WAS there any probability that a letter from me would be permitted to reach your hand alone, I should not have chosen this least eligible method of writing to you. The public is no way concerned in family affairs, and ought not to be made a party in them; but my circumstances are such as lay me under the necessity of either communicating my sentiments to the world, or of concealing them from you: the latter would, I think, be the breach of an in­dispensable duty, which obliges me to waive the im­propriety of the former.

A long train of events, of a most extraordinary nature conspired to remove you, very early from the tender care of an affectionate mother. You were then too young to be able to form any right judgement of her conduct; and since that time it is very probable that it has been represented to you in the most unfavourable light. The gene­ral prejudice against me I never gave myself the useless trouble of any endeavour to remove. I do not mean to infer from hence that the open [...] of others is of no material consequence [...] contrary, I would advise you always [...] [Page 57] [...] that next to the consciousness of acting right, the public voice should be regarded; and to endeavour by a prudent behaviour, even [...] the most trifling instances, to secure it in your favour. The being educated in a different op­nion, was a misfortune to me. I was indeed early and wisely taught, that [...] was the one thing necessary, and that [...] happiness could [...]e expected either in [...] any [...] but, with this good [...] one was at the same time inculca­ted, [...]. That the self-approbation arising from conscious virtue was alone sufficient; and, That the censures of an ill-natured world, ever rea­dy to calumniate, when not founded on truth, were beneath the concern of a person whose actions were guided by the superior motive of obedience to the will of Heaven.

This notion, strongly imbibed before reason had gained sufficient strength to discover its fal­lacy was the cause of an inconsiderate conduct in my subsequent life, which marked my charac­ter with a disadvantageous impression. To you I shall speak with the most unreserved sincerity, not concealing a fault which you may profit by the knowledge of; and therefore I freely own, that in my younger years, not satisfied with keeping strictly within the bounds of virtue. I [...] a foolish pleasure in exceeding those [...] prudence, and was ridiculously vain of indulging [...] latitude of behaviour, into which others of my age were afraid of launching: but then, in justice to my­self, I must at the same time declare, that this [...] was only taken in public company; [...] so extremely cautious was I of doing any [...] which appeared to me a just ground for [Page 58] censure, that I call Heaven to witness, your fa­ther was the first man whom I ever made any [...]private assignation with, or even met in a room alone; nor did I take that liberty with him till the most solemn mutual engagement the matri­monial ceremony, had bound us to each other. My behaviour then, he has frequently since ac­knowledged, fully convinced him I was not only innocent of any criminal act, but of [...]ery vici­ous thought; and that the outward freedom of my deportment proceeded merely from a great gaiety of temper, and from a very high flow of spirits, never broke (if the expression may be allowed) into the formal rules of decorum. To sum up the whole in a few words, my private conduct was what the severest prude could not condemn; my public, such as the most finished coquet alone would have ventured upon; the latter only could be known to the world, and consequently, from thence must their opinion be [...]. You will therefore easily be sensible, that it would not be favourable to me; on the contrary, it gave a general prejudice against me: and this has been since made use of as an argu­ment to gain credit to the malicious falsehoods laid to my charge. For this reason, convinced by long experience that the greater part of man­kind are so apt to receive, and so willing to retain a bad impression of others, that, when it is once established, there is hardly a possibility of remov­ing it through life; I [...] for some years past silently [...] in the dispensations of provi­dence, [...] attempting any justification of myself [...] and, being conscious that the infamous aspersions [...] character were not found [...] on truth, I have [...] [...]own content with the [...] [Page 59] of an open and perfect acquittal of all vici­ous dispositions, or criminal conduct, at that great day, when all things shall appear as they really are, and when both our actions, and the most secret motives for them, will be made ma­nifest to men and angels.

Had your father been amongst the number of those who were deceived by appearances, I should have thought it my duty to leave no method un­essay'd to clear myself in his opinion; but that was not the case. He knows that many of those appearances which have been urged against me, I was forced to submit to, not only from his di­rection, but by his absolute command; which, contrary to reason and to my own interest, I was, for more than twelve years▪ weak enough impli­citly to obey; and that others, even since our separation, were occasioned by some particular instances of his behaviour, which rendered it im­possible for me to act with safety in any other manner. To him I appeal for the truth of this assertion, who is conscious of the meaning that may hereafter be explained to you. Perfectly acquainted with my principles and with my na­tural disposition, his heart, I am convinced never here condemned me. Being greatly in­censed that my father's will gave to me an inde­pendent fortune; which will he imagined I was a [...]cessary to, or a [...] least that I could have prevent­ed; he was thereby laid open to the arts of de­signing men, who, having their own interest solely in view, worked him [...] i [...]to a desire of revenge, and from thence, upon probable cir­cumstances, into a public accusation; though that public accusation was supported only by the single testimony of a person, whose known, false­hood [Page 60] had made him a thousand times declare that he would not credit her oath in the most tri­fling incident: yet, when he was disappointed of the additional evidence he might have been flat­tered with the hope of obtaining, it was too late to recede. 'This I sincerely believe to be the truth of the case, though I too well know his tenacious tem­per to expect a present justification; but, when­ever he shall arrive on the verge of eternity, if Rea­son holds her place at that awful moment, and if Religion has then any power on his heart, I make no doubt, he will at that time acquit me to his chil­dren: and with truth he must then confess, that no part of my behaviour to him ever deserved the treat­ment I have met with.

Sorry am I to be under the necessity of pointing out faults in the conduct of another, which are, perhaps, long since repented of, and ought in that case to be as much forgotten as they are most truly forgiven. Heaven knows, that, so far from retaining any degree of resentment in my heart, the person breathes not whom I wish to hurt, or to whom I would not this moment ren­der every service in my power. The injuries which I have sustained, had I no children, should contentedly [...]e buried in silence 'till the great day of retribution; but, in justice to you, to [...], and to myself, it is incumbent on me, as [...] possible, to efface the false impressions, which, by such silence, might be fixed on your [...] and on those of your brothers and sister, [...] I include with you. To this end, it will [...] necessary to enter into a circumstantial history [...] fifteen years, f [...]ll of incidents of a nature [...] uncommon as to be scarcely credible. This [...] convinced, will effectually clear me, [...] [Page 61] your opinions, of the imputations I now lie un­der, and it will prove, almost to a demonstration, the true cause of those proceedings against me that were couched under pretended motives, as injurious to my reputation as they were false in them­selves.

But this must be deferred some time longer. You are all yet too young to enter into things of this kind, or to judge properly of them. When a few years shall, by ripening your understand­ings, remove this objection, you shall be inform­ed of the whole truth, most impartially and with­out disguise. 'Till then suspend your belief of all that may have reached your ears with regard to me, and wait the knowledge of those facts, which my future letters will reveal for your infor­mation.

Thus much I thought it necessary to premise concerning myself, tho' foreign to the design of this epistle, which is only to remind you that you have still an affectionate mother, who is anxious for your welfare, and desirous of giving you some advice with regard to your conduct in life. I would lay down a few precepts for you, which, if attended to, will supply, as far as it is in my power to supply, the deprivation of a constant and tender maternal care. The address is to you in particulars your sisters being yet too young to receive it, but my intention is for the equal service of you all.

You are just entering, my dear girl, into a world full of deceit and falshood, where few persons or things appear in their true character, Vice hides her deformity with the borrowed garb of virtue; and, though discernible to an intel­ligent and careful observer, [...]y the unbecoming [Page 62] a [...]kwardness of her deportment under, it, she passes on thousands undetected. Every present pleasure usurps the name of happiness, and as such deceives the unwary pursuer. Thus one general mask disguises the whole face of things, and it requires a long experience, and a penetrat­ing judgment, [...] discover the truth. Thrice happy they, whose d [...]le tempers improve from the instructions of [...]urer age, and who thereby attain some degre [...] of this necessary knowledge, while it may be useful in directing their conduct▪

The turn which your mind may now take, will fix the happiness or misery of your future life; and I am too nearly concerned for your welfare, not to be most solicitously anxious that you may be early lead into so just a way of think­ing as will be productive to you of a prudent, rational behaviour, and which will secure to you a lasting felicity. You were old enough before our seperation, to convince me that Heaven had not denied you a good natural understanding. This, if properly cultivated, will set you above that trifling disposition, too common among the female world, which makes youth ridiculous, maturity insignificant, and old age contemptible. It is therefore needless to enlarge on that head, since good sense is there the best adviser; and, without it, all admonitions or directions on the subject would be as fruitless as to lay down rules for the conduct or for the actions of an id [...]ot

There is no room to doubt but that sufficient care will be taken to give you a polite education▪ but a religious one is still of greater consequence. Necessary as the former is for your [...] proper figure in the world, and for your being well accepted in it, the latter is yet more so to [Page 63] secure to you the approbation of the greatest and best of Beings; on whose favour depends your everlasting happiness. Let therefore your duty to GOD be ever the first and principal object of your care. As your Creator and Governor, he claims adoration and obedience; as your father, and friend, he demands submissive duty and af­fection. Remember that from this common Parent of the unverse you received your life; that to His general providence you owe the con­tinuance of it; and to his bounty you are indebt­ed for all the health, ease, advantages, or enjoy­ments, which help to make that life agreeable. A sense of benefits received naturally inspires a grateful disposition, with a desire of making suit­able returns. All that can hear be made, for innumerable favours every moment bestowed [...]is a thankful acknowledgement, and a willing obe­dience. In these be never wanting. Make it an invariable rule to begin and end the day with a solemn address to the Deity. I mean not by this what is commonly, with too much propriety, called saying of prayers, namely, a customary repetition of a few good words, without either devotion or attention; than which nothing is more inexcusable and affrontive to the Deity; it is the homage of the heart that can alone be ac­cepted by him. Expressions of our absolute de­pendence on, and of our entire resignation to him; thanksgivings for the mercies already re­ceived; petitions for those blessings it is fit for us to pray for; and intercessions for all our fellow-creatures, compose the principal parts of this duty; which may be comprized in a very few words, or may be more enlarged upon, as the circumstances of time and disposition may ren­der [Page 64] most suitable: for it is not the length, but the sincerity and attention of our prayers that will make them [...]. A good heart, joined to a tolerable understanding, will seldom be at a loss for proper words with which to clothe these sentiments; and all persons, being best acquaint­ed with their own particular circumstances, may reasonably be supposed best qualified for adapting their petitions and acknowledgements to them; but for those who are of a different opinion, there are many excellent forms of prayer already com­posed. Among these, none that I know of, are equal to Doctor Hoadly's, the late Bishop of Win­chester, which I recommend to your perusal and use. In the preface to them, you will find better instructions on this head than I am capable of giv­ing, and to these I refer you.

It is acknowledged that our petitions cannot in any degree alter the intention of a Being, who is in himself invariable, and without a possibility of change; all that can be expected from them is, that, by bettering ourselves, they will render us more proper objects of His favourable regard; and this must necessarily be the result of a serious, regular, and constant discharge of this branch of our duty; for it is scarcely possible to offer up our sincere and fervent devotions to Heaven every morning and evening, without leaving on our minds such useful impressions as will natu­rally dispose us to a ready and cheerful obedience, and will inspire a filial fear of offending, the best security virtue can have. As you value your own happiness, let not the force of bad examples ever lead you into an habitual disuse of secret prayer: nor let an unpardonable negligence so far [...] you, as to make you rest satisfied with a formal, [Page 65] customary, inattentive repetition of some well-chosen words: let your heart and attention always go with your lips, and experience will soon convince you, that this permission of ad­dressing the Supreme Being is the most valuable prerogative of human nature; the chief, nay the only support under all the distresses and ca­lamities to which this state of sin and misery is liable; the highest rational satisfaction the mind is capable of on this side the grave; and the best preparative for everlasting happiness beyond it. This is a duty ever in your own power, and therefore you only will be culpable by the omis­sion of it.

Public worship may not always be so, but whenever it is, do not wilfully neglect the ser­vice of the church, at least on Sundays; and let your behaviour there be adapted to the solemnity of the place, and to the intention of the meeting. Regard neither the actions nor the dress of others: let not your eyes rove in search of acquaintance, but in the time of divine service avoid, as much as possible, all complimental civilities, of which there are too great an intercourse, in most of our churches. Remember that your only business there is to pay a solemn act of devotion to Al­mighty GOD, and let every part of your conduct be suitable to this great end. If you hear a good sermon, treasure it in your memory, that you may reap all the benefit it was capable of impart­ing; if you should hear but an indifferent one, some good things must be in it; retain those, and let the remainder be buried in oblivion. Ri­dicule not the preacher, who no doubt has done his best, and who is rather the object of pity than of contempt, for having been placed in a [Page 66] situation of life, to which his talents were not equal; he may perhaps be a good man, though he is not a great orator.

I would also recommend to you the early and frequent participation of the Communion, or what is commonly called Receiving the Sacra­ment, as the indispensible duty of every christian. There is no institution of our religion more sim­ple, plain, and intelligible than this, as delivered to us by our Saviour; and most of the elaborate treatises written on the subject have served only to puzzle and to disturb weak minds, by throw­ing the dark veil of superstition and of human invention over a plain positive command, given by him in so explicit a manner as to be easily comprehended by the meanest capacity, and which in doubtless in the power of all his sincere followers to pay an acceptable obedience to. Nothing has more contributed to the neglect of this duty, than the numerous well-meaning books that have been written to enjoin a month's or a week's preparation, as previously necessary to the due performance of it; by these means fil­ling the minds of many with needless terror, put­ting it even out of the power of some to receive it at all, and inducing great numbers to rest sa­tisfied with doing it only once or twice in a year, on some high festival; whereas it was certainly the constant custom of the apostles and primitive christians on every Sunday; and it ought to be received by us as often as it is administered in the church we frequent, which in most places is but once in a month. Nor do I think it excus­able, at any time, to turn our backs upon the table we see prepared for that purpose, on pre­tence of not being fit to partake worthly of it. [Page 67] The best, the only true preparation for this, and for every other part of religious duty, is a good and virtuous life, by which the mind is con­stantly kept in such a devotional frame, as to re­quire but a little recollection to be suited to any particular act of worship or of obedience that may occasionally offer; and without a good and virtuous life, there cannot be a greater or more fatal mistake than to suppose that a few days or weeks spent in humiliation and prayer will ren­der us at all the more acceptable to the Deity, or that we should be thereby better fitted for any one instance of that duty which we must univer­sally pay, to be either approved by him, or to be advantageous to ourselves: I would not there­fore advise you to read any of those weekly pre­paratives, which are too apt to lead the mind into error, by teaching it to the rest in a [...]ere sha­dow of piety, wherein there is nothing rationally satisfactory. The best books which I have ever met with on the subject, are Bishop HOADLY's Plain Account of the Nature and End of the Sacra­ment of the Lord's Supper, and NELSON's Great Duty of frequenting the Christian Sacrifice. To the former are annexed the prayers which I before mentioned: these are well worth your attentive pe­rusal; the design of the institution is therein fully explained, agreeable both to scripture and [...]o reason; stript of that veil of mystery which has been industriously thrown over it by designing or by mistaken men; and it is there laid as plainly open to every capacity as it was at first left us by our great Master. Read these books with due attention: you will there find every necessary instruction concerning the right, and every rea­sonable [Page 68] inducement to the constant and to the conscientious performance of it.

The sincere practice of religious duties natu­rally leads to the proper discharge of the social, which may be all comprehended in that one great general rule of doing unto others as you would they should do unto you; but of these, more par­ticularly herafter.—I shall first give you my ad­vice concerning EMPLOYMENT, it being of great moment to set out in life in such a method as may be useful to yourself and benificial to others.

Time is invaluable, its loss is irretrievable! The remembrance of having made an ill use of it must be one of the sharpest tortures to those who are on the brink of eternity! and what can yield a more unpleasing retrospect than whole years idled away in an irrational insignificant manner, examples of which are continually be­fore our eyes! Look on every day as a blank sheet of paper put into your hands to be filled [...] remember the characters will remain to end. [...] ages, and that they never can be expunged; [...] careful therefore not to write any thing but what you may read with pleasure thousand years after. I would not be understood in a sense so strict as might debar you from any innocent amusement, suitable to your age, and agreeable to your inclination. Diversions, properly regu­lated, are not only allowable, they are absolutely necessary to youth, and are never criminal but when taken to excess; that is, when they engross the whole thought, when they are made the chief business of life; they then give a distaste to every valuable employment, and, by a sort of infatua­tion, leave the mind in a state of restless impati­ence [Page 69] from the conclusion of [...] till the com­mencement of another. This is the unfortunate disposition of many; guard most carefully against it, for nothing can be attended with more perni­cious consequences. A little observation will convince you, that there is not, amongst the hu­man species, a set of more miserable beings than these who cannot live out of a constant succes­sion of diversions. These people have no com­prehension of the more satisfactory pleasure to be found in retirement; thought is insupportable, and consequently solitude must be intolerable to them; they are a burthen to themselves, and a pest to their acquaintance, by vainly seeking for happiness in company, where they are seldom acceptable: I say vainly, for true happiness exists only in the mind, nothing foreign can give it. The utmost to be attained by what is called a gay life, is a short forgetfulness of misery, to be felt with accumulated anguish in every in­terval of reflection. This restless temper is fre­quently the product of a too eager pursuit of pleasure in the early part of life, to the neglect of those valuable improvements which would lay the foundation of a more solid and permanent felicity. Youth is the season for diversions, but it is also the season for acquiring knowledge, for fixing useful habits, and for laying in a stock of such well-chosen materials, as may grow into a serene happiness, which will encrease with every added year of life, and will bloom in the fullest perfection in the decline of it. The great art of education consists in assigning to each its proper place, in such a manner that the one shall never become irksome by intrenching on the other.—Our separation having taken from me the [Page 70] pleasing [...] of endeavouring, to the best of my ability, to suit them occasionally, as might be most conducive both to your profit and pleasure, it only remains for me to give you general rules, which indeed accidents may make it necessary sometimes to vary; those however must be left to your own discretion, and I am convinced you have a sufficient share of understanding to be very capable of making advantageously such ca­sual regulations to yourself, if the inclination is not wanting.

