A vindication of the rights of woman: with strictures on political and moral subjects. / By Mary Wollstonecraft.

VINDICATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. PART I.

CHAP. I. THE RIGHTS AND INVOLVED DUTIES OF MANKIND CONSIDERED.

IN the present state of society it appears neces|sary to go back to first principles in search of the most simple truths, and to dispute with some prevailing prejudice every inch of ground. To clear my way, I must be allowed to ask some plain questions, and the answers will probably appear as unequivocal as the axioms on which reasoning is built; though, when entangled with various motives of action, they are formally con|tradicted, either by the words or conduct of men.

In what does man's pre-eminence over the brute creation consist? The answer is as clear as that a half is less than the whole; in Reason.

What acquirement exalts one being above an|other? Virtue; we spontaneously reply.

For what purpose were the passions implant|ed? That man by struggling with them might attain a degree of knowledge denied to the brutes; whispers Experience.

Consequently the perfection of our nature and capability of happiness, must be estimated by the degree of reason, virtue, and knowledge, that distinguish the individual, and direct the laws which bind society: and that from the exercise of reason, knowledge and virtue naturally flow, is equally undeniable, if mankind be viewed col|lectively.

The rights and duties of man thus simplified, it seems almost impertinent to attempt to illus|trate truths that appear so incontrovertible; yet such deeply rooted prejudices have clouded rea|son, and such spurious qualities have assumed the name of virtues, that it is necessary to pursue the course of reason as it has been perplexed and in|volved in error, by various adventitious circum|stances, comparing the simple axiom with casual deviations.

Men, in general, seem to employ their reason to justify prejudices, which they have imbibed, they cannot trace how, rather than to root them out. The mind must be strong that resolutely forms its own principles; for a kind of intel|lectual cowardice prevails which makes many men shrink from the task, or only do it by halves. Yet the imperfect conclusions thus drawn, are frequently very plausible, because they are built on partial experience, on just, though narrow, views.

Going back to first principles, vice skulks, with all its native deformity, from close investi|gation; but a set of shallow reasoners are always exclaiming that these arguments prove too much, and that a measure rotten at the core may be ex|pedient. Thus expediency is continually con|trasted with simple principles, till truth is lost in a mist of words, virtue, in forms, and know|ledge rendered a sounding nothing, by the spe|cious prejudices that assume its name.

That the society is formed in the wisest man|ner, whose constitution is founded on the nature of man, strikes, in the abstract, every thinking being so forcibly, that it looks like presumption to endeavour to bring forward proofs; though proof must be brought, or the strong hold of prescription will never be forced by reason; yet to urge prescription as an argument to justify the depriving men (or women) of their natural rights, is one of the absurd sophisms which dai|ly insult common sense.

The civilization of the bulk of the people of Europe is very partial; nay, it may be made a question, whether they have acquired any vir|tues in exchange for innocence, equivalent to the misery produced by the vices that have been plastered over unsightly ignorance, and the free|dom which has been bartered for splendid slavery. The desire of dazzling by riches, the most cer|tain pre-eminence that man can obtain, the plea|sure of commanding flattering sycophants, and many other complicated low calculations of do|ting self-love, have all contributed to overwhelm the mass of mankind, and make liberty a con|venient

handle for mock patriotism. For whilst rank and titles are held of the utmost import|ance, before which Genius "must hide its di|minished head," it is, with a few exceptions, very unfortunate for a nation when a man of abilities, without rank or property, pushes himself for|ward to notice.—Alas! what unheard of misery have thousands suffered to purchase a cardinal's hat for an intriguing obscure adventurer, who longed to be ranked with princes, or lord it over them by seizing the triple crown!

Such, indeed, has been the wretchedness that has flowed from hereditary honours, riches, and monarchy, that men of lively sensibility have al|most uttered blasphemy in order to justify the dispensations of providence. Man has been held out as independent of his powe•• who made him, or as a lawless planet darting from its orbit to steal the celestial fire of reason; and the venge|ance of heaven, lurking in the subtile flame, suf|ficiently punished his temerity, by introducing evil into the world.

Impressed by this view of the misery and dis|order which pervaded society, and fatigued with jostling against artificial fools, Rousseau became enamoured of solitude, and, being at the same time an optimist, he labours with uncommon eloquence to prove that man was naturally a soli|tary animal. Misled by his respect for the good|ness of God, who certainly—for what man of sense and feeling can doubt it!—gave life only to communicate happiness, he considers evil as positive, and the work of man; not aware that

he was exalting one attribute at the expense of another, equally necessary to divine perfection.

Reared on a false hypothesis his arguments in favour of a state of nature are plausible, but un|sound. I say unsound; for to assert that a state of nature is preferable to civilization, in all its possible perfection, is, in other words, to arraign supreme wisdom; and the paradoxical exclama|tion, that God has made all things right, and that evil has been introduced by the creature, whom he formed, knowing what he formed, is as unphilosophical as impious.

When that wise Being who created us and placed us here, saw the fair idea, he willed, by allowing it to be so, that the passions should un|fold our reason, because he could see that present evil would produce future good. Could the helpless creature whom he called from nothing break loose from his providence, and boldly learn to know good by practising evil, without his permission? No.—How could that energetic ad|vocate for immortality argue so inconsistently? Had mankind remained for ever in the brutal state of nature, which even his magic pen cannot paint as a state in which a single virtue took root, it would have been clear, though not to the sensitive unreflecting wanderer, that man was born to run the circle of life and death, and adorn God's garden for some purpose which could not easily be reconciled with his attributes.

But, if, to crown the whole, there were to be rational creatures produced, allowed to rise in ex|cellence by the exercise of powers implanted for that purpose; if benignity itself thought fit to

call into existence a creature above the brutes* 1.1, who could think and improve himself, why should that inestimable gift, for a gift it was, if man was so created as to have a capacity to rise above the state in which sensation produced brutal ease, be called, in direct terms, a curse? A curse it might be reckoned, if all our existence was bounded by our continuance in this world; for why should the gracious fountain of life give us passions, and the power of reflecting, only to imbitter our days and inspire us with mistaken notions of dignity? Why should he lead us from love of ourselves to the sublime emotions which the discovery of his wisdom and goodness excites, if these feelings were not set in motion to improve our nature, of which they make a part† 1.2, and render us capable of enjoy|ing a more godlike portion of happiness? Firmly persuaded that no evil exists in the world that God did not design to take place, I build my belief on the perfection of God.

Rousseau exerts himself to prove that all was right originally: a crowd of authors that all is now right: and I, that all will be right.

But, true to his first position, next to a state of nature, Rousseau celebrates barbarism, and, apos|trophizing the shade of Fabricius, he forgets that, in conquering the world, the Romans never dreamed of establishing their own liberty on a firm basis, or of extending the reign of virtue. Eager to support his system, he stigmatizes, as vi|cious, every effort of genius; and, uttering the apotheosis of savage virtues, he exalts those to demi-gods, who were scarcely human—the bru|tal Spartans, who, in defiance of justice and gra|titude, sacrificed, in cold blood, the slaves who had shewn themselves men to rescue their oppres|sors.

Disgusted with artificial manners and virtues, the citizen of Geneva, instead of properly sifting the subject, threw away the wheat with the chaff, without waiting to inquire whether the evils which his ardent soul turned from indig|nantly, were the consequence of civilization or the vestiges of barbarism. He saw vice tramp|ling on virtue, and the semblance of good|ness taking place of the reality; he saw talents bent by power to sinister purposes, and never thought of tracing the gigantic mischief up to arbitrary power, up to the hereditary distinctions that clash with the mental superiority that natu|rally raises a man above his fellows. He did not perceive that regal power, in a few generations, introduces idiotism into the noble stem, and holds out baits to render thousands idle and vicious.

Nothing can set the regal character in a more contemptible point of view, than the various crimes that have elevated men to the supreme

dignity.—Vile intrigues, unnatural crimes, and every vice that degrades our nature, have been the steps to this distinguished eminence; yet mil|lions of men have supinely allowed the nerve|less limbs of the posterity of such rapacious prowlers to rest quietly on their ensanguined thrones* 1.3.

What but a pestilential vapour can hover over society when its chief director is only instructed in the invention of crimes, or the stupid routine of childish ceremonies? Will men never be wise?—will they never cease to expect corn from tares, and figs from thistles?

It is impossible for any man, when the most favourable circumstances concur, to acquire suf|ficient knowledge and strength of mind to dis|charge the duties of a king, entrusted with un|controuled power; how then must they be vio|lated when his very elevation is an insuperable bar to the attainment of either wisdom or vir|tue; when all the feelings of a man are stifled by flattery, and reflection shut out by pleasure! Surely it 〈◊〉〈◊〉 madness to make the fate of thou|sands depend on the caprice of a weak fellow creature, whose very station sinks him necessarily below the meanest of his subjects! But one pow|er should not be thrown down to exalt another— for all power intoxicates weak man; and its abuse proves, that the more equality there is established among men, the more virtue and happiness will reign in society. But this, and any similar max|im

deduced from simple reason, raises an outcry— the church or the state is in danger, if faith in the wisdom of antiquity is not implicit; and they who, roused by the sight of human calami|ty, dare to attack human authority, are reviled as despisers of God, and enemies of man. These are bitter calumnies, yet they reached one of the best of men* 1.4, whose ashes still preach peace, and whose memory demands a respectful pause, when subjects are discussed that lay so near his heart.

After attacking the sacred majesty of Kings, I shall scarcely excite surprise by adding my firm persuasion that every profession, in which great subordination of rank constitutes its power, is highly injurious to morality.

A standing army, for instance, is incompatible with freedom; because subordination and rigour are the very sinews of military discipline; and despotism is necessary to give vigour to enter|prizes that one will directs. A spirit inspired by romantic notions of honour, a kind of morality founded on the fashion of the age, can only be felt by a few officers, whilst the main body must be moved by command, like the waves of the sea; for the strong wind of authority pushes the crowd of subalterns forward, they scarcely know or care why, with headlong fury.

Besides, nothing can be so prejudicial to the mor|als of the inhabitants of country towns as the oc|casional residence of a set of idle superficial young men, whose only occupation is gallantry, and whose polished manners render vice more dangerous, by concealing its deformity under gay ornamental

drapery. An air of fashion, which is but a badge of slavery, and proves that the soul has not a strong individual character, awes simple country people into an imitation of the vices, when they cannot catch the slippery graces, of politeness. Every corps is a chain of despots, who, submit|ting and tyrannizing without exercising their reason, become dead weights of vice and folly on the community. A man of rank or fortune, sure of rising by interest, has nothing to do but to pursue some extravagant freak; whilst the needy gentleman, who is to rise, as the phrase turns, by his merit, becomes a servile parasite or vile pander.

Sailors, the naval gentlemen, come under the same description, only their vices assume a differ|ent and a grosser cast. They are more positively indolent, when not discharging the ceremonials of their station; whilst the insignificant fluttering of soldiers may be termed active idleness. More con|fined to the society of men, the former acquire a fondness for humour and mischievous tricks; whilst the latter, mixing frequently with well-bred women, catch a sentimental cant.—But mind is equally out of the question, whether they in|dulge the horse-laugh, or polite simper.

May I be allowed to extend the comparison to a profession where more mind is certainly to be found; for the clergy have superior opportunities of impovement, tho' subordination almost equally cramps their faculties? The blind submission imposed at college to forms of belief serves as a novitiate to the curate, who must obsequiously respect the opinion of his rector or patron, if he

means to rise in his profession. Perhaps there cannot be a more forcible contrast than between the servile dependent gait of a poor curate and the courtly mien of a bishop. And the respect and contempt they inspire render the discharge of their separate functions equally useless.

It is of great importance to observe that the character of every man is, in some degree, formed by his profession. A man of sense may only have a cast of countenance that wears off as you trace his individuality, whilst the weak, common man has scarcely ever any character, but what belongs to the body; at least, all his opinions have been so steeped in the vat consecrated by authority, that the faint spirit which the grape of his own vine yields cannot be distinguished.

Society, therefore, as it becomes more enlight|ened, should be very careful not to establish bod|ies of men who must necessarily be made foolish or vicious by the very constitution of their profes|sion.

In the infancy of society, when men were just emerging out of barbarism, chiefs and priests, touching the most powerful springs of savage conduct, hope and fear, must have had unbounded sway. An aristocracy, of course, is naturally the first form of government. But, clashing inter|ests soon losing their equipoise, a monarchy and hierarchy break out of the confusion of ambi|tious struggles, and the foundation of both is se|cured by feudal tenures. This appears to be the origin of monarchical and priestly power, and the dawn of civilization. But such combustible ma|terials cannot long be pent up; and, getting

vent in foreign wars and intestine insurrections the people acquire some power in the tumult, which obliges their rulers to gloss over their op|pression with a shew of right. Thus, as wars, agriculture, commerce, and literature, expand the mind, despots are compelled, to make covert cor|ruption hold fast the power which was formerly snatched by open force* 1.5. And this baneful lurk|ing gangrene is most quickly spread by luxury and superstition, the sure dregs of ambition. The indolent puppet of a court first becomes a luxu|rious monster, or fastidious sensualist, and then makes the contagion which his unnatural state spread, the instrument of tyranny.

It is the pestiferous purple which renders the progress of civilization a curse, and warps the understanding, till men of sensibility doubt whe|ther the expansion of intellect produces a greater portion of happiness or misery. But the nature of the poison points out the antidote; and had Rousseau mounted one step higher in his investi|gation, or could his eye have pierced through the foggy atmosphere, which he almost disdained to breathe, his active mind would have darted for|ward to contemplate the perfection of man in the establishment of true civilization, instead of tak|ing his ferocious flight back to the night of sen|sual ignorance.

CHAP. II. THE PREVAILING OPINION OF A SEXUAL CHARACTER DISCUSSED.

TO account for, and excuse the tyranny of man, many ingenious arguments have been brought forward to prove, that the two sexes, in the acquirement of virtue, ought to aim at at|taining a very different character: or, to speak explicitly, women are not allowed to have suffi|cient strength of mind to acquire what really de|serves the name of virtue. Yet it should seem, allowing them to have souls, that there is but one way appointed by Providence to lead man|kind to either virtue or happiness.

If then women are not a swarm of ephemeron triflers, why should they be kept in ignorance under the specious name of innocence? Men complain, and with reason, of the follies and caprices of our sex, when they do not keenly satirize our headstrong passions and groveling vi|ces. Behold, I should answer, the natural effect of ignorance! The mind will ever be unstable that has only prejudices to rest on, and the current will run with destructive fury when there are no bar|riers to break its force. Women are told from their infancy, and taught by the example of their mothers, that a little knowledge of human weak|ness, justly termed cunning, softness of temper, out ward obedience, and a scrupulous attention

to a puerile kind of propriety, will obtain for them the protection of man; and should they be beautiful, every thing else is needless, for, at least, twenty years of their lives.

Thus Milton describes our first frail mother; though when he tells us that women are formed for softness and sweet attractive grace, I cannot comprehend his meaning, unless, in the true Mahometan strain, he meant to deprive us of souls, and insinuate that we were beings only de|signed by sweet attractive grace, and docile blind obedience, to gratify the senses of man when he can no longer soar on the wing of contemplation.

How grossly do they insult us who thus ad|vise us only to render ourselves gentle, domestic brutes! For instance, the winning softness so warmly, and frequently, recommended, that gov|erns by obeying. What childish expressions, and how insignificant is the being—can it be an im|mortal one? who will condescend to govern by such sinister methods! 'Certainly, says Lord Ba|con,

man is of kin to the beasts by his body; and if he be not of kin to God by his spirit, he is a base and ignoble creature!

Men, indeed, appear to me to act in a very unphilosophical manner when they try to secure the good conduct of women by attempting to keep them always in a state of childhood. Rousseau was more con|sistent when he wished to stop the progress of reason in both sexes, for if men eat of the tree of knowledge, women will come in for a taste; but, from the imperfect cultivation which their un|derstandings now receive, they only attain a knowledge of evil.

Children, I grant, should be innocent; but when the epithet is applied to men, or women, it is but a civil term for weakness. For if it be allowed that women were destined by Provi|dence to acquire human virtues, and by the ex|ercise of their understanding, that stability of character which is the firmest ground to rest our future hopes upon, they must be permitted to turn to the fountain of light, and not forced to shape their course by the twinkling of a mere satellite. Milton, I grant, was of a very differ|ent opinion; for he only bends to the indefeasi|ble right of beauty, though it would be difficult to render two passages which I now mean to con|trast, consistent. But into similar inconsistencies are great men often led by their senses.

'To whom thus Eve with perfect beauty adorn'd. 'My Author and Disposer, what thou bidst 'Unargued I obey; so God ordains; 'God is thy law, thou mine: to know no more 'Is Woman's happiest knowledge and her praise,'

These are exactly the arguments that I have used to children; but I have added, your reason is now gaining strength, and, till it arrives at some degree of maturity, you must look up to me for advice—then you ought to think, and on|ly rely on God.

Yet in the following lines Milton seems to coincide with me; when he makes Adam thus expostulate with his Maker.

'Hast thou not made me here thy substitute, 'And these inferior far beneath me 〈◊〉〈◊〉? 'Among unequal•• what s••ciety

'Can sort, what harmony or true delight? 'Which must be mutual, in proportion due 'Giv'n and receiv'd; but in disparity 'The one intense, the other still remiss 'Cannot well suit with either, but soon prove 'Tedious alike: of fellowship I speak 'Such as I seek, fit to participate 'All rational delight—

In treating, therefore, of the manners of wo|men, let us, disregarding sensual arguments, trace what we should endeavour to make them in or|der to co-operate, if the expression be not too bold, with the supreme Being.

By individual education, I mean, for the sense of the word is not precisely defined, such an at|tention to a child as will slowly sharpen the sens|es, form the temper, regulate the passions, as they begin to ferment, and set the understanding to work before the body arrives at maturity; so that the man may only have to proceed, not to begin, the important task of learning to think and reason.

To prevent any misconstruction, I must add, that I do not believe that a private education can work the wonders which some sanguine writers have attributed to it. Men and women must be educated, in a great degree, by the opinions and manners of the society they live in. In every age there has been a stream of popular opinion that has carried all before it, and given a family character, as it were, to the century. It may then fairly be inferred, that, till society be dif|ferently constituted, much cannot be expected from education. It is, however, sufficient for

my present purpose to assert, that whatever ef|fect circumstances have on the abilities, every be|ing may become virtuous by the exercise of its own reason; for if but one being was created with vicious inclinations, that is positively had, what can save us from atheism? or if we wor|ship a God, is not that God a devil?

Consequently, the most perfect education, in my opinion, is such an exercise of the under|standing as is best calculated to strengthen the body and form the heart. Or, in other words, to enable the individual to attain such habits of virtue as will render it independent. In fact, it is a farce to call any being virtuous whose vir|tues do not result from the exercise of its own reason. This was Rousseau's opinion respecting men: I extend it to women, and confidently as|sert that they have been drawn out of their sphere by false refinement, and not by an endea|vour to acquire masculine qualities. Still the regal homage which they receive is so intoxicat|ing, that till the manners of the times are chang|ed, and formed on more reasonable principles, it may be impossible to convince them that the il|legitimate power which they obtain, by degrad|ing themselves, is a curse, and that they must return to nature and equality, if they wish to se|cure the placid satisfaction that unsophisticated affections impart. But for this epoch we must wait—wait, perhaps, till kings and nobles, en|lightened by reason, and, preferring the real dig|nity of man to childish state, throw off their gaudy hereditary tr••ppings: and if the•• women do not resign the arbitrary power of beauty—

they will prove that they have less mind than man.

I may be accused of arrogance; still I must declare, what I firmly believe, that all the writ|ers who have written on the subject of female education and manners, from Rousseau to Dr. Gregory, have contributed to render women more artificial, weak characters, than they would otherwise have been; and, consequently, more useless members of society, I might have expres|sed this conviction in a lower key; but I am afraid it would have been the whine of affecta|tion, and not the faithful expression of my feel|ings; of the clear result, which experience and reflection have led me to draw. When I come to that division of the subject, I shall advert to the passages that I more particularly disapprove of, in the works of the authors I have just allud|ed to; but it is first necessary to observe, that my objection extends to the whole purport of those books, which tend, in my opinion, to de|grade one half of the human species, and render women pleasing at the expense of every solid virtue.

Though, to reason on Rousseau's ground, if man did attain a degree of perfection of mind when his body arrived at maturity, it might be proper, in order to make a man and his wife one, that she should rely entirely on his understand|ing; and the graceful ivy, clasping the oak that supported it, would form a whole in which strength and beauty would be equally conspicu|ous. But, alas! husbands, as well as their help|mates, are often only overgrown children; nay,

thanks to early debauchery, scarcely men in their outward form—and if the blind lead the blind, one need not come from heaven to tell us the consequence.

Many are the causes that, in the present cor|rupt state of society, contribute to enslave women by cramping their understandings and sharpening their senses. One, perhaps, that silently does more mischief than all the rest, is their disre|gard of order.

To do every thing in an orderly manner, is a most important precept, which women, who, generally speaking, receive only a disorderly kind of education, seldom attend to with that degree of exactness, that men, who from their infancy are broken into method, observe. This negli|gent kind of guess-work, for what other epithet can be used to point out the random exertions of a sort of instinctive common sense, never brought to the test of reason? prevents their generalizing matters of fact—so they do to-day, what they did yesterday, merely because they did it yester|day.

This contempt of the understanding in early life has more baneful consequences than is com|monly supposed; for the little knowledge which women of strong minds attain, is, from various circumstances, of a more desultory kind than the knowledge of men, and it is acquired more by sheer observations on real life, than from compar|ing what has been individually observed with the results of experience generalized by specula|tion. Led by their dependent situation and do|mestic employments more into society, what they

learn is rather by snatches; and as learning is with them, in general, only a secondary thing, they do not pursue any one branch with that persevering ardour necessary to give vigour to the faculties, and clearness to the judgment. In the present state of society, a little learning is re|quired to support the character of a gentleman; and boys are obliged to submit to a few years of discipline. But in the education of women, the cultivation of the understanding is always subor|dinate to the acquirement of some corporeal ac|complishment; even while enervated by confine|ment and false notions of modesty, the body is prevented from attaining that grace and beauty which relaxed half-formed limbs never exhibit. Besides, in youth their faculties are not brought forward by emulation; and having no serious scientific study, if they have natural sagacity it is turned too soon on life and manners. They dwell on effects, and modifications, without tracing them back to causes; and complicated rules to adjust behaviour, are a weak substitute for sim|ple principles.

As a proof that education gives this appear|ance of weakness to females, we may instance the example of military men, who are, like them, sent into the world before their minds have been stored with knowledge or fortified by principles. The consequences are similar; soldiers acquire a little superficial knowledge, snatched from the muddy current of conversation, and, from conti|nually mixing with society, they gain, what is termed a knowledge of the world; and this ac|quaintance with manners and customs has fre|quently

been confounded with a knowledge of the human heart. But can the crude fruit of casual observation, never brought to the test of judg|ment, formed by comparing speculation and ex|perience, deserve such a distinction? Soldiers, as well as women, practise the minor virtues with punctilious politeness. Where is then the sexu|al difference, when the education has been the same? All the difference that I can discern, arises from the superior advantage of liberty, which en|ables the former to see more of life.

It is wandering from my present subject, per|haps, to make a political remark; but, as it was produced naturally by the train of my reflections, I shall not pass it silently over.

Standing armies can never consist of resolute, robust men; they may be well disciplined ma|chines, but they will seldom contain men under the influence of strong passions, or with very vigorous faculties. And as for any depth of understand|ing, I will venture to affirm, that it is as rarely to be found in the army as amongst women; and the cause, I maintain, is the same. It may be further observed, that officers are also particularly attentive to their persons, fond of dancing, crowd|ed rooms, adventures, and ridicule* 1.6. Like the fair sex, the business of their lives is gallantry.— They were taught to please, and they only live to please. Yet they do not lose their rank in the distinction of sexes, for they are still reckoned superior to women, though in what their supe|riority

consists, beyond what I have just men|tioned, it is difficult to discover.

The great misfortune is this, that they both acquire manners before morals, and a knowledge of life before they have, from reflection, any ac|quaintance with the grand ideal outline of hu|man nature. The consequence is natural; satis|fied with common nature, they become a prey to prejudices, and taking all their opinions on credit, they blindly submit to authority. So that, if they have any sense, it is a kind of in|stinctive glance, that catches proportions, and de|cides with respect to manners; but fails when arguments are to be pursued below the surface, or opinions analyzed.

May not the same remark be applied to wo|men? Nay, the argument may be carried still further, for they are both thrown out of a use|ful station by the unnatural distinctions estab|lished in civilized life. Riches and hereditary honours have made cyphers of women to give consequence to the numerical figure; and idle|ness has produced a mixture of gallantry and des|potism into society, which leads the very men who are the slaves of their mistresses to tyrannize over their sisters, wives, and daughters. This is only keeping them in rank and file, it is true. Strengthen the female mind by enlarging it, and there will be an end to blind obedience; but, as blind obedience is ever sought for by power, ty|rants and sensualists are in the right when they endeavour to keep women in the dark, because the former only want slaves, and the latter a play-thing. The sensualist, indeed, has been the

most dangerous of tyrants, and women have been duped by their lovers, as princes by their minis|ters, whilst dreaming that they reigned over them.

I now principally allude to Rousseau, for his character of Sophia is, undoubtedly, a captivating one, though it appears to me grossly unnatural; however, it is not the superstructure but the foundation of her character, the principles on which her education was built, that I mean to attack; nay, warmly as I admire the genius of that able writer, whose opinions I shall often have occasion to cite, indignation always takes place of admiration, and the rigid frown of in|sulted virtue effaces the smile of complacency, which his eloquent periods are wont to raise, when I read his voluptuous reveries. Is this the man, who, in his ardour for virtue, would banish all the soft arts of peace, and almost car|ry us back to Spartan discipline? Is this the man who delights to paint the useful struggles of passion, the triumphs of good disposition, and the heroic flights which carry the glowing soul out of itself?—How are these mighty sentiments lowered when he describes the pretty foot and en|ticing airs of his little favourite! But, for the present I wave the subject, and, instead of se|verely reprehending the transient effusions of over|weening sensibility, I shall only observe, that who|ever has cast a benevolent eye on society, must often have been gratified by the sight of humble mutual love, not dignified by sentiment, nor strengthened by a union in intellectual pursuits. The domestic trifles of the day have afforded mat|ter

for cheerful converse, and innocent caresses have softened toils which did not require great exercise of mind or stretch of thought: yet, has not the sight of this moderate felicity excited more ten|derness than respect? A•• emotion similar to what we feel when children are playing, or ani|mals sporting* 1.7, whilst the contemplation of the noble struggles of suffering merit has raised ad|miration, and carried our thoughts to that world where sensation will give place to reason.

Women are, therefore, to be considered either as moral beings, or so weak that they must be entirely subjected to the superior faculties of men.

Let us examine this question. Rousseau de|clares that a woman should never, for a moment, feel herself independent, that she should be gov|erned by fear to exercise her natural cunning, and made a coquetish slave in order to render her a more alluring object of desire, a sweeter compan|ion to man, whenever he chooses to relax him|self. He carries the arguments, which he pre|tends to draw from the indications of nature, still further, and insinuates that truth and fortitude, the corner stones of all human virtue, should be cultivated with certain restrictions, because, with respect to the female character, obedience is the grand lesson which ought to be impressed with unrelenting rigour.

What nonsense! when will a great man arise with sufficient strength of mind to puff away the fumes which pride and sensuality have thus spread over the subject! If women are by nature inferior to men, their virtues must be the same in quality, if not in degree, or virtue is a relative idea; consequently, their conduct should be founded on the same principles, and have the same aim.

Connected with man as daughters, wives, and mothers, their moral character may be estimated by their manner of fulfilling those simple du|ties; but the end, the grand end of their exer|tions should be to unfold their own faculties and acquire the dignity of conscious virtue. They may try to render their road pleasant; but ought never to forget, in common with man, that life yields not the felicity which can satisfy an im|mortal soul. I do not mean to insinuate, that either sex should be so lost in abstract reflections or distant views, as to forget the affections and duties that lie before them, and are, in truth, the means appointed to produce the fruit of life; on the contrary, I would warmly recom|mend them, even while I assert, that they afford most satisfaction when they are considered in their true subordinate light.

Probably the prevailing opinion, that woman was created for man, may have taken its rise from Moses's poetical story; yet, as very few, it is presumed, who have bestowed any serious thought on the subject, ever supposed that Eve was, literally speaking, one of Adam's ribs, the deduction must be allowed to fall to the ground;

or, only be so far admitted as it proves that man, from the remotest antiquity, found it convenient to exert his strength to subjugate his compan|ion, and his invention to shew that she ought to have her neck bent under the yoke; because she, as well as the brute creation, was created to do his pleasure.

Let it not be concluded that I wish to invert the order of things; I have already granted, that, from the constitution of their bodies, men seem to be designed by Providence to attain a greater degree of virtue. I speak collectively of the whole sex; but I see not the shadow of a rea|son to conclude that their virtues should differ in respect to their nature. In fact, how can they, if virtue has only one eternal standard? I must therefore, if I reason consequentially, as strenu|ously maintain that they have the same simple di|rection, as that there is a God.

It follows then that cunning should not be opposed to wisdom, little cares to great exertions, nor insipid softness, varnished over with the name of gentleness, to that fortitude which grand views alone can inspire.

I shall be told that woman would then lose many of her peculiar graces, and the opinion of a well known poet might be quoted to refute my unqualified assertion. For Pope has said, in the name of the whole male sex,

'Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create, 'As when she touch'd the brink of all we hate.'

In what light this sally places men and wo|men, I shall leave to the judicious to determine;

meanwhile I shall content myself with observing, that I cannot discover why, unless they are mor|tal, females should always be degraded by being made subservient to love or lust.

To speak disrespectfully of love is, I know, high treason against sentiment and fine feelings; but I wish to speak the simple language of truth, and rather to address the head than the heart. To endeavour to reason love out of the world, would be to out Quixote Cervantes, and equally offend against common sense; but an endeavour to restrain this tumultuous passion, and to prove that it should not be allowed to dethrone superior powers, or to usurp the sceptre which the under|standing should ever coolly wield, appears less wild.

Youth is the season for love in both sexes; but in those days of thoughtless enjoyment pro|vision should be made for the more important years of life, when reflection takes place of sen|sation. But Rousseau, and most of the male wri|ters who have followed his steps, have warmly inculcated that the whole tendency of female education ought to be directed to one point:— to render them pleasing.

Let me reason with the supporters of this opin|ion who have any knowledge of human nature, do they imagine that marriage can eradicate the habitude of life? The woman who has only been taught to please will soon find that her charms are oblique sunbeams, and that they cannot have much effect on her husband's heart when they are seen every day, when the summer is passed and gone. Will she then have sufficient native energy to

look into herself for comfort, and cultivate her dormant faculties? or, is it not more rational to expect that she will try to please other men; and, in the emotions raised by the expectation of new conquests, endeavour to forget the mortification her love or pride has received? When the hus|band ceases to be a lover—and the time will in|evitably come, her desire of pleasing will then grow languid, or become a spring of bitterness; and love, perhaps, the most evanescent of all pas|sions, gives place to jealousy or vanity.

I now speak of women who are restrained by principle or prejudice; such women, though they would shrink from an intrigue with real abhor|rence, yet, nevertheless, wish to be convinced by the homage of gallantry that they are cruelly neglected by their husbands; or, days and weeks are spent in dreaming of the happiness enjoyed by congenial souls, till the health is undermined and the spirits broken by discontent. How then can the great art of pleasing be such a ne|cessary study; it is only useful to a mistress; the chaste wife, and serious mother, should only con|sider her power to please as the polish of her vir|tues, and the affection of her husband as one of the comforts that render her task less difficult and her life happier.—But, whether she be loved or neglected, her first wish should be to make her|self respectable, and not to rely for all her happi|ness on a being subject to like infirmities with herself.

The amiable Dr. Gregory fell into a similar error. I respect his heart; but entirely disap|prove of his celebrated Legacy to his Daugh|ters.

He advises them to cultivate a fon••eis for dress, because a fondness for dress, he asserts, is natural to them. I am unable to comprehend what either he or Rousseau mean, when they fre|quently use this indefinite term. If they told us that in a pre-existent state the soul was fond of dress, and brought this inclination with it into a new body, I should listen to them with a half smile, as I often do when I hear a rant about in|nate elegance.—But if he only meant to say that the exercise of the faculties will produce this fondness—I deny it.—It is not natural; but ari|ses, like false ambition in men, from a love of power.

Dr. Gregory goes much further; he actually recommends dissimulation, and advises an inno|cent girl to give the lie to her feelings, and not dance with spirit, when gaiety of heart would make her feet eloquent without making her ges|tures immodest. In the name of truth and com|mon sense, why should not one woman acknow|ledge that she can take more exercise than anoth|er? or, in other words, that she has a sound con|stitution; and why, to damp innocent vivacity, is she darkly to be told that men will draw con|clusions which she little thinks of? Let the lib|ertine draw what inference he pleases; but, I hope, that no sensible mother will restrain the natural frankness of youth by instilling such in|decent cautions. Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh; and a wiser than Solo|mon hath said, that the heart should be made clean, and not trivial ceremonies observed, which

it is not very difficult to fulfil with scrupulous ex|actness when vice reigns in the heart.

Women ought to endeavour to purify their heart; but can they do so when their uncultiva|ted understandings make them entirely dependent on their senses for employment and amusement, when no noble pursuit sets them above the little vanities of the day, or enables them to curb the wild emotions that agitate a reed over which eve|ry passing breeze has power? To gain the affec|tions of a virtuous man is affectation necessary? Nature has given woman a weaker frame than man; but, to ensure her husband's affections, must a wife, who by the exercise of her mind and body whilst she was discharging the duties of a daughter, wife, and mother, has allowed her constitution to retain its natural strength, and her nerves a healthy tone, is she, I say, to condescend to use art and feign a sickly delicacy in order to secure her husband's affection? Weakness may excite tenderness, and gratify the arrogant pride of man; but the lordly caresses of a protector will not gratify a noble mind that pants for, and deserves to be respected. Fondness is a poor substitute for friendship!

In a seraglio, I grant, that all these arts are necessary; the epicure must have his palate tickled, or he will sink into apathy; but have women so little ambition as to be satisfied with such a con|dition? Can they supinely dream life away in the lap of pleasure, or the languor of weariness, rather than assert their claim to pursue reasonable plea|sures and render themselves conspicuous by prac|tising the virtues which dignify mankind? Surely

she has not an immorta•• 〈…〉〈…〉 ••an lo•• ••••fe away merely employed to adorn her person, that she may amuse the languid hours, and soften the cares of a fellow-creature who is willing to be enlivened by her smiles and tricks, when the seri|ous business of life is over.

Besides, the woman who strengthens her body and exercises her mind will, by managing her fa|mily and practising various virtues, become the friend, and not the humble dependent of her hus|band, and if she deserves his regard by possessing such substantial qualities, she will not find it ne|cessary to conceal her affection, nor to pretend to an unnatural coldness of constitution to excite her husband's passions. In fact, if we revert to history, we shall find that the women who have distinguished themselves have neither been the most beautiful nor the most gentle of their sex.

Nature, or, to speak with strict propriety, God, has made all things right; but man has sought him out many inventions to mar the work. I now allude to that part of Dr. Gregory's treatise, where he advises a wife never to let her husband know the extent of her sensibility or affection. Voluptuous precaution, and as ineffectual as ab|surd.—Love, from its very nature, must be tran|sitory. To seek for a secret that would render it constant, would be as wild a search as for the philosopher's stone, or the grand panacea: and the discovery would be equally useless, or rather pernicious, to mankind. The most holy band of society is friendship. It has been well said, by a shrewd satirist, "that rare as true love is, true friendship is still rarer."

This is an obvious truth, and the cause not lying deep, will not elude a slight glance of in|quiry.

Love, the common passion, in which chance and sensation take place of choice and reason, is, in some degree, felt by the mass of mankind; for it is not necessary to speak, at present, of the emo|tions that rise above or sink below love. This passion, naturally increased by suspense and diffi|culties, draws the mind out of its accustomed state, and exalts the affections; but the security of marriage, allowing the fever of love to subside, a healthy temperature is thought insipid, only by those who have not sufficient intellect to substi|tute the calm tenderness of friendship, the confi|dence of respect, instead of blind admiration, and the sensual emotions of fondness.

This is, must be, the course of nature:— friendship or indifference inevitably succeeds love. —And this constitution seems perfectly to har|monize with the system of government which prevails in the moral world. Passions are spurs to action, and open the mind; but they sink into mere appetites, become a personal and momenta|ry gratification, when the object is gained, and the satisfied mind rests in enjoyment. The man who had some virtue whilst he was struggling for a crown, often becomes a voluptuous tyrant when it graces his brow; and, when the lover is not lost in the husband, the dotard, a prey to childish caprices, and fond jealousies, neglects the serious duties of life, and the caresses which should excite confidence in his children are lavished on the overgrown child, his wife.

In order to fulfil the duties of life, and to be able to pursue with vigour the various employ|ments which form the moral character, a master and mistress of a family ought not to continue to love each other with passion. I mean to say, that they ought not to indulge those emotions which disturb the order of society, and engross the thoughts that should be otherwise employed. The mind that has never been engrossed by one object wants vigour—if it can long be so, it is weak.

