RELIGION.
SENTIMENTS.

I SHALL commence my work, my beloved children, by introducing to your knowledge some of those characters who have rendered themselves conspicuous by the union of piety [Page 2] and morality, and whose lives were spent in the performance of devotional exercises, and in the practice of benevolence to their fellow-creatures. I have always endeavoured to convince you, that piety towards God is the foundation of those virtues which will make you estimable in the eyes of men; and that to be void of it, evinces a cold heart, destitute of the best affections which can grace a youthful character. At your time of life it is natural for the heart sponta­neously to rise into admiration at what is great, glow with the love of what is fair, and melt at the discovery of tenderness and goodness: and where can any object be found so calculated to kindle those affections, as the Father of the universe, and the Author of all your felicity? Untouched by gratitude, can you behold that profusion of good which his beneficent hand pours around you? Unmoved by veneration, can you contemplate that grandeur and majesty which his works every where display? Offer to God, therefore, the first fruits of your affections [Page 3] and understandings; and be assured, that the more you increase in love to him, the more you will increase in happiness, excellence and honour.

The principles of piety and devotion have of­ten been evinced at that early period of life, when it might have been supposed the infant heart was incapable of such exalted sentiments: a striking proof of the justness of this observation is recorded in the history of Lady Jane Gray.

Lady Jane Gray was eldest daughter to the Duke of Suffolk; a man whose mind was too much occupied by plans of ambition to be ca­pable of admitting sentiments of tenderness. In her earliest childhood she was unaccustomed to receive those endearing caresses which are calculated to attract the affection of a youthful heart; and, instead of considering her father in the light of a tender friend, she was compelled to behold him as a rigid judge, who, instead of [Page 4] palliating the trifling errors of childhood, mag­nified them into crimes, and condemned them with severity. This ill-judged rigour probably might have been the first incitement to that uni­form piety which marked her future conduct; and being withheld, by fear, from expressing the effusions of a susceptible heart to her earthly parent, she sought consolation at the throne of her heavenly one, and poured out her sorrows to him who healeth the broken-hearted, "and raiseth up them whose spirits are cast down."

When she was arrived at an age to be informed of the ambitious views of the Duke of Suffolk, who taught her to aspire to the possession of a crown, instead of being dazzled by the glaring prospect, she foresaw the dangers with which it was surrounded; and though Edward had de­clared her his successor, yet the superiority of his sister's claim made her strenuously refuse the proffered dignity: and when her father, and the Duke of Northumberland, (whose son she had [Page 5] married,) compelled her to accept it, she expres­sed her fears that she was committing an action that would be displeasing to heaven, and usurp­ing that to which another had a right. But if her humility and justice was conspicuously displayed in her manner of accepting an unwished-for dignity, her sweetness and humility were no less strikingly evinced in her manner of resigning it; for when she was informed that the body of the people had declard for Mary, she expressed her satisfaction at being relieved from the bur­dens of a crown, and rejoiced in the prospect of being able to devote her time to the service of her Creator, and the improvement of her mind. But, alas! these visionary prospects of future felicity were all suddenly and unexpect­edly overclouded! The inhuman Mary, fancy­ing herself insecure on the imperial seat whilst her rival was in existence, sent an order for her immediate imprisonment; and, lost to the voice of tenderness and humanity, decreed that Lady [Page 6] Jane and her unfortunate husband should both perish together!

It was at that dreadful period that the amiable Lady Jane found the inspiring aid of that recti­tude, which had been the rule of all her actions, enable her to support with cheerfulness the rig­our of her destiny, and meet her approaching dissolution with calmness and resignation.

Previous to her execution, several Roman Catholic priests were sent to her by the Queen, to attempt converting her to that religion to which she was so bigotted a zealot; but her faith was established upon too firm a basis to be shaken by the crafts of priesthood, or the per­suasion of power; and she died a firm disciple to the Christian faith.

Her person is discribed by historians as being exquistely lovely; and her manners so strikingly engaging, as to attract the affection of all those [Page 7] who had the satisfaction of enjoying their in­fluence. Her temper was naturally grave, yet blended with an uncommon share of ineffable sweetness. She was completely mistress of the Latin and Greek languages, and had made some proficiency in the Hebrew, when her inhuman persecutor decreed that her learning and virtues should perish together. The humility of her mind could only be equalled by its liberality; for she pardoned the greatest wrongs committed against herself, though her heart was incapable of injuring others. In short, whether she is viewed in the character of a daughter, a wife, a queen, or a prisoner, she appears adorned with such perfections as must command praise, and defy censure.

"Virtue (says Seneca) is the only immortal thing that belongs to mortality: it raises the mind above griefs, hopes, fears, or chances; and makes us patiently submit to the decrees of heaven."

[Page 8] The truth of this observation is fully exem­plified in the history of a daughter of Sir Thomas Askew's, whose sufferings and perse­cutions were of a nature to shake the firmest resolution, unless supported by the principles of virtue, and the aid of religion.

Anne Askew had been originally educated in the principles of the Roman Catholic persuasion; but having been at an early age forced into a marriage contrary to her inclination, her mind naturally acquired a tincture of seriousness, and she devoted many hours every day to the duties of religion. When she attentively examined into the principles upon which her faith was founded, she gradually became sensible of the errors that were connected with it; and abjuring it altogether, became an entire convert to Chris­tianity. This circumstance was a pretence for her husband's treating her with the most barba­rous cruelty, and refusing to support her in his own house: he turned her out of it, and aban­doned [Page 9] her to the miseries of the world, de­fenceless, forlorn, and unprotected!

A woman reduced to so wretched a situation, by the cruelty of him who ought to have shielded her from every kind of distress, one would have imagined had a claim upon the humanity of her fellow-creatures; but, alas! that religion which ought to have taught compassion for the unfor­tunate, breathed only oppression and persecu­tion; and her having abjured her faith, was con­sidered a crime of so heinous a nature, as deman­ded the vengeance of all those who wished to promote the Roman Catholic persuasion. She unfortunately went to London (with a view of suing for a divorce) at a period when the fanat­ic zeal for the Roman Catholic religion was raging with the utmost ardour, and became a cloke for the most unheard-of barbarities. The partizans of her husband were sufficiently pow­erful to controvert all the arguments she could adduce in favour of her own conduct; and she [Page 10] was not only arrested, and thrown into prison, but treated there with studied indignity, and premeditated insolence. Yet she submitted to the severity of her fate with the most cheerful resignation; and, sustained by that power who arms the afflicted with fortitude, and the op­pressed with patience, endured the most exqui­site tortures that human imagination could in­vent, rather than acknowledge herself the mem­ber of a religion that was established upon the foundation of cruelty, and the basis of oppres­sion! When the moment arrived that destined her to fall a victim to persecution, she met her fate with an heroism that would have done hon­our to the greatest general, and looked upon death as the messenger of peace, and the harbinger of felicity!

Thus you see, my dear girls, that religion prepares the mind for encountering with forti­tude the most severe shocks of adversity; and those afflictions which appear to the wicked as [Page 11] messengers of the wrath of heaven, seem to the good as merciful dispensations, sent to make trial of their fortitude, their faith, or their re­signation.

Catherine Parr, wife of Henry the Eighth, was a woman of the most exemplary piety, and refined morality. Amidst the gaiety and splen­dour of a court, her mind was occupied upon the duties of religion; and the variety of her compositions prove that to piety was united hu­mility, and a perfect reliance upon the dispen­sations of Providence. From her earliest infancy her mind had been habituated to the practice of devotional exercises; and though the frequency of that practice was one of the failings alledged against her (by the Bishop of Winchester) to the King, yet, to preserve her life, she never remit­ted any of her duties, believing that if she for­sook her God, he would also forsake her.

[Page 12] Catherine of Arragon, who was a former wife to Henry the Eighth, was also a woman of great piety and uncommon erudition: her edu­cation had been such as to enable her not only to indulge her taste for literature, but to become an excellent judge of the merits of those who trod in the path of science, and she was the uni­versal patroness of learned men.

When the versatility of her husband's dispo­sition induced him to search into remote causes for a pretence to annul his marriage, the argu­ments she used in favor of its validity, are in themselves sufficient to mark the superiority of her understanding: but admirable as it was, it could not preserve her from sinking under the severity of her misfortunes; and when she was degraded from the dignity of a queen, the re­mainder of her life was spent in the practice of the most rigid devotion, and in the strict obser­vance of those duties which she imagined would be most acceptable to Heaven.

[Page 13] From the instances I have represented of the powerful effect of Religion in enabling the mind to support afflictions, you are not to ima­gine that it will only be necessary to apply to its aid in the season of distress; for the greater the benefits are which you receive from Heaven, the stronger must be your motives for the exer­tion of your piety and gratitude to the great Author of them, who, for all his mercies, re­quires no other return than that of a grateful and pious heart.

The late Lord Burleigh (who was one of the ablest politicians of the age in which he lived) used to say, that he would never trust any man whose actions were not governed by the princi­ples of religion; and alledged as a reason, that those who were not true to God could never be so to men.

Queen Elizabeth, who is universally allowed to have beeen one of the greatest characters that [Page 14] ever swayed the British throne, not only regu­larly devoted a portion of each day to acts of piety, but composed several treatises on religious subjects; and at the age of twelve years, she translated into Latin, French, and Italian, a book of prayers and meditations, which she dedicated to her father. Before she died, she had the happiness of seeing the Protestant reli­gion established throughout her kingdom; and the rage for the Roman Catholic persuasion, which had filled her predecessor's reign with such cruelty and persecution, was by her judi­cious conduct entirely subdued.

Though Queen Elizabeth had the happiness of establishing the Protestant religion in Eng­land, yet Christianity was introduced into it ma­ny ages before her accession to the throne; for at the time this kingdom was divided into an heptarchy, Ethelbert, king of Kent, espoused Bertha, daughter of Carribert, king of Paris, who had been educated in the Christian religion.

[Page 15] The sweetness of her manners, the superiority of her understanding, and the benevolence of her heart, all conspired to give her an ascen­dancy over Ethelbert's mind: and attached, as she was, to his person, it was natural for her to exert her influence in a cause wherein she con­ceived his present peace, and future felicity, was so entirely interwoven. As her own actions were guided by the mild influence of that reli­gion to which she was so anxious her husband should become a convert, her persuasive argu­ments soon convinced him of its purity; and he not only embraced the Christian faith himself, but endeavoured to establish it throughout his kingdom.

Virtue has sometimes been imagined an here­ditary possession, which like an estate, descends from generation to generation. Though you will find, in the perusal of this work, that I have controverted that idea, yet in the instance I am about to record it is fully exemplified.

[Page 16] The uncommon care which the amiable Ber­tha bestowed upon the education of her child, and the advantages she derived from daily be­holding instances of her mother's virtue, had so happy an effect upon the mind of the young Ethelburga, that she not only endeavoured to imitate the bright example that was set before her, but, if possible, to surpass it. The fame of her virtues, and the account of her exem­plary conduct, extended to a distant part of the country; and Edwin, king of Northumberland, was attracted by the universal applause. He saw Ethelburga; admired and married her; and, like Ethelbert, king of Kent, became a con­vert to the precepts of Christianity.

You must now, my dear girls, view a far dif­ferent picture to that which I have just repre­sented; and instead of beholding Christianity adorned with that gentleness which its Divine Teacher inculcated, you must observe religion disguised in the veil of priestcraft, and supersti­tion [Page 17] establishing her foundation in bloodshed, cruelty, and horror.

From having perused the character of Lady Jane Gray, the very name of Queen Mary must strike you with a sensation of abhorrence. Your knowledge of the History of England will al­most render it unnecessary for me to tell you that she was daughter of Henry the Eighth, by Catherine of Arragon, who was particularly careful of her education, and engaged some of the most able men of the age for her instructors; and, if precept could have inculcated the prin­ciples of humanity, she would not have been regarded by posterity as Christianity's greatest scourge. Her mind was naturally weak; and acting under the influence of craft and priest­hood, she authorised such atrocious acts of cruelty as would make even a savage nature shudder. During the three years that this per­secution of the Protestant religion was carried on [Page 18] with its insatiate violence, it is computed that no less than two hundred and seventy persons were brought to the stake for refusing to acknowledge the Pope's supremacy, and remaining firm to the Protestant faith; and amongst that number fifty-five were women, and four children! Upon how mistaken a principle must that religion have been founded, which was established upon the lives of the unoffending, and upon the blood of the innocent!

Tenderness and compassion are generally al­lowed to be the peculiar characteristics of the fe­male mind; but Mary is not a single exception to that partial rule; for Catherine de Medici, wid­ow of Henry the Second of France, was her equal in cruelty, though her superior in understanding.

Upon the death of Henry, his son Francis ascended the throne; and as he was a prince of very moderate abilities, he submitted entirely to the direction of his mother, whose policy in [Page 19] affairs of state, and ardour in the cause of the Roman Catholic religion, have rendered her a conspicuous character in the French history. The Protestants, during the reign of Francis, were treated with all the severity inquisitorial malice could invent; but it was in the reign of his brother Charles that it was carried to the utmost extent of inhuman barbarism. Cathe­rine, finding that all her attempts entirely to abolish the Protestant religion had proved inef­fectual, suggested to her son the inhuman idea of having a general massacre throughout his do­minions of all those who professed that persua­sion. The cruel proposal met with a favourable reception, and orders were immediately sent to the magistrates of the different provinces to have it put in practice. In Paris the conspiracy was carried on with such a profound secrecy, that not the smallest suspicion was entertained of the inhuman design. The eve of St. Bartholomew's day was pitched upon for this barbarous under­taking, and the signal for the commencement of [Page 20] it was the tolling of a bell. The guards and militia had been previously put under arms, and the command given to the Duke of Guise. The whole night, and part of the next day, was spent in this inhuman butchery; and in Paris, and the provinces, it is computed that upwards of thirty thousand souls perished. So execrable and bloody a design, formed by a woman whom the Protestants had never provoked, is one of those uncommon instances of barbarism which requires the utmost confidence in the historian's veracity to give credit to. But, alas! the differ­ent authors who have disgraced the page of history by a relation of it, are too consistent in the account of the fact, to leave a doubt upon the mind as to its authenticity!

I cannot, my dear girls, close a section which has so interesting a subject as religion for its theme, without endeavouring to point out the peculiar advantages which are likely to result from the practice of it.

[Page 21] You are not to imagine, that when I exhort you to be religious, I wish you to become more formal or solemn in your manners than others of the same years, or expect you to become their supercilious reprovers. On the contrary, I admire the volatility that is attendant upon youth, and would rather promote than lessen it; but the spirit of true religion breathes gentleness and affability; it gives a native unaffected ease to the behaviour; is kind, social, and cheerful; and very different from that gloomy and illiberal superstition which clouds the brow, sharpens the temper, and dejects the spirits. It corrects and humanizes constitutional vices; and, above all, produces an universal charity and love to all mankind.

FILIAL DUTIES.
SENTIMENTS.

IN the catalogue of human duties, none have a stronger claim upon your attention than those which I mean to make the subject of this section; for next to your Maker your parents are entitled to your veneration, gratitude, and esteem. Yet, with all these claims upon their childrens' affection, how often has the unhappy parent the misery of finding pertness substituted in the place of humility, arrogance in that of dependence, and indifference in that of duty! and instead of their children submitting with [Page 23] docility to the experience of age, beholds them vain through ignorance, and presumptuous through folly!

Although, my beloved girls, I am not fearful of becoming one of those unhappy parents, yet I cannot help cautioning you against a conta­gious evil, which is the general source of all those calamities that are attendant upon the sea­son of youth: I mean that degree of self-conceit which is usually attached to that period of life. But it is most peculiarly unfortunate that the age which stands most in need of advice, should be the most prone to reject it. In China, so great is the veneration and respect in which the pa­rental character is held, that an instance of dis­puting its authority is absolutely unknown. And the ancient Romans even gave parents a right over the lives of their children.

Mr. Addison, in his Spectator, has written an excellent paper upon the subject of filial respect, [Page 24] wherein he paints the parental solicitude in those natural colours which cannot fail of touching every heart that is not lost to feelings of tender­ness, and sensations of duty. But, as my mem­ory is stored with many historical facts, in which the virtue of filial tenderness, and the barbarism of its deficiency, are both strongly exemplified, I shall relate them for your instruction; convin­ced, at the same time, that your own hearts will incline you to imitate the one, and abhor the other.

A Roman lady, of some rank, was accused of a crime against the state, for which she was tried, and condemned to suffer death. The keeper of the prison, who was ordered to be her executioner, not only felt a great degree of re­pugnance to the office, but was absolutely inca­pable of performing it; yet, aware that his own life depended upon the discharge of his duty, he dared not attempt preserving her existence. Thus circumstanced, the cruel idea (which yet [Page 25] had compassion for its foundation) occurred, of letting her remain without sustenance, knowing that she must then die from want, and that he should escape the pain of becoming her execu­tioner. A man in that situation, who could shrink from the discharge of his duty from mo­tives of humanity, it is natural to suppose, might easily be subdued by tenderness, and overcome by persuasion: and it is no wonder that he yielded to the entreaties of the daughter, and permitted her to visit her unhappy mother; though he was under the necessity of searching her, to prevent her being the conveyor of any kind of nourishment. Several days elapsed without any striking alteration in the unfortu­nate woman's appearance: this circumstance called forth the keeper's astonishment so much, that he began to imagine the daughter had con­trived some means of eluding his vigilance, and therefore resolved to watch them when the daily meeting took place. He did so, and beheld a [Page 26] sight that called forth his pity, and produced his admiration. An affectionate daughter was pre­sented to his view, lengthening out her parent's existence by that nourishment nature had given for the support of her own offspring, and endeav­ouring to avert the decrees of justice by the nutricious qualities of the milk of tenderness! The humane keeper instantly flew to her judges, described the interesting scene he had beheld, and had the happiness of procuring a pardon for the unfortunate offender. The senate were so struck with this instance of amiable tenderness, that they ordered a temple to be erected to filial piety on the spot where the prison stood, and both mother and daughter to be maintained at the public expence.

