LETTER XI.

Mrs. HolmestoMyra.

Belleview.

I SIT down to give you, my dearMyra, some accounts of the visitants of today, and their conversation. We are not alwaysdistinguishedby such company, but perhaps it is sometimes necessary; and as it is a relaxation from thought, it serves to give us more pleasure in returning to the conversation of people of ideas.

MRS.Bournassumes a higher rank in life than she pretended to seven years ago.—She then walked on foot—she now, by good fortune, rides in a chariot. Placed, however, ina situation with which her education does not altogether comport, she has nothing disagreeable but her over assiduity to please—this is sometimes disgusting, for one cannot feast heartily upon honey: It is an errour which a candid mind easily forgives. She sometimes appears solicitous to display her mental accomplishments, and desirous to improve those of her daughter; but it is merely apparent. Notwithstanding a temporary wish may arise toward the attainment of this point, a habitual vacancy nips it in the bud.

MISSBournis about the age of fourteen—genteel, with a tolerable share of beauty, but not striking—her dress was elegant, but might have been adjusted to more advantage—not altogether aukward in her manner, nor yet can she be called graceful—she has a peculiar air of drollery which takes her by fits, and for this reason, perhaps, does notavail herself of every opportunity of displaying the modesty of her sex—she has seen much company, but instead of polishing her manners, it has only increased her assurance.

THUS much of the characters of our company. After some small chat which passed as we took a turn in the garden, we entered the Temple.

“WHAT books would you recommend to put into the hands of my daughter?” said Mrs.Bourn, as she walked into the library—“it is a matter of some importance.” “It is a matter of more importance,” answeredWorthy, “than is generally imagined, for unless a proper selection is made one would do better never to read at all:—Now, Madame, as much depends on the choice of books, care should be taken not to put those in the way of young persons, which might leave on theirminds any disagreeable prejudices, or which has a tendency to corrupt their morals.”—“As obvious as your remark is,” added Mr.Holmes, “it is evidently over looked in the common course of education. We wisely exclude those persons from our conversation, whose characters are bad, whose manners are depraved, or whose morals are impure: but if they are excluded from an apprehension of contaminating our minds, how much more dangerous is the company of those books, where the strokes aimed at virtue are redoubled, and the poison of vice, by repeatedly reading the same thing, indelibly distains the young mind?”

“WE all agree,” rejoinedWorthy, “that it is as great a matter of virtue and prudence to be circumspect in the selection of our books, as in the choice of our company.—But, Sir, the best things may be subverted toan ill use. Hence we may possibly trace the course of the ill tendency of many of the Novels extant.”

“MOST of the Novels,” returned my father, “with which our female libraries are over run, are built on a foundation not always placed on strict morality, and in the pursuit of objects not always probable or praiseworthy.—Novels, not regulated on the chaste principles of true friendship, rational love, and connubial duty, appear to me totally unfit to form the minds of women, of friends, or of wives.”

“BUT, as most young people read,” says Mrs.Bourn—“what rule can behit uponto make study always terminate to advantage?”

“IMPOSSIBLE,” cried Miss, “for I read as much as anybody, and though it may affordamusement, while I am employed, I do not remember a single word, when I lay down the book.”

“THIS confirms what I say of Novels,” cried Mr.Holmes, addressingWorthyin a jocular manner, “just calculated to kill time—to attract the attention of the reader for an hour, but leave not one idea on the mind.”

“I AM far from condemning every production in the gross,” repliedWorthy; “general satire against any particular class, or order of men, may be viewed in the same light as a satire against species—it is the same with books—if there are corrupt or mortified members, it is hardly fair to destroy the whole body. Now I grant some Novels have a bad tendency, yet there are many which contain excellent sentiments—let these receive their deserved reward—let those be discountenanced;and if it is impossible “to smite them with an apoplexy, there is a moral certainty of their dying of a consumption.”—But, as Mrs.Bournobserves, most young persons read, I will recommend to those who wish to mingle instruction with entertainment, method and regularity in reading. Todipintoany bookburthens the mind with unnecessary lumber, and may rather be called a disadvantage, than a benefit—The record of memory is so scrawled and blotted with imperfect ideas, that not one legible character can be traced.