A mistaken education, a narrow, uncultivated mind, and many sexual prejudices, tend to make women more constant than men; but, for the present, I shall not touch on this branch of the subject. I will go still further, and advance, without dreaming of a paradox, that an unhappy marriage is often very advantageous to a family, and that the neglected wife is, in general, the best mother. And this would almost always be the consequence if the female mind was more en|larged: for, it seems to be the common dispen|sation of Providence, that what we gain in pre|sent enjoyment should be deducted from the trea|sure of life, experience; and that when we are gathering the flowers of the day and revelling in pleasure, the solid fruit of toil and wisdom should not be caught at the same time. The way lies before us, we must turn to the right or left; and he who will pass life away in bounding from one pleasure to another, must not complain if he nei|ther acquires wisdom nor respectability of charac|ter.

Supposing, for a moment, that the soul is not immortal, and that man was only created for the present scene,—I think we should have reason to complain that love, infantile fondness, ever grew insipid and pallid upon the sense. Let us eat, drink, and love, for to-morro•• we die, would be, in fact, the language of reason, the morality of life; and who but a fool would part with a reali|ty for a fleeting shadow? But, if awed by ob|serving the improvable powers of the mind, we disdain to confine our wishes or thoughts to such a comparatively mean field of action; that only appears grand and important, as it is connected with a boundless prospect and sublime hopes, what necessity is there for falsehood in conduct, and why must the sacred majesty of truth be vio|lated to detain a deceitful good that saps the very foundation of virtue? Why must the female mind be tainted by coquetish arts to gratify the sensu|alist, and prevent love from subsiding into friend|ship, or compassionate tenderness, when there are not qualities on which friendship can be built? Let the honest heart shew itself, and reason teach passion to submit to necessity; or, let the dig|nified pursuit of virtue and knowledge raise the mind above those emotions which rather imbit|ter than sweeten the cup of life, when they are not restrained within due bounds.

I do not mean to allude to the romantic pas|sion, which is the concomitant of genius.—Who can clip its wing? But that grand passion not proportioned to the puny enjoyments of life, is only true to the sen••iment, and feeds on itself. The passions which have been celebrated for

their durability have always been unfortunate. They have acquired strength by absence and con|stitutional melancholy.—The fancy has hovered round a form of beauty dimly seen—but familiar|ity might have turned admiration into disgust; or, at least, into indifference, and allowed the im|agination leisure to start fresh game. With per|fect propriety, according to this view of things, does Rousseau make the mistress of his soul, Eloisa, love St. Preux, when life was fading be|fore her; but this is no proof of the immortali|ty of the passion.

Of the same complexion is Dr. Gregory's ad|vice respecting delicacy of sentiment, which he advises a woman not to acquire, if she has deter|mined to marry. This determination, however, perfectly consistent with his former advice, he calls indelicate, and earnestly persuades his daugh|ters to conceal it, though it may govern their conduct: as if it were indelicate to have the com|mon appetites of human nature.

Noble morality! and consistent with the cau|tious prudence of a little soul that cannot extend its views beyond the present minute division of existence. If all the faculties of woman's mind are only to be cultivated as they respect her de|pendence on man; if, when she obtains a hus|band she has arrived at her goal, and meanly proud is satisfied with such a paltry crown, let her grovel contentedly, scarcely raised by her em|ployments above the animal kingdom; but, if she is struggling for the prize of her high call|ing, let her cultivate her understanding without stopping to consider what character the husband

may have whom she is destined to marry. Let her only determine, without being too anxious about present happiness, to acquire the qualities that ennoble a rational being, and a rough inele|gant husband may shock her taste without de|stroying her peace of mind. She will not model her soul to suit the frailties of her companion, but to bear with them: his character may be a trial, but not an impediment to virtue.

If Dr. Gregory confined his remark to roman|tic expectations of constant love and congenial feelings, he should have recollected that experi|ence will banish what advice can never make us cease to wish for, when the imagination is kept alive at the expense of reason.

I own it frequently happens that women who have fostered a romantic unnatural delicacy of feeling, waste their * 1.8 lives in imagining how hap|py they should have been with a husband who could love them with a fervid increasing affec|tion every day, and all day. But they might as well pine married as single—and would not be a jot more unhappy with a bad husband than long|ing for a good one. That a proper education; or, to speak with more precision, a well stored mind, would enable a woman to support a sin|gle life with dignity, I grant; but that she should avoid cultivating her taste, lest her husband should occasionally shock it, is quitting a substance for a shadow. To say the truth, I do not know of what use is an improved taste, if the individual is not rendered more independent of the casualties of life; if new sources of enjoyment, only depend|ent on the solitary operations of the mind, are

not opened. People of taste, married or single, without distinction, will ever be disgusted by va|rious things that touch not less observing minds. On this conclusion the argument must not be al|lowed to hinge; but in the whole sum of enjoy|ment is taste to be denominated a blessing?

The question is, whether it procures most pain or pleasure? The answer will decide the proprie|ty of Dr. Gregory's advice, and shew how ab|surd and tyrannic it is thus to lay down a system of slavery; or to attempt to educate moral beings by any other rules than those deduced from pure reason, which apply to the whole species.

Gentleness of manners, forbearance and long-suffering, are such amiable Godlike qualities, that in sublime poetic strains the Deity has been in|vested with them; and, perhaps no representation of his goodness so strongly fastens on the human affections as those that represent him abundant in mercy and willing to pardon. Gentleness, considered in this point of view, bears on its front all the characteristics of grandeur, combined with the winning graces of condescension; but what a different aspect it assumes when it is the submissive demeanour of dependence, the support of weakness that loves, because it wants protec|tion; and is forbearing, because it must silently endure injuries; smiling under the lash at which it dare not snarl. Abject as this pi••ture appears, it is the portrait of an accomplished woman, ac|cording to the received opinion of female excel|lence, separated by specious ••easoners from hu|man excellence. Or, they * 1.9 kindly restore the

rib, and make one moral being of a man and wo|man; not forgetting to give her all the 'sub|missive charms.'

How women are to exist in that state where there is to be neither marrying nor giving in marriage, we are not told.—For though moral|ists have agreed that the tenor of life seems to prove that man is prepared by various circum|stances for a future state, they constantly concur in advising woman only to provide for the pre|sent. Gentleness, docility, and a spaniel-like af|fection are, on this ground, consistently recom|mended as the cardinal virtues of the sex; and, disregarding the arbitrary economy of nature, one writer has declared that it is masculine for a wo|man to be melancholy. She was created to be the toy of man, his rattle, and it must jingle in his ears whenever, dismissing reason, he chooses to be amused.

To recommend gentleness, indeed, on a broad basis is strictly philosophical. A frail being should labour to be gentle. But when forbear|ance confounds right and wrong, it ceases to be a virtue; and, however convenient it may be found in a companion—that companion will ever be considered as an inferior, and only inspire a vapid tenderness, which easily degenerates into contempt. Still, if advice could really make a being gentle, whose natural disposition admitted not of such a fine polish, something towards the advancement of order would be attained; but if, as might quickly be demonstrated, only affecta|tion be produced by this indiscriminate counsel, which throws a stumbling-block in the way of

gradual improvement, and true melioration of temper, the sex is not much benefited by sacri|ficing solid virtues to the attainment of superficial graces, though for a few years they may procure the individuals regal sway.

As a philosopher, I read with indignation the plausible epithets which men use to soften their in|sults; and, as a moralist, I ask what is meant by such heterogeneous associations, as fair defects, amiable weaknesses, &c.? If there is but one criterion of morals, but one archetype for man, women appear to be suspended by destiny, according to the vulgar tale of Mahomet's coffin; they have neither the unerring instinct of brutes, nor are allowed to fix the eye of reason on a perfect model. They were made to be loved, and must not aim at respect, lest they should be hunted out of society as masculine.

But to view the subject in another point of view. Do passive indolent women make the best wives? Confining our discussion to the present mo|ment of existence, let us see how such weak creatures perform their part? Do the women, who, by the attainment of a few superficial ac|complishments, have strengthened the prevailing prejudice, merely contribute to the happiness of their husbands •• Do they display their charms merely to amuse them? And have women, who have early imbibed notions of passive obedience, sufficient character to manage a family or educate children? So far from it, that, after surveying the history of woman, I cannot help agreeing with the severest satirist, considering the sex as the weakest as well as the most oppressed half of the species. What does history disclose but marks

of inferiority, and how few women have ema••|cipated themselves from the galling yoke of sover|eign man?—So few, that the exceptions remind me of an ingenious conjecture respecting New|ton: that he was probably a being of a superior order, accidentally caged in a human body. In the fame style I have been led to imagine that the few extraordinary women who have rushed in ec|centrical directions out of the orbit prescribed to their sex, were male spirited, confined by mistake in a female frame. But if it be not philosophi|cal to think of sex when the soul is mentioned, the inferiority must depend on the organs; or the heavenly fire, which is to ferment the clay, is not given in equal portions.

But avoiding, as I have hitherto done, any di|rect comparison of the two sexes collectively, or frankly acknowledging the inferiority of woman, according to the present appearance of things, I shall only insist that men have increased that in|feriority till women are almost sunk below the standard of rational creatures. Let their faculties have room to unfold, and their virtues to gain strength, and then determine where the whole sex must stand in the intellectual scale. Yet let it be remembered, that for a small number of distinguished women I do not ask a place.

It is difficult for us purblind mortals to say to what height human discoveries and improvements may arrive when the gloom of despotism sub|sides, which makes us stumble at every step; but, when morality shall be settled on a more solid ba|sis, then, without being gifted with a prophetic spirit, I will venture to predict that woman will

be either the friend or slave of man. We shall not, as at present, doubt whether she is a moral agent, or the link which unites man with brutes. But, should it then appear, that like the brutes they were principally created for the use of man, he will let them patiently bite the bridle, and not mock them with empty praise; or, should their rationality be proved, he will not impede their improvement merely to gratify his sensual appetites. He will not, with all the graces of rhetoric, advise them to submit implicitly their understanding to the guidance of man. He will not, when he treats of the education of women, assert that they ought never to have the free use of reason, nor would he recommend cunning and dissimulation to beings who are acquiring, in like manner as himself, the virtues of humanity.

Surely there can be but one rule of right, if morality has an eternal foundation, and whoever sacrifices virtue, strictly so called, to present con|venience, or whose duty it is to act in such a manner, lives only for the passing day, and can|not be an accountable creature.

The poet then should have dropped his sneer when he says,

"If weak women go astray, "The stars are more in fault than they."

For that they are bound by the adamantine chain of destiny is most certain, if it be proved that they are never to exercise their own reason never to be independent, never to rise above opinion, or to feel the dignity of a rational will that only bows to God, and often forgets that the universe con|tains

any being but itself and the model of per|fection to which its ardent gaze is turned, to adore attributes that, softened into virtues, may be im|itated in kind, though the degree overwhelms the enraptured mind.

If, I say, for I would not impress by declama|tion when Reason offers her sober light, if they are really capable of acting like rational creatures, let them not be treated like slaves; or, like the brutes who are dependent on the reason of man, when they associate with him; but cultivate their minds, give them the salutary, sublime curb of principle, and let them attain conscious dignity by feeling themselves only dependent on God. Teach them, in common with man, to submit to necessity, instead of giving, to render them more pleasing, a sex to morals.

Further, should experience prove that they cannot attain the same degree of strength of mind, perseverence, and fortitude, let their virtues be the same in kind, though they may vainly strug|gle for the same degree; and the superiority of man will be equally clear, if not clearer; and truth, as it is a simple principle, which admits of no modification, would be common to both. Nay, the order of society as it is at present regu|lated would not be inverted, for woman would then only have the rank that reason assigned her, and arts could not be practised to bring the bal|ance even, much less to turn it.

These may be termed Utopian dreams.— Thanks to that Being who impressed them on my soul, and gave me sufficient strength of mind to dare to exert my own reason, till, becoming

dependent only on him for the support of my virtue, I view, with indignation, the mistaken notions that enslave my sex.

I love man as my fellow; but his scepter, real, or usurped, extends not to me, unless the reason of an individual demands my homage; and even then the submission is to reason, and not to man. In fact, the conduct of an account|able being must be regulated by the operations of its own reason; or on what foundation rests the throne of God?

It appears to me necessary to dwell on these obvious truths, because females have been insula|ted, as it were; and, while they have been strip|ped of the virtues that should clothe humanity, they have been decked with artificial graces that enable them to exercise a short-lived tyranny. Love, in their bosoms, taking place of every no|bler passion, their sole ambition is to be fair, to raise emotion instead of inspiring respect; and this ignoble desire, like the servility in absolute monarchies, destroys all strength of character. Liberty is the mother of virtue, and if women are, by their very constitution, slaves, and not al|lowed to breathe the sharp invigorating air of freedom, they must ever languish like exotics, and be reckoned beautiful flaws in nature;—let it also be remembered, that they are the only flaw.

As to the argument respecting the subjection in which the sex has ever been held, it retorts on man. The many have always been enthralled by the few; and monsters, who scarcely have shewn any discernment of human excellence, have ty|rannized over thousands of their fellow creatures.

Why have men of superior endowments sub|mitted to such degration? For, is it not uni|versally acknowledged that kings, viewed collec|tively, have ever been inferior, in abilities and vir|tue, to the same number of men taken from the common mass of mankind—yet, have they not, and are they not still treated with a degree of re|verence that is an insult to reason; China is not the only country where a living man has been made a God. Men have submitted to su|perior strength to enjoy with impunity the plea|sure of the moment—women have only done the same, and therefore till it is proved that the courtier, who servilely resigns the birthright of a man, is not a moral agent, it cannot be demon|strated that woman is essentially inferior to man because she has always been subjugated.

Brutal force has hitherto governed the world, and that the science of politics is in its infancy, is evident from philosophers scrupling to give the knowledge most useful to man that determinate distinction.

I shall not pursue this argument any further than to establish an obvious inference, that as sound politics diffuse liberty, mankind, including woman, will become more wise and virtuous.

CHAP. III. THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.

BODILY strength from being the distinc|tion of heroes is now sunk into such unmerited contempt, that men, as well as women, seem to think it unnecessary: the latter, as it takes from their feminine graces, and from that lovely weak|ness, the source of their undue power; and the former, because it appears inimical with the cha|racter of a gentleman.

That they have both by departing from one extreme run into another, may easily be proved; but first it may be proper to observe, that a vul|gar error has obtained a degree of credit, which has given force to a false conclusion, in which an effect has been mistaken for a cause.

People of genius have, very frequently, im|paired their constitutions by study or careless in|attention to their health, and the violence of their passions bearing a proportion to the vigour of their intellects, the sword's destroying the scab|bard has become almost proverbial, and super|ficial observers have inferred from thence, that men of genius have commonly weak, or, to use a more fashionable phrase, delicate constitutions. Yet the contrary, I believe, will appear to be the fact; for, on diligent inquiry, I find that strength of mind has, in most cases, been accom|panied by superior strength of body,—natural soundness of constitution,—not that robust tone

of nerves and vigour of muscles, which arise from bodily labour, when the mind is quiescent, or on|ly directs the hands.

Dr. Priestley has remarked, in the preface to his biographical chart, that the majority of great men have lived beyond forty-five. And, consid|ering the thoughtless manner in which they have lavished their strength, when investigating a fa|vourite science they have wasted the lamp of life, forgetful of the midnight hour; or, when lost in poetic dreams, fancy has peopled the scene, and the soul has been disturbed, till it shook the con|stitution, by the passions that meditation had rais|ed; whose objects, the baseless fabric of a vision, faded before the exhausted eye, they must have had iron frames. Shakespeare never grasped the airy dagger with a nerveless hand, nor did Mil|ton tremble when he led Satan far from the con|fines of his dreary prison.—These were not the ravings of imbecility, the sickly effusions of dis|tempered brains; but the exuberance of fancy, that 'in a fine phrenzy' wandering, was not con|tinually reminded of its material shackles.

I am aware that this argument would carry me further than it may be supposed I wish to go; but I follow truth, and, still adhering to my first position, I will allow that bodily strength seems to give man a natural superiority over wo|man; and this is the only solid basis on which the superiority of the sex can be built. But I still insist, that not only the virtue, but the knowledge of the two sexes should be the same in nature, if not in degree, and that women, consid|ered not only as moral, but rational creatures,

ought to endeavour to acquire human virtues (or perfections) by the same means as men, instead of being educated like a fanciful kind of half be|ing—one of Rousseau's wild chimeras* 1.10.

But, if strength of body be, with some shew of reason, the boast of men, why are women so infatuated as to be proud of a defect? Rousseau has furnished them with a plausible excuse, which could only have occurred to a man, whose imagination had been allowed to run wild, and refine on the impressions made by exquisite senses;—that they might, forsooth, have a pre|text for yielding to a natural appetite without vi|olating a romantic species of modesty, which gratifies the pride and libertinism of man.

Women, deluded by these sentiments, sometimes boast of their weakness, cunningly obtaining pow|er by playing on the weakness of men; and they may well glory in their illicit sway, for, like Tur|kish bashaws, they have more real power than their masters: but virtue is sacrificed to tempo|rary gratifications, and the respectability of life to the triumph of an hour.

Women, as well as despots have now, perhaps, more power than they would have if the world, divided and subdivided into kingdoms and fami|lies, was governed by laws deduced from the ex|ercise of reason; but in obtaining it, to carry on the comparison, their character is degraded, and licentiousness spread through the whole aggregate of society. The many become pedestal to the few. I, therefore, will venture to assert, that till women are more rationally educated, the progress of human virtue and improvement in knowledge must receive continual checks. And if it be granted that woman was not created merely to gratify the appetite of man, nor to be the upper servant, who provides his meals and takes care of

his linen, it must follow, that the first care of those mothers or fathers, who really attend to the education of females, should be, if not to strength|en the body, at least, not to destroy the constitu|tion by mistaken notions of beauty and female ex|cellence; nor should girls ever be allowed to imbibe the pernicious notion that a defect can, by any chemical process of reasoning, become an excellence. In this respect, I am happy to find, that the author of one of the most instructive books, that our country has produced for children, coincides with me in opinion; I shall quote his pertinent remarks to give the force of his re|spectable authority to reason* 1.11.

But should it be proved that woman is natu|rally weaker than man, from whence does it follow that it is natural for her to labour to become still weaker than nature intended her to be? Arguments of this cast are an insult to common sense, and sa|vour passion. The divine right of husbands, like the divine right of kings, may, it is to be hoped, in this enlightened age, be contested without dan|ger, and, though conviction may not silence ma|ny boisterous disputants, yet when any prevailing prejudice is attacked, the wise will consider, and leave the narrow-minded to rail with thought|less vehemence at innovation.

The mother, who wishes to give true dignity of character to her daughter, must, regardless of the sneers of ignorance, proceed on a plan dia|metrically opposite to that which Rousseau has recommended with all the deluding charms of eloquence and philosophical sophistry: for his eloquence renders absurdities plausible, and his dogmatic conclusions puzzle, without convinc|ing, those who have not ability to refute them.

Throughout the whole animal kingdom every young creature requires almost continual exer|cise, and the infancy of children, conformable to this intimation, should be passed in harmless gambols, that exercise the feet and hands, with|out requiring very minute direction from the head, or the constant attention of a nurse. In fact, the care necessary for self-preservation is the first natural exercise of the understanding, as lit|tle inventions to amuse the present moment un|fold the imagination. But these wise designs of nature are counteracted by mistaken fondness or

blind zeal. The child is not left a moment to its own direction, particularly a girl, and thus rendered dependent—dependence is called natural.

To preserve personal beauty, woman's glory! the limbs and faculties are cramped with worse than Chinese bands, and the sedentary life which they are condemned to live, whilst boys frolic in the open air, weakens the muscles and relaxes the nerves. —As for Rousseau's remarks, which have since been echoed by several writers, that they have naturally, that is from their birth, in|dependent of education, a fondness for dolls, dressing, and talking—they are so puerile as not to merit a serious refutation. That a girl, con|demned to sit for hours together listening to the idle chat of weak nurses, or to attend at her mo|ther's toilet, will endeavour to join the conversa|tion, is, indeed, very natural; ••d that she will imitate her mother or aunts, a•• ••muse herself by adorning her lifeless doll, as they do in dressing her, poor innocent babe! is undoubtedly a most natural consequence. For men of the greatest abilities have seldom had sufficient strength to rise above the surrounding atmosphere; and, if the page of genius has always been blurred by the prejudices of the age, some allowance should be made for a sex, who like kings, always see things through a false medium.

In this manner may the fondness for dress, conspicuous in women, be easily accounted for, without supposing it the result of a desire to please the sex on which they are dependent. The absurdity, in short, of supposing that a girl is na|turally a coquette, and that a desire connected with

the impulse of nature to propagate the species, should appear even before an improper education has, by heating the imagination, called it forth prematurely, is so unphilosophical, that such a sagacious observer as Rousseau would not have adopted it, if he had not been accustomed to make reason give way to his desire of singularity, and truth to a favourite paradox.

Yet thus to give a sex to mind was not very consistent with the principles of a man who ar|gued so warmly, and so well, for the immortality of the soul.—But what a weak barrier is truth when it stands in the way of an hypothesis! Rousseau respected—almost adored virtue—and yet he allowed himself to love with sensual fond|ness. His imagination constantly prepared in|flammable fewel for his inflammable senses; but, in order to reconcile his respect for self|denial, fortitude, and those heroic virtues, which a mind like his could not coolly admire, he la|bours to invert the law of nature, and broaches a doctrine pregnant with mischief and derogato|ry to the character of supreme wisdom.

His ridiculous stories, which tend to prove that girls are naturally attentive to their persons, with|out laying any stress on daily example, are below contempt.—And that a little miss should have such a correct taste as to neglect the pleasing amusement of making O's, merely because she perceived that it was an ungraceful attitude, should be selected with the anecdotes of the learned pig* 1.12.

I have, probably, had an opportunity of ob|serving more girls in their infancy than J. J. Rousseau—I can recollect my own feelings, and I have looked steadily around me; yet, so far from coinciding with him in opinion respecting the first dawn of the female character, I will ven|ture to affirm, that a girl, whose spirits have not been damped by inactivity, or innocence tainted by false shame, will always be a romp, and the doll will never excite attention unless confine|ment allows her no alternative. Girls and boys, in short, would play harmlessly together, if the distinction of sex was not inculcated long before nature makes any difference.—I will go further, and affirm, as an indisputable fact, that most of the women, in the circle of my observation, who have acted like rational creatures, or shewn any vigour of intellect, have accidentally been allow|ed to run wild—as some of the elegant formers of the fair sex would insinuate.

The baneful consequences which flow from inattention to health during infancy, and youth, extend further than is supposed—dependence of body naturally produces dependence of mind; and how can she be a good wife or mother, the greater part of whose time is employed to guard against or endure sickness? Nor can it be expect|ed that a woman will resolutely endeavour to

strengthen her constitution and abstain from en|ervating indulgencies, if artificial notions of beau|ty, and false descriptions of sensibility, have been early entangled with her motives of action. Most men are sometimes obliged to bear with bodily inconveniencies, and to endure, occasionally, the inclemency of the elements; but genteel women are, literally speaking, slaves to their bodies, and glory in their subjection.

I once knew a weak woman of fashion, who was more than commonly proud of her delicacy and sensibility. She thought a distinguishing taste and puny appetite the height of all human perfection, and acted accordingly.—I have seen this weak sophisticated being neglect all the du|ties of life, yet recline with self-complacency on a sofa, and boast of her want of appetite as a proof of delicacy that extended to, or, perhaps, arose from, her exquisite sensibility: for it is diffi|cult to render intelligible such ridiculous jargon. —Yet, at the moment, I have seen her insult a worthy old gentlewoman, whom unexpected misfortunes had made dependent on her ostenta|tious bounty, and who, in better days, had claims on her gratitude. Is it possible that a human creature could have become such a weak and de|praved being, if, like the Sybarites, dissolved in luxury, every thing like virtue had not been worn away, or never impressed by precept, a poor sub|stitute, it is true, for cultivation of mind, though it serves as a fence against vice?

Such a woman is not a more irrational mon|ster than some of the Roman emperors, who were depraved by lawless power. Yet, since

kings have been more under the restraint of law, and the curb, however weak, of honour, the re|cords of history are not filled with such unnatu|ral instances of folly and cruelty, nor does the despotism that kills virtue and genius in the bud, hover over Europe with that destructive blast which desolates Turky, and renders the men, as well as the soil, unfruitful.

Women are every where in this deplorable state; for, in order to preserve their innocence, as ignorance is courteously termed, truth is hidden from them, and they are made to assume an arti|ficial character before their faculties have acquired any strength. Taught from their infancy that beauty is woman's sceptre, the mind shapes itself to the body, and, roaming round its gilt cage, only seeks to adorn its prison. Men have various employments and pursuits which engage their at|tention, and give a character to the opening mind; but women, confined to one, and having their thoughts constantly directed to the most in|significant part of themselves, seldom extend their views beyond the triumph of the hour. But was their understanding once emancipated from the slavery to which the pride and sensuality of man and their short-sighted desire, like that of dominion in tyrants, of present sway, has subjected them, we should probably read of their weaknesses with surprise. I must be allowed to pursue the ar|gument a little farther.

Perhaps, if the existence of an evil being was allowed, who, in the allegorical language of scrip|ture, went about seeking whom he should devour, he could not more effectually degrade the human

character than by giving a man absolute pow|er.

This argument branches into various ramifica|tions.—Birth, riches, and every extrinsic advan|tage that exalt a man above his fellows, without any mental exertion, sink him in reality below them. In proportion to his weakness, he is played upon by designing men, till the bloated monster has lost all traces of humanity. And that tribes of men, like flocks of sheep, should quietly follow such a leader, is a solecism that only a desire of present enjoyment and narrow|ness of understanding can solve. Educated in slavish dependence, and enervated by luxury and sloth, where shall we find men who will stand forth to assert the rights of man;—or claim the privilege of moral beings, who should have but one road to excellence? Slavery to monarchs and ministers, which the world will be long in freeing itself from, and whose deadly grasp stop the progress of the human mind, is not yet abolished.

Let not men then in the pride of power, use the same arguments that tyrannic kings and venal ministers have used, and fallaciously assert that woman ought to be subjected because she has always been so.—But, when man, governed by reasonable laws, enjoys his natural freedom, let him despise woman, if she do not share it with him; and till that glorious period arrives, in de|scanting on the folly of the sex, let him not over|look his own.

Women, it is true, obtaining power by unjust means, by practising or fostering vice, evidently lose the rank which reason would assign them, and they

become either abject slaves or capricious tyrants. They lose all simplicity, all dignity of mind, in acquiring power, and act as men are observed to act when they have been exalted by the same means.

It is time to effect a revolution in female man|ners—time to restore to them their lost dignity— and make them, as a part of the human species, labour by reforming themselves to reform the world. It is time to separate unchangeable mor|als from local manners.—If men be demi-gods— why let us serve them! And if the dignity of the female soul be as disputable as that of animals— if their reason does not afford sufficient light to direct their conduct whilst unerring instinct is denied—they are surely of all creatures the most miserable! and, bent beneath the iron hand of destiny, must submit to be a fair defect in crea|tion. But to justify the ways of Providence re|specting them, by pointing out some irrefragable reason for thus making such a large portion of mankind accountable and not accountable, would puzzle the subtilest casuist.

The only solid foundation for morality appears to be the character of the supreme Being; the harmony of which arises from a balance of attri|butes;—and, to speak with reverence, one attri|bute seems to imply the necessity of another. He must be just, because he is wise, he must be good, because he is omnipotent. For to exalt one at|tribute at the expense of another equally noble and necessary, bears the stamp of the warped rea|son of man—the homage of passion. Man, ac|customed to bow down to power in his savage

state, can seldom divest himself of this barbarous prejudice, even when civilization determines how much superior mental is to bodily strength; and his reason is clouded by these crude opinions, even when he thinks of the Deity. His omnip|otence is made to swallow up, or preside over his other attributes, and those mortals are supposed to limit his power irreverently, who think that it must be regulated by his wisdom.

I disclaim that specious humility which, after investigating nature, stops at the author.—The High and Lofty One, who inhabiteth eternity, doubtless possesses many attributes of which we can form no conception; but reason tells me that they cannot clash with those I adore—and I am compelled to listen to her voice.

It seems natural for man to search for excel|lence, and either to trace it in the object that he worships, or blindly to invest it with perfection, as a garment. But what good effect can the latter mode of worship have on the moral con|duct of a rational being? He bends to power; he adores a dark cloud, which may open a bright prospect to him, or burst in angry, lawless fury, on his devoted head—he knows not why. And, supposing that the Deity acts from the vague im|pulse of an undirected will, man must also follow his own, or act according to rules, deduced from principles which he disclaims as irreverent. In|to this dilemma have both enthusiasts and cooler thinkers fallen, when they laboured to free men from the wholesome restraints which a just con|ception of the character of God imposes.

It is not impious thus to scan the attributes of the Almighty: in fact, who can avoid it that exercises his faculties? For to love God as the fountain of wisdom, goodness, and power, ap|pears to be the only worship useful to a being who wishes to acquire either virtue or know|ledge. A blind unsettled affection may, like hu|man passions, occupy the mind and warm the heart, whilst, to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with our God, is forgotten. I shall pursue this subject still further, when I consider religion in a light opposite to that recommended by Dr. Gregory, who treats it as a matter of sen|timent or taste.

To return from this apparent digression. It were to be wished that women would cherish an affection for their husbands, founded on the same principle that devotion ought to rest upon. No other firm base is there under heaven—for let them beware of the fallacious light of sentiment; too often used as a softer phrase for sensuality. It follows then, I think, that from their infancy women should either be shut up like eastern prin|ces, or educated in such a manner as to be able to think and act for themselves.

Why do men halt between two opinions, and expect impossibilities? Why do they expect vir|tue from a slave, from a being whom the consti|tution of civil society has rendered weak, if not vicious?

Still I know that it will require a considerable length of time to eradicate the firmly rooted pre|judices which sensualists have planted; it will also require some time to convince women that

they act contrary to their real interest on an en|larged scale, when they cherish or affect weak|ness under the name of delicacy, and to convince the world that the poisoned source of female vices and follies, if it be necessary, in compliance with custom, to use synonymous terms in a lax sense, has been the sensual homage paid to beauty:—to beauty of features; for it has been shrewdly ob|served by a German writer, that a pretty woman, as an object of desire, is generally allowed to be so by men of all descriptions; whilst a fine wo|man, who inspires more sublime emotions by dis|playing intellectual beauty, may be overlooked or observed with indifference, by those men who find their happiness in the gratification of their appetites. I foresee an obvious retort—whilst man remains such an imperfect being as he ap|pears hitherto to have been, he will, more or less, be the slave of his appetites; and those women obtaining most power who gratify a predominant one, the sex is degraded by a physical, if not by a moral necessity.

This objection has, I grant, some force; but while such a sublime precept exists, as, 'be pure as your heavenly Father is pure;' it would seem that the virtues of man are not limited by the Be|ing who alone could limit them; and that he may press forward without considering whether he steps out of his sphere by indulging such a noble ambition. To the wild billows it has been said,

thus far shalt thou go, and no further; and here shall thy proud waves be stayed.

Vainly then do they beat and foam▪ restrained by the power that confines the struggling planets in

their orbits, matter yields to the great governing Spirit.—But an immortal soul, not restrained by mechanical laws and struggling to free itself from the shackles of matter, contributes to, instead of disturbing, the order of creation, when, co-op|erating with the Father of spirits, it tries to gov|ern itself by the invariable rule that, in a degree, before which our imagination faints, the universe is regulated.

Besides, if women are educated for depend|ence; that is, to act according to the will of an|other fallible being, and submit, right or wrong, to power, where are we to stop? Are they to be considered as vicegerents allowed to reign over a small domain, and answerable for their conduct to a higher tribunal, liable to error?

It will not be difficult to prove that such dele|gates will act like men subjected by fear, and make their children and servants endure their tyran|nical oppression. As they submit without rea|son, they will, having no fixed rules to square their conduct by, be kind, or cruel, just as the whim of the moment directs; and we ought not to wonder if sometimes, galled by their heavy yoke, they take a malignant pleasure in resting it on weaker shoulders.

But, supposing a woman, trained up to obedi|ence, be married to a sensible man, who directs her judgment without making her feel the ser|vility of her subjection, to act with as much pro|priety by this reflected light as can be expected when reason is taken at second hand, yet she can|not ensure the life of her protector; he may die and leave her with a large family.

A double duty devolves on her; to educate them in the character of both father and mother; to form their principles and secure their proper|ty. But, alas! she has never thought, much less acted for herself. She has only learned to please * 1.13 men, to depend gracefully on them; yet, en|cumbered with children, how is she to obtain another protector—a husband to supply the place of reason? A rational man, for we are not tread|ing on romantic ground, though he may think her a pleasing docile creature, will not choose to marry a family for love, when the world contains many more pretty creatures. What is then to become of her? She either falls an easy prey to some mean fortune-hunter, who defrauds her children of their paternal inheritance, and renders her miserable; or becomes the victim of discon|tent

and blind indulgence. Unable to educate her sons, or impress them with respect; for it is not a play on words to assert, that people are never respected, though filling an important sta|tion, who are not respectable; she pines under the anguish of unavailing impotent regret. The serpent's tooth enters into her very soul, and the vices of licentious youth bring her with sorrow, if not with poverty also, to the grave.

This is not an overcharged picture; on the con|trary, it is a very possible case, and something similar must have fallen under every attentive eye.

I have, however, taken it for granted, that she was well-disposed, though experience shews, that the blind may as easily be led into a ditch as along the beaten road. But supposing no very impro|bable conjecture, that a being only taught to please must still find her happiness in pleasing; —what an example of folly, not to say vice, will she be to her innocent daughters! The mother will be lost in the coquette, and instead of mak|ing friends of her daughters, view them with eyes askance, for they are rivals—rivals more cruel than any other, because they invite a com|parison, and drive her from the throne of beauty, who has never thought of a seat on the bench of reason.

It does not require a lively pencil, or the dis|criminating outline of a caricature, to sketch the domestic miseries and petty vices which such a mistress of a family diffuses. Still she only acts as a woman ought to act, brought up accord|ing to Rousseau's system. She can never be re|proached

for being masculine, or turning out of her sphere; nay, she may observe another of his grand rules, and cautiously preserving her repu|tation free from spot, be reckoned a good kind of woman. Yet in what respect can she be termed good? She abstains, it is true, without any great struggle, from committing gross crimes; but how does she fulfil her duties? Duties!—in truth she has enough to think of to adorn her body and nurse a weak constitution.

With respect to religion, she never presumed to judge for herself; but conformed, as a depend|ent creature should, to the ceremonies of the church which she was brought up in, piously believing that wiser heads than her own have set|tled that business:—and not to doubt is her point of perfection. She therefore pays her tythe of mint and cummin—and thanks her God that she is not as other women are. These are the bles|sed effects of a good education! These the virtues of man's help-mate* 1.14!

I must relieve myself by drawing a different picture.

Let fancy now present a woman with a tolera|ble understanding, for I do not wish to leave the line of mediocrity, whose constitution, strength|ened by exercise, has allowed her body to acquire its full vigour; her mind, at the same time, gra|dually

expanding itself to comprehend the moral duties of life, and in what human virtue and dig|nity consist.

Formed thus by the discharge of the relative duties of her station, she marries from affection, without losing sight of prudence, and looking beyond matrimonial felicity, she secures her hus|band's respect before it is necessary to exert mean arts to please him and feed a dying flame, which nature doomed to expire when the object became familiar, when friendship and forbearance take place of a more ardent affection.—This is the natural death of love, and domestic peace is not destroyed by struggles to prevent its extinction. I also suppose the husband to be virtuous; or she is still more in want of independent principles.

Fate, however, breaks this tie.—She is left a widow, perhaps, without a sufficient provision; but she is not desolate! The pang of nature is felt; but after time has softened sorrow into me|lancholy resignation, her heart turns to her chil|dren with redoubled fondness, and anxious to provide for them, affection gives a sacred heroic cast to her maternal duties. She thinks that not only the eye sees her virtuous efforts from whom all her comfort now must flow, and whose appro|bation is life; but her imagination, a little ab|stracted and exalted by grief, dwells on the fond hope that the eyes which her trembling hand closed, may still see how she subdues every way|ward passion to fulfil the double duty of being the father as well as the mother of her children. Raised to heroism by misfortunes, she represses the first faint dawning of a natural inclination,

before it ripens into love, and in the bloom of life forgets her sex—forgets the pleasure of an awakening passion, which might again have been inspired and returned. She no longer thinks of pleasing, and conscious dignity prevents her from priding herself on account of the praise which her conduct demands. Her children have her love, and her brightest hopes are beyond the grave, where her imagination often strays.

I think I see her surrounded by her children, reaping the reward of her care. The intelligent eye meets hers, whilst health and innocence smile on their chubby cheeks, and as they grow up the cares of life are lessened by their grateful attention. She lives to see the virtues which she endea|voured to plant on principles fixed into habits, to see her children attain a strength of character sufficient to enable them to endure adversity with|out forgetting their mother's example.

The task of life thus fulfilled, she calmly waits for the sleep of death, and rising from the grave, may say—Behold, thou gavest me a talent—and here are five talents.

I wish to sum up what I have said in a few words, for I here throw down my gauntlet, and deny the existence of sexual virtues, not excepting modesty. For man and woman, truth, if I un|derstand the meaning of the word, must be the same; yet the fanciful female character, so pret|tily drawn by poets and novelists, demanding the sacrifice of truth and sincerity, virtue becomes a relative idea, having no other foundation than utility, and of that utility men pretend arbitrari|ly to judge, shaping it to their own convenience.