A similar instance to the one I have related is recorded in the Grecian history, with this single difference, that Euphrasia (which was the name of the Grecian heroine) sustained her father by [Page 27] the same nourishment which the amiable Roman had supported her mother.

At the siege of Troy, when every person was attempting to rescue their property from the fury of the flames, AEneas, the amiable son of Anchises, considering an aged parent the greatest treasure he possessed, placed him upon his shoulders, and, whilst others were bending un­der the weight of their riches and possessions, he triumphantly passed the gates of the city, exul­ting in the idea of having preserved the life of him to whom he was indebted for existence.

Many years ago mount AEtna raged with such dreadful violence, that it was apprehended all the hamlets within its vicinity would be destroyed by the torrents of lava that it poured forth. The wretched inhabitants, terrified at the pros­pect of the approaching danger, secured their little property, and fled from a scene of such devastation and horror. Amidst the number of [Page 28] those who preserved their treasures, and escaped the threatened danger, were two brothers, whose names were Anapias and Amphinomus; who, instead of attempting to secure wealth, or pro­tect property, those amiable youths thought only of preserving the lives of the authors of their being; and one taking their father, and the other their mother, on their shoulders, fled with them to a place of safety.

Filial tenderness is a sentiment so strongly implanted in the breasts of those whose hearts are particularly open to impressions of tender­ness, that even cruelty and unkindness has sometimes been unable to eradicate it. A re­markable instance of the truth of this observa­tion is recorded in the Roman history.

T. Manlius had from his infancy been treated by his father with a degree of inhuman severity; and when he arrived at the age of manhood, was even banished from his presence, without [Page 29] being conscious of having committed a fault. During the period of his estrangement from his parental abode, report whispered that the tri­bune of the people intended prosecuting his father for illegal practices. Forgetful of his own injuries, and solicitous to save his father from the misery of a public disgrace, he in­stantly flew to the tribune's house, and solici­ting a private audience, presented a dagger to the breast of the astonished magistrate, and at the same time demanded him immediately to swear he would not prosecute his father, or else ex­pect to receive the weapon in his own bosom. The tribune, unable to make any terms, and struck with the heroic proof of filial affection, took the oath that was extorted, and ever after became the young man's friend.

A gentleman of Sweden, who had for many years filled one of the highest offices in the state with credit and respectability, was at length accused of such illegal practices as demanded [Page 30] public scrutiny, and occasioned his condemna­tion. His son, a young man of nineteen, was at that period absent from Sweden, but being informed of his father's disgrace, and the pun­ishment that awaited him, he travelled post, until he arrived at the house of the magistrate who had condemned his father, and throwing himself at his feet in an agony of grief, be­sought him to accept his life as a ransom for his father's! The judge, struck with such a proof of filial tenderness, immediately sent an account of it to the king, who instantly ordered the father to be pardoned, and a title of nobility to be conferred upon the son. The humane judge, pleased at the opportunity of conferring happi­ness, went to the young man's house, and, after imparting the joyful intelligence of his father's pardon, saluted him by the title the king had bestowed. Grateful for the preservation of a life that was dearer than his own, the exalted young man expressed his joy in terms that evinced its sincerity; but that honour which [Page 31] would have been so flattering to a less noble mind he modestly declined, saying, he thought it would be a means of perpetuating his father's disgrace, which he was anxious should be buried in oblivion. This uncommon instance of re­fined delicacy was so pleasing to the king, that he sent for him into his presence, and bestowed upon him the applause he deserved, and made him his confidential secretary.

A young Athenian, whose name was Cimon, voluntarily surrendered himself a prisoner to redeem his father's body for burial, who had died during the time of his confinement for debt; and though Athens was allowed to be the encourager of arts, and the rewarder of no­ble actions, that filial son was neglected by the state.

When Sir Thomas Moore, the great lord chancellor of England, was sent to the tower for opposing the measures of that tyrant Henry [Page 32] the Eighth, his daughter, the amiable Mrs. Ro­per, forced her way through the guards that at­tended him, and throwing her arms round the neck of her unhappy parent, broke out into such agonizing expressions of tenderness and sorrow, as absolutely produced tears from the surrounding multitude: and when the fatal mo­ment arrived that for ever robbed her of a fath­er's love, her anguish had nearly proved fatal to her existence. By great interest she obtained permission to bury the body; but the head re­mained fourteen days upon London Bridge, and was with much difficulty then purchased, and in­closed in a small leaden box, which she preser­ved with the most pious care, and when she died it was buried in her arms.

The Countess of Pembroke, whose history has been recorded by a very able writer, has rendered her name no less immortal by her filial piety, than by her superior understanding and exalted virtues. A remarkable instance of her [Page 33] attachment to her mother is related by the au­thor above alluded to.

The last parting which took place between the countess and her mother made so strong an impression upon her mind, that she had an ele­gant marble pillar raised upon the spot in com­memoration of it; and at her death left a certain sum of money to be paid the poor of the parish of Broughton for ever on the anniversary of that day.

In the sacred history there is a very beautiful description of a young woman's duty and affec­tion to her husband's mother, which met with that reward that generally attends virtuous ac­tions in this life, but which they are certain of meeting with in the next.

Naomi (which was the name of the mother) had, by the severity of a famine in Bethlehem, been driven into a foreign country with her [Page 34] husband and two sons, but had not long been settled there, when death deprived her of the affection of a husband, and the tender assiduity of her children. One of the young men had married a beautiful girl, whose name was Ruth, who, upon the death of her husband, devoted her time to relieving the cares and soothing the afflictions of her mother-in-law; and when she proposed returning into her own country, re­solved to follow her, thinking an old woman incapable of undertaking so long a journey without some one to support and protect her. It was in vain that Naomi-endeavoured to dis­suade the amiable Ruth from following the miseries of an unfortunate old woman, for a sense of duty made her resolute; and the desire of promoting her mother's happiness rendered her inflexible. When Naomi arrived in Beth­lehem, she had the misfortune of hearing many of her relations were dead, and that the estate of her husband was in the possession of a stranger. Thus miserably situated, she was [Page 35] obliged to depend upon the exertions of her amiable daughter for the common sustenance nature required. It happened to be in the time of harvest, and Ruth daily gleaned in the fields of a man of fortune, who was a distant relation of her deceased husband. Boaz accidentally saw her at this menial employment, and, charmed with the native loveliness of her appearance, made enquiries into her circumstances and con­nections; and the moment he was informed of her tender behaviour to her aged mother, he was so struck with the delicacy of it, that he re­solved to make her an offer of his hand; and the amiable Ruth had by that means the power of raising the unfortunate Naomi from poverty, and supporting her in affluence.

If the actions which I have now related have inspired your breasts with sensations of pleasure, those which I am going to record must produce an effect directly contrary; and your minds will be struck with horror at the relation of circum­stances [Page 36] that disgrace human nature, and shock humanity.

In the two hundred and twentieth year of Rome, Tullia, the wife of Tarquin, and daugh­ter of Severus the king, had the inhumanity not only to approve her husband's intentions of de­throning her father, but absolutely persuaded him to embrue his hands in his blood. And when Tarquin had basely dragged him from the regal seat, and assisted at his murder, she was the first to enter the forum, and salute her hus­band by the title of king. Then mounting her chariot in triumph, she desired to be driven to her late father's palace. In one of the streets, through which the carriage passed, the murder­ers had left the body of the unfortunate king, which the charioteer perceiving, was struck with horror at the sight, checked his horses, and was unable to proceed. "Why do you not go on?" cried the inhuman Tullia. "What stops you?" "The body of the king, your father," [Page 37] replied the man; "which I must drive over if I proceed." "Drive on, then," she exclaimed in a rage; "and do not be afraid of a dead body:" and snatching up a stool that stood at the bottom of the carriage, threw it at his head. The coachman obeyed the order, and the wheels of the chariot were stained with her father's blood!

Amidst the various misfortunes which Henry the Fourth, emperor of Germany, had to en­counter, none affect a feeling mind with more tenderness than those which he endured from the turbulent and ungovernable spirit of his son, who was afterwards Henry the Fifth. That young man not only refused all submission to parental authority, but absolutely united with his father's enemies, and forced the sceptre from the hands of one of the most amiable princes that ever swayed it!

The unfortunate emperor, reduced to the most abject state of poverty by the intrigues of [Page 38] his son, and the oppression of the pope, wrote to the former, imploring his permission to retire to Liege, that he might no longer be compelled to wander about in search of a resting place in a country that had once owned him for its lawful sovereign, and where he once might have com­manded any part of its possessions. This sup­plicating epistle was wholly unattended to, and the unfortunate prince was reduced to the utmost extremity of poverty and wretchedness. In this forlorn situation he applied to the citizens of Cologne for relief, who, compassionating his misery, instantly raised a body of troops, in order to enable him to reinstate himself in his dominions; but the unhappy prince, worn out by the severity of his misfortunes, was unable to avail himself of their friendly intentions to­wards him. His spirits forsook him, his health declined, and in the fifty-sixth year of his age he fell a victim to the barbarism of his son. That inhuman murderer, lost to the sentiments of humanity, and dead to those of nature, not [Page 39] contented with having shortened the existence of his father, continued his persecutions even be­yond the grave; for when he was informed that the emperor's body had been interred in an ele­gant sepulchre, he commanded it to be dragged out, and thrown naked into an open vault, where it remained uncovered five years.

When the Roman emperor Valerian, and his amiable wife Mariniana, were made captives by Sapor, king of Persia, the inhuman cruelty with which they were treated, had such an ef­fect upon the health and spirits of the empress, that death soon relieved her from captivity. When the nobility went to pay their visits of condolence to Gallian, Valerian's son, who was left guardian of the empire, he received them with the utmost unconcern; and, upon expres­sing their regret for the misfortunes that had attended the emperor and empress, he replied, with perfect coolness, "they were mortal, and therefore liable to misfortunes as well as others:" [Page 40] and instead of taking any pains to procure his father's deliverance, he passed his days in riot, and his nights in debauchery.

The emperor Nero had several times (but in vain) attempted poisoning his mother Agrippina. At length he resolved to have a vessel made with loose planks, supported by bolts, that were so contrived, as to be unfastened at the pleasure of those who would undertake the perpetration of the inhuman plan he suggested. Vice, suppor­ted by the aid of wealth and power, has little difficulty in finding tools ready to execute its designs; and Nero easily persuaded some of his associates to assist him in the inhuman plot. The empress, unsuspicious of her son's inten­tions, consented to go on board the vessel; the fatal bolts were soon undrawn, and she was pre­cipitated into the sea. At that moment a ship appeared, the captain of which perceiving her situation, sent out his boat, and saved her life. Her son hearing of the failure of his diabolical [Page 41] plan, instantly became frantic with rage and disappointment, and, unable to disguise his feel­ings, sent for Amicetus, an officer of the guards, and commanded him immediately to go and put his mother to death. The moment the unhappy empress saw him enter the room attended by a party of his soldiers, she suspected his inhuman design, and pointing to her stomach, said, "Strike first here: for it gave birth to a monster."

FRATERNAL AND SISTERLY LOVE.
SENTIMENTS.

TO strengthen the bonds of nature and ce­ment the ties of affection, I consider as one of the strongest duties a parent has to per­form. How lovely and interesting a sight is it to behold a family mutually endeavouring to excel each other in the practice of tenderness, and in acts of affection, participating in each others joys, and lessening, by kindness, each others sorrows! The friendships of the world [Page 43] are often formed upon the basis of interest, and the structure of expectation: destroy either, and it falls to the ground. But the friendship which exists between brothers and sisters can have no such degrading principle for its foundation: no separate interest can weaken their attachment, no disappointed hope can lessen their tenderness; what promotes the happiness of one, increases, that of the other: and the sorrows that gain ad­mittance into the breast of either, bear an equal participation.

Thus, my beloved children, finding yourselves linked together by the chain of nature, how greatly does it behove you to strengthen the ten­der bond, and, by mutual offices of kindness and affection, render it invulnerable to the attacks of the interested, and the attempts of the artful! I shall now produce some examples of those who, by the practice of tenderness and affection, have rendered their characters respectable in the opinion of posterity; and of others who, from [Page 44] a deficiency in those amiable qualities, have en­tailed a disgrace upon their names which time itself is unable to eradicate.

When the emperor Theodosius ascended the regal throne, he was not of an age to take the administration of affairs into his own hands; but instead of appointing governors to direct the actions of the youthful monarch, his sister Pulcheria (though but a few years older than himself) was permitted not only to take the charge of the empire into her own hands, but was consulted upon all matters of importance to the state. When Theodosius was old enough to take an active part in the government, he never transacted any business of moment without the concurrence and advice of his sister; and all historians agree in ascribing the great qualities which adorned his character to the prevailing influence of Pulcheria's example.

[Page 45] Eudosia, the daughter of Heraclitus, an Athe­nian philosopher, was, by her father's will, left joint sharer of his estate with her two brothers; but, instead of their fulfilling the desire of their deceased parent, and endeavouring to console their sister for the loss she had sustained, they not only treated her with studied neglect, but refused her the smallest share of that property which was by right her own.

Heraclitus had taken uncommon pains in his daughter's education; he had informed her un­derstanding, embellished her mind, and refined her manners. Possessed of advantages far su­perior to wealth, she left Athens, and going to Constantinople, was introduced to Pulcheria, the emperor's sister, to whom she related the situation of her affairs, and from whom she solicited redress. Pulcheria, struck with the delicacy of her sentiments, and the polish of her mind, instantly felt interested in her affairs; and upon a more intimate acquaintance, dis­covered [Page 46] that she was possessed of such admirable qualifications, that she persuaded Theodosius to make her his wife. The moment her brothers heard of this unexpected turn in her affairs, they trembled at the recollection of their past con­duct, and, dreading that vengeance they de­served, left their estate, and fled from Athens. Eudosia, with a generosity that is always atten­dant upon true greatness, felt the utmost con­cern at the terror she had unintentionally in­spired, and, after taking every means in her power to convince them of her tenderness, at length prevailed with them to appear at Con­stantinople; and, after embracing them with the utmost affection, raised them to some of the first employments about the court.

Anna Commena, daughter to the emperor Alexias, was indefatigable in her endeavours to persuade her father to appoint her husband his successor, and exclude a brother who had al­ways treated her with the most unbounded af­fection: [Page 47] but though the emperor loved her with a tenderness she did not merit, yet he could not be persuaded to act with injustice to a son who had never offended him; and, at his death, John was proclaimed emperor. That amiable prince was informed, by some of his courtiers, of his sister's attempts to deprive him of the empire; but his heart was too noble to harbour resentment, or to retain a sense of injuries; and, with a generosity that was truly admirable, he not only avoided naming her former conduct, but loaded her with favours that evinced his affection: but her heart was too callous to be subdued by kindness, and she actually headed a conspiracy to dethrone him!

Upon the discovery of this iniquitous plot, the emperor immediately ordered her into con­finement; but, upon her writing him a peni­tential letter, and expressing her contrition for her past conduct, he not only forgave her crime, [Page 48] but restored her to the possession of his favour and affection.

A Portuguese vessel having for many hours encountered the fury of a violent storm, at length struck upon a rock. The love of life is a natural impression; and the hope of preserving it induced part of the crew to jump into the boat: but their situation was so perilous when they entered it, that they had not time to make preparations for their future support; and a few biscuits, and a little marmalade, was all the sustenance they secured for nature. Five days they encountered the fury of the elements, and endured the pressing call of hunger; and as their little stock of provision was just exhaust­ed, they determined upon throwing one of their companions overboard, that his share of food might be divided amongst the rest. The idea was dreadful; but their situation demanded the sad alternative and a lot was to decide who was to be the unfortunate victim. It fell upon a mer­chant [Page 49] who had a wife and several children that depended upon his exertion for their support, and who by his death would become destitute of the means of subsistence. The merchant had a brother with him, a youth about eighteen years of age, who feeling for their distress, and being incapable of beholding a brother whom he fondly loved fall a sacrifice to necessity, offered his life to redeem one he thought more valuable! The merchant, struck with the youth's generos­ity, and finding his affection increased by the proof he had given of it, strenuously refused the noble offer: but the young man painted in such glowing colours the agonizing sensations of his brother's wife, and the misery of his children, that at length he was induced to accept the of­fered ransom; and, after taking a most tender farewel of his brother, the gallant youth was precipitated into the sea! Whether the near ap­proach of death was the means of endearing life, or whether he repented having given so [Page 50] strong an instance of fraternal love, I cannot pretend to say, but he swam after the boat, called to the rowers, and at length caught hold of the rudder. One of the crew, whose heart was dead to humanity, and whose breast was a stranger to compassion, snatched up a hatchet, and aiming a blow at the extended arm, severed the hand from the body! Agonized by torture, yet desperate by despair, the miserable youth pursued the vessel, and with his other hand at­tempted to save his life. The inhuman monster, who had struck one decisive blow, now aimed a second, and with the same success; and the hap­less youth was seen struggling against the waves with the stumps of those unfortunate limbs his barbarity had robbed him of. At that moving spectacle humanity shuddered, and all the crew endeavoured to save his life. He was taken into the vessel, the bleeding limbs bound up, and each man offered his little share of food. The rowers continued at their labour, and a few hours after they were blest with the sight of [Page 51] land. A Portuguese vessel soon appeared, took them on board, and conveyed them to Lisbon; where the amiable young man's wounds were dressed, his filial piety applauded, and his person viewed with absolute veneration!

