CHAP. XIII. The practical uſes of female knowledge.— A comparative view of both ſexes.

THE chief end to be propoſed in culti⯑vating the underſtandings of women, is to qualify them for the practical purpoſes of life. Their knowledge is not often like the learning of men, to be reproduced in ſome literary compoſition, nor ever in any learned profeſſion; but it is to come out in conduct. A lady ſtudies, not that ſhe may qualify herſelf to become [2]an orator or a pleader; not that ſhe may learn to debate, but to act. She is to read the beſt books, not ſo much to enable her to talk of them, as to bring the improvement ſhe derives from them to the rectification of her principles, and the formation of her habits. The great uſes of ſtudy are to enable her to regu⯑late her own mind, and to be uſeful to others.

To woman therefore, whatever be her rank, I would recommend a predominance of thoſe more ſober ſtudies, which, not having diſplay for their object, may make her wiſe without vanity, happy without witneſſes, and content without panegy⯑riſts; the exerciſe of which will not bring celebrity, but improve uſefulneſs. She ſhould purſue every kind of ſtudy which will teach her to elicit truth; which will lead her to be intent upon realities; will give preciſion to her ideas; will make an exact mind; every ſtudy which, inſtead of ſtimulating her ſenſibility, will chaſtiſe it; [3]which will give her definite notions; will bring the imagination under dominion; will lead her to think, to compare, to combine, to methodiſe: which will confer ſuch a power of diſcrimination that her judgment ſhall learn to reject what is dazzling if it be not ſolid; and to prefer, not what is ſtriking, or bright, or new, but what is juſt. Every kind of know⯑ledge which is rather fitted for home conſumption than foreign exportation, is peculiarly adapted to women.

It is becauſe the ſuperficial mode of their education furniſhes them with a falſe and low ſtandard of intellectual excellence, that women have ſometimes become ridi⯑culous by the unfounded pretenſions of literary vanity: for it is not the really learned but the ſmatterers, who have generally brought their ſex into diſcredit, by an abſurd affectation, which has ſet them on deſpiſing the duties of ordinary life. There have not indeed been wanting (but the character is not common) pre⯑cieuſes [4]ridicules, who, aſſuming a ſuperiority to the ſober cares which ought to occupy their ſex, claim a lofty and ſupercilious exemption from the dull and plodding drudgeries. Of this dim ſpeck called earth! who have affected to eſtabliſh an unnatural ſeparation between talents and uſefulneſs, inſtead of bearing in mind that talents are the great appointed inſtruments of uſeful⯑neſs; who act as if knowledge were to confer on woman a kind of fantaſtic ſovereignty, which ſhould exonerate her from female duties; whereas it is only meant the more eminently to qualify her for the performance of them. For a woman of real ſenſe will never forget, that while the greater part of her appro⯑priate duties are ſuch as the moſt mode⯑rately gifted may fulfil with credit, (for Providence never makes that to be very difficult, which is generally neceſſary,) yet the moſt highly endowed are equally [5]bound to perform them; and the humbleſt of theſe offices, performed on Chriſtian principles, are wholeſome for the minds even of the moſt enlightened, and tend to the caſting down of thoſe high imaginations which women of genius are too much tempted to indulge.

For inſtance; ladies whoſe natural vanity has been aggravated by a falſe education, may look down on oeconomy as a vulgar attainment, unworthy of the attention of an highly cultivated intellect; but this is the falſe eſtimate of a ſhallow mind. OEconomy, ſuch as a woman of fortune is called on to practiſe, is not merely the petty detail of ſmall daily expences, the ſhabby curtailments and ſtinted parſimony of a little mind operat⯑ing on little concerns; but it is the exer⯑ciſe of a ſound judgment exerted in the comprehenſive outline of order, of arrangement, of diſtribution; of regula⯑tions by which alone well governed ſo⯑cieties, great and ſmall, ſubſiſt. She who [6]has the beſt regulated mind will, other things being equal, have the beſt regu⯑lated family. As in the ſuperintendence of the univerſe, wiſdom is ſeen in its effects; and as in the viſible works of Providence, that which goes on with ſuch beautiful regularity is the reſult not of chance but of deſign; ſo that manage⯑ment which ſeems the moſt eaſy is com⯑monly the conſequence of the beſt con⯑certed plan. A ſound oeconomy is a ſound underſtanding brought into action; it is calculation realiſed; it is the doctrine of proportion reduced to practice; it is foreſeeing conſequences and guarding againſt them; it is expecting contingencies and being prepared for them. The differ⯑ence is that to a narrow minded vulgar oeconomiſt the details are continually preſent; ſhe is overwhelmed by their weight, and is perpetually beſpeaking your pity for her labours and your praiſe for her exertions: ſhe is afraid you will not ſee how much ſhe is haraſſed. Little [7]events, and trivial operations engroſs her whole ſoul; while a woman of ſenſe, hav⯑ing provided for their probable recurrence, guards againſt the inconveniences, without being diſconcerted by the caſual obſtruct⯑ions which they offer to her general ſcheme.

Superior talents however are not ſo common, as, by their frequency, to offer much diſturbance to the general courſe of human affairs; and many a lady who tacitly accuſes herſelf of neglecting her ordinary duties becauſe ſhe is a genius, will perhaps be found often to accuſe her⯑ſelf as unjuſtly as good St. Jerome, when he laments that he was beaten by the Angel for being too Ciceronian in his ſtyle ^*

But the truth is, women who are ſo puffed up with the conceit of talents as to neglect the plain duties of life, will not be found to be women of the beſt abilities. And here may the author be allowed the [8]gratification of obſerving, that thoſe women of real genius and extenſive know⯑ledge, whoſe friendſhip have conferred honour and happineſs on her own life, have been in general eminent for oeconomy, and the practice of domeſtic virtues.

A romantic girl with an affectation of ſentiment, which her ſtill more ignorant friends miſtake for genius, (for in the empire of the blind the one-eyed are kings,) and poſſeſſing ſomething of a natural ear, has perhaps in her childhood exhauſted all the images of grief, and love, and fancy, picked up in her deſultory poetical reading in an elegy on a ſick linnet or a dead lap-dog; ſhe begins thenceforward to be conſidered as a prodigy in her little circle; ſurrounded with flatterers, ſhe has no opportunity of getting to know that her fame is derived not from her powers, but her poſition; and that when an im⯑partial critic ſhall have made all the neceſſary deductions, ſuch as that—ſhe is a neighbour, that ſhe is a relation, that [9]ſhe is a female, that ſhe is young, that ſhe has had no advantages, that ſhe is pretty perhaps—when her verſes come to be ſtripped of all their extraneous append⯑ages, and the fair author is driven off her 'vantage-ground of partiality, ſex, and favour, ſhe will commonly ſink to the level of ordinary capacities; while thoſe quieter women, who have meekly ſat down in the humbler ſhades of proſe and prudence, by a patient perſeverance in rational ſtudies, riſe afterwards much higher in the ſcale of intellect, and acquire a ſtock of ſound knowledge for far better purpoſes. And, though it may ſeem a contradiction, yet it will generally be found true, that girls who take to ſcribbling are the leaſt ſtudious. They early acquire a falſe confidence in their own unaſſiſted powers; it becomes more gratifying to their natural vanity to be always pouring out their minds on paper, than to be pouring into them freſh ideas from richer ſources.

[10]They pant for the unmerited praiſe of fancy and of genius, while they diſdain the commendation of judgment, knowledge, and perſeverance, which is within their reach. To extort admiration they are accuſtomed to boaſt of an impoſſible rapi⯑dity of compoſing; and while they in⯑ſinuate how little time their performances coſt them, they intend you ſhould infer how perfect they might have made them had they condeſcended to the drudgery of application. But inſtead of extolling theſe effuſions for their facility, it would be kind in their friends to blame them for their crudeneſs; and when the young pretenders are eager to prove in how ſhort a time ſuch a poem has been ſtruck off; it would be well to regret that they had not either taken a longer time, or forborne from writing at all; as in the former caſe the work would have been leſs defective, and in the latter the writer would have diſcovered more humility and ſelf-diſtruſt.

[11]A general capacity for knowledge, and the cultivation of the underſtanding at large, will always put a woman into the beſt ſtate for directing her purſuits into thoſe particular channels which her deſtin⯑ation in life may afterwards require. But ſhe ſhould be carefully inſtructed that her talents are only a means to a ſtill higher attainment, and that ſhe is not to reſt in them as an end; that merely to exerciſe them as inſtruments for the acquiſition of fame and the promoting of pleaſure, is ſubverſive of her delicacy as a woman, and contrary to the ſpirit of a Chriſtian.

Study, therefore, is to be conſidered as the means of ſtrengthening the mind, and of fitting it for higher duties, juſt as exer⯑ciſe is to be conſidered as an inſtrument for ſtrengthening the body for the ſame end. And the valetudinarian who is religious in the obſervance of his daily rides to promote his health, and reſts in that as an end, without ſo much as in⯑tending to make his improved health [12]an inſtrument of increaſed uſefulneſs, acts on the ſame low and ſelfiſh principle with her who reads merely for pleaſure and for fame, without any deſign of devoting the more invigorated mind to the glory of the Giver.

But there is one human conſideration which would perhaps more effectually tend to damp in an aſpiring woman the ardours of literary vanity (I ſpeak not of real genius) than any which ſhe will derive from motives of humility, or propriety, or religion; which is, that in the judgment paſſed on her performances, ſhe will have to encounter the mortifying circumſtance of having her ſex always taken into ac⯑count, and her higheſt exertions will probably be received with the qualified approbation, that it is really extraordinary for a woman. Men of learning, who are naturally apt to eſtimate works in pro⯑portion as they appear to be the reſult of art, ſtudy, and inſtitution, are apt to con⯑ſider even the happier performances of the [13]other ſex as the ſpontaneous productions of a fruitful but ſhallow ſoil; and to give them the ſame ſort of praſſe which we beſtow on certain ſallads, which often draw from us a ſort of wondering com⯑mendation; not indeed as being worth much in themſelves, but becauſe by the lightneſs of the earth, and a happy knack of the gardener, theſe indifferent creſſes ſpring up in a night, and therefore one is ready to wonder they are no worſe.

As to men of ſenſe they need be the leſs inimical to the improvement of the other ſex, as they themſelves will be ſure to be gainers by it; the enlargement of the female underſtanding being the moſt likely means to put an end to thoſe petty cavils and contentions for equality which female ſmatterers ſo anxiouſly maintain. I ſay ſmatterers, for between the firſt claſs of both ſexes the queſtion is much more rarely agitated; co-operation and not competition is indeed the clear principle we wiſh to ſee reciprocally adopted by [14]thoſe higher minds which really approxi⯑mate the neareſt to each other. The more a woman's underſtanding is im⯑proved, the more obviouſly ſhe will diſcern that there can be no happineſs in any ſociety where there is a perpetual ſtruggle for power; and the more her judgment is rectified, the more accurate views will ſhe take of the ſtation ſhe was born to fill, and the more readily will ſhe accommodate herſelf to it; while the moſt vulgar and ill-informed women are ever moſt inclined to be tyrants, and thoſe always ſtruggle moſt vehemently for power, who would not fail to make the worſt uſe of it when attained. Thus the weakeſt reaſoners are always the moſt poſitive in debate; and the cauſe is obvious, for they are unavoid⯑ably driven to maintain their pretenſions by violence who want arguments and reaſons to prove that they are in the right.

There is this ſingular difference between a woman vain of her wit, and a woman [15]vain of her beauty, that the beauty while ſhe is anxiouſly alive to her own fame, is often indifferent enough about the beauty of other women; and provided ſhe herſelf is ſure of your admiration, ſhe does not inſiſt on your thinking that there is ano⯑ther handſome woman in the world: while ſhe who is vain of her genius, more liberal at leaſt in her vanity, is jealous for the honour of her whole ſex, and contends for the equality of their pretenſions, in which ſhe feels that her own are involved. The beauty vindicates her own rights, the wit the rights of women; the beauty fights for herſelf, the wit for a party; and while ſhe more moderate beauty would but be Queen for life, the wit ſtruggles to abrogate the Salique law of intellect, and to enthrone a whole ſex of Queens.

At the revival of letters in the ſixteenth and the following century, the controverſy [16]about this equality was agitated with more warmth than wiſdom; and the proceſs was inſtituted and carried on, on the part of the female complainant, with an acri⯑mony which always raiſes a ſuſpicion of the juſtice of any cauſe. The novelty of that knowledge which was then burſting out from the dawn of a long night, kindled all the ardours of the female mind, and the ladies ſought zealouſly for a portion of that renown which the reputation of learning was beginning to beſtow. Beſides their own pens, they had for their advocates all thoſe needy authors who had any thing to hope from their power, their riches, or their influence; and ſo giddy did ſome of theſe literary ladies become by the adula⯑tion of their numerous panegyriſts, that through theſe repeated draughts of in⯑ebriating praiſe, they grew to deſpiſe the equality for which they had before con⯑tended, as a ſtate below their merit and unworthy of their acceptance. They now ſcorned to litigate for what they already [17]thought they ſo obviouſly poſſeſſed, and nothing ſhort of the palm of ſuperiority was at length conſidered as adequate to their growing claims. When court-ladies and princeſſes were the candidates, they could not long want champions to ſupport their cauſe; by theſe champions female authorities were produced as if paramount to facts; quotations from theſe female authors were conſidered as proofs, and their point-blank aſſertions ſtood for ſolid reaſons. In thoſe paraſites who offered this homage to female genius, the homage was therefore the effect neither of truth, nor of juſtice, nor of conviction. It aroſe rather out of gratitude, or it was a reciprocation of flattery; it was vanity, it was often diſtreſs, which prompted the praiſe; it was the want of a patroneſs. When a lady, and eſpecially as it then often happened, when one who was noble or royal ſat with gratifying docility at the foot of a profeſſor's chair; when ſhe admired the philoſopher, or took upon [18]her to protect the theologian whom his rivals among his own ſex were tearing to pieces, what could the grateful profeſſor or theologian do leſs in return than make the apotheoſis of her who had had the penetration to diſcern his merit and the ſpirit to reward it? Thus in fact it was not ſo much her vanity as his own that he was often flattering, though ſhe was the dupe of her more deep and deſigning panegyriſt.

But it is a little unlucky for the perpe⯑tuity of that fame which the encomiaſt had made over to his patroneſs, in the never-dying records of his verſes and orations, that in the revolution of a century or two the very names of the flattered are now almoſt as little known as the works of the flatterers. Their memorial is periſhed with them ^*: an inſtructive leſſon, that who⯑ever beſtows, or aſſumes a reputation diſ⯑proportioned to the merit of the claimant, [19]will find it as little durable as ſolid. For this literary warfare which engaged ſuch troops of the ſecond-hand authors of the age in queſtion in ſuch continual ſkirmiſhes, and not a few pitched battles; which pro⯑voked ſo much rancour, ſo many volumes, and ſo little wit; ſo much vanity and ſo much flattery, produced no uſeful or laſting effect. Thoſe who promiſed themſelves that their names would outlive ‘one half of round eternity,’ did not reach the end of the century in which the boaſt was made; and thoſe who offered the incenſe, and thoſe who greedily ſnuffed up its fumes, are buried in the ſame blank oblivion!

But when the temple of Janus ſeemed to have been cloſed, or at worſt the peace was only occaſionally broken by a ſlight and random ſhot from the hand of ſome ſingle ſtraggler; it appears that though open re⯑bellion had ceaſed, yet the female claim had not been renounced; it had only (if we may change the metaphor) lain in [20]abeyance. The conteſt has recently been revived with added fury, and with multi⯑plied exactions; for whereas the ancient demand was merely a kind of imaginary prerogative, a ſpeculative importance, a mere titular right, a ſhadowy claim to a few unreal acres of Parnaſſian territory; the revived contention has taken a more ſerious turn, and brings forward political as well as intellectual pretenſions: and among the innovations of this innovating period, the impoſing term of rights has been produced to ſanctify the claim of our female pretenders, with a view not only to rekindle in the minds of women a pre⯑ſumptuous vanity diſhonourable to their ſex, but produced with a view to excite in their hearts an impious diſcontent with the poſt which God has aſſigned them in this world.

But they little underſtand the true in⯑tereſts of woman who would lift her from the duties of her allotted ſtation, to fill with fantaſtic dignity a loftier but leſs [21]appropriate niche. Nor do they under⯑ſtand her true happineſs, who ſeek to annihilate diſtinctions from which ſhe de⯑rives advantages, and to attempt innova⯑tions which would depreciate her real value. Each ſex has its proper excellencies, which would be loſt were they melted down into the common character by the fuſion of the new philoſophy. Why ſhould we do away diſtinctions which in⯑creaſe the mutual benefits and ſatisfactions of life? Whence, but by carefully pre⯑ſerving the original marks of difference ſtamped by the hand of the Creator, would be derived the ſuperior advantage of mixed ſociety? Have men no need to have their rough angles filed off, and their harſh⯑neſſes and aſperities ſmoothed and poliſhed by aſſimilating with beings of more ſoft⯑neſs and refinement? Are the ideas of women naturally ſo very judicious, are their principles ſo invincibly firm, are their views ſo perfectly correct, are their judgments ſo completely exact, that there [22]is occaſion for no additional weight, no ſuperadded ſtrength, no increaſed clear⯑neſs, none of that enlargement of mind, none of that additional invigoration which may be derived from the aids of the ſtronger ſex? What identity could ad⯑vantageouſly ſuperſede an enlivening and intereſting variety of character? Is it not then more wife as well as more honourable to move contentedly in the plain path which Providence has obviouſly marked out to the ſex, and in which cuſtom has for the moſt part rationally confirmed them, rather than to ſtray awkwardly, unbecomingly, and unſucceſsfully, in a forbidden road? to be the lawful poſ⯑ſeſſors of a leſſer domeſtic territory, rather than the turbulent uſurpers of a wider foreign empire? to be good originals, rather than bad imitators? to be the beſt thing of one's own kind, rather than an inferior thing even if it were of an higher kind? to be excellent women rather than indifferent men?

[23]Is the author then undervaluing her own ſex?—No. It is her zeal for their true intereſts which leads her to oppoſe their imaginary rights. It is her regard for their happineſs which makes her endeavour to cure them of a feveriſh thirſt for fame. A little Chriſtian humility is worth all the wild metaphyſical diſcuſſion which has unſettled the peace of vain women, and forfeited the reſpect of reaſon⯑able men. And the moſt elaborate de⯑finition of her ideal rights, and the moſt hardy meaſures for attaining them, are of leſs value in the eyes of an amiable woman, than ‘that meek and quiet ſpirit, which is in the ſight of God of great price.’

Natural propenſities beſt mark the deſignations of Providence as to their application. The fin was not more clearly beſtowed on the fiſh that he ſhould ſwim, nor the wing given to the bird that he ſhould fly, than ſuperior ſtrength of body and a firmer texture of mind given to [24]man, that he might preſide in the deep and daring ſcenes of action and of council; in government, in arms, in ſcience, in commerce, and in thoſe profeſſions which demand a higher reach, and a wider range of powers. The true value of woman is not diminiſhed by the imputation of inferiority in theſe reſpects; the has other requiſites better adapted to anſwer the purpoſes of her being, by ‘HIM who does all things well.’

Let her not then view with envy the keen ſatyriſt, hunting vice through all the doublings and windings of the heart; the ſagacious politician leading ſenates, and directing the fate of empires; the acute lawyer detecting the obliquities of fraud; and the ſkilful dramatiſt expoſing the pretenſions of folly: but let her ambi⯑tion be conſoled by reflecting, that thoſe who thus excel; to all that Nature beſtows and books can teach, muſt add beſides, that conſummate knowledge of the world to which a delicate woman has no fair [25]avenues, and which could ſhe attain ſhe would never be ſuppoſed to have come honeſtly by.

In almoſt all that comes under the de⯑ſcription of polite letters, in all that cap⯑tivates by imagery, or warms by juſt and affecting ſentiment, women are excellent. They poſſeſs in a high degree that delicacy and quickneſs of perception, and that nice diſcernment between the beautiful and de⯑fective, which comes under the denomina⯑tion of taſte. Both in compoſition and action they excel in details; but they do not ſo much generalize their ideas as men, nor do their minds ſeize a great ſubject with ſo large a graſp. They are acute ob⯑ſervers, and accurate judges of life and manners, as far as their own ſphere of ob⯑ſervation extends; but they deſcribe a ſmaller circle. A woman ſees the world, as it were, from a little elevation in her own garden, whence ſhe takes an exact ſurvey of home ſcenes, but takes not in that wider range of diſtant proſpects, which he who ſtands on a loftier eminence com⯑mands. [26]Women often feel what is juſt more inſtantaneoſly than they can define it. They have an intuitive penetration into character, beſtowed on them by Provi⯑dence, like the ſenſitive and tender organs of ſome timid animals, as a kind of natural guard, to warn of the approach of danger beings who are often called to act defen⯑ſively.

In ſumming up the evidence, if I may ſo ſpeak, of the different powers of the ſexes, one may venture, perhaps, to aſſert, that women have equal parts, but are in⯑ferior in wholeneſs of mind in the integral underſtanding: that though a ſuperior woman may poſſeſs ſingle faculties in equal perfection, yet there is commonly a juſter proportion in the mind of a ſuperior man: that if women have in an equal de⯑gree the faculty of fancy which creates images, and the faculty of memory which collects and ſtores ideas, they ſeem not to poſſeſs in an equal meaſure the faculty of comparing, combining, analyſing, and ſepa⯑rating theſe ideas; that deep and patient [27]thinking which goes to the bottom of a ſubject; nor that power of arrangement which knows how to link a thouſand con⯑ſecutive ideas in one dependent train, with⯑out loſing ſight of the original idea out of which the reſt grow, and on which they all hang. The female too in her intellectual purſuits is turned aſide by her characteriſtic taſtes and feelings. Woman in the career of genius, is the Atalanta, who will riſk loſing the race by running out of her road to pick up the golden apple; while her male competitor, without, perhaps, poſſeſſ⯑ing greater natural ſtrength or ſwiftneſs, will more certainly attain his object, by being leſs expoſed to the ſeductions of ex⯑traneous beauty, and will win the race by deſpiſing the bait ^*.

[28]Here it may be juſtly enough retorted, that, as it is allowed the education of women is ſo defective, the alleged inferi⯑ority of their minds may be accounted for on that ground more juſtly than by aſcrib⯑ing it to their natural make. And, indeed, there is ſo much truth in the remark, that till women ſhall be more reaſonably edu⯑cated, and till be native growth of their mind ſhall ceaſe to be ſtinted and cramped, we have no juſter ground for pronouncing that their underſtanding has already reach⯑ed its higheſt attainable perfection, than the Chineſe would have for affirming that their women have attained to the greateſt poſſible perfection in walking, while the firſt care is, during their infancy, to crip⯑ple their feet: or rather, till the female ſex are more carefully inſtructed, this queſtion will always remain as undecided as to the degree of difference between the under⯑ſtandings of men and women, as the queſ⯑tion between the underſtandings of blacks and whites; for until Africans and Euro⯑peans [29]are put nearer on a par in the culti⯑vation of their minds, the ſhades of diſtinc⯑tion between their native powers can never be fairly aſcertained. Thus, though in what relates to the actual difference of mind in the ſexes, the diſtinction itſelf ſeems clearly marked by the defining finger of the Creator, yet of the degree of that native difference a juſt eſtimate can never be formed till the underſtandings of wo⯑men are made the moſt of; till, by ſuffer⯑ing their intellectual powers to take the lead of the ſenſitive in their education, their minds ſhall be allowed to reach to that meaſure of perfection of which they are really ſuſceptible, and which their Maker intended they ſhould attain. And when we ſee (and who will deny that we ſee it frequently?) ſo many women nobly riſing from under all the preſſure of a diſ⯑advantageous education and a defective ſyſtem of ſociety, and exhibiting the moſt unambiguous marks of a vigorous under⯑ſtanding, a correct judgment, and a ſterling piety, it reminds one of thoſe ſhining lights [30]which have now and then burſt out through all the "darkneſs viſible" of the Romiſh church, have diſincumbered them⯑ſelves from the gloom of ignorance and the fetters of prejudice, and riſen ſuperior to all the errors of a corrupt theology.

But whatever characteriſtical diſtinctions may exiſt; whatever inferiority may be attached to woman from the ſlighter frame of her body, the more circumſcribed pow⯑ers of her mind, from a leſs ſyſtematic edu⯑cation, and from the ſubordinate ſtation ſhe is called to fill in life; there is one great and leading circumſtance which raiſes her importance, and even eſtabliſhes her equality. Chriſtianity has exalted woman to true and undiſputed dignity; in Chriſt Jeſus, as there is neither "rich nor poor," "bond nor free," ſo there is neither ‘male nor female.’ In the view of that immor⯑tality, which is brought to light by the goſpel, ſhe has no ſuperior. Women (to borrow the idea of an excellent prelate) make up one half of the human race; equally with men redeemed by the blood [31]of Chriſt. In this their true dignity con⯑ſiſts; here their beſt pretentions reſt, here their higheſt claims are allowed.

All diſputes then for pre-eminence be⯑tween the ſexes, have only for their object the precedence of a few ſhort years, the attention of which would be better devoted to the duties of life and the intereſts of eternity.

And as the final hope of the female ſex is equal, ſo are their preſent means, per⯑haps, more favourable, and their opportu⯑nities, often, leſs obſtructed than thoſe of the other ſex. In their Chriſtian courſe women have every ſuperior advantage, whether we conſider the natural make of their minds, their leiſure for acquiſition in youth, or their ſubſequently leſs expoſed mode of life. Their hearts are naturally ſoft and flexible, open to impreſſions of love and gratitude; their feelings tender and lively: all theſe are favourable to the cultivation of a devotional ſpirit. Yet while we remind them of the benefits they [32]derive from this frame of mind, they will do well to be on their guard leſt this very ſoftneſs and ductility do not lay them more open to temptation.

They have in the native conſtitution of their minds, as well as from the relative ſituations they are called to fill, a certain ſenſe of attachment and dependence, which is peculiarly favourable to religion. They feel, perhaps, more intimately the want of a ſtrength which is not their own. Chriſt⯑ianity brings that ſuperinduced ſtrength; it comes in aid of their conſcious weakneſs, and offers the only true counterpoiſe to it. "Woman, be thou healed of thy infirmity," is ſtill the heart-cheering language of a gra⯑cious Saviour.

Women alſo bring to the ſtudy of Chriſt⯑ianity fewer of thoſe prejudices which perſons of the other ſex too often contract early. Men, from their claſſical education, acquire a ſtrong partiality for the manners of Pagan antiquity, and the documents of Pagan philoſophy; this, together with the [33]impure taint caught from the looſe deſcrip⯑tions of their poets, and the licentious language even of their hiſtorians, (in whom we reaſonably look for more gravity,) often weakens the good impreſſions of young men, and at leaſt confuſes their ideas of piety, by mixing them with ſo much hete⯑rogeneous matter. Their very ſpirits are imbued all the week with the impure fol⯑lies of a depraved mythology; and it is well if even on Sundays they get to hear of the ‘true God, and Jeſus Chriſt whom he has ſent.’ While women, though ſtrug⯑gling with the ſame natural corruptions, have commonly leſs knowledge to unknow, and no ſchemes to unlearn; they have not to ſhake off the pride of ſyſtem, and to diſincumber their minds from the ſhackles of favourite theories: they do not bring from the porch or the academy any ‘op⯑poſitions of ſcience’ to obſtruct their reception of thoſe pure doctrines taught on the Mount; doctrines which ought to find a readier entrance into minds uninfected [34]with the pride of the ſchool of Zeno, or the libertiniſm of that of Epicurus.

And as women are naturally more affectionate than faſtidious; they are likely both to read and to hear with a leſs critical ſpirit than men: they will not be on the watch to detect errors, ſo much as to ga⯑ther improvement; they have ſeldom that hardneſs which is acquired by dealing deeply in books of controverſy, but are more inclined to works which quicken the devotional feelings, than to ſuch as awaken a ſpirit of doubt and ſcepticiſm. They are leſs diſpoſed to conſider the compoſi⯑tions they peruſe, as materials on which to ground objections and anſwers, than as helps to faith and rules of life. With theſe advantages, however, they ſhould alſo bear in mind that their impreſſions being often leſs abiding, and their reaſon leſs open to conviction, by means of the ſtrong evidences which exiſt in favour of the truth of Chriſtianity, ‘they ought, therefore, to give the more earneſt [35]heed to the things which they have heard, leſt at any time they ſhould let them ſlip.’ Women are alſo from their domeſtic habits, in poſſeſſion of more leiſure and tranquillity for religious purſuits, as well as ſecured from thoſe difficulties and temptations to which men are expoſed in the tumult of a buſtling world. Their lives are more uniform, leſs agitated by the paſſions, the buſineſſes, the contentions, the ſhock of opinions and of intereſts which convulſe the world.

