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LETTERS Written TO and FOR PARTICULAR FRIENDS, On the most IMPORTANT OCCASIONS. Directing not only the Requisite STYLE and FORMS To be Observed in WRITING Familiar Letters; But How to THINK and ACT Justly and Prudently, IN THE COMMON CONCERNS OF HUMAN LIFE.
CONTAINING One Hundred and Seventy-three LETTERS, None of which were ever before Published.
LONDON: Printed for C. RIVINGTON, in St. Paul's Church-yard; J. OSBORN, in Pater-noster Row; and J. LEAKE, at Bath, M.DCC.XLI.
_THE following Letters are pub|lish'd at the Solicitation of par|ticular Friends, who are of Opi|nion, that they will answer seve|ral good Ends, as they may not only direct the Forms requisite to be observed on the most important Occasions; but, what is more to the Purpose, by the Rules and Instructions contained in them, contri|bute to mend the Heart, and improve the Understanding.
NATURE, PROPRIETY of CHARACTER, PLAIN SENSE, and GENERAL USE, have been the chief Objects of the Author's Attention in the penning of these Letters; and as he every-where aimed to write to the Judgment, rather than to the Imagination, he would chuse, that they should generally be found more useful
than diverting: Tho', where the Subjects require Strokes of Humour, and innocent Raillery, it will be seen, perhaps, that the Method he has taken, was the Effect of Choice, and not merely of Necessity.
The Writer is no Friend to long Pre|faces; but it may be necessary, however, to say, what he has aimed at in this Per|formance; and to leave his Merit in the Execution of it, to proper Judges.
He has endeavour'd then, in general, throughout the great Variety of his Sub|jects, to inculcate the Principles of Virtue and Benevolence; to describe properly, and recommend strongly, the SOCIAL and RELATIVE DUTIES; and to place them in such practical Lights, that the Letters may serve for Rules to THINK and ACT by, as well as Forms to WRITE after.
Particularly, he has endeavoured to point out the Duty of a Servant, not a Slave; the Duty of a Master, not a Ty|rant; that of the Parent, not as a Person morose and sour, and hard to be pleased; but mild, indulgent, kind, and such an one as would rather govern by Persuasion than Force.
He has endeavour'd to direct the young Man in the Choice of his Friends and Companions; to excite him to Dili|gence; to discourage Extravagance, Sottishness, and Vice of all Kinds.
He has aimed to set forth, in a Variety of Cases, to both Sexes, the Inconve|niencies attending unsuitable Marriages; to expose the Folly of a litigious Spirit; to console the Unhappy; to comfort the Mourner: And many of these by Argu|ments, tho' easy and familiar, yet new and uncommon.
With regard to the Letters of Court|ship, the Author has aimed to point out such Methods of Address, to a young Man, as may stand the Test of the Parents Judgment, as well as the Daughter's Opinion; and, at the same time, that they should not want the proper Warmth of Expression, which Complaisance, and Pas|sion for the beloved Object, inspire, (and is so much expected in Addresses of this Na|ture) they should have their Foundation laid in common Sense, and a manly Sin|cerity; and, in a Word, be such as a prudent Woman need not blush to receive, nor a discreet Man be ashamed to look
back upon, when the doubtful Courtship is changed into the matrimonial Certainty.
With this View he has also attempted to expose the empty Flou ishes, and inco|herent Rhapsodies, by which shallow Heads, and designing Hearts, endeavour to exalt their Mistresses into Goddesses, in hopes of having it in their Power to sink them into the Characters of the most Cre|dulous and Foolish of their Sex.
Orphans, and Ladies of independent Fortunes, he has particularly endeavour'd to guard against the insidious Arts of their flattering and selfish Dependents, and the clandestine Addresses of Fortune-hunters, those Beasts of Prey, as they may well be called, who spread their Snares for the innocent and thoughtless Heart.
These, among other no less material Objects, have been the Author's principal Aim: How well he has succeeded, must, as has been hinted, be left to the Judg|ment of the candid Reader.
LETTER I. To a Father, against putting a Youth of but moderate Parts to a Profession that requires more extensive Abilities.
Dear Sir,
_YOU pay me a Compliment, tho' a very obliging one, when in the last Letter you favoured me with, you desire my Advice, with respect to the Disposition of your Son William; whom you are inclin'd to bring up to the Bar. If, in complying with your Request, I should say any thing you may not intirely approve, you will not have so much room to
blame me, as your own wrong Choice of a Counsellor. I need not now tell you, I have a good Opi|nion of Will; and think him a modest, grave, sober, Youth: But, for this very Reason, I hardly think him qualified for the Profession you would chuse for him; for, I doubt, he has neither Talents for the Law, nor ever will have the Presence of Mind necessary to make a Figure at the Bar. In any smooth, easy Business, he will probably succeed, and be a useful Member of the Commonwealth. And as he is not your eldest Son, I should, were it to me, put him to a Merchant; or, as we live in an Island, and Trade and Navigation are both our Riches and our Glory, I should not even scruple to put a second Son to a creditable wholesale Dealer, rather than fail; if he himself is not averse to such a Calling. For I know not (you'll excuse me, I'm sure) whether Will's Genius is equal to that of an universal Merchant: For, the various Springs of Com|merce, the Seasons for chusing proper Commo|dities, and numberless Incidents that make a necessary Return of Gain precarious, are full Im|ployment for the strongest Judgment; as a Man, by one ill-chosen Venture, often loses more than he gains by several successful ones.
But this Opinion of Will, should you think it just, will be no Obstacle to his succeeding in the World in some creditable easy Business. Tho' I think him unequal to the Part you seem inclinable to allot him; yet he is no Fool: And Experience teaches us, that, in some sorts of Business, ample Advantage, may be made by very moderate Ta|lents, with much Reputation. These are princi|pally such Employments as merely consist in Buy|ng with Prudence, and in Selling at a Market-profit:
Hence we see several Wholesale Dealers gain large Fortunes with Ease and Credit, and without any other Secret than the plain Practice of Buying at the best Hand, paying for their Goods punctually, and vending them always for what they are. In Dealings of this Kind, the Fatigues are few, and clear well-kept Books are sufficient to shew, at any time, a Man's Loss or Gain; for which, generally speaking, less than One Forenoon in a Week is sufficient: And yet, by a constant Attention, in this easy manner, as good a Character, and, very often, more Money is to be gained than in Professions that require an extraordinary Genius, a perpetual Attention, and a close and intense Study; which very seldom suc|ceeds neither: For see you not of Hundreds of Lawyers, how very few of them make a Figure, or get genteel Bread? And how many, for want of Courage to appear at the Bar (who yet have good Parts and Knowledge in the Laws) are forced to confine themselves to Chamber-practice, in which it is a long time before they grow noted enough to make a tolerable Livelihood. As to what you hint, of placing him in the Physick Tribe; I like this no better than the other. Consider only this one Thing, how long it is be|fore he will be capable of entering into Business, or Reputation, as a Physician, if he ever does it at all: For who chuses to trust his Health to a raw and unexperienced young Man? The Law requires a sprightly Impudence, if I may so say, the Physick Line a solemn one, in the Person who would make a Figure in either. And do you think, tho' Will is grave enough of Conscience, that he ever can come up to that important Deportment, that unblushing Parade, which is the very Essence of an English Physician? So he may, in either of the Pro|sessions,
live over all his Days, and be quite un|known; for, as Practice in both Faculties is the best Teacher, and Theory a most uncertain Guide, he may live to be Forty of Fifty Years of Age, and not come into any Business that shall improve himself, or benefit his Consulters. Whereas in the Way I propose, no sooner is he come of Age, and fit to be trusted with the Management of any Affairs at all, but his Seven Years will be expired; and if he has not been wanting to himself in it (and if he be, he would have been much more so in an abstruser Business) he will be enabled, with the Fortune you can bestow upon him, to enter upon the Stage of the World with great Advantage, and become directly, a necessary and an useful Member of the Commu|nity. And, my good Friend, when you and I recollect, that most of the noble Families in the Kingdom, as well as the genteel ones, had the Foundations of their Grandeur laid in Trade, I expect not, in such a Country as ours especially, that any Objection to my Advice will be form'd, either by you or your good Lady, on this Score, if you have not more significant Reasons proceed|ing from the Boy's Turn of Mind and Inclination; which, I think, should always be consulted on these Occasions. For, tho' I hope it never will be so in your Case, yet nothing has been more common, than that of Two Sons, the Eldest brought up to the Estate, the other to Trade, in the Revolution of Twenty or Thirty Years, the latter, thro' the Extravagance of the former, has made himself Eldest, as I may say; for, by saving while the other has been spending, he has found Means to keep the Estate in the Family, tho' it has been transferr'd upon the youngest, and, as it has then proved, the worthiest Branch.
This, I think, deserves your Consideration; and by viewing Will in the same Light I do; that of a well-inclined Lad, of moderate Passions, great natural Modesty, and no soaring Genius; I believe you will think it best to dispose of him in such manner as may require no greater Talents than he is possessed of, and may, in due Time, make him appear in the Face of the World fully quali|fied for what he undertakes. I am, Sir, Your very humble Servant.
LETTER II. From an UNCLE to a NEPHEW, on his keep|ing bad Company, bad Hours, &c. in his Apprenticeship.
Dear Nephew,
I AM very much concerned to hear that you are of late fallen into bad Company; that you keep bad Hours, and give great Uneasiness to your Master, and break the Rules of his Family: That when he expostulates with you on this Occasion, you return pert and bold Answers; and, instead of promising or endeavouring to amend, repeat the Offence; and have enter'd into Clubs and Societies of young Fellows, who set at naught all good Example, and make such Persons who would do their Duty, the Subject of their Ridicule, as Per|sons of narrow Minds, and who want the Courage to do as they do.
Let me, on this Occasion, expostulate with you, and set before you the Evil of the Way you are in.
In the first Place: What can you mean by breaking the Rules of a Family you had bound your self by Contract to observe? Do you think it is honest, to break thro' Engagements into which you have so solemnly entered; and which are no less the Rules of the Corporation you are to be one Day free of, than those of a private Family?—Seven Years, several of which are elapsed, are not so long a Term, but that you may see it determined before you are over-fit to betrusted with your own Conduct: Twenty-one or Twenty-two Years of Age, is full early for a young Man to be his own Master, whatever you may think; and you may surely stay till then, at least, to chuse your own Hours, and your own Company; and, I fear, as you go on, if you do not mend your Ways, your Discretion will not then do Credit to your Choice. Remember, you have no Time you can call your own, during the Continuance of your Contract; and must you abuse your Master in a double Sense; rob him of his Time, especially if any of it be Hours of Business; rob him of his Rest; break the Peace of his Family, and give a bad Example to others? And all for what? Why to riot in the Company of a Set of Persons, who contemn, as they teach you to do, all Order and Discipline; who, in all Likelihood, will lead you into into Gaming, Drinking, Swearing, and even more dangerous Vices, to the unhinging of your Mind from your Business, which must be your future Support. Consider, I exhort you, in time, to what these Courses may lead you. Consider the Affiction you will give to all your Friends, by your Con|tinuance in them. Lay together the Substance of the Conversation that passes in a whole Evening, with your frothy Companions, after you are come
from them, and reflect what solid Truth, what useful Lesson, worthy of being inculcated in your future Life, that whole Evening has afforded you; and consider, whether it is worth breaking thro' all Rule and Order for?—Whether your pre|sent Conduct is such as you would allow in a Ser|vant of your own? Whether you are so capable to pursue your Business with that Ardor and De|light next Morning, as if you had not drank, or kept bad Hours over Night? If not, whether your Master has not a double Loss and Damage from your mis-spent Evenings? Whether the taking of small Liberties, as you may think them, leads you not on to greater; for, let me tell you, you will not find it in your Power to stop when you will: And then, whether any Restraint at all will not in time be irksome to you? I have gone thro' the like Servitude with Plea|sure and Credit. I found myself my own Master full soon for my Discretion: What you think of your self I know not; but I wish you may do as well for your own Interest, and Reputation too, as I have done for mine: And I'll assure you, I should not have thought it either creditable or honest to do as you do. I could have stood the Laugh of an Hundred such vain Companions as you chuse, for being too narrow-minded to break thro' all moral Obligations to my Master, in order to shew the Bravery of a bad Heart, and what an abandon'd Mind dared to perpetrate. A bad Be|ginning seldom makes a good Ending, and if you was assured that you could stop when you came for your self, which is very improbable, how will you answer it to Equity and good Conscience, that you will not do so for your Master? There is, let me tell you, more true Bravery of Mind in for|bearing to do an Injury, than in giving Offence.
You are now at an Age, when you should study to improve not divert your Faculties. You should now lay in a Fund of Knowledge, that in time, when ripened by Experience, may make you a worthy Member of the Commonwealth. Do you think you have nothing to learn, either as to your Business, or as to the forming of your Mind? Would it not be much better to chuse the silent, the sober Conversation of BOOKS, than of such Companions as never read or think? An Author never commits any but his best Thoughts to Paper; but what can you expect from the laughing noisy Company you keep, but frothy Prate, indigested Notions, and Thoughts so unwor|thy of being remember'd, that it is the greatest Kindness to forget them. Let me intreat you then, my dear Kinsman, for your Family's sake, for your own sake, before it be too late, to reflect as you ought upon the Course you are enter'd into. By applying yourself to Books, instead of such vain Company, you will be quali|fied in time for the best of Company, and to be respected by all Ranks of Men. This will keep you out of unnecessary Expences, will employ all your leisure Time, will exclude a world of Temptations, and open and inlarge your Notions of M••n and Things, and, finally, set you above that wretched Company which now you seem so much delighted with. And one Thing let me recommend to you, That you keep a List of the young Men of your Standing within the Com|pass of your Knowledge, and for the next Seven Years observe what Fate will attend them: See, if those who follow not the Course you are so lately enter'd into, will not appear in a very dif|ferent Light from those who do; and from the Industry and Prosperity of the one, and the
Decay or Failure of the other, (if their vain Ways do not blast them before, or as soon as they begin the World) you'll find abundant Reason every Day to justify the Truth of the Observations I have thrown together. As nothing but my Af|fection for you could possibly influence me to these Expostulations, I hope for a proper Effect from them, if you would be thought well of by, or ex|pect any Favour from, Your loving Uncle.
Your Master will, at my Request, send me word of the Success of my Remonstrances.
LETTER III. A Widow-Mother's Letter, in Answer to her Son's complaining of Hardships in his Ap|prenticeship.
Dear Billy,
I AM very sorry to hear of the Difference between your Master and you. I was always afraid you would expect the same Indulgences you had met with at home; and as you know, that in many Instances, I have endeavoured to make any seem|ing Hardship as easy to you as I could, if this causes you to be harder to be satisfied, it would be a great Trouble to me. Your Uncle tells me, I am afraid with too much Truth, that the Indul|gences you have received from me, have made your present Station more disagreeable than it would otherwise have been. What I have always done for you was intended for your Good, and nothing could so deeply afflict me as to see my Tenderness
have a contrary Effect: Therefore, dear Child, to my constant Care for your Welfare, do not add the Sorrow of seeing it the Cause of your behaving worse than if it had not been bestow'd upon you; for as, before we put you to your Master, we had an extraordinary Character of him, from all his Neighbours, and those who dealt with him; and as Mr. Joseph, who is now out of his Time, gives him the best of Characters, and declares your Mistress to be a Woman of great Prudence and good Conduct; I know not how to think they would use you ill in any respect. But con|sider, my Dear, you must not, in any Woman beside myself, expect to find a fond, and perhaps partial Mother; for, the little Failings which I could not see in you, will appear very plain to other Persons. My Love for you would make me wish you always with me; but as that is what your future Welfare will no way permit; and as you must certainly be a Gainer by the Situation you are now in, let a Desire to promote my Happiness, as well as your own, make every seeming Difficulty light; which, I hope, will appear much lighter for being what I intreat you to dispense with; who am, Your ever loving Mother.
I have desir'd your Uncle to interpose in this Matter, and he writes to you on this Occa|sion; and has promised to see Justice done you, in case your Complaints be reason|able.
LETTER IV. An Uncle's Letter to the Youth, on the same Occasion.
Cousin William,
I AM sorry you should have any Misunderstand|ing with your Master: I have a good Opinion of him, and am unwilling to entertain a bad one of you. It is so much a Master's Interest to use his Apprentices well, that I am inclinable to think that when they are badly treated, it is oftener the Effect of Provocation than Choice. Wherefore, before I give myself the Trouble of interposing in your Behalf, I desire you will strictly inquire of your|self, whether you have not, by some Misconduct or other, provoked that Alteration in your Master's Be|haviour of which you so much complain. If, after having diligently complied with this Request, you assure me that you are not sensible of having given Cause of Disgust on your Side, I will readily use my best Endeavours to reconcile you to your Master, or procure you another. But if you find yourself blame|ble, it will be better for you to remove, by your own Amendment, the Occasion of your Master's Dis|pleasure, than to have me, or any other Friend, offer to plead your Excuse, where you know it would be unjust to defend you. If this should be your Case, all your Friends together could promise your better Behaviour, indeed; but as the Performance must even then be your own, it will add much more to your Character to pass thro' your whole Term without any Interposition between you. Weigh well what I have here said; and remember, that your future Welfare depends greatly on your present Behaviour. I am,
Your Loving Kinsman.
LETTER V. An Apprentice to an Uncle, about a Fraud committed by his Fellow-Apprentice to their Master.
Dear Uncle,
I AM under greater Uneasiness than I am able to express: My Fellow-'prentice, for whom I had a great Regard, and from whom I have received many Civilities, has involved me in the deepest Affliction. I am unwilling to tell you, and yet I must not conceal it, that he has forfeited the Confidence reposed in him by a Breach of Trust, to which he ungenerously gain'd my Consent, by a Pretence I did not in the least suspect. What must I do? My Master is defrauded: If I discover the Injury, I am sure to ruin a young Man I wou'd fain think possessed of some Merit; if I conceal the Injustice, I must at present share the Guilt, and hereafter be Partaker in the Punishment. I am in the greatest Agony of Mind, and beg your instant Advice, as you value the Peace of
Your dutiful, tho' unfortunate Nephew
LETTER VI. The Uncle's Answer.
Dear Nephew,
YOUR Letter, which I just now received, gives me great Uneasiness: And as any Delay in the Discovery may be attended with Conse|quences which will probably be dangerous to your|self, and disagreeable to all who belong to you; I
charge you, if you value your own Happiness, and my Peace, to acquaint your Master instantly with the Injustice that has been done him; which is the only Means of vindicating your own Innocence, and prevent your being looked upon as an Accom|plice in a Fact, to which I wish you may not be found to have been too far consenting. As to the unhappy young Man who has been guilty of so fatal an Indiscretion, I wish, if the known Cle|mency and Good-nature of your Master may par|don this Offence, he may let his Forgiveness teach him the Ingratitude and Inhumanity of injuring a Man, who is not only the proper Guardian of his Youth, but whose Goodness deserves the best Be|haviour, tho' he be generous enough to excuse the worst. Let not a Minute pass after you receive this, before you reveal the Matter to your Master: For, I am in Hopes that your Application to me, and your following my Advice, will greatly plead in your Behalf. I will very speedily call on your Master, and am, as far as an honest Regard for you can make me, Your Loving Uncle.
LETTER VII. Advice from a Father to a young Beginner, what Company to chuse, and how to behave in it.
Dear Robin,
AS you are now entering into the World, and will probably have considerable Dealings in your Business, the frequent Occasions you will have for Advice from others, will make you de|sirous
of singling out among your most intimate Acquaintance, one or two, whom you would view in the Light of Friends. In the Choice of these, your utmost Care and Caution will be necessary: for, by a Mistake here, you can scarcely conceive the fatal Effects you may hereafter experience: Wherefore, it will be proper for you to make a Judgment of those who are fit to be your Advisers, by the Conduct they have observed in their own Affairs, and the Reputation they bear in the World. For he who has by his own Indiscretions undone himself, is much fitter to be set up as a Land-mark for a pru|dent Mariner to shun his Courses, than an Example to follow.
Old Age is generally slow and heavy, Youth headstrong and precipitate; but there are old Men who are full of Vivacity, and young Men reple|nish'd with Discretion; which makes me rather point out the Conduct than the Age of the Persons with whom you should chuse to associate; tho' after all, it is a never-failing good Sign to me of Prudence and Virtue in a young Man, when his Seniors chuse his Company, and he delights in theirs.
Let your Endeavour therefore be, at all Adven|tures, to consort yourself with Men of Sobriety, good Sense and Virtue; for the Proverb is an un|erring one, that says, A Man is known by the Com|pany he keeps. If such Men you can single out, while you improve by their Conversation, you will benefit by their Advice; and be sure remember one thing, that tho' you must be frank and unreserved in delivering your Sentiments, when Occasions offer, yet that you be much readier to hear than speak; for to this Purpose it has been significantly observed, that Nature has given a Man two Ears,
and but one Tongue. Lay in therefore by Obser|vation, and a modest Silence, such a Store of Ideas, that you may at their Time of Life, make no worse Figure than they do; and endeavour to bene|fit yourself rather by other Peoples Ills than your own. How must those young Men expose them|selves to the Contempt and Ridicule of their Seniors, who having seen little or nothing of the World, are continually shutting out by open Mouths and closed Ears, all Possibility of Instruction, and making vain the principal End of Conversation, which is Improvement. A silent young Man makes generally a wise old one, and never fails of being respected by the best and most prudent Men. When therefore you come among Strangers, hear every one speak before you deliver your own Sen|timents; by this means you will judge of the Merit and Capacities of your Company, and avoid exposing yourself, as I have known many do, by shooting out hasty and inconsiderate Bolts, which they would have been glad to recal, when perhaps a silent Genius in Company has burst out upon them with such Observations, as have struck Con|sciousness and Shame in the forward Speaker, if he has not been quite insensible of inward Reproach. I have thrown together, as they occurr'd, a few Thoughts, which may suffice for the present to shew my Care and Concern for your Welfare. I hope you will constantly from time to time, com|municate to me whatever you shall think worthy of my Notice, or in which my Advice may be of Use to you. For I have no Pleasure in this Life equal to that which the Happiness of my Children gives me. And of this you may be assured; for I am, and ever must be,
Your affectionate Father.
LETTER VIII. General Rules for agreeable Conversation in a young Man. From a Father to a Son.
Dear William,
AS I had not an Opportunity of saying so much to you as I wished when you were last here; I send this to inform you of some things in your general Conversation, which I think would be proper for you to observe, and amend; particularly your excessive Itch for Talking, which discovers itself alike on all Occasions. I have always flatter'd my|self that you do not want Sense, and am willing to hope I have not been deceived: But the dangerous Self-sufficiency of most young Men, seems violently to have seized you, which, I hope, a little Re|flection will remove.
The Art of rendering yourself agreeable in Con|versation is worth your serious Study: 'Tis an Ad|vantage few can boast, tho' sought after by all; and nothing is so constant an Enemy to Success in those who would excel in this Art, as the harbour|ing an Opinion of their own Proficiency, before they have attained to any tolerable Degree of Knowledge in what they imagine themselves pos|sessed of. Conversation, where it is rightly ma|naged, must be so conducted, as to let each Mem|ber of the Company have a Share in the Pleasure and Applause it affords: If you are Six in Number, after you have told a Story, or made any Remark which gives a general Satisfaction; you must con|sider it the Right of another to call your Attention in his Turn; and, unless particularly requested, it betrays a great Weakness to follow yourself. No doubt but you love to be admired: And have not
others the same Passion? You believe your Wit more brilliant than theirs? Are you sure that they are not of the same Opinion as to their own? If a Man speaks little, you must not from thence con|clude him willing to give up every Claim to con|versible Merit: Perhaps he cannot sing: But to be sure he is as desirous of having his peculiar Humour, or his dry Joke applauded, as you are to be intreat|ed another Song. If he is no Mathematician, per|haps he is versed in religious Disputation; if he despises Plays, he may admire History; tho' he understands not Geography, he may yet know how to describe the Humours of Mankind: And tho' he pretends not to Politicks, he may have a Turn for some more useful Science. When these are considered, if his Modesty is great, you cannot ob|lige him more than by throwing an Opportunity in his way to display his Capacity on the Subject he believes himself most able to handle with Ad|vantage: For, in order to support a thorough good Humour, a Man must be pleased with him|self as well as with others. When this is pro|perly taken Care of, Conversation seldom fails to prove entertaining: And to the Neglect of this, are owing many of the yawning Hours spent in Companies composed of Men not incapable of be|having agreeably. The Manner of telling a Story, is also worth your Notice: You have known the Pleasure of hearing a long one well told: Mr. Trotter has an admirable Talent in this way: But then you must observe, that half the Pleasure he gives, arises from his happily avoiding any of the silly Digressions, which are the great Cause of a Story's seeming tedious: You never hear him mingle his Relation with, I remember very well it was the same Day that 'Squire Trumbul's Son came of Age.—I bought
my bay Nag the very Day before, at such a Fair, being a Friday that Year;—or, I can scarce think of it without Laughing;—But, however, as I was saying:—And a hundred more such Dead-weights to Attention. Nor does he ever praise a Story be|fore he relates it; a fatal Rock to many a good Relation: For when any Story wants a preparatory Recommendation, it ought not to be told; and even when the Relation is possible, the Generality of Auditors are apt to persuade themselves, The Mountain labours, and a Mouse is born.These are loose and general Hints; but by a due Improvement of them, you will find yourself very sensibly grow more and more agreeable where-ever you converse. An Ease and becoming Freedom you already have, and by the Addition of Discre|tion in your Use of them, and Complaisance to others, you will probably succeed in the Desire so predominant in you, of being admired by Men of Sense and Judgment. Which will be no small Pleasure to
Your affectionate Father.
LETTER IX. An elder to a younger Brother, who is in Love with a young Lady of great Gaiety, &c.
Dear Brother,
I AM more concerned for your Welfare than you imagine. You are younger than myself: My Duty, in some Degree, requires my Care for your Good, and particularly in a Point that may
be so material to your whole Life, as is that of Love. Beauty has as great a Force upon my Senses, as it can have upon yours. I am near Thirty Years of Age; you are not more than Twenty. Your Passions are strong; mine, Brother, are far from subsiding: I admire, I love, with as much Force of Nature as you can do. My Reason ought to be stronger, and 'tis well if my Passion is not so likewise. Miss Rooke is amiable on many Ac|counts; her Features are regular, her Wit sprightly, her Deportment genteel; and Voice,—I had al|most said, ravishing. Her Dress is easy and un|affected; and her Manner of Conversation, has a Freedom that captivates more Hearts, than yours: Yet, I greatly fear, with all these Endow|ments, she will not make the Wife you ought to wish for. Her airy Flights, and gay Behaviour, are pleasing, as a Partner in Conversation, but will they be equally agreeable in a Partner for Life? What now charms you, charms also others: You are now content with thinking yourself one among many that admire her, and are admitted to share the Brilliancy of her Conversation; but will a Share of her Wit and Humour, her Freedom and Gaiety, please hereafter as a Wife? And tho' she is delight|ful in Company, are you satisfied she will be as agreeable when alone with you; or when she has not an Opportunity of shewing-away in a Company that perhaps you may not approve? She now sees nobody but whom she chuses to see: If she should be a Wife, it is more than probable she may dislike Restraints: and can you approve of a diffuse Conversation in one you desire to your|self?
Think not, Brother, that I have any interested Motive for this Advice. I assure you I have not.
I am not your Rival: I desire not the Lady you seem too fond of. All I mean (for I say nothing at present, with regard to your own Youth, which ought not, however, to be wholly forgotten, as very few prudent Matches are made by young Gentle|men at your Age) is, to caution you against thinking of a Gentlewoman who may, and I am willing to believe will, be a suitable Companion to a Gentleman whose Station and Choice leads him into much Company, and gay Life; but to Men whose Circumstances, if not their Inclinations, require a more retired way of Life, it is obvious, a Woman, whose Talents lie principally in Conversation, can never, for that Reason only, justify a young Gentleman for chusing her for a Wife. I hope this will come time enough to put you upon guarding against the Inconveniencies that threaten the Indulgence of your present Passion. Shut not your Ears to Reason; forget not your|self; and be sure to remember, that the Pleasure of an Hour or Two, and of Twenty, Thirty, or Forty Years, or a whole Life, must arise from very different Sources. I am,
Dear Brother,
Your most affectionate, &c.
LETTER X. An elder to an extravagant younger Brother.
Dear JOHN,
YOU may be certain that your Misfortunes are to me a most melancholy Subject: You are my only Brother: I own it: And your Mis|fortunes
affect me next to my own: But there is this Difference in what I feel for you, and for my|self: I am sure, every Misfortune I have met with, has been occasioned by unavoidable Acci|dents. This Consideration has supported me under the many Afflictions I have myself endured: But for those I have shared with you, I cannot boast the same Alleviation. While our Father lived, he was your constant and unwearied Support, even after your Patrimony was squander'd away. While our Mother remained, she was every Week assist|ing your Necessities, but what might more pro|perly be called your Levity and Extravagance. She is now, by the Divine Will, taken from us both; her Jointure, as well as the Estate my Father independently left, has devolved upon me. Of this both Nature and Providence re|quire I should make the best Use: And to serve you, I readily confess, is my greatest Care. But, my dear Brother, how is this to be done? The generous and bountiful Assistance of our Parents, procured you no substantial Good. What then am I to do to screen you from Want and Misery?—That you are not already happy, is not owing to the Backwardness of your Friends to serve you; but, allow me to speak plainly, to your own In|discretion. Your own Fortune maintained you not for three Years: Were I able to give you as much more, what Reason have you given me to suppose you will be a better Oeconomist than you have been? My whole Estate, let me tell you, Brother, at your Rate of Expence, would scarcely maintain you for Seven Years: And, think you as you will, I must believe it my Duty to leave enough to support my Off-spring, with pru|dent Conduct, to the End of Time. If I send you, as you desire, Fifty Guineas, What good will
that Sum procure you? It will but serve to lengthen your Credit, and make you run deeper into Debt. I have assisted you before; and has not this always been the Case? And have not People given you Credit, because they think I will support you? 'Tis Time then, my dear Brother, to hold my Hand. But yet, be assured, that when I am co••+vinced you have thoroughly abandon'd your prese•••• Courses, you shall find in me, A truly affectionate Brother
LETTER XI. To a young Man too soon keeping a Horse.
Dear Tom,
I Always take great Pleasure in hearing of your Welfare, and of every thing that makes for your Satisfaction and Comfort: But give me Leave to say, That I am sorry to hear you have so early begun to keep a Horse, especially as your Business is altogether in your Shop, and you have no End to serve in riding out; and are, besides, young and healthy,, and so cannot require it, as Exercise. And is it worth while, think you, to keep a Horse the whole Week, that you may have him at hand on a Sunday Morning, if the Day proves fair, and you have nothing to keep you in Town?
You must consider, that tho' here, in the Country, many common Tradesmen keep Horses, the Expence is but small to them, and the Distance of one Customer from another, in a manner obliges them to it. But this can be no Plea for you: And if you do not want a Horse
for Exercise, you can only alledge the worst Rea|son in the World for your maintaining one; that your Neighbours all round you do the same: For, look who they are, and what their Motives, and you'll soon see the Difference, and that their Example will not justify you. Mr. Thompson, for Instance, who lives next Door to you, is near Sixty Years of Age, of a pretty gross Con|stitution, and capable of no other Exercise; and moreover he had acquired, by Length of Time, and Industry, an ample Fortune, before he gave himself this Diversion. Mr. Jenkins has an Estate fallen to him, that sets him above the Want of Trade; and his continuing in it, is rather an Amusement than an Employment. Mr. Jackson, Mr. West, Mr. Trozier, and Mr. Kent, are all Men of established Fortunes; and when you are as old as the youngest of them, and can as well afford it, I would be far from dissuading you from keeping a Horse. But at present, you may de|pend upon it, you rather incur their Contempt, than gain their Esteem, by offering to appear their Equal, when they and you well know, in what relates to Expences, you ought not to be so, nor have you had a Time for it. The lower Part of the World may, perhaps, shew you more Respect for those Marks of Substance; but should a Time come (and who is exempt from Misfor|tunes?) when they must know they were the Effects of unthinking Levity; how despicable must you then appear in their Eyes? And, let me tell you, that the Esteem of Persons of Credit and Understanding, must be gained by very dif|ferent Means, from Shew or Equipage; for with these, Modesty, Prudence, and good Sense only, will ever prevail.
Besides, the Expence of the Horse is not the least thing to be considered: It will in time, very probably, lead you into a more dangerous one, that of bestowing too much of your Time in the Use of it. It will unhinge your Mind, as I may say, from Business, and give your Servants Oppor|tunity to be remiss in your Absence. And as you are a young Man, it is fit that you should lay up, by your Industry, against a more advanced Age, when the Exercise a Horse affords, will seem not only more suitable, but perhaps absolutely ne|cessary to your Health; whereas now, it may rather pass for Wantonness and Affectation. You are not without a tolerable Share of Rea|son; let me prevail with you to use it: Sell your Horse, and fear not being laugh'd at on that Ac|count; for it will be a Credit to you more Ways than one, to say, That your Business would not allow you Time to use it. And it would argue besides, great Perverseness, to continue in an Er|ror, for no other Reason than to support a wrong Judgment at first setting out: And your reducing an unnecessary Expence in good time, will more than recover any good Opinion you may have lost by running into it.
Your prudent Use of this Advice, will, as it must tend to your Good, be a great Satisfaction to
Your tenderly affectionate Father.
LETTER XII. Against a sudden Intimacy, or Friendship, with one of a short Acquaintance.
Cousin Tom,
I AM just setting out for Windsor, and have not time to say so much as I would on the Occa|sion upon which I now write to you. I hear that Mr. Douglas and you have lately contracted such an Intimacy, that you are hardly ever asunder; and as I know his Morals are not the best, nor his Circumstances the most happy, I fear he will, if he has not already done it, let you see, that he better knows what he does in seeking your Ac|quaintance, than you do in cultivating his.
I am far from desiring to abridge you in any necessary or innocent Liberty, or to prescribe too much to your Choice of a Friend: Nor am I against your being complaisant to Sirangers; for this Gentleman's Acquaintance is not yet a Month old with you; but you must not think every Man whose Conversation is agreeable, fit to be imme|diately treated as a Friend: Of all Sorts, hastily|contracted Friendships promise the least Duration or Satisfaction; as they most commonly arise from Design on one Side, and Weakness on the other. True Friendship must be the Effect of long and mutual Esteem and Knowledge: It ought to have for its Cement, an Equality of Years, a Similitude of Manners, and, pretty much, a Parity in Circumstance and Degree. But, generally speaking, an Openness to a Stranger carries with it strong Marks of Indiscretion, and not seldom ends in Repentance.
For these Reasons, I would be glad you would be upon your Guard, and proceed cautiously in this new Alliance. Mr. Douglas has Vivacity and Humour enough to please any Man of a light Turn; but where I to give my Judgment of him, I should pronounce him fitter for the Tea-table, than the Cabinet. He is smart, but very super|ficial; and treats all serious Subjects with a Con|tempt too natural to bad Minds; and I know more young Men than one, of whose good Opinion he has taken Advantage, and has made them wiser, though at their own Expence, than he found them. The Caution I here give you, is the pure Effect of my Experience in Life, some Knowledge of your new Associate, and my Affection for you. The Use you make of it will determine, whether you merit this Concern from
Your affectionate Kinsman.
LETTER XIII. A young Man in Business, to a Father, desiring Leave to address his Daughter.
SIR,
I HOPE the Justness of my Intentions will excuse the Freedom of these few Lines, where|by I am to acquaint you of the great Affection and Esteem I have for your Daughter. I would not, Sir, offer at any indirect Address, that should have the least Appearance of Inconsistency with her Duty to you, and my honourable Views to her; chusing, by your Influence, if I may ap|prove myself to you worthy of that Honour, to
commend myself to her Approbation. You are not insensible, Sir, by the Credit I have hitherto preserved in the World, of my Ability, by God's Blessing, to make her happy: And this the rather imboldens me to request the Favour of an Even|ing's Conversation with you, at your first Con|venience, when I will more fully explain myself, as I earnestly hope, to your Satisfaction, and take my Encouragement or Discouragement from your own Mouth. I am, Sir, mean time, with great Respect, Your most obedient humble Servant.
LETTER XIV. To the Daughter (on the Father's Allowance) apprising her of his intended Visit.
MADAM,
I HAVE ventured to make known to your honoured Father, the great Desire I have to be thought worthy of a Relation to him by your Means. And, as he has not discouraged me in the Hopes I have entertained, that I may possibly be not unacceptable to him, and to all your worthy Family, I propose to do myself the Honour of a Visit to you next Monday. Tho' he has been so good as to promise to intro|duce me, and I make no doubt has acquainted you with it; I give you, nevertheless, the Trouble of these Lines, that I might not appear wanting in any outward Demonstration of that inviolable Respect, with which I am, dear Madam,
Your most devoted humble Servant.
LETTER XV. From a young Lady to her Father, acquainting him with a Proposal of Marriage made to her.
Nottingham, April 4.
Honoured Sir,
I THINK it my Duty to acquaint you, that a Gentleman of this Town, by Name Derham, and by Business a Linen-draper, has made some Overtures to my Cousin Morgan, in the way of Courtship to me. My Cousin has brought him once or twice into my Company, which he could not well decline doing, because he has Dealings with him; and has an high Opinion of him, and his Circumstances. He has been set up Three Years, and has very good Business, and lives in Credit and Fashion. He is about Twenty-seven Years old, and a likely Man enough: He seems not to want Sense or Manners; and is come of a good Family. He has broke his Mind to me, and boasts how well he can maintain me: But, I assure you, Sir, I have given him no Encouragement; and told him, that I had no Thoughts of changing my Condition, yet a while; and should never think of it but in Obedience to my Parents; and I de|sired him to talk no more on that Subject to me. Yet he resolves to persevere, and pretends extra|ordinary Affection and Esteem. I would not, Sir, by any means, omit to acquaint you with the Be|ginnings of an Affair, that would be want of Duty in me to conceal from you, and shew a Guilt and Disobedience unworthy of the kind Indulgence and Affection you have always shewn to, Sir,
Your most dutiful Daughter.
My humble Duty to my honour'd Mother, Love to my Brother and Sister; and Respects to all Friends. Cousin Morgan, and his Wife and Sister desire their kind Respects. I can|not speak enough of their Civility to me.
LETTER XVI. The Father's Answer, on a Supposition that he approves not of the young Man's Addresses.
Northampton, Apr. 10.
Dear Polly,
I HAVE received your Letter dated the 4th Instant, wherein you acquaint me of the Pro|posals made to you, thro' your Cousin Morgan's Recommendation, by one Mr. Derham. I hope, as you assure me, that you have given no Encou|ragement to him: For I by no means approve of him for your Husband. I have inquired of one of his Townsmen, who knows him and his Cir|cumstances very well; and I am neither pleased with them, nor with his Character; and wonder my Cousin would so inconsiderately recommend him to you. Indeed, I doubt not Mr. Morgan's good Intentions; but I insist upon it, that you think nothing of the Matter, if you would oblige
Your indulgent Father.
Your Mother gives her Blessing to you, and joins with me in the above Advice. Your Brother and Sister, and all Friends, send their Love and Respects to you.
LETTER XVII. The Father's Answer, on a Supposition that he does not disapprove of the young Man's Ad|dresses.
Northampt. Apr. 10.
My dear Daughter,
IN Answer to yours of the 4th Instant, relating to the Addresses of Mr. Derham, I would have you neither wholly encourage nor discourage his Suit; for if, on Inquiry into his Character and Circumstances, I shall find that they are answer|able to your Cousin's good Opinion of them, and his own Assurances, I know not but his Suit may be worthy of Attention. But, my Dear, consider, that Men are deceitful, and always put the best Side outwards; and it may possibly, on the strict Inquiry, which the Nature and Impor|tance of the Case demands, come out far other|wise than it at present appears. Let me advise you therefore, to act in this Matter with great Pru|dence, and that you make not yourself too cheap; for Men are apt to slight what is too easily obtain|ed. Your Cousin will give him Hope enough, while you don't absolutely deny him; and in the mean time, he may be told, that you are not at your own Disposal; but intirely resolved to abide by my Determination and Direction, in an Affair of this great Importance: And this will put him upon applying to me, who, you need not doubt, will in this Case, as in all others, study your Good; as becomes
Your indulgent Father.
Your Mother gives her Blessing to you, and joins with me in the above Advice. Your Brother and Sister, and all Friends, send their Love and Respects to you.
LETTER XVIII. The young Gentleman's Letter to the Father, apprising him of his Affection for his Daugh|ter.
Northampton, April 12.
Sir,
I TAKE the Liberty, tho' personally unknown to you, to declare the great Value and Affection I have for your worthy Daughter, whom I have had the Honour to see at my good Friend Mr. Morgan's. I should think myself intirely un|worthy of her Favour, and of your Approbation, if I could have a Thought of influencing her Re|solution but in Obedience to your Pleasure; as I should, on such a Supposition, offer an Injury like|wise to that Prudence in herself, which I flatter myself, is not the least of her amiable Perfections. If I might have the Honour of your Countenance, Sir, on this Occasion, I would open myself and Circumstances to you, in that frank and honest manner which should convince you of the Sincerity of my Affection for your Daughter, and at the same time of the Honourableness of my Intentions. In the mean time, I will in general say, That I have been set up in my Business in the Linen|drapery way, upwards of Three Years; that I have a very good Trade for the Time: That I had 1000 l. to begin with, which I have improved to 1500 l. as I am ready to make appear to your Satis|faction: That I am descended of a creditable Fa|mily; have done nothing to stain my Character; and that my Trade is still further improveable, as I shall, I hope, inlarge my Bottom. This, Sir, I thought but honest and fair to acquaint you with,
that you might know something of a Person, who sues to you for your Countenance, and that of your good Lady, in an Affair that I hope may prove one Day the greatest Happiness of my Life; as it must be, if I can be blessed with that, and your dear Daughter's Approbation. In Hope of which, and the Favour of a Line, I take the Li|berty to subscribe myself, Good Sir, Your most obedient humble Servant.
LETTER XIX. From the Cousin to the Father and Mother, in Commendation of the young Gentleman.
Northampton, Apr. 12.
Dear Cousins,
I GIVE you both Thanks for so long continu|ing with us the Pleasure of Cousin Polly's Com|pany. She has intirely captivated a worthy Friend of mine, Mr. Derham, a Linen-draper of this Town. And I would have acquainted you with it myself, but that I knew and advised Cousin Polly to write to you about it; for I would not for the world any thing of this sort should be carried on unknown to you, at my House, especially. Mr. Derham has shewn me his Letter to you; and I believe every Tittle of it to be true; and really, if you and my Cousin approve it, as also Cousin Polly, I don't know where she can do better. I am sure I should think so, if I had a Daughter he could love.
Thus much I thought myself obliged to say; and with my kind Love to your other Self, and all my Cousins, as also my Wife's, and Sister's, I remain
Your affectionate Cousin.
LETTER XX. From the Father, in Answer to the young Gen|tleman.
Nottingham, April 16.
Sir,
I HAVE received yours of the 12th, and am obliged to you for the good Opinion you express of my Daughter. But I think she is yet full young to alter her Condition, and imbark in the Cares of a Family. I cannot but say, that the Account you give of yourself, and your Application to me, ra|ther than first to try to engage the Affections of my Daughter, carry a very honourable Appearance, and such as must be to the Advantage of your Cha|racter. As to your Beginning, Sir, that is not to be so much looked upon, as the Improvement; and I doubt not, that you can make good Proof of what you assert on this Occasion. But still I must needs say, that I think, and so does her Mo|ther, that it is too early to incumber her with the Cares of the World; and as I am sure she will do nothing in so important an Affair without our Ad|vice, so I would not, for the world, in a Case so nearly concerning her, and her future Welfare, con|strain her in the least. I intend shortly to send for her home; for she has been longer absent from us, than we intended; and then I shall consult her Inclinations; and you will excuse me to say, for she is my Daughter, and a very good Child, tho' I say it, that I shall then determine myself by that, and by what shall appear to offer most for her Good. In the mean time, Sir, I thank you for the Civility and commendable Openness of yours; and am,
Your humble Servant.