Women, I allow, may have different duties to fulfil; but they are human duties, and the prin|ciples that should regulate the discharge of them, I sturdily maintain, must be the same.

To become respectable, the exercise of their un|derstanding is necessary, there is no other foun|dation for independence of character; I mean ex|plicitly to say that they must only bow to the authority of reason, instead of being the modest slaves of opinion.

In the superiour ranks of life how seldom do we meet with a man of superior abilities, or even common acquirements? The reason appears to me clear, the state they are born in was an unnatural one. The human character has ever been form|ed by the employments the individual, or class, pursues; and if the faculties are not sharpened by necessity, they must remain obtuse. The argu|ment may fairly be extended to women; for, seldom occupied by serious business, the pursuit of pleasure gives that insignificancy to their cha|racter which renders the society of the great so insipid. The same want of firmness, produced by a similar cause, forces them both to fly from them|selves to noisy pleasures, and artificial passions, till vanity takes place of every social affection, and the characteristics of humanity can scarcely be discern|ed. Such are the blessings of civil governments, as they are at present organized, that wealth and female softness equally tend to debase mankind, and are produced by the same cause; but allowing women to be rational creatures, they should be in|cited to acquire virtues which they may call their own, for how can a rational being be ennobled by any thing that is not obtained by its own exer|tions?

CHAP. IV. OBSERVATIONS ON THE STATE OF DEGRA|DATION TO WHICH WOMAN IS REDUCED BY VARIOUS CAUSES.

THAT woman is naturally weak, or de|graded by a concurrence of circumstances, is, I think, clear. But this position I shall simply con|trast with a conclusion, which I have frequen|ly heard fall from sensible men in favour of an aristocracy: that the mass of mankind cannot be any thing, or the obsequious slaves, who patient|ly allow themselves to be penned up, would feel their own consequence, and spurn their chains. Men, they further observe, submit every where to oppression, when they have only to lift up their heads to throw off the yoke; yet, instead of asserting their birthright, they quietly lick the dust, and say, let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die. Women, I argue from analogy, are de|graded by the same propensity to enjoy the pre|sent moment; and, at last, despise the freedom which they have not sufficient virtue to struggle to attain. But I must be more explicit.

With respect to the culture of the heart, it is unanimously allowed that sex is out of the ques|tion; but the line of subordination in the mental powers is never to be passed over* 1.15. Only 'ab|solute

in loveliness,' the portion of rationality granted to woman, is indeed very scanty; for, de|nying her genius and judgment, it is scarcely pos|sible to divine what remains to characterize intel|lect.

The stamina of immortality, if I may be al|lowed the phrase, is the perfectibility of human reason: for, was man created perfect, or did a flood of knowledge break in upon him, when he arrived at maturity, that precluded error, I should doubt whether his existence would be continued after the dissolution of the body. But, in the present state of things, every difficulty in morals that escapes from human discussion, and equally baffles the investigation of profound thinking, and the lightning glance of genius, is an argu|ment on which I build my belief of the immor|tality of the soul. Reason is, consequentially, the simple power of improvement; or, more proper|ly speaking, of discerning truth. Every individu|al is in this respect a world in itself. More or less may be conspicuous in one being than an|other; but the nature of reason must be the same in all, if it be an emanation of divinity, the tie that connects the creature with the Creator; for, can that soul be stamped with the heavenly im|age, that is not perfected by the exercise of its

own reason* 1.16? Yet outwardly ornamented with elaborate care, and so adorned to delight man, 'that with honour he may love † 1.17,' the soul of woman is not allowed to have this distinction, and man, ever placed between her and reason, she is always represented as only created to see through a gross medium, and to take things on trust. But, dismissing these fanciful theories, and considering woman as a whole, let it be what it will, instead of a part of man, the in|quiry is whether she has reason or not. If she has, which, for a moment, I will take for grant|ed, she was not created merely to be the solace of man, and the sexual should not destroy the hu|man character.

Into this error men have, probably, been led by viewing education in a false light; not consider|ing it as the first step to form a being advanc|ing gradually towards perfection ‡ 1.18; but only as a preparation for life. On this sensual error, for I must call it so, has the false system of fe|male manners been reared, which robs the whole sex of its dignity, and classes the brown and fair with the smiling flowers that only adorns the land. This has ever been the language of men, and the fear of departing from a supposed sexual character, has made even women of superiour

sense adopt the same sentiments* 1.19. Thus under|standing, strictly speaking, has been denied to woman; and instinct, sublimated into wit and cunning, for the purposes of life, has been sub|stituted in its stead.

The power of generalizing ideas, of drawing comprehensive conclusions from individual ob|servations, is the only acquirement, for an im|mortal being, that really deserves the name of knowledge. Merely to observe, without endea|vouring to account for any thing, may (in a very incomplete manner) serve as the common sense of life; but where is the store laid up that is to clothe the soul when it leaves the body?

This power has not only been denied to wo|men; but writers have insisted that it is incon|sistent,

with a few exceptions, with their sexual character. Let men prove this, and I shall grant that woman only exists for man. I must, how|ever, previously remark, that the power of gen|eralizing ideas, to any great extent, is not very common amongst men or women. But this ex|ercise is the true cultivation of the understand|ing; and every thing conspires to render the cul|tivation of the understanding more difficult in the female than the male world.

I am naturally led by this assertion to the main subject of the present chapter, and shall now at|tempt to point out some of the causes that degrade the sex, and prevent women from generalizing their observations.

I shall not go back to the remote annals of an|tiquity to trace the history of woman; it is suf|ficient to allow that she has always been either a slave, or a despot, and to remark, that each of these situations equally retards the progress of reason. The grand source of female folly and vice has ever appeared to me to arise from nar|rowness of mind; and the very constitution of civil governments has put almost insuperable ob|stacles in the way to prevent the cultivation of the female understanding:—yet virtue can be built on no other foundation! The same obstacles are thrown in the way of the rich, and the same consequences ensue.

Necessity has been proverbially termed the mother of invention—the aphorism may be ex|tended to virtue. It is an acquirement, and an acquirement to which pleasure must be sacrificed —and who sacrifice•• pleasure when it is within

the grasp, whose mind has not been opened and strengthened by adversity, or the pursuit of know|ledge goaded on by necessity?—Happy is it when people have the cares of life to struggle with; for these struggles prevent their becoming a prey to enervating vices, merely from idleness! But, if from their birth men and women are placed in a torrid zone, with the meridian sun of pleasure darting directly upon them, how can they suffi|ciently brace their minds to discharge the duties of life, or even to relish the affections that carry them out of themselves?

Pleasure is the business of woman's life, ac|cording to the present modification of society, and while it continues to be so, little can be ex|pected from such weak beings. Inheriting, in a lineal descent from the first fair defect in na|ture, the sovereignty of beauty, they have, to maintain their power, resigned the natural rights, which the exercise of reason might have procur|ed them, and chosen rather to be short-lived queens than labour to obtain the sober pleasures that arise from equality. Exalted by their infe|riority (this sounds like a contradiction) they constantly demand homage as women, though ex|perience should teach them that the men who pride themselves upon paying this arbitrary inso|lent respect to the sex, with the most scrupulous exactness, are most inclined to tyrannize over, and despise, the very weakness they cherish. Oft|en do they repeat Mr. Hume's sentiments; when, comparing the French and Athenian character, he alludes to women.

But what is more singular in this whimsical nation, say I to the Athenians,

is, that a frolick of yours during the Saturnalia, when the slaves are served by their masters, is, seriously, continued by them through the whole year, and through the whole course of their lives; accompanied too with some circum|stances, which still further augment the absur|dity and ridicule. Your sport only elevates for a few days those whom fortune has thrown down, and whom she too, in sport, may really elevate for ever above you. But this nation gravely exalts those, whom nature has subjected to them, and whose inferiority and infirmities are absolutely incurable. The women, though without virtue, are their masters and sovereigns.

Ah! why do women, I write with affection|ate solicitude, condescend to receive a degree of attention and respect from strangers, different from that reciprocation of civility which the dic|tates of humanity and the politeness of civiliza|tion authorise between man and man? And, why do they not discover, when 'in the noon of beau|ty's power,' that they are treated like queens on|ly to be deluded by hollow respect, till they are led to resign, or not assume, their natural pre|rogatives? Confined then in cages like the fea|thered race, they have nothing to do but to plume themselves, and stalk with mock majesty from perch to perch. It is true they are provided with food and raiment, for which they neither toil nor spin; but health, liberty, and virtue, are given in exchange. But, where, amongst man|kind has been found sufficient strength of mind to enable a being to resign these adventitious pre|rogatives; one who, rising with the calm digni|ty

of reason above opinion, dared to be proud of the privileges inherent in man? And it is vain to expect it whilst hereditary power chokes the affections and nips reason in the bud.

The passions of men have thus placed women on thrones, and, till mankind become more rea|sonable, it is to be feared that women will avail themselves of the power which they attain with the least exertion, and which is the most indis|putable. They will smile,—yes, they will smile, though told that—

'In beauty's empire is no mean, 'And woman, either slave or queen, 'Is quickly scorn'd when not ador'd.'

But the adoration comes first, and the scorn is not anticipated.

Lewis the XIVth, in particular, spread facti|tious manners, and caught, in a specious way, the whole nation in his toils; for, establishing an artful chain of despotism, he made it the interest of the people at large, individually to respect his station and support his power. And women, whom he flattered by a puerile attention to the whole sex, obtained in his reign that prince-like distinction so fatal to reason and virtue.

A king is always a king—and a woman al|ways a woman* 1.20: his authority and her sex, ever stand between them and rational converse. With a lover, I grant, she should be so, and her sensi|bility will naturally lead her to endeavour to ex|cite emotion, not to gratify her vanity, but her

heart. This I do not allow to be coquetry, it is the artless impulse of nature, I only exclaim against the sexual desire of conquest when the heart is out of the question.

This desire is not confined to women;

I have endeavoured,

says Lord Chesterfield,

to gain the hearts of twenty women, whose per|sons I would not have given a fig for.

The libertine, who, in a gust of passion, takes advan|tage of unsuspecting tenderness, is a saint when compared with this cold-hearted rascal; for I like to use significant words. Yet only taught to please, women are always on the watch to please, and with true heroic ardour endeavour to gain hearts merely to resign, or spurn them, when the victory is decided, and conspicuous.

I must descend to the minutiae of the sub|ject.

I lament that women are systematically degrad|ed by receiving the trivial attentions, which men think it manly to pay to the sex, when, in fact, they are insultingly supporting their own superiority. It is not condescension to bow to an inferiour. So ludicrous, in fact, do these ceremonies appear to me, that I scarcely am able to govern my mus|cles, when I see a man start with eager, and seri|ous solicitude to lift a handkerchief, or shut a door, when the lady could have done it herself, had she only moved a pace or two.

A wild wish has just flown from my heart to my head, and I will not stifle it though it may excite a horse-laugh.—I do earnestly wish to see the distinction of sex confounded in society, un|less where love animates the behaviour. For this

distinction is, I am firmly persuaded, the founda|tion of the weakness of character ascribed to wo|man; is the cause why the understanding is ne|glected, whilst accomplishments are acquired with sedulous care: and the same cause accounts for their preferring the graceful before the heroic virtues.

Mankind, including every description, wish to be loved and respected for something; and the com|mon herd will always take the nearest road to the completion of their wishes. The respect paid to wealth and beauty is the most certain, and une|quivocal; and, of course, will always attract the vulgar eye of common minds. Abilities and vir|tues are absolutely necessary to raise men from the middle rank of life into notice; and the natural consequence is notorious, the middle rank con|tains most virtue and abilities. Men have thus, in one station, at least, an opportunity of exerting themselves with dignity, and of rising by the exer|tions which really improve a rational creature; but the whole female sex are, till their character is formed, in the same condition as the rich: for they are born, I now speak of a state of civiliza|tion, with certain sexual privileges, and whilst they are gratuitously granted them, few will ever think of works of supererogation, to obtain the esteem of a small number of superiour people.

When do we hear of women who, starting out of obscurity, boldly claim respect on account of their great abilities or daring virtues? Where are they to be found?—

To be observed, to be at|tended to, to be taken notice of with sympathy, complacency, and approbation, are all the advan|tages

which they seek.

—True! my male read|ers will probably exclaim; but let them, before they draw any conclusion, recollect that this was not written originally as descriptive of women, but of the rich. In Dr. Smith's Theory of Mor|al Sentiments, I have found a general character of people of rank and fortune, that, in my opinion, might with the greatest propriety be applied to the female sex. I refer the sagacious reader to the whole comparison; but must be allowed to quote a passage to enforce an argument that I mean to insist on, as the one most conclusive against a sex|ual character. For if, excepting warriors, no great men, of any denomination, have ever appeared amongst the nobility, may it not be fairly inferred that their local situation swallowed up the man, and produced a character similar to that of women, who are localized, if I may be allowed the word, by the rank they are placed in, by courtesy? Wo|men, commonly called Ladies, are not to be con|tradicted in company, are not allowed to exert any manual strength; and from them the negative vir|tues only are expected, when any virtues are ex|pected, patience, docility, good-humour, and flex|ibility; virtues incompatible with any vigorous exertion of intellect. Besides, by living more with each other, and being seldom absolutely alone, they are more under the influence of sentiments than passions. Solitude and reflection are neces|sary to give to wishes the force of passions, and to enable the imagination to enlarge the object, and make it the most desirable. The same may be said of the rich; they d•• not sufficiently deal in general ideas, collected by impassioned thinking,

or calm investigation, to acquire that strength of character on which great resolves are built. But hear what an acute observer says of the great.

Do the great seem insensible of the easy price at which they may acquire the publick admira|tion; or do they seem to imagine that to them, as to other men, it must be the purchase either of sweat or of blood? By what important ac|complishments is the young nobleman instruct|ed to support the dignity of his rank, and to ren|der himself worthy of that superiority over his fellow-citizens, to which the virtue of his an|cestors had raised them? Is it by knowledge, by industry, by patience, by self-denial, or by virtue of any kind? As all his words, as all his motions are attended to, he learns an habitual regard to every circumstance of ordinary behaviour, and studies to perform all those small duties with the most exact propriety. As he is conscious how much he is observed, and how much man|kind are disposed to favour all his inclinations, he acts, upon the most indifferent occasions with that freedom and elevation which the thought of this naturally inspires. His air, his manner, his deportment, all mark that elegant and grace|ful sense of his own superiority, which those who are born to inferiour station can hardly ever arrive at. These are the arts by which he pro|poses to make mankind more easily submit to his authority, and to govern their inclinations according to his own pleasure: and in this he is seldom disappointed. These arts, supported by rank and pre-eminence, are, upon ordinary occasions, sufficient to govern the world. Lew|is

XIV. during the greater part of his reign, was regarded, not only in France, but over all Europe, as the most perfect model of a great prince. But what were the talents and virtues by which he acquired this great reputation? Was it by the scrupulous and inflexible justice of all his undertakings, by the immense dangers and difficulties with which they were attended, or by the unwearied and unrelenting applica|tion with which he pursued them? Was it by his extensive knowledge, by his exquisite judg|ment, or by his heroic valour? It was by none of these qualities. But he was, first of all, the most powerful prince in Europe, and conse|quently held the highest rank among kings; and then, says his historian, he surpassed all his courtiers in the gracefulness of his shape, and the majestic beauty of his features. The sound of his voice, noble and affecting, gained those hearts which his presence intimidated. He had a step and a deportment which could suit only him and his rank, and which would have been ridiculous in any other person. The embarrassment which he occasioned to those who spoke to him, flattered that secret satis|faction with which he felt his own superiori|ty. These frivolous accomplishments, sup|ported by his rank, and, no doubt too, by a de|gree of other talents and virtues, which seems, however, not to have been much above medi|ocrity, established this prince in the esteem of his own age, and have drawn, even from pos|terity, a good deal of respect for his memory. Compared with these, in his own times, and in

his own presence, no other virtue, it seems, ap|peared to have any merit. Knowledge, indus|try, valour, and beneficence, trembled, were abashed, and lost all dignity before them.

Woman also thus 'in herself complete,' by possessing all these frivolous accomplishments, so changes the nature of things

—'That what she wills to do or say 'Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best; 'All higher knowledge in her presence falls 'Degraded. Wisdom in discourse with her 'Loses discountenanc'd, and, like Folly, shows; 'Authority and Reason on her wait.'—

And all this is built on her loveliness!

In the middle rank of life, to continue the comparison, men, in their youth, are prepared for professions, and marriage is not considered as the grand feature in their lives; whilst women, on the contrary, have no other scheme to sharpen their faculties. It is not business, extensive plans, or any of the excursive flights of ambition, that engross their attention; no, their thoughts are not employed in rearing such noble structures. To rise in the world, and have the liberty of run|ning from pleasure to pleasure, they must marry advantageously, and to this object their time is sacrificed, and their persons often legally prosti|tuted. A man when be enters any profession has his eye steadily fixed on some future advantage (and the mind gains great strength by having all its efforts directed to one point) and, full of his business, pleasure is considered as mere relaxation; whilst women seek for pleasure as the main pur|pose of existence. In fact, from the education,

which they receive from society, the love of pleasure may be said to govern them all; but does this prove that there is a sex in souls? It would be just as rational to declare that the court|iers in France, when a destructive system of des|potism had formed their character, were not men, because liberty, virtue, and humanity, were sa|crificed to pleasure and vanity.—Fatal passions, which have ever domineered over the whole race!

The same love of pleasure, fostered by the whole tendency of their education, gives a tri|fling turn to the conduct of women in most cir|cumstances: for instance, they are ever anxious about secondary things; and on the watch for adventures, instead of being occupied by duties.

A man, when he undertakes a journey, has, in general, the end in view; a woman thinks more of the incidental occurrences, the strange things that may possibly occur on the road; the im|pression that she may make on her fellow-travel|lers; and, above all, she is anxiously intent on the care of the finery that she carries with her, which is more than ever a part of herself, when going to figure on a new scene; when, to use an apt French turn of expression, she is going to produce a sensation.—Can dignity of mind exist with such trivial cares?

In short, women, in general, as well as the rich of both sexes, have acquired all the follies and vices of civilization, and missed the useful fruit. It is not necessary for me always to premise, that I speak of the condition of the whole sex, leaving exceptions out of the question. Their senses are inflamed, and their understandings neglected,

consequently they become the prey of their sens|es, delicately termed sensibility, and are blown about by every momentary gust of feeling. They are, therefore, in a much worse condition than they would be in were they in a state nearer to nature. Ever restless and anxious, their over ex|ercised sensibility not only renders them uncom|fortable themselves, but troublesome, to use a soft phrase, to others. All their thoughts turn on things calculated to excite emotion; and feel|ing, when they should reason, their conduct is unstable, and their opinions are wavering—not the wavering produced by deliberation or pro|gressive views, but by contradictory emotions. By fits and starts they are warm in many pursuits; yet this warmth, never concentrated into perse|verance, soon exhausts itself; exhaled by its own heat, or meeting with some other fleeting pas|sion, to which reason has never given any speci|fic gra••ity, neutrality ensues. Miserable, indeed, must be that being whose cultivation of mind has only tended to inflame its passions! A dis|tinction should be made between inflaming and strengthening them. The passions thus pamper|ed, whilst the judgment is le••t unformed, what can be expected to ensue?—Undoubtedly, a mixture of madness and folly!

This observation should not be confined to the fair sex; however, at present, I only mean to ap|ply it to them.

Novels, music, poetry, and gallantry, all tend to make women the creatures of sensation, and their character is thus formed during the time they are acquiring accomplishments, the only im|provement

they are excited, by their station in society, to acquire. This overstretched sensibil|ity naturally relaxes the other powers of the mind, and prevents intellect from attaining that sovereignty which it ought to attain to render a rational creature useful to others, and content with its own station: for the exercise of the un|derstanding, as life advances, is the only method pointed out by nature to calm the passions.

Satiety has a very different effect, and I have often been forcibly struck by an emphatical de|scription of damnation:—when the spirit is re|presented as continually hovering with abortive eagerness round the defiled body, unable to enjoy any thing without the organs of sense. Yet, to their senses, are women made slaves, because it is by their sensibility that they obtain present power.

And will moralists pretend to assert, that this is the condition in which one half of the human race should be encouraged to remain with listless inactivity and stupid acquiescence? Kind in|struct us! what were we created for? To remain, it may be said, innocent, they mean in a state of childhood.—We might as well never have been born, unless it were necessary that we should be created to enable man to acquire the noble privilege of reason, the power of discerning good from evil, whilst we lie down in the dust from whence we were taken, never to rise again.—

It would be an endless task to trace the variety of meannesses, cares, and sorrows, into which women are plunged by the prevailing opinion, that they were created rather to feel than reason,

and that all the power they obtain, must be ob|tained by their charms and weakness:

'Fine by defect, and amiably weak!

And, made by this amiable weakness entirely de|pendent, excepting what they gain by illicit sway, on man, not only for protection, but ••dvice, is it surprising that, neglecting the duties that reason ••one points out, and shrinking from t••s calculated to strengthen their minds, they only exert themselves to give their defects a graceful covering, which may serve to heighten their charms in the eye of the voluptuary, though it sink them below the scale of moral excellence?

Fragile in every sense of the word, they are obliged to look up to man for every comfort. In the most trifling dangers they cling to their support, with parasitical tenacity, piteously de|manding succour; and their natural protector extends his arm, or lifts up his voice, to guard the lovely trembler—from what? Perhaps the frown of an old cow, or the jump of a mouse; a rat, would be a serious danger. In the name of reason, and even common sense, what can save such beings from contempt; even though they be soft and fair?

These fears, when not affected, may be very pretty; but they shew a degree of imbecility that degrades a rational creature in a way women are not aware of—for love and esteem are very dis|tinct things.

I am fully persuaded that we should hear of none of these infantile airs, if girls were allowed to take sufficient exercise, and not confined in close

rooms till their muscles are relaxed, and their powers of digestion destroyed. To carry the re|mark still further, if fear in girls, instead of be|ing cherished, perhaps, created, was treated in the same manner as cowardice in boys, we should quickly see women with more dignified aspects. It is true, they could not than with equal pro|priety be termed the sweet flowers that smile in the walk of man; but they would be more re|spectable members of society, and discharge the important duties of life by the light of their own reason. 'Educate women like men,' says Rous|seau,

and the more they resemble our sex the less power will they have over us.

This is the very point I aim a••. I do not wish them to have power over men; but over themselves.

In the same strain have I heard men argue against instructing the poor; for many are the forms that aristocracy assumes.

Teach them to read and write,

say they,

and you take them out of the station assigned them by nature.

An eloquent Frenchman has answered them, I will borrow his sentiments. But they know not; when they make man a brute, that they may expect every instant to see him transformed into a ferocious beast. Without knowledge there can be no morality!

Ignorance is a frail base for virtue! Yet, that it is the condition for which woman was organ|ized, has been insisted upon by the writers who have most vehemently argued in favour of the su|periority of man; a superiority not in degree, but essence; though, to soften the argument, they have laboured to prove, with chivalrous

generosity, that the sexes ought not to be com|pared; man was made to reason, woman to feel; and that together, flesh and spirit, they make the most perfect whole, by blending happily reason and sensibility into one character.

And what is sensibility?

Quickness of sen|sation; quickness of perception; delicacy.

Thus is it defined by Dr. Johnson; and the de|finition gives me no other idea than of the most exquisitely polished instinct. I discern not a trace of the image of God in either sensation or matter. Refined seventy times seven, they are still material; intellect dwells not there; nor will fire ever make lead gold!

I come round to my old argument; if woman be allowed to have an immortal soul, she must have, as the employment of life, an understand|ing to improve. And when, to render the pre|sent state more complete, though every thing proves it to b•• but a fraction of a mighty sum, she is incited by present gratification to forget her grand destination, Nature is counteracted, or she was born only to procreate and die. Or, grant|ing brutes, of every description, a soul, though not a reasonable one, the exercise of instinct and sensibility may be the step, which they are to take, in this life, towards the attainment of rea|son in the next; so that through all eternity they will lag behind man, who, why we cannot tell, had the power given him of attaining reason in his first mode of existence.

When I treat of the peculiar duties of women, as I should treat of the peculiar duties of a citizen or father, it will be found that I do not mean to

insinuate that they should be taken out of their families, speaking of the majority.

He that hath wife and children,

says Lord Bacon,

hath giv|en hostages to fortune; for they are impedi|ments to great enterprises, either of virtue or mischief. Certainly the best works, and of greatest merit for the public, have proceeded from the unmarried or childless men.

I say the same of women. But, the welfare of society is not built on extraordinary exertions; and were it more reasonably organized, there would be still less need of great abilities, or heroic vir|tues.

In the regulation of a family, in the education of children, understanding, in an unsophisticated sense, is particularly required: strength both of body and mind; yet the men who, by their writings, have most earnestly laboured to domes|ticate women, have endeavoured, by arguments dictated by a gross appetite, that satiety had ren|dered fastidious, to weaken their bodies and cramp their minds. But, if even by these sinister me|thods they really persuaded women, by working on their feelings, to stay at home, and fulfil the duties of a mother and mistress of a family, I should cautiously oppose opinions that led wo|men to right conduct, by prevailing on them to make the discharge of a duty the business of life, though reason were insulted. Yet, and I appeal to experience, if by neglecting the understanding they are as much, nay, more detached from these domestic duties, than they could be by the most serious intellectual pursuit, though it may be ob|served that the mass of mankind will never vigor|ously

pursue an intellectual object* 1.21, I may be allowed to infer that reason is absolutely necessary to enable a woman to perform any duty properly, and I must again repeat, that sensibility is not rea|son.

The comparison with the rich still occurs to me; for, when men neglect the duties of hu|manity, women will do the same; a common stream hurries them both along with thought|less celerity. Riches and honours prevent a man from enlarging his understanding, and enervate all his powers by reversing the order of nature, which has ever made true pleasure the reward of labour. Pleasure—enervating pleasure is, like|wise, within women's reach without earning it. But, till hereditary possessions are spread abroad, how can we expect men to be proud of virtue? And, till they are, women will govern them by the most direct means, neglecting their dull do|mestic duties to catch the pleasure that is on the wing of time.

'The power of the woman,' says some author, 'is her sensibility;' and men, not aware of the consequence, do all they can to make this power swallow up every other. Those who constantly employ their sensibility will have most; for ex|ample; poets, painters, and composers† 1.22. Yet, when the sensibility is thus increased at the ex|pense of reason, and even the imagination, why

do philosophical men complain of their fickle|ness? The sexual attention of man particularly acts on female sensibility, and this sympathy has been exercised from their youth up. A husband cannot long pay those attentions with the pas|sion necessary to excite lively emotions, and the heart, accustomed to lively emotions, turns to a new lover, or pines in secret, the prey of virtue or prudence. I mean when the heart has really been rendered susceptible, and the taste formed; for I am apt to conclude, from what I have seen in fashionable life, that vanity is oftener fostered than sensibility by the mode of educa|tion, and the intercourse between the sexes, which I have reprobated; and that coquetry more frequently proceeds from vanity than from that inconstancy, which overstrained sensibility naturally produces.

Another argument that has had a great weight with me, must, I think, have some force with every considerate, benevolent heart. Girls who have been thus weakly educated, are often cruelly left by their parents without any provision; and, of course, are dependent on, not only the reason, but the bounty of their brothers. These broth|ers are, to view the fairest side of the question, good sort of men, and give as a favour, what chil|dren of the same parents had an equal right to. In this equivocal humiliating situation, a docile female may remain some time, with a tolerable degree of comfort. But, when the brother mar|ries, a probable circumstance, from being consid|ered as the mistress of the family, she is viewed with averted looks as an intruder, an unnecessary

burden on the benevolence of the master of the house, and his new partner.

Who can recount the misery, which many un|fortunate beings, whose minds and bodies are equally weak, suffer in such situations—unable to work, and ashamed to beg? The wife, a cold-hearted, narrow-minded, woman, and this is not an unfair supposition; for the present mode of education does not tend to enlarge the heart any more than the understanding, is jealous of the lit|tle kindness which her husband shews to his re|lations; and her sensibility not rising to human|ity, she is displeased at seeing the property of her children lavished on an helpless sister.

These are matters of fact, which have come under my eye, again and again. The conse|quence is obvious, the wife has recourse to cun|ning to undermine the habitual affection, which she is afraid openly to oppose; and neither tears nor caresses are spared till the spy is worked out of her home, and thrown on the world, unpre|pared for its difficulties; or sent, as a great effort of generosity, or from some regard to propriety, with a small stipend, and an uncultivated mind, into joyless solitude.

These two women may be much upon a par, with respect to reason and humanity; and chang|ing situations might have acted just the same self|ish part; but had they been differently educated, the case would also have been very different. The wife would not have had that sensibility, of which self is the centre, and reason might have taught her not to expect, and not even to be flattered, by the affection of her husband, if it led him to vio|late

prior duties. She would wish not to love him merely because he loved her, but on account of his virtues; and the sister might have been able to struggle for herself instead of eating the bitter bread of dependence.

I am, indeed, persuaded that the heart, as well as the understanding, is opened by cultivation; and by, which may not appear so clear, strength|ening the organs; I am not now talking of mo|mentary flashes of sensibility, but of affections. And, perhaps, in the education of both sexes, the most difficult task is so to adjust instruction as not to narrow the understanding, whilst the heart is warmed by the generous juices of spring, just raised by the electric fermentation of the season; nor to dry up the feelings by employing the mind in investigations remote from life.

With respect to women, when they receive a careful education, they are either made fine la|dies, brimful of sensibility, and teeming with capricious fancies; or mere notable women. The latter are often friendly, honest creatures, and have a shrewd kind of good sense joined with worldly prudence, that often render them more useful members of society than the fine senti|mental lady, though they possess neither great|ness of mind nor taste. The intellectual world is shut against them; take them out of their fami|ly or neighbourhood, and they stand still; the mind finding no employment, for literature af|fords a fund of amusement which they have never sought to relish, but frequently to despise. The sentiments and taste of more cultivated minds ap|pear ridiculous, even in those whom chance and

family connections have led them to love; but in mere acquaintance they think it all affectation.

A man of sense can only love such a woman on account of her sex, and respect her, because she is a trusty servant. He lets her, to preserve his own peace, scold the servants, and go to church in clothes made of the very best materials. A man of her own size of understanding would, probably, not agree so well with her; for he might wish to encroach on her prerogative, and manage some domestic concerns himself. Yet women, whose minds are not enlarged by culti|vation, or the natural selfishness of sensibility ex|panded by reflection, are very unfit to manage a family; for, by an undue stretch of power, they are always tyrannizing to support a superiority that only rests on the arbitrary distinction of for|tune. The evil is sometimes more serious, and domestics are deprived of innocent indulgences; and made to work beyond their strength, in order to enable the notable woman to keep a better table, and outshine her neighbours in finery and parade. If she attend to her children, it is, in general, to dress them in a costly manner—and, whether this attention arises from vanity or fond|ness, it is equally pernicious.

Besides, how many women of this description pass their days; or, at least, their evenings, dis|contentedly. Their husbands acknowledge that they are good managers, and chaste wives; but leave home to seek for more agreeable, may I be allowed to use a significant French word, piquant society; and the patient drudge, who fulfils her task, like a blind horse in a mill, is defrauded of

her just reward; for the wages due to her are the caresses of her husband; and women who have so few resources in themselves, do not very patient|ly bear this privation of a natural right.

A fine lady, on the contrary, has been taught to look down with contempt on the vulgar em|ployments of life; though she has only been in|cited to acquire accomplishments that rise a de|gree above sense; for even corporeal accomplish|ments cannot be acquired with any degree of precision unless the understanding has been strengthened by exercise. Without a foundation of principles taste is superficial; and grace must arise from something deeper than imitation. The imagination, however, is heated, and the feelings rendered fastidious, if not sophisticated; or, a counterpoise of judgment is not acquired, when the heart still remains artless, though it becomes too tender.

These women are often amiable; and their hearts are really more sensible to general benevo|lence, more alive to the sentiments that civilize life, than the square-elbowed family drudge; but, wanting a du•• proportion of reflection and self-government, they only inspire love; and are the mistresses of their husbands, whilst they have any hold on their affections; and the platonic friends of his male acquaintance. These are the fair defects in nature; the women who appear to be created not to enjoy the fellowship of man, but to save him from sinking into absolute bru|tality, by rubbing off the rough angles of his character; and by playful dalliance to give some dignity to the appetite that draws him to them.

Gracious Creator of the whole human race! hast thou created such a being as woman, who can trace thy wisdom in thy works, and feel that thou alone art by thy nature, exalted above her,—for no better purpose?—Can she believe that she was only made to submit to man, her equal; a being, who, like her, was sent into the world to acquire virtue?—Can she consent to be occupied merely to please him; merely to adorn the earth, when her soul is capable of rising to thee?—And can she rest supinely dependent on man for rea|son, when she ought to mount with him the ar|duous steeps of knowledge?—

Yet, if love be the supreme good, let women be only educated to inspire it, and let every charm be polished to intoxicate the senses; but, if they are moral beings, let them have a chance to be|come intelligent; and let love to man be only a part of that glowing flame of universal love, which, after encircling humanity, mounts in grateful incense to God.

To fulfil domestic duties much resolution is necessary, and a serious kind of perseverance that requires a more firm support than emotions, how|ever lively and true to nature. To give an exam|ple of order, the soul of virtue, some austerity of behaviour must be adopted, scarcely to be expect|ed from a being who, from its infancy, has been made the weathercock of its own sensations. Whoever rationally means to be useful must have a plan of conduct; and, in the discharge of the simplest duty, we are often obliged to act con|trary to the present impulse of tenderness or com|passion. Severity is frequently the most certain,

as well as the most sublime proof of affection; and the want of this power over the feelings, and of that lofty, dignified affection, which makes a person prefer the future good of the beloved object to a present gratification, is the reason why so many fond mothers spoil their children, and has made it questionable whether negligence or indulgence is most hurtful: but I am inclined to think, that the latter has done most harm.

Mankind seem to agree that children should be left under the management of women during their childhood. Now, from all the observation that I have been able to make, women of sensi|bility are the most unfit for this task, because they will infallibly, carried away by their feelings, spoil a child's temper. The management of the temper, the first, and most important branch of education, requires the sober steady eye of rea|son; a plan of conduct equally distant from ty|ranny and indulgence: yet these are the extremes that people of sensibility alternately fall into; al|ways shooting beyond the mark. I have follow|ed this train of reasoning much further, till I have concluded, that a person of genius is the most improper person to be employed in education, public or private. Minds of this rare species see things too much in masses, and seldom, if ever, have a good temper. That habitual cheerful|ness, termed good-humour, is, perhaps, as sel|dom united with great mental powers, as with strong feelings. And those people who follow, with interest and admiration, the flights of ge|nius; or, with cooler approbation suck in the instruction which has been elaborately prepared

for them by the profound thinker, ought not to be disgusted, if they find the former choleric, and the latter morose; because liveliness of fancy, and a tenacious comprehension of mind, are scarcely compatible with that pliant urbanity which leads a man, at least, to bend to the opin|ions and prejudices of others, instead of roughly confronting them.

But, treating of education or manners, minds of a superior class are not to be considered, they may be left to chance; it is the multitude, with moderate abilities, who call for instruction, and catch the colour of the atmosphere they breathe. This respectable concourse, I contend, men and women, should not have their sensations height|ened in the hot-bed of luxurious indolence, at the expense of their understanding; for, unless there be a ballast of understanding, they will never become either virtuous or free: an aristoc|racy, founded on property, or sterling talents, will ever sweep before it, the alternately timid, and ferocious, slaves of feeling.

Numberless are the arguments, to take another view of the subject, brought forward with a shew of reason: because supposed to be deduced from nature, that men have used morally and physical|ly, to degrade the sex. I must notice a few.

The female understanding has often been spok|en of with contempt, as arriving sooner at ma|turity than the male. I shall not answer this argument by alluding to the early proofs of rea|son, as well as genius, in Cowley, Milton, and Pope* 1.23, but only appeal to experience to decide whether young men, who are early introduced

into company (and examples now abound) do not acquire the same precocity. So notorious is this fact, that the bare mentioning of it must bring before people, who at all mix in the world, the idea of a number of swaggering apes of men, whose understandings are narrowed by being brought into the society of men when they ought to have been spinning a top or twirling a hoop.

It has also been asserted, by some naturalists, that men do not attain their full growth and strength till thirty; but that women arrive at maturity by twenty. I apprehend that they rea|son on false ground, led astray by the male pre|judice, which deems beauty the perfection of woman—mere beauty of features and complex|ion, the vulgar acceptation of the word, whilst male beauty is allowed to have some connection with the mind. Strength of body, and that character of countenance, which the French term a physionomie, women do not acquire before thirty, any more than men. The little artless tricks of children, it is true, are particularly pleasing and attractive; yet, when the pretty freshness of youth is worn off, these artless graces become studied airs, and disgust every person of taste. In the countenance of girls we only look for vivacity and bashful modesty; but, the spring|tide of life over, we look for soberer sense in the face, and for traces of passion, instead of the dim|ples of animal spirits; expecting to see individ|uality of character, the only fastener of the af|fections* 1.24. We then wish to converse, not to

fondle; to give scope to our imaginations as well as to the sensations of our hearts.

At twenty the beauty of both sexes is equal; but the libertinism of man leads him to make the distinction, and superannuated coquettes are com|monly of the same opinion; for, when they can no longer inspire love, they pay for the vigour and vivacity of youth. The French, who admit more of mind into their notions of beauty, give the preference to women of thirty. I mean to say that they allow women to be in their most perfect state, when vivacity gives place to reason, and to that majestic seriousness of character, which marks maturity;—or, the resting point. In youth, till twenty, the body shoots out, till thir|ty the solids are attaining a degree of density; and the flexible muscles, growing daily more rigid, give character to the countenance; that is, they trace the operations of the mind with the iron pen of fate, and tell us not only what pow|ers are within, but how they have been employ|ed.

