a ƒecret pleaƒure in doing every thing that appears to me to expreƒs my affection and veneration for her memory.--I draw but a very faint and imperfect picture of what your mother was, while I endeavour to point out what you ƒhould be*.

* The reader will remember, that ƒuch obƒervations as reƒpect equally both the ƒexes are all along as much as poƒƒible avoided.

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CONDUCT AND BEHAVIOUR.

ONE of the chief beauties in a female character is that modeƒt reƒerve, that retiring delicacy, which avoids the public eye, and is diƒconcerted even at the gaze of admiration.--I do not wiƒh you to be inƒenƒible to applauƒe. If you were, you muƒt become, if not worƒe, at leaƒt leƒs amiable women. But you may be dazzled by that admiration, which yet rejoices your hearts.

When a girl ceaƒes to bluƒh, ƒhe has loƒt the moƒt powerful charm of

beauty. That extreme ƒenƒibility which it indicates, may be a weakneƒs and incumbrance in our ƒex, as I have too often felt ; but in yours it is peculiarly engaging. Pedants, who think themƒelves philoƒophers, aƒk why a woman ƒhould bluƒh when ƒhe is conƒcious of no crime. It is a ƒufficient anƒwer, that Nature has made you to bluƒh when you are guilty of no fault, and has forced us to love you becauƒe you do ƒo.--Bluƒhing is ƒo far from being neceƒƒarily an attendant on guilt, that it is the uƒual companion of innocence.

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This modeƒty, which I think ƒo eƒƒential in your ƒex, will naturally diƒpoƒe you to be rather ƒilent in company, eƒpecially in a large one.--People of ƒenƒe and diƒcernment will never miƒtake ƒuch ƒilence for dulneƒs. One may take a ƒhare in converƒation without uttering a ƒyllable. The expreƒƒion in the countenance ƒhews it, and this never eƒcapes an obƒerving eye.

I ƒhould be glad that you had an eaƒy dignity in your behaviour at public places, but not that confident eaƒe, that unabaƒhed countenance, which ƒeems to ƒet the company at

defiance.--If, while a gentleman is ƒpeaking to you, one of ƒuperior rank addreƒƒes you, do not let your eager attention and viƒible preference betray the flutter of your heart. Let your pride on this occaƒion preƒerve you from that meanneƒs into which your vanity would ƒink you. Conƒider that you expoƒe yourƒelves to the ridicule of the company, and affront one gentleman, only to ƒwell the triumph of another, who perhaps thinks he does you honour in ƒpeaking to you.

Converƒe with men even of the firƒt rank with that dignified modeƒty,

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which may prevent the approach of the moƒt diƒtant familiarity, and conƒequently prevent them from feeling themƒelves your ƒuperiors.

Wit is the moƒt dangerous talent you can poƒƒeƒs. It muƒt be guarded with great diƒcretion and good-nature, otherwiƒe it will create you many enemies. Wit is perfectly conƒiƒtent with ƒoftneƒs and delicacy ; yet they are ƒeldom found united. Wit is ƒo flattering to vanity, that they who poƒƒeƒs it become intoxicated, and loƒe all ƒelf-command.

Humour is a different quality. It will make your company much ƒolicited ; but be cautious how you indulge it.--It is often a great enemy to delicacy, and a ƒtill greater one to dignity of character. It may ƒometimes gain you applauƒe, but will never procure you reƒpect.

Be even cautious in diƒplaying your good ƒenƒe. It will be thought you aƒƒume a ƒuperiority over the reƒt of the company.--But if you happen to have any learning, keep it a profound ƒecret, eƒpecially from the men, who generally look with a jealous and

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malignant eye on a woman of great parts, and a cultivated underƒtanding.

A man of real genius and candour is far ƒuperior to this meanneƒs. But ƒuch a one will ƒeldom fall in your way ; and if by accident he ƒhould, do not be anxious to ƒhew the full extent of your knowledge. If he has any opportunities of ƒeeing you, he will ƒoon diƒcover it himƒelf ; and if you have any advantages of perƒon or manner, and keep your own ƒecret, he will probably give you credit for a great deal more than you poƒƒeƒs.--The great art of pleaƒing

in converƒation conƒiƒts in making the company pleaƒed with themƒelves. You will more readily hear than talk yourƒelves into their good graces.

Beware of detraction, eƒpecially where your own ƒex are concerned. You are generally accuƒed of being particularly addicted to this vice.--I think unjuƒtly.--Men are fully as guilty of it when their intereƒts interfere.--As your intereƒts more frequently claƒh, and as your feelings are quicker than ours, your temptations to it are more frequent. For this reaƒon, be particularly tender of the reputation of your own ƒex, eƒpe-
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cially when they happen to rival you in our regards. We look on this as the ƒtrongeƒt proof of dignity and true greatneƒs of mind.

Shew a compaƒƒionate ƒympathy to unfortunate women, eƒpecially to thoƒe who are rendered ƒo by the villainy of men. Indulge a ƒecret pleaƒure, I may ƒay pride, in being the friends and refuge of the unhappy, but without the vanity of ƒhewing it.

Conƒider every ƒpecies of indelicacy in converƒation, as ƒhameful in itƒelf, and as highly diƒguƒting to us. All double entendre is of this ƒort.--
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The diƒƒoluteneƒs of men's education allows them to be diverted with a kind of wit, which yet they have delicacy enough to be ƒhocked at, when it comes from your mouths, or even when you hear it without pain and contempt.--Virgin purity is of that delicate nature, that it cannot hear certain things without contamination. It is always in your power to avoid theƒe. No man, but a brute or a fool, will inƒult a woman with converƒation which he ƒees gives her pain ; nor will he dare to do it, if ƒhe reƒent the injury with a becoming ƒpirit.--There is a dignity in conƒcious virtue which is able to awe the
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moƒt ƒhameleƒs and abandoned of men.

You will be reproached perhaps with prudery. By prudery is uƒually meant an affectation of delicacy. Now I do not wiƒh you to affect delicacy ; I wiƒh you to poƒƒeƒs it. At any rate, it is better to run the riƒk of being thought ridiculous than diƒguƒting.

The men will complain of your reƒerve. They will aƒƒure you that a franker behaviour would make you more amiable. But truƒt me, they are not ƒincere when they tell you ƒo.

--I acknowledge, that on ƒome occaƒions it might render you more agreeable as companions, but it would make you leƒs amiable as women : An important diƒtinction, which many of your ƒex are not aware of.--After all, I wiƒh you to have great eaƒe and openneƒs in your converƒation. I only point out ƒome conƒiderations which ought to regulate your behaviour in that reƒpect.

Have a ƒacred regard to truth. Lying is a mean and deƒpicable vice.--I have known ƒome women of excellent parts, who were ƒo much addicted to it, that they could not be
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truƒted in the relation of any ƒtory, eƒpecially if it contained any thing of the marvellous, or if they themƒelves were the heroines of the tale. This weakneƒs did not proceed from a bad heart, but was merely the effect of vanity, or an unbridled imagination.--I do not mean to cenƒure that lively embelliƒhment of a humorous ƒtory, which is only intended to promote innocent mirth.