It is an excellent method to appropriate the morning wholly to improvement; the afternoon may then be allowed to diversions. Under this last head, I place company, books of the amu­sing kind, and entertaining productions of the needle, as well as plays, balls, &c. which more commonly go by the name of diversions: the afternoon, and evening till supper, may by these be employed with innocence and pro­priety; but let not one of them ever be suffered to intrude on the former part of the day, which should be always devoted to more useful employments. One half hour, or more, either before or immediately after breakfast, I would have you constantly give to the attentive perusal of some rationally pious author, or to some part of the New Testament, with which, and indeed with the whole Scripture, you ought to make yourself perfectly acquainted, as the basis on which your religion is founded. From this prac­tice you will reap more real benefit than can [...]e supposed by those who have never made the ex­periment. The other hours may be divided amongst those necessary and polite acquisitions which are suitable to your sex, age, and to your [Page 71] rank in life.—Study your own language thoroughly, that you may speak correctly, and write grammatically: do not content yourself with the common use of words, which custom has taught you from the cradle, but learn from whence they are derived, and what are their pro­per significations.— French you ought to be as well acquainted with as with English, and Ita­lian might, without much difficulty, be added.—Acquire a good knowledge of history; that of your own country first, then of the other Eu­ropean nations: read them not with a view to amuse, but to improve your mind; and to that end make reflections on what you have read, which may be useful to yourself, and will render your conversation agreeable to others.—Learn so much of Geography as to form a just idea of the situation of places, mentioned in any other; and this will make history more entertaining to you.

It is necessary for you to be perfect in the first four rules of Arithmetic: more you can never have occasion for, and the mind should not be burthened with needless application— Music and Drawing are accomplishments well worth the trouble of attaining, if your inclination and ge­nius lead to either: if not, do not attempt them; for it will be only much time and [...] labour unprofitably thrown away; it being next to im­possible to arrive at any degree of perfection in those arts, by the dint of perseverance only, if a good [...]ar and a native genius be wanting.—The study of Natural Philosophy, you will find both pleasing and instructive; pleasing, from the continual new discoveries to be made of the in­flam [...]ably various beauties of nature, a most [Page 72] agreeable gratification of that desire of knowledge wisely [...] in the human mind; and high­ly instructive, as those descoveries lead to the con­templation of the great Author of Nature, whose wisdom and goodness so conspicuously shine through all His works, that it is impossible to reflect seriously on them, without admiration and gratitude.

These, my dear, are but a few of those mental improvements I would recommend to you. In­deed there is no branch of knowledge that your capacity is equal to, and which you have an op­portunity of acquiring, that, I think, ought to be neglected. It has been objected against all female learning, [...] that of household oeco­nomy, that it tends only to fill the minds of the sex with a concerned vanity, which sets them above their proper business; occasions an indif­ference to, if not a total neglect of, their family affairs; and serves only to render them useless wives, and impertinent companies. It must be confessed, that some reading ladies have given but too much cause for this objection; and could it be proved to hold good throughout the sex, it would certainly be right to confine their im­provements within the narrow limits of the nur­sery, of the kitchen, and the confectionary: but, I believe, it will, upon examination, be found, that such ill consequences proceed chiefly from too great an imbecility of mind to be capable of much enlargement, or from a mere affectation of knowledge, void of all reality. Vanity is never the result of understanding. A sensible woman will soon be convinced, that all the learning her utmost application can make her mistress of, will be from the difference of education, in many [Page 73] points, inferior to that of a [...] boy [...] re­flection will keep her always, [...] and will be an effectual check to that loquacity which renders some women such insupportable compa­nions.

The management of all domestic affairs is cer­tainly the proper business of woman; and, un­fashionably rustic as such an assertion may be thought, it is not beneath the dignity of any [...], however high her rank, to know how to educate her children, to govern her servants; [...] to order an elegant table with oeconomy, and to manage her whole family with prudence, regularity and method. If in these she is de­fective, whatever may be her attainments in any other kinds of knowledge, she will act out of character; and, by not moving in her proper sphere, she will become rather the object of ridi­cule than of approbation. But I believe it may with truth be affirmed, that the neglect of these domestic concerns has much more frequently proceeded from an exorbitant love of diversions, from a ridiculous fondness for dress and gallan­try, or from a mistaken pride that [...] placed such duties in a servile light, from [...] they have been considered as fit only for the employ­ment of dependents, and below the attention of a fine lady, than from too great an attachment to mental improvements; yet, from whatsoever cause such a neglect proceeds, it is equally un­justifiable. If any thing can be [...] in vindi­cation of a custom unknown to [...] ancestors, which the prevalence of fashion [...] made so ge­neral amongst the modern [...] I mean, that of commiting to the care and discretionary power of different servants, the sole management: [Page 74] of [...] affairs▪ nothing certainly can be al­ledged in [...] of such an ignorance, in things of this nature, as renders a lady incapable of giving proper directions on all occasions; an ig­norance, which, in never so exalted a station, will render her contemptible, even to those servants on whose understanding and fidelity she, in fact, becomes dependent for the regularity of her house, for the propriety, elegance, and [...] of her table; which last article is seldom regard­ed by such sort of people, who too frequently im­pose on those by whom they are thus impli [...] trusted. Make yourself, therefore, so thorough­ly acquainted with the most proper method of conducting a family, and with the necessary ex­pence which every article, in proportion to their number will occasion, that you may come to a reasonable certainty of not being materially de­ceived, without the ridiculous drudgery of fol­lowing year servants continually, and meanly peeping into every obscure corner of your house; nor is this at all difficult to attain, as it requires nothing more than an attentive observation.

It is of late, in most great families, become too much the custom to be long upon the books of every tradesman they employ. To assign a reason for this is foreign to my purpose but I am certain it would, in general, be better both for themselves and for the people they deal with never to be on them at all; and what difficulty or inconvenience can arise, in a well regulated family, from commissioning the steward or house­keeper to pay [...] every thing at the time when it is brought in▪ This obsolete practice, though in itself very laudable, is not at present, and per­haps never may be again, authorised by fashion; [Page 75] however, let it be a rule with [...] to [...] as few debts as possible: most things [...] to be pur­chased both better in their kind, and at a lower price, by paying for them at the time of purcha­sing. But if, to avoid the supposed trouble of frequent trifling disbursements, you chuse to have the [...] articles thrown together in a bill, let a note of the quantity and price be brought with [...] such parcel: file these [...] compare them with the bill when delivered [...] let such hills [...] regularly paid every quarter; [...] is not rea­sonable to expect that a tradesman should give longer credit, without making up the interest of his money by an advanced price on what he feels; and be assured, if you find it convenient to pay at the end of three months, that convenience must arise from living at too great an expence, and will consequently increase in six months, and grow still greater at the end of the year. By making short payments, you will become the sooner sensible of such a mistake, and you will find it at first more easy to retrench any supernu­meraries than after having been long habituated to them.

If your house is superintended by a [...] house­keeper, and your servants are accountable to her, let your housekeeper be accountable to yourself, and let her be entirely governed by your direc­tions. Carefully examine her [...], and suffer no extravagancies or unnessary articles to pass unnoticed. Let these [...] brought to you every morning; what they contain will then be easily recollected without [...] your me­mory; and your accounts being short will be ad­justed with less trouble and with more exactness. Should you at any time have an upper servant, [Page 76] whose [...] and [...]cation were superior to that state of [...] to which succeeding misfor­tunes may have reduced her, she ought to be treated with peculiar indulgence, if she has un­derstanding enough to be conversible, and humi­lity enough always to keep her proper distance, lessen, as much as possible, every painful remem­brance of former prospects, by looking [...] her as an humble friend, and making her an occa­sional companion. But never descend to converse with those whose birth, education and early [...] in life were not superior to a state of servit [...]: their minds being in general suited to their sta­tion, they are apt to be intoxicated by any degree of familiarity, and to become useless and imper­tinent. The habit which very many ladies have contracted of talking to and consulting with their women, has so spoiled that set of servants, that few of them are to be met with, who do not com­mence their service by giving their unasked opi­nion of your person, dress, or management, art­fully conveyed in the too generally accepted ve­hicle of flattery; and, if they are allowed in this, they will next proceed to offer their advice on any occasion that may happen to discompose or ruffle your temper: check therefore the first appearance of such impertinences, by a reprimand sufficiently severe to prevent a repetion of it.

Give your orders in a plain distinct manner, with good-nature joined to a steadiness that will shew they must be punctually obeyed. Treat all your domestics with such mildness and affability, that you may be served rather out of affection [...] fear. Let them live happily under you. Give them leisure for their own business. [...] for innocent recreation, and more especially [...] [Page 77] attending the public service of the church [...] instructed in their duty to God; [...] which you have no right to expect the discharge of that owing to yourself. When wrong, tell them calmly of their faults; if they amend not after two or three such [...], dismiss them; but never descend to pa [...]ion and scolding, which is inconsistent with a good understanding, and beneath the dignity of a gentlewoman.

[...] very exact in your hours, without which there [...] be no order in your family, I mean those of r [...]g, eating, &c. Require from your servants punctuality in these, and never be yourself the cause of breaking through the rules you have laid down, by deferring breakfast, putting back the dinner, or letting it grow cold on the table, to wait your dressing; a custom by which many la­dies introduce confusion, and bring their orders into neglect. Be always dressed at least half an hour before dinner. Having mentioned this im­portant article, I must be allowed a little digression on the subject.

Whatever time is taken up in dress beyond what is necessary to decency land cleanliness, may be looked upon, to say no worse, as a va­cuum in life. By decency, I mean such a habit as is suitable to your rank and fortune than ill-placed finery, inconsistent with [...] not or­namental, but ridiculous. A [...] with fashion, so far as to avoid the [...] of sin­gularity, is necessary; but to [...] the ex­treme of fashions, more especially [...] which are inconvenient, is the certain [...] of a weak mind. Have a better opinion to yourself than to suppose you can receive my additional merit [...] the adventitious ornaments of dress. Leave [Page 78] the [...] of the [...] to those who are adapted to it▪ I mean [...] insignificant set of females, whose whole life, from the cradle to the coffin, is but a varied scene of trifling, and whose intellectuals [...]it them not for any thing beyond it. Such as these may be allowed to pass whole [...] at their looking-glass, in the important business of suiting a set of ribb [...]nds, adjusting a few earls, [...] determining the position of a patch; one, per­haps, of their most innocent ways of idling. [...] let as small a portion of your time as possible [...] taken up in dressing. Be always perfectly [...] and neat, both in your person and cloths; equally so when alone, as in company. Look upon all beyond this as immaterial in itself, any further, than as the different ranks of mankind have made some distinction in habit generally esteemed necessary; and remember, that it is never the dress, however sumptuous, which re­flects dignity and honour on the person: it is the rank and merit of the person that gives conse­quence to the dress. But to return:—

It is your own steadiness and example of regu­larity that alone can preserve uninterrupted order in your family. If, by forgetfulness or inat­tention, you at any time suffer your commands to be disobeyed with impunity, your servants, will grow upon [...] neglect into a habit of carelessness, till repeated faults, of which this is properly the source, [...] you into anger, which an even hand would never have made necessary. Be not whim­sical or [...] in your likings▪ approve with judgement, and condemn with reason; that act­ing right may be [...] certainly the means of ob­ [...]uring your favour, as the contrary of incurring your displeasure.

[Page 79] From what has been said you will see▪ that in order to the proper discharge of [...] domestic duties, it is absolutely necessary for you to have a perfect knowledge of every branch of household economy, without which you can neither cor­rect [...] is wrong, approve what is right, now give directions with propriety. It is the want of this knowledge that reduces many a fine lady's [...] to a state of the utmost confusion and dis­ [...], on the sudden removal of a managing [...], till the place is supplied by a successor of equal ability. How much out of character, [...] ridiculous must a mistress of a family appear, who is entirely incapable of giving practical or­ders on such an occasion. Let that never be your case! Remember, my dear, this is the only proper temporal business assigned you by Providence, and in a thing so indispensibly [...] ­ful, so easily attained, where so little study or application is necessary to arrive at the [...] com­mendable degree of it, the want even of perfec­tion is almost inexcusable. Make yourself mis­tress of the theory, that you may be [...] the more readily to reduce it into practice; and when you have a family to command, [...] the care of it always employ your principal attention, and let every part of it be subjected to [...] own inspection. If you rise early, a [...] a hope you have not left off since you [...] me, if you waste no unnecessary time in [...] and if you conduct your house in a regul [...] [...] you will find many vacant hours [...] by this ma­terial business; and no objection [...] [...]e made to your employing those is [...] improvements of the mind, as are most suitable to your genius and inclination. I believe no [...] of understanding [Page 80] will [...]ook that, under such regulations, a woman [...] a [...] agreeable companion, a less [...], a less careful mat [...], or a worse mistress o [...] a family, for all the additional knowledge her in­dustry and application can acquire.

The morning being always thus advantageously engaged, the latter part of the day, as I before said, may be given to relaxation and amusement. Some of these hours may be very agreeably and usefully employed by entertaining books; a few of which, in the English language I will mention to you, as a specimen of the kind I would recommend to your perusal; and I shall include some others, religious and instructive.

• Mason on Self Know­ledge
• OEconomy of Human Life
• Seneca's Morals
• Epictetus
• Cicero's Offices
• Collier's Antoninus

Sermons

• Hoadly's
• Seed's
• Sherlock's
• Sterne's
• Fordyce's

• Rollin's [...] Letters
• Nature Display'd
• The Spectator
• The Guardian
• The Female Spectator
• The Rambler
• The Idler
• The Adventurer
• The World
• Cicero's Familiar Letters
• Pliny's & Cicero's Letters
• Fitzosborne's Letters
• Epistles for the Ladies
• Telemachus
• The Vicar of Wakefield
• Guthrie's Geographical Grammar
• Po [...]ter's Antiquities of Greece
• Rollin's Ancient History
• Kennett's Antiquities of Rome
• Hooke's Roman His­tory
• Hume's History of Eng­land
• Robertson's History of Scotland
• Milton's Poetical Works
• Pope's Ethic Epistles
• —Homer
• Thomson's Works
• Young's Works
• Mrs. Rowe's Works
• [Page 81] Langhorne's Works
• Moore's Fables for the Female Sex
• Tales of the Gen [...]
• Visions [...]
• Dodsley's Collection of Poems.

From these you may form a judgment of that sort of reading which will be both useful and en­tertaining to you. I have named only those Prac­tical Sermons, which, I thought, would more [...].

To the above List the Editor of this volume begs leave to add the following books, most of which have appeared since Lady P [...]'s Letter was first printed:

Sermons

• Blair's
• Johnson's

• West on the Resurrection
• Lord Lyttelton on the Conversion of St. Paul
• Miss Talbot's Reflections and Essays
• Dr. Watts on the Im­provement of the Mind
• Wheatley on the Com­mon Prayer
• Derham's Astro and Phy­sico Theology
• Ray on the Wonders of the Creation
• Mrs. Chapone's Letters and Miscellanies
• Mulso's Callistus and So­phronius
• The Murror
• The Lounger
• The Observer
• Hayley's Triumphs of Temper
• Rasselas, Prince of Abys­sinia
• Madame De Genlis's The­atre of Education
• Ganganelli's Letters
• Marchioness de Lambert's Works
• Mrs. Barbauld's Poems and other Pieces
• Miss Burney's Evelina and Cecilia
• Hayley's Young Widow, or, History of Cornelia Sedley
• Mrs. Smith's Emmeline, or Orphan of the Castle
• General Biographical Dic­tionary, 12 vol. 8vo.
• Knox's Collection of Voyages and Travels
• Shakespear's Plays
• Johnsons's Poets, with their Lives
• Miss More's Poems, and Prose Pieces
• Mrs. Trimmer's Works directly

[Page 82] directly influence your conduct in life— Our rule of faith should be taken from the scripture alone, which we must understand for ourselves; therefore the controverted opinions of others serve in general rather to puzzle than to improve the mind.