It is proper to observe, that animals who ar|rive slowly at maturity, are the longest lived, and of the noblest species. Men cannot, however, claim any natural superiority from the grandeur of longevity; for in this respect nature has not distinguished the male.

Polygamy is another physical degradation; and a plausible argument for a custom, that blasts every domestic virtue, is drawn from the well-attested fact, that in the countries where it is established, more females are born than males. This appears to be an indication of nature, and

to nature, apparently reasonable speculations must yield. A further conclusion obviously presented itself; if polygamy be necessary, woman must be inferiour to man, and made for him.

With respect to the formation of the foetus in the womb, we are very ignorant; but it appears to me probable, that an accidental physical cause may account for this phenomenon, and prove it not to be a law of nature. I have met with some pertinent observations on the subject in Forster's Account of the Isles of the South-Sea, that will explain my meaning. After observing that of the two sexes amongst animals, the most vigorous and fiery constitution always prevails, and pro|duces its kind; he adds,—

If this be applied to the inhabitants of Africa, it is evident that the men there, accustomed to polygamy, are ener|vated by the use of so many women, and there|fore less vigorous; the women, on the contra|ry, are of a warmer constitution, not only on account of their more irritable nerves, more sen|sible organization, and more lively fancy; but likewise because they are deprived in their ma|trimony of that share of physical love which, in a monogamous condition, would all be theirs; and thus, for the above reasons, the generality of children are born females.

In the greater part of Europe it has been proved by the most accurate lists of mortality, that the proportion of men to women is nearly equal, or, if any difference takes place, the males born are more numerous, in the proportion of 105 to 100.

The necessity of polygamy, therefore, does not appear; yet when a man seduces a woman, it should, I think, be termed a left-handed marriage, and the man should be legally obliged to maintain the woman and her children, unless adultery, a natural divorce•• abrogated the law. And this law should ••in in force as long as the weakness of women caused the word seduction to be used as an excuse for their frailty and want of principle; nay, while they depend on man for a subsistence, instead of earning it by the exertion of their own hands or heads. But these women should not, in the full meaning of their relation|ship, be termed wives, or the very purpose of mar|riage would be subverted, and all those endear|ing charities that flow from personal fidelity, and give a sanctity to the tie, when neither love nor friendship unites the hearts, would melt into selfishness. The woman who is faithful to the father of her children demands respect, and should not be treated like a prostitute; though I readi|ly grant that if it be necessary for a man and wo|man to live together in order to bring up their offspring, nature never intended that a man should have more than one wife.

Still, highly as I respect marriage, as the found|ation of almost every social virtue, I cannot avoid feeling the most lively compassion for those un|fortunate females who are broken off from socie|ty, and by one error torn from all those affections and relationships that improve the heart and mind. It does not frequently even deserve the name of error; for many innocent girls become the dupes of a sincere affectionate heart, and still

more are, as it may emphatically be termed, ru|ined before they know the difference between vir|tue and vice:—and thus prepared by their edu|cation for infamy, they become infamous. Asy|lums and Magdalens are not the proper remedies for these abuses. It is justice, not charity, that is wanting in the world!

A woman who has lost her honour, imagines that she cannot fall lower, and as for recovering her former station, it is impossible; no exertion can wash this stain away. Losing thus every spur, and having no other means of support, prostitution becomes her only refuge, and the character is quickly depraved by circumstances over which the poor wretch has little power, unless she possesses an uncommon portion of sense and loftiness of spirit. Necessity never makes prostitution the business of men's lives; though numberless are the women who are thus rendered systematically vicious. This, however, arises, in a great degree, from the state of idleness in which women are educated, who are always taught to look up to man for a maintenance, and to consider their persons as the proper return for his exertions to support them. Meretricious airs, and the whole science of wantonness, has then a more powerful stimulous than either ap|petite or vanity; and this remark gives force to the prevailing opinion, that with chastity all is lost that is respectable in woman. Her charac|ter depends on the observance of one virtue, though the only passion fostered in her heart—is love. Nay, the honour of a woman is not made even to depend on her will.

When Richardson * 1.25 makes Clarissa tell Love|lace that he had robbed her of her honour, he must have had strange notions of honour and vir|tue. For, miserable beyond all names of misery is the condition of a being, who could be de|graded without its own consent! This ••s of strictness I have heard vindicated as a salutary er|ror. I shall answer in the words of Leibnitz— 'Errors are often useful; but it is commonly to remedy other errors.'

Most of the evils of life arise from a desire of present enjoyment that outruns itself. The obedience required of women in the marriage state comes under this description; the mind naturally weakened by depending on authority, never exerts its own powers, and the obedient wife is thus rendered a weak indolent mother. Or, supposing that this is not always the consequence, a future state of existence is scarcely taken into the reckoning when only negative virtues are cul|tivated. For, in treating of morals, particularly when women are alluded to, writers have too oft|en considered virtue in a very limited sense, and made the foundation of it solely worldly utility; nay, a still more fragile base has been given to this stupendous fabric, and the wayward fluctuating feelings of men have been made the standard of virtue. Yes, virtue as well as religion, has been subjected to the decisions of taste.

It would almost provoke a smile of contempt, if the vain absurdities of man did not strike us on all sides, to observe, how eager men are to degrade

the sex from whom they pretend to receive the chief pleasure of life; and I have frequently with full conviction retorted Pope's sarcasm on them; or, to speak explicitly, it has appeared to me ap|plicable to the whole human race. A love of pleasure or sway seems to divide mankind, and the husband who lords it in his little haram thinks only of his pleasure or his convenience. To such lengths, indeed, does an intemperate love of pleasure carry some prudent men, or worn out libertines, who marry to have a safe bed-fellow, that they seduce their own wives.—Hymen ban|ishes modesty, and chaste love takes its flight.

Love, considered as an animal appetite, cannot long feed on itself without expiring. And this extinction, in its own flame, may be termed the violent death of love. But the wife who has thus been rendered licentious, will probably en|deavour to fill the void left by the loss of her husband's attentions; for she cannot contented|ly become merely an upper servant after having been treated like a goddess. She is still hand|some, and, instead of transferring her fondness to her children, she only dreams of enjoying the sunshine of life. Besides, there are many hus|bands so devoid of sense and parental affection, that during the first effervescence of voluptuous fondness they refuse to let their wives suckle their children. They are only to dress and live to please them: and love—even innocent love, soon sinks into lasciviousness, when the exercise of a duty is sacrificed to its indulgence.

Personal attachment is a very happy founda|tion for friendship; yet, when even two virtuous

young people marry, it would, perhaps, be hap|py if some circumstances checked their passion; if the recollection of some prior attachment, or disappointed affection, made it on one side, at least, rather a match founded on esteem. In that case they would look beyond the present moment, and try to render the whole of life respectable, by forming a plan to regulate a friendship which only death ought to dissolve.

Friendship is a serious affection; the most su|blime of all affections, because it is founded on principle, and cemented by time. The very re|verse may be said of love. In a great degree, love and friendship cannot subsist in the same bosom; even when inspired by different objects they weak|en or destroy each other, and for the same object can only be felt in succession. The vain fears and fond jealousies, the winds which fan the flame of love, when judiciously or artfully tem|pered, are both incompatible with the tender confidence and sincere respect of friendship.

Love, such as the glowing pen of genius has traced, exists not on earth, or only resides in those exalted, fervid imaginations that have sketched such dangerous pictures. Dangerous, because they not only afford a plausible excuse, to the voluptuary who disguises sheer sensuality under a sentimental veil; but as they spread affectation, and take from the dignity of virtue. Virtue, as the very word imports, should have an appear|ance of seriousness, if not austerity; and to en|deavour to trick her out in the garb of pleasure, because the epithet has been used as another name for beauty, is to exalt her on a quicksand; a most

insidious attempt to hasten her fall by apparent respect. Virtue and pleasure are not, in fact, so nearly allied in this life as some eloquent writers have laboured to prove. Pleasure prepares the fading wreath, and mixes the intoxicating cup; but the fruit which virtue gives, is the recom|pence of toil: and, gradually seen as it ripens, only affords calm satisfaction; nay, appearing to be the result of the natural tendency of things, it is scarcely observed. Bread, the common food of life, seldom thought of as a blessing, supports the constitution and preserves health; still feasts delight the heart of man, though disease and even death lurk in the cup or dainty that elevates the spirits or tickles the palate. The lively heated imagination, in the same style, draws the picture of love, as it draws every other picture, with those glowing colours, which the daring hand, will steal from the rainbow that is directed by a mind, con|demned in a world like this, to prove its noble origin by panting after unattainable perfection; ever pursuing what it acknowledges to be a fleet|ing dream. An imagination of this vigorous cast can give existence to insubstantial forms, and sta|bility to the shadowy reveries which the mind naturally falls into when realities are found vapid. It can then depict love with celestial charms, and dote on the grand ideal object—it can imagine a degree of mutual affection that shall refine the soul, and not expire when it has served as a 'scale to heavenly;' and, like devotion, make it absorb every meaner affection and desire. In each oth|ers arms, as in a temple, with its summit lost in the clouds, the world is to be shut out, and every

thought and wish, that do not nurture pure af|fection and permanent virtue.—Permanent vir|tue! alas! Rousseau, respectable visionary! thy paradise would soon be violated by the entrance of some unexpected guest. Like Milton's it would only contain angels, or men sunk below the dig|nity of rational creatures. Happiness is not ma|terial, it cannot be seen or felt! Yet the eager pursuit of the good which every one shapes to his own fancy, proclaims man the lord of this lower world, and to be an intelligent creature, who is not to receive, but to acquire happiness. They, therefore, who complain of the delusions of passion, do not recollect that they are exclaim|ing against a strong proof of the immortality of the soul.

But leaving superiour minds to correct them|selves, and pay dearly for their experience, it is necessary to observe, that it is not against strong, persevering passions; but romantic wavering feel|ings that I wish to guard the female heart by exercising the understanding: for these paradisia|cal reveries are oftener the effect of idleness than of a lively fancy.

Women have seldom sufficient serious employ|ment to silence their feelings; a round of little cares, or vain pursuits frittering away all strength of mind and organs, they become naturally only objects of sense.—In short, the whole tenour of female education (the education of society) tends to render the best disposed romantic and incon|stant; and the remainder vain and mean. In the present state of society this evil can scarcely be remedied, I am afraid, in the slightest degree;

should a more laudable ambition ever gain ground they may be brought nearer to nature and rea|son; and become more virtuous and useful as they grow more respectable.

But, I will venture to assert that their reason will never acquire sufficient strength to enable it to regulate their conduct, whilst the making an appearance in the world is the first wish of the majority of mankind. To this weak wish the natural affections, and the most useful virtues are sacrificed. Girls marry merely to better them|selves, to borrow a significant vulgar phrase, and have such perfect power over their hearts as not to permit themselves to fall in love till a man with a superiour fortune offers. On this subject I mean to enlarge in a future chapter; it is only ne|cessary to drop a hint at present, because women are so often degraded by suffering the selfish prudence of age to chill the ardour of youth.

From the same source flows an opinion that young girls ought to dedicate great part of their time to needle-work; yet, this employment contracts their faculties more than any other that could have been chosen for them, by con|fining their thoughts to their persons. Men order their clothes to be made, and have done with the subject; women make their own clothes, necessary or ornamental, and are continually talk|ing about them; and their thoughts follow their hands. It is not indeed the making of necessa|ries that weakens the mind; but the frippery of dress. For when a woman in the lower rank of life makes her husband's and children's clothes, she does her duty, this is a part of her business;

but when women work only to dress better than they could otherwise afford, it is worse than sheer loss of time. To render the poor virtuous they must be employed, and women in the middle rank of life, did they not ape the fashions of the nobility, without catching their ease, might em|ploy them, whilst they themselves managed their families, instructed their children, and exercised their own minds. Gardening, experimental phi|losophy, and literature, would afford them sub|jects to think of and matter for conversation, that in some degree would exercise their understand|ings. The conversation of French women, who are not so rigidly nailed to their chairs to twist lappets, and knot ribbons, is frequently superfi|cial; but, I contend, that it is not half so insipid as that of those English women whose time is spent in making caps, bonnets, and the whole mischief of trimmings, not to mention shop|ping, bargain-hunting, &c. &c. and it is the decent, prudent women, who are most degraded by these practices; for their motive is simply vanity. The wanton who exercises her taste to render her person alluring, has something more in view.

These observations all branch out of a general one, which I have before made, and which can|not be too often insisted upon, for, speaking of men, women, or professions, it will be found that the employment of the thoughts shapes the character both generally and individually. The thoughts of women ever hover round their per|sons, and is it surprising that their persons are reckoned most valuable? Yet some degree of

liberty of mind is necessary even to form the per|son; and this may be one reason why some gen|tle wives have so few attractions beside that of sex. Add to this, sedentary employments render the majority of women sickly—and false notions of female excellence make them proud of this deli|cacy, though it be another fetter, that by calling the attention continually to the body, cramps the activity of the mind.

Women of quality seldom do any of the man|ual part of their dress, consequently only their taste is exercised, and they acquire, by thinking less of the finery, when the business of their toi|let is over, that ease, which seldom appears in the deportment of women, who dress merely for the sake of dressing. In fact, the observation with respect to the middle rank, the one in which talents thrive best, extends not to women; for those of the superiour class, by catching, at least, a smattering of literature, and conversing more with men, on general topics, acquire more know|ledge than the women who ape their fashions and faults without sharing their advantages. With respect to virtue, to use the word in a com|prehensive sense, I have seen most in low life. Many poor women maintain their children by the sweat of their brow, and keep together fami|lies that the vices of the fathers would have scat|tered abroad; but gentle-women are too indolent to be actively virtuous, and are softened rather than refined by civilization. Indeed, the good sense which I have met with, among the poor women who have had few advantages of educa|tion, and yet have acted heroically, strongly con|firmed

me in the opinion that trifling employ|ments have rendered woman a trifler. Men, tak|ing her * 1.26 body, the mind is left to rust; so that while physical love enervates man, as being his favourite recreation, he will endeavour to enslave woman:—and, who can tell, how many genera|tions may be necessary to give vigour to the vir|tue and talents of the freed posterity of abject slaves † 1.27?

In tracing the causes that, in my opinion, have degraded woman, I have confined my observations to such as universally act upon the morals and manners of the whole sex, and to me it appears clear that they all spring from want of understand|ing. Whether this arise from a physical or ac|cidental weakness of faculties, time alone can de|termine; for I shall not lay any great stress on the example of a few women ‡ 1.28 who, from hav|ing received a masculine education, have acquired courage and resolution; I only contend that the men who have been placed in similar situations, have acquired a similar character—I speak of bo|dies of men, and that men of genius and talents have started out of a class, in which women have never yet been placed.

CHAP. V. ANIMADVERSIONS ON SOME OF THE WRIT|ERS WHO HAVE RENDERED WOMEN OB|JECTS OF PITY, BORDERING ON CON|TEMPT.

THE opinions speciously supported, in some modern publications on the female character and education, which have given the tone to most of the observations made, in a more cursory man|ner, on the sex, remain now to be examined.

SECT. I.

I SHALL begin with Rousseau, and give a sketch of the character of women, in his own words, interspersing comments and reflections. My comments, it is true, will all spring from a few simple principles, and might have been de|duced from what I have already said; but the ar|tificial structure has been raised with so much ingenuity, that it seems necessary to attack it in a more circumstantial manner, and make the ap|plication myself.

Sophia, says Rousseau, should be as perfect a woman as Emilius is a man, and to render her so, it is necessary to examine the character which nature has given to the sex.

He then proceeds to prove that woman ought to be weak and passive, because she has less bodily strength than man; and, from hence

infers, that she was formed to please and to be subject to him; and that it is her duty to render herself agreeable to her master—this being the grand end of her existence* 1.29. Still, however, to give a little mock dignity to sensual desire, he in|sists that man should not exert his strength, but depend on the will of the woman, when he seeks for pleasure with her.

Hence we deduce a third consequence from the different constitutions of the sexes; which is, that the strongest should be masters in ap|pearance, and be dependent in fact on the weakest; and that not from any frivolous prac|tice of gallantry or vanity of protectorship, but from an invariable law of nature, which, fur|nishing woman with a greater facility to excite desires than she has given man to satisfy them, makes the latter dependent on the good pleasure of the former, and compels him to endeavour to please in his turn, in order to obtain her con|sent that he should be strongest† 1.30. On these oc|casions, the most delightful circumstance a man finds in his victory is, to doubt whether it was the woman's weakness that yielded to his supe|riour strength, or whether her inclinations spoke in his favour: the females are also gen|erally artful enough to leave this matter in doubt. The understanding of women answers in this respect perfectly to their constitution: so far from being ashamed of their weakness, they glory in it; their tender muscles make no re|sistance; they affect to be incapable of lifting

the smallest burthens, and would blush to be thought robust and strong. To what purpose is all this? Not merely for the sake of appear|ing delicate, but through an artful precaution: it is thus they provide an excuse beforehand, and a right to be feeble when they think it ex|pedient* 1.31.

I have quoted this passage, lest my readers should suspect that I warped the author's reason|ing to support my own arguments. I have al|ready asserted that in educating women these fun|damental principles lead to a system of cunning and lasciviousness.

Supposing woman to have been formed only to please, and be subject to man, the conclusion is just, she ought to sacrifice every other consider|ation to render herself agreeable to him: and let this brutal desire of self-preservation be the grand spring of all her actions, when it is proved to be the iron bed of fate, to fit which her character should be stretched or contracted, regardless of all moral or physical distinctions. But, if, as I think, may be demonstrated, the purposes, of even this life, viewing the whole, are subverted by practical rules built upon this ignoble base, I may be allowed to doubt whether woman was created for man: and, though the cry of irreli|gion, or even atheism, be raised against me, I will simply declare, that were an angel from heaven to tell me that Moses's beautiful, poetical cos|mogony, and the account of the fall of man, were literally true, I could not believe what my reason told me was derogatory to the character of

the Supreme Being: and, having no fear of the devil before mine eyes, I venture to call this a suggestion of reason, instead of resting my weak|ness is on the broad shoulders of the first seducer of my frail sex.

'It being once demonstrated,' continues Rous|seau,

that man and woman are not, nor ought to be, constituted alike in temperament and character, it follows of course that they should not be educated in the same manner. In pur|suing the directions of nature, they ought in|deed to act in concert, but they should not be engaged in the same employments: the end of their pursuits should be the same, but the means they should take to accomplish them, and of consequence their tastes and inclinations, should be different* 1.32.

Whether I consider the peculiar destination of the sex, observe their inclinations, or remark their duties, all things equally concur to point out the peculiar method of education best adapt|ed to them. Woman and man were made for each other, but their mutual dependence is not the same. The men depend on the women only on account of their desires; the women on the men both on account of their desires and their necessities: we could subsist better without them than they without us† 1.33.

For this reason, the education of the women should be always relative to the men. To please, to be useful to us, to make us love and esteem them, to educate us when young, and take care of us when grown up, to advise, to console us, to render our lives easy and agreea|ble: these are the duties of women at all times, and what they should be taught in their infan|cy. So long as we fail to recur to this princi|ple, we run wide of the mark, and all the pre|cepts which are given them contribute neither to their happiness nor our own* 1.34.

Girls are from their earliest infancy fond of dress. Not content with being pretty, they are desirous of being thought so; we see, by all their little airs, that this thought engages their attention; and they are hardly capable of un|derstanding what is said to them, before they are to be governed by talking to them of what people will think of their behaviour. The same motive, however, indiscreetly made use of with boys, has not the same effect: provided they are let to pursue their amusements at plea|sure, they care very little what people think of them. Time and pains are necessary to sub|ject boys to this motive.

Whencesoever girls derive this first lesson, it is a very good one. As the body is born, in a manner before the soul, our first concern should be to cultivate the former; this order is com|mon

to both sexes, but the object of that cul|tivation is different. In the one sex it is the developement of corporeal powers; in the oth|er, that of personal charms: not that either the quality of strength or beauty ought to be confined exclusively to one sex; but only that the order of the cultivation of both is in that respect reversed. Women certainly require as much strength as to enable them to move and act gracefully, and men as much address as to qualify them to act with ease.

Children of both sexes have a great many amusements in common; and so they ought; have they not also many such when they are grown up? Each sex has also its peculiar taste to distinguish in this particular. Boys love sports of noise and activity; to beat the drum, to whip the top, and to drag about their little carts: girls, on the other hand, are fonder of things of show and ornament; such as mirrours, trinkets, and dolls: the doll is the peculiar amusement of the females; from whence we see their taste plainly adapted to their destination. The physical part of the art of pleasing lies in dress; and this is all which children are ca|pacitated to cultivate of that art.

Here then we see a primary propensity firm|ly established, which you need only pursue and

regulate. The little creature will doubtless be very desirous to know how to dress up her doll, to make its sleeve-knots, its flounces, its head-dress, &c. she is obliged to have so much recourse to the people about her, for their as|sistance in these articles, that it would be much more agreeable to her to owe them all to her own industry. Hence we have a good reason for the first lessons that are usually taught these young females: in which we do not appear to be set|ting them a task, but obliging them, by in|structing them in what is immediately useful to themselves. And, in fact, almost all of them learn with reluctance to read and write; but very readily apply themselves to the use of their needles. They imagine themselves already grown up, and think with pleasure that such qualifica|tions will enable them to decorate themselves.

This is certainly only an education of the body; but Rousseau is not the only man who has indi|rectly said that merely the person of a young wo|man, without any mind, unless animal spirits come under that description, is very pleasing. To render it weak, and what some may call beauti|ful, the understanding is neglected, and girls forced to sit still, play with dolls and listen to foolish conversations;—the effect of habit is in|sisted upon as an undoubted indication of nature. I know it was Rousseau's opinion that the first years of youth should be employed to form the body, though in educating Emilius he deviates from this plan; yet, the difference between strengthening the body, on which strength of mind in a great measure depends, and only giv|ing it an easy motion, is very wide.

Rousseau's observations, it is proper to remark, were made in a country where the art of pleasing was refined only to extract the grossness of vice. He did not go back to nature, or his ruling ap|petite disturbed the operations of reason, else he would not have drawn these crude inferences.

In France boys and girls, particularly the lat|ter, are only educated to please, to manage their persons, and regulate their exterior behaviour; and their minds are corrupted, at a very early age, by the worldly and pious cautions they receive to guard them against immodesty. I speak of past times. The very confessions which mere chil|dren were obliged to make, and the questions ask|ed by the holy men, I assert these facts on good authority, were sufficient to impress a sexual cha|racter; and the education of society was a school of coquetry and art. At the age of ten or eleven; nay, often much sooner, girls began to coquet, and talked, unreproved, of establishing themselves in the world by marriage.

In short, they were made women, almost from their very birth, and compliments were listened to instead of instruction. These, weakening the mind, Nature was supposed to have acted like a step-mother, when she formed this after-thought of creation.

Not allowing them understanding, however, it was but consistent to subject them to authority independent of reason; and to prepare them for this subjection, he gives the following advice:

Girls ought to be active and diligent; nor is that all; they should also be early subjected to restraint. This misfortune, if it really be one,

is inseparable from their sex; nor do they ever throw it off but to suffer more cruel evils. They must be subject, all their lives, to the most constant and severe restraint, which is that of decorum: it is, therefore necessary to accustom them early to such confinement, that it may not afterwards cost them too dear; and to the sup|pression of their caprices, that they may the more readily submit to the will of others. If, indeed, they are fond of being always at work, they should be sometimes compelled to lay it aside. Dissipation, levity, and inconstancy, are faults that readily spring up from their first pro|pensities, when corrupted or perverted by too much indulgence. To prevent this abuse, we should learn them, above all things, to lay a due restraint on themselves. The life of a modest woman is reduced, by our absurd institutions, to a perpetual conflict with herself: not but it is just that this sex should partake of the suffer|ings which arise from those evils it hath caused us.

And why is the life of a modest woman a per|petual conflict? I should answer, that this very system of education makes it so. Modesty, tem|perance, and self-denial, are the sober offspring of reason; but when sensibility is nurtured at the expense of the understanding, such weak beings must be restrained by arbitrary means, and be sub|jected to continual conflicts; but give their activ|ity of mind a wider range, and nobler passions and motives will govern their appetites and sen|timents.

The common attachment and regard of a mother, nay, mere habit, will make her belov|ed by her children, if she does nothing to incur their hate. Even the constraint she lays them under, if well directed, will increase their af|fection, instead of lessening it; because a state of dependence being natural to the sex, they perceive themselves formed for obedience.

This is begging the question; for servitude not only debases the individual, but its effects seem to be transmitted to posterity. Considering the length of time that women have been de|pendent, is it surprising that some of them hug their chains, and fawn like the spaniel? 'These dogs,' observes a naturalist,

at first kept their ears erect; but custom has superseded nature, and a token of fear is become a beauty.

'For the same reason,' adds Rousseau,

wo|men have, or ought to have, but little liberty; they are apt to indulge themselves excessively in what is allowed them. Addicted in every thing to extremes, they are even more transported at their diversions than boys.

The answer to this is very simple. Slaves and mobs have always indulged themselves in the same excesses, when once they broke loose from au|thority.—The bent bow recoils with violence, when the hand is suddenly relaxed that forcibly held it; and sensibility, the play-thing of out|ward circumstances, must be subjected to author|ity, or moderated by reason.

'There results,' he continues,

from this ha|bitual restraint a tractableness which the women have occasion for during their whole lives, as

they constantly remain either under subjection to the men, or to the opinions of mankind; and are never permitted to set themselves above those opinions. The first and most important qualification in a woman is good-nature or sweet|ness of temper: formed to obey a being so im|perfect as man, often full of vices, and always full of faults, she ought to learn betimes even to suffer injustice, and to bear the insults of a husband without complaint; it is not for his sake, but her own, that she should be of a mild disposition. The perverseness and ill-nature of the women only serve to aggravate their own misfortunes, and the misconduct of their hus|bands; they might plainly perceive that such are not ••he arms by which they gain the supe|riority.

Formed to live with such an imperfect being as man, they ought to learn from the exercise of their faculties the necessity of forbearance; but all the sacred rights of humanity are violated by insisting on blind obedience; or, the most sa|cred rights belong only to man.

The being who patiently endures injustice, and silently bears insults, will soon become unjust, or unable to discern right from wrong. Besides, I deny the fact, this i•• not the true way to form or meliorate the temper; for, as a sex, men have better tempers than women, because they are oc|cupied by pursuits that interest the head as well as the heart; and the steadiness of the head gives a healthy temperature to the heart. People of sensibility have seldom good tempers. The for|mation of the temper is the cool work of reason,

when, as life advances, she mixes with happy art, jarring elements. I never knew a weak or igno|rant person who had a good temper, though that constitutional good humour, and that docility, which fear stamps on the behaviour, often obtains the name. I say behaviour, for genuine meekness never reached the heart or mind, unless as the ef|fect of reflection; and that simple restraint produces a number of peccant humours in domestic life, ma|ny sensible men will allow, who find some of these gentle irritable creatures, very troublesome com|panions.

'Each sex,' he further argues,

should preserve its peculiar tone and manner; a meek husband may have a wife impertinent; but mildness of disposition on the woman's side will always bring a man back to reason, at least if he be not absolutely a brute, and will sooner or later tri|umph over him.

True, the mildness of reason; but abject fear always inspires contempt; and tears are only eloquent when they flow down fair cheeks.

Of what materials can that heart be composed, which can melt when insulted, and instead of re|volting at injustice, kiss the rod? Is it unfair to infer that her virtue is built on narrow views and selfishness, who can caress a man, with true fem|inine softness, the very moment when he treats her tyrannically? Nature never dictated such in|sincerity;—and though prudence of this sort be termed a virtue, morality becomes vague when any part is supposed to rest on falsehood. These are mere expedients, and expedients are only use|ful for the moment.

Let the husband beware of trusting too im|plicitly to this servile obedience; for if his wife can with winning sweetness caress him when an|gry, and when she ought to be angry, unless con|tempt had stifled a natural effervescence, she may do the same after parting with a lover. These are all pre••tions for adultery▪ or, should the fear of the world, or of hell, restrain her desire or pleasing other men, when she can no longer please her husband, what substitute can be found by a being who was only formed, by nature and art, to please man? what can make her amends for this privation, or where is she to seek for a fresh employment? where find sufficient strength of mind to determine to begin the search, when her habits are fixed, and vanity has long ruled her chaotic mind?

But this partial moralist recommends cunning systematically and plausibly.

Daughters should be always submissive; their mothers, however, should not be inexora|ble. To make a young person tractable, she ought not to be made unhappy; to make her modest she ought not to be rendered stupid. On the contrary, I should not be displeased at her being permitted to use some art, not to elude punishment in case of disobedience, but to ex|empt herself from the necessity of obeying. It is not necessary to make her dependence bur|densome, but only to let her feel it. Subtilty is a talent natural to the sex; and, as I am per|suaded, all our natural inclinations are right and good in themselves, I am of opinion this should be cultivated as well as the others: it is requisite for us only to prevent its abuse.

'Whatever is, is right,' he then proceeds tri|umphantly to infer. Granted;—yet, perhaps, no aphorism ever contained a more paradoxical assertion. It is a solemn truth with respect to God. He, reverentially I speak, sees the whole at once, and saw its just proportions in the womb of time; but man, who can only inspect dis|jointed parts, finds many things wrong; and it is a part of the system, and therefore right, that he should endeavour to alter what appears to him to be so, even while he bows to the Wisdom of his Creator, and respects the darkness he labours to disperse.

The inference that follows is just supposing the principle to be sound.

The superiority of address, peculiar to the female sex, is a very equitable indemnification for their inferiority in point of strength: without this, woman would not be the companion of man; but his slave: it is by her superiour art and ingenuity that she preserves her equality, and governs him while she affects to obey. Woman has every thing against her, as well our faults, as her own timidity and weakness; she has nothing in her favour, but her subtilty and her beauty. Is it not very reasonable, therefore, she should culti|vate both?

Greatness of mind can never dwell with cunning, or address, for I shall not differ about words, when their direct signification is insincerity and falsehood; but content myself with observing, that if any class of mankind are to be educated by rules not strictly deducible from truth, virtue is an affair of convention. How could Rousseau dare to assert, after giving

this advice, that in the grand end of existence the object of both sexes should be the same, when he well knew that the mind, formed by its pursuits, is expanded by great views swallow|ing up little ones, or that it becomes itself lit|tle?

Men have superiour strength of body; but were it not for mistaken notions of beauty, wo|men would acquire sufficient to enable them to earn their own subsistence, the true definition of independence; and to bear those bodily inconven|iences and exertions that are requisite to strength|en the mind.

Let us then, by being allowed to take the same exercise as boys, not only during infancy, but youth, arrive at perfection of body, that we may know how far the natural superiority of man ex|tends. For what reason or virtue can be ex|pected from a creature when the feed-time of life is neglected? None—did not the winds of heav|en casually scatter many useful seeds in the fallow ground.

Beauty cannot be acquired by dress, and co|que••y is an art not so early and speedily attain|ed. While girls are yet young, however, they are in a capacity to study agreeable gesture, a pleasing modulation of voice, an easy carriage and behaviour; as well as to take the advan|tage of gracefully adapting their looks and atti|tudes to time, place, and occasion. Their ap|plication, therefore, should not be solely con|fined to the arts of industry and the needle, when they come to display other talents, whose utility is already apparent.

For my part, I would have a young English|woman cultivate her agreeable talents, in order to please her future husband, with as much care and assiduity as a young Circassian cultivates her's, to fit her for the haram of an eastern bashaw.

To render women completely insignificant, he adds—

The tongues of women are very voluble; they speak earlier, more readily, and more agree|ably, than the men; they are accused also of speaking much more: but so it ought to be, and I should be very ready to convert this re|proach into a compliment; their lips and eyes have the same activity, and for the same reason. A man speaks of what he knows, a woman of what pleases her; the one requires knowledge, the other taste; the principal object of a man's discourse should be what is useful, that of a wo|man's what is agreeable. There ought to be nothing in common between their different conversation but truth.

We ought not, therefore, to restrain the prat|tle of girls, in the same manner as we should that of boys, with that severe question; To what purpose are you talking? but by another, which is no less difficult to answer, How will your dis|course be received? In infancy, while they are as yet incapable to discern good from evil, they ought to observe it, as a law, never to say any thing disagreeable to those whom they are speak|ing to: what will render the practice of this rule also the more difficult, is, that it must ever be subordinate to the former, of never speaking falsely or telling an untruth.

To govern the

tongue in this manner must require great address indeed; and it is too much practised both by men and women.—Out of the abundance of the heart how few speak! So few, that I, who love simplicity, would gladly give up politeness for a quarter of the virtue that has been sacrificed to an equivocal quality which at best should only be the polish of virtue.

But, to complete the sketch.

It is easy to be conceived, that if male children are not in a capacity to form any true notions of religion, those ideas must be greatly above the concep|tion of the females: it is for this very reason, I would begin to speak to them the earlier on this subject; for if we were to wait till they were in a capacity to discuss methodically such profound questions, we should run a risk of never speaking to them on this subject as long as they lived. Reason in women is a practi|cal reason, capacitating them artfully to discov|er the means of attaining a known end, but which would never enable them to discover that end itself. The social relations of the sexes are indeed truly admirable: from their union there results a moral person, of which woman may be termed the eyes, and man the hand, with this dependence on each other, that it is from the man that the woman is to learn what she is to see, and it is of the woman that man is to learn what he ought to do. If wo|man could recur to the first principles of things as well as man, and man was capacitated to en|ter into their minutiae as well as woman, always ••ndependent of each other, they would live in

perpetual discord, and their union could not subsist. But in the present harmony which naturally subsists between them, their different faculties ••end to one common end; it is diffi|cult to say which of them conduces the most to it: each follows the impulse of the other; each is obedient, and both are matters.

As the conduct of a woman is subservient to the public opinion, her faith in matters of re|ligion should, for that very reason, be subject to authority. Every daughter ought to be of the same religion as her mother, and every wife to be of the same religion as her husband: for, though such religion should be false, that docility which induces the mother and daughter to submit to the order of nature, take away, in the sight of God, the criminality of their error* 1.35.

As

they are not in a capacity to judge for themselves, they ought to abide by the decision of their fathers and husbands as confidently as by that of the church.

As authority ought to regulate the religion of the women, it is not so needful to explain to them the reasons for their belief, as to lay down precisely the tenets they are to believe: for the creed, which presents only obscure ideas to the mind, is the source of fanaticism; and that which presents absurdities, leads to infidelity.

Absolute, uncontroverted authority, it seems, must subsist somewhere: but is not this a direct

and exclusive appropriation of reason? The rights of humanity have been thus confined to the male line from Adam downwards. Rousseau would carry his male aristocracy still further, for he in|sinuates, that he should not blame those, who contend for leaving woman in a state of the most profound ignorance, if it were not necessary in order to preserve her chastity and justify the man's choice, in the eyes of the world, to give her a lit|tle knowledge of men, and the customs produced by human passions; else she might propagate at home without being rendered less voluptuous and innocent by the exercise of her understanding: excepting, indeed, during the first year of marri|age, when she might employ it to dress like So|phia.

Her dress is extremely modest in ap|pearance, and yet very ••quettish in fact: she does not make a display of her charms, she con|ceals them; but in concealing them, she knows how to affect your imagination. Every one who sees her, will say, There is a modest and discreet girl; but while you are near her, your eyes and affections wander all over her person, so that you cannot withdraw them; and you would conclude, that every part of her dress, simple as it seems, was only put in its proper order to be taken to pieces by the imagination.

Is this modesty? Is this a preparation for immortality? Again.—What opinion are we to form of a sys|tem of education, when the author says of his he|roine,

that with her, doing things well, is but a secondary concern; her principal concern is to do them neatly.

Secondary, in fact, are all her virtues and quali|ties, for, respecting religion, he makes her parents thus address her, accustomed to submission— 'Your husband will instruct you in good time.'

After thus cramping a woman's mind, if, in order to keep it fair, he has not made it quite a blank, he advises her to reflect, that a reflecting man may not yawn in her company, when he is tired of caressing her.—What has she to reflect about who must obey? and would it not be a re|finement on cruelty only to open her mind to make the darkness and misery of her fate visible? Yet, these are his sensible remarks; how consist|ent with what I have already been obliged to quote, to give a fair view of the subject, the read|er may determine.

They who pass their whole lives in working for their daily bread, have no ideas beyond their business or their interest, and all their under|standing seems to lie in their fingers

ends.

This ignorance is neither prejudicial to their in|tegrity nor their morals; it is often of service to them. Sometimes, by means of reflection, we are led to compound with our duty, and we conclude by substituting a jargon of words, in the room of things. Our own conscience is the most enlightened philosopher. There is no need to be acquainted with Tully's offices, to make a man of probity: and perhaps the most virtuous woman in the world, is the least ac|quainted with the definition of virtue. But it is no less true, that an improved understanding can only render society agreeable; and it is a melancholy thing for a father of a family, who

is fond of home, to be obliged to be always wrapped up in himself, and to have nobody about him to whom he can impart his senti|ments.

Besides, how should a woman void of re|flection be capable of educating her children? How should she discern what is proper for them? How should she incline them to those virtues she is unacquainted with, or to that merit of which she has no idea? She can only sooth or chide them; render them insolent or timid; she will make them formal coxcombs, or ignorant blockheads; but will never make them sensible or amiable.