There is a certain gentleneƒs of ƒpirit and manners extremely engaging in your ƒex ; not that indiƒcriminate attention, that unmeaning ƒimper, which ƒmiles on all alike.

This ariƒes, either from an affectation of ƒoftneƒs, or from perfect inƒipidity.

There is a ƒpecies of refinement in luxury, juƒt beginning to prevail among the gentlemen of this country, to which our ladies are yet as great ƒtrangers as any women upon earth ; I hope, for the honour of the ƒex, they may ever continue ƒo : I mean, the luxury of eating. It is a deƒpicable ƒelfiƒh vice in men, but in your ƒex it is beyond expreƒƒion indelicate and diƒguƒting.
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Every one who remembers a few years back, is ƒenƒible of a very ƒtriking change in the attention and reƒpect formerly paid by the gentlemen to the ladies. Their drawing-rooms are deƒerted ; and after dinner and ƒupper, the gentlemen are impatient till they retire. How they came to loƒe this reƒpect, which nature and politeneƒs ƒo well intitle them to, I ƒhall not here particularly inquire. The revolutions of manners in any country depend on cauƒes very various and complicated. I ƒhall only obƒerve, that the behaviour of the ladies in the laƒt age was very re-

ƒerved and ƒtately. It would now be reckoned ridiculouƒly ƒtiff and formal. Whatever it was, it had certainly the effect of making them more reƒpected.

A fine woman, like other fine things in nature, has her proper point of view, from which ƒhe may be ƒeen to moƒt advantage. To fix this point requires great judgment, and an intimate knowledge of the human heart. By the preƒent mode of female manners, the ladies ƒeem to expect that they ƒhall regain their aƒcendancy over us, by the fulleƒt diƒplay of their perƒonal charms, by

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being always in our eye at public places, by converƒing with us with the ƒame unreƒerved freedom as we do with one another ; in ƒhort, by reƒembling us as nearly as they poƒƒibly can.--But a little time and experience will ƒhew the folly of this expectation and conduct.

The power of a fine woman over the hearts of men, of men of the fineƒt parts, is even beyond what ƒhe conceives. They are ƒenƒible of the pleaƒing illuƒion, but they cannot, nor do they wiƒh to diƒƒolve it. But if ƒhe is determined to diƒpel the charm, it certainly is in her power : ƒhe may

ƒoon reduce the angel to a very ordinary girl.

There is a native dignity in ingenuous modeƒty to be expected in your ƒex, which is your natural protection from the familiarities of the men, and which you ƒhould feel previous to the reflection that it is your intereƒt to keep yourƒelves ƒacred from all perƒonal freedoms. The many nameleƒs charms and endearments of beauty ƒhould be reƒerved to bleƒs the arms of the happy man to whom you give your heart, but who, if he has the leaƒt delicacy, will deƒpiƒe them, if he knows that they have been proƒti-

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tuted to fifty men before him.--The ƒentiment, that a woman may allow all innocent freedoms, provided her virtue is ƒecure, is both groƒsly indelicate and dangerous, and has proved fatal to many of your ƒex.

Let me now recommend to your attention that elegance, which is not ƒo much a quality itƒelf, as the high poliƒh of every other. It is what diffuƒes an ineffable grace over every look, every motion, every ƒentence you utter. It gives that charm to beauty without which it generally fails to pleaƒe. It is partly a perƒonal quality, in which reƒpect it is

the gift of nature ; but I ƒpeak of it principally as a quality of the mind. In a word, it is the perfection of taƒte in life and manners ;--every virtue and every excellence, in their moƒt graceful and amiable forms.

You may perhaps think that I want to throw every ƒpark of nature out of your compoƒition, and to make you entirely artificial. Far from it. I wiƒh you to poƒƒeƒs the moƒt perfect ƒimplicity of heart and manners. I think you may poƒƒeƒs dignity without pride, affability without meanneƒs, and ƒimple elegance

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without affectation. Milton had my idea, when he ƒays of Eve,

Grace was in all her ƒteps, Heaven in her eye,
In every geƒture dignity and love.

[ 47 ]

AMUSEMENTS.

EVERY period of life has amuƒements which are natural and proper to it. You may indulge the variety of your taƒtes in theƒe, while you keep within the bounds of that propriety which is ƒuitable to your ƒex.

Some amuƒements are conducive to health, as various kinds of exerciƒe : ƒome are connected with qualities really uƒeful, as different kinds of women's work, and all the do-

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meƒtic concerns of a family : ƒome are elegant accompliƒhments, as dreƒs, dancing, muƒic, and drawing. Such books as improve your underƒtanding, enlarge your knowledge, and cultivate your taƒte, may be conƒidered in a higher point of view than mere amuƒements. There are a variety of others, which are neither uƒeful nor ornamental, ƒuch as play of different kinds.

I would particularly recommend to you thoƒe exerciƒes that oblige you to be much abroad in the open air, ƒuch as walking, and riding on horƒeback. This will give vigour to your

conƒtitutions, and a bloom to your complexions. If you accuƒtom yourƒelves to go abroad always in chairs and carriages, you will ƒoon become ƒo enervated, as to be unable to go out of doors without them. They are like moƒt articles of luxury, uƒeful and agreeable when judiciouƒly uƒed ; but when made habitual, they become both inƒipid and pernicious.

An attention to your health is a duty you owe to yourƒelves and to your friends. Bad health ƒeldom fails to have an influence on the ƒpirits and temper. The fineƒt geniuƒes, the E

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moƒt delicate minds, have very frequently a correƒpondent delicacy of bodily conƒtitution, which they are too apt to neglect. Their luxury lies in reading and late hours, equal enemies to health and beauty.

But though good health be one of the greateƒt bleƒƒings of life, never make a boaƒt of it, but enjoy it in grateful ƒilence. We ƒo naturally aƒƒociate the idea of female ƒoftneƒs and delicacy with a correƒpondent delicacy of conƒtitution, that when a woman ƒpeaks of her great ƒtrength, her extraordinary appetite, her abi-

litiy to bear exceƒƒive fatigue, we recoil at the deƒcription in a way ƒhe is little aware of.

The intention of your being taught needle-work, knitting, and ƒuch like, is not on account of the intrinƒic value of all you can do with your hands, which is trifling, but to enable you to judge more perfectly of that kind of work, and to direct the execution of it in others. Another principal end is to enable you to fill up, in a tolerably agreeable way, ƒome of the many ƒolitary hours you muƒt neceƒƒarily paƒs at home.--It is a great article in the happineƒs of life, to
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have your pleaƒures as independent of others as poƒƒible. By continually gadding abroad in ƒearch of amuƒement, you loƒe the reƒpect of all your acquaintances, whom you oppreƒs with thoƒe viƒits, which, by a more diƒcreet management, might have been courted.

The domeƒtic oeconomy of a family is entirely a woman's province, and furniƒhes a variety of ƒubjects for the exertion both of good ƒenƒe and good taƒte. If you ever come to have the charge of a family, it ought to engage much of your time and attention ; nor can you be excuƒed from

this by any extent of fortune, tho' with a narrow one the ruin that follows the neglect of it may be more immediate.