“WERE I to throw my thoughts on this subject,” said my good father-in-law, as he began to enter more and more warmly into the debate—drawing his chair oppositeWorthy, and raising his hand with a poetical enthusiasm—“Were I to throw my thoughts on this subject into an Allegory, I would describethe human mind as an extensive plain, and knowledge as the river that should water it. If the course of the river be properly directed, the plain will be fertilized and cultivated to advantage; but if books, which are the sources that feed this river, rush into it from every quarter, it will overflow its banks, and the plain become inundated: When, therefore, knowledge flows on in its proper channel, this extensive and valuable field, the mind, instead of being covered with stagnant waters, is cultivated to the utmost advantage, and blooms luxuriantly into a general efflorescence—for a river properly restricted by high banks, is necessarily progressive.”

THE old gentleman brought down his hands with great solemnity, and we complimented him on his poetical exertion. “I cannot comprehend the meaning of this matter,” said the penetrative MissBourn. “I will explainit to you, my little dear,” said he, with good nature—“If you read with any design to improve your mind in virtue and every amiable accomplishment, you should be careful to read methodically, which will enable you to form an estimate of the various topicks discussed in company, and to bear a part in all those conversations which belong to your sex—you see, therefore, how necessary general knowledge is—what would you think of a woman advanced in life, who has no other store of knowledge than what she has obtained from experience?” “I think she would have a sorry time of it,” answered Miss.

“TO prevent it in yourself,” said Mrs.Bournto her daughter, “be assiduous to lay in a good stock of this knowledge, while your mind is yet free from prejudice and care.”

“HOW shall Igo to work, Madam?” enquired the delicate daughter.

MRS.Bournturned toward Mr.Holmes, which was hint enough for the good old man to proceed.

“THERE is a medium to be observed,” continued he, “in a lady’s reading; she is not to receive everything she finds, even in the best books, as invariable lessons of conduct; in books written in an easy, flowing style, which excel in description and the luxuriance of fancy, the imagination is apt to get heated—she ought, therefore, to discern with an eye of judgement, between the superficial and penetrating—the elegant and the tawdry—what may be merely amusing, and what may be useful. General reading will not teach her a true knowledge of the world.

“INbooksshe finds recorded the faithfulness of friendship—the constancy oftrue love, and even that honesty is the best policy.If virtue is represented carrying its reward with it, she too easily persuades herself that mankind have adopted this plan: Thus she finds, when, perhaps, it is too late, that she has entertained wrong notions of human nature; that her friends are deceitful—her lovers false—and that men consult interest oftener than honesty.

“A YOUNG lady who has imbibed her ideas of the world from desultory reading and placed confidence in the virtue of others, will bring back disappointment, when she expected gratitude. Unsuspicious of deceit, she is easily deceived—from the purity of her own thoughts, she trusts the faith of mankind, until experience convinces her of her errour—she falls a sacrifice to her credulity, and her only consolation is the simplicity and goodness of her heart.

“THE story of MissWhitman[1]is an emphatical illustration of the truth of these observations. An inflated fancy not restricted by judgement, leads too often todisappointmentand repentance. Such will be the fate of those who become (to use her own words)

“Lost in the magick of that sweet employ,To buildGAY SCENESand fashionFUTURE JOY.”

“Lost in the magick of that sweet employ,

To buildGAY SCENESand fashionFUTURE JOY.”