Of Novels and Romances, very few are worth the trouble of reading: some of them per­haps do contain a few good morals, but they are not worth the finding where so much rubbish is intermixed. Their moral parts indeed are like small diamonds amongst mountains of dirt and trash, which, after you have found them, are too incon­siderable to answer the pains of coming at: yet, ridiculous as these fictirious tales generally are, they are so artfully managed as to excite an idle curiosity to see the conclusion, by which means the reader is drawn on, through a tiresome length of foolish adventures, from which neither know­ledge, pleasure, or profit, seldom can accrue, to the common catastrophe of a wedding. The most I have met with of these writings, to say no worse, it is little better than the loss of time to peruse. But some of them have more pernicious consequences. By drawing characters that never exist in life, by representing persons and things in a false and extravagant light, and by a series of improbable causes bringing on impossible events, they are apt to give a romantic turn to the mind, which is often productive of great errors in judg­ment, and of fatal mistakes in conduct. Of this I have seen frequent instances, and therefore advise you scarce ever to meddle with any of them.

In justice however to a late ingenious author, this Letter must not be reprinted, without my ac­knowledging that, since the last edition was pub­lished, I have accidentally met with one exception [Page 83] to my general rule, namely, The Vicar of Wake-field. That novel is equally entertaining and instructive, without being liable to any of the objections that occasioned the above restriction. This possibly may not be the only unexception­able piece of the kind, but as I have not met with any other, amongst a number I have perused, a single instance does not alter my opinion of that sort of writing; and I still think, the chance is per­haps a thousand to one against the probability of obtaining the smallest degree of advantage from the reading any of them, as well as that very few are to be found from which much injury may not be received.

WORKS OF THE NEEDLE that employ the fancy, may, if they suit your inclination, be sometimes a pretty amusement; but let this em­ployment never extend to large pieces, beyond what can be accomplished by yourself without assistance. There is not a greater extravagance, under the specious name of good housewifery than the furnishing of houses in this manner. Whole apartments have been seen thus ornament­ed by the supposed work of a lady, who, per­haps, never shaded two [...] the artifici [...] forest, but has paid four times its value to [...] seve [...] [...] employed in bringing it to per­fection. The expence of these tedious pieces of work I speak of experimentally, having, many years past, undertaken one of them, which, when finished, was not worth fifteen pounds; and by a computation since made, it did not cost less than fifty, in the hire and maintenance of the people employed in it. This indeed was at the age of seventeen, when the thoughtless inexperience of youth could alone excuse such a piece of folly [Page 84] — Embroideries in gold, silver, or shades of silk, come within a narrower compass. Works of that kind which may, without calling in expensive assistance, or tiring the fancy, be finished in a summer, will be a well-chosen change of amuse­ment, and may, as there are three of you, be made much more agreeable, by one alternately reading aloud, while the other two are thus em­ployed.—All kinds of what is called plain-work, though no very polite accomplishment, you must be so well versed in, as to be able to cut out, make, or mend your own linen. Some fathers, and some husbands, chuse to have their daughters and their wives thus attired in the labour of their own hands, and, from a mistaken notion, be­lieve this to be the great criterion of frugal oeco­nomy. Where that happens to be the inclination [...] opinion of either, it ought always to be rea­dily complied with: but, exclusive of such a motive, I see no other that makes the practical part necessary to any lady; excepting, indeed, where there is such a narrowness of fortune as admits [...] conveniently the keeping a servant, to whom such exercises of the needle much more properly appertain.

THE THEATRE, which, by the indefatigable labour of the inimitable Mr. Ga [...] [...] been brought to very great perfection, will afford yo [...] an equally rational and improving entertainment. Your judgment will not now be called in question [...] your understanding affronted, nor will your modesty be offended by the indecent ribaldry of those authors, who, to their defect in wit, have added the want of good sense and of good man­ners. Faults of this kind, which, from a blame­ful compliance with a corrupted taste, have some­times [Page 85] crept into the works of good writers, are by his prudent direction generally rectified or omitted on the stage. You may now see many of the best plays performed in the best manner▪ Do not, however, go to any that you have n [...] before heard the character of; be present only at those which are approved by persons of under­standing and virtue, as calculated to answer th [...] proper ends of the theatre, namely, that of con­veying instruction in the most pleasing method. Attend to the sentiment, apply the moral, [...] then you cannot, I think, pass an evening [...] a more useful, or in a more entertaining divers [...].

DANCING may also take its turn as a hea [...] exercise, as it is generally suitable to the [...] gaiety of young minds.

PART of the hours appropriated to [...] must of necessity be less agreeably taken [...] the paying and receiving visits of mere cere [...] and civility; a tribute, by custom author by good manners enjoined. In these, when conversation is only insignificant, join in it an apparent satisfaction. Talk of the eleg [...] of a birth-day suit, the pattern of a lace, judicious assortment of jewels, the cut of a ruff [...] or the set of a sleeve, with an unaffected ease not according to the rank they hold in your estima­tion, but proportioned to the consequence they may be of in the opinion of those you are conversing with. The great art of pleasing is to appear pleased with others; suffer not then an ill-bred absence of thought, or a contemptuous sneer, ever to betray a conscious superiority of understand­ing, always productive of ill nature and [...]like. Suit yourself to the capacity and to the taste of your company, when that taste is confined to [Page 86] harmless trifles; [...] where it is so far depraved as to delight in cruel sarcasms on the absent, to be pleased with discovering the blemishes in a good character, or in repeating the greater faults [...] a bad one, religion and humanity in that case forbid the least degree of assent. If you have not any knowledge of the persons thus unhappily sacrificed to envy or to malice, and consequently [...]re ignorant as to the truth or falshood of such [...]per [...]ions, always suspect them to be ill ground­ [...] or, at least, greatly exaggerated. Shew your [...] approbation by a silent gravity, and by taking [...] first opportunity to change the subject. But [...] [...]re any acquaintance with the character in [...] gives room [...] defending it, let not an [...] complaisance prevail over justice: [...] injured innocence with all the freedom and [...] of an unrestrained benevolence; and [...] the faults of the [...]uilty will admit of pal­ [...] urge all that truth can allow in mitiga­ [...] [...] of error. From this method, besides the [...] [...]sure arising from the consciousness of a strict [...] [...]rm [...]ty to the great rule of doing as you would [...] done by, you will also reap to yourself the be­nefit of being less frequently pestered with themes ever painful to a humane disposition. If, unfor­tunately, you have some acquaintance whose male­volence or heart no sentiment of virtue, no check of good-manners, ca [...] restrain from these malicious [...]allies of ill-nature, to them let your [...] be made as seldom, and as short, as decen­cy [...] permit; there being neither benefit nor satisfaction to be found in such company, amongst whom [...] may be introduced with advantage. On this account, it will be proper for you to know the Plays most in use, because it is [Page 87] an argument of great folly to engage in any thing without doing it well; but this is a diversion which I hope you will have no fondness for, as it is in itself, to say no worse, a very insignificant amuse­ment.

With persons for whom you can have no esteem, good-breeding may oblige you to keep up an in­tercourse of ceremonious visits, but politeness enjoins not the length or frequency of them. Here inclination may be followed without a breach of civility: there is no tax upon intimacy but from choice; and that choice should ever be founded on merit, the certainty whereof you cannot be too careful in previously examining. Great caution is necessary not to be deceived by specious appearances. A plausible behaviour of­ten, upon a superficial knowledge, creates, a pre­possession in favour of particulars, who, upon a nearer view, may be found to have no claim to esteem. The forming a precipitate judgment sometimes leads into an unwary intimacy, which it may prove absolutely necessary [...] [...]eak off; and yet that breach may be attended with innu­merable inconveniencies; nay, perhaps, with very material and lasting ill consequences: prudence, therefore, here enjoins the greatest circumspection.

Few people are capable of friendship, and still fewer have all the qualifications one would chuse in a friend. The fundamental point is a virtuous disposition; but to that should be added a good understanding, a solid judgement, sweetness of temper, steadiness of mind, freedom of behavi­our, and sincerity of heart. Seldom as these are to be found united, never makes a bosom friend of any one greatly deficient in either. Be slow in contracting friendship, and invariably constant in [Page 88] maintaining it. Expect not many friends, but think yourself happy, if, through life, you meet with one or two who deserve that name, and have all the requisites for the valuable relation. This may justly be deemed the highest blessing of mor­tality. Uninterrupted health has the general voice; but, in my opinion, such an intercourse of friendship, as much deserves the preference, as the mental pleasures, both in nature and degree, exceed the corporeal. The weaknesses, the pains of the body may be inexpressibly alleviated by the conversation of a person, by affection endear­ed, by reason approved; whose tender sympathy partakes your afflictions, and shares your enjoy­ments; who is steady in the correction, but mild in the reproof of your faults; like a guardian angel, ever watchful to warn you of unforeseen danger, and, by timely admonitions, to prevent the mistakes incident to human frailty and to self-partiality: this is the true office of friendship, With such a friend, no state of life can be abso­lutely unhappy; but, destitute of some such con­nection, Heaven has so formed our natures for this intimate society, that amidst the affluence of fortune, and in the flow of uninterrupted health, there will be an aching void in the solitary breast, which can never otherwise know a plenitude of happiness.

Should the Supreme Disposer of all events be­stow on you this superlative gift, to such a friend let your heart be ever unreservedly open. Con­ceal no secret thought, disguise no latent weak­ness, but bare your bosom to the faithful probe of honest friendship, and shrink not if it smarts beneath the touch; nor with tenacious pride dis­like the person who freely dares to condemn some [Page 89] favourite foible; but, ever open to conviction, hear with attention, and receive with gratitude, the kind reproof that flows from tenderness. When sensible of a fault, be ingenuous in the confession—be sincere and steady in the correction of it.

Happy is her lot, who in a Husband find this invaluable friend! Yet so great is the ha­zard, so disproportioned the chances, that I could almost wish the dangerous die was never to be thrown for any of you: but as probably it may, let me conjure ye all, my dear girls, if ever any of you take this most important step in life, to proceed with the utmost care and with deliberate circumspection. Fortune and Family it is the sole province of your father to direct in: he cer­tainly has always an undoubted right to a nega­tive voice, though not to a compulsive one. As a child is very justifiable in the refusal of her hand, even to the absolute command of a father, where her heart cannot go with it; so is she ex­tremely culpable in giving it cont [...] to his ap­probation. Here I must take shame to myself; and for this unpardonable fault, I do justly acknowledge that the subsequent ill consequences [...] a most un­happy marriage were the proper punishment. This, and every other error in my own conduct, I do, and shall, with the utmost candour, lay open to you; sincerely praying that you may reap the benefit of my experience, and that you may avoid those rocks, which, either by carelessness, or sometimes, alas, by too much caution, I have split against! But to return:—

The chief point to be regarded in the choice of a companion for life, is a really virtuous prin­ciple, an unaffected goodness of heart. Without [Page 90] this, you will be continually shocked by inde­cency, and pained by impiety. So numerous have been the unhappy victims to the ridiculous opinion, " A reformed libertine makes the best husband," that, did not experience daily evince the contrary, one would believe it impossible for a girl who has a tolerable degree of common understanding to be made the dupe of so errone­ous a position, which has not the least shadow of reason for its foundation, and which a small share of observation will prove to be false in fact. A man who has been long conversant with the worst sort of women, is very apt to contract a bad opinion of and a contempt for the sex in ge­neral. Incapable of esteeming any, he is suspi­cious of all, jealous without cause, angry with­out provocation, and his own disturbed imagina­tion is a continual source of ill humour. To this is frequently joined a bad habit of body, the natural consequence of an irregular life, which gives an additional sourness to the temper. What rational prospect of happiness can there be with such a companion? And that this is the general character of those who are called reformed rakes, observation will certify—But, admit there may be some exceptions, it is a hazard upon which no considerate women would venture the peace of her whole future life. The vanity of those girls who believe themselves capable of working mira­cles of this kind, and who give up their persons to men of libertine principles, upon the wild ex­pectation of reclaiming them, justly deserves the disappointment which it will generally meet with; for, believe me, a wife is, of all persons, the least likely to succeed in such an attempt. Be it your care to find that virtue in a lover which you must [Page 91] never hope to form in a husband. Good-sense and good-nature are almost equally requisite. If the former is wanting, it will be next to impossi­ble for you to esteem the person of whose behavi­our you may have cause to be ashamed; and mu­tual esteem is as necessary to happiness in the married state as mutual affection: without the latter, every day will bring with it some fresh cause of vexation; 'till repeated quarrels produce a coldness, which will settle into an irreconcile­able aversion, and you will become not only each other's torment, but the object of contempt to your family and to your acquaintance.

This quality of Good-Nature is, of all others, the most difficult to be ascertained, on account of the general mistake of blending it with Good-Humour, as if they were in themselves the same; whereas, in fact, no two principles of action are more essentially different. And this may require some explanation.—By Good-Nature I mean, that true benevolence which partakes the felicity of all mankind; which promotes the satisfaction or every individual within the reach of its abi­lity; which relieves the distressed, comforts the afflicted, diffuses blessings, and communicates happiness, as far as its sphere of action can extend, and which, in the private scenes of life, will shine conspicuous in the dutiful son, the affec­tionate husband, the indulgent father, the faith­ful friend, and the compassionate master both to man and beast: whilst Good-Humour is nothing more than a cheerful, pleasing deportment, arising either from a natural gaiety of mind, or from an affectation of popularity, joined to an affability [...] behaviour, the result of good-breeding, and a ready compliance with the taste of every company. [Page 92] This kind of mere good-humour is, by far, the most striking quality; 'tis frequently mistaken for, and complimented with, the superior name of real good-nature. A man by this specious ap­pearance has often acquired that appellation, who, in all the actions of his private life, has been a morose, cruel, revengeful, sullen, haughty tyrant. Let them put on the cap whose temples fit the gal­ling wreath! On the contrary, a man of a truly benevolent disposition, and formed to promote the happiness of all round him, may sometimes, perhaps from an ill habit of body, an accidental vexation, or from a commendable openness of heart above the meanness of disguise, be guilty of little sallies of peevishness, or of ill-humour, which, carrying the appearance of ill nature, may be unjustly thought to proceed from it, by persons who are unacquainted with his true charac­ter, and who take ill humour and ill-nature to be synonimous terms, though in reality they bear not the least analogy to each other. In order to the forming a right judgment, it is absolutely necessary to observe this distinction, which will effectually secure you from the dangerous error of taking the shadow for the substance; an irre­trievable mistake, pregnant with innumerable con­sequent evils!

From what has been said it plainly appears, that the criterion of this amiable virtue is not to be taken from the general opinion; mere good-humour being, to all intents and purposes, suf­ficient in this particular to establish the public voice in favour of a man utterly devoid o [...] every humane and benevolent affection of heart. [...] is only from the less conspicuous [...] of life, [...] more retired sphere of action, from the art [...] [Page 93] of domestic conduct, that the real character can with any certainty be drawn. These undis­guised proclaim the man; but, as they shun the glare of light, nor court the noise of popular applause, they pass unnoticed, and are seldom known 'till after an intimate acquaintance. The best method, therefore, to avoid the deception in this case, is to lay no stress on outward appear­ances, which are too often fallacious, but to take the rule of judging from the simple, unpolished sentiments of those, whose dependent connections give them an undeniable certainty; who not only see, but hourly feel the good or bad effects of that disposition to which they are subjected. By this I mean, that if a man is equally respected, esteemed, and beloved by his tenants, by his de­pendents and domestics; from the substantial farmer to the laborious peasant: from the proud steward to the submissive wretch, who, thankful for employment, humbly obeys the mental tri [...] you may justly conclude he has that true good-nature, that real benevolence, which delights in communicating felicity, and enjoys the satisfaction it diffuses. But if by these he is despised and hated, served merely from a principle of fear, devoid of affection—which is very easily disco­verable—whatever may be his public character, however favourable the general opinion, be as­sured, that his disposition is such [...] never be productive of domestic happiness—I have been the more particular on this head, as it is one of the most essential qualifications to be regarded, and of all others the most liable to be mistaken.

Never be prevailed with my dear, to give [...] to a person defective in these m [...]terial points Secure of virtue, of good-nature, and under­standing [Page 90] in a husband, you may be secure of happiness. Without the two former, it is unat­tainable: without the latter, in a tolerable degree, it must be very imperfect.

Remember, however, that infallibility is not the property of man, or you may entail disap­pointment on yourself, by expecting what is never to be found. The best men are sometimes inconsistent with themselves. They are liable to be hurried by sudden starts of passion into expres­sions and actions which their cooler reason will condemn. They may have some oddities of be­haviour, some peculiarities of temper; they may be subject to accidental ill-humour, or to whim­sical complaints: blemishes of this kind often shade the brightest character, but they are never destructive of mutual felicity, unless when they are made so by an improper resentment, or by an ill-judged opposition. Reason can never be heard by passion; the offer of it tends only to enflame the more. When cooled, and in his usual tem­per, the man of understanding, if he has been wrong, will suggest to himself all that could be urged against him: the man of good nature will, unupbraided, own his error: immediate contra­diction is, therefore, wholly unserviceable, and highly imprudent; an after repetition equally unnecessary and injudicious. Any peculiarities in the temper or behaviour ought to be properly represented in the tenderest and in the most friend­ly manner, and if the representation of them is made discreetly, it will generally be well taken: but if they are so habitual as not easily to be altered, strike not too often upon the unharmo­nious string; rather let them pass as unobserved: such a chearful compliance will better c [...]ment [Page 95] your union; and they may be made easy to yourself, by reflecting on the superior good qua­lities by which these trifling faults are so greatly over-balanced.—You must remember, my dear, these rules are laid down, on the supposition of your being united to a person who possesses the three essential qualifications for happiness before-mentioned. In this case, no farther direction is necessary, but that you strictly perform the duty of a wife, namely, to love, to honour and obey. The two first articles are a tribute so indispensibly due to merit, that they must be paid by inclina­tion; and they naturally lead to the performance of the last, which will not only be an easy, but a pleasing task, since nothing can ever be enjoined by such a person that is in itself improper, and few things will, that can with any reason be disagreeable to you.