I am at the greateƒt loƒs what to adviƒe you in regard to books. There is no impropriety in your reading hiƒtory, or cultivating any art or ƒcience to which genius or accident leads you. The whole volume of Nature lies open to your eye, and furniƒhes an infinite variety of entertainment. If I was ƒure that Nature had given you ƒuch ƒtrong principles of taƒte and ƒentiment as would remain with you, and influence your future conduct,
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with the utmoƒt pleaƒure would I endeavour to direct your reading in ƒuch a way as might form that taƒte to the utmoƒt perfection of truth and elegance. "But when I reflect how eaƒy it is to warm a girl's imagination, and how difficult deeply and permanently to affect her heart ; how readily ƒhe enters into every refinement of ƒentiment, and how eaƒily ƒhe can ƒacrifice them to vanity or convenience ;" I think I may very probably do you an injury by artificially creating a taƒte, which, if Nature never gave it you, would only ƒerve to embarraƒs your future conduct.--I do not want to make you

any thing : I want to know what Nature has made you, and to perfect you on her plan. I do not wiƒh you to have ƒentiments that might perplex you : I wiƒh you to have ƒentiments that may uniformly and ƒteadily guide you, and ƒuch as your hearts ƒo thoroughly approve, that you would not forego them for any conƒideration this world could offer.

Dreƒs is an important article in female life. The love of dreƒs is natural to you, and therefore it is proper and reaƒonable. Good ƒenƒe will regulate your expence in it, and good taƒte will direct you to dreƒs in ƒuch a
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way as to conceal any blemiƒhes, and ƒet off your beauties, if you have any, to the greateƒt advantage. But much delicacy and judgment are required in the application of this rule. A fine woman ƒhews her charms to moƒt advantage, when ƒhe ƒeems moƒt to conceal them. The fineƒt boƒom in nature is not ƒo fine as what imagination forms. The moƒt perfect elegance of dreƒs appears always the moƒt eaƒy, and the leaƒt ƒtudied.

Do not confine your attention to dreƒs to your public appearances. Accuƒtom yourƒelves to an habitual neatneƒs, ƒo that in the moƒt careleƒs

undreƒs, in your moƒt unguarded hours, you may have no reaƒon to be aƒhamed of your appearance.--You will not eaƒily believe how much we conƒider your dreƒs as expreƒƒive of your characters. Vanity, levity, ƒlovenlineƒs, folly, appear through it. An elegant ƒimplicity is an equal proof of taƒte and delicacy.

In dancing, the principal points you are to attend to are eaƒe and grace. I would have you to dance with ƒpirit ; but never allow yourƒelves to be ƒo far tranƒported with mirth, as to forget the delicacy of your ƒex.--Many a girl dancing in the gaiety and

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innocence of her heart, is thought to diƒcover a ƒpirit ƒhe little dreams of.

I know no entertainment that gives ƒuch pleaƒure to any perƒon of ƒentiment or humour, as the theatre.--But I am ƒorry to ƒay, there are few Engliƒh comedies a lady can ƒee, without a ƒhock to delicacy. You will not readily ƒuƒpect the comments on ƒuch occaƒions. Men are often beƒt acquainted with the moƒt worthleƒs of your ƒex, and from them too readily form their judgment of the reƒt. A virtuous girl often hears very indelicate things with a counte-

nance no wiƒe embarraƒƒed, becauƒe in truth ƒhe does not underƒtand them. Yet this is, moƒt ungenerouƒly, aƒcribed to that command of features, and that ready preƒence of mind, which you are thought to poƒƒeƒs in a degree far beyond us ; or, by ƒtill more malignant obƒervers, it is aƒcribed to hardened effrontery.

Sometimes a girl laughs with all the ƒimplicity of unƒuƒpecting innocence, for no other reaƒon but being infected with other people's laughing : ƒhe is then believed to know more than ƒhe ƒhould do--If ƒhe does happen to underƒtand an improper

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thing, ƒhe ƒuffers a very complicated diƒtreƒs : ƒhe feels her modeƒty hurt in the moƒt ƒenƒible manner, and at the ƒame time is aƒhamed of appearing conƒcious of the injury. The only way to avoid theƒe inconveniencies, is never to go to a play that is particularly offenƒive to delicacy.--Tragedy ƒubjects you to no ƒuch diƒtreƒs.--Its ƒorrows will ƒoften and ennoble your hearts.

I need ƒay little about gaming, the ladies in this country being as yet almoƒt ƒtrangers to it.--It is a ruinous and incurable vice ; and as it leads to all the ƒelfiƒh and turbulent paƒ-

ƒions, is peculiarly odious in your ƒex. I have no objection to your playing a little at any kind of game, as a variety in your amuƒements, provided that what you can poƒƒibly loƒe is ƒuch a trifle as can neither intereƒt you, nor hurt you.

In this, as well as in all important points of conduct, ƒhew a determined reƒolution and ƒteadineƒs. This is not in the leaƒt inconƒiƒtent with that ƒoftneƒs and gentleneƒs ƒo amiable in your ƒex. On the contrary, it gives that ƒpirit to a mild and ƒweet diƒpoƒition, without which it is apt to degenerate

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into inƒipidity. It makes you reƒpectable in your own eyes, and dignifies you in ours.

[ 63 ]

FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, MARRIAGE.

THE luxury and diƒƒipation that prevails in genteel life, as it corrupts the heart in many reƒpects, ƒo it renders it incapable of warm, ƒincere, and ƒteady friendƒhip. A happy choice of friends will be of the utmoƒt conƒequence to you, as they may aƒƒiƒt you by their advice and good offices. But the immediate gratification which friendƒhip affords to a warm, open, and ingenuous heart, is of itƒelf a ƒufficient motive to court it.

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In the choice of your friends, have your principal regard to goodneƒs of heart and fidelity. If they alƒo poƒƒeƒs taƒte and genius, that will ƒtill make them more agreeable and uƒeful companions. You have particular reaƒon to place confidence in thoƒe who have ƒhewn affection for you in your early days, when you were incapable of making them any return. This is an obligation for which you cannot be too grateful.--When you read this, you will naturally think of your mother's friend, to whom you owe ƒo much.

If you have the good fortune to meet with any who deƒerve the name of friends, unboƒom yourƒelf to them with the moƒt unƒuƒpicious confidence. It is one of the world's maxims, never to truƒt any perƒon with a ƒecret, the diƒcovery of which could give you any pain ; but it is the maxim of a little mind and a cold heart, unleƒs where it is the effect of frequent diƒappointments and bad uƒage. An open temper, if reƒtrained but by tolerable prudence, will make you, on the whole, much happier than a reƒerved ƒuƒpicious one, although you may ƒometimes ƒuffer by it. Coldneƒs and diƒtruƒt are but the too cer-
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tain conƒequences of age and experience ; but they are unpleaƒant feelings, and need not be anticipated before their time.

But however open you may be in talking of your own affairs, never diƒcloƒe the ƒecrets of one friend to another. Theƒe are ƒacred depoƒits, which do not belong to you, nor have you any right to make uƒe of them.

There is another caƒe, in which I ƒuƒpect it is proper to be ƒecret, not ƒo much from motives of prudence, as delicacy ; I mean in love matters.