The Father in this Letter referring pretty much to the Daughter's Choice, the young Gentle|man cannot but construe it as an Encourage|ment to him, to prosecute his Addresses to her; in which he doubles his Diligence, (on the Hint, that she will soon return to Not|tingham) in order to gain a Footing in her good Will; and she, finding her Father and Mother not averse to the Affair, ventures to give him some room to think his Addresses not indifferent to her; but still altogether on Con|dition of her Parents Consent and Approba|tion. By the Time then, that she is recalled home, (nothing disagreeable having appeared in the young Gentleman's Behaviour, and his general Character being consistent with his Pretensions) there may be supposed some De|gree of Familiarity and Confidence to have pass'd between them; and she gives him Hope, that she will receive a Letter from him, tho' she will not promise an Answer; intirely refer|ring to her Duty to her Parents, and their good Pleasure. He attends her on her Jour|ney a good Part of the way, as far as she will permit; and when her Cousin, his Friend, informs him of her safe Arrival at Nottingham, he sends the following Letter.
LETTER XXI. From the young Gentleman to his Mistress on her Arrival at her Father's.
May 25.
Dear Madam,
I HAVE understood with great Pleasure your safe Arrival at your Father's House; of which I take the Liberty to congratulate your good Parents, as well as your dear Self. I will not, Madam, fill this Letter with the Regret I had to part with you, because I have no Reason nor Merit, at present, to expect that you should be concerned for me on this Score. Yet, Madam, I am not without Hope, from the Sincerity of my Affection for you, and the Honesty of my Intentions, to deserve in time, those Regards which I cannot at present flatter my|self with. As your good Father, in his kind Let|ter to me, assured me, that he should consult your Inclinations, and determine by them, and by what should offer most for your Good; how happy should I be, if I could find my humble Suit not quite indifferent to your dear Self, and not rejected by Him! If what I have already opened to him as to my Circumstances, be not unacceptable, I should humbly hope for Leave to pay you and him a Visit at Nottingham; or if this be too great a Favour, till he has made further Enquiry, that he would be pleased to give himself that Trouble, and put it in my Power, as soon as possible, to con|vince him of the Truth of my Allegations, upon which I desire to stand or fall in my Hopes of your Favour and his. For I think, far different from many in the World, that a Deception in an Affair of this weighty Nature, should be less forgiven than in any other. Since then, dearest Madam, I build
my Hopes more on the Truth of my Affection for you, and the Honour of my Intentions, than any other Merit, or Pretensions, I hope you will con|descend, if not to become an Advocate for me, which would be too great a Presumption to expect, yet to let your good Parents know, that you have no Aversion to the Person or Address of, dearest Madam, Your for ever-obliged, and affectionate humble Servant.
My best Respects attend your good Father and Mother, and whole Family.
As this puts the Matter into such a Train, as may render more Writing unnecessary; the next Steps to be taken, being the Inquiry in|to the Truth of the young Man's Assertions, and a Confirmation of his Character; and then the Proposals on the Father's Part of what he will give with his Daughter; all which may be done best by word of Mouth, or Interposition of Friends; so we shall have no Occasion to pursue this Instance of Court|ship further.
LETTER XXII. From a Brother to his Sister in the Country, up|braiding her for being negligent in Writing.
My dear Sister,
I WRITE to you to acquaint you how un|kindly we all take it here, that you do not write oftener to us, in relation to your Health, Diversions, and Employment in the Country.
You cannot be insensible how much you are beloved by us all; judge then if you do right to omit giving us the only Satisfaction Absence affords to true Friends, which is often to hear from one another. My Mother is highly disobliged with you, and says you are a very idle Girl; my Aunt is of the same Opinion; and I would fain, like a loving Brother, excuse you, if I could. Pray, for the future, take Care to deserve a better Character, and by writing soon, and often, put it in my Power to say what a good Sister I have: For you shall always find me Your most affectionate Brother.
Due Respects of every one here to my Aunt, and all Friends in the Country.
LETTER XXIII. In Answer to the preceding.
Dear Brother,
MOST kindly, and too justly, do you up|braid me. I own my Fault, and never will be guilty of the like again. I write to beg my Mother's Pardon, and that she will procure for me that of my good Aunt, on Promise of Amend|ment. Continue, my dear Brother, to be an Ad|vocate for me in all my unintended Imperfections, and I will never err voluntarily for the future: That so I may be as worthy as possible of your kind Constructions, and shew myself, what I truly am, and ever will be,
Your most affectionate and obliged Sister.
LETTER XXIV. From the Daughter to her Mother, in Excuse for her Neglect.
Honoured Madam,
I AM ashamed I staid to be reminded of my Duty by my Brother's kind Letter. I will offer no Ex|cuse for myself, for not writing oftener, tho' I have been strangely taken up by the Kindness and Fa|vour of your good Friends here, particularly my Aunt Windus: For well do I know, that my Duty to my honoured Mother, ought to take place of all other Considerations. All I beg therefore is, that you will be so good to forgive me, on Promise of Amendment, and to procure Forgiveness also of my Aunt Talbot, and all Friends. Believe me, Madam, when I say, that no Diversions here or elsewhere shall make me forget the Duty I owe to so good a Mother, and such kind Relations; and that I shall ever be
Your gratefully dutiful Daughter.
My Aunt and Cousins desire their kind Love to you, and due Respects to all Friends. Brother John has great Reputation with every one for his kind Letter to me.
LETTER XXV. From a Son-in-Law to his Wife's Father, ac|quainting him with his Wife's Illness.
Honoured Sir,
I AM sorry to acquaint you with the Indispo|sition of your dear Daughter. She was taken ill last Monday of a Fever, and has all the Assist|ance
that we can procure in these Parts. I hope she is not in Danger. However, I thought it my Duty to let you know it in time, that you may satisfy yourself, that no Care is wanting; and that you may favour us with a personal Visit; which will be a great Consolation to her, who craves, mean time, your Blessing and Prayers; and also to, Sir, Your dutiful Son.
This may serve, mutatis mutandis, in the like Circumstance for a Daughter to her Hus|band's Father, or Mother, and in several other intimate Relations.
LETTER XXVI. From a Country Chapman beginning Trade, to a City Dealer, offering his Correspondence.
Manchester, Oct. 20.
SIR,
THE Time of my Apprenticeship, with Mr. Dobbins of this Town, being expired, I am just going to begin for myself in Chesterfield, having taken a Shop there for that Purpose. And as I know the Satisfaction you always gave to my Master in your Dealings, I make an Offer to you of my Correspondence, in Expectation that you will use me as well as you have done him, in whatever I may write to you for. And this I the rather ex|pect, as you cannot disoblige Mr. Dobbins by it, be|cause of the Distance I shall be from him; and I shall endeavour to give you equal Content with regard to my Payments, &c. Your speedy Answer, whether or no you are disposed to accept of my Offer, will oblige,
Your humble Servant.
LETTER XXVII. In Answer to the foregoing.
SIR,
I HAVE received yours of October 20. and very chearfully accept the Favour you offer me. I will take Care to serve you in the best manner I am able, and on the same foot with Mr. Dobbins; not doubting you will make as punctual Returns as he does; which intitles him to a more favour|able Usage, than could otherwise be afforded. I wish you Success with all my Heart, and am
Your obliged Servant.
LETTER XXVIII. From a Maid-servant in Town, acquainting her Father and Mother in the Country, with a Pro|posal of Marriage, and asking their Consents.
Honoured Father and Mother,
I Think it my Duty to acquaint you, that I am addressed to for a Change of Condition, by one Mr. John Tanner, who is a Glazier, and lives in the Neighbourhood by us. He is a young Man of a sober Character, and has been set up about two Years, has good Business for his Time, and is well beloved and spoken of by every one. My Friends here think well of it, particularly my Master and Mistress; and, he says, he doubts not, by God's Blessing on his Industry, to main|tain a Family very prettily: And I have fairly told him, how little he has to expect with me.
But I would not conclude on any thing, how|ever, till I had acquainted you with his Proposals, and asked your Blessings and Consents. For I am, and ever will be, Your dutiful Daughter.
LETTER XXIX. From the Parents, in Answer to the preceding.
Dear Nanny,
WE have received your dutiful Letter. We can only pray to God to direct and bless you in all your Engagements. Our Distance from you, must make us leave every thing to your own Dis|cretion; and as you are so well satisfied in Mr. Tanner's Character, as well as all Friends, and your Master and Mistress, we give our Blessings and Consents with all our Hearts: We are only sorry we can do no more for you. But let us know when it is done, and we will do some little Matters, as far as we are able, towards House|keeping. Our Respects to Mr. Tanner. Every body joins with us in Wishes for your Happiness; and may God bless you, is all that can be said, by
Your truly loving Father and Mother.
LETTER XXX. From the same, acquainting her Parents with her Marriage.
Honoured Father and Mother,
I Write to acquaint you, that last Thursday I was married to Mr. Tanner, and am to go home to him in a Fortnight. My Master and
Mistress have been very kind, and have made me a Present towards Housekeeping of Three Guineas. I had saved Twenty Pounds in Service, and that is all. I told him the naked Truth of every thing. And indeed did not intend to marry so soon; but when I had your Letter, and shew'd it him, he would not let me rest till it was done. Pray don't straiten your selves out of Love to me. He joins with me in saying so, and bids me present his Duty to you, and tell you, that he fears not to maintain me very well. I have no Reason to doubt of being very happy. And your Prayers for a Blessing on both our Industry, will, I hope, be a Means to make us more so. We are, and ever shall be, with Respects to all Friends, Your most dutiful Son and Daughter.
LETTER XXXI. Recommending a Superior Man-Servant.
SIR,
THE Bearer of this is Mr. John Andrews, whom I mentioned to you last time I saw you; and for whose Integrity and Ability to serve you in the Way you talked of, I dare be answer|able. I take the greater Pleasure in this Recom|mendation, as I doubt not it will be of Service to you both. And am, Sir,
Your most obedient Servant.
LETTER XXXII. Recommending a Wet-Nurse.
MADAM.
THE Bearer is Mrs. Newman, whom I recom|mended to you as a Nurse for Master. You will be pleased with her neat Appearance and wholesome Countenance. She lives just above Want, in a pleasant airy Place, and has a very honest diligent Husband, with whom she lives very happily, and the Man is exceedingly fond of Chil|dren, very sober, and good-humour'd; and they have every thing very pretty about them. You will find such Answers to the Questions that shall be put to her, as will please you in every respect that you mentioned to me; and the Woman will not tell an Untruth, or impose upon you. In a word, I know not a more proper Person, and am glad I have this Opportunity to oblige you in so deserved a Re|commendation: For I am, dear Madam,
Your most faithful Servant.
LETTER XXXIII. Recommending a Cook-maid.
MADAM,
YOU desired me to inquire for a Maid, who was qualified to serve you as a Cook. The Bearer lived three Years in her last Place, and went away to her Friends in the Country, on a Fit of Illness, of which she is now perfectly recovered. As she had
given no Hopes of Return, they had provided them|selves when she offered her Service again. They give her a very good Character, as well for Honesty and Sobriety, as for her orderly Behaviour, and obliging Temper, as also for her good Performance of what she undertakes. I therefore thought you could not wish for a properer Person; and shall be glad it proves so. For I am, Madam, Your most obedient Servant.
LETTER XXXIV. Recommending a Chamber-maid.
MADAM,
THE Bearer, Jane Adams, is well recommended to me as a diligent, faithful Body, who un|derstands her Needle well; is very neat, and housewifely; and, as you desired, no Gossip or Make-bate, and has had a tolerable Education, being descended from good Friends. I make no doubt of her answering this Character. Of which I will satisfy you farther, when I have the Honour to see you. Till when I remain
Your most obedient humble Servant.
LETTER XXXV. Recommending a Nursery-maid.
MADAM,
THE Bearer, Sarah Williams, is a housewifely genteel Body, who has been used to attend Children, and has a great Tenderness for them.
She is very careful and watchful over them in all their little pretty ways, and is a very proper Per|son to encourage their good Inclinations, or mildly to check their little Perversenesses, so far as you shall permit her to do the one or the other. She is come of good Friends, who have had Misfortunes; is very honest, and will, I dare say, please you much, if you are not provided; which, I hope, you are not, for both your sakes; for I love the Girl, and am, with great Respect, Madam, Your obliged humble Servant.
LETTER XXXVI. A Father to a Son, to dissuade him from the Vice of Drinking to Excess.
My dear Son,
IT is with a Grief proportioned to my Love, which is extreme, that I understand you have of late neglected your Studies, and given yourself up to the odious Vice of Drinking: What shall I say, what shall I do, to engage you to quit this pernicious Practice, before it becomes such a Habit, that it will be impossible, or at least very difficult, for you to cast it off? Let me require, let me in|treat you, to give a suitable Attention to what I have to say on this Head, which I shall offer rather as a warm Friend, than an angry Father; and as I address myself to your Reason, I will leave it to yourself to judge of the Truth of the Observations I have to make to you.
In the first place, with respect to Health, the greatest Jewel of this Life, it is the most destructive of all Vices: Asthma's, Vertigoes, Palsies, Apo|plexies,
Gouts, Colicks, Fevers, Dropsies, Con|sumptions, Stone, and Hypochondriack Diseases, are naturally introduced by excessive Drinking. All the rest of the Vices together, are not so often punished with sudden Death as this one: What fatal Accidents, what Quarrels, what Breaches between Friend and Friend, are owing to it?
Then, in the second Place; How does it de|face Reason, destroy all the tender Impulses of Nature, make a wise Man a Fool, and subject Persons of the brightest Parts to the Contempt of the weakest, and even, in time, extinguish those shining Qualities, which constitute the Difference between a Man of Sense and a Blockhead? For, as a certain very eminent Author well observes, Fools having generally stronger Nerves, and less volatile Spirits, than Men of fine Understandings, that which will rouse the one, will make the other either stupid or frantick; and tho' it sometimes, whi•••• the Fit continues, strengthens the Imagination, yet it always depresses the Judgment; and after the Fit is over, both those Faculties languish together, till, in time, it quenches the Imagination, impairs the Memory, and drowns the Judgment.
Most other Vices are compatible, as the same Author observes, with several Virtues; but Drun|kenness runs counter to all the Duties of Life. A great Drinker can hardly be either a good Husband, a good Father, a good Son, a good Brother, or a good Friend: It lays him open to the worst Com+pany, and this Company frequently subjects him to lewd Women, Gaming, Quarrels, Riots, and often Murders. All other Vices, even the greatest of Vices, as Ambition, Unchastity, Bigotry, Avarice, Hypocrisy, detest this unnatural and worse than beastly Vice; for the Beasts themselves,
even the uncleanest of them, know nothing of it, much less practise it. Other Vices indeed make Men worse, says this judicious Author; but this alters Men from them|selves, to that degree, that they differ not more from their present Companions, than from their former Selves. A Habitude of it will make the Prudent inconsiderate, the Ambitious indolent, the Active idle, and the Industrious slothful; so that their Affairs are ruin'd for want of Applica|tion, or by being intrusted in the Hands of those, who turn them wholly to their own Advantage, and, in the End, to the Ruin of those who employ them.
I have written a long Letter already: Yet have I still more to say, which, that I may not tire you, I will leave to another Letter; which the next Post shall bring you. And I am, mean time, in hopes this will not lose its proper Effect,
Your most indulgent Father.
LETTER XXXVII. The same Subject pursued.
My dear Son,
BY my former you will see, that hard Drinking is a Vice, that breaks a Man's Rest, impairs the Understanding, extinguishes the Memory, inflames the Passions, debauches the Will, lays the Founda|tion of the worst and most dangerous Distempers, in|capacitates a Person from pursuing his Studies, and from applying to the Duties of his Calling, be it what it will; begets Contempt from the World; and even if a Man's Circumstances were above feeling the Expence, which can hardly be, alters
and changes the Practiser of it from himself; and if he is not above feeling it, often reduces him to Want and Beggary: And if he has a Family, his Children, who by their Father's Industry and Sobriety might have made a creditable Figure in Life, are left to the Mercy of the World, become the Outcasts of the Earth; possibly Foot-soldiers, Livery-servants, Shoe-cleaners, Link-boys, and, perhaps, Pickpockets, Highwaymen, or Foot+pads; and instead of a comfortable Livelihood, and a Station above Contempt, are intitled only to Shame, Misery, and the Gallows. And do you judge, my Son, how a Man can answer this Conduct to God, to his Parents and other Relations, to his Wife, to his Children, to himself, and persist in a barbarous and an unnatural Vice, which makes himself not only miserable and contemptible, but transmits the Mischief to his unhappy and innocent Children, if he has any.
Add to all this, That it is a Vice a Man cannot easily master and subdue; or which, like some others, may be cured by Age; but it is a Vice that feeds and nourishes itself by Practice, and grows upon a Man as he lives longer in the World, till at last, if it cuts him not off in the Flower of his Days, his Body expects and requires Liquor: And so, tho' a Man, when he enters upon it, may be single, yet if he ever should marry, it may he attended with all the frightful and de|plorable Consequences I have mentioned, and ruin besides an innocent and perhaps prudent Woman, rendering her, without her own Fault, the joint unhappy Cause of adding to the Number of the miserable and profligate Children, with which the World too much abounds, and which is owing to nothing so much as this detestable Sin in the Parents.
Consider all these things, my dear Son, and be|fore it be too late, get the better of a Vice, that you will find difficult to subdue, when it is grown to a Head, and which will otherwise creep upon you every Day more and more, till it shuts up your Life in Misery as to yourself, and Contempt as to the World; and instead of giving Cause even to your nearest and best Friends to remember you with Pleasure, will make it a Kindness in them to forget they ever had in the World, if a Parent, such a Son; if a Tutor, such a Pupil; if a Brother or Sister, such an unhappy near Relation; if a Wife, such a Husband; if a Child, such a Father; and if a Friend, such a wretched one, that cannot be thought of without Pity and Regret, for having shortened his Days, and ruin'd his Affairs, by so pernicious a Habit. What a Joy, on the contrary, will that noblest of Conquests, over yourself, yield to all those dear Relations! And, in particular, what Pleasure will you give to the aged Heart, and declining Days, of, my dear Child,
Your indulgent and most affectionate Father!
LETTER XXXVIII. From an Apprentice to his Master, begging For|giveness for a great Misdemeanor.
Good Sir,
I AM so asham'd of myself for the last Occasion I have given you to be angry with me, after my repeated Promises of Amendment, that I have not the Courage to speak to you. I therefore take this Method of begging you to forgive what is
past; and let this Letter testify against me, if ever I wilfully or knowingly offend again for the future. You have Children of your own. They may possibly offend; tho' I hope they never will as I have done. Yet, Sir, would you not wish they might meet with Pardon if they should, rather than Reprobation?—My Making or my Ruin, I am sensible, lies in your Breast. If you will not forgive me, sad will be the Consequence to me, I doubt. If you do, you may save a Soul, as well as a Body from Misery; and I hope, Sir, you will weigh this with your usual Goodness and Con|sideration. What is past I cannot help; but for what is to come, I do promise, if God gives me Health and Power, that my Actions shall testify for me how much I am, good Sir, Your repentant and obliged Servant.
LETTER XXXIX. The Master's Answer.
John,
YOUR Letter has affected me so much, that I am willing once more to pass over all you have done. Surely I may at last depend on these your solemn Assurances, and, as I hope, deep Contrition. If not, be it as you say, and let your Letter testify against you for your ingrateful Baseness; and for me, in my Readiness (which however shall be the last time) to forgive one that has been so much used to promise, and so little to perform. But I hope for better, because I yet wish you well; be|ing, as you use me,
Yours, or otherwise.
LETTER XL. From an Apprentice to his Friends, in Praise of his Master and Family.
Honoured Sir,
I Know it will be a great Satisfaction to you and my dear Mother, to hear that I go on very happily in my Business; and my Master seeing my Diligence, puts me forward, and encourages me in such a manner, that I have great Delight in it, and hope I shall answer in time your good Wishes and Expectations, and the Indulgence which you have always shewn me. There is such good Order in the Family, as well on my Mistress's Part as my Master's, that every Servant, as well as I, knows their Duty, and does it with Pleasure. So much Evenness, Sedateness, and Regularity, is observed in all they injoin and expect, that it is impossible but it should be so. My Master is an honest worthy Man; every body speaks well of him. My Mistress is a chearful sweet-temper'd Woman, and rather heals Breaches than widens them. And the Children, after such Examples, behave to us all, like one's own Brothers and Sisters. Who can but love such a Family? I wish, when it shall please God to put me in such a Station, that I may carry myself just as my Master does; and if I should ever marry, have just such a Wife as my Mistress: And then, by God's Blessing, I shall be as happy as they are; and as you, Sir, and my dear Mother, have always been. If any thing can make me still happier than I am, or continue to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my present Felicity, it will be the Continuance
of yours, and my good Mother's Prayers, for, honour'd Sir and Madam, Your ever dutiful Son.
LETTER XLI. Another from an Apprentice, where the Master is too remiss in his own Affairs.
Honoured Sir and Madam,
YOU desire to know how I go on in my Busi|ness. I must needs say, Very well in the main; for my Master leaves every thing, in a manner, to me. I wish he did not, for his own sake. For tho' I hope he will never suffer on the Account of any wilful Remissness or Negligence, much less want of Fidelity, in me, yet his Affairs do not go on so well as if he was more in them, and less at the Tavern. But it becomes not me to reflect upon my Master, especially as what I may write or say on this Head, will rather expose his Failings, than do him Service; for as it must be his Equals that should reprove him, so all a Servant can observe to others will do more Harm than Good to him. One Thing is at present in my own Power; and that is, to double my Dili|gence, that his Family suffer as little as possible by his Remissness: And another, I hope, by God's Grace, will be; and that is, to avoid in my|self, when my Time comes, those Failings which I see so blameable in him. And as this will be benefiting properly by the Example (for that Bee must be worse than a Drone, that cannot draw Honey from a bitter as well as a sweet Flower) so it will give you the Pleasure of knowing 〈◊〉〈◊〉
your good Instructions are not thrown away upon me; and that I am, and ever will be, Your dutiful Son.
LETTER XLII. To a Country Correspondent, modestly requesting a Balance of Accounts between them.
SIR,
I Find myself constrained by a present Exigence, to beg you to balance the Account between us. Tho' Matters have run into some Length, yet would I not have apply'd to you, had I known so well how to answer my pressing Occasions any other way. If it suits you not to pay the Whole, I beg, Sir, you will remit me as much towards it as you can, without Prejudice to your other Af|fairs, and it will extremely oblige
Your most humble Servant
LETTER XLIII. In Answer to the preceding.
SIR,
I AM very glad I have it in my Power to send you now directly, One hundred Pounds, on Account between us, which I do by our Carrier, who will pay you in Specie. I will soon remit you the Balance of your whole Demand, and am only sorry, that I gave Occasion for this Applica|tion for what is so justly your Due. When I send you the rest, which will be in a few Days, if I
am not greatly disappointed, I will accompany it with an Order, which will begin a new Debt; but which I hope to be more punctual in discharging, than I have been in the last. I am, very sincerely, Your Friend and Servant.
LETTER XLIV. A more pressing and angry Letter from a City Dealer on the same Account.
Mr. Barret,
I AM sorry your ill Usage constrains me to write to you in the most pressing manner. Can you think it is possible to carry on Business after the manner you act by me? You know what Promises you have made me, and how from time to time you have broke them. And can I depend upon any new ones you make? If you use others as you do me, how can you think of carrying on Business? If you do not, what must I think of a Man who deals worse with me, than he does with any body else?—If you think you may trespass more upon me, than you can on others, this is a very bad Com|pliment to my Prudence, or your own Gratitude. For surely good Usage should be intitled to good Usage. I know how to allow for Disappointments as well as any Man; but can a Man be disappoint|ed for ever? Trade is so dependent a thing, you know, that it cannot be carried on without mu|tual Punctuality. Does not the Merchant expect it from me, for those very Goods I send you? And can I make a Return to him, without receiving it from you? What End can it answer to give you Two Years Credit, and then be at an Uncertainty, for Goods which I sell at a small Profit, and have
not Six Months Credit for myself? Indeed, Sir, this will never do. I must be more punctually used by you, or else must deal as little punctually with others; and what then must be the Conse|quence?—In short, Sir, I expect a handsome Pay|ment by the next Return, and Security for the Remainder; and shall be very loth to take any harsh Methods to procure this Justice to myself, my Family, and my own Creditors. For I am, if it be not your own Fault, Your faithful Friend and Servant.
LETTER XLV. In Answer to the preceding.
SIR,
I MUST acknowledge I have not used you well, and can give no better Answer to your just Ex|postulations, than to send you the inclosed Draught for 50 l. which you will be pleased to carry to my Credit; and to assure you of more punctual Treatment for the future. Your Letter is no bad Lesson to me; I have conn'd it often, and hope I shall improve by it. I am ready to give you my Bond for the Remainder, which I will keep paying every Month something till 'tis all discharged; and what I write to you for, in the Interim, shall be paid for on Receipt of the Goods. This, I hope, Sir, will satisfy you for the present. If I could do better, I would; but shall be streighten'd to do this: But I think, in Return for your Patience, I cannot do less, to convince you, that I am now, at last, in Earnest. I beg you'll continue to me the same good Usage and Service I have met with from you hitherto. And that you'll believe me to be, unfeignedly,
Your obliged humble Servant.
LETTER XLVI. To a young Trader generally in a Hurry in Business, advising Method as well as Di|ligence.
Dear Nephew,
THE Affection I have always borne you, as well for your own sake, as for your late Fa|ther's and Mother's, makes me give you the Trouble of these Lines, which I hope you will receive as kindly as I intend them.
I have lately call'd upon you several times, and have as often found you in an extraordinary Hurry; which I well know cannot be sometimes avoided; but, methinks, need not be always the Case, if your Time were disposed in regular and proper Pro|portions to your Business. I have frequently had Reason to believe, that more than half the Flutter which appears among Traders in general, is rather the Effect of their Indolence, than their Industry; however willing they are to have it thought other|wise; and I will give you one Instance in Confir|mation of this Opinion, in a Neighbour of mine.
This Gentleman carried on for some Years a profitable Business; but indulging himself every Evening in a Tavern Society or Club, which the Promotion of Business (as is usually the Case) gave the first Pretence for, he looked upon those En|gagements as the natural Consequence of the Ap|proach of Night; and drove on his Business in the Day with Precipitation, that he might get thither with the earliest. He seldom kept very late Hours, tho' he never came home soon. The Night being gone, and his Bottle empty'd, the Morning was always wanted to dispel the Fumes of the Wine.
Whoever therefore came to him before Nine, was desired to call again; and when he rose, so many Matters waited for him, as directly threw him into a Flutter; so that from his Rising till Dinner|time, he seem'd in one continued Forment. A long Dinner-time he always allowed himself, in order to recover the Fatigues he had undergone; and all his Table-talk was, How heavy his Busi|ness lay upon him! And what Pains he took in it! The hearty Meal, and the Time he indulged him|self at Table, begot an Inappetency for any more Business for that short Afternoon; so all that could be deferr'd, was put off to the next Morning; and long'd-for Evening approaching, he flies to his usual Solace: Empties his Bottle by Eleven: Comes home: Gets to Bed; and is invisible till next Morning at Nine; and then rising, enters upon his usual Hurry and Confusion. Thus did his Life seem to those who saw him in his Business, one constant Scene of Fatigue, tho' he scarce ever apply'd to it Four regular Hours in any one Day. Whereas had he risen only at Seven in the Morning, he would have got all his Busi|ness under by Noon; and those Two Hours, from Seven to Nine, being before many People go abroad, he would have met with no Interruption in his Affairs; but might have improved his Servants by his own Example, directed them in the Business of the Day, have inspected his Books, written to his Dealers, and put every thing in so regular a Train, for the rest of the Day, that whatever had occurr'd afterwards, would rather have served to divert than fatigue him.
And what, to cut my Story short, was the Up|shot of the Matter? Why, meeting with some Disappointments and Losses, (as all Traders must expect, and ought to provide for) and his Custom|ers
not seeing him in his Shop so much as they expected, and when there, always in a disobliging petulant Hurry; and moreover, Mistakes frequent|ly happening through the Flurry into which he put himself and every one about him; by these means his Business dwindled away insensibly, and not being able to go out of his usual Course, which helped to impair both his Capacity and Ar|dor to Business, his Creditors began to look about them, and he was compelled to enter into the State of his Affairs; and then had the Mortifica|tion to find the Balance of 2000 l. against him. This was a shocking Case to himself; but more to his Family; for his Wife had lived, and his Children had been educated, in such a manner, as induced them to hope their Fortunes would be sufficient to place them in a State of Independence.
In short, being obliged to quit a Business, he had managed with so little Prudence, his Friends got him upon a charitable Foundation, which afforded him bare Subsistence for himself. His Children were dispersed some one way and some another, into low Scenes of Life, and his Wife went home to her Friends, to be snubb'd and reflected on by her own Family, for Faults not her own.
This Example will afford several good Hints, to a young Tradesman, which are too obvious to need expatiating upon. And as I dare say, your Pru|dence will keep you from the like Fault, you will never have Reason to reproach yourself on this Score. But yet, as I always found you in a Hurry, when I called upon you, I could not but give you this Hint, for fear you should not rightly propor|tion your Time to your Business, and lest you should suspend to the next Hour, what you could and ought to do in the present, and so did not keep your Business properly under. Method is
every thing in Business, next to Diligence. And you will by falling into a regular one, always be calm and unruffled, and have time to bestow in your Shop with your Customers; the Female ones especially; who always love to make a great many Words in their Bargainings, and expect to be hu|mour'd and persuaded: And how can any Man find Time for this, if he prefers the Tavern to his Shop, and his Bed to his Business? I know you will take in good Part what I have written, because you are sensible how much I am Your truly affectionate, &c.
LETTER XLVII. From a Son reduced by his own Extravagance, requesting his Father's Advice, on his Inten|tion to turn Player.
Honoured Sir,
AFTER the many Occasions I have given for your Displeasure, permit me to ask your Advice in an Affair which may render my whole Life com|fortable or miserable. You know, Sir, to what a low Ebb my Folly and Extravagance have reduced me: Your generous Indulgence has made you stretch your Power, to my Shame I speak it, even beyond the Bounds which Wisdom, and a necessary Regard to the rest of your Family would permit; there|fore, I cannot hope for further Assistance from you. Something, however, I must resolve upon to gain a Maintenance: And an Accident fell out Yesterday, which offers me, at least, present Bread.
Mr. Rich, Master of one of the Theatres, hap|pened to dine at my Uncle's when I was there: After Dinner, the Subject of Discourse was, the
Art of a Comedian: On which my Uncle took Occasion to mention the little Flights in that way with which I have diverted myself in my gayer Moments; and partly compelled me to give an Instance of my Abilities. Mr. Rich was pleased to declare his Approbation of my Manner and Voice; and on being told my Circumstances, offer'd, at once to take me into his Company with an Allow|ance sufficient for present Subsistence, and addi|tional Encouragement, as I should be found to deserve it. Half a Benefit he promised me the first Season; which, by my (otherwise too) numerous Acquaintaince might, I believe, be turned to pretty good Account. I am not fond of this Life; but see no other Means of supporting myself like a Gentleman. Your speedy Answer, will be ever gratefully acknowledged by, honoured Sir, Your dutiful, tho' unhappy Son.
LETTER XLVIII. The Father's Answer, setting forth the Incon|veniencies and Disgrace attending the Pro|fession of a Player.
Dear Gilbert,
I SHOULD be glad to have you in any Situa|tion, which would afford you a comfortable and reputable Subsistence: But cannot think the Life of a Stage-player proper for that End. You must consider, that tho' in the gay Trappings of that Employment a Man may represent a Gentleman, yet none can be farther from that Character if a perpetual Dependence be the worst Kind of Ser|vility. In the first Place, the Company you will be in a manner obliged to keep, will be such as will tend little to the Improvement of your Mind, or
Amendment of your Morals: To the Master of the Company you list in, you must be obsequious to a Degree of Slavery. Not one of an Audience that is able to hiss, but you must fear; and each single Person you come to know personally, you must oblige on every Occasion that offers, to en|gage their Interest at your Benefit. A Thought the most shocking to a free and generous Mind! And if to this you add the little Profit that will attend making a low Figure on the Stage, and, besides the Qualifications necessary, the incredi|ble Fatigue attending the Support of a good Figure upon it; you will easily see, that more Credit, more Satisfaction, more Ease, and more Profit, may be got in many other Stations, with|out the mortifying Knowledge of being deem'd a Vagrant by the Laws of your Country. I hope this will be enough to dissuade you from farther Thoughts of the Stage: And, in any other Em|ployment, you may, yet, expect some small Assist|ance from Your loving Father.
LETTER XLIX. To a Brother too captious to bear himself the Ridicule he practises upon others.
Dear Jack,
I AM glad to find you improve both in Thought and Speech. You know I am no Witch at either: But so as we have some Wit in our Family, no matter who is at the Trouble of carrying it for what he'll get by it. I suppose you thought to give no small Pleasure to the Company last Night by your facetious Flings at all around you, not
excepting the Parson himself: But should you not have considered, that every one in the Room had a Right to return the Freedom you took, in the best manner he was able? Was it therefore well in you to resent so warmly as you did, a smart Re|mark, made by Mr. Crispe, on a palpable Blunder of your own, when you had taken so much Liber|ty with him, as well as every body else, just before? Indeed, Brother, you must either lay aside Ridicule, or learn to bear it better; and in the present Case you should have remember'd, that, in the manner you began with that Gentleman, it was not possi|ble for him to say any thing it would have been your Credit to resent. A Retort on these Occa|sions must be excused, tho' fraught with Resent|ment; for a Man is not always in a Humour to be jested with, and it is the Duty of him who be|gins, to take what follows. Your failing in this known Rule; whatever you may think, has made you appear in so mean a Light to the whole Com|pany, that all your Acuteness will not in haste atone for it. If I judge rightly, nothing is more delicate than Ridicule: Where it is conducted with Prudence and Humour, it is sure to please even the Man who is the Subject of it, if he is not of a morose Temper: But when, instead of that, personal Fail|ings, or private Indiscretions, are exposed for the Entertainment of a Company, tho' you may think to raise a Laugh by it in the Unreflecting, it will bring upon you the Censure of the Considerate. It is our Duty to consult what we can bear ourselves, as well as what we can inflict on others. For my own Part, I know I cannot bear what is called a close Rub, as many Men can, and for that Reason I never jest with any body, unless by way of Re|prisal, and that I shorten all I can, lest my Tem|per should not hold out.
No doubt but you have more Humour than I; but if you do not blend in it a Quantity of Temper sufficient to carry it off, you will be no Gainer by the Qualification. The Philosopher says, That to Bear and Forbear, are the highest Points of Wis|dom: If so, where is his Wisdom, who will nei|ther do the one or the other? You may not like the Freedom I have here taken; but I respect you too well to pass over your Foibles without some Observation; being Your truly affectionate Brother.
LETTER L. To a Friend on his Recovery from a dangerous Illness.
Dear Sir,
GIVE me Leave to mingle my Joy with that of all your Friends and Relations, in the Re|covery of your Health, and to join with them to bless God for continuing to your numerous Well|wishers the Benefit of your useful and valua|ble Life. May God Almighty long preserve you in Health, and prosper all your Undertakings, for the Good of your worthy Family, and the Pleasure of all your Friends and Acquaintance, in the hearty Prayer of, Sir,
Your faithful Friend, and humble Servant.
LETTER LI. On the same Occasion.
Good Sir,
I HAVE received with great Delight, the good News of your Recovery from the dangerous Ill|ness with which it pleased God to afflict you. I
most heartily congratulate you and your good Lady and Family upon it; and make it my Prayer, That your late Indisposition may be succeeded by such a Renewal of Health and Strength both of Body and Mind, as may make your Life equally happy to yourself, as it must be to all who have the Pleasure to know you. I could not help giving you this Trouble, to testify the Joy that affected my Heart on the Occasion; and to assure you, that I am, with the greatest Affection and Respect, Sir, Your faithful humble Servant.
LETTER LII. In Answer to the preceding.
Dear Sir,
I GIVE you many Thanks for your kind Con|gratulations. My Return of Health will be the greater Pleasure to me, if I can contribute in any measure to the Happiness of my many good Friends; and, particularly, to that of you and yours; for I assure you, Sir, that no body can be more than I am,
Your obliged humble Servant,
LETTER LIII. To a young Lady, advising her not to change her Guardians, nor to encourage any clan|destine Address.
Dear Miss,
THE Friendship which long subsisted between your prudent Mother and me, has always made me attend to your Welfare with more than a com|mon
Concern: And I could not conceal my Sur|prize at hearing, that you intend to remove the Guardianship of yourself and Fortune, from the Gentlemen to whom your tender Parents commit|ted the Direction of both. I am afraid, my Dear, your Dissatisfaction arises more from sudden Dis|taste, than from mature Reflection. Mr. Jones and Mr. Pitt were long the intimate Friends and Companions of your Father; for more than Thirty Years, he had experienc'd their Candor and Wis|dom; and it was their Fitness for the Trust, that ••••duced him to leave you to their Care; and will 〈◊〉〈◊〉 reflect upon his Judgment? They are not less wise now, than when he made his Will; and if they happen to differ from your Judgment in any thing of Moment, what Room have you to suppose yourself better able to judge of the Consequences of what you desire, than they. I do not undervalue your good Sense, and yet I must tell you, that (the Difference of Years consider'd, and their Knowledge of the World, which yet you can know little of) it would he strange if they did not know better than you, what was proper for you; and their Honesty was never yet disputed. Upon these Considerations, who is most probably to blame, should you happen to disagree? From such Men, you will never meet more Restraints than is necessary for your Happi|ness and Interest; for nothing that can injure you in any respect, can add to their Advantage or Re|putation. I have known several young Ladies of your Age impatient of the least Controul, and think hardly of every little Contradiction; but when, by any unadvised Step, they have released themselves, as they call it, from the Care of their try'd Friends, how often have they had Cause to repent their Rashness? How seldom do you hear
those Ladies, who have subjected themselves to what some reckon the greatest Restraints while young, repent the Effects of them when grown up? To mention the single Article about which, generally, these Differences arise, that of Marriage: What good Fruits can a Lady hope, from the insidious Progress of a clandestine Address? A Man who can be worth a Lady's Acceptance, will never be ashamed or afraid to appear openly. If he de|serves to succeed, or is conscious that he does, what need of concealing his Designs from her Friends? Must it not be with a View to get her in his Power, and by securing a Place in her Af|fections, make her Weakness give Strength to his Presumption, and forward those Pretensions that he knew would otherwise be rejected with Scorn?
Let me tell you, my dear Miss, that you neither want Sense nor Beauty; and no young Gentleman can be ashamed of being known to love you. Con|sider this well, and despise the Man who seeks the Aid of back Doors, bribed Servants, and Garden|walls, to get Access to your Person. If he had not a meaner Opinion of your Understanding than he ought, he would not hope for Success from such poor Methods. Let him see then, how much he is mistaken, if he thinks you the giddy Girl his clandestine Conduct seems to call you. In time advise with your try'd Friends. Trust no Servant with Secrets you would not have known to your Equals or Guardians; and be sure ever to shun a servile Confidant, who generally makes her Mar|ket of her Mistress, and sells her to the highest Bidder.
I hope, dear Miss, you will seriously reflect upon all I have said, and excuse the well-meant Zeal of
Your sincere Friend.
LETTER LIV. From a Mother to her Daughter, jealous of her Husband.
Dear Bet,
I AM sorry to find you are grown jealous of your Husband. 'Tis a most uneasy Passion, and will be fatal, not only to your present Quiet, but to your future Happiness, and probably to that of y••ur Family, if you indulge it.
Your either have, or have not Cause for it. If you have Cause, look into yourself and your own Conduct, to see if you have not by any Change of Temper, or Disagreeableness of Behaviour, alie|nated your Husband's Affections; and if so, set about amending both, in order to recover them: for once he loved you, and you was satisfy'd he did, above all your Sex, or you would not have had him. If it be owing to his inconstant Temper, that is indeed unhappy; but then, so long as you are clear of Blame, you have nothing to reproach yourself with: And as the Creatures wicked Men follow, omit nothing to oblige them, you must try to avoid such uneasy and disturbing Resent|ments, as will make you more and more distasteful to him. Shew him, that no guilty Wretch's pre|tended Love can be equal to your real one: Shew him, that such Creatures shall not out-do you in an obliging Behaviour, and Sweetness of Temper; and that, let him fly off from his Duty, if he will, you will persevere in yours. This Conduct will, if not immediately, in time, flash Conviction in his Face: He will see what a Goodness he injures, and will be softened by your Softness. But if you make his Home uneasy to him, he will fly both
that and you: And to whom will he fly, but, most probably, to one who will allow his Pleas, and aggravate every thing against you; who will side with him, inflame his Passions, and thereby secure him to herself? And would you contribute to such a Wretch's Power over him, and furnish Oppor|tunities for her to triumph over you? For while you exasperate his Passions, and harden his Mind against you, she will, by wicked Blandishments, shew him how obliging she can be, and so a Course of Life, that he would follow privately, and by stealth, as it were, he will more openly pursue; he will grow shameless in it; and, so com|mon is the Vice, more's the Pity! will find those who will extenuate it for their own sakes, and throw the Blame on the Violence of your Temper, and say, you drive him into these Excesses. Thus much I write, supposing you have Reason to be jealous. I will write yet another Letter on this important Subject. I hope they will have the Weight intended them, by Your ever indulgent Mother.
LETTER LV. The same Subject continued.
Dear Bet,
WHAT I wrote in my former, was on a Suppo|sition that you had too much Reason to be uneasy at your Husband's Conduct.
I will now pursue the Subject, and put the Case that you have no Proof that he is guilty, but your Surmizes, or, perhaps, the busy Whisperings of offi|cious Make-debates. In this Case, take care, my Betsey, that you don't, by the Violence of your Pas|sions,
precipitate him on the Course you dread, and that you alienate not, by unjust Suspicions, his Affections from you; for then perhaps he will be ready indeed to place them somewhere else, where you may not so easily draw him off; for he will, may be, think, as to you (if he be devoid of supe|rior Considerations) that he may as well deserve your Suspicions, as be tiezed with them without deserving them. I know it is a most shocking thing to a sober young Woman, to think herself obliged to share those Affections which ought to be all her own, with a vile Prostitute, besides the Danger, which is not small, of being intirely circumvented in her Husband's Love, and perhaps have only his In|difference, if not Contempt, instead of it. But, my Dear, at the worst, comfort yourself that you are not the guilty Person, for one Day he will, per|haps, fatally find his Error. And consider, be|sides, my Betsey, that your Case, from an unfaith|ful Husband, is not near so bad as his would be from an unfaithful Wife: For, Child, he cannot make the Progeny of a Bastard Race succeed to his and your Estate or Chattels, in Injury of your lawful Children. If any such he should have, the Law of the Land brands them: Whereas a naughty Wife often makes the Children of another Man, Heirs of her Husband's Estate and Fortune, in In|jury of his own Children or Family. So, tho' the Crime may be equal in other Respects, yet this makes the Injury of the Woman to the Man, greater than his can be to her.