Here should this subject end, were it not more than possible for you, after all that has been urged, to be led by some inferior motive to the neglect of the primary caution; and that, either from an opinion too hastily entertained, from an unaccountable partiality, or from the powerful prevalence of persuasion, you may be unfortu­nately induced to give your hand to a man whose bad heart and morose temper, concealed by a well-practised dissimulation, may render every flattering hope of hapiness abortive.—May Hea­ven, in mercy, guard you from this fatal error! Such a companion is the worst of all temporal ills; a deadly potion, that imbitters every social sense of life, damps every rising joy, and ba­nishes that chearful temper which alone can give a true relish to the blessings of mortality. Most sincerely do I pray that this may never be your [Page 96] lot! and I hope your prudent circumspection will be sufficient to guard you from the danger. But the bare possibility of the event makes it not unnecessary to lay down a few rules for the maintaining some degree of ease, under such a deprivation of happiness. This is by far the most difficult part of my present undertaking; it is hard to advise here, and [...] harder to practise the advice: the subject [...] too extensive to be minutely treated within the compass of a letter, which must confine me to the most material points only: in these I shall give you the best directions in my power, very ardently wishing that you may never have occasion to make use of them.

The being united to a man of irreligious prin­ciples makes it impossible to discharge a great part of the proper duty of a wife. To name [...] one instance, obedience will be rendered imprac­ticable by frequent injunctions inconsistent wi [...]h and contrary to the higher obligations of mora­lity. This is not supposition, but is founded upon facts, which I have too often seen and can attest. Where this happens, the reasons for non­compliance ought to be offered in a plain, strong, good-natured manner; there is at least the chance of success from being heard; but should those reasons be rejected, or the hearing of them be refused, and silence on the subject enjoined—which is most probable, few people caring to [...] what they know to be right, when determined not to appear convinced by it—obey the [...]c­tion, and urge not the argument, farther: keep, however, steady to your principles, and suffer neither persuasion nor threats to prevail on you to act contrary to them. All commands repugnant to the laws of christianity, it is your indispensible [Page 97] duty to disobey; all requests that are inconsistent with prudence, or incompatible with the rank and character which you ought to maintain in life, it is your interest to refuse. A compliance with the former would be criminal; a consent to the latter highly indiscreet; and it might thereby subject you to general censure: for a man capable of requiring from his wife what he knows to be in itself wrong, is equally capable of throwing the whole blame of such misconduct on her, and of afterwards upbraiding her for a behaviour to which he will, upon the same principle, disown that he has been accessary. Many similar in­stances have come within the compass of my own observation. In things of a less material nature, that are neither criminal in themselves nor perni­cious in their consequences, always acquiesce, if insisted on, however disagreeable they may be to your own temper and inclination. Such a com­pliance will evidently prove that your refusal, in the other cases, proceeds not from a spirit of con­tradiction, but merely from a just regard to that superior duty, which can never be infringed with impunity. Passion may resent, but reason must ap­prove this conduct; and therefore it is the most likely method, in time, to make a favourable im­pression. But if you should fail of such success, you will at least enjoy that satisfactory self-approbation, which is the inseparable attendant of a truly religi­ous and rational deportment.

Should the painful task of dealing with a mo­ro [...] tyrannical temper be assigned you [...] there is little more to be recommended than a patient submission to an evil which admits not of a remedy. Ill-nature is increased, obstinacy confirmed by opposition; the less such a temper is contradicted, [Page 98] the more supportable will it be to those who are under its baneful influence. When all endea­vours to please are ineffectual, and when a man seems determined to find fault with every thing, as if his chief pleasure consisted in tormenting those about him, it requires a more than common degree of patience and resolution to forbear ut­tering reproaches, which such a behaviour may be justly allowed to deserve: yet it is absolutely ne­cessary to the maintaining any tolerable degree of ease, not only to restrain all expressions of resentment, but to withhold even those disdainful looks which are apt to accompany a contemptu­ous silence; and they both equally tend only to encrease the malady. This infernal delight in giving pain is most unwearied in the search of matter for its gratification, and can either find, or unaccountably can form it, in almost all the occurrences of life; but, when suffered unob­structed and unregarded to run its malicious course, it will quickly vent its blunted arrows, and will die of disappointment; whilst all endea­vours to appease, all complaints of unkindness will but sharpen against yourself the weapon's edge, and, by proving your sensibility of the wound, will give the wished-for satisfaction to him who inflicts it. Prudence, in this case, di­rects more than ordinary circumspection, that every part of your behaviour may be as blame­less as possible, even to the abstaining from the least appearance of evil; and after you have, to the utmost of your power, strove to merit appro­bation, expect not to meet with it: by these means you will escape the mortification of being disappointed, which, often repeated, is apt to give a gloomy sourness to the temper, incompa­tible [Page 99] with any degree of contentment. You must, so situated, learn to be satisfied with the consci­ousness of acting right, according to your best abilities, and, if possible, you should look with an unconcerned indifference on the reception of every successful attempt to please.

This, it must be owned, is a hard lesson of philosophy; it requires no less than an absolute command over the passions; but let it be remem­bered, that such a command will itself most am­ply recompense every difficulty; it will compen­sate every pain, which it may cost you to obtain it: besides, it is, I believe, the only way to preserve any tranquillity of mind, under so disagreeable a connection.

As the want of understanding is by no art to be concealed, by no address to be disguised, it might be supposed impossible for a woman of sense to unite herself to a person whose defect, in this instance, must render that sort of rational society which contributes the chief happiness of such an union, impossible; yet, here, how often has the weakness of female judgment been con­spicuous! The advantages of great superiority on rank of fortune have frequently proved so ir­resistible a temptation, as, in opinion, to out­weigh not only the fo [...]ly but even the vices of its possessor; a grand mistake, ever merely acknow­ledged by a subsequent repentance, when the ex­pected pleasures or affluence, equipage, and all the glittering pomp of useless pageantry have been experimentally found insufficient to make amends for the want of that constant satisfaction, which results from the social joy of conversing with a reasonable friend! But however weak this motive must be acknowledged, it is more excu­sable [Page 100] than another, which, I fear, has sometimes had an equal influence on the mind; I mean, so great a love of sway, as to induce her to give the preference to a person of weak intellectuals, in hopes thereby of holding, uncontrouled, the reins of government. The expectation is, in fact, ill-grounded obstinacy; and pride being generally the companion of folly, the silliest people are usually the most tenacious of their opinions, and consequently, the hardest of all others to be manag­ed. but admit the contrary, the principle is in itself bad; it tends to invert the order of nature, and to counteract the design of Providence.

A woman can never be seen in a more ridicu­lous light than when she appears to govern her husband. If, unfortunately, the superiority of understanding is on her side, the apparent consci­ousness of that superiority betrays a weakness that renders her contemptible in the fight of every con­siderate person, and it may, very probably, fix in his mind a dislike never to be eradicated. In such a case, if it should ever be your own, remember that some degree of dissimulation is commendable, so far as to let your husband's defect appear un­observed. When he judges wrong, never flatly contradict, but lead him insensibly into another opinion, in so discreet a manner that it may seem entirely his own; and let the whole credit of every prudent determination rest on him without indulg­ing the foolish vanity of claiming any merit to yourself. Thus a person of but an indifferent ca­pacity may be so assisted as, in many instances, to shine with a borrowed lustre, scarce distinguisha­ble from the native, and, by degrees, he may be brought into a kind of mechanical method of acting properly, in all the common occurrences [Page 101] of life. Odd as this position may seem, it is founded in fact; and I have seen the method suc­cessfully practised by more than one person, where a weak mind, on the governed side, has been so prudently set off as to appear the sole di­rector; like the statute of the Delphic god, which was thought to give forth its own oracles, whilst the humble priest, who lent his voice, was by the shrine concealed, nor sought a higher glory than a supposed obedience to the power he would be thought to serve.

From hence it may be inferred, that by a per­fect propriety of behaviour, ease, and content­ment, at least, are attairable with a companion who has not the most exalted understanding; but then, virtue and good-nature are presuppos­ed, or there will be nothing to work upon.

A vicious ill-natured fool being so untractable and tormenting an associate, there needs only to add jealousy to the composition, to make the curse compleat. This passion, once suffered to get footing in the heart, is hardly ever to be ex­tirpated: it is a constant source of torment to the breast that gives it reception, and is [...] inexhaustible fund of vexation to the object of it. With a person of this unfortunate disposition, it is pru­dent to avoid the least appearance of concealment. A whisper in a mixed company, a message given in a low voice to a servant, have, by the power of a disturbed imagination, been magnified into a material injury. Whatever has the air of se­crecy raises terror in a mind naturally distrustful. A perfect unreserved openness, both in conver­sation and behaviour, starves the anxious expec­tation of discovery, and may very probably lead into an habitual confidence, the only antidote [Page 102] against the prison of suspicion. It is easier to [...] than remove a received ill impression; and, [...] it is much wiser to be some­times deficient in little points of civility, which, however indifferent in themselves, may happen unaccountably to clash with the ease of a person, whose repose it is both your duty and interest to promote. It is much more commendable, con­tentedly to incur the censure of a trifling disposi­tion, by a circumstantial unasked relation of in­significant incidents, than to give any room for apprehending the least degree of reserve. Such a constant method of proceeding, together with a reasonable compliance, is the most likely to cure this painful turn of mind; for, by with-holding every support that could give strength to it, the want of matter to feed on may probably in time cause its extinction. If, unhappily, it is so con­stitutional, so interwoven with the soul as to be­come, in a manner, inseparably united with it, nothing remains but to submit patiently to the Will of Heaven, under the pressure of an unal­terable evil; to guard carefully against the na­tural consequence of repeated undeserved suspi­cions, namely, a growing indifference, which too frequently terminates in aversion; and, by considering such a situation as a trial of obedience and resignation, to receive the comfort that must arise from properly exercising one of the most ex­alted of the christian virtues. I cannot dismiss this subject without adding a particular caution to yourself concerning it.

Jealousy, is, on several accounts▪ still more in­excusable in a woman. There is not any thing that so much expose her to ridicule, or so much subjects her to the insult of affrontive addresses: [Page 103] it is an inlet to almost every possible evil, the fatal source of innumerable indirections, the sure destruction of her own peace, and is fre­quently the bane of her husband's affection. Give not a momentary harbour to its shadow in your heart; fly from it, as from the face of a fiend, that would lead your unwary steps into a gulph of unalterable misery. When once embarken in the matrimonial voyage, the fewer faults you disco­ver in your partner, the better. Never search after what it will give you no pleasure to find; never desire to hear what you will not like to be told; therefore avoid that tribe of impertinents, who, either from a malicious love of discord, or from the mea [...]er tho' less criminal motive of in­gratiating themselves by gratifying the blame-able curiosity of others; sow dissention wherever they gain admittance; and by telling unwelcome [...], or, more frequently, by insinuating [...] falshoods, injure innocent people, disturb [...] union, and destroy the peace of families. Treat these emissaries of Satan with the contempt they deserve; hear not what they offer to com­municate, but give them at once to understand, that you can never look on those as your friends who speak in a disadvantageous manner of that person whom you would always chuse to see in the most favourable light. If they are not effectually silenced by such rebukes, be inaccessible to their visits, and break off all acquaintance with such in­corrigible pests of society, who will be ever upon the watch to seize an unguarded opportunity of disturbing your repose.

Should the companion of your life be guilty of some secret indiscretions, run not the hazard of being told by these malicious meddlers, what, in [Page 104] fact, it is better for you never to know: but if some unavoidable accident betrays an imprudent correspondence, take it for a mark of esteem, that he endeavours to conceal from you what he knows you must, upon a principle of reason and religion, disapprove; and do not, by discovering your ac­quaintance with it, take off the restraint which your supposed ignorance lays him under, and thereby, perhaps, give a latitude to undisguised irregularities. Be assured, whatever accidental sallies the gaiety of inconsiderate youth may lead him into, you can never be indifferent to him, whilst he is careful [...]o preserve your peace, by con­cealing what he imagines might be an infrienge­ment of [...]. Rest then satisfied, that time and reason will most certainly get the better of all faults which proceed not from a bad heart; and that, by maintaining the first place in his esteem, your happiness will be built on too firm a foundation to be easily shaken.

I have been thus particular on the choice of a husband, and on the material parts of conduct in a married life, because thereon depends not only the temporal, but often the external felicity of those who enter into that state; a constant scene of disagreement, of ill-nature and quarrels, ne­cessarily unfitting the mind for every religious and social duty, by keeping it in a disposition directly opposite to that christian piety, to that practical be­nevolence and rational composure, which alone can prepare it for everlasting happiness.

Instructions on this head, considering your ten­der age, may seem premature, and should have been deferred 'till occasion called for them, had our situation allowed me frequent opportunities of communicating my sentiments to you; but that [Page 105] not being the case, I chuse, in this epistle, at once to offer you my best advice in every circumstance of great moment to your well being, both here and hereafter, left at a more proper season it may not happen to be in my power. You may de [...] the particular consideration of this part, [...]till the design of entering into a new scene of life may make it useful to you; which, I hope, will not be for some years; an unhappy marriage being more generally the consequence of a too early engagement, before reason has gained sufficient strength to form a solid judgment, o [...] which only a proper choice can be determined. G [...]ea [...] [...] the hazard of a mistake, and irretrievable the effects of it! Many are the degrees between happiness and misery! Absolute misery, I will venture [...]o affirm, is to be avoided by a proper behaviour [...] even under all the complicated [...] of human life, but to arrive at that proper behaviour, requires the highest degree of christian philosopy. And who would voluntarily put themselves upon a state of trial so severe, in which not one of a thousand has been found able to come off victorious? Be­twixt this and positive happiness there are innu­merable steps of comparative evil; each has its separate conflict, variously difficult, differently painful, under all which a patient submission and a conscious propriety of behaviour is the only at­tainable good. Far short indeed of possible tem­poral felicity is the ease arising from hence! Rest not content with the prospect of such ease, but fix on a more eligible point of view, by aiming at true happiness; and, take my word, that can never be found in a married state, without the three essential qualifications already mentioned, Virtue, Good-Nature, and Good-Sense, in a hus­band. [Page 106] Remember, therefore, my dear girl, this [...] caution, if you ever resolve on marriage, never [...] give your hand to a man who wants either of them, whatever other advantages he may be possessed of; so shall you not only escape all those vexations which thousands of unthinking mortals hourly repent of having brought upon themselves; but, most assuredly, if it is not your own fault, you will enjoy that uninterrupted do­mestic harmony, in the afffectionate society of a virtuous companion, which constitutes the highest satisfaction of human life. Such an union, found­ed o [...] reason and religion, cemented by mutual esteem and tenderness, is a kind of saint emblem, if the comparison may be allowed, of the pro­mised reward of virtue in a future state; and most certainly, it is an excellent preparative for it, by preserving a perfect equanimity, by keeping a constant composure of mind, which naturally lead to the proper discharge of all the religious▪ and social duties of life, the unerring road to ever­lasting peace—The first have been already spoken to; it remains only to mention some few of the latter.

Amongst these ECONOMY may, perhaps, be thought improperly placed; yet many of the du­ties we own to society being often rendered im­practicable by the want of it, there is not [...] much impropriety in ranking it under this [...] as may at first be imagined. For instance a man who lives at an expence beyond what his income will support, lays himself under a necessity of being unjust, by with-holding from his creditors what they have a right to demand from him as their due, according to all laws both human and divine; and thereby he often entails ruin on an [Page 107] innocent family, who, but for the loss sustained by his extravagance, might have comfortably subsisted on the profits of their industry. He likewise puts it out of his own power to give that relief to the indigent, which, by the laws of hu­manity, they have a right to expect, the goods of fortune being given, as a great Divine excel­lently observes, for the use and support of others, as well as for the person on whom [...] are be­stowed. These are surely great [...] that duty we owe [...] our fellow-creatures, and [...] effects [...] frequently and naturally produced by the [...].