Though a woman has no reaƒon to be aƒhamed of an attachment to a man of merit, yet nature, whoƒe authority is ƒuperior to philoƒophy, has annexed a ƒenƒe of ƒhame to it. It is even long before a woman of delicacy dares avow to her own heart that ƒhe loves ; and when all the ƒubterfuges of ingenuity to conceal it from herƒelf fail, ƒhe feels a violence done both to her pride and to her modeƒty. This, I ƒhould imagine, muƒt always be the caƒe where ƒhe is not ƒure of a return to her attachment.

In ƒuch a ƒituation, to lay the heart open to any perƒon whatever, does
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not appear to me conƒiƒtent with the perfection of female delicacy. But perhaps I am in the wrong.--At the ƒame time I muƒt tell you, that, in point of prudence, it concerns you to attend well to the conƒequences of ƒuch a diƒcovery. Theƒe ƒecrets, however important in your own eƒtimation, may appear very trifling to your friend, who poƒƒibly will not enter into your feelings, but may rather conƒider them as a ƒubject of pleaƒantry. For this reaƒon, love-ƒecrets are of all others the worƒt kept. But the conƒequences to you may be very ƒerious, as no man of ƒpirit and delicacy ever valued a heart

much hackneyed in the ways of love.

If, therefore, you muƒt have a friend to pour out your heart to, be ƒure of her honour and ƒecrecy. Let her not be a married woman, eƒpecially if ƒhe lives happily with her huƒband. There are certain unguarded moments, in which ƒuch a woman, though the beƒt and worthieƒt of her ƒex, may let hints eƒcape, which at other times, or to any other perƒon than her huƒband, ƒhe would be incapable of ; nor will a huƒband in this caƒe feel himƒelf under the ƒame obligation of ƒecrecy and ho-
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nour, as if you had put your confidence originally in himƒelf, eƒpecially on a ƒubject which the world is apt to treat ƒo lightly.

If all other circumƒtances are equal, there are obvious advantages in your making friends of one another. The ties of blood, and your being ƒo much united in one common intereƒt, form an additional bond of union to your friendƒhip. If your brothers ƒhould have the good fortune to have hearts ƒuƒceptible of friendship, to poƒƒeƒs truth, honour, ƒenƒe, and delicacy of ƒentiment, they are the fitteƒt and moƒt unexceptionable confidants. By pla-

cing confidence in them, you will receive every advantage which you could hope for from the friendƒhip of men, without any of the inconveniencies that attend ƒuch connexions with our ƒex.

Beware of making confidants of your ƒervants. Dignity not properly underƒtood very readily degenerates into pride, which enters into no friendƒhips, becauƒe it cannot bear an equal, and is ƒo fond of flattery as to graƒp at it even from ƒervants and dependants. The moƒt intimate confidants, therefore, of proud people are valets-de-chambre and waiting-women. Shew the utmoƒt humanity to
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your ƒervants ; make their ƒituation as comfortable to them as poƒƒible : but if you make them your confidants, you ƒpoil them,and debaƒe yourƒelves.

Never allow any perƒon, under the pretended ƒanction of friendƒhip, to be ƒo familiar as to loƒe a proper reƒpect for you. Never allow them to teaze you on any ƒubject that is diƒagreeable, or where you have once taken your reƒolution. Many will tell you, that this reƒerve is inconƒiƒtent with the freedom which friendƒhip allows. But a certain reƒpect is as neceƒƒary in friendƒhip as in love.

Without it, you may be liked as a child, but you will never be beloved as an equal.

The temper and diƒpoƒitions of the heart in your ƒex make you enter more readily and warmly into friendƒhips than men. Your natural propenƒity to it is ƒo ƒtrong, that you often run into intimacies which you ƒoon have ƒufficient cauƒe to repent of ; and this makes your friendƒhips ƒo very fluctuating.

Another great obƒtacle to the ƒincerity as well as ƒteadineƒs of your friendƒhips, is the great claƒhing of

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your intereƒts in the purƒuits of love, ambition, or vanity. For theƒe reaƒons, it would appear at firƒt view more eligible for you to contract your friendƒhips with the men. Among other obvious advantages of an eaƒy intercourƒe between the two ƒexes, it occaƒions an emulation and exertion in each to excel and be agreeable : hence their reƒpective excellencies are mutually communicated and blended. As their intereƒts in no degree interfere, there can be no foundation for jealouƒy or ƒuƒpicion of rivalƒhip. The friendƒhip of a man for a woman is always blended with a tenderneƒs, which he never

feels for one of his own ƒex, even where love is in no degree concerned. Beƒides, we are conƒcious of a natural title you have to our protection and good offices, and therefore we feel an additional obligation of honour to ƒerve you, and to obƒerve an inviolable ƒecrecy, whenever you confide in us.

But apply theƒe obƒervations with great caution. Thouƒands of women of the beƒt hearts and fineƒt parts have been ruined by men who approached them under the ƒpecious name of friendƒhip. But ƒuppoƒing

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a man to have the moƒt undoubted honour, yet his friendƒhip to a woman is ƒo near a-kin to love, that if ƒhe be very agreeable in her perƒon, ƒhe will probably very ƒoon find a lover, where ƒhe only wiƒhed to meet a friend.--Let me here, however, warn you againƒt that weakneƒs ƒo common among vain women, the imagination that every man who takes particular notice of you is a lover. Nothing can expoƒe you more to ridicule, than the taking up a man on the ƒuƒpicion of being your lover, who perhaps never once thought of you in that view, and

giving yourƒelves thoƒe airs ƒo common among ƒilly women on ƒuch occaƒions.

There is a kind of unmeaning gallantry much practiƒed by ƒome men, which, if you have any diƒcernment, you will find really very harmleƒs. Men of this ƒort will attend you to public places, and be uƒeful to you by a number of little obƒervances, which thoƒe of a ƒuperior claƒs do not ƒo well underƒtand, or have not leiƒure to regard, or perhaps are too proud to ƒubmit to. Look on the compliments of ƒuch men as words of courƒe, which they repeat to every

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agreeable woman of their acquaintance. There is a familiarity they are apt to aƒƒume, which a proper dignity in your behaviour will be eaƒily able to check.

There is a different ƒpecies of men whom you may like as agreeable companions, men of worth, taƒte, and genius, whoƒe converƒation, in ƒome reƒpects, may be ƒuperior to what you generally meet with among your own ƒex. It will be fooliƒh in you to deprive yourƒelves of an uƒeful and agreeable acquaintance, merely becauƒe idle people ƒay he is your lover. Such a man may like your

company, without having any deƒign on your perƒon.

People whoƒe ƒentiments, and particularly whoƒe taƒtes, correƒpond, naturally like to aƒƒociate together, although neither of them have the moƒt diƒtant view of any further connection. But as this ƒimilarity of minds often gives riƒe to a more tender attachment than friendƒhip, it will be prudent to keep a watchful eye over yourƒelves, leƒt your hearts become too far engaged before you are aware of it. At the ƒame time, I do not think that your ƒex, at leaƒt in this part of the world, have much of that
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ƒenƒibility which diƒpoƒes to ƒuch attachments. What is commonly called love among you is rather gratitude, and a partiality to the man who prefers you to the reƒt of your ƒex ; and ƒuch a man you often marry, with little of either perƒonal eƒteem or affection. Indeed, without an unuƒual ƒhare of natural ƒenƒibility, and very peculiar good fortune, a woman in this country has very little probability of marrying for love.

