'Tis not a tale, 'tis not a jeſt,Admir'd with laughter at a feaſt,Nor florid talk, which can that title gain,The proofs of wit for ever muſt remain.Neither can that have any place,At which a virgin hides her face;Such droſs the fire muſt purge away; 'tis juſt,The author bluſh there, where the reader muſt.Cowley.
'Tis not a tale, 'tis not a jeſt,Admir'd with laughter at a feaſt,Nor florid talk, which can that title gain,The proofs of wit for ever muſt remain.Neither can that have any place,At which a virgin hides her face;Such droſs the fire muſt purge away; 'tis juſt,The author bluſh there, where the reader muſt.
Cowley.
Butthoſe who actually poſſeſs this rare talent, cannot be too abſtinent in the uſe of it. It often makes admirers, but it never makes friends; I mean, where it is the predominant feature; and the unprotected and defenceleſs ſtate of womanhood calls for friendſhip more than for admiration. She who does not deſire friends has a ſordid and inſenſible ſoul; but ſhe who is ambitious of making every man her admirer, has an invincible vanity and a cold heart.
Butto dwell only on the ſide of policy, a prudent woman, who has eſtabliſhed the reputation of ſome genius will ſufficiently maintain it, without keeping her faculties always on the ſtretch to ſaygood things. Nay, if reputation alone be her object, ſhe will gain a more ſolid one by her forbearance, as the wiſer part of her acquaintance will aſcribe it to the right motive, which is, not that ſhe has leſs wit, but that ſhe has more judgment.
Thefatal fondneſs for indulging a ſpirit of ridicule, and the injurious and irreparable conſequences which ſometimes attend thetoo prompt reply, can never be too ſeriouſly or too ſeverely condemned. Not to offend, is the firſt ſtep towards pleaſing. To give pain is as much an offence againſt humanity, as againſt good breeding; and ſurely it is as well to abſtain from an action becauſe it is ſinful, as becauſe it is impolite. In company, youngladies would do well before they ſpeak, to reflect, if what they are going to ſay may not diſtreſs ſome worthy perſon preſent, by wounding them in their perſons, families, connexions, or religious opinions. If they find it will touch them in either of theſe, I ſhould adviſe them to ſuſpect, that what they were going to ſay is not ſoverygood a thing as they at firſt imagined. Nay, if even it was one of thoſe bright ideas, whichVenus has imbued with a fifth part of her nectar, ſo much greater will be their merit in ſuppreſſing it, if there was a probability it might offend. Indeed, if they have the temper and prudence to make ſuch a previous reflection, they will be more richly rewarded by their own inward triumph, at having ſuppreſſed a lively but ſevere remark, than they could have been with the diſſembledapplauſes of the whole company, who, with that complaiſant deceit, which good breeding too much authoriſes, affect openly to admire what they ſecretly reſolve never to forgive.
I havealways been delighted with the ſtory of the little girl's eloquence, in one of the Children's Tales, who received from a friendly fairy the gift, that at every word ſhe uttered, pinks, roſes, diamonds, and pearls, ſhould drop from her mouth. The hidden moral appears to be this, that it was the ſweetneſs of her temper which produced this pretty fanciful effect: for when her malicious ſiſter deſired the ſame gift from the good-natured tiny Intelligence, the venom of her own heart converted it into poiſonous and loathſome reptiles.
A manof ſenſe and breeding will ſometimes join in the laugh, which has been raiſed at his expence by an ill-natured repartee; but if it was very cutting, and one of thoſe ſhocking ſort of truths, which as they can ſcarcely be pardoned even in private, ought never to be uttered in public, he does not laugh becauſe he is pleaſed, but becauſe he wiſhes to conceal how much he is hurt. As the ſarcaſm was uttered by a lady, ſo far from ſeeming to reſent it, he will be the firſt to commend it; but notwithſtanding that, he will remember it as a trait of malice, when the whole company ſhall have forgotten it as a ſtroke of wit. Women are ſo far from being privileged by their ſex to ſay unhandſome or cruel things, that it is this very circumſtance which renders them more intolerable. When the arrow is lodged in the heart, it isno relief to him who is wounded to reflect, that the hand which ſhot it was a fair one.
Manywomen, when they have a favourite point to gain, or an earneſt wiſh to bring any one over to their opinion, often uſe a very diſingenuous method: they will ſtate a caſe ambiguouſly, and then avail themſelves of it, in whatever manner ſhall beſt anſwer their purpoſe; leaving your mind in a ſtate of indeciſion as to their real meaning, while they triumph in the perplexity they have given you by the unfair concluſions they draw, from premiſes equivocally ſtated. They will alſo frequently argue from exceptions inſtead of rules, and are aſtoniſhed when you are not willing to be contented with a prejudice, inſtead of a reaſon.