You will find it a very good method so to regulate your stated expences as to bring them always one-fourth part within your certain an­nual income: by these means you will avoid be­ing at any time distressed by unforeseen accidents, and you will have it more easily in your power materially to relieve those who deserve assistance. But the giving trifling sums, indiscriminately, to such as appear necessitous, is far from being commendable; it is an injury to society; it is an encouragement to idleness, and helps to fill the streets with lazy beggars, who live upon misap­plied bounty, to the prejudice of the industrious poor. These are useful members of the com­monwealth; and on them such benefactions might be serviceably bestowed. Be sparing there­fore in this kind of indiscriminate donations; they are too constantly an insignificant relief to the receives, supposing them really in want; and frequently repeated, they amount to a con­siderable sum in the year's account. The proper objects of charity are those, who, by unavoid­able misfortunes, have fallen from affluent cir­cumstances [Page 108] into a state of poverty and distress; those also, who, by unexpected disappointments in trade, are on the point of being reduced to [...] impossibility of carrying on that business, on which their present subsistence and their future prospects in life depend, from the incapacity of raising an immediate sum to surmount the diffi­culty; and those who, by their utmost industry, can hardly support their families above the mi­series of want; or who, by age or by illness, are rendered incapable of labour. Appropriate a certain part of your income to the relief of these real distresses. To the first, give as largely as your circumstances will allow; to the second, after the example of an [...] excellent Prelate of our own church, lend, if it is in your power, a sufficient sum to prevent the threatened ruin; on condition of being repaid the loan, without interest, if Pro­vidence enables them, by future success, to do it with convenience. The same method may be used where indigence renders industry unavail­able, by depriving it of the means to lay in a small original stock to be improved. Never take a note of hand or any acknowledgement of such loan, le [...]t what you intended for a benefit should be afterwards made the instrument of ruin to the receiver, by a different disposition in your suc­cessor. But such assistance ought not to be given to any, without a thorough knowledge of their character, and from having good reason to be­lieve them not only industrious but strictly honest, which will be a sufficient obligation on them for the repayment; and the sums so rapid ought to be laid by, 'till an opportunity again offers of making them in like manner serviceable to others. The lat­ter sort, who are able to work, may, by a small ad­dition [Page 109] to the profits of their own labour, be res­cued from misery, and may be put into a com­fortable way of subsistence. Those who, by age or by infirmity, are rendered utterly incapable of supporting themselves, have an undoubted right, not only to the necessaries, but even to some of the conveniencies of life from all whom Providence has placed in the more happy state of [...] and in­dependence.

As your fortune and situation are yet undeter­mined, I have purposely laid down such rules as may be adapted to every station. A large for­tune gives greater opportunity of doing good, and of communicating happiness in a more ex­tensive degree; but a small one is no excuse for with holding a proportionate relief from real and deserving objects of compassion. To assist them is an indispensible duty of christianity. The first and great commandment is, To love GOD with all your heart; the second, To love your neighbour as yourself: Whoso seeth his brother in need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion, how dwelleth the love of God in him? or how the love of his neighbour? If dificient in these primary duties, vain are the hopes of acceptance built on a partial obedience to the lesser branches of the law!—Inability is often pleaded as an ex­cuse for the want of charity, by persons who make no scruple of daily lavishing on their plea­sures, what, if better applied, might have made an indigent family happy through life. These persons lose sight of real felicity, by the mistaken pursuit of its shadow: the pleasures which en­gross their attention die in the enjoyment, are often succeeded by remorse, and always by satie­ty; whereas the true joy, the sweet complacency [Page 110] resulting from benevolent actions, encreases by refr [...]ction, and must be immortal as the soul. So exactly, so kindly is our duty made to coincide with our present as well as future interest, [...] incomparably more satisfaction will [...] to a considerate mind from denying itself, even some of the agreeables of life, in order the more effec­tually to relieve the unfortunate, th [...]n could arise from a full indulgence of every temporal gratifi­cation.

However small your income may be, remember that a part of it is due to merit in distress. Set by an annual sum for this purpose, even though it should oblige you to ab [...] some unnecessary expence to raise the fund; By this method per­sons of slender fortune have been enabled to do much good, and to give happiness to many. If your stock will not admit of frequent draughts upon it, be the more circumspect with regard to the merit of those you relieve, that bounties not in your power to repeat often, may not be mis­applied. But if Providence, by a more ample fortune, should bless you with a larger ability of being serviceable to your fellow-creatures, prove yourself worthy of the trust reposed in you by making a proper use of it. Wide as your in­fluence can extend, turn the cry of distress and danger into the song of joy and safety; feed the hungry, clothe the naked, comfort the afflicted, give medicine to the sick, and, with either, bestow all the alleviation their unfortunate circumstances can admit of. Thus may you truly make a friend of the unrighteous Mammon. Thus you may turn the perishable goods of fortune into everlasting blessings. Upon earth you will par­take that happiness you impart to others, and you [Page 111] will lay up for yourself Treasures in Heaven, where neither [...]th nor [...]st can corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal.

A person who has once experienced the advan­tages of a right action, will be led by the mo­tive of present self-interest, as well as by future expectation, to the continuance of it. There is no injunction of christianity that a sincere christian, by obedience, will not find so calcu­lated as to be directly, in some measure, its own reward.

The forgiveness of injuries, to which is an­nexed the promise of pardon for our own offe [...], and which is required by the gospel, not only [...] far as to forbear all kinds of retaliation, but also to render us equally disposed to serve with our utmost power those persons who have wilfully injured us, as if no such injury had been received from them, has by some been accounted a hand precept; yet the difficulty of it arises merely from, and is proportionable to, the badness of the heart by which it is so esteemed. A good disposition finds a superlative pleasure in returning good for evil; and, by an inexpressible satisfaction of mind in so doing, feels the present reward of obedience: whereas a spirit of revenge is incom­patible with happiness, an implacable temper being a constant torment to its possessor; and the man who returns an injury, feels move real misery from the rancour of his own heart, than it is in his power to inflict upon another.

Should a friend wound you in the most tender part, by betraying a confidence reposed, pru­dence forbids the exposing yourself to a second deception, by placing any future trust in such a person. But though here all obligations of inti­macy [Page 112] cease, those of benevolence and humanity remain still in full force, and are equally binding, as to every act of service and assistance, even to the suffering a lesser evil yourself, in order to procure a much greater good to the person by whom you have been thus ill-used. This is in general allowed to be the duty of every individual to all, as a member of society; but it is particu­larly instanced in the present case to she [...], that not even a breach of friendship, the highest of all provocations, will cancel the duty, at all times equally and unalterably binding—the duty of promoting both the temporal and eternal happi­ness of all your fellow-creatures by every me­thod in your power.

It has been by many thought imp [...]rt [...]nt at any time to offer unasked advice; the reason of which may be chiefly owing to its being too fre­quently tendered with a supercilious air that im­plies a conceited consciousness of superior wis­dom: it is the manner, therefore, more than the thing itself which gives disgust.

If those with whom you have any degree of intimacy are guilty of what to you appears either wrong or indiscreet, speak your opinion to them with freedom, though you should even lose a nominal friend by so doing. Silence makes you, in some measure, an accessary to the fault; but having thus once discharged your duty, rest there—they are to judge for themselves: to repent such admonitions is both useless and impertinent, and they will then be thought to proceed rather from pride than from good-nature. To the per­sons concerned only are you to speak your dis­approbation of their conduct: when they are [Page 113] censured by others, say all that truth or probabi­lity will permit in their justification.

It often happens, that upon an accidental quar­rel between friends, they separately appeal to a third person. In such case, alternately take the opposite side, alledging every argument in favour of the absent party, and placing the mistakes of the complainer in the strongest light. This me­thod may probably at first displease, but is always right, as it is the most likely to procure a recon­ciliation. If that, takes place, each, equally obliges, will thankfully approve your conduct; if not, you will have the satisfaction of at lea [...] endeavouring to have been the restorer of peace. A contrary behaviour, which generally proceeds from the mean desire of pleasing by flattery at the expence of truth, often widens a trifling breach into open and irreconcileable enmity. People of this disposition are the worst sort of incendiaries the greatest plague of human society, because the most difficult to be guarded against, from their always wearing the specious disguise of pretended approbation and friendship to the present, and equally deceitful resentment against the absent person or company.

To enumerate all the social duties would lead me too far; suffice it, therefore, my dear, in few words to sum up what remains.

Let truth ever dwell upon your tongue.

Scorn to flatter any, and despise the person who would practise so base an art upon yourself.

Be honestly open in every part of your beha­viour and conversion.

All, with whom you have any intercourse, even down to the meanest station, have a right to civility and good-humour from you. A superiority of rank [Page 114] or fortune is no licence for a proud supercilious be­haviour: the disadvantages of a dependent state are alone sufficient to labour under; 'tis both unjust and cruel to encrease them, either by a haughty deportment, or by the unwarrantable exercise of a capricious temper.

Examine every part of your conduct towards others by the unerring rule of supposing a change of places. This will certainly lead to an impar­tial judgment. Do then what appears to you right, or in other words, what you would they should do unto you; which comprehends every duty relative to society.

Aim at perfection, or you will never reach to an attainable height of virtue.

Be religious without hypocrisy, pious without enthusiasm.

Endeavour to merit the favour of GOD by a sincere and uniform obedience to whatever you know, or believe, to be his will; and should afflictive evils be permitted to cloud the sun-shine of your brightest days, receive them with sub­mission; satisfied that a Being equally wise, om­niscient, and beneficent, at once sees and entends the good of His whole creation; and that every general or particular dispensation of His provi­dence towards the rational part of it, is so calcu­lated as to be productive of ultimate happiness, which nothing but the misbehaviour of individuals can prevent to themselves.

This truth is surely an unanswerable argument for absolute resignation to the Will of GOD; and such a resignation, founded upon reason and choice, not enforced by necessity, is unalterable peace of mind, fixed on too firm a basis to be shaken by adversity. Pain, poverty, ingratitude, [Page 115] calumny, and even the less of those we hold most dear, may each transiently affect, but united can­not mortally wound it. Upon this principle, you will find it possible not only to be content, but cheerful, under all the disagreeable circumstances this state of probation is liable to; and, by making a proper use of them, you may effectu­ally remove the garb of te [...]or from the last of all temporal evils. Learn then, with greatful pleasure, to meet approaching death as the kind remover of every painful sensation, the friendly guide to perfect and to everlasting happiness.

Believe me this is not mere theory. My own experience every moment proves the fact undeni­ably true. My conduct in all those relations which still subsist with me, nearly as human im­perfection will allow, is governed by the rules here laid down for you; and it produces the con­stant rational composure which constitutes the most perfect felicity of human life: for with truth I can aver, that I daily feel incomparably more real satisfaction, more true contentment in my present retirement, than the gayest scenes of fes­tive mirth ever afforded me. I am pleased with this life, without an anxious thought for the continuance of it, and a [...] happy in the hope of hereafter exchanging it for a life infinitely better. My soul, unstained by the crimes unjustly imput­ed to me, most sincerely forgives the malicious authors of these imputations; it anticipates the future pleasure of an open acquaittal, and in that expectation loses the pain of present undeserved censure. By this is meant the instance that was made the supposed foundation for the last of in­numerable injuries which I have received through him from whom I am conscious of having de­served [Page 116] the kindest treatment. Other faults, no doubt, I might have many; to him I had very [...]ew: nay, for several years, I cannot, upon re­flection, accuse myself of any thing but of a too absolute, too unreserved obedience to every in­junction, even where plainly contrary to the dic­tates of my own reason. How wrong such a com­pliance was, has been clearly proved by many in­stances, in which it has been since most ungenerous­ly and most ungratefully urged as a circumstantial argument against me.

It must indeed be owned, that for the two or three last years, tired with a long series of repeat­ed insults, of a nature almost beyond the power of imagination to conceive, my temper became soured: a constant fruitless endeavour to oblige was changed into an absolute indifference about it; and ill humour, occasioned by frequent dis­appointment—a consequence I have experimen­tally warned you against—was perhaps some­times too much indulged. How far the une­qualled provocations may be allowed as an excuse for this, Heaven only must determine, whose goodness has thought fit to release me, from the painful situation; though by a method, at pre­sent, not the most eligible, as it is the cause of a separation from my children also, and thereby has put it out of my power to attend in the man­ner I could have wished to their education; a duty that inclination would have led me with equal care and pleasure more amply to [...]lfil, had they continued under my direction. But as Pro­vidence has thought fit otherwise to determine, contented I submit to every dispensation, con­vinced that all things are ordered for the best, and that they will in the end work together for [Page 117] good to them that fear GOD, and who sincerely en­deavour to keep his commandments. If in these I err, I am certain it is owing to a mistake in the judge­ment, not to a defect of the will.

Thus have I endeavoured, my dear girls, in some measure, to compensate both to you and to your sisters the deprivation of a constant maternal care, by advising you, according to my best ability, in the most material parts of your conduct through life, as particularly as the compass of a letter would allow time. May these few instruction [...] be as servi­ceable to you as my wishes would make them! and may that Almighty Being, to whom my daily pray­ers ascend for your preservation, grant you His hea­venly benediction! May he keep you from all mo­ral evil, lead you into the paths of righteousness and peace, and may He give us all a happy meeting in that future state of unalterable felicity, which is pre­pared for th [...]se who, by patient continuance in well-doing, seek after glory and immortality!

THE world has in all ages been very negligent in the education of daughters; all their care is laid out entirely upon the men; and as if the women were a distinct species, they leave them to themselves without any helps, without think­ing that they compose one half of the world; that the two sexes are necessarily united together by alliances; that the women make either the happiness or misery of the men, who always feel the want of having them reasonable; that they are a great means of the rise and ruin of families; that they are entrusted with the education of the children in their early youth, a season of life in which they receive the liveliest and deepest im­pressions. What would they have them inspire into their children, when from their very infancy they are left themselves in the hands of gover­nantes, who, as they [...] generally taken [...]t of the low world, inspire them with low sentiments, [Page 121] encourage all the timorous passions, and form them to superstition instead of religion. 'Twould be a subject worthier of their thoughts to contrive how to make certain vices hereditary to their fa­milies, by conveying them down from the mother to the children, than how to secure their estates by entails. Nothing therefore is so much mis­taken as the education which they give to young women: they design them to please; they give them no instructions but for the ornament and graces of the body; they flatter their self-love; they give them up to effeminacy, to the world, and to false opinions; they give them no lectures o [...] virtue and fortitude: surely it is unreasonable or rather downright madness to imagine that such an education should not turn to their pre­judice.

It may be necessary, my Daughter, to observe all the outward rules of Decorum; but this is not enough to gain you the esteem of the world; 'tis the sentiments of the mind that form the cha­racter of a person; that lead the understanding; that govern the will; that secure the reality and duration of all our virtues: but religion should be the principle and foundation of these senti­ments. When religion is once engraven on our heart, all the virtues will naturally flow [...] that source; all the duties of life will be regularly practised in their respective order. 'Tis not enough for the conduct of young persons to oblige them to do their duty; they must be brought to love it. Authority is a tyrant only over the outward behaviour, it has no sway over the in­ward sentiments. When one prescribes a conduct, we should represent the reasons and the motives [Page 122] of it, and give them a relish for what we advise them.

'Tis so much for our interest to practise virtue, that we should never consider it as our enemy, but rather as the source of happiness, of glory, and of peace.

You are just coming into the world; enter it, my daughter, with some principles; you cannot fortify yourself too much against what you will meet with there: bring along with you all your religion; nou­rish it in your heart by your sentiments; confirm it in your mind by proper reflections, and by reading adapted to encourage it.

There is nothing more necessary, and indeed more happy for us than to keep up a sentiment that makes us love and hope; that gives us a prospect of an agreeable futurity; that reconciles all times; that insures all the duties of life; that answers for us to ourselves, and is our gua­rantee with regard to others. What a support will you find from religion under the misfortunes that threaten you! for a certain number of mis­fortunes must fall to your share. 'Twas a saying of one of the [...], "That he wrapped himself up in the n [...]tle [...]his Virtue:" Wrap yourself up in that of your Religion; it will be a great help to you against the weakness of youth, and a sure re­fuge in your riper years.

Women that have cultivated their understand­ing with nothing but the maxims of the world, are presented at last with an universal blank, and find themselves in a terrible want of thought and employment, the most irksome situation in life. As they advance in age the world quits them, and reason tells them they should quit the world; but where must they go for relief? The time past [Page 123] furnishes us with regrets, the present with inqui­etudes, and the time to come with [...]ears. Religion alone calms all our uneasiness, and comforts us under all misfortunes; by uniting you to God, it reconciles you with the world, and your­self too.

A young person when she comes into the world frames to herself an high notion of the happiness reserved for her. She sets herself to obtain it; 'tis the source of all her cares. She is always on the hunt after her notion, and in hopes of finding a perfect happiness: this is the occasion of lightness and inconstancy.

The pleasures of the world are deceitful; they promise more than they perform; the quest of them is full of anxiety: their enjoyment is far from yielding any true satisfaction, and their loss is attended with vexation.

To fix your desires, think that no solid or last­ing happiness is to be found any where but in your own breast. Honours and riches have no charms that are lasting for any length of time; their possession extends our view, and gives us new desires. Pleasures when they grow familiar, lose their relish. Before you have tasted them, you may do without them; whereas enjoyment makes that necessary to you, which was once superfluous, and you are worse at your ease than you were before; by enjoying them you grow used to them, and when you lose them, they leave you nothing but emptiness and want. What affects us sensibly is the pas­sage from one circumstance of life to another; the interval between a miserable season and a happy one. The sense of pleasure wears off as soon as we grow habituated to it. 'Twould be a [Page 124] great advantage [...]f reason could a [...] once lay before [...]s all that is necessary for our happiness. Expe­rience brings us back to ourselves; spare yourself that expence, and lay it early down for a a maxim, with a firmness and resolution to determine your conduct, that "true felicity consists in peace of mind, in reason, and in the discharge of our duty." Let us not fancy ourselves happy, my Daughter, till we feel our pleasures of this sort flow from the bottom of our soul.