If we have denied them the talents which might lead them to excel as lawyers, they are preſerved from the peril of having their principles warped by that too indiſ⯑criminate defence of right and wrong, to which the profeſſors of the law are ex⯑poſed. If we ſhould queſtion their title to eminence as mathematicians, they are hap⯑pily exempt from the danger to which men devoted to that ſcience are ſaid to be liable; namely, that of looking for demon⯑ſtration on ſubjects, which, by their very [36]nature, are incapable of affording it. If they are leſs converſant in the powers of nature, the ſtructure of the human frame, and the knowledge of the heavenly bodies, than philoſophers, phyſicians, and aſtronomers; they are, however, delivered from the error into which many of each of theſe have ſometimes fallen, from the fatal habit of reſting in ſecond cauſes, in⯑ſtead of referring all to the firſt; inſtead of making ‘the heavens declare the glory of God, and proclaim his handy work;’ inſtead of concluding, when they obſerve, ‘how fearfully and wonderfully we are made, marvellous are thy works, O Lord, and that my ſoul knoweth right well.’

And let the weaker ſex take comfort, that in their very exemptions from privi⯑leges, which they are ſometimes diſpoſed to envy, conſiſt their ſecurity and their happineſs. If they enjoy not the diſtinct⯑ions of public life and dignified offices, do they not eſcape the ſin of miſ-employing, and the mortification of being diſmiſſed [37]from them? If they have no voice in de⯑liberative aſſemblies, do they not avoid the reſponſibility attached to ſuch privileges? Prepoſterous pains have been taken to excite in women an uneaſy jealouſy, that their talents are neither rewarded with public honours nor emoluments in life; nor with inſcriptions, ſtatues, or mauſo⯑leums after death. It has been abſurdly repreſented to them as a hardſhip; that, while they are expected to perform duties, they muſt yet be contented to relinquiſh honours, and muſt unjuſtly be compelled to renounce fame while they muſt labour to deſerve it.

But for Chriſtian women to act on the low views ſuggeſted to them by their ill⯑judging panegyriſts; and to look up with a giddy head and a throbbing heart to honours and renumerations, ſo little ſuited to the wants and capacities of an immortal ſpirit, would be no leſs ridiculous than if Chriſtian heroes ſhould look back with [38]envy on the Pagan rewards of ovations, oak garlands, parſley crowns, and laurel wreaths. The chriſtian hope more than reconciles Chriſtian women to theſe petty privations, by ſubſtituting a nobler prize for their ambition, ‘the prize of the high calling of God in Chriſt Jeſus.’ By ſubſtituting, for that popular and fluc⯑tuating voice, which may cry "Hoſanna" and "crucify" in a breath, that ‘favour of God which is eternal life.’

If women ſhould lament the diſadvan⯑tages attached to their ſex, that their cha⯑racter is of ſo delicate a texture, as to be ſullied by the ſlighteſt breath of calumny, and that the ſtain is indelible; yet are they not led by that very circumſtance more inſtinctively to ſhrink from all thoſe irregularities to which the loſs of character is ſo inſeparably attached; and, to ſhun with keener circumſpection the moſt diſtant approach towards the confines of danger? Let them not lament it as a [39]hardſhip, but enjoy it as a privilege, that the delicacy of their ſex impels them more ſcrupulouſly to avoid the very appearance of evil, ſince that very neceſſity ſerves to defend their purity by a more deep in⯑trenchment from the evil itſelf.

Though it be one main object of this little work, rather to lower than to raiſe any deſire of celebrity in the female heart; yet I would awaken it to a juſt ſenſibility to honeſt fame: I would call on women to reflect that our religion has not only made them heirs to a bleſſed immortality hereafter, but has greatly raiſed them in the ſcale of being here, by lifting them to an importance in ſociety unknown to the moſt poliſhed ages of antiquity. The re⯑ligion of Chriſt has even beſtowed a degree of renown on the ſex beyond any other reli⯑gion. Perhaps there are hardly ſo many vir⯑tuous women (for I reject the long catalogue whom their vices have transferred from oblivion to infamy) named in all the pages [40]of Greek or Roman Hiſtory, as are hand⯑ed down to eternal fame, in a few of thoſe ſhort chapters with which the great Apoſtle to the Gentiles has concluded his epiſtles to his converts. Of ‘devout and honor⯑able women,’ the ſacred ſcriptures re⯑cord "not a few." Some of the moſt affecting ſcenes, the moſt intereſting tranſ⯑actions, and the moſt touching converſ⯑ations which are recorded of the Saviour of the world, paſſed with women. They are the firſt remarked as having ‘miniſ⯑tered to him of their ſubſtance.’ Theirs was the praiſe of not abandoning their deſpiſed Redeemer when he was led to execution, and under all the hopeleſs cir⯑cumſtances of his ignominious death; they appear to have been the laſt attend⯑ing at his tomb, and the firſt on the morning when he aroſe from it. Theirs was the privilege of receiving the earlieſt conſolations from their riſen Lord; theirs was the honour of being firſt commiſſion⯑ed [41]to announce his glorious reſurrection to the world. And even to furniſh heroic confeſſors, devoted ſaints, and unſhrink⯑ing martyrs to the Church of Chriſt, has not been the excluſive honour of the bolder ſex.

CHAP. XIV. CONVERSATION.—Hints ſuggeſted on the ſubject.—On the tempers and diſpoſitions to be introduced in it.—Errors to be avoided. —Vanity under various ſhapes the cauſe of thoſe errors.

THE ſexes will naturally deſire to appear to each other, ſuch as each believes the other will beſt like; their converſation will act reciprocally; and each ſex will appear more or leſs rational as they per⯑ceive it will more or leſs recommend them to the other. It is therefore to be regret⯑ted, that many men, even of diſtinguiſhed ſenſe and learning, are too apt to conſider the ſociety of ladies, rather as a ſcene in which to reſt their underſtandings, than to exerciſe them; and ladies, in return, are too much addicted to make their court by lending themſelves to this ſpirit of trifling; [43]they often avoid to make uſe of what abili⯑ties they have; and affect to talk below their natural and acquired powers of mind; conſidering it as a tacit and welcome flat⯑tery to the underſtanding of men, to re⯑nounce the exerciſe of their own.

But ſince their taſte and principles thus mutually operate; men, by keeping up converſation to its proper ſtandard, would not only call into exerciſe the powers of mind which women actually poſſeſs; but would even awaken energies which they do not know they poſſeſs; and men of ſenſe would find their account in doing this, for their own talents would be more highly rated by companions who were better able to appreciate them. And, on the other hand, if young women found it did not often recommend them in the eyes of thoſe whom they wiſh to pleaſe, to be frivolous and ſuperficial, they would become more ſedulous in correcting their own habits; and, whenever faſhionable women indicate a reliſh for inſtructive converſation, [44]men will not be apt to hazard what is vain or unprofitable; much leſs will they ever preſume to bring forward what is looſe or corrupt, where ſome ſignal has not been previouſly given, that it will be acceptable, or at leaſt that it will be par⯑doned.

Ladies commonly bring into company minds already too much relaxed by petty purſuits, rather than overſtrained by too intenſe application; the littleneſs of the employments in which they are uſually engaged, does not ſo ſtrain their minds or exhauſt their ſpirits as to make them ſtand in need of that relaxation from company which ſevere application or overwhelming buſineſs makes requiſite for ſtudious or public men. The due conſideration of this circumſtance might ſerve to bring the ſexes more nearly on a level in ſociety; and each might meet the other half way; for that degree of lively and eaſy converſation which is a neceſſary refreſhment to the learned and the buſy, would not decreaſe [45]in pleaſantneſs by being made of ſo rational a caſt as would yet ſomewhat raiſe the minds of women, who commonly ſeek ſo⯑ciety as a ſcene of pleaſure, not as a refuge from overwhelming thought or labour.

It is a diſadvantage even to thoſe women who keep the beſt company, that it is un⯑happily almoſt eſtabliſhed into a ſyſtem, by the other ſex, to poſtpone every thing like inſtructive diſcourſe till the ladies are with⯑drawn; their retreat ſerving as a kind of ſignal for the exerciſe of intellect. And in the few caſes in which it happens that any important diſcuſſion takes place in their preſence, they are for the moſt part con⯑ſidered as having little intereſt in ſerious ſubjects. Strong truths, whenever ſuch happen to be addreſſed to them, are either diluted with flattery, or kept back in part, or ſoftened to their taſte; or if the ladies expreſs a wiſh for information on any point, they are put off with a compliment, inſtead of a reaſon; and are conſidered [46]as beings who are not expected to ſee and to judge of things as they really exiſt.

Do we then wiſh to ſee the ladies, whoſe opportunities leave them ſo incompetent, and the modeſty of whoſe ſex ought never to allow them even to be as ſhining as they are able;—do we wiſh to ſee them take the lead in metaphyſical diſquiſitions? Do we wiſh them to plunge into the depths of theological polemics, And find no end in wand'ring mazes loſt? Do we wiſh them to revive the animo⯑fities of the Bangorian controverſy, or to decide the proceſs between the Jeſuits and the five propoſitions of Janſenius? Do we wiſh to enthrone them in the pro⯑feſſor's chair, to deliver oracles, harangues, and diſſertations? to weigh the merits of every new production in the ſcales of Quintilian, or to regulate the unities of dramatic compoſition by Ariſtotle's clock? Or, renouncing thoſe foreign aids, do [47]we deſire to behold them, inflated with their original powers, labouring to ſtrike out ſparks of wit, with a reſtleſs anxiety to ſhine, which generally fails, and with an affectation to pleaſe, which never pleaſes? Diſeurs de bons mots, fades caracteres!

All this be far from them!—But we do wiſh to ſee the converſation of well bred women reſcued from vapid common places, from unintereſting tattle, from trite and hackneyed communications, from frivolous earneſtneſs, from falſe ſenſibility, from a warm intereſt about things of no moment, and an indifference to topics the moſt important; from a cold vanity, from the overflowings of ſelf love, exhibiting itſelf under the ſmiling maſk of an engag⯑ing flattery, and from all the factitious manners of artificial intercourſe. We do wiſh to ſee the time paſſed in poliſhed and intelligent ſociety, conſidered among the beneficial, as well as the pleaſant portions of our exiſtence, and not too frequently [48]conſigned over to premeditated trifling or ſyſtematic unprofitableneſs. Let us not, however, be miſunderſtood; it is not meant to preſcribe that they ſhould affect to talk on lofty ſubjects, ſo much as to ſuggeſt that they ſhould bring good ſenſe, ſimplicity, and preciſion into thoſe com⯑mon ſubjects, of which, after all, both the buſineſs and the converſation of mankind is in a great meaſure made up.

It is too well known how much the dread of imputed pedantry keeps off any thing that verges towards learned, and the terror of imputed enthuſiaſm, ſtaves off any thing that approaches to ſerious con⯑verſation, ſo that the two topics which peculiarly diſtinguiſh us, as rational and immortal beings, are by general conſent in a good degree baniſhed from the ſociety of rational and immortal creatures. But we might almoſt as conſiſtently give up the comforts of fire becauſe a few per⯑ſons have been burnt, and the benefit of water becauſe ſome others have been [49]drowned, as relinquiſh the enjoyments of reaſonable and the bleſſings of religious intercourſe, becauſe the learned world has ſometimes been infeſted with pedants, and the religious world with fanatics.

As in the momentous times in which we live, it is next to impoſſible to paſs an evening in company, but the talk will ſo inevitably revert to politics, that, without any premeditated deſign, every one preſent ſhall infallibly get to know to which ſide the other inclines; why, in the far higher concern of eternal things, ſhould we ſo carefully ſhun every offered opportunity of bearing even a caſual teſtimony to the part we eſpouſe in religion? Why, while we make it a ſort of point of conſcience to leave no doubt on the mind of a ſtranger, whether we adopt the party of Pitt or Fox, ſhall we chuſe to leave it very problematical whether we belong to God or Baal? Why, in religion, as well as in politics, ſhould we not act like people who, having their all at ſtake, cannot forbear now and then [50]adverting for a moment to the object of their grand concern, and dropping, at leaſt, an incidental intimation of the ſide to which they belong?

Even the news of the day, in ſuch an eventful period as the preſent, may lend frequent occaſions to a woman of prin⯑ciple, to declare, without parade, her faith in a moral Governor of the world; her truſt in a particular Providence; her belief in the Divine Omnipotence; her confi⯑dence in the power of God, in educing good from evil, in his employing wicked nations, not as favourites but inſtruments; her perſuaſion that preſent ſucceſs is no proof of the divine favour; in ſhort, ſome intimation that ſhe is not aſhamed to de⯑clare that her mind is under the influence of Chriſtian faith and principle. A general concurrence in exhibiting this ſpirit of decided faith and holy truſt, would incon⯑ceivably diſcourage that pert infidelity which is ever on the watch to produce itſelf; and, as we have already obſerved, if [51]women, who derive authority from their rank or talents, did but reflect how their ſentiments are repeated and their authority quoted, they would be ſo on their guard, that general ſociety might become a ſcene of general improvement, and the young, who are looking for models on which to faſhion themſelves, would be aſhamed of exhibiting any thing like levity or ſcepticiſm.

Let it be underſtood, that it is not meant to intimate that ſerious ſubjects ſhould make up the bulk of converſation; this, as it is impoſſible, would alſo often be improper. It is not intended to ſuggeſt that they ſhould be ſtudiouſly introduced, or affectedly prolonged; but only that they ſhould not be ſyſtematically ſhunned, nor the brand of fanaticiſm be fixed on the perſon who, with whatever propriety, hazards the intro⯑duction of them. It is evident, however, that this general dread of ſerious topics ariſes a good deal from an ignorance of the true nature of religion; people avoid [52]it on the principle expreſſed by the vulgar phraſe of the danger of playing with edge tools. They conceive of it as ſomething which involves controverſy, and diſpute, and miſchief; ſomething of an inflammatory nature, which is to ſtir up ill humours; as of a ſort of party buſineſs which ſets friends at variance. So much is this notion adopted, that I have ſeen two works announced of conſiderable merit, in which it was ſtipulated as an attraction, that religion, as being likely to excite anger and party diſtinctions, ſhould be excluded. Such is the worldly idea of the ſpirit of that religion, whoſe preciſe object it was to bring ‘peace and good will to men!’

Women too little live or converſe up to their underſtandings; and however we have deprecated affectation or pedantry, let it be remembered, that both in reading and converſing the underſtanding gains more by ſtretching, than ſtooping. If by ex⯑erting itſelf it may not attain to all it de⯑ſires, [53]yet it will be ſure to gain ſomething. The mind, by always applying itſelf to ob⯑jects below its level, contracts and ſhrinks itſelf to the ſize, and lowers itſelf to the level, of the object about which it is con⯑verſant: while the mind which is active expands and raiſes itſelf, grows larger by exerciſe, abler by diffuſion, and richer by communication.

But the taſte of general ſociety is not favourable to improvement. The ſeriouſ⯑neſs with which the moſt frivolous ſubjects are agitated, and the levity with which the moſt ſerious are diſpatched, bear a pretty exact proportion to each other. Society too is a ſort of magic lanthorn; the ſcene is perpetually ſhifting. In this in⯑ceſſant change, the evaneſcent faſhion of the exiſting minute, which, while in many it leads to the cultivation of real know⯑ledge, has alſo ſometimes led even the gay and idle to the affectation of mixing a ſprinkling of ſcience with the maſs of diſſi⯑pation. The ambition of appearing to be [54]well informed breaks out even in thoſe triflers who will not ſpare time from their pleaſurable purſuits ſufficient for acquiring that knowledge, of which, however, the re⯑ception is ſo deſirable. A little ſmattering of philoſophy often dignifies the purſuits of their day, without reſcuing them from the vanities of the night. A courſe of lectures (that admirable aſſiſtant for en⯑lightening the underſtanding) is not ſeldom reſorted to as a means to ſubſtitute the appearance of knowledge for the fatigue of application; but where this valuable help is attended merely like any other public exhibition, and is not furthered by correſpondent reading at home, it often ſerves to ſet off the reality of ignorance with the affectation of ſkill. But inſtead of producing in converſation a few reigning ſcientific terms, with a familiarity and readineſs, which Amaze the unlearn'd, and make the learned ſmile, would it not be more modeſt even for thoſe who are better informed, to avoid [55]the common uſe of technical terms when⯑ever the idea can be conveyed without them? For it argues no real ability to know the names of tools; the ability lies in knowing their uſe: and while it is in the thing, and not in the term, that real know⯑ledge conſiſts, the charge of pedantry is attached to the uſe of the term, which would not attach to the knowledge of the ſcience.

In the faculty of ſpeaking well, ladies have ſuch a happy promptitude of turning their ſlender advantages to account, that there are many who, though they have never been taught a rule of ſyntax, yet, by a quick facility in profiting from the beſt books and the beſt company, hardly ever violate one; and who often poſſeſs an elegant and perſpicuous arrangement of ſtyle, without having ſtudied any of the laws of compoſition. Every kind of knowledge which appears to be the reſult of obſervation, reflection, and natural taſte ſits gracefully on women. Yet on the [56]other hand it ſometimes happens, that ladies of no contemptible natural parts are too ready to produce, not only pedan⯑tic expreſſions, but crude notions; and ſtill oftner to bring forward obvious and hackneyed remarks, which float on the very ſurface of a ſubject, with the impoſing air of recent invention, and all the vanity of conſcious diſcovery. This is becauſe their acquirements have not been woven into their minds by early inſtruction; what knowledge they have gotten ſtands out as it were above the very ſurface of their minds, like the appliquée of the embroiderer, inſtead of having been interwoven with the growth of the piece, ſo as to have be⯑come a part of the ſtuff. They did not, like men, acquire what they know while the texture was forming. Perhaps no better preventive could be deviſed for this literary vanity, than early inſtruct⯑ion: that woman would be leſs likely to be vain of her knowledge who did not remember the time when ſhe was ignorant. [57]Knowledge that is burnt in, if I may ſo ſpeak, is ſeldom obtruſive.

Their reading alſo has probably conſiſted much in abridgments from larger works, as was obſerved in a former chapter; this makes a readier talker, but a ſhallower thinker, than books of more bulk. By theſe ſcanty ſketches their critical ſpirit has been excited, while their critical pow⯑ers have not been formed. For in thoſe crippled mutilations they have ſeen no⯑thing of that juſt proportion of parts, that ſkilful arrangement of the plan, and that artful diſtribution of the ſubject, which, while they prove the maſter hand of the writer, ſerve alſo to form the taſte of the reader, far more than a diſ-jointed ſkeleton, or a beautiful feature or two can do. The inſtruction of women is alſo too much drawn from the ſcanty and penurious ſources of ſhort writings of the eſſay kind: this, when it compriſes the beſt part of a perſon's reading, makes ſmatterers and ſpoils ſcholars; for though it ſupplies [58]ready talk, yet it does not make a full mind; it does not furniſh a ſtore houſe of materials to ſtock the underſtand⯑ing, neither does it accuſtom the mind to any trains of reflection: for the ſubjects, beſides being each ſuccinctly, and, on ac⯑count of this brevity, ſuperficially treated, are diſtinct and diſconnected; they form no concatenation of ideas, nor any depend⯑ent ſeries of deduction. Yet on this plea⯑ſant but deſultory reading, the mind which has not been trained to ſeverer ex⯑erciſe, loves to repoſe itſelf in a ſort of creditable indolence, inſtead of ſtretching its powers in the wholeſome labour of con⯑fecutive inveſtigation ^*.

I am not diſcouraging ſtudy at a late period of life, or even ſlender knowledge; [59]information is good at whatever period and in whatever degree it be acquired. But in ſuch caſes it ſhould be at⯑tended with peculiar humility; and the new poſſeſſor ſhould bear in mind, that what is freſh to her has been long known to others; and ſhe ſhould be aware of ad⯑vancing as novel that which is common, and obtruding as rare that which every body poſſeſſes. Some ladies are eager to exhibit proofs of their reading, though at the expence of their judgment, and will in⯑troduce in converſation quotations quite irrelevant to the matter in hand, becauſe they happen to recur to their recollection, or were, perhaps, found in the book they have juſt been reading. Inappropriate quotations or ſtrained analogy may ſhew reading, but they do not ſhew taſte. That juſt and happy alluſion which knows by a word how to awaken a correſponding image, or to excite in the mind of the hearer the idea which fills the mind of the ſpeaker, ſhews leſs pedantry and more [60]taſte than bare citations; and a mind imbued with elegant knowledge will in⯑evitably betray the opulence of its re⯑ſources, even on topics which do not relate to ſcience or literature. Well informed perſons will eaſily be diſcovered to have read the beſt books, though they are not always detailing catalogues of authors. True taſte will detect the infuſion which true modeſty will not diſplay; and even common ſubjects paſſing through a cultivated underſtanding, borrow a flavour of its richneſs. A power of apt ſelection is more valuable than any power of general retention; and an appo⯑ſite remark, which ſhoots ſtrait to the point, demands higher powers of mind than an hundred ſimple acts of mere memory: for the buſineſs of the memory is only to ſtore up materials which the underſtanding is to mix and work up with its native faculties, and which the judgment is to bring out and apply. But young women, who have more vivacity than ſenſe, and more vanity than vivacity, often riſk the charge of ab⯑ſurdity [61]to eſcape that of ignorance, and will even compare two authors who are totally unlike rather than miſs the occaſion to ſhew that they have read both.

Among the arts to ſpoil converſation, ſome ladies poſſeſs that of ſuddenly divert⯑ing it from the channel in which it was beneficially flowing, becauſe ſome word uſed by the perſon who was ſpeaking has accidentally ſtruck out a new train of thinking in their own minds, and not be⯑cauſe the idea expreſſed has ſtruck out a freſh idea, which ſort of colliſion is in⯑deed the way of eliciting the true fire. Young ladies, whoſe ſprightlineſs has not been diſciplined by a correct education, are ſometimes willing to purchaſe the praiſe of being lively at the riſk of being thought raſh or vain. They now and then conſider how things may be prettily ſaid, rather than how they may be prudently or ſeaſonably ſpoken; and hazard being thought wrong for the chance of being reckoned pleaſant. [62]The flowers of rhetoric captivate them more than the juſteſt deductions of reaſon; and to repel an argument they arm themſelves with a metaphor. Thoſe alſo who do not aim ſo high as eloquence, are often ſurpriſed that you refuſe to accept of a pre⯑judice inſtead of a reaſon; they are apt to take up with a probability in place of a demonſtration, and cheaply put you off with an aſſertion when you are requiring a proof. The ſame mode of education ren⯑ders them alſo impatient of oppoſition; and if they happen to poſſeſs beauty, and to be vain of it, they may be tempted to con⯑ſider that as an additional proof of their being in the right. In this caſe, they will not aſk the conviction of your judgment to the force of their argument, ſo much as to the authority of their charms; for they prefer a ſacrifice to a convert, and ſubmiſſion to their will flatters them more than proſelytiſm to their ‘pleaded reaſon.’

[63]The ſame turn of mind, ſtrengthened by the ſame cauſe, (a neglected educa⯑tion,) leads lively women often to pro⯑nounce on a queſtion without examining it: on any given point they ſeldomet doubt than men; not becauſe they are more clear-ſighted, but becauſe they have not been accuſtomed to look into a ſub⯑ject long enough to diſcover its depths and its intricacies; and, not diſcerning its difficulties, they conclude that it has none. Is it a contradiction to ſay, that they ſeem at once to be quick-ſighted and ſhort-ſighted? What they ſee at all, they com⯑monly ſee at once; a little difficulty diſ⯑courages them; and, having caught a haſty glimpſe of a ſubject, they ruſh to this concluſion, that either there is no more to be ſeen, or that what is behind will not pay them for the trouble of ſearching. They purſue their object eagerly, but not regularly; rapidly, but not pertinaciouſly; for they want that obſtinate patience of inveſtigation which [64]grows ſtouter by repulſe. What they have not attained, they do not believe exiſts; what they cannot ſeize at once, they perſuade themſelves is not worth having.

Is a ſubject of moment ſtarted in com⯑pany? While the more ſagacious are de⯑liberating on its difficulties, and viewing it under all its aſpects, in order to form a competent judgment what to ſay, you will often find the moſt ſuperficial woman preſent determine the matter without heſitation. Not ſeeing the perplexities in which the queſtion is involved, ſhe won⯑ders at the want of penetration in him whoſe very penetration keeps him ſilent. She ſecretly deſpiſes the dull perception and ſlow deciſion of him who is patiently untying the knot which ſhe fancies ſhe ex⯑hibits more dexterity by cutting. By this ſhallow ſprightlineſs, the perſon whoſe opinion was beſt worth having is diſ⯑couraged from delivering it, and an im⯑portant ſubject is diſmiſſed without diſ⯑cuſſion [65]inconſequent flippancy, and voluble raſhneſs. It is this abundance of florid talk, from ſuperficial matter, which has brought on ſo many of the ſex the charge of inverting the Apoſtle's precept, and being ſwift to ſpeak, ſlow to hear.

For if the great Roman Orator could obſerve, that ſilence was ſo important a part of converſation, that ‘there was not only an art but an eloquence in it,’ how peculiarly does the remark apply to the modeſty of youthful females! But the ſilence of liſtleſs ignorance, and the ſilence of ſparkling intelligence, are two things almoſt as obviouſly diſtinct, as the wiſdom and the folly of the tongue. And an in⯑violable and marked attention may ſhew, that a woman is pleaſed with a ſubject, and an illuminated countenance may prove that ſhe underſtands it, amoſt as unequi⯑vocally as language itſelf could do; and this, with a modeſt queſtion, is in many caſes as large a ſhare of the converſation as is decorous for feminine delicacy to take. It [66]is alſo as flattering an encouragement as men of ſenſe require, for purſuing ſuch topics in their preſence, which they would do, did they oftener gain by it the attention which it is natural to wiſh to excite.

Yet do we not ſometimes ſee an impa⯑tience to be heard (nor is it a feminine failing only) which good breeding can ſcarcely ſubdue? And even when theſe incorrigible talkers are compelled to be ſilent, is it not evident that they are not liſtening to what is ſaid, but are only thinking of what they themſelves ſhall ſay when they can ſeize the firſt lucky interval for which they are ſo narrowly watching?

But converſation muſt not be con⯑ſidered as a ſtage for the diſplay of our talents, ſo much as a field for the exerciſe and improvement of our virtues; as a means for promoting the glory of our Creator and the good and happineſs of our fellow creatures. Well bred and intelli⯑gent Chriſtians are not, when they join in ſociety, to conſider themſelves as entering [67]the liſts like intellectual prize-fighters, in order to exhibit their own vigour and dexterity, to diſcomfit their adverſary, and to bear away the palm of victory. Truth and not triumph ſhould be the object; and there are few occaſions in life, in which we are more unremittingly called upon to watch ourſelves narrowly, and to reſiſt the aſſaults of various temptations, than in converſation. Vanity, jealouſy, envy, miſrepreſentation, reſentment, diſdain, le⯑vity, impatience, inſincerity, will in turn ſolicit to be gratified. Conſtantly to ſtrug⯑gle againſt the deſire of being thought more wiſe, more witty, and more knowing, than thoſe with whom we aſſociate, demands the inceſſant exertion of that Chriſtian vigilance which the generality are ſo far from ſuſpecting, ought to be brought into exerciſe in the intercourſe of common ſociety; that cheerful converſa⯑tion is rather conſidered as an exemption and releaſe from watchfulneſs, than as an additional obligation to it.

[68]But ſociety, as was obſerved before, is not a ſtage on which to throw down our gauntlet, and prove our own proweſs by the number of falls we give to our adver⯑ſary; ſo far from it, that good breeding as well as Chriſtianity, conſiders as an indiſpenſable requiſite for converſation, the diſpoſition to bring forward to notice any talent in others, which their own modeſty, or conſcious inferiority, would lead them to keep back. To do this with effect requires a penetration exer⯑ciſed to diſcern merit, and a generous candour which delights in drawing it out. There are few who cannot converſe tole⯑rably on ſome one topic; what that is, we ſhould try to find out, and introduce that topic, though to the ſuppreſſion of any one on which we ourſelves are ſuppoſed to excel: and however ſuperior we may be in other reſpects to the perſons in queſtion, we may, perhaps, in that parti⯑cular point, improve by them; and if we do not gain information, we ſhall at leaſt [69]gain a wholeſome exerciſe to our humility and ſelf-denial; we ſhall be reſtraining our own impetuouſity; we ſhall be giving confidence to a doubting, or cheerfulneſs to a depreſſed ſpirit. And to place a juſt remark, hazarded by the diffident in the moſt advantageous point of view; to call the attention of the inattentive to the ob⯑ſervation of one, who, though of much worth, is perhaps of little note; theſe are requiſites for converſation, leſs brilliant, but far more valuable, than the power of exciting burſts of laughter by the brighteſt wit, or of extorting admiration by the moſt poignant ſallies.