How indeed should she, when her husband is not always at hand to lend her his reason?—when they both togeth|er make but one moral being. A blind will, 'eyes without hands, 'would go a very little way; and perchance his abstract reason, that should concentrate the scattered beams of her practical reason, may be employed in judging of the fla|vour of wine, descanting on the sauces most pro|per for turtle; or, more profoundly intent at a card-table, he may be generalizing his ideas as he bets away his fortune, leaving all the minutiae of education to his help-mate or to chance.

But, granting that woman ought to be beauti|ful, innocent and silly, to render her a more al|luring and indulgent companion;—what is her understanding sacrificed for? And why is all this preparation necessary only, according to Rous|seau's own account, to make her the mistress of her husband, a very short time? For no man ever insisted more on the transient nature of love.

Thus speaks the philosopher.

Sensual pleasures are transient. The habitual state of the affec|tions always lose by their gratification. The im|agination, which decks the object of our desires, is lost in fruition. Excepting the Supreme Be|ing, who is self-existent, there is nothing beau|tiful but what is ideal.

But he returns to his unintelligible paradoxes again, when he thus addresses Sophia.

Emili|us, in becoming your husband, is become your master; and claims your obedience. Such is the order of nature. When a man is married, however, to such a wife as Sophia, it is proper he should be directed by her; this is also agreea|ble to the order of nature: it is, therefore, to give you as much authority over his heart as his sex gives him over your person, that I have made you the arbiter of his pleasures. It may cost you, perhaps, some disagreeable self-denial; but you will be certain of maintaining your empire over him, if you can preserve it over yourself— what I have already observed, also, shows me, that this difficult attempt does not surpass your courage.

Would you have your husband constantly at your feet? keep him at some distance from your person. You will long maintain the au|thority in love, if you know but how to render your favours rare and valuable. It is thus you may employ even the arts of coquetry in the service of virtue, and those of love in that of reason.

I shall close my extracts with a just description of a comfortable couple.

And yet you must

not imagine, that even such management will always suffice. Whatever precaution be taken, enjoyment will, by degrees, take off the edge of passion. But when love hath lasted as long as possible, a pleasing habitude supplies its place, and the at••chment of a mutual confidence suc|ceeds to the transports of passion. Children often form a more agreeable and permanent con|nection between married people than even love itself. When you cease to be the mistress of Emilius, you will continue to be his wife and friend, you will be the mother of his chil|dren* 1.36.

Children, he truly observes, form a much more permanent connection between married people than love. Beauty, he declares, will not be va|lued, or oven seen, after a couple have lived six months together; artificial graces and coquetry will likewise pall on the senses: why then does he say that a girl should be educated for her hus|band with the same care as for an eastern haram?

I now appeal from the reveries of fancy and re|fined licentiousness to the good sense of mankind, whether, if the object of education be to prepare women to become chaste wives and sensible moth|ers, the methods so plausibly recommended in the foregoing sketch, be the one best calculated to pro|duce those ends? Will it be allowed that the surest way to make a wife chaste, is to teach her to practise the wanton arts of a mistress, termed virtuous coquetry, by the sensualist, who can no longer relish the artless charms of sincerity, or taste the pleasure arising from a tender intimacy,

when confidence is unchecked by suspicion, and rendered interesting by sense?

The man who can be contented to live with a pretty, useful companion, without a mind, has lost in voluptuous gratifications a taste for more refined enjoyments; he has never felt the calm satisfaction, that refreshes the parched heart, like the silent dew of heaven,—of being beloved by one who could understand him.—In the society of his wife he is still alone, unless when the man is sunk in the brute. 'The charm of life,' says a grave philosophical reasoner, is

sympathy; nothing pleases us more than to observe in oth|er men a fellow-feeling with all the emotions of our own breast.

But, according to the tenour of reasoning, by which women are kept from the tree of know|ledge, the important years of youth, the useful|ness of age, and the rational hopes of futurity, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 all to be sacrificed to render women as object of desire for a short time. Besides, how could Rous|seau expect them to be virtuous and constant when reason is neither allowed to be the foundation of their virtue, nor truth the object of their inquir|ies?

But all Rousseau's errors in reasoning arose from sensibility, and sensibility to their charms women are very ready to forgive! When he should have reasoned he became impassioned, and reflection in|flamed his imagination instead of enlightening his understanding. Even his virtues also led him farther astray; for, born with a warm constitu|tion and lively fancy, nature carried him toward the other sex with such eager fondness, that he

soon became lascivious. Had he given way to these desires, the fire would have extinguished it|self in a natural manner, but virtue, and a romantic kind of delicacy, made him practise self-denial; yet, when fear, delicacy, or virtue, restrained him, he debauched his imagination, and reflecting on the sensations to which fancy gave force, he traced them in the most glowing colours, and sunk them deep into his soul.

He then sought for solitude, not to sleep with the man of nature; or calmly investigate the causes of things under the shade where Sir Isaac Newton indulged contemplation, but merely to indulge his feelings. And so warmly has he painted, what he forcibly felt, that, interesting the heart and inflaming the imagination of his readers; in proportion to the strength of their fancy▪ they imagine that their understanding is convinced when they only sympathize with a po|etic writer, who skilfully exhibits the objects of sense, most voluptuously shadowed or gracefully veiled—And thus making us feel whilst dream|ing that we reason, erroneous conclusions are left in the mind.

Why was Rousseau's life divided between ec|stacy and misery? Can any other answer be given than this, that the effervescence of his imagina|tion produced both; but, had his fancy been al|lowed to cool, it is possible that he might have acquired more strength of mind. Still, if the purpose of life be to educate the intellectual part of man, all with respect to him was right; yet, had not death led to a nobler scene of action, it is probable that he would have enjoyed more

equal happiness on earth, and have felt the calm sensations of the man of nature instead of being prepared for another stage of existence by nourish|ing the passions which agitate the civilized man.

But peace to his manes! I war not with his ashes, but his opinions. I war only with the sensibility that led him to degrade woman by making her the slave of love.

—'Curs'd vassalage, 'First idoliz'd till love's hot fire be o'er, 'Then slaves to those who courted us before. Dryden.

The pernicious tendency of those books, in which the writers insidiously degrade the sex whilst they are prostrate before their personal charms, cannot be too often or too severely ex|posed.

Let us, my dear contemporaries, arise above such narrow prejudices! If wisdom is desirable on its own account, if virtue, to deserve the name, must be sounded on knowledge, let us endeavour to strengthen our minds by reflection, till our heads become a balance for our hearts; let us not con|fine all our thoughts to the petty occurrences of the day, nor our knowledge to an acquaintance with our lovers' or husbands' hearts; but let the practice of every duty be subordinate to the grand one of improving our minds, and preparing our affections for a more exalted state!

Beware then, my friends, of suffering the heart to be moved by very trivial incident: the reed is shaken by a breeze, and annually dies, but the oak stands firm, and for ages braves the storm!

Were we, indeed, only created to flutter our hour out and die—why let us then indulge sen|sibility, and laugh at the severity of reason—Yet, alas! even then we should want strength of body and mind, and life would be lost in feverish plea|sures or wearisome languor.

But the system of education, which I earnestly wish to see exploded, seems to presuppose what ought never to be taken for granted, that virtue shields us from the casualties of life; and that for|tune, slipping off her bandage, will smile on a well-educated female, and bring in her hand an Emilius or a Telemachus. Whilst, on the con|trary, the reward which virtue promises to her votaries is confined, it is clear, to their own bo|soms; and often must they contend with the most vexatious worldly cares, and bear with the vices and humours of relations for whom they can never feel a friendship.

There have been many women in the world who, instead of being supported by the reason and virtue of their fathers and brothers, have strengthened their own minds by struggling with their vices and follies; yet have never met with a hero, in the shape of a husband; who, paying the debt that mankind owed them, might chance to bring back their reason to its natural depend|ent state, and restore the usurped prerogative, of rising above opinion, to man.

SECT. II.

DR. FORDYCE's sermons have long made a part of a young woman's library; nay, girls at

school are allowed to read them; but I should instantly dismiss them from my pupil if I wish|ed to strengthen her understanding, by leading her to form sound principles on a broad basis; or, were I only anxious to cultivate her taste; though they must be allowed to contain many sensible observations.

Dr. Fordyce may have had a very laudable end in view; but these discourses are written in such an affected style, that were it only on that ac|count, and had I nothing to object against his mellifluous precepts, I should not allow girls to peruse them, unless I designed to hunt every spark of nature out of their composition, melting every human quality into female weakness and artificial grace. I say artificial, for true grace arises from some kind of independence of mind.

Children, careless of pleasing, and only anxious to amuse themselves, are often very graceful; and the nobility who have mostly lived with in|feriours, and always had the command of money, acquire a graceful ease of deportment, which should rather be termed habitual grace of body, than that superiour gracefulness which is truly the expression of the mind. This mental grace, not noticed by vulgar eyes, often flashes across a rough countenance, and irradiating every feature, shows simplicity and independence of mind.—It is then we read characters of immortality in the eye, and see the soul in every gesture, though when at rest, neither the face nor limbs may have much beauty to recommend them; or the behaviour, any thing peculiar to attract universal attention. The mass of mankind, however, look for more

tangible beauty; yet simplicity is, in general, ad|mired, when people do not consider what they admire; and can there be simplicity without sincerity? But, to have done with remarks that are in some measure desultory, though naturally excited by the subject—

In declamatory periods Dr. Fordyce spins out Rousseau's eloquence; and in most sentimental rant, details his opinions respecting the female character, and the behaviour which woman ought to assume to render her lovely.

He shall speak for himself, for thus he makes Nature address man.

Behold these smiling in|nocents, whom I have graced with my fairest gifts, and committed to your protection; be|hold them with love and respect; treat them with tenderness and honour. They are timid and want to be defended. They are frail; O do not take advantage of their weakness! Let their fears and blushes endear them. Let their confidence in you never be abused.—But is it possible, than any of you can be such barbarians, so supremely wicked, as to abuse it? Can you find in your hearts* 1.37 to despoil the gentle, trust|ing creatures of their treasure, or do any thing to strip them of their native robe of virtue? Curst be the impious hand that would dare to violate the unblemished form of Chastity! Thou wretch! thou ruffian! forbear; nor venture to provoke heaven's fiercest vengeance.

I know not any comment that can be made seriously on this curious passage, and I could produce many

similar ones; and some, so very sentimental, that I have heard rational men use the word indecent, when they mentioned them with disgust.

Throughout there is a display of cold artificial feelings, and that parade of sensibility which boys and girls should be taught to despise as the sure mark of a little vain mind. Florid appeals are made to heaven, and to the beauteous innocents, the fairest images of heaven here below, whilst sober sense is left far behind.—This is not the language of the heart, nor will it ever reach it, though the ear may be tickled.

I shall be told, perhaps, that the public have been pleased with these volumes.—True—and Hervey's Meditations are still read, though he equally sinned against sense and taste.

I particularly object to the lover-like phrases of pumped up passion, which are every where interspersed. If women be ever allowed to walk without leading-strings, why must they be cajol|ed into virtue by artful flattery and sexual com|pliments? —Speak to them the language of truth and soberness, and away with the lullaby strains of condescending endearment! Let them be taught to respect themselves as rational creatures, and not led to have a passion for their own insipid persons. It moves my gall to hear a preacher descanting on dress and needle-work; and still more, to hear him address the British fair, the fairest of the fair, as if they had only feelings.

Even recommending piety he uses the follow|ing argument.

Never, perhaps, does a fine woman strike more deeply, than when, compo|sed into pious recollection., and possessed with

the noblest considerations, she assumes, without knowing it, superiour dignity and new graces; so that the beauties of holiness seem to radiate about her, and the by-standers are almost indu|ced to fancy her already worshipping amongst her kindred angels!

Why are women to be thus bred up with a desire of conquest? the ve|ry epithet, used in this sense, gives me a sickly qualm! Does religion and virtue offer no strong|er motives, no brighter reward? Must they al|ways be debased by being made to consider the sex of their companions? Must they be taught always to be pleasing? And when levelling their small artillery at the heart of man, is it necessary to tell them that a little sense is sufficient to ren|der their attention incredibly soothing?

As a small degree of knowledge entertains in a wo|man, so from a woman, though for a different reason, a small expression of kindness delights, particularly if she have beauty!

I should have supposed for the same reason.

Why are girls to be told that they resemble angels; but to sink them below women? Or, that a gentle innocent female is an object that comes nearer to the idea which we have formed of angels than any other. Yet they are told, at the same time, that they are only like angels when they are young and beautiful; consequently, it is their persons, not their virtues, that procure them this homage.

Idle empty words! What can such delusive flattery lead to, but vanity and folly? The lover, it is true, has a poetic licence to exalt his mis|tress; his reason is the bubble of his passion, and

he does not utter a falsehood when he borrows the language of adoration. His imagination may raise the idol of his heart, unblamed, above hu|manity; and happy would it be for women, if they were only flattered by the men who loved them; I mean who loved the individual, not the sex; but should a grave preacher interlard his discourses. with such fooleries?

In sermons or novels, however, voluptuous|ness is always true to its text. Men are allowed by moralists to cultivate, as Nature directs, dif|ferent qualities, and assume the different charact|ers, that the same passions, modified almost to infinity, give to each individual. A virtuous man may have a choleric or a sanguine constitution, be gay or grave, unreproved; be firm till he is almost overbearing, or, weakly submissive, have no will or opinion of his own; but all women are to be levelled, by meekness and docility, into one character of yielding softness and gentle com|pliance.

I will use the preacher's own words.

Let it be observed, that in your sex manly exercises are never graceful; that in them a tone and fig|ure, as well as an air and deportment, of the masculine kind, are always forbidding; and that men of sensibility desire in every woman soft features,, and a flowing voice, a form, not ro|bust, and demeanour delicate and gentle.

Is not the following portrait—the portrait of a house slave?

I am astonished at the folly of many women, who are still reproaching their husbands for leaving them alone, for preferring this or that company to theirs, for treating

them with this and the other mark of disregard or indifference; when, to speak the truth, they have themselves in a great measure to blame. Not that I would justify the men in any thing wrong on their part. But had you behaved to them with more respectful observance, and a more equal tenderness; studying their humours, overlooking their mistakes, submitting to their opinions in matters indifferent, passing by little instances of unevenness, caprice, or passion, giving soft answers to hasty words, complain|ing as seldom as possible, and making it your daily care to relieve their anxieties and prevent their wishes, to enliven the hour of dulness, and call up the ideas of felicity: had you pur|sued this conduct, I doubt not but you would have maintained and even increased their esteem, so far as to have secured every degree of influ|ence that could conduce to their virtue, or your mutual satisfaction; and your house might at this day have been the abode of domestic bliss.

Such a woman ought to be an angel— or she is an ass—for I discern not a trace of the human character, neither reason nor passion in this domestic drudge, whose being is absorbed in that of a tyrant's.

Still Dr. Fordyce must have very little ac|quaintance with the human heart, if he really supposed that such conduct would bring back wandering love, instead of exciting contempt. No, beauty, gentleness, &c. &c. may gain a heart; but esteem, the only lasting affection, can alone be obtained by virtue supported by rea|son. It is respect for the understanding that keeps alive tenderness for the person.

As these volumes are so frequently put into the hands of young people, I have taken more notice of them than, strictly speaking, they de|serve; but as they have contributed to vitiate the taste, and enervate the understanding of many of my fellow-creatures, I could not pass them silent|ly over.

SECT. III.

SUCH paternal solicitute pervades Dr. Grego|ry's Legacy to his Daughters, that I enter on the task of criticism with affectionate respect; but as this little volume has many attractions to recom|mend it to the notice of the most respectable part of my sex, I cannot silently pass over arguments that is speciously support opinions which, I think, have had the most baneful effect on the morals and manners of the female world.

His easy familiar style is particularly suited to the tenor of his advice, and the melancholy ten|derness which his respect for the memory of a be|loved wife, diffuses through the whole work, ren|ders it very interesting; yet there is a degree of concise elegance conspicuous in many passages that disturbs this sympathy; and we pop on the author, when we only expected to meet the— father.

Besides, having two objects in view, he seldom adhered steadily to either; for wishing to make his daughters amiable, and fearing lest unhappi|ness should only be the consequence, of instilling sentiments that might draw them out of the track of common life without enabling them to act

with consonant independence and dignity, he checks the natural flow of his thoughts, and nei|ther advises one thing nor the other.

In the preface he tells them a mournful truth,

that they will hear, at least once in their lives, the genuine sentiments of a man who has no in|terest in deceiving them.

Hapless woman! what can be expected from thee when the beings on whom thou art said na|turally to depend for reason and support, have all an interest in deceiving thee! This is the root of the evil that has shed a corroding mildew on all thy virtues; and blighting in the bud thy open|ing faculties, has rendered thee the weak thing thou art! It is this separate interest—this in|sidious state of warfare, that undermines mo|rality, and divides mankind!

If love have made some women wretched— how many more has the cold unmeaning inter|course of gallantry rendered vain and useless! yet this heartless attention to the sex is reckoned so manly, so polite, that till society is very differ|ently organized, I fear, this vestige of gothic man|ners will not be done away by a more reasonable and affectionate mode of conduct. Besides, to strip it of its imaginary dignity, I must observe, that in the most uncivilized European states this lip-service prevails in a very great degree, accom|panied with extreme dissoluteness of morals. In Portugal, the country that I particularly allude to, it takes place of the most serious moral obli|gations; for a man is seldom assassinated when in the company of a woman. The savage hand of rapine is unnerved by this chivalrous spirit; and,

if the stroke of vengeance cannot be stayed—the lady is entreated to pardon the rudeness and de|part in peace, though sprinkled, perhaps, with her husband's or brother's blood.

I shall pass over his strictures on religion, be|cause I mean to discuss that subject in a separate chapter.

The remarks relative to behaviour, though many of them very sensible, I entirely disapprove of, because it appears to me to be beginning, as it were, at the wrong end. A cultivated under|standing, and an affectionate heart, will never want starched rules of decorum—something more substantial than seemliness will be the result; and, without understanding the behaviour here recommended, would be rank affectation. De|corum, indeed, is the one thing needful!—deco|rum is to supplant nature, and banish all simpli|city and variety of character out of the female world. Yet what good end can all this superfi|cial counsel produce? It is, however, much easi|er to point out this or that mode of behaviour, than to set the reason to work; but, when the mind has been stored with useful knowledge, and strengthened by being employed, the regulation of the behaviour may safely be left to its guid|ance.

Why, for instance, should the following cau|tion be given when art of every kind must con|taminate the mind; and why entangle the grand motives of action, which reason and religion equal|ly combine to enforce, with pitiful worldly shifts and slight of hand tricks to gain the applause of gaping tasteless fools?

Be even cautious in dis|playing

your good sense* 1.38. It will be thought you assume a superiority over the rest of the company—But if you happen to have any learning, keep it a profound secret, especially from the men, who generally look with a jeal|ous and malignant eye on a woman of great parts, and a cultivated understanding.

If men of real merit, as he afterwards observes, are supe|riour to this meanness, where is the necessity that the behaviour of the whole sex should be modulated to please fools, or men, who having little claim to respect as individuals, choose to keep close in their phalanx. Men, indeed, who insist, on their common superiority, having only this sexual superiority, are certainly very excusa|ble.

There would be no end to rules for behaviour, if it be proper always to adopt the tone of the company; for thus, for ever varying the key, a flat would often pass for a natural note.

Surely it would have been wiser to have advised women to improve themselves till they rose above the fumes of vanity; and then to let the public opinion come round—for where are rules of ac|commodation to stop? The narrow path of truth and virtue inclines neither to the right nor left— it is a straight-forward business, and they who are earnestly pursuing their road, may bound over many decorous prejudices, without leaving mo|desty behind. Make the heart clean, and give the head employment, and I will venture to pre|dict that there will be nothing offensive in the behaviour.

The air of fashion, which many young people are so eager to attain, always strikes me like the studied attitudes of some modern prints, copied with tasteless servility after the antiques;—the soul is left out, and none of the parts are tied to|gether by what may properly be termed character. This varnish of fashion, which seldom sticks ve|ry close to sense, may dazzle the weak; but leave nature to itself, and it will seldom disgust the wise. Besides, when a woman has sufficient sense not to pretend to any thing which she does not understand in some degree, there is no need of determining to hide her talents under a bushel. Let things take their natural course, and all will be well.

It is this system of dissimulation, throughout the volume, that I despise. Women are always to seem to be this and that—yet virtue might apostrophize them, in the words of Hamlet— Seems! I know not seems!—Have that within that passeth show!—

Still the same tone occurs; for in another place, after recommending, without sufficiently discriminating delicacy, he adds,

The men will complain of your reserve. They will assure you that a franker behaviour would make you more amiable. But, trust me, they are not sin|cere when they tell you so.—I acknowledge, that on some occasions it might render you more agreeable as companions, but it would make you less amiable as women: an important distinc|tion, which many of your sex are not aware of.

This desire of being always women, is the very consciousness that degrades the sex. Excepting

with a lover, I must repeat with emphasis, a for|mer observation,—it would be well if they were only agreeable or rational companions.—But in this respect his advice is even inconsistent with a passage which I mean to quote with the most marked approbation.

The sentiment that a woman may allow all innocent freedoms, provided her virtue is se|cure, is both grossly indelicate and dangerous, and has proved fatal to many of your sex.

With this opinion I perfectly coincide. A man, or a women, of any feeling, must always wish to con|vince a beloved object that it is the caresses of the individual, not the sex, that is received and re|turned with pleasure; and that the heart, rather than the senses, is moved. Without this natural delicacy, love becomes a selfish personal gratifi|cation that soon degrades the character.

I carry this sentiment still further. Affec|tion, when love is out of the question, authorises many personal endearments, that naturally flow|ing from an innocent heart, give life to the behav|iour; but the personal intercourse of appetite, gallantry, or vanity, is despicable. When a man squeezes the hand of a pretty woman, handing her to a carriage, whom he has never seen before, she will consider such an impertinent freedom in the light of an insult, if she have any true delica|cy, instead of being flattered by this unmeaning homage to beauty. These are the privileges of friendship, or the momentary homage which the heart pays to virtue, when it flashes suddenly on the notice—mere animal spirits have no claim to the kindnesses of affection.

Wishing to feed the affections with what is now the food of vanity, I would fain persuade my sex to act from simpler principles. Let them merit love, and they will obtain it, though they may never be told that—

The power of a fine woman over the hearts of men, of men of the finest parts, is even beyond what she conceives.

I have already noticed the narrow cautions with respect to duplicity, female softness, delicacy of constitution; for these are the changes which he rings round without ceasing—in a more de|corous manner, it is true, than Rousseau; but it all comes home to the same point, and whoever is at the trouble to analyze these sentiments, will find the first principles not quite so delicate as the superstructure.

The subject of ••ements is treated in too cursory a manner; but with the same spirit.

When I treat of friendship, love, and marriage, it will be found that we materially differ in opin|ion; I shall not then forestall what I have to observe on these important subjects; but confine my remarks to the general tenor of them, to that cautious, family prudence, to those confined views of partial unenlightened affection, which exclude pleasure and improvement, by vainly wishing to ward off sorrow and error—and by thus guarding the heart and mind, destroy also all their energy. It is far better to be often deceived than never to trust; to be disappointed in love than never to love; to lose a husband's fondness than forfeit his esteem.

Happy would it be for the world, and for in|dividuals, of course, if all this unavailing solici|tude

to attain worldly happiness, on a confined plan, were turned into an anxious desire to improve the understanding.—

Wisdom is the principal thing: therefore get wisdom; and with all thy gettings get understanding.

—

How long, ye simple ones, will ye love simplicity, and hate knowledge?

faith Wisdom to the daughters of men!

SECT. IV.

I DO not mean to allude to all the writers who have written on the subject of female manners— it would, in fact, be only beating over the old ground, for they have in general, written in the same strain; but attacking the boasted prerogative of man—the prerogative that may emphatically be called the iron sceptre of tyranny, the original sin of tyrants, I declare against all power built on prejudices, however hoary.

If the submission demanded be founded on justice —there is no appealing to a higher power—for God is Justice itself. Let us then, as children of the same parent, if not bastardized by being the younger born, reason together, and learn to submit to the authority of reason—when her voice is distinctly heard. But, if it be proved, that this throne of prerogative only rests on a chaotic mass of prejudices, that have no inherent princi|ple of order to keep them together, or on an el|ephant, tortoise, or even the mighty shoulders of a son of the earth, they may escape, who dare to brave the consequence, without any breach of du|ty, without sinning against the order of things.

Whilst reason raises man above the brutal herd, and death is big with promises, they alone are subject to blind authority who have no reliance on their own strength. 'They are free—who will be free* 1.39!'—

The being who can govern itself has nothing to fear in life; but if any thing is dearer than its own respect, the price must be paid to the last farthing. Virtue, like every thing valuable, must be loved for herself alone; or she will not take up her abode with us. She will not impart that peace, 'which passeth understanding, when she is merely made the stilts of reputation; and re|spected, with pharisaical exactness, because 'hon|esty is the best policy.'

That the plan of life which enables us to car|ry some knowledge and virtue into another world, is the one best calculated to ensure content in this, cannot be denied; yet few people act ac|cording to this principle, though it be universal|ly allowed that it admit not of dispute. Present pleasure, or present power, carry before it these sober convictions; and it is for the day, not for life, that man bargains with happiness. How few!—how very few! have sufficient foresight, or resolution, to endure a small evil at the mo|ment, to avoid a greater hereafter.

Woman in particular, whose virtue † 1.40 is built on mutual prejudices, seldom attains to this great|ness of mind; so that, becoming the slave of her own feelings, she is easily subjugated by those of

others. Thus degraded, her reason, her misty reason! is employed rather to burnish than to snap her chains.

Indignantly have I heard women argue in the same track as men, and adopt the sentiments that brutalize them, with all the pertinacity of ignor|ance.

I must illustrate my assertion by a few exam|ples. Mrs. Piozzi, who often repeated by rote, what she did not understand comes forward with Johnsonian periods.

Seek not for happiness in singularity; and dread a refinement of wisdom as a deviation into folly.

Thus she dogmatically addresses a new married man; and to elucidate this pompous ex|ordium, she adds,

I said that the person of your lady would not grow more pleasing to you, but pray let her never suspect that it grows less so: that a woman will pardon an affront to her un|derstanding much sooner than one to her per|son, is well known; nor will any of us con|tradict the assertion. All our attainments, all our arts, are employed to gain and keep the heart of man; and what mortification can ex|ceed the disappointment, if the end be not ob|tained? There is no reproof however pointed, no punishment however severe, that a woman of spirit will not prefer to neglect; and if she can endure it without complaint, it only proves that she means to make herself amends by the at|tention of others for the slights of her husband!

These are truly masculine sentiments.—

All our arts are employed to gain and keep the heart of man:

—and what is the inference?—

if her person, and was there ever a person, though formed with Medicisan symmetry, that was not slighted? be neglected, she will make herself amends by endeavouring to please other men. Noble morality! But thus is the understanding of the whole sex affronted, and their virtue de|prived of the common basis of virtue. A woman must know, that her person cannot be as pleasing to her husband as it was to her lover, and if she be offended with him for being a human crea|ture, she may as well whine about the loss of his heart as about any other foolish thing.—And this very want of discernment or unreasonable anger, proves that he could not change his fondness for her person into affection for her virtues or respect for her understanding.

Whilst women avow, and act up to such opin|ions, their understandings, at least deserve the contempt and obloquy that men, who never in|sult their persons, have pointedly levelled at the female mind. And it is the sentiments of these polite men, who do not wish to be encumbered with mind, that vain women thoughtlessly adopt. Yet they should know, that insulted reason alone can spread that sacred reserve about the person, which renders human affections, for human af|fections have always some base alloy, as permanent as is consistent with the grand end of existence— the attainment of virtue.

The Baroness de Stael speaks the same language as the lady just cited, with more enthusiasm. Her eulogium on Rousseau was accidentally put into my hands, and her sentiments, the sentiments of too many of my sex, may serve as the text for

a few comments. 'Though Rousseau,' she ob|serves,

has endeavoured to prevent women from interfering in public affairs, and acting a bril|liant part in the theatre of politics; yet in speak|ing of them, how much has he done it to their satisfaction! If he wished to deprive them of some rights foreign to their sex, how has he for ever restored to them all those to which it has a claim? And in attempting to diminish their influence over the deliberations of men, how sacredly has he established the empire they have over their happiness! In aiding them to descend from an usurped throne, he has firmly seated them upon that to which they were des|tined by nature; and though he be full of in|dignation against them when they endeavour to resemble men, yet when they come before him with all the charms, weaknesses, virtues and errors, of their sex, his respect for their persons amounts almost to adoration.

True!—For never was there a sensualist who paid more fer|vent adoration at the shrine of beauty. So de|vout, indeed, was his respect for the person, that excepting the virtue of chastity, for obvious rea|sons, he only wished to see it embellished by charms, weaknesses, and errors. He was afraid lest the austerity of reason should disturb the soft playfulness of love. The master wished to have a meretricious slave to fondle, entirely dependent on his reason and bounty; he did not want a com|panion, whom he should be compelled to esteem, or a friend to whom he could confide the care of his children's education, should death deprive them of their father, before he had fulfilled the

sacred task. He denies woman reason, shuts her out from knowledge, and turns her aside from truth; yet his pardon is granted, because 'he admits the passion of love.' It would require some ingenuity to shew why women were to be under such an obligation to him for thus admit|ting love; when it is clear that he admits it only for the relaxation of men, and to perpetuate the species; but he talked with passion, and that powerful spell worked on the sensibility of a young encomiast. 'What signifies it,' pursues this rhapsodist,

to women, that his reason dis|putes with them the empire, when his heart is devotedly theirs.

It is not empire,—but equal|ity, that they should contend for. Yet, if they only wished to lengthen out their sway, they should not entirely trust to their persons, for though beauty may gain a heart, it cannot keep it, even while the beauty is in full bloom, unless the mind lend, at least, some graces.

When women are once sufficiently enlightened to discover their real interest, on a grand scale, they will, I am persuaded, be very ready to resign all the prerogatives of love, that are not mutual, speaking of them as lasting prerogatives, for the calm satisfaction of friendship, and the tender confidence of habitual esteem. Before marriage they will not assume any insolent airs, nor after|wards abjectly submit; but endeavouring to act like reasonable creatures, in both situations, they will not be tumbled from a throne to a stool.

Madame Genlis has written several entertaining books for children; and her Letters on Educa|tion afford many useful hints, that sensible par|ents

will certainly avail themselves of; but her views are narrow, and her prejudices as unreason|able as strong.

I shall pass over her vehement argument in fa|vour of the eternity of future punishments, be|cause I blush to think that a human being should ever argue vehemently in such a cause, and only make a few remarks on her absurd manner of making the parental authority supplant reason. For every where does she inculcate not only blind submission to parents; but to the opinion of the world* 1.41.

She tells a story of a young man engaged by his father's express desire to a girl of fortune. Before the marriage could take place, she is de|prived of her fortune, and thrown friendless on the world. The father practises the most infamous arts to separate his son from her, and when the son detects his villany, and, following the dictates of honour, marries the girl, nothing but misery en|sues, because forsooth he married without his fa|ther's consent. On what ground can religion or morality rest when justice is thus set at defiance? In the same style she represents an accomplished young woman, as ready to marry any body that her mamma pleased to recommend; and, as actu|ally marrying the young man of her own choice, without feeling any emotions of passions, because

that a well educated girl had not time to be in love. Is it possible to have much respect for a system of education that thus insults reason and nature?

Many similar opinions occur in her writings, mixed with sentiments that do honour to her head and heart. Yet so much superstition is mixed with her religion, and so much worldly wisdom with her morality, that I should not let a young person read her works, unless I could af|terwards converse on the subjects, and point out the contradictions.

Mrs. Chapone's Letters are written with such good sense, and unaffected humility, and contain so many useful observations, that I only mention them to pay the worthy writer this tribute of re|spect. I cannot, it is true, always coincide in opinion with her; but I always respect her.

The very word respect brings Mrs. Macaulay to my remembrance. The woman of the great|est abilities, undoubtedly, that this country has ever produced.—And yet this woman has been suffered to die without sufficient respect being paid to her memory.

Posterity, however, will be more just; and re|member that Catharine Macaulay was an exam|ple of intellectual acquirements supposed to be incompatible with the weakness of her sex. In her style of writing, indeed, no sex appears, for it is like the sense it conveys, strong and clear.

I will not call her's a masculine understanding, because I admit not of such an arrogant assump|tion of reason; but I contend that it was a sound one, and that her judgment, the matured fruit of

profound thinking, was a proof that a woman can acquire judgment, in the full extent of the word. Possessing more penetration than sagacity, more understanding than fancy, she writes with sober energy and argumentative closeness; yet sympathy and benevolence give an interest to her sentiments, and that vital heat to arguments, which forces the reader to weigh them* 1.42.

When I first thought of writing these strictures I anticipated Mrs. Macaulay's approbation, with a little of that sanguine ardour, which it has been the business of my life to depress; but soon heard with the sickly qualm of disappointed hope; and the still seriousness of regret—that she was no more!

SECT. V.

TAKING a view of the different works which have been written on education, Lord Chester|field's Letters must not be silently passed over. Not that I mean to analyze his unmanly, im|moral system, or even to cull any of the useful, shrewd remarks which occur in his frivolous correspondence—No, I only mean to make a few reflections on the avowed tendency of them—the art of acquiring an early knowledge of the world. An art, I will venture to assert, that preys secret|ly, like the worm in the bud, on the expanding powers, and turns to poison the generous juices which should mount with vigour in the youth|ful

frame, inspiring warm affections and great re|solves* 1.43.

For every thing, saith the wise man, there is a season;—and who would look for the fruits of autumn during the genial months of spring? But this is mere declamation, and I mean to reason with those worldly-wise instructors, who, in|stead of cultivating the judgment instil prejudi|ces, and render hard the heart that gradual expe|rience would only have cooled. An early acquaint|ance with human infirmities; or, what is termed knowledge of the world, is the surest way, in my opinion, to contract the heart and damp the natu|ral youthful ardour which produces not only great talents, but great virtues. For the vain attempt to bring forth the fruit of experience, before the sapling has thrown out its leaves; only exhausts its strength, and prevents its assuming a natural form, just as the form and strength of subsiding metals are injured when the attraction of cohesion is disturbed.

Tell me, ye who have studied the human mind, is it not a strange way to fix principles by show|ing young people that they are seldom stable? And how can they be fortified by habits when they are proved to be fallacious by example? Why is the ardour of youth thus to be damped, and the luxuriancy of fancy cut to the quick? This dry caution may, it is true, guard a charac|ter

from worldly mischances; but will infallibly preclude excellence in either virtue or know|ledge* 1.44. The stumbling-block thrown across every path by suspicion, will prevent any vigorous exertions of genius or benevolence, and life will be stripped of its most alluring charm long be|fore its calm evening, when man should retire to contemplation for comfort and support.

A young man who has been bred up with do|mestic friends, and led to store his mind with as much speculative knowledge as can be acquired by reading and the natural reflections which youthful ebullitions of animal spirits and instinct|ive feelings inspire, will enter the world with warm and erroneous expectations. But this ap|pears to be the course of nature; and in morals, as well as in works of taste, we should be ob|servant of her sacred indications, and not presume to lead when we ought obsequiously to follow.

In the world few people act from principle; present feelings, and early habits, are the grand springs: but how would the former be deaden|ed, and the latter rendered iron corroding fetters, if the world were shewn to young people just as it is; when no knowledge of mankind or their own hearts, slowly obtained by experience, ren|dered them forbearing? Their fellow creatures would not then be viewed as frail beings; like themselves condemned to struggle with human infirmities, and sometimes displaying the light, and sometimes the dark side of their character;

extorting alternate feelings of love and disgust; but guarded against as beasts of prey, till every enlarged social feeling, in a word,—humanity, was eradicated.

In life, on the contrary, as we gradually dis|cover the imperfections of our nature, we discover virtues, and various circumstances attach us to our fellow creatures, when we mix with them, and view the same objects, that are never thought of in acquiring a hasty unnatural knowledge of the world. We see a folly swell into a vice, by almost imperceptible degrees, and pity while we blame; but, if the hideous monster burst sud|denly on our sight, fear and disgust rendering us more severe than man ought to be, might lead us with blind zeal to usurp the character of omnipo|tence, and denounce damnation on our fellow mor|tals, forgetting that we cannot read the heart, and that we have seeds of the same vices lurking in our own.

I have already remarked that we expect more from instruction, than mere instruction can pro|duce: for, instead of preparing young people to encounter the evils of life with dignity, and to acquire wisdom and virtue by the exercise of their own faculties, precepts are heaped upon precepts, and blind obedience required, when conviction should be brought home to reason.

Suppose, for instance, that a young person in the first ardour of friendship deifies the beloved object—what harm can arise from this mistaken enthusiastic attachment? Perhaps it is necessary for virtue first to appear in a human form to im|press youthful hearts; the ideal model, which a

more matured and exalted mind looks up to, and shapes for itself, would elude their sight. He who loves not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God? asked the wisest of men.