These reflections seem too strong for a young person, and are proper for a riper age: however, I believe you capable of them; and besides, I am instructing myself▪ We cannot engrave the pre­cepts of wisdom too deeply in our hearts; the impressions that they make are always too light; but it can't be denied th [...] such [...] use themselves to make reflections, and fortify their hearts with principles, are in a fairer way to virtue than such as neglect them. If we are unhappy enough to be detective in the practice of our duty, let us a [...] least not be wanting in our affections to it: let us then, my Daughter, make use of these precepts for a continual help to our virtue.

'Tis commonly said there are two prejudices with which every body must comply; Religion and Hon­our. 'Tis a wrong expression to call Religion a prejudice. A prejudice is an opinion that may be subservient to [...] as well as truth: the term ought never to be applied but to things that are uncertain; and Religion is not [...]o.

Honour is indeed an invention merely human; yet nothing is more real than the evils that people suffer who would get rid of it; 'twould be dan­gerous to shake it off; we should rather do all we can to fortify, a sentiment that ought to be a rule [Page 125] to our conduct, since nothing is more destructive o [...] our quiet, or makes our life more unequal, than to think one way and act another. Possess your heart as much as is possible with sentiments for the conduct that you ought to observe; fortify this prejudice of Honour in your mind; you cannot be too scrupu­lously nice on this subject.

Never warp in the least from these principles; never entertain a notion, as if the virtue of wo­men was a virtue only enjoined by custom; nor al­low yourself to think you have sufficiently discharg­ed your obligations, if you can but escape the eyes of the world. There are two courts before which you must inevitably appear in judgment, your Con­science and the World; you may possibly get clear of the World, but you can never get clear of Con­science. Secure her testimony in favour of your honesty; 'tis what you owe to yourself; but withal do not neglect the approbation of the public, for a contempt of reputation naturally leads to a contempt of virtue.

When you are a little acquainted with the world, you will find that there is no need of the sanctions and terror of laws to keep you within the bounds of your duty; the example of such as have deviated from it, and the calamities that have ever attended them, is enough to stop any inclination in the midst of its career; for there is no coquet but must own, if she would be sincere, that it is the greatest misfortune in the world to be forgot and neglected.

Shame is a passion that might be of excellent advantage to us, if we managed it well: I do not mean th [...] false shame which only serves to disturb our quiet, without being of any service to our behaviour; I speak of that which keeps [Page 126] us from evil out of fear of dishonour: we must con­fess this shame is sometimes the surest guard of the women's virtue; there are very few virtuous for virtue itself.

There are some great virtues, which, when they are carried to a certain degree, make a great many defects be over-looked; such as extraordinary va­lour in the men, and extreme modesty in the wo­men. Agrippina, the wife of Germanicus, was ex­cused of all her faults on account of her chastity. This Princess was ambitious and haughty; but, says Tacitus, ‘all her passions were consecrated by her chastity.’

If you are sensible and nice in the point of reputation, if you are apprehensive of being attack­ed as to essential virtues, there is one sure means to calm your fears and [...] your nicety; 'tis to be virtuous. Make it [...] great care to refine your sentiments: let them [...]e reasonable and full of honour. Be sure always to keep well with yourself; 'tis a sure income of pleasures; and will gain you praise, and a good reputation to boot: in a word, be but truly virtuous, and you'll find admirers enough.

The virtues that make a figure in the world do not fall to the women's share; their virtues are of a simple and peaceable nature: Fame will have nothing to do with us. 'Twas a saying of one of the Antients, that ‘the great virtues are for the men!’ he allows the women nothing but the single merit of being unknown; and ‘such as are most praised, (says he) are not always the persons that deserve it best; but rather such as are not talked of at all.’ The notion seems to me to be wrong; but to reduce this maxim into prac­tice, I think it best to avoid the world, and mak­ing [Page 127] a figure, which always strike at modesty, and he contented with being one's own spectator.

The virtues of the women are difficult, because they have no help from glory to practise them. To live at home; to meddle with nothing but one's self and family; to be simple, just, and modest, are painful virtues, because they are ob­scure. One must have a great deal of merit to shun making a figure, and a great deal of cou­rage to bring one's self to be virtuous only to one's own eyes. Grandeur and reputation serve for supports to our weakness, for such in reality is our desire to distinguish and raise ourselves. The mind rests in the public approbation, but true glory consists in being satisfied without it. Let it not enter then into the motives of your actions; 'tis enough that it is the recompence of them.

Be assured, my Daughter, that perfection and happiness cling together; that you can never be happy but by virtue, and scarce ever unhappy but by ill conduct. Whoever examines them­selves strictly, will find that they never had any grievous affliction, but they occasioned it them­selves by some fault, or by being wanting in some duty. Anxiety always follows the loss of innocence; but virtue is ever attended with an in­ward satisfaction, that is a constant spring of felicity to all its votaries.

Do not however imagine that your only virtue is modesty; there are abundance of women that have no notion of any other, and fancy, that by practising it they discharge all the duties of socie­ty: they think they have a right to neglect all the rest, and to be as proud and censorious as they please. Anne of Bretagne, a proud and imperious Princess, made Lewis XII. suffer ex­ceedingly; [Page 128] and the good Prince was used to say, when he submitted to her humour, ‘we must pay dear for the women's chastity.’ Make no­body pay for yours; thin [...] rather that it is a vir­tue which regards only yourself, and loses its greatest [...], if it be not [...] with the other virtues.

We should be very tender in our modesty; inward corruption passes from the heart to the mo [...]th, and occasions loose discourse. The most violent passions have need of modesty to shew themselves in a seducing form; it [...] distinguish itself in all your actions; it should set off [...] em­bellish all your person.

They say that when Jove [...] the passions, he [...] every one of them its distinct abode. Modesty was forgot; and when she was intro­duced to him, he could not tell where to place her: she was therefore allowed to comfort with all the rest. Ever since that time she is inseparable from them; she is the friend of Truth, and betrays the lie that dares attack it; she is in a strict and in­timate union with Love; she always attends, and frequently discovers and proclaims it: Love, in a word, loses his charms, whenever he appears with­out her; there is not a more glorious ornament for a young lady than modesty.

Let the chief part of your finery then be mo­desty; it has great advantages; it sets off beauty, and serves for a veil to ugliness: mo­desty is the supplement of beauty. The great misfortune of ugliness is, that it [...]moth [...] and buries the merit of women. People do not go to look in a forbidden figure for the [...] qualities of the mind and heart; 'tis a very dif­ficult [Page 129] affair when [...] [...]st make its way, and [...] through a [...] outside.

You do not [...] to make you agree­able, but you are no [...] this obliges you to lay up a stock of merit: [...] world will compli­ment you with nothing. Beauty has great ad­vantages. One of the [...] said of it, that it was ‘a short tyranny, and the greatest privi­lege in Nature; that handsome persons carry letters of recommendation in their [...].’

Beauty inspires a pleasing sentiment which pre­possesses people in its favour. If you have made no such impressions, you must expect to be taken to pieces. Take care that there be nothing in your air or [...] to make any body think that you do not know yourself; an air of confidence in an ordinary figure is shocking enough. Let nothing in your discourse or dress look like art, at least let it not be easy to find it out; the most refined art never lets itself be seen.

You are not to neglect the accomplishments and ornaments proper to make you agreeable, for women are designed to please; but you should rather think of acquiring a solid merit, than of employing yourself in trifling things. Nothing is shorter than the reign of beauty; nothing is more melancholy than the latter part of the lives of women who never knew any thing but that they were handsome. If any body makes their court to you for the sake of your agreeable accom­plishments, make their regards center in friend­ship, and secure the continuance of that friendship by your merits.

'Tis a difficult matter to lay down any sure rules to please. The Graces without merit can­not [Page 130] please long; and merit without the Graces may command the esteem of men, but can [...] more them. Women [...] must have [...] amiable merit, and join the Graces to the Virtues. I do not confine the merit of woman merely [...] modesty; I give in a [...] larger [...]. A valuable woman [...] the manly virtues of friend­ship, probity, and [...]our, in the [...] dis­charge of all her obligations. An [...] should not only have the [...] the graces of the heart [...] sentiments of the mind. There is nothing so hard as to please with­out being so intent [...] shall look a little like coquetry. [...] please the men of the world more [...] fa [...]lts than their good qualities. The [...] for making their advantages of the weaknesses of amiable women: they would have nothing to do with their virtues; they do not care to esteem them; they had much rather be amused by persons of little or no merit, than be forced to admire such as are virtuous.

One must know human nature if one disigns to please. The men are much more affected with what is new, than with what is excellent: but the flower of novelty soon fades; what pleased when it was new, soon displeases when it grows common. To keep up this taste of novelty, we must have a great many resources and various kinds of merit within ourselves; we must not stick only at the agreeable accomplishments: we must strike their fancy with a variety of graces [...]d merits to keep up their inclinations, and make the same object afford them all the pleasures of inconstancy.

[Page 131] Women are born [...] a violent desire to please; [...] they find themselves [...] from all the ways that lead to glory [...] authority, they take ano­ther road to arrive at them, and make themselves amends by their [...]. Beauty imposes on the person that has [...] infatuates the soul; yet remember that their is [...] a very small number of years difference between a [...] woman and one that is no longer so. Get over this excessive desire to please; at least keep from shewing it. We must not be extravagant in our dress, or let it take up all our time; the real [...]ces do not depend on a studied [...]; we m [...]st submit to the mode as a [...] sort of slavery, but comply with [...] than we are obliged in decency. The [...]ode would be reasonable if it could be fixed to a point of perfection, conveni­ence, and gracefulness; but to be always chang­ing is inconstancy, rather than politeness and a good taste.

A good taste avoids all excessive niceness; it treats little things as little ones, and gives itself very little trouble about them. Neatness is in­deed agreeable, and deserves to be ranked among things that are graceful, but it commences little­ness, when it is carried to an excess; it is a much better temper to be careless in things of little consequence than to be too nice about them.

Young persons are very subject to the spleen; as they are quite destitute of knowledge, they run with eagerness towards sensible objects; the spleen, however, is the least evil that they have to dread: excessive joys are no part of the train of virtue. All violent and moving pleasures are dangerous. Though one is discreet enough not [Page 132] to break through the rules of decency, and [...] keep within the bounds of modesty; yet whe [...] the heart is once moved with the pleasure it [...] a sort of softness diffuses itself over the soul, and takes away its relish for every thing that is called virtue: it stops and makes you cool in the prac­tice of your duty. A young person does not see the consequences of this flattering poison, the least mischief of which is to disturb the quiet of life, to deprave the taste, and render all simple pleasure in [...]pid. When one sees a young person happy enough not to have had her heart touched (as there is a natural disposition in us to a union, and this disposition has not been exercised), she easily complies, and gives herself naturally to the person designed for her.

Be very cautious on the article of plays, and the like public diversions. There is no dignity in shewing one's self continually, nor is it an easy matter to preserve a strict modesty in a constant hurry of diversions. It is mistaking one's interest to frequent them: if you have beauty, you must not wear out the taste of the world by shewing yourself continually: you must be still more re­served if you want graces to set you off; besides the constant use of diversions lessons the relish of them.

When all your life has been spent in pleasures, and they come to leave you, either because your taste for them is over, or because your reason for­bids you the enjoyment of them, your mind finds itself in a most uneasy situation for want of em­ployment. If you would therefore have your pleasures and amusements last, use them only as diversions to relieve you after more serious occu­pations. Entertain yourself with your own rea­son; [Page 133] keep up that correspondence, and the absence of pleasures will not leave you any time upon your hands nor any hankering after them.

It behoves us therefore to husband our tastes; there is no relishing life without them, but innocence only can preserve them in their integrity; irregu­larity is sure to deprave them.

When we have a sound heart, we make an advantage of every thing, and turn it into a source of pleasure. We come frequently to plea­sures with a sick man's palate; we fancy our­selves nince, when we are only surfeited and ou [...] of taste. When we have not spoiled our mind and heart by sentiments that seduce the fancy, or by any flaming passion, it is easy to find delight: health and innocence are the true fountains of joy. But when we have had the misfortune to habituate ourselves to vehement pleasures, we become insen­sible to moderate ones. We spoil our taste by di­versions, and use ourselves so much to violent plea­sures, that we cannot take up with such an are simple and regular.

We should always dread such great emotions of the soul as leave us flat and out of sorts. Young persons have the greater reason to fear them, in that they are less capable of resisting what flatters their sense. "Temperance," said one of the Antients, ‘is the best caterer for lux­ury.’ With this temperance, which makes the health both of mind and body, one has always a pleasing and an equal joy; one has no need of diversions and expence; reading, work, and con­versation, afford a purer joy than all the train of the greatest pleasures. In a word, innocent de­lights are of most advantage; they are always ready at hand; they are beneficient, and are never [Page 134] purchased at too dear a rate. Other pleasures flatter, but they do mischief: they alter the con­stitution of the mind, and spoil it like that of the body.

Be regular in all your views and in all your actions; it would be happy if our fortune was such as to make computations of our income unne­cessary; but as yours is narrow, it obliges us to be regular. Be discreet in the article of your ex­pences; if you do not observe a moderation in them, you will soon see your affairs in disorder; as soon as you lay aside [...]economy, you can an­swer for nothing.

Pompous living is the high road to ruin, and the ruin of people's fortune is almost always fol­lowed with corruption of manners: but in order to be regular, it is no way necessary to be covet­ous. Remember that avarice is of little service, and dishonours a person infinitely. All that one should aim at in a regular management, is to avoid the shame and injustice that always attend an irregular conduct. We must retrench super­fluous expences only to be a better condition to afford such as decency, friendship and charity en­gage us to make.

It is good order, and not the looking into little matters, that turns to any great account. Pliny, when [...]e sent his f [...]riend back a bond for a consi­derable sum which his father owed him, with a general acquaintance, told him, ‘I have but a small estate, and am obliged to be at great ex­pences; but my frugality serves for a found to supply me wherewith to do the services that I render to my friends.’ Borrow from your fancies and diversions, that you may have some­thing [Page 135] to gratify the sentiments of generosity, which every person of a genteel spirit ought to have.

Never mind the wants that vanity creates. "We must be," they say, "like others;" this like goes a vast way. Have a noble emulation, and allow nobody to have more honour, probi­ty, and integrity than yourself. Be always sen­sible of the necessity of virtue: poorness of soul is worse than poverty of fortune.

Whilst you are young, form your reputation, raise your credit: put your affairs in order: you would have more troub [...] about it in another sea­son of life. Charles [...] used to say, that "Fortune loved young [...]." In the time of youth, all the world offer themselves to you, and lend you a helping hand: young people govern without thinking of it. But in more advanced age, you have no helps from any quarter; you have no longer that bewitching charm which has an influence on every body: you have nothing for you but reason and truth, which do not ordi­narily govern the world.

"You are going," said Montagne to some young people, ‘towards reputation and credit; but I am returning back.’ When you cease to be young, you have no acquisition left you to make, but in point of virtue. In all your un­dertakings and actions, always aim at the highest perfection; form no project, and set about no­thing without saying to yourself. ‘Could not I do better?’ By this means you will insensi­bly contract a habit of justice and virtue, which will make the practice thereof easier to you. Do what Seneca advised his friend Lucilius: "Choose," said he to him, ‘among great men [Page 136] some one that you this is most to be admir­ed: do nothing but in his presence; give him an account of all your actions.’ Happy the man that is esteemed enough to be pitched on for this purpose! This is the more easy, because young folks have a natural disposition to imita­tion. They run less hazard when they choose [...] patterns from [...], where we generally [...] with [...] but [...] examples. Among the moderns it may have [...] inconveniencies; the co­pies of them very [...] succeed. It has been said long ago, that every copy ought to tremble before its original; they never follow it but at a distances and yet [...] away your natural character which is general [...] truest and the most simple. You are apt to grow negligent as to yourself when you fix yourself to a model; besides a great part of our [...] come from [...]. [...], th [...]n to reverence and stand in awe [...] let your scrupulousness be your own [...].

[...] application to make yourself happy in your [...] of life; improve all the means you have; you lo [...] a thousand advantages for want of [...]. It is our attention, and comparing of things th [...] makes us happy.

The more address and capacity you have, the more will you make of your circumstances, and the more will you extend your pleasures. It is not possession that makes us happy, it is enjoyment, and enjoy [...] in attention.

If [...] and enjoy them­selves in their condition, they would not be trou­bled eitheir with ambition or envy, and would be blessed with a perfect tranquillity; but we do not live enough in the present moment, our desires [Page 137] and hopes are always pushing us on towards fu­turity.

There are two sorts of madmen in the world; the one always live upon futurity, and feed them­selves with nothing but hopes; and as they are not wise enough to calculate them rightly, they pass their lives in a continual mistake. Reason­able persons are never taken up with any desires but such as are within their reach; they often gain their point, and though they should be mis­taken, they would easily console themselves under the disappointment; they know likewise [...] our fondness for things [...] off upon the possession of them, or [...] upon seeing the impossibility of obtaining [...] desire: wise men always make themselves easy with such reflections. There is another sort of madmen that make too much of the present, and take no manner of care for futurity; they ruin their fortune, their repu­tation, and their [...]aste of life, by not managing them discreetly. Men of sense join these two times together; they enjoy the present, and yet do not neglect the future.