These Thoughts I have thrown together, as they occurred in two Letters, that I might not tire you with a Length, that, yet, the important Subject re|quired. Let me briefly sum up the Contents.
If he be guilty, try by Softness and kind Expo|stulations to reclaim him, before the Vice be rooted in him. If it be so rooted, as that he cannot be drawn off, you know not what God may do for you, if you trust in Him, and take not upon your|self, by giving up your Mind to Violence, to be your own Avenger. A sick Bed, a tender Conduct in you, a sore Disaster, (and who that lives, is not liable to such?) may give him to see the Error 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his Ways, and shew him the Foulness of his Crime•• which your good Usage will aggravate, upon 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sober Reflection, with the no weak Addition 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Ingratitude to so good a Wife. The Wretch he has chosen for a Partner in his Guilt, may, by her sordid Ways, awake him, by her libidinous De|portment, satiate him, by her detected Commerce with others (for such Creatures, having once given themselves up to Vice, know no Bounds) make him abhor her: And then he will see the Differ|ence between such a one, and a chaste Wife, whose Interests are bound up in his own, and will admire you more than ever he did; and you'll have the Pleasure, besides, in all Probability, of saving a Soul that stands in so near a Relation to your own. But if your Uneasiness be owing to private Tale|bearers and busy Intermeddlers; take care, my Dear, you are not made a Property of by such mischievous People. Take care that you make not your own present Peace, and your future Good, and that of your Family, and of him your injur'd Husband, the Sacrifices to such pernicious Busy-bodies.
Consider, my Dear, all I have said, and God bless you with a Conduct and Discretion suitable to the Occasion before you, and, at the worst, give you Comfort and Patience in your own Innocence. For such is this transitory Life, that all the Ill or Good we receive, will be soon over with us, and
then the Pu••••shment of the former, and the Reward of the latter, will make all Scores even, and what is past appear as nothing. Mean time I can but pray for you: As, my dear Child, becomes Your ever affectionate Mother.
LETTER LVI. From a tender Father to an ungracious Son,
Son John,
I AM under no small Concern, that your con|tinued ill Courses give me Occasion to write this Letter to you. I was in hopes, that your solemn Promises of Amendment might have been better depended on; but I see, to my great Mor|tification, that all I have done for you, and all I have said to you, is thrown away. What can I say more than I have said? Yet, once more am I desirous to try what the Force of a Letter will do with one who has not suffer'd mere Words to have any Effect upon him. Perhaps this remaining with you, if you will now and then seriously peruse it, may, in some happy Moment, give you Reflection, and by God's Grace, bring on your Repentance and Amendment.
Consider then, I beseech you, in time, the Evil of your Ways. Make my Case your own; and think, if you were to be Father of such a Son, how his Actions would grieve and afflict you. But if my Comfort has no Weight with you, consider, my Son, how your present Courses must impair, in time, a good Constitution, destroy your Health, and, most probably, shorten your Life. Consider that your Reputation is wounded, I hope, not mor|tally,
as yet. That you will be ranked among the Profligate and Outcasts of the World; that no virtuous Man will keep you Company; that every one who has a Regard for his own Credit will shun you; and that you will be given up to the Society of the worst and most abandon'd of Men, when you might be improved by the Examples of the Best. That no Family which values their own Honour, and the Welfare of their Child, will suffer your Addresses to a Daughter worthy of being sought after for a Wife, should you incline to marry; and that the worst of that Sex must probably, in that Case, fall to your Lot, which will make you miserable in this World, when you might be happy. Then, as to another World beyond this transitory one, my Heart trembles for what most probably will be the Consequence to your poor Soul: For the human Mind is seldom at a stay; if you do not grow better, you will most undoubtedly grow worse, and you may run into those Sins and Evils, that you now perhaps think yourself incapable of; as already you are arrived at a Height of Folly and Wickedness, that once you would have thought you could not have been guilty of. Don't, my dear Son, let your poor Mother and me have the Mortification to think, that we have been the un|happy Means of giving Life to a Child of Perdition, instead of a Child of Glory; that our beloved Son with all the Pains we have taken to instil good Principles into his Mind, in hopes he would one day prove a Credit and Comfort to his Family, should, instead of answering our longing Wishes, when at Age, take such contrary Courses, as will make us join to wish he had never been born.
Consider, my dear Son, we don't want any thing of you but your own Good. We lived before you were born. You have been a great Expence to us
to bring you up to these Years. You cannot now live without us, but we can without you. We hope God will continue your Life to be still a fur|ther Expence to us. For all we live for, is our Chil|drens Good. Let then the Disinterestedness of our Plea move you. Be but good to yourself, that is all we require of you. Let us but have Reason to hope, that when we are dead and gone, you will support our Name with Credit, and be no Burden to your poor Sisters, nor Disgrace to our Memories. Shew us that you are of a generous, not of a sordid Nature; and will probably set yourself above fu|ture Misfortunes by reclaiming in time, and then we shall be happy. As God has done his Part by you, and given you Talents that every one cannot boast, let me beg you to consider only, how much more noble it is to be in such a Situation as shall enable you to confer Benefits, than such an one as shall lay you under the poor Necessity to receive them from others, and, perhaps, where they ought to be least expected. I have written a long Letter. The Subject is next my Heart, and will excuse it. God give a Blessing to it! God give you to see the Error of your Ways before it be too late, and before you get such a Habit as you cannot alter if you would. Let your poor Mother and Sisters look upon you with Pleasure, rather than Apprehension, in case God Almighty should take me away from them: ••et them think of you as a Protector in my stead, rather than as an ingrateful Spoiler among them; and you will then give Comfort to my Life, as long as God shall spare it, and alleviate, instead of aggra|vate, the Pangs of my dying Hour, when God shall send it.
My dear, dear Son, I conjure you, by all our past Tenderness and Affection for you, by our
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Hopes, and our Fears, from Infancy to Manhood, to think of all these Things; reflect upon the Transitoriness of worldly Enjoyments, even when better chosen than yours are. Judge of the Plea|sures you expect in your present Course, by the Vanity of the past; of your next Assignations, by the aching Head, and undelighted Heart, which followed the last; and you will find, that no Satis|faction, which is not grounded on Virtue and So|briety, can be durable, or worthy of a rational Creature. Your good Mother, who joins her Tears so often with mine, to deplore the sad Prospect your ill Courses give us, joins also her Prayers to mine, that this my last Effort may be attended with Success; and that you will not let us intreat in vain. Amen, Amen, says
Your indulgent and afflicted Father.
LETTER LVII. The Son's dutiful Answer.
Honoured Sir,
I AM greatly affected with the tender and moving Goodness expressed in your indulgent Letter. I am exceedingly sorry, that all your good Advice before has been so cast away upon me, as to render this further Instance of your pa|ternal Affection necessary. I am resolved instantly to set about a Reformation, and to conform my|self intirely to your good Pleasure for the future; and I beg, Sir, the Continuance of yours, and my good Mother's Prayers to God, to enable me to adhere to my present good Resolutions. I have so often promised, and so often broken my Word,
(rather indeed thro' the Strength of my Passions, than a Design of Non-performance) that I think, I ought now to give you some Proof that I am in earnest; and what better can I give, than to assure you, that I will henceforth break myself from the frothy Companions I used to take too much Delight in, and whose lewd Banters and Tempta|tions have so frequently set aside my good Pur|poses? You, Sir, for the future, shall recommend the Company proper for me to keep; and I beg you will chalk out for me the Paths in which you would have me tread, and, as much as possible, I will walk in them; and when I have convinced you of the Sincerity of my Reformation, I hope, Sir, you and my honoured Mother, will restore me to your good Opinions, which it shall be my constant Study to deserve. I have already broke with George Negus, who attempted to laugh me out of my good Resolutions. And I beg Leave to wait upon you for such a Space of Time as you shall think proper, in order to break myself from the rest of my profligate Companions, and that I may have the Benefit of your Advice and Dire|ction for my future Conduct. God continue long (for the Benefit of us all) your Life and Health, and make me happy in contributing as much to your future Comforts, as I have, by my past Excesses, to your Trouble of Mind, is, and shall always be, the Prayer of, Honoured Sir, Your truly penitent and dutiful Son.
LETTER LVIII. To a Friend, on Occasion of his not answering his Letters.
Dear Sir,
IT is so long since I had the Favour of a Line from you, that I am under great Apprehensions in relation to your Health and Welfare. I beg you, Sir, to renew to me the Pleasure you used to give me in your Correspondence; for I have written three Letters to you before this, to which I have had no Answer, and am not conscious of having any way disobliged you. If I have, I will most willingly ask your Pardon; for nobody can be more than I am,
Your affectionate and faithful Friend and Servant.
LETTER LIX. In Answer to the preceding.
Dear Sir,
YOU have not, cannot disoblige me; but I have greatly disobliged myself, in my own faulty Remissness. I cannot account for it as I ought. To say I had Business one time, Company another, was distant from home a third, will be but poor Excuses, for not answering one of your kind Letters in four long Months. I therefore in|genuously take Shame to myself, and promise future Amendment. And that nothing shall ever, while I am able to hold a Pen, make me guilty of the like Neglect to a Friend I love so well, and
have so much Reason so to do. Forgive me then, my good, my kind, my generous Friend; and be|lieve me ever, Your highly obliged humble Servant.
LETTER LX. From a Father to a Son, on his Negligence in his Affairs.
Dear Jemmy,
YOU cannot imagine what a Concern your Care|lessness and indifferent Management of your Affairs give me. Remissness is inexcusable in all Men, but in none so much as in a Man of Business, the Soul of which is Industry, Diligence, and Punctuality.
Let me beg of you to shake off the idle Habits you have contracted; quit unprofitable Company, and unseasonable Recreations, and apply to your Compting-house with Diligence. It may not be yet too late to retrieve your Affairs. Inspect there|fore your Gains, and cast up what Proportion they bear to your Expences; and then see which of the latter you can, and which you cannot contract. Consider, that when once a Man suffers himself to go backward in the World, it must be an un|common Spirit of Industry that retrieves him, and puts him forward again.
Reflect, I beseech you, before it be too late, upon the Inconveniencies which an impoverish'd Trader is put to, for the Remainder of his Life; which, too, may happen to be the prime Part of it; the Indignities he is likely to suffer from those whose Money he has unthinkingly squander'd; the
Contempt he will meet with from all, not except|ing the idle Companions of his Folly; the Injustice he does his Family, in depriving his Children, not only of the Power of raising themselves, but of living tolerably; and how, on the contrary, from being born to a creditable Expectation, he sinks them into the lowest Class of Mankind, and ex|poses them to the most dangerous Temptations. What has not such a Father to answer for! and all this for the sake of indulging himself in an idle, a careless, a thoughtless Habit, that cannot afford the least Satisfaction, beyond the present Hour, if in that; and which must be attended with deep Remorse, when he comes to reflect. Think seri|ously of these Things, and in time resolve on such a Course as may bring Credit to yourself, Justice to all you deal with, Peace and Pleasure to your own Mind, Comfort to your Family; and which will give at the same time the highest Satisfaction to Your careful and loving Father.
LETTER LXI. The Son's grateful Answer.
Honoured Sir,
I Return you my sincere Thanks for your sea|sonable Reproof and Advice. I have indeed too much indulged myself in an idle careless Habit, and had already begun to feel the evil Consequences of it, when I received your Letter, in the Insults of a Creditor or two from whom I expected kinder Treatment. But indeed they wanted but their own, so I could only blame myself, who had brought their rough Usage upon me. Your Let|ter came so seasonably upon this, that I hope it will
not want the desired Effect; and as I thank God it is not yet too late, I am resolved to take another Course with myself and my Affairs, that I may avoid the ill Consequences you so judiciously forewarn me of, and give to my Family and Friends the Plea|sure they so well deserve at my Hands; and particu|larly that Satisfaction to so good a Father, which is owing to him, by His most dutiful Son.
LETTER LXII. A young Woman in Town to her Sister in the Country, recounting her narrow Escape from a Snare laid for her on her first Arrival, by a wicked Procuress.
Dear Sister,
WE have often, by our good Mother, been warned against the Dangers that would too probably attend us on coming to London; tho' I must own, her Admonitions had not always the Weight I am now convinced they deserved.
I have had a Deliverance from such a Snare, as I never could have believed would have been laid for a Person free from all Thought of Ill, or been so near succeeding upon one so strongly on her Guard as I imagined myself: And thus, my dear Sister, the Matter happened:
Returning, on Tuesday, from seeing my Cousin Atkins, in Cheapside, I was over-taken by an elderly Gentlewoman of a sober and creditable Appearance, who walked by my Side some little time before she spoke to me; and then guessing, (by my asking the Name of the Street) that I was a Stranger to
the Town, she very courteously began a Discourse with me, and after some other Talk, and Questions about my Country, and the like, desired to know if I did not come to Town with a Design of going into some genteel Place? I told her, If I could meet with a Place to my Mind, to wait upon a single Lady, I should be very willing to embrace it. She said, I look'd like a creditable, sober and modest Body, and at that very time she knew one of the best Gentlewomen that ever lived, who was in great Want of a Maid to attend upon her own Person, and that if she liked me, and I her, it would be a lucky Incident for us both. I expressed myself thankfully, and she was so very much in my Interest, as to intreat me to go instantly to the Lady, lest she should be provided, and acquaint her I was recommended by Mrs. Jones, not doubting, as she said, but, on Inquiry, my Character would answer my Appearance.
As that you know was partly my View in com|ing to Town, I thought this a happy Incident, and determined not to lose the Opportunity; and so, according to the Direction she gave me, I went to inquire for Mrs. C_+_+ in J_+_+n's Court, Fleet-street. The Neighbourhood look'd genteel, and I soon found the House. I asked for Mrs. C_+_+; she came to me, dress'd in a splendid Manner; I told her what I came about; she immediately de|sired me to walk into the Parlour, which was ele|gantly furnished; and after asking me several Que|stions, with my Answers to which she seem'd very well pleased, a Servant soon brought in a Bowl of warm Liquor, which she called Negus, consisting of Wine, Water, Orange, &c. which, she said, was for a Friend or two she expected presently; but as I was warm with walking, she would have me drink some of it, telling me it was a pleasant innocent Liquor,
and she always used her waiting Maids, as she did herself. I thought this was very kind and con|descending, and being warm and thirsty, and she encouraging me, I took a pretty free Draught of it, and thought it very pleasant, as it really was. She made me sit down by her, saying, Pride was not her Talent, and that she should always indulge me in like manner, if I behaved well, when she had not Company: and then slightly asked what I could do, and the Wages I required? With my Answers she seemed well satisfied, and granted the Wages I asked, without any Offer of Abatement. And then I rose up, in order to take my Leave, telling her I would, any Day she pleased, of the ensuing Week, bring my Cloaths, and wait upon her.
She said, that her own Maid being gone away, she was in the utmost Want of another, and would take it kindly, if I would stay with her till next Day, because she was to have some Ladies to pass the Evening with her. I said this would be pretty inconvenient to me, but as she was so situated, I would oblige her, after I had been with my Aunt, and acquainted her with it. To this she reply'd, that there was no manner of Occasion for that, be|cause she could send the Cook for what I wanted, who could, at the same time, tell my Aunt how Matters stood.
I thought this looked a little odd; but she did it with so much Civility, and seemed so pleased with her new Maid, that I scarcely knew how to with|stand her: But the Apprehension I had of my Aunt's Anger for not asking her Advice, in what so nearly concerned me, made me insist upon going, though I could perceive Displeasure in her Coun|tenance when she saw me resolv'd.
She then ply'd me very close with the Liquor, which she again said was innocent and weak; but I believe it was far otherwise; for my Head began to turn round, and my Stomach felt a little dis|ordered. I intreated the Favour of her to permit me to go, on a firm Promise of returning imme|diately; but then, my new Mistress began to raise her Voice a little, assuring me I should on no Ac|count, stir out of her House. She left the Room, in a sort of a Pet, but said she would send the Cook to take my Directions to my Aunt; and I heard her take the Key out of the outward Door. This alarmed me very much; and, in the In|stant of my Surprize, a young Gentlewoman en|tered the Parlour, dress'd in white Sattin, and every way genteel; she sat down in a Chair next me, looked earnestly at me a while, and seemed going to speak several times, but did not. At length she rose from her Chair, bolted the Parlour-door, and, breaking into a Flood of Tears, express'd her|self as follows:
"Dear young Woman, I cannot tell you the Pain I feel on your Account; and from an In|clination to serve you, I run a Hazard of in|volving myself in greater Misery than I have yet experienced, if that can be. But my Heart is yet too honest to draw others, as I am desir'd to do, into a Snare which I have fallen into myself. You are now in as notorious a Brothel, as is in Lon|don: And if you escape not in a few Hours, you are inevitably undone. I was once as innocent as you now seem to be. No Apprehension you can be under for your Virtue, but I felt as much: My Name was as unspotted, and my Heart as unvers'd in Ill, when I first entered these guilty Doors, whither I was sent on an Errand, much like what I understand has brought you hither. I
You may guess at the Terror that seized my Heart, on this sad Story, and my own Danger; I trembled in every Joint, nor was I able to speak for some time; at last, in the best Manner I could, I thanked my unhappy new Friend, and begg'd she would kindly give me the Assistance she offered: which she did; for the first Gentleman that came to the Door, she stept up herself for the Key to let him in, which the wretched Procuress gave her, and I took that Opportunity, as she directed, to run out of the House, and that in so much Hurry
and Confusion, as to leave my Hood, Fan, and Gloves behind me. I told my Aunt every Circumstance of my Danger and Escape, and received a severe Repri|mand for my following so inconsiderately, in so wicked a Town as this, the Direction of an intire Stranger.
I am sure, Sister, you rejoice with me for my Deliverance. And this Accident may serve to teach us to be upon our Guard for the future, as well against the viler Part of our own Sex, as that of the other. I am, dear Sister,
Your truly affectionate Sister.
N. B. This shocking Story is taken from the Mouth of the young Woman herself, who so narrowly escaped the Snare of the vile Procuress; and is Fact in every Circumstance.
LETTER LXIII. To a Daughter in a Country Town, who en|courages the Address of a Subaltern [A Case too frequent in Country Places].
Dear Betsy,
I HAVE been under the deepest Affliction ever since I heard of your encouraging the Addresses of a Soldier, whether Serjeant or Corporal, I know not; who happens to quarter next Door to your Uncle.
What, my dear Child, can you propose by such a Match? Is his Pay sufficient to maintain himself? If it be, will it be sufficient for the Support of a Family?
Consider, there will be no Opportunity for you to increase his poor Income, but by such Means as will be very grating for you to submit to! Will your Hands be capable of enduring the Fatigues of a Wash-tub, for your Maintenance? Or, will following a Camp suit your Inclinations? Think well of the certain Misery that must attend your making such a Choice. Look round at the Wives of all his Fellow-sol|diers, and mark their Appearance at their Homes, and in Publick. Is their abject Condition to be coveted? Do you see any thing desirable in Poverty and Rags? And, as to the Man for whom you must endure all this, he may possibly indeed be possessed of Honesty, and a Desire to do his best for you, at least you may think so; but is it proba|ble he will? For if he be wise and industrious, how came he to prefer a Life so mean and contempt|ible? If he was bred to any Trade, why did he desert it?
Be cautious of rushing yourself into Ruin, and as I am not able to maintain you and a young Fa|mily, do not throw yourself upon the uncertain Charity of well-disposed People; who are already vastly encumbered by the Miserable. I hope you will not thus rashly increase the unhappy Number of such; but will give due Attention to what I have said; for I can have no View, but that of dis|charging the Duty of
Your loving Father.
LETTER LXIV. Of Expostulation from a grave Friend to a young Man, on his slighting and irreverent Behaviour to his Father.
Dear Sir,
I TAKE the Freedom of a brief Expostulation with you on your Behaviour to your Father; and I hope you will receive it from me, with the same Good-will, that I mean it.
His Indulgence to you formerly, certainly claims better Returns on your Part, altho' it should be allow'd, as you fondly imagine, that his Affection to you is alienated. There may be something of Petulancy in him, which you ought to bear with; for one time or other you may be convinced by Ex|perience, that Age itself has its insuperable Affli|ctions, that require the Allowance of every one; and more particularly of such who hope to live a long Life themselves, and still more particularly of a Son, whose high Passions, require, perhaps, at least as much Allowance. He may be petulant; but are you not fiery and impetuous? And I would fain know, whether you ought to bear with him, or he with you?
'Tis a very groundless Surmise to think his Af|fections are alienated from you. A Father must love his Son. He cannot help it. And is it cre|dible even to yourself, on cool Reflexion, that the same good Man who was wont to be delighted with your childish Vanities and Foibles, (for we have all had them more or less) and even indulged and per|haps cherished those youthful Forwardnesses, that might be called the Seeds of those Passions, which
now, being sprung up, give him so much Disturb|ance, and make you so impatient of Contradiction: Can you, I say, believe that this same good Man, without Reason, without Provocation, can change that Love into Hate? You are grown to Man's Estate, and tho' far from the ungracious Sons, that we have seen in the World, yet ought not to be so partial to yourself, as to believe you are wholly faultless. Examine your own Conduct then, and altho' you should not be able to charge your Intention with any Blame, yet you must leave your Behaviour to be judg'd by others; and 'twill perhaps be given against you, that some Slight, some Negligence, some Inatten|tion, if not worse, too cutting for a Father's Cares and Fondness to support, has escaped you. Then consider, Sir, what a grievous thing it must be to him to reflect, that this Behaviour of yours, may be but the gradual Consequence of his former In|dulgence to you, and that he is deservedly punish|ed, for not rooting up in your childish Days those Weeds which now spread to his Uneasiness. But let me tell you, Sir, that it ought to be a more sad Reflection to a considerate young Gentleman, that he is to be the Instrument to punish his fond Fa|ther's faulty Indulgence to himself.
I have been a diligent Observer of the Dispensa|tions of Providence in this respect, and have always seen the Sin of Undutifulness to Parents punished in Kind, more than any one Sin. I have seen the Son of the undutiful Son, revenging the Cause of his Grandfather; and at the same time, intail'd a Curse upon his Son, if he has not been taken off childless, who, in his Turn, has retorted the un|gracious Behaviour; and thus a Curse has been in|tail'd by Descent upon the Family, from one Ge|neration to another.
You'll say, that your Behaviour to your Father is not, you hope, of such an atrocious Nature, as to be attended with such terrible Consequences; and perhaps will add, that you do not wish for a better Behaviour from your Son, than you shew to your Father. But if this be not Partiality to your|self, pray consider, that while your Father takes your present Conduct in so ill Part, and you use so little Circumspection to avoid giving him Disgust, and have so little Complaisance, as not to set him right; the thing is full as tormenting to him from the Appearance, as if it were real; nay, 'tis real to him, if he believes so. He thinks, and let me tell you, Sir, he thinks justly, that he ought to expect as much Deference to his Will and Pleasure now, as he has heretofore shewn you Indulgence, even in those things that now perhaps you are so unkind to suffer to turn severest upon him. I would not recriminate: But it was with very little Reverence, and indeed with an Air as censurable as the Words, that you told him, in my Hearing, that he knew not what he would have: That he expected you to be more ac|countable at this Age, than when you were a Child, &c. Why, dear Sir, does your being of Age, lessen the Duty you owe to your Father? Are not his Cares for you allowably doubled, and ought he not now to expect from your good Sense, and more mature Understanding (improved, as it is to be hoped, by the Education he has, at a great Ex|pence, given you) greater Proofs of Duty, rather than less? He may forget, perhaps what he was at your Age, as you irreverently told him; but how much more laudable would it be, for you, at yours, to enter into what you would naturally expect from your Son, were you in the Place, and at the Age, of your Father. A generous Mind will do its Duty,
tho' it were not to meet with suitable Rewards or Returns; for even should your Father not do his by you, you are not absolved of yours to him; much less then, ought the natural, the consequential, In|firmities of Age, to dissolve the Duty of a Son to an indulgent Parent. Be convinced, my dear Sir, of your wrong Con|duct, and don't think it beneath the high Spirit of a brave young Gentleman, to submit to the Will of his Father. By your Dutifulness and Circum|spection you may, in all Probability, add to the Number as well as the Comfort of his Days to whom you owe your Being. But whar a Woe does that young Man bring upon himself who robs his aged Parent in both respects! It behoves all Children to reflect upon this timely, and with Awe.
On how many Occasions has he heretofore re|joiced to me, on, even, the smallest Openings and Dawnings of your Mind and Genius! How has he dwelt on your Praises on even supposed Beauties, which have appeared such to his fond and partial Tenderness only! How has he extenuated your Failings, connived at your Faults, and extolled and brought forward into strong Light, even the re|motest Appearance of Virtue in you. Such was always, and such, notwithstanding the Intermixtures of Age and Infirmity, and even of your continued Slights and Impatience, always will be, the Instances of his paternal Affection for you. And I will ven|ture to say, that even this very Petulance, as you think it, is a Demonstration of his Regard for you, however disagreeable it may be to you, since he loves you too well to be insensible to those Parts of your Behaviour, which he thinks are owing to Slight or Negligence.
I have exceeded the Bounds I intended when I began, and would rather leave to your natural good
Sense, and cooler Reflection, what I have already urged, than tire you too much, with what might still farther be added on this Occasion. But the Affection and Friendship I have for all your Fa|mily, and the long Intimacy I have had with your good Father (who, however, knows nothing of my writing) and the evil Consequences that may follow a wider Breach between you, will answer for my Intention, and, I hope, for my Freedom, which I'll take upon me to say, I expect from your Candor and Education, being Your sincere Friend to serve you.
LETTER LXV. Against too great a Love of Singing and Musick.
Dear Cousin,
I AM sure you have the good Sense to take kindly what I am going to mention to you, in which I can have no possible View but your Benefit. When you were last with me at Hertford, you much ob|liged us all, with the Instances you gave us of your Skill in Musick, and your good Voice. But as you are so young a Man, and seem to be so very much pleased yourself with these Acquirements, I must enter a Caution or two on this Score, because of the Consequences that may follow from too much Delight in these Amusements, which, while they are pursued as Amusements only, may be safe and innocent; but when they take up too much of a Man's Time, may be not a little pernicious.
In the first place, my dear Cousin, these Plea|sures of Sound, may take you off from the more desirable ones of Sense, and make your Delights
stop at the Ear, which should go deeper, and be placed in the Understanding. For whenever a chear|ful Singer is in Company, adieu to all Conversa|tion of an improving or intellectual Nature. In the second place, it may expose you to Com|pany, and that not the best and most eligible neither; and by which your Business and your other more useful Studies, may be greatly if not wholly neglect|ed, and very possibly your Health itself much im|paired.
In the third place, it may tend, for so it natu|rally does, to enervate the Mind, and make you haunt musical Societies, Operas and Concerts; and what Glory is it to a Gentleman if he were even a fine Performer, that he can strike a String, touch a Key, or sing a Song with the Grace and Com|mand of a hired Musician?
Fourthly, Musick, to arrive at any tolerable Pro|ficiency in it, takes up much Time, and requires so much Application, as leaves but little Room, and, what is worse, when delighted in, little Inclination for other Improvements: And as Life is a short Stage, where longest, surely the most precious Mo|ments of it, ought to be better imploy'd, than in so light and airy an Amusement. The Time of Youth will be soon over, and that is the Time of laying the Foundation of more solid Studies. The Mind, as well as the Body, will become stiff by Years, and unsusceptible of those Improvements, that cannot be attained, but in particular Periods of it: And, once an airy Delight engages the Faculties, a Habit is formed; and nothing but great Struggle, and absolute Necessity, if that will do it, can shake it off. One Part of Life is for Improvement, that is Youth; another Part is for turning that Improve|ment to solid Benefits to one's Self, one's Family, or Acquaintance; that is the middle Part; another
Part carries a Retrospect to a future Estate: And shall we lose the Time of Improvement, which can never come again; forfeit all the Benefits of it, in our Middle-life, and embitter our future Prospect, as well mundane as eternal, with Reflections on our past Neglect of Opportunities that never can be recalled? And all for what? Why, only to be deemed for eight or ten empty Years of Life, a good Companion, as the Phrase is:—Tho', perhaps, a bad Husband, a bad Father, a bad Friend, and, of course, a bad Man! Some there are, who divide Life into four Stages or Opportunities. He, they say, who is not hand|some by Twenty, strong by Thirty, wise by Forty, rich by Fifty, will never be either handsome, strong, wise, or rich. And this, generally speaking, is a good and improving Observation; which should teach us, as we go along, to make a right Use of those Periods of Life, which may be proper Entrances for us into a still more important one than that behind it.
I have but lightly touched on these weighty Points, because I know you have good Sense enough to improve as much from Hints, as others can from tedious Lectures. And when I have repeated, that I am far from dissuading you from these Amuse|ments while they are restrained to due Bounds, and are regarded as Amusements only; I know you will think me, what I always desire to be thought, and what I truly am,
Your affectionate Uncle, and sincere Friend.
LETTER LXVI. From a Daughter to her Father, pleading for her Sister, who had married without his Consent.
Honoured Sir,
THE kind Indulgence you have always shewn to your Children, makes me presume to be|come an Advocate for my Sister, tho' not for her Fault. She is very sensible of that, and sorry she has offended you; but has great hopes, that Mr. Robinson will prove such a careful and loving Hus|band to her, as may atone for his past Wildness, and engage your Forgiveness. For all your Chil|dren are sensible of your paternal Kindness, and that you wish their Good more for their sakes, than your own.
This makes it the more wicked to offend so good a Father: But, dear Sir, be pleased to con|sider, that it now cannot be helped, and that she may be made by your Displeasure very miserable in her own Choice; and as his Faults are owing to the Inconsideration of Youth, or otherwise it would not have been a very discreditable Match, had it had your Approbation; I could humbly hope, for my poor Sister's sake, that you will be pleased rather to encourage his present good Resolutions, by your kind Favour, than make him despair of a Recon|ciliation, and so perhaps treat her with a Negligence, which hitherto she is not apprehensive of. For he is really very fond of her, and I hope will continue so. Yet is she dejected for her Fault to you, and wishes, yet dreads, to have your Leave to throw herself at your Feet, to beg your Forgiveness and
Blessing, which would make the poor dear Offen|der quite happy. Pardon, Sir, my interposing in her Favour, in which my Husband also joins. She is my Sister. She is your Daughter; tho' she has not done so worthily as I wish, to become that Character. Be pleased, Sir, to forgive her, however; and also forgive me, pleading for her. Who am,
Your ever-dutiful Daughter,
LETTER LXVII. The Father's Answer.
My dear Nanny,
YOU must believe that your Sister's unadvised Marriage, which she must know would be disagreeable to me, gives me no small Concern; and yet I will assure you that it arises more from my Affection for her, than any other Considera|tion. In her Education I took all the Pains and Care my Circumstances would admit, and often flattered myself with the Hope that the happy Fruits of it would be made appear in her prudent Conduct. What she has now done is not vicious, but indiscreet; for, you must remember, that I have often declared in her Hearing, that the wild Asser|tion of a Rake making a good Husband, was the most dangerous Opinion a young Woman could imbibe.
I will not, however, in Pity to her, point out the many Ills I am afraid will attend her Rash|ness, because it is done, and cannot be helped; but wish she may be happier than I ever saw a Wo|man who leap'd so fatal a Precipice.
Her Husband has this Morning been with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for her Fortune; and it was with much Tempe••
I told him, That as all she could hope for was wholly at my Disposal, I should disburse it in such a man|ner as I thought would most contribute to her Ad|vantage; and that, as he was a Stranger to me, I should chuse to know he deserved it, before he had the Power over what I intended to do for her. He bit his Lip, and, with a hasty Step, was my humble Servant. Tell the rash Girl, that I would not have her to be afflicted at this Behaviour in me; for I know it will contribute to her Advantage one way or other: If he married her for her own sake, she will find no Alteration of Behaviour from this Disappoint|ment: But if he married only for her Money, she will soon be glad to find it in my Possession, rather than his.
Your Interposition in her Behalf is very sisterly: And you see I have not the Resentment she might expect. But would to God she had acted with your Prudence! For her own sake I wish it. I am
Your loving Father.
LETTER LXVIII. To a Brother, against making his Wife and Children the constant Subject of his Praise and Conversation.
Dear Brother,
THE Love I have always had for you, and an Unwillingness I find in myself to say any thing that may put you to Confusion, has made me take this Method of acquainting you with a small In|discretion I have often observed in you, and which I perceive gradually to gain Ground as your Family increases.
What I mean, is an immoderate Inclination to make your Spouse, and your Children, the Sub|ject of Discourse where-ever you are. Imagine not that any Pique or Dislike draws this from me: My Sister, I think, is possessed of as many valuable Qualities as most of her Sex; and all your Children are very promising. No wonder then, that this. View makes a very deep Impression upon so tender a Heart as yours; and the Fondness of a Husband, and of a Father, is what must make you esteemed by all who consider the many Advan|tages arising from thence to Posterity. But a Mind full of Affection for what is so dear to himself, stands in need of the utmost Care, to keep what con|cerns only himself, from employing too much the Attention of others: What affects you most sensi|bly upon this Subject, is, even by your Friends, heard rather with an Ear of Censure than Applause: And what the tender Bias of a Father swells in your Conception to the most witty Repartee, by an Ear destitute of that Bias, sounds neither witty, nor uncommon; and you cannot mortify many Men more, than by dragging out an unwilling Ay, very pretty indeed, Sir: A charming Boy! or, Such a Saying was far above his Years, truly. Which kind of yawning Applause, is sometimes, by your Attention being strongly fixed to your Story, mis|taken for Approbation, and you thereupon launch out farther upon the same Subject, when your Hearers are scarce able to conceal their Inattention. Besides, don't you consider, that another Man may have as great Fondness for his, as you have for yours; and while your Children are the wittiest, the beautifullest, the hopefullest in England, do you not tacitly reflect upon every other Man's Children in the Company?
To me, I grant you full Liberty to say whatever you please; nay, several little Tricks you tell of Patty and Tommy are agreeable enough to me, and some I think even entertaining; but to others, have a close Guard upon yourself, lest when you try to get your Children admired, you should get your|self despised. Let you and me, as Father and Uncle, keep all their little Whimsies to ourselves; for as Strangers share not in the Affection and Expence at|tending them, why should they partake in the En|tertainment they afford? I hope my constant Behaviour has convinced you of my sincere Regard for your Interest and Repu|tation: What I have said, I mean for your Benefit: And you know me too well, to think otherwise of
Your tenderly affectionate Brother.
LETTER LXIX. From a Father to a Daughter, in Dislike of her Intentions to marry at too early an Age.
Dear Sally,
I WAS greatly surprised at the Letter you sent me last Week. I was willing to believe I saw in you, for your Years, so much of your late dear Mother's Temper, Prudence, and virtuous Dispo|sition, that I refused several advantageous Offers of changing my own Condition, purely for your sake: And will you now convince me so early, that I have no Return to expect from you, but that the Moment a young Fellow throws himself in your way, you have nothing else to do, but to give me Notice to provide a Fortune for you? for
that you intend to be of no further Use and Ser|vice to me. This, in plain English, is the Meaning of your Notification. For I suppose your young Man does not intend to marry you, without a Fortune. And can you then think, that a Father has nothing to do, but to confer Benefits on his Chil|dren, without being intitled to expect any Return from them? To be sure, I had proposed, at a proper Time, to find a Husband for you; but I thought I had yet three or four Years to come. For, consider, Sally, you are not fully Sixteen Years of Age: And a Wife, believe me, ought to have some better Qua|lifications, than an agreeable Person to preserve a Husband's Esteem, tho' it often is enough to attract a Lover's Notice.
Have you Experience enough, think you, dis|creetly to conduct the Affairs of a Family? I thought you as yet not quite capable to manage 〈◊〉〈◊〉 House; and I am sure, my Judgment always took a Bias in your Favour.
Besides, let me tell you, I have great Exceptions to the Person, and think him by no means the Man I would chuse for your Husband. For which, if it be not too late, I will give good Reasons.
On the whole, you must expect, if you marry without my Consent, to live without my Assistance. Think it not hard: Your Disappointment cannot be greater than mine, if you will proceed. I have never used violent Measures to you on any Occasion and shall not on this. But yet I earnestly hope you will not hurry yourself to Destruction, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 perhaps to the Grave, by an Action which a littl•• Consideration may so easily prevent. I am
Your afflicted Father.
LETTER LXX. From a Father to a Daughter against a frothy, French Lover.
Dear Polly,
I CANNOT say I look upon Mr. La Farriere in the same favourable Light that you seem to do. His frothy Behaviour may divert well enough as an Acquaintance; but is very unanswerable, I think, to the Character of a Husband, especially an English Husband, which I take to be a graver Cha|racter than a French one. There is a Difference in these gay Gentlemen, while they strive to please, and when they expect to be obliged. In all Men this is too apparent: But in those of a light Turn it is more visible than in others. If after Marriage his present Temper should continue, when you are a careful Mother, he will look more like a Son than a Husband: If entering into the World should change his Disposition, expect no Medium; he will be the most insipid Mortal you can imagine; if his Spirits should be depressed by the Accidents of Life, he is such a Stranger to Reflection, (the best Coun|sellor of the Wise) that from thence he will be un|able to draw Relief. And Adversity to such Men is the more intolerable, as their Deportment is suited only to the Smiles of Success.
He dances well; writes very indifferently: Is an Artist at Cards; but cannot cast Accounts: Under|stands all the Laws of Chance; but not one of the Land: Has shewn great Skill in the Improvement of his Person; yet none at all, that I hear, of his Estate: And tho' he makes a good Figure in Com|pany,
has never yet studied the Art of living at Home: He sings well; but knows nothing of Business: He has long acted the Part of a Lover; but may not find the same Variety and Entertainment in acting the Husband: Is very gallant; but may not be over affectionate: And is so tender of himself, that he will have little Time to indulge any body else.—These, Child, are my Sentiments of him; you are not wholly ignorant of the World: I desire to guide, not to force, your Inclinations; and hope your calm Reason will banish all farther Thoughts of this Gentleman, who, however you may like him for a Partner at a Ball, seems not so well qualified for a Journey through the various Trials, from which no Station can exempt the married State. I am Your affectionate Father.
LETTER LXXI. A modest Lover desiring an Aunt's Favour to her Niece.
Good Madam,
I HAVE several times, that I have been happy in the Company of your beloved Niece, thought to have spoken my Mind, and to declare to her the true Value and Affection I have for her. But just as I have been about to speak, my Fears have vanquish'd my Hopes, and I have been obliged to suspend my Purpose. I have thrown out several Hints, that I thought would have led the way to a fuller disclosing of the Secret that is too big for my Breast, and yet, when I am near her, is too im|portant for Utterance. Will you be so good, Ma|dam, to break way for me, if I am not wholly dis|approved
of by you; and prepare her dear Mind for a Declaration that I must make, and yet know not how to begin?—My Fortune and Expecta|tions make me hope, that I may not on those Accounts be deemed unworthy: And could I, by half a Line from your Hand, hope, that there is no other Bar, I should be enabled to build on so de|sirable a Foundation, and to let your Niece know, how much my Happiness depends upon her Favour. Excuse, dear Madam, I beseech you, this Trouble, and this presumptuous Request, from Your most obliged and obedient Servant,
LETTER LXXII. The Aunt's Answer, supposing the Gentleman deserves Encouragement.
SIR,
I CANNOT say I have any Dislike, as to my own part, to your Proposal, or your Manner of making it, whatever my Niece may have: because Diffidence is generally the Companion of Merit, and a Token of Respect: She is a Person of Pru|dence, and all her Friends are so throughly con|vinced of it, that her Choice will have the Weight it deserves with us all: So I cannot say, what will be the Event of your Declaration to her. Yet, so far as I may take upon myself to do, I will not deny your Request; but on her Return to me to|morrow will break the Ice as you desire, not doubt|ing your Honour, and the Sincerity of your Pro|fessions; and I shall tell her moreover what I think of the Advances you make. I believe she has had the Prudence to keep her Heart intirely disengaged, because she would otherwise have told me: And
is not so mean-spirited, as to be able to return Tyranny and Insult for true Value, when she is properly convinced of it. Whoever has the Happi|ness (permit me, tho' her Relation, to call it so) to meet with her Favour, will find this her Chara|cter, and that it is not owing to the fond Partia|lity of, Sir, Your Friend and Servant.
LETTER LXXIII. The Answer, supposing the Gentleman is not approved.
SIR,
I HAVE intimated your Request to my Niece, who thinks herself obliged to your good Opinion of her: But begs that you will give over all Thoughts of applying to her on this Subject. She says she can by no means encourage your Address. It is better therefore to know this at first, because it will save her and yourself farther Trouble. I am, Sir,
Your humble Servant.
LETTER LXXIV. From a respectful Lover to his Mistress.
Dear Madam,
I HAVE long struggled with the most honour|able and respectful Passion that ever filled the Heart of Man. I have often try'd to reveal it per|sonally; as often in this way; but never till now could prevail upon my Fears and Doubts. But I can no longer struggle with a Secret that has given me so much Torture to keep, and yet hitherto more, when I have endeavoured to reveal it. I never entertain the Hope to see you, without Rap|ture;
but when I have that Pleasure, instead of be|ing animated as I ought, I am utterly confounded. What can this be owing to, but a Diffidence in myself, and an exalted Opinion of your Worthi|ness? And is not this one strong Token of ardent Love! Yet if it be, how various is the tormenting Passion in its Operations! Since some it inspires with Courage, while others it deprives of all ne|cessary Confidence. I can only assure you, Madam, that the Heart of Man never conceived a stronger or sincerer Passion than mine for you. If my Re|verence for you is my Crime, I am sure it has been my sufficient Punishment. I need not say my Designs and Motives are honourable: Who dare ap|proach so much virtuous Excellence, with a Suppo|sition that such an Assurance is necessary? What my Fortune is, is well known, and I am ready to stand the Test of the strictest Inquiry. Condescend, Madam, to embolden my respectful Passion, by ••••e favourable Line; that if what I here profess, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hope further to have an Opportunity to assure •• of, be found to be unquestionable Truth, then my humble Address will not quite be unaccept|able to you; and thus you will for ever oblige, dear Madam, Your passionate Admirer, and devoted Servant.
LETTER LXXV. The Answer.
SIR,
IF Modesty be the greatest Glory of our Sex, surely it cannot be blame-worthy in yours. For my own part, I must think it the most amiable Quality either Man or Woman can possess. Nor can there be, in my Opinion, a true Respect, where
there is not a Diffidence of one's own Merit, and an high Opinion of the Person's we esteem. To say more, on this Occasion, would little be|come me. To say less, would look as if I knew not how to pay that Regard to modest Merit, which modest Merit only deserves.
You, Sir, best know your own Heart; and if you are sincere and generous, will receive as you ought, this Frankness from
Your humble Servant.
LETTER LXXVI. A humorous Epistle of neighbourly Occurrences and News, to a Bottle-Companion abroad.