Ina ſenſible company of both ſexes, where women are not reſtrained by any other reſerve than what their natural modeſty impoſes; and where the intimacy of all parties authoriſes the utmoſt freedom of communication; ſhould any one inquire what were the general ſentiments on ſome particular ſubject, it will, I believe, commonly happen, that the ladies, whoſe imaginations have kept pace with the narration, have anticipated its end, and are ready to deliver their ſentiments on it as ſoon as it is finiſhed. While ſome of the male hearers, whoſe minds were buſied in ſettling the propriety, comparing the circumſtances, and examining the conſiſtencies of what was ſaid, are obliged to pauſe and diſcriminate, before they think of anſwering. Nothing is ſo embarraſſing as a variety of matter, and the converſation of womenis often more perſpicuous, becauſe it is leſs laboured.
A manof deep reflection, if he does not keep up an intimate commerce with the world, will be ſometimes ſo entangled in the intricacies of intenſe thought, that he will have the appearance of a confuſed and perplexed expreſſion; while a ſprightly woman will extricate herſelf with that lively and "raſh dexterity," which will almoſt always pleaſe, though it is very far from being always right. It is eaſier to confound than to convince an opponent; the former may be effected by a turn that has more happineſs than truth in it. Many an excellent reaſoner, well ſkilled in the theory of the ſchools, has felt himſelf diſcomfited by a reply, which, though as wide of the mark, and as foreign to the queſtion as can be conceived, has diſconcerted him more than the moſt ſtartling propoſition, or the moſt accurate chain of reaſoning could have done; and he has borne the laugh of his fair antagoniſt, as well as of the whole company, though he could not but feel, that his own argument was attended with the fulleſt demonſtration: ſo true is it, that it is not always neceſſary to be right, in order to be applauded.
Butlet not a young lady's vanity be too much elated with this falſe applauſe, which is given, not to her merit, but to her ſex: ſhe has not perhaps gained a victory, though ſhe may be allowed a triumph; and it ſhould humble her to reflect, that the tribute is paid, not to her ſtrength but her weakneſs. It is worth while to diſcriminate between that applauſe, which is given from the complaiſance of others, and that which is paid to our own merit.
Wheregreat ſprightlineſs is the natural bent of the temper, girls ſhould endeavour to habituate themſelves to a cuſtom of obſerving, thinking, and reaſoning. I do not mean, that they ſhould devote themſelves to abſtruſe ſpeculation, or the ſtudy of logic; but ſhe who is accuſtomed to give a due arrangement to her thoughts, to reaſon juſtly and pertinently on common affairs, and judiciouſly to deduce effects from their cauſes, will be a better logician than ſome of thoſe who claim the name, becauſe they have ſtudied the art: this is being "learned without the rules;" the beſt definition, perhaps, of that ſort of literature whichis propereſt for the ſex. That ſpecies of knowledge, which appears to be the reſult of reflection rather than of ſcience, ſits peculiarly well on women. It is not uncommon to find a lady, who, though ſhe does not know a rule of Syntax, ſcarcely ever violates one; and who conſtructs every ſentence ſhe utters, with more propriety than many a learned dunce, who has every rule of Ariſtotle by heart, and who can lace his own thread-bare diſcourſe with the golden ſhreds of Cicero and Virgil.
Ithas been objected, and I fear with ſome reaſon, that female converſation is too frequently tinctured with a cenſorious ſpirit, and that ladies are ſeldom apt to diſcover much tenderneſs for the errors of a fallen ſiſter.
If it be ſo, it is a grievous fault.
If it be ſo, it is a grievous fault.
Noarguments can juſtify, no pleas can extenuate it. To inſult over the miſeries of an unhappy creature is inhuman, not to compaſſionate them is unchriſtian. The worthy part of the ſex always expreſs themſelves humanely on the failings of others, in proportion to their own undeviating goodneſs.
Andhere I cannot help remarking, that young women do not always carefully diſtinguiſh between running into the error of detraction, and its oppoſite extreme of indiſcriminate applauſe. This proceedſ from the falſe idea they entertain, that the direct contrary to what is wrong muſt be right. Thus the dread of being only ſuſpected of one fault makes them actually guilty of another. The deſire of avoidingthe imputation of envy, impels them to be inſincere; and to eſtabliſh a reputation for ſweetneſs of temper and generoſity, they affect ſometimes to ſpeak of very indifferent characters with the moſt extravagant applauſe. With ſuch, the hyperbole is a favourite figure; and every degree of compariſon but the ſuperlative is rejected, as cold and inexpreſſive. But this habit of exaggeration greatly weakens their credit, and deſtroys the weight of their opinion on other occaſions; for people very ſoon diſcover what degree of faith is to be given both to their judgment and veracity. And thoſe of real merit will no more be flattered by that approbation, which cannot diſtinguiſh the value of what it praiſes, than the celebrated painter muſt have been at the judgment paſſedon his works by an ignorant ſpectator, who, being aſked what he thought of ſuch and ſuch very capital but very different pieces, cried out in an affected rapture, "All alike! all alike!"