It is a duty, my Daughter, to employ our time, but what use do we make of it? Few peo­ple know how to value it as it deserves. ‘Ac­count to yourself, says one of the Antients, for every moment of our time; that after making a just use of the present, you may have less occasion for the future.’ Time flies with rapidity: learn to live, that is, to make a good use of your time; but life is spent too often in vain hopes, in quest of fortune, or in waiting for it. All mankind feel the vanity of their condi­tion, always taken up without being ever satis­fied. Remember that life does not consist in the [Page 138] space of time that you live, but in the use you should make of it: consider that you have a mind to cultivate and feed with truth; [...] to puri­ty and regulate; and a religious worship to pay to the Deity.

A [...] the first years of life are precious, remember, Daug [...]ter, to make a [...] advantageous use of them. [...] the [...] receives impressions, em­bellish your memory with valuable things, and consider that you are laying in a provision for your whole life. The memory is formed and im­proved by exercising it.

Curiosity is a sentiment that you should not stifle; it wants only to be [...] on a right object. Curiosity is a know [...] begun, which makes you advance farther and [...] in the road of truth; it is a natural disposition that meets in­struction half-way; it should not be stopped by lazi­ness and love of ease.

It is very useful for young persons to employ their time in solid sciences; the Greek and Ro­man History elevates the mind, and raises the courage by the great actions that we see there re­lated. We ought to know the History of France; nobody should be ignorant of the history of their own country. I should not even blame a little philosophy, especially the new, if one has a capa­city for it: it helps to give you a clear judgment, to distinguish your ideas, and teach you to think justly. I would likewise have a little morality: by the bare reading of Cicero, Pliny, and others, one gets a taste for virtue: it makes an insensible impression on us, that is of great advantage to our morals. The inclination to vice is corrected by the example of so many virtues, and you will [...] find an evil disposition have any relish for [Page 139] this sort of reading. We do not love [...] see what is always upbraiding and condemning us.

As for languages, though a woman ought to be satisfied with speaking that of [...] own coun­try, I should not [...] the inclination one might have for [...]. [...] the language of the Church: it opens you a [...] you into conversation [...] the best part of the world in all ages. Women [...] ready enough to learn Italian: but I think [...] dangerous; it is the language of love: the Italian writers are not very correct; you [...] all their works a gingle of words, and a loose imagination inconsistence with a just way of thinking.

Poetry may produce some inconveniences; I should however be [...] to forbid the reading of the fine trag [...] of Corneille▪ but the best of them often give you lectures of virtue; and leave you an impression of vice.

The reading of romances is still more danger­ous: I would not have them much used; they inure the mind to falshoods. Romances having no foundation of truth to support them, warm the imagination, impair modesty, put the heart in disorder, and let a young person have but the least disposition to tenderness, they hurry on and fire her inclination. One should not increase the charms and delusions of love; the more it is sof­tened, and the modester it appears, the more dan­gerous is it. I would not forbid them; all pro­hibitions intrench upon liberty, and raise the de­sire: but we should as much as we are able, use ourselves to solid readings, which improve the understanding and fortify the heart; we cannot too carefully avoid such as leave impressions hard to be effaced.

[Page 140] [...] your [...] for extraordinary scien­ces; they are dangerous, and generally teach one [...] deal of vanity: they depress the [...] of the soul. If you have a very [...] and [...] imagination, and a curiosity which no­thing [...] stop, it is much better to employ these dispositions in the scienc [...]es, th [...]n to run the hazard of their being turned to serve your passions: but remember that a young lady should have almost as nice a modesty in the article of sciences, as she has with regard to vice.

Guard yourself therefore against the inclination of setting up for a virtu [...]; do not amuse your­self in running after vain sciences, and such as are above your reach. Our soul is much better qualified for [...] then it [...] for knowledge; we have all the knowledge that is proper and ne­cessary for one [...] being; but we will not s [...]ick there, we are still running after truths that were not designed for [...]s.

Before we engage in enquiries that are above our capacities, we should know the just extent of our understanding, and what rule we should have for determining our persuasion: we should learn to distinguish between opinion and knowledge, and should have resolution enough to doubt, when we have no clear notion of things, as well as courage to be ignorant of what surpasses us.

The better to prevent a vain opinion of our ca­pacity, and abate a confidence in our understand­ing, let us consider that the two principles of all our knowledge, reason and the senses, want sin­cerity and often deceive us. The senses impose on [...], and reason misleads them in its turn. These are out two guides, and both of them lead us out of the way. Such reflections should na­turally [Page 141] put us out of conceit with abstracted scien­ces; it is much better for us to employ our [...]me in useful points of knowledge.

Docility is a quality very necessary for a young person, who should never have [...] confidence in herself; but this docility must not be carried too far. In point of religion, indeed, it must sub­mit to authority; but on any other subject it must receive nothing but from [...] and evi­dence. By carrying docility too far, you do an injury to your reason; you make no use of your own judgement and understanding, which are im­paired for want of exercise. You set too narrow bounds to your ideas, when you confine them to those of other people. The testimony of men only deserves credit in proportion to the degree of cer­tainty which they have acquired by examining in­to facts. There lies no prescription against truth: it is for all persons and of all times. In a word, as a great man says, "To be a Christian, one must believe implicitly: but to be a wise man, one must see clearly."

Accustom yourself to exercise your understand­ing, and make more use of it than of your memo­ry. We fill our heads with the notions of other people, and take no care to form any of our own. We fancy that we have made a great progress, when we load our memory with histories and facts; but this is of very little service to perfect our understanding. We must use ourselves to thinking. The understanding extends and improves itself by exercise; yet few persons take care to ex­ert it.

Among our sex the art of thinking is a sort of dormant talent. Historical facts, and the opi­nions of philosophers, will not defend you against [Page 142] a calamity that presses you: you will not find yourself much the stronger for them. When an affliction comes upon you, you have recourse to Seneca and [...] their reason to give you [...]? Is it not rather the [...] of your: owe? Make use of your own stock; in the calm of life make a proper provision against the [...] of affliction, which you are sure to meet with: [...] yourself much better supported by year own reason than by that of other [...].

If you can govern your imagination, and make it submit to reason and truth, it will be a great step towards your perfection and happiness. Women are generally governed by their imagi­nation; as they are not employed in any thing [...], and are not in the course of their lives troubled either with the care of their fortune, or the management of their affairs, they give them­selves up entirely to their pleasures. Plays, dress, romances, and inclinations, all depend upon imagination. I know well enough that if you keep it within due bounds, you take so much off [...] your pleasures; for Imagination is the source of them; and the things that please us most, derive from her the charm and illusion in which all their agreeablene's consists: but for one plea­sure of her creating, what evils doth she not make us suffer? She stands continually between Truth and us: Reason dares not shew herself [...] bears the sway. We see only [...] pleases, and those that are led by her know [...] they suffer from her by woeful experience. [...] would be a very happy composition to make [...] her, to give her [...] pleasures, on [...] she made you feel [...] of her [...] [Page 143] a word, there is nothing so inconsistent with hap­piness, as a fine lively and too heated imagina­tion.

Possess yourself with a true notion of things, and take not up with the sentiments of the people: form your own judgment without giving into re­ceived opinions, and get over the prejudices of your infancy. When you feel yourself under any uneasiness, take the following method: I have found the use of it: Examine into the occa­sion of your trouble; strip it of all the disguise that is about it, and of all the embroidery of imagination, and you will find that it is generally nothing at all, or at least great allowances are to be made. Value things only according to their real worth. We have a great deal more reason to complain of our false notions than of our for­tune; it is very frequently not so much things that hurt us, as the opinion that we have of them.

In order to be happy, we must think rightly: we owe a great respect to the common opinions, when they concern religion; but we ought to think very differently from the vulgar in what [...]egar [...] morality and the happiness of life. By [...]e vulgar, I mean every body that has a low and vulgar way of thinking; the court is filled with such sort of creatures; and the world talks of nothing [...]ut fortune and credit: all the cry [...], "Go on, make haste forwards:" wher [...]as Wisdom says, ‘Take up with [...] an obscure but quiet life; yet [...] hurry of the world, avoid a c [...]oud.’ [...] all the recompence of virtue; the main part of it lies in the testimony of your own [Page 144] conscience. A great virtue is surely enough to comfort you for the loss of a little glory.

Be assured, that the greatest science is to know how to be independent. "I have learnt," said one of the Antients, ‘to be my own friend, so I shall never be alone.’ You must provide yourself some resources against the inquietudes of life, and some equivalent for the goods, you had depended on. Secure yourself a retreat and place of refuge in your own breast; you can always return thither, and be sure to find yourself again. When the world is less necessary to you, it will have less power over you: when you do not, by some solid inclinations, place your dependance on yourself, you depend upon every thing else.

Use yourself to solitude: there is nothing more useful and necessary to weak [...] the impression that sensible objects make upon us. You should therefore from time to time retire from the world to be alone. Assign some hours in the day for reading, and for making your own reflections. "Reflection," says a Father of the Church, ‘is the eye of the soul; it lets light and truth into it.’—"I will lead him into solitude," says Wisdom, "and there I will speak to his heart." It is there indeed where Truth gives her instruc­tions; where prejudices vanish, where prepos­session wears off, and where opinion, that governs all, begins to lose its influence. When one con­siders the uselessness and insignificancy of life, one is forced to say with Pliny, ‘It is much better to pass one's life in doing nothing at all, than in doing trifles of nothing.’

I have told you already, Daughter, that hap­piness consists in peace of mind: you cannot en­joy the pleasures of the mind without health of [Page 145] mind: every thing almost is a pleasure to a sound mind. If you would live with tranquility, these are the rules you are to observe. The first is, not to give yourself up to things that please; to use them only occasionally; not to expect too much from the men, for fear of being disappoint­ed; to be your own principal friend. Solitude too will ensure you tranquility, and is a friend to wisdom: it is within you that [...]eace and Truth take up their abode. Avoid the great world, there is no security in it; it always awakens some sentiment or other that we had almost crushed; there are but too many people in it that encourage loosness; the more one converses with it, the more authority do-one's passions gain; it is hard to resist the attack of vice when it comes so well attended: in a word, one comes back from it much weaker, less modest, and more unjust, far having been among the men. The world easily [...] its poison into tender souls. We should likewise shut up all the avenues to the Passions; it is much easier to keep them off, than vanquish them; and though one should be happy enough to banish them, yet from the time that they made their impression, they make us pay dear for their abode. The first motions of them is what can­not be refused to Nature, but she often carries her influence too far: and when you come to yourself again, you find abundant reason to repent.

One should always have some resources and last shifts: calculate your strength and your courage; and for this end, in all cases where you have any apprehensions, consider every thing at the worst. Wait for the misfortune that may happen to you with firmness: look it bravely in the face; view [Page 146] it in all its most terrible circumstances, and do not let yourself [...] under it.

A favourite raised to the height of grandeur was shewing his riches to a friend. As he took out a box, he said to him, ‘Here it is that my treasure lies.’ His friend p [...]ssed him to shew it him, and her allowed him [...] open the box; there was nothing in it but an old ragged coat. His friend seemed surprized at it: the favourite said to him, ‘When fortune shall send me back to my original condition, I am ready for it.’ What a noble [...] is it to consider every thing at the worst; and fuel fortitude enough in [...] self to stand the [...].

How strongly soever you [...] any thing, begin with examining the thing [...] wish: set be­fore your eyes the good which it promises you, and the evils that follow it: remember the passage of Horace, ‘Pleasure goes before you, but keeps her retinue out of sight.’ You will cease to fear, as soon as ever you cease to desire. Depend upon it, a wise man does not run after felicity, but makes his own happiness; it must be your [...] doing, and it is in your own power. Re­member that a very small matter will serve for all the [...] needs of life, but there must be an infinite deal [...] satisfy the imaginary needs of opinion; and that you will much sooner reduce your desire [...] to the level of your fortune, than raise your for­tune to the level of your desires. If honours and riches could satiate us, we might heap them up; but the thirst for them increases by acquiring them he that desires most, is certainly the most indigent.

Young persons live upon hope. M. de la Roche­ [...]cault says, ‘that it carries one an agree­able [Page 147] road to the end of life.’ It would be in­deed short enough, if hope did not lengthen it; it is a very comfortable sentiment, but may prove dangerous, by occasioning you often a great many disappointments. The least evil that happens from it is, that we often lose what we possess, by waiting for what we desire.

Our self-love makes us bli [...] to ourselves, and diminishes all our defects. We live with them as we do with the perfumes that we wear, we do not sm [...]ll them; they only incommode others: to see them in their right [...] we must see them in other people. View [...] own imperfections with the same eyes wi [...]h which you view those of others: be always [...] in keeping to this rule, it will accustom you to equity. Examine your own nature, and make the best of your defects; there is none of them but may be tacked to some virtues, and be made to favour them. Morality does not propose to destroy nature, but to perfect it. Are you vain-glorious? Make use of that sentiment to raise yourself above the weaknesses of your sex, and to avoid the faults that abuse it. Every unruly passion has a pain and shame an­nexed to it, which solicit you to quit it. Are you timorous? Turn that weakness into prudence; let it keep you from exposing yourself. Are you lavish? Do you love to give? It is easy to turn prodigality into generosity. Give with choice and judgement; but do not neglect indifferent people: lend when it is necessary; but give to such [...] can­not return your kindness; by so doing [...] with your inclination, and do good actions: there is no weakness, but, if you please, virtue can make a good use of it.

In the afflictions which befal you, and which [Page 148] make you sensible of your little stock of merit, instead of fretting and opposing the opinion that you have of yourself to the injustice which you pretend has been done you, consider that the persons who are the authors of it are better able to judge of you than you are yourself; that you should sooner believe them than self-love, which always flatters; and that with regard to what concerns yourself, your enemy is nearer truth than you are; that you should have no merit in your own eyes, but what you have in other peo­ple's. One has too great a disposition to flatter one's self, and men are [...] near themselves to judge impartially [...] the case.

These are general [...] for opposing the vices of the mind; but your [...] should be to perfect your heart and your [...]ments: it de­pends on your heart to make your virtue sure and lasting; it is properly that which forms your character; and to make yourself mistress of it, observe this method. When you feel yourself agitated with a strong and violent passion, desire it to allow you a little time, and compound with your weakness; if without hearing it a moment, you are for sacrificing every thing to your reason and your duty, there is room to fear that your passion may rebel, and grow stronger than ever. You are under its command, and must manage it with address: you will receive more help than you think of from such a conduct: you will find some sure remedies even in your passion. If it be that of hatred, you will see that you have not al­together so much reason to hate and revenge your­self, as you at first imagined. If by misfortune it be the contrary sentiment that has seized you, [Page 149] there is no passion which furnishes you surer re­medies against itself.

If your heart has the misfortune to be attacked by love, these are the remedies to stop its pro­gress: Think that its pleasures are neither solid nor constant; they quit you; and if this was all the harm they would do you, 'tis enough. In passions the soul proposes itself an object, and is more intimately united to it either by desire or enjoyment, than it is to its own being; it places all its felicity in its possession, and all its misery in the loss of the object. Yet this felicity of the imagi­nation, this good of the soul's choice, is neither solid nor lasting: it depends upon others; it depends upon yourself; and you cannot answer either for others or for yourself.

Love in the beginning offers you nothing but flowers, and hides all the danger from you; it imposes on you; it always takes some form which is not its own: the heart being in secret intelligence with it conceals its inclination from you, for fear of alarming your reason and mo­desty. You fancy it is a mere amusement; it is only the person's wit or good sense that pleases us. In a word, Love is almost always unknown till he has got the mastery. As soon as he comes to be felt, fly that instant, and hearken not to the complaints of your heart: Love is not rooted out of the soul with ordinary efforts, it has too many partizans within us: as soon as it has surprized you, every thing is on its side against you, and nothing will serve you against Love. It is the most cruel situation a rational person can be in; where there is nothing to support you; where you have no spectator but yourself. You must summon up your courage immediately, and re­member [Page 150] that you must make a much more sor­rowful use of it, if you yield to your passion in the least.

Reflect upon the fatal consequences of passions, and you will find but too many examples to in­struct you; but we are often convinced of our mistake, without being cured of our passion. Reckon up, if possible, the evils, that flow from Love: [...] imposes on the reason; it fills the soul and the senses with trouble; it takes away the flower of innocence it [...] virtue; it [...] the reputation, shame, being almost always the con­sequence of Love. Nothing debases you to such a degree, and sinks you to much below yourself, as the Passions: they degrade you: there is no­thing but reason that can maintain your dignity. It is far more unhappy to [...] need of one's courage to bear a misfortune, than to void it; the pleasure of doing one's duty is a comfort to you; but never applaud yourself, for fear of be­ing humbled. Remember that you carry your enemy about with you; stick strictly to a con­duct that may answer for you to yourself. Avoid plays and passionate representations; you must not see what you would not feel; music, poetry, all this is the retinue of sensual pleasure. Use yourself to reading on solid subjects, to fortify your reason.