Eumenes, an Asiatic monarch, being engaged in a war with the Persians, and a report having been spread that he was killed, his brother Attalus, without enquiring into the truth of it, ascended the throne, and married his brother's wife; but in a short time was informed Eumenes was not only alive, but returning victorious to take possession of his kingdom. Alarmed at this intelligence, and apprehensive of encoun­tering his brother's resentment, he dreaded the sight of a man whom he had injured: but the generous Eumenes discovered no symptoms of anger, when his brother, accompanied by all the men of consequence, went out to meet him, and congratulate him upon his safety; and only whispered in his ear, that he should not have [Page 52] married another man's wife, before he had as­sured himself her former husband had been dead.

Cato, the Roman censor, was so remarkably attached to his brother Caepes, that, from the earliest days of childhood, he could never bear to be separated from him: and Plutarch, in his life of that great man, observes, that they were scarcely ever seen asunder: and when death de­prived him of his loved companion, he felt the blow as the greatest misfortune that could have befallen him.

Titus, the Roman emperor, one of the greatest men that ever adorned a throne, though he was informed that his brother Domitian had endeav­oured to persuade the army to rebel against him, yet always treated him with the utmost tender­ness, and with tears of regret would often solicit a return of that affection which he felt in so un­bounded a degree towards his unworthy re­lation.

[Page 53] In the conduct of Timoleon, a Corinthian of­ficer, you will find another charming instance of fraternal affection. Timoleon and his brother were both engaged in the same battle, and the fortune of war was unfavourable to both. Tim­oleon received a dreadful wound, but, smarting under the anguish, had the misfortune to see his brother fall! Unmindful of his own tor­ture, he flew to the spot, and beheld a sight that called forth all his tenderness; a brother, whom he fondly loved, stretched bleeding on the ground, and no longer sensible of his sorrow, or capable of returning his unbounded affection! Instantly he spread his shield over the lifeless form, and, dead to a scene of his own sufferings, protected it from insult and plunder, until some of his friends appeared, who, struck with the greatness of the action, carried the body from the field, and then supported the amiable Tim­oleon to his tent.

[Page 54] These instances of brotherly love, which have been related by some of the ablest histori­ans, are sufficiently numerous to convince you that fraternal affection adds lustre to the great­est characters, and that the virtuous have always considered the ties of consanguinity as demands upon affection, and claims upon tenderness; but it has always been found, that great virtues, and great vices, have embellished and deformed each succeeding age; and I shall now present to your view a few characters that come under the description of the latter. You will now behold affection sacrificed to interest, tenderness sup­planted by envy, and cruelty substituted in the place of benevolence.

I shall begin with a story from the sacred wri­tings, which, though it must frequently have met your eye, possibly might not have made a deep impression upon your minds.

Joseph, the youngest but one of Jacob's twelve sons, was endowed by nature with a supe­riority [Page 55] of understanding, and a sweetness of dis­position, that ensured him the love and esteem of all his friends. The filial respect he paid his aged father, and the tender solicitude he con­stantly evinced for his happiness, naturally im­pressed the old man's heart with a greater de­gree of tenderness towards him than his other children; and, desirous of evincing this favour­able impression, he bought him a very beautiful variegated coat, (which in those days was thought fashionable,) without purchasing his other sons one like it. This circumstance, united to some extraordinary dreams, which seemed to foretel Joseph's future greatness, in­spired his brothers with such a malevolent hatred against him, that they resolved to become his murderers. However, one of them, who pos­sessed more humanity than the rest, dissuaded them from this barbarous design; and, instead of murdering him, they sold him for a slave to some merchants who lived in a distant country. But, as the favour of heaven always attends [Page 56] those who merit it, Joseph was, by the hand of Providence, raised from the degrading situation of a slave to be the governor of Egypt; and in that station, instead of punishing his brothers' for their inhuman conduct, he treated them with the greatest kindnees, sent for them into Egypt, and gave them some of the most valuable estates in that country.

Boleslaus, king of Poland, was one of those unfortunate characters who suffer their passions to acquire an ascendency over their principles; and, upon his brother Stanislaus, bishop of Cracovia, venturing to admonish him upon the impropriety of his conduct, he gave way to one of his paroxysms of fury, in which he termi­nated his brother's existence; but being unable to support the torture of reflection, and the pangs of remorse, he soon after became a self-murderer.

[Page 57] Amidst the numberless acts of inhumanity that disgraced the character of Queen Mary, that to her sister Elizabeth is a striking proof of the innate cruelty of her disposition. Wholly forgetful of the relationship between them, she was not satisfied with having her treated with insolence and scorn during her imprisonment, (for no fault,) but actually wished to find a pretence for taking away her life; and had not her husband insisted upon her sister's enlargement, in all probability she would have accomplished her detestable design.

ON THE ADVANTAGES OF A GOOD EDUCATION.
SENTIMENTS.

THERE are many prejudices entertained against the character of a learned lady; and perhaps, if all ladies were profoundly learned, many inconveniences might arise from it. But it does not appear to me that a woman will be rendered less acceptable in the world, or worse qualified to perform any part of her duty in it, by having employed her time from six to sixteen in the cultivation of her understanding. The literary education of women ought indisputably to be varied according to their fortunes and ex­pectations. [Page 59] Much refinement and too great taste for reading, will injure her whose time, from prudential motives, must be engrossed by economy. Few women are indeed entirely ex­empted from domestic cares; yet the opulent and unmarried have many intervals which ought to be devoted to improvement; and wherever a young lady of fortune appears to possess a genius and inclination for learned pursuits, she ought to be permitted to indulge it: for the mind of a female is certainly as capable of acquiring knowledge as that of the other sex; and the instances which I shall insert will possibly prove the validity of this opinion, and will be suffi­cient to confute those authors who have taken so much pains to depreciate the capability of a fe­male understanding. But if an enlightened mind must consequently be a conceited one, I should be a strenuous advocate for your remaining in ignorance. Or should I, by endeavouring to improve your understandings, attract your incli­nations from the performance of those duties [Page 60] which are peculiarly attached to a female station, I should then have reason to lament my having bestowed the culture, and prefer a barren rock to a flowing mead. But as I dread no such melancholy effect from the improvement of your minds, and flatter myself I am laying a foundation for virtue, I shall persevere in the course I have began, and present to your view some examples of female characters, where hu­mility is attached to greatness, gentleness to re­finement, and genuine piety to scientific knowl­edge.

Calphurna, the wife of Julius Caesar, was at once the object of his love and admiration. Her wit amused, her understanding charmed, and her sweetness captivated the conqueror of the world. Her mind had been cultivated with the nicest care, and her manners were formed upon the most perfect model. Anxious to pro­mote the happiness of her people, she in fact became their idol; and it is difficult to say [Page 61] whether she was most venerated, loved, or es­teemed!

Plautina, wife to the emperor Trajan, was as much celebrated for the sweetness of her manners, as she was for the solidity of her judgment, and the refinement of her understand­ing; and so thoroughly was the emperor ac­quainted with the capability of her intellectual powers, that he always consulted her upon affairs of importance: yet this flattering compli­ment to her abilities neither filled her with pride, or puffed her up with presumption; for her humility was equal to her penetration, and her affability to her judgment: and so great was the ascendency she obtained over the emperor, that historians ascribe many of his noble acts to the influence of her virtues.

Agrippina, wife of Germanicus, was a woman in whom were united great talents, exalted vir­tues, [Page 62] and refined delicacy. Her perfections were founded on an innate principle of virtue, which withstood the pernicious effects of had example; for her mother's character was as much disgraced by censure, as her own was adorned with praise.

The Tartarian historians who are loudest in the praise of Tarmujin's virtues, unanimously ascribe them to his mother's influence. The tender age of that young prince at the death of his father, induced several of his tribes to place themselves under the protection of more expe­rienced chiefs; but by the able conduct of his surviving parent, they were soon recalled to a sense of duty; and those who were deaf to the voice of persuasion, were compelled by the aid of force; for the young prince, by the advice of his mother, assembled his army, collected his forces, and, headed by his female general, easily conquered those who had been disaf­fected.

[Page 63] Amidst the various failings that disgraced the character of Henry the Eighth, that of inatten­tion to his childrens' education was certainly not one of the number; and the Princess Elizabeth was known to have been put under the tuition of some of the most learned men of the age in which she lived. Her abilities were of that transcendant kind, as rather to astonish than to conciliate; and we find more to admire than to love in her character.

Sir Thomas Moore, Lord Chancellor of Eng­land, whose name I have before had occasion to mention, bestowed not only a liberal, but a learned, education upon his three daughters; and they were all completely versed both in the Latin and Greek languages; yet I never heard those acquirements gave them a disrelish for domestic occupations; on the contrary, their biographer represents them as dutiful daugh­ters, affectionate sisters, tender wives, and amia­ble friends.

[Page 64] The sixteenth century has been agreed by all authors to have been peculiarly distinguished by female excellence: It was at that period as much the fashion for men of fortune to give their daughters a learned education, as it is now the taste to give them a polite one: and amongst the number of those who might pride them­selves upon their childrens' abilities, was Sir Anthony Cooke, one of the learned tutors to King Edward the Sixth, who not only engaged the most able masters of the age to instruct his children in the learned languages, but devoted all his leisure hours to their advantage and im­provement. The eldest, who afterwards married Lord Burleigh, was go great a proficient in the Greek language, that she wrote a most ele­gant letter in it upon presenting a Hebrew bible to the public library at Cambridge. His second daughter was united to Sir Nicholas Bacon, and, if possible, transcended her sister both in virtue and abilities; and to the ascendency of her example, and the efficacy of her precepts, [Page 65] historians have ascribed the brilliant qualities that adorned her sons. His third daughter, who had a natural taste for poetry, as well as science, was married to Lord John Russell; and equally proves that an attention to study does not unfit the mind for the more important duties of life; for lady Russell was an excellent wife, a tender mother, and a sincere friend.

Although education is allowed to have a most powerful influence on the youthful mind, yet there have been instances where the depravity of nature, and the force of appetite, have predom­inated over the most virtuous education; and where an innate propensity to vice has defied the power of precept, and the influence of ex­ample.

Augustus Caesar was one of the most affec­tionate, and, at the same time, the most solicit­ous of fathers; and to have heard his daughter [Page 66] applauded for her virtues, or praised for her abilities, would have been one of the most grat­ifying sounds that could have reached his ear. But though Julia was educated with all the del­icacy and refinement a parent's care could sug­gest, an innate principle of depravity prevented her reaping any advantage from his instructions; and her conduct at length became so publicly notorious, that he was forced to banish her to the island of Pandeteria, where she languished several years the miserable victim of uncon­quered vice and illicit passion.

Olympia, wife of Philip, king of Macedon, had been educated by her parents with the greatest care, and the fondest solicitude; but, instead of her disposition being softened, and her nature humanized, by the enlargement of her understanding, it seemed only to have taught her the method of refining upon cruelty, and varying the art of barbarity. Not satisfied with employing agents to accomplish her barbarous [Page 67] designs, she inhumanly chose to witness the execution of them; and would frequently pro­portionate the tortures she inflicted to her opin­ion of the sufferer's ability to bear them; that, by lengthening out their miserable existence, she might have the gratification of beholding a repetition of their agonies. She was herself the murderess of two of her husband's children, one of whom fled for shelter from her fury into the arms of its unhappy mother: but the sacred repository was not able to arrest her inhuman hand, or save the wretched victim of her resent­ment. The dreadful blow was struck, although the distracted parent offered her life to save that of her child!

Irene, empress of Constantinople, though she had not had a learned education, yet had re­ceived such a one as would have fitted her for the exalted station she was destined to fill, had not the propensities of an over-bearing spirit counteracted all the attempts of her parents to [Page 68] render her an amiable character. Though she had always been treated with gentleness and kindness by her mother, yet, when she bore that endearing name, her breast was a total stranger to all those tender sensations that are usually connected with it; and, instead of treat­ing her son Porphyrogenitus with that gentleness which would have ensured his affection, she adopted a mode of severity which was rather calculated to inspire his hatred. As the empe­ror died when his son was only ten years old, Irene took the administration of public affairs into her own hands; and, delighted at the hom­age she received in that situation, refused to relinquish it when her son was old enough to assume it himself; and, upon discovering that he was endeavouring to form a party of his own, she actually chastised him with her own hands, and confined him to his apartment. She then compelled him to marry a woman of low origin, although he was tenderly attached to a princess to whom he had long been betrothed. [Page 69] At length, finding that the army murmured against her authority, and were only inclined to acknowledge Porphyrogenitus for their sove­reign, she procured some assassins to inhumanly murder the young prince as he was returning to Constantinople unattended by his guards.

An inhuman parent is certainly the greatest monster in the creation, and is an absolute con­tradiction to the very law of nature, which even inspires the brutes with sensations of love and tenderness for their offspring! Yet history has handed down to posterity a few instances of such degeneracy, to prove how completely depraved human nature can be, when left to the dominion of its own passions, and the entire guidance of its vicious propensities.

Cleopatra, widow of Demetrius, king of Syria, having assumed the reins of government during the minority of her son Seleucus, was so exasperated with him for attempting to diminish [Page 70] her authority, by taking them into his own hands, that, in a fit of rage and fury, she plunged a dagger into his bosom, to secure her­self the continuance of her power.

Polydectus, king of Sparta, not knowing that his queen was pregnant, ordained that his brother Lycurgus should become his successor. The queen, who had long felt a criminal at­tachment for that great lawgiver, upon the death of her husband, informed him of her situation, offering to kill the child, if he would consent to marry her. Lycurgus, shocked at this proof of parental inhumanity, yet fearful of offending a woman capable of it, disguised his real intentions, and amused her with professions of his regard until the birth of the child, when, taking it from its cruel mother, he presented it to the nobles as their future king, and resigned his claim to that title.

[Page 71] I have mentioned these instances of parental barbarity, to prove the necessity there is for en­deavouring to subdue the passions, and to form the principles; for if parents can be forgetful of the duties they owe their children, how much more likely is it that children should become forgetful of the duty they owe their parents! But human nature is composed of such fragile materials, that the most cautious conduct cannot preserve it free from blemishes; and so prone is it to error, and so liable to failing, that it is impossible to attain perfection: yet, where the passions are under the guidance of principle, and a virtuous intention inspires the conduct, vice can never find admission into the heart, nor depravity corrupt it by its baneful influence.

FORTITUDE.
SENTIMENTS.

THERE are many things that are termed evils, which often turn out to the advan­tage of those that suffer them; but as they are appointments of heaven, they ought always to be supported with resignation and fortitude. Life has ever been considered as a state of un­certainty, full of vicissitudes, anxieties, and fears. The fairest prospects may be suddenly overshadowed, and the brightest sunshine ob­scured by clouds of darkness.

[Page 73] As you are placed in a state so full of variety, and as pleasure is allowed to be so transitory, how necessary is it that you should endeavour to arm yourselves against the approaches of misfor­tune, that you may rise superior to its attacks! A virtuous mind, struggling with affliction, has resources in itself, which the vicious are unac­quainted with; and supports, which they can never expect to receive. In prosperity they neglect their Maker, and in adversity they dare not hope for his assistance; they therefore sink under calamity, and tremble at the approach of distress.

Those writers who have wished to exalt the abilities of their own sex, by depreciating the mental faculties of ours, have endeavoured to prove, that the female mind is neither calcu­lated for sustaining misfortunes with resignation, or camities with fortitude; imagining there must be a natural connection between delicacy [Page 74] of body and weakness of mind. Though soft­ness and sensibility are certainly the character­istics of our sex, yet those amiable qualities are often united with a firmness to endure, and a capability to sustain, the greatest hardships: and history records many instances wherein fe­menine fortitude has not only learned to endure calamity, but to despise existence; of which the following are striking examples.

In the reign of Claudius, the Roman empe­ror, Arria, wife of Caecinna Poetus, was an illustrious pattern of magnanimity and conjugal affection. It happened that her husband, and only son, were both attacked with a violent and dangerous indisposition. The young man was endowed with every quality of mind and person that could endear him to a parent's heart, and render his loss one of the severest misfortunes it could sustain: but the unhappy mother was not only doomed to encounter it, but compelled to wear a smiling countenance when her heart was [Page 75] labouring under the most agonizing affliction; for had Poetus known the calamity that had be­fallen him, in all probability it would have been fatal to his own existence; and whenever he enquired after the situation of his son, she en­deavoured to quiet his anxiety by the pious de­ception of saying he was better; though, upon those occasions, she was always obliged to find some pretence for leaving the apartment, to hide her emotions, and disguise her tears; and would then return with a countenance composed by resignation, and a mind supported by forti­tude!