Ithas been propoſed to the young, as a maxim of ſupreme wiſdom, to manage ſo dexterouſly in converſation, as to appear to be well acquainted with ſubjects, of which they are totally ignorant; and this, by affecting ſilence in regard to thoſe, on which they are known to excel.—But why counſel this diſingenuous fraud? Why add to the numberleſs arts of deceit, this practice of deceiving, as it were, on a ſettled principle? If to diſavow the knowledge they really have be a culpable affectation, then certainly to inſinuate an idea of their ſkill, wherethey are actually ignorant, is a moſt unworthy artifice.
Butof all the qualifications for converſation, humility, if not the moſt brilliant, is the ſafeſt, the moſt amiable, and the moſt feminine. The affectation of introducing ſubjects, with which others are unacquainted, and of diſplaying talents ſuperior to the reſt of the company, is as dangerous as it is fooliſh.
There are many, who never can forgive another for being more agreeable and more accompliſhed than themſelves, and who can pardon any offence rather than an eclipſing merit. Had the nightingale in the fable conquered his vanity, and reſiſted the temptation of ſhewing a fine voice,he might have eſcaped the talons of the hawk. The melody of his ſinging was the cauſe of his deſtruction; his merit brought him into danger, and his vanity coſt him his life.
[5]Lord Bacon.
[5]Lord Bacon.
Envy came next, Envy with ſquinting eyes,Sick of a ſtrange diſeaſe, his neighbour's health;Beſt then he lives when any better dies,Is never poor but in another's wealth:On beſt mens harms and griefs he feeds his fill,Elſe his own maw doth eat with ſpiteful will,Ill muſt the temper be, where diet is ſo ill.Fletcher's Purple Island.
Envy came next, Envy with ſquinting eyes,Sick of a ſtrange diſeaſe, his neighbour's health;Beſt then he lives when any better dies,Is never poor but in another's wealth:On beſt mens harms and griefs he feeds his fill,Elſe his own maw doth eat with ſpiteful will,Ill muſt the temper be, where diet is ſo ill.
Fletcher's Purple Island.
"Envy, (ſays Lord Bacon) has no holidays." There cannot perhaps be a more lively and ſtriking deſcription of the miſerable ſtate of mind thoſe endure, who are tormentedwith this vice. A ſpirit of emulation has been ſuppoſed to be the ſource of the greateſt improvements; and there is no doubt but the warmeſt rivalſhip will produce the moſt excellent effects; but it is to be feared, that a perpetual ſtate of conteſt will injure the temper ſo eſſentially, that the miſchief will hardly be counterbalanced by any other advantages. Thoſe, whoſe progreſs is the moſt rapid, will be apt to deſpiſe their leſs ſucceſſful competitors, who, in return, will feel the bittereſt reſentment againſt their more fortunate rivals. Among perſons of real goodneſs, this jealouſy and contempt can never be equally felt, becauſe every advancement in piety will be attended with a proportionable increaſe of humility, which will lead them to contemplate their own improvements with modeſty, and to view with charity the miſcarriages of others.
Whenan envious man is melancholy, one may aſk him, in the words of Bion, what evil has befallen himſelf, or what good has happened to another? This laſt is the ſcale by which he principally meaſures his felicity, and the very ſmiles of his friends are ſo many deductions from his own happineſs. The wants of others are the ſtandard by which he rates his own wealth, and he eſtimates his riches, not ſo much by his own poſſeſſions, as by the neceſſities of his neighbours.
Whenthe malevolent intend to ſtrike a very deep and dangerous ſtroke of malice, they generally begin the moſt remotely in the world fromthe ſubject neareſt their hearts. They ſet out with commending the object of their envy for ſome trifling quality or advantage, which it is ſcarcely worth while to poſſeſs: they next proceed to make a general profeſſion of their own good-will and regard for him: thus artfully removing any ſuſpicion of their deſign, and clearing all obſtructions for the inſidious ſtab they are about to give; for who will ſuſpect them of an intention to injure the object of their peculiar and profeſſed eſteem? The hearer's belief of the fact grows in proportion to the ſeeming reluctance with which it is told, and to the conviction he has, that the relater is not influenced by any private pique, or perſonal reſentment; but that the confeſſion is extorted from him ſorely againſt his inclination, and purely on account of his zeal for truth.