1. THIS young lady was of a reputable family inConnecticut. In her youth she was admired for beauty and good sense. She was a great reader of novels and romances, and having imbibed her ideas ofTHE CHARACTERS OF MEN, from those fallacious sources, became vain and coquettish, and rejected several offers of marriage, in expectation of receiving one more agreeable to her fanciful idea. Disappointed in herFAIRYhope, and finding her train of admirers less solicitous for the honour of her hand, in proportion as the roses of youth decayed, she was the more easily persuaded to relinquish thatSTABILITYwhich is the honour and happiness of the sex. The consequences of her amour becoming visible, she acquainted her lover of her situation, and aHUSBANDwas proposed for her, who was to receive a considerable sum for preserving the reputation of the lady; but having received security for payment, he immediately withdrew. She then left her friends, and travelled in the stage as far asWatertown, where she hired a young man to conduct her in a chaise toSalem. Here she wandered alone and friendless, and at length repaired to theBell-Tavern, inDanvers, where she was delivered of a lifeless child, and in about a fortnight after (inJuly, 1788) died of a puerperal fever, age about 35 years.Before her death she amused herself with reading, writing and needlework, and though in a state of anxiety, preserved a cheerfulness, not so much the effect of insensibility, as of patience and fortitude. She was sensible of her approaching fate, as appears from the following letter, which was written in characters.“MUST I die alone? Shall I never see you more? I know that you will come, but you will come too late: This is I fear, my last ability. Tears fall so, I know not how to write. Why did you leave me in so much distress? But I will not reproach you: All that was dear I left for you; but do not regret it.—May God forgive in both what was amiss: When I go from hence, I will leave you some way to find me; if I die, will you come and drop a tear over my grave?”In the following Poem, she, like the dyingSwan, sings her own Elegy, and it is here added, as a sorrowful instance, how often the best, and most pleasing talents, not accompanied by virtue and prudence, operate the destruction of their possessor.The description of her unfortunate passion, will remind the critical reader of the famous ode of Sappho. In genius and in misfortune, these poetical ladies were similar.“DISAPPOINTMENT.“WITH fond impatience all the tedious dayI sigh’d, and wish’d the lingering hours away;For when bright Hesper led the starry train,My shepherd swore to meet me on the plain;With eager haste to that dear spot I flew,And linger’d long, and then with tears withdrew:Alone, abandon’d to love’s tenderest woes,Down my pale cheeks the tide of sorrow flows;Dead to all joys that fortune can bestow,In vain for me her useless bounties flow;Take back each envied gift, ye pow’rs divine,And only let me call FIDELIO mine.“Ah, wretch! what anguish yet thy soul must prove,Ere thou canst hope to lose thy care in love;And when FIDELIO meets thy tearful eye,Pale fear and cold despair his presence fly;With pensive steps, I sought thy walks again,And kiss’d thy token on the verdant plain;With fondest hope, thro’ many a blissful bow’r,We gave the soul to fancy’s pleasing pow’r;Lost in the magick of that sweet employ,To build gay scenes, and fashion future joy,We saw mild peace o’er fair Canaan rise,And show’r her blessings from benignant skies;On airy hills our happy mansion rose,Built but for joy, no room for future woes;Sweet as the sleep of innocence, the day,(By transports measur’d) lightly danc’d away;To love, to bliss, the union’d soul was given,And each! too happy, ask’d no brighter heaven.“And must the hours in ceaseless anguish roll?Will no soft sunshine cheer my clouded soul?Can this dear earth no transient joy supply?Is it my doom to hope, despair and die?Oh! come, once more, with soft endearments come,Burst the cold prison of the sullen tomb;Through favour’d walks, thy chosen maid attend,Where well known shades their pleasing branches bend,Shed the soft poison from thy speaking eye,And look those raptures lifeless words deny;Still be, though late, reheard what ne’er could tire,But, told each eve, fresh pleasures would inspire;Still hope those scenes which love and fancy drew;But, drawn a thousand times, were ever new.“Can fancy paint, can words express;Can aught on earth my woes redress;E’en thy soft smiles can ceaseless proveThy truth, thy tenderness and love.Once thou couldst every bliss inspire,Transporting JOY, and gay DESIRE:Now cold DESPAIR her banner rears,And PLEASURE flies when she appears;Fond HOPE within my bosom dies,And AGONY her place supplies:O, thou! for whose dear sake I bear,A doom so dreadful, so severe,May happy fates thy footsteps guide,And o’er thyPEACEFULhome preside;Nor let ELIZA’S early tombInfect thee, with its baleful gloom.”

Before her death she amused herself with reading, writing and needlework, and though in a state of anxiety, preserved a cheerfulness, not so much the effect of insensibility, as of patience and fortitude. She was sensible of her approaching fate, as appears from the following letter, which was written in characters.

“MUST I die alone? Shall I never see you more? I know that you will come, but you will come too late: This is I fear, my last ability. Tears fall so, I know not how to write. Why did you leave me in so much distress? But I will not reproach you: All that was dear I left for you; but do not regret it.—May God forgive in both what was amiss: When I go from hence, I will leave you some way to find me; if I die, will you come and drop a tear over my grave?”

In the following Poem, she, like the dyingSwan, sings her own Elegy, and it is here added, as a sorrowful instance, how often the best, and most pleasing talents, not accompanied by virtue and prudence, operate the destruction of their possessor.