For wit is of all the qualities of the female mind that which requires the ſevereſt caſtigation; yet the temperate ex⯑erciſe of this faſcinating quality throws an additional luſtre round the character of an amiable woman; for to manage with diſcreet modeſty a dangerous talent, con⯑fers a higher praiſe than can be claimed by thoſe in whom the abſence of the talent [70]takes away the temptation to miſemploy it. But to women, wit is a peculiarly perilous poſſeſſion, which nothing ſhort of the ſobermindedneſs of Chriſtianity can keep in order. Intemperate wit craves admiration as its natural aliment; it lives on flattery as its daily bread. The pro⯑feſſed wit is a hungry beggar that ſubſiſts on the extorted alms of perpetual panegy⯑ric; and, like the vulture in the Grecian fable, its appetite increaſes by indulgence. Simple truth and ſober approbation be⯑come taſteleſs and inſipid to the palate, daily vitiated by the delicious poignancies of exaggerated commendation.

But if it be true that ſome women are too apt to affect brilliancy and diſplay in their own diſcourſe, and to undervalue the more humble pretenſions of leſs ſhowy characters; it muſt be confeſſed alſo, that ſome of more ordinary abilities are now and then guilty of the oppoſite error, and fooliſhly affect to value themſelves on not making uſe of the underſtanding they [71]really poſſeſs. They exhibit no ſmall ſatisfac⯑tion in ridiculing women of high intellectual endowments, while they exclaim with much affected humility, and much real envy, that ‘they are thankful they are not geniuſes.’ Now, though one is glad to hear gratitude expreſſed on any occaſion, yet the want of ſenſe is really no ſuch great mercy to be thankful for; and it would indicate a better ſpirit, were they to pray to be enabled to make a right uſe of the moderate underſtanding they poſſeſs, than to expoſe with a too viſible pleaſure the imaginary or real defects of their more ſhining acquaintance. Women of the brighteſt faculties ſhould not only "bear thoſe faculties meekly," but conſider it as no derogation, cheerfully to fulfil thoſe humbler duties which make up the buſineſs of common life, always taking into the account the higher reſpon⯑ſibility attached to higher gifts. While women of lower attainments ſhould exert to the utmoſt ſuch abilities as Providence [72]has aſſigned them; and while they ſhould not deride excellencies which are above their reach, they ſhould not deſpond at an inferiority which did not depend on themſelves; nor, becauſe God has denied them ten talents, ſhould they forget that they are equally reſponſible for the one he has allotted them, but ſet about devoting that one with humble diligence to the glory of the Giver.

Vanity, however, is not the monopoly of talents; let not a young lady, there⯑fore, fancy that ſhe is humble, merely becauſe ſhe is not ingenious. Humility is not the excluſive privilege of dulneſs. Folly is as conceited as wit, and ignorance many a time outſtrips knowledge in the race of vanity. Equally earneſt competi⯑tions in converſation ſpring from cauſes leſs worthy to excite them than wit and genius. Vanity inſinuates itſelf into the female heart under a variety of unſuſpect⯑ed forms, and ſeizes on many a little paſs which was not thought worth guarding.

[73]Who has not ſeen a reſtleſs emotion agitate the features of an anxious matron, while peace and fame hung trembling in doubtful ſuſpence on the ſucceſs of a ſoup or a ſauce, on which ſentence was about to be pronounced by ſome conſummate critic, as could have been excited by any competition for literary renown, or any ſtruggle for conteſted wit?

There is another ſpecies of vanity in ſome women which diſguiſes itſelf under the thin veil of an affected humility; they will accuſe themſelves of ſome fault from which they are remarkably exempt, and lament the want of ſome talent which they are rather notorious for poſſeſſing. This is not only a clumſy trap for praiſe, but there is a diſingenuous intention, by renouncing a quality they eminently poſ⯑ſeſs, to gain credit for others in which they are really deficient. All affectation involves a ſpecies of deceit. The Apoſtle when he enjoins, ‘not to think of our⯑ſelves more highly than we ought,’ [74]does not exhort us to think falſely of our⯑ſelves, but to think "ſoberly;" and it is worth obſerving that in this injunction he does not uſe the word ſpeak, but think, inferring poſſibly, that it would be ſafer not to ſpeak of ourſelves at all; for it is ſo far from being an unequivocal proof of our humility to talk even of our defects, that while we make ſelf the ſubject, in whatever way, ſelf-love contrives to be gratified, and will even be content that our faults ſhould be talked of, rather than that we ſhould not be talked of at all. Some are alſo attacked with ſuch proud fits of humility, that while they are ready to accuſe themſelves of almoſt every ſin in the lump, they yet take fire at the imputation of the ſlighteſt individual fault; and inſtantly enter upon their own vindication as warmly as if you, and not themſelves, had brought forward the charge. The truth is, they ventured to condemn themſelves, in the full confidence that you would contradict them; the laſt [75]thing they intended was that you ſhould believe them, and they are never ſo much piqued, and diſappointed as when they are taken at their word.

Of the various ſhapes and undefined forms into which vanity branches out in converſation there is no end. Out of a reſtleſs deſire to pleaſe, grows the ſpurious deſire to aſtoniſh: from vanity as much as from credulity, ariſes that ſtrong love of the marvellous, with which the conver⯑ſation of the ill-educated abounds. Hence that fondneſs for dealing in narratives hardly within the compaſs of poſſibility. Here vanity has many ſhades of gratifica⯑tion; thoſe ſhades will be ſtronger or weaker, whether the relater have been an eye witneſs of the wonder ſhe recounts; or whether ſhe claim only the ſecond hand renown of its having happened to her friend, or the ſtill remoter celebrity of its having been witneſſed only by her friend's friend: but even though that friend only knew the man, who remembered the [76]woman, who actually beheld the thing which is now cauſing admiration in the company, ſtill ſelf, though in a fainter degree, is brought into notice, and the relater contrives in ſome circuitous way to be connected with the wonder.

To correct this propenſity ‘to elevate and ſurpriſe ^*’ it would be well in mixed ſociety to abſtain altogether from hazard⯑ing ſtories, which though they may not be abſolutely falſe, yet lying without the verge of probability, are apt to impeach the credit of the narrator; in whom the very conſciouſneſs that ſhe is not believed, excites an increaſed eagerneſs to depart ſtill farther from the ſoberneſs of truth, and induces a habit of vehement aſſevera⯑tion, which is too often called in to help out a queſtionable point ^†

[77]There is another ſhape, and a very de⯑formed ſhape it is, in which loquacious vanity ſhews itſelf; I mean, the betraying of confi⯑dence. Though the act be treacherous, yet the fault, in the firſt inſtance, is not treachery, but vanity. It does not ſo often ſpring from the miſchievous deſire of divulging a ſecret, as from the pride of having been truſted with it. It is the ſecret inclination of mixing ſelf with whatever is important. The ſecret is of little value, if the reveal⯑ing it did not ſerve to intimate our con⯑nexion with it: the pleaſure of its having been depoſited with us would be nothing, if others may not know it has been ſo depoſted.—When we continue to ſee the variety of ſerious evils it involves, ſhall we [78]perſiſt in aſſerting that vanity is a ſlender miſchief?

There is one offence committed in con⯑verſation of much too ſerious a nature to be overlooked, or to be animadverted on without ſorrow and indignation: I mean, the habitual and thoughtleſs prophaneneſs of thoſe who are repeatedly invoking their Maker's name on occaſions the moſt trivial. It is offenſive in all its variety of aſpects;—it is very pernicious in its effects; —it is a growing evil;—thoſe who are moſt guilty of it, are from habit hardly conſcious when they do it; are not aware of the ſin; and for both theſe reaſons, without the admonitions of faith⯑ful friendſhip, little likely to diſcontinue it; —it it utterly INEXCUSABLE;—it has none of the palliatives of temptation which other vices plead, and in that reſpect ſtands diſtinguiſhed from all others both in its nature and degree of guilt.—Like many other ſins, however, it is at once cauſe and effect; it proceeds from want of [79]love and reverence to the beſt of Beings, and cauſes that want both in themſelves and others. Yet with all thoſe aggrava⯑tions, there is, perhaps, hardly any ſin ſo frequently committed, ſo ſeldom repented of, and ſo little guarded againſt. On the ſcore of impropriety too, it is additionally offenſive, as being utterly repugnant to female delicacy, which often affects to be ſhocked at ſwearing in a man. Now this ſpecies of profaneneſs is not only ſwearing, but, perhaps, ſwearing of the worſt ſort; as it is a direct breach of an expreſs com⯑mand, and offends againſt the very letter of that law which ſays in ſo many words, THOU SHALT NOT TAKE THE NAME OF THE LORD THY GOD IN VAIN. It offends againſt delicacy and good breeding; for thoſe who commit it, little think of the pain they are inflicting on the ſober mind, which is deeply wounded when it hears the holy name it loves diſhonoured; and it is as contrary to good breeding to give pain, as it is to true piety to be profane.

[80]I would endeavour to give ſome faint idea of the groſſneſs of this offence, by an analogy (Oh! how inadequate!) with which the feeling heart, even though not ſeaſoned with religion, may be touched. To ſuch I would earneſtly ſay:—Suppoſe you had ſome beloved friend, —to put the caſe ſtill more ſtrongly, a departed friend —a revered parent, perhaps, —whoſe image never occurs without awaking in your boſom ſentiments of tender love and gratitude; how would you feel if you heard this honoured name bandied about with unfeeling familiarity, and indecent levity; or at beſt, thruſt into every pauſe of ſpeech as a vulgar expletive? Does not your affectionate heart recoil at the thought? And yet the hallowed name of your trueſt Benefactor, your heavenly Father, your beſt friend, who gives you all you enjoy, thoſe very friends in whom you ſo much delight, thoſe very organs with which you diſhonour him, is treated with an irreverence, a contempt, a wanton⯑neſs, [81]with which you cannot bear the mention of treating a human friend. HIS name is impiouſly, is unfeelingly, is un⯑gratefully ſingled out as the object of decided irreverence, of ſyſtematic con⯑tempt, of thoughtleſs levity. It is uſed indiſcriminately to expreſs anger, joy, grief, ſurpriſe, impatience; and what is almoſt ſtill more unpardonable than all, it is wantonly uſed as a mere unmeaning expletive, which, being excited by no emotion, can have nothing to recommend it, unleſs it be the pleaſure of the ſin.

Among the deep, but leſs obvious miſchiefs of converſation, miſrepreſentation muſt not be overlooked. Self-love is continually at work, to give to all we ſay a bias in our own favour; the counter⯑action of this fault ſhould be ſet about in the earlieſt ſtages of education. If young perſons have not been diſcouraged in the natural, but evil propenſity, to relate every diſpute they have had with others to their own advantage; if they [82]have not been trained to the duty of doing juſtice even to thoſe with whom they are at variance; if they have not been led to aim at a complete impartiality in their little narratives; and, inſtructed never to take advantage of the abſence of the other party, in order to make the ſtory lean to their own ſide more than the truth will admit; how ſhall we in advanced life look for correct habits, for unpre⯑judiced repreſentations, for fidelity, ac⯑curacy, and unbiaſſed juſtice?

Yet, how often in ſociety, otherwiſe reſpectable, are we pained with narrations in which prejudice warps, and ſelf-love blinds! How often do we ſee, that with⯑holding part of a truth anſwers the worſt ends of a falſehood! How often regret the unfair turn given to a buſineſs, by placing a ſentiment in one point of view, which the ſpeaker had uſed in another! the letter of truth preſerved where its ſpirit is violated! A ſuperſtitious exactneſs ſcrupulouſly maintained in the underparts [83]of a detail, in order to impreſs ſuch an idea of integrity, as ſhall gain credit when the leading principle is deſignedly miſ⯑ſtated! nay, a new character given to a fact by a different look, tone or emphaſis, which alters it as much as words could have done! the falſe impreſſion conveyed of a ſermon, when we do not like the preacher, or when through him we wiſh to make religion itſelf ridiculous! the avoiding of literal untruths, while the miſ⯑chief is better effected by the unfair quota⯑tion of a paſſage diveſted of its context! the bringing together detached portions of a ſubject and making thoſe parts ludi⯑crous when connected, which were perfect in their diſtinct poſition! the inſidious uſe made of a ſentiment by repreſenting it as the opinion of him, who had only brought it forward in order to expoſe it! the relating opinions which had merely been put hypothetically, as the avowed principles of him we would diſcredit! that ſubtle falſehood which is ſo made [84]to incorporate with a certain quantity of truth, that the moſt ſkilful moral chemiſt cannot analyſe or ſeparate them! for a miſrepreſenter knows that a ſucceſsful lie muſt have a certain infuſion of truth, or it will not go down. All that indefinable ambiguity and equivocation; all that pru⯑dent deceit, which is rather implied than expreſſed; thoſe more delicate artifices of the ſchool of Loyala and of Cheſterfield, which allow us when we dare not deny a truth, yet ſo to diſguiſe and diſcolour it, that the truth we relate ſhall not reſemble the truth we heard! Theſe and all the thouſand ſhades of ſimulation and diſſimu⯑lation will be carefully guarded againſt in the converſation of vigilant Chriſtians.

Again, it is ſurpriſing to mark the com⯑mon deviations from ſtrict veracity which ſpring, not from enmity to truth, not from intentional deceit, not from malevolence or envy, or the leaſt deſign to injure, but from mere levity, habitual inattention, and a current notion that it is not worth [85]while to be correct in ſmall things. But here the doctrine of habits comes in with great force, and in that view no error is ſmall. The cure of this diſeaſe in its more inveterate ſtages being next to im⯑poſſible, its prevention ought to be one of the earlieſt objects of education. ^*

The grievous fault of groſs and obvious detraction which infects converſation, has been ſo heavily and ſo juſtly condemned by divines and moraliſts, that the ſubject is exhauſted. But there is an error of an oppoſite complexion, which we have be⯑fore noticed, and againſt which the pecu⯑liar temper of the times requires, that young ladies of a better caſt ſhould be guarded. From the narrowneſs of their own ſphere of obſervation, they are ſome⯑times addicted to accuſe of uncharitable⯑neſs, that diſtinguiſhing judgment which, reſulting from a ſound penetration and a zeal for truth, forbids perſons of a very [86]correct principle to be indiſcriminately prodigal of commendation without in⯑quiry, and of praiſe without diſtinction. There is an affectation of candour, which is almoſt as miſchievous as calumny itſelf; nay, if it be leſs injurious in its individual application, it is, perhaps, more alarming in its general principle, as it lays waſte the ſtrong fences which ſeparate good from evil. They know (though they ſometimes calumniate) that calumny is wrong but they have not been told that flattery is wrong alſo; and youth being apt to fancy that the direct contrary to wrong muſt neceſſarily be right, are apt to be driven into extremes. The dread of being only ſuſpected of one fault makes them actually guilty of the other; and to avoid the charge of envy they plunge into inſincerity. In this they are actuated by an unſound judgment or an unfound principle. But the ſtandard of truth and of juſtice muſt neither be elevated nor depreſſed, in order to accom⯑modate [87]it to exiſting circumſtances. Good natured young people often ſpeak favour⯑ably of unworthy, or extravagantly of com⯑mon characters, from one of theſe motives; either their own views of excellence are low, or they ſpeak reſpectully of the un⯑deſerving, to purchaſe for themſelves the reputation of tenderneſs and generoſity; or they laviſh unſparing praiſe on almoſt all alike, in the uſurious hope of buying back univerſal commendation in return; or in theſe captivating characters in which the ſimple and maſculine language of truth is ſacrificed to the jargon of affect⯑ed ſoftneſs; and in which ſmooth and pliant manners are ſubſtituted for intrinſic worth, the inexperienced are too apt to ſuppoſe virtues, and to forgive vices. But they ſhould carefully guard againſt the error of making manner the criterion of merit, and of giving unlimited credit to ſtrangers for poſſeſſing every perfection, only becauſe they bring into company the engaging exterior of alluring gentleneſs. [88]They ſhould alſo remember that it is an eaſy, but not an honeſt way of obtaining the praiſe of candour to get into the ſoft and popular habit of ſaying of all their acquaintance, when ſpeaking of them, that they are ſo good! True Chriſtian candour conceals faults, but it does not invent virtues. It tenderly forbears to expoſe the evil which may belong to a character, but it dares not aſcribe to it the good which does not exiſt. To correct this propenſity to inſincerity, it would be well to bear in mind, that while every good action, come from what ſource it may, and every good quality, be it found in whomſoever it will, deſerves its fair proportion of diſtinct and willing com⯑mendation; yet no character is GOOD in the true ſenſe of the word which is not RELIGIOUS.

In fine—to recapitulate what has been ſaid, with ſome additional hints.—Study to promote both intellectual and moral improvement in converſation; labour to [89]bring into it a diſpoſition to bear with others, and to be watchful over yourſelf; Keep out of ſight any prominent talent of your own, which, if indulged, might diſcourage or oppreſs the feeble-minded. If you know any one preſent to poſſeſs any particular weakneſs or infirmity, never exerciſe your wit by maliciouſly inventing occaſions which may lead her to expoſe or betray it; but give as favourable a turn as you can to the follies which appear, and kindly help her to keep the reſt out of ſight. Never gratify your own humour, by hazarding what you ſuſpect may wound any one preſent in their perſons, connexions, profeſſions, or religious opinions; and do not forget to examine whether the laugh your wit has raiſed be never bought at this expence. Give credit to thoſe, who without your kindneſs will get none; do not talk at any one whom you dare not talk to, unleſs from motives in which the golden rule will bear you out. Seek neither to [90]ſhine nor to triumph, and if your ſeek to pleaſe, take care that it be in order to convert the influence you may gain by pleaſing to the good of others. Cultivate true politeneſs, for it grows out of true principle, and is conſiſtent with the Goſpel of Chriſt; but avoid thoſe feigned atten⯑tions which are not ſtimulated by good will, and thoſe ſtated profeſſions of fond⯑neſs which are not dictated by eſteem. Remember that the praiſe of being thought amiable by ſtrangers, may be bought too dear, if it be bought at the expence of truth and ſimplicity: remem⯑ber that Simplicity is the firſt charm in manner, as Truth is in mind; and could Truth make herſelf viſible, ſhe would ap⯑pear inveſted in Simplicity.

Remember alſo, that true good nature is the ſoul, of which politeneſs is only the garb. It is not that artifical quality which is taken up by many when they go into ſociety, in order to charm thoſe whom it is not their particular buſineſs [91]to pleaſe; and is laid down when they return home to thoſe to whom to appear amiable is a real duty. It is not that faſcinating but deceitful ſoftneſs, which, after having acted over a hundred ſcenes of the moſt lively ſympathy and tender intereſt with every ſlight acquaintance; after having exhauſted every phraſe of feeling, for the trivial ſickneſſes or petty ſorrows of multitudes who are ſcarcely known, leaves it doubtful whether a grain of real feeling or genuine ſympathy be reſerved for the deareſt connexions; and which diſmiſſes a woman to her immediate friends with little affection, and to her own family with little attachment.

True good nature, that which alone deſerves the name, is not a holiday orna⯑ment, but an every-day habit. It does not conſiſt in ſervile complaiſance, or diſhoneſt flattery, or affected ſympathy, or unqualified aſſent, or unwarrantable compliance, or eternal ſmiles. Before it can be allowed to rank with the virtues, [92]it muſt be wrought up from a diſpoſition into a principle, from a humour into a habit. It muſt be the reſult of an equal and well-governed mind, not the ſtart of caſual gaiety, the trick of deſigning vanity, or the whim of capricious fondneſs. It is compounded of kindneſs, forbearance, for⯑giveneſs, and ſelf-denial; ‘it ſeeketh not its own,’ but muſt be capable of making continual ſacrifices of its own taſtes, hu⯑mours, and ſelf-love; but among the ſacriſices it makes, it muſt never include its integrity. Politeneſs on the one hand, and inſenſibility on the other, aſſume its name and wear its honours; but they aſſume the honours of a triumph, without the merit of a victory; for politeneſs ſub⯑dues nothing, and inſenſibility has nothing to ſubdue. Good nature of the true caſt, and under the foregoing regulations, is above all price in the common intercourſe of domeſtic ſociety; for an ordinary quality which is conſtantly brought into action, by the perpetually recurring [93]though minute events of daily life, is of higher value than more brilliant qualities which are more ſeldom called into uſe. And indeed, Chriſtianity has given that new turn to the character of all the virtues, that perhaps it is the beſt teſt of the excellence of many that they have little brilliancy in them. The Chriſtian Religion has degraded ſome ſplendid qua⯑lities from the rank they held, and elevated thoſe which were obſcure into diſtinction.

CHAP. XV. On the danger of an ill-directed Senſibility.

IN conſidering the human character with a view to improve it, it is prudent to en⯑deavour to diſcover the natural bent of the mind, and having found it, to apply your force to that ſide on which the warp lies, that you may leſſen by counteraction the defect which you might be otherwiſe pro⯑moting, by applying your aid in a contrary direction. But the misfortune is, people who mean better than they judge, are apt to poſſeſs themſelves of a ſet of general rules, good in themſelves, perhaps, and originally gleaned from experience and ob⯑ſervation on the nature of human things, but not applicable in all caſes. Theſe rules they keep by them as noſtrums of univerſal efficacy, which they therefore [95]often uſe in caſes to which they do not apply. For to make any remedy effectual it is not enough to know the medicine, you muſt ſtudy the conſtitution alſo; for if there be not a congruity between the two, you may be injuring one patient by the means which are requiſite to raiſe and reſtore another whoſe temperament is of a contrary deſcription.

It is of importance in forming the female character that thoſe on whom this taſk de⯑volves, ſhould poſſeſs ſo much penetration as accurately to diſcern its degree of ſen⯑ſibility, and ſo much judgment as to ac⯑commodate the treatment to the individual character. By conſtantly ſtimulating and extolling feelings naturally quick, thoſe feelings will be rendered too acute and irritable. On the other hand a calm and equable temper will become obtuſe by the total want of excitement; the former treatment converts the feelings into a ſource of error, agitation, and cala⯑mity, the latter ſtarves their native energy, [96]deadens the affections, and produces a cold, dull, ſelfiſh ſpirit; for the human mind is an inſtrument which will loſe its ſweet⯑neſs if ſtrained too high, and will be deprived of its tone and ſtrength if not ſufficiently raiſed.

It is cruel to chill the precious ſenſibility of an ingenuous ſoul, by treating with ſupercilious coldneſs, and unfeeling ridi⯑cule, every indication of a warm, tender, diſintereſted, and enthuſiaſtic ſpirit, as if it exhibited ſymptoms of a deficiency in underſtanding or prudence. How many are apt to intimate, with a ſmile of mingled pity and contempt, that when ſuch a one knows the world, that is, in other words, when ſhe ſhall be grown cunning, ſelfiſh, and ſuſpicious, ſhe will be aſhamed of her preſent glow of honeſt warmth, and of her lovely ſuſceptibility of heart. May ſhe never know the world, if the knowledge of it muſt be acquired at ſuch an expence! but to ſenſible hearts, every indication of genuine feeling will be [97]dear, for they will know that it is this temper which, by the guidance of the Divine Spirit, will make her one day become more enamoured of the beauty of holineſs; which, with the co-operation of principle, and under its direction, will render her the lively agent of Providence in diminiſhing the miſery that is in the world; into which miſery this temper will give her a quicker intuition than colder characters poſſeſs. It is this temper which, when it is touched and purified by a "live coal from the altar ^*," will give her a keener taſte for the ſpirit of religion, and a quicker zeal in diſcharg⯑ing its duties. But let it be remembered likewiſe, that as there is no quality in the female character which will be ſo likely to endanger the peace and to expoſe the virtue of the poſſeſſor; ſo there is none which requires to have its luxuriances more carefully watched, and its wild ſhoots more cloſely looped.

[98]For young women of naturally warm affections, in whom thoſe affections have not been carefully diſciplined, are in danger of incurring an unnatural irrita⯑bility; and while their happineſs falls a victim to the exceſs of uncontrolled feelings, they are liable at the ſame time to indulge a vanity of all others the moſt prepoſterous, that of being vain of their defects. They have heard ſenſibility highly commended, without having heard any thing of thoſe bounds and fences which were intended to confine its ex⯑ceſſes, or without having been imbued with that principle which would have given it a beneficial direction; and, con⯑ſcious that they poſſeſs the quality itſelf in the extreme, and not conſcious that they want all that makes that quality ſafe and delightful, they plunge headlong into thoſe miſeries from which they conceitedly imagine, that not principle but cold⯑neſs has preſerved the more ſober-minded and well inſtructed of their ſex.

[99]But as it would be foreign to the preſent deſign to expatiate on thoſe ſad effects of ungoverned paſſion which terminate in criminal exceſſes, it is only intended here to hazard a few remarks on thoſe lighter ſhades of the ſame defect, which injure the comfort without injuring the character, and impair the happineſs of life without incurring any very cenſurable degree of guilt or diſcredit. Let it, how⯑ever, be incidentally remarked, and let it be carefully remembered, that if no women have riſen ſo high in the ſcale of moral excellence as thoſe whoſe natural warmth has been conſcientiouſly governed by its true guide, and directed to its true end; ſo none have furniſhed ſuch deplorable inſtances of extreme depravity as thoſe who, through the ignorance or the deriliction of principle, have been abandoned by the exceſs of this very temper to the violence of ungoverned paſſions and uncon⯑trolled inclinations. And, perhaps, if we were to inquire into the remote cauſe [100]of ſome of the blackeſt crimes which ſtain the annals of mankind, profligacy, mur⯑der, and eſpecially ſuicide, we might trace them back to this original principle, an ungoverned Senſibility.

Notwithſtanding all the fine theories in proſe and verſe to which this topic has given birth, it will be found that very exquiſite ſenſibility contributes ſo little to happineſs, and may yet be made to contri⯑bute ſo much to uſefulneſs, that it may, perhaps, be conſidered as beſtowed for an exerciſe to the poſſeſſor's own virtue, and as a keen inftrument with which he may better work for the good of others.

Women of this caſt of mind are leſs careful to avoid the charge of unbounded extremes, than to eſcape at all events the imputation of inſenſibility. They are little alarmed at the danger of exceeding, though terrified at the ſuſpicion of coming ſhort of what they take to be the extreme point of feeling. They will even roſolve to [101]prove the warmth of their ſenſibility, though at the expence of their judgment, and ſometimes alſo of their juſtice. Even when they earneſtly deſire to be and to do right, they are apt to employ the wrong inſtrument to accompliſh the right end. They employ the paſſions to do the work of the judgment; forgetting, or not knowing, that the paſſions were not given us to be uſed in the ſearch and diſcovery of truth, which is the office of a cooler and more diſcriminating faculty; but that they were given to animate us to warmer zeal in the purſuit and practice of truth, when the judgment ſhall have pointed out what is truth.

Through this natural warmth, which they have been juſtly told is ſo pleaſing, but which, perhaps, they have not been told will be continually expoſing them to peril and to ſuffering, their joys and ſor⯑rows are exceſſive. Of this extreme irri⯑tability, as was before remarked, the ill⯑educated learn to boaſt as if it were an [102]indication of ſuperiority of ſoul, inſtead of labouring to reſtrain it as the exceſs of a temper which ceaſes to be intereſting when it is no longer under the control of the governing faculty. It is mis⯑fortune enough to be born more liable to ſuffer and to ſin, from this conform⯑ation of mind; it is too much to allow its unreſtrained indulgence; it is ſtill worſe to be proud of ſo miſleading a quality.

Flippancy, impetuoſity, reſentment, and violence of ſpirit, grow out of this diſ⯑poſition, which will be rather promoted than corrected, by the ſyſtem of education on which we have been animadverting; in which ſyſtem, emotions are too early and too much excited, and taſtes and feel⯑ings are conſidered as too excluſively making up the whole of the female cha⯑racter; in which the judgment is little exerciſed, the reaſoning powers are ſeldom brought into action, and ſelf-knowledge and ſelf-denial ſcarcely included.

[103]The propenſity of mind which we are conſidering, if unchecked, lays its poſſeſſors open to unjuſt prepoſſeſſions, and expoſes them to all the danger of unfounded at⯑tachments. In early youth, not only love, but friendſhip, at firſt ſight, grows out of an ill-directed ſenſibility; and in after⯑life, women under the powerful influ⯑ence of this temper, conſcious that they have much to be borne with, are too readily inclined to ſelect for their confiden⯑tial connections, flexible and flattering companions, who will indulge and per⯑haps admire their faults, rather than firm and honeſt friends, who will reprove and would aſſiſt in curing them. We may adopt it as a general maxim, that an obliging, weak, yielding, complaiſant friend, full of ſmall attentions, with little religion, little judgment, and much natural acqui⯑eſcence and civility, is a moſt dangerous, though generally a too much deſired confidante: ſhe ſoothes the indolence, and gratifies the vanity of her friend, by re⯑conciling [104]conciling her to her own faults, while ſhe neither keeps the underſtanding nor the virtues of that friend in exerciſe. Theſe obſequious qualities are the "ſoft green ^*" on which the ſoul loves to repoſe itſelf. But it is not a refreſhing or a wholeſome repoſe: we ſhould not ſelect, for the ſake of preſent eaſe, a ſoothing flatterer, who will lull us into a pleaſing oblivion of our failings, but a friend, who, valuing our ſoul's health above our immediate comfort, will rouſe us from torpid indulgence to animation, vigilance, and virtue.