Dear Bob,
I AM glad to hear you're in the Land of the Living still. You expect from me an Account of what has happen'd among your old Acquaint|ance since you have been abroad. I will give it you, and, 'bating that two or three Years al|ways make vast Alterations in mature Life, you would be surpris'd at the Havock and Changes that small Space of Time has made in the Circle of our Acquaintance. To begin them with my|self: I have had the Misfortune to lose my Son Jo; and my Daughter Judy is marry'd, and has brought me another Jo. Jack Kid of the Foun|tain, where we kept our Club, has lost his Wife, who was a special Bar-keeper, got his Maid Prise, with Child—you remember the Slut, by her mincing Airs—marry'd her, and is broke: But not till he had, with his horrid Stum, poison'd half the Society. We began to complain of his Wine, you know, before you left us; and I told him he should let us have Neat, who drank our
Gallons, if he was honest to himself; and, if he was to regard Conscience as well as Interest, must do less Harm by dispensing his Rats-bane to those who drank Pints, than to those honest Fellows who swallow'd Gallons, and, in so handsome a Dose of the one, must take a too large Quantity of the other: But the Dog was incorrigible; for he went on brewing and poisoning, till he kill'd his best Customers, and then what could he expect? Why what follow'd; for, truly, Bob, we began to tumble like rotten Sheep. As thus: The Dance was begun by that season'd Sinner Tim. Brackley, the Half-pint Man, who was always sotting by himself, with his Whets in the Morning, his Cor|rectives after Dinner, and Digesters at Night, and at last tipt off of one of the Kitchen-benches in an Apoplexy. 'Tis true he was not of our Club; tho' we might have taken Warning by his Fall, as the Saying is; but were above it. So the Rot got among us; and first, honest laughing Jack Adams kick'd up of a Fever. Tom Dandy fell into a Jaundice and Dropsy, and when his Doctors said he was mending, slipt thro' their Fingers, in spite of their Art and Assurance. Roger Harman, the Punster, then tipt off the Perch, after very little Warning: And was follow'd in a Week by Arthur Sykes. Ralph Atkyns bid us Good-bye in a few Months after him. And Ben. Tomlyns, who, you remember, would never go home sober, tumbled down Stairs, and broke his Collar-bone. His Sur|geon took him first, a Fever next, then his Doctor; and then, as it were of course, Death: A natural Round enough, you'll say, Bob. His Widow made a handsome Burial for poor Ben.; took on grievously, and in Five Weeks married her Journeyman. Jemmy Hawkins was a long time ailing, yet would not leave off; so he dy'd, as one may say, of a more
natural Death. Ralph Rawlins sell sick, after a large Dose; and had so narrow an Escape, that he was srighten'd into a Regimen; and now drinks Asses Milk of another Complexion than that which gave him his Malady; and between Physick and the Hyp, serves for a Memento Mori to others, and neither lives nor dies himself. While honest Capt. Tinker, who was deep gone in a Consumption, is in very little better Case: And if any thing saves him, and me, and the rest of our once numerous Society, it will be the Bankruptcy of our worthy Landlord; for that has quite broke us up. So much for the Club, Bob. Now to the Neigh|bourhood about us, that you and I knew next best.
Jerry Jenkyns, the prim Mercer, has had a Sta|tute taken out against him, and 5 s. in the Pound is all the Result of his pragmatical Fluttering. Dan. Pocock the Draper has had an Estate left him, and quitted Business: While Sam. Simpson the Grocer has lost one in Law, and gone mad upon it. See, Bob, the Ups and Downs of this transitory State! Harry Barlow the Turkey Merchant has left off to his Nephew, and now pines for want of Employment. Joshua Williams the Cheesemonger, a strange projecting Fellow, you know! is carried out of his Shop into a Sponging-house by his own Maggots. John Jones the Organist is married to Sykes's Daughter Peggy, who proves an arrant Shrew, and has broke about his Head his best Cre|mona Fiddle, in the Sight of half a dozen Neigh|bours. The Wise of Job Johnson, our Sword-cutler, has elop'd from him. You know they al|ways liv'd like Dog and Cat. Paul Lane's Daugh|ter Poll has had a Bastard by 'Squire Wilson's Coachman; and the 'Squire's own Daughter Miss Nelly has run away with her Father's Postilion. Dick Jenkyns, that vile Rake and Beau, is turn'd
Quaker; and that still greater Libertine, Peter Mottram, Methodist: While old Satan, to make up his Loss in these two, has subdued Will Wigley, and Tom Allen, who you know used to be very hopeful young Fellows, and are now Rakes of the Town. Tony Williams I had like to have forgot. He has cheated all our Expectations, having escaped the Gallows, and dy'd a natural Death, after a hundred Rogueries, every one of which deserved Hanging. Parson Matthews goes on preaching and living excellently, and has still as many Admirers as Hearers, but no Preferment: While old clumsy Parson Dromedary is made a Dean, and has Hopes, by his Sister's means, who is a Favourite of a certain great Man, to be a Bishop.
As to News of a publick Nature, the Papers, which no doubt you see, in the monthly Colle|ctions at least, will inform you best of that. By them however you'll find very little Judgment to be form'd of our Affairs or our Ministers, as to the one being, or the other doing, right or wrong. For while some are made as black as Devils on one Side, they are made as white as Angels on the other. They never did one good thing, says the Enemy. They never did one bad one, says the Friend. For my own part, I think, considering the undoubted Truth of the Maxim Humanum est errare, and how much easier it is to find a Fault than to mend one, the Gentlemen in the Administration will be well off, if the Publick will middle the Matter between the two Extremes. Mean time one Side goes on, accusing without Mercy; the other, acquitting without Shame. 'Tis the Business of one Set of Papers to bespatter and throw Dirt; and of the other to follow after them, with a Scrubbing-brush and a Dish-clout: And after all—the one bedaubs
so plentifully, and the other wipes off so slovenly, that, let me be hang'd, Bob, if I'd appear on 'Change with the Coat on my Back that a cer|tain great Man stalks about in, without Con|cern, when these Dawbers and Scowerers have done their worst and their best upon it. But 'tis a great Matter to be used to such a Coat. And a great Happiness, I'll warrant, your Namesake thinks it, that with all this Rubbing and Scrubbing, it does not appear threadbare yet, after twenty Years Wear, and a hundred People trying to pick Holes in it. But I have done with my News and my Poli|ticks, in which I was ever but a Dabbler; and having written a terrible long Letter, and given you, as it were, the World in Miniature, think it time to close it; which I shall do with wishing, that now our poisoning Landlord Kidd is broke and gone, you were among us your old Friends now-and-then, to enliven us with your chearful Pipe, as you used to do in the Days of Yore, when we were all alive and merry. And with this hearty Wish, I conclude myself, dear Bob,
Your old Bottle-Companion, and humble Servant.
LETTER LXXVII. From a Nephew to his Aunt, on his slow Pro|gress in a Courtship Affair.
Dear Aunt,
I HAVE made my Addresses, in the best man|ner I can, to Miss Dawley, but have not the least Room to boast of my Success: The Account you gave me of her good Sense, and many uncom|mon Qualifications, will not permit me to arraign
her Conduct; and the good Opinion I have long entertained of myself, makes me very slow in blaming my own. I would have obey'd your Orders to write to you sooner, but knew not what to say; and by waiting till I began to fear you would think me negligent, I am in no better Condition. I first declared my Regard for her in a manner I thought most suitable for that Purpose. She very encouragingly made me no Answer; and when I spoke again upon the Subject, she ask'd how you did, and was glad to hear you were well. Be|ing put out of my Play, I talk'd of indifferent Things a good while, and at last fell again upon the Reason of my attending her. She order'd the Cloth to be laid, and complaisantly hoped I would stay Sup|per. I had no more Opportunity for that time. Two Days after, I repeated my Visit. She receiv|ed me at first politely; but when I began to resume the Subject I came upon, she rung for the Maid, and bad her put on the Tea-kettle. About six Visits passed before I could obtain one Word to my Business: And the first Thing she answer'd upon that Head was, That Length of Time was neces|sary to the making of an Acquaintance that must not be either blushed at, or repented of: This she spoke with such an Air of Gravity, as put what I would have reply'd, quite out of my Head. Yet next Visit I began again. I told her how happy I should think myself, if I could be encouraged to hope for the smallest Share of her Favour. But she made me such an odd Answer, as plainly demonstrated to me, that I had more of her Con|tempt than Approbation. This made me as earnest as she, to wave the Subject; and so we went on upon the Weather, for a whole Week before; and when we had done that, we talk'd Politicks: And Admiral Vernon, and Lord Cathcart's Expedition,
and the like Stuff, took Place. So that, in short, after Two Months Study how to accomplish the Happiness you pointed out for me, I find myself not one single Step advanced; for when I see her now, we both talk with seeming Satisfaction, on any Subject where Love has no Part: but when that is introduced, all her easy Eloquence sinks into Reserve. I would not determine to give up my Address, be|fore I had your farther Advice: In hopes of which I am,
Honoured Madam, your dutiful Nephew.
LETTER LXXVIII. The Aunt's Answer, encouraging him to persevere.
Nephew Robert,
I Thought you had been better acquainted with the Art of Love, than to be so easily out of Heart. That such a Lady as Miss Dawley has not forbid your Visits, let me tell you, is Encourage|ment as much as you ought to expect. She is a Lady of fine Sense, and has had the Advantage of as fine an Education; and you must not expect a Lady of her Prudence and Merit, will be won by general Compliments; or that her Affection will be moved by the Notion of a sudden and precipitate Pas|sion. Her Judgment must be first touch'd; for she views Marriage as a serious Thing: By it her Mo|ther was made happy, and her Sister undone. I in|join the Continuation of your Addresses; for a more deserving Lady than Miss, does not live. And be sure, at least, to be more ambitious of appearing a Man of Sense, than a Lover. When the latter is accepted on account of the former, the Lady
does Credit to her Choice. You young Fellows have such Notions of a Nine-days Courtship, that if it were indulged by all Women, none would, in a short time, be thought obliging, who did not make Modesty submit to Passion, and Discretion to Compliment. I desire to hear from you again a Month hence; and am, in the mean time, Your affectionate Aunt.
LETTER LXXIX. A Gentleman to a Lady, professing an Aversion to the tedious Forms of Courtship.
Dear Madam,
I Remember that one of the Ancients, in de|scribing a Youth in Love, says he has neither Wisdom enough to speak, nor to hold his Tongue. If this be a just Description, the Sincerity of my Passion will admit of no Dispute: And whenever, in your Company, I behave like a Fool, forget not that you are answerable for my Incapacity. Having made bold to declare thus much, I must presume to say, that a favourable Reception of this will, I am certain, make me more worthy your Notice; but your Disdain would be what I believe myself incapable ever to surmount. To try by idle Fallacies, and airy Compliments, to pre|vail on your Judgment, is a Folly for any Man to attempt who knows you. No, Madam, your good Sense and Endowments have raised you far above the Necessity of practising the mean Artifices which prevail upon the less deserving of your Sex: You are not to be so lightly deceived; and if you were, give me leave to say, I should not think you
deserving of the Trouble that would attend such an Attempt. This, I must own, is no fashionable Letter from one who, I am sure, loves up to the greatest Hero of Romance: But as I would hope that the Happiness I sue for, should be lasting, it is certainly most eligible to take no Step to procure it but what will bear Reflection; for I should be happy to see you mine, when we have both out-lived the Taste for every thing that has not Virtue and Reason to support it. I am, Madam, notwithstanding this unpolish'd Address,
Your most respectful Admirer, and obedient Servant.
LETTER LXXX. The Lady's Answer, encouraging a farther Declaration.
SIR,
I AM very little in Love with the fashionable Methods of Courtship: Sincerity with me is preferable to Compliments; yet I see no Reason why common Decency should be discarded. There is something so odd in your Style, that when I know whether you are in Jest or Earnest, I shall be less at a loss to answer you. Mean time, as there is abundant Room for rising, rather than sinking, in your Complaisance, you may possibly have chosen wisely to begin first at the lowst End. If this be the Case, I know not what your succeeding Addresses may produce: But I tell you fairly, that your present make no great Impression, yet perhaps as much as you intended, on
Your humble Serv••••••
LETTER LXXXI. The Gentleman's Reply, more explicitly avow|ing his Passion.
Dearest Madam,
NOW I have the Hope of being not more despised for my acknowledg'd Affection, I declare to you, with all the Sincerity of a Man of Honour, that I have long had a most sincere Passion for you; but I have seen Gentlemen led such Dances, when they have given up their Affections to the lovely Tyrants of their Hearts, and could not help themselves, that I had no Courage to begin an Address in the usual Forms, even to you, of whose good Sense and Generosity I had never|theless a great Opinion. You have favoured me with a few Lines, which I most humbly thank you for. And I do assure you, Madam, if you will be pleased to encourage my humble Suit, you shall have so just an Account of my Circumstances and Pretensions, as I hope will intitle me to your Favour in the honourable Light, in which I profess myself, dear Madam,
Your most obliged and faithful Admirer.
Be so good as to favour me with one Line more, to encourage my personal Attendance, if not disagreeable.
LETTER LXXXII. The Lady's Answer to his Reply, putting the Matter on a sudden Issue.
SIR,
AS we are both so well inclined to avoid un|necessary Trouble, as well as unnecessary Compliments, I think proper to acquaint you, That Mr. Johnson, of Pallmall, has the Manage|ment of all my Affairs; and is a Man of such Pro|bity and Honour, that I do nothing in any Matters without him. I have no Dislike to your Person; and if you approve of what Mr. Johnson can acquaint you with, in relation to me, and I ap|prove of his Report in your Favour, I shall be far from shewing any Gentleman, that I have either an insolent or a sordid Spirit, especially to such as do me the Honour of their good Opinion. I am, Sir,
Your humble Servant.
LETTER LXXXIII. A facetious young Lady to her Aunt, ridiculing her serious Lover.
Dear Aunt,
I AM much obliged to you for the Kindnes you intended me, in recommending Mr. Lead|beater to me for a Husband: But I must be so free as to tell you, he is a Man no way suited to my Inclination. I despise, 'tis true, the idle Rants of Romance; but am inclinable to think there may be an Extreme on the other Side of the Question.
The first time the honest Man came to see me, in the way you was pleased to put into his Head, was one Sunday after Sermon time: He began with telling me, what I found at my Fingers-ends; that it was very cold, and politely blow'd upon his. I immediately perceived, that his Pas|sion for me could not keep him warm; and in Complaisance to your Recommendation, con|ducted him to the Fire-side. After he had pret|ty well rubbed Heat into his Hands, he stood up with his Back to the Fire, and with his Hand behind him, held up his Coat, that he might be warm all over; and looking about him, asked with the Tranquillity of a Man a Twelve-month mar|ried, and just come off a Journey, How all Friends did in the Country? I said, I hoped, very well; but would be glad to warm my Fingers. Cry Mercy, Madam!—And then he shuffled a little further from the Fire, and after two or three Hems, and a long Pause— I have heard, said he, a most excellent Sermon just now: Dr. Thomas is a fine Man truly: Did you ever hear him, Madam? No, Sir, I gene|rally go to my own Parish-Church. That's right, Madam, to be sure: What was your Sub|ject to-day? The Pharisee and the Publican, Sir. A very good one truly; Dr. Thomas would have made fine Work upon that Subject. His Text to|day was, Evil Communications corrupt good Man|ners. A good Subject, Sir; I doubt not the Doctor made a fine Discourse upon it. O, ay, Madam, he can't make a bad one upon any Subject. I rung for the Tea-kettle; for, thought I, we shall have all the Heads of the Sermon immediately.
At Tea he gave me an Account of all the religious Societies, unask'd; and how many Boys they had put out 'Prentice, and Girls they had taught to
knit and sing Psalms. To all which I gave a Nod of Approbation, and was just able to say, (for I began to be horribly in the Vapours) It was a very excellent Charity. O, ay, Madam, said he again, (for that's his Word, I find) a very excellent one truly; it is snatching so many Brands out of the Fire. You are a Contributor, Sir, I doubt not. O, ay, Madam, to be sure; every good Man would contribute to such a worthy Charity, to be sure. No doubt, Sir, a Blessing attends upon all who promote so worthy a Design. O, ay, Madam, no doubt, as you say, I am sure I have sound it; blessed be God! And then he twang'd his Nose, and lifted up his Eyes, as if in an Ejaculation. O, my good Aunt, what a Man is here for a Husband! At last came the happy Moment of his taking Leave; for I would not ask him to stay Supper: and moreover, he talk'd of going to a Lecture at St. Helen's; and then (tho' I had had an Opportunity of saying little more than Yes, and No, all the Time; for he took the Vapours he had put me into, for Devotion and Gravity at least, I believe) he press'd my Hand look'd frightfully kind, and gave me to understand as a Mark of his Favour, that if, upon further Conversation, and Inquiry into my Character, he should happen to like me as well as he did from my Behaviour and Person; why, ••ruly, I need not fear, in time, being blessed with him for my Husband!
This, my good Aunt, may be a mighty safe way of travelling toward the Land of Matrimony, as far as I know; but I cannot help wishing for a little more Entertainment on our Jour|ney. I am willing to believe Mr. Leadbeater an honest Man, but am, at the same time, afraid his religious Turn of Temper, however in itself
commendable, would better suit with a Woman who centres all Desert in a solemn Appearance, than with, dear Aunt, Your greatly obliged Kinswoman.
LETTER LXXXIV. Her Aunt's Answer, reprehending her ludicrous Turn of Mind.
Cousin Jenny,
IAM sorry you think Mr. Leadbeater so unsuit|able a Lover. He is a serious, sober, good Man; and surely when Seriousness and Sobriety make a necessary Part of the Duty of a good Husband, a good Father, and good Master of a Family; those Characters should not be the Sub|jects of Ridicule, in Persons of our Sex especially, who would reap the greatest Advantage from them. But he talks of the Weather when he first sees you, it seems; and would you have him directly fall upon the Subject of Love, the Moment he beheld you?
He visited you just after Sermon, on a Sunday: And was it so unsuitable for him to let you see, that the Duty of the Day had made proper Im|pressions upon him?
His Turn for promoting the Religious Societies which you speak so slightly of, deserves more Re|gard from every good Person; for that same Turn is a kind of Security to a Woman, that he who had a benevolent and religious Heart, could not make a bad Man, or a bad Husband. To put out poor Boys to 'Prentice, to teach Girls to sing Psalms, would be with very few a Subject for Ridicule; for he that was so willing to provide for
the Children of others, would take still greater Care of his own. He gave you to understand, that if he liked your Character on Inquiry, as well as your Person and Behaviour, he should think himself very happy in such a Wife; for that, I dare say, was more like his Language, than that you put in his Mouth: And, let me tell you, it would have been a much stranger Speech, had so cautious and serious a Man said, without a thorough Knowledge of your Cha|racter, that at the first Sight he was over Head and Ears in Love with you.
I think, allowing for the ridiculous Turn your airy Wit gives to this his first Visit, that, by your own Account, he acted like a prudent, a serious, and a worthy Man, as he is, and as one that thought flashy Compliments beneath him, in so serious an Affair as this.
I think, Cousin Jenny, this is not only a mighty safe Way, as you call it, of travelling toward the Land of Matrimony, but to the Land of Happiness, with respect as well to the next World as this. And it is to be hoped, that the better Entertainment you so much wish for, on your Journey, may not lead you too much out of your Way, and divert your Mind from the principal View which you ought to have to your Journey's End.
In short, I could rather have wish'd, that you could bring your Mind nearer to his Standard, than that he should bring down his to your Level. And you'd have found more Satisfaction in it than you imagine, could you have brought yourself to a little more of that solemn Appearance, which you treat so lightly, and which, I think, in him, is much more than mere Appearance.
Upon the whole, Cousin Jenny, I am sorry that a Woman of Virtue and Morals, as you are,
should treat so ludicrously a serious and pious Frame of Mind, in an Age, wherein good Examples are so rare, and so much wanted; tho' at the same time I am far from offering to prescribe to you in so arduous an Affair as a Husband; and wish you and Mr. Leadbeater too, since you are so differently disposed, matched more suitably to each other's Mind, than you are likely to be together: For I am Your truly affectionate Aunt.
LETTER LXXXV. From a Gentleman to his Mistress, resenting her supposed Coquetry.
MADAM,
BEAUTY has Charms which are not casily resisted; but it is, I presume, in the Power of the finest Woman breathing, to counter-balance all her Charms by a Conduct unworthy of them. This Manner of speaking, Madam, is what I am apprehensive you have not been enough used to: The Advantages you possess, independently of any Act of your own, cannot be any Warrant for a Behaviour repugnant to Honour, and strict good Manners. I ventured to address myself to you, Madam, upon Motives truly honourable, and best to be defended; but suffer me to say, that I never proposed to glory in adding one to the Number of your publick Admirers, or to be so tame, as to subject myself to any Usage. And if this be your Intention, and this only, I shall still admire you; but must leave the flattering of your Vanity to Gentlemen who have more Leisure, and less Since|rity, than, Madam,
Your most obedient Servant.
LETTER LXXXVI. The Lady's angry Answer.
SIR,
BY the Letter I just now received from you, I fansy you have been a little too hasty, as well at too free, in your Conjectures about my Con|duct. I hope it is such, and will be always such, as shall justify me to Persons of Honour of my own Sex, as well as yours. You have surely, Sir, a Right to act as you please; and (at present, how|ever) so have I. How long I should have this Liberty, were I at your Mercy, this Letter of yours gives me a most desirable and seasonable Intimation.
For Goodness sake, Sir, let me do as I think proper: I see, you will. I sent not for you, nor asked you to be one of the Number you mention. And, if you think fit to withdraw your Name from the List, can I help it, if I would ever so fain? But could you not do this without resolving to affront me, and to reflect on my Conduct? I am unworthy of your Address. I grant it—Then you can forbear it. Perhaps I like to see the young Fellows dying for me; but since they can do it without impairing their Health, don't be so very angry at me. In short, Sir, you are your own Master; and, Heaven be thank'd, I am, at present, my own Mistress; and your well-man|ner'd Letter will make me resolve to be so longer than perhaps I had otherwise resolved. You see my Follies in my Conduct. Thank you, Sir, for letting me know you do. I see your Sex in your Letter. Thank you, Sir, for that too. So being
thus much obliged to you, in a double respect, can I do otherwise than subscribe myself, Your thankful Servant?
LETTER LXXXVII. The Gentleman's submissive Reply.
Dear Madam,
I BEG ten thousand Pardons for my rash Letter to you. I wish'd, too late, I could have re|call'd it. And when I had the Favour of yours, I was under double Concern. But indeed, Madam, you treated me, I thought, too lightly; and Con|tempt is intolerable where a Mind is so sincerely devoted. I never saw a Lady I could love before I saw you. I never shall see another I wish to be mine; and as I must love you whether I will or no, I hope you'll forgive my foolish Petulance. I am sure it was inspired by Motives, that, how|ever culpable in their Effects, are intitled to your Forgiveness, as to the Cause. I cannot meanly sue, tho' to you. Don't let me undergo too heavy a Penance for my Rashness. You can mould me to any Form you please. But, dear Lady, let not my honest Heart suffer the more Torture, because it is so devotedly at your Service. Once again, I ask a thou|sand Pardons.—What can I say more?—I own I am hasty; but 'tis most when I think myself slighted, or used contemptuously, by those I love. Such Tempers, Madam, are not the worst, let me tell you. And tho' I may be too ready to offend, yet am I always as ready to repent. And, dear, good Madam, let me be receiv'd to Favour this once, and I will be more cautious for the future. For
I am, and ever must be, whether you'll allow it or not, Your most devoted Admirer, and humble Servant.
LETTER LXXXVIII. The Lady's forgiving Return.
SIR,
I Cannot help answering your Letter, because you seem sensible of your Fault. If your Temper is so captious, your Guard against it should be the stronger. It is no very comfortable View, let me tell you, that one sees a Person who wants to recommend himself to one's Friendship, so ready to take Fire. What has a Woman to do in com|mon Discretion, but to avoid, while she can, a Prospect so unpleasing? For if she knows she can|not bear disreputable Imputations, as indeed she ought not, and that the Gentleman is not able to contain himself whenever he is pleased to be moved, from giving them; why this, truly, affords a most comfortable Appearance of a happy Life! However, Sir, I cannot bear Malice for a first Fault, tho' yet it looks like a Temper, even in a Friend, that one would rather fear than love. But if it be never repeated, at least till I give such Reasons for it, that neither Charity, nor a professed Esteem, can excuse, I shall hope, that what has happen'd may rather be of good than bad Use to us both. But indeed I must say, that if you cannot avoid such disagreeable Instances of your Sensibility, it will be Justice to both, now we are both free, to think no more of
Your humble Servant.
LETTER LXXXIX. Ridiculing a romantick Rhapsody in Courtship.
SIR,
MY Niece desires me to acquaint you, that she received your celestial Epistle last Night, as we were all sitting down to Supper; and she leaves it to me to answer it, according to the Effects it has produced. You must know then, that as soon as she had read it, there appear'd a more marvellous Metamorphosis in her Deportment, than any we read of in Ovid. She put on high Airs, and talk'd in a lofty Strain to Us, as well as to the Maids; nor knew she how to behave all the rest of the Evening.—You had so thoroughly proved her superior to all the Deities of the Antients, that she could not help fansying the homely Viands that stood before her, a Banquet of Paradise; and when she put to her Lips some of our common Table|drink, it became immediately, in her Fancy, Nectar and Ambrosia; and she affected to sip, rather than drink. When, by your generous Aid, she had thus raised herself far above Mortality, she began to despise our Company, and thought her Grandmother and me too highly favoured by her Presence; and spoke to us in such a Tone, as made us honest Mortals amaz'd at her sudden Elevation.
In short, Sir, as she has placed such a thorough Confidence in you, as to believe whatever you are pleased to tell her, she begs you will never so far mortify her towering Ambition, as to treat her like any thing earthly.
If then you would make yourself worthy of her Favour, you must, in order to support the De|scription
you have given of her, at least dart through the Clouds, or rise with the Morning-Goddess, and attend, in her airy Chariot, at her Chamber-window, where, you say, all the Graces wait; so that you will not be displeased with your Company. Indeed she is under a Concern, which you must supply, for what Kind of Birds you will find to draw her Chariot; for Doves and Peacocks she would scorn to borrow of Venus and Juno, whom you make so much her Inferiors.
Here she put on a Royal Air: We will con|clude Our own Letter Ourself, said she; so, taking Pen in Hand, she writes as underneath.
Don't let me, when the Car is quite in Readi|ness, be rudely disturbed: But tell Mercury, I would have him tap softly at my Window. I will rise in all my Glory, whip into my starry Calash, and rush through the Regions of Light, till, de|spising Mortality, we shall form some new Con|stellation, which some happy Astrologer may, per|haps, in Honour of us both, style the Twinklers of Moorfields. When I have chosen my new Name, I will deign to write it; till when, I can only style myself, most obliging Sir,
Your Celestial, &c.
LETTER XC. Against a young Lady's affecting manly Airs; and also censuring the modern Riding-habits.
Dear Betsey,
THE Improvement that is visible in your Per|son, since your going to Bury, gives me much Pleasure; and the dawning of fine Sense, and a
good Judgment, that discovers itself in your Con|versation, makes me hope to see every Perfection of my Sister, your late excellent Mother, revived in you. Yet one thing the Duty of a tender Uncle obliges me to blame in you; and that is, a certain Affectation that of late obtains in your Behaviour, of imitating the Manners of the other Sex, and appearing more masculine than either the amiable Softness of your Person or Sex can justify.
I have been particularly offended, let me tell you, my Dear, at your new Riding-habit; which is made so extravagantly in the Mode, that one cannot easily distinguish your Sex by it. For you neither look like a modest Girl in it, nor an agree|able Boy.
Some Conformity to the Fashion is allowable. But a cock'd Hat, a lac'd Jacket, a Fop's Peruke, what strange Metamorphoses do they make! And then the Air assumed with them, so pert, and so insipid, at the same time, makes, upon the whole, such a Boy-girl Figure, that I know of nothing that would become either the Air, or the Dress, but a young Italian Singer. For such an one, being neither Man nor Woman, would possibly be best distinguished by this Hermaphrodite Ap|pearance.
In short, I would have you remember, my Dear, that as sure as any thing intrepid, free, and in a pru|dent Degree bold, becomes a Man; so whatever is soft, tender, and modest, renders your Sex amiable. In this one Instance we do not prefer our own Likeness; and the less you resemble us, the more you are sure to charm: For a masculine Woman is a Character as little creditable as becoming.
I am no Enemy to a proper Presence of Mind in Company; but would never have you appear
bold, talkative, or assured. Modesty in the outward Behaviour, is a strong Prepossession in a Lady's Favour; and, without it, all your Perfections will be of little Service, either as to Reputation or Preferment. You want not Sense: and, I hope, will take kindly these well-intended Hints from Your affectionate Uncle
LETTER XCI. Letter of a Father to a Daughter, relating to Three Persons of different Characters pro|posed to him, each for her Husband. With his Recommendation of one in Years.
Dear Polly,
I HAVE three several Proposals made me on your Account; and they are so particularly circumstanced, that I cannot approve of one of them.
The first is by Mr. Aldridge, for his Son John, who, you know, is very weak in his Intellects, and so apt to be misled, that he wants a Guardian for him in a Wife, and so does you the Reputation to think you a proper Person for that Office. But I think, the worst Weakness in the World in a Husband is, that of Intellect; and I should suffer much to have you linked to a Man who has no Head, and is, for that Reason, highly unworthy to be yours. A foolish Wife is much more tolera|ble, because she can be kept up; but a foolish Hus|band will do what he pleases, and go where he pleases; and tho' he knew nothing else, will think he knows too much to be controuled by his Wife; and will have this Lesson taught him by Rakes and
Libertines, when he is capable of no other. So I did not think it necessary so much as to consult you about him. The second is from Mr. Gough, for his Son Richard, who has run thro' such a Course of Libertinism, that he has hardly his Fellow, and has neither a sound Head, nor a sound Body; and is so far from being reclaim'd, that his Father proposes a Wife, as the last Hope, for him; and yet knows not whether he will accept of one, if one can be found that would venture upon him. So I could not think of suffering my Daughter to stand either to the Courtesy, or lie at the Mercy, of so profligate a Rake: tho', it seems, he vouch|safes to like you better, as his Father says, than any one he ever saw; which was the Reason of the old Man's Application to me.
The third was from Mr. Tomkins, whose Nephew is as bad a Sot, as the other is a Rake; but who promises to reform, if his Uncle can procure my Consent and yours. But as you had refused his Overtures when made to yourself, without con|sulting me, and for the very Reasons I should have rejected him, I would not trouble you about him; but gave a total Denial to the Request of his Uncle, who desired that the Matter might be brought on again, by my Authority and Interposition.
So, my good Girl has had hard Fortune, as one may say, in the Offers of three Persons, that it is impossible she should chuse out of: One so very a Fool, a second so profligate a Rake, and the third so vile a Sot, that there could be no Thought of any of the Three.
But I have a fourth Affair to mention to you, against which there can lie but one Objection; and that is, some Disparity in Years. This is my good Friend Mr. Rowe; as honest a Man as ever
liv'd; a Man of Prudence; a Man of good For|tune, and easy Circumstance; Master of a genteel House and Business; well respected by all the World, and most by those who know him best; a good-natur'd Man, humane, compassionate, and, tho' frugal, not a Niggard. Now, my dear Daughter, What think you of Mr. Rowe?—He has an high Opinion of your Prudence and Discretion; but wishes himself, that you were either Ten Years older, or he Ten Years younger.—Yet he thinks, if you can get over that Point, he could make you one of the fondest of Husbands, and that there is not any thing but he could and would oblige you in.
I too, my Dear, wish there was a nearer Agree|ment in Years; yet, considering the Hazards a young Woman runs, as the World goes, from Rakes, Sots, and Fools, of every Degree; considering that in this Matter, there is but one only thing to be wish'd for; and that all the grand Desirables of Life will be so well supply'd; considering too that he is a sightly, a neat, a personable Man, and has good Health, good Spirits, and good Humour, and is not yet got quite at the Top of the Hill of Life. Considering all these Things, I say, I think that one Consideration might be given up for the many other more material ones, which would be so well supply'd in this Match.
Say, my dear Daughter, say freely, what you think. You'll much oblige me, if you can get this Matter over. But if you cannot, (and be so happy as I wish you)—why then—I don't know what to say—But I must—I think—acquiesce. But yet, I could once more wish—But I will say no more till I have your Answer, but that I am
Your most indulgent Father.
LETTER XCII. Her Answer, dutifully expostulating on the Case.
Honoured Sir,
I AM sensible of the Obligations which both Na|ture and Gratitude lay me under to obey your Commands; and am willing to do so at all Events, if what I have to offer be not thought sufficient to excuse my Compliance.
Mr. Rowe is, I believe, possessed of all the Merit you ascribe to him. But be not displeased, dear Sir, when I say, that he seems not so proper an Husband for me, as for a Woman of more Years and Experience.
His advanced Years, give me leave to say, will be far from being agreeable to me; and will not my Youth, or at least the Effects of it, in some Particulars, be distasteful to him? Will not that innocent Levity, which is almost inseparable from my Time of Life, appear to him in a more de|spisable Light, than perhaps it deserves? For, Sir, is not a Likeness of Years attended with a Likeness of Manners, a Likeness of Humours, an Agreement in Diversions and Pleasures, and Think|ing too? And can such Likenesses, such Agree|ments, be naturally expected, where the Years on one Side double the Number of the other? Be|sides, Sir, is not this Defect, if I may so call it, a Defect that will be far from mending by Time?
Your great Goodness, and the Tenderness I have always experienc'd from you, have embolden'd me to speak thus freely upon a Concern that is of the highest Importance to my future Welfare,
which I know you have in View from more solid Motives than I am capable of entertaining. And if you still insist upon my Obedience, I will only take the Liberty to observe, that if I do marry Mr. Rowe, it will be intirely the Effect of my Duty to the best of Fathers, and not of an Affection for a Gentleman that I respect in every other Light but that you propose him in. And dear, good Sir, consider then, what Misunderstandings and evil Consequences may possibly arise from hence, and render unhappy the future Life of Your most dutiful Daughter,
I am greatly obliged to you, Sir, that you refused, without consulting me, the three strange Overtures you mention.
LETTER XCIII. His Reply, urgently inforcing, but not compell|ing, her Compliance with his Desire.
Dear Polly,
I AM far from taking amiss what you have writ|ten, in Answer to my Recommendation of my worthy Friend Mr. Rowe; and I am sure, if I was to shew him your Letter, he would never permit you to be urged more on this Head. But, my Dear, I own my Wishes and my Heart are engaged in his, shall I say, or in your own Favour? And I would hope, that notwithstanding all you have written, your good Sense, and that Discretion for which you have been hitherto so deservedly noted, may, on ma|ture Reflection, enable you to overcome the Ob|jection that would be insuperable to lighter and airier Minds of your Sex.
Such is the Profligateness of the Generality of young Fellows of the present Age, that I own I look into the World with Affrightment, at the Risques which a virtuous young Woman has to encounter with on a Change of Condition, which makes me dwell upon the Point with the greater Earnest|ness. And you know, my Dear, I can have no Motive but your Good. Then, Child, consider the Reputation this Match, to all who know Mr. Rowe's Worth, will bring to your Prudence, and even to your Sex. For it is as much Credit to a young Lady to marry a worthy Man, older than herself, as it is Discredit for an old Woman to marry a young Man. Does my Polly take my Meaning? The Case is plain. Besides, no-body thinks Ten or Twelve Years Difference in a Man's Age any thing out of the way. So, my Dear, it is not Twenty Years Odds; it is only Ten at most.
Then, again, he is a good-natur'd Man; there's a great deal in that, you know.
To be sure, my Dear, it is my good Opinion of your Prudence, that makes me endeavour to per|suade you to this. And I could be glad, methinks, to find, that I have not too high a Notion of your Discretion, in the Preference I am willing to give it to that of all the young Ladies I know.
But if I am mistaken, I mean, if you cannot get over this one Difficulty, I shall be apt to think, so surmountable does it seem to me, that you have seen somebody you like, and are prepossess'd. Yet I cannot believe that neither, because you know I have so tender a Regard for your own Option, that you would have made me acquainted with it.
Yet, after all, far be it from me to compel your Inclinations! But if you should be so happy as to
think with me, that the many valuable Qualitics Mr. Rowe is possessed of, are scarcely to be hoped for in a younger Man, as the World now goes, you would make me very happy; and I am per|suaded you will never repent your Choice. One thing more let me urge, my Dear; for you see how my Heart's upon it. How many very virtuous young Maidens have married, for the sake of Riches only, a Man much older, much more disagreeable, waspish, humoursome, diseased, decrepit, and yet have lived Years without Re|proach, and made themselves not unhappy! And will not my dear Daughter do as much to oblige her Father, (and where Health, Good-nature, Wisdom, Discretion, and great Circumstances meet to enforce the Argument) as others would do, where not one of these Advantages are in the Case, except the single Article of Riches? Only then, my Dear, let Mr. Rowe attend you, two or three times, before you absolutely set yourself against him. And, as I hope your Affections are intirely disengaged, you will soon see whether his Conversation or Proposals will not incline you in his Favour, considering all things; that is to say, considering the one thing AGAINST him, and the many FOR him. And if it cannot be, I will intirely acquiesce, being ever studious of your Happiness, as becomes
Your indulgent Father.
LETTER XCIV. To a rich Widow Lady with Children, dis|suading her from marrying a Widower of meaner Degree, who has Children also.
Dear Madam,
IT is with some Reluctance, and great Respect, that I prevail on myself to give you this Trouble. The frequent Visits Mr. Clarkson makes you, and the Airs that Gentleman gives himself, have given Birth to a Report, that a Treaty of Marriage be|tween you is on foot; and that, in all Probability, it will be soon brought to Effect.
To be sure, Mr. Clarkson is not to be blam'd, to endeavour to procure for his Wife a Lady of your Prudence, good Character, and Fortune; but whe|ther you will be able to avoid the Censure of the World, if you chuse him for a Husband, is another Point, which greatly concerns you to consider of, and affects me, and all who wish you well.
His Fortune, Madam, is not equal to yours, supposing it to be better than the World reports it: He has Children: So have you. What Inconvenien|cies may not arise from hence? Especially, as he is not thought to be one of the best and smoothest|temper'd Men in the World.—His Character is not equal in any respect, to say the least, (for I would not detract from any Man's Merit) to that of your late good Spouse, my dear Friend; who would have been much grieved, if he had had but the least Apprehension, that the Man he would not have accompany'd with, should succeed him in his Bed.
Far be it from me, dear Madam, if you are so disposed, as to wish to hinder you from a Change
of Condition with a suitable Person! But as your late Spouse left his and your Children so much in your Power, methinks you should take especial Care, how and to whom you communicate any Part of that Power, and thereby give a Right to controul not only them, but yourself. Must he not be par|tial to his own Children? And will he not expect, that your Complaisance to him should make you so too; or, at least, be his Childrens Behaviour what it will, that it shall induce you to put them upon a Par with your own? His Daughters will be Spies upon your Conduct, and, be you ever so kind to them, will always suspect your Partiality to your own, and treat you as their Mother-in-law; and their Father will believe all they shall suggest, for that very Reason, and because he will judge, tho' perhaps not allow for, that you ought to pre|fer your own to his: And this will be the Source of perpetual Uneasinesses between you. Consider, dear Madam, whether your late affectionate Spouse de|served from you, that his Children and your own should be put upon such Difficulties, in Favour of those of any other Person whatever. No doubt but you may make your own Condi|tions with Mr. Clarkson. He will be glad to call you and your Fortune his, upon any Terms: But con|sider, Madam, how difficult it may be, whatever Articles you make, for a good Wife, who has been accustom'd to think her Interest the same with that of her Husband, to refuse to his Importunities, and perhaps to his Conveniency, if not Necessities, those Communications of Fortune which you may re|serve in your own Power, when they will make him easier in Circumstance, and more complaisant in Temper: And how hard it will be to deny a Man any thing, to whom you have given your Per|son, and to whom you have vowed Duty and Obe|dience.
But if you should have the Resolution to refuse him, what he may not be backward to ask, do you think yourself so well able to bear that In|difference, if not worse, which such a Refusal may occasion? And would you chuse to have Advantage taken of your tenderest Hours, either to induce you to acquiesce with Importunities, which, comply'd with, may hurt your Children; or, to have those tender Moments dash'd with Suspicions of Selfish|ness and Design; for Prudence will oblige you to be on your Guard, that even the highest Acts of Kindness, and the strongest Professions of Affe|ction, may not be preparative Arts to obtain from you Concessions you ought not to make. And how will the pure Joys which flow from an unsuspected Union of Minds and Interests, the Want whereof will make any Matrimony unhappy, be found in a State thus circumstantiated? If, Madam, you are bent upon a Change of Con|dition, your Friends would wish first, that you will be pleased absolutely to ascertain the Fortunes of your Children, according to the Design and Will of their dear Father, as far as may legally be done, either by chusing Trustees for them, or by such other way as shall put it out of a new Husband's Power to hurt them: And when he shall know this is done, you will have a better Testimony of his Affection, as he will know what is, and what is not yours, and can hope for no more, because it is not in your Power to give more. But how much more is it to be wished, for your own sake, as well as your Chil|drens, that if you do change, it may be with a Person who has no Children? And then what other Children may be the Results of your new Marriage, they will be your own as well as his, and so be more properly intitled to your Care and your Kindness, than any Man's Children by another Wife can be.
By this means, Madam, most of the Uneasinesses we every Day see in Families, where are two Sorts of Children, will be prevented; or perhaps your present Children will be grown up, and out of the way, before the other can interfere essentially with them; or if not, they will be naturalized, as one may say, to each other; and having the same Mother, who has an equal Interest in them all, will expect and allow for an equal Exertion of Tenderness and Favour to all. I will trouble you with no more at present on this Head; and am confident, that when you consider maturely what I have written, and the respectful Manner in which I have ventur'd to give my Opi|nion, and my own Disinterestedness besides, and that I might still have urged other powerful Motives, which I forbear in Honour to you, you will have the Goodness to excuse the Liberty I have taken, which is so suitable to the Laws of Friendship, by which I am bound to be, dear Madam,
Your zealous Well-wisher, and humble Servant.
Instructions to young Orphan Ladies, as well as others, how to judge of Proposals of Marriage made to them without their Guardians or Friends Consent, by their Milaners, Mantua-makers, or other Go-betweens.
A YOUNG Orphan Lady, of an independent Fortune, receivable at Age, or Day of Marri|age, will hardly sail of several Attempts to engage her Affections. And the following general Rules and Instructions will be of Use to her on these Oc|casions:
In the first place, she ought to mistrust all those who shall seek to set her against her Guardian, or those Relations to whom her Fortune or Person is intrusted: And, next, to be apprehensive of all such as privately want to be introduced to her, and who avoid treating with her Guardian first for his Consent. For she may be assur'd, that if a young Man has Proposals to make, which he him|self thinks would be accepted by a Person of Years and Experience, he will apply in a regular way to her Friends; but if he has not, he will hope to engage the young Lady's Affections by the means of her Milaner, her Mantua-maker, or her Ser|vant, and so by Bribes and Promises endeavour to make his way to her Favour, in order to take Ad|vantage of her Youth and Inexperience: For this is the constant Method of Fortune-hunters, to which many a worthy young Lady of good Sense and good Fortune has owed her utter Ruin.
The following are generally the Methods taken by this Set of Designers:
These industrious Go-betweens, who hope to make a Market of a young Lady's Affections, generally by Letter, or Word of Mouth, if they have Opportunity, set forth to the young Lady:
"That there is a certain young Gentleman of great Merit, of a handsome Person, and fine Ex|pectations, or prosperous Business, who is fallen deeply in Love with her. And very probably, the young Lady, having no bad Opinion of her|self, and loving to be admired, believes it very easily."
"That he has seen her at Church, or the Opera, the Play, the Assembly, &c. and is impatient to make known his Passion to her."
"That he is unwilling to apply to her Guardian, till he knows how his Address will be received by herself."
"That, besides, it may very probably be the Case, that her Guardian may form Obstacles, which may not be reasonable on her Part to give into."
"That, if he has Daughters of his own, he would perhaps rather see them marry'd first."
"That he may not care to part with her Fortune, and the Reputation and Convenience the Manage|ment of it may give him."
"That he may design to marry her, when he thinks proper, to some Person agreeable to his own Interest or Inclinations, without consulting hers as he ought."