Angeris leſs reaſonable and more ſincere than envy.—Anger breaks out abruptly; envy is a great prefacer—anger wiſhes to be underſtood at once: envy is fond of remote hints and ambiguities; but, obſcure as its oracles are, it never ceaſes to deliver them till they are perfectly comprehended:—anger repeats the ſame circumſtances over again; envy invents new ones at every freſh recital—anger gives a broken, vehement, and interrupted narrative; envy tells a more conſiſtent and more probable, though a falſer tale—anger is exceſſively imprudent, for it is impatient to diſcloſe every thing it knows; envy is diſcreet, for it has a great deal to hide—anger never conſults times or ſeaſons; envy waits for the lucky moment, when the wound it meditates may be made the moſt exquiſitely painful, and themoſt incurably deep—anger uſes more invective; envy does more miſchief—ſimple anger ſoon runs itſelf out of breath, and is exhauſted at the end of its tale; but it is for that choſen period that envy has treaſured up the moſt barbed arrow in its whole quiver—anger puts a man out of himſelf: but the truly malicious generally preſerve the appearance of ſelf-poſſeſſion, or they could not ſo effectually injure.—The angry man ſets out by deſtroying his whole credit with you at once, for he very frankly confeſſes his abhorrence and deteſtation of the object of his abuſe; while the envious man carefully ſuppreſſes all his own ſhare in the affair.—The angry man defeats the end of his reſentment, by keepinghimſelfcontinually before your eyes, inſtead of his enemy; while the envious man artfully brings forward the objectof his malice, and keeps himſelf out of ſight.—The angry man talks loudly of his own wrongs; the envious of his adverſary's injuſtice.—A paſſionate perſon, if his reſentments are not complicated with malice, divides his time between ſinning and ſorrowing; and, as the iraſcible paſſions cannot conſtantly be at work, his heart may ſometimes get a holiday.—Anger is a violent act, envy a conſtant habit—no one can be always angry, but he may be always envious:—an angry man's enmity (if he be generous) will ſubſide when the object of his reſentment becomes unfortunate; but the envious man can extract food from his malice out of calamity itſelf, if he finds his adverſary bears it with dignity, or is pitied or aſſiſted in it. The rage of the paſſionate man is totally extinguiſhed by the death of his enemy; but the hatred of the malicious is not buried even in the grave of his rival: he will envy the good name he has left behind him; he will envy him the tears of his widow, the proſperity of his children, the eſteem of his friends, the praiſes of his epitaph—nay the very magnificence of his funeral.
"Theear of jealouſy heareth all things," (ſays the wiſe man) frequently I believe more than is uttered, which makes the company of perſons infected with it ſtill more dangerous.
Whenyou tell thoſe of a malicious turn, any circumſtance that has happened to another, though they perfectly know of whom you are ſpeaking, they often affect to be at a loſs, to forget his name, or to miſapprehend you in ſome reſpect or other; and thismerely to have an opportunity of ſlily gratifying their malice by mentioning ſome unhappy defect or perſonal infirmity he labours under; and not contented "to tack his every error to his name," they will, by way of farther explanation, have recourſe to the faults of his father, or the miſfortunes of his family; and this with all the ſeeming ſimplicity and candor in the world, merely for the ſake of preventing miſtakes, and to clear up every doubt of his identity.—If you are ſpeaking of a lady, for inſtance, they will perhaps embelliſh their inquiries, by aſking if you mean her, whoſe great grandfather was a bankrupt, though ſhe has the vanity to keep a chariot, while others who are much better born walk on foot; or they will afterwards recollect, that you may poſſibly mean her couſin, of the ſame name, whoſe mother wasſuſpected of ſuch or ſuch an indiſcretion, though the daughter had the luck to make her fortune by marrying, while her betters are overlooked.
Tohint at a fault, does more miſchief than ſpeaking out; for whatever is left for the imagination to finiſh, will not fail to be overdone: every hiatus will be more then filled up, and every pauſe more than ſupplied. There is leſs malice, and leſs miſchief too, in telling a man's name than the initials of it; as a worthier perſon may be involved in the moſt diſgraceful ſuſpicions by ſuch a dangerous ambiguity.