An ill-directed ſenſibility leads a wo⯑man to be injudicious and eccentric in her charities alſo; ſhe will be in danger of proportioning her bounty to the im⯑mediate effect which the diſtreſſed object produces on her ſenſes: and ſhe will be more liberal to a ſmall diſtreſs which preſents itſelf to her own eyes, than to the more preſſing wants and better claims [105]of thoſe miſeries of which ſhe only hears the relation. There is a ſort of ſtage effect which ſome people require for their charities; and ſhe will be apt too to deſire, that the object of her compaſſion ſhall have ſomething intereſting and amiable in it, ſuch as ſhall furniſh pleaſing images and lively pictures to her imagination, and engaging ſubjects for deſcription; forgetting, that in her charities, as well as in every thing elſe, ſhe is to be a ‘fol⯑lower of Him who pleaſed not himſelf;’ forgetting, that the moſt coarſe and diſ⯑guſting object is as much the repreſenta⯑tive of Him, who ſaid, ‘Inaſmuch as ye do it to one of the leaſt of theſe, ye do it unto me,’ as the moſt intereſting: nay, the more uninviting and repulſive caſes may be better teſts of the principle on which we relieve, than thoſe which abound more in pathos and intereſt, as we can have leſs ſuſpicion of our motive in the one caſe than in the other: but, while we ought to neglect neither of theſe ſuppoſed [106]caſes, yet the leſs our feelings are caught by pleaſing circumſtances, the leſs dan⯑ger we ſhall be in of indulging ſelf-com⯑placency, and the more likely we ſhall be to do what we do for the ſake of Him who has promiſed, that no deeds but what are performed on that principle, ‘ſhall be recompenſed at the reſurrection of the juſt.’

But through the want of that govern⯑ing principle which ſhould direct her ſenſibility, a tender hearted woman, whoſe hand, if ſhe be actually ſurrounded with ſcenes and circumſtances to call it into action, is Open as day to melting charity, yet her feelings being acted upon ſolely by local circumſtances and preſent events, only remove her into another ſcene, diſtant from the wants ſhe has been relieving; place her in the lap of indulgence, ſo ſurrounded with eaſe and pleaſure, ſo im⯑merſed in the ſoftneſs of life, that diſtreſs [107]no longer finds any acceſs to her preſence, but through the faint and unaffecting medium of a diſtant repreſentation: thus removed from the ſight and ſound of that miſery which, when preſent, ſo ten⯑derly affected her, ſhe is apt to forget that miſery exiſts; and as ſhe hears but little, and ſees nothing of want and ſorrow, ſhe is ready to fancy that the world is grown happier than it was: in the meantime, with a quiet conſcience and a thoughtleſs vanity, ſhe has been laviſhing on ſuperflui⯑ties that money which ſhe would cheer⯑fully have given to a charitable caſe, had ſhe not forgotten that any ſuch were in exiſtence, becauſe Pleaſure had blocked up the avenues through which miſery uſed to find its way to her heart; and now, when again ſuch a caſe forces itſelf into her preſence, ſhe laments with real ſincerity that the money is gone which ſhould have relieved it.

In the meantime, perhaps, other women of leſs natural ſympathy, but [108]whoſe ſympathies are under better regula⯑tion, or who act from a principle which requires little ſtimulus, have, by a conſtant courſe of ſelf-denial, by a conſtant atten⯑tion in refuſing themſelves unneceſſary indulgencies, and by guarding againſt that diſſolving PLEASURE which melts down the firmeſt vittue that allows itſelf to baſk in its beams, have been quietly furniſhing a regular proviſion for miſeries, which their knowledge of the ſtate of the world tells them are every where to be found, and which their obedience to the will of God tells them it is their duty to find out and to relieve; and for the general expectation to be called upon to relieve which, the conſcientiouſly chari⯑table will always be prepared.

On ſuch a mind as we have been de⯑ſcribing, Novelty alſo will operate with peculiar force, and in nothing more than in this article of charity. Old eſtabliſhed inſtitutions, whoſe continued exiſtence muſt depend on the continued bounty of [109]that affluence to which they owed their origin, will be ſometimes neglected, as preſenting no variety to the imagination, as having by their uniformity ceaſed to be intereſting; and having of courſe ceaſed to excite thoſe ſprings of mere ſenſitive feeling which ſet the charity agoing, and which are no longer capable of awakening thoſe ſudden emotions of tenderneſs and guſts of pity, which newer forms of diſtreſs are neceſſary to excite afreſh. As age comes on, that charity which has been the effect of mere feeling, having been often diſappointed in its high expectations of the gratitude and ſubſequent merit of thoſe it has relieved, grows cold and rigid; and by withdrawing its bounty, becauſe ſome of its objects have been un⯑deſerving, it gives clear proof that what it beſtowed was for its own gratification; and now finding that ſelf-complacency at an end, it beſtows no longer. Probably too the cauſe of ſo much diſappointment may have been the ill choice of the objects [110]which feeling has led them to make. The ſummer ſhowers of mere ſenſibility ſoon dry up, while the living ſpring of Chriſtian charity flows alike in all ſeaſons.

The impatience, levity, and fickleneſs, of which women have been ſomewhat too generally accuſed, are perhaps not a little ſtrengthened by the littleneſs and fri⯑volouſneſs of female purſuits. The ſort of education they commonly receive, teaches girls to ſet a great price on ſmall things. Beſides this, they do not always learn to keep a very correct ſcale of degrees for the value of the objects of their ad⯑miration and attachment; but by a kind of unconſcious idolatry, they rather make a merit of loving ſupremely things and perſons which ought to be loved with moderation and in a ſubordinate degree the one to the other. Unluckily, they conſider moderation as ſo neceſſarily indi⯑cating a cold heart and narrow ſoul, and they look upon a ſtate of indifference with ſo much horror, that either to love or hate [111]with energy is ſuppoſed by them to proceed from a higher ſtate of mind than is poſſeſſed by more ſteady and equable cha⯑racters. Whereas it is in fact the criterion of a warm but well directed ſenſibility, that while it is capable of loving with energy, it muſt be enabled by the judg⯑ment which governs it, to ſuit and adjuſt its degree of intereſt to the nature and excellence of the object about which it is intereſted; for unreaſonable prepoſ⯑ſeſſion, diſproportionate attachment, and capricious or precarious fondneſs, is not ſenſibility.

Exceſſive but unintentional flattery is another fault into which a ſtrong ſenſi⯑bility is in danger of leading its poſſeſſor. A tender heart and a warm imagination conſpire to throw a ſort of radiance round the object of their love, till they are dazzled by a brightneſs of their own creating. The worldly and faſhionable borrow the warm language of ſenſibility without having the ſame warm feeling; [112]and young ladies get ſuch a habit of ſaying, and eſpecially of writing, ſuch over obliging and flattering things to each other, that this mutual politeneſs, aided by the ſelf-love ſo natural to us all, and by an unwillingneſs to ſearch into our own hearts, keeps up the illuſion, and we get a habit of taking our character from the good we hear of ourſelves, which others do not very well know, rather than from the evil we feel in ourſelves, and which we therefore ought to be thoroughly ac⯑quainted with.

Ungoverned ſenſibility is apt to give a wrong direction to its anxieties; and its affection often falls ſhort of the true end of friendſhip. If the object of its regard happen to be ſick, what inquiries! what preſcriptions! what an accumulation is made of caſes in which the remedy its fondneſs ſuggeſts has been ſucceſsful! What an unaffected tenderneſs for the periſhing body! Yet is this ſenſibility equally alive to the immortal intereſts of [113]the ſufferer? Is it not ſilent and at eaſe when it contemplates the deareſt friend perſiſting in opinions eſſentially dangerous; in practices unqueſtionably wrong? Does it not view all this, not only without a a generous ardor to point out the peril and reſcue the friend; but if that friend be ſuppoſed to be dying, does it not even make it the criterion of kindneſs to let her die undeceived? What a want of true ſenſibility, to feel for the pain, but not for the danger of thoſe we love! Now ſee what ſort of ſenſibility the Bible teaches! ‘Thou ſhalt not hate thy brother in thine heart, but thou ſhalt in any wiſe rebuke him, and ſhalt not ſuffer ſin upon him ^*’ But let that tenderneſs which ſhrinks from the idea of expoſing what it loves to a mo⯑mentary pang, figure to itſelf the bare poſſibility that the object of its own fond affection may not be the object of the [114]Divine favour! Let it ſhrink from the bare conjecture that ‘the familiar friend with whom it has taken ſweet counſel,’ is going down to the gates of death un⯑warned, unrepenting, unprepared!

But mere human ſenſibility goes a ſhorter way to work. Not being able to give its friend the pain of hearing her faults or of knowing her danger, it works itſelf up into the quieting deluſion that no danger exiſts, at leaſt not for the objects of its own affection; it gratifies itſelf by inventing a ſalvation ſo com⯑prehenſive as ſhall take in all itſelf loves with all their faults; it creates to its own fond heart an ideal and exaggerated divine mercy, which ſhall pardon and receive all in whom itſelf has an intereſt, whether they be good or whether they be evil.

In regard to its application to religious purpoſes, it is a teſt that ſenſibility has received its true direction when it is ſu⯑premely turned to the love of God: for to poſſeſs an overflowing fondneſs for our [115]fellow-creatures and fellow ſinners, and to be cold and inſenſible to the Eſſence of goodneſs and perfection, is an incon⯑ſiſtency to which the feeling heart is awfully liable. God has himſelf the firſt claim to the ſenſibility he beſtowed. ‘He firſt loved us:’ this is a natural cauſe of love. ‘He loved us while we were ſinners:’ this is a ſupernatural cauſe. He continues to love us though we neglect his favours, and ſlight his mercies: this would wear out any earthly kindneſs. He forgives us, not petty neglects, not occaſional ſlights; but grievous ſins, re⯑peated offences, broken vows, and un⯑requited love. What human friendſhip performs offices ſo calculated to touch the ſoul of ſenſibility?

Thoſe young women in whom feeling is indulged to the excluſion of reaſon and examination, are peculiarly liable to be the dupes of prejudice, raſh deciſions, and falſe judgment. The underſtanding hav⯑ing but little power over the will, their [116]affections are not well poized, and their minds are kept in a ſtate ready to be acted upon by the fluctuations of alternate impulſes; by ſudden and varying im⯑preſſions; by caſual and contradictory circumſtances; and by emotions excited by every accident. Inſtead of being guided by the broad views of general truth, and having one fixed principle, they are driven on by the impetuoſity of the moment. And this impetuoſity blinds the judgment as much as it miſleads the conduct; ſo that, for want of a habit of cool inveſtigation and inquiry, they meet every event with⯑out any previouſly formed opinion or rule of action. And as they do not accuſtom themſelves to appreciate the real value of things, their attention is as likely to be led away by the under parts of a ſubject, as to ſeize on the leading feature. The ſame eagerneſs of mind which hinders the operation of the diſcriminating fa⯑culties, leads alſo to the error of deter⯑mining on the rectitude of an action by its [117]ſucceſs, and to that of making the event of an undertaking decide on its juſtice or propriety: it alſo leads to that ſuper⯑ficial and erroneous way of judging which faſtens on exceptions, if they make in one's own favour, as grounds of reaſoning, while they lead us to overlook received and general rules which tend to eſtabliſh a doctrine contrary to their wiſhes.

Open hearted, indiſcreet girls, often pick up a few ſtrong notions which are as falſe in themſelves as they are popular among the claſs in queſtion: ſuch as, ‘that warm friends muſt make warm enemies;’—that ‘the generous love and hate with all their hearts;’—that ‘a reformed rake makes the beſt huſband;’ —that ‘there is no medium in marriage, but that it is a ſtate of exquiſite happi⯑neſs, or exquiſite miſery;’ with many other doctrines of equal currency and equal ſoundneſs. Theſe they conſider as axioms, and adopt as rules of life. From the two firſt of theſe oracular ſayings girls [118]are in no ſmall danger of becoming unjuſt through the very warmth of their hearts: for they will get a habit of making their eſtimate of the good or ill qualities of others, merely in proportion to the greater or leſs degree of kindneſs which they themſelves have received from them. Their eſtimation of general character is thus formed on inſulated and partial grounds; on the accidental circumſtance of perſonal predilection or perſonal pique. Kindneſs to themſelves or their friends involves all poſſible excellence; neglect includes all imaginable defects. Friendſhip and grati⯑tude can and ſhould go a great way; but as they cannot convert vice into virtue, ſo they ought never to convert truth into falſehood. And it may be the more neceſſary to be upon our guard in this inſtance, becauſe the very idea of gratitude may miſlead us, by converting injuſtice into the ſemblance of a virtue. Warm expreſſions therefore ſhould be limited to the conveying a ſenſe of our own [119]individual obligations which are real, rather than employed to give an impreſſion of general excellence in the perſon who has obliged us, which may be imaginary. A good man is ſtill good though it may not have fallen in his way to oblige or ſerve us; nay, though he may have neglected or even unintentionally hurt us; and ſin is ſtill ſin though committed by the perſon in the world we beſt love, and to whom we are moſt obliged.

We come next to that fatal and moſt indelicate, nay groſs maxim, that a re⯑formed rake makes the beſt huſband; an aphoriſm to which the principles and the happineſs of ſo many young women have been ſacrificed. It goes upon the pre⯑poſterous ſuppoſition, not only that effects do not follow cauſes, but that they oppoſe them; on the ſuppoſition, that habitual vice creates rectitude of character, and that ſin produces happineſs: thus flatly contradicting what the moral government of God uniformly exhibits in the courſe of [120]human events, and what revelation ſo evidently and univerſally teaches.

For it ſhould be obſerved, that the reformation is generally, if not always ſuppoſed to be brought about by the all⯑conquering force of female charms. Let but a profligate young man have a point to carry by winning the affections of a vain and thoughtleſs girl; he will begin his attack upon her heart by undermining her religious principles, and artfully removing every impediment which might have ob⯑ſtructed her receiving the addreſſes of a man without character. And while he will lead her, not to hear named with⯑out ridicule that change of heart which Scripture teaches and experience proves the power of Divine grace can work on a vicious character; while he will teach her to ſneer at a change which he would treat with contempt, as a really miraculous converſion; yet he will not ſcruple to ſwear that the power of her beauty has worked an inſtantaneous and equally com⯑plete [121]revolution in his own looſe prac⯑tice.

But ſuppoſing it poſſible that his re⯑formation were genuine, it would even then by no means involve the truth of her propoſition, that paſt libertiniſm in⯑ſures future felicity; yet many a weak girl, confirmed in this palatable doctrine, by examples ſhe has frequently admired of theſe ſurpriſing reformations, ſo con⯑veniently effected in the laſt ſcene of moſt of our comedies, has not ſcrupled to riſk her earthly and eternal happineſs with a man, who is not aſhamed to aſcribe to the influence of her beauty that power of changing the heart which he impiouſly denies to Omnipotence itſelf.

As to the laſt of theſe practical apho⯑riſms, ‘that there is no medium in marriage, but that it is a ſtate of exqui⯑ſite happineſs or exquiſite miſery;’ this, though not equally ſinful, is equally de⯑luſive: for marriage is only one certain modification of human life, and human [122]life is not commonly in itſelf a ſtate of exquiſite extremes; but is uſually that mixed and moderate ſtate, ſo naturally dreaded by thoſe who ſet out with fancy⯑ing this world a ſtate of rapture, and ſo naturally expected by thoſe who know it to be a ſtate of probation and diſcipline. Marriage, therefore, is only one condition, and often the beſt condition, of that im⯑perfect ſtate of being which, though ſeldom very exquiſite, is often very toler⯑able; and which may yield much comfort to thoſe who do not look for conſtant tranſport. But unfortunately, thoſe who find themſelves diſappointed of the un⯑ceaſing raptures they had anticipated in marriage, diſdaining to ſit down with ſo poor a proviſion as comfort, and ſcorning the acceptance of that moderate lot which Providence commonly beſtows, with a view to check deſpondency and to repreſs preſumption; give themſelves up to the other alternative; and, by abandoning their hearts to diſcontent, make to them⯑ſelves [123]that miſery with which their fervid imaginations had filled the oppoſite ſcale.

The truth is, theſe young ladies are very apt to pick up their opinions, leſs from the divines than the poets; and the poets, though it muſt be confeſſed they are ſome of the beſt embelliſhers of life, are not quite the ſafeſt conducters through it: as in travelling through a wilderneſs, though we avail ourſelves of the harmony of ſinging birds, to render the grove delightful, yet we never think of following them as guides, to conduct us through its labyrinths.

Thoſe women, in whom the natural defects of temper have been ſtrengthened by an education which foſters their faults, are very dextrous in availing them⯑ſelves of a hint, when it favours a ruling inclination, ſoothes vanity, indulges in⯑dolence, or gratifies their love of power. They have heard ſo often from their favourite ſentimental authors, and their more flattering male friends, ‘that when [124]nature denied them ſtrength, ſhe gave them facinating graces in compenſation; that their ſtrength conſiſts in their weakneſs;’ and that ‘they are en⯑dowed with arts of perſuaſion which ſupply the abſence of force, and the place of reaſon;’ that they learn, in time, to pride themſelves on that very weakneſs, and to become vain of their imperfections; till at length they begin to claim for their defects, not only pardon, but admiration. Hence they get to cheriſh a ſpecies of feeling which, if not checked, terminates in exceſſive ſelfiſhneſs; they learn to produce their inability to bear contradiction as a proof of their tender⯑neſs; and to indulge in that ſort of irri⯑tability, in all that relates to themſelves, which inevitably leads to the utter ex⯑cluſion of all intereſt in the ſufferings of others. Inſtead of exerciſing their ſen⯑ſibility in the wholeſome duty of relieving diſtreſs and viſiting ſcenes of ſorrow, that ſenſibility itſelf is pleaded as a reaſon for [125]their not being able to endure ſights of woe, and for ſhunning the diſtreſs it ſhould be exerted in removing. That exquiſite ſenſe of feeling which God im⯑planted in the heart as a ſtimulus to quicken us in relieving the miſeries of others, is thus introverted, and learns to conſider ſelf not as the agent, but the object of compaſſion. Tenderneſs is made an excuſe for being hard-hearted; and inſtead of drying the weeping eyes of others, this falſe delicacy reſerves its own ſelfiſh tears for the more elegant and leſs expenſive ſorrows of the melting novel or the pathetic tragedy.

When feeling ſtimulates only to ſelf-indulgence; when the more exquiſite affections of ſympathy and pity evaporate in ſentiment, inſtead of flowing out in active charity, exerting itſelf in all the various ſhapes of aſſiſtance, protection, or conſolation for every ſpecies of diſtreſs; it is an evidence that the feeling is of a [126]ſpurious kind; and inſtead of being nou⯑riſhed as an amiable tenderneſs, it ſhould be ſubdued as a fond and baſe ſelf-love.

That idleneſs, to whoſe cruel inroads many women of fortune are unhappily expoſed, from not having been trained to conſider wholeſome occupation, vigorous exertion, and ſyſtematic employment as making part of the indiſpenſable duties of life, lays them open to a thouſand evils of this kind, from which the uſeful and the buſy are exempted: and, perhaps, it would not be eaſy to find a more pitiable object than a woman with a great deal of time and a great deal of money on her hands, who, never having been taught the conſcientious uſe of either, ſquanders both at random, or rather moulders both away, without plan, without principle, and without pleaſure; all whoſe projects begin and terminate in ſelf; who con⯑ſiders the reſt of the world only as they may be ſubſervient to her gratification; [127]and to whom it never occurred, that both her time and money were given for the gratification and good of others.

It is not much to the credit of the other ſex, that they now and then lend themſelves to the indulgence of this ſelfiſh ſpirit in their wives, and cheriſh by a kind of falſe fondneſs thoſe faults which ſhould be combated by good ſenſe and a reaſon⯑able counteraction; ſlothfully preferring a little falſe peace, the purchaſe of pre⯑carious quiet, and the reputation of good nature, to the higher duty of forming the mind, fixing the principles, and ſtrengthening the character of her with whom they are connected. Perhaps too, a little vanity in the huſband helps out his good nature; he ſecretly rewards him⯑ſelf by the conſciouſneſs of his ſuperiority; he feels a ſelf-complacency in his patient condeſcenſion to her weakneſs, which tacitly flatters his own ſtrength: and he is, as it were, paid for ſtooping by the increaſed ſenſe of his own tallneſs. Seeing [128]alſo, perhaps, but little of other women, he gets to believe that they are all pretty much alike, and that, as a man of ſenſe, he muſt content himſelf with what he takes to be the common lot. Whereas, in truth, by his miſplaced indulgence, he has rather made his own lot than drawn it; and thus, through an indolent deſpair in the huſband of being able to improve by oppoſing them, it happens that help⯑leſs, fretful, and daudling wives often acquire a more powerful aſcendancy than the moſt diſcreet and amiable women; and that the moſt abſolute female tyranny is eſtabliſhed by theſe ſickly and caprici⯑ous humours.

The poets again, who, to do them juſtice, are always ready to lend a helping hand when any miſchief is to be done, have contributed their full ſhare towards confirming theſe feminine follies: they have ſtrengthened by adulatory maxims, ſung in ſeducing ſtrains, thoſe faults which their talents and their influence [129]ſhould have been employed in correcting. When fair and youthful females are com⯑plimented with being Fine by defect and delicately weak! Is not a ſtandard of feebleneſs held out to them to which vanity will gladly reſort, and to which ſoftneſs and indolence can eaſily act up, or rather act down, if I may be allowed the expreſſion?

When ladies are told by the ſame miſleading, but to them high, authority, that ‘ſmiles and tears are the irreſiſtible arms with which Nature has furniſhed them for conquering the ſtrong,’ will they not eagerly fly to this cheap and ready artillery, inſtead of labouring to furniſh themſelves with a reaſonable mind, an equable temper, and a meek and quiet ſpirit?

Every animal is endowed by Providence with the peculiar powers adapted to its nature and its wants; while none, except the human, by grafting art on natural [130]ſagacity, injures or mars the gift. Spoiſt women, who fancy there is ſomething more picquant and alluring in the mutable graces of caprice, than in the monotonous ſmoothneſs of an even temper, and who alſo having heard much, as was obſerved before, about their "amiable weakneſs," learn to look about them for the beſt ſuccedaneum to ſtrength, the ſuppoſed abſence of which they ſometimes endea⯑vour to ſupply by artifice. By this engine the weakeſt woman frequently furniſhes the converſe to the famous reply of the French Miniſter, who, when he was accuſed of governing the mind of that feeble Queen Mary de Medicis by ſorcery, replied, ‘that the only ſorcery he had uſed was that influence which ſtrong minds na⯑turally have over weak ones.’

But though it be fair ſo to ſtudy the tempers, defects, and weakneſſes of others as to convert our knowledge of them to the promotion of their benefit and our own; and though it be making a lawful [131]uſe of our penetration to avail ourſelves of the faults of others for ‘their good to edification;’ yet all deviations from the ſtrait line of truth and ſimplicity; every plot inſidiouſly to turn influence to unfair account; all contrivances to extort from a bribed complaiſance what reaſon and juſtice would refuſe to our wiſhes; theſe are ſome of the operations of that loweſt and moſt deſpicable engine, ſelfiſh cunning, by which little minds ſometimes govern great ones.

And unluckily, women, from their natural deſire to pleaſe, and from their ſometimes doubting by what means this grand end may be beſt effected, are in more danger of being led into diſſimu⯑lation than men; for diſſimulation is the reſult of weakneſs, and the refuge of doubt and diſtruſt, rather than of conſcious ſtrength, the dangers of which lie another way. Frankneſs, truth, and ſimplicity, therefore, as they are inexpreſſibly charm⯑ing, [132]ſo are they peculiarly commendable in women, and nobly evince that while they wiſh to pleaſe, (and why ſhould they not wiſh it?) they diſdain to have recourſe to any thing but what is fair, and juſt, and honorable to effect it; that they ſcorn to attain the moſt deſired end by any but the moſt lawful means. The beauty of ſim⯑plicity is indeed ſo intimately felt and generally acknowledged by all who have a true taſte for perſonal, moral, or intellectual beauty, that women of the deepeſt artifice often find their account in aſſuming an exterior the moſt foreign to their character, and by affecting the moſt ſtudied naiveté. It is curious to ſee the quantity of art ſome people put in practice in order to appear natural; and the deep deſign which is ſet at work to exhibit ſimplicity. And indeed this feigned ſimplicity is the moſt miſ⯑chievous, becauſe the moſt engaging of all the Proteus forms which diſſimulation can put on. For the moſt free and bold ſenti⯑ments [133]have been ſometimes hazarded with fatal ſucceſs under this unſuſpected maſk. And an innocent, quiet, indolent, artleſs manner has been adopted as the moſt refined and ſucceſsful accompaniment of ſentiments, ideas, and deſigns, neither inno⯑cent, quiet, nor artleſs.

CHAP. XVI. On diſſipation and the modern habits of faſhionable life.

PERHAPS the intereſts of true friendſhip, elegant converſation, mental improvement, ſocial pleaſure, maternal duty, and con⯑jugal comfort, never received ſuch a blow as when Faſhion iſſued out that arbitrary and univerſal decree, that every body muſt be acquainted with every body; together with that conſequent, authoritative, but rather inconvenient clauſe, that every body muſt alſo go every where every night. The devout obedience paid to this law is in⯑compatible with the very being of friend⯑ſhip; for as the circle of acquaintance expands, and it will be continually expand⯑ing, the affections will be beaten out into ſuch thin lamina as to leave little ſolidity [135]remaining. The heart which is continually exhauſting itſelf in profeſſions grows cold and hard. The feelings of kindneſs di⯑miniſh in proportion as the expreſſion of kindneſs becomes more diffuſe and indiſ⯑criminate. The very traces of ‘ſimpli⯑city and godly ſincerity’ in a delicate female, wear away imperceptibly by con⯑ſtant colliſion with the world at large. And perhaps no woman takes ſo little intereſt in the happineſs of her real friends, as ſhe whoſe affections are inceſſantly eva⯑porating in univerſal civilities; as ſhe who is ſaying fond and flattering things at random to a circle of five hundred every night.

The decline and fall of animated and inſtructive converſation has been in a good meaſure effected by this barbarous project of aſſembling en maſſe. An excellent pre⯑late ^* with whoſe friendſhip the author was long honoured, and who himſelf excelled [136]in the art of converſation, uſed to remark, that a few years had brought about a great revolution in the manners of ſociety: that it uſed to be the cuſtom, previouſly to going into company, to think that ſomething was to be communicated or received, taught or learnt; that the powers of the underſtanding were expected to be brought into exerciſe, and that it was therefore neceſſary to quicken the mind, by reading and thinking, for the ſhare the individual might be expected to take in the general diſcourſe; but that knowledge, and taſte, and wit, and erudition, ſeemed now to be ſcarcely conſidered as neceſſary materials to be brought into the pleaſure⯑able commerce of the world; in which there was little chance of turning them to much account; and therefore he who poſſeſſed them, and he who poſſeſſed them not, were nearly on a footing.

It is obvious alſo that multitudinous aſſemblies are ſo little favourable to that cheerfulneſs which it ſhould ſeem to be their [137]very end to promote, that if there were any chemical proceſs by which the quantum of ſpirits animal or intellectual could be aſcertained the diminution would be found to have been inconceivably great, ſince the transformation of man and woman from a ſocial to a gregarious animal.

But if it be true as to the injury which friendſhip, ſociety, and cheerfulneſs, have ſuſtained by this change of manners, how much more pointedly does the remark apply to family happineſs!

Notwithſtanding the known fluctuation of manners and the mutability of language, could it be foreſeen, when the Apoſtle Paul exhorted ‘married women to be keepers at home,’ that the time would arrive when that very phraſe would be ſelected to deſignate one of the moſt decided acts of diſſipation? Could it be foreſeen that when a fine lady ſhould ſend out a notification that on ſuch a night ſhe ſhall be AT HOME, theſe two words (be⯑ſides intimating the rarity of the thing) [138]would preſent to the mind an image the moſt undomeſtic which language can convey? My country readers, who may require to have it explained that theſe two magnetic words now poſſeſs the powerful influence of drawing together every thing fine within the ſphere of their attraction, may need alſo to be apprized, that the gueſts afterwards are not aſked what was ſaid by the company, but whether the crowd was prodigious? The rule for de⯑ciding on the merit of a faſhionable ſociety not being by the taſte or the ſpirit, but by the ſcore and the hundred. The queſtion of pleaſure, like a Parliamentary queſtion, is now carried by numbers. And when two parties modiſh, like two parties poli⯑tical, are run one againſt another on the ſame night, the ſame kind of mortification attends the leader of a defeated minority, the ſame triumph attends the exulting carrier of ſuperior numbers, in the one caſe as in the other.