"That, therefore, it would be best, that her Guardian should know nothing of the Matter, till she saw whether she could approve the Gen|tleman or not."
"That even then she might encourage his Ad|dress, or disccountenance it as she pleased."
"That for her the Proposer's part, she had no Interest in the world, one way or other; and no View, but to serve the young Lady, and to ob|lige a young Gentleman so well qualify'd to make her happy."And such-like plausible Assu|rances; ending, perhaps,
"with desiring to bring on an Interview, or, if that will not be admitted, that she will receive a Letter from him."
This kind of Introduction ought always to be suspected by a prudent young Lady. She ought with Warmth and Resentment to discourage the offi|cious Proposer. She ought to acquaint her,
"That she is resolved never to give way to a Proposal of this Importance, without the Consent and Approbation of her Guardian or Friends."
"That her good Father or Mother, who had seen the World, and had many Years Experience of her Guardian's Honour and Qualifications for such a Trust, knew what they did, when they put her under his Care."
"That he had always shewn an honest and gene|rous Regard for her Welfare."
"That she took it very unkindly of the Pro|poser, to offer to inspire her with Doubts of his Conduct, when she had none herself, nor Reason for any."
"That it was Time enough when he gave her Reason, to be apprehensive of his sinister Designs, or of his preferring his own Interest to hers."
"That it was a very strange Attempt to make her mistrust a Friend, a Relation, a Gentleman, who was chosen for this Trust by her dear Pa|rents, on many Years Experience of his Honour and Probity, and of whose Goodness to her, for so long time past, she herself had many Proofs: And this in Favour of a Person who had a visi|ble Interest to induce him to this Application; whose Person she hardly knew, if at all; whose Professions she could not judge of; who began by such mean, such groundless, such unworthy In|sinuations: Who might, or might not, be the Per|son he pretended; and who wanted to induce her to prefer himself, on no Acquaintance at all, to a Gentleman she had so many Years known; and whose Honour, good Character, Reputation, and Conscience, were all engaged to her as so many Pledges for his honourable Behaviour to her."
"That she the Proposer, and the young Gen|tleman too, must have a very indifferent Opinion of her Gratitude, her Prudence, her Discretion, to make such an Attempt upon her."
"That if he could approve himself to a Man of Years and Experience, who was not to be im|posed upon by blind Passion, in the Light he wanted to appear in to her, why should he not apply to him first?"
"That surely it was a very ungenerous as well as suspicious Method of Proceeding, that he could find no other way to give her an Opinion of him|self, but by endeavouring to depreciate the Cha|racter of a Gentleman, who, by this Method, plainly appeared to his own Apprehension to stand in the way of his Proceedings; and that too before he had try'd him; and which shewed, that he himself had not hope of succeeding, but by Arts of Delusion, Flattery, and a clandestine Address, and had nothing but her own Inadver|tence and Inexperience to build upon."
"That, therefore, it behoved her, had she no other Reason, to reject with Resentment and Disdain a Conduct so affrontive to her Understanding, as well as selfish and ungenerous in the Proposer."
"That, therefore, she would not countenance any Interview with a Person capable of acting in such a manner, nor receive any Letter from him."
"And lastly, that she desires never to hear of this Matter again, from her the Proposer, if she would have her retain for her that good Opi|nion, which she had hitherto had."
This prudent Reasoning and Conduct will make the Intervener quit her Design upon the young Lady, if she is not wholly abandoned of all Sense of Shame, and corrupted by high Bribes and Pro|mises; and in this Case, the young Lady will judge how unfit such a Person is either for her Confident or Acquaintance. Nor will the Lady lose an humble Servant worthy of being retain'd or encouraged: For
if he be the Person he pretends, he will directly ap|ply to her Guardian, and have a high Opinion of her Prudence and Discretion; and if she hears no more of him, she may conclude, he could not make good his Pretensions to a Person of Discern|ment, and will have Occasion to rejoice in escaping his designing Arts with so little Trouble to herself.
If a Lady has had actually a Letter delivered her from such a Pretender, and that by means of a Person who has any Share in her Confidence, and wants a Form of a Letter to send to the Recommender to discourage the Proceeding; the following, which has been sent with good Effect, on a like Occasion, may be proper.
LETTER XCV.
Mrs. Pratt,
I INCLOSE the Letter you put into my Hands, and hope it will be the last I shall ever receive from you or any body else on the like Occasion. I am intirely satisfied in the Care and Kindness of my Guardian, and shall encourage no Proposal of this sort, but what comes recommended to me by his Approbation. He knows the World. I do not; and that which is not fit for him to know, is not fit for me to receive; and I am sorry either you or the Writer looks upon me in so weak a Light, as to imagine I would wish to take myself out of the Hands of so experienced a Friend, to throw myself into those of a Stranger. Yet I would not, as this is the first Attempt of the kind from you, and that it may rather be the Effect of Inconsideration, than Design, shew it my Guardian; because he would not perhaps impute it to so favourable a Mo|tive in you, as I am willing to do, being
Your Friend and Servant.
If there be no Go-between, but that a young Fellow takes upon himself to send Letters to teize a young Lady to encourage his Address, by his ro|mantick Professions of his Affection and Regard for her, and attributing such Perfections to her, as no one Woman ever had; and if she is desirous, but knows not how, to get rid of his troublesome Im|portunity; and that even a contemptuous Silence, which it is prudent for a young Lady to shew on such an Occasion, has no Effect upon him; nor yet that he will desist, tho' she returns his Letters unopen'd, or in a blank Cover, after she happens to have read them, then let the Lady get some Friend to write to him, looking upon him as beneath her own Notice; for even a Denial, if given in Writing under her own Hand, will encourage some pre|sumptuous Men; or at least they may make some Use of it to the Lady's Disadvantage, and ought not to have it to boast, that they have received a Letter from her, tho' ever so much to their own Discredit, if it were shewn. And the following may be the Form:
LETTER XCVI.
SIR,
YOU have thought fit to write to Miss Knollys twice or thrice in a very troublesome manner. She cannot possibly so far forget what belongs to Herself and Character, as to answer you any other way than by the Contempt of Silence. Yet since she cannot, it seems, be free from your Imperti|nence, she wishes you may be told, That you must have as mean an Opinion of her Judgment, as all who read your Epistles, must have of yours, if you can expect Success from such inconsistent Rhap|sodies.
I will from myself venture to give you one Piece of Advice; That the next Person you pretend to address with your bright Compositions, you don't in them forget one Ingredient, which is common Sense; tho' you should be forced to borrow it. I am Yours, unknown.
Or, if this be thought too affronting, the fol|lowing:
LETTER XCVII.
SIR,
YOU are desired to send no more of your ela|borate Epistles to Miss Knollys. You are quite mistaken in the Lady. She knows herself, and by your Letter she knows you, so well, that she sends it back, that you may find some other Person to send it to, whose Sentiments and Understanding are better proportion'd to your own. I am, Sir, &c.
If the Letters of the young Fellow deserve less Severity, and are such as have not their Founda|tion in Romance and Bombast; but yet the Lady thinks not proper to encourage his Address, this Form may serve:
LETTER XCVIII.
SIR,
I AM desir'd to acquaint you, that Miss Knollys thinks herself obliged to every one who has a good Opinion of her; but begs, that you will not •…•…ve yourself, or her, the Trouble of any more ••etters. For Things are so circumstanced, that
she has neither Inclination nor Power to encourage your Address. I am, Sir, Your humble Servant, unknown.
If the Lady has a mind to rebuke the Attempt of a clandestine Address to her, and yet thinks the Proposal not absolutely unworthy of Attention, did it come regularly to her, by means of her Father, Mother, Guardian, &c. this Form may be ob|served:
LETTER XCIX.
SIR,
MISS Knollys desires you should be informed, which she presumes you did not know, That she can never think herself at her own Disposal, while she has so near and so good a Friend to ad|vise with as Mr. Archer, whose Wisdom she much prefers to her own, as his Experience in the World, and Kindness to her, make him deserve to be con|sulted, in all her Affairs of Moment. Whatever shall appear fit to him, will have great Weight with her; and there is but that one possible way to en|gage her Attention. I am, Sir,
Yours, &c.
Or, if the Lady has not a Guardian, or Father, or Mother, but some Friend in whom she can conside, the following may be a proper Form:
LETTER C.
SIR,
IT may not be amiss to acquaint you, that Miss Knollys is so happy as to have a Friend of Ex|perience and Probity, without whose Advice she
undertakes nothing of Consequence. It is Mr. Salter, of Grace-church-street. And she will not care to admit of any Proposal of Moment to her that has not passed his Approbation. This, she hopes, will save her and yourself the Trouble of any fur|ther Applications. I am Your humble Servant.
Or this:
LETTER CI.
SIR,
MR. Salter, of Grace-church-street, being a Gen|tleman that Miss Knollys consults in all her Affairs, she refers to him all Proposals that are or may be of Importance to her, and desires to receive no more Letters or Messages from you, by any other Hand. I am
Your humble Servant, unknown.
LETTER CII. From a Town-Tenant to his Landlord, excusing Delay of Payment.
Honoured Sir,
I AM under a great Concern, that I cannot at pre|sent answer your just Expectations. I have sustain|ed such heavy Losses, and met with such great Dis|appointments of late, that I must intrude another Quarter on your Goodness. Then, whatever Shifts I am put to, you shall hear to more Satisfaction than at present, from, Sir,
Your most obliged humble Servant.
LETTER CIII. From a Country Tenant to the same Purpose.
Honoured Sir,
THE Season has been so bad, and I have had such unhappy Accidents to encounter with in a sick Family, Loss of Cattle, &c. that I am ob|liged to trespass upon your Patience a Month or two longer. The Wheat-harvest, I hope, will furnish me the Means to answer your just Expectations; which will be a great Contentment to
Your honest Tenant, and humble Servant.
LETTER CIV. The Landlord's Answer.
Mr. Jacobs,
I HAVE yours: I hope you'll be as good as your Word at the Expiration of the Time you have mentioned. I am unwilling to distress any honest Man; and I hope, that I shall not meet with the worse Usage for my Forbearance. For Lenity abused, even in generous Tempers, provokes Re|turns, that some People would call severe; but should not be deemed such, if just. I am
Yours, &c.
LETTER CV. A threatening Letter from a Steward on Delay of Payment.
Mr. Atkins,
I HAVE mentioned your Case to Sir John, as you requested. He is exceedingly provoked at your Usage, and swears bloodily he'll seize, and throw you into Gaol, if he has not 20 l. at least paid him by Quarter-day, which is now at hand; so you know what you have to trust to; and I would have you avoid the Consequences at any rate; for he is resolved otherwise to do as he says. Of this I assure you, who am
Yours, &c.
LETTER CVI. The poor Tenant's moving Answer.
Good Mr. Taverner,
I AM at my Wits end almost on what you write. But if I am to be ruined, with my nume|rous Family, and a poor industrious, but ailing Wife, how can I help it? For I cannot possibly raise 20 l. any manner of way by the Time you mention. I hope Sir John won't be so hard|hearted. For if God Almighty, our common Land|lord, should be equally hard upon us, what would become of us all? Forgive my Boldness to talk of God Almighty to his Honour, in this free manner.
I would do it, if it was to be done; but you know, Sir, what a Season we have had. And an honester Tenant his Honour will never have, that I am sure of. But if Money won't rise, what can I do?
Should I sell my Team, and my Utensils for Labour, there is an End of all. I shall have no Means left me then wherewith to pay his Honour, or any body else. If his Honour will not be moved, but will seize, pray, good Mr. Taverner, prevail on him not to throw me into Gaol, for a Prison pays no Debts; but let my poor Wife and Six small Children lie in the Barn, till I can get a little Day-labour; for that must be all I can have to trust to, if his Honour seizes. I hear my Man William that was, has just taken a Farm; may be, he will employ his poor ruin'd Master, if I am not prison'd. But if I be, why then the Parish must do something for my poor Children, tho' I hoped they would never trouble it. Lay these things be|fore his Honour, good Sir, and forgive this Trouble from His Honour's honest, tho' unfortunate Tenant.
LETTER CVII. The Steward's Reply, giving more Time.
Mr. Atkins,
I HAVE laid your Letter and your Case before Sir John: He is moved with it, and says he will have Patience another Quarter, to see what you'll do. Consider, Man, however, that Gen|tlemen live at a great Expence, are obliged to keep up their Port, and if their Tenants fail them, why then they must fail their Tradesmen, and suffer in their Credit. You have good Crops of all Kinds on the Ground; and surely may by next Quarter raise 40 or 50l. tho' you could not raise 20l. in a Fortnight. This Sir John will expect at least, I
can tell you. And you may comply with it from the Produce of so good a Farm, surely. I am Yours, &c.
LETTER CVIII. The poor Man's thankful Letter in Return.
GOD bless his Honour, and God bless you, Mr. Taverner, that's all I can say. We will now set our Hands to the Plough, as the Saying is, with chearful Hearts, and try what can be done. I am sure, I, and my Wife and Children too, tho' three of them can but lisp their Prayers, shall Morning, Noon and Night, pray to God for his Honour's Health and Prosperity, as well as for you and yours; and to enable me to be just to his Expectations. I'm sure it would be the Pride of my Heart to pay every body, his Honour especially. I have not run be|hind-hand for want of Industry; that all my Neigh|bours know; but Losses and Sickness I could not help; and nobody could live more frugal and sparing than both my Wife and I. Indeed we have hardly allowed ourselves Cloaths to our Backs, nor for our Children neither, tight, and clean, and wholsome as they may appear to those who see them: And we will continue to live so low as may only keep us in Heart to do our Labour, until we are got before-hand; which God grant. But all this, I told you before, Mr. Taverner; and so will say no more, but I will do all I can, and God give a Blessing to my Labours, as I mean honestly. So no more, but that I am, Sir,
Your ever-obliged Servant.
LETTER CIX. An Offer of Assistance to a Friend who has received great Losses by a Person's Failure.
Dear Sir,
I AM exceedingly concerned at the great Loss which you have lately sustained, by the Failure of Mr. Tranter. I hope you behave under it like the Man of Prudence you have always shewn your|self, and as one who knows how liable all Men are to Misfortunes. I think it incumbent on this Oc|casion, not to console you by Words only; but in the Spirit, and with the Chearfulness, of a most sincere Friend, to offer my Service to answer any present Demand, so far as 200 l. goes, which you shall have the Use of freely for a Twelve-month, or more, if your Affairs require it; and will even strain a Point rather than not oblige you, if more be necessary to your present Situation. You'll do me great Pleasure in accepting this Offer, as freely as it is kindly meant, by, dear Sir,
Your's most faithfully.
LETTER CX. The Friend's Answer, accepting the kind Offer.
My dear Friend,
HOW shall I find Words to express the grateful Sense I have of your Goodness? This is an Instance of true Friendship indeed! I accept most thankfully of some Part of your generous Offer, and will give you my Bond, payable in a Year, for 100l. which is at present all I have Occasion
for; and if I did not know I could then, if not be|fore, answer your Goodness as it deserves, I would not accept of the Favour. This Loss is very heavy and affecting to me, as you may suppose; yet your generous Friendship is no small Comfort to me in it. For so good a Friend is capable of making any Calamity light. I am, dear Sir, Your most faithful and obliged humble Servant.
LETTER CXI. The Friend's Answer, supposing he has no Occasion.
Dear Sir,
A THOUSAND Thanks to you for your generous Offer, and kind Advice. I have been not a little affected at the unexpected Failure of a Man all the World thought as good as the Bank. But, at present, I have no Occasion for your friendly Assistance. If I should, I know no one in the World I would sooner chuse to be obliged to; for I am, dear, kind Sir,
Your most obliged humble Servant.
LETTER CXII. Of Consolation to a Friend in Prison for Debt.
Dear Sir,
I AM exceedingly concerned to hear, that the Se|verity of your Creditors has laid you under Con|finement. But there is one Comfort results from it, that the utmost Stretch of their Revenge cannot carry them farther; and that when a Man is got to the undermost Part of Fortune's Wheel, he may
rise, but cannot sink lower. You now know the worst, and have nothing to do, but to support your Misfortune with that true Magnanimity which be|comes a noble Mind. Long, very long, have you been labouring under great Difficulties, and so have been enured to Misfortunes; and you have looked forward with such Anxiety and Pain to the hard Lot that has now befallen you, that 'tis impossible the bearing of it can be equal to the Apprehensions you had of it. You see all around you too many un|happy Objects reduced to the same Distress, and you see them either extricating themselves from those Difficulties, (as I hope you soon will) or learn|ing to bear them with a true Christian Resignation. For well does the wise Man observe, that the Race is not to the Swift, nor the Battle to the Strong, nor Riches to a Man of Understanding. And it will yield you some Consolation when you reflect, that this Life is but a State of Probation, and he that meets with Mis|fortunes here, may, by a proper Use of them, and by God's Grace, be intitled to a blessed Hope; when a prosperous State may make a Man forgetful of his Duty, and so reap no other Good but what he finds in this transitory Life. Remember, my Friend, that the School of Affliction is the School of Wisdom; and so behave under this trying Calamity, as to say with the Royal Prophet, It is good for me, that I was afflicted. I think myself, however, not a little unhappy, that my Circumstances will not permit me to assist you on this grievous Occasion, in the way a Friend would chuse to do, if he was able; but if by my personal Attendance on any of your Creditors or Friends, I can do you Pleasure or Service, I beg you to command me. For, in whatever is in my poor Power, I am, and shall ever be,
Your faithful Friend and Servant.
LETTER CXIII. In Answer to the preceding.
Dear Sir,
I NOW experience fully the Truth of the honest English Phrase, That a Friend in Need, is a Friend in Deed. You have filled me with such un|speakable Comfort to find that I am not abandoned by all my old Acquaintance, that, in a great measure, your seasonable Kindness will enable me to pursue the Advice you give me.
It is too late to look back now on the Steps that have brought me to this abject Condition. No doubt, were I to live my Life over again, I could do much better for myself than I have done, and should hardly run into some of the Failings that have help'd to bring such heavy Misfortunes upon me. But my Comfort is, I ever had an honest In|tention, and never was a Sot or a Spendthrist. But yet, who knows, if I had avoided some Mistakes, that I might not have fallen into as bad another way? So I must acquiesce in the Dispensation, and pray to God, in his own good Time, to deliver me from it.
What is most grievous to me in this Matter, is my poor Wife and Children, who have deserved a happier Fate; had it been in my Power to have done better for them, than now I am ever likely to do.
As to your kind Offer, my dear Friend, I will beg to see you as often as may not be detrimental to your own Affairs. I care not how seldom I see my dear Wife: Neither her Heart nor mine can bear the Grief that oppresses us when we think of our happier Days and Prospects, and see them all
concluded within these Bars, and Bolts, and Lat|tices; so that we sink one another still lower every doleful Visit the dear good Woman makes me. But your Visits, my Friend, will be of singular Use and Comfort to me, (as your Pre|sence and kind Advice will be to her, as often as you can) to save us both the Mortification of seeing one another so often as my Affairs will otherwise require her to come to this dismal Place; for I cannot open my Mind to any body but you and her. I will also get you to go to Mr. Maddox, my principal Creditor, and one or two more; I will tell you about what; and only fear I shall be too troublesome to you. But you are so kind as to offer your Service in this way, and I am reduced to the sad Necessity of pushing myself upon you, with|out the least Hope of ever having it in my Power to shew you, as I wish to do, how much I am Your grateful, tho' unhappy Servant.
LETTER CXIV. To a Person of Note, in Acknowledgment of great Benefits received.
Honoured Sir,
PERMIT me to approach you with the thank|ful Acknowledgments of a grateful Heart, on the Favour and Benefit your Goodness has con|ferred upon me. It shall be the Business of my whole Life, to the utmost of my Power, to de|serve it; and my whole Family, which you have made happy by your Bounty, will every Day join with me in Prayers to God, to bless you with the Continuance of your valuable Health, a long
Life, and all worldly Honour; for so it will become us to do, for the unmerited Favours conferr'd upon, honoured Sir, Your most dutiful Servant.
LETTER CXV. Another for Favours of not so high, yet of a generous Nature.
Worthy Sir,
I SHOULD appear ungrateful, if I did not add this further Trouble to those I have already given you, of acknowledging your Goodness to me, in this last Instance of it. May God Almighty return to you, Sir, one hundred-fold, the Benefit you have conferr'd upon me, and give me Opportunity by my future Services, to shew my grateful Heart, and how much I am, worthy Sir,
Your for-ever obliged and dutiful Servant.
LETTER CXVI. An Excuse to a Person who wants to borrow Money.
SIR,
I AM very sorry, that your Request comes to me at a time when I am so press'd by my own Affairs, that I cannot with any Conveniency com|ply with it. I hope, Sir, you will therefore excuse
Your most humble Servant.
LETTER CXVII. On the same Subject.
SIR,
I HAVE, on an urgent Occasion, been obliged to borrow a Sum of Money myself within ten Days past: Hence you'll judge of my Want of Capacity rather than Inclination to comply with your Re|quest. For I am
Your sincere Friend.
LETTER CXVIII. On the same Subject.
SIR,
IT is with no little Pain, that I am obliged to lay open to you, on occasion of the Loan you request of me, my own Inability. I shall make very hard Shift to answer some necessary Demands, which must be comply'd with by a certain Time; and so can only say, I am sorry I have it not in my Power to shew you how sincerely I am
Your most humble Servant.
LETTER CXIX. To a Friend in Compliance with his Request to borrow a Sum of Money.
SIR,
YOU have highly obliged me in the Request you make me. I most chearfully comply with it, and inclose a Note for the requested Sum, payable on Sight; and am not a little glad it is in my Power to shew you how much I am
Your faithful Friend and Servant.
LETTER CXX. Another on the same Occasion, limiting the Re|payment to a certain Time.
SIR,
THE Intimation you give me, that the Sum of 50 Pounds will be of great Use to you, and that you shall be able to repay it in Four Months, makes me resolve to put myself to some Difficulty to oblige you. Accordingly I inclose a Bank Note to that Amount. But I must, in the Name of Friend|ship, beg of you to return it me unused, if you think you cannot keep your Word in the Repayment; for my accommodating you with this Sum, is rather, at present, a greater Testimony of my Inclination than Ability to serve you: For I am
Your affectionate Friend and Servant.
LETTER CXXI. To a Friend, on a Breach of Promise in not returning Money lent in his Exigence.
SIR,
WHEN you apply'd to me, in your Streights, for Assistance, and made such strong Promises of returning in Four Months what I advanced; little did I think, you would give me the irksome Occasion, either of reminding you of your Promise, or of acquainting you with the Streights in which my Friendship for you has involv'd myself. I have always endeavour'd to manage my Affairs with so much Prudence, as to keep within myself the Power
of answering Demands upon me, without troubling my Friends; and I told you, I must expect you would keep your Word exactly to the Four Months, or else I should be distress'd, as bad as you were when you apply'd to me. Six Months passed, and you took no manner of Notice of the Mat|ter, when I was forced to remind you of it, having been put to it, as I told you I should. You took a Fortnight longer, under still stronger Pro|mises of Performance. And Three Weeks are now expired, and your second Promises are still as much to be performed as your first. Is this kind, is this friendly, is it grateful, Sir, let me ask you? And ought I to be made to suffer in my Credit, who was so ready to save yours?—When, too, mine had been in no Danger, had I not put out of my own Power what actually was then in it? I will only say, That if any Consideration remains with you for one so truly your Friend, let me immediately be paid, and take from me the cruel Necessity of reproaching you for Ingratitude, and myself for Folly: Who am, Sir, Your unkindly used, &c.
LETTER CXXII. To a Friend, who had promised to lend a Sum of Money, to answer a critical Exigence, and drove it off to the last.
Dear Sir,
YOU were so kind as to tell me, a Fortnight ago, that you would lend me One hundred Pounds on my Bond, to answer a Demand that my Credit would be otherwise a Sufferer by. And you were pleased to say, you would have me look no
further, and that I should certainly have it in time. I have looked no further, Sir; and the Day of Pay|ment approaching, you cannot imagine how my Mind has suffered by being not absolutely sure of having the Money to answer the Demand. I hope, Sir, nothing has happen'd to make you alter your Mind; for, at this short Notice, I shall not know to whom to apply to raise it. In the utmost Pertur|bation of Mind, for fear of the worst, my Credit being wholly at Stake, I beg your Answer, which I hope will be to the Satisfaction of, Sir, Your obliged humble Servant.
LETTER CXXIII. The Answer, excusing the Pain he had given his Friend by his Remissness.
Dear Sir,
I WILL attend you this Afternoon with the Money, which I had always great Pleasure in the Thought of supplying you with; and I am most heartily vexed with myself, for giving you the Pain and Uneasiness that must have attended a Mind so punctual as yours, and in a Case so critically cir|cumstanced. But I hope you'll forgive me, tho' I can hardly forgive myself. I am, Sir, as well on this, as on any other Occasion in my Power,
Your sincere Friend and Servant.
LETTER CXXIV. To one who, upon a very short Acquaintance, and without any visible Merit but Assurance, wants to borrow a Sum of Money.
SIR,
YOU did me the Favour of inquiring for me two or three times while I was out of Town. And among my Letters I find one from you, desiring the Loan of 50 Guineas. You must certainly have mistaken yourself or me very much, to think we were enough known to each other for such a Trani|action. I was twice in your Company; I was de|lighted with your Conversation: You seemed as much pleased with mine: And if we both acted with Honour, the Obligation is mutual, and there can be no room to suppose me your Debtor. I have no churlish nor avaritious Heart, I will ven|ture to say; but there must be Bounds to every thing; and Discretion is as necessary in conferring as in receiving a Kindness. To a Friend, my help|ing Hand ought to be lent, when his Necessities require it: You cannot think our Intimacy enough to commence that Relation; and should I answer the Demands of every new Acquaintance, I should soon want Power to oblige my old Friends, and even to serve myself. Surely, Sir, a Gentleman of your Merit cannot be so little beloved, as to be forced to seek to a new Acquaintance, and to have no better Friend than one of Yesterday. I will not do you the In|jury to suppose, that you have not many, who have the best Reasons from long Knowledge, to oblige you: And, by your Application to me, I cannot think Bashfulness should stand in your way
to them. Be this as it may, it does not at all suit my Conveniency to comply with your Request; and so I must beg you to excuse Yours, &c.
LETTER CXXV. A Gentleman to a Lady who humourously resents his Mistress's Fondness of a Monkey, and In|difference to himself.
Madam,
I MUST be under the less Regret, for the Con|tempt with which you receive my Addresses, when your Favour is wholly engrossed by so wretch|ed a Rival: For ought a rational Man to wonder he is received with Neglect and Slight by a Lady who can be taken up with the Admiration of a chat|tering Monkey? But pray be so good as to permit me to reason the Matter a little with you. I would ask you then, By what extraordinary Endowment this happy Creature has found Means to engross your Favour? Extravagance is never commendable: But while I am dying beneath your Frowns, how can you be profuse in your Caresses to so mean a Competitor? Condescend to view us in the same Light: What valuable Qualification is Mr. Pug endowed with, which I am destitute of? What can he do, which I cannot perform, tho' with less Agi|lity, to full as good Purpose? Is it a Recommenda|tion in him that he wears no Breeches? For my part, I will most willingly surrender mine at your Feet. Be impartial for once: Place us together before you: View our Faces, our Airs, our Shapes, and our Language. If he be handsomer than I,
which, on a strict Scrutiny, I hope will not be al|lowed him neither, pray try our Wits: However acute he may be, I can assure you I reckon myself no Fool; if I was, I should less resent the Pre|ference you give against me. I will sing or dance with him for his Ears: Turn him loose to me, I will sight him, if that be necessary to obtain your Favour; or do any thing in the World to shew you how much I am, and shall ever be, if you'll per|mit it, Your very humble Admirer.
LETTER CXXVI. A Sailor to his betrothed Mistress.
Barbadoes, Oct. 9.
My dear Peggy,
IF you think of me half so often as I do of you, it will be every Hour; for you are never out of my Thoughts, and, when I am asleep, I constantly dream of my dear Peggy. I wear my Half-bit of Gold always at my Heart, ty'd to a blue Ribbon round my Neck; for True Blue, my dearest Love, is the Colour of Colours to me. Where, my Dearest, do you put yours? I hope you are careful of it; for it would be a bad Omen to lose it.
I hope you hold in the same Mind still, my dearest Dear; for God will never bless you, if you break the Vows you have made to me. As to your ever faithful William, I would sooner have my Heart torn from my Breast, than it should harbour a Wish for any other Woman besides my Peggy, O my dearest Love! you are the Joy of my Life! My Thoughts are all of you; you are with me in all I do; and my Hope and my Wish is only to be yours. God send it may be so!
Our Captain talks of sailing soon for England; and then, and then—my dearest Peggy!—O how I rejoice, how my Heart beats with Delight, that makes me I cannot tell how, when I think of ar|riving in England, and joining Hands with my Peggy, as we have Hearts before, I hope! I am sure I speak for one. John Arthur, in the good Ship Elizabeth, Capt. Winterton, which is returning to England, (as I hope we shall soon) promises to deliver this into your own dear Hand; and he will bring you too, Six Bottles of Citron-water as a Token of my Love. It is fit for the finest Ladies Taste, it is so good; and it is what, they saly, Ladies drink, when they can get it.
John says, he will have one sweet Kiss of my dearest Peggy, for his Care and Pains. So let him, my best Love; for I am not of a jealous Temper. I have a better Opinion of my Dearest, than so.—But, Oh! that I was in his Place!—One Kiss should not serve my Turn, tho' I hope it may his!—Yet, if he takes two, I'll forgive him; one for me, and one for himself. For I love John dearly; and so you may well think. Well, what shall I say more?—Or rather what shall I say next? For I have an hundred things crouding in upon me, when I write to my Dearest; and, alas! one has so few Opportunities!—But yet I must leave off; for I have written to the Bottom of my Paper. Love then to all Friends; and Duty to both our Mothers, concludes me
Your faithful Lover till Death.
LETTER CXXVII. Her Answer.
Dear William,
FOR so I may call you now we are sure; and so my Mother says. This is to let you know, that nothing shall prevail upon me to alter my Pro|mise made to you, when we parted: With heavy Hearts enough, that's true. And yet I had a little Inkling given me, that Mr. Alford's Son the Car|penter would be glad to make Love to me: But, do you think I would suffer it? No, indeed! For I doubt not your Loyalty to me, and do you think I will not be as loyal to you!—To be sure I will. These Sailors run such sad Chances, said one that you and I both know. They may return, and they may not. Well, I will trust in God for that, who has returned safe to his Friends, their dear Billy, so many a time, and often. They will have a Mistress in every Land they come to, said they. All are not such naughty Men, said I, and I'll trust Billy Oliver all the World over. For why cannot Men be as faithful as Women, tro'? And for me, I am sure no Love shall ever touch my Heart but yours.
God send us a happy Meeting! Let who will speak against Sailors; they are the Glory and the Safe|guard of the Land. And what would have become of Old England long ago but for them? I am sure the lazy good-for-nothing Land-lubbers would never have protected us from our cruel Foes. So Sailors are and ever shall be esteemed by me; and, of all Sailors, my dear Billy Oliver. Believe this Truth from
Your faithful, &c.
LETTER CXXVIII. A Sea-Officer to his Wife.
Port-Mahon, October 31.
My dear Life,
I TAKE the Opportunity afforded me by Captain Copythorne, who is returning to England, to let you know that I am in perfect Health at pre|sent, God be praised; tho' I have, with many of the Crew, been down of the Bloody-Flux, occa|sioned by being a little too free with the new Wines and Fruit of these Countries; and yet I thought I was very moderate in both. Our Captain continues very civil and kind, and places his prin|cipal Confidence in me; and I endeavour so to be|have on the Occasion, as to avoid incurring the Envy of every one; and indeed, have the good Fortune to be generally respected.
Captain Copythorne is so kind as to carry to you a Token of my Affection; which is a small Parcel of Cyprus Wine, that I believe will be agreeable to your best Friend Mrs. Simpson, to whom therefore you may present half, and keep the other for your own Use. The Captain has also Fifty Dollars to present you with, from me, only paying out of them the Duty for the Wine; for it is but just that it should be so, if he cannot meet with Favour in so small a Parcel; for what the Law of the Land, which protects us all, gives to the King, is as much his Due, (however other
People act) as any Part of my private Property, which is secured to me by the same Law, is mine: And I am convinc'd, that if every one acted up to this just Principle, there need not be so many Taxes as there are; and the fair Trader, and all honest Men, would be the better for it. I hope, my dear Jackey and Nancy continue in good Health, and dutiful, and come on in their Schooling; for that will stand them in stead, per|haps, when the poor Matters we are enabled to do for them, may not be worth trusting to.
I long to see my dear Betty. God give us a happy Meeting, if it be his blessed Will. But, I believe, it will hardly be till we have humbled the proud Jack Spaniard: Which God also grant. For that Nation has been very vile and base to us honest Englishmen. This concludes me at present
Your ever-loving Husband,
Love and Service to all Friends.
LETTER CXXIX. A Wife to her Husband at Sea.
My Dear,
I Think it a long Time since I have had the Com|fort and Satisfaction of hearing of your Wel|fare. Often and often do I reflect on the Unhap|piness of us poor Women, who are marry'd to Sea|faring Men. Every Wind that blows, every Pirate we hear of, and now, in Time of War, every Hour of our Lives, the Dread of Enemies, alarms us. God's Providence is our Reliance, and so it ought; for nothing else can sustain us thro' our different Apprehensions every Day we live. But to be sure the Unhappiness is still greater to
such as love one another, as we always did. I hope, when it shall please God to return you safe to my Wishes, that you will take no more of these very long Voyages, if you can help it. The Trips to Hotland or France are so pretty, that they rather add to than diminish one's Comforts: But, Oh, these long, long Voyages! Yet, in Time of War, People cannot do as they will. And I must be contented; and the more, when I see that the fine Ladies of Captains, Commodores, and Admirals, are no better off than your poor Jenny We have had the Misfortune to lose Uncle James since you went: He was a Landman, out of the Dangers you run; yet, as I hope, God has preserved you, while he is dead and gone. So we see there is nothing to be said for it, when our Time is come. They talk of my Aunt's marrying again, and she has a Courtier comes to her, be|cause she is aforehand in the World, and yet Uncle James has not yet been dead three Months. Fie upon her, I say, tho' she is my Aunt! for she had a good Husband of him. As to you and I, my Dear, I hope God will spare us to one another; for you are my First Love, and shall be my Last. Cousin Barns had the Misfortune to break his Leg, but is in a good way. Jenny Adams is to be marry'd next Week to John Lascells. This is all the News among our Acquaintance; for I am sure it is none, to tell you, that I am
Your faithful and loving Wife.
LETTER CXXX. To a Father, on his Neglect of his Childrens Education.
Dear Sir,
I AM under a Concern to see such a Remissnes•• as every body takes notice of, in the Education of your Children. They are brought up, 'tis true, to little Offices in your Business, which keep them active, and may make them in some degree of pre|sent, tho' poor Use to you; but, I am sorry to say, of none to themselves, with regard to their future Prospects, which is what a worthy Parent always has in View.
There is a proper Time for every thing; and Children are not early initiated into their D••…••…, and those Parts of Learning which are proper to their particular Years, they must necessarily be discouraged, and set behind every one of their School fellows, tho' much younger than themselves; and you know not, Sir, what a laudable Emulation you by this means destroy, than which nothing is of greater Force to Children, to induce them to attend to their Book; nor what a Disgrace you involve them in with respect to Children among Children, for the Biggest and Eldest to be so much out-done by the Least and Youngest.
Nor is the Consequence of this Defect confin'd to the School-age, as I may call it; for as they grow up, they will be look'd upon in an equally discouraging and disadvantageous Light, by all who converse with them: Which must of course throw them into the Company of the Dregs of Man|kind; for how will they be able to converse or correspond with those whose Acquaintance it is
most worth their while to cultivate? And indeed they will probably be so conscious of their Unfit|ness to bear a Part in worthy Conversation, that, to keep themselves in Countenance, they will, of their own Accord, shun the better Company, and associate with the worst: And what may be the Consequence of this, a wise Man, and a good Father, would tremble to think of, especially when he has to reflect upon himself as the Cause of it, let it be what it will. Then, Sir, it is to be consider'd, that without a tolerable Education, they can be only fit for mean and sordid Employments. Hear what the Wise Man says to this very Purpose:
"How can he get Wisdom, that holdeth the Plough, and that glorieth in the Goad, that driveth Oxen, and is occupied in their Labours, and whose Talk is of Bullocks? He giveth his Mind to make Furrows, and is diligent to give the Kine Fodder. So every Carpenter and Workmaster that labour|eth Night and Day—The Smith also sitting by the Anvil, and considering the Iron-work, the Vapour of the Fire wasteth his Flesh—The Noise of the Hammer and the Anvil is ever in his Ears—So doth the Potter sitting at his Work, and turning the Wheel about with his Feet—He fashioneth the Clay with his Arm, and boweth down his Strength before his Feet."These, as he observes, are useful in their Way; but their Minds being wholly engrossed by their Labours,"they shall not be sought for in publick Council, nor sit high in the Congregation—they cannot declare Justice and Judgment, and they shall not be found where Parables are spoken."That is, they shall be confined to the Drudgery of their own servile Station, and will be intitled neither to Honour nor Respect, as they might
have been, had they had an Education to qualify them for more respectable Businesses. And you will consider, Sir, in a closer Light, as to us who live in the present Age, and in this great City, that there is hardly a creditable or profitable Em|ployment in London, where a tolerable Knowledge of Accounts, and Penmanship, in particular, is not required. Consider also what Opportunities they may lose by this Neglect of their Education, in case they should fail in the Business they are put to, of getting comfortable and genteel Bread in some Merchant's Compting-house, or in some one of the several Offices about this great Metropolis; as Book-keepers, Clerks, Accomptants, &c. And with regard more immediately to yourself, how can you expect, when they know you could do better for them, but that their Behaviour to you will be of a Piece with the rest? for if they are not polish'd by Learning, but are left to a kind of Instinct rather, is it to be expected, that they should behave to you, and their Mother, with that Sense of their Obligations which Learning incul|cates? Nor indeed will they have those Obligations to you, which other Children have to their Parents, who take care to give them Opportunities of Im|provement, which are deny'd to yours. Consider, dear Sir, what a contemptible Character, even among the sordid Vulgar, that of an illiterate Fellow is; and what Respect, on the contrary, a Man of Letters is treated with, by his Equals, as well as Inferiors: And when you lay all these plain Reasons and Observations together, I make no doubt but you will endeavour to retrieve lost Time, and be advised in this material Point (which I can have no Interest in) by
Your sincere Friend and Servant.
LETTER CXXXI. From a young Maiden, abandon'd by her Lover for the sake of a greater Fortune.
Mr. John,
I MUST take up my Pen and write, tho' perhaps you will only scoff at me for so doing; but when I have said what I have to say, then I shall have eased my Mind, and will endeavour to forget you for ever. I have had so many Cautions given me against the false Hearts of Men, and was so often told how they will vow and forswear them|selves, that I ought to have been on my Guard, that's true: And indeed, so I was a great while: You know it well. But you courted me so long, vowed so earnestly, and seem'd so much in Love with me, that it was first Pity in me, that made me listen to you; and, Oh! this nasty Pity, how soon did it bring—But I won't say Love neither. I thought, if all the young Men in the World besides proved false, yet it was impossible you should. Ah! poor silly Creature that I was, to think, tho' every body flatter'd me with being sightly enough, I could hold a Heart so sordidly bent on Interest, as I always saw yours to be; but that, thought I, tho' 'tis a Meanness I don't like, yet will it be a Security of his making a frugal Husband in an Age so fruitful of Spendthrifts.
But at length it has proved, that you can prefer Polly Bambridge, and leave poor me, only because she has a greater Portion than I have.
I say nothing against Polly. I wish her well. Indeed I do. And I wish you no Harm neither. But as you knew Polly before, why could you not have made to yourself a Merit with her, without
going so far with me? What need you have so often begg'd and pray'd, sigh'd and vow'd, (never leaving me, Day nor Night) till you had got me foolishly to believe and pity you? And so, after your Courtship to me was made a Town-talk, then you could leave me to be laugh'd at by every one I slighted for you! Was this just, was this well done, think you? Here I cannot go out of Doors but I have some one or other simpering and sneering at me; and I have had two Willow-garlands sent me; so I have—But what poor Stuff, in some of my own Sex too, is this, to laugh at and deride me for your Base|ness? I can call my Heart to witness to my Virtue in Thought, in Word, and in Deed; and must I be ridicul'd for a false one, who gives him|self Airs at my Expence, and at the Expence of his own Truth and Honour? Indeed you cannot say the least Ill of me, that's my Comfort. I defy the World to say any thing to blast my Cha|racter: Why then should I suffer in the World's Eye, for your Baseness?—
I seek not to move you to return to the Fidelity you have vow'd; for by this Time, may hap, you'd be as base to Polly as you have been to me, if you did; and I wish her no Willow-garlands, I'll assure you. But yet, let me desire you to speak of me with Decency: That is no more than I deserve, well you know. Don't, to brave-thro' the Perfidy you have been guilty of, mention me with such Fleers, as, I hear, you have done to seve|ral; and pray call me none of your poor dear Girls! And, I hope she won't take it to Heart, poor Thing!—with that Insolence that so little becomes you, and I have so little deserved. I thought to have appeal'd to your Conscience, on what has passed between us, when I began. I thought to have
put the Matter home to you! But I have run out into this Length, and now don't think it worth while to write much more: For what is Conscience to a Man who could vow as you have done, and act as you have done? Go then, Mr. John, naughty Man as you are! I will try to forget you for ever. Rejoice in the Smiles of your Polly Bambridge, and glad your Heart with the Possession of an Hundred or Two of Pounds more than I have; and see what you'll be the richer or happier a few Years hence. I wish no Harm to you. Your Conscience will be a greater Trouble to you than I wish it to be, if you are capable of reflecting. And for your sake, I will henceforth set myself up to be an Adviser to all my Sex, never to give Ear to a Man, unless they can be sure, that his Interest will be a Security for his pre|tended Affection to them. I am, tho' greatly in|jured and deceived, naughty Mr. John,
Your Well-wisher.
LETTER CXXXII. From a Gentleman to his Mistress, who seeing no Hopes of Success, respectfully withdraws his Suit.
MADAM,
I MAKE no doubt but this will be the welcomest Letter that you ever received from me; for it comes to assure you, that it is the last Trouble you will ever have from me. Nor should I have so long with-held from you this Satisfaction, had not the Hope your Brother gave me, that in time I might meet with a happier Fate, made me willing
to try every way to obtain your Favour. But I see, all the Hopes given me by his kind Con|sideration for me, and those that my own Pre|sumption had made me entertain, are all in vain: And I will therefore rid you of so troublesome an Importuner, having nothing to offer now but my ardent Wishes for your Happiness; and these, Madam, I will pursue you with to my Life's latest Date. May you, whenever you shall change your Con|dition, meet with a Heart as passionately, and as sincerely devoted to you as mine! And may you be happy for many, very many Years, in the Man you can honour with your Love! For, give me leave to say, Madam, that in this, my End will be in part answer'd, because it was most sin|cerely your Happiness I had in View, as well as my own, when I presumptuously hoped, by contri|buting to the one, to secure the other. I am, Madam, with the highest Veneration,
Your most obedient humble Servant.
LETTER CXXXIII. From a Lady to a Gentleman, who had obtained all her Friends Consent, urging him to decline his Suit to her.