It is a maxim laid down among you, and a very prudent one it is, That love is not to begin on your part, but is entirely to be the conƒe-

quence of our attachment to you. Now, ƒuppoƒing a woman to have ƒenƒe and taƒte, ƒhe will not find many men to whom ƒhe can poƒƒibly be ƒuppoƒed to bear any conƒiderable ƒhare of eƒteem. Among theƒe few, it is a very great chance if any of them diƒtinguiƒhes her particularly. Love, at leaƒt with us, is exceedingly capricious, and will not always fix where reaƒon ƒays it ƒhould. But ƒuppoƒing one of them ƒhould become particularly attached to her, it is ƒtill extremely improbable that he ƒhould be the man in the world her heart moƒt approved of.
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As, therefore, Nature has not given you that unlimited range in your choice which we enjoy, ƒhe has wiƒely and benevolently aƒƒigned to you a greater flexibility of taƒte on this ƒubject. Some agreeable qualities recommend a gentleman to your common good liking and friendƒhip. In the courƒe of his acquaintance, he contracts an attachment to you. When you perceive it, it excites your gratitude ; this gratitude riƒes into a preference, and this preference perhaps at laƒt advances to ƒome degree of attachment, eƒpecially if it meets with croƒƒes and difficulties ; for theƒe, and a ƒtate of ƒuƒpenƒe, are

very great incitements to attachment, and are the food of love in both ƒexes. If attachment was not excited in your ƒex in this manner, there is not one of a million of you that could ever marry with any degree of love.

A man of taƒte and delicacy marries a woman becauƒe he loves her more than any other. A woman of equal taƒte and delicacy marries him becauƒe ƒhe eƒteems him, and becauƒe he gives her that preference. But if a man unfortunately becomes attached to a woman whoƒe heart is ƒecretly pre-engaged, his attachment, inƒtead of obtaining a ƒuitable return, is par-
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ticularly offenƒive ; and if he perƒiƒts to teaze her, he makes himƒelf equally the object of her ƒcorn and averƒion.

The effects of love among men are diverƒified by their different tempers. An artful man may counterfeit every one of them ƒo as eaƒily to impoƒe on a young girl of an open, generous, and feeling heart, if ƒhe is not extremely on her guard. The fineƒt parts in ƒuch a girl may not always prove ƒufficient for her ƒecurity. The dark and crooked paths of cunning are unƒearchable, and inconceivable to an honourable and elevated mind.
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The following, I apprehend, are the moƒt genuine effects of an honourable paƒƒion among the men, and the moƒt difficult to counterfeit. A man of delicacy often betrays his paƒƒion by his too great anxiety to conceal it, eƒpecially if he has little hopes of ƒucceƒs. True love, in all its ƒtages, ƒeeks concealment, and never expects ƒucceƒs. True love, in all its ƒtages, ƒeeks concealment, and never expects ƒucceƒs. It renders a man not only reƒpectful, but timid to the higheƒt degree in his behaviour to the woman he loves. To conceal the awe he ƒtands in of her, he may ƒometimes affect pleaƒantry, but it ƒits aukwardly on him, and he quickly relapƒes into ƒeriouƒneƒs, if not into dul-
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neƒs. He magnifies all her real perfections in his imagination, and is either blind to her failings, or converts them into beauties. Like a perƒon conƒcious of guilt, he is jealous that every eye obƒerves him ; and to avoid this, he ƒhuns all the little obƒervances of common gallantry.

His heart and his character will be improved in every reƒpect by his attachment. His manners will become more gentle, and his converƒation more agreeable ; but diffidence and embarraƒƒment will always make him appear to diƒadvantage in the com-

pany of his miƒtreƒs. If the faƒcination continue long, it will totally depreƒs his ƒpirit, and extinguiƒh every active, vigorous, and manly principle of his mind. You will find this ƒubject beautifully and pathetically painted in Thomƒon's Spring.

When you obƒerve in a gentleman's behaviour theƒe marks which I have deƒcribed above, reflect ƒeriouƒly what you are to do. If his attachment is agreeable to you, I leave you to do as nature, good ƒenƒe, and delicacy, ƒhall direct you. If you love him, let me adviƒe you never to diƒcover too him the full extent
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of your love, no not although you marry him. That ƒufficiently ƒhews your preference, which is all he is intitled to know. If he has delicacy, he will aƒk for no ƒtronger proof of your affection, for your ƒake ; if he has ƒenƒe, he will not aƒk it for his own. This is an unpleaƒant truth, but it is my duty to let you know it. Violent love cannot ƒubƒiƒt, at leaƒt cannot be expreƒƒed, for any time together, on both ƒides ; otherwiƒe the certain conƒequence, however concealed, is ƒatiety and diƒguƒt. Nature in this caƒe has laid the reƒerve on you.

If you ƒee evident proofs of a gentleman's attachment, and are determined to ƒhut your heart againƒt him, as you ever hope to be uƒed with generoƒity by the perƒon who ƒhall engage your own heart, treat him honourably and humanely. Do not let him linger in a miƒerable ƒuƒpenƒe, but be anxious to let him know your ƒentiments with regard to him.

However people's hearts may deceive them, there is ƒcarcely a perƒon that can love for any time without at leaƒt ƒome diƒtant hope of ƒucceƒs. If you really wiƒh to undeceive a lover, you may do it in a variety of

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ways. There is a certain ƒpecies of eaƒy familiarity in your behaviour, which may ƒatisfy him, if he has any diƒcernment left, that he has nothing to hope for. But perhaps your particular temper may not admit of this.--You may eaƒily ƒhew that you want to avoid his company ; but if he is a man whoƒe friendƒhip you wiƒh to preƒerve, you may not chuƒe this method, becauƒe then you loƒe him in every capacity.--You may get a common friend to explain matters to him, or fall on many other devices, if you are ƒeriouƒly anxious to put him out of ƒuƒpenƒe.

But if you are reƒolved againƒt every ƒuch method, at leaƒt do not ƒhun opportunities of letting him explain himƒelf. If you do this, you act barbarouƒly and unjuƒtly. If he brings you to an explanation, give him a polite, but reƒolute and deciƒive anƒwer. In whatever way you convey your ƒentiments to him, if he is a man of ƒpirit and delicacy, he will give you no further trouble, nor apply to your friends for their interceƒƒion. This laƒt is a method of courtƒhip which every man of ƒpirit will diƒdain.--He will never whine nor ƒue for your pity. That would mortify him almoƒt as much as your

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ƒcorn. In ƒhort, you may poƒƒibly break ƒuch a heart, but you can never bend it.--Great pride always accompanies delicacy, however concealed under the appearance of the utmoƒt gentleneƒs and modeƒty, and is the paƒƒion of all others the moƒt difficult to conquer.