[139]An eminent divine has ſaid, that ‘per⯑ſeverance in prayer will either make a man leave off ſinning, or a conti⯑nuance in ſin will make him leave off prayer.’ This remark may be accom⯑modated to thoſe ladies who, while they are devoted to the enjoyments of the world, yet retain conſiderable ſolicitude for the inſtruction of their daughters. But if they are really in earneſt to give them a Chriſtian education, they muſt themſelves renounce a diſſipated life. Or if they reſolve to purſue the chace of pleaſure they muſt renounce this prime duty. Con⯑traries cannot unite. The moral nurture of a tall daughter can no more be ad⯑miniſtered by a mother whoſe time is abſorbed by crowds abroad, than the phyſi⯑cal nurture of her infant offspring can be ſupplied by her in a perpetual abſence from home. And is not that a prepoſter⯑ous affection which leads a mother to devote a few months to the inferior duty of furniſhing aliment to the mere animal life, [140]and then to deſert her poſt when the more important moral and intellectual cravings require ſuſtenance? This great object is not to be effected with the ſhreds and parings rounded off from the circle of a diſſipated life; but in order to its ade⯑quate execution the mother ſhould carry it on with the ſame ſpirit and perſeverance at home, which the father thinks it ne⯑ceſſary to be exerting abroad in his public duty or profeſſional engagements.

The uſual vindication, and in theory it has a plauſible ſound, which has been offered for the large portion of time ſpent by women in acquiring ornamental talents is, that they are calculated to make the poſſeſſor love home, and that they in⯑nocently fill up the hours of leiſure. The plea has indeed ſo promiſing an appear⯑ance that it is worth inquiring whether it be in fact true. Do we then, on fairly purſuing the inquiry, diſcover that thoſe who have ſpent moſt time in ſuch light acquiſitions, are really remarkable for lov⯑ing [141]home or ſtaying quietly there? or that when there, they are ſedulous in turn⯑ing time to the beſt account? I ſpeak not of that rational and reſpectable claſs of women, who, applying (as many of them do) theſe elegant talents to their true pur⯑poſe, employ them to fill up the vacancies of better occupations, and to embelliſh the leiſure of a life actively good. But do we generally ſee that even the moſt valu⯑able and ſober part of the reigning female acquiſitions leads their poſſeſſor to ſcenes moſt favourable to the enjoyment of them? to ſcenes which we ſhould naturally ſup⯑poſe ſhe would ſeek, in order to the more effectual cultivation of ſuch rational plea⯑ſures?

Would not thoſe delightful purſuits, botany and drawing, for inſtance, ſeem likely to court the fields, the woods, and gardens of the paternal ſeat, as more con⯑genial to their nature, and more appro⯑priate to their exerciſe, than barren water⯑ing places, deſtitute of a tree, or an herb, [142]or a flower, or an hour's interval from ſucceſſive pleaſures, to proſit by them even if they abounded with the whole vegetable world from the ‘Cedar of Le⯑banon to the Hyſſop on the wall.’

From the mention of watering places, may the author be allowed to ſuggeſt a few remarks on the evils which have ariſen from the general conſpiracy of the gay to uſurp the regions of the ſick; and converting the health-reſtoring foun⯑tains, meant as a refuge for diſeaſe, into the reſorts of vanity for thoſe who have no diſeaſe but idleneſs?

This inability of ſtaying at home, as it is one of the moſt infallible, ſo it is one of the moſt dangerous ſymptoms of the reigning mania. It would be more tolerable, did this epidemic malady only break out as formerly, during the winter, or ſome one ſeaſon. Heretofore, the tenantry and the poor, the natural de⯑pendents on the rural manſions of the opulent, had ſome definite period to which [143]they might joyfully look forward for the approach of thoſe patrons, part of whoſe buſineſs in life it is, to influence by their preſence, to inſtruct by their example, to ſooth by their kindneſs, and to aſſiſt by their liberality, thoſe, whom Providence in the diſtribution of human lots, has placed under their more immediate pro⯑tection. Though it would be far from truth to aſſert that diſſipated people are never charitable, yet I will venture to ſay, that diſſipation is inconſiſtent with the ſpirit of charity. That affecting precept followed by ſo gracious a promiſe, ‘Never turn away thy face from any poor man, and then the face of the Lord ſhall never be turned away from thee,’ cannot literally mean that we ſhould give to all, as then we ſhould ſoon have nothing left to give: but it ſeems to intimate the habitual attention, the duty of inquiring out all caſes of diſtreſs, in order to judge which are fit to be relieved; now for this inquiry [144]the diſſipated have little taſte and leſs leiſure.

Let a reaſonable conjecture (for calcu⯑lation would fail!) be made of how large a dimunition of the general good has been effected in this ſingle reſpect, by cauſes, which, though they do not ſeem import⯑ant in themſelves, yet make no inconſider⯑able part of the miſchief ariſing from modern manners: and I ſpeak now to perſons who intend to be charitable. What a deduction will be made from the aggre⯑gate of charity, by a circumſtance appa⯑rently triſling, when we conſider what would be the beneficial effects of that regular bounty which muſt almoſt un⯑avoidably reſult from the evening walks of a great and benevolent family among the cottages of their own domain: the thouſand little acts of, comparatively, un⯑expenſive kindneſs which the ſight of petty wants and difficulties would excite; wants, which will ſcarcely be felt in the [145]relation; and which will probably be neither ſeen, nor felt, nor fairly repre⯑ſented, in their long abſences, by an agent. And what is even almoſt more than the good done, is the habit of mind kept up in thoſe who do it: would not this habit exerciſed on the Chriſtian prin⯑ciple, that "even a cup of cold water," given upon right motives, ſhall not loſe its reward; while the giving ‘all their goods to feed the poor,’ without the true principle of charity ſhall profit them nothing; would not this habit, I ſay, be almoſt the beſt part of the education of daughters ^*?

[146]But tranſplant this wealthy and boun⯑tiful family periodically amidſt the frivo⯑lous and unintereſting buſtle of the water⯑ing place; where it is not denied that frequent public and faſhionable acts of charity may make a part, and it is well they do make part, of the buſineſs and of the amuſement of the day; with this latter, indeed, they are ſometimes good⯑naturedly mixed up. But how ſhall we compare the regular ſyſtematical good theſe perſons would be doing at their own home, with the light, and amuſing, and buſtling bounties of theſe public places? The illegal raffle at the toy-ſhop, for ſome diſtreſs, which though it may be real, and which if real ought to be re⯑lieved, is yet leſs eaſily aſcertained than [147]the wants of their own poor, or the debts of their diſtreſſed tenants. How ſhall we compare the broad ſtream of bounty which ſhould be flowing through and re⯑freſhing whole diſtricts, with the penu⯑rious current of the ſubſcription breakfaſt for the needy muſician, in which the price of the gift is taken out in the diverſion, and in which pleaſure dignifies itſelf with the name of bounty? How ſhall we com⯑pare the attention, and time, and zeal which would otherwiſe, perhaps, be de⯑voted to the village ſchool, ſpent in hawk⯑ing about benefit tickets for a broken player, while the kindneſs of the benefac⯑treſs, perhaps, is rewarded by ſcenes in which her charity is not always repaid by the purity of the exhibition.

Far be it from the author to wiſh to check the full tide of charity wherever it is diſpoſed to flow! Would ſhe could mul⯑tiply the already abundant ſtreams, and behold every ſource purified! But in the public reſorts there are many who are [148]able and willing to give. In the ſequeſ⯑tered, though populous village, there is, perhaps, only one affluent family: the diſ⯑treſs which they do not behold, will proba⯑bly not be attended to: the diſtreſs which they do not relieve will probably not be relieved at all: the wrongs which they do not redreſs will go unredreſſed: the op⯑preſſed whom they do not reſcue will ſink under the tyranny of the oppreſſor. Through their own rural domains too, charity runs in a clearer current, and is leſs polluted with any ſuſpicion of that muddy tincture which it is ſometimes apt to contract in paſſing through the impure ſoil of the world.

But to return from this too long digreſ⯑ſion: the old ſtanding objection formerly brought forward by the prejudices of the other ſex, and too eagerly laid hold on as a ſhelter for indolence and ignorance by ours, was, that intellectual accompliſh⯑ments too much abſorbed the thoughts and affections, took women off from the [149]neceſſary attention to domeſtic duties, and ſuperinduced a contempt or neglect of whatever was uſeful.—But it is peculiarly the character of the preſent day to detect ab⯑ſurd opinions, and expoſe plauſible theories by the ſimple and deciſive anſwer of experi⯑ment; and it is preſumed that this popu⯑lar error, as well as others, is daily re⯑ceiving the refutation of actual experience. For it cannot ſurely be maintained on ground that is any longer tenable, that acquirements truly rational are calculated to draw off the mind from real duties. Whatever removes prejudices, whatever ſtimulates induſtry, whatever rectifies the judgment, whatever corrects ſelf-con⯑ceit, whatever purifies the taſte, and raiſes the underſtanding, will be likely to contri⯑bute to moral excellence: to woman moral excellence is the grand object of education; and of moral excellence, domeſ⯑tic life is to woman the appropriate ſphere.

Count over the liſt of females who have made ſhipwreck of their fame and virtue, [150]and have furniſhed the moſt lamentable examples of the dereliction of family duties; and the number will not be found con⯑ſiderable who have been led aſtray by the purſuit of knowledge. And if a few de⯑plorable inſtances of this kind be produced, it will commonly be found that there was little infuſion in the minds of ſuch women of that correcting principle without which all other knowledge only "puffeth up."

The time nightly expended in late female vigils is expended by the light of far other lamps than thoſe which are fed by the ſtudent's oil; and if families are to be found who are neglected through too much ſtudy in the miſtreſs, it will probably be proved to be Hoyle, and not Homer, who has robbed her children of her time and affections. For one family which has been neglected by the mother's paſſion for books, an hundred have been deſerted through her paſſion for play. The huſ⯑band of a faſhionable woman will not often find that the library is the apartment the [151]expences of which involve him in debt or diſgrace. And for one literary ſlattern who now manifeſts her indifference to her huſband by the neglect of her perſon, there are ſcores of elegant ſpendthrifts who ruin theirs by exceſs of decoration.

May I digreſs a little while I remark, that I am far from aſſerting that literature has never filled women with vanity and ſelf-conceit; but I will aſſert, that in general thoſe whom books are ſuppoſed to have ſpoiled, would have been ſpoiled in another way without them. She who is a vain pedant becauſe ſhe has read much, has probably that defect in her mind which would have made her a vain fool if ſhe had read nothing. It is not her hav⯑ing more knowledge but leſs ſenſe, which makes her inſufferable; and illiteracy would have added little to her value, for it is not what ſhe has, but what ſhe wants, which makes her unpleaſant. Theſe inſtances too only furniſh a freſh argument [152]for the general cultivation of the female mind. The wider diffuſion of ſound knowledge would remove that temptation to be vain which may be excited by its rarity.

But while we would aſſert that a woman of a cultivated intellect is not driven by the fame neceſſity into the giddy whirl of public reſort; who but regrets that real cultivation does not inevitably preſerve her from it? No wonder that inanity of cha⯑racter, that vacuity of mind, that torpid ignorance, ſhould plunge into diſſipation as their natural refuge; ſhould ſeek to bury their inſignificance in the crowd of preſſing multitudes, and hope to eſcape analyſis and detection in the undiſtinguiſhed maſſes of mixed aſſemblies! There attrition rubs all bodies ſmooth, and makes all ſurfaces alike; thither ſuperficial and external ac⯑compliſhments naturally fly as to their proper ſcene of action; as to a field where competition is in perpetual exerciſe; where [153]the laurels of admiration are to be won, and the trophies of vanity triumphantly carried off!

It would indeed be matter of little com⯑parative regret, if this corrupt air were only breathed by thoſe of the above deſcription whoſe natural element it ſeems to be; but who can forbear regretting that the power of faſhion attracts alſo into this impure and unwholeſome atmoſphere minds of a better make, of higher aims and ends, of more ethereal temper? Minds who, renouncing enjoyments for which they have a genuine taſte, and which would make them really happy, neglect ſociety they love and purſuits they admire, in order that they may ſeem happy and be faſhionable in the chace of pleaſures they deſpiſe, and in company they diſ⯑approve! But no correctneſs of taſte, no depth of knowledge, will infallibly preſerve a woman from this contagion, unleſs her heart be impreſſed with a deep Chriſtian conviction that ſhe is reſponſible for the [154]application of knowledge as well as for the dedication of time.

This contagion is ſo deep, ſo wide, and fatal, that if I were called upon to aſſign the predominant cauſe of the greater part of the misfortunes and corruptions of the great and gay in our days, I ſhould not look for it principally in any ſeemingly great or ſtriking cauſe; not in the practice of notorious vices, not originally in the dereliction of Chriſtian principle; but I ſhould not heſitate to aſcribe it to a growing, regular, ſyſtematic ſeries of amuſements; to an inceſſant, boundleſs, and not very diſreputable DISSIPATION. Other corruptions, though more formidable in appearance, are yet leſs fatal in ſome reſpects, becauſe they leave us intervals to reflect on their turpitude, and ſpirit to lament their exceſſes: but diſſipation is the more hopeleſs, as by engroſſing almoſt the whole of life, and enervating the whole moral and intellectual ſyſtem, it leaves neither time for reflection, nor ſpace for [155]ſelf-examination, nor temper for the che⯑riſhing of right affections, nor leiſure for the operation of ſound principles, nor in⯑terval for regret, nor vigour to reſiſt temptation, nor energy to ſtruggle for amendment.

The great maſter of the ſcience of plea⯑ſure among the ancients, who reduced it into a ſyſtem, which he called the chief good of man, directed that there ſhould be interval enough between the ſucceſſion of delights to ſharpen inclination; and ac⯑cordingly inſtituted periodical days of ab⯑ſtinence: well-knowing that gratification was beſt promoted by previous ſelf-denial. But ſo little do our votaries of faſhion underſtand the true nature of pleaſure, that one amuſement is allowed to overtake another without any interval, either for recollection of the paſt, or preparation for the future. Even on their own ſelfiſh principle, therefore, nothing can be worſe underſtood than this unremitted purſuit of enjoyment: for to ſuch a degree of [156]labour is this purſuit carried, that their pleaſures exhauſt inſtead of exhilarating; and their recreations require to be reſted from.

And, not to argue the queſtion on the ground of religion, but merely on that of preſent enjoyment; look abroad and ſee who are the people that complain of wearineſs, liſtleſſneſs, and dejection? You will not find them among ſuch as are overdone with work, but with pleaſure. The natural and healthful fatigues of buſi⯑neſs are recruited with natural and cheap gratifications; but a ſpirit worn down with the toils of amuſement, requires plea⯑ſures of poignancy; varied, multiplied, ſtimulating!

It has been obſerved by medical writers, that that ſober exceſs in which many in⯑dulge, by conſtantly eating and drinking a little too much at every day's dinner and every night's ſupper, more effectually undermines the health, than thoſe acci⯑dental exceſſes with which others now and [157]then break in upon a life of general ſobriety. This illuſtration is not intro⯑duced with a deſign to recommend occa⯑ſional deviations into groſs vice, by way of a pious receipt for mending the morals; but merely to ſuggeſt that there is more probability that thoſe who are ſometimes driven by unreſiſted paſſion into irregu⯑larities which ſhock their cooler reaſon, are more liable to be rouſed to a ſenſe of their danger, than perſons whoſe per⯑ceptions of evil are blunted by a round of ſyſtematical, exceſſive, and yet not ſcandal⯑ous diſſipation. And when I affirm that this ſyſtem of regular indulgence relaxes the ſoul, enſlaves the heart, bewitches the ſenſes, and thus diſqualifies for pious thought or uſeful action, without having any thing in it ſo groſs as to ſhock the conſcience; and when I hazard an opinion that this ſtate is more formidable becauſe leſs alarming than that which bears upon it a more determined character of evil, I no more mean to ſpeak of the latter in [158]ſlight and palliating terms, than I would intimate that becauſe the ſick ſometimes recover from a fever, but ſeldom from a palſy, that a fever is therefore a ſafe or a healthy ſtate.

But there ſeems to be an error in the firſt concoction, out of which the ſubſequent errors ſucceſſively grow. Firſt then, as has been obſerved before, the ſhowy education of women tends chiefly to qualify them for the glare of public aſſemblies: ſecondly, they ſeem in many inſtances to be ſo educated, with a view to the greater probability of their being ſplendidly married: thirdly, it is alleged in vindication of thoſe diſſipated practices, that daughters can only be ſeen, and ad⯑mirers procured at balls, operas, and aſſemblies; and that therefore, by a natural conſequence, balls, operas, and aſſemblies muſt be followed up without intermiſſion till the object be effected. For the accom⯑pliſhment of this object it is that all this complicated machinery had been pre⯑viouſly [159]viouſly ſet a going, and kept in motion with an activity not at all ſlackened by the diſordered ſtate of the ſyſtem; for ſome machines, inſtead of being ſtopped, go faſter becauſe the true ſpring is out of order; the only difference being that they go wrong, and ſo the increaſed rapidity only adds to the quantity of error.

It is alſo, as we have already remarked, an error to fancy that the love of pleaſure exhauſts itſelf by indulgence, and that the very young are chiefly addicted to it. The contrary appears to be true. The deſire grows with the purſuit upon the ſame principle as motion is quickened by the continuance of the impetus.

Firſt then, it cannot be thought unfair to trace back the exceſſive fondneſs for amuſement to that mode of education we have elſewhere reprobated. Few of the accompliſhments, falſely ſo called, aſſiſt the development of the faculties: they do not exerciſe the judgment, nor bring into action thoſe powers which fit the [160]heart and mind for the occupations of life: they do not prepare women to love home, to underſtand its occupations, to enliven its uniformity, to fulfil its duties, to multiply its comforts: they do not lead to that ſort of experimental logic, if I may ſo ſpeak, compounded of obſervation and reflection, which makes up the moral ſcience of life and manners. Talents which have diſplay for their object deſpiſe the narrow ſtage of home: they demand mankind for their ſpectators, and the world for their theatre.

While one cannot help ſhrinking a little from the idea of a delicate young creature, lovely in perſon, and engaging in mind and manners, ſacrificing nightly at the public ſhrine of Faſhion, at once the votary and the victim; one cannot help figuring to oneſelf how much more intereſting ſhe would appear in the eyes of a man of feeling, did he behold her in the more endearing ſituations of domeſtic life. And who can forbear wiſhing, that the good [161]ſenſe, good taſte, and delicacy of the men had rather led them to prefer ſeeking companions for life in the almoſt ſacred quiet of a virtuous home? There they might have had the means of ſeeing and admiring thoſe amiable beings in the beſt point of view: there they might have been enabled to form a juſter eſtimate of female worth, than is likely to be obtained in ſcenes where ſuch qualities and talents as might be expected to add to the ſtock of domeſtic comfort muſt neceſſarily be kept in the back ground, and where ſuch only can be brought into view as are not par⯑ticularly calculated to inſure the certainty of home delights.

But by what unaccountable infatuation is it that men too, even men of ſenſe, join in the confederacy againſt their own happineſs by looking for their home com⯑panions in the reſorts of vanity? Why do [162]not ſuch men riſe ſuperior to the illuſions of faſhions? why do they not uniformly ſeek her who is to preſide in their families in the boſom of her own? in the practice of every domeſtic duty, in the exerciſe of every amiable virtue, in the exertion of every elegant accompliſhment? thoſe ac⯑compliſhments of which we have been reprobating, not the poſſeſſion, but the application? there they would find her exerting them to their true end, to enliven buſineſs, to animate retirement, to embel⯑liſh the charming ſcene of family delights, to heighten the intereſting pleaſures of ſocial intercourſe, and, riſing to their nobleſt object, to adorn the doctrine of God her Saviour.

If, indeed, woman were mere outſide form and face only, and if mind made up no part of her compoſition, it would fol⯑low that a ball-room was quite as appro⯑priate a place for chooſing a wife, as an exhibition room for chooſing a picture. But, inaſmuch as women are not mere [163]portraits, their value not being determin⯑able by a glance of the eye, it follows that a different mode of appreciating their value, and a different place for viewing them antecedent to their being individu⯑ally ſelected, is deſirable. The two caſes differ alſo in this, that if a man ſelect a picture for himſelf from among all its ex⯑hibited competitors, and bring it to his own houſe, the picture being paſſive, he is able to fix it there: while the wife, picked up at a public place, and accuſ⯑tomed to inceſſant diſplay, will not, it is probable, when brought home ſtick ſo quietly to the ſpot where he fixes her; but will eſcape to the exhibition room again, and continue to be diſplayed at every ſubſequent exhibition, juſt as if ſhe were not become private property, and had never been definitively diſpoſed of.

It is the novelty of a thing which aſto⯑niſhes us, and not its abſurdity: objects may be ſo long kept before the eye that it begins no longer to obſerve them; or [164]may be brought into ſuch cloſe contact with it, that it does not diſcern them. Long habit ſo reconciles us to almoſt any thing, that the groſſeſt improprieties ceaſe to ſtrike us when they are once melted into the common courſe of action. This, by the way, is a ſtrong reaſon for car⯑fully ſifting every opinion and every practice before we let them incorporate into the maſs of our habits, after which they will be no more examined.—Would it not be accounted prepoſterous for a young man to ſay he had fancied ſuch a lady would dance a better minuet, becauſe he had ſeen her behave devoutly at Church, and therefore had choſen her for his partner? and yet he is not thought at all abſurd when he intimates that he choſe a partner for life becauſe he was pleaſed with her at a ball. Surely the place of chooſing and the motive of choice, would be juſt as appropriate in one caſe as in the other, and the miſtake, if the judgment failed, not quite ſo ſerious.

[165]There is, among the more elevated claſſes of ſociety, a certain ſet of perſons who are pleaſed excluſively to call them⯑ſelves, and whom others by a ſort of com⯑pelled courteſy are pleaſed to call, the fine world. This ſmall detachment con⯑ſider their ſituation with reſpect to the reſt of mankind, juſt as the ancient Gre⯑cians did theirs; that is, the Grecians thought there were but two ſorts of beings, and that all who were not Gre⯑cians were barbarians; ſo this certain ſet conſiders ſociety as reſolving itſelf into two diſtinct claſſes, the fine world and the people; to which laſt claſs they turn over all who do not belong to their little co⯑terie, however high their rank or fortune. Celebrity, in their eſtimation, is not be⯑ſtowed by birth or talents, but by being connected with them. They have laws, immunities, privileges, and almoſt a langu⯑age of their own; they form a kind of diſ⯑tinct caſt, and with a ſort of eſprit du corps detach themſelves from others, even [166]in general ſociety, by an affectation of diſtance and coldneſs; and only whiſper and ſmile in their own little groupes of the initiated; their confines are jealouſly guarded, and their privileges are incom⯑municable.

In this ſociety a young man loſes his natural character, which, whatever it might originally have been, is melted down and caſt into the one prevailing mould of Faſhion; all the ſtrong, native, diſcriminating qualities of his mind being made to take one ſhape, one ſtamp, one ſuperſcription! However varied and diſ⯑tinct might have been the materials which nature threw into the crucible, plaſtic Faſhion takes care that they ſhall all be the ſame, or at leaſt appear the ſame, when they come out of the mould. A young man in ſuch an artificial ſtate of ſociety, accuſtomed to the voluptuous eaſe, refined luxuries, ſoft accommodations, ob⯑ſequious attendance, and all the unre⯑ſtrained indulgencies of a faſhionable club, [167]is not likely after marriage to take very cordially to a home, unleſs very extraor⯑dinary exertions are made to amuſe, to attach, and to intereſt him: and he is not likely to lend a very helping hand to the happineſs of the union, whoſe moſt laborious exertions have hitherto been little more than a ſelfiſh ſtratagem to re⯑concile health with pleaſure. Exceſs of gratification has only ſerved to make him irritable and exacting; it will of courſe be no part of his project to make ſacrifices, but to receive them: and what would appear incredible to the Paladins of gallant times, and the Chevaliers Preux of more heroic days, even in the neceſſary buſineſs of eſtabliſhing himſelf for life, he ſome⯑times is more diſpoſed to expect attentions than to make advances.

Thus the indolent ſon of faſhion, with a thouſand fine, but dormant qualities, which a bad tone of manners forbids him to bring into exerciſe; with real energies which that tone does not allow him to [168]diſcover, and an unreal apathy which it commands him to feign; with the heart of an hero, perhaps, if called into the field, he affects the manners of a Sybarite; and he, who with a Roman, or what is more, with a Britiſh valour, would leap into the gulph at the call of public duty, Yet in the ſoft and piping time of peace, when faſhion had reſumed her rights, he would murmur if a roſe leaf lay double under him.

The clubs above alluded to, as has been ſaid, generate and cheriſh luxurious habits, from their perfect eaſe, undreſs, liberty, and equality of diſtinction in rank: they promote a ſpirit for play, and in ſhort, every temper and ſpirit which tends to undomeſticate; and what adds to the miſchief is, all this is attained at a cheap rate compared with home in the ſame ſtyle.

Theſe indulgencies, and that habit of mind, gratify ſo many paſſions, that it can never be counteracted ſucceſsfully by any [169]thing of its own kind, or which gratifies the ſame habits. Now, a paſſion for gratify⯑ing vanity, and a ſpirit of diſſipation, is a paſſion of the ſame kind; and therefore, though for a few weeks, a man who has choſen his wife in the haunts of diſſipation, and this wife, a woman made up of accom⯑pliſhments, may, from the novelty of the connexion and of the ſcene, continue domeſ⯑tic; yet in a little time ſhe will find that thoſe paſſions, to which ſhe has truſted for making his married life pleaſant, will long for the more comfortable pleaſures of the club; and ſhe will, while they are purſued, be conſigned over to ſolitary evenings at home, or driven back to the old diſſi⯑pations.

To conquer the paſſion for club gratifi⯑cations, a woman muſt not ſtrive to feed it with ſufficient aliment in the ſame kind in her ſociety, either at home or abroad; for this ſhe cannot do: but ſhe muſt ſupplant and overcome it by a paſſion of a different nature, which Providence has kindly [170]planted within us, the love of fire-ſide en⯑joyments. But to qualify herſelf for ad⯑miniſtering theſe, ſhe muſt cultivate her underſtanding and her heart; acquiring at the ſame time that modicum of accom⯑pliſhments ſuited to his taſte, which may qualify her for poſſeſſing, both for him and for herſelf, greater varieties of ſafe recreation.

One great cauſe of the want of attach⯑ment in theſe modiſh couples is, that by living in the world at large, they are not driven to depend on each other as the chief ſource of comfort. Now it is pretty clear, in ſpite of modern theories, that the very frame and being of ſocieties, whether great or ſmall, public or private, is jointed and glued together by dependence. Thoſe attachments which ariſe from, and are compacted by, a ſenſe of mutual wants, mutual affection, mutual benefit, and mu⯑tual obligation, are the cement which ſecure the union of the family as well as of the ſtate.

[171]Unfortunately, when two young perſons of the above deſcription marry, the union is ſometimes conſidered rather as the end than the beginning of an engagement: the attachment of each to the other is rather viewed as an object already completed, than as one which marriage is to confirm more cloſely. But the companion for life is not always choſen from the pureſt motive; ſhe is ſelected, perhaps, becauſe ſhe is admired by other men, rather than becauſe ſhe poſſeſſes in an eminent degree thoſe peculiar qualities which are likely to conſtitute the individual happineſs of the man who chooſes her. Vanity uſurps the place of affection; and indolence ſwallows up the judgment. Not happineſs, but ſome eaſy ſubſtitute for happineſs is pur⯑ſued; and a choice which may excite envy, rather than produce ſatisfaction, is adopted as the means of effecting it.

The pair, not matched, but joined, ſet out ſeparately with their independent and individual purſuits; whether it made a [172]part of their original plan or not, that they ſhould be indiſpenſably neceſſary to each other's comfort, the ſenſe of this neceſſity, probably not very ſtrong at firſt, rather diminiſhes than increaſes by time; they live ſo much in the world, and ſo little together, that to ſtand well with their own ſet continues the favourite project of each; while to ſtand well with each other is con⯑ſidered as an under part of the plot in the drama of life: whereas, did they ſtart in the conjugal race with the fixed idea that they were to look to each other for the principal happineſs of life, not only prin⯑ciple, but prudence, and even ſelfiſhneſs would convince them of the neceſſity of ſedulouſly cultivating each other's eſteem and affection as the grand ſpring of pro⯑moting that happineſs. But vanity, and the deſire of flattery and applauſe, ſtill continue to operate. Even after the huſ⯑band is brought to feel a perfect indiffer⯑ence for his wife, he ſtill likes to ſee her decorated in a ſtyle which may ſerve to [173]juſtify his choice. He encourages her to ſet off her perſon, not ſo much for his own gratification, as that his ſelf-love may be flattered, by her continuing to attract the admiration of thoſe whoſe opinion is the ſtandard by which he meaſures his fame, and which fame is to ſtand him in the ſtead of happineſs. Thus is ſhe neceſſarily expoſed to the two-fold tempt⯑ation of being at once neglected by her huſband, and exhibited as an object of attraction to other men. If ſhe eſcape this complicated danger, ſhe will be in⯑debted for her preſervation not to his prudence, but to her own principles.