It is natural for youth to adorn the first object of its affection with every good quality, and the emulation produced by ignorance, or, to speak with more propriety, by inexperience, brings for|ward the mind capable of forming such an af|fection, and when, in the lapse of time, perfec|tion is found not to be within the reach of mor|tals, virtue, abstractedly, is thought beautiful, and wisdom sublime. Admiration then gives place to friendship, properly so called, because it is ce|mented by esteem; and the being walks alone only dependent on heaven for that emulous pant|ing after perfection which ever glows in a noble mind. But this knowledge a man must gain by the exertion of his own faculties; and this is surely the blessed fruit of disappointed hope! for He who delighteth to diffuse happiness and shew mercy to the weak creatures, who are learning to know him, never implanted a good propensity to be a tormenting ignis fatuus.

Our trees are now allowed to spread with wild luxuriance, nor do we expect by force to combine the majestic marks of time with useful graces; but wait patiently till they have struck deep their root, and braved many a storm.—Is the mind then, which, in proportion to its dignity, ad|vances more slowly towards perfection, to be treated with less respect? To argue from analo|gy, every thing around us is in a progressive state; and when an unwelcome knowledge of life pro|duces

almost a satiety of life, and we discover by the natural course of things that all that is done under the sun is vanity, we are drawing near the awful close of the drama. The days of activity and hope are over, and the opportunities which the first stage of existence has afforded of advanc|ing in the scale of intelligence, must soon be sum|med up.—A knowledge at this period of the fu|tility of life, or earlier, if obtained by experience, is very useful, because it is natural; but when a frail being is shewn the follies and vices of man, that he may be taught prudently to guard against the common casualties of life by sacrificing his heart—surely it is not speaking harshly to call it the wisdom of this world, contrasted with the nobler fruit of piety and experience.

I will venture a paradox, and deliver my opin|ion without reserve; if men were only born to form a circle of life and death, it would be wise to take every step that foresight could suggest to render life happy. Moderation in every pursuit would then be supreme wisdom; and the pru|dent voluptuary might enjoy a degree of content, though he neither cultivated his understanding nor kept his heart pure▪ Prudence, supposing we were mortal, would be true wisdom, or, to be more explicit, would procure the greatest por|tion of happiness, considering the whole of life, but knowledge beyond the conveniences of life would be a curse.

Why should we injure our health by close study? The exalted pleasure which intellectual pursuits afford would scarcely be equivalent to the hours of languor that follow; especially, if

it be necessary to take into the reckoning the doubts and disappointments that cloud our re|searches. Vanity and vexation close every in|quiry: for the cause which we particularly wish|ed to discover flies like the horizen before us as we advance. The ignorant, on the contrary, resemble children, and suppose, that if they could walk straight forward they should at last arrive where the earth and clouds meet; Yet, disap|pointed as we are in our researches, the mind gains strength by the exercise, sufficient, per|haps, to comprehend the answers which, in an|other step of existence, it may receive to the anx|ious questions it asked, when the understanding with feeble wing was fluttering round the visible effects to dive into the hidden cause.

The passions also, the winds of li••e, would be useless, if not injurious, did the substance which composes our thinking being, after we have thought in vain, only become the support of vege|table life, and invigorate a cabbage, or blush in a rose. The appetites would answer every earthly purpose, and produce more moderate and perma|nent happiness. But the powers of the soul that are of little use here, and, probably, disturb our animal enjoyments, even while conscious dignity makes us glory in possessing them, prove that life is merely an education, a state of infancy, to which the only hopes worth cherishing should not be sacrificed. I mean, therefore, to infer▪ that we ought to have a precise idea of what we wish to attain by education, for the immortality of the soul is contradicted by the actions of many people who firmly profess the belief.

If you mean to secure ease and prosperity on earth as the first consideration, and leave futurity to provide for itself; you act prudently in giving your child an early insight into the weaknesses of his nature. You may not, it is true, make an Inkle of him; but do not imagine that he will stick to more than the letter of the law, who has very early imbibed a mean opinion of human na|ture; nor will he think it necessary to rise much above the common standard. He may avoid gross vices, because honesty is the best policy; but he will never aim at attaining great virtues. The example of writers and artists will illustrate this remark.

I must therefore venture to doubt whether what has been thought an axiom in morals may not have been a dogmatical assertion made by men who have coolly seen mankind through the medium of books, and say, in direct contradiction to them, that the regulation of the passions is not, always, wisdom. On the contrary, it should seem, that one reason why men have superiour judgment, and more fortitude than women, is undoubtedly this, that they give a freer scope to the grand passions, and by more frequently going astray enlarge their minds. If then by the exercise of their own* 1.45 reason they fix on some stable principle, they have probably to thank the force of their passions, nourished by false views of life, and permitted to overleap the boundary that secures content. But if, in the dawn of life, we could soberly survey the scenes before as in perspective, and see every

thing in its true colours, how could the passions gain sufficient strength to unfold the faculties?

Let me now as from an eminence survey the world stripped of all its false delusive charms. The clear atmosphere enables me to see each object in its true point of view, while my heart is still. I am calm as the prospect in a morning when the mists, slowly dispersing, silently unveil the beauties of nature, refreshed by rest.

In what light will the world now appear?—I rub my eyes and think, perchance, that I am just awaking from a lively dream.

I see the sons and daughters of men pursuing shadows, and anxiously wasting their powers to feed passions which have no adequate object—if the very excess of these blind impulses, pampered by that lying, yet constantly trusted guide, the imagination, did not, by preparing them for some other state, render short-sighted mortals wiser without their own concurrence; or, what comes to the same thing, when they were pursuing some imaginary present good.

After viewing objects in this light, it would not be very fanciful to imagine that this world was a stage on which a pantomime is daily per|formed for the amusement of superiour beings. How would they be diverted to see the ambitious man consuming himself by running after a phan|tom, and,

pursuing the bubble same in the can|non's mouth

that was to blow him to nothing: for when consciousness is lost, it matters not whether we mount in a whirlwind or descend in rain. And should they compassionately invigo|rate his sight and shew him the thorny path

which led to eminence, that like a quicksand sinks as he ascends, disappointing his hopes when almost within his grasp, would he not leave to others the honour of amusing them, and labour to secure the present moment, though from the constitution of his nature he would not find it very easy to catch the slying stream? Such slaves are we to hope and fear!

But, vain as the ambitious man's pursuits would be, he is often striving for something more substantial than fame—that indeed would be the veriest meteor, the wildest fire that could lure a man to ruin.—What! renounce the most trifling gratification to be applauded when he should be no more! Wherefore this struggle, whether man is mortal or immortal, if that noble passion did not really raise the being above his fellows?—

And love! What diverting scenes would it produce—Pantaloon's tricks must yield to more egregious folly. To see a mortal adorn an ob|ject with imaginary charms, and then fall down and worship the idol which he had himself set up—how ridiculous! But what serious conse|quences ensue to rob man of that portion of hap|piness, which the Deity by calling him into ex|istence has (or, on what can his attributes rest?) indubitably promised: would not all the purpo|ses of life have been much better fulfilled if he had only felt what has been termed physical love? And, would not the sight of the object, not seen through the medium of the imagination, soon re|duce the passion to an appetite, if reflection, the noble distinction of man, did not give it force, and make it an instrument to raise him above this

earthy dross, by teaching him to love the centre of all perfection; whose wisdom appears clearer and clearer in the works of nature, in proportion as reason is illuminated and exalted by contem|plation, and by acquiring that love of order which the struggles of passion produce?

The habit of reflection, and the knowledge at|tained by fostering any passion, might be shewn to be equally useful, though the object be proved equally fallacious; for they would all appeal in the same light, if they were not magnified by the governing passion implanted in us by the Author of all good, to call forth and strengthen the fac|ulties of each individual, and enable it to attain all the experience that an infant can obtain, who does certain things, it cannot tell why.

I descend from my height, and mixing with my fellow-creatures, feel myself hurried along the common stream; ambition, love, hope and fear, exert their wonted power, though we be con|vinced by reason that their present and most at|tractive promises are only lying dreams; but had the cold hand of circumspection damped each generous feeling before it had left any permanent character, or fixed some habit, what could be ex|pected, but selfish prudence and reason just rising above instinct? Who that has read Dean Swift's disgusting description of the Yahoos, and insipid one of Houyhnhnm with a philosophical eye, can avoid seeing the futility of degrading the passions, or making man rest in contentment?

The youth should act; for had he the experi|ence of a grey head he would be fitter for death than life, though his virtues, rather residing in

his head than his heart, could produce nothing great, and his understanding, prepared for this world, would not, by its noble flights, prove that it had a title to a better.

Besides, it is not possible to give a young per|son a just view of life; he must have struggled with his own passions before he can estimate the force of the temptation which betrayed his bro|ther into vice. Those who are entering life, and those who are departing, see the world from such very different points of view, that they can sel|dom think alike, unless the unfledged reason of the former never attempted a solitary flight.

When we hear of some daring crime, it comes full on us in the deepest shade of turpitude, and raises indignation; but the eye that gradually saw the darkness thicken, must observe it with more com|passionate forbearance. The world cannot be seen by an unmoved spectator, we must mix in the throng, and feel as men feel before we can judge of their feelings. If we mean, in short, to live in the world to grow wiser and better, and not merely to enjoy the good things of life, we must attain a knowledge of others at the same time that we become acquainted with ourselves— knowledge acquired any other way only hardens the heart and perplexes the understanding.

I may be told, that the knowledge thus ac|quired, is sometimes purchased at too dear a rate. I can only answer that I very much doubt whe|ther any knowledge can be attained without la|bour and sorrow; and those who wish to spare their children both, should not complain, if they are neither wise nor virtuous. They only aimed

at making them prudent; and prudence, early in life, is but the cautious craft of ignorant self-love.

I have observed that young people, to whose education particular attention has been paid, have, in general, been very superficial and conceited, and far from pleasing in any respect, because they had neither the unsuspecting warmth of youth, nor the cool depth of age. I cannot help im|puting this unnatural appearance principally to that hasty premature instruction, which leads them presumptuously to repeat all the crude no|tions they have taken upon trust, so that the care|ful education which they received, makes them all their lives the slaves of prejudices.

Mental as well as bodily exertion is, at first, irksome; so much so, that the many would fain let others both work and think for them. An observation which I have often made will illus|trate my meaning. When in a circle of strang|ers, or acquaintances, a person of moderate abil|ities asserts an opinion with heat, I will venture to ••ffirm, for I have traced this fact home, very often, that it is a prejudice. These echoes have a high respect for the understanding of some re|lation or friend, and without fully comprehend|ing the opinions, which they are so eager to re|tail, they maintain them with a degree of obsti|nacy, that would surprise even the person who concocted them.

I know that a kind of fashion now prevails of respecting prejudices; and when any one dares to face them, though actuated by humanity and arm|ed by reason, he is superciliously asked whether his ancestors were fools. No, I should reply;

opinions, at first, of every description, were all, pro|bably, considered, and therefore were founded on some reason; yet not unfrequently, of course, it was rather a local expedient than a fundamental principle, that would be reasonable at all times. But, moss-covered opinions assume the dispro|portioned form of prejudices, when they are in|dolently adopted only because age has given them a venerable aspect, though the reason on which they were built ceases to be a reason, or cannot be traced. Why are ••e to love prejudices, mere|ly because they are prejudices * 1.46? A prejudice is a fond obstinate persuasion for which we can give no reason; for the moment a reason can be given for an opinion, it ceases to be a prejudice, though it may be an error in judgment: and are we then advised to cherish opinions only to set reason at defiance? This mode of arguing, if arguing it may be called, reminds me of what is vulgarly termed a woman's reason. For women some|times declare that they love, or believe, certain things, because they love, or believe them.

It is impossible to converse with people to any purpose, who, in this style only use affirmatives and negatives. Before you can bring them to a point, to start fairly from, you must go back to the simple principles that were antecedent to the prejudices broached by power; and it is ten to one but you are stopped by the philosophical as|sertion, that certain principles are as practically false as they are abstractly true† 1.47. Nay, it may be

inferred, that reason has whispered some doubts, for it generally happens that people assert their opinions with the greatest heat when they begin to waver; striving to drive out their own doubts by convincing their opponent, they grow angry when those gnawing doubts are thrown back to prey on themselves.

The fact is, that men expect from education, what education cannot give. A sagacious parent of tutor may strengthen the body and sharpen the instruments, by which the child is to gather know|ledge; but the honey must be the reward of the individual's own industry. It is almost as absurd to attempt to make a youth wise by the experi|ence of another, as to expect the body to grow strong by the exercise which is only talked of, or seen* 1.48. Many of those children whose conduct has been most narrowly watched, become the weakest men, because their instructors only instil certain notions into their minds, that have no other foundation than their authority; and if they are loved or respected the mind is cramped in its exertions and wavering in its advances. The business of education in this case, is only to con|duct the shooting tendrils to a proper pole; yet after laying precept upon precept, without allow|ing a child to acquire judgment itself, parents expect them to act in the same manner by this borrowed fallacious light, as if they had illumi|nated, it themselves; and be, when they enter life, what their parents are at the close. They do not consider that the tree, and even the hu|man

body does not strengthen its fibres till it has reached its full growth.

There appears to be something analogous in the mind. The senses and the imagination give a form to the character, during childhood and youth; and the understanding, as life advances, gives firmness to the first fair purposes of sensi|bility —till virtue, arising rather from the clear conviction of reason than the impulse of the heart, morality is made to rest on a rock against which the storms of passion vainly beat.

I hope I shall not be misunderstood when I say, that religion will not have this condensing energy, unless it be founded on reason. If it be merely the refuge of weakness or wild fanaticism, and not a governing principle of conduct, drawn from self-knowledge, and a rational opinion re|specting the attributes of God, what can it be expected to produce? The religion which con|sists in warming the affections, and exalting the imagination, is only the poetical part, and may afford the individual pleasure without rendering it a more moral being. It may be a substitute for worldly pursuits; yet narrow, instead of en|larging the heart: but virtue must be loved as in itself sublime and excellent, and not for the advantages it procures or the evils it averts, if any great degree of excellence be expected. Men will not become moral when they only build airy castles in a future world to compensate for the disappointments which they meet with in this; if they turn their thoughts from relative duties to religious reveries.

Most prospects in life are marred by the shuf|fling worldly wisdom of men, who, forget|ting that they cannot serve God and mammon, endeavour to blend contradictory things.—If you wish to make your son rich, pursue one course—if you are only anxious to make him virtuous, you must take another; but do not imagine that you can bound from one road to the other without losing your way* 1.49.

CHAP. VI. THE EFFECT WHICH AN EARLY ASSOCIA|TION OF IDEAS HAS UPON THE CHARAC|TER.

EDUCATED in the enervating style re|commended by the writers on whom I have been animadverting; and not having a chance, from their subordinate state in society, to recover their lost ground, is it surprising that women every where appear a defect in nature? Is it surprising, when we consider what a determinate effect an early association of ideas has on the character, that they, neglect their understandings, and turn all their attention to their persons?

The great advantages which naturally result from storing the mind with knowledge, are ob|vious from the following considerations. The association of our ideas is either habitual or in|stantaneous; and the latter mode seems rather to depend on the original temperature of the mind than on the will. When the ideas, and matters of fact, are once taken in, they lie by for use, till some fortuitous circumstance makes the information dart into the mind with illustrative force, that has been received at very different pe|riods of our lives. Like the lightning's flash are many recollections; one idea assimilating and ex|plaining another, with astonishing rapidity. I do not now allude to that quick perception of truth, which is so intuitive that it baffles research, and

makes us at a loss to determine whether it is re|miniscence or ratiocination, lost sight of in its ce|lerity, that opens the dark cloud. Over those instantaneous associations we have little power; for when the mind is once enlarged by excursive flights, or profound reflection, the raw materials will, in some degree, arrange themselves. The understanding, it is true, may keep us from going out of drawing when we group our thoughts, or transcribe from the imagination the warm sketch|es of fancy; but the animal spirits, the individu|al character, give the colouring. Over this sub|tile electric fluid* 1.50, how little power do we pos|sess, and over it how little power can reason ob|tain! These fine intractable spirits appear to be the essence of genius, and beaming in its eagle eye, produce in the most eminent degree the hap|py energy of associating thoughts that surprise, delight, and instruct. These are the glowing minds that concentrate pictures for their fellow-creatures; forcing them to view with interest the objects reflected from the impassioned imagina|tion, which they passed over in nature.

I must be allowed to explain myself. The generality of people cannot see or feel poetically, they want fancy, and therefore fly from solitude in search of sensible objects; but when an author lends them his eyes they can see as he saw, and be amused by images they could not select, though lying before them.

Education thus only supplies the man of gen|ius with knowledge to give variety and contrast to his associations; but there is an habitual as|sociation of ideas, that grows 'with our growth,' which has a great effect on the moral character of mankind; and by which a turn is given to the mind that commonly remains throughout life. So ductile is the understanding, and yet so stubborn, that the associations which depend on adventitious circumstances, during the period that the body takes to arrive at maturity, can seldom be disentangled by reason. One idea calls up another, its old associate, and memory, faithful to the first impressions, particularly when the in|tellectual powers are not employed to cool our sensations, retraces them with mechanical exact|ness.

This habitual slavery, to first impressions, has a more baneful effect on the female than the male character, because business and other dry employ|ments of the understanding, tend to deaden the feelings and break associations that do violence to reason. But females, who are made women of when they are mere children, and brought back to childhood when they ought to leave the go-cart for ever, have not sufficient strength of mind to efface the superinductions of art that have smothered nature.

Every thing that they see or hear serves to fix impressions, call forth emotions, and associate ideas, that give a sexual character to the mind. False notions of beauty and delicacy stop the growth of their limbs and produce a sickly soreness, rather than delicacy of organs; and thus

weakened by being employed in unfolding instead of examining the first associations, forced on them by every surrounding object, how can they attain the vigour necessary to enable them to throw off their factitious character?—where find strength to recur to reason and rise superiour to a system of oppression, that blasts the fair promises of spring? This cruel association of ideas, which every thing conspires to twist into all their habits of thinking, or, to speak with more precision, of feeling, receives new force when they begin to act a little for themselves; for they then perceive that it is only through their address to excite emotions in men, that pleasure and power are to be obtained. Besides, all the books professedly written for their instruction, which make the first impression on their minds, all inculcate the same opinions. Educated then in worse than Egyptian bondage, it is unreasonable, as well as cruel, to upbraid them with faults that can scarce|ly be avoided, unless a degree of native vigour be supposed, that falls to the lot of very few amongst mankind.

For instance, the severest sarcasms have been levelled against the sex, and they have been ridi|culed for repeating

a set of phrases learnt by rote,

when nothing could be more natural, con|sidering the education they receive, and that their 'highest praise is to obey, unargued'—the will of man. If they are not allowed to have reason sufficient to govern their own conduct—why, all they learn—must be learned by rote! And when all their ingenuity is called forth to adjust their dress, 'a passion for a scarlet coat,' is so natural,

that it never surprised me; and, allowing Pope's summary of their character to be just,

that every woman is at heart a rake,

why should they be bitterly censured for seeking a congenial mind, and preferring a rake to a man of sense?

Rakes know how to work on their sensibility, whilst the modest merit of reasonable men has, of course, less effect on their feelings, and they cannot reach the heart by the way of the under|standing, because they have few sentiments in common.

It seems a little absurd to expect women to be more reasonable than men in their likings, and still to deny them the uncontrolled use of reason. When do men fall-in-love with sense? When do they, with their superiour powers and advanta|ges, turn from the person to the mind? And how can they then expect women, who are only taught to observe behaviour, and acquire manners rather than morals, to despise what they have been all their lives labouring to attain? Where are they suddenly to find judgment enough to weigh pa|tiently the sense of an awkward virtuous man, when his manners, of which they are made criti|cal judges, are rebuffing, and his conversation cold and dull, because it does not consist of pretty re|partees, or well turned compliments? In order to admire or esteem any thing for a continuance, we must, at least, have our curiosity excited by knowing, in some degree, what we admire; for we are unable to estimate the value of qualities and virtues above our comprehension. Such a respect, when it is felt, may be very sublime; and the confused consciousness of humility may

render the dependent creature an ••teresting ob|ject, in some points of view; but human love must have grosser ingredients; and the person very naturally will come in for its share—and, an ample share it mostly has!

Love is, in a great degree, an arbitrary passion, and will reign, like some other stalking mischiefs, by its own authority, without deigning to rea|son; and it may also be easily distinguished from esteem, the foundation of friendship, because it is often excited by evanescent beauties and graces, though to give an energy to the sentiment, some|thing more solid must deepen their impression and set the imagination to work, to make the most fair—the first good.

Common passions are excited by common qualities.—Men look for beauty and the simper of good-humoured docility: women are capti|vated by easy manners; a gentleman-like man seldom fails to please them, and their thirsty ears eagerly drink the insinuating nothings of polite|ness, whilst they turn from the unintelligible sounds of the charmer—reason, charm he never so wisely. With respect to superficial accom|plishments, the rake certainly has the advantage; and of these females can form an opinion, for it is their own ground. Rendered gay and giddy by the whole tenor of their lives, the very aspect of wisdom, or the severe graces of virtue, must have a lugubrious appearance to them; and pro|duce a kind of restraint from which they and love, sportive child, naturally revolt. Without taste, excepting of the lighter kind, for taste is the offspring of judgment, how can they discover

that true beauty and grace must arise from the play of the mind? and how can they be expect|ed to relish in a lover what they do not, or very imperfectly, possess themselves? The sympathy that unites hearts, and invites to confidence, in them is so very faint, that it cannot take fire, and thus mount to passion. No, I repeat it, the love cherished by such minds, must have grosser fuel.

The inference is obvious; till women are led to exercise their understandings, they should not be satirized for their attachment to rakes; nor even for being rakes at heart, when it appears to be the inevitable consequence of their education. They who live to please—must find their enjoy|ments, their happiness, in pleasure! It is a trite, yet true remark, that we never do any thing well, unless we love it for its own sake.

Supposing, however, for a moment, that wo|men were, in some future revolution of time, to become, what I sincerely wish them to be, even love would acquire more serious dignity, and be purified in its own fires; and virtue giving true delicacy to their affections, they would turn with disgust from a rake. Reasoning then, as well as feeling, the only province of woman, at present, they might easily guard against exteriour graces, and quickly learn to despise the sensibility that had been excited and hackneyed in the ways of wo|men, whose trade was vice; and allurements, wanton airs. They would recollect that the flame, one must use appropriated expressions, which they wished to light up, had been ex|hausted by lust, and that the sated appetite losing all relish for pure and simple pleasures, could only

be roused by licentious arts or variety. What satisfaction could a woman of delicacy promise herself in a union with such a man, when the very artlessness of her affection might appear in|siped? Thus does Dryden describe the situation,

—'Where love it duty, on the female side, 'On theirs mere sensual gust, and sought with surly pride.'

But one grand truth women have yet to learn, though much it imports them to act according|ly. In the choice of a husband, they should not be led astray by the qualities of a lover—for a lov|er the husband, even supposing him to be wife and virtuous, cannot long remain.

Were women more rationally educated, could they take a more comprehensive view of things, they would be contented to love but once in their lives; and after marriage calmly let passion sub|side into friendship—into that tender intimacy, which is the best refuge from care; yet is built on such pure, still affections, that idle jealousies would not be allowed to disturb the discharge of the sober duties of life, nor to engross the thoughts that ought to be otherwise employed. This is a state in which many men live▪ but few, very few women. And the difference may easily be accounted for, without recurring to a sexual character. Men, for whom we are told women were made, have too much occupied the thoughts of women; and this association ha•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 entangled love with all their motives of action and, to harp a little on an old string, having been solely employed either to prepare themselves to excite love, or actually putting their lessons in

practice, they cannot live without love. But, when a sense of duty, or fear of shame, obliges them to restrain this pampered desire of pleasing beyond certain lengths, too far for delicacy, it is true, though far from criminality, they obstinate|ly determine to love, I speak of the passion, their husbands to the end of the chapter—and then acting the part which they foolishly exacted from their lovers, they become object woers, and fond slaves.

Men of wit and fancy ••e often rakes▪ and fan|cy is the food of love. Such men will inspire passion. Half the sex, in its present infantile state, would pine for a Lovelace; a man so wit|ty, so graceful, and so valiant: and can they de|serve blame for acting according to principles so constantly inculcated? They want a lover, and protector; and, behold him kneeling before them —bravery prostrate to beauty! The virtues of a husband are thus thrown by love into the back ground, and gay hopes, or lively emotions, ban|ish reflection till the day of reckoning comes; and come it surely will, to turn the sprightly lover into a surly suspicious tyrant, who con|temptuously insults the very weakness he foster|ed. Or, supposing the rake reformed, he can|not quickly get rid of old habits. When a man of abilities is first carried away by his passions, it is necessary that sentiment and taste varnish the enormities of vice, and give a zest to brutal in|dulgences; but when the gloss of novelty is worn off, and pleasure palls upon the sense, las|civiousness becomes barefaced, and enjoyment on|ly the desperate effort of weakness flying from re|flection

as from a legion of devils. Oh! virtue thou art not an empty name! All that life can give—thou givest!

If much comfort cannot be expected from the friendship of a reformed rake of superiour abili|ties, what is the consequence when he lacketh sense, as well as principles? Verily misery, in its most hideous shape. When the habits of weak people are consolidated by time, a reforma|tion is barely possible; and actually makes the beings miserable who have not sufficient mind to be amused by innocent pleasure; like the trades|man who retires from the hurry of business, na|ture presents to them only a universal blank; and the restless thoughts prey on the damped spirits* 1.51. Their reformation, as well as his retirement, ac|tually makes them wretched because it deprives them of all employment, by quenching the hopes and fears that set in motion their sluggish minds.

If such is the force of habit; if such is the bondage of folly, how carefully ought we to guard the mind from storing up vicious associa|tions; and equally careful should we be to cul|tivate the understanding, to save the poor wight from the weak dependent state of even harmless ignorance. For it is the right use of reason alone which makes us independent of every thing—ex|cepting the unclouded Reason—'whose service is perfect freedom.'

CHAP. VII. MODESTY.—COMPREHENSIVELY CONSIDER|ED, AND NOT AS A SEXUAL VIRTUE.

MODESTY! Sacred offspring of sensibility and reason!—true delicacy of mind!—may I unblamed presume to investigate thy nature, and trace to its covert the mild charm, that mellow|ing each harsh feature of a character renders what would otherwise only inspire cold admira|tion —lovely!—Thou that smoothest the wrin|kles of wisdom, and softenest the tone of the sublimest virtues till they all melt into humani|ty; —thou that spreadest the ethereal cloud that surrounding love heightens every beauty, it half shades, breathing those coy sweets that steal into the heart, and charm the senses—modulate for me the language of persuasive reason, till I rouse my sex from the flowery bed, on which they su|pinely sleep life away!

In speaking of the association of our ideas, I have noticed two distinct modes, and in defining modesty, it appears to me equally proper to dis|criminate that purity of mind, which is the ef|fect of chastity, from a simplicity of character that leads us to form a just opinion of ourselves, equally distant from vanity or presumption, though by no means incompatible with a lofty consciousness of our own dignity. Modesty, in the latter signification of the term, is, that sober|ness of mind which teaches a man not to think more highly of himself than he ought to think,

and should be distinguished from humility, be|cause humility is a kind of self-abasement.

A modest, man often conceives a great plain, and tenaciously adheres to it, conscious of his own strength, till success gives it a sanction that determines its character. Milton was not arro|gant when he suffered a suggestion of judgment to escape him that proved a prophesy; nor was General Washington when he accepted of the command of the American forces. The latter has always been characterized as a modest man; but had he been merely humble, he would pro|bably have shrunk back irresolute, afraid of trust|ing to himself the direction of an enterprise, on which so much depended.

A modest man is steady, an humble man timid, and a vain one presumptious:—this is the judg|ment, which the observation of many characters, has ••ed me to form. Jesus Christ was modest, Moses was humble, and Peter vain.

Thus, discriminating modesty from humility in one case, I do not mean to confound it with bashfulness in the other. Bashfulness, in fact, is so distinct from modesty, that the most bashful lass, or raw country lout, often becomes the most impudent; for their bashfulness being merely the instinctive timidity of ignorance, custom soon changes it into assurance* 1.52.

The shameless behaviour of the prostitutes, who infest the streets of London, raising alter|nate emotions of pity and disgust, may serve to illustrate this remark. They trample on virgin bashfulness with a sort of bravado, and glorying in their shame, become more audaciously lewd than men, however depraved, to whom this sexu|al quality has not been gratuitously granted, ever appear to be. But these poor ignorant wretches never had any modesty to lose, when they con|signed themselves to infamy; for modesty is a virtue not a quality. No, they were only bash|ful, shame-faced innocents; and losing their in|nocence, their shame-facedness was rudely brush|ed off; a virtue would have left some vestiges in the mind, had it been sacrificed to passion, to make us respect the grand ruin.

Purity of mind, or that genuine delicacy, which is the only virtuous support of chastity, is near akin to that refinement of humanity, which never resides in any but cultivated minds. It is some|thing nobler than innocence; it is the delicacy of reflection, and not the coyness of ignorance.

The reserve of reason, which, like habitual cleanliness, is seldom seen in any great degree, unless the soul is active, may easily be distinguish|ed from rustic shyness or wanton skittishness; and, so far from being incompatible with know|ledge, it is its fairest fruit. What a gross idea of modesty had the writer of the following remark!

The lady who asked the question whether wo|men may be instructed in the modern system of botany, consistently with female delicacy?— was accused of ridiculous prudery: neverthe|less,

if she had proposed the question to me, I should certainly have answered—They cannot.

Thus is the fair book of knowledge to be shut with an everlasting seal! On reading similar pas|sages I have reverentially lifted up my eyes and heart to Him who liveth for ever and ever, and said, O my Father, hast Thou by the very con|stitution of her nature forbid Thy child to seek Thee in the fair forms of truth? And, can her soul be fullied by the knowledge that awfully calls her to Thee?

I have then philosophically pursued these re|flections till I inferred that those women who have most improved their reason must have the most modesty—though a dignified sedateness of deportment may have succeeded the playful, be|witching bashfulness of youth* 1.53.

And thus have I argued. To render chastity the virtue from which unsophisticated modesty will naturally flow, the attention should be called away from employments which only exercise the sensibility; and the heart made to beat time to humanity, rather than to throb with love. The woman who has dedicated a considerable portion of her time to pursuits purely intellectual, and whose affections have been exercised by humane plans of usefulness, must have more purity of mind, as a natural consequence, than the igno|rant beings whose time and thoughts have been occupied by gay pleasures or schemes to conquer

hearts* 1.54. The regulation of the behaviour is not modesty, though those who study rules of deco|rum are, in general, termed modest women. Make the heart clean, let it expand and feel for all that is human, instead of being narrowed by selfish passions; and let the mind frequently con|template subjects that exercise the understanding, without heating the imagination, and artless mo|desty will give the finishing touches to the pic|ture.

She who can discern the dawn of immortality, in the streaks that shoot athwart the misty night of ignorance, promising a clearer day, will re|spect, as a sacred temple, the body that enshrines such an improvable soul. True love, likewise, spreads this kind of mysterious sanctity round the beloved object, making the lover most modest when in her presence† 1.55. So reserved is affection that, receiving or returning personal endearments, it wishes, not only to shun the human eye, as a kind of profanation; but to diffuse an encircling cloudy obscurity to shut out even the saucy spark|ling sunbeams. Yet, that affection does not de|serve the epithet of chaste, which does not re|ceive

a sublime gloom of tender melancholy, that allows the mind for a moment to stand still and enjoy the present satisfaction, when a conscious|ness of the Divine presence is felt—for this must ever be the food of joy!

As I have always been fond of tracing to its source in nature any prevailing custom, I have frequently thought that it was a sentiment of af|fection for whatever had touched the person of an absent or lost friend, which gave birth to that respect for relicks, so much abused by selfish priests. Devotion, or love, may be allowed to hallow the garments as well as the person; for the lover must want fancy who has not a sort of sacred respect for the glove or slipper of his mis|tress. He could not confound them, with vul|gar things of the same kind. This fine senti|ment, perhaps, would not bear to be analyzed by the experimental philosopher—but of such stuff is human rapture made up!—A shadowy phan|tom glides before us, obscuring every other ob|ject; yet when the soft cloud is grasped, the form melts into common air, leaving a solitary void, or sweet perfume, stolen from the violet, that mem|ory long holds dear. But I have tripped una|wares on fairy ground, feeling the balmy gale of spring stealing on me, though November frowns.

As a sex, women are more chaste than men, and as modesty is the effect of chastity, they may deserve to have this virtue ascribed to them in rather an appropriated sense; yet, I must be al|lowed to add an hesitating if:—for I doubt whe|ther chastity will produce modesty, though it may propriety of conduct, when it is merely a

respect for the opinion, of the world* 1.56, and when coquetry and the lovelorn tales of novelists em|ploy the thoughts. Nay, from experience, and reason, I should be led to expect to meet with more modesty amongst men than women, simply because men exercise their understandings more than women.

But, with respect to propriety of behaviour, excepting one class of females, women have evi|dently the advantage. What can be more disgust|ing than that impudent dross of gallantry, thought so manly, which makes many men stare insult|ingly at every female they meet? Is this respect for the sex? This loose behaviour shews such ha|bitual depravity, such weakness of mind, that it is vain to expect much public or private virtue, till both men and women grow more modest— till men, curbing a sensual fondness for the sex, or an affectation of manly assurance, more prop|erly speaking, impudence, treat each other with respect—unless appetite or passion gives the tone, peculiar to it, to their behaviour. I mean even personal respect—the modest respect of humani|ty, and fellow-feeling—not the the libidinous mockery of gallantry, nor the insolent conde|scension of protectorship.

To carry the observation still further, modesty must heartily disclaim, and refuse to dwell with that debauchery of mind, which leads a man coolly to bring forward, without a blush, inde|cent allusions, or obscene witticisms, in the pre|sence of a fellow creature; women are now out

of the question, for then it is brutality. Respect for man, as man, is the foundation of every noble sentiment. How much more modest is the lib|••rtine who obeys the call of appetite or fancy, than the lewd joker who sets the table in a roar!

This is one of the many instances in which the sexual distinction respecting modesty has pro|ved fatal to virtue and happiness. It is, how|ever, carried still further, and woman, weak wo|man! made by her education the slave of sensi|bility, is required, on the most trying occasions, to resist that sensibility. 'Can any thing,' says Knox,

be more absurd than keeping women in a state of ignorance, and yet so vehemently to insist on their resisting temptation?

—Thus when virtue or honour make it proper to check a passion, the burden is thrown on the weaker shoulders, contrary to reason and true modesty, which, at least, should render the self-denial mu|tual, to say nothing of the generosity of bravery, supposed to be a manly virtue.

In the same strain runs Rousseau's and Dr. Gregory's advice respecting modesty, strangely miscalled! for they both desire a wife to leave it in doubt whether sensibility or weakness led her to her husband's arms.—The woman is immodest who can let the shadow of such a doubt remain on her husband's mind a moment

But to state the subject in a different light.— The want of modesty, which I principally de|plore as subversive of morality, arises from the state of warfare so strenuously supported by vo|luptuous men as the very essence of modesty, though, in fact, its bane; because it is a refine|ment

on sensual desire, that men fall into who have not sufficient virtue to relish the innocent pleasures of love. A man of delicacy carries his notions of modesty still further, for neither weak|ness nor sensibility will gratify him—he looks for affection.

Again; men boast of their triumphs over wo|men, what do they boast of? Truly the creature of sensibility was surprised by her sensibility into folly—into vice* 1.57; and the dreadful reckoning falls heavily on her own weak head, when reason wakes. For where art thou to find comfort, forlorn and disconsolate one? He who ought to have directed thy reason, and supported thy weak|ness, has betrayed thee! In a dream of passion thou consentedst to wander through flowery lawns, and heedlesly stepping over the precipice to which thy guide, instead of guarding, lured thee, thou startest from thy dream only to face a sneering, frowning world, and to find thyself alone in a waste, for he that triumphed in thy weakness is now pursuing new conquests; but for thee—there is no redemption on this side the grave! And what resource hast thou in an ener|vated mind to raise a sinking heart?

But, if the sexes are really to live in a state of warfare, if nature has pointed it out, let men act nobly, or let pride whisper to them, that the victory is mean when they merely vanquish sen|sibility. The real conquest is that over affection not taken by surprise—when, like H••loisa, a wo|man gives up all the world, deliberately, for love. I do not now consider the wisdom or virtue of

such a sacrifice, I only contend that it was a sacri|fice to affection, and not merely to sensibility, though she had her share.—And I must be al|lowed to call her a modest woman, before I dis|miss this part of the subject, by saying, that till men are more chaste women will be immodest. Where, indeed, could modest women find hus|bands from whom they would not continually turn with disgust? Modesty must be equally cul|tivated by both sexes, or it will ever remain a sickly hot-house plant, whilst the affectation of it, the fig leaf borrowed by wantonness, may give a zest to voluptuous enjoyments.

Men will probably still insist that woman ought to have more modesty than man; but it is not dispassionate reasoners who will most earn|estly oppose my opinion. No, they are the men of fancy, the favourites of the sex, who outward|ly respect and inwardly despise the weak creatures whom they thus sport with. They cannot sub|mit to resign the highest sensual gratification, nor even to relish the epicurism of virtue—self-denial.

To take another view of the subject, confining my remarks to women.

The ridiculous falsities * 1.58 which are told to children, from mistaken notions of modesty, tend

very early to inflame their imaginations and set their little minds to work, respecting subjects, which nature never intended they should think of till the body arrived at some degree of maturi|ty; then the passions naturally begin to take place of the senses, as instruments to unfold the understanding, and form the moral character.