Itis not uncommon for the envious, after having attempted to deface the faireſt character ſo induſtriouſly, that they are afraid you will begin todetect their malice, to endeavour to remove your ſuſpicions effectually, by aſſuring you, that what they have juſt related is only the popular opinion; they themſelves can never believe things are ſo bad as they are ſaid to be; for their part, it is a rule with them always to hope the beſt. It is their way never to believe or report ill of any one. They will, however, mention the ſtory in all companies, that they may do their friend the ſervice of proteſting their diſbelief of it. More reputations are thus hinted away by falſe friends, than are openly deſtroyed by public enemies. Anif, or abut, or a mortified look, or a languid defence, or an ambiguous ſhake of the head, or a haſty word affectedly recalled, will demoliſh a character more effectually, than the whole artillery of malice when openly levelled againſt it.
Itis not that envy never praiſes—No, that would be making a public profeſſion of itſelf, and advertiſing its own malignity; whereas the greateſt ſucceſs of its efforts depends on the concealment of their end. When envy intends to ſtrike a ſtroke of Machiavelian policy, it ſometimes affects the language of the moſt exaggerated applauſe; though it generally takes care, that the ſubject of its panegyric ſhall be a very indifferent and common character, ſo that it is well aware none of its praiſes will ſtick.
Itis the unhappy nature of envy not to be contented with poſitive miſery, but to be continually aggravating its own torments, by comparing them with the felicities of others. The eyes of envy are perpetually fixed on the object which diſturbs it, norcan it avert them from it, though to procure itſelf the relief of a temporary forgetfulneſs. On ſeeing the innocence of the firſt pair,
Aſide the devil turn'd,For Envy, yet with jealous leer malign,Eyed them aſkance.
Aſide the devil turn'd,For Envy, yet with jealous leer malign,Eyed them aſkance.
As this enormous ſin chiefly inſtigated the revolt, and brought on the ruin of the angelic ſpirits, ſo it is not improbable, that it will be a principal inſtrument of miſery in a future world, for the envious to compare their deſperate condition with the happineſs of the children of God; and to heighten their actual wretchedneſs by reflecting on what they have loſt.
Perhapsenvy, like lying and ingratitude, is practiſed with more frequency, becauſe it is practiſed withimpunity; but there being no human laws againſt theſe crimes, is ſo far from an inducement to commit them, that this very conſideration would be ſufficient to deter the wiſe and good, if all others were ineffectual; for of how heinous a nature muſt thoſe ſins be, which are judged above the reach of human puniſhment, and are reſerved for the final juſtice of God himſelf!
Amongthe many evils which prevail under the ſun, the abuſe of words is not the leaſt conſiderable. By the influence of time, and the perverſion of faſhion, the plaineſt and moſt unequivocal may be ſo altered,as to have a meaning aſſigned them almoſt diametrically oppoſite to their original ſignification.
Thepreſent age may be termed, by way of diſtinction, the age of ſentiment, a word which, in the implication it now bears, was unknown to our plain anceſtors. Sentiment is the varniſh of virtue to conceal the deformity of vice; and it is not uncommon for the ſame perſons to make a jeſt of religion, to break through the moſt ſolemn ties and engagements, to practiſe every art of latent fraud and open ſeduction, and yet to value themſelves on ſpeaking and writingſentimentally.
Butthis refined jargon, which has infeſted letters and tainted morals, is chiefly admired and adopted byyoung ladiesof a certain turn, who readſentimental books, writeſentimental letters, and contractſentimental friendſhips.
Erroris never likely to do ſo much miſchief as when it diſguiſes its real tendency, and puts on an engaging and attractive appearance. Many a young woman, who would be ſhocked at the imputation of an intrigue, is extremely flattered at the idea of a ſentimental connexion, though perhaps with a dangerous and deſigning man, who, by putting on this maſk of plauſibility and virtue, diſarms her of her prudence, lays her apprehenſions aſleep, and involves her in miſery; miſery the more inevitable becauſe unſuſpected. For ſhe who apprehends no danger, will not think it neceſſary to be always upon her guard; but will rather invite than avoid the ruin whichcomes under ſo ſpecious and ſo fair a form.