In ſome of theſe modiſh marriages, inſtead of the decorous neatneſs, the plea⯑ſant intercourſe, and the mutual warmth of communication of the once ſocial dinner; the late and unintereſting meal is com⯑monly hurried over by the languid and ſlovenly pair, that the one may have time to dreſs for his club, and the other for her party. And in theſe cold abſtracted [174] têtes-à-têtes, they often take as little pains to entertain each other, as if the one was preciſely the only human being in the world in whoſe eyes the other did not feel it neceſſary to appear agreeable.

But if theſe young and perhaps really amiable perſons could ſtruggle againſt the imperious tyranny of faſhion, and contrive to paſs a little time together, ſo as to get acquainted with each other; and if each would live in the lively and conſcientious exerciſe of thoſe talents and attractions which they ſometimes know how to pro⯑duce on occaſions not quite ſo juſtifiable; they would, I am perſuaded, often find out each other to be very agreeable people. And both of them, delighted and delight⯑ing, would no longer be driven to the anxious neceſſity of perpetually flying from home as from the only ſcene which offers no poſſible materials for pleaſure.

It may ſeem a contradiction to have aſſerted that beings of all ages, tempers, and talents, ſhould with ſuch unremitting [175]induſtry follow up any way of life if they did not find ſome enjoyment in it; yet I appeal to the boſoms of theſe inceſſant hunters in the chace of pleaſure, whether they are really happy. No.—In the full tide and torrent of diverſion, in the full blaze of gaiety, The heart diſtruſting aſks if this be joy? But there is an anxious reſtleſſneſs which, if not intereſting, is buſtling. There is the dread and partly the diſcredit of being ſuſpected of having one hour unmortgaged, not only to ſucceſſive, but contending engagements; this it is, and not the plea⯑ſure of the engagement itſelf, which is the object. There is an agitation in the arrangements which impoſes itſelf on the vacant heart for happineſs. There is a tumult kept up in the ſpirits which is a buſy though treacherous ſubſtitute for comfort. The multiplicity of ſolicitations ſoothes vanity. The very regret that they [176]cannot be all accepted has its charms; for dignity is flattered becauſe refuſal implies importance. Then there is the joy of being invited when others are neglected; the triumph of ſhowing one's leſs modiſh friend that one is going where ſhe cannot come; and the feigned regret at being obliged to go, aſſumed before her who is half wild at being obliged to ſtay away. Theſe are ſome of the ſupplemental ſhifts for happineſs with which vanity contrives to feed her hungry followers.

In the ſucceſſion of open houſes in which Pleaſure is to be ſtarted and purſued on any given night, the exiſting place is never taken into the account of enjoy⯑ment: the ſcene of which is always ſup⯑poſed to lie in any place where her votaries happen not to be. Pleaſure has no preſent tenſe: but in the houſe which her pur⯑ſuers have juſt quitted, and in the houſe to which they are juſt haſtening, a ſtranger might conclude the ſlippery goddeſs had [177]really fixed her throne, and that her worſhippers conſidered the exiſting ſcene, which they ſeem compelled to ſuffer, but from which they are eager to eſcape, as really detaining them from ſome poſitive joy to which they are flying in the next crowd; till, if he meet them there, he will find the component parts of each preciſely the ſame. He would hear the ſame ſtated phraſes interrupted, not anſwered, by the ſame ſtated replies, the unfiniſhed ſentence "driven adverſe to the winds" by preſſing multitudes; the ſame warm regret mu⯑tually exchanged by two friends (who had been expreſsly denied to each other all the winter) that they had not met before; the ſame ſoft and ſmiling ſorrow at being torn away from each other now; the ſame anxiety to renew the meeting, with perhaps the ſame ſecret reſolution to avoid it. He would hear deſcribed with the ſame pa⯑thetic earneſtneſs the difficulties of getting into this houſe, and the dangers of getting [178]out of the laſt! the perilous retreat of former nights, effected amidſt the ſhock of chariots and the clang of contending coachmen! a retreat indeed effected with a ſkill and peril little inferior to that of the ten thouſand, and detailed with far juſter triumph; for that which happened only once in a life to the Grecian Hero occurs to theſe Britiſh heroines every night.

With "myſterious reverence" I forbear to deſcant on thoſe ſerious and intereſting rites, for the more auguſt and ſolemn celebration of which Faſhion nightly con⯑venes theſe ſplendid myriads to her more ſumptuous temples. Rites! which, when engaged in with due devotion, abſorb the whole ſoul, and call every paſſion into exerciſe, except indeed thoſe of love, and peace, and kindneſs, and gentleneſs. In⯑ſpiring rites! which ſtimulate fear, rouſe hope, kindle zeal, quicken dulneſs, ſharpen diſcernment, exerciſe memory, inflame cu⯑rioſity! [179]Rites! in ſhort, in the due per⯑formance of which all the energies and attentions, all the powers and abilities, all the abſtraction and exertion, all the diligence and devotedneſs, all the ſacrifice of time, all the contempt of eaſe, all the neglect of ſleep, all the oblivion of care, all the riſks of fortune (half of which if directed to their true objects would change the very face of the world): all theſe are concentrated to one point; a point in which the wiſe and the weak, the learned and the ignorant, the fair and the fright⯑ful, the ſprightly and the dull, the rich and the poor, the Patrician and Plebeian, meet in one common and uniform equality; an equality as religiouſly reſpected in theſe ſolemnities, in which all diſtinctions are levelled at a blow, and of which the very ſpirit is therefore democratical, as it is combated in all other inſtances.

CHAP. XVII. On public amuſements.

IT is not propoſed to enter the long conteſted field of controverſy as to the individual amuſements which may be con⯑ſidered as ſafe and lawful for thoſe women of the higher claſs who make a ſtrict pro⯑feſſion of Chriſtianity. The judgment they will be likely to form for themſelves on this ſubject, and the plan they will con⯑ſequently adopt, will depend much on the clearneſs or obſcurity in their religious views, and on the greater or leſs progreſs they have made in their Chriſtian courſe. It is in their choice of amuſements that you get in ſome meaſure to know the real diſpoſitions of mankind. In their buſineſs, in the leading employments of life, their path is in a good degree chalked out [182]for them: there is in this reſpect a ſort of general character wherein the greater part, more or leſs, muſt coincide. But in their pleaſures the choice is voluntary, the taſte is ſelf-directed, the propenſity is inde⯑pendent; and of courſe the habitual ſtate, the genuine bent and bias of the temper, are moſt likely to be ſeen in thoſe purſuits which every man is at liberty to chooſe for himſelf.

When a truly religious principle ſhall have acquired ſuch a degree of force as to produce that conſcientious and habitual improvement of time before re⯑commended, it will diſcover itſelf by an increaſing indifference and even deadneſs to thoſe pleaſures which are intereſting to the world at large. A woman under the predominating influence of ſuch a principle, will begin to diſcover that the ſame thing which in itſelf is innocent may yet be comparatively wrong. She will begin to feel that there are many amuſe⯑ments and employments which though [183]they have nothing cenſurable in them⯑ſelves, yet if they be allowed to intrench on hours which ought to be dedicated to ſtill better purpoſes; or if they are protracted to an undue length; or above all, if by ſoftening and relaxing her mind and diſſipating her ſpirits, they ſo indiſpoſe her for better purſuits as to render ſubſequent duties a burden, they are in that caſe clearly wrong for her, whatever they may be for others. Now as temptations of this ſort are the peculiar dangers of better kind of characters, the ſacrifice of ſuch little gratifications as may have no great harm in them, come in among the daily calls to ſelf-denial in a Chriſtian.

The fine arts, for inſtance, polite litera⯑ture, elegant ſociety, theſe are among the lawful, and liberal, and becoming recreations of higher life; yet if even theſe be cultivated to the neglect or excluſion of ſeverer duties; if they in⯑terfere with ſerious ſtudies, or diſqualify the mind for religious exerciſes, it is an intima⯑tion [184]that they have been too much in⯑dulged; and, under ſuch circumſtances, it might be the part of Chriſtian circum⯑ſpection to inquire if the time devoted to them ought not to be abridged. Above all, a tender conſcience will never loſe fight of one ſafe rule of determining in all doubtful caſes: if the point be ſo nice that though we hope upon the whole there may be no harm in engaging in it, we may at leaſt be always quite ſure that there can be no harm in letting it alone.

The principle of being reſponſible for the uſe of time once fixed in the mind, the conſcientious Chriſtian will be making a continual progreſs in the great art of turning time to account. In the firſt ſtages of her religion ſhe will have abſtained from pleaſures which began a little to wound the conſcience, or which aſſumed a queſ⯑tionable ſhape; but ſhe will probably have abſtained with regret, and with a ſecret wiſh that conſcience could have permitted [185]her to keep well with pleaſure and religion too. But you may diſcern in her ſub⯑ſequent courſe that ſhe has reached a more advanced ſtage, by her beginning to neglect even ſuch pleaſures or employ⯑ments as have no moral turpitude in them, but are merely what are called innocent. This relinquiſhment ariſes, not ſo much from her feeling ſtill more the reſtraints of religion, as from the im⯑provement in her religious taſte. Pleaſures cannot now attach her merely from their being innocent, unleſs they are intereſting alſo, and to be intereſting they muſt be conſonant to her ſuperinduced views. She is not contented to ſpend a large portion of her time harmleſsly, it muſt be ſpent profitably alſo. Nay, if ſhe be indeed earneſtly ‘preſſing towards the mark,’ it will not be even enough for her that her preſent purſuit be good if ſhe be convinced that it might be ſtill better. Her contempt of ordinary en⯑joyments will increaſe in a direct propor⯑tion [186]to her increaſed reliſh for thoſe plea⯑ſures which religion enjoins and beſtows. So that at length if it were poſſible to ſuppoſe that an angel could come down to take off as it were the interdict, and to invite her to reſume all the pleaſures ſhe had renounced, and to reſume them with complete impunity, ſhe would reject the invitation, becauſe ſhe would deſpiſe, from an improvement in her ſpiritual taſte, thoſe delights from which ſhe had at firſt abſtained through fear. Till her will and affections come heartily to be engaged in the ſervice of God, the progreſs will not be comfortable; but when once they are ſo engaged, the attachment to this ſervice will be cordial, and her heart will not deſire to go back and toil again in the drudgery of the world. For her religion has not ſo much given her a new creed, as a new heart, and a new life.

As her views are become new, ſo her tempers, diſpoſitions, taſtes, actions, purſuits, choice of company, choice of [187]amuſements, are new alſo; her employ⯑ment of time is changed; her turn of converſation is altered; ‘old things are paſſed away, all things are become new.’ In diſſipated and worldly ſo⯑ciety, ſhe will ſeldom fail to feel a ſort of uneaſineſs, which will produce one of theſe two effects; ſhe will either, as proper ſeaſons preſent themſelves, ſtruggle hard to introduce ſuch ſubjects as may be uſeful to others; or, ſuppoſing that ſhe finds her⯑ſelf unable to effect this, ſhe will, as far as ſhe prudently can, abſent herſelf from that unprofitable kind of ſociety. Indeed her manner of conducting herſelf under theſe circumſtances may ſerve to furniſh her with a teſt of her own ſincerity. For while people are contending for a little more of this amuſement, and pleading for a little extenſion of that gratification, and fighting to hedge in a little more territory to their pleaſure-ground, they are exhibit⯑ing a kind of evidence againſt themſelves, [188]that they are not yet ‘renewed in the ſpirit of their mind.’

It has been warmly urged as an objec⯑tion to certain religious books, and par⯑ticularly againſt a recent work of high worth and celebrity, by a diſtinguiſhed layman ^*, that they have ſet the ſtandard of ſelf-denial higher than reaſon or even than Chriſtianity requires. Theſe works do indeed elevate the general tone of reli⯑gion to a higher pitch than is quite con⯑venient to thoſe who are at infinite pains to conſtruct a comfortable and compre⯑henſive plan, which ſhall unite the queſ⯑tionable pleaſures of this world with the promiſed happineſs of the next. I ſay it has been ſometimes objected, even by thoſe readers who on the whole greatly admire the particular work in queſtion, that it is unreaſonably ſtrict in the precep⯑tive and prohibitory parts; and eſpecially that it individually and ſpecifically forbids [189]certain faſhionable amuſements, with a ſeverity not to be found in the ſcriptures; and is ſcrupulouſly rigid in condemning diverſions againſt which nothing is ſaid in the New Teſtament: each objector, how⯑ever, is ſo far reaſonable, as only to beg quarter for her own favorite amuſement, and generouſly abandons the defence of thoſe in which ſhe herſelf has no pleaſure.

But theſe objectors do not ſeem to underſtand the true genius of Chriſtianity. They do not conſider that it is the charac⯑ter of the Goſpel to exhibit a ſcheme of principles, of which it is the tendency to infuſe ſuch a ſpirit of holineſs as muſt be utterly incompatible, not only with cuſtoms decidedly vicious, but with the very ſpirit of worldly pleaſure. They do not conſider that Chriſtianity is neither a table of ethics, nor a ſyſtem of opinions, nor a bundle of rods to puniſh, nor an exhibition of rewards to allure, nor a ſcheme of reſtraints, nor merely a code of laws; but it is a new principle infuſed [190]into the heart, by the word and the ſpirit of God, out of which principle will inevit⯑ably grow right opinions, renewed affec⯑tions, correct morals, and holy habits, with an invariable deſire of pleaſing God, and a conſtant fear of offending him. A real Chriſtian, whoſe heart is once tho⯑roughly imbued with this principle, can no more return to the amuſements of the world, than a philoſopher can be refreſhed with the amuſed with the recreations of a child. The New Teſtament is not a mere ſtatute-book: it is not a table where every offence is detailed, and its correſ⯑ponding penalty annexed: it is not ſo much a compilation, as a ſpirit of laws: it does not ſo much prohibit every individual wrong practice, as ſuggeſt a temper and general principle with which every wrong practice is incompatible. It did not, for inſtance, ſo much attack the then-reigning and corrupt faſhions, which were probably, like the faſhions of other countries, tem⯑porary [191]porary and local; but it ſtruck at that worldlineſs which is the root and ſtock from which all corrupt faſhions proceed.

The prophet Iſaiah, who addreſſed him⯑ſelf more particularly to the Iſraelitiſh women, inveighed not only againſt vanity, luxury, and immodeſty, in general; but with great propriety inveighed againſt thoſe preciſe inſtances of each, to which the women of rank in the particular coun⯑try he was addreſſing were eſpecially ad⯑dicted; nay, he enters into the minute detail ^* of their very perſonal decorations, and brings ſpecific charges againſt their levity and extravagance of apparel; mean⯑ing, indeed, chiefly to cenſure the turn of character which theſe indicated. But the Goſpel of Chriſt, which was to be addreſſed to all ages, ſtations, and countries, ſeldom contains any ſuch detailed animadverſions; for though many of the cenſurable modes which the prophet ſo ſeverely reprobated [192]continued probably to be ſtill prevalent in Jeruſalem in the days of our Saviour, yet how little would it have ſuited the univerſality of his miſſion, to have con⯑fined his preaching to ſuch local, limited, and fluctuating cuſtoms! not but that there are many texts which actually do define the Chriſtian conduct as well as temper, with ſufficient particularity to ſerve as condemnation of many prac⯑tices which are pleaded for, and often point pretty directly at them.

Had Peter on that memorable day, when he added three thouſand converts to the Church by a ſingle ſermon, nar⯑rowed his ſubject to a remonſtrance againſt this diverſion, or that public place, or the other vain amuſement, it might indeed have ſuited the caſe of ſome of the female Jewiſh converts who were preſent; but ſuch reſtrictions as might have been appro⯑priate to them would probably not have applied to the caſes of the Parthians and Medes, of which his audience was partly [193]compoſed; or ſuch as might have belonged to them would have been totally inappli⯑cable to the Cretes and Arabians; or again, thoſe which ſuited them would not have applied to the Elamites and Meſopota⯑mians. By ſuch partial and circumſcribed addreſſes, his multifarious audience, com⯑poſed of all nations and countries, would not have been, as we are told they were, "pricked to the heart." But when he preached on the broad ground of general ‘repentance and remiſſion of ſins in the name of Jeſus Chriſt,’ it was no won⯑der that they all cried out ‘What ſhall we do?’ Theſe collected foreigners, at their return home, would have found very different uſages to correct in their different countries; of courſe a detailed reſtriction of the popular abuſes at Jeruſalem would have been of little uſe to ſtrangers return⯑ing to their reſpective nations. The ardent apoſtle, therefore, acted more conſiſtently in communicating to them the large and comprehenſive ſpirit of the Goſpel, which [194]ſhould at once involve all their ſcattered and ſeparate duties, and reprove all their ſcattered and ſeparate corruptions; for the whole always includes a part, and the greater involves the leſs. Chriſt and his Diſciples, inſtead of limiting their condemn⯑ation to the peculiar vanities reprehended by Iſaiah, embraced the very ſoul and principle of them all, in ſuch exhortations as the following: ‘Be ye not conformed to the world:’— ‘If any man love the world the love of the Father is not in him:’— ‘The faſhion of this world paſſeth away.’ Our Lord and his Apoſtles, whoſe future unlimited audience was to be made up out of the whole world, attacked the evil heart, out of which all thoſe incidental, local, and popular cor⯑ruptions proceeded.

In the time of Chriſt and his immediate followers, the luxury and intemperance of the Romans had ariſen to a pitch un⯑known before in the world; but as the ſame Goſpel was to be preached hereafter [195]before the Roman emperors themſelves, which its Divine Author and his diſciples were then preaching to the hungry and neceſſitous; the large precept, ‘Whether ye eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God,’ was likely to be of more general uſe, than any ſeperate exhortation to temperance, to thankful⯑neſs, to moderation as to quantity or ex⯑pence; which laſt indeed muſt always be left in ſome degree to the judgment and the circumſtances of the individual.

When the Apoſtle of the Gentiles viſited the "Saints of Caeſar's houſehold," he could not have heard without abhor⯑rence of ſome of the faſhionable amuſe⯑ments in the court of Nero. He muſt have reflected with peculiar indignation on many things which were practiſed in the Circenſian games: yet, inſtead of prun⯑ing this corrupt tree and ſingling out the inhuman gladiatorial ſports for the object of his condemnation, he laid his axe to the root of all ſin, by preaching to them [196]that Goſpel of Chriſt of which ‘he was not aſhamed;’ and ſhewing them that believed, that ‘it was the power of God and the wiſdom of God.’ Though it is ſomewhat remarkable, that about the very time of his preaching to the Romans, the public taſte had ſunk to ſuch an exceſs of depravity that the very women engaged in thoſe ſhocking encounters with the gla⯑diators.

But in the firſt place, it was better that their right practice ſhould grow out of the right principle; and next his ſpecifically reprobating theſe diverſions would have had this ill effect, that ſucceeding ages, ſeeing that they in their amuſements came ſomewhat ſhort of thoſe dreadful exceſſes of the poliſhed Romans, would only have plumed themſelves on their own compara⯑tive ſuperiority; and thus, on this prin⯑ciple, even the bull-fights of Madrid might have had their panegyriſts. But the truth is, the apoſtle knew that ſuch abominable corruptions could never ſubſiſt [197]together with Chriſtianity, and in effect the honour of aboliſhing theſe barbarous diverſions was reſerved for Conſtantine the firſt Chriſtian emperor.

Beſides, the apoſtles, by inveighing againſt ſome particular diverſions, would have ſeemed to ſanction all which they did not actually cenſure: and as, in the lapſe of time and the revolution of govern⯑ments, cuſtoms change and manners fluctuate; had a minute reprehenſion of the faſhions of the then exiſting age been publiſhed in the New Teſtament, that por⯑tion of ſcripture muſt in time have become obſolete, even in that very ſame country, when the faſhions themſelves ſhould have changed. And Paul and his brother apoſtles knew that their epiſtles would be the oracles of the Chriſtian world when theſe temporary diverſions would be forgot⯑ten. In conſequence of this knowledge, by the univerſal precept to avoid ‘the luſt of the fleſh, the luſt of the eye, and the pride of life,’ they have pre⯑pared [198]a laſting antidote againſt the prin⯑ciple of all corrupt pleaſures, which will ever remain equally applicable to the looſe faſhions of all ages, and of every country to the end of the world.

To vindicate diverſions therefore, which are in themſelves unchriſtian, on the pre⯑tended ground that they are not ſpecific⯑ally condemned in the Goſpel, would be little leſs abſurb than if the heroes of Newmarket ſhould bring it as a proof that their periodical meetings are not con⯑demned in Scripture, becauſe St. Paul, when writing to the Corinthians, in avail⯑ing himſelf of the Iſthmian games as a happy illuſtration of the Chriſtian race, did not drop any cenſure on the practice itſelf: a practice which was indeed as much more pure than the races of Chriſ⯑tian Britain, as the moderation of being contented with the triumph of a crown of leaves is ſuperior to that criminal ſpirit of gambling which iniquitouſly enriches the victor by beggaring the competitor.

[199]But, as was ſaid above, local abuſes were not the object of a book whoſe in⯑ſtructions were to be of univerſal and laſting application. As a proof of this, little is ſaid in the Goſpel of the then-exiſting cor⯑ruption of polygamy; nothing againſt the ſavage cuſtom of expoſing children, or even againſt ſlavery; nothing expreſsly againſt ſuicide or duelling; the laſt Gothic cuſtom, indeed, did not exiſt among the crimes of Paganiſm. But is there not an implied prohibition againſt polygamy in the general denunciation againſt adultery? Is not expoſing of children condemned in that charge againſt the Romans, that "they were without natural affection?" Is there not a ſtrong cenſure againſt ſlavery conveyed in the command to ‘do unto others as you would have them do unto you?’ and againſt ſuicide and duelling, in the general prohibition againſt murder, which is ſtrongly en⯑forced by the ſolemn manner in which [200]murder is traced back to its firſt ſeed of anger in the ſermon on the mount.

Thus it is clear, that when Chriſt ſent the Goſpel to all nations, he meant that that Goſpel ſhould proclaim thoſe prime truths, general laws, and fundamental doctrines, which muſt neceſſarily involve the prohibition of all peculiar, local, and inferior errors; errors which could not have been ſpecifically guarded againſt, without having a diſtinct Goſpel for every country, or without ſwelling the divine volume into ſuch inconvenient length as would have defeated one great end of its promulgation ^* And while its lead⯑ing principles are of univerſal application, it muſt always, in ſome meaſure, be left to the diſcretion of the preacher and to the conſcience of the hearer, to examine whether the life and habits of thoſe who profeſs it are conformable to its ſpirit.

[201]The ſame Divine Spirit which indited the Holy Scriptures, is promiſed to purify the hearts and renew the natures of re⯑penting and believing Chriſtians; and the compoſitions it inſpired are in ſome degree analogous to the workmanſhip it effects. It prohibited the vicious practices of the apoſtolical days, by prohibiting the paſſions and principles which rendered them gratifying; and ſtill working in like manner on the hearts of real Chriſtians, it corrects the taſte which was accuſtomed to find its proper gratification in the reſorts of vanity; and thus effectually provides for the reformation of the habits, and infuſes a reliſh for rational and domeſtic enjoy⯑ments, and for whatever can adminiſter pleaſure to that ſpirit of peace, and love, and hope, and joy, which animates and rules the renewed heart of the true Chriſtian.

But there is a portion of Scripture which, though to a ſuperficial reader it may ſeem but very remotely connected with the [202]preſent ſubject, yet to readers of another caſt, it ſeems to ſettle the matter beyond controverſy: In the parable of the great ſupper, this important truth is held out to us, that even things good in themſelves may be the means of our eternal ruin, by drawing our hearts from God, and cauſing us to make light of the offers of the Goſpel. One invited gueſt had bought an eſtate, another had made a purchaſe equally blameleſs of oxen; a third had married a wife, an act not illaudable in itſelf. They had all different reaſons; but they all agreed in this, to decline the invitation to the ſupper. The worldly poſſeſſions of one, the worldly buſineſs of another, and what ſhould be particularly attended to, the love of a third to his deareſt relative, (a love by the way not only allowed but commanded in Scripture,) were brought forward as excuſes for not attending to the important buſineſs of religion. The conſequence however was the ſame to all. ‘None [203]of thoſe which were bidden ſhall taſte of my ſupper.’ If then things innocent, things neceſſary, things laudable, things commanded, become ſinful, when by un⯑ſeaſonable or exceſſive indulgence they detain the heart and affections from God, how vain will all thoſe arguments ne⯑ceſſarily be rendered which are urged by the advocates for certain amuſements on the ground of their harmleſſneſs; if thoſe amuſements ſerve (not to mention any poſitive evil which may belong to them) in like manner to draw away the thoughts and affections from all ſpiritual objects!

To conclude; when this topic happens to become the ſubject of converſation, inſtead of addreſſing ſevere and pointed attacks to young ladies on the ſin of attending places of diverſion, would it not be better firſt to endeavour to excite in them that principle of Chriſtianity with which ſuch diverſions ſeem not quite com⯑patible; as the phyſician, who viſits a patient in an eruptive fever, pays little [204]attention to thoſe ſpots, which to the ignorant appear to be the diſeaſe, except indeed ſo far as they ſerve as indications to let him into its nature, but goes ſtrait to the root of the malady? He attacks the ſever, he lowers the pulſe, he changes the ſyſtem, he corrects the general habit; well knowing, that if he can but reſtore the vital principle of health, the ſpots, which were nothing but ſymptoms, will die away of themſelves.

In inſtructing others we ſhould imitate our Lord and his Apoſtles, and not always aim our blow at each particular corruption; but making it our buſineſs to convince our pupil that what brings forth the evil fruit ſhe exhibits, cannot be a ſlip of the true vine; we ſhould thus avail ourſelves of individual corruptions for im⯑preſſing her with a ſenſe of the neceſſity of purifying the common ſource from which they flow—a corrupt nature. Thus making it our grand buſineſs to rectify the heart, we purſue the true, the compen⯑dious, [205]the only method of univerſal ho⯑lineſs.

I would however take leave of thoſe amiable and not ill-diſpoſed young perſons, who complain of the rigour of human prohibitions, and declare ‘they meet with no ſuch ſtrictneſs in the Goſpel,’ by aſking them with the moſt affectionate earneſtneſs, if they can conſcientiouſly reconcile their nightly attendance at every public place which they frequent, with ſuch precepts as the following: ‘Redeem⯑ing the time:—"Watch and pray:"— "Watch, for ye know not at what time your Lord cometh:"— "Abſtain from all appearance of evil:"— "Set your affections on things above:"— "Be ye ſpiritually minded:"— "Crucify the fleſh with its affections and luſts?’ And I would venture to offer one criterion by which the perſons in queſtion may be enabled to decide on the poſitive inno⯑cence and ſafety of ſuch diverſions; but [206]they muſt be ſincere in their ſcrutiny and honeſt in their avowal. If on their return at night from thoſe places they find they can retire, and ‘commune with their own hearts;’ if they find the love of God operating with undiminiſhed force en their minds; if they can ‘bring every thought into ſubjection,’ and concentrate every wandering imagination; if they can ſoberly examine into their own ſtate of mind: I do not ſay if they can do all this perfectly, and without diſtraction; (for who can do this at any time?) but if they can do it with the ſame degree of ſeriouſneſs, pray with the ſame degree of fervour, and renounce the world in as great a meaſure as at other times; and if they can lie down with a peaceful conſciouſneſs of having avoided in the evening "that temptation" which they had prayed not to be "led into" in the morning, they may then more rea⯑ſonably hope that all is well, and that they [207]are not ſpeaking falſe peace to their hearts ^*

CHAP. XVIII. A worldly ſpirit incompatible with the ſpirit of Chriſtianity.

Is it not whimſical to hear ſuch complaints againſt the ſtrictneſs of religion as we are frequently hearing, from beings who are voluntarily purſuing, as has been ſhown in the preceding Chapters, a courſe of life which Faſhion makes infinitely more laborious? How really burden⯑ſome would Chriſtianity be if ſhe enjoined ſuch ſedulity of application, ſuch unre⯑mitting labours, ſuch a ſucceſſion of fatigues! if religion commanded ſuch hardſhips and ſelf-denial, ſuch days of hurry, ſuch evenings of exertion, ſuch nights of broken reſt, ſuch perpetual ſacrifices of quiet, ſuch exile from family delights, as Faſhion impoſes, then indeed [210]the ſervice of Chriſtianity would no longer merit its preſent appellation of being "a reaſonable ſervice:" then the name of perfect ſlavery might be juſtly applied to that which we are told in the beautiful language of our church, is "a ſervice of perfect freedom:" a ſer⯑vice, the great object of which, is ‘to deliver us from the bondage of cor⯑ruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God.’