In nurseries, and boarding-schools, I fear, girls are first spoiled; particularly in the latter. A number of girls deep in the same room, and wash together. And, though I should be sorry to contaminate an innocent creature's mind by in|stilling false delicacy, or those indecent prudish notions, which early cautions respecting the oth|er sex naturally engender, I should be very anx|ious to prevent their acquiring indelicate, or im|modest habits; and as many girls have learned very indelicate tricks, from ignorant servants, the mixing them thus indiscriminately together, is very improper.

To say the truth women are, in general, too familiar with each other, which leads to that gross degree of familiarity that so frequently ren|ders the marriage state unhappy. Why in the name of decency are sisters, female intimates, or ladies and their waiting-women, to be so grossly familiar as to forget the respect which one hu|man creature owes to another? That squeamish delicacy which shrinks from the most disgusting offices when affection * 1.59 or humanity lead us to watch at a sick pillow, is despicable. But, why

women in health should be more familiar with each other than men are, when they boast of their superiour delicacy, is a solecism in manners which I could never solve.

In order to preserve health and beauty, I should earnestly recommend frequent ablutions, to dig|nify my advice that it may not offend the fastidi|ous ear; and, by example, girls ought to be taught to wash and dress alone, without, any distinction of rank; and if custom should make them re|quire some little assistance, let them not require it till that part of the business is over which ought never to be done before a fellow-crea|ture; because it is an insult to the majesty of human nature. Not on the score of modesty, but decency; for the care which some modest women take, making at the same time a display of that care, not to let their legs be seen, is as childish as immodest* 1.60.

I could proceed still further, till I animadvert|••on some still more indelicate customs, which men never fall into. Secrets are told—where silence ought to reign; and that regard to clean|liness, which some religious sects have, perhaps, carried too far, especially the Essenes, amongst the Jews, by making that an insult to God which is only an insult to humanity, is violated in a brutal manner. How can delicate women ob|trude on notice that part of the animal economy, which is so very disgusting? And is it not very rational to conclude, that the women who have

not been taught to respect the human nature of their own sex, in these particulars, will not long respect the mere difference of sex in their hus|bands? After their maidenish bashfulness is once lost, I, in fact, have generally observed, that wo|men fall into old habits; and treat their husbands as they did their sisters or female acquaintance.

Besides, women from necessity, because their minds are not cultivated, have recourse very oft|en to what I familiarly term bodily wit; and their intimacies are of the same kind. In short, with respect to both mind and body, they are too intimate. That decent personal reserve which is the foundation of dignity of character, must be kept up between women, or their minds will never gain strength or modesty.

On this account also, I object to many females being shut up together in nurseries, schools, or convents. I cannot recollect without indigna|tion, the jokes and hoiden tricks, which knots of young women indulge themselves in, when in my youth accident threw me, an awkward rustic, in their way. They were almost on a par with the double meanings, which shake the convivial table when the glass has circulated freely. But, it is vain to attempt to keep the heart pure, un|less the head is furnished with ideas, and set to work to compare them, in order to acquire judg|ment, by generalizing simple ones; and modesty, by making the understanding damp the sensibility.

It may be thought that I lay too great a stress on personal reserve; but it is ever the handmaid of modesty. So that were I to name the graces that ought to adorn beauty, I should instantly

exclaim, cleanliness, neatness, and personal reserve. It is obvious, I suppose, that the reserve I mean, has nothing sexual in it, and that I think it equally necessary in both sexes. So necessary, indeed, is that reserve and cleanliness which indolent wo|men too often neglect, that I will venture to af|firm that when two or three women live in the same house, the one will be most respected by the male part of the family, who reside with them, leaving love entirely out of the question, who pays this kind of habitual respect to her person.

When domestic friends meet in a morning, there will naturally prevail an affectionate serious|ness, especially, if each look forward to the dis|charge of daily duties; and, it may be reckoned fanciful, but this sentiment has frequently risen spontaneously in my mind, I have been pleased after breathing the sweet bracing morning air, to see the same kind of freshness in the countenances I particularly loved; I was glad to see them braced, as it were, for the day, and ready to run their course with the sun. The greetings of af|fection in the morning are by these means more respectful than the familiar tenderness which fre|quently prolongs the evening talk. Nay, I have often felt hurt, not to say disgusted, when a friend has appeared, whom I parted with full dressed the evening before, with her clothes huddled on, because she chose to indulge herself in bed till the last moment.

Domestic affection can only be kept alive by these neglected attentions; yet if men and wo|men took half as much pains to dress habitually neat, as they do to ornament, or rather to dis|figure,

their persons, much would be done to|wards the attainment of purity of mind. But women only dress to gratify men of gallantry; for the lover is always best pleased with the sim|ple garb that sits close to the shape. There is an impertinence in ornaments that rebu••••s affection; because love always clings round the id•• home.

As a sex, women are habitually ind••, and every thing tends to make them so. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 do not forget the spurts of activity which sensibility pro|duces; but as these flights of feelings only increase the evil, they are not to be confounded with the slow, orderly walk of reason. So great in reality is their mental and bodily indolence, that till their body be strengthened and their understand|ing enlarged by active exertions, there is little reason to expect that modesty will take place of bashfulness. They may find it prudent to assume its semblance; but the fair veil will only to worn on gala days.

Perhaps there is not a virtue that mixes so kindly with every other as modesty.—It is the pale moon-beam that renders more interesting every virtue it softens, giving mild grandeur to the contracted horizon. Nothing can to more beautiful than the poetical fiction, which makes Diana with her silver crescent, the goddess of chastity. I have sometimes thought, that wan|dering with sedate step in some lonely recess, a modest dame of antiquity must have felt a glow of conscious dignity when, after contemplating the soft shadowy landscape, she has invited with placid fervour the mild reflection of her sisters beams to turn to her chaste bosom.

A Christian has still nobler motives to incite her to preserve her chastity and acquire modesty, for her body has been called the Temple of the living God; of that God who requires more than modesty of mien. His eye searcheth the heart; and let her remember, that if she hopeth to find favour in the sight of purity itself, her chastity must be founded on modesty and not on worldly prudence; or verily a good reputation will be her only reward; for that awful inter|course, that sacred communication, which virtue establishes between man and his Maker, must give rise to the wish of being pure as he is pure!

After the foregoing remarks, it is almost su|perfluous to add, that I consider all those femi|nine airs of maturity, which succeed bashfulness, to which truth is sacrificed, to secure the heart of a husband, or rather to force him to be still a lover when nature would, had she not been in|terrupted in her operations, have made love give place to friendship, as immodest. The tender|ness which a man will feel for the mother of his children is an excellent substitute for the ardour of unsatisfied passion; but to prolong that ardour it is indelicate, not to say immodest, for women to feign an unnatural coldness of constitution. Women as well as men ought to have the com|mon appetites and passions of their nature, they are only brutal when unchecked by reason: but the obligation to check them is the duty of man|kind, not a sexual duty. Nature, in these re|spects, may safely be left to herself; let women only acquire knowledge and humanity, and love

will teach them modesty* 1.61. There is no need of falsehoods, disgusting as futire, for studied rules of behaviour only impose on shallow observers; a man of sense soon sees through, and despises the affectation.

The behaviour of young people, to each other, as men and women, is the last thing that should be thought of in education. In fact, behaviour in most circumstances is now so much thought of, that simplicity of character is rarely to be seen: yet, if men were only anxious to cultivate each virtue, and let it take root firmly in the mind, the grace resulting from it, its natural ex|teriour mark, would soon strip affectation of its flaunting plumes; because, fallacious as unsta|ble, is the conduct that is not founded upon truth!

Would ye, O my sisters, really possess modesty, ye must remember that the possession of virtue, of any denomination, is incompatible with igno|rance and vanity! ye must acquire that soberness of mind, which the exercise of duties, and the pursuit of knowledge, alone inspire, or ye will still remain in a doubtful dependent situation, and only be loved whilst ye are fair! The down-east eye, the rosy blush, the retiring grace, are all proper in their season; but modesty, being the child of reason, cannot long exist with the sensi|bility that is not tempered by reflection. Be|sides, when love, even innocent love, is the whole employ of your lives, your hearts will be too soft to afford modesty that tranquil retreat, where she delights to dwell, in close union with humanity.

CHAP. VIII. MORALITY UNDERMINED BY SEXUAL NO|TIONS OF THE IMPORTANCE OF A GOOD REPUTATION.

IT has long since occurred to me that advice respecting behaviour, and all the various modes of preserving a good reputation, which have been so strenuously inculcated on the female world, were specious poisons, that incrusting morality eat away the substance. And, that this measur|ing of shadows produced a false calculation, be|cause their length depends so much on the height of the sun, and other adventitious circumstances.

From whence arises the easy fallacious behav|iour of a courtier? From his situation, undoubt|edly: for standing in need of dependents, he is obliged to learn the art of denying without giv|ing offence, and, of evasively feeding hope with the chameleon's food: thus does politeness sport with truth, and eating away the sincerity and hu|manity natural to man, produce the fine gentle|man.

Women in the same way acquire, from a sup|posed necessity, an equally artificial mode of be|haviour. Yet truth is not with impunity to be sported with, for the practised dissembler, at last, become the dupe of his own arts, loses that saga|city, which has been justly termed common sense; namely, a quick perception of common truths: which are constantly received as such by

the unsophisticated mind, though it might not have had sufficient energy to discover them itself, when obscured by local prejudices. The greater number of people take their opinions on trust to avoid the trouble of exercising their own minds, and these indolent beings naturally adhere to the letter, rather than the spirit of a law, divine or human. 'Women,' says some author, I cannot recollect who, 'mind not what only heaven sees.' Why, indeed should they? it is the eye of man that they have been taught to dread—and if they can lull their Argus to sleep, they seldom think of heaven or themselves, because their reputation is safe; and it is reputation, not chastity and all its fair train, that they are employed to keep free from spot, not as a virtue, but to preserve their station in the world.

To prove the truth of this remark, I need on|ly advert to the intrigues of married women, par|ticularly in high life, and in countries where wo|men are suitably married, according to their re|spective ranks, by their parents. If an innocent girl become a prey to love, she is degraded for|ever, though her mind was not polluted by the arts which married women, under the convenient cloke of marriage, practise; nor has she violated any duty—but the duty of respecting herself. The married woman, on the contrary, breaks a most sacred engagement, and becomes a cruel mother when she is a false and faithless wife. If her husband has still an affection for her, the arts which she must practise to deceive him, will ren|der her the most contemptible of human beings; and, at any rate, the contrivances necessary to pre|serve

appearances, will keep her mind in that childish, or vicious, tumult, which destroys all its energy. Besides, in time, like those people who habitually take cordials to raise their spirits, she will want an intrigue to give life to her thoughts, having lost all relish for pleasures that are not highly seasoned by hope or fear.

Sometimes married women act still more au|daciously; I will mention an instance.

A woman of quality, notorious for her gal|lantries, though as she still lived with her hus|band, nobody chose to place her in the class where she ought to have been placed, made a point of treating with the most insulting con|tempt a poor timid creature, abashed by a sense of her former weakness, whom a neighbouring gentleman had seduced and afterwards married. This woman had actually confounded virtue with reputation; and, I do believe, valued herself on the propriety of her behaviour before marriage, though when once settled, to the satisfaction of her family, she and her lord were equally faith|less, —so that the half alive heir to an immense estate, came from heaven knows where!

To view this subject in another light.

I have known a number of women who, if they did not love their husbands, loved nobody else, give themselves entirely up to vanity and dissipation, neglecting every domestic duty; nay, even squandering away all the money which should have been saved for their helpless younger children, yet have plumed themselves on their un|sullied reputation, as if the whole compass of their duty as wives and mothers was only to pre|serve

it. Whilst other indolent women neglect|ing every personal duty, have thought that they deserved their husband's affection, because they asked in this respect with propriety.

Weak minds are always fond of resting in the ceremonials of duty, but morality offers much simpler motives; and it were to be wished that superficial moralists had said less respecting be|haviour, and outward observances, for unless vir|tue, of any kind, is built on knowledge, it will only produce a kind of insipid decency. Respect for the opinion of the world, has, however, been termed the principal duty of woman in the most express words, for Rousseau declares,

that repu|tation is no less indispensable than chastity.

A man,

adds he,

secure in his own good con|duct, depends only on himself, and may brave the public opinion; but a woman, in behaving well, performs but half her duty; as what is thought of her, is as important to her as what she really is. It follows hence, that the system of a woman's education should, in this respect, be directly contrary to that of ours. Opinion is the grave of virtue among the men; but its throne among women.

It is strictly logical to infer that the virtue that rests on opinion is mere|ly worldly, and that it is the virtue of a being to whom reason has been denied. But, even with respect to the opinion of the world, I am con|vinced that this class of reasoners are mistaken.

This regard for reputation, independent of its being one of the natural rewards or virtue, how|ever, took its rise from a cause that I have already deplored as the grand source of female depravity,

the impossibility of regaining respectability by a return to virtue, though men preserve theirs dur|ing the indulgence of vice. It was natural for women then to endeavour to preserve what once lost—was lost for ever, till this care swallowing up every other care, reputation for chastity, be|came the one thing needful to the sex. But vain is the scrupulosity of ignorance, for neither reli|gion nor virtue, when they reside in the heart, require such a puerile attention to mere ceremo|nies, because the behaviour must, upon the whole, be proper, when the motive is pure.

To support my opinion I can produce very re|spectable authority; and the authority of a cool reasoner ought to have weight to enforce consi|deration, though not to establish a sentiment. Speaking of the general laws of morality, Dr. Smith observes,—

That by some very extraordi|nary and unlucky circumstance, a good man may come to be suspected of a crime of which he was altogether incapable, and upon that ac|count be most unjustly exposed for the remain|ing part of his life to the horror and aversion of mankind. By an accident of this kind he may be said to lose his all, notwithstanding his in|tegrity and justice, in the same manner as a cautious man, notwithstanding his utmost cir|cumspection, may be ruined by an earthquake or an inundation. Accidents of the first kind, however, are perhaps still more rare, and still more contrary to the common course of things than those of the second; and it still remains true, that the practice of truth, justice, and hu|manity, is a certain and almost infallible method

of acquiring what those virtues chiefly aim at, the confidence and love of those we live with. A person may be easily misrepresented with re|gard to a particular action; but it is scarcely possible that he should be so with regard to the general tenor of his conduct. An innocent man may be believed to have done wrong: this, however, will rarely happen. On the contra|ry, the established opinion of the innocence of his manners will often lead us to absolve him where he has really been in the fault, notwith|standing very strong presumptions.

I perfectly coincide in opinion with this wri|ter, for I verily believe that few of either sex were ever despised for certain vices without de|serving to be despised. I speak not of the ca|lumny of the moment, which hangs over a cha|racter, like one of the dense fogs of November, over this metropolis, till it gradually subsides before the common light of day, I only con|tend that the daily conduct of the majority pre|vails to stamp their character with the impression of truth. Quietly does the clear light, shining day after day, refute the ignorant surmise, or ma|licious tale, which has thrown dirt on a pure character. A false light distorted, for a short time, its shadow—reputation; but it seldom fails to become just when the cloud is dispersed that produced the mistake in vision.

Many people, undoubtedly, in several respects obtain a better reputation than, strictly speaking, they deserve; for unremitting industry will most|ly reach its goal in all races. They who only strive for this paltry prize, like the Pharisees,

who prayed at the corners of streets, to be seen of men, verily obtain the reward they seek; for the heart of man cannot be read by man! Still the fair fame that is naturally reflected by good ac|tions, when the man is only employed to direct his steps aright, regardless of the lookers-on, is, in general, not only more true, but more sure.

There are, it is true, trials when the good man must appeal to God from the injustice of man; and amidst the whining candour or hissings of envy, erect a pavilion in his own mind to retire to till the rumour be overpast; nay, the darts of undeserved censure may pierce an innocent ten|der bosom through with many sorrows; but these are all exceptions to general rules. And it is according to these common laws that human behaviour ought to be regulated. The eccentric orbit of the comet never influences astronomical calculations respecting the invariable order estab|lished in the motion of the principal bodies of the solar system.

I will then venture to affirm, that after a man is arrived at maturity, the general outline of his character in the world is just, allowing for the before-mentioned exceptions to the rule. I do not say that a prudent, worldly-wise man, with only negative virtues and qualities, may not sometimes obtain a more smooth reputation than a wiser or a better man. So far from it, that I am apt to conclude from experience, that where the virtue of two people is nearly equal, the most negative character will be liked best by the world at large, whilst the other may have more friends in pri|vate life. But the hills and dales, clouds and

sunshine, conspicuous in the virtues of great men, set off each other; and though they afford envi|ous weakness a fairer mark to shoot at, the real character will still work its way to light, though be|spattered by weak affection, or ingenious malice* 1.62.

With respect to that anxiety to preserve a re|putation hardly earned, which leads sagacious peo|ple to analyze it, I shall not make the obvious comment; but I am afraid that morality is very insidiously undermined, in the female world, by the attention being turned to the shew instead of the substance. A simple thing is thus made strangely complicated; nay, sometimes virtue and its shadow are set at variance. We should never, perhaps, have heard of Lucretia, had she died to preserve her chastity instead of her repu|tation. If we really deserve our own good opin|ion we shall commonly be respected in the world; but if we pant after higher improvement and higher attainments, it is not sufficient to view ourselves as we suppose that we are viewed by others, though this has been ingeniously argued, as the foundation of our moral sentiments† 1.63. Be|cause each by-stander may have his own prejudices, beside the prejudices of his age or country. We should rather endeavour to view ourselves as we suppose that Being views us who seeth each thought ripen into action, and whose judgment never swerves from the eternal rule of right. Righteous are all his judgments—just as merci|ful!

The humble mind that seeketh to find favour in His sight, and calmly examines its conduct when only His presence is felt, will seldom form a very erroneous opinion of its own virtues. During the still hour or self-collection the angry brow of offended justice will be fearfully depre|cated, or the tie which draws man to the Deity will be recognized in the pure sentiment of reve|rential adoration, that swells the heart without exciting any tumultuous emotions. In these so|lemn moments man discovers the germ of those vices, which like the Java tree shed a pestiferous vapour around—death is in the shade! and he perceives them without abhorrence, because he feels himself drawn by some cord of love to all his fellow-creatures, for whose follies he is anx|ious to find every extenuation in their nature— in himself. If I, he may thus argue, who exer|cise my own mind, and have been refined by tri|bulation, find the serpent's egg in some fold of my heart, and crush it with difficulty, shall not I pity those who have stamped with less vigour, or who have heedlessly nurtured the insidious reptile till it poisoned the vital stream it sucked? Can I, conscious of my secret sins, throw off my fellow-creatures, and calmly see them drop into the chasm of perdition, that yawns to receive them.—No! no! The agonized heart will cry with suffocating impatience—I too am a man! and have vices, hid, perhaps, from human eye, that bend me to the dust before God, and loudly tell me, when all is mute, that we are formed of the same earth, and breathe the same element. Humanity thus rises naturally out of humility, and twists the cords of

love that in various convolutions entangle the heart.

This sympathy extends still further, till a man well pleased observes force in arguments that do not carry conviction to his own bosom, and he gladly places in the fairest light, to himself, the shews of reason that have led others astray, rejoiced to find some reason in all the errors of man; though before convinced that he who rules the day makes his sun to shine on all. Yet, shaking hands thus as it were with corruption, one foot on earth, the other with bold stride mounts to heaven, and claims kindred with supe|riour natures. Virtues, unobserved by man, drop their balmy fragrance at this cool hour, and the thirsty land, refreshed by the pure streams of comfort that suddenly gush out, is crowned with smiling verdure; this is the living green, on which that eye may look with complacency that is too pure to behold iniquity!

But my spirits flag; and I must silently in|dulge the reverie these reflections lead to, unable to describe the sentiments, that have calmed my soul, when watching the rising sun, a soft show|er drizzling through the leaves of neighbouring trees, seemed to fall on my languid, yet tranquil spirits, to cool the heart that had been heated by the passions which reason laboured to tame.

The leading principles which run through all my disquisitions, would render it unnecessary to enlarge on this subject, if a constant attention to keep the varnish of the character fresh, and in good condition, were not often inculcated as the sum total of female duty; if rules to regulate

the behaviour, and to preserve the reputation, did not too frequently supersede moral obligations. But, with respect to reputation, the attention is confined to a single virtue—chastity. If the honour of a woman, as it is absurdly called, is safe, she may neglect every social duty; nay, ruin her family by gaming and extravagance; yet still present a shameless front—for truly she is an hon|ourable woman!

Mrs. Macaulay has justly observed, that

there is but one fault which a woman of honour may not commit with impunity.

She then justly, and humanely adds—

This has given rise to the trite and foolish observation, that the first fault against chastity in woman has a radical power to deprave the character. But no such frail be|ings come out of the hands of nature. The human mind is built of nobler materials than to be so easily corrupted; and with all their disadvantages of situation and education, women seldom become entirely abandoned till they are thrown into a state of desperation, by the ven|omous rancour of their own sex.

But, in proportion as this regard for the repu|tation of chastity is prized by wom••, it is de|spised by men: and the two extremes are equally destructive to morality.

Men are certainly more under the influence of their appetites than women; and their appetites are more depraved by unbridled indulgence and the fastidious contrivances of satiety. Luxury has introduced a refinement in eating, that de|stroys the constitution; and a degree of gluttony which is so beastly, that a perception of seemli|ness

of behaviour must be worn out before one being could eat immoderately in the presence of another, and afterwards complain of the oppres|sion that his intemperance naturally produced. Some women, particularly French women, have also lost a sense of decency in this respect; for they will talk very calmly of an indigestion. It were to be wished that idleness was not allowed to generate, on the rank soil of wealth, those swarms of summer insects that feed on putrefac|tion, we should not then be disgusted by the sight of such brutal excesses.

There is one rule relative to behaviour that, I think, ought to regulate every other; and it is simply to cherish such an habitual respect for mankind as may prevent us from disgusting a fellow-creature for the sake of a present indulg|ence. The shameful indolence of many married women, and others a little advanced in life, fre|quently leads them to sin against delicacy. For, though convinced that the person is the band of union between the sexes, yet, how often do they from sheer indolence, or, to enjoy some trifling indulgence, disgust?

The depravity of the appetite which brings the sexes together, has had a still more fatal ef|fect. Nature must ever be the standard of taste, the guage of appetite—yet how grossly is nature insulted by the voluptuary. Leaving the refine|ments of love out of the question; nature, by making the gratification of an appetite, in this respect, as well as every other, a natural and imperious law to preserve the species, exalts the appetite, and mixes a little mind and affection

with a sensual gust. The feelings of a parent mingling with an instinct merely animal, give it dignity; and the man and woman often meeting on account of the child, a mutual interest and af|fection is excited by the exercise of a common sympathy. Women then having necessarily some duty to fulfil, more noble than to adorn their per|sons, would not contentedly be the slaves of ca|sual appetite; which is now the situation of a very considerable number who are, literally speaking, standing dishes to which every glutton may have access.

I may be told that great as this enormity is, it only affects a devoted part of the sex—devoted for the salvation of the rest. But, false as every assertion might easily be proved, that recommends the sanctioning a small evil to produce a greater good; the mischief does not stop here, for the moral character, and peace of mind, of the chast|er part of the sex, is undermined by the conduct of the very women to whom they allow no re|fuge from guilt: whom they inexorably consign to the exercise of arts that lure their husbands from them, debauch their sons, and force them, let not modest women start, to assume, in some degree, the same character themselves. For I will venture to assert, that all the causes of fe|male weakness, as well as depravity, which I have already enlarged on, branch out of one grand cause—want of chastity in men.

This intemperance, so prevalent, depraves the appetite to such a degree, that a wanton stimu|lus is necessary to rouse it; but the parental de|sign of nature is forgotten, and the mere person,

and that for a moment, alone engrosses the thoughts. So voluptuous, indeed, often grows the lustful prowler, that he refines on female softness. Something more soft than woman is then sought for; till, in Italy and Portugal, men attend the levees of equivocal beings, to sigh for more than female langour.

To satisfy this genus of men, women are made systematically voluptuous, and though they may not all carry their libertinism to the same height, yet this heartless intercourse with the sex, which they allow themselves, depraves both sexes, be|cause the taste of men is vitiated; and women, of all classes, naturally square their behaviour to gratify the taste by which they obtain pleasure and power. Women becoming, consequently, weaker, in mind and body, than they ought to be, were one of the grand ends of their being taken into the account, that of bearing and nurs|ing children, have not sufficient strength to dis|charge the first duty of a mother; and sacrificing to lasciviousness the parental affection, that enno|bles instinct, either destroy the embryo in the womb, or cast it off when born. Nature in every thing demands respect, and those who violate her laws seldom violate them with impunity. The weak enervated women who particularly catch the attention of libertines, are unfit to be moth|ers, though they may conceive; so that the rich sensualist, who has rioted among women, spread|ing depravity and misery, when he wishes to per|petuate his name, receives from his wife only an half-formed being that inherits both its father's and mother's weakness.

Contrasting the humanity of the present age with the barbarism of antiquity, great stress has been laid on the savage custom of exposing the children whom their parents could not main|tain; whilst the man of sensibility who thus, perhaps, complains, by his promiscuous amours produces a most destructive barrenness and con|tagious flagitiousness of manners. Surely nature never intended that women, by satisfying an ap|petite, should frustrate the very purpose for which it was implanted!

I have before observed, that men ought to maintain the women whom they have seduced; this would be one means of reforming female manners, and stopping an abuse that has an equal|ly fatal effect on population and morals. An|other, no less obvious, would be to turn the at|tention of woman to the real virtue of chastity; for to little respect has that woman a claim, on the score of modesty, though her reputation may be white as the driven snow, who smiles on the libertine whilst she spurns the victims of his law|less appetites and their own folly.

Besides, she has a taint of the same folly, pure as she esteems herself, when she studiously adorns her person only to be seen by men, to excite re|spectful sighs, and all the idle homage of what is called innocent gallantry. Did women really respect virtue for its own sake, they would not seek for a compensation in vanity, for the self-denial which they are obliged to practise to pre|serve their reputation, nor would they associate with men who set reputation at defiance.

The two sexes mutually corrupt and improve each other. This I believe to be an indisputa|ble truth, extending it to every virtue. Chasti|ty, modesty, public spirit, and all the noble train of virtues, on which social virtue and happiness is built, should be understood and cultivated by all mankind, or they will be cultivated to little effect. And, instead of furnishing the vicious or idle with a pretext for violating some sacred du|ty, by terming it a sexual one, it would be wiser to shew that nature has not made any difference, for that the unchaste man doubly defeats the pur|pose of nature, by rendering women barren, and destroying his own constitution, though he avoids the shame that pursues the crime in the other sex. These are the physical consequences, the moral are still more alarming; for virtue is on|ly a nominal distinction when the duties of citi|zens, husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, and di|rectors of families, become merely the selfish ties of convenience.

Why then do philosophers look for public spirit? Public spirit must be nutured by private virtue, or it will resemble the factitious sentiment which makes women careful to preserve their reputation, and men their honour. A sentiment that often exists unsupported by virtue, unsup|ported by that sublime morality which makes the habitual breach of one duty a breach of the whole moral law.

CHAP. IX. OF THE PERNICIOUS EFFECTS WHICH ARISE FROM THE UNNATURAL DISTINCTIONS ESTABLISHED IN SOCIETY.

FROM the respect paid to property flow, as from a poisoned fountain, most of the evils and vices which render this world such a dreary scene to the contemplative mind. For it is in the most polished society that noisome reptiles and venom|ous serpents lurk under the rank herbage; and there is voluptuousness pampered by the still sul|try air, which relaxes every good disposition be|fore it ripens into virtue.

One class presses on another; for all are aiming to procure respect on account of their property: and property, once gained, will procure the re|spect due only to talents and virtue. Men neg|lect the duties incumbent on man, yet are treat|ed like demi-gods; religion is also separated from morality by a ceremonial veil, yet men wonder that the world is almost, literally speaking, a den of sharpers or oppressors.

There is a homely proverb, which speaks a shrewd truth, that whoever the devil finds idle he will employ. And what but habitual idleness can hereditary wealth and titles produce? For man is so constituted that he can only attain a proper use of his faculties by exercising them, and will not exercise them unless necessity, of some kind, first set the wheels in motion. Vir|tue

likewise can only be acquired by the discharge of relative duties; but the importance of these sa|cred duties will scarcely be felt by the being who is cajoled out of his humanity by the flattery of sycophants. There must be more equality estab|lished in society, or morality will never gain ground, and this virtuous equality will not rest firmly even when founded on a rock, if one half of mankind are chained to is bottom by fate, for they will be continually undermining it through ignorance or pride.

It is vain to expect virtue from women till they are, in some degree, independent of men; nay, it is vain to expect that strength of natural affection, which would make them good wives and mothers. Whilst they are absolutely de|pendent on their husbands they will be cunning, mean, and selfish, and the men who can be grati|fied by the fawning fondness of spaniel-like af|fection, have not much delicacy, for love is not to be bought, in any sense of the words, its silken wings are instantly shrivelled up when any thing beside a return in kind is sought. Yet whilst wealth enervates men; and women live, as it were, by their personal charms, how can we ex|pect them to discharge those ennobling duties which equally require exertion and self-denial. Hereditary property sophisticates the mind, and the unfortunate victims to it, if I may so ex|press myself, swathed from their birth, seldom exert the locomotive faculty of body or mind; and, thus viewing every thing through one me|dium, and that a false one, they are unable to discern in what true merit and happiness consist.

False, indeed, must be the light when the dra|pery of situation hides the man, and makes him stalk in masquerade, dragging from one scene of dissipation to another the nerveless limbs that hang with stupid listnessness, and rolling round the vacant eye which plainly tells us that there is no mind at home.

I mean, therefore, to infer that the society is not properly organized which does not compel men and women to discharge their respective du|ties, by making it the only way to acquire that countenance from their fellow-creatures, which every human being wishes some way to attain. The respect, consequently, which is paid to wealth and mere personal charms, is a true north-east blast, that blights the tender blossoms of af|fection and virtue. Nature has wisely attached affections to duties, to sweeten toil, and to give that vigour to the exertions of reason which only the heart can give. But, the affection which is put on merely because it is the appropriated insig|nia of a certain character, when its duties are not fulfilled, is one of the empty compliments which vice and folly are obliged to pay to virtue and the real nature of things.

To illustrate my opinion, I need only observe, that when a woman is admired for her beauty, and suffers herself to be so far intoxicated by the admiration she receives, as to neglect to discharge the indispensable duty of a mother, she sins against herself by neglecting to cultivate an affection that would equally tend to make her useful and hap|py. True happiness, I mean all the contentment, and virtuous satisfaction, that can be snatched in

this imperfect state, must arise from well regu|lated affections; and an affection includes a duty. Men are not aware of the misery they cause, and the vicious weakness they cherish, by only incit|ing women to render themselves pleasing; they do not consider that they thus make natural and artificial duties clash, by sacrificing the comfort and respectability of a woman's life to voluptuous notions of beauty, when in nature they all har|monize.

Cold would be the heart of a husband, were he not rendered unnatural by early debauchery, who did not feel more delight at seeing his child suck|led by its mother, than the most artful wanton tricks could ever raise; yet this natural way of cementing the matrimonial tie, and twisting esteem with fonder recollections, wealth leads women to spurn. To preserve their beauty, and wear the flowery crown of the day, that gives them a kind of right to reign for a short time over the sex, they neglect to stamp impressions on their husbands' hearts, that would be remem|bered with more tenderness when the snow on the head began to chill the bosom, than even their virgin charms. The maternal solicitude of a reasonable affectionate woman is very interesting, and the chastened dignity with which a mother returns the caresses that she and her child receive from a father who has been fulfilling the serious duties of his station, is not only a respectable, but a beautiful sight. So singular, indeed, are my feelings, and I have endeavoured not to catch factitious ones, that after having been fatigued with the sight of insipid grandeur and the slavish

ceremonies that with cumberous pomp supplied the place of domestic affections, I have turned to some other scene to relieve my eye by resting it on the refreshing green every where scattered by nature. I have then vi••d with pleasure a wo|man nursing her children, and discharging the duties of her station with, perhaps, merely a ser|vant maid to take off her hands the servile part of the household business. I have seen her prepare herself and children, with only the luxury of cleanliness, to receive her husband, who return|ing weary home in the evening found smiling babes and a clean hearth. My heart has loitered in the midst of the group, and has even throbbed with sympathetic emotion, when the scraping of the well known foot has raised a pleasing tu|mult.

Whilst my benevolence has been gratified by contemplating this artless picture, I have thought that a couple of this description, equally neces|sary and independent of each other, because each fulfilled the respective duties of their station, pos|sessed all that life could give.—Raised sufficient|ly above abject poverty not to be obliged to weigh the consequence of every farthing they spend, and having sufficient to prevent their attending to a frigid system of economy, which narrows both heart and mind. I declare, so vulgar are my conceptions, that I know not what is wanted to render this the happiest as well as the most re|spectable situation in the world, but a taste for literature, to throw a little variety and interest into social converse, and some superfluous money to give to the needy and to buy books. For it is

not pleasant when the heart is opened by com|passion and the head active in arranging plans of usefulness, to have a prim urchin continually switching back the elbow to prevent the hand from drawing out an almost empty purse, whis|pering at the same time some prudential maxim about the priority of justice.

Destructive, however, as riches and inherited honours are to the human character, women are more debased and cramped, if possible, by them, than men, because men may still, in some degree, unfold their faculties by becoming soldiers and statesmen.

As soldiers, I grant, they can now only gather, for the most part, vain glorious laurels, whilst they adjust to a hair the European balance, tak|ing especial care that no bleak northern nook or sound incline the beam. But the days of true heroism are over, when a citizen fought for his country like a Fabricius or a Washington, and then returned to his farm to let his virtuous fer|vour run in a more placid, but not a less salutary, stream. No, our British heroes are oftener sent from the gaming table than from the plow; and their passions have been rather inflamed by hang|ing with dumb suspense on the turn of a die, than sublimated by panting after the adventurous march of virtue in the historic page.

The statesman, it is true, might with more propriety quit the Faro Bank, or card-table, to guide the helm, for he has still but to shuffle and trick. The whole system of British politics, if system it may courteously be called, consisting in multiplying dependents and contriving taxes

which grind the poor to pamper the rich; thus a war, or any wild goose chace is, as the vulgar use the phrase, a lucky turn-up of patronage for the minister, whose chief merit is the art of keep|ing himself in place.

It is not necessary then that he should have bowels for the poor, so he can secure for his fam|ily the odd trick. Or should some shew of re|spect, for what is termed with ignorant ostenta|tion an Englishman's birth-right, be expedient to bubble the gruff mastiff that he has to lead by the nose, he can make an empty shew, very safe|ly, by giving his single voice, and suffering his light squadron to file off to the other side. And when a question of humanity is agitated he may dip a sop in the milk of human kindness, to si|lence Cerberus, and talk of the interest which his heart takes in an attempt to make the earth no longer cry for vengeance as it sucks in its children's blood, though his cold hand may at the very moment rivet their chains, by sanctioning the abominable traffick. A minister is no long|er a minister than while he can carry a point, which he is determined to carry.—Yet it is not necessary that a minister should feel like a man, when a bo••d push might shake his seat.

But, to have done with these episodical observ|ations, let me return to the more specious slavery which chains the very soul of woman, keeping her for ever under the bondage of ignorance.

The preposterous distinctions of rank, which render civilization a curse, by dividing the world between voluptuous tyrants, and cunning envi|ous dependents, corrupt, almost equally, every

class of people, because respectability is not at|tached to the discharge of the relative duties of life, but to the station, and when the duties are not fulfilled the affections cannot gain sufficient strength to fortify the virtue of which they are the natural reward. Still there are some loop-holes out of which a man may creep, and dare to think and act for himself; but for a woman it is an herculean task, because she has difficulties pe|culiar to her sex to overcome, which require al|most super-human powers.

A truly benevolent legislator always endeavours to make it the interest of each individual to be virtuous; and thus private virtue becoming the cement of public happiness, an orderly whole is consolidated by the tendency of all the parts to|wards a common centre. But, the private or public virtue of woman is very problematical; for Rousseau, and a numerous list of male writers, insist that she should all her life be subjected to a severe restraint, that of propriety. Why sub|ject her to propriety—blind propriety, if she be capable of acting from a nobler spring, if she be an heir of immortality? Is sugar always to be produced by vital blood? Is one half of the hu|man species, like the poor African slaves, to be subject to prejudices that brutalize them, when principles would be a surer guard, only to sweet|en the cup of man? Is not this indirectly to de|ny woman reason? for a gift is a mockery, if it be unfit for use.

Women are, in common with men, rendered weak and luxurious by the relaxing pleasures which wealth procures; but added to this they

are made slaves to their persons, and must render them alluring that man may lend them his rea|son to guide their tottering steps aright. Or should they be ambitious, they must govern their tyrants by sinister tricks, for without rights there cannot be any incumbent duties. The laws re|specting woman, which I mean to discuss in a future part, make an absurd unit of a man and his wife; and then, by the easy transition of only considering him as responsible, she is reduced to a mere cypher.

The being who discharges the duties of its sta|tion is independent; and, speaking of women at large, their first duty is to themselves as rational creatures, and the next, in point of importance, as citizens, is that, which includes so many, of a mother. The rank in life which dispenses with their fulfilling this duty, necessarily degrades them by making them mere dolls. Or, should they turn to something more important than merely fitting drapery upon a smooth block, their minds are only occupied by some soft pla|tonic attachment; or, the actual management of an intrigue may keep their thoughts in motion; for when they neglect domestic duties, they have it not in their power to take the field and march and counter-march like soldiers, or wrangle in the senate to keep their faculties from rusting.