There is a caƒe where a woman may coquette juƒtifiably to the utmoƒt verge which her conƒcience will allow. It is where a gentleman purpoƒely declines to make his addreƒƒes, till ƒuch time as he thinks himƒelf perfectly ƒure of her conƒent. This at bottom in intended to force a wo-

man to give up the undoubted privilege of her ƒex, the privilege of refuƒing ; it is intended to force her to explain herƒelf, in effect, before the gentleman deigns to do it, and by this means to oblige her to violate the modeƒty and delicacy of her ƒex, and to invert the cleareƒt order of nature. All this ƒacrifice is propoƒed to be made merely to gratify a moƒt deƒpicable vanity in a man who would degrade the very woman whom he wiƒhes to make his wife.

It is of great importance to diƒtinguiƒh, whether a gentleman who has the appearance of being your lover

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delays to ƒpeak explicitly, from the motive I have mentioned, or from a diffidence inƒeparable from true attachment. In the one caƒe, you can ƒcarcely uƒe him too ill ; in the other, you ought to uƒe him with great kindneƒs : and the greateƒt kindneƒs you can ƒhew him, if you are determined not to liƒten to his addreƒƒes, is to let him know it as ƒoon as poƒƒible.

I know the many excuƒes with which women endeavour to juƒtify themƒelves to the world, and to their own conƒciences, when they act otherwiƒe. Sometimes they plead ignorance, or at leaƒt uncertainty, of the

gentleman's real ƒentiments. That may ƒometimes be the caƒe. Sometimes they plead the decorums of their ƒex, which enjoins an equal behaviour to all men, and forbids them to conƒider any man as a lover till he has directly told them ƒo.--Perhaps few women carry their ideas of female delicacy and decorum ƒo far as I do. But I muƒt ƒay, you are not intitled to plead the obligation of theƒe virtues, in oppoƒition to the ƒuperior ones of gratitude, juƒtice, and humanity. The man is intitled to all theƒe, who prefers you to the reƒt of your ƒex, and perhaps whoƒe greateƒt weakneƒs is this very preference.
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--The truth of the matter is, vanity, and the love of admiration, is ƒo prevailing a paƒƒion among you, that you may be conƒidered to make a very great ƒacrifice whenever you give up a lover, till every art of coquetry fails to keep him, or till he forces you to an explanation. You can be fond of the love, when you are indifferent to, or even when you deƒpiƒe the lover.

But the deepeƒt and moƒt artful coquetry is employed by women of ƒuperior taƒte and ƒenƒe, to engage and fix the heart of a man whom the world and whom they themƒelves

eƒteem, although they are firmly determined never to marry him. But his converƒation amuƒes them, and his attachment is the higheƒt gratification to their vanity ; nay, they can ƒometimes be gratified with the utter ruin of his fortune, fame, and happineƒs.--God forbid I ƒhould ever think ƒo of all your ƒex. I know many of them have principles, have generoƒity and dignity of ƒoul that elevates them above the worthleƒs vanity I have been ƒpeaking of.

Such a woman, I am perƒuaded, may always convert a lover, if ƒhe cannot give him her affections, into
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a warm and ƒteady friend, provided he is a man of ƒenƒe, reƒolution, and candour. If ƒhe explains herƒelf to him with a generous openneƒs and freedom, he muƒt feel the ƒtroke as a man ; but he will likewiƒe bear it as a man : what he ƒuffers he will ƒuffer in ƒilence. Every ƒentiment of eƒteem will remain ; but love, tho' it requires very little food, and is eaƒily ƒurfeited with too much, yet it requires ƒome. He will view her in the light of a married woman ; and though paƒƒion ƒubƒides, yet a man of a candid and generous heart always retains a tenderneƒs for a woman he has once loved, and who has uƒed

him well, beyond what he feels for any other of her ƒex.

If he has not confided his own ƒecret to any body, he has an undoubted title to aƒk you not to divulge it. If a woman chuƒes to truƒt any of her companions with her own unfortunate attachments, ƒhe may, as it is her own affair alone ; but if ƒhe has any generoƒity or gratitude, ƒhe will not betray a ƒecret which does not belong to her.

Male coquetry is much more inexcuƒable than female, as well as more pernicious ; but it is rare in
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this country. Very few men will give themƒelves the trouble to gain or retain any woman's affections, unleƒs they have views on them either of an honourable or diƒhonourable kind. Men employed in the purƒuits of buƒineƒs, ambition, or pleaƒure, will not give themƒelves the trouble to engage a woman's affections, merely from the vanity of conqueƒt, and of triumphing over the heart of an innocent and defenceleƒs girl. Beƒides, people never value much what is entirely in their power. A man of parts, ƒentiment, and addreƒs, if he lays aƒide all regard to truth and humanity, may engage the

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hearts of fifty women at the ƒame time, and may likewiƒe conduct his coquetry with ƒo much art, as to put it out of the power of any of them to ƒpecify a ƒingle expreƒƒion that could be ƒaid to be directly expreƒƒive of love.

This ambiguity of behaviour, this art of keeping one in ƒuƒpenƒe, is the great ƒecret of coquetry in both ƒexes. It is the more cruel in us, becauƒe we can carry it what length we pleaƒe, and continue it as long as we pleaƒe, without your being ƒo much as at liberty to complain or expoƒtulate ;
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whereas we can break our chain, and force you to explain, whenever we become impatient of our ƒituation.

I have inƒiƒted the more particularly on this ƒubject of courtƒhip, becauƒe it may moƒt readily happen to you at that early period of life when you can have little experience or knowledge of the world, when your paƒƒions are warm, and your judgments not arrived at ƒuch full maturity as to be able to correct them.-- I wiƒh you to poƒƒeƒs ƒuch high principles of honour and generoƒity as will render you incapable of deceiv-

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ing, and at the ƒame time to poƒƒeƒs that acute diƒcernment which may ƒecure you againƒt being deceived.

A woman, in this country, may eaƒily prevent the firƒt impreƒƒions of love, and every motive of prudence and delicacy ƒhould make her guard her heart againƒt them, till ƒuch time as ƒhe has received the moƒt convincing proofs of the attachment of a man of ƒuch merit, as will juƒtify a reciprocal regard. Your hearts indeed may be ƒhut inflexibly and permanently againƒt all the merit a man can poƒƒeƒs. That may be your misfortune, but cannot be your fault.
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In ƒuch a ƒituation, you would be equally unjuƒt to yourƒelf and your lover, if you gave him your hand when your heart revolted againƒt him. But miƒerable will be your fate, if you allow an attachment to ƒteal on you before you are ƒure of a return ; or, what is infinitely worƒe, where there are wanting thoƒe qualities which alone can enƒure happineƒs in a married ƒtate.

I know nothing that renders a woman more deƒpicable, than her thinking it eƒƒential to happineƒs to be married. Beƒides the groƒs indelicacy of the ƒentiment, it is a falƒe one, as

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thouƒands of women have experienced. But if it was true, the belief that it is ƒo, and the conƒequent impatience to be married, is the moƒt effectual way to prevent it.

You muƒt not think from this, that I do not wiƒh you to marry. On the contrary, I am of opinion, that you may attain a ƒuperior degree of happineƒs in a married ƒtate, to what you can poƒƒibly find in any other. I know the forlorn and unprotected ƒituation of an old maid, the chagrin and peeviƒhneƒs which are apt to infect their tempers, and the great difficulty of making a tranƒi-

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tion with dignity and chearfulneƒs, from the period of youth, beauty, admiration, and reƒpect, into the calm, ƒilent, unnoticed retreat of declining years.