SIR,
YOU have often importuned me to return Marks of that Consideration for you, which you profess for me. As my Parents, to whom I owe all Duty, encourage your Address, I wish I could. I am hardly treated by them, because I cannot. What shall I do? Let me apply to you, Sir, for my
Relief, who have much good Sense, and, I hope, Generosity. Yes, Sir, let me bespeak your Hu|manity to me, and Justice to yourself, in this Point; and that shall be all I will ask in my Favour. I own you deserve a much better Wife than I shall ever make; but yet, as Love is not in one's own Power, if I have the Misfortune to know I can|not love you, will not Justice to yourself, if not Pity to me, oblige you to abandon your present Purpose? But as to myself, Sir, Why should you make a poor Creature unhappy in the Displeasure of all her Friends at present, and still more unhappy, if, to avoid that, she gives up her Person, where she can|not bestow her Heart? If you love me, as you profess, let me ask you, Sir, Is it for my sake, or is it for your own?—If for mine, how can it be, when I must be miserable, if I am forced to marry where I cannot love?—If for your own, reflect, Sir, on the Selfishness of your Love, and judge if it deserves from me the Return you wish.
How sadly does this Love already operate! You love me so well, that you make me miserable in the Anger of my dearest Friends!—Your Love has already made them think me undutiful, and instead of the Fondness and Endearment I used to be treated with by them, I meet with nothing but Chidings, Frowns, Slights, and Displeasure.
And what is this Love of yours to do for me hereafter?—Why hereafter, Sir, it will be turned to Hatred, or Indifference at least: For then, tho' I cannot give you my Heart, I shall have given you a Title to it, and you will have a lawful Claim to its Allegiance. May it not then, nay ought it not to be treated on the Foot of a Rebel, and expect Punishment as such, instead of Tenderness? Even were I to be treated with Mercy, with Goodness,
with Kindness by you, and could not deserve or return it, what a Wretch would your Love make me! How would it involve me in the crying Sin of Ingratitude! How would it destroy my Repu|tation in the World's Eye, that the best of Husbands had the worst of Wives!—The kindest of Men, the unkindest of Women!— Cease then, I beseech you, this hopeless, this cruel Pursuit!—Make some worthier Person happy with your Addresses, that can be happy in them!—By this means, you will restore me (if you decline as of your own Motion) to the Con|dition you found me in, the Love of my Parents, and the Esteem of my Friends. If you really love me, this may be a hard Task; but it will be a most generous one—And there is some Reason to expect it; for who, that truly loves, wishes to make the Object of his Love miserable? This must I be, if you persist in your Address; and I shall know by your Conduct on Occasion of this uncommon Request, how to consider it, and in what Light to place you, either as the most ge|nerous or the most ungenerous of Men. Mean time I am, Sir, most heartily, tho' I cannot be what you would have me,
Your Well-wisher, and humble Servant.
LETTER CXXXIV. The Gentleman's Answer to the Lady's uncom|mon Request.
Dear Madam,
I AM exceedingly concerned, that I cannot be as acceptable to you, as I have the good For|tune to find myself to your honoured Parents. If,
Madam, I had Reason to think it was owing to your Prepossession in some happier Man's Favour, I should utterly despair of it, and should really think it would be unjust to myself, and ungenerous to you, to continue my Address. As therefore you have, by your Appeal to me, in so uncommon a way, endeavour'd to make me a Party against myself, and I have shewn so much Regard to you, as to be willing to oblige you, as far as I can, may I not hope the Favour of you to declare generously, whe|ther I owe my Unhappiness to such a Prepossession, and whether your Heart is given to some other?—If this be the Case, you shall find all you wish on my Part; and I shall take a Pride to plead against myself, let me suffer ever so much by it, to your Father and Mother: But if not, and you have taken any other Disgusts to my Person or Be|haviour, that there may be Hope my utmost Affec|tion and Assiduity, or a contrary Conduct, may, in time, get the better of, let me implore you to permit me still to continue my zealous Respects to you; for this I will say, that there is not a Man in the World who can address you with a sincerer and more ardent Flame, than, dear Madam, Your affectionate Admirer, and humble Servant.
LETTER CXXXV. The Lady's Reply, in case of a Prepossession.
SIR,
I Thank you for your kind Assurance, that you will befriend me in the manner I wish; and I think I owe it to your Generosity to declare, that there is a Person in the World, that, might I be left to my own Choice, I should prefer to all other
Men. To this, Sir, it is owing, that your Address cannot meet with the Return it might otherwise deserve from me. Yet are Things so circumstanc'd, that while my Friends prefer you, and know nothing of the other, I should find it very difficult to obtain their Consents. But your generous Discontinu|ance, without giving them the true Reason for it, will lay an Obligation greater than I can ex|press, on Your most humble Servant.
LETTER CXXXVI. The Lady's Reply in case of no Prepossession, or that she chuses not to avow it.
SIR,
I AM sorry to say, that my Disapprobation of your Address is insuperable—yet cannot I but think myself beholden to you for the Generosity of your Answer to my earnest Request. I must beg you, Sir, to give over your Application; but how can I say, while I cannot help being of this Mind, that it is or is not owing to Prepossession; when you declare, that, in the one Instance, (and that is very generous too) you will oblige me; but in the other you will not? If I cannot return Love for Love, be the Motive what it will, pray, Sir, for your own sake, as well as mine, discontinue your Address—In case of Prepossession, you say you can, and you will oblige me: Let my Un|worthiness, Sir, have the same Effect upon you, as if that Prepossession were to be avow'd. This will inspire me with a Gratitude that will always make me
Your most obliged Servant.
LETTER CXXXVII. A Lady to a Gentleman of superior Fortune, who, after a long Address in an honourable way, proposes to live with her as a Gallant.
SIR,
AFTER many unaccountable Hesitations, and concealed Meanings, that your Mind seem'd of late big with, but hardly knew how to express, you have, at last, spoken out all your Mind; and I know what I am to trust to! I have that Disdain of your Proposal that an honest Mind ought to have. But I wish, for my own sake, (and I will say, for yours too, because your Honour is concerned in it so deeply) that I had had, at my first Acquaintance with you, such an Instance of your Plain-dealing, or rather Baseness: Then I should have had no Regret in letting you know how much I scorn'd the Proposer, and the Proposal: Tho' I hope, as it is, a little Time and Reflection will make me, for the sake of the latter, abhor the former.
However, Sir, I must say, you are very cruel to use me thus, after you had, by all the alluring Professions of an honourable Love, inspired me with a grateful Return, and brought me to the Freedom of owning it—Nor yet will I be an Hypocrite, or deny my honest Passion; for that would be to lessen your Guilt. God is my Wit|ness, I loved you beyond all your Sex; yet I loved you virtuously; I loved you because I thought you virtuous. And now, tho' it may take some Time, and too much Regret, to get over, yet do I hope, your Behaviour will enable me to conquer my fond Folly.
Ungenerous Man! to take Advantage of your superior Fortune to insult me thus, when you had gain'd my Affections! What, tho' I am not blessed with a worldly Circumstance equal to what you might expect in a Wife, can you think my Mind so base as to submit to be yours on unworthy Terms? Go, unworthy Man, and make your Court to Miss Reynolds, as you seem to threaten. She has a Fortune equal to your own, and may you be happy together! I should have been so, had I never known you. I never deceived you: You knew my scanty Fortune, and yet pretended to prefer me to all my Sex. On me you might have laid the highest Obli|gation, by raising me to a Condition I was humble enough to think above me; and I should have been, on that account, all Gratitude, all Duty, all Acknowledgment. On Miss Reynolds you will confer none; her Fortune will quit Scores with yours, and you must both, in your Union, be Strangers to the inexpressible Pleasure of receiving or conferring of Benefits: But this is a Pleasure which none but generous Minds can taste: That yours is not so, witness your detested Proposal, after such solemn Professions of faithful and ho|nourable Love. And I have one Consolation, tho' a Consolation I did not wish for, that I am under no Obligation, but the contrary, to such a Man. And am as much your Superior, as the Person who would do no Wrong, is to one that will do nothing else. Send me, however, my Let|ters, that I may be assured my fond Credulity will not be the Subject of fresh Insult, and that perhaps to the Person that shall be what you made me expect I should be. I will send you all yours, the last only excepted. Which, as it may assist me to conquer my fond Folly for you, I hope you'll
allow me to keep, tho' it is the Abhorr'd of my Soul—May you be happier than you have made me!—is the last Prayer you will have from Your too credulous Well-wisher.
LETTER CXXXVIII. A Father to a Daughter in Service, on hearing of her Master's attempting her Virtue.
My dear Daughter,
I Understand with great Grief of Heart, that your Master has made some Attempts on your Virtue, and yet that you stay with him. God grant that you have not already yielded to his base Desires! For when once a Person has so far for|gotten what belongs to himself, or his Character, as to make such an Attempt, the very Continuance with him, and in his Power, and under the same Roof, is an Encouragement to him to prosecute his Designs. And if he carries it better, and more civil, at present, it is only the more certainly to undo you when he attacks you next. Consider, my dear Child, your Reputation is all you have to trust to. And if you have not already, which God forbid! yielded to him, leave it not to the Hazard of another Temptation; but come away directly (as you ought to have done on your own Motion) at the Command of
Your grieved and indulgent Father.
LETTER CXXXIX. The Daughter's Answer.
Honoured Father,
I Received your Letter Yesterday, and am sorry I stay'd a Moment in my Master's House after his vile Attempt. But he was so full of his Pro|mises, of never offering the like again, that I hoped I might believe him; nor have I yet seen any thing to the contrary: But am so much con|vinced, that I ought to have done as you say, that I have this Day left the House; and hope to be with you soon after you will have received this Letter. I am
Your dutiful Daughter.
LETTER CXL. To a Gentleman of Fortune, who has Children, dissuading him from a Second Marriage with a Lady much younger than himself.
Worthy Sir,
YOU are pleased to inform me of your Thoughts in relation to a Change of your Condition, and to command me to give you freely my Opinion of the Conveniencies and Inconveniencies, that may follow from the Inequality of Years between you, and the young Lady you think of making your second Wife. Indeed, I am so much con|cerned for your Happiness, that had I heard of such your Intention, and had not your Commands to be free on this Head, I think I should have run
the Risque of being thought impertinent and offi|cious, rather than not have expostulated with you on this Occasion. My Objections, Sir, are not so much to the Gaiety of the Lady, as to her Youth, and the Children you have already by your late excellent Lady: And when you remember, that Miss Fanny, your eldest Daughter, is near as old as the Lady you think to make her Mother, I beg, Sir, you will consider how your Reputation, as to Prudence, will suffer in the Eye of the World without you, as well as the Look it will have to your Children and Domesticks. Nature, Justice, Decency, and every Branch of human Prudence, plead strongly against the Union of lively Youth with maturer Years. Her Temper may be very agreeable: So indeed is yours—But may they be so to each other, when they meet together in so close an Union? You are yet blest with a good State of Health; but can you expect, that it will be always so?—Or rather, will not every Year take from your Constitution, what it will add to hers, for several Years to come? Your Years make you serious and solemn, and you are past a Relish for those Pleasures and Amuse|ments, which are but suitable to hers, and which at the same Age you yourself delighted in. Can you recall Time past? Will it become you to re|sume the Part which Judgment has made you quit? How aukwardly, if you attempt it, will you do this! What Censure will this subject you to? How will it embolden the gay young Fellows to make Attempts, that may, notwithstanding the most unexceptionable Conduct in the Lady, give you great Uneasiness?
If you cannot join in the innocent Gaieties which you have long disused, it would be, in some measure, cruel, to deprive a young Lady of her Share of them,
at an Age that will naturally make her expect and require them: And yet will not even innocent Liberties be Matter of Reproach to her, and Un|easiness to you, if she takes them without you? And would you chuse to bear her Company, and indulge a young-old Taste, for gay Scenes long contemn'd, and so appear in a Light, to all that beheld you together, either as her Father, or her jealous Keeper, and make it look to the World as if you yourself doubted her Virtue out of your own Presence? Suppose the Scene at a gallant Comedy, that sprightly free Joke which will make her smile, will make you frown; and so on in every other Scene of Life and Amusement between you. For a Defect or Inequality of whatever Kind, when|ever a Man is conscious of it, let him carry it off as he may, will always be present with him, and, like another Conscience, stare him in the Face. Your Fortune, 'tis true, is so considerable, that you may amply provide for all your Children, and yet make it worth a young Lady's while, who would study her Interest, preferably to any other Consideration, to oblige you: But, Sir, let me ask you, Can you, who lived so happily with your late dear Lady, and had such constant Proofs of her inviolable Affection to your Person, content yourself with a counterfeit Passion, a mere selfish Affection in a Wife? And can you think, that so young a Lady can love you, like her who grew on in Life, in Hope, in Desires with you; and who, from a reciprocal Youth passed agreeably together, grew equally mature, and had both but one View between you; to wit, a young Family growing up, the common Offspring of your mutual Affe|ctions; and who were the binding, and, so long as her Life lasted, the indissoluble Cement of your Loves and your Interests?—If she can, she will be
a Contradiction to all Experience, and you will be happy against all reasonable Expectation—If she cannot, will you be content with a selfish, an in|terested Civility, instead of true Love; and which cannot possibly so much as look like Love, but by the Dissimulation and Hypocrisy of your Bosom Companion?— When I look back on what I have written, I begin to be afraid of your Displeasure on a double Account; for the Nature, and for the Length of this Epistle, tho' you have commanded me to speak my Mind. Yet having several other material Points to touch upon, and relying upon your Ex|cuse for my good Intentions, (for what View can I have in the Liberty I take, but your Happiness?) I will beg Leave to pursue the Subject in another Letter; and to conclude this, tho' a little ab|ruptly, with the Assurance, that (as your request) nobody shall see what I write but yourself; and that I am, Sir,
Your affectionate humble Servant.
LETTER CXLI. The same Subject pursued.
SIR,
I WILL now take the Liberty to continue my Subject, and my humble Expostulations upon it: And I will suppose two Cases very, if not equally probable; to wit, that you may, or may not, have Children by your new Lady; and to judge in both Cases, how the Happiness of your remaining Life may be affected by either. In the first place, if you should have Children by her, (to say nothing of the Misunderstandings and Jea|lousies
this may create between your Lady, and your present Children, which may greatly affect your own Happiness) are you so well able to sup|port, at these Years, with Credit and Satisfaction, that Character which so peculiarly befits a young Husband to a young Wife? And will it not natu|rally strike you, that your own Children by that time will make a better Figure in such a Circum|stance than yourself? Will you be so well able to go thro' the same Troubles, the same Anxieties, the same Hopes, Fears, and Affections, both to the pregnant Mother, and afterwards to the Infant Progeny, that you have so happily got over? And will not what was then called laudable Love, be now deemed Dotage and Uxoriousness? Providence seems to have design'd the youthful Portion of a Man's Life, for mutual Endearments, and Propagation of his Family; the maturer Part, for Education, Counsel or Advice. And will you, Sir, invert the Design of it? Will you call back the Days of Sense, into the Years of Intellect; watch over the Baby in the Cradle, when you should form the Mind of the grown Person?—How unequal will you be to this Part, to what you once were?—As you will not have the same Dispositions about you, you cannot have the same Joy at a pleasing Incident; but will have possibly a superadded Weight of Sorrow on any sad Event, as Years will have added to your Reflection, as Expe|rience will have contracted your Hope, and as you will have seen the Vanity of all worldly Expectations.
Then, my dear Sir, consider, if you should even get over this resumed Province happily, and have no material Uneasiness from the Lady, on the Account I have intimated to you: Is it not too probable, that you may not live to see this young Race brought up? And if you should, what Ani|mosities,
what Uneasinesses may not ensue, from the different Interests into which your Family will be divided? And it may, moreover, be possible for you to have Grandchildren older than some of your own by your new Lady. But if we suppose, that the Occasion for this may not happen, will the Matter be mended by it?—All young Ladies expect and wish for Children, when they marry. If she should not have any, she will hardly be induced to think it her Fault; but the Difference of Years will tell her, and all the World will join in it, where to lay the Blame, deserved or not. She will, for want of so necessary an Employment, look abroad for Amusements and Diversions, which, however innocent in her first Intentions, may not always end so; and if they do, will be very unsuitable to your Disposition and Liking. Childbed matronizes the giddiest Spirits, and brings them to Reflection sooner than any other Event. Its Consequences fill up the Time, and introduce different Scenes of Pleasure and Amusement in the Mind of a Lady. It draws her Attention to more serious Affairs, it domesticates her, as I may say, and makes her associate with graver Persons, and such as are in the same Scenes of Life. But where this is not, she continues her youthful and giddy Acquaintance, classes herself as to her Company and Diversions, as if in the single State still, and looks for Amusements out of her|self, and out of your House: And you will be obliged to connive at a good deal more than you otherwise would, because the Difference of Years will give as much Consciousness to you, as it will Presumption to her; and if there be any Grievance between you, she'll think, after all you can do, it is of her Side. Nor will Time and Years mend the Matter; but, contrarily, make it worse and worse.
Then another Inconvenience may arise: The Lady, if she has no Children by you, to prevent lying at the Mercy of yours, as she will call it, will be making a separate Interest to herself: She will grow upon your Indulgence and Fondness; she will cajole, she will reproach, she will tieze you into Acts of Bounty and Profusion to her. She will endeavour to build up a Fortune out of yours, to the Prejudice of your Family. And all this for what End?—Only to make her a rich Widow, and to give her Opportunity to triumph, in Con|junction perhaps with some young Rake or Profli|gate, over your Ashes, and to make Comparisons grievous to Reflection, at the Expence of your For|tune and Memory, in the new Man's Favour. Forgive me, dear Sir, these free Hints. My full Mind, which is thus ready to overflow thro' the Zeal I have for your Honour and Welfare, sug|gests many more to me, which your cool Reflection will not want. And I have been already so prolix, that I will only farther say, that I am, and shall ever be,
Your faithful and most affectionate Friend and Servant.
LETTER CXLII. Against a Second Marriage, where there are Children on both Sides.
Dear Sir,
YOU ask my Opinion as to the Thoughts you have entertained of making your Addresses to the Widow Lockyer. Do you really ask it with an Intent to take it? Or, like the Generality of the World, only in hopes that my Judgment falling in
with your own, may be a kind of Justification or Excuse for what you intend to do, and are, per|haps, already resolved upon? If so, what do you do, but lay a Snare for me, which may put an End to our Friendship? For Men least of all bear Con|troul or Contradiction in Points of this Nature, when their Hearts are actually determined; and then Indifference begins, and Disgust ends the best|cemented Friendships. To say the Truth, I never was a Friend to Second Marriages, where there are Children on one Side, and a Likelihood of more; but, especially, where there are Children on both. I have nothing to say, as to the Person or Character of the Lady. You, whom it most concerns, are well satisfy'd of both, or you would not have gone so far, as to ask a Friend's Advice on this Occasion: But since you do put it to me, I will throw a few Reasons together, which have always had Weight with me on these Occasions; and I hope, you'll not think the worse of your Friend, if he happen to differ a little from your own Judgment.
It must be confess'd, in the Case you put, That the Circumstances on both Sides, are pretty equal. That there is no great Disparity in Years. That she has Three Children, and you have Four; a round Family, however, when they come toge|ther! That she is very fond of her Children, and you, at present, of yours. That you are not an ill-temper'd Man, and she is a good-temper'd Wo|man; and was a loving Wife to her late Spouse, as you were an affectionate Husband to yours. Well, so far is very well, and, you'll think perhaps, very promising of a happy Union; and possibly you may think right; at least you have much better Grounds for it, than many that do marry upon much worse and more unequal Prospects.
But consider, Sir, what Security have you, that Persons who have been always good-temper'd, when they have nothing to thwart or try their Temper, will be still so, when they have some|thing that will?—Here, at the very Threshold of this Adventure, is a Cause of great Trial; a Trial which neither of you had before, and con|sequently, which neither of you know how you shall behave in: She loves her Children. So she ought. You love yours. It is right so to do. But see you not, before I speak, that this laudable separate Love of either, may become matter of great Uneasiness to both? You cannot, either of you, possibly expect more than common Civility, and outside Kindness, from the other, she to yours, you to hers. And it will be happy enough if this Task do not sufficiently try the Discretion of both. It is impossible, my Friend, but you must have very different Views on each other—A pretty Pro|spect to set out with in a matrimonial Adventure! Her Praises of her own Children will be very sin|cere and lavish. Her Praises of yours, if she ever praises, will be very suspicious and sparing. And perhaps you must be as discreet as possible, in the Praises of your own. The very Cloaths each wear, the Victuals they eat, nay, the very Looks of either Parent, as they shall appear kind to their own, or reserved to the other's, will afford room for in|ward Heart-burnings, if not outward Janglings. I have seen many Instances of these kinds.
Their different Capacities; one shall take their Learning, another not—Their different Tempers; one shall be mild, another insulting: one smooth, another rough—Their different Ages; which will make one dictate, while the other will not be prescribed to—Will all afford Cause of Dif|ference; and when they come to an Age fit for
setting them out in the World; if Boys, to Ap|prentice; You put Jackey to a better Trade than Tommy, and give more Money with him! And yet one Trade or Master may apparently deserve or require it; the other, not. If Girls, in Matri|mony; Why should Betsey be married before Thomasine?—Let the Eldest go first! Tho' perhaps the one has an humble Servant, the other none—Ay, I see poor Thomasine must be contented with any body, or any thing, while Betsey must be a Lady!—These are all still fresh Causes of Dif|ference and Uneasiness to you both. Then will she actually, or you will suspect it, (and that is as bad to your Peace) be constantly progging, as the Women call it, for her Children, in order to make a private Purse for them, on any Occasion that may happen, or in case she shall outlive you.
And if there be a third Race of Children from this Marriage, worse and worse still. Then the two former Sets, if they never joined together before, now will make a common Cause, in this single Point, against the new Race; and must not this double your own and your Wife's Comforts, think you?—Then must you be glad to lessen your Family at home, that you may lessen the Number of so many Spies and Enemies to your Repose. The Boys must be hurry'd out to the first Thing that offers for them, whether suitable or unsuitable to their Genius or Capacity; and they generally thrive accordingly: The Girls to the first Man that will take them, whether he can provide for them or not, as he ought; and after a while they may come back to you, tho' fitted out with a great Expence, quite destitute and undone, with a farther Increase to your Family; the too frequent Consequences of precipitate Marriages. And then
will a new Scene commence; for all the unprovided-for, will join against the poor unhappy one. This, you'll say, is looking a great way forward. It is so. And what may never happen. Possibly it never may, as to the last Case; but as it too often has happen'd, and daily does happen, a wise Man will think a little about it, while it is in his Power to prevent it all.
I have touch'd but upon a few of the Conse|quences that may too probably follow from a new Engagement. Yet, I believe, these, if you are not absolutely determin'd, will make you think a little; if you are, why then, all the Rea|sons that can be urged will signify nothing. And in this Case, you should not have laid a Snare for me to disoblige a Person who is to step in be|tween your Friendship and mine, and who will look upon me, if she knows my Mind, (as very probably she will; for I hardly ever knew a Secret of this kind kept) as her Enemy, and so create a Coolness and Indifference between us, which you cannot help if you would. For if ever it be so, and your Lady receives me, in a way that I have not been used to in your House, I shall be very shy of visiting either you or her.
If you require it, and it will have any Effect upon you, I can enter still farther into this Subject; but I fansy I have said enough, and perhaps more than you'll thank me for. But be that as it will, I have answer'd your Request; and shewn you, (peradventure, at the Expence of my Discretion) that I am, in all Things,
Your sincere Friend and Well-wisher.
LETTER CXLIII. Against a second Marriage, where there are Chil|dren on one Side, and a Likelihood of more.
Dear Sir,
YOU are inclined, you tell me, to give your Children a Mother, instead of the good one they have lost; or rather, in plain English, you should have said, yourself a Wife, to supply your own Loss: And you ask my Opinion on the Sub|ject, without naming the Person, only intimating, that she is a maiden Lady, no more than Seven Years younger than yourself, and has a pretty middling Fortune.
I am glad you have not named the Lady; for now I shall stand clear of any Imputation of per|sonal Prejudice, let me say what I will. I will therefore freely tell you my Mind, that I am al|ways against second Marriages, where there are Children on one or both Sides, and likely to be more: Unless there are such worldly Reasons as make it absolutely prudent for a Person to marry to establish his Circumstances. This is not your Case: For you are very easy in the World; and besides, the Ladies of this Age are so brought up, that a Man must not look for very extraordinary Assist|ances in a Wife, with relation to her own Chil|dren, much less the Children of another Woman. Well, but this Lady is highly prudent, good-hu|mour'd, an excellent Oeconomist, and what not! And so they are all, my Friend; or at least, we are apt to persuade ourselves so, before they are marry'd.
But we'll suppose her all you say, and all you think; yet she will hardly, I presume, be divested
of the Passions common to human Nature. Can you expect, that tho' you give your Children a Mo|ther, you give them an own Mother? She may have Prudence enough to do what she will think her Duty by them, but must she not be her own Judge, of what that is?—And are you sure, that what she calls so, nay, and, for Peace-sake, what you will be willing to call so too, will be called so by your Children, as they grow up, and even by the rest of the World? But Children, you'll say, may be unreasonable and undutiful—Very well, Sir—we'll suppose it so; but will this make you happy, let them have Reason, or not, for their Surmises? And as she cannot plead Nature for the Regulator of her Conduct towards them, but common Civility, and Prudence only, at the very best; will there not be two to one on the Childrens Side, that they may be right? But whoever may be right or wrong, if you are made unhappy by it, that's the essential Point to you, who by this second Marriage have been the Cause of it all. This is most certain, her Views must be quite contrary to those of your Children: 'Tis true, theirs will of Consequence be likewise contrary to hers, and yet both may be very reasonable too, according to the Character of each. And is not this a pretty Situation for you, do you think? For which Side can you, must you take? The Children, as they grow up, will be jealous of ill Offices from her with you. She will interpret those things which a natural Mother would think nothing of, as studied Slights; and will not their constant Bickerings make you uneasy in your own Family, where Un|easiness is the least tolerable, as it is the Place to which a Man should retire for Comfort, when the World gives him Cause of Displeasure?
And what, pray, may this probably end in? Why, for Quietness-sake, you will possibly be ob|liged to separate them. The Mother-in-law, should she be in Fault, you cannot part with. The Children then must turn out, of course. You must study, after reconciling and patching up a hundred Breaches, to make some other Provision for them. And thus, perhaps, they are precipitated into a wide World, and exposed to a thousand dangerous Temptations; and how can you forgive yourself, if they should by this means become a Prey to the designing Attempts, the Boys, of vicious Women; the Girls, of profligate Men? And how would it have grieved the Heart of their indulgent Mother, could she have foreseen, that her beloved Spouse, instead of supplying the Loss of a Mother to them, should take from them his own immediate Pro|tection, and that perhaps at a Time of Life, when it was most necessary for their future Good? This may very probably be more or less the Case, if there be no other Difficulties, than what may arise between your Children and their Mother-in-law. But if, as is most likely, you should have Children by this your second Wife, the Case may be still worse. She will then look upon yours by your first, not only with a more indifferent, but probably with a jealous Eye. She will be continu|ally carking and laying up for her own, and grudge every thing you lay out upon the others. And when they are both grown up to any Bigness, what Clashings and Jarrings may not ensue between the Offspring of the same Father, and two different Mothers? How will you be obliged to give a Pre|ference to the Children of the latter Wife, against those of the former; because the Mother of the one Set is present and partial, and perhaps clamorous,
in their Favour—that of the other, absent, silent, dead, forgotten! If Love hides a Multitude of Faults, as no doubt it does, and Indifference, or, perhaps, as it may be, Hatred, is quick-sighted to every little Slip, how will hers be all Angels! Yours—the worst she can call them!—Yet how can you help this? You are married to the Temper, as well as to the Woman; and Opposition, 'tis likely, will but make matters worse; for what the Sex cannot carry by Reason or Argu|ment, they will by Obstinacy and Teizing.
Then in the Matter of making Provision respe|ctively for their future Good, how will your Soli|citudes for the one be constantly lessened; for the other perpetually importun'd? Nor must your own Judgment, in either Case, be so much the Rule of your Conduct, as the fond Partiality of your second Wife for hers. And it is far from being impossible, that she may use your first Children worse than she would do mere Strangers, for no other Reason, but because they have a better Title to your Regard, and stand more in the way of her Interest and Views.
These, my good Friend, are some of the Reasons I have to alledge against second Marriages, where there are Children on one Side, and a Probability of having a second Race. As I hinted, there may be Reasons, where a Person's Circumstances stand in need of the Assistance that may be procur'd by this means, to overbalance many of the Inconve|niencies I have hinted at. The lesser Evil in this Case is to be chosen, and the Party must make the best of the rest. But this is not your Case: And so I refer the Whole to your mature Con|sideration, and am, Sir,
Sincerely yours.
LETTER CXLIV. Advising a Friend against going to Law.
Dear Sir,
I AM sorry to hear, that the Difference between you and Mr. Archer is at last likely to be brought to a Law-suit. I wish you'd take it into your seri|ous Consideration before you begin, because it will hardly be in your Power to end it, when you please. For you immediately put the Matter out of your own Hands, into the Hands of those whose Interest it is to protract the Suit from Term to Term, and who will as absolutely prescribe to you in it, as your Physician in a dangerous Illness.
The Law, my good Friend, I look upon, more than any one thing, as the proper Punishment of an over-hasty and perverse Spirit, as it is a Punish|ment that follows an Act of a Man's own seeking and chusing. You will not consent perhaps now to submit the Matter in Dispute to Reference: but let me tell you, that after you have expended large Sums of Money, and squandered away a deal of Time in Attendance on your Lawyers, and Pre|parations for Hearings, one Term after another, you will probably be of another Mind, and be glad Seven Years hence to leave it to that Arbitration which now you refuse. He is happy who is wise by other Mens Misfortunes, says the common Adage: And why, when you have heard from all your Acquaintance, who have try'd the Experiment, what a grievous Thing the Law is, will you, notwith|standing, pay for that Wisdom, which you may have at the Cost of others?
The Representation that was once hung up as a Sign in the Rolls Liberty, on one Side, of a Man
all in Rags wringing his Hands, with a Label im|porting, That he had lost his Suit; and on the other, a Man that had not a Rag left, but stark naked, capering and triumphing, That he had carry'd his Cause* 148.1, was a fine Emblem of going to Law, and the infatuating Madness of a litigious Spirit. How excellent to this Purpose is the Advice of our Blessed SAVIOUR, rather than seek this Redress against any who would even take one's Coat, to give him his Cloak also? For, besides the Christian Doctrine inculcated by this Precept, it will be found, as the Law is managed, and the Un|certainty that attends it, even in the best-grounded Litigations, that such a pacifick Spirit may be deemed the only way to preserve the rest of one's Garments, and to prevent being stript to the Skin.
Moreover, what wise Man would rush upon a Proceeding, where the principal Men of the Pro|fession (tho' the Oath they take, if Serj_+_+nts, ob|liges them not to sign a sham Plea, nor plead in a Cause against their own Opinion) are not ashamed, under the specious, but scandalous Notion, of do|ing the best they can for their Client, to undertake, for the sake of a paltry Fee, to whiten over the blackest Cause, and to defeat the justest? Where your Property may depend altogether upon the Impudence of an eloquent Pleader asserting any thing, a perjured Evidence swearing whatever will do for his Suborner's Purpose? Where the Tricks and Mistakes of Practisers, and want of trifling Forms, may Nonsuit you? Where Deaths of Per|sons made Parties to the Suit, may cause all to begin again? What wise Man, I say, would sub|ject
himself to these Vexations and common In|cidents in the Law, if he could any way avoid it; together with the intolerable Expences and Attendances consequent on a Law-suit? Besides, the Fears, the Cares, the Anxieties, that revolve with every Term, and engross all a Man's Thoughts? Where legal Proofs must be given to the plainest Facts; that a living Man is living, and identi|cally himself; and that a dead Man is dead, and buried by Certificate; where Evidence must be brought at a great Expence to Hands and Seals affixed to Deeds and Receipts, that never were be|fore question'd; till a Cause shall be split into several Under-ones; these try'd Term by Term; and Years elapse before the main Point comes to be argued, tho' originally there was but one single Point, as you apprehended, in the Question. As to the Law-part only, observe the Process: First, comes the Declaration; 2dly, a Plea; 3dly, De|murrer to the Plea; 4thly, a Joinder in Demurrer; 5thly, a Rejoinder; 6thly, a Sur-rejoinder; which sometimes is conclusive, sometimes to begin all over again. Then may succeed Tryals upon the Law Part, and Tryals upon the Equity Part; oftentimes new Tryals, or Rehearings; and these followed by Writs of Error. Then you may be plung'd into the bottomless Gulf of Chancery, where you begin with Bills and Answers, containing Hundreds of Sheets at exor|bitant Prices, 15 Lines in a Sheet, and 6 Words in a Line, (and a Stamp to every Sheet) barefacedly so contrived to pick your Pocket: Then follow all the Train of Examinations, Interrogatories, Exceptions, Bills amended, References for Scandal and Imperti|nence, new Allegations, new Interrogatories, new Exceptions, on Pretence of insufficient Answers, Replies, Rejoinders, Sur-rejoinders, Butters, Rebut|ters,
and Sur-rebutters; till, at last, when you have danced thro' this blessed Round of Preparation, the Tryal before the Master of the Rolls comes next; Appeals follow from his Honour to the Chancellor; then from the Chancellor to the House of Lords; and sometimes the Parties are sent down from thence for a new Tryal in the Courts below—Good Heavens! What wise Man, permit me to repeat, would enter himself into this confounding Circle of the Law?— I hope, dear Sir, you will think of this Matter most deliberately, before you proceed in your present angry Purpose; and if you shall think proper to take my Advice, and avoid a Law-suit, I am sure you will have Reason to thank me for it, and for the Zeal wherewith I am
Your sincere Friend and Servant.
LETTER CXLV. To a young Lady, cautioning her against keep|ing Company with a Gentleman of a bad Character.
Dear Cousin,
THE great Respect I have, and always had for you, obliges me to take this Freedom, to let you know, that the Neighbourhood begins to talk pretty freely of you and Mr. Lory. You have been seen with him at the Play, and after that, at the R_+_+ Tavern, a House of no good Repute, I assure you; where you have staid with him till near Twelve o' Clock at Night: You have like|wise been with him at Vipont's at Hampstead, at Vaux-hall, Cuper's-gardens, Mary-le-bon, &c.
I am sorry for these Things, because he has none of the best of Characters; having, as I am well in|form'd, already ruin'd Two, if not Three, worthy Tradesmens Daughters: And it is but too probable, that he has no honourable Design upon you: For, whatever he may promise you, I am credibly assur'd, that he is actually engaged with Miss Knapper, whom you know very well: Indeed, it is said, he has 200 l. per Ann. but if it be so, he is very much involved in the World; and, at the Rate he lives, had he three times that Estate, would never be out of Debt; for he is downright extravagant, a Man of no Conduct, a perfect Rattle, whose Words are not to be rely'd on in any respect; and makes a common Boast of the Favours he has received from our Sex, whose faulty Fondness is the constant Subject of his Ridicule. For all these Reasons, I beg of you, dear Cousin, to avoid his Company; for tho' I am confident you will preserve your Virtue, yet, my Dear, think what you will, you may receive an incurable Wound in your Reputation. I hope you'll excuse this Liberty, which no other Motive but Zeal for your Credit and Welfare has occasioned. And be|lieve me to be
Your faithful Friend, as well as affectionate Cousin.
LETTER CXLVI. From a Mother to her high-spirited Daughter, who lives on uneasy Terms with her Husband.
Dear Nanny,
I AM sorry with all my Heart, to hear of the frequent Misunderstandings between your Hus|band and you. I hoped much better things from
your Prudence. From my Prudence, you'll say perhaps! as if I thought all the Fault was yours: But, my Dear, I don't think so, I can't think so; and yet I may find Fault with your want of Pru|dence too: For Prudence will oblige a good Wife to bear a little Contradiction from her Husband, tho' not always just, perhaps, as well as to avoid giving Offence. Suppose he is peevish, petulant, un|easy in his Temper, and on slight or no Occasions, as you may think; must you be peevish and petu|lant, because he is so? How do you know what things may have happened to him abroad, in the way of his Business, to make him so?—Or, if it be only Humour, why must you be as bad as he that you find Fault with? Is an ill Temper in a Husband, so taking a thing, that the Wife, who finds it intolerable to her, must nevertheless imi|tate or assume it? The Reason why you will not allow him to be oftener in the Right, and why you condemn as causeless his Petulance and Waspishness, must pro|ceed in a great measure from a slender Opinion, if not Contempt, of his Judgment. If you think him a Man of Sense, 'tis impossible but you should allow, that there may be some Cause, tho' you don't im|mediately penetrate it, why he should be disturbed; and it would be kind in you to suppose the best; as, that his Tenderness for you will not let him communicate it to you, rather than to imagine he is always in the wrong, and always angry with|out Reason. But were it actually to be so, are you commissioned to punish him with Provocations and Resentments as wrong, and even more unbe|coming in a Wife? If you love him as you ought, you will extenuate his Failings, and draw into an advantageous Light those Actions which may be interpreted in his Favour.
But if, as I heard you once say, you will give him as good as he brings; that you will not bear his unaccountable Humours, and such-like vulgar and provoking Expressions; it must come to this Point: Either you or he must give way; one of your Tem|pers must be subdued, and over-aw'd by the other. If it be his Case, tir'd out by your resolute and sturdy Behaviour, to succumb, do you think this will either be a Credit to him or to you? What an abject (henpeck'd, the Vulgar call it) Wretch will he be deem'd? What a Termagant you? He'll be the Jest of his Companions, and you be thought to excel—in what? In a Quality the most infamous to a Woman, next to that of an Adulteress. But this I aver, that Meekness, Condescension, Forbearance, are so far from being despisable Qua|lities in our Sex, that they are the Glory of it. And what is Meekness, my Dear, if you are not to be try'd by Provocations? What is Condescension, if you must always have your own way? What is Forbearance, if you are to return Injury for Injury, with the hostile Spirit of a fierce Enemy, rather than to act with the sweet Complacency of a tender Wife, who has vow'd Obedience and Duty?
But, Obedience and Duty, you'll say, in Re|turn for ill Nature and ill Usage! Yes, my Dear, even were it to be so, you ought. For, do you think you are never to condescend, or give up your own Humour to your Husband? A pretty Sort of Obedience that, which shall be only shewn where you are not thwarted, but never where you are! Would not this be Obedience to your own head|strong Passions, and not to him?—So long as you can have your way in every thing, you will be a Mirror of Condescension; but when once you come to be contradicted, why then you are at Liberty to contradict again. If he is out of the way in his
Humour, you will never be in the way in yours. If he gives you one unkind Word, he shall have two in Return; for you will give him as good as he brings. If he is passionate, you will be so too. You will return provoking Answers for reflecting Words; and so make your House a constant Scene of Con|fusion, and your Life uncomfortable. And for what? Why to shew how bravely you can return Injury for Injury; how nobly you can contend for Victory over your Husband; and how you can make him despised in his Family, as well by Chil|dren as Servants, and yourself discredited by the poor Victory, suppose you were to win it by breaking his Spirit. Is this, my Dear, the Part of a tender Wife to a Husband? Nay, is it the Part of a Christian to a Christian, where there is not the matrimonial Ob|ligation? For are we not commanded to return Good for Evil, and to pray for them that despight|fully use us?—And is not the Wife's Conversa|tion to be coupled with Fear; and do we not vow Reverence to a Husband as our Head?—How can all this be, if you are to return Evil for Evil; to make yourself your own Judge, and Jury, and Ex|ecutioner too, by acquitting yourself, condemning him, sentencing him, and punishing him with all the Severity of licentious Speech, provoking Snap|pishness, or the still more affecting Deportment of sullen contemptuous Silence. Let me, on the Whole, beseech you, for my sake, who would be loth to be thought to have set you any bad Example; for your Family's sake, for your Reputation's sake, as well as his, to resolve on a different Conduct. Make the good Rule yours, of never being out of Humour when he is so. First soften him by good Temper; then, when soften'd, expostulate mildly on the Un|reasonableness of his Anger. If you convince him
thus, he will take care of the like Error, or his present Confession will strengthen your mild Argu|ments against him in any thing else for the future. He will see you advise him for his Good. He will have a greater Opinion of your Prudence, and be more doubtful of his own. He will see you contend not for Victory, or Contradiction-sake; but for his own sake. And depend upon it, you will both reap the happy Fruits of it in the Comfort of your Lives; in the Love of your own Children; in the Reverence of your Servants (who will otherwise be listed in each Contender's Quarrel, and be insolent Judges of the Conduct of both); in the Respect of your Neighbours and Friends; and in the Pleasure you will give to your Relations, who will visit and be visited by you both, with that Delight which no|body knows how to estimate so much, as, my dear Nanny, Your ever affectionate Mother.
LETTER CXLVII. A Lady to her Friend, a young Widow Lady, who, having bury'd a polite and excellent Husband, inclines to marry a less deserving Gentleman, and of unequal Fortune.
Dear Madam,
WERE I to lay it down for a Maxim, that Maids often mend their Circumstances by Marriage, Widows very rarely, I believe I might be justify'd by every one's Experience. To what can the Truth of this Observation be owing? Is it to be supposed, that Widows have stronger Passions than Maids? Shall the proud lordly Sex have it to boast, that they are such estimable Creatures, that
when once one of them has had the Fortune to be chosen by a Lady, and has been taken from her by Death, she cannot live without taking another, and finds herself obliged to accept of the next that offers, thro' all Disadvantages, and every Degree of Inequality? Surely this cannot be the Case! Surely a prudent, a modest Lady will not say this in so many Words!—Much less then ought she to con|fess it by her Actions, which are much stronger than Words. For I believe no Woman who ever en|ter'd the Pale of Matrimony with sprightly Hopes about her, found the Possession (Sex only consider'd) equal to her Expectations. The Maid may hope, may fansy much, in the Commerce between the Sexes, from her meditating on the heighten'd Scenes, which pernicious Novels, and idle Ro|mances, the Poison of Female Minds, abound with. But the Widow knows 'tis all Free-masonry, all empty Hope, flashy, foolish, unworthy, unperma|nent, and, but for the Law of Nature, despicable.—Whence is it then, that the wishing, expecting Maid should be more prudent than the knowing, experienced Widow? Should be better Proof, with raised Imaginations, against Courtship or Persua|sion, than one who well knows the transitory Va|nity and Unsatisfactoriness of the End to which that Courtship or Persuasion tends? If it be said, That this Point is not so much the Case, as the settled Life of Matrimony, which has been once so satisfactorily experienced; let the Circumstances of a Lady who abounds in every thing, answer this poor, but common Excuse; and let the Choice she makes of the Person and Fortune of her second Husband (which is generally, as I have observed above, in both Cases, far short of her former Choice) acquit or convict her, as her Con|duct shall deserve.
If a young Widow indeed advantages herself, and worsts not her Children, (if she has any) in her second Adventure, let her proceed: She is justi|fied to worldly Prudence. But this, as I have said, is so seldom the Case, even with Widow Ladies of Modesty, and Discretion in other respects, that I must own I have been often puzzled and confound|ed how to account for the Motives of such an one, reputably; especially when she appears to me and all the World, neither to have done Honour to the Memory of her late Spouse, to her Family, to her|self, nor, as sometimes, has been the Case, paid any regard to common Decency. How, I say, shall this be accounted for, in a Lady of Prudence and Virtue? Is it, that, as one Extreme is said to border on another, extreme Joy treads on the Heels of extreme Sorrow? It cannot be; for as, on one hand, I am sure there can be no extreme Joy in the matrimonial Commerce; so, I fear, where a Wo|man can soon forget her departed Spouse, she can|not be sensible of extreme Grief for his Loss. And if she will take upon her this latter Part of the Cha|racter, and own the first was thus indifferent to her, she shall have my Consent to do any thing she has a mind to do, and I will exempt her willingly from the Observation of every other Rule of Pru|dence and Decency. But in a Case the direct Reverse of this, how shall we account for such a Behaviour? How in particular, if the charming, the blooming Miss Bendish, who was so coy a Maiden, and with so much Difficulty won by the late amiable and con|versible Mr. Brookes, with a Fortune superior to her own, should, within a few Months after his Decease, when blest with an Affluence left her by his Generosity and Affection for her, be won by Mr.