Some time after the misfortune of having lost his son, Poetus was apprehended for having espoused the cause of Camillus Scribeninanus, governor of Dalmatia, who had raised an army with an intent of deposing the emperor. When the guards were going to conduct him from Dalmatia to Rome, Arria besought their per­mission to be admitted into the same ship; and, [Page 76] upon their inhumanly refusing her request, she hired a small fishing boat, and, unmindful of the danger that attended the undertaking, boldly ventured to follow the ship, and then obtained the emperor's permission to accompany the object of her affection to the dreary dungeon that was prepared for him, where, by acts of tenderness, and proofs of affection, she endea­voured to make him forget his misfortunes. Whether it was the tenderness that Poetus bore to the amiable Arria, or that death by the hand of an executioner appeared armed with an in­crease of terrors, I cannot pretend to say, but his mind sunk under his misfortunes, and all the exertions of Arria, to raise and support it proved ineffectual. The day before that fixed for his execution, she endeavoured to persuade him to save himself the misery of a public dis­grace, by a voluntary extinction of his own existence; but, finding her arguments fail, and that her husband's resolution was not equal to her own, she drew a dagger from under her [Page 77] robe, plunged it into her breast, and drawing it instantly out, presented it to him with a smile, saying, " It is not painful, my Poetus."

When the tyrant Nero had issued a warrant for the death of that great philosopher Seneca, (who had been both his friend and tutor,) his wife Paulina firmly resolved to die with the ob­ject of her affection, and all his arguments to dissuade her from her fatal purpose seemed but to strengthen it. At length he reluctantly yielded to her desire, and their veins were opened at the same time. Paulina undaunted beheld the stream of life flowing in a rapid course, and appeared to hail the happy moment that would place her beyond the power of a tyrant, and eternally unite her to the husband of her love. This enlivening reflection was soon destroyed, by a total insensibility pervading her faculties, and a general lassitude seizing her frame. In that situation she was removed from [Page 78] the apartment where her husband was stationed, and carried into the air, where her domestics (by whom she was adored) resolved to try and preserve a life they so highly valued; and, after binding up her arms, they forced a reviving cordial into her mouth; and, by persuasion and intreaties, at length reconciled her to exis­tence.

Sabinus, a general in the Roman army, having attempted to gain possession of the empire, was frustrated in his designs by the discovery of his plan, and was then forsaken by those very men who had aided his ambitious views. As a high reward was offerded for apprehending his person, the forlorn Sabinus knew not where to secret it; but at length recollecting there was a re­mote cavern at no great distance from his coun­try seat, he resolved to fly thither, in hopes of avoiding the emperor's fury. A servant, whose fidelity had long been tried, was the only per­son who was privy to his design; as his wife [Page 79] Eponia was not with him at the time the treason was discovered. As soon as Sabinus was lodged in a place of security, the servant was ordered to set fire to the house, that it might be gene­rally imagined his master had perished in the flames. The plan succeeded, and that idea universally prevailed. Eponia, who loved her husband with the most unbounded tenderness, lamented his loss with an excess of sorrow that threatened to terminate her own existence; and the faithful servant, shocked at her altered ap­pearance, at length revealed the secret which had been committed to his trust. With a heart animated with joy, and glowing with affection, the amiable Eponia flew to the cavern, and in the embraces of the man she loved forgot all her former misery! It was impossible she could reside constantly with him, from an apprehen­sion of creating suspicion; but she made fre­quent excuses to her friends for absenting her­self from Rome, and then, by offices of kind­ness, and proofs of affection, made Sabinus's [Page 80] confinement lose all its gloominess. In this manner she passed nine years, and her frequent absence only then began to create suspicion; her visits were watched; and the unfortunate Sabinus discovered! The wretched Eponia, agonized with fear, and tortured with apprehen­sion, instantly pressed through the guards, and, with a child in each hand, threw herself at Vespasian's feet, and, with all the eloquence of unfeigned sorrow, besought him to spare the fa­ther of her unfortunate children! The emperor appeared moved at the excess of her grief, and attempted to console it, yet rigidly adhered to the decrees of justice; which Eponia perceiving, rose from her posture of humiliation, and af­ter reproaching him with his inhumanity, told him, the affection which had induced her to share her husband's captivity, now urged her to become the partner of his sufferings; and though he had the means of taking away their lives, he should not have the power of separating [Page 81] them; for one sepulchre should contain them both.

When the Moguls were besieging Minchew (a Chinese city) the governor, after a valorous defence, at length found himself obliged to yield; but sending for his wife, he informed her his life must fall a sacrifice to his foes, yet that he had secured a place of safety for her and her sons, and a faithful guide would conduct them to it; adding, that he was prepared to meet his fate with fortitude, now he had provided for her security. After expressing her thanks for that instance of his affection, she tenderly em­braced him, declaring, at the same time, that no force should separate them; for as she had shared with him the pleasures of existence, so would she be his partner in the pangs of death.

The prince of Jaskes having refused to pay tribute to the emperor of Persia, the latter sent a large body of troops into his province, with [Page 82] orders to take the prince into custody, and bring him into the presence of his imperial ma­jesty. The orders were rapidly executed, the prince's person secured, and the army on their return with the royal captive, when the princess of Jaskes overtook them. She had heard of her husband's misfortune, and having assembled all his troops, put herself at their head, and travelled with such astonishing rapidity, that in a few days she came up with the emperor's guards, whom she surprised when they were sleeping, and having killed the general, and cut off the greatest part of his troops, she returned triumphant into Jaskes, accompanied by her husband.

In a contest between the emperor of Germany and the duke of Bavaria, the latter was obliged with his followers, to retreat to the castle of Wensburgh, and solicit terms of capitulation. The emperor consented, and a truce was granted for the drawing them up: but the duchess of [Page 83] Bavaria, not possessing an exalted idea of the emperor's honour, presented herself before him, and requested that herself, and the ladies in her train, might have permission to leave the castle with as great a load as each could carry. And Conrade imagining they intended conveying away their jewels and trinkets, politely gave them his permission: but how was his astonish­ment called forth, at beholding them all totter­ing under the weight of their different hus­bands, and securing from his power the choicest treasure they possessed! It is said that he was so affected at the spectacle, that he burst into a flood of tears.

Seneca, in his account of the life of Octavia, says, there never was a princess more deserving of happiness, or one who possessed so small a share of it. Her whole life was one continued season of misery and vexation and it might be positively affirmed, that she died without having tasted one day of happiness! By the artful [Page 84] intrigues of her mother-in-law, she was pre­vented marrying the man whose virtues had made an impression on her youthful heart, and compelled to unite herself to one whose vices had created her abhorrence. Her beauty was as astonishing as her wisdom; and her virtue could only be equalled by her prudence. In a wicked and abandoned age, surrounded by temptations, and beset with vices, her conduct was always irreproachable; and though every scene of de­pravity was practised in the court, her apart­ments were the abode of purity, and the re­ceptacle of virtue. Yet these perfections were destined to be the possession of a man who could neither feel their value, or appreciate their worth; and, instead of cherishing them as a treasure above all price, he first despised, and then destroyed, them! Amidst the variety of enormities that disgraced Nero's character, none create a greater degree of abhorrence than his conduct to the amiable and much injured Oc [...]a­via. So greatly was she beloved, and so highly [Page 85] was she venerated, by all ranks of people, that the slightest murmur from her would have rous­ed them against the author of her sufferings: but, instead of repining at the indignities she sus­tained, or attempting to injure her oppressor, she submitted with fortitude to the cruelty of her destiny, and patiently awaited the arrival of that period which would relieve her from the tyranny of an inhuman husband, who, desirous of raising an abandoned prostitute to the throne, had the inhumanity to accuse that virtue which was unspotted, and that delicacy which calum­ny could not stain! When the moment arrived that power triumphed over principle, and the unhappy Octavia's life was sacrificed to an un­lawful passion, she met her fate with the calmness of a philosopher, and the composure of a saint.

In the examples of fortitude which have been presented to your view, I have chosen an exalted, rather than a common, station of life, [Page 86] to prove that an exemption from misfortunes is not the lot of humanity; and likewise to convince you, that, though a splendid situation is allowed to enervate the mind, and render it incapable of great exertions, yet, where the principles have been taught firmness, and the passions subservience, it rather inspires than destroys greatness.

When you are admiring the conjugal affec­tion of Arria and Paulina, it is necessary you should reflect that the same mode of conduct would be disgraceful in a Christian. To de­spise death, or meet it with open arms, was the grand basis of Roman virtue; and acts of sui­cide were dignified with applause: but in this enlightened age, both religion and revelation teach us the heinousness of the crime! To re­fuse supporting those afflictions which heaven decrees, and to rush uninvited into the presence of an offended God, can only be the action of a madman, or the premeditation of an atheist.

BEAUTY.
SENTIMENTS.

ALTHOUGH beauty is allowed to be one of the most desirable, it certainly is one of the most dangerous, possessions that can fall to the lot of females. It lays them open to the malignancy of the envious, the artifices of the profligate, and the temptations of the designing; and, unless it is guarded by principle, and de­fended by prudence, it becomes the destruction of virtue, and the ruin of innocence. Even when adorned with those attractive graces, it has sometimes been the source of the severest [Page 88] misfortunes. A remarkable instance of the truth of this assertion is to be met with in the early part of the History of England, which I shall relate for your amusement, amidst a variety of others, which will convince you that beauty derives its greatest ornament from virtue; and that loveliness, unattended by purity, is both the disgrace and the ruin of its possessor.

The heart of the youthful monarch Edwy was enslaved and captivated by the transcendant charms of the princess Egilve; but as ecclesi­astic authority was at that time very powerful in England, it was necessary that he should ob­tain the consent of the clergy before he ventured to espouse his cousin. Whether from pique, pro­priety, or prejudice, they opposed the marriage, it is not easy to determine; but the ties of con­sanguinity was the reason they alledged, and the king was threatened with ecclesiastical ven­geance if he acted in opposition to their decree. It was in vain that this youthful monarch de­clared [Page 89] the strength of his attachment, and his inability to surmount it, or described the virtues and excellencies of the object who had inspired it; the fiat was given, and they were inexora­ble. Exasperated at their opposition, and en­raged at their arrogance, the king resolved to brave their authority, and in an evil hour was united to the object of his love. As soon as the enraged bishops were informed of the measure he had adopted, their fury knew no bounds, and seducing the soldiery from their allegiance, they broke into the apartment of their sovereign, tore the terrified Egilve from the embraces of her lord, and delivering her to the infatuated guards, commanded them to destroy with burn­ing irons those charms which had subdued their monarch's heart. After this act of inhuman barbarity had been executed, the unfortunate princess was sent over into Ireland, where the account of her injuries, and the affability of her manners, soon attracted the affections of [Page 90] the people. Her wounds were healed; and her beauty, though slightly obscured, was by no means effaced. A party of her friends attended her to England; and the prospect of once more beholding the husband of her affections rendered her superior to the dread of danger. But, alas! her security soon proved her destruction; for her enemies, having received information of her design, met her at Gloucester, and, with an inhumanity that would have disgraced a savage, not only deprived her of her existence, but made her suffer the most cruel and agonizing death.

Elfrida, daughter to the earl of Devonshire, was a woman of such exquisite beauty, that its fame extended even to young Edgar's court. Being a strong admirer of female beauty, and having at that time no prior attachment, he re­solved to declare himself her suitor, if she really possessed those transcendant charms which rumour had ascribed to her. Not chusing to publish his intention until he was convinced it [Page 91] would not be likely to produce repentance, he made a confidant of the earl of Ethelwold, de­siring him to make a pretence for visiting El­frida's father, and if he found the young lady as lovely as was reported, declare the honour that was intended her. Anxious to promote his royal master's wishes, Ethelwold imme­diately began his journey, and soon arrived at the earl of Devonshire's; but the moment he beheld the fair Elfrida, his fidelity became the sacrifice of his affection, and, instead of pro­moting his master's passion, he declared his own! Ethelwold was the known favorite of his sovereign, and such a man was not likely to meet with a refusal from the earl of Devon­shire, who not only consented to the union, but agreed that the marriage should remain private, until the Earl could formally obtain the king's consent. On his return to court, he informed Edgar, that it must have been the high birth and immense fortune of the earl of Devonshire's daughter that had occasioned the tongue of fame [Page 92] to be so loud in the praise of her charms, as they were far inferior to what he had expected, and by no means sufficient to attract the king's affection. Edgar, satisfied with his favourite's account, entirely relinquished his design, and new pursuits obliterated the fair Elfrida from his imagination. Some months had elapsed, when Ethelwold informed his sovereign, that, though the earl of Devonshire's daughter was not possessed of sufficient charms to render her a desirable match for a king, yet her immense fortune was sufficiently attractive to make her an object of desire to one of his subjects, and there­fore requested his approbation to the alliance. Edgar instantly consented; and Ethelwold pub­licly received the hand which had before been bestowed upon him in private. A thousand pretences were formed for detaining the lovely bride in the country; for though Ethelwold had been blinded by the excess of passion before his marriage, he soon afterwards began to dread the effects of his sovereign's displeasure. To be­come [Page 93] the favourite of a monarch, is a certain method to obtain the disregard of his courtiers, and Ethelwold felt the truth of the observation; for those who envied the favour he possessed, were anxious to establish their own upon his ruin. Edgar was apprised of his favourite's conduct, and, exasperated at the idea of having been deprived the possession of so lovely an ob­ject, instantly resolved to have vengeance for the perfidy. Disguising his resentment, and smothering his rage, he one morning told Ethel­wold that he purposed going to his castle, and paying his compliments to the bride, desiring him, at the same time, to prepare for their im­mediate departure. The affrighted earl, terrified at the apprehension of the king's displeasure, yet incapable of forming any plan by which he could avoid it, requested permission to precede his royal guest, and make prepartions for the honoured visit. A few short hours was all the time that Edgar would allow, and those the earl employed in pleading the strength of his attach­ment [Page 94] to his wife, and urging her to veil (as much as possible) those charms that had robbed him of his fidelity. Though Elfrida's beauty was transcendant, her virtue was certainly ob­scured by vanity; for the idea of becoming mistress of a throne, and obtaining an ascen­dency over the youthful monarch's heart, in­duced her to forsake her duty, and become re­gardless of her husband's safety! Instead of en­deavouring to obscure her charms, she studied the most likely method of making them al­luring, and succeeded so effectually in her de­sign, that the heart of Edgar was instantly en­slaved! Burning with rage, and glowing with resentment, he invited the unsuspicious Ethel­wold to hunt with him in a wood adjoining his castle, and there with a dagger avenged the in­juries he had sustained. Elfrida was easily per­suaded to accept the hand of her husband's mur­derer; and, when seated on a throne, totally forgot the inhuman means by which she had ascended it.

[Page 95] Cleopatra, daughter to Ptolemy king of Egypt, and joint successor with her brother to that throne, was a young woman whose beauty of person could only be equalled by the brillian­cy of her understanding: in her were united all the perfections that allure, and all the charms that captivate and enslave the mind. Her wit was refined by judgment, her taste improved by science, and her manners formed by the hands of the graces. Thus favoured by nature, and improved by art, Cleopatra was at once the ob­ject of admiration and contempt: her virtue fell a sacrifice to her charms, and her innocence be­came the victim of her vanity.

Anna Bullen, wife of Henry the Eighth, was one of the most lovely women of the age in which she lived, and her beauty was at once the means of her exaltation and debasement. The inhuman being who had raised her to the posses­sion of a throne, became suspicious of the charms which had attracted his capricious mind, and at­tributing the openness of innocence to the ef­fects [Page 96] of guilt, he pretended to doubt the existence of her virtue; and, by the force of artifice, and the prevalence of power, at length convicted her for infidelity. The beauty which had once cap­tivated, no longer charmed; and her accession to a throne was the fatal means that led her to the scaffold!

All authors have been unanimous in describ­ing the person of Mary, queen of Scotland, as formed by elegance, and refined by grace. Had she been less beautiful, she might have been more virtuous▪ and had she possessed fewer attrac­tions, she might have been more entitled to pity.

From the instances I have now related, you are not to imagine, my dear girls, that I think either vice or misfortune are peculiarly attached to charms; but I have selected them with the view of proving, that, though beauty is by ma­ny of your sex considered as an inestimable treas­ure, it often proves the bane if its possessors' peace, and the destroyer of their happiness.

HUMILITY CONTRASTED WITH PRIDE.
SENTIMENTS.

AS man is of all creatures the most depen­dent, how little pretence can he have for assuming an arrogant superiorty over his fel­lows! for even the comforts of a prince are de­rived from the services and attentions of his subjects. The higher a human being is exalted, the greater is his dependence upon the aid of others; for it has frequently been observed, that the mind, instead of acquiring independ­ence [Page 98] by power, is apt to degenerate into total imbecility, and the most trifling efforts become absolute exertions.

Although the truth of this observation is uni­versally allowed, how continually do we behold external grandeur disgraced by overbearance, and nobility debased by the practice of supercili­ousness!