The description of her unfortunate passion, will remind the critical reader of the famous ode of Sappho. In genius and in misfortune, these poetical ladies were similar.

“DISAPPOINTMENT.“WITH fond impatience all the tedious dayI sigh’d, and wish’d the lingering hours away;For when bright Hesper led the starry train,My shepherd swore to meet me on the plain;With eager haste to that dear spot I flew,And linger’d long, and then with tears withdrew:Alone, abandon’d to love’s tenderest woes,Down my pale cheeks the tide of sorrow flows;Dead to all joys that fortune can bestow,In vain for me her useless bounties flow;Take back each envied gift, ye pow’rs divine,And only let me call FIDELIO mine.“Ah, wretch! what anguish yet thy soul must prove,Ere thou canst hope to lose thy care in love;And when FIDELIO meets thy tearful eye,Pale fear and cold despair his presence fly;With pensive steps, I sought thy walks again,And kiss’d thy token on the verdant plain;With fondest hope, thro’ many a blissful bow’r,We gave the soul to fancy’s pleasing pow’r;Lost in the magick of that sweet employ,To build gay scenes, and fashion future joy,We saw mild peace o’er fair Canaan rise,And show’r her blessings from benignant skies;On airy hills our happy mansion rose,Built but for joy, no room for future woes;Sweet as the sleep of innocence, the day,(By transports measur’d) lightly danc’d away;To love, to bliss, the union’d soul was given,And each! too happy, ask’d no brighter heaven.“And must the hours in ceaseless anguish roll?Will no soft sunshine cheer my clouded soul?Can this dear earth no transient joy supply?Is it my doom to hope, despair and die?Oh! come, once more, with soft endearments come,Burst the cold prison of the sullen tomb;Through favour’d walks, thy chosen maid attend,Where well known shades their pleasing branches bend,Shed the soft poison from thy speaking eye,And look those raptures lifeless words deny;Still be, though late, reheard what ne’er could tire,But, told each eve, fresh pleasures would inspire;Still hope those scenes which love and fancy drew;But, drawn a thousand times, were ever new.“Can fancy paint, can words express;Can aught on earth my woes redress;E’en thy soft smiles can ceaseless proveThy truth, thy tenderness and love.Once thou couldst every bliss inspire,Transporting JOY, and gay DESIRE:Now cold DESPAIR her banner rears,And PLEASURE flies when she appears;Fond HOPE within my bosom dies,And AGONY her place supplies:O, thou! for whose dear sake I bear,A doom so dreadful, so severe,May happy fates thy footsteps guide,And o’er thyPEACEFULhome preside;Nor let ELIZA’S early tombInfect thee, with its baleful gloom.”

“DISAPPOINTMENT.

“WITH fond impatience all the tedious dayI sigh’d, and wish’d the lingering hours away;For when bright Hesper led the starry train,My shepherd swore to meet me on the plain;With eager haste to that dear spot I flew,And linger’d long, and then with tears withdrew:Alone, abandon’d to love’s tenderest woes,Down my pale cheeks the tide of sorrow flows;Dead to all joys that fortune can bestow,In vain for me her useless bounties flow;Take back each envied gift, ye pow’rs divine,And only let me call FIDELIO mine.

“WITH fond impatience all the tedious day

I sigh’d, and wish’d the lingering hours away;

For when bright Hesper led the starry train,

My shepherd swore to meet me on the plain;

With eager haste to that dear spot I flew,

And linger’d long, and then with tears withdrew:

Alone, abandon’d to love’s tenderest woes,

Down my pale cheeks the tide of sorrow flows;

Dead to all joys that fortune can bestow,

In vain for me her useless bounties flow;

Take back each envied gift, ye pow’rs divine,

And only let me call FIDELIO mine.

“Ah, wretch! what anguish yet thy soul must prove,Ere thou canst hope to lose thy care in love;And when FIDELIO meets thy tearful eye,Pale fear and cold despair his presence fly;With pensive steps, I sought thy walks again,And kiss’d thy token on the verdant plain;With fondest hope, thro’ many a blissful bow’r,We gave the soul to fancy’s pleasing pow’r;Lost in the magick of that sweet employ,To build gay scenes, and fashion future joy,We saw mild peace o’er fair Canaan rise,And show’r her blessings from benignant skies;On airy hills our happy mansion rose,Built but for joy, no room for future woes;Sweet as the sleep of innocence, the day,(By transports measur’d) lightly danc’d away;To love, to bliss, the union’d soul was given,And each! too happy, ask’d no brighter heaven.