Do not converse with your Imagination; it will paint Love to you with all its charms; it is all [...] and illusion when she makes the re­presentation: there is always a great drawback when you quit her to come to the reality. St. Augustine has given us a discription of his condi­tion, when he was minded to quit love and plea­sures. He says, that what he loved presented [Page 151] itself to him under a charming figure; [...] repre­sents what passed in his heart in such moving terms, that there is no reading it without danger. One must pass slightly over the pictures of Plea­sure; she is always to be feared, even [...] the very time we are taking measures against her; and when we are fullest of the disasters she has occa­sioned, we are still to mistrust ourselves. The passion is apt to get ground by the examining of one's self; forgetfulness is the only [...] to be taken against Love: you must call yourself seri­ously to account, and say, ‘What do I mean to do with the inclination that is seizing me? Are not such and such misfortunes sure to at­tend me, if I have the weakness yield to it.’

Borrow forces and succour from your enemy and the very nature of Love; if you would not fl [...]tter him, he will supply you with them. Strip him of all the charms that your fancy gives him; lend him nothing, give him no favour, and you will see he will have but little left. After this, think no more of him: take a firm resolution to fly from him; and depend upon it, we are as strong as we resolve to be. Diversion and simple amusements are necessary; but we must shun all pleasures that affect the heart.

It is not always our faults that ruin us, but the manner of our conduct after we have com­mitted them. An humble acknowledgment of our faults disarms resentment, and stops the vio­lence of anger. Women that have had the mis­fortune to deviate from their duty▪ to break through decorum, to part with their virtue and modesty, own so much regard to custom, and ought to have such a sense of their breach of [...] city, as to appear with a mortified air; it is a [Page 152] sort of satisfaction that the public expects from them; it is sure to remember your faults whene­ver you appear to forget them. Repentance in­sures a change of your conduct; prevent the ma­lignity [...] is natural to mankind; put your­ [...] the [...] that their pride allots you, they [...] you humbled; and when you have made yourself so to their hands, they will have no more to say to you: but she that is proud after committing faults, calls them to mind, and makes them immortal.

Let us now pass, my daughter, to the Social Duties. I thought I was in the first place to draw you out of the common education and the prejudices of childhood, and that it was necessary to fortify your reason, and give you some solid principles to support you. I thought most of the disorders of [...] were owing to false opinions; that false opinions produced loose sentiments; and that when the understanding is not enlight­ened, the heart is exposed to passions: that there must be some truths fixed in the mind to preserve us from error, and that one must have some senti­ments in the heart to keep out the passions. When you have once a knowledge of truth, and a love for justice, there is no danger of all the other vir­tues.

The first duty of civil life is to take care of others; such as live only for themselves fall into contempt, and are neglected by every body. If you are for requiring too much from others, they will refuse you every thing, their friendship, their affections, and their services. Civil life is a mutual intercourse of good offices: the most valuable part of mankind go still further: by promoting the [Page 153] happiness of others, you insure you own; 'tis the truest politics to think in this manner.

Nothing can be more odious than people that make every body see that they live only for themselves. An extravagant self-love is the source of great crimes; some degrees lower it occasions vices; but let there be never so little a spice of it in a person, it impairs all the virtues and charms of society.

'Tis impossible to make a friendship with per­sons who have a predominant self-love, and take care to shew it; and yet we can never strip our­selves of it entirely; as long as we are attached to life, we shall be attached to ourselves.

But the [...] is a qualified self-love, that is not ex­ercised at the ex [...]ce of others.

We fancy we exalt ourselves by depressing our equals: th [...]s makes us censorious and envious. Good-nature turns to more account than malig­nity. Do good when it is in your power; speak well of all the world, and never judge with rigour. Such acts of goodness and generosity frequently repeated will gain you at last a great and excellent reputation. All the world is engaged to com­mend you, to extenuate your defects, and enhance your good qualities. You should found your reputation upon your own virtues, and not upon the demerit of others; consider that their good qualities take nothing at all from you, and that the diminution of your reputation can be imputed to no body but yourself.

One of the things that contributes most to make us unhappy is, that we depend too much upon the men; 'tis the source too of our injus­tice. We pick quarrels with them, not on account of what they owe us, or of that they have pro­mised [Page 154] us, but on account of what we have hoped from them. We depend absolutely upon our hopes, which occasion us abundance of disap­pointments.

[...]e not [...] in your judgments, and give no [...] to [...] never give in to the first ap­pearance of things, nor be in haste to condemn a [...] body. [...]emember that there are things pro­bable which are not true, as there are things true which [...] not probable.

We should, in our private judgments, imitate the equity of solemn judgments. Judges never decide without having examined, heard and con­fronted the witnesses with the parties concerned; but we, without any commission, [...]et up for empires of reputation; and every proof is suffi­cient, every authority appears good, when the business is to condemn. Prompted by our na­tural malignity, we fancy that we give ourselves what we take away from others: hence arises ani­mosities and enmities; for every thing is sure to be known.

Be equitable therefore in your judgments; the same justice that you do to others, they wil [...] return to you. Would you have them think and speak well of you, never speak ill o [...] any body.

Civility, which is an imitation of charity, is another of the social virtues: it puts you above others when you have it in a more eminent de­gree; but it is practised and maintained at the ex­pence of self-love. Civility is always borrowing something from yourself, and turning it to the ad­vantage of others. 'Tis one of the great bonds of society, and the only quality that makes one safe and easy in the intercourse of life.

We naturally love to govern; 'tis an unjust [Page 155] inclination. Whence have we our night to pre­tend to exalt ourselves above other [...]. The [...] [...] but one just and allowable superiority, 'tis that which virtue gives you; have more goodness and generosity than others; be beforehand [...] them more in services than benefi [...]s; 'tis [...] raise yourself. A great disinterestedness [...] you as independent, and raises you higher [...] the am­plest fortune: nothing sinks [...] a fond­ness for our own interest.

The qualities of the heart have the greatest concern in the commerce of life: the under­standing does not endear [...] to others, and you frequently see men very [...] with great parts; they are for giving you a good opinion of them­selves; they are for getting an ascendant over and depressing others.

Though humility has only been considered as a christian virtue, it must be owned to be a social virtue; and so necessary a one, that without i [...] 'tis a very ticklish matter to have to do with you. 'Tis the conceit that you have of yourself which makes you maintain your rights with so [...] arrogance, and intrench on those of other people.

We must never be strict in calling any body to account. Exact civility does not insist on all that is due to you. Do not be afraid of being before-hand with your friends; if you have a mind to be a true friend, never insist on any thing too stiffly; but that your behaviour may not be inconsistent, as it expresses your inward disposition, make often serious reflections on your weaknesses, and take yourself to pieces. This examination will make you entertain sentiments of humility for yourself, and of indulgence with regard to others.

[Page 156] Be humble without being bashful. Shame is a secret pride; and pride is an error with regard to one's own worth, and an injustice with regard to what one has a mind to appear to others.

[...] advantage very desirable; but it is a [...] it with too much ardor, and do nothing but with a view to it: we ought to content ourselves with deserving it. We should not discourage sensibility for glory; 'tis the surest help we have to virtue; but the business is to make choice of true glory.

Accustom yourself to see what is above you without either admission or envy; and what is below you without contempt. Do not let the pomp of greatness impose on you; none but little souls fall down and worship grandeur; admira­tion is only due to virtue.

To use yourself to value men by their proper qualities, consider the condition of a person loaded with honours, dignities and riches, who seems to want nothing at all, but really wants every thing, by being destitue of true goods, of those internal qualities that are necessary to the enjoyment and use of them: he suffers a much as if his po­verty was real, so long as he has the sense of poverty, and is wishing for more. ‘There is nothing worse, says one of the Antients, than poverty in the midst of riches, because the evil lies in the mind.’ The man that is in this situation feels all the evils of opinion, with­out enjoying the goods of fortune; he is blinded by error, and tormented by his passions: [...] a reasonable person who has nothing at all, but substitutes wise and solid reflections to supply the place of riches and honours, enjoys a tranquillity [Page 157] which nothing can equal: the happiness of the one, and the misery of the other, come only [...] their different manner of thinking.

If you find yourself disposed to resentment and revenge, strive to keep down that sentiment; there is nothing so mean as to revenge one's self. If you meet with ill-treatment from any body, you owe them only contempt; 'tis a debt easy to be paid. If they have offended you only in slight matters, you owe them indulgence; but there are certain seasons in life when you must meet with injuries; seasons when the friends for [...] you have done most, fall soul upon and [...] you: in such a case [...] having done [...] can to [...] not be [...] disputing with them, [...] ought to court the esteem of one's friends; but when you find peo­ple that will only view you though their preju­dices, when you have disputes with such [...] and fiery imaginations as will admit of nothing but what favours their injustice, you hav [...] nothing to do but retire and set your heart at rest. Do what you will, you'll get nothing from them but dis­content. When you thus suffer from their ill­usage and shame of recanting, comfort yourself in your innocence, and the assurance that you have not offended. Think that if your worth was not greater at the time they raised you, it is not at all less now they are for crushing you: you should, without being more mortified at it, pity them, and not be exasperated i [...] possible, but say, "They see in a wrong light." Consider that with good qualities one may at last get over resentment and envy. Let the hopes you draw from virtue keep up your courage, and be your consolation.

[Page 158] Do not think of revenging yourself any way [...] by using more moderation in your conduct, than those that attack you have malice. None but sub­lime souls are touched with the glory of pardoning injuries.

[...] yourself to deserve your own esteem, the better to console yourself for the esteem which others deny you. You can allow yourself but one sort of vengeance; 'tis that of doing good to such as have offended you: 'tis the most ex­quisite revenge, and the only one that is allow­able: you gratify your passion, and you intrench upon no virtue. Caesar has set us an example of it; his lieutenant Labien [...]s deserted from him at a time that he stood in most need of him, and went over to Pompey, leaving great riches in Caesar's camp. Caesar sent them after him, with a message to tell him, ‘that was the manner of Caesar's revenge.’

'Tis prudent to make a good use of other peo­ple's faults, even when they do us mischief; but very often they only begin the wrongs, and we finish them; they give us indeed a right against themselves, but we make an ill use of it: we are for taking too much advantage of their faults. This is an injustice and a violence that makes the standers by against us. If we suffered with moderation all the world would be for us, and the faults of those that attack us would be doubled by our patience.

When you know that your friends have not treated you as they ought, take no notice of it; as soon as eve [...] you shew that you perceive it, their malignity increases, and you give a loose to their hatred▪ whereas by dissembling it, you [Page 159] flatter their self-love; they enjoy the pleasure of imposing on you; they fancy themselves your su­periors, as long as they are not discovered; they triumph in your mistake, and feel another pleasure in not ruining you quite. By not [...]ing them see that you know them, you give them time to repent and come to themselves; and there needs nothing but a seasonable piece of service, and a dif­ferent manner of taking things, to make them more attached to you than ever.

Be inviolable in your word; but to gain it an entire confidence, remember that you must be ex­tremely scrupulous in keeping it. Shew your re­gard to tru [...]h even in things indifferent; and con­sider that there is nothing so despicable as to deviate from it. 'Tis a common saying, that lying shews that people despise God, and standing in fear of man; and that the man who speaks truth and does good resembles the Deity. We should likewise avoid swearing; the bare word of an honest person should have all the credit and authority of an oath.

Politeness is a desire of pleasing: nature gives it, education and the world improve it. Politeness is a supplement to Virtue. They say it came into the world when that daughter of Heaven aban­doned it. In ruder times, when Virtue bore a greater sway, they knew less of Politeness; it came in with Voluptuousness: it is the daughter of Luxury and Delicacy. It has been disputed, whether it approaches nearest to vice or virtue. Without pretending to decide the question, or define politeness, may I be allowed to speak my sentiments of it? I take it to be one of the greatest bonds of society, as it contributes most to the [Page 160] peace of it; 'tis a preparation to charity, and [...] imitation too of humility. True politeness is mo­dest; and as it aims to please, it knows that the way to carry its point, is to shew that we do not prefer ourselves to others, but give them the first rank in our esteem.

Pride keeps us off from society: our self love gives us a peculiar rank, which is always dis­puted with us. Such a high esteem of ourselves as makes others feel it, is almost always punished with an universal contempt. Politeness is the art of reconciling agreeably what we owe to others, and what one owes to one's self; for these duties have their bounds, which when they exceed, 'tis flattery with regard to others, and pride with re­gard to yourself; 'tis the most seducing quality in nature.

The most polite persons have generally a good deal of sweetness in their conversation, and en­gaging qualities: 'tis the girdle of Venus; it sets off, and gives graces and charms to all that wear it; and with it you cannot fail to please.

There are several degrees of politeness. You carry it to a higher point in proportion to the deli­cacy of your way of thinking: it distinguishes itself in all your behaviour, in your conversation, and even in your silence.

Perfect politeness forbids us to display our parts and talents with assurance; it even borders upon cruelty, to shew one's self happy when we have certain misfortunes before our eyes. Con­versation in the world is enough to polish our outward behaviour; but there must be a good deal of delicacy to form a politeness of mind. A nice politeness formed with art and taste, will [Page 161] make the world excuse you a great many failings, and improve your good qualities. Such as are defective in point of behaviour have the greater need of solid qualities, and make slow advances in gaining a reputation. In a word, politeness costs but little, and is of vast advantage.

Silence always becomes a young person [...] is a modesty and dignity in keeping it; you fit in judgment upon others, and run no hazard your­self: but guard yourself against a proud and insulting silence; it should be the result of your prudence, and not the consequence of your pride. But as there is no holding our peace always, it is fit for us to know that the principal rule for speaking well is to think well.

When your notions are clear and distinct, your discourse will be so too; let a proper decorum and modesty run through them. In all your discourses pay a regard to received customs and prejudices; expressions declare the sentiments of the heart, and the sentiments form the beha­viour.

Be particularly careful not to set up for a joker; 'tis an ill part to act, and by making others laugh, we seldom make ourselves esteemed. Pay a great deal more attention to others than to yourself, and think how to set them out rather than to shine yourself: we should learn how to listen to other people's discourse, and not betray an absence of mind either by our eyes or our manner. Never dwell upon stories: if you chance to tell any, do it in a genteel and close manner; let what you say be new, or at least give it a new turn. The world is full of people, that are dinning things into your ears, without [Page 162] saying any thing to entertain the mind. When­ever we speak, we should take care either to please or instruct; when you call for the attention of the company, you should make them amends by [...] agreeableness of what you say: an indif­ferent discourse cannot be too short.

You may approve what you hear but should very seldom admire it: admiration is proper to blockheads. Never let your discourse have an air of art and cunning; the greatest [...]dence lies in speaking little, and shewing more diffidence of one's self than of other people. An upright conduct, and a reputation for p [...]o [...]ity, gains more confidence and esteem, and at the long run more advantages too in point of fortune, than any by ways. Nothing makes you so worthy of the greatest matters, and raises you so much above others, as an exact probity.

Use yourself to treat your serva [...] with kind­ness and humanity. 'Tis a saying of one of the Antients, ‘that we ought to consider them as unhappy friends.’ Remember that the vast difference between you and them is owing merely to chance; never make them uneasy in their state of life, or add weight to the trouble of it. There is nothing so poor and mean as to be haughty to any body that is in your service.

Never use any harsh language; it should never come out of the mouth of a delicate and polite person. Servitude being settled in opposition to the natural equality of mankind, it behoves us to soften it. What right have we to expect our servants should be without faults, when we are giving them instances every day of our own? Let us rather bear with them. When you sh [...]w [Page 163] yourself in all your humours and fits of passion, (for we often lay ourselves open before our ser­vants) how do you expose yourself to them. Can you have any right afterwards to reprimand them? A mean familiarity with them i [...] indeed ever to be avoided; but you owe them assistance, advice, and bounties suitable to their condition and wants.

One should keep up authority in one's family, but it should be a mild authority. We should not indeed always threaten without punishing, for fear of bringing our treats into contempt; but we should not call in authority till persuasion has failed. Remember that humanity and christiani­ty put all the world on the same foot. The im­patience and heat of youth, joined to the false no­tion they give you of yourself, make you look upon your servants as creatures of a different spe­cies; but how contrary are such sentiments to the modesty that you owe to yourself, and the hu­manity you owe to others.

Never relish or encourage the flattery of ser­vants; and to prevent the impression which their fawning speeches frequently repeated may make upon you, consider that they are hirelings paid to serve your weaknesses and pride.

If by misfortune, Daughter, you should not think sit to follow my Advice and Precepts, though they be lost upon you, they will still be useful to myself, as laying me under new obliga­tions. There reflections are fresh engagements to me to exert myself in the way of virtue. I forti­fy my reason even against myself; for I am now under a necessity of following it, or else [...] expose myself to the shame of having known it, and yet been false to it.

[Page 164] There is nothing, my Daughter, more morti­fying than to write upon subjects that put me in mind of all my faults: by laying them open to you, I give up my right to reprimand you; I [...] you with arms against myself. And I [...] freely to use them, if you see any vices in [...] inconsistent with the virtues that I recom­m [...]nd to you; for all Advice and precepts want authority, when they are not supported by ex­ample.