But if pride and arrogance have the power of rendering age contemptible, they are the cer­tain means of making youth despicable; for that is the period of life in which gentleness should be peculiarly cultivated, and condescen­sion invariably practised.

Amidst the various calls upon your gentleness and kindness, few have stronger claims than those who are constantly contributing to the ease of your person, and the comforts of your existence. Seneca observes, that we should not [Page 99] only consider our servants as our fellow-crea­tures, but our humble friends, whom fortune has no more power over than their masters. "Why (says that great man) should not a brave action rather dignify the condition of a servant, than the condition of a servant lessen a brave action?"

If you would obtain the faith of servants, you must banish their fear; yet, by blending kind­ness with reserve, always insure to yourself their docility and respect.

The fidelity of a servant has frequently with­stood the attacks of bribery, the persuasions of power, and even disdained the preservation of existence; as I shall shew from the follow­ing examples.

A large reward was offered for apprehending the person of Charles the Second, at the time he had escaped from the pursuit of his enemies. [Page 100] Fatigued with travelling, and exhausted by fear, the king arrived at the castle of one of his fol­lowers. The moment he entered, he requested a tumbler of wine, to enable him to pursue his intended journey. The butler, not returning with it immediately, the king followed him into the cellar; but was terrified and astonished at beholding the man drop upon his knee, and present the glass. "Do you know me?" said the king. "Yes, and please your majesty," replied the man: "And know also how to pre­serve my own honour; for I would lose my life rather than become an informer."

Two servants made their escape from a town that was besieged by the Romans, and imme­diately joined the enemy's forces. A short time after, the place was subdued, and the Roman army entered in triumph. All the outrages that lawless fury could commit, the wretched inhabitants were destined to sustain; themselves, their children, and their property, [Page 101] fell victims to the rapacious soldiery! The men who had so lately joined the Romans, re­quested they might be allowed to punish the mistress they had served for her oppressive inhu­manity towards them; and having obtained it, went directly to the house, possessed themselves of the most portable of her valuables, and then with scourges drove her through the ranks until they came to the city gate. As soon as they had passed it, and no one could witness their behaviour, they restored her treasures, intreated her forgiveness, and assured her it was the only method they could have adopted to save her ruin or preserve her existence.

In the civil wars of Rome, a party of soldiers went to the house of a man of quality, who was proscribed, with a view of fulfilling the orders of their commander, and depriving the unfortunate nobleman of his life. A servant, long tried in fidelity and attachment, perceiving [Page 102] them approach, and suspecting their designs, instantly flew to his lord's apartment, and hur­rying on his robes, presented himself before them. The soldiers, deluded by the heroic de­ception, joyfully made him their prisoner; and, before the pious fraud could be discovered, his life was sacrificed to their fury and resentment.

These instances of fidelity and attachment are sufficient to prove that exalted sentiments are the gift of nature, not the fortuitous effects of chance or situation, and that a noble mind may be the attendant of an humble fortune. If, by the practice of humility and kindness, you could obtain the attachment of such a char­acter, even the base principle of self-advantage would point out the necessity for that mode of conduct.

But in no circumstance of life is condescension of manners so essentially necessary to be adopted as in the method of conferring favours; for a [Page 103] benefit bestowed with pride and ostentation, is the produce of ambition, not the effect of benev­olence. Seneca observes, that no obligation can be perfect, unless it is bestowed with delicacy, humanity, good-nature, and address: and adds, it is so grievous a thing to say the word, "I beg," that the very mention of it puts a man out of countenance.

The fear of exposing poverty often deters the possessor from disclosing a situation that re­quires the assistance of friendship; a remarkable instance of which is related by the author I have just quoted.

A Roman of some distinction, was reduced from a state of affluence to one of absolute poverty; yet the same independence of mind which had attended him in an exalted followed him into his humble situation. But that pride which prevented him from soliciting assistance, could not guard him from feeling that he stood [Page 104] in need of it. His spirits sunk, his health de­clined, and nature languished for its accustomed supports!

A friend, whose delicacy of mind could only be equalled by the generosity of his heart, hear­ing, by accident, of the proud man's misfor­tunes, instantly went to visit him; but, instead of wounding his feelings by a display of benev­olence, sat by his bedside, and administered cordials for the recovery of his health; and oc­cupied in that tender employment, contrived to slip a purse under the pillow, containing a suf­ficient sum to supply him with present comforts, and prevent his suffering future exigencies.

How noble, how exalted, is such an action! How greatly to be admired the character which was capable of it! And how must the benefit have been augmented by the manner of bestow­ing it!

[Page 105] It is a general observation, that those who are raised from an humble to an exalted situa­tion, are most apt to cherish pride, and practise arrogance; yet history records several instances which counteracts that received opinion.

Catherine the First of Russia, from a depen­dent on the parish, was exalted to the dignified station of an empress on a throne; yet, amidst the splendour of a court, she never forgot the poverty of a cottage, and bestowed the greatest rewards upon those who had befriended her in distress.

One of the emperors of China having been captivated with the beauty of a mason's daugh­ter, immediately made her the partner of his throne. The amiable empress, being thoroughly acquainted with the weakness of human nature, became apprehensive of her own imperfection, and, fearful that grandeur should efface humility, she constantly kept one of her father's trowels [Page 106] in her possesson; and if ever her mind inclined to arrogance, she immediately looked at the trowel, and was taught humility.

PRIDE.
SENTIMENTS.

PRIDE is a passion so full of torment to its possessor, that even the inconvenience which attends it, I should imagine, would be a sufficient reason for endeavouring to eradicate it from the breast: yet, surrounded, as it is, with thorns, and beset with vexations, it too often contrives to obtain admission, to the destruction of good-nature, the subversion of ease, and the total banishment of humility.

Despicable as it appears, attended with these consequences, yet it is frequently beheld under [Page 108] much greater disadvantages; and the two fol­lowing examples will shew, that instead of be­ing merely contemptible, it has degenerated into atrocity.

The Marchioness de Tavera was a woman in whom was united an excess of pride, and an in­surmountable share of ambition. Notwithstand­ing her being elevated to the rank of marchio­ness, yet her having any superiors was a constant source of disquiet to her; and she was contin­ually tormenting her husband with complaints, and soliciting him to request the king to add to his dignities by conferring upon him a dukedom. In Portugal titles are not quite so easily ob­tained as in England; and, instead of their be­ing the purchase of fortune, they are only the reward of merit, and therefore the marquis's solicitation was unattended to.

Mortified by a refusal, and exasperated against the author of her disappointment, the artful [Page 109] marchioness instantly began to attach herself to a party whom she knew were disaffected to the government; and when she had once discovered the nature of their sentiments, she ventured to disclose the horrid plan that had so long occu­pied her own ideas. Imagining her husband's claim to the desired dukedom would be acknowl­edged by the king's successor she resolved to pave the way to the accomplishment of her ambitious views, by the murder of a prince whose virtues were calculated to inspire the af­fection of any but a very depraved mind. Not satisfied with insuring her own ruin in the desperate undertaking, she contrived to involve that of her husband's and son's, by making them the agents of her iniquity. The scheme was well contrived, though Providence prevented its execution; and the king, instead of being mur­dered, was only slightly wounded. The Duke Aviero, the Marquis de Tavera, and two of his domestics, were the persons pitched upon for [Page 110] the perpetration of the horrid act, who, watch­ing the king's return from visiting a favorite lady, were stationed on the road through which he was to pass, with the intent of firing into the carriage. The duke's blunderbuss happily missed fire; and the rapidity with which the postillions drove, prevented the second party from taking aim; but following the carriage, they fired into the back of it, and wounded his majesty in the arm. Instead of proceeding di­rectly to Lisbon, as the assassins imagined (who had divided into three separate parties) he or­dered the drivers to go directly to the surgeon general's house, which was a few miles out of the city, and by that means escaped the attack of the third firing. By great exertions, and wonderful secrecy, the whole of this detested plot was discovered: the marquis and his sons were broken on the wheel, and the detested marchioness was beheaded.

[Page 111] Poppaea Sabina, wife of the tyrant Nero, was as remarkable for pride as he was for cruelty: her mules were adorned with bridles of gold, and shod with shoes of silver; and every article of her dress was most expen­sively magnificent. Her vanity was not infe­rior to her pride; for, to preserve the delicacy of her complexion, and make it retain an ap­pearance of youthfulness, she kept five hun­dred asses for the purpose of bathing herself in their milk.

The Spaniards are universally allowed to be the most haughty race of people in Europe: distress cannot lower, and poverty cannot abate it. A proof of the truth of this assertion is fully exemplified in the following authentic lit­tle anecdotes.

A poor woman in Spain, who was reduced to the utmost extreme of poverty, found herself utterly incapable of providing food for her [Page 112] children; and, accompanied by three of them, besought relief from the liberality of a French merchant. As the eldest boy was a stout able lad, the gentleman (from motives of compassion) proposed taking him into his service: but the woman, with the most striking marks of dis­dain, refused the offer, saying, that none of her family had been disgraced by servitude.

A poor Spanish cobbler, being pronounced past recovery, his eldest son approached the bedside, and humbly solicited his blessing and advice; when the dying man, with scarcely strength to articulate, earnestly besought him to be sure and retain the majesty of the family.

If the former instances of pride appear de­testable, the latter are certainly ludicrous; and when it becomes the ruling principle of beggars and cobblers, it surely must be time for real gen­tlewomen to explode it.

HUMANITY CONTRASTED WITH CRUELTY.
SENTIMENTS.

HUMANITY is a virtue so frequently called into action, and so delightful in its offices, that, even from motives of self-gratifi­cation, I should suppose a susceptible heart must be inclined to cultivate it. But I flatter myself, my beloved girls, you will practise it from better principles, and become humane both from duty and inclination. Compassion for the afflicted, and a wish to relieve their suf­ferings, I consider as a kind of instinctive pro­pensity, which Providence has implanted in ev­ery [Page 114] virtuous breast, for the comfort of the dis­trest, and the support of the unfortunate.

In the characters both of Lady Jane Gray and the Countess of Pembroke, compassion for the unfortunate appears as one of their brightest features; and history teems with a variety of instances of the practice of this amiable and attractive virtue; but amongst the number, none can be more strikingly engaging than the following, which is recorded to the honour of Lady Pembroke's brother.

Sir Philip Sidney, exhausted by the fatigue of battle, faint with the loss of blood, and parched with the intensity of the heat, intreated one of his soldiers to endeavour to procure him a draught of water. Bountiful as nature is of her gifts, yet the plains of Zutphen partook not of them; no fresh springs meandered through or purling rivulets adorned them; and water, in­stead of being the bounty of nature, was the [Page 115] boon of man. The precious beverage, how­ever was obtained; and Sir Philip was in the act of putting it to his lips, when a soldier, languishing under the torture of a mortal wound, and gasping from an excess of drought, was by his comrades carrying to his tent. The gene­rous hero beheld him with an eye of pity, and instantly withdrawing the cup from his own lips, humanely held it to the soldier's, saying, "Poor fellow! thy necessities are far greater than mine."

Henrietta Maria, queen of Charles the First, as she was one day walking in the environs of Exeter, had her footsteps suddenly arrested by the voice of distress, and the murmurs of com­plaint; and sending one of her attendants for­ward to enquire the cause, was informed that a poor old woman was lamenting her inability to supply her daughter (who was lying in) with the common necessaries of life. The queen, ima­gining the sum she had about her was not suffi­cient [Page 116] for that humane purpose, immediately took a chain of gold from her neck, and giving it to one of her attendants, desired they would take it to a goldsmith's and appropriate its value to the supply of the poor woman's necessities.

Matilda, daughter of Malcolm, king of Scot­land, and the amiable wife of Henry the First of England, was a woman in whose character was united refined humanity and exalted be­nevolence. She not only devoted great part of her private income to acts of charity, but her­self witnessed that those acts were properly be­stowed. What an interesting sight must it have been to have beheld a queen attending the sick, feeding the hungry, and clothing the naked!

When the incursions of the victorious Danes had compelled Alfred the Great to retire to Athelny, in Somersetshire, he was reduced to such extremity as only to be master of one single loaf of bread. But that vicissitude which would [Page 117] have depressed a weak mind, seemed to exalt that of Alfred's; for, instead of drooping under, he actually rose superior to his misfortunes: and though unable to assist himself, he stretched out his hand to relieve his fellow-creatures. An humble mendicant solicited the queen's as­sistance, who, knowing the scantiness of her own store, mildly denied the reiterated request. The king, finding the petitioner importunate, desired the loaf might be divided between them; saying, "He who could feed five thousand men with five loaves and two fishes, can certainly make that half loaf more than suffice for our necessities."

If these instances of humanity are delightful even in contemplation, how much more grati­fying must they have proved in the perform­ance; and how wonderful is it that the human mind should ever become dead to such amiable sensations!

[Page 118] Softness and humanity are certainly the gen­eral characteristics of our sex; yet, alas! (to their disgrace) many instances prove the rule to be exceptional; and if once the female breast becomes deaf to the voice of humanity, or lost to the claims of compassion, insensibility easily degenerates into cruelty, and indifference into inhumanity.

How necessary, therefore, is it, my beloved girls, that you should encourage that amiable propensity to humanity which Providence has happily bestowed upon you! And whilst you are endeavouring to lessen the misfortunes of others, remember that you are laying up a store of comfort for the alleviation of your own; for those who have practised benevolence in pros­perity, are certain of receiving its reward if they fall into adversity.

"If I was desired to describe cruelty and re­venge, (says Seneca,) I would draw a tyger [Page 119] bathed in blood, and ready to take a leap at its prey, as emblematic of those horrid passions; and yet, notwithstanding the disgrace that is at­tached to them, they contrive to gain admission into the mind, disgrace the heart, pervert the understanding, and render the whole character completely contemptible." Some remarkable instances of the truth of this assertion will be found in the following examples.

The Marquis d'Astrogus, a Spanish noble­man, being unfortunately united to a woman of unamiable manners, became violently at­tached to a beautiful girl, whose parents lived within the vicinity of his castle. The enraged marchioness, glowing with resentment against the object who had inspired her husband's breast with tenderness, and robbed her of those atten­tions she fancied herself entitled to, by the power of bribery, secured the fidelity of some of her domestics, who, lost to feeling and hu­manity, became the agents of her iniquitous [Page 120] design. It was not only resolved to deprive the unfortunate young woman of existence, but to add cruelty to the atrocious deed; and, in­stead of terminating her life by one fatal blow, to linger it out by a succession of tortures! The heart was at length torn from the beau­teous form that inclosed it, and presented bleed­ing to the inhuman marchioness, who, send­ing for her cook, desired it might be drest in a manner most likely to please the palate of his lord.

The savage banquet was immediately pre­pared, and the unsuspicious marquis swallowed it with delight! But, what must have been his sensations, when his detestable wife, exulting in the success of her inhuman plan, informed him he had eaten that heart which he had taken so much pains to inspire with tenderness and af­fection!

[Page 121] Amestris, queen of Persia, having discovered that her husband was attached to his brother's daughter, a very lovely young girl, imagined her mother not only knew of his affection, but en­couraged the indulgence of it; and, exasper­ated more against her than the object who had inspired it, was resolutely bent upon her de­struction.

By an ancient custom amongst the Persians, the queen, on the king's birth-day, was entitled to make a request, which could not be de­nied; and Amestris impatiently waited the an­niversary of that day, for the accomplishment of her resentment, and the gratification of her design.

It was in vain that Xemes endeavoured to save the life of his injured sister, whose virtues were as exalted as her mind was pure, and who, so far from promoting his affection for her [Page 122] child, was even ignorant of its existence. However, the request had been made, and the king was compelled to grant it.

As soon as the inhuman Amestris found the victim of wrath delivered into her power, she immediately ordered her breasts, nose, and lips, to be cut off and thrown to the dogs, and forced the unhappy sufferer to stand by, and see them devoured by those hungry animals.

When the head of Cicero was brought into Antony's presence, his wife Fulvia took it in her hands, struck it on the face, and, after ut­tering many execrations against it, placed it between her knees, and opening the mouth, tore out that tongue which could almost have softened cruelty by its eloquence; and spitting upon it with contempt, pierced it several times through with her bodkin.

[Page 123] Joan, queen of Naples, was possessed of abil­ities which were calculated to demand respect, but her cruelty was such as to inspire abhorrence; and her unfortunate husband became its vic­tim; for although the force of her eloquence, and the power of her bribes, induced her judges to pronounce her innocent, yet there is no doubt remaining of her having been acces­sary to the king's murder.

These detached instances of inhumanity, I am convinced, are sufficiently numerous to in­spire your breasts both with detestation and abhorrence; yet I cannot avoid mentioning a circumstance where the combination of num­bers adds horror to atrocity, and where a cool premeditated design tends to augment the crime of cruelty.