“Ah, wretch! what anguish yet thy soul must prove,

Ere thou canst hope to lose thy care in love;

And when FIDELIO meets thy tearful eye,

Pale fear and cold despair his presence fly;

With pensive steps, I sought thy walks again,

And kiss’d thy token on the verdant plain;

With fondest hope, thro’ many a blissful bow’r,

We gave the soul to fancy’s pleasing pow’r;

Lost in the magick of that sweet employ,

To build gay scenes, and fashion future joy,

We saw mild peace o’er fair Canaan rise,

And show’r her blessings from benignant skies;

On airy hills our happy mansion rose,

Built but for joy, no room for future woes;

Sweet as the sleep of innocence, the day,

(By transports measur’d) lightly danc’d away;

To love, to bliss, the union’d soul was given,

And each! too happy, ask’d no brighter heaven.

“And must the hours in ceaseless anguish roll?Will no soft sunshine cheer my clouded soul?Can this dear earth no transient joy supply?Is it my doom to hope, despair and die?Oh! come, once more, with soft endearments come,Burst the cold prison of the sullen tomb;Through favour’d walks, thy chosen maid attend,Where well known shades their pleasing branches bend,Shed the soft poison from thy speaking eye,And look those raptures lifeless words deny;Still be, though late, reheard what ne’er could tire,But, told each eve, fresh pleasures would inspire;Still hope those scenes which love and fancy drew;But, drawn a thousand times, were ever new.

“And must the hours in ceaseless anguish roll?

Will no soft sunshine cheer my clouded soul?

Can this dear earth no transient joy supply?

Is it my doom to hope, despair and die?

Oh! come, once more, with soft endearments come,

Burst the cold prison of the sullen tomb;

Through favour’d walks, thy chosen maid attend,

Where well known shades their pleasing branches bend,

Shed the soft poison from thy speaking eye,

And look those raptures lifeless words deny;

Still be, though late, reheard what ne’er could tire,

But, told each eve, fresh pleasures would inspire;

Still hope those scenes which love and fancy drew;

But, drawn a thousand times, were ever new.

“Can fancy paint, can words express;Can aught on earth my woes redress;E’en thy soft smiles can ceaseless proveThy truth, thy tenderness and love.Once thou couldst every bliss inspire,Transporting JOY, and gay DESIRE:Now cold DESPAIR her banner rears,And PLEASURE flies when she appears;Fond HOPE within my bosom dies,And AGONY her place supplies:O, thou! for whose dear sake I bear,A doom so dreadful, so severe,May happy fates thy footsteps guide,And o’er thyPEACEFULhome preside;Nor let ELIZA’S early tombInfect thee, with its baleful gloom.”

“Can fancy paint, can words express;

Can aught on earth my woes redress;

E’en thy soft smiles can ceaseless prove

Thy truth, thy tenderness and love.

Once thou couldst every bliss inspire,

Transporting JOY, and gay DESIRE:

Now cold DESPAIR her banner rears,

And PLEASURE flies when she appears;

Fond HOPE within my bosom dies,

And AGONY her place supplies:

O, thou! for whose dear sake I bear,

A doom so dreadful, so severe,

May happy fates thy footsteps guide,

And o’er thyPEACEFULhome preside;

Nor let ELIZA’S early tomb

Infect thee, with its baleful gloom.”

“WITH a good heart she possessed a poetical imagination, and an unbounded thirst for novelty; but these airy talents, not counterpoised with judgement, or perhaps serious reflection,instead of adding to her happiness, were the cause of her ruin.”

“I CONCLUDE from your reasoning,” said I, “and it is besides, my own opinion, that many fine girls have been ruined by reading Novels.”

“AND I believe,” added Mrs.Bourn, “we may trace from hence the causes of spleen in many persons advanced in life.”

“YOU mean old maids, Madam,” cries the sagacious Miss, “like my auntDeborah—she calls all men deceitful, and most women, with her, are no better than they should be.”