I ƒee ƒome unmarried women of active vigorous minds, and great vivacity of ƒpirits, degrading themƒelves ; ƒometimes by entering into a diƒƒipated courƒe of life, unƒuitable to their years, and expoƒing themƒelves to the ridicule of girls, who might have been their grandchildren ; ƒometimes by oppreƒƒing their acquaintances by impertinent intruƒions into their private affairs ; and ƒome-

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times by being the propagators of ƒcandal and defamation. All this is owing to an exuberant activity of ƒpirit, which if it had found employment at home, would have rendered them reƒpectable and uƒeful members of ƒociety.

I ƒee other women, in the ƒame ƒituation, gentle, modeƒt, bleƒƒed with ƒenƒe, taƒte, delicacy, and every milder feminine virtue of the heart, but of weak ƒpirits, baƒhful, and timid : I ƒee ƒuch women ƒinking into obƒcurity and inƒignificance, and gradually loƒing every elegant accompliƒhment ; for this evident reaƒon,

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that they are not united to a partner who has ƒenƒe, and worth, and taƒte, to know their value ; one who is able to draw forth their concealed qualities, and ƒhew them to advantage ; who can give that ƒupport to their feeble ƒpirits which they ƒtand ƒo much in need of ; and who, by his affection and tenderneƒs, might make ƒuch a woman happy in exerting every talent, and accompliƒhing herƒelf in every elegant art that could contribute to his amuƒement.

In ƒhort, I am of opinion, that a married ƒtate, if entered into from proper motives of eƒteem and affec-

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tion, will be the happieƒt for yourƒelves, make you moƒt reƒpectable in the eyes of the world, and the moƒt uƒeful members of ƒociety. But I confeƒs I am not enough of a patriot to wiƒh you to marry for the good of the public. I wiƒh you to marry for no other reaƒon but to make yourƒelves happier. When I am ƒo particular in my advices about your conduct, I own my heart beats with the fond hope of making you worthy the attachment of men who will deƒerve you, and be ƒenƒible of your merit. But Heaven forbid you ƒhould ever relinquiƒh the eaƒe and independence
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of a ƒingle life, to become the ƒlaves of a fool or a tyrant's caprice.

As theƒe have always been my ƒentiments, I ƒhall do you but juƒtice, when I leave you in ƒuch independent circumƒtances as may lay you under no temptation to do from neceƒƒity what you would never do from choice.--This will likewiƒe ƒave you from that cruel mortification to a woman of ƒpirit, the ƒuƒpicion that a gentleman thinks he does you an honour or a favour when he aƒks you for his wife.

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If I live till you arrive at that age when you ƒhall be capable to judge for yourƒelves, and do not ƒtrangely alter my ƒentiments, I ƒhall act towards you in a very different manner from what moƒt parents do. My opinion has always been, that when that period arrives, the parental authority ceaƒes.

I hope I ƒhall always treat you with that affection and eaƒy confidence which may diƒpoƒe you to look on me as your friend. In that capacity alone I ƒhall think myƒelf intitled to give you my opinion ; in the doing of which, I ƒhould think myƒelf highly

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criminal, if I did not to the utmoƒt of my power endeavour to diveƒt myƒelf of all perƒonal vanity, and all prejudices in favour of my particular taƒte. If you did not chuƒe to follow my advice, I ƒhould not on that account ceaƒe to love you as my children. Though my right to your obedience was expired, yet I ƒhould think nothing could releaƒe me from the ties of nature and humanity.

You may perhaps imagine, that the reƒerved behaviour which I recommend to you, and your appearing ƒeldom at public places, muƒt cut off all opportunities of your being ac-

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quainted with gentlemen. I am very far from intending this. I adviƒe you to no reƒerve, but what will render you more reƒpected and beloved by our ƒex. I do not think public places ƒuited to make people acquainted together. They can only be diƒtinguiƒhed there by their looks and external behaviour. But it is in private companies alone where you can expect eaƒy and agreeable converƒation, which I ƒhould never wiƒh you to decline. If you do not allow gentlemen to become acquainted with you, you can never expect to marry with attachment on either ƒide.--Love is very ƒeldom produced at
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firƒt ƒight ; at leaƒt it muƒt have, in that caƒe, a very unjuƒtifiable foundation. True love is founded on eƒteem, in a correƒpondence of taƒtes and ƒentiments, and ƒteals on the heart imperceptibly.

There is one advice I ƒhall leave you, to which I beg your particular attention. Before your affections come to be in the leaƒt engaged to any man, examine your tempers, your taƒtes, and your hearts, very ƒeverely, and ƒettle in your own minds, what are the requiƒites to your happineƒs in a married ƒtate ; and as it is almoƒt impoƒƒible that
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you ƒhould get every thing you wiƒh, come to a ƒteady determination what you are to conƒider as eƒƒential, and what may be ƒacrificed.

If you have hearts diƒpoƒed by nature for love and friendƒhip, and poƒƒeƒs thoƒe feelings which enable you to enter into all the refinements and delicacies of theƒe attachments, conƒider well, for Heaven's ƒake, and as you value your future happineƒs, before you give them any indulgence. If you have the misfortune (for a very great misfortune it commonly is to your ƒex) to have ƒuch a temper and ƒuch ƒentiments deeply rooted in
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you, if you have ƒpirit and reƒolution to reƒiƒt the ƒolicitations of vanity, the perƒecution of friends (for you will have loƒt the only friend that would never perƒecute you), and can ƒupport the proƒpect of the many inconveniencies attending the ƒtate of an old maid, which I formerly pointed out, then you may indulge yourƒelves in that kind of ƒentimental reading and converƒation which is moƒt correƒpondent to your feelings.

But if you find, on a ƒtrict ƒelf-examination, that marriage is abƒolutely eƒƒential to your happineƒs, keep the ƒecret inviolable in your

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own boƒoms, for the reaƒon I formerly mentioned ; but ƒhun as you would do the moƒt fatal poiƒon, all the ƒpecies of reading and converƒation which warms the imagination, which engages and ƒoftens the heart, and raiƒes the taƒte above the level of common life. If you do otherwiƒe, conƒider the terrible conflict of paƒƒions this may afterwards raiƒe in your breaƒts.

If this refinement once takes deep root in your minds, and you do not obey its dictates, but marry from vulgar and mercenary views, you may never be able to eradicate it en-
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tirely, and then it will embitter all your married days. Inƒtead of meeting with ƒenƒe, delicacy, tenderneƒs, a lover, a friend, an equal companion, in a huƒband, you may be tired with inƒipidity and dulneƒs ; ƒhocked with indelicacy, or mortified by indifference. You will find none to compaƒƒionate, or even underƒtand your ƒufferings ; for your huƒbands may not uƒe you cruelly, and may give you as much money for your clothes, perƒonal expence, and domeƒtic neceƒƒaries, as is ƒuitable to their fortunes. The world would therefore look on you as unreaƒonable women, and that did not deƒerve to

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be happy, if you were not ƒo.--To avoid theƒe complicated evils, if you are determined at all events to marry, I would adviƒe you to make all your reading and amuƒements of ƒuch a kind, as do not affect the heart nor the imagination, except in the way of wit or humour.