In about the four hundred and twenty-eighth year of Rome, near three hundred ladies of the first distinction disgraced their nature, de­stroyed [Page 124] their fame, and cast a stigma on their sex, by entering into a conspiracy against their husbands' lives. An epidemic disorder favoured the inhuman plot, and many of the senators were the unhappy victims of art, who were supposed to have fallen a prey to disease. Their numbers at length began to create suspi­cion; yet no one would have imagined a fe­male arm could have been raised against the life of its supporter; or the insidious deadly draught be administered with smiles of af­fection, and appearances of tenderness, whilst the heart was the instigator of cruelty, and the inspirer of unheard-of barbarity. But a female slave, who had assisted her mistress in the preparation of the destructive dose, shocked at the part she had performed, and tortured by the pangs of remorse, confessed the whole of the iniquitous plot, and described the names of those who were then occupied in preparing the fatal potion. Officers of justice were instantly dispatched to the respective houses, and the la­dies [Page 125] discovered at the dreadful employment. At first they attempted to deny the fact, pre­tending they were making an antidote to save them from the pestilential disease; but finding their assertions disregarded, and the sword of justice hanging over their heads, they swallow­ed the destructive draught, and by so doing es­caped the blow.

ON THE PROPER EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
SENTIMENTS.

MELANCHOLY as this picture appears, and disgraceful as it certainly is to a ra­tional and reflecting being, I fear, if we were to take an impartial view of our lives, too many of us would have reason to acknowledge the justness of the author's censure; but that you my beloved girls, should avoid falling under so severe an imputation, and, instead of wasting, improve the time that is committed to your trust, has been one of the first wishes of my heart, and one of the greatest objects of my solicitude.

[Page 127] "Every fool(Lord Chesterfield observes) who slatterns away his whole time in nothings, has some trite observation at hand, to prove both its value and its fleetness; and though they pre­tend to feel the necessity of employing it well, they squander it away without considering that its loss is irrecoverable. There are two sorts of understanding (says that judge of human nature) which prevents a man from ever becoming con­siderable; the one is a lazy, and the other a frivolous, mind. The lazy mind will not take the trouble of searching to the bottom of any thing, but, discouraged by the slightest difficul­ties, stops short, and contents itself with easy and superficial knowledge, rather than submit to a small degree of trouble."

Although it is not necessary for a young wo­man to study with that closeness of application which is essentially requisite in the education of a boy, yet whatever you pretend to learn, you ought to have ambition enough to desire to [Page 128] excel in; for mediocrity is a proof of weak­ness; and perfection may always be purchased by application. "Knowledge (says an elegant writer) is a comfortable and necessary shelter for us in an advanced age; but if we do not plant it while young, it will afford us no shade when we grow old." Yet I neither expect or require so close an application to the improve­ment of your minds, as to banish recreation, or exclude pleasure: I only wish that you should remember that your foundation of know­ledge must be established before you are eigh­teen; for when you are once introduced into the world, your application will be incessantly interrupted, and your studies broken in upon. All difficulties may be overcome by perseve­rance; and even the defects of nature may be conquered. A remarkable instance of the pow­er of perseverance is demonstrated in the con­duct of Demosthenes, an Athenian orator, who anxious to obtain perfection in the art of speak­ing, not only conquered an absolute impedi­ment [Page 129] of speech, but, from being one of the most ungraceful, became one of the most grace­ful, orators in Athens.

In the distribution of your time, I scarcely need inform you, that the first hour of the day ought to be devoted to the service of your Maker. Accustom yourselves to the practice of religious homage, as a natural expression of gratitude to him for all his bounty and benevo­lence. Consider it as the service of the God of your fathers; of him to whom your parents de­voted you; of him whom, in former ages, your ancestors honoured, and by whom they are now rewarded and blessed in heaven. Seneca tells us, that the first petition we offer to God, ought to be for a good conscience; the second for health of mind; and the third for health of body. After having offered these petitions, it will be necessary you should accustom yourselves to make a regular distribution of time, for the different avocations which are to occupy it: [Page 130] this will be found one of the best methods that can be adopted, both for the practice of youth, and those of a more advanced period. Doctor Johnson, who was rather a severe critic upon the failings of our sex, attributed most of them to habitual idleness; and was so great an advo­rate for a female's being taught every kind of needlework, that he absolutely fancied it a foundation for morality. In Poland, it is a cus­tom amongst the people in middling ranks of life, that no young woman should be suffered to marry, until she has done as much work as will fill twelve large baskets, which on the wedding day is divided in presents to the different guests. Though I think needlework a necessary, I cer­tainly consider it as a very inferior, kind of em­ployment, when compared with the gratifica­tion you may enjoy, by spending your time in the practice of virtue, and in acts of benevo­lence; yet, as excellence even in trifles is praise­worthy, I shall in the following examples unite the names of a few females who have acquired [Page 131] it in that art, with those who have obtained ap­plause for superior qualifications.

Andromache, wife of Hector, prince of Troy, was so beautiful an embroidress, that, after the death of her husband, and the destruction of the city, she amused her leisure hours by deli­neating the melancholy event with her needle upon white sattin.

Anna Maria Shurman, a German lady, is, by the historians of that country, considered as an absolute prodigy; and the facility with which she learnt all female accomplishments was certainly most astonishing. At six years of age she could cut paper with a taste and elegance entirely her own; at eight she painted flowers in a beautiful style; at ten she was taught em­broidery, and was only three hours in acquiring the art. Her writing was the most elegant that can be conceived, and she could imitate a va­riety of hands. The powers of her under­standing [Page 132] were equal to the most metaphysical enquiries; and she was not only the most ac­complished, but the most learned, woman of the age.

Penelope, wife of Ulysses, king of Ithaca, whose character has been celebrated by histo­rians for the strength of her affection, and del­icacy of attachment to her husband, has also been praised for her adherence to those duties which particularly belong to a female station; and, instead of interfering with affairs of state, we are told that her time was spent in the regu­lation of her family, and the employment of weaving.

Amidst those ladies whose names are ren­dered eminent by the number of their lite­rary productions, the Duchess of Newcastle has certainly a title to pre-eminence, if va­riety can constitute merit, and application de­serve applause; for her grace was so unwea­ried [Page 133] in her labours, and so indefatigable in her endeavours to promote knowledge, that she would not even allow herself time to read her works before they were sent to the press.

Queen Elizabeth, who is universally allowed to have been a woman of exalted genius and superior understanding, always allotted differ­ent portions of the day for arranging those af­fairs which were unconnected; and it was by that regular distribution of her time, that she was enabled to transact with ease a multiplicity of business, that must have distracted a mind which was devoid of regularity.

Elizabeth, countess of Bridgewater, was a woman whose time was spent in the perform­ance of those duties which rendered her the object of universal love and admiration. She was the comforter of the afflicted, the supporter of the distressed, and the reliever of the un­happy. [Page 134] But I cannot give you a better idea of the perfection of her character, than by tran­scribing part of her epitaph, which was taken from her monument in Gaddesden church.

"Sacred to the memory of the late tran­scendently virtuous lady (now glorious saint) the Right Honourable Elizabeth Countess of Bridgewater. She was a woman in whom all the accomplishments both of body and mind concurred to make her the glory of the pre­sent, and the example of future ages. Her beauty was absolutely so unparalled, that nei­ther pen or painting could describe it without disparagement. She had a winning and attrac­tive behaviour, a charming discourse, a most obliging conversation. She was so courteous and affable to all persons, that it was impossible to avoid loving her. She was of a noble and generous soul, yet of so meek and humble a dis­position, that never any woman of her quality was greater in the world's opinion, or so little [Page 135] in her own. The rich at her table tasted her hospitality; the poor at her gate bore testimo­ny of her charity. Her devotion was exempla­ry; and her writings upon religious subjects (which were only submitted to the eye of her husband) proved at once the purity of her soul, and the refinement of her sentiments. She was an affectionate wife, an indulgent mother, a kind mistress, and a sincere friend. In a word, she was so superlatively good, that language is incapable of expressing her deserved character; and her death was as religious as her life was virtuous."

I consider it impossible to read an account of such transcendent excellencies either with apa­thy or indifference; and the heart which is not totally devoid of sensibility, must feel an ani­mating glow pervade it even in the contempla­tion of such exalted greatness! And when you consider that this amiable woman was a mere human being, subject to the failings and imper­fection [Page 136] of mortality, ought it not to be an in­citement to your virtue?

It has always been allowed, that the desire of fame is universally implanted in the human breast; and that the wish of leaving a name un­sullied, has been the foundation of many vir­tues. If you, my beloved girls, are sensible of that impression, or desire to leave a character spotless as Lady Bridgewater's, imitate her ac­tions, and you will receive her praise.

POLITENESS OF ADDRESS, AND POLISH OF MANNERS.
SENTIMENTS.

POLITENESS and good-breeding are such requisite introductions into genteel society, that it is absolutely astonishing any one can gain admittance into it who are deficient either in the one or the other.

I consider politeness as the child of good-na­ture; though there are instances where the one may exist without the other; yet is is almost [Page 138] impossible for a young woman, who is possesed of the latter amiable quality, to remain long de­ficient in the former, if she has any opportuni­ties of mixing in genteel life; for a desire of pleasing, with the precaution of not being troublesome, is doubtless the best structure for true politeness. Lord Chesterfield, in his Let­ters on Politeness, says, that a friend of his has defined good breeding to be the result of "much good sense, some good-nature, and a little self-denial for the sake of others, and also with a view of obtaining the same indulgence from them." As to absolute rules for politeness, I flatter myself, those would be unnecessary; for I have the pleasure of observing you possess a native civility, which I consider as its founda­tion; and, indeed, the modes of it must vary according to persons, places, and circumstances; for the same behaviour that you would adopt to one who is greatly your superior, would be im­proper to use to her who is your inferior; therefore, observation and experience will be [Page 139] your best directors, and good-humour and civili­ty your ablest guides.

The desire of being pleased is universal; and if the desire of pleasing was so too, politeness might then have its foundation in virtue, be considered as a moral duty, and be included in the principle of doing to others what one wishes they should do to us. There are, indeed, some moral duties of a much higher nature, but none of a more amiable one; and, like Lord Chester­field, I am inclined to place it at the head of the minor virtues.

A studied attention to the little wants, and a desire to anticipate the wishes, of those which chance or inclination brings into your company, is one of the first duties which you owe society; and a careless negligence to please, is one of the most unpardonable things you can be guilty of; though, I grieve to say, it is a striking failing in the young people of the present age. But, in [Page 140] being civil, avoid being ceremonious; yet al­ways beware of freedom and familiarity. Let your conduct to your superiors be respectful, but not humiliating; to your equals be courte­ous and affable; and to your inferiors, gentle and condescending.

Politeness, when attached to a virtuous char­acter, actually embellishes that which seems not to require any other ornament; and so strong is its influence on the human mind, that it seems even to cast a veil over imperfections, as I shall shew in the two following examples.

Mary, queen of Scotland, whose misfortunes have been universally deplored, though her fail­ings have been highly condemned, might have attributed the commisseration of the former, in a great measure, to the sweetness of her man­ners, and the affability of her disposition. Her behaviour to her attendants was at once so mild­ly gentle, and so sweetly condescending, that [Page 141] any of them would almost have sacrificed their lives to have preserved her existence.

Joan, queen of Naples, whose inhumanity and cruelty I have before had occasion to men­tion, was yet such an adept in artifice, and was so sensible that a polish of manners was a fre­quent apology for an abandoned course of life, that, by her condescension, persuasion, and po­liteness, she absolutely blinded the minds of her judges, and at length induced them to pronounce her innocent!

Bertrade, wife of Philip the First, king of France, though unamiable in her character, and despicable in her conduct, yet was posses­sed of such an interesting sweetness of manner, that even those who despised found it impossi­ble to avoid being pleased with her. So com­pletely infatuated was Philip by this artful mode of behaviour, that, though he was acquainted with her endeavours to destroy the life of his [Page 142] son by a former marriage, yet he found himself incapable of withstanding the softness of her pleadings; and not only forgave the crime, but appeared to have his affection augmented by her pretended sorrow.

If polish of manners, and elegance of address, can have the power of making an unamiable character attractive, with what superior advan­tages must it be viewed when it is attached to goodness and virtue! and how desirable an ac­quirement ought it to be to young people, if they consider that a polite address is absolutely a general passport to universal favour!

It was the sweetness of Catherine's manners, more than the charms of her person, that en­slaved the heart of the Emperor Peter. The latter might attract his eye, but the former se­cured his esteem, rooted his regard, and was the means of exalting her to the Russian throne!

[Page 143] All English historians are unanimous in their description of Lady Jane Gray, and all ascribe to her a sweetness of manner that at once cap­tivated the mind, secured the heart, and called forth the admiration of all beholders.

In the exalted account which is given of the Countess of Bridgewater, the elegance of her manners, the sweetness of her behaviour, and the affability of her address, constitutes no tri­fling part in the praise which is bestowed upon her character; and if they are not the most striking features for admiration, they certainly are traits which must ensure affection, and cre­ate esteem.

Octavia, the amiable wife of the inhuman Nero, has been more celebrated for the sweet­ness of her manners than for the superiority of her understanding; and though her conduct was calculated to call forth admiration, yet it was still more likely to inspire love.

[Page 144] If arguments were wanting to enforce the ne­cessity there is for young ladies habituating them­selves to the practice of politeness, I might urge as a motive, the strong influence they are uni­versally allowed to possess over the minds of the other sex. Those men who are best judges both of the failings and perfections of human nature, are willing to ascribe the polish of their manners chiefly to the influence of virtuous and elegant-minded females, in whose society they have imperceptibly lost that innate roughness which is their peculiar characteristic; and I am sure you will allow the necessity of not being deficient in any accomplishment you may here­after be called upon to teach.

FRIENDSHIP.
SENTIMENTS

THE ancients ranked friendship in the se­cond class of human virtues▪ and many are the instances recorded in history, where its energy has produced effects that almost might be considered as divine. Of all the passions that adorn human nature, that of friendship is cer­tainly the most sublime, because the least selfish affection of the soul; for honour, frankness, and generosity, are the superstructure on which it is established. Amidst the various ties and [Page 146] dependencies which constitute the happiness of life, it is the most delicate, and yet the most fragile. Wealth cannot purchase, titles cannot obtain it; and the great, alas! rarely enjoy the blessing! It cannot exist in a vicious mind, and only thrives in a sympathetic one.

The word friendship is at present generally understood to be a term of little import, or ex­tending merely to a preference of liking or es­teem. This I consider as a shameful prostitu­tion of a word that ought only to be attached to an exalted character, and a soul capable of the most disinterested actions. In the choice of a friend, much care is necessary, and much pre­caution ought to be observed; but good sense, good nature, and firm principles, are absolute requisites in the composition. A weak mind is incapable of attachment; a bad temper would soon weaken the strongest; and want of princi­ple must destroy it. Doctor Johnson observes, that so many qualities are necessary to the possi­bility [Page 147] of friendship, and so many accidents must concur to its rise and continuance, that the greatest part of mankind content themselves without it, or supply its place with interest and dependence.

If friendship was really so extraordinary a production, and of so rare a growth, history would not teem with such various proofs either of its disinterestedness or existence; and those who have endeavoured either to lessen or debase the sentiments, are, in my opinion, guilty of an injury to society. Perhaps, you will be aston­ished that, in the instances I have selected for your observation, with the intent of controvert­ing the Doctor's opinions, I should have drawn them from the male instead of the female charac­ter; but as history has not furnished me with proofs of such great and disinterested friendship in our sex as I have found in the other, I thought it right to record those which were most impressive; though, at the same time, I am in­clined [Page 148] to believe, we are equally capable of an exalted attachment; and I have no doubt but if all the acts of refined friendship which the fe­male heart has instigated, had been recorded in the page of history, it would have been as high­ly adorned by the account, as it has been by the following examples of the other sex.

The friendship of Damon and Pythias was founded on affection, established on esteem, and confirmed by principle. Damon had the mis­fortune to fall under the displeasure of Dionys­ius, the Sicilian tyrant, whose breast was a stran­ger to the sensation of compassion. To create displeasure, was to forfeit existence; and to murmur at a decree was to insure its immediate execution. Damon repined not at the severity of his fate, yet ardently wished to award the blow. He had a wife and children in a distant part of the country, whom he longed to press to his tortured bosom before the dreadful moment arrived that was to separate them for ever! Py­thias, [Page 149] apprised of his friend's desire, presented himself before his inhuman judge, and earnestly besought the indulgence Damon wished for, yet dare not expect, offering to surrender his own person as a pledge for his friend's return. The singularity of a man's offering his life in the place of a condemned criminal, when so ma­ny circumstances might prevent the punctuality of his return, made an impression on the callous heart of Dionysius, and he granted the request; but, at the same time, allowed so short a period for Damon's absence, that it appeared almost impossible for him to be back by the day fixed upon for his execution. The time for his re­turn drew near, and the heart of Pythias exult­ed in his absence! To doubt the honour of his friend, or distrust his sincerity, was impossible; and he knew that adverse winds could only have prevented his punctuality. Curiosity in­duced the tyrant to pay a visit to the noble-minded Pythias, who, delighted at the idea of [Page 150] saving the life of his friend, ardently prayed that he might not return. It was in vain that Dionysius endeavoured to persuade him Damon was unworthy of his friendship, and had formed the excuse of visiting his family for the purpose of preserving his own life, and sacrificing that of his friend! He grew indignant at the base idea, and boldly vindicated the honour he had so often tried! The hour of execution at length arrived, and the intrepid hero ascended the scaffold with a heart animated by friendship, and glowing with affection. Death was robbed of all its terrors; and the prospect of saving the life of the man he loved, made it appear arrayed in smiles! The people had crowded round the scaffold, whilst astonishment and admiration was visible in every countenance. The execu­tioner was going to strike the fatal blow, when the cry of "Stop" arrested his uplifted hand, and Damon rushed into the arms of Pythias breathless with haste, and tortured with appre­hension! "You are safe, my friend, my much-loved [Page 151] Pythias!" he exclaimed: "and oh, ye gods! receive my thanks!"