Suchan engagement will be infinitely dearer to her vanity than an avowed and authoriſed attachment; for one of theſe ſentimental lovers will not ſcruple very ſeriouſly to aſſure a credulous girl, that her unparalleled merit entitles her to the adoration of the whole world, and that the univerſal homage of mankind is nothing more than the unavoidable tribute extorted by her charms. No wonder then ſhe ſhould be eaſily prevailed on to believe, that an individual is captivated by perfections which might enſlave a million. But ſhe ſhould remember, that he who endeavours to intoxicate her with adulation, intends one day moſt effectually to humble her. For an artful man has always a ſecret deſign to pay himſelf in future for every preſent ſacrifice. And this prodigality of praiſe, which he now appears to laviſh with ſuch thoughtleſs profuſion, is, in fact, a ſum [oe]conomically laid out to ſupply his future neceſſities: of this ſum he keeps an exact eſtimate, and at ſome diſtant day promiſes himſelf the moſt exorbitant intereſt for it. If he has addreſs and conduct, and, the object of his purſuit much vanity, and ſome ſenſibility, he ſeldom fails of ſucceſs; for ſo powerful will be his aſcendancy over her mind, that ſhe will ſoon adopt his notions and opinions. Indeed, it is more than probable ſhe poſſeſſed moſt of them before, having gradually acquired them in her initiation into the ſentimental character. To maintain that character with dignity and propriety, it is neceſſary ſhe ſhould entertain the moſt elevatedideas of diſproportionate alliances, and diſintereſted love; and conſider fortune, rank, and reputation, as mere chimerical diſtinctions and vulgar prejudices.
Thelover, deeply verſed in all the obliquities of fraud, and ſkilled to wind himſelf into every avenue of the heart which indiſcretion has left unguarded, ſoon diſcovers on which ſide it is moſt acceſſible. He avails himſelf of this weakneſs by addreſſing her in a language exactly conſonant to her own ideas. He attacks her with her own weapons, and oppoſes rhapſody to ſentiment—He profeſſes ſo ſovereign a contempt for the paltry concerns of money, that ſhe thinks it her duty to reward him for ſo generous a renunciation. Every plea he artfully advances of his own unworthineſs, isconſidered by her as a freſh demand which her gratitude muſt anſwer. And ſhe makes it a point of honour to ſacrifice to him that fortune which he is too noble to regard. Theſe profeſſions of humility are the common artifice of the vain, and theſe proteſtations of generoſity the refuge of the rapacious. And among its many ſmooth miſchiefs, it is one of the ſure and ſucceſſful frauds of ſentiment, to affect the moſt frigid indifference to thoſe external and pecuniary advantages, which it is its great and real object to obtain.
A sentimentalgirl very rarely entertains any doubt of her perſonal beauty; for ſhe has been daily accuſtomed to contemplate it herſelf, and to hear of it from others. She will not, therefore, be very ſolicitous forthe confirmation of a truth ſo ſelf-evident; but ſhe ſuſpects, that her pretenſions to underſtanding are more likely to be diſputed, and, for that reaſon, greedily devours every compliment offered to thoſe perfections, which are leſs obvious and more refined. She is perſuaded, that men need only open their eyes to decide on her beauty, while it will be the moſt convincing proof of the taſte, ſenſe, and elegance of her admirer, that he can diſcern and flatter thoſe qualities in her. A man of the character here ſuppoſed, will eaſily inſinuate himſelf into her affections, by means of this latent but leading foible, which may be called the guiding clue to a ſentimental heart. He will affect to overlook that beauty which attracts common eyes, and enſnares common hearts, while he will beſtow the moſtdelicate praiſes on the beauties of her mind, and finiſh the climax of adulation, by hinting that ſhe is ſuperior to it.
And when he tells her ſhe hates flattery,She ſays ſhe does, being then moſt flatter'd.
And when he tells her ſhe hates flattery,She ſays ſhe does, being then moſt flatter'd.
Butnothing, in general, can end leſs delightfully than theſe ſublime attachments, even where no acts of ſeduction were ever practiſed, but they are ſuffered, like mere ſublunary connexions, to terminate in the vulgar cataſtrophe of marriage. That wealth, which lately ſeemed to be looked on with ineffable contempt by the lover, now appears to be the principal attraction in the eyes of the huſband; and he, who but a few ſhort weeks before, in a tranſport of ſentimental generoſity, wiſhed her to have been a village maid, with no portion buther crook and her beauty, and that they might ſpend their days in paſtoral love and innocence, has now loſt all reliſh for the Arcadian life, or any other life in which ſhe muſt be his companion.
Onthe other hand, ſhe who was lately
An angel call'd, and angel-like ador'd,
An angel call'd, and angel-like ador'd,
is ſhocked to find herſelf at once ſtripped of all her celeſtial attributes. This late divinity, who ſcarcely yielded to her ſiſters of the ſky, now finds herſelf of leſs importance in the eſteem of the man ſhe has choſen, than any other mere mortal woman. No longer is ſhe gratified with the tear of counterfeited paſſion, the ſigh of diſſembled rapture, or the language of premeditated adoration. No longer is thealtar of her vanity loaded with the oblations of fictitious fondneſs, the incenſe of falſehood, or the ſacrifice of flattery.—Her apotheoſis is ended!—She feels herſelf degraded from the dignities and privileges of a goddeſs, to all the imperfections, vanities, and weakneſſes of a ſlighted woman, and a neglected wife. Her faults, which were ſo lately overlooked, or miſtaken for virtues, are now, as Caſſius ſays, ſet in a note-book. The paſſion, which was vowed eternal, laſted only a few ſhort weeks; and the indifference, which was ſo far from being included in the bargain, that it was not ſo much as ſuſpected, follows them through the whole tireſome journey of their inſipid, vacant, joyleſs exiſtence.