“WELL said!” exclaimedWorthy, “the recollection of chagrin and former disappointment, sours one’s temper and mortifies the heart—disappointment will be more or lesssevere in proportion as we elevate our expectations; for the mostsanguine tempersare the soonest discouraged; as the highest building is in the most danger of falling.”

“IT appears from what I have said,” resumed Mr.Holmes, “that those books which teach us a knowledge of the world are useful to form the minds of females, and ought therefore to be studied.”

I MENTIONEDRochefoucault’smaxims.—

“DO they not degrade human nature?” enquired my father.

“THIS little book,” answeredWorthy, “contains much truth—and those short sketches traced by the hand of judgement, present to us the leading features of mankind.” “But,”replied my father, “thatinterest should assume all shapes, is a doctrine, which, in my mind, represents a caricature rather than a living picture.” “It is the duty of a painter to produce a likeness,” saidWorthy,—“And a skilful one,” cried my father, continuing the metaphor, “will bring the amiable qualities of the heart to light; and throw those which disgrace humanity into the shade.” “I doubt,” rejoinedWorthy, “whether this flattery will answer the purpose you aim to accomplish—You entertain a high opinion ofthe dignity of human nature, and are displeased at the author who advances anything derogatory to that dignity.Swift, in speaking of these maxims, in one of his best poems, affirms,

“They argue no corrupted mindIn him—the fault is in mankind.”

“They argue no corrupted mind

In him—the fault is in mankind.”

“AS I began this subject,” added I, “it shall be ended by one observation—As thesemaxims give us an idea of the manners and characters of men, among whom a young person is soon to appear; and as it is necessary to her security and happiness that she be made acquainted with them—they may be read to advantage.”

“THERE is another medium,” said Mr.Holmes, assenting to my observation, “to be noticed in the study of a lady—she takes up a book, either for instruction or entertainment—the medium lies in knowing when to put it down. Constant application becomes labour—it sours the temper—gives an air of thoughtfulness, and frequently of absence. Byimmoderate readingwe hoard up opinions and become insensibly attached to them; this miserly conduct sinks us to affectation, and disgustful pedantry;conversationonly can remedy this dangerous evil, strengthen the judgement,and make reading really useful. They mutually depend upon, and assist each other.

“A KNOWLEDGE of HISTORY which exhibits to us in one view the rise, progress and decay of nations—which points out the advancement of the mind in society, and the improvements in the arts which adorn human nature, comes with propriety under the notice of a lady. To observe the origin of civilization—the gradual progress of society, and the refinements of manners, policy, morality and religion—to observe the progress of mankind from simplicity to luxury, from luxury to effeminacy, and the gradual steps of the decline of empire, and the dissolution of states and kingdoms, must blend that happy union of instruction and entertainment, which never fails to win our attention to the pursuit of all subjects.

“POETRY claims her due from the ladies.POETRY enlarges and strengthens the mind, refines the taste and improves the judgement. It has been asserted that women have no business withsatire—now satire is but a branch of poetry. I acknowledge, however, much false wit is sent into the world, under this general title; but no critick with whom I am acquainted ever called satire false wit—for as long as vice and folly continue to predominate in the human heart, the satirist will be considered as a useful member of society. I believeAddisoncalls him an auxiliary to the pulpit. Suffer me to enlarge on thisnew idea. Satire is the correction of the vices and follies of the human heart; a woman may, therefore, read it to advantage. What I mean by enforcing this point, is, to impress the minds of females with a principle of self correction; for among all kinds of knowledge which arise from reading, the duty of self-knowledge is a very eminentone; and is at the same time, the most useful and important.

“OUR ordinary intercourse with the world, will present to us in a very clear point of view, the fallacious ideas we sometimes entertain of our own self-knowledge.—We are blinded by pride and self love, and will not observe our own imperfections, which we blame with the greatest acrimony in other people, and seem to detest with the greatest abhorrence; so that, it often happens, while we are branding our neighbour for some foible, or vanity, we ourselves are equally guilty.

“RIDICULOUS as this conduct must appear in the eyes of all judicious people, it is too frequently practised to escape observation.

“I WILL drop this piece of morality, with a charge to the fair reader, that whenever shediscovers satire, ridiculing or recriminating the follies or crimes of mankind, that she look into her own heart, and compare the strictures on the conduct of others with her own feelings.”

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