"Oh fatal haste, and cruel impatience!" re­plied the dejected Pythias. "Triumphant had I fallen, if my Damon had been spared; but as the gods have opposed my wish of dying for thee, still I will not be wholly disappointed, for we will bleed together!"

So affecting a scene softented even the ada­mantine breast of Dionysius; and the heart which had hitherto been insensible to pity and compassion, felt for once its divine influence! Rising from his seat, and approaching the two friends, he congratulated them upon the strength and delicacy of their attachment; and then, with a generosity wholly unexpected, bestowed life upon Damon, and happiness upon Pythias.

Alcander and Septimius were two Athenian students, whose mutual taste for the arts and [Page 152] sciences became the foundation of their future friendship, and they were scarcely ever seen apart. Although Alcander's breast was animated by that tender sentiment, a still more lively one found entrance, and the fair Hypatia became the object of his love. He declared his passion, and was accepted. Septimius happened to have left the city, when his friend first saw the bloom­ing fair one, and did not return until the day fixed upon for his marriage. The moment that introduced him to the view of such perfection, was fatal to his peace; and the struggle be­tween love and friendship became too violent for his resolution. A sudden and dangerous fever attacked him; and the unsuspicious Alcander introduced the object of his affection to assist him in his unwearied care of his friend. The moment the physicians beheld Hypatia enter, they were no longer at a loss to account for their patient's illness; and calling Alcander aside, they informed him of the nature of it, and also expressed their fears that Septimius's recov­ery [Page 153] was impossible! Tortured between the dread of losing the friend of his heart, and agonized at the idea of relinquishing the object of his affec­tion, his anguish for some moments deprived him of utterance; but recovering that fortitude which had ever marked his conduct, he flew to the bedside of the apparently dying man, and promised to renounce his claim to Hypatia, if she consented to a union with Septimius. Whether Hypatia had not been strongly attach­ed to the amiable Alcander, or whether compas­sion urged her to accept the hand of his friend, I cannot say, but they were united, quitted Athens, and went directly to Septimius's house at Rome. Hypatia's friends, imagining Alcan­der had relinquished his betrothed bride for the sake of a rich reward, commenced an action against him for a breach of promise; and the judges, biassed by the representations of his ene­mies, ordained that he should pay a heavier fine than his whole property amounted to. The wretched Alcander was now reduced to the [Page 154] most melancholy situation; his friend absent, his mistress lost, and his own character stigma­tized with baseness! Being absolutely unable to pay the demand, his person became the property of his oppressors, and he was carried into the market place, and sold as a common slave. A Thracian merchant became his purchaser, and for several years he endured a life of torment. At length liberty presented itself to his view, and the opportunity of flight was not to be rejected. Alcander ardently embraced it, and arrived at Rome in the dusk of the evening. Friendless, hopeless, and forlorn, the generous Alcander had no place of shelter, and necessity compelled him to seek a lodging in a gloomy cavern. Two robbers, who had long been suspected to fre­quent that spot, arrived there soon after mid­night, and disputing about their booty, fortu­nately did not perceive his presence. One of them at length was so exasperated against his companion, that, drawing a dagger from his side, he plunged it into his heart, and left him [Page 155] weltering in his blood at the mouth of the cave. Alcander's miseries had been so accumulated, and his distresses so undeserved, that his mind at length was worn down by his afflictions, and he became indifferent to everything around him. In this situation he was discovered, and dragged to a court of justice, as the murderer of the man whose body had been found in the cave. Weary of existence, he did not deny the charge; and sentence was going to be pronounced against him, when the murderer, smitten with a pang of conscience, entered the court, and avowed the fact! Astonishment seized every mind, but particularly that of the judge that was going to condemn him, who, examining the countenance of a man capable of such singular conduct, dis­covered the features of the once-loved Alcan­der! Rising from the throne of justice, and fly­ing to the bar of guilt, he caught the unhappy sufferer in his arms, and, after shedding over him tears of joy and compassion, presented him to the senators as a man whose disinterested [Page 156] conduct had been the means of preserving his own existence.

Never was a stronger friendship between two men than that which subsisted between Cicero and Laelius; but, by transcribing the real senti­ments of the latter upon that exalted subject, I shall give you a perfect idea both of its strength and delicacy.

"Of all the gifs of nature or fortune, (says Laelius,) there were none, I think, comparable to the having Cicero for my friend. I found in our friendship a perfect conformity of senti­ments in respect to public affairs, and an inex­haustible fund of council and support in private life; a tranquility and delight not to be ex­pressed. I never, to my knowledge, gave Cice­ro the least offence; nor ever heard a word es­cape him that did not please me. We had but one house, and one table; the frugality of which was equally the taste of both. In war, [Page 157] in travelling, and in the country, we were never separated. I need not mention our studies, and the desire of us both always to learn something; for this was the employment of all our leisure hours, whenever we were removed from the sight and commerce of the world."

Can you, my beloved girls, conceive any hu­man felicity to be greater than that which Laelius experienced from such an exalted friendship? What a consolation is it to have a second self, from whom we have nothing secret, and unto whose heart we may pour forth our own with a perfect effusion! Prosperity is imperfect to those who have no one to share their joys; and ad­versity is almost insupportable to them who have no one to pity it! Indeed, I am inclined to believe there is not a being in existence, who would deliberately accept of all the wealth and all the affluence this world could bestow, if of­fered them upon the severe terms of being un­connected [Page 158] connected with a single mortal whom they could love, or by whom they should be treated with affection. This would be to lead the wretched life of a detested tyrant, who, amidst perpetual suspicions and alarms, passes his miserable days a stranger to every tender sentiment; and ut­terly precluded from the heartfelt satisfaction of pure friendship. But you, my dear girls, can never be strangers to that noble passion; the ties of consanguinity will strengthen the bonds of friendship, and the claims of relationship augment your tenderness.

INGRATITUDE.
SENTIMENTS.

AMIDST the various vices to which human nature is prone, and which mark the de­gradation it has suffered, none more strikingly evince its debasement than the practice of in­gratitude. For other vices, and other failings, reason may be able to assign a cause; but for that she must search in vain. That kindness should ever be returned with cruelty, or affec­tion [Page 160] be treated with neglect, is humanity's shame, and man's disgrace!

It is certain that ingratitude can only find ex­istence in a depraved mind, a corrupted heart, and the breast that is a stranger to every virtuous sentiment! There is something so contrary to honour, so repugnant to humanity, and so de­void of principle, even in the bare forgetfulness of favours, that those who are capable of prac­tising such a mode of conduct, are thought of with contempt, and treated with scorn.

Seneca observes, that it is one man's happiness to give, and another's misfortune to receive; but the gratification which a liberal mind would enjoy from the power of conferring benefits, the ungrateful man totally destroys, and deprives benevolence of its just reward. In short, in­gratitude is so contemptible in itself, and so generally despised by the world, that naught but authenticated facts could prove that so de­testable [Page 161] a vice was really in existence; but, amongst the various instances which history has recorded to prove it so, none can be attended with more aggravating circumstances than a story accidentally met with in Sigon's account of Barbadoes, which Mr. Addison has given his reader's in the author's words, and which I shall also begin with in relating the following exam­ples of it.

Mr. Thomas Inkle, a young London mer­chant, was the third son of a wealthy citizen, who had carefully instilled into his mind a love of gain, and a desire of acquiring wealth; and this propensity, which he had imbibed from pre­cept, and felt from nature, was the grand in­ducement for him to try his fortune in the West Indies. Inkle's person was absolutely the re­verse of his mind: The former was manly and noble; but the latter mean and contracted. Du­ring the voyage, the Achilles (which was the [Page 162] name of the vessel in which he had embarked) put into a creek to avoid the fury of a storm; and young Inkle, with several of the party, went on shore, to take a view of a scene so entirely new. They had not travelled far up the coun­try before they were observed by a party of the Indians, and fear and apprehension lent wings to their flight. Inkle out-ran his companions, and, breathless with terror, sought security in the thicket of a forest. He had not long remain­ed in that forlorn situation, when his astonish­ment was called forth by the appearance of a youthful female, whose benignant countenance seemed instantly to compassionate his forlorn situation. Gentleness and sweetness was dis­played in every feature; and when Inkle, by signs, acquainted her with his forlorn situation, she evidently proved that sympathy was confin­ed to no particular climate, and that humanity depends not upon the colour of the skin.

[Page 163] The generous Indian was a woman of high birth; and knowing that the tenderness she felt for the unfortunate stranger would be displeasing to her parents, she felt the necessity of disguis­ing it. She carried Inkle to a remote cave, sup­plied his wants, and daily administered to his comforts. Her affection in time became so strong, that she scarcely could exist but in his presence. Fearful that he should grow weary of his confinement, she used to watch the op­portunities of her parents absence, and then conduct him into the beauteous groves with which that country abounds; then persuade him to lie down and slumber, and anxiously watch by him for fear he should be disturbed! His lit­tle dwelling was adorned with all the art that na­tive elegance could suggest, and unsuspecting innocence employ, to make it appear pleasing to her lover's eyes. At length Yarico had the happiness of finding Inkle understood her lan­guage, and had the felicity of hearing him ex­press the strength of his gratitude, and power of [Page 164] his love. Inkle was constantly representing the joys that would await them if they could once return to England, and painted the excess of his passion in such glowing colours, that the un­suspecting Yarico could not doubt its sincerity, and at length promised not only to become the partner of his flight, but daily watch the arrival of some vessel to promote it. The wished-for object soon appeared; the unsuspicious Yarico left the abode of her doating parents, and, for­getful of her duty, thought only of her affec­tion. The ship in which they had embarked was bound for Barbadoes, and all Inkle's ideas of acquiring wealth returned with double force. Love, which had been a transitory passion, and which had acquired its foundation in interest, now yielded to a superior claim. His freedom once obtained, the means were totally forgot­ten, and the unfortunate Yarico considered as a tax upon his bounty. As [...]n as the vessel ar­rived at Barbadoes, the merchants crowded round it for the purpose of purchasing their slaves.

[Page 165] The despicable Inkle was animated at the sight, and resolving to relieve himself of what he con­sidered as a burden, offered the beauteous Yar­ico to the best bidder. It was in vain that she threw herself on her knees before him, or plead­ed her tenderness and affection; the heart that could be dead to gratitude was lost to love; and the unfortunate Yarico was doomed to a life of a slavery!

A soldier, in the service of a Macedonian king, was shipwrecked on an island at some dis­tance from the court as he was going to transact some business of importance for the general. Although he was in a subaltern capacity, his bravery and courage had obtained him the fa­vour of his sovereign; and the shipwreck hap­pening at the time that he was expecting pro­motion, was a calamity of the severest nature. Forlorn and destitute, cast upon an unknown island, the sole survivor of the unfortunate crew, he found his spirits sinking under his calamities, [Page 166] when his hopes were revived by the appearance of a stranger, who accosted him with humanity, and saluted him with kindness. Hearing of his misfortunes, his heart sympathized in them; and inviting him to his house, he gave him the strongest proofs of his liberality. After having furnished him with clothes, and supplied him with money, he procured a vessel to carry him to the place of his destination, and desired that whenever he wanted a home, he would consider the little farm he occupied entirely as his own. The soldier expressed his gratitude, admired the beauty of the place, and promised, when he made his sovereign acquainted with the misfor­tune that had befallen him, to mention the be­nevolence with which he had been treated. As soon as he had executed his commission, he re­turned to Macedon, and, after describing his distresses in the most glowing colours, reques­ted, as a reward, the very farm which was occu­pied by the generous stranger. Philip, not suspecting such ingratitude could exist in a hu­man [Page 167] breast, instantly ordered it to be purchased for him; and the amiable possessor was turned out of an abode which had been inhabited by his forefathers for several generations. As Philip was known to be the avenger of the injured, and the redresser of the oppressed, the farmer resolved to represent his guest's ingratitude, and, going to Macedon for that purpose, humbly so­licited an audience. Fired with indignation, and exasperated with rage, the king instantly sent for the ungrateful soldier, and, after expres­sing his displeasure, and ordering him to restore the estate, he presented it as a gift to its former owner.

TRUTH.
SENTIMENTS.

TRUTH is so great a perfection, that an ancient philosopher observed, if the Al­mighty thought proper to render himself visi­ble to man, he would choose light for his body, and truth for his soul. The advantages which are attendant upon an habitual love of truth, and a constant practice of its precepts, are so striking to every thinking mind, that it is abso­lutely astonishing, that even from motives of policy, it is not universally practised.

The happiness I have hitherto experienced, my beloved girls, from observing that you have [Page 169] a detestation to falsehood, and an abhorrence of every kind of deceit, was the reason of my not sooner entering upon a subject which I consider of the utmost importance; but as I was con­vinced your natures required neither examples to allure you to the habit of truth, or deter you from the practice of falsehood, I did not intend lengthening out my advice: but when I reflect that the strongest virtue may be shaken, and the firmest principles subdued, by bad ex­ample, I cannot resist the inclination I feel to strengthen the amiable propensity which na­ture has bestowed, and intreat you always to recollect that truth and sincerity are the basis of every virtue; and that deception and hypoc­risy are the foundation of every vice. If, at an age when the heart is warm, when the emotions are strong, and when nature is expect­ed to shew herself free and open, you could then smile and deceive, what should I expect when you were longer practiced in the artifice [Page 170] of the world? Dissimulation in youth is the sure forerunner of perfidy in old age; and its first appearance is the fatal omen of growing depravity and future shame. The path of truth is plain and easy, but that of falsehood is a per­plexing maze. One artifice unavoidably leads on to another, till, as the intricacy increases, you are lost and entangled in your own snare.

As you value, therefore, the approbation of heaven, the esteem of the world, and the af­fection of your friends, cultivate that love of truth which has hitherto been my gratification and your glory.

Amidst the various amiable qualities which have been attributed to Calphurnia, the wife of Julius Caesar, that of her love for sincerity, and adherence to truth, is particularly men­tioned with the applause they merit.

[Page 171] Aristotle, the Macedonian philosopher, being asked what a man could gain by telling a false­hood, replied, "Not to be credited when he speaks the truth."

Petrarch, a celebrated Italian poet, resided in the family of Cardinal Colonna, by whom he was loved for his virtues, and esteemed for his abilities. A violent quarrel having happened which that nobleman was anxious to know the foundation of, that he might do justice to the injured party, he assembled all his household, and compelled them to take a solemn oath that they would represent the circumstances with fairness and impartiality; and even his brother, the Bishop of Luna, was called upon to make the sacred assertion: but when Petrarch appear­ed, with an intent of following the bishop's ex­ample, the cardinal instantly closed the book, saying, "As to you, Petrarch, your word is sufficient."

[Page 172] Zenocrates, an Athenian philosopher, was so highly celebrated for his truth and veracity, that one day, when he approached the altar, to con­firm by oath the truth of what he had asserted, the judges unanimously declared his word was a sufficient evidence, and would not suffer him to take the oath.

Was I to write volumes with an intention of convincing you of the advantages which result from the habit of speaking truth, or the honour which is obtained by the practice of it, I could not convey a stronger proof of either, than what may be derived from the above little historical anecdotes of Petrarch and Zenocrates.

VIRTUE.
SENTIMENTS.

VIRTUE is a word of such general accep­tation, that it takes in all those qualities that adorn the mind, improve the character, and add a dignity to human nature. But in this section I intend confining its bounds, and mere­ly naming it as the greatest ornament of the fe­male character, and as the inseparable compan­ion of modesty and delicacy.

The virtue to which I here allude, is compo­sed of so fine a texture, that the breath of sur­mise [Page 174] would taint, and the blast of suspicion be­come its destruction.

Reputation is a female's choicest possession, and it is necessary to guard it with unremitting care. The slightest deviation from general forms has sometimes been the means of tarnish­ing it; and those errors which have had inno­cence for their foundation, have frequently been construed into indications of guilt.

As your conduct is liable to the severity of the morose, and the criticisms of the illiberal, how necessary is it, my beloved girls, that your actions should be submitted to the guidance of caution, that they may never become the food of slander, or the sustenance of reproach! Yet do not imagine that I am endeavouring to rob the season of youth of those joys to which it is en­titled, or substituting seriousness in the place of gaiety; for I think that innocent cheerfulness of heart, which is the natural attendant upon [Page 175] youth, one of its greatest ornaments; yet, in the midst of gaiety, I would have you attend to caution, and, surrounded by pleasure, be guided by propriety.

In your intercourse with the world, you may have the misfortune to meet with characters who, under the appearance of promoting your happiness, may be aiming at the destruction of your virtue; and whilst alluring you to a bed of roses, may be artfully concealing the thorns! But if, to obtain pleasure, they advise you to act contrary to principle, their society is conta­gious, and you ought to avoid it with as much caution as a pestilential vapour.