A worldly temper, by which I mean a diſpoſition to prefer worldly pleaſures, worldly ſatisfactions, and worldly advan⯑tages, to the immortal intereſts of the ſoul; and to let worldly conſiderations actuate us inſtead of the dictates of religion in the concerns of ordinary life; a worldly temper, I ſay, is not, like almoſt any other fault, the effect of paſſion or the con⯑ſequence of ſurpriſe when the heart is off its guard. It is not excited incidentally by the operation of external circumſtances on the infirmity of nature; but it is the vital [211]ſpirit, the eſſential ſoul, the living principle of evil. It is not ſo much an act, as a ſtate of being; not ſo much an oc⯑caſional complaint as a tainted conſtitution of mind. If it do not always ſhow itſelf in extraordinary exceſſes, it has no perfect intermiſſion. Even when it is not immediately tempted to break out into overt and ſpecific acts, it is at work within, ſtirring up the heart to diſaffection againſt holineſs, and infuſing a kind of moral diſability to whatever is intrinſically good. It infects and depraves all the powers and faculties of the ſoul; for it operates on the underſtanding by blinding it to whatever is ſpiritually good; on the will, by making it averſe from God; on the affections, by diſordering and ſenſualizing them; ſo that one may almoſt ſay to thoſe who are under the ſupreme dominion of this ſpirit, what was ſaid to the hoſts of Joſhua, "Ye cannot ſerve the Lord."

This worldlineſs of mind is not at all commonly underſtood, and for the [212]following reaſon:—People ſuppoſe that in this world our chief buſineſs is with the things of this world, and that to conduct the buſineſs of this world well, that is, conformably to moral principles, is the chief ſubſtance of moral and true good⯑neſs. Religion, if introduced at all into the ſyſtem, only makes its occaſional and, if I may ſo ſpeak, its holiday appearance. To bring religion into every thing, is thought incompatible with the due atten⯑tion to the things of this life. And ſo it would, if by religion were meant talking about religion. The phraſe therefore is: ‘One cannot always be praying; we muſt mind our buſineſs and ſocial duties as well as our devotion.’ Worldly buſineſs being thus ſubjected to worldly, though in ſome degree moral, maxims, the mind during the conduct of buſineſs grows worldly; and a continually in⯑creaſing worldly ſpirit dims the ſight and relaxes the moral principle on which the affairs of the world are conducted, as well [213]as indiſpoſes the mind for all the exerciſes of devotion.

But this temper, as far as relates to buſineſs, aſſumes the ſemblance of good⯑neſs; ſo that thoſe who have not right views are apt to miſtake the carrying on the affairs of life on a tolerably moral principle for religion. They do not ſee that the evil lies not in their ſo carrying on buſineſs, but in their not carrying on the things of this life in ſubſerviency to thoſe of eternity; in their not carrying them on with the unintermitting idea of reſponſibility. The evil does not lie in their not being always on their knees, but in their not bringing their religion from the cloſet into the world: in their not bringing the ſpirit of the Sunday's devo⯑tions into the tranſactions of the week: in not transforming their religion from a dry, and ſpeculative, and inoperative ſyſtem, into a lively, and inſluential, and unceaſing principle of action.

[214]Though there are, bleſſed be God! in the moſt exalted ſtations, women who adorn their Chriſtian profeſſion by a con⯑ſiſtent conduct; yet are there not others who are labouring hard to unite the irre⯑concileable intereſts of earth and heaven? who, while they will not relinquiſh one jot of all this world has to beſtow, yet by no means renounce their hopes of a better? who do not think it unreaſonable that their indulging in the fulleſt poſſeſſion of preſent pleaſure ſhould interfere with the moſt certain reverſion of future glory? who, after living in the moſt unbounded gratification of eaſe, vanity, and luxury, fancy that heaven muſt be attached of courſe to a life of which Chriſtianity was the outward profeſſion, and which has not been ſtained by any flagrant or diſhonour⯑able act of guilt?

Are there not many who, while they entertain a reſpect for religion, (for I addreſs not the unbelieving or the licen⯑tious,) [215]while they believe its truths, ob⯑ſerve its forms, and would be ſhocked not to be thought religious, are yet im⯑merſed in this life of diſqualifying world⯑lineſs? who, though they make a con⯑ſcience of going to the public worſhip once on a Sunday, and are ſcrupulouſly obſervant of the other rites of the Church, yet heſitate not to give up all the reſt of their time to the very ſame purſuits and pleaſures which occupy the hearts and lives of thoſe whoſe enjoyment is not ob⯑ſtructed by any dread of a future account? and who are acting on the wiſe principle of "the children of this generation" in making the moſt of the preſent world from the conviction that there is no other to be expected.

It muſt be owned, indeed, that faith in unſeen things is at times ſadly weak and defective even in the truly pious; and that it is ſo, is the ſubject of their grief and humiliation. O! how does the real Chriſtian take ſhame in the coldneſs of [216]his belief, in the lowneſs of his attain⯑ments! How deeply does he lament that ‘when he would do good evil is preſent with him!"— "that the life he now lives in the fleſh, is’ not, in the degree it ought to be, ‘by faith in the ſon of God!’ Yet one thing is clear, how⯑ever weak his belief may ſeem to be, it is evident that his actions are mainly geverned by it; he evinces his ſincerity to others by a life in ſome good degree ana⯑logous to the doctrines he profeſſes: while to himſelf he has this conviction, that faint as his confidence may be at times, yet at the worſt of times he would not exchange that faint meaſure of truſt and hope for all the actual pleaſures and poſſeſſions of his moſt ſplendid acquaintance; and as a proof of his ſincerity he never ſeeks the cure of his dejection, where they ſeek theirs, in the world, but in God.

But as to the faith of worldly perſons, however ſtrong it may be in ſpeculation, however orthodox their creed, one cannot [217]help fearing that it is little defective in ſincerity: for if there were in the mind a full perſuaſion of the truth of revelation, and of the eternal bliſs it promiſes, would there not be more obvious diligence for its attainment? We diſcover great ardour in carrying on worldly projects, becauſe we believe the good which we are purſuing is real, and will reward the trouble of the purſuit: we believe it to be attainable by diligence, and prudently proportion our earneſtneſs to this conviction: but where we ſee perſons profeſſing a lively faith in a better world, yet labouring little to obtain an intereſt in it, can we forbear ſuſpecting that their belief, not only of their own title to eternal happineſs, but of eternal happineſs itſelf, is not well grounded? and that, if they were to ‘examine them⯑ſelves truly,’ the faith would be found to be much of a piece with the practice?

Even that very taſte for enjoyment which leads the perſons in queſtion to poſſeſs themſelves of the qualifications for [218]the pleaſures of the exiſting ſcene; that underſtanding which leads them to acquire thoſe talents which may enable them to reliſh the reſorts of gaiety here, ſhould induce thoſe who are really looking for a future ſtate of happineſs to wiſh to acquire ſomething of the taſte, and temper, and talents, which may be conſidered as qualifications for its enjoyment. The neglect to do this muſt proceed from one of theſe two cauſes; either they muſt think their preſent courſe a ſafe and pro⯑per courſe; or they muſt think that death is to produce ſome ſudden and ſurpriſing alteration in the human character: but the office of death is to tranſport us to a new ſtate, not to transform us to a new nature: the ſtroke of death is intended to effect our deliverance out of this world, and our introduction into another; but it is not likely to effect any ſudden and ſur⯑priſing or total change in our hearts or our taſtes: ſo far from this, that we are aſſured in Scripture, ‘that he that is [219]filthy will be filthy ſtill, and he that is holy will be holy ſtill.’ Though we believe that death will completely cleanſe the holy ſoul from its remaining pollutions, that it will exchange defiling corruption into perfect purity, entangling temptation into complete freedom, want and pain into health and fruition, doubts and fears into perfect ſecurity, and oppreſſive weari⯑neſs into everlaſting reſt; yet there is no magic in the wand of death which will convert an unholy ſoul into a holy one. And it is awful to reflect, that ſuch tempers as have the allowed predominance here will maintain it for ever: that ſuch as the will is when we cloſe our eyes upon the things of time, ſuch it will be when we open them on thoſe of eternity. The mere act of death no more fits us for heaven, than the mere act of the maſon who pulls down our old houſe fits us for a new one. If we die with our hearts running over with the love of the world, there is no promiſe to lead us to expect [220]that we ſhall riſe with them full of the love of God: death indeed will ſhew us to ourſelves ſuch as we are, but will not make us ſuch as we are not: and it will be too late to be acquiring ſelf-knowledge when we can no longer turn it to any account but that of tormenting ourſelves. To illuſtrate this truth ſtill farther by an alluſion familiar to the perſons I addreſs: the drawing up the curtain at the theatre, though it ſerves to introduce us to the entertainments behind it, does not create in us any new faculties to underſtand or to reliſh theſe entertainments: theſe muſt have been long in acquiring; they muſt have been provided beforehand, and brought with us to the place, if we would reliſh the pleaſutes of the place; for the entertainment can only operate on that taſte we carry to it. It is too late to be acquiring when we ought to be enjoying.

That ſpirit of prayer and praiſe, thoſe diſpoſitions of love, meekneſs, ‘peace, quietneſs, and aſſurance;’ that indif⯑ference [221]to the faſhion of a world which is paſſing away; that longing after deliver⯑ance from ſin, that deſire of holineſs, to⯑gether with all the ſpecific marks of the ſpirit here, muſt ſurely make ſome part of our qualification for the enjoyment of a world, the pleaſures of which are all ſpiritual. And who can conceive any thing equal to the awful ſurpriſe of a ſoul long immerſed in the indulgencies of vanity and pleaſure, yet all the while lulled by the ſelf-complacency of a religion of mere forms; who, while it counted upon heaven as a thing of courſe, had made no preparation for it; who can conceive any ſurpriſe equal to that of ſuch a ſoul on ſhutting its eyes on a world of ſenſe, of which all the objects and delights were ſo congenial to its nature, and opening them on a world of ſpirits of which all the cha⯑racters of enjoyment are of a nature new, unknown, ſurpriſing, and ſpecifically dif⯑ferent? pleaſures as inconceivable to its apprehenſion and as unſuitable to its taſte, [222]as the gratifications of one ſenſe are to the organs of another, or as the moſt ex⯑quiſite works of genius to abſolute imbe⯑cility of mind.

While we would with deep humility confeſs that we cannot purchaſe heaven by any works or right diſpoſitions of our own, while we gratefully ac⯑knowledge that it muſt be purchaſed for us by ‘Him who loved us, and waſhed us from our ſins in his blood;’ yet let us remember that we have no reaſon to expect we could be capable of enjoying the pleaſures of a heaven ſo purchaſed without heavenly mindedneſs. When thoſe perſons who are apt to expect as much comfort from religion as if their hearts were not full of the world, now and then, in a fit of honeſty and low ſpirits, complain that Chriſtianity does not make them as good and as happy as they were led to expect from that aſſur⯑ance, that ‘great peace have they who love the Lord," and that "they who [223]wait on him ſhall want no manner of thing that is good;’ when they lament that the paths of religion are not thoſe "paths of pleaſantneſs" they were led to expect; their caſe reminds one of a cele⯑brated phyſician who uſed to ſay, that the reaſon why his preſcriptions, which commonly cured the poor and the tem⯑perate, did ſo little good among his rich luxurious patients, was, that while he was labouring to remove the diſeaſe by medi⯑cines, of which they only took drams, grains, and ſcruples; they were inflaming it by a multiplicity of injurious aliments which they ſwallowed by ounces, pounds, and pints.

Theſe faſhionable Chriſtians ſhould be reminded that there was no half engage⯑ment made for them at their baptiſm; that they are not partly their own and partly their Redeemer's. He that is ‘bought with a price’ is the ſole property of the purchaſer. Faith does not conſiſt merely in ſubmitting the opinions of the [224]underſtanding, but the diſpoſitions of the heart: religion is not a ſacrifice of ſen⯑timents but of affections: it is not the tribute of fear, extorted from a flave, but the voluntary homage of love paid by a child.

Neither does a Chriſtian's piety conſiſt in living in retreat and railing at the prac⯑tices of the world, while, perhaps, her heart is full of the ſpirit of that world at which ſhe is railing: but it conſiſts in ſubduing the ſpirit of the world and op⯑poſing its practices even while her duty obliges her to live in it.

Nor is the ſpirit or the love of the world confined to thoſe only who are making a figure in it; nor are its opera⯑tions bounded by the precincts of the metropolis nor the limited regions of firſt rate rank and ſplendor. She who inveighs againſt the luxury and exceſſes of London, and ſolaces herſelf in her own comparative fobriety, becauſe her more circumſcribed fortune compels her to take [225]up with the ſecond-hand pleaſures of ſucceſſive watering-places, which pleaſures ſhe purſues with avidity, is governed by the ſame ſpirit: and ſhe whoſe ſtill nar⯑rower opportunities ſtint her to the petty diverſions of her provincial town, if ſhe be buſied in ſwelling and enlarging her own ſmaller ſphere of vanity and idleneſs, however ſhe may comfort herſelf with her own comparative goodneſs by railing at the unattainable pleaſures of the water⯑ing-place, or of the capital, is governed by the ſame ſpirit: for ſhe who is as vain, as diſſipated, and as extravagant as exiſting circumſtances admit, would be as vain, as diſſipated and as extravagant as the gayeſt objects of her invective now are, if ſhe could change places with them. It is not merely by what we do that we can be ſure the ſpirit of the world has no dominion over us, but by fairly con⯑ſidering what we ſhould probably do if more were in our power.

[226]The worldly Chriſtian, if I may be allowed ſuch a contradiction in terms, muſt not imagine that ſhe acquits herſelf of her religious obligations by her mere weekly oblation of prayer. There is no covenant by which communion with God is reſtricted to an hour or two on the Sunday: ſhe does not acquit herſelf by ſetting apart a few particular days in the year for the exerciſe of a periodical devotion, and then flying back to the world as eagerly as if ſhe were reſolved to repay herſelf largely for her ſhort fit of ſelf-denial; the ſtream of pleaſure running with a more rapid current from having been interrupted by this forced obſtruction. And the avidity with which one has ſeen certain perſons of a ſtill leſs correct character, than the claſs we have been conſidering, return to a whole year's carnival, after the ſelf-impoſed penance of a Paſſion week, gives a ſhrewd intima⯑tion that they conſidered the temporary [227]abſtraction, leſs as an act of penitence for the paſt, than as a purchaſe of indemnity for the future. Such bare-weight pro⯑teſtants prudently condition for retaining the Popiſh doctrine of indulgences, which they buy, not indeed of the late ſpiritual court of Rome, but of that ſecret, ſelf⯑acquitting judge, which, ignorance of its own turpitude and of the ſtrict require⯑ments of the divine law has eſtabliſhed, ſupreme in the tribunal of every unre⯑newed heart.

But the practice of ſelf-examination is impeded with one clog, which renders it peculiarly inconvenient to the gay and worldly: for the royal prophet (who was, however, himſelf as likely as any one to be acquainted with the difficulties peculiar to greatneſs) has annexed as an indiſpen⯑ſable concomitant to ‘communing with our own heart’ that we ſhould "be ſtill." Now this clauſe of the injuction renders the other part of it not a little inconſiſtent with the preſent habits of faſhionable life, [228]of which ſtillneſs is clearly not one of the conſtituents. It would, however, greatly aſſiſt thoſe who do not altogether decline the practice, if they eſtabliſhed into a rule the habit of detecting certain ſuſpi⯑cious practices, by realizing them, as it were, to their own minds, by drawing them out in detail, and placing them before their eyes cloathed in language; for there is nothing that ſo effectually expoſes an abſurdity which has paſſed muſter for want of ſuch an inquiſition, as giving it ſhape and form. How many things which now work themſelves into the habit, and paſs current, would then ſhock us by their palpable inconſiſtency! Who, for inſtance, could ſtand the ſight of ſuch a debtor and creditor account as this— item; So many card-parties, balls, and operas due to me in the following year, for ſo many manuals and meditations paid beforehand during the laſt ſix days in Lent? With how much indignation ſoever this ſuggeſtion may be treated; [229]whatever offence may be taken at ſuch a combination of the ſerious and the ludi⯑crous; however we may revolt at the idea of ſuch a compoſition with our Maker, when put into ſo many words; does not the habitual courſe of ſome go near to realize ſuch a ſtatement?

But a Chriſtian's race, as a venerable Prelate ^* obſerves, is not run at ſo many heats, but by a conſtant courſe and pro⯑greſs is continually gaining ground upon ſin, and approaching nearer to the king⯑dom of God.

Am I then ridiculing this pious retire⯑ment of contrite ſinners? Am I then jeſting at that "troubled ſpirit" which God has declared is his "acceptable ſacri⯑fice?" God forbid! Such reaſonable retirements have been the practice and continue to be the comfort of ſome of the ſincereſt Chriſtians; and will continue to be reſorted to as long as Chriſtianity, [230]that is, as long as the world ſhall laſt. It is well to call off the thoughts, even for a ſhort time, not only from ſin and vanity, but even from the lawful purſuits of buſineſs, and the laudable cares of life; and, at times, to annihilate as it were, the ſpace which divides us from eternity.

Yet to thoſe who ſeek a ſhort annual retreat as a mere form; who dignify with the idea of a religious retirement a week when it is rather unfaſhionable to be ſeen in town; who retire with an unabated reſolution to return to the maxims, the pleaſures, and the ſpirit of that world which they are going mechanically to renounce; is it not to be feared that ſuch a ſhort ſucceſſion, which does not even pretend to ſubdue the principle, but only to ſuſpend the act, may only ſerve to ſet a keener edge on the appetite for [231]the pleaſures they are quitting? Is is not to be feared that the bow may fly back with redoubled violence from having been unnaturally bent? That by varniſhing over a life of vanity with the externals of a formal and temporary piety, they may not more dangerouſly ſkin over the trouble⯑ſome ſome ſoreneſs of a tender conſcience, by laying This ſlattering unction to the ſoul. For is it not among the deluſions of a worldly piety to conſider Chriſtianity as a thing which cannot, indeed, ſafely be omitted, but which is to be got over; a certain quantity of which is, as it were, to be taken in the lump, with long intervals between the repetitions? To conſider reli⯑gion as impoſing a ſet of hardſhips, which muſt be occaſionally encountered in order to procure a peaceable enjoyment of the long reſpite? That theſe ſevere conditions thus fulfilled, the acquitted Chriſtian having paid the annual demand of a rigor⯑ous [232]requiſition, ſhe may now lawfully re⯑turn to her natural ſtate, and the old reckoning being adjuſted, ſhe may begin a new ſcore, and receive the reward of her punctual obedience in the reſumed indulgence of thoſe gratifications, which ſhe had for a ſhort time laid aſide as a hard taſk to pleaſe a hard maſter: but this taſk performed, and the maſter ap⯑peaſed, the mind may diſcover its natural bent, in joyfully returning to the objects of its real choice? Whereas, is it not clear that if the religious exerciſes had pro⯑duced the effect which it is the nature of true religion to produce, the penitent could not return with her old genuine alacrity to thoſe habits of the world, from which the pious weekly manuals through which ſhe has been labouring with the punctuality of an almanack as to the day, and the accuracy of a bead-roll as to the number, was intended by the devout authors to reſcue their reader?

[233]I am far from inſinuating that this literal ſequeſtration ought to be prolonged throughout the year, or that all the days of buſineſs are to be made equally days of ſolemnity and continued meditation. This earth is a place in which a much larger portion of a common Chriſtian's time muſt be aſſigned to action than to con⯑templation. Women of the higher claſs were not ſent into the world to ſhun ſociety but to improve it. They were not deſigned for the cold and viſionary virtues of ſolitudes and monaſteries, but for the amiable and endearing offices of ſocial life; they are of a religion which does not impoſe idle auſterities, but enjoins active duties; a religion of which the moſt benevolent actions require to be ſanctified by the pureſt motives; a religion which does not condemn its followers to the comparatively eaſy taſk of ſecluſion from the world, but aſſigns them the more difficult province of living uncorrupted in it; which, while it forbids them to [234]"follow a multitude to do evil," includes in that prohibition the ſin of doing nothing, and which moreover enjoins them to be followers of him ‘who went about doing good.’

But may we not reaſonably contend that though the ſame ſequeſtration is not required, yet that the ſame ſpirit and temper which one hopes is thought ne⯑ceſſary by all during the occaſional humi⯑liation, muſt by every real Chriſtian be extended throughout all the periods of the year? And when that is really the caſe, when once the ſpirit of religion ſhall indeed govern the heart, it will not only animate her religious actions and employments, but will gradually extend itſelf to the chaſtiſing her converſation, will diſcipline her thoughts, influence her common buſineſs, and ſanctify her very pleaſures.

But it ſhould ſeem that many who entertain a general notion of Chriſtian duty do not conſider it as of univerſal and unremitting obligation, but rather as a [235]duty binding at times on all, and always on ſome. To the attention of ſuch we would recommend that very explicit ad⯑dreſs of our Lord on the ſubject of ſelf-denial, the temper directly oppoſed to a worldly ſpirit: ‘And he ſaid unto them ALL if any man will come after me, let him deny himſelf, and take up his croſs DAILY.’ Thoſe who think ſelf-denial not of univerſal obligation will obſerve the word all, and thoſe who think the obligation not conſtant will attend to the term daily. Theſe two little words cut up by the root all the occaſional reli⯑gious obſervances grafted on a worldly life.

There is indeed ſcarcely a more pitiable being than one who inſtead of making her religion the informing principle of all ſhe does, has only juſt enough to keep her in continual fear; who drudges through her ſtinted exerciſes with a ſuperſtitious kind of terror, while her general life ſhows that the love of God is not the governing prin⯑ciple [236]in her heart: Who ſeems to ſuffer all the pains and penalties of Chriſt⯑ianity, but is a ſtranger to ‘that liberty wherewith Chriſt has made us free.’ Let it not be thought a ludicrous invention if the author hazard the producing a real illuſtration of theſe remarks in the inſtance of a lady of this ſtamp, who returning from church on a very cold day, and remarking with a good deal of ſelf-com⯑placency how much ſhe had ſuffered in the performance of her duty, comforted her⯑ſelf with adding, ‘that ſhe hoped how⯑ever it would anſwer.’

But there is no comfort in any religion ſhort of that by which the diligent Chriſt⯑ian ſtrives that all his actions ſhall have the love of God for their motive, and the glory of God for their end; while to go about to balance one's good and bad actions one againſt the other, and to take comfort in the occaſional predominance of the former, while the cultivation of the principle from which they ſhould ſpring [237]is neglected, is not the road to all thoſe peaceful fruits of the ſpirit to which true Chriſtianity conducts the humble and penitent believer.

But I am aware that a better caſt of characters than thoſe we have been con⯑templating; that even the amiable and the well-diſpoſed, who while they want courage to reſiſt what they have too much principle to think right, and too much ſenſe to juſtify, will yet plead for the palliating ſyſtem, and accuſe theſe remarks of unneceſſary rigour. They will declare ‘that really they are as religious as they can be; they wiſh they were better; they have little ſatisfaction in the life they are leading, yet they cannot break with the world; they cannot fly in the face of cuſtom; it does not become in⯑dividuals like them to oppoſe the torrent of faſhion.’ Beings ſo intereſting abounding with engaging qualities; who not only feel the beauty of goodneſs but reverence the truths of Chriſtianity, and [238]are awfully looking for a general judg⯑ment, one is grieved to hear lament "that they only do as others do," when they are perhaps themſelves of ſuch rank and importance that if they would begin to do right, others would be brought to do as they did. One is grieved to hear them indolently aſſert that ‘they wiſh it were otherwiſe,’ when they poſſeſs the power to make it otherwiſe, by ſetting an example which they know would be followed. One is ſorry to hear them content them⯑ſelves with declaring, that ‘they have not the courage to be ſingular,’ when they muſt feel by ſeeing the influence of their example in worſe things, that there would be no ſingularity in piety itſelf, if once they became ſincerely pious. Beſides, this diffidence does not break out on other occaſions. They do not bluſh to be quoted as the oppoſers of an old mode or the inventors of a new one. Nor are they equally backward in being the firſt to appear in a ſtrange [239]faſhion, ſuch an one as often excites won⯑der, and ſometimes even offends againſt delicacy. Let not then diffidence be pleaded as an excuſe only on occaſions wherein courage would be virtue.

Will it be thought too harſh a queſtion if we venture to aſk theſe gentle cha⯑racters who are thus intrenching them⯑ſelves in the imaginary ſafety of multitudes, and who ſay "we only do as others do," whether they are willing to run the tremendous riſk of conſequences, and to fare as others fare?

But while theſe plead the authority of Faſhion as a ſufficient reaſon for their conformity to the world, one who pleads a paramount authority poſitively ſays, ‘Be ye not conformed to the world.’ Nay, it is urged as the very badge and diſtinction by which the character oppoſite to the Chriſtian is to be marked, ‘that the friendſhip of the world is enmity with God.’

[240]Temptation to conform to the world was never perhaps more irreſiſtible than in the days which immediately preceded the Deluge. And no man could ever have pleaded the faſhion in order to juſtify a criminal aſſimilation with the reigning manners, with more propriety than the Patriarch Noah. He had the two grand and contending objects of terror to en⯑counter which we have; the fear of ridi⯑cule, and the fear of deſtruction; the dread of ſin, and the dread of ſingularity. Our cauſe of alarm is at leaſt equally preſſing with his; for it does not appear, even while he was actually obeying the Divine command in providing the means of his future ſafety, that he ſaw any actual ſymptoms of the impending ruin. So that in one ſenſe he might have truly pleaded as an excuſe for ſlackneſs of pre⯑paration, ‘that all things continued as they were from the beginning;’ while many of us, though the ſtorm is begun, [241]never think of providing the refuge: though we have had a fuller revelation, have ſeen Scripture illuſtrating, prophecy ful⯑filling, with every awful circumſtance that can either quicken the moſt ſluggiſh re⯑miſſneſs, or confirm the feebleſt faith.

Beſides, the Patriarch's plea for follow⯑ing the faſhion was ſtronger than you can produce. While you muſt ſee that many are going wrong, he ſaw that none were going right. ‘All fleſh had corrupted his way before God;’ whilſt, bleſſed be God! you have ſtill inſtances enough of piety to keep you in countenance. While you lament that the world ſeduces you, (for every one has a little world of his own,) your world perhaps is only a petty neighbourhood, a few ſtreets and ſquares; but the Patriarch had really the contagion of a whole united world to reſiſt: he had literally the example of the whole face of the earth to oppoſe. The "fear of man" alſo would then have been a more pardonable fault, when the [242]lives of the ſame individuals who were likely to excite reſpect or fear was pro⯑longed many ages, than it can be in the ſhort period now aſſigned to human life. And that opinion ſhould operate ſtill leſs powerfully which is the breath of a being ſo frail and ſo ſhort-lived,

You who find it ſo difficult to withſtand the individual allurement of one modiſh acquaintance, would in the Patriarch's caſe have concluded the ſtruggle to be quite ineffectual, and would have ſunk under the ſuppoſed fruitleſſneſs of reſiſtance. "Myſelf," would you not have ſaid? ‘or at moſt my little family of eight perſons can never hope to ſtop this torrent of corruption; I lament the fruitleſſneſs of oppoſition; I deplore the neceſſity of conformity with the prevailing ſyſtem: but it would be a fooliſh preſumption to hope that one family can effect a [243]change in the ſtate of the world.’ In your own caſe, however, it is not certain to how wide an extent the hearty union of even fewer perſons in ſuch a cauſe might reach: at leaſt is it nothing to do what the Patriarch did? was it nothing to preſerve himſelf from the general deſtruction? was it nothing to deliver his own ſoul? was it nothing to reſcue the ſouls of his whole family?

It is certainly a mark of a ſound judg⯑ment to comply with the world when⯑ever we ſafely can; ſuch compliance ſtrengthens our influence by reſerving to ourſelves the greater weight of authority on thoſe occaſions, when our conſcience obliges us to differ. Thoſe who are wiſe will cheerfully conform to all its innocent uſages; but thoſe who are Chriſtians will be ſcrupulous in defining which are really innocent previous to their conformity to them. Not what the world, but what the Goſpel calls innocent will be found [244]at the grand ſcrutiny to have been really ſo. A diſcreet Chriſtian will take due pains to be convinced he is right before he will preſume to be ſingular: but from the inſtant he is perſuaded that the Goſpel is true, and the world of courſe wrong, he will no longer riſk his ſafety by following multitudes, or his ſoul by ſtaking it on human opinion. All our moſt dangerous miſtakes ariſe from our not conſtantly referring our practice to the ſtandard of ſcripture, inſtead of the mutable ſtandard of human opinion, by which it is impoſſible to fix the real value of characters. For this latter ſtandard in ſome caſes determines thoſe to be good who do not run all the lengths in which the notoriouſly bad allow themſelves. The Goſpel has an univerſal, the world has a local ſtandard of goodneſs: in ſome ſocieties certain vices alone are diſhonour⯑able, ſuch as covetouſneſs and cowardice; while thoſe ſins of which our Saviour has [245]ſaid, that they which commit them ‘ſhall not inherit the kingdom of God,’ detract nothing from the reſpect ſome perſons receive. Nay thoſe very charac⯑ters, whom the Almighty has expreſsly declared "He will judge ^*" are received, are careſſed, in that which calls itſelf the beſt company.