Thusmuch for thecompletionof the ſentimental hiſtory. If we trace itback to its beginning, we ſhall find that a damſel of this caſt had her head originally turned by pernicious reading, and her inſanity confirmed by imprudent friendſhips. She never fails to ſelect a belovedconfidanteof her own turn and humour, though, if ſhe can help it, not quite ſo handſome as herſelf. A violent intimacy enſues, or, to ſpeak the language of ſentiment, an intimate union of ſouls immediately takes place, which is wrought to the higheſt pitch by a ſecret and voluminous correſpondence, though they live in the ſame ſtreet, or perhaps in the ſame houſe. This is the fuel which principally feeds and ſupplies the dangerous flame of ſentiment. In this correſpondence the two friends encourage each other in the falſeſt notions imaginable. They repreſent romantic love as the great important buſineſs of human life, and deſcribe all the other concerns of it as too low and paltry to merit the attention of ſuch elevated beings, and fit only to employ the daughters of the plodding vulgar. In theſe letters, family affairs are miſrepreſented, family ſecrets divulged, and family miſfortunes aggravated. They are filled with vows of eternal amity, and proteſtations of never-ending love. But interjections and quotations are the principal embelliſhments of theſe very ſublime epiſtles. Every panegyric contained in them is extravagant and hyperbolical, and every cenſure exaggerated and exceſſive. In a favourite, every frailty is heightened into a perfection, and in a foe degraded into a crime. The dramatic poets, eſpecially the moſt tender and romantic, are quoted in almoſt every line, and every pompous or pathetic thought is forced to give up its natural and obvious meaning, and with all the violence of miſapplication, is compelled to ſuit ſome circumſtance of imaginary woe of the fair tranſcriber. Alicia is not too mad for her heroics, nor Monimia too mild for her ſoft emotions.
Fathershave flinty heartsis an expreſſion worth an empire, and is always uſed with peculiar emphaſis and enthuſiaſm. For a favourite topic of theſe epiſtles is the groveling ſpirit and ſordid temper of the parents, who will be ſure to find no quarter at the hands of their daughters, ſhould they preſume to be ſo unreaſonable as to direct their courſe of reading, interfere in their choice of friends, or interrupt their very important correſpondence. But as theſe young ladies are fertile inexpedients, and as their genius is never more agreeably exerciſed than in finding reſources, they are not without their ſecret exultation, in caſe either of the above intereſting events ſhould happen, as they carry with them a certain air of tyranny and perſecution which is very delightful. For a prohibited correſpondence is one of the great incidents of a ſentimental life, and a letter clandeſtinely received, the ſupreme felicity of a ſentimental lady.
Nothingcan equal the aſtoniſhment of theſe ſoaring ſpirits, when their plain friends or prudent relations preſume to remonſtrate with them on any impropriety in their conduct. But if theſe worthy people happen to be ſomewhat advanced in life, their contempt is then a little ſoftened by pity, at the reflection that ſuch very antiquated poor creatures ſhould pretend to judge what is fit or unfit for ladies of their great refinement, ſenſe, and reading. They conſider them as wretches utterly ignorant of the ſublime pleaſures of a delicate and exalted paſſion; as tyrants whoſe authority is to be contemned, and as ſpies whoſe vigilance is to be eluded. The prudence of theſe worthy friends they term ſuſpicion, and their experience dotage. For they are perſuaded, that the face of things has ſo totally changed ſince their parents were young, that though they might then judge tolerably for themſelves, yet they are now (with all their advantages of knowledge and obſervation) by no means qualified to direct their more enlightened daughters; who, if they have made a great progreſs in the ſentimental walk, willno more be influenced by the advice of their mother, than they would go abroad in her laced pinner or her brocade ſuit.
Butyoung people never ſhew their folly and ignorance more conſpicuouſly, than by this over-confidence in their own judgment, and this haughty diſdain of the opinion of thoſe who have known more days. Youth has a quickneſs of apprehenſion, which it is very apt to miſtake for an acuteneſs of penetration. But youth, like cunning, though very conceited, is very ſhort-ſighted, and never more ſo than when it diſregards the inſtructions of the wife, and the admonitions of the aged. The ſame vices and follies influenced the human heart in their day, which influence it now, andnearly in the ſame manner. One who well knew the world and its various vanities, has ſaid, "The thing which hath been, it is that which ſhall be, and that which is done is that which ſhall be done, and there is no new thing under the ſun."