I have no view by theƒe advices to lead your taƒtes ; I only want to perƒuade you of the neceƒƒity of knowing your own minds, which, though ƒeemingly very eaƒy, is what your ƒex ƒeldom attain on many important occaƒions in life, but particularly on this of which I am ƒpeaking. There
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is not a quality I more anxiouƒly wiƒh you to poƒƒeƒs, than that collected deciƒive ƒpirit which reƒts on itƒelf, which enables you to ƒee where your true happineƒs lies, and to purƒue it with the moƒt determined reƒolution. In matters of buƒineƒs, follow the advice of thoƒe who know them better than yourƒelves, and in whoƒe integrity you can confide ; but in matters of taƒte, that depend on your own feelings, conƒult no one friend whatever, but conƒult your own hearts.

If a gentleman makes his addreƒƒes to you, or gives you reaƒon to believe

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he will do ƒo, before you allow your affections to be engaged, endeavour, in the moƒt prudent and ƒecret manner, to procure from your friends every neceƒƒary piece of information concerning him ; ƒuch as his character for ƒenƒe, his morals, his temper, fortune, and family ; whether it is diƒtinguiƒhed for parts and worth, or for folly, knavery, and loathƒome hereditary diƒeaƒes. When your friends inform you of theƒe, they have fulfilled their duty. If they go further, they have not that deference for you which a becoming dignity on your part would effectually command.

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Whatever your views are in marrying, take every poƒƒible precaution to prevent their being diƒappointed. If fortune, and the pleaƒures it brings, are your aim, it is not ƒufficient that the ƒettlements of a jointure and childrens' proviƒions be ample, and properly ƒecured ; it is neceƒƒary that you ƒhould enjoy the fortune during your own life. The principal ƒecurity you can have for this will depend on your marrying a good-natured generous man, who deƒpiƒes money, and who will let you live where you can beƒt enjoy that pleaƒure, that pomp and parade of life for which you married him.

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     From what I have ƒaid, you will eaƒily ƒee that I could never pretend to adviƒe whom you ƒhould marry ; but I can with great confidence adviƒe whom you ƒhould not marry.

     Avoid a companion that may entail any hereditary diƒeaƒe on your poƒterity, particularly (that moƒt dreadful of all human calamities) madneƒs. It is the height of imprudence to run into ƒuch a danger, and, in my opinion, highly criminal.

     Do not marry a fool ; he is the moƒt intractable of all animals ; he is led by his paƒƒions and caprices, and

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is incapable of hearing the voice of reaƒon. It may probably too hurt your vanity to have huƒbands for whom you have reaƒon to bluƒh and tremble every time they open their lips in company. But the worƒt circumƒtance that attends a fool, is his conƒtant jealouƒy of his wife being thought to govern him. This renders it impoƒƒible to lead him, and he is continually doing abƒurd and diƒagreeable things, for no other reaƒon but to ƒhew he dares do them.

A rake is always a ƒuƒpicious huƒband, becauƒe he has only known the moƒt worthleƒs of your ƒex. He like-

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wiƒe entails the worƒt diƒeaƒes on his wife and children, if he has the miƒfortune to have any.

If you have a ƒenƒe of religion yourƒelves, do not think of huƒbands who have none. If they have tolerable underƒtandings, they will be glad that you have religion, for their own ƒakes, and for the ƒake of their families ; but it will ƒink you in their eƒteem. If they are weak men, they will be continually teazing and ƒhocking you about your principles.--If you have children, you will ƒuffer the moƒt bitter diƒtreƒs, in ƒeeing all your endeavours to form their minds

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to virtue and piety, all your endeavours to ƒecure their preƒent and eternal happineƒs frustrated, and turned into ridicule.

As I look on your choice of a huƒband to be of the greateƒt conƒequence to your happineƒs, I hope you will make it with the utmoƒt circumƒpection. Do not give way to a ƒudden ƒally of paƒƒion, and dignify it with the name of love.--Genuine love is not founded in caprice ; it is founded in nature, on honourable views, on virtue, on ƒimilarity of taƒtes and ƒympathy of ƒouls.

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If you have theƒe ƒentiments, you will never marry any one, when you are not in that ƒituation, in point of fortune, which is neceƒƒary to the happineƒs of either of you. What that competency may be, can only be determined by your own taƒtes. It would be ungenerous in you to take advantage of a lover's attachment, to plunge him into diƒtreƒs ; and if he has any honour, no perƒonal gratification will ever tempt him to enter into any connection which will render you unhappy. If you have as much between you as to ƒatisfy all your demands, it is ƒufficient.

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I shall conclude with endeavouring to remove a difficulty which muƒt naturally occur to any woman of reflection on the ƒubject of marriage. What is to become of all theƒe refinements of delicacy, that dignity of manners, which checked all familiarities, and ƒuƒpended deƒire in reƒpectful and awful admiration? In anƒwer to this, I ƒhall only obƒerve, that if motives of intereƒt or vanity have had any ƒhare in your reƒolutions to marry, none of theƒe chimerical notions will give you any pain ; nay, they will very quickly appear as ridiculous in your own eyes, as they probably always did in the eyes

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of your huƒbands. They have been ƒentiments which have floated in your imaginations, but have never reached your hearts. But if theƒe ƒentiments have been truly genuine, and if you have had the ƒingular happy fate to attach thoƒe who underƒtand them, you have no reaƒon to be afraid.

Marriage, indeed, will at once diƒpel the enchantment raiƒed by external beauty ; but the virtues and graces that firƒt warmed the heart, that reƒerve and delicacy which always left the lover ƒomething further to wiƒh, and often made him
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doubtful of your ƒenƒibility or attachment, may and ought ever to remain. The tumult of paƒƒion will neceƒƒarily ƒubƒide ; but it will be ƒucceeded by an endearment, that affects the heart in a more equal, more ƒenƒible, and tender manner.--But I muƒt check myƒelf, and not indulge in deƒcriptions that may miƒlead you, and that too ƒenƒibly awake the remembrance of my happier days, which, perhaps, it were better for me to forget for ever.

I have thus given you my opinion on ƒome of the moƒt important articles of your future life, chiefly cal-

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culated for that period when you are juƒt entering the world. I have endeavoured to avoid ƒome peculiarities of opinion, which, from their contradiction to the general practice of the world, I might reaƒonably have ƒuƒpected were not ƒo well founded. But in writing to you, I am afraid my heart has been too full, and too warmly intereƒted, to allow me to keep this reƒolution. This may have produced ƒome embarraƒƒment, and ƒome ƒeeming contradictions. What I have written has been the amuƒement of ƒome ƒolitary hours, and has ƒerved to divert ƒome melancholy reflections.--I am conƒcious I

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undertook a taƒk to which I was very unequal ; but I have diƒcharged a part of my duty.--You will at leaƒt be pleaƒed with it, as the laƒt mark of your father's love and attention.

THE END.

Romantic Circles / Electronic Editions / Poems (1773) by Anna Laetitia Aikin / "On a Lady's Writing" Poem Web / Gregory, _A Father's Legacy_