Let your manners to the other sex be open and unaffected, free from the embarrassment of prudery, or the freedom of familiarity: yet do not suppose I wish to prevent your receiving, with condescension, those little attentions which are the effect of politeness, or the efforts of [Page 176] good-nature; but beware of suffering the slight­est deviation from respect, or the most trifling infringement upon delicacy.

The Romans had so high a veneration for the very names of virtue and chastity, that they erected temples and altars in honour of their existence; and so tender were the females of their character, and so anxious to preserve it from blemish, that they would have preferred death to the misfortune of having it tarnished. Amongst the numberless instances which might be brought to prove the truth of this assertion, I shall give the story of Lucretia the preference.

Sextus Tarquinius, son of the inhuman Tul­lia, was a young man of the most depraved dis­position: his passions had never submitted to controul, nor his inclinations to restraint; and if he felt an unlawful desire, his principles never opposed the gratification of it. Chance had introduced him to the acquaintance of Lucretia, [Page 177] the wife of Collatinus, a general in the Roman army; and all the schemes which artifice could invent, or passion suggest, were made use of to win her affection from the worthy Collatinus. At length finding that, instead of inspiring ten­derness, he had created abhorrence, he resolved to adopt a different mode of conduct, and, un­sheathing his sword, vowed he would bury it in her spotless bosom, if she did not consent to let him become the partner of her bed. Death the virtuous Lucretia would willingly have preferred to dishonour; but the inhuman monster declared that he would kill her slave, lay him by her side, and then publish to Collatinus that he had committed the act to punish his injuries, and to avenge his disgrace. The unfortunate Lucretia too well knew the depravity of the wretch who threatened, to doubt for a moment his intention of executing; and the horror of having her fame traduced, and her character stigmatized, at length induced her to consent to his base propo­sals: but the next morning she sent a messenger [Page 178] to the camp, requesting her husband would come to her immediately; and dressing herself in deep mourning, she went to her father's house, and there waited the general's arrival.

Collatinus, who loved his wife with the most unfeigned affection, instantly obeyed the summons; and, with a heart animated with de­light, at the prospect of beholding the object of his tenderness, flew to the house of her father, where he was told she had retired. But how was he shocked when he beheld her! Instead of the smile of joy, and the embrace of tender­ness, with which he was accustomed to be greeted, his welcome was announced by a flood of tears, and a groan of anguish! Many min­utes elapsed before she was able to account for this melancholy alteration, or reply to the ten­der interrogations of her tortured husband. At length, checking the violence of her emotions, she began by assuring him of the strength of her affection, and the tenderness of her attachment, [Page 179] and then proceeded to describe the whole con­duct of the inhuman Sextus; and, after decla­ring her inability to support a life that had been disgraced by dishonour, she drew a dagger from her robe, and plunging it into her bosom, fell lifeless at her distracted husband's feet.

An Arabian prince, of the name of Merwan, in his rage for plunder and persecution, made himself master of a convent, and was so capti­vated by the beauty of one of the unfortunate nuns, that he resolved the sanctity of her char­acter should be no protection against the bru­tality of his desires. The amiable young woman finding it impossible to make an im­pression on his principles, or elude his power, at length resolved to try the effect of artifice, and informed him she was in the possession of a secret to make an ointment that would render those invulnerable who used it, and re­quested permission to retire to her cell, and prepare it. Delighted at the prospect of be­coming [Page 180] invincible, Merwan instantly permit­ted her to retire, and prepare for him the precious unction. In a short period she re­turned, displayed her throat covered with oint­ment, and desired he would draw his sabre, and prove the efficacy of the preparation. The vicious Merwan, incapable of an exalted ac­tion himself, had no idea of it in another; and not suspecting it possible that the beautiful nun could prefer death to dishonor, instantly drew the weapon, and aiming a violent blow at the part he imagined invulnerable, was shocked and astonished at beholding the object of his love instantly fall, deprived for ever both of sense and life.

When the prince of Thracia took possession of the city of Thebes, instead of becoming the protector of innocence and virtue, he inhuman­ly proved himself its destroyer; and, amongst those who fell victims to his lawless passion, was a young lady whose name was Timoclea. [Page 181] Shocked at the indignity she had received, and exasperated against the author of it, rage and re­sentment took possession of her mind; and in­viting him to a room wherein there was a well, she informed him her riches were buried in it. The prince, unsuspicious of her design, instant­ly stooped down to gratify his curiosity; and Timoclea, availing herself of his situation, in­stantly precipitated him to the bottom. The action being discovered, she was immediately apprehended, and carried before Alexander as the murderer of one of his captains; but the moment he was informed of the injury she had sustained, he not only pardoned the act, but restored her to liberty.

Peter, the czar of Russia, was a man of great abilities, but very strong passions, and indulged them at the hazard both of his peace and hon­our. Having been captivated by the beauty of a young lady at Moscow, he made her the most splendid offers to induce her to listen to his love, [Page 182] and tormented her so continually with the dec­laration of his passion, that, to avoid his perse­cutions, she resolved to quit Moscow, and re­tire to some remote spot, where her virtue might be secure from his attacks, and her deli­cacy be spared the mortification it constantly re­ceived: but being thoroughly acquainted with the czar's disposition, she was convinced, that if she informed her parents of her intention, it would be a means of involving them in difficul­ty and distress; and therefore she withdrew herself from their protection without giving them the slightest hint of her design; and going to the house of an old woman who had nursed her, described her situation, and intreated the husband to direct her to a place of safety, where she would be likely to be unsought for, and un­discovered. The man, who was a wood-cut­ter, advised her to secrete herself in a wood adjoining his cottage, and offered to build her a little hut to shelter her from the inclemencies of the weather. Accustomed, as she had always [Page 183] been, to the [...]legancies of life, how great must have been the alteration, and how melancholy the change! yet, supported by virtue, and pro­tected by innocence, she forgot grandeur, and met poverty with resignation! Her parents were inconsolable for her loss; and the czar's disappointment was evinced in all his actions. Spies were sent into different parts of the coun­try, and great rewards were offered for the dis­covery of her person. The unhappy father and mother were the first objects of his resentment; but when he became sensible they were unac­quainted with their daughter's flight he endeav­oured to console instead of increasing their sor­rows. Twelve months elapsed, and no tidings were heard; and it was universally imagined this amiable young woman had found some means of ending her existence to avoid the czar's persecutions: but at length she was discovered by a colonel in the Russian service, who, shoot­ing in the wood, was struck with the sight of her humble dwelling, embosomed in the deepest [Page 184] recess. But if he was astonished at beholding an habitation in so unfrequented a spot, how much more so was he, when he viewed its lovely inmate, and heard her reasons for having chosen so forlorn an abode! The impression of aston­ishment was soon converted into sentiments of tenderness and esteem; and, after imparting the joyful intelligence of their daughter's existence to her disconsolate parents, he informed them of the impression her virtues and beauty had made upon his heart, and earnestly intreated their consent to his marriage. The parents con­sidered themselves too much the colonel's debtor to deny their consent, and the czar was cau­tiously informed of the young lady's existence. Struck with so uncommon an instance of deli­cacy and virtue, he resolved it should not go un­rewarded; and sending for the colonel into his presence, informed him he would not only attend the marriage ceremony, but bestow upon him the hand of the most virtuous woman in his domin­ions: and, in addition to it, give him with her three thousand roubles a year!

CONTENTMENT.
SENTIMENTS.

A CONTENTED temper is one of the greatest blessings that can be enjoyed, and one of the most material requisites for the discharge of social duties. The mind that is continually repining at its lot, and lamenting the miseries of its fate, at length becomes so habituated to the practice, that it forgets its own unworthiness, and, by constant murmurings, grows impious towards its Maker. Discontent [Page 186] may be termed a gangrene, which preys upon the vitals, infects the whole constitution with disease, and at length totally destroys the pleas­ure of existence!

If I was desired to give an allegorical descrip­tion of contentment, I should term it the offspring of Piety, the sister of Resignation, and the par­ent of Cheerfulness.

Mr. Addison, in one of his excellent dis­courses, observes, that there are but two things which ought to deprive us of cheerfulness of heart. The first of these (says that elegant writer) is a sense of guilt; for no man can be easy or tranquil whose conscience convicts him of acts of impiety, or deeds of desperation: And the second proceeds from a doubt or dis­belief of the existence of a Supreme Being. "There is something (says the author I have just quoted) so particularly gloomy in the last [Page 187] idea, that it is no wonder the being who indul­ges it should be incapable of cheerfulness."

For my own part, I consider contentment as a duty which I owe my Maker; and cheerful­ness as another which I owe society. A repin­ing, gloomy temper is, doubtless, one of the greatest misfortunes that can be attached to hu­man nature, and yet certainly one that is least intitled to pity, because it is brought on by pee­vishness, and nurtured by caprice.

Can you, my beloved girls, look abroad into the world, and behold the miserable objects with which it abounds, without feeling your hearts glow with gratitude to the Author of your own felicity? Can you see wretchedness pining under want, disease struggling with poverty, and virtue bending under the tyranny of oppres­sion, without adoration to your Maker for an exemption from such calamities?

[Page 188] Your situation has hitherto been so fortunate as to preclude the entrance of a repining thought; for, devoid of want, you must be happy; and, unused to disappointment, it is im­possible you should complain: But the day of affliction may arrive, and the sunshine of pros­perity may be veiled in a cloud of darkness! The prospect which is now so enlivening may be suddenly overshadowed, and a dreary gloom succeed the brilliant view! Then will be the time for the exertion of fortitude, and the prac­tice of contentment; and till then neither can be called into action.

Little merit can be ascribed to those who are contented with a lot which abounds with feli­city, or who appear satisfied because they have no opportunity for complaint. Contentment can only be considered as a virtue when trials have called forth fortitude, and misfortunes have produced resignation.

[Page 189] History abounds with instances of exalted characters, who, from habitual contentment, have despised wealth, disdained power, and even declined regal dignity, though their stations were humble, and their fortunes circumscribed. Highly as those actions have been applauded, and great as they certainly appear, I shall pre­fer giving you the history of a poor soldier, whom Doctor Goldsmith accidentally met with, to every other I ever read; as I consider it the finest lesson in favour of contentment that can be selected either from the past or present age.

PASSION AND ANGER.
SENTIMENTS.

PASSION and anger are propensities so con­trary to that softness which is a female's greatest ornament, that it even seems difficult to suppose it possible they could ever obtain ad­mission into the mind: yet, unamiable as they are in appearance, and dreadful as they have been in consequences, they too frequently have contrived to enter, to the destruction of gentle­ness, the banishment of peace, and the total overthrow of domestic comfort.

Doctor Blair, in his excellent discourse upon the Dominion of the passions, says, "the histo­ry [Page 202] of all mankind has ever been a continual tra­gedy; and the world a great theatre, exhibiting the same repeated scene of the follies of men shooting forth into guilt, and of their passions fermenting by a quick progress into absolute misery." Melancholy as this picture appears, I fear there is too much truth in the observa­tion: but if you would avoid falling under the disgraceful censure, always oppose the very be­ginning of passion; and as soon as you find the tempest rising, have recourse to every proper method of allaying its violence, or of escaping to a calmer shore.

Anger and resentment are so turbulent in their effects, so pernicious in their consequen­ces, and so destructive to the peace and order of society, that it is wonderful the desire of self-gratification should not be sufficiently powerful to root out such troublesome companions from the human breast; yet, though all are willing to acknowledge the bad tendency of passion, [Page 203] few will take the trouble of endeavouring to eradicate the destructive evil; and though they blame the failings of their neighbours, they are partially blind to their own imperfections.

It has long been the subterfuge of the pas­sionate and revengeful, to throw that odium upon nature which ought only to be attached to themselves, and to say they are born with passions which it is absolutely impossible for them to subdue; and therefore, however outra­geous their actions may appear to society, or however destructive they may prove to the hap­piness of those with whom they are connected, still they are objects more deserving of pity than meriting blame.

This mode of arguing may be very satisfac­tory to themselves; but I am convinced that even you, my dear Louisa, (who are certainly prone to the indulgence of passion,) will ac­knowledge both its weakness and injustice: for [Page 204] if, as a child, you are capable of subduing re­sentment in the presence of those whose dis­pleasure you stand in awe of, how much more able to acquire that ascendency over their pas­sions must those be, whose judgments are ripen­ed by years, and improved by observation!

Let me then conjure you, my beloved girls, if you value my peace, or your own felicity, to endeavour to acquire an absolute ascendency over your passions; and, instead of nourishing resentment, check it in its first approach. Cul­tivate a kind, generous, and sympathizing tem­per, which feels for distress, and stretches out a hand to relieve it. Thus you will be kept free from that constant irritation which imaginary injuries are continually creating in a suspicious mind, to the destruction of its repose, and the banishment of its peace.

That weak heads or bad hearts should be un­der the dominion of passion, is neither extraor­dinary [Page 205] or uncommon; but that great talents, or superior abilities, should have been disgraced by the indulgence of so lowering a practice, is at once inexplicable and astonishing; yet, a­mongst the following examples, which I have selected from history for the purpose of indu­cing you to guard against the slightest appear­ance of passion, you will find that even royalty has been stained by its indulgence, and great abilities been disgraced by its practice.

Elizabeth, who, as a queen, stands unrivalled in the page of history, and whose superior abil­ities were calculated to call forth universal admiration, tarnished her glory, and disgraced her character, by the unjustifiable indulgence she gave her passions; for who can read of a queen having placed herself upon a level with one of the meanest of her subjects, by giving a blow to the favorite of her affections, without despising her fury, and feeling contempt for [Page 206] the being who, in defiance of all delicacy, was so great a slave to her passions?

In the life of Frederick, king of Prussia, there is a remarkable anecdote related of his sister, which neither tells to her honour, or is recorded to her credit.

A custom-house-officer, in the discharge of his duty, seized some silks which were intended for the princess, because they had not been entered according to the established rule, and by that means had avoided paying the accustomed duty.

The princess, enraged that any of her broth­er's subjects should venture to detain her property, commanded the custom-house-officer to appear before her; and, forgetting the soft­ness of her sex, and the dignity of her charac­ter, upbraided him in no very gentle language for (what she termed) the impertinence of his conduct. The man, conscious that he had only [Page 207] properly discharged the duties of his station, presumed to remonstrate upon her displeasure; and this circumstance so entirely put the prin­cess off her guard, that, running up to him with fury in her aspect, she not only loaded him with abuse, but struck him several blows upon the face.

Olympias, wife of Philip, king of Macedon, was a woman of so turbulent a spirit and un­governable temper, that the king found it im­possible to live with her upon terms of peace or cordiality; and though he once loved her with the most unbounded affection, yet the violence of her temper, and the depravity of her heart, soon taught him to conquer his ten­derness; and finding she was neither to be won by persuasion, or intimidated by fear, he sued for a divorce, and was afterwards married to Cleopatra.

[Page 208] A lovely form is often the covering to a tur­bulent temper. Roxana, a Bactarian princess, whom Alexander the Great had brought into captivity, was so transcendantly beautiful, that it was impossible to behold her without admi­ration; and the hero who had subdued thou­sands, found himself enslaved by her charms. Too generous to take advantage of Roxana's situation, he sued for that which he had a right to demand, and fancied himself the happiest of mortals, when Roxana consented to share his throne. But though her person was lovely, her mind was vicious, and her passions strong and ungovernable; and, after the death of Alex­ander, she rendered herself so obnoxious to the people, that a party was formed against her, and she was put to death.

Zenobia, wife of Odenatus, king of the Pal­myrenians, was a woman endowed with a mas­culine greatness of mind; yet those historians who have extolled her for feats of bravery, and [Page 209] acts of valour, cannot avoid censuring her for the indulgence of passion, and the practice of cruelty; and though she possessed many vir­tues, yet those vices were sufficiently great to throw a shade over the brightest of them.

Zoe, wife to the emperor Romanus, had from her infancy, yielded to the dominion of her passions; and whoever opposed the gratifi­cation of them, were certain of feeling the weight of her resentment; for her anger was excessive, and her fury without bounds. Deaf to the voice of principle, and lost to a sense of virtue, she put no check to the violence of her desires; and even the life of her husband fell a sacrifice to their accomplishment; for having fallen in love with a young man whose person was attractive, she contrived to have the empe­ror murdered, and then made him her partner in the throne!

[Page 210] If to paint vice is to render it despicable, the instances I have now selected will be sufficient­ly numerous for that purpose; and you will feel as repugnant to the practice of it, as if I had written volumes upon the subject. Whilst I am anxious to guard you against the approach of passion, I am solicitous that you should cor­rect every appearance of harshness. Let not ease and indulgence contract your affections, or wrap you up in selfish enjoyments: accustom yourselves to think of the distresses of human life; and though you are exempted from them, yet harden not your hearts against another's sufferings; but cheerfully contribute to the re­lief of woes you never felt, and miseries you have the good fortune never to have endured.

I have now only to conjure you, my beloved girls, to let truth be the guide of your hearts, and sincerity the dictator of your actions. A­void artifice, adhere to honour, and uniformly practise the duties of benevolence. Impress [Page 211] your minds with the original and natural equal­ity of man, and by those reflections check the approaches of presumption. The advantages of birth, and the splendour of fortune, are tri­fles when compared with greatness of mind; and it is only those who can bear prosperity without arrogance, and adversity without mean­ness, who deserve to be considered as truly great.