Itis alſo a part of the ſentimental character, to imagine that none but the young and the beautiful have any right to the pleaſures of ſociety, of even to the common benefits and bleſſings of life. Ladies of this turn alſo affect the moſt lofty diſregard for uſeful qualities and domeſtic virtues; and this is a natural conſequence: for as this ſort of ſentiment is only a weed of idleneſs, ſhe who is conſtantly and uſefully employed, has neither leiſure nor propenſity to cultivate it.
A sentimentallady principally values herſelf on the enlargement of her notions, and her liberal way of thinking. This ſuperiority of ſoul chiefly manifeſts itſelf in the contempt of thoſe minute delicacies and little decorums, which, trifling as they may be thought, tend at once to dignify the character, and to reſtrain the levity of the younger part of the ſex.
Perhapsthe error here complained of, originates in miſtakingſentimentandprinciplefor each other. Now I conceive them to be extremely different. Sentiment is the virtue ofideas, and principle the virtue ofaction. Sentiment has its ſeat in the head, principle in the heart. Sentiment ſuggeſts fine harangues and ſubtile diſtinctions; principle conceives juſt notions, and performs good actions in conſequenceof them. Sentiment refines away the ſimplicity of truth and the plainneſs of piety; and, as a celebrated wit[6]has remarked of his no leſs celebrated contemporary, gives us virtue in words and vice in deeds. Sentiment may be called the Athenian, whoknewwhat was right, and principle the Lacedemonian whopractiſedit.
Buttheſe qualities will be better exemplified by an attentive conſideration of two admirably drawn characters of Milton, which are beautifully, delicately, and diſtinctly marked. Theſe are, Belial, who may not improperly be called theDemon of Sentiment; and Abdiel, who may be termed theAngel of Principle.
Surveythe picture of Belial, drawn by the ſublimeſt hand that ever held the poetic pencil.
A fairer perſon loſt not heav'n; he ſeem'dFor dignity compos'd, and high exploit,But all was falſe and hollow, tho' his tongueDropt manna, and could make the worſe appearThe better reaſon, to perplex and daſhMatureſt counſels, for his thoughts were low,To vice induſtrious, but to nobler deedsTim'rous and ſlothful; yet he pleas'd the ear.Paradise Lost, B. II.
A fairer perſon loſt not heav'n; he ſeem'dFor dignity compos'd, and high exploit,But all was falſe and hollow, tho' his tongueDropt manna, and could make the worſe appearThe better reaſon, to perplex and daſhMatureſt counſels, for his thoughts were low,To vice induſtrious, but to nobler deedsTim'rous and ſlothful; yet he pleas'd the ear.
Paradise Lost, B. II.
Hereis a lively and exquiſite repreſentation of art, ſubtilty, wit, fine breeding and poliſhed manners: on the whole, of a very accompliſhed and ſentimental ſpirit.
Nowturn to the artleſs, upright, and unſophiſticated Abdiel,
Faithful foundAmong the faithleſs, faithful only heAmong innumerable falſe, unmov'd,Unſhaken, unſeduc'd, unterrified;His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal.Nor number, nor example with him wroughtTo ſwerve from truth, or change his conſtant mind,Though ſingle.BookV.
Faithful foundAmong the faithleſs, faithful only heAmong innumerable falſe, unmov'd,Unſhaken, unſeduc'd, unterrified;His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal.Nor number, nor example with him wroughtTo ſwerve from truth, or change his conſtant mind,Though ſingle.
BookV.
Butit is not from theſe deſcriptions, juſt and ſtriking as they are, that their characters are ſo perfectly known, as from an examination of their conduct through the remainder of this divine work: in which it is well worth while to remark the conſonancy of their actions, with what the above pictures ſeem to promiſe. It will alſo be obſerved, that the contraſt between them is kept up throughout, with the utmoſt exactneſs of delineation, and the moſt animated ſtrength of colouring.On a review it will be found, that Belialtalkedall, and Abdieldidall. The former,
With words ſtill cloath'd in reaſon's guiſe,Counſel'd ignoble eaſe, and peaceful ſloth,Not peace.BookII.
With words ſtill cloath'd in reaſon's guiſe,Counſel'd ignoble eaſe, and peaceful ſloth,Not peace.
BookII.
InAbdiel you will conſtantly find the eloquence of action. When tempted by the rebellious angels, with whatretorted ſcorn, with what honeſt indignation he deſerts their multitudes, and retreats from their contagious ſociety!