Fownes, a Man less accomplish'd as to Knowledge, less amiable in his Person, less polite in his Con|versation, and of a Fortune so much beneath what was even her maiden one, that her Friends then would never have thought him worthy of her?—How, I say, shall we account for this, if it should be so? Is there a secret Sympathy in Tempers and Dispositions, that attracts each its Like by Motives imperceptible and unaccountable? It cannot be in this Case surely. For can the polite Mrs. Brookes be less polite for having been marry'd to one of the best-bred and best-behav'd Gentlemen in England? And can she so soon get over Forms as a Widow, for such a Suitor as Mr. Fownes, which as a Maid were so long before they could be dispensed with in Favour of such a Lover as Mr. Brookes?—Is her soft and delicate Mind, as well all think it, after all, more on a Level with that of the one Gentleman than that of the other far more excellent one? Has she, will the Licentious ask, stronger Incentives to a married State, as a Widow, than she had as a Maid?—It cannot be!—What then shall we say to all this?—For after all, two Years won not Miss Bendish, to a Gentleman of exalted Worth; and two Months seem to have made a great Pro|gress with Mrs. Brookes!—And that in Favour of a Gentleman, whom we all think unworthy of her at all. My dear Bosom-friend, my School-fellow, my Companion, as well in the maiden as in the matri|monial, tho', I bless God, not in the vidual State, resolve me these Questions; answer to me for this Conduct; account to me for these seeming unac|countable Motives, and thereby justify yourself to your Reputation, to the Memory of the dear De|parted, to your own Sex, to the other Sex, (so at|tentive
as they both are to your Conduct in this Particular) and, lastly, which will for ever oblige me, to Your affectionate and Faithful Friend and Servant.
LETTER CXLVIII. From a Gentleman, strenuously expostulating with an old rich Widow, about to marry a very young gay Gentleman.
Madam,
I AM very sorry to hear of the Encouragement you give to the Visits of young Mr. Barnes, because of the great Difference in Years between you. I cannot help giving you the Trouble of this Expostulation, tho' I am told, (and much affected I am with the News, if it be true) that the Matter between you is so far gone, that all I can say may too probably prove ineffectual.
Our Sex, Madam, in all your late Husband's Time, has received an Advantage and a Credit from your Conduct in the marry'd State; and now, I wish it may not receive as great a Disparagement, since the prudent Mrs. Bates thinks fit to coun|tenance the Addresses of one who was born after she was marry'd, and a Mother, and who can possi|bly have no other Inducement than your Fortune. I believe, Madam, you never knew one happy Marriage of this sort in all your Life: And you will reflect, that you will not be intitled to Pity, nor the young Man to Censure, if he should prove the worst and most profligate of Husbands to you. For every one will censure you, and acquit him,
should he even treat you with personal Abuse and Barbarity. Besides, it is well known, that Mr. Barnes is a young Man of no very promising Inclinations. Some young Gentlemen are as grave and discreet at Twenty-five, as others at Thirty-five: But he has all the Vanity, the Gaiety, the Affectation, of any one at his Time of Life: And can you expect, that he will treat you well, that was never noted for treat|ing his own Mother very dutifully, who, by the way, is younger than yourself? Advanced Years are the con|stant Subject of Ridicule with such wild young Fel|lows, to their Shame be it spoken! and what can you expect, when the very Motives by which you shall be supposed to be acted in such a Match, will in|volve you in the deepest Censure, will make you the Contempt of Persons of all Ages, and both Sexes, and expose you to the low Buffoonery even of the Man you have chosen, who, instead of being your Protector, as a Husband ought to be, will probably be the Person who will lead the Jest that all will join in upon you, in order to excuse his own sorbid Choice?
You owe it, Madam, give me Leave to say, to the Memory of your late worthy Husband; you owe it to your Sex; you owe it to yourself, and your own Interest, and future Good; nay, to Decency, I will venture to add, to proceed no further in this Affair. It seems to me, to be next to a Degree of Incest for a Woman all hoary and grey-goosed over by Time, or who will be soon so, to expose her|self to the Embraces of a young Fellow, who is not so old as her first Son would have been, had he lived. Forgive me, Madam; but I cannot help this Plain-dealing on the Occasion. If you pro|ceed in giving Encouragement to the Boy's Ad|dress, I expect not, nor can I desire, to be forgiven,
or to stand upon common Terms with you: If otherwise, I am ready to ask your Pardon; but I cannot with Patience think, that Mrs. Bates, who has passed thro' every Station hitherto with so much Applause, as well that of the prudent Widow, and exemplary Matron, as the affectionate Wife, should give so great a Wound to our Sex as she will do, if she makes such a Boy as Mr. Barnes the Successor to her late worthy Husband, and the Master of her Person and Fortune: By which Act she will vow Obedience to one who was in a Cradle, when she had Children of her own who were rising from it; and who would undoubtedly despise her in this Light, were it not for her Wealth; all of which, that he can get at, by Force, or fair Means, (if he acts by you as others generally have done in the same Circumstances) will be squander'd away upon rival Objects more suitable to his Youth, while you will be the Laughing-stock and Scorn of such as will revel in your Spoils, and triumph over you by the Help of your own Fortune. Mean time you will be so far from engaging the Pity of your Sex, that the more considerate of them, will shun and contemn you, as one who has brought a Disgrace upon it: The Men will despise and flout you, and you will have nothing to do but to hide in a contemn'd Obscurity that grey-green Head, which has so inconsiderately involved you in so much Di|stress, and to turn Penitent for it, and pray for an End to a miserable Life; which, come when it will, will give Cause of Joy and Triumph to your young Husband, and very little Sorrow to any other Person. But I hope still for better things; and I hope for Pardon for this Freedom; for fain would I be thought by Mrs. Bates,
Her affectionate and faithful Friend, and humble Servant.
The following Eleven Epistles may serve as Models for Letters to write by, on the like Occasion; likewise to give a brief Description of London and Westminster, to such as have not seen those Cities; and to point out to those who never were in Town before, what is most worthy of Notice in it.
LETTER CXLIX. From a young Lady in Town to her Aunt in the Country.
I. Describing the Tower, Monument, St. Paul's, &c.
Honoured Madam,
YOU will have me write you down Accounts of what I see remarkable in and about London, to keep me, as you say, out of Idleness, and to enter|tain my good Friends in my Absence. I will obey, tho' your good Opinion of me, I am sensible, will be no small Disadvantage to me; for I shall convince you more effectually than ever of my Defects, and want of that Ability to entertain my absent Friends, which their Partiality had made them expect from me.
To begin then, my Aunt and Cousins carried me, in the first Place, to see the Tower of London, which we have heard so much Talk of in the Country; and which no one that visits this great Town, omits seeing. 'Tis situated by the Thames Side, surrounded with an old Wall, about a Mile in Compass, with a broad deep Ditch, which has generally more Mud in it than Water. All round
the outward Wall are Guns planted, which on ex|traordinary Occasions are fired; as on more com|mon ones, they fire only Rows of others, which are fixed in the Ground, on the Wharf by the Thames. At the Entrance on the Right-hand, we saw the Collection of wild Beasts kept there, as Lions, Panthers, Tygers, &c. also Eagles, Vul|turs, &c. We were then carried to the Mint, where we saw the manner of coining Money, and striking Medals, &c. From thence we went to the Jewel-house, and were shewn the Crown, and the other Regalia; which gave me no small Pleasure, as I had never seen these things before, and heard so much Talk of them.
The Horse-Armory is a fine Sight; for here they shew Fifteen of our English Monarchs on Horse|back, all in rich Armour, attended with Guards: But I think this Sight not comparable to the small Armory; for here Pikes, Muskets, Swords, Hal|berds, and Pistols, (enow, as they told us, for three|score thousand Men) are all placed in such beauti|ful Order, and such various Figures, representing the Sun, Star and Garter, Half-moons, and such|like, that I was greatly delighted with the Sight, all the Arms being bright and shining.
We saw the Train of Artillery, in what they call the Grand Storehouse; filled with Cannon and Mortars, all very fine, a Diving-bell, and other Curiosities; and I thought, upon the whole, that this great Magazine of Curiosities and Stores, was the most worthy of the Notice of a Stranger to London, of any thing I had been shewn.
From hence they carried me to the Monument, built in Remembrance of the Fire of London, a very curious Pillar, from the Gallery of which we had a Survey of the whole City. But as it stands
low, I cannot say, but I liked the Prospect from St. Paul's Cupola much better, when I was car|ried up thither, which was Yesterday; for that be|ing the highest Situation in the City, and more in the Centre of London and Westminster, commands a finer View over both Cities, Hampstead and High|gate Hills, Surrey, the River, &c. The Cathe|dral is a most noble Building, and I admired it not a little, for its Choir, Chapels, Dome, Whisper|ing-place, Vaults below, and other Curiosities too tedious to mention. This, Madam, may serve for one Letter, and to shew you how much I am desirous, by my Obe|dience to your Commands, to approve myself
Your dutiful Niece.
LETTER CL. From the same.
II. Describing other remarkable Places in and about London and Westminster, which are generally shewn to Strangers.
Honoured Madam,
I HAVE seen the Custom-house, a Place of Hurry and Business, with a crouded and incon|venient Key, compared to that of Bristol. St. Thomas's and Guy's Hospitals, Southwark, all most noble Charities; St. Bartholomew's, a still nobler; but which, by its additional Buildings, seems to be in a way to swallow up its own Revenues, by pulling down their Tenants Houses, which con|tributed Means to support the Charity. Smithfield also, a spacious Market for live Cattle, &c. as, I should have said, I had Leaden-hall Market, a
Prodigy of its Kind, and the Admiration of Fo|reigners. Sadler's-wells, at Islington, I have been at, and seen there the Diversions of Rope-dancing, Volting, Singing, Musick, &c. which I thought well enough for once. Islington-wells, or the New Tunbridge, I have been at; the Walks and Rooms neat enough, and good Decorum observ'd in both. The Blue-coat Hospital I have also seen, another noble Charity; and the pretty Sight of the Chil|dren at Church, and at Supper of Sunday Night, which much pleased me. The Charter-house too, another noble Charity.
Also the Guildhall of London, a handsome Build|ing, adorn'd with Pictures, and with the Trophies of the Duke of Marlborough's Victory over the French; and the preposterous wooden Figures of the two famous Giants. The Royal Exchange likewise, a very fine Edifice; but they say the Statues of the Kings and Queens there, are ill done, except that of Charles II. in the Middle of the Area, and one or two more.
I have also been carried to Westminster-hall, and the two Houses where the Lords and Commons meet. They are by no means answerable to what I expected, tho' the House of Commons is the neatest, and very convenient for hearing and see|ing too. Westminster-hall, like Guildhall, is adorn|ed with more of the Duke of Marlborough's Tro|phies, and it has Shops on each Side for Milaners, Booksellers, and such-like Trades. Here the Coro|nation-Feast is kept; and here are held, as you know, the Courts of Chancery, King's-bench, Common Pleas, and up Stairs the Court and Offices of the Exchequer.
The Abbey we are to see another time, being obliged to dine at Westminster with a Friend of my Cousin's.
Somerset-house, in the Strand, I have seen, noted for its pleasant Garden fronting the River; and it is indeed a fine Palace itself, designed for the Re|sidence of the Queens Dowager of England, when we have such a Personage. Marlborough House in the Park, is finely furnished and adorned with Pictures of the Duke's Battles. St. James's House is a poor Palace for a King of England; but it seems convenient on the Inside. Buckingham House stands better than that, for commanding the beautiful Park and Canal. The Treasury, a fine new Build|ing. White-hall, whose Glory is the Banquetting-house, justly admir'd for its Architecture by Inigo Jones, and Inside Painting by Rubens. It is a noble Situation for a Palace, which, were it to be built like this, would be the most magnificent in the World. We took Coach another time, and were carried thro' the principal Squares and new Buildings about London and Westminster, which are highly worth seeing; such as Lincoln's-Inn Square, Lincoln's-Inn Fields, St. James's Square, Soho Square, Hanover Square, Cavendish Square, and Grosvenor Square, with the Multitude of stately Buildings, and noble Streets contiguous to the latter; a Sight worthy of Admiration.
This, Madam, may serve for a second Letter, and another Instance, tho' a poor one, of that Obe|dience which will always bind me to be
Your dutiful Niece.
LETTER CLI. From the same.
III. Describing Chelsea Hospital, and Kensing|ton Palace.
Honoured Madam,
I HAVE been carried by my obliging Cousins to Chelsea College, about a Mile from St. James's Park, and to Kensington Palace about two Miles West from London.
The College, you know, was founded by King Charles II. and finished by the late King William, for the Reception of superannuated Officers and Soldiers. It is situated on the Banks of the Thames, its Gardens extending quite down to the River. It is a neat and stately Building; the Front looking to the Thames, has a fine Hall on one Side, and a neat Chapel on the other, with a noble Pavilion, as they call it, between them. The two Sides are four Stories high, and have two Wards in each Story, containing thirty-six neat Bed-rooms each, for so many Soldiers. Each Corner of this main Building is adorned with a fine Pavilion, being the Gover|nor's Lodging and Council-chamber; Lodgings for Officers, &c. In the Middle of the Square is a Brass Statue of King Charles II. on a Marble Pe|destal.
There are besides, four other large and uniform Wings; one is the Infirmary for the Sick, a second for maimed Officers, a third for Officers of the College, the fourth for Servants. The Whole is a neat, convenient and airy Building, well worth a Stranger's View.
Kensington Palace is a very pretty Summer Retire|ment for the Court: It is adorn'd with fine Pictures,
rich Hangings, and other Ornaments. But the Gar|dens, which have been much augmented of late Years, are delightful, and we diverted ourselves in walk|ing round them, which gave me great Pleasure; and I could not but wish, that you, Madam, were with me, because you love walking, and would have been much pleased with these charming Gar|dens, which abound with fine Walks, &c. A noble Piece of Water, called the Serpentine River, but for what Reason I know not, (it being a strait, and not winding Piece) presents itself to View; and there is lately a new Road made thro' Hyde-park to Kensington, by the late Q. Caroline, to keep the Gardens clear from Dust in the Summer, and make them more private from Horses, Passengers, Coaches, &c.; for the old Road, in one Part, ran almost close to the Wall. A Row of Lamps from one End to the other of this Road, is placed on each Side of it, when the Court is there, which is a Beauty as well as Convenience. Will this, Madam, serve for a third Letter on the Subject you have prescribed to
Your ever-dutiful Niece?
LETTER CLII. From the same.
IV. Describing Greenwich Park, and the Passage to it by Water.
Honoured Madam,
LAST Tuesday, being Easter Tuesday, I went with my Uncle, Aunt and Cousins, down the River, on what they call a Party of Pleasure; but with Design principally to see Greenwich Park and Hospital.
We took Water at the Tower, which I de|scribed in my first Letter: I was pretty much afraid of Danger from Anchors, Cables, and such-like, as we passed by the great Numbers of Ships, that lay in our Way at first setting out. But afterwards the River looked very pleasant, and the Number of Boats all rowing with the Tide, made the River look very agreeably. After sailing not many Miles, we come with|in Sight of the Dock-yard at Deptford, where several large Ships upon the Stocks afforded a fine Prospect; as the naval Strength of England is both its Glory and its Defence.
Next to Deptford, I was greatly pleased with the Prospect of the Royal Hospital at Greenwich, for Seamen grown old in the Service of their Coun|try. When we landed, we went into this fine Building; and in the Inside, every thing, in my Judgment, was perfectly agreeable to the Magni|ficence of the Outside; allowing the one to be design|ed to do Honour to the Nation, the other to support a Number of necessitous People, who ought to be the publick Care. The great Hall, and the Paint|ings in it, are admirable; but I know not whether they would not better suit a Palace, than an Hospital; and indeed this may be said of the whole Building.
From thence we went into the Park; where I beheld divers odd Scenes of Holiday-folks. Here appeared a rakish young Fellow, with two or three Women who look'd like Servant-maids; the Hero delighted, the Nymphs smiling round him—There a careful-looking Father with his Children on each Side; Trains of admiring Lovers, ready-pair'd, followed one another in thronging Crouds at the Gate; a Sea-Officer, with a Lady not over-burdened with Modesty in her Beha|viour: A Croud of City Apprentices, some with,
some without their Lasses: Half a dozen Beaux ogling all they met: And several seemingly discon|solate Virgins walking alone. The Concourse of middling Objects pressed chiefly toward a high Hill in the Middle of the Park; where, as they arrived, their Business was to take hold of Hands, and run down as fast as possible, amidst the Huzza's of a Multitude of People, who earnestly expected to see the Women fall, in hopes that their Cloaths would not lie so conveniently, when they were down, as might be wished. This, Madam, is a Diversion you would not expect so near the polite City of London; but I assure you, such a Levity possessed almost every body assembled on this Occasion, as made the Park, though most beautiful in itself, no way entertain|ing to
Your most dutiful Niece.
LETTER CLIII. From the same.
V. Describing Bethlehem Hospital.
Honoured Madam,
YOU tell me, in your last, that my Descrip|tions and Observations are very superficial, and that both my Uncle and yourself expect from me much better Accounts, than I have yet given you; for I must deliver my Opinion, it seems, on what I see, as well as tell you what I have been shewn. 'Tis well I left my bettermost Subjects to the last; such, I mean, as will best bear Refle|ction; and I must try what I can do, to regain that Reputation which your Indulgence, rather than my Merit, had formed for me in your kind
Thoughts—Yet, I doubt, I shan't please you, after all. But 'tis my Duty to try for it, and it will be yours, I had almost said, to forgive Imper|fections which I should have concealed, but for your undeserved good Opinions of me, which draw them into Light. I have this Afternoon been with my Cousins, to gratify the odd Curiosity most People have to see Bethlehem, or Bedlam Hospital.
A more affecting Scene my Eyes never beheld; and surely, Madam, any one inclined to be proud of human Nature, and to value themselves above others, cannot go to a Place that will more effe|ctually convince them of their Folly: For there we see Man destitute of every Mark of Reason and Wisdom, and levelled to the Brute Creation, if not beneath it; and all the Remains of good Sense or Education, serve only to make the unhappy Person appear more deplorable!
I had the Shock of seeing the late polite and in|genious Mr. _____ _____ in one of these woful Chambers: We had heard, you know, of his being somewhat disordered; but I did not expect to find him here: No sooner did I put my Face to the Grate, but he leap'd from his Bed, and called me, with fright|ful Fervency, to come into his Room. The Sur|prize affected me pretty much; and my Confusion being observed by a Croud of Strangers, I heard it presently whisper'd, That I was his Sweetheart, and the Cause of his Misfortune. My Cousin as|sured me such Fancies were frequent upon these Occasions: But this Accident drew so many Eyes upon me, as obliged me soon to quit the Place.
I was much at a Loss to account for the Beha|viour of the Generality of People, who were looking at these melancholy Objects. Instead of the Concern I think unavoidable at such a Sight, a
sort of Mirth appeared on their Countenances; and the distemper'd Fancies of the miserable Patients most unaccountably provoked Mirth, and loud Laughter, in the unthinking Auditors; and the many hideous Roarings, and wild Motions of others, seemed equally entertaining to them. Nay, so shamefully inhuman were some, among whom (I am sorry to say it!) were several of my own Sex, as to endeavour to provoke the Patients into Rage, to make them Sport. I have been told, this dreadful Place is often used for the Resort of lewd Persons to meet and make Assignments: But that I cannot credit; since the Heart must be abandon'd indeed, that could be vicious amidst so many Examples of Misery, and of such Misery, as, being wholly involuntary, may overtake the most secure.
I am no great Admirer of publick Charities, as they are too often managed; but if we consider the Impossibility of poor Peoples bearing this Misfor|tune, or providing suitably for the Distempered at their own Beings, no Praise can surely be too great for the Founders and Supporters of an Ho|spital, which none can visit, without receiving the most melancholy Proof of its being needful. I am, with Respects where due, honoured Madam,
Your most dutiful Niece.
LETTER CLIV. From the same.
VI. Diversions of Vaux-hall described.
Honoured Madam,
I WENT on Monday last to Vaux-hall Gardens; whither every body must go, or appear a sort of Monster in polite Company. For the Convenience
of Waterage, as well as of Conversation, we were a pretty large Company, and the Evening proved serene and clear. The Passage from Somerset Stairs, where we took Water, was pleasant enough; the Thames at High-water being a most beautiful River, especi|ally above Westminster, where the green Banks, and the open Country, afford a very agreeable Prospect. The Place we landed at was crouded with Boats, and from the Water-side to the Gardens, we walk|ed through a double Line of gaping Watermen, Footmen, old Beggar-women and Children. As soon as we entered the Walks, I was pleased with a sort of Stage, or Scaffold, raised at the Entrance, for the Servants of the Company to sit out of their Masters way, and yet within Call of the Waiters.
The Musick-gallery and Organ look perfectly polite, and their being raised one Story from the Ground, has a good Effect upon the Musick. The Walks are well enough, but environ'd with paltry wooden Boards, where I expected at least a good Brick-wall. One Part of the Whole is thrown into Walks only; the other is on the Sides filled with Seats or Arbours, with painted Backs; on each of which is represented some Scene of our most common Plays, or the youthful Representa|tion of the Infant Games, &c. I happened to have at my Back honest Hob, come dripping wet out of the Well; and the young Fellows, under Colour of shewing their Taste in observing the Beauties of the Piece, were so perpetually staring in our Faces, that Cousin Bet and I had little Pleasure in our Supper. Perhaps you will wonder at our Supping in so open a Place; but, I assure you, Madam, no Lady is too tender for so fashionable a Repast. My Uncle treated us very chearfully; but I could not help grudging the Expence he was at;
for when the Reckoning was paid, it amounted to no less than Ten Shillings a Head; which I think too dear, as the Entrance-money must be suffici|ent to defray the House and Musick. But as the Whole is devoted to Pleasure, the Expence seems rather to create Satisfaction, than Distaste, as it gives an Opportunity to gallant People to oblige those they love, or pretend to love, in order, most of them, to pay themselves again with large In|terest. The Figure of Mr. Handel, a great Master of Musick, stands on one Side the Gardens, and looks pretty enough: The Musick plays from Five to Ten, about three Tunes (I believe I should have said Pieces) in an Hour. They are all reported to be the best Performers who assist here: but my rough Ears cannot distinguish.
About Ten o' Clock, many People think of Home: But the Votaries of Cupid, I am told, about that Time, visit the remotest Walks, and sigh out the soft Passion in Accents that may possibly be improved by the melting Sweetness of the Mu|sick—I would not have you from hence conclude any Rudeness can be offered; for at the Termina|tion of every Walk, through the whole Garden is placed a Man to protect the Company from all manner of Insult. But when the Place grows thin of Company, the Lovers have a better Chance to escape being laugh'd at, on the Appearance of any amorous Symptom.
Soon after Ten, we returned to our Boat; and I found the Passage extremely cold, notwithstand|ing a Covering over us: I must own, I wish'd to be at home, long before I reached it; for I was taken with such a Shivering, as did not leave me for two Days.
Thus, Madam, have I been at Vaux-hall, with the Crowd of Fashion-hunters. But if nobody had a greater Inclination than I have to go thither again, that Amusement would soon be given up—For I see more and more, that, do what I will, Nature never designed me to be polite; and I can sincerely declare, that I take more Satisfaction in an Evening-walk with you up the West-grove, where I am so often benefited by your good In|structions, than in the inchanting Shades of the so|much celebrated Vaux-hall. I am, honoured Madam, Your most dutiful Niece.
LETTER CLV. From the same.
VII. An Account of Westminster-Abbey.
Honoured Madam,
I HAVE this Afternoon been at Westminster-Abbey, and not a little pleased with what I have seen there. If there can be Majesty in the Grave, here we see it: And such was the solemn Effect the sacred Repository had upon me, that I never found an awful Reverence equal to what I felt on that Occasion. Whatever be the Intention of erecting these costly Monuments, they seem to me very capable of being made an excellent Sermon to succeeding Generations; for here the most sumptuous Piles serve only to shew, that every one of us must sub|mit to the same Fate, that has overtaken those whom Empire itself could not save. And how humble ought the Person to be, who surveys the Royal Ruins of Mortality, preserved (as if in a vain Defiance
of Time) to shew nothing more than the Cer|tianty of our Dissolution! These, Madam, were my general Sentiments on this Occasion; but as I know you expect more particular Descriptions from me, I will tell you what most struck my Notice among the many remarkable Curiosities to be here met with.
Among the Royal Monuments, those of antient Date pleased me best; because they look agreeable to what I read of the plain Royalty of our former Sovereigns. I lamented the Loss of Henry the Fifth's Head, which being Silver, as they say, was stolen during the Civil War. I much wonder it has never yet been supply'd from some of his Busto's. He wanted not a Head, to speak in the metaphorical Style, while living; and France can testify, that his Heart deserved all things of English Men: For he was the Terror of the one, and the Glory of the other.
Henry the Seventh's Chapel, in every Part of it, is surprisingly magnificent and beautiful; and, as far as I can judge of such Things, far surpasses all I have seen, either of antient or modern Date.
In this Chapel is the Chair in which our Kings for many Ages have been crown'd. 'Tis very plain, and looks as if it were not worth more than the Forfeit paid for sitting in it.
The Body of Queen Catharine, Consort to Henry the Fifth, was shewn us in an open Coffin; and what remains of Skin, looks like black dis|coloured Parchment. She is said to have been very beautiful; and, surely, to view her now, is a most effectual Antidote against the Vanity rising from that dangerous Accomplishment.
Two Embassadors Coffins are kept here, said to be detained for want of having their Debts dis|charged. This, indeed, does little Credit to the
Crown they served; but I can scarce think it the Dishonour design'd them, to be reposited among the Remains of our Kings; tho' indeed several of them have their Debts unpaid too, as I am told. Several Effigies are preserved in Wax; particu|larly those of King William, and his excellent Queen Mary; as also, very lately, the truly Royal Queen Anne. To be sure, this is no bad Way, for a few Years, to preserve their Likeness; but I know not whether such gay Representations suit the Solemnity of a Sepulchre. And yet some that stand here, seem not to have deserved that Distinction, if it be deemed one, in Favour of their Memories. Ge|neral Monk, if I were to judge, would be one of those; for his constant Train of Hypocrisy for a long time, seem'd a Contradiction to the Aposto|lical Precept, Not to do Evil, that Good may come of it. A Duchess of Richmond, who walked at King Charles the Second's Coronation, never was re|markable for any thing, as I can hear, but that.
A very costly Effigy of the late Duke of Buckinghamshire is in this Place, who was somewhat remarkable in his Time, but chiefly for doing what pleased himself, whether any body else was pleased or better'd by it, or not. And, what is odd enough, the present Duchess stands by him. Her Son too, the last Duke, who died just before he came of Age, is distinguished with an Ostentation superior to all the rest; tho' all I can learn of him is, that he was a hopeful young Nobleman, and the Darling of his Mother.
General Monk, whom I mentioned before, in a Habit mourning the Power of Time, stands in a Posture so very fierce, as to seem rather intended to scare Children, than for any other Purpose.
I had almost forgot his Royal Master, King Charles the Second, who stands in his Garter•…•…
Robes, and has long been admired by all Comers, it seems, for restoring Monarchy; for I can re|member no worthy Actions in his History, nor were we told any more, by the Person who ex|posed his Image to our View. Many Reasons make it necessary for the Wills of deceased Persons to be literally observed, tho' some Instances of this kind do little Honour to the Deceased; as a Monument erected to the Consort of a noble Lord, for whom a Vacancy being left on his Tomb, as for his second Wife, she, because she could not take the Right-hand of his first Lady, left strict Order to be bury'd where her Bones now lie, and thereby has transmitted her Pride and Folly to succeeding Ages.
Near this Tomb, is the Figure of a Lady bleed|ing to Death by pricking her Finger: She was Maid of Honour to Queen Elizabeth, and, I think, of the Russel Family. It seems she got her fatal Wound at her Needle; and such has been the Care of the Ladies who have succeeded her, that not one has fallen under the like Misfortune ever since.
If I shall not quite tire you, I will proceed with this Subject in my next—And am, mean time, honoured Madam,
Your most dutiful Niece.
LETTER CLVI. From the same.
VIII. Account of Westminster-Abbey continued.
Honoured Madam,
I NOW trouble you with an Account of what most struck my Attention in the outward Ayles of Westminster-Abbey.
At entering the North-gate, a Monument of pro|digious Size, and great Expence, stood on my Left|hand: It is that of John Holles late Duke of New|castle, and all that is left him, out of upwards of 50000 l. a Year, as they tell me he had accumu|lated, and the two Heirs not much the richer for their Shares of it neither. I hope, as we say in our Country Phrase, it was honestly got. Next to this is one consecrated to the Memory of the Duke that preceded him, the last of his Name of the Cavendish Family, as the other was of the Holles; with the celebrated Lady, his Duchess Margaret, a great Writer, and a great Chymist, (you know we have her Olio) both lying Side by Side, on a Tomb made great by their Names, and distinguished by their Adventures; but as to outward Grandeur, wholly eclipsed by the former. Behind these is a large Room, or little Chapel, separated from the publick Places, in which are reposited the Holles Family. One of these Gentlemen has at his Feet the Representation of a wild Boar, in Token of his having killed one of those Animals, when he was on a Croisade. Another has a large black Patch over his Right|eye, having lost an Eye on the like Expedition.
Not far from hence, a fine Monument stands, to the Memory of Dr. Chamberlen, a Man-mid|wife, of no great Fame when living, but who happened to have the Esteem of the present Duchess of Buckingham, who erected this to his Memory.
A magnificent Monument stands near this, of a Lady, whose Name is Carteret; and some Re|ports assign an odd Cause for her Death; viz. the late French King's saying, A Lady one of his Nobles compared to her, was the handsomest of the two.
A fine Monument of Lord Courcey stands near this; on which, we are told, One of his Ancestors had a Privilege granted, of wearing his Hat before the King—Here are several Monuments of Gentle|men who fell in the late Wars; Col. Bringfield, in particular, who had his Head shot off by a Cannon Ball, as he was mounting the Duke of Marlborough, who had a Horse shot under him. Those of others who were famous for different Talents; as my Favourite Purcel, and Dr. Crofts, for Musick, decorate the North Isle; at the Head of which stands Sir Godfrey Kneller, Painter to his late Majesty; but with a Copy of Verses on it, that, Judges say, are not very extraordinary, and yet Mr. Pope's Name is affixed to them. In a Corner, that answers to it, on the South-side of the West-gate, stands a curious Resemblance of James Craggs, Esq Secre|tary of State in 1720. erected by a certain Duchess, for what Reason is not said. Mr. Pope has been lavish of his Praises, much more being engraved on this Gentleman's Monument of his Virtue, &c. than I ever heard any-where else. But they say he was a companionable Man, as some call it, and easy of Access—A small Distance from this, is a Monument erected by another Duchess, Sister of the former, to the Memory of Mr. Congreve, from the great Esteem she bore him. So here are three Monuments erected to three Favourites, by three Duchesses. What a generous Sex is ours, who carry their Esteem for the Merit of those they favour, beyond the Grave! On the same Side of the Church is a very slight Monument of the great Earl Godolphin, who was Ld. High Treasurer, during the prosperous Part of Queen Anne's Reign; and the mean Appearance this makes, when compared with those of Mr. Craggs, Mr. Congreve, Dr. Chamberlen, &c. makes a Spectator sensible, that
a Judgment of the Deceased's Merits must not be formed from their Monuments; nor, as is to be hoped, the Gratitude and Affection of their De|scendents either. Sir Cloudesly Shovel has great Honour done him, his Monument being erected at the Expence of his Royal Mistress. But I thought he was a rough honest Tar; yet his Effigies makes him a great Beau, with a fine flowing full-bottom'd Periwig; such a one, but much finer, and more in Buckle, than that we have seen our Lawyer Mr. Kettleby wear at our Assizes. Mr. Thynne's Murder is prettily represented on his Tomb—But before I step into what is call'd the Poets Row, I must return to the Door of the Choir; on the North-side of which is placed a noble Monument of the great Sir Isaac Newton, which I humbly apprehend to be needless; for has he not built for himself a much finer Monument, and a much more durable one, than Marble? And will it not out-last this we see here, and the Abbey which contains it? He lies in a contemplative Posture, leaning on the Volumes that have made his Name immortal. Opposite to him, at the South Entrance of the same Door, is a very grand Pile, to the Memory of the late Earl Stanhope, a brave Soldier, tho' unfortunate in one Battle; and a Man of great Probity.
On one Side of the Poets are Dr. South and Dr. Busby; the one an humorous and witty Di|vine, the other as remarkable a School-master, be|ing famous for his Discipline and Severity. Geoffry Chaucer has reach'd us: Spencer is near him; Philips not far from Spencer. Ben. Johnson is written on a poor Bust: and Butler (put up by a Printer, to make his own Name famous) bears him Company. I would fain not name Matt. Prior; but his Monument is so beautiful and large,
and his Busto so admirable, being a Present to the Poet by the French King Lewis XIV. that I must not pass it over; tho', poor Man! it serves only to proclaim his Vanity, being erected at his own Desire and Expence: A sad Instance of Pride beyond the Grave! Behind him stands Mr. Gay, in a Place consecrated to Mortality, declaring Life is a Jest, &c. Dryden has only his Name on his Bust. Milton has lately been put up by a Gentle|man, who, after the Printer's Example above|mentioned, has a Mind to engraft his own Fame on the other's Stock; but, in this, out-does Mr. Barber: For, after dedicating Six single Letters to the Poet's Name, MILTON, he bestows many Words upon his own; not being content to name the little Honours he, the Erector, now enjoys, but the lesser ones which he possessed in the former Reign; and from this Example, the Architect (who, no doubt, was paid for his Labour) has Seven Words to his Fame, declaring, That Rysbrack was the Statuary who cut it. Here's fine engraft|ing Work for you! However, Milton's Memory is a Tree that will do Honour to the weakest Scyon that shall sprout from it, or even to a Dung-hill, were such a thing to lie at its Root. But of our Poets I'll add no more; for Shakespeare is not among them. I am, Madam, Your most obedient Niece.
LETTER CLVII. From the same.
IX. On a Concert or Musical Entertainment.
Honoured Madam,
I WENT last Night to see, or rather to hear, a new Entertainment of Musick: And must con|fess, 〈…〉〈…〉 is much disappointed of the Pleasure I
promised myself. I can't say but I liked two or three of the Songs well enough; and the Musick, that was playing all the while, I did not disap|prove. But pray, Madam, can you tell me, (for I have already asked twenty, not one of whom will answer me) What is the Reason of having every Word spoken, squeaked to—I cannot say a Tune, but to such a Hum as makes me quite sick? If it be the Musick that is valuable, why must the Words torture it? And if the Words be sought after, wherefore should they be broken to Pieces by Notes that drown the Sound, and quite lose their Sense? What I mean is, I believe, called, Speaking in Recitative; but whence was this Mode of Speech taken? In what Country is it natural? And if it be natural no-where, of what is it an Imitation? What are the Marks of its Excellencies? and how shall we judge of its Merit? Whence can arise any Pleasure from hear|ing it? And shall we find Cause for excusing the Time lost in such an unnatural Amusement? For myself, I must own 'twas far from delighting me; for as it was neither singing nor speaking, I could not tell what to make of it; for it was more like to make me cry than laugh, I was so provoked, when the Twang of the Harpsichord robbed me of the Word the whole preceding Line depended upon!—I must confess myself for downright Speaking or Singing: I hate Mongrels. Unless my Judgment be convinced by such Reasons as I can't, for my Life, hit upon at present. Yet, after all, I begin to think, I am betraying my Ignorance all this time; and so I'll conclude myself, Madam, Your most dutiful Niece.
LETTER CLVIII. From the same.
X. On the Diversions of the Play-house.
Honoured Madam,
NOW I have, by your Indulgence, tarry'd in Town till the Approach of Winter, you will expect that I should give you a little Account of the Diversions of the Stage. To begin then: My Cousin William and his two Sisters conducted me last Night to the Playhouse, and we took Places in the Pit.
You may believe I was agreeably surprised at the Magnificence of the Stage, and its elegant Orna|ments; and I was mightily pleased to see such a prodigious Number of People seated with Ease, and conveniently placed to hear the natural Pitch of a common Voice. I did not expect to find the Mu|sick so near the Audience; but believe that the most proper Situation to convey the Sound over the whole Theatre.
The Play I saw was a Comedy, in which the Parts acted by Women had several Speeches that I thought not quite consistent with the Modesty of the Sex. And the Freedom of their Voice and Gestures, tho', perhaps, suitable enough to the Characters they represented, were not so pleasing to a Mind bent upon innocent Amusement, (if not wholly upon Instruction) as Speeches that put us not to the Expence of a Blush. What Hardship must it be to the Minds of these Women, to enter first upon this Employment? How must their Virtue (and sure no Woman is without Virtue at her Entrance into the World) be shock'd to offer themselves for the Entertainment of Six
hundred Men, and to utter Words which con|vey Ideas too gross for a modest Ear, and such as would be difficult to hear in private Company without Confusion! How hard then must the Utterance of them be to a numerous and gay Assembly! And yet, I am assured, several Women who get their Bread upon the Stage, are strictly virtuous. If such there are, how great must be their Merit, when compared with that of the wicked ones of our Sex, who are liable to none of their certain and numerous Temptations? But yet, where it can be avoided, why should Women ex|pose themselves to certain Dangers, if there is a Possibility of obtaining a tolerable Subsistence with|out it? And those who can live by Performance upon the Stage, certainly require Qualifications more than sufficient to subsist in safer and less dependent Stations. The Behaviour of the Men, I did not so much wonder at; for a becoming Assurance in them is rather pleasing than disobliging: Nor did I per|ceive, that so many Expressions, which are oftener miscalled arch, than more truly named obscene, were put into the Mouths of the Men as of the Women; tho' the Reason the Poets have for this I cannot guess.
The Conduct of the Company I thought, to the highest Degree, commendable: The utmost Decency was observed, and I saw nothing disagree|able to the strictest Politeness or good Manners; the Awe given by so great an Audience of Per|sons of Taste, being too much to admit any thing but what is decent and obliging: Not that I think it adviseable for Women to go alone to the Play-house; for the Complaisance, so fashionable at pre|sent, affords a sort of Occasion for laying them under such seeming Obligations as cannot be
returned, and ought therefore not to be ac|cepted. These, dear Madam, are the rough Thoughts, on this Occasion, of
Your dutiful Niece.
LETTER CLIX. From the same.
XI. The Play, and the low Scenes of Harle|quinery after it, described and exposed.
Honoured Madam,
HAving, as I told you in my last, seen a Comedy, I was next carried by my Cousin William, and his kind Sisters, to a Tragedy; which was that of Hamlet: And I was greatly moved with the Play, and pleased with the Action. But the low Scenes of Harlequinery that were exhibited afterwards, filled me with high Disgust, insomuch that I could, for their sake, have wished I had not seen the other. I will give you an Account of this dismal Piece of farcical dumb Shew.
We were, then, presented with the most ex|traordinary Gentleman I ever beheld, who, with the ugliest Face, and most apish Behaviour I ever saw, had the most amazing Success in his Amours, with Ladies whose Appearance deserved a more amiable Gallant.
My Cousin William told me the Name of this Hero was MR. HARLEQUIN; but as you know Billy has no great Capacity, you will be the less surprised to hear he answered not one Question I asked him to my Satisfaction.
Whom does that Character represent, Cousin? Harlequin.
Pray, of what Nation is the Gentleman?
France.
What is his Business on the Stage?
To be admired by every Woman who sets Eyes on him.
Why seem they so fond of him?
Because he is Harlequin.
Why is his Face black?
Harlequin's was never of any other Colour.
Who is the Lady with whom he appears to be in the strictest Engagement?
Colombine.
Who is she?
Colombine.
Whence came she, pray, Cousin?
From France.
Is she married, or single?
Mostly married; and at Harlequin's Service in spite of her Husband's Teeth.
Why so?
Because Colombine is to be at his Beck on every Occasion.
For what Reason?
Because they never appear without one another.
Is this Nature?
It is Fashion, and that's as good.
Why don't these worthy Persons favour us with a Song?
They never speak.
How must I understand them?
By the Motion of their Heads, Hands and Heels.
Have they no Tongues?
They must not use them.
Why does he wear a wooden Sword?
'Tis his Symbol, to which whatever obstructs his Wishes, must give way. Why?
That he may come at Colombine against all Obstruction?
Why must they needs be together?
That the People may laugh.
Wherefore should we laugh?
Because they are together.
Why does MR. HARLEQUIN delight so much in jumping?
To please his Mistress.
Why does she admire him for that?
Because he can reach her over other Mens Shoulders.
Is that Wit?
We laugh at it.
So you may; but it is more like to set me a crying.
You're a Country Lass, Cousin.
You, Cousin, are a Town Gentleman.
By this, Madam, you may guess at my Enter|tainment. We had just seen Hamlet, as I have said: My Heart was full of Ophelia's Distress, and the Prince's Fate had shook my Soul: In this State of Mind, to sit two Hours to see People run after one another as if they were bewitched, only to cuckold a poor simple-looking Husband, put me so much out of Patience, that I shall not bear the Sight of the Stage for some time. And indeed, having now run thro' the Diversions of the Town, I begin to be desirous of casting myself at your Feet, as becomes
Your dutiful Niece.
LETTER CLX. From a Country Gentleman in Town, to his Brother in the Country, describing a publick Execution in London.
Dear Brother,
I HAVE this Day been satisfying a Curiosity I believe natural to most People, by seeing an Execution at Tyburn: The Sight has had an extra|ordinary Effect upon me, which is more owing to the unexpected Oddness of the Scene, than the affecting Concern which is unavoidable in a think|ing Person, at a Spectacle so awful, and so interest|ing, to all who consider themselves of the same Species with the unhappy Sufferer.
That I might the better view the Prisoners, and escape the Pressure of the Mob, which is prodi|gious, nay, almost incredible, if we consider the Frequency of these Executions in London, which is once a Month; I mounted my Horse, and ac|companied the melancholy Cavalcade from New|gate to the fatal Tree. The Criminals were Five in Number. I was much disappointed at the Un|concern and Carelesness that appeared in the Faces of Three of the unhappy Wretches: The Coun|tenances of the other Two were spread with that Horror and Despair which is not to be wonder'd at in Men whose Period of Life is so near, with the terrible Aggravation of its being hasten'd by their own voluntary Indiscretion and Misdeeds. The Exhortation spoken by the Bell-man, from the Wall of St. Sepulchre's Church-yard, is well intended; but the Noise of the Officers, and the
Mob, was so great, and the silly Curiosity of People climbing into the Cart to take leave of the Crimi|nals, made such a confused Noise, that I could not hear the Words of the Exhortation when spoken; tho' they are as follow: "All good People, pray heartily to GOD for these poor Sinners, who now are going to their Deaths; for whom this great Bell doth toll.""You that are condemn'd to die, repent with lamentable Tears. Ask Mercy of the Lord for the Salvation of your own Souls, thro' the Merits, Death, and Passion of Jesus Christ, who now sits at the Right-hand of God, to make Intercession for as many of you as peni|tently return unto him.""Lord have Mercy upon you! Christ have Mercy upon you!"—Which last Words the Bell-man repeats three times.All the way up Holborn the Croud was so great, as at every twenty or thirty Yards, to obstruct the Passage; and Wine, notwithstanding a late good Order against that Practice, was brought the Male|factors, who drank greedily of it, which I thought did not suit well with their deplorable Circum|stances: After this, the Three thoughtless young Men, who at first seemed not enough concerned, grew most shamefully daring and wanton; be|having themselves in a manner that would have been ridiculous in Men in any Circumstance what|ever: They swore, laugh'd, and talk'd obscenely, and wish'd their wicked Companions good Luck, with as much Assurance as if their Employment had been the most lawful.