But to weigh our actions by one ſtand⯑ard now, when we know they will be judged by another hereafter, would be reckoned the height of abſurdity in any tranſactions but thoſe which involve the intereſts of eternity. ‘How readeſt thou?’ is a more ſpecific direction than any comparative view of our own habits with the habits of others: and at the final bar it will be of little avail that our actions have riſen above thoſe of bad men, if our views and principles ſhall be found to have been in oppoſition to the Goſpel of Chriſt.

[246]Nor is their practice more commend⯑able, who are ever on the watch to pick out the worſt actions of good men, by way of juſtifying their own conduct on the compariſon. The faults of the beſt men, ‘for there is not a juſt man upon the earth who ſinneth not,’ can in no wiſe juſtify the errors of the worſt: and it is not invariably the example of even good men that we muſt take for our un⯑erring rule of conduct: nor is it by a ſingle action that either they or we ſhall be judged, for in that caſe who could be ſaved? but it is by the general prevalence of right principles and good habits; by the predominance of holineſs and righteouſ⯑neſs, and temperance in the life, and by the power of humility, faith and love in the heart.

CHAP. XIX. On the leading doctrines of Chriſtianity.— The corruption of human nature.—The doctrine of redemption.—The neceſſity of a change of heart, and of the divine in⯑fluences to produce that change.—With a ſketch of the Chriſtian character.

THE author having in this little work taken a view of the falſe notions often imbibed in early life from a bad education, and of their pernicious effects; and having attempted to point out the reſpective re⯑medies to theſe, ſhe would now draw all that has been ſaid to a point, and declare plainly what ſhe humbly conceives to be the ſource whence all theſe falſe notions, and this wrong conduct, have procedeed: The prophet Jeremiah ſhall anſwer, ‘It is becauſe they have forſaken the foun⯑tain of living waters, and have hewn [248]out to themſelves ciſterns, broken ciſ⯑terns that can hold no water:’ it is an ignorance paſt belief of what Chriſt⯑ianity really is: the remedy, therefore, and the only remedy that can be applied with any proſpect of ſucceſs, is RELIGION, and by Religion ſhe would be underſtood to mean the Goſpel of Jeſus Chriſt.

It has been before hinted, that Religion ſhould be taught at an early period of life; that children ſhould be brought up ‘in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.’ The manner in which they ſhould be taught has likewiſe with great plainneſs been ſuggeſted; that it ſhould be done in ſo lively and familiar a manner as to make Religion amiable, and her ways to appear, what they really are, "ways of pleaſantneſs." And a ſlight ſketch has been given of the genius of Chriſtianity, by which her amiableneſs would more clearly appear. But this, being a ſubject of ſuch vaſt importance, compared with which every other ſubject ſinks into nothing; it ſeems not ſufficient to [249]ſpeak on the doctrines and duties of Chriſt⯑ianity in detached parts, but it is of importance to point out, though in a brief manner, the mutual dependence of one doctrine upon another, and the influence which theſe doc⯑trines have upon the heart and life, ſo that the duties of Chriſtianity may be ſeen to grow out of its doctrines: by which it will ap⯑pear that Chriſtian virtue differs eſſentially from Pagan: it is of a quite different kind: the plant itſelf is different, it comes from a different root, and grows in a dif⯑ferent ſoil.

By this it will be ſeen how the hum⯑bling doctrine of the diſobedience of our firſt parents, and the conſequent corrup⯑tion of human nature, make way for the bright diſplay of redeeming love. How from the abaſing thought that ‘we are all as ſheep going aſtray, every one in his own way:’ that none can return to the ſhepherd of our ſouls, ‘except the Father draw him:’ that ‘the natural man cannot receive the things [250]of the ſpirit, becauſe they are ſpiritually diſcerned:’ how from this humiliating view of the helpleſſneſs, as well as the guilt and corruption of human nature, we are to turn to that animating doctrine, the offer of divine aſſiſtance. So that though human nature will appear from this view in a deeply degraded ſtate, and conſequently all have cauſe for humility, yet not one has cauſe for deſpair: the diſeaſe indeed is dreadful, but a phyſician is at hand, both able and willing to ſave us: though we are naturally ‘without ſtrength, our help is laid upon one that is mighty.’

We ſhould obſerve then, that the doc⯑trines of our Saviour are, if I may ſo ſpeak, like his coat, all woven into one piece. We ſhould get ſuch a view of their reciprocal dependence as to be per⯑ſuaded that without a deep ſenſe of our own corruptions we can never ſeriouſly believe in a Saviour, becauſe the ſubſtan⯑tial and acceptable belief in Him muſt [251]always ariſe from the conviction of our want of Him. That without a firm per⯑ſuaſion that the Holy Spirit can alone reſtore our fallen nature, repair the ruins of ſin, and renew the image of God upon the heart, we never ſhall be brought to ſerious, humble prayer for repentance and reſtoration; and that, without this repentance there is no ſalvation: for though Chriſt has died for us, and con⯑ſequently to Him alone we muſt look as a Saviour, yet He has himſelf declared that He will ſave none but true penitents.

CHAP. XX. On the duty and efficacy of prayer.

IT is not propoſed to enter largely on a topic which has been exhauſted by the ableſt pens. But as a work of this nature ſeems to require that ſo important a ſubject ſhuld not be overlooked, it is intended to notice in a ſlight manner of a few of thoſe many difficulties and popular objections which are brought forward againſt the uſe and efficacy of prayer, even by thoſe who would be unwilling to be ſuſpected of impiety and unbelief.

There is a claſs of objectors who ſtrangely profeſs to withhold homage from the Moſt High, not out of contempt, but reverence. They affect to conſider the uſe of prayer as derogatory to the omniſcience of God, becauſe it looks as [296]if we thought he ſtood in need of being informed of our wants; and as derogatory to his goodneſs, as implying that he needs to be put in mind of them.

But is it not enough for ſuch poor frail beings as we are to know, that God himſelf does not conſider prayer as de⯑rogatory either to his wiſdom or good⯑neſs? And ſhall we erect ourſelves into judges of what is conſiſtent with the attributes of HIM before whom angels fall proſtrate with ſelf-abaſement? Will he thank ſuch defenders of his attributes, who, while they profeſs to reverence, ſcruple not to diſobey him? It ought rather to be viewed as a great encourage⯑ment to prayer, that we are addreſſing a Being, who knows our wants better than we can expreſs them, and whoſe prevent⯑ing goodneſs is always ready to relieve them.

It is objected by another claſs, and on the ſpecious ground of humility too, though we do not always find the objector [297]himſelf quite as humble as his plea, that it is arrogant in ſuch inſignificant beings as we are to preſume to lay our petty neceſſities before the Great and Glorious God, who cannot be expected to con⯑deſcend to the multitude of triſling and even interfering requeſts which are brought before him by his creatures. Theſe and ſuch like objections ariſe from mean and unworthy thoughts of the Great Creator. It ſeems as if thoſe who make them con⯑ſidered the Moſt High as ‘ſuch an one as themſelves;’ a Being, who can perform a certain quantity of buſineſs, but who would be overpowered with an additional quantity. Or at beſt, is it not conſidering the Almighty in the light, not of an infinite God, but of a great man, of a king, or a miniſter, who, while he ſuperintends great and national concerns, is obliged to neglect ſmall and individual petitions, be⯑cauſe he cannot ſpare that leiſure and attention which ſuffice for every thing? They do not conſider him as that infinitely [298]glorious Being who, while he beholds at once all that is doing in heaven and in earth, is at the ſame time as attentive to the prayer of the poor deſtitute, as preſent to the ſorrowful ſighing of the priſoner, as if theſe forlorn creatures were the objects of his undivided attention.

Theſe critics, who are for ſparing the Supreme Being the trouble of our prayers, and would relieve Omnipotence of part of his burden, by aſſigning to his care only ſuch a portion as may be more eaſily managed, if I may ſo ſpeak without pro⯑faneneſs, ſeem to have no conception of his attributes.

They forget that infinite wiſdom puts him as eaſily within reach of all know⯑ledge, as infinite power does of all per⯑formance: that he is a Being in whoſe plans complexity makes no difficulty, and multiplicity no confuſion: that to ubi⯑quity diſtance does not exiſt; that to infinity ſpace is annihilated: that paſt, preſent, and future, are diſcerned more [299]accurately at one glance of his eye, to whom a thouſand years are as one day, than a ſingle moment of time or a ſingle point of ſpace can be by ours.

To the other part of the objection founded on the ſuppoſed interference (that is, irreconcileableneſs) of one man's petitions with thoſe of another, this anſwer ſeems to ſuggeſt itſelf: firſt, that we muſt take care that when we aſk, we do not "aſk amiſs;" that, for inſtance, we aſk chiefly, and in an unqualified manner, only for ſpiritual bleſſings to ourſelves and others; and in doing this the prayer of one man cannot interfere with that of another. Next, in aſking for temporal and inferior bleſſings, we muſt qualify our petition even though it ſhould extend to deliverance from the ſevereſt pains, or to our very life itſelf, according to that ex⯑ample of our Saviour: ‘Father, if it be poſſible, let this cup paſs from me. Never⯑theleſs, not my will, but thine, be done.’ By thus qualifying our prayer, we exer⯑ciſe [300]ourſelves in an act of reſignation to God; we profeſs not to wiſh what will interfere with his benevolent plan, and yet we may hope by prayer to ſecure the bleſſing ſo far as it is conſiſtent with it. Perhaps the reaſon why this objection to prayer is ſo ſtrongly felt, is the too great diſpoſition to pray for merely temporal and worldly bleſſings, and to deſire them in the moſt unqualified manner, not ſub⯑mitting to be without them, even though the granting them ſhould be inconſiſtent with the general plan of Providence.

Another claſs continue to bring for⯑ward, as pertinatiouſly as if it had never been anſwered, the exhauſted argument, that ſeeing God is immutable, no petitions of ours can ever change Him: that events themſelves being ſettled in a fixed and unalterable courſe, and bound in a fatal neceſſity, it is folly to think that we can diſturb the eſtabliſhed laws of the univerſe, or interrupt the courſe of Providence by our prayers: and that it is abſurd to ſup⯑poſe [301]theſe firm decrees can be reverſed by any requeſts of ours.

Without entering into the wide and trackleſs field of fate and free will, from which purſuit I am kept back equally by the moſt profound ignorance and the moſt invincible diſlike, I would only ob⯑ſerve, that theſe objections apply equally to all human actions as well as to prayer. It may therefore with the ſame propriety be urged, that ſeeing God is immutable and his decrees unalterable, therefore our actions can produce no change in Him or in our own ſtate. Weak as well as im⯑pious reaſoning! It may be queſtioned whether the modern French and German philoſophers might not be prevailed upon to acknowledge the exiſtence of God, if they might make ſuch a uſe of his attri⯑butes. The truth is, and it is a truth diſ⯑coverable without any depth of learning, all theſe objections are the offspring of pride. Poor, ſhort-ſighted men cannot reconcile the omniſcience and decrees of [302]God with the efficacy of prayer; and, becauſe he cannot reconcile them, he modeſtly concludes they are irreconcileable. How much more wiſdom as well as hap⯑pineſs reſults from an humble chriſtian ſpirit! Such a plain practical text as, ‘Draw near unto God, and he will draw near unto you,’ carries more conſo⯑lation, more true knowledge of his wants and their remedy to the heart of a peni⯑tent ſinner, than all the tomes of caſuiſtry which have puzzled the world ever ſince the queſtion was firſt ſet afloat by its ori⯑ginal propounders.

And as the plain man only got up and walked, to prove there was ſuch a thing as motion, in anſwer to the phi⯑loſopher who denied it; ſo the plain Chriſtian, when he is borne down with the aſſurance that there is no efficacy in prayer, requires no better argument to repel the aſſertion than the good he finds in prayer itſelf.

[303]All the doubts propoſed to him reſpect⯑ing God do not ſo much affect him as this one doubt reſpecting himſelf: ‘If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me.’ For the chief doubt and difficulty of a Chriſtian conſiſts, not ſo much in a diſtruſt of God's ability and willingneſs to anſwer the prayer of the upright, as in a diſtruſt of his own upright⯑neſs, and in the quality of the prayer which he offers up.

Let the ſubjects of a dark fate maintain a ſullen, or the ſlaves of a blind chance a hopeleſs ſilence, but let the child of a compaſſionate Almighty Father ſupplicate his mercies with an humble confidence, inſpired by the aſſurance, that ‘the very hairs of his head are numbered.’ Let him take comfort in that individual and minute attention, without which not a ſparrow falls to the ground, as well as in that cheering promiſe, that, as ‘His eyes are over the righteous," ſo are "his ears open to their prayers.’ And as [304]a pious Biſhop has obſerved, ‘Our Saviour has as it were hedged in and incloſed the Lord's Prayer with theſe two great fences of our faith, God's willingneſs and his power to help us:’ the pre⯑face to it aſſures us of the one, which, by calling God by the tender name of "Our Father," intimates his readineſs to help his children: and the animating concluſion, "Thine is the Power," reſcues us from every unbelieving doubt of his ability to help us.

A Chriſtian knows, becauſe he feels, that prayer is, though in a way to him inſcrutable, the medium of connection between God and his rational creatures; the means appointed by him to draw down his bleſſings upon us. The Chriſtian knows, that prayer is the appointed means of uniting two ideas, one of the higheſt magnificence, the other of the moſt pro⯑found lowlineſs, within the compaſs of imagination; namely, that it is the link of communication between ‘the High and [305]Lofty One who inhabiteth eternity,’ and that heart of the ‘contrite in which he de⯑lights to dwell.’ He knows that this inex⯑plicable union between Beings ſo unſpeak⯑ably, ſo eſſentially different, can only be maintained by prayer.

The plain Chriſtian, as was before ob⯑ſerved, cannot explain why it is ſo; but while he feels the efficacy, he is contented to let the learned define it; and he will no more poſtpone prayer till he can produce a chain of reaſoning on the man⯑ner in which he derives benefit from it, than he will poſtpone eating till he can give a ſcientific lecture on the nature of digeſtion: he is contented with knowing that his meat has nouriſhed him; and he leaves to the philoſopher, who may chooſe to defer his meal till he has elaborated his treatiſe, to ſtarve in the interim. The Chriſtian feels better than he is able to explain, that the functions of his ſpiritual life can no more be carried on without habitual prayer, than thoſe of his natural [306]life without frequent bodily nouriſhment. He feels renovation and ſtrength grow out of the uſe of the appointed means, as neceſſarily in the one caſe as in the other. He feels that the health of his ſoul can no more be ſuſtained, and its powers kept in continued vigour by the prayers of a diſ⯑tant day, than his body by the aliment of a diſtant day.

But there is one motive to the duty in queſtion, far more conſtraining to the true believer than all others that can be named; more imperious than any argu⯑ments on its utility, than any convictions of its efficacy, even than any experience of its conſolations. Prayer is the com⯑mand of God; the plain, poſitive, repeated injunction of the Moſt High, who declares, "He will be inquired of." This is enough to ſecure the obedience of the Chriſtian, even though a promiſe were not, as it always is, attached to the com⯑mand. But in this caſe the promiſe is as clear as the precept: ‘Aſk, and ye ſhall [307] receive;’—"Seek, and ye ſhall find." this is enough for the plain Chriſtian. As to the manner in which prayer is made to coincide with the general ſcheme of God's plan in the government of human affairs; how God has left himſelf at liberty to reconcile our prayer with his own predetermined will, the Chriſtian does not very critically examine, his pre⯑ciſe and immediate duty being to pray and not to examine; and probably this being among the ‘ſecret things which belong to God,’ and not to us, it will lie hidden among thoſe numberleſs myſ⯑teries which we ſhall not fully underſtand till faith is loſt in ſight.

In the mean time it is enough for the humble believer to be aſſ that the Judge of all the earth is doing right: it is enough for him to be aſſured in that word of God "which cannot lie," of numberleſs actual inſtances of the efficacy of prayer in obtaining bleſſings and avert⯑ing calamities, both national and indi⯑vidual [308]vidual: it is enough for him to be con⯑vinced experimentally, by that internal evidence which is perhaps paramount to all other evidence, the comfort he has received from prayer when all other comforts have failed:—and above all, to and with the ſame motive with which we began, the only motive indeed which he requires for the performance of any duty, —it is motive enough for him, —that thus ſaith the Lord. For when a ſerious Chriſtian has once got a plain unequivocal command from his Maker on any point, he never ſuſpends his obedience while he is amuſing himſelf with looking about for ſubordinate motives of action. Inſtead of curiouſly analyſing the nature of the duty, he conſiders how he ſhall beſt fulfil it: for on theſe points at leaſt it may be ſaid without controverſy, that ‘the igno⯑rant (and here who is not ignorant?) have nothing to do with the law but to obey it?’

[309]Others there are who perhaps not con⯑troverting any of theſe premiſes, yet neglect to build practical conſequences on the admiſſion of them; who neither deny⯑ing the duty nor the efficacy of prayer, yet go on to live either in the irregular ob⯑ſervance, or the total neglect of it, as appetite, or pleaſure, or buſineſs, or hu⯑mour may happen to predominate; and who, by living almoſt without prayer, may be ſaid ‘to live almoſt without God in the world.’ To ſuch we can only ſay, that they little know what they loſe. The time is haſtening on when they will look upon theſe bleſſings as invaluable which now they think not worth aſking for. ‘O that they were wiſe! that they underſtood this! that they would con⯑ſider their latter end!’

There are again others, who it is to be feared, having once lived in the habit of prayer, yet not having been well⯑grounded in thoſe principles of faith and repentance on which genuine prayer is [310]built, have by degrees totally diſcontinued it. "They do not find," ſay they, ‘that their affairs proſper the better or the worſe; or perhaps they were un⯑ſucceſsful in their affairs even before they dropt the practice, and ſo had no encouragement to go on.’ They do not know that they had no encourage⯑ment; they do not know how much worſe their affairs might have gone on, had they diſcontinued it ſooner, or how their prayers helped to retard their ruin. Or they do not know that perhaps ‘they aſked amiſs;’ or that, if they had obtained what they aſked, they might have been far more unhappy. For a true believer never "reſtrains prayer" becauſe he is not certain he obtains every individual requeſt; for he is perſuaded that God, in compaſſion to our ignorance, ſometimes in great mercy withholds what we deſire, and often diſappoints his moſt favoured children by giving them, not what they aſk, but what he knows is really good [311]for them. The froward child, as a pious prelate ^* obſerves, cries for the ſhining blade which the tender parent withholds, knowing it would cut his fingers.

Thus to perſevere when we have not the encouragement of viſible ſucceſs is an evidence of tried faith. Of this holy per⯑ſeverance Job was a noble inſtance. Defeat and diſappointment rather ſtimu⯑lated than ſtopped his prayers. Though in a vehement ſtrain of paſſionate eloquence he exclaims, ‘I cry out of wrong, but I am not heard: I cry aloud, but there is no judgment:’ yet ſo perſuaded was he of the duty of continuing this holy importunity, that he perſiſted againſt human hope, till he attained to that pitch of unſhaken faith by which he was enabled to break out into that ſublime apoſtrophe, ‘Though he ſlay me, I will truſt in him.’

[312]But may we not ſay that there is a con⯑ſiderable claſs who not only bring none of the objections which we have ſtated againſt the uſe of prayer; who are ſo far from re⯑jecting, that they are exact and regular in the performance of it; who yet take it up on as low ground as is conſiſtent with their ideas of their own ſafety; who, while they conſider prayer as an indiſpen⯑ſable form, believe nothing of that change of heart which it is intended to produce? Many who yet adhere ſcrupulouſly to the latter, are ſo far from entering into the ſpirit of this duty, that they are ſtrongly inclined to ſuſpect thoſe of hypocriſy who adopt the true ſcriptural views of prayer. Nay, as even the Bible may be ſo wreſted as to be made to ſpeak almoſt any language in ſupport of almoſt any opinion, theſe perſons lay hold on Scripture itſelf to bear them out in their own ſlight views of this duty; and they profeſs to borrow from it the ground of that cenſure which [313]they caſt on the more ſerious Chriſtians. Among the many paſſages which have been made to convey a meaning foreign to its original deſign, none has been ſeized upon with more avidity by ſuch perſons than the pointed cenſures of our Saviour on thoſe ‘who for a pretence make long prayers;’ as well as on thoſe ‘who uſe vain repetitions and think they ſhall be heard for much ſpeaking.’ Now the things here intended to be reproved were the hypocriſy of the Phariſees and the ignorance of the heathen, together with thoſe who depended on the ſucceſs of their prayers, while they imitated the deceit of the one or the folly of the other. But our Saviour never meant thoſe ſevere reprehenſions ſhould cool or abridge the devotion of pious Chriſtians, to which they do not apply.

More or fewer words, however, ſo little conſtitute the value of prayer, that there is no doubt but one of the moſt affecting ſpecimens is the ſhort petition of the [314]Publican; full fraught as it is with that ſpirit of contrition and ſelf-abaſement which is the very principle and ſoul of prayer. And this perhaps is the beſt model for that ſudden lifting up of the heart which we call ejaculation. But I doubt in general, whether the few haſty words to which theſe frugal petitioners would ſtint the ſcanty devotions of others, will be always found ample enough to ſatisfy the humble penitent, who, being a ſinner, has much to confeſs; who, hoping he is a pardoned ſinner, has much to acknowledge. Such an one perhaps cannot always pour out the fullneſs of his ſoul in the preſcribed abridg⯑ments. Even the ſincereſt Chriſtian, when he wiſhes to find his heart warm, has often to lament its coldneſs. Though he feel that he has received much, and has there⯑fore much to be thankful for, yet he is not able at once to bring his wayward ſpirit into ſuch a poſture as ſhall fit it for the ſolemn buſineſs; for ſuch an one has not merely his form to repeat, but he has his [315]peace to make. A devout ſupplicant too will labour to aſſect and warm his mind with a ſenſe of the attributes of God, in imitation of the holy men of old. Like Jehoſophat, he will ſometimes enumerate ‘the power, and the might, and the mercies of the Moſt High,’ in order to ſtir up the affections of awe, and gratitude, and humility in his own ſoul ^*. He has the example of his Saviour, whoſe heart dilated with the expreſſion of the ſame holy affections: ‘I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth’. A heart thus warmed with divine love cannot always ſcrupulouſly limit itſelf to the mere buſineſs of prayer, if I may ſo ſpeak. The humble ſupplicant though he be no longer governed by a love of the world, yet grieves to find that he cannot totally exclude it from his thoughts. Though he has on the whole, a deep ſenſe of his own wants and of God's abundant fullneſs to ſupply [316]them, yet when he moſt wiſhes to be rejoicing in theſe ſtrong motives for love and gratitude, alas! even then, he has to mourn that his thoughts are gone aſtray after ſome "trifle, lighter than vanity it⯑ſelf." The beſt Chriſtian is but too liable, during the temptations of the day, to be enſnared by ‘the luſt of the eye, and the pride of life,’ and is not always brought without effort to reflect, that he is but duſt and aſhes. How can even good perſons, who are juſt come perhaps from liſtening to the flattery of their fellow-worms, ac⯑knowledge before God, without any pre⯑paration of the heart, that they are miſe⯑rable ſinners? They require a little time, to impreſs on their own ſouls the ſolemn confeſſions of ſin they are making to Him, without which, brevity and not length might conſtitute hypocriſy. Even the ſincerely pious have in prayer grievous wanderings to lament, from which others miſtakingly ſuppoſe the advanced Chriſtian to be exempt. Such wanderings that, as [317]an old divine has obſerved, it would ex⯑ceedingly humble a good man, could he, after he had prayed, be made to ſee his prayers written down, with interlineations of all the vain and impertinent thoughts which had thruſt themſelves in amongſt them. So that ſuch an one will indeed, from a ſenſe of theſe diſtractions, feel deep occaſion with the Prophet to aſk forgive⯑neſs for "the iniquity of his holy things:" and would find cauſe enough for humi⯑liation every night, had he to lament the ſins of his prayers only.

We know that ſuch a brief petition as, "Lord help my unbelief," if the ſuppli⯑cant be in ſo happy a frame, and the prayer be darted with ſuch ſtrong faith that his very ſoul mounts with the petition, may ſuffice to draw down a bleſſing which may be withheld from the more prolix peti⯑tioner: yet, if by prayer we do not mean a mere form of words, whether they be long or ſhort; if the true deſinition of [318]prayer be, that it is the deſire of the heart; if it be that ſecret communion between God and the ſoul which is the very breath and being of religion; then is the Scrip⯑ture ſo far from ſuggeſting that ſhort meaſure of which it is accuſed, that it expreſsly ſays, "Pray without ceaſing:" —"Pray evermore:"— ‘I will that men pray every where:"— "Continue inſtant in prayer.’

If ſuch "repetitions" as theſe objectors reprobate, ſtir up deſires as yet un⯑awakened, for "vain repetitions" are ſuch as awaken, or expreſs no new deſire, and ſerve no religious purpoſe, then are "repetitions" not to be condemned. And if it be true that our Saviour gave the warning againſt "long prayers" in the ſenſe theſe allege; if he gave the caution againſt vain repetitions in the ſenſe theſe believe; then he broke his own rule in both inſtances: for once we are told ‘he continued all night in prayer to God.’ [319]And again, in a moſt awful criſis of his life, it is expreſsly ſaid, "He prayed the third time, uſing the ſame words ^*".

But as it is the effect of prayer to expand the affections as well as to ſanctify them, the benevolent Chriſtian is not ſatisfied to commend himſelf alone to the Divine favour. The heart which is full of the love of God, will overflow with love to its neighbour. All that are near to himſelf he wiſhes to bring near to God. Religion makes a man ſo liberal of ſoul, that he cannot endure to reſtrict any thing, much leſs divine mercies, to himſelf: he ſpi⯑ritualizes the ſocial affections, by adding interceſſory to perſonal prayer: for he knows, that petitioning for others is one of the beſt methods of exerciſing and en⯑larging our love and charity towards them. It is unneceſſary to produce any of the numberlefs inſtances with which Scripture abounds, on the efficacy of in⯑terceſſion: [320]I ſhall confine myſelf to a few obſervations on the benefits it brings to him who offers it.—When we pray for the objects of our deareſt regard, it purifies love: when we pray for thoſe with whom we have worldly intercourſe, it ſmoothes down the ſwellings of envy, and bids the tumults of ambition ſubſide: when we pray for our country, it ſanc⯑tifies patriotiſm: when we pray for thoſe in authority, it adds a divine motive to human obedience: when we pray for our enemies, it ſoftens the ſavageneſs of war, and mollifies hatred into ſorrow. And we can beſt learn, nay, we can only learn, the difficult duty of forgiving thoſe who have offended us, when we bring ourſelves to pray for them to Him whom we ourſelves daily offend. When thoſe who are the faithful followers of the ſame Divine Maſter pray for each other, the reciprocal interceſſion beſt realizes that beautiful idea of ‘the Communion of Saints.’

[321]Some are for confining their interceſſions only to the good, as if none but perſons of merit were entitled to our prayers. Merit! who has it? Deſert! who can plead it? in the ſight of God, I mean. Who ſhall bring his own piety or the piety of others in the way of claim, before a Being of ſuch tranſcendent holineſs, that ‘the heavens are not clear in his ſight?’ And if we wait for perfect holineſs as a preliminary to prayer, when ſhall ſuch erring creatures pray at all to HIM ‘who chargeth the Angels with folly?’

In cloſing this little work with the ſub⯑ject of interceſſory prayer, may the Author be allowed to avail herſelf of the feeling it ſuggeſts to her own heart? And while ſhe implores that Being, who can make the meaneſt of his creatures inſtrumental to his glory, to bleſs this humble attempt to thoſe for whom it was written, may ſhe, without preſumption, entreat that this work of Chriſtian Charity may be re⯑ciprocal, [322]and that thoſe who honour theſe pages with a peruſal may put up a peti⯑tion for her, that in the great day to which we are all haſtening, ſhe may not be found to have hypocritically ſuggeſted to others what ſhe herſelf did not believe, or to have recommended what ſhe did not deſire to practice? In that awful day of everlaſting deciſion, may both the reader and the writer be pardoned and accepted, ‘not for any works of righteouſneſs which they have done’ but through the merits of the GREAT INTERCESSOR.