At the Place of Execution, the Scene grew still more shocking; and the Clergyman who attended
was more the Subject of Ridicule, than of their serious Attention. The Psalm was sung amidst the Curses and Quarrelling of Hundreds of the most abandon'd and profligate of Mankind: Upon whom (so stupid are they to any Sense of Decency) all the Preparation of the unhappy Wretches seems to serve only for Subject of a barbarous kind of Mirth, altogether inconsistent with Humanity. And as soon as the poor Creatures were half dead, I was much surprised, before such a Number of Peace-Officers, to see the Populace fall to halling and pulling the Carcasses with so much Earnest|ness as to occasion several warm Rencounters, and broken Heads. These, I was told, were the Friends of the Persons executed, or such as, for the sake of Tumult, chose to appear so, and some Persons sent by private Surgeons to obtain Bodies for Dissection. The Contests between these were sierce and bloody, and frightful to look at: So that I made the best of my way out of the Crowd, and, with some Difficulty, rode back among a large Number of People, who had been upon the same Errand with myself. The Face of every one spoke a kind of Mirth, as if the Spectacle they had be|held had afforded Pleasure instead of Pain, which I am wholly unable to account for. In other Nations, common Criminal Exec••tions are said to be little attended by any beside the necessary Officers, and the mournful Friends; but here, all was Hurry and Confusion, Racket and Noise, Praying and Oaths, Swearing and Singing Psalms: I am unwilling to impute this Difference in our own to the Practice of other Nations, to the Cruelty of our Natures; to which, Foreigners, however, to our Dishonour, ascribe it. In most Instances, let them say what they will, we are hu|mane beyond what other Nations can boast; but
in this, the Behaviour of my Countrymen is past my accounting for; every Street and Lane I pasted through, bearing rather the Face of a Holiday, than of that Sorrow which I expected to see, for the untimely Deaths of five Members of the Community. One of the Bodies was carried to the Lodging of his Wife, who not being in the way to receive it, they immediately hawked it about to every Surgeon they could think of; and when none would buy it, they rubb'd Tar all over it, and left it in a Field hardly cover'd with Earth.
This is the best Description I can give you of a Scene that was no way entertaining to me, and which I shall not again take so much Pains to see. I am, dear Brother,
Yours affectionately.
Advice of an Aunt to a Niece, in relation to her Conduct in the Addresses made her by Two Gentlemen; one a gay, fluttering Military Coxcomb, the other a Man of Sense and Honour. In Five Letters.
LETTER CLXI.
I. The Aunt to the Niece, desiring her own Opinion of her Two Lovers.
Dear Lydia,
I AM given to understand, that you have two new Admirers, of very different Tempers and Professions; the one Capt. Tomkins of the Guards; the other Mr. Rushford. As I know Mr. Rush|ford
to be a sensible, sedate, worthy Gentleman; I am a little uneasy, lest he should be discouraged for the other. And yet, as I know not the Merits or Qualifications of the Captain, I would not censure you, or condemn him, right or wrong. This makes me desire your Sentiments of both, and that you'll acquaint me to which you most incline. I have a very high Opinion of your Prudence, and can have no View in this Request, but your Good. Only, I must assure you, that I have such an Esteem for Mr. Rushford's Character, that the other Gentleman ought to be something more ex|traordinary than is to be generally met with in his Profession, to be preferr'd to him. I hope you'll think so too; but be this as it will, the frank De|claration of your Mind will be very obliging to Your truly affectionate Aunt.
LETTER CLXII.
II. The Niece's Answer: Describing the Beha|viour of the sensible Lover.
Honoured Aunt,
I HAVE, on so many Occasions, as well of this, as other kinds, been obliged to your kind Con|cern for me, that I should be very ingrateful, if I conceal'd from you the least Byass of my Mind on so important an Occasion. I think truly with you, that Mr. Rushford is a very valuable Gentleman; yet he is over-nice sometimes as to the Company I see; and would take upon him a little too much, if I did not keep him at a Distance; and particularly is so uneasy about the Captain, that he wants me to forbear seeing him on any Occasion. Now, I think, this is a little too prescribing, for the Time
of our Acquaintance, and the small Progress I have hitherto permitted to the Intimacy between us. For what is this but surrendering to him upon his own Terms? and that, too, before I am sum|moned in Form? Nothing but a betrothed Lover, or a Husband, has surely a Right to expect this Ob|servance; and if I were to oblige him, it is abso|lutely putting myself in his Power, before he con|vinces me how he will use it. O my dear Aunt, these Men, I see, even the worthiest of them, are incroaching Creatures!—And a Woman that would not be despis'd, must not make her Will too cheap an Offering to that of her Admirer. Then, my dear Aunt, I know not how it was with you formerly; but there is a Pleasure in being admired, that affects one very sensibly; and I know not whether even Mr. Rushford would say half the fine Things he does, if he had not a Competitor that says nothing else. And I think it a kind of Robbery that a Woman commits upon her Plea|sures, if she too soon confines herself to one. For she can be but once courted; unless such an Event happens, that she must have a very bad Heart, that can wish for it. And why should a Woman ab|solutely bind herself to the Terms of For Better or For Worse, before she goes to Church?—I hope, when the Ceremony has passed, I shall make a very good Wife: But why should I buckle to Honour and Obey, when it is all the Time I shall have to be honoured and obeyed myself?—Indeed, Aunt, I think, there is a great deal in this. And Mr. Rushford gives himself wonderful grave Airs already: As I'll give you an Instance—But here the Captain is come, and I will give you an Ac|count of it in my next. For I will lay before you faithfully all my Proceedings with both Gentle|men, and their Behaviour; and you will be en|abled
to judge from my Account, which I pre|fer, were I not to declare myself as plainly as I am sure I ought to do, in every Particular demanded of me by so good an Aunt. I am, Madam, Your truly dutiful and affectionate Kinswoman.
LETTER CLXIII. From the same.
III. Containing the Description of the Behaviour of the same Gentleman; which occasions a Love-quarrel.
Honoured Aunt,
I HOPE, the Suspense I gave you by my abrupt breaking off in my last, will be forgiven. I was going to give you an Instance of Mr. Rushford's grave Airs. He comes last Thursday with great Formality, and calls himself my humble Servant; and I saw he was pleased to be displeased at some|thing, and so look'd as grave as he, only bowing my Head, and following my Work; for I was hemming a Handkerchief. You are very busy, Madam—Yes, Sir—Perhaps I break in upon you—Not much, Sir—I am sorry if I do at all, Madam—You see I am pursuing my Work, as I was before you came.—I do, Madam!—very gravely, said he—But I have known it otherwise, when Somebody else has been here—Very likely, Sir!—But then I did as I pleased—so I do now—and who shall controul me?—I beg pardon, Madam; but 'tis my Value for you—That makes you troublesome, said I, interrupting him.—I am sorry for it, Madam!—Your humble Ser|vant.—Yours, Sir.—So away he went.—Well, thought I, if thou art to be lost for this, and must
put me into bodily Fear, every time thou hast a Mind to be grave, Adieu to thee! In the Evening he comes again—Mrs. Betty, Is your Lady disingaged? Could I be admitted to say one Word to her? I believe so, Sir. Madam, Mr. Rushford begs to be admitted to say one Word to you. He was at the Door, and heard me, as I know. Do you introduce him, said I, (with as much Form as he) to my Presence. He enter'd. I rose up, with my Hands before me—I see you are angry with me, Madam.—I am sorry for it, Sir, said I. Sorry for your Anger, I hope, Madam?—I should be sorry, Sir, said I, if any body should see me angry for nothing.—I am sorry, Madam, that you set as nothing one that has so much Value for you. Mr. Rushford, said I, we have so many Sorry's between us, that I should be pleas'd with a few Glad's!—Why, said he, with this stiff, set Air, do you delight to vex thus an Heart that you can make sorry or glad at your Pleasure?—Why am I, Sir, to be treated capriciously, and to have my Con|duct upbraided, when you think proper to be out of Humour?—I out of Humour, Madam!—I thought so—Was it in high good Humour that you insulted, me with that Somebody else?—I own, Madam, I cannot bear to see you so gay, so pleased, and lively, when that painted Butterfly is here; and so grave, so laconick, so reserv'd, when I pay my Respects to you. Pr'ythee, pr'ythee, Mr. Rushford, none of these prescribing Airs!—What Right have I given you to use me thus?—Madam, I hoped my Address was not quite unwelcome.—What|ever your Address is, your Prescriptions are.—I cannot, where I so much love, bear such a Difference as I always see in your Temper, when that Flutterer is here, to what I experience—The Difference perhaps may be in the Men, not in the Woman. As how,
Madam? As how! Why, said I, he makes me laugh, and if I was to give way to't, your grave Airs would make me cry!—Thank you, Madam, said he! What's Sport to you, is Death to me!—And so he sigh'd, and took a Turn or two about the Room—I was standing all this time. He came, and took my Hand, and look'd so silly upon me, I half pity'd him: I hope, Madam, I don't keep you standing!—Yes, you do, Sir!—I beg, Madam, you'll not torture me with this con|temptuous Formality!—I think I am the most com|plaisant Creature breathing!—To ME, Madam, do you mean!—Yes, Sir—You always mean something in your Paradoxes, Madam: May I ask your Mean|ing now?—When I last sat and pursued my Work, you were displeased. I now stand, and have nothing to do but to be entertain'd in such an agreeable manner as you shall think properest for me—yet you are not pleased.
Madam, said he, you put me quite beside my Pur|poses!—If I thought you would have it so, I would sooner die than be so troublesome to you, as I now have Reason to think myself—If you have Reason to think so, I hope you are Master of your own Actions, said I—Do you forbid me your Pre|sence for ever, Madam?—I do, if you ask it, Sir. (Was not this, Madam, daring me to answer even worse?)—I ask it, Madam! Heaven is my Witness, it would be the heaviest thing that could befal me—You would not thus brave it from me, if you thought so, said I, quite nettled.
In this manner we went on, till we had vex'd one another to some Purpose; and then he was so good as to give me Leave to sit down, and I was so gracious as to permit him to sit by me; and we parted with no Displeasure on either Side. Thus much for Mr. Rushford, and his grave Airs. My
next shall let you into the Qualifications of his Competitor. Till when, I am, honoured Madam, Your dutiful Kinswoman.
LETTER CLXIV.
IV. From the same: Describing her fluttering Pretender.
Honoured Madam,
INOW give you some Account of the Captain. He is a handsome Person of a Man, of a good Family: Heir to a good Estate: Dresses well, sings well, dances well—So much for his good Qualities. As for his others; he is insufferably vain; talkative; is always laughing, especially at what he says him|self; and, sometimes, at the Conceit of what he is going to say, before he speaks: He has such an un|daunted Assurance, that there is no such thing as putting him out of Countenance. One Instance I'll give you—He is always admiring himself in the Glass; insomuch that while he is in the Room, I cannot peep into one without staring him in the Face; and one Day rallying him on this, I ask'd him how the Glasses were fixed in a Camp? He reply'd, without Hesitation, O Madam! the Care our Generals take to pitch our Tents by the Banks of some transparent Stream, serves very well for that Purpose. And then he laugh'd most egre|giously for five or six Minutes together.
You may believe, Madam, from what I have said, that I give no great Encouragement to his Visits. Yet is there no such thing as getting rid of him; for by all his Conduct, I plainly see, he has swallow'd the ridiculous Opinion, that the more
averse a Woman appears to a Man's Addresses, the more Ground he has to expect Success; and he seems so assured of winning me, that I begin to be appre|hensive, every time he puts his Hand in his Pocket, that he will pull out a Licence and a Ring—If I admit him into my Company, I know not how to get rid of him. If I cause myself to be deny'd, he plants himself directly against my Window, that the whole Neighbourhood may know his Business: Thus, with or without my Consent, he will be either thought my reigning Admirer, or he will, Don Quixote like, have me for his Dulcinea, in spite of my Teeth. He has three or four times shew'd away before Mr. Rushford, and, as I cannot forbear heartily laughing at the Airs he gives himself, tho' for very different Reasons from those by which his risible Muscles are moved, he thinks me pleased with him; and, what is more vexatious, Mr. Rushford thinks so too, and grows serious and sullen, as I instanc'd in my former.
Now, Madam, what can I do? I heartily de|spise my Soldier; I greatly regard Mr. Rushford's good Sense, good Breeding, and other good Qua|lities: But to forbid this Fop, is what I am sure will have no Weight with him; for I have as good as done it several times, and he tells me, he will visit me whether I will or not, as long as I am unmarried: And to do it professedly in Complai|sance to Mr. Rushford, unless Matters had gone further between us, is putting myself absolutely in his Power, and declaring myself his, before he asks me the Question. So, may I not laugh on a little at the one, and teize the other's causeless Jealousy, do you think, till I bring Mr. Rushford to speak out so explicitly, that a Woman of some Niceness, as I pretend to be, may be in no Danger
of mistaking him? Besides, I think Mr. Rushford a little too capricious, and should be glad to break him of it, lest, if it ever should be our Lot to come together, that Temper should improve upon him; and be more troublesome from an Husband, than it is from an humble Servant. I should be glad my Conduct might merit the Appro|bation of so good a Judge: but if it do not, I will endeavour to conform myself to your Advice: For I am, and ever will be, honoured Madam, Your most dutiful Niece.
LETTER CLXV.
V. From the Aunt, containing solid Advice and Caution on this Occasion.
Dear Lydia,
YOUR last Letter pleased me much better than your two former: For your first held me in great Suspense; your second gave me Concern for your rigorous Treatment of poor Mr. Rushford, who, 'tis plain, loves you much; but your third confirms me in the Opinion I always entertain'd of your Prudence, in preferring a Man of Sense to a Coxcomb.
I must tell you, that nothing could give me greater Pleasure, than to see you Mr. Rushford's Bride. His Fortune is good, his Person manly and agreeable, and his Behaviour polite. But in my Opinion, you have need of all your Prudence and Caution, to avoid giving him a lasting Disgust; for I would have you always remember, my Dear, that nothing can give such Dislike to a Man of Wisdom and Discernment, as to make him imagine a Fool is preferr'd to him.
If Mr. Rushford did not love you, he would not be jealous of such a Fop as you describe; and it is enough to keep his Passions awake, when he sees you so grave and so severe, as I may say, to him, and so facetious and chearful with the other. For many a Woman of Sense, in other respects, has been caught by some of those ridiculous Airs that such empty Laughers give themselves; and if you should carry your Jest too sar, it might make him despise a Levity, as he would be apt to construe it, which he would think unworthy of his Addresses. I know it is but too natural to our Sex to love to be admired; but this Humour, when not properly bounded and guarded, has many times cost us dear, even the Happiness of all our Lives. Don't be afraid of obliging Mr. Rushford, in a Point so material to his Tranquillity, and your own Repu|tation, as the forbidding the Visits of your Man of Scarlet: For, as you intend not to encourage him, and he has so undaunted an Assurance, founded on so much Folly, I think, if you had no other hum|ble Servant, it would not be reputable to receive this; much less when you have one of so different a Cast, that Light and Darkness are not more op|posite: And a Person must have a very indifferent Regard to a Man of Merit, who would not give up such a one to his Request; for the very Thought of a Competition with such a Rival, in so tender and nice a Point, must be disgusting to a Man of Sense.
And besides, you know not, my Dear, but Mr. Rushford may be deterr'd from a formal putting the Question to you, by the Apprehension that you see his Rival with too much Approbation: For can a Man of his Sense think of giving him|self up absolutely to a Person who seems to waver in her Judgment, which to prefer of two such
Competitors? Must not the Mind that can hesitate one Moment on such a Decision, appear unworthy of the Character of his Wife? And then, as to teizing him for his Jealousy, and breaking him of it aforehand, I doubt this savours a little too much of the ungenerous Tem|pers of some of our Sex, who love to tyrannize, when they can. Prudence in a Lady is the best Cure of Jealousy in a Gentleman; and is the Method you propose of laughing on with the Captain, and teizing a worthy Man, who un|doubtedly loves you, a Mark of that Prudence?—Indeed, I fear, if you go on thus, you will either lose Mr. Rushford, or will be obliged to keep him at the Expence of a Submission (after you have provok'd him) proportionable to the Insult he will receive; and this, my dear Kinswoman, will be but little agreeable to the Pride of our Sex, and a particular Mortification to your own.
One Rule let me give you: That the more obliging you are in the Time of your Power, the more it will move a generous Mind to indulge you, in his; and the Time you may reckon yours, may not be Three Months in Proportion to Thirty Years of his; or the whole Life. And pray, my Dear, remember, that young Ladies assume a Task they are very little qualify'd for, when they set up to break Tempers, and manage Husbands, before they are married.
Your Prudence will suggest to you a very pro|per Conduct, I am sure, to secure a worthy Husband, without my writing a Word more. Especially as I know it will teach you to overcome the little low Pleasure, which some of our Sex take, at your Years, in being admired and flattered, and to conquer the little teizing Pride of perplex|ing and torturing the Heart of a worthy Ad|mirer,
when we think we have it in our Power. And so, hoping soon to hear, that you have ba|nish'd the Captain, and are in the way to change the Name of Fenton for that of Rushford, I remain, my dear Niece, Your affectionate Aunt.
LETTER CLXVI. From a Lady to her false Lover, who after having brav'd all his Friends Expostula|tions, at last is persuaded to abandon her for another of larger Fortune.
SIR,
'TIS a poor, a very poor Pretence that you make, after what has passed between us, that you must, in Compliance with the Commands of your Friends, break off Acquaintance with me! How often have I advised you to this formerly! How often have you vow'd the Impossibility of your doing it? How have you, in pursuance of this Avowal, brav'd your Friends, and defy'd their Resentments, in such a manner, that gave them no Hope of succeeding with you! tho' I always blam'd your disobliging way of doing it, in regard to them, as your Relations. But just as you had brought them to expect you would not be prevail'd upon, and they had so far acquiesced in your Choice, that I had received and returned Visits from the Principals of your Family, for you poorly to plead their Menaces, is such a Jest, as is not to be received without Contempt and In|dignation.
Well, I can guess at your Motives!—tho' you are too mean-spirited to acknowledge them, and that they are too mean to be acknowledged. Miss Holles can explain them all, by the Help of a larger Fortune than I have! I have heard of your Uncle's Proposal, and your Visit there.—Go on, Sir, and welcome! I have Spirit enough to despise the Man that could deceive me.—But could you not, for your own sake act this perfidious Part in a more manly and more worthy manner? Could you not find a better Reason than one you had always re|jected, when it was more your Duty to observe it? But must you, when your Vows to me had made it your Duty to dispense with it, then shew your Levity in adhering to it? Yet why do I expostulate with a Person so little deserving Expostulation? You may think me angry, because of my Dis|appointment. 'Tis true, it is a Disappointment, and I had a better Opinion of you than this Con|duct shews you deserved; or Things should never have proceeded so far as they did. But 'tis a Dis|appointment, I hope, (tho' no Thanks to any Part of your Conduct, but your Meanness) I shall soon get over. And tho' I wish you no Harm, let us see, if, Seven Years hence, you will be so many hundred Pounds the richer, as makes the Difference to you, between Miss Holles and Her you have treated so unworthily. And if that will make you happier, I truly wish you may be so! For I am not your Enemy, tho' you deserve not that I should style myself Your Friend.
LETTER CLXVII. From a Gentleman to his Lady, whose Over|niceness in her House, and uneasy Temper with her Servants, make their Lives un|comfortable.
My Dear,
YOUR kind Concern for my Absence is very obliging. 'Tis true, I have already out-stay'd my Intention by a Week; and I find the Place I am in so very engaging, and Mr. Terry and his Sister so agreeable, that, but to come to you, I could wil|lingly stay a Month longer with them. In short, my Dear, Mr. Terry lives just as I would wish to live; and his Sister, who is his House-keeper, is just what I would wish you to be, in many Parti|culars; tho' no one, in my Opinion, can equal you in others.
You must know then, that Mr. Terry and I are quite happy in one another; and when he has no Visitors, are indulg'd in a very pretty Parlour, which neither Pail nor Mop is permitted to enter for two or three Days together. And when we have Company, the Dining-room is at our Service, and the kind Lady lets us smoak there without remarking upon the beastly Fumes that we give the Furniture. Not only so, but if, by a sudden Turn of the Pipe, any one of us chances to bestrew the Floor with burnt Tobacco, we are not broken in upon either by Maid or Broom. And yet no Room can be cleaner than we find that, when we return to it from a Walk in the Gardens.
And indeed, I must acquaint you, that I never saw a Lady more prudently nice than Mrs. Terry.
Her Person, Furniture, and House, are even Pat|terns of Neatness and good Oeconomy. I never any-where saw the one or the other out-done. Yet how can this be, I marvel!—For I have seen her pass over the Mark of a dirty Shoe-heel, upon a Floor as white as a Curd, and never once rank the Aggressor among the worst of Slovens. Nay, more than that, I have seen her Brother drop a few Crums of Bread and Butter under his Feet, with|out so much as one corrective Frown? Is not this strange, my Dear? Have Batchelors, from a Sister, more Privileges, than a marry'd Man from his Wife? More than this, (it is true, upon my Honour! incredible as it may seem to you) t'other Day he happen'd to spill a Glass of Claret upon a fine Damask Table-cloth, and broke the Glass; yet met with no other Reproof than an agreeable Laugh at his Aukwardness, and, It was well it was he that did it, who might do as he pleased with his own!. Oh, what a happy Man, thought I, is this good old Batchelor!
But, my Dear, prepare for more strange Things still: Yesterday, at Dinner, he was cutting up a good fat Goose, and, by an unfortunate Splash, most grievously bespatter'd a rich Gown his Sister had on. My Heart ached upon this; for, truly, I thought, for a Moment, I was at home. But good Mrs. Terry convinced me of the contrary. Oh, Brother, said she, with a Smile, what a Slip was that!—But, Misfortunes will happen!—And out she pulled her Pocket Hankerchief, to wipe her Gown. I am sorry for it, Sister, said he. It can't be help'd, return'd she, with a Smile; but I had a good Mind to put you to some Expence for this. This was all she said, and she kept her Seat, and eat her Dinner in perfect good Temper; nay, and look'd as easy and as pleasant as she spoke.
I must still further observe, that, tho' all Things here are conducted with the greatest Decorum, and every Servant in the House knows their Duty, and does it distinguishingly well, yet I have never heard one high or angry Word pass between Mrs. Terry and the Maids. Is not this surprising, my Dear? What can it be owing to? I thought, for my Share, so much have I been used to a contrary Manage|ment, that no Servant could do their Duty, unless the Mistress of the Family put herself out of Hu|mour with all the House. Either she is more fortunate than you, in lighting of good Servants; or, perhaps, as Persecution makes Schismaticks in the Church, so finding Faults creates them in a Family. There may be something in this, my Dear; for I have seen your Maid Jane blunder, out of Fear; and blunder a second time, to find she had blunder'd; and a third, because she was put quite out, and could not help it.—Then how has my poor Deary been discomposed! How have her charming Features been even distorted with Passion! not a Bit of the Lily in her Face; for the crimson Rose had swallowed it all up; and an Eye darting Flames of Indignation and Woe mixed together! And then, breaking Silence, Nobody ever had such Torments of Servants as I have! Alas! poor Deary! How hard is thy Hap!—How much happier this good Family! For, se|cure of an Excuse, rather than Blame, if a small Fault should be committed, in comes each Ser|vant, as their Duty requires, all serene, pleased, chearful, as their Mistress. Their Eye is fixed upon her Eye, with a becoming Confidence of pleasing; and a Nod, or a Beck, does more with them, than an hundred Words. How can I, my Dear, think of leaving such a delightful House and Family as this?—Yet I long
to see my beloved Spouse; and I will set out on Monday next for that Purpose, with as great Delight as ever I knew, since I had the Happiness to call you mine. But pray, my dear Love, let what I have said, without the least Design to offend or concern you, a little impress you, however. Let me have the Satisfaction, for both our sakes, of seeing you get over some of those Foibles, that make us as effectually unhappy, at times, as if we had substantial Evils to encounter with. In short, my Dear, let us think the House made for our Use, and not we for that. And let us shew our Servants, that while we would have them less faulty than they are, we will, ourselves, try to be more perfect than we have hitherto been; and not, while we condemn their Failings, be guilty of much greater. Justice, Prudence, Ease, Pleasure, Interest, Re|putation, all require this of us: And could I hope what I have written will be attended to, as I wish and mean it, you cannot conceive the Delight that will double upon me on my Return to my Dearest; for it is my Pride, that I can style my|self
Yours ever, most affectionately.
LETTER CLXVIII. From a Gentleman who in a small Fortune ex|periences the Slights of his Friends; but being suddenly reputed to be rich, is oppressed with the fawning Caresses and Adulation of those who had before neglected him.
Dear Sir,
I MUST, for once, postpone every thing I would say to you, in order to make room for an Ac|count you little expect.
What will you say, when I tell you, that a current Report of my being immensely rich is the greatest Misfortune I at present labour under? Nor do I find it so supportable as you may be apt to imagine. The Occasion was owing to the frequent Slights I had received from the Gentlewoman with whom I lodge, and from others of my Friends, who, believing that I lived up to my scanty Fortune, as in Truth I do, (tho' I take care to be beholden to nobody, and pay ready Money for every thing) could not treat me negligently enough. I com|plain'd of this to that arch Wag Tony Richards, who told me, he would change every one's Be|haviour to me in a few Days. And he has done it effectually: For what does he do, but, as a kind of Secret, acquaints my Landlady, that beside my poor little Estate (which you know to be my All) he had lately discovered, that I had Twenty thou|sand Pounds Stock in one of our great Companies! Such was the Force of his whimsical Delusion, that, the very next Morning, I had a clean Towel hung over my Water-bottle, tho' I never before had more than one a Week during the Twenty Years I have lodged here.
About a Week after this, my Cousin Tom, who, for the two Years he has been in the Temple, has let me see him but three times, came, in a most complaisant manner, plainer dressed than ever I had before seen him; and begg'd, if the Length of the Evening was in any Degree burdensome, I would permit him to wait upon me with such Pieces of Wit, Humour, or Entertainment, as the Town afforded; the reading of which under my Ear, he was sure, would be a great Advantage to him; and assured me, that, for a Beginning, he had presumed to bring the last new Tragedy in his Pocket: I thank'd my young Spark. Upon which
he is so much in earnest in his Observances, that three Nights in a Week he thus entertains me: Which will at least be of so much Service, as to keep him out of more expensive Company. And you cannot think what Pains the Rogue takes to read with the Cadence he knows I admire, and sits till his Teeth chatter before he offers to look towards the Fire. What you will still more wonder at, Sir John Hookhim called upon me before Christmas; and tho' I have not had a Visit from him these Five Years, was so obliging, as to run away with me in his Cha|riot into Hertfordshire, to keep the Holidays in his Family; where his Lady treated me with the utmost Respect, and her Daughters paid me their Morning Devoirs, with the same Deference as if I had been their Grand Papa. No Dinner was concluded upon, without consulting my Palate; and the young Gentlemen, his Sons, are as ambi|tious of my hearing their Exercises, as if their Fortunes depended upon my Approbation.
Sir John acquainted me with every Improvement he had made in his Estate, and assured me, that his second Son Will. my Namesake, has a Genius singularly turned for managing Country Business, had he not had the Misfortune of having a Brother born before him; and gave me several Reasons to believe, that a fine Estate, which lay in the Neigh|bourhood, and was then to be sold, would be a great Pennyworth. I took the Hint; but said, I had no Inclination to purchase: He shook his Head at my Thousands, and told me, that, in his Opi|nion, a Land Estate was preferable to the best Stock in the Kingdom.
When I came to Town the 4th of January, I was no sooner out of Sir John's Chariot, but my Landlady, in Person, informed me, that since I
had been absent, I had so many Presents sent me, that she had been in an hundred Fears for their spoiling: I asked her the Particulars, and found Five Turkeys, Three Chines, Three Hampers of Ma|deira for the Gout, Two Collars of Brawn, Geese, Chickens, Hares, and Wild-fowl, to a large Amount. At Night I was welcom'd to Town by all my old Acquaintance, and about Twenty almost new ones: I was a little tired with my Journey; and had a slight Cold besides; which being observed, one was running for a Physician, another for a Surgeon, to bleed me: One thought an Emetick not improper: Another recommended a gentle Sweat, or composing Draught; and, amidst the general Officiousness, I could hear it whisper'd, that if my Will was not made, Delays might prove dangerous: And, in the Morning, five Messengers after my Welfare arrived before Day.
Thus, Sir, you see my Peace is gone, my Tongue is of no Use; for no one believes me, when I declare my real Circumstances: And, under the Happiness of a very small Fortune, I suffer all the Afflictions attending a Man immoderately rich; and if you keep not your usual Behaviour, I shall not know myself, nor any Man else; since all my Companions are become Flatterers, and all around me are so obsequious, that it is impossible for me to know when I do right or wrong. I am, dear Sir, tho' thus whimsically situated,
Your real Friend.
LETTER CLXIX. From one Brother to another, on the rash Mar|riage of a beloved Daughter of one of them, to a profligate young Fellow.
My dear Brother.
I AM exceedingly concerned for the rash Step your Daughter Thomasin has made: I know how it must affect you, and I am myself not a little troubled at it. But we see how unfit we are to chuse for ourselves! And, oh! how often are we punished by the Enjoyment of our own Wishes!—You say, you would rather have follow'd her Corpse to the Grave, than that she should have thus thrown herself away on a Rake, a Prodigal, a Sot, and a Fool, as I, as well as you, know to be the Cha|racter of the Person she has chosen. I would not afflict you, my dear Brother, instead of pouring Balm on the Wounds of your Mind. But you will remember, that it is scarce two Years ago, when you were no less anxiously disturbed on Occa|sion of the violent Fever, which then endangered her Life. What Vows did you not put up for her Recovery! What Tumults of Grief then agitated your afflicted Mind! And how do you know, that then she was only restor'd at your incessant and im|portunate Prayers; but that otherwise, God Al|mighty, knowing what was best for you both, would have taken her away from this heavy Evil! This should teach us Resignation to the Divine Will, and that we are most unfit to chuse for our|selves: And even this Affliction, heavy as it is, may be sent, in order to wean you from a Delight that you had too much set your Heart upon.
Mean time, you must not, by too violent a Re|sentment and Reprobation of her, which I find you are resolv'd upon, add to the Miseries she has chosen. The poor Creature, will, I fear, too soon find her Punishment in her Choice; and already, I understand, she is driven to great Distress. You know she has strong Passions, and your too great Severity may precipitate her on her everlasting Ruin, when she becomes thoroughly sensible of the Condition she has brought herself to, from as happy Prospects as any young Lady could promise her|self. Let this prevail upon you to allow her Necessa|ries; for, oh! 'tis a sad thing for meagre Want to stare in the Face a young Creature used to the fullest Plenty! especially when 'tis aggravated by the Reflection, that it is all owing to her own Rashness. And as it may not suit with your Liking, to appear yourself to allow her any thing, at least till you see what Use will be made of your Fa|vours, I will undertake, as from myself, and on my own Head, to furnish, if you please, what is immediately necessary; and from time to time give you a faithful Account of the Disposition in which she receives it, and how her wretched De|luder is affected by it.
This is a Task I should not be fond of, but to prevent worse Consequences; and I must intreat you, Brother, to weigh seriously the Matter; and as you abound, let not the unhappy Wretch, who, after all, is your Daughter, want those Necessaries of Life, which all your Servants have in such Plenty.
I could not bear to be a Witness of the great Griefs, which must tear asunder your Heart, strug|gling between paternal Affection, and just Indig|nation; which makes me chuse to write to you;
and shall wait your Resolution on this Subject. I am, dear Brother, Yours most affectionately.
LETTER CLXX. The afflicted Father, in Answer to the preceding.
Dear Brother,
YOU are very kind in your Intention, yet very affecting in your just Reproofs of my mis|placed Fondness for a Creature so unworthy. Re|signation to the Divine Will, a noble, a needful Lesson! is the Doctrine you raise from it. God give it me, as I ought to have it. Time and His Grace, I hope, will effect it. But at present—Oh! Brother! you know not how I set my Heart on this Wretch. That was my Crime, you'll say: And 'tis but just it should be my Punishment. Do you, as you please, in what you propose. I desire not the ingrateful Creature should want, yet let her too be pinch'd: Nothing else will make her sensible of her great Offence—But don't let her be precipitated on any worse Fate, if a worse can be possible, as it may with regard to another Life. Yet let not her Seducer be the better for the As|sistance. He shall never riot in my Substance. Let me know what you have done three Months hence; that I may retrench, or add to what you shall ad|vance, as I shall see her Behaviour. I say in three Months, for another Reason: because I may by that time, I hope, get more Strength of Mind and Patience, than at present possesses the Heart of
Your ever-affectionate Brother.
LETTER CLXXI. To a Father on the Loss of his Son, who died under Age.
My dear Friend,
YOUR Lot, I confess, is hard, exceeding hard, to lose so promising and so hopeful a Child as that dear Boy was, who so much engrossed the Af|fections of yourself and Spouse: and a suitable Grief on so trying an Occasion ought to be indulged. But yet not so, as if you were bereft of all Com|fort, and insensible to those other great Mercies, which God has bestowed upon you. This, my dear Friend, would be a sinful Rejection of those Blessings which remain to you, as if, like froward Children, you would have nothing, because you could not have every thing you wish'd.
Look upon all the great Families of the Earth, upon all your Neighbours round you; and see if they have not almost every one shed. Tears on this very Occasion, and then judge of the Unreason|ableness of too great a Grief, and what Pretension you have to be exempted from those Accidents, to which Royalty itself is liable. I will not, to alleviate your Grief, remind you of a Topick, which is however no less important than too frequently the Case, that he might not always have been so hope|ful; but might, as he grew up, many ways have ad|ministered Bitterness to you. But I think it sur|passes all other Comforts, even those you hoped for from him, that he is taken away at an Age, at which God's Mercy renders his eternal Happiness unquestionably certain; and you and your mourn|ing Spouse have the Pleasure to reflect, that ye have been the happy Means of adding one to the Number of the Blest above; and that he is gone be|fore you, but a little while, to that Place, where
all Tears shall be wiped away, and whither, thro' the same infinite Mercy, you will in time follow him, and enjoy him for ever. You have this Comfort, that he dy'd a natural Death; that the Work was God Almighty's, who gave him to you, and has but taken back what he lent you: That you saw every thing done for his Recovery, that could be done; and that it pleased God not to grant him to your Prayers; and why should you repine at the Dispensation, when you know the Dispenser? Let it therefore be your Duty, on this trying Occasion, to shew an intire Acquiescence to the Divine Will; such an Ac|quiescence as may be exemplary to your good Spouse, whose weaker Sex and Mind want all the Conso|lation your stronger Reason can give her. And at the same time, it behoves you to shew a thankful Spirit for the Mercies yet continued to you, (Mer|cies that Thousands have not to rejoice in!) lest God Almighty should, as a Punishment, deprive you of those you have still left.
I beg you will take in good Part these few Lines, which my Affection for you has drawn from my Pen; and that you'll believe me to be, dear Sir,
Your truly sympathizing Friend, and humble Servant.
LETTER CLXXII. To a Father on the Loss of a hopeful Son, who died at Man's Estate.
SIR,
I AM truly sorry for your Loss. So hopeful a Son just arrived at Man's Estate, and who was so great a Comfort and Assistance to you, to be
snatched away, is what must administer to you the greatest Grief of any thing that could possibly befal you. But, alas! yours is no new Case. The greatest Fa|milies have been thus afflicted, and with the Aggra|vation to some of them, that perhaps they have been deprived of their Heirs, and have not a Son left to continue their Name and Honours. The late Queen Anne, when Princess of Denmark, lost her beloved Duke of Gloucester, not only her Hopes, but the Hopes of the Nation; and the Crown, to which he seem'd not only born, but fashioned, was obliged to be settled, on that Occasion, upon a distant Branch of the Royal Line.
The great Duke of MARLBOROUGH, who by his Merit, and his Victories, had raised a princely Estate, as well as Titles, had but one Son, the Marquis of Blandford, on whom he and his Duchess built all their Hopes, for the perpetuating of those new Honours in their Family; and he was snatched away by Death, when he was at the Uni|versity, training up to become the Dignities, to which he was intitled.
Still more recent was the unhappy Fate of a Lady of the first Quality in England. Her Lord had a Son lent to his advanced Years. This Son was the last of that noble Family, and on his Life depended all his Father's and his Mother's Hopes; and on his living till of Age, a valuable Part of the Estate itself, which otherwise was to fall to an ille|gitimate Offspring. What Care was not used to preserve the noble Youth! An eminent Physician was taken into the Family, to be made a constant Watchman, as it were, over his Health and Exer|cises. The young Nobleman himself was hopeful, dutiful, and as distinguished in the Graces of his Mind, as by his Birth. He travelled; his indul|gent Mother travelled with him: He made a Cam|paign
under his Uncle, the greatest General then surviving in an Age of Generals. He again travelled to restore and confirm his Health, and all the noble Mother's Hopes and Views were employ'd on the finding for her beloved Son, on his Return, a Wife suitable to his Quality, and who might be a Means to preserve one of the first Families in the King|dom, from utter Extinction. What was the Event of all her Cares, her Hopes, her Vows, her Prospects?—Why, just as the young Nobleman had (within a few Months) arrived at Age, and could have made those Family Settle|ments, which were most desirable should be made, and the Want of which involved his noble Mother in perplexing Law-suits, which, too, turn'd against her; it pleased God to deprive her of him, and he died in a foreign Land, far distant from his fond Mother; who, (still more grievous, if true!) for Reasons of State, as was said, had been deny'd to accompany and attend him; and so ended all her Hopes of above twenty Years standing, and in him his Family likewise.
A still more recent Calamity to a great Family, I might mention; in the Death of two hopeful Children, the only Sons of their Father, and the only Heirs Male of one of the first Families in the Kingdom, both snatch'd away, in the Space of a few Hours of one another, from healthy Consti|tutions, and no Ailments previous to the sudden one that carry'd them off, which was only believed to be a sore Throat. In vain were the Consulta|tions of the most eminent Physicians and Surgeons, who gave Attendance all Night, minutely to watch every Change of the Distemper; in vain prov'd the Assurance of the Skilful to the fond Parents, that there was no Danger. Death mocked all their Hopes; and when the first dy'd, in vain was he opened, in order to find out, if possible, the
Cause of the fatal Malady, in order to administer, with greater Hopes of Success, Remedies against it, to preserve the other. That other hopeful Youth followed his Brother, and their Fate deeply wounded the Hearts of half a dozen noble Families, whose intimate Relationship gave them a very near Interest in the awful Event. Like Instances of the Loss of hopeful Sons, and of the only Male Heirs, might be produced in other Families of prime Distinction in the List of the British Nobility; but I need not enumerate more to a Mind considerate as yours, which will reflect that Death is a common Lot, from which no Rank or Degree is exempted. And I hope these Reflections, and such as you will be able to add to them, by your own Reason and Piety, will serve to rebuke the Overflowings of your Grief, and con|fine it to the natural Channels, into which both God and Nature will indulge it to flow.
I mention not to your enlighten'd Mind, you see, the Motives, that, nevertheless, might be in|sisted on with great Propriety, on so grievous an Occasion; such as, The Uncertainty of Life: The Gratitude you ought to shew for having had your Son so long continu'd to you, as he was: The great Probability of his being happy in God's Mer|cies, by reason of his Hopefulness and Duty: The early Release he has met with from the Troubles and Chances of a changeable and transitory Life: His Escape from the Danger of the Temptations which his Virtue might have been tried with, had he lived to maturer Years: That this your Depriva|tion is God's Work: That he dy'd not in a distant Land, and by an untimely Death: But that you had the Satisfaction of knowing that every thing was done for him that could be done: That his Morals were still untainted, and he was not cut off in the Pursuit of some capital Sin, as has too
often been the Case with bold and daring Spirits in the Heat of their youthful Passions: And that he escap'd the Snares usually laid for young Men by idle Companions, and vicious Women, which too often entangle and catch the unthinking Mind. These will be all suggested to you from your own better Reason; and to that secondarily, as to a due Resignation to the Divine Will primarily, let me reser you, on this trying Occasion: Who am, with a sympathizing Affection, dear Sir, Your sincere Friend, and humble Servant.
LETTER CLXXIII. To a * 177.1 Widow on the Death of her Husband.
Good Madam,
ALLOW me the Liberty of condoling with you on the truly great and heavy Loss you have sustain'd of an excellent Husband. All we, who had the Pleasure of his Friendship, mourn with you, the irretrievable Misfortune to us as well as to you. But as there is no recalling it, and as it is God's doing, we must not repine at the Dispensation, but acquiesce in it. And yet to say, that neither you nor we ought to grieve for it, would be absurd and unnatural. Sinful Grief, however, we are commanded to shun: And we ought to bless God, that he was graciously pleased to continue him with us so long, instead of mourning too heavily, that we had not longer the Pleasure of his agreeable Con|versation. We were not born together, and some of us must have gone first; and I have sometimes
been ready to think, (besides the Life of Glory, that, thro' God's Mercies, awaits the Good) that he is far happier, than those he leaves behind him, in this Point, That he is saved from the Regret (which fills the wounded Hearts of his surviving Friends) of seeing them go before him, as they have seen him go before them. Had he not dy'd now, a few Years would have determin'd his useful Life; for the longest Life is but a Span; and then the Matter, had he gone before us, would have been as it is now. We may make our own Lives miserable in be|wailing his Loss; but we cannot do him good, nor (were he to know it) Pleasure. You, in particu|lar, Madam, who are now called upon to be both Father and Mother to the dear Pledges of your mutual Affection, ought to take double Care, how you suffer immoderate Grief to incapacitate you from this new, and more arduous and necessary Task. For by this means, you would not only do yourself Hurt, but double the Loss which his dear Children have already sustain'd in that of their Father. And would you, Madam, make them motherless as well as fatherless?—God forbid! Consider, tho' this is a heavy Case, yet it is a com|mon Case. And we must not repine, that God Almighty thought him ripe for Heaven, and put an End to his probatory State.
With melancholy Pleasure have I often, on the Loss of Friends, contemplated the excellent Advice of the Son of Sirach, who tells us how we ought to mourn on these Occasions, and how we ought to govern our Mourning; and reminds us most excellently, that while we are grieving for our departed Friends, our own Lives pass away, and we are not. You'll permit me to transcribe his own excellent Words, as most suitable to the Sub|ject before us.
To add any thing to this excellent Advice, would be, in some measure, to depreciate it. I will therefore conclude with my Prayers, that God will enable you to bear as you ought, and as all your Friends wish and expect from you, this truly heavy Dispensation, and that most particularly for the sake of your dear Children by him; and with assure|ing you of my Service, to the utmost of my Ability: For I am, Madam, as well for theirs and your own sake, as for his Memory's sake,
Your faithful Friend, and humble Servant.
'Tis said, That Sir John Tr_+_+, Master of the Rolls, caused this Sign to be taken down, on the Cla|mour it occasion'd among the Lawyers.
With small Variations, the same Arguments may be used to a Husband on the Death of his Wife, and on other melancholy Occasions of the like Nature.