I know that as a proof of the inferiority of the sex, Rousseau has exultingly exclaimed, How can they leave the nursery for the camp!—And the camp has by some moralists been termed the school of the most heroic virtues; though, I think, it would puzzle a keen casuist to prove

the reasonableness of the greater number of wars that have dubbed heroes. I do not mean to con|sider this question critically; because, having frequently viewed these freaks of ambition as the first natural mode of civilization, when the ground must be torn up, and the woods cleared by fire and sword, I do not choose to call them pests; but surely the present system of war has little connection with virtue of any denomination, being rather the school of finesse and effeminacy, than of fortitude.

Yet, if defensive war, the only justifiable war, in the present advanced state of society, where virtue can shew its face and ripen amidst the ri|gours which purify the air on the mountain's top, were alone to be adopted as just and glori|ous, the true heroism of antiquity might again animate female bosoms.—But fair and softly, gentle reader, male or female, do not alarm thy|self, for though I have contrasted the character of a modern soldier with that of a civilized wo|man, I am not going to advise them to turn their distaff into a musket, though I sincerely wish to see the bayonet converted into a pruning-hook. I only recreated an imagination fatigued by con|templating the vices and follies which all pro|ceed from a feculent stream of wealth that has muddied the pure rills of natural affection, by supposing that society will some time or other be so constituted, that man must necessarily fulfil the duties of a citizen, or be despised, and that while he was employed in any of the departments of civil life, his wife, also an active citizen, should be equally intent to manage her family, educate her children, and assist her neighbours.

But, to render her really virtuous and useful, she must not, if she discharge her civil duties, want, individually, the protection of civil laws; she must not be dependent on her husband's boun|ty for her subsistence during his life, or support after his death—for how can a being be generous who has nothing of its own? or, virtuous, who is not free? The wife, in the present state of things, who is faithful to her husband, and neith|er suckles nor educates her children, scarcely de|serves the name of a wife, and has no right to that of a citizen. But take away natural rights, and there is of course an end of duties.

Women thus infallibly become only the want|on solace of men, when they are so weak in mind and body, that they cannot exert themselves, un|less to pursue some frothy pleasure, or to invent some frivolous fashion. What can be a more melancholy fight to a thinking mind, than to look into the numerous carriages that drive helt|er-skelter about this metropolis in a morning full of pale-faced creatures who are flying from themselves. I have often wished, with Dr. John|son, to place some of them in a little shop with half a dozen children looking up to their languid countenances for support. I am much mistaken, if some latent vigour would not soon give health and spirit to their eyes, and some lines drawn by the exercise of reason on the blank cheeks, which before were only undulated by dimples, might restore lost dignity to the character, or rather en|able it to attain the true dignity of its nature. Virtue is not to be acquired even by speculation, much less by the negative supineness that wealth naturally generates.

Besides, when poverty is more disgraceful than even vice, is not morality cut to the quick? Still to avoid misconstruction, though I consider that women in the common walks of life are called to fulfil the duties of wives and mothers, by religion and reason, I cannot help lamenting that women of a superiour cast have not a road open by which they can pursue more extensive plans of usefulness and independence. I may ex|cite laughter, by dropping an hint, which I mean to pursue, some future time, for I really think that women ought to have representatives, instead of being arbitrarily governed without having any direct share allowed them in the deliberations of goverment.

But, as the whole system of representation is now, in this country, only a convenient handle for despotism, they need not complain, for they are as well represented as a numerous class of hard working mechanics, who pay for the sup|port of royalty when they can scarcely stop their children's mouths with bread. How are they represented whose very sweat supports the splen|did stud of an heir apparent, or varnishes the cha|riot of some female favourite who looks down on shame? Taxes on the very necessaries of life, en|able an endless tribe of idle princes and princesses to pass with stupid pomp before a gaping crowd, who almost worship the very parade which costs them so dear. This is mere gothic grandeur, something like the barbarous useless parade of having sentinels on horseback at Whitehall, which I could never view without a mixture of con|tempt and indignation.

How strangely must the mind be sophisticated when this sort of state impresses it! But, till these monuments of folly are levelled by virtue, similar follies will leaven the whole mass. For the same character, in some degree, will prevail in the aggregate of society: and the refinements of luxury, or the vicious repinings of envious poverty, will equally banish virtue from society, considered as the characteristic of that society, or only allow it to appear as one of the stripes of the harlequin coat, worn by the civilized man.

In the superiour ranks of life, every duty is done by deputies, as if duties could ever be wav|ed, and the vain pleasures which consequent idle|ness forces the rich to pursue, appear so enticing to the next rank, that the numerous scramblers for wealth sacrifice every thing to tread on their heels. The most sacred trusts are then consid|ered as sinecures, because they were procured by interest, and only sought to enable a man to keep good company. Women, in particular, all want to be ladies. Which is simply to have nothing to do, but listlessly to go they scarcely care where, for they cannot tell what.

But what have women to do in society? I may be asked, but to loiter with easy grace; surely you would not condemn them all to suckle fools and chronicle small beer! No. Women might certainly study the art of healing, and be physicians as well as nurses. And midwife|ry, decency seems to allot to them, though I am afraid the word midwife, in our dictionaries, will soon give place to accoucheur, and one proof of the former delicacy of the sex be effaced from the language.

They might, also, study politics, and settle their benevolence on the broadest basis; for the reading of history will scarcely be more useful than the perusal of romances, if read as mere bi|ography; if the character of the times, the po|litical improvements, arts, &c. be not observed. In short, if it be not considered as the history of man; and not of particular men, who filled a niche in the temple of fame, and dropped into the black rolling stream of time, that silently sweeps all before it, into the shapeless void called—eter|nity.—For shape, can it be called,

that shape hath none?

Business of various kinds, they might likewise pursue, if they were educated in a more orderly manner, which might save many from common and legal prostitution. Women would not then marry for a support, as men accept of places un|der government, and neglect the implied duties; nor would an attempt to earn their own subsist|ence, a most laudable one! sink them almost to the level of those poor abandoned creatures who live by prostitution. For are not milliners and mantua-makers reckoned the next class? The few employments open to women, so far from being liberal, are menial; and when a superiour education enables them to take charge of the edu|cation of children as governesses, they are not treated like the tutors of sons, though even cle|rical tutors are not always treated in a manner calculated to render them respectable in the eyes of their pupils, to say nothing of the private com|fort of the individual. But as women educated like gentlewomen, are never designed for the hu|miliating

situation which necessity sometimes forc|es them to fill; these situations are considered in the light of a degradation; and they know little of the human heart, who need to be told, that nothing so painfully sharpens the sensibility as such a fall in life.

Some of these women might be restrained from marrying by a proper spirit or delicacy, and oth|ers may not have had it in their power to escape in this pitiful way from servitude; is not that government then very defective, and very un|mindful of the happiness of one half of its mem|bers, that does not provide for honest, independ|ent women, by encouraging them to fill re|spectable stations? But in order to render their private virtue a public benefit, they must have a civil existence in the state, married or single; else we shall continually see some worthy wo|man, whose sensibility has been rendered pain|fully acute by undeserved contempt, droop like 'the lily broken down by a plow-share.'

It is a melancholy truth; yet such is the blessed effect of civilization! the most respectable women are the most oppressed; and, unless they have understandings far superiour to the common run of understandings, taking in both sexes, they must, from being treated like contemptible be|ings, become contemptible. How many wo|men thus waste life away the prey of discontent, who might have practised as physicians, regula|ted a farm, managed a shop, and stood erect, sup|ported by their own industry, instead of hanging their heads surcharged with the dew of sensibili|ty, that consumes the beauty to which it at first

gave lustre; nay, I doubt whether pity and love are so near akin as poets seign, for I have seldom seen much compassion excited by the helpless|ness of females, unless they were fair; then, per|haps, pity was the soft handmaid of love, or the harbinger of lust.

How much more respectable is the woman who earns her own bread by fulfilling any duty, than the most accomplished beauty!—beauty did I say?—so sensible am I of the beauty of moral loveliness, or the harmonious propriety that at|tunes the passions of a well-regulated mind, that I blush at making the comparison; yet I sigh to think how few women aim at attaining this re|spectability by withdrawing from the giddy whirl of pleasure, or the indolent calm that stu|pifies the good sort of women it sucks in.

Proud of their weakness, however, they must always be protected, guarded from care, and all the rough toils that dignify the mind.—If this be the fiat of fate, if they will make themselves insigni|ficant and contemptible, sweetly to waste

life away

let them not expect to be valued when their beauty fades, for it is the fate of the fairest flowers to be admired and pulled to pieces by the careless hand that plucked them. In how ma|ny ways do I wish, from the purest benevolence, to impress this truth on my sex; yet I fear that they will not listen to a truth that dear bought experience has brought home to many an agitated bosom, nor willingly resign the privileges of rank and sex for the privileges of humanity, to which those have no claim who do not discharge its duties.

Those writers are particularly useful, in my opinion, who make man feel for man, independ|ent of the station he fills, or the drapery of fac|titious sentiments. I then would fain convince reasonable men of the importance of some of my remarks, and prevail on them to weigh dispassion|ately the whole tenor of my observations.—I ap|peal to their understandings; and, as a fellow-creature claim, in the name of my sex, some in|terest in their hearts. I entreat them to assist to emancipate their companion, to make her a help meet for them!

Would men but generously snap our chains, and be content with rational fellowship instead of slavish obedience, they would find us more ob|servant daughters, more affectionate sisters, more faithful wives, more reasonable mothers—in a word, better citizens. We should then love them with true affection, because we should learn to respect ourselves; and the peace of mind of a worthy man would not be interrupted by the idle vanity of his wife, nor his babes sent to nestle in a strange bosom, having never found a home in their mother's.

CHAP. X. PARENTAL AFFECTION.

PARENTAL affection is, perhaps, the blind|est modification of perverse self-love; for we have not, like the French* 1.64, two terms to distin|guish the pursuit of a natural and reasonable de|sire, from the ignorant calculations of weakness. Parents often love their children in the most brutal manner, and sacrifice every relative duty to promote their advancement in the world.—To promote, such is the perversity of unprincipled prejudices, the future welfare of the very beings whose present existence they embitter by the most despotic stretch of power. Power, in fact, is ever true to its vital principle, for in every shape it would reign without controul or inquiry. Its throne is built across a dark abyss, which no eye must dare to explore, lest the baseless fabric should totter under investigation. Obedience, unconditional obedience, is the catch-word of ty|rants of every description, and to render

assur|ance doubly sure,

one kind of despotism sup|ports another. Tyrants would have cause to tremble if reason were to become the rule of duty in any of the relations of life, for the light might spread till perfect day appeared. And when it did appear, how would r••n smile at the sight of the bugbears at which they started during the night of ignorance, or the twilight of timid in|quiry.

Parental affection, indeed, in many minds, is but a pretext to tyrannize where it can be done with impunity, for only good and wise men are content with the respect that will bear discussion. Convinced that they have a right to what they insist on, they do not fear reason, or dread the sifting of subjects that recur to natural justice: because they firmly believe that the more en|lightened the human mind becomes the deeper root will just and simple principles take. They do not rest in expedients, or grant that what is metaphysically true can be practically false; but disdaining the shifts of the moment they calmly wait till time, sanctioning innovation, silences the hiss of selfishness or envy.

If the power of reflecting on the past, and darting the keen eye of contemplation into futu|rity, be the grand privilege of man, it must be granted that some people enjoy this prerogative in a very limited degree. Every thing now ap|pears to them wrong; and not able to distinguish the possible from the monstrous, they fear where no fear should find a place, running from the light of reason, as if it were a firebrand; yet the limits of the possible have never been defined to stop the sturdy innovator's hand.

Woman, however, a slave in every situation to prejudice, seldom exerts enlightened maternal af|fection; for she either neglects her children, or spoils them by improper indulgence. Besides, the affection of some women for their children is, as I have before termed it, frequently very brutish: for it eradicates every spark of humani|ty. Justice, truth, every thing is sacrificed by

these Rebekah's, and for the sake of their own children they violate the most sacred duties, for|getting the common relationship that binds the whole family on earth together. Yet, reason seems to say, that they who suffer one duty, or affection, to swallow up the rest, have not suffi|cient heart or mind to fulfil that one conscien|tiously. It then loses the venerable aspect of a duty, and assumes the fantastic form of a whim.

As the care of children in their infancy is one of the grand duties annexed to the female charac|ter by nature, this duty would afford many forci|ble arguments for strengthening the female un|derstanding, if it were properly considered.

The formation of the mind must be begun very early, and the temper, in particular, requires the most judicious attention—an attention which women cannot pay who only love their children because they are their children, and seek no fur|ther for the foundation of their duty, than in the feelings of the moment. It is this want of rea|son in their affections which makes women so oft|en run into extremes, and either be the most fond or most careless and unnatural mothers.

To be a good mother—a woman must have sense, and that independence of mind which few women possess who are taught to depend entirely on their husbands. Meek wives are, in general, foolish mothers; wanting their children to love them best, and take their part, in secret, against the father, who is held up as a scarecrow. If they are to be punished, though they have offend|ed the mother, the father must inflict the punish|ment; he must be the judge in all disputes: but

I shall more fully discuss this subject when I treat of private education, I now only mean to in|sist, that unless the understanding of woman be enlarged, and her character rendered more firm, by being allowed to govern her own conduct, she will never have sufficient sense or command of temper to manage her children properly. Her parental affection, indeed, scarcely deserves the name, when it does not lead her to suckle her children, because the discharge of this duty is equally calculated to inspire maternal and filial affection: and it is the indispensable duty of men and women to fulfil the duties which give birth to affections that are the surest preservatives against vice. Natural affection, as it is termed, I believe to be a very faint tie, affections must grow out of the habitual exercise of a mutual sympathy; and what sympathy does a mother exercise who sends her babe to a nurse, and only takes it from a nurse to send it to a school?

In the exercise of their maternal feelings pro|vidence has furnished women with a natural sub|stitute for love, when the lover becomes only a friend and mutual confidence takes place of over|strained admiration—a child then gently twists the relaxing cord, and a mutual care produces a new mutual sympathy.—But a child, though a pledge of affection, will not enliven it, if both father and mother are content to transfer the charge to hire|lings; for they who do their duty by proxy should not murmur if they miss the reward of duty—parental affection produces filial duty.

CHAP. XI. DUTY TO PARENTS.

THERE seems to be an indolent propensi|ty in man to make prescription always take place of reason, and to place every duty on an arbitrary foundation. The rights of kings are deduced in a direct line from the King of kings; and that of parents from our first parent.

Why do we thus go back for principles that should always rest on the same base, and have the same weight to-day that they had a thousand years ago—and not a jot more? If parents dis|charge their duty they have a strong hold and sacred claim on the gratitude of their children; but few parents are willing to receive the re|spectful affection of their offspring on such terms. They demand blind obedience, because they do not merit a reasonable service: and to render these demands of weakness and ignorance more binding, a mysterious sanctity is spread round the most arbitrary principle; for what other name can be given to the blind duty of obeying vicious or weak beings merely because they obeyed a powerful instinct?

The simple definition of the reciprocal duty, which naturally subsists between parent and child, may be given in a few words: The parent who pays proper attention to helpless infancy has a right to require the same attention when the fee|bleness of age comes upon him. But to subju|gate

a rational being to the mere will of another, after he is of age to answer to society for his own conduct, is a most cruel and undue stretch of pow|er; and, perhaps, as injurious to morality as those religious systems which do not allow right and wrong to have any existence, but in the Di|vine will.

I never knew a parent who had paid more than common attention to his children, disregarded* 1.65; on the contrary, the early habit of relying almost implicitly on the opinion of a respected parent is not easily shook, even when matured reason convinces the child that his father is not the wisest man in the world. This weakness, for a weakness it is, though the epithet amiable may be tacked to it, a reasonable man must steel himself against; for the absurd duty, too often inculcated, of obeying a parent only on account of his being a parent, shackles the mind, and prepares it for a slavish submission to any power but reason.

I distinguish between the natural and accident|al duty due to parents.

The parent who seduously endeavours to form the heart and enlarge the understanding of his child, has given that dignity to the discharge of a duty, common to the whole animal world, that only reason can give. This is the parental af|fection of humanity, and leaves instinctive na|tural affection far behind. Such a parent acquires all the rights of the most sacred friendship, and his advice, even when his child is advanced in life, demands serious consideration.

With respect to marriage, though after one and twenty a parent seems to have no right to with|hold his consent on any account; yet twenty years of solicitude call for a turn, and the son ought, at least, to promise not to marry for two or three years, should the object of his choice not entirely meet with the approbation of his first friend.

But, respect for parents is, generally speaking, a much more debasing principle; it is only a self|ish respect for property. The father who is blindly obeyed, is obeyed from sheer weakness, or from motives that degrade the human character.

A great proportion of the misery that wanders, in hideous forms around the world, is allowed to rise from the negligence of parents; and still these are the people who are most tenacious of what they term a natural right, though it be sub|versive of the birth-right of man, the right of acting according to the direction of his own rea|son.

I have already very frequently had occasion to observe, that vicious or indolent people are al|ways eager to profit by enforcing arbitrary privi|leges; and, generally, in the same proportion as they neglect the discharge of the duties which alone render the privileges reasonable. This is at the bottom a dictate of common sense, or the in|stinct of self-defence, peculiar to ignorant weak|ness; resembling that instinct, which makes a fish muddy the water it swims in to allude its en|emy, instead of boldly facing it in the clear stream.

From the clear stream of argument, indeed, the supporters of prescription, of every denomi|nation, fly; and, taking refuge in the darkness, which, in the language of sublime poetry, has been supposed to surround the throne of Omnip|otence, they dare to demand that implicit respect which is only due to His unsearchable ways. But, let me not be thought presumptuous, the darkness which hides our God from us, only re|spects speculative truths—it never obscures moral ones, they shine clearly, for God is light, and never, by the constitution of our nature, requires the discharge of a duty, the reasonableness of which does not beam on us when we open our eyes.

The indolent parent of high rank may, it is true, extort a shew of respect from his child, and females on the continent are particularly subject to the views of their families, who never think of consulting their inclination, or providing for the comfort of the poor victims of their pride. The consequence is notorious; these dutiful daughters become adulteresses, and neglect the education of their children, from whom they, in their turn, exact the same kind of obedience.

Females, it is true, in all countries, are too much under the dominion of their parents; and few parents think of addressing their children in the following manner, though it is in this rea|sonable way that Heaven seems to command the whole human race. It is your interest to obey me till you can judge for yourself; and the Al|mighty Father of all has implanted an affection in me to serve as a guard to you whilst your rea|son

is unfolding; but when your mind arrives at maturity, you must only obey me, or rather re|spect my opinions, so far as they coincide with the light that is breaking in on your own mind.

A slavish bondage to parents cramps every fac|ulty of the mind; and Mr. Locke very judicious|ly observes, that

if the mind be curbed and humbled too much in children; if their spirits be abased and broken much by too strict an hand over them; they lose all their vigour and in|dustry.

This strict hand may in some degree account for the weakness of women; for girls, from various causes, are more kept down by their parents, in every sense of the word, than boys. The duty expected from them is, like all the du|ties arbitrarily imposed on women, more from a sense of propriety, more out of respect for deco|rum than reason; and thus taught slavishly to submit to their parents, they are prepared for the slavery of marriage. I may be told that a num|ber of women are not slaves in the marriage state. True, but they then become tyrants; for it is not rational freedom, but a lawless kind of power resembling the authority exercised by the favourites of absolute monarchs, which they obtain by de|basing means. I do not, likewise, dream of in|sinuating that either boys or girls are always slaves, I only insist that when they are obliged to submit to authority blindly, their faculties are weakened, and their tempers rendered imperious or abject. I also lament that parents, indolently availing themselves of a supposed privilege, damp the first faint glimmering of reason, rendering at the same time the duty, which they are so anx|ious

to enforce, an empty name; because they will not let it rest on the only basis on which a duty can rest securely: for unless it be founded on knowledge, it cannot gain sufficient strength to resist the squalls of passion, or the silent sap|ping of self-love. But it is not the parents who have given the surest proof of their affection for their children, or, to speak more properly, who by fulfilling their duty, have allowed a natural parental affection to take root in their hearts, the child of excised sympathy and reason, and not the over-weening offspring of selfish pride, who most vehemently insist on their children submitting to their will merely because it is their will. On the contrary, the parent, who sets a good example, patiently lets that example work; and it seldom fails to produce its natural effect—filial respect.

Children cannot be taught too early to submit to reason, the true definition of that necessity, which Rousseau insisted on, without defining it; for to submit to reason is to submit to the nature of things, and to that God, who formed them so, to promote our real interest.

Why should the minds of children be warped as they just begin to expand, only to favour the indolence of parents, who insist on a privilege without being willing to pay the price fixed by nature? I have before had occasion to observe, that a right always includes a duty, and I think it may, likewise, fairly be inferred, that they forfeit the right, who do not fulfil the duty.

It is easier, I grant, to command than reason; but it does not follow from hence that children cannot comprehend the reason why they are made

to do certain things habitually; for, from a steady adherence to a few simple principles of conduct flows that salutary power which a judicious par|ent gradually gains over a child's mind. And this power becomes strong indeed, if tempered by an even display of affection brought home to the child's heart. For I believe, as a general rule, it must be allowed that the affection which we inspire always resembles that we cultivate; so that natural affections, which have been sup|posed almost distinct from reason, may be found more nearly connected with judgment than is commonly allowed. Nay, as another proof of the necessity of cultivating the female understand|ing, it is but just to observe, that the affections seem to have a kind of animal capriciousness when they merely reside in the heart.

It is the irregular exercise of parental authority that first injures the mind, and to these irregu|larities girls are more subject than boys. The will of those who never allow their will to be disputed, unless they happen to be in a good hu|mour, when they relax proportionally, is almost always unreasonable. To elude this arbitrary au|thority girls very early learn the lessons which they afterwards practise on their husbands; for I have frequently seen a little sharp-faced miss rule a whole family, excepting that now and then mamma's anger will burst out of some accidental cloud; either her hair was ill dressed* 1.66, or she had lost more money at cards, the night before, than

she was willing to own to her husband; or some such moral cause of anger.

After observing sallies of this kind, I have been led into a melancholy train of reflection respect|ing females, concluding that when their first af|fection must lead them astray, or make their du|ties clash till they rest on mere whims and cus|toms, little can be expected from them as they advance in life. How indeed can an instructor remedy this evil? for to teach them virtue on any solid principle is to teach them to despise their parents. Children cannot, ought not, to be taught to make allowance for the faults of their parents, because every such allowance weakens the force of reason in their minds, and makes them still more indulgent to their own. It is one of the most sublime virtues of maturity that leads us to be severe with respect to ourselves, and forbearing to others; but children should only be taught the simple virtues, for if they begin too early to make allowance for human passions and manners, they wear off the fine edge of the criterion by which they should regulate their own, and become un|just in the same proportion as they grow indulgent.

The affections of children, and weak people, are always selfish; they love others, because oth|ers love them, and not on account of their vir|tues. Yet, till esteem and love are blended to|gether in the first affection, and reason made the foundation of the first duty, morality will stum|ble at the threshold. But, till society is very differently constituted, parents, I fear, will still in|sist on being obeyed, because they will be obeyed, and constantly endeavour to settle that power on a Divine right which will not bear the investiga|tion of reason.

CHAP. XII. ON NATIONAL EDUCATION.

THE good effects resulting from attention to private education will ever be very confined, and the parent who really puts his own hand to the plow, will always, in some degree, be disap|pointed, till education become a grand national concern. A man cannot retire into a desart with his child, and if he did he could not bring him|self back to childhood, and become the proper friend and play-fellow of an infant or youth. And when children are confined to the society of men and women, they very soon acquire that kind of premature manhood which stops the growth of every vigorous power of mind or body. In or|der to open their faculties they should be excited to think for themselves; and this can only be done by mixing a number of children together, and making them jointly pursue the same objects.

A child very soon contracts a benumbing in|dolence of mind, which he has seldom sufficient vigour afterwards to shake off, when he only asks a question instead of seeking for information, and then relies implicitly on the answer he receives. With his equals in age this could never be the case, and the subjects of inquiry, though they might be influenced, would not be entirely under the direction of men, who frequently damp, if not destroy, abilities, by bringing them forward too hastily: and too hastily they will infallibly

be brought forward, if the child be confined to the society of a man, however sagacious that man may be.

Besides, in youth the seeds of every affection should be sown, and the respectful regard, which is felt for a parent, is very different from the so|cial affections that are to constitute the happiness of life as it advances. Of these equality is the basis, and an intercourse of sentiments unclogged by that observant seriousness which prevents dis|putation, though it may not enforce submission. Let a child have ever such an affection for his parent, he will always languish to play and chat with children; and the very respect which he entertains, for filial esteem always has a dash of fear mixed with it, will, if it do not teach him cunning, at least prevent him from pouring out the little secrets which first open the heart to friendship and confidence, gradually leading to more expansive benevolence. Added to this, he will never acquire that frank ingenuousness of behaviour, which young people can only attain by being frequently in society where they dare to speak what they think; neither afraid of being reproved for their presumption, nor laughed at for their folly.

Forcibly impressed by the reflections which the sight of schools, as they are at present con|ducted, naturally suggested, I have formerly de|livered my opinion rather warmly in favour of a private education; but further experience has led me to view the subject in a different light. I still, however, think schools, as they are now regulated, the hotbeds of vice and folly, and the

knowledge of human nature, supposed to be at|tained there, merely cunning selfishness.

At school boys become gluttons and slovens, and, instead of cultivating domestic affections, ve|ry early rush into the libertinism which destroys the constitution before it is formed; hardening the heart as it weakens the understanding.

I should, in fact, be averse to boarding-schools, if it were for no other reason than the unsettled state of mind which the expectation of the vaca|tions produce. On these the children's thoughts are fixed with eager anticipating hopes, for, at least, to speak with moderation, half of the time, and when they arrive they are spent in total dissi|pation and beastly indulgence.

But, on the contrary, when t••••y are brought up at home, though they may pursue a plan of study in a more orderly manner than can be adopted when near a fourth part of the year is actually spent in idleness, and as much more in regret and anticipation; yet they there acquire too high an opinion of their own importance, from being allowed to tyrannize over servants, and from the anxiety expressed by most mothers, on the score of manners, who, eager to teach the accomplishments of a gentleman, stifle, in their birth, the virtues of a man. Thus brought into company when they ought to be seriously em|ployed, and treated like men when they are still boys, they become vain and effeminate.

The only way to avoid two extremes equally injurious to morality, would be to contrive some way of combining a public and private education. Thus to make men citizens two natural steps

might be taken, which seem directly to lead to the desired point; for the domestic affections, that first open the heart to the various modifica|tions of humanity, would be cultivated, whilst 〈◊〉〈◊〉 children were nevertheless allowed to spend great part of their time, on terms of equality, with other children.

I still recollect, with pleasure, the country day school; where a boy trudged in the morning, wet or dry, carrying his books, and his dinner, if it were at a considerable distance; a servant did n••t then lead master by the hand, for, when he had once put on coat and breeches, he was allowed to shift for himself, and return alone in the evening to recount the feats of the day close at the parental knee. His father's house was his home, and was ever after fondly remembered; nay, I appeal to some superiour men, who were educated in this manner, whether the recollection of some shady lane where they conned their lesson; or, of some stile, where they sat making a kite, or mending a bat, has not endeared their country to them?

But, what boy ever recollected with pleasure the years he spent in close confinement, at an academy near London? unless, indeed, he should, by chance, remember the poor scarecrow of an usher, whom he tormented; or, the tartman, from whom he caught a cake, to devour it with the cattish appetite of selfishness. At boarding-schools of every description, the relaxation of the junior boys is mischief; and of the senior, vice. Besides, in great schools, what can be more pre|judicial to the moral character than the system of tyranny and abject slavery which is established

amongst the boys, to say nothing of the slavery to forms, which makes religion worse than a farce? For what good can be expected from the youth who receives the sacrament of the Lord's supper, to avoid forfeiting half a guinea, which he probably afterwards spends in some sensual manner? Half the employment of the youths is to elude the necessity of attending public wor|ship; and well they may, for such a constant re|petition of the same thing must be a very irksome restraint on their natural vivacity. As these ce|remonies have the most fatal effect on their mo|rals, and as a ritual performed by the lips, when the heart and mind are far away, is not now stor|ed up by our church as a bank to draw on for the fees of the poor souls in purgatory, why should they not be abolished?

But the fear of innovation, in this country, extends to every thing.—This is only a covert fear, the apprehensive timidity of indolent slugs, who guard, by sliming it over, the snug place, which they consider in the light of an hereditary estate; and eat, drink, and enjoy themselves, in|stead of fulfilling the duties, excepting a few emp|ty forms, for which it was endowed. These are the people who most strenuously insist on the will of the founder being observed, crying out against all reformation, as if it were a violation of justice. I am now alluding particularly to the relicks of popery retained in our colleges, when the protestant members seem to be such sticklers for the established church; but their zeal never makes them lose sight of the spoil of ignorance, which rapacious priests of superstitious memory

have scraped together. No, wise in their gene|ration, they venerate the prescriptive right of possession, as a strong hold, and still let the slug|gish bell tinkle to prayers, as during the days when the elevation of the host was supposed to atone for the sins of the people, lest one reforma|tion should lead to another, and the spirit kill the letter. These Romish customs have the most baneful effect on the morals of our clergy; for the idle vermin who two or three times a day perform in the most slovenly manner a service which they think useless, but call their duty, soon lose a sense of duty. At college, forced to attend or evade public worship, they acquire an habitual contempt for the very service, the per|formance of which is to enable them to live in idleness. It is mumbled over as an affair of bu|siness, as a stupid boy repeats his task, and fre|quently the college cant escapes from the preach|er the moment after he has left the pulpit, and even whilst he is eating the dinner which he earned in such a dishonest manner.

Nothing, indeed, can be more irreverent than the cathedral service as it is now performed in this country, nor does it contain a ••et of weaker men than those who are the slaves of this childish routine. A disgusting skeleton of the former state is still exhibited; but all the solemnity that interested the imagination, if it did not purify the heart, is stripped off. The performance of high mass on the continent must impress every mind, where a spark of fancy glows, with that awful melancholy, that sublime tenderness, so near akin to devotion. I do not say that these devotional

feelings are of more use, in a moral sense, than any other emotion of taste; but I contend that the theatrical pomp which gratifies our senses, is to be preferred to the cold parade that insults the understanding without reaching the heart.

Amongst remarks on national education, such observations cannot be misplaced, especially as the supporters of these establishments, degenera|ted into puerilities, affect to be the champions of religion.—Religion, pure source of comfort in this vale of tears! how has thy clear stream been muddied by the dabblers, who have presumptu|ously endeavoured to confine in one narrow chan|nel, the living waters that ever flow towards God —the sublime ocean of existence! What would life be without that peace which the love of God, when built on humanity, alone can impart? Eve|ry earthly affection turns back, at intervals, to prey upon the heart that feeds it; and the purest ef|fusions of benevolence, often rudely damped by man, must mount as a free-will offering to Him who gave them birth, whose bright image they faintly reflect.

In public schools, however, religion, confound|ed with irksome ceremonies and unreasonable re|straints, assumes the most ungracious aspect: not the sober austere one that commands respect whilst it inspires fear; but a ludicrous cast, that serves to point a pun. For, in fact, most of the good stories and smart things which enliven the spirits that have been concentrated at whist, are manufactured out of the incidents to which the very men labour to give a droll turn who coun|tenance the abuse to live on the spoil.

There is not, perhaps, in the kingdom, a more dogmatical, or luxurious set of men, than the pe|dantic tyrants who reside in colleges and preside at public schools. The vacations are equally in|jurious to the morals of the masters and pupils, and the intercourse, which the former keep up with the nobility, introduces the same vanity and extravagance into their families, which banish domestic duties and comforts from the lordly mansion, whose state is awkwardly aped on a smaller scale. The boys, who live at a great ex|pense with the masters and assistants, are never domesticated, though placed there for that pur|pose; for, after a silent dinner, they swallow a hasty glass of wine, and retire to plan some mis|chievous trick, or to ridicule the person or man|ners of the very people they have just been cring|ing to, and whom they ought to consider as the representatives of their parents.

Can it then be a matter of surprise that boys become selfish and vicious who are thus shut out from social converse? or that a mitre often gra|ces the brow of one of these diligent pastors?

The desire of living in the same style, as the rank just above them, infects each individual and every class of people, and meanness is the con|comitant of this ignoble ambition; but those professions are most debasing whose ladder is pa|tronage: yet, out of one of these professions the tutors of youth are, in general, chosen. But, can they be expected to inspire independent sen|timents, whose conduct must be regulated by the cautious prudence that is ever on the watch for preferment?

So far, however, from thinking of the morals of boys, I have heard several masters of schools argue, that they only undertook to teach Latin and Greek; and that they had fulfilled their du|ty, by sending some good scholars to college.

A few good scholars, I grant, may have been formed by emulation and discipline; but to bring forward these clever boys, the health and morals of a number have been sacrificed. The sons of our gentry and wealthy commoners are mostly educated at these seminaries, and will any one pre|tend to assert that the majority, making every al|lowance, come under the description of tolerable scholars?

It is not for the benefit of society that a few brilliant men should be brought forward at the expense of the multitude. It is true, that great men seem to start up, as great revolutions occur, at proper intervals, to restore order, and to blow aside the clouds that thicken over the face of truth; but let more reason and virtue prevail in society, and these strong winds would not be ne|cessary. Public education, of every denomina|tion, should be directed to form citizens; but if you wish to make good citizens, you must first exercise the affections of a son and a brother. This is the only way to expand the heart; for public affections, as well as public virtues, must ever grow out of the private character, or they are merely meteors that shoot athwart a dark sky and disappear as they are gazed at and admired.

Few, I believe, have had much affection for mankind, who did not first love their parents, their brothers, sisters, and even the domestic

brutes, whom they first played with. The ex|ercise of youthful sympathies forms the moral temperature; and it is the recollection of these first affections and pursuits that gives life to those that are afterwards more under the direction of reason. In youth, the fondest friendships are formed, the genial juices mounting at the same time, kindly mix; or, rather the heart, tempered for the reception of friendship, is accustomed to seek for pleasure in something more noble than the churlish gratification of appetite.

In order then to inspire a love of home and do|mestic pleasures, children ought to be educated at home, for riotous holidays only make them fond of home for their own sakes. Yet, the vaca|tions, which do not foster domestic affections, continually disturb the course of study, and ren|der any plan of improvement abortive which in|cludes temperance; still, were they abolished, children would be entirely separated from their parents, and I question whether they would be|come better citizens by sacrificing the preparato|ry affections, by destroying the force of relation|ships that render the marriage state as necessary as respectable. But, if a private education produces self-importance, or insulates a man in his family, the evil is only shifted, not remedied.

This train of reasoning brings me back to a subject, on which I mean to dwell, the necessity of establishing proper day-schools.

But, these should be national establishments, for whilst school-masters are dependent on the caprice of parents, little exertion can be expected from them, more than is necessary to please ig|norant

people. Indeed, the necessity of a mas|ter's giving the parents some sample of the boys abilities, which during the vacation is shewn to every visitor* 1.67, is productive of more mischief than would at first be supposed. For they are seldom done entirely, to speak with moderation, by the child itself; thus the master countenances falsehood, or winds the poor machine up to some extraordinary exertion, that injures the wheels, and stops the progress of gradual improvement. The memory is loaded with unintelligible words, to make a shew of, without the understanding's acquiring any distinct ideas: but only that edu|cation deserves emphatically to be termed culti|vation of mind, which teaches young people how to begin to think. The imagination should not be allowed to debauch the understanding before it gained strength, or vanity will become the forerunner of vice: for every way of exhibiting the acquirements of a child is injurious to its moral character.

How much time is lost in teaching them to recite what they do not understand? whilst seat|ed on benches, all in their best array, the mam|mas listen with astonishment to the parrot-like prattle, uttered in solemn cadences, with all the pomp of ignorance and folly. Such exhibitions only serve to strike the spreading fibres of vanity through the whole mind; for they neither teach children to speak fluently, nor behave gracefully. So far from it, that these frivolous pursuits might comprehensively be termed the study of affecta|tion;

for we now rarely see a simple, bashful boy, though few people of taste were ever disgusted by that awkward sheepishness so natural to the age, which schools and an early introduction into society, have changed into impudence and apish grimace.

Yet, how can these things be remedied whilst school-masters depend entirely on parents for a subsistence; and when so many rival schools hang out their lures, to catch the attention of vain fathers and mothers, whose parental affec|tion only leads them to wish that their children should outshine those of their neighbours?

Without great good luck, a sensible, conscien|tious man, would starve before he could raise a school, if he disdained to bubble weak parents by practising the secret tricks of the craft.

In the best regulated schools, however, where swarms are not crammed together, many bad habits must be acquired; but, at common schools, the body, heart, and understanding, are equally stunted, for parents are often only in quest of the cheapest school, and the master could not live, if he did not take a much greater number than he could manage himself; nor will the scanty pittance, allowed for each child, permit him to hire ushers sufficient to assist in the discharge of the mechanical part of the business. Besides, whatever appearance the house and garden may make, the children do not enjoy the comfort of either, for they are continually reminded by irk|some restrictions that they are not at home, and the state-rooms, garden, &c. must be kept in or|der for the recreation of the parents; who, of a

Sunday, visit the school, and are impressed by the very parade that renders the situation of their chil|dren uncomfortable.

With what disgust have I heard sensible wo|men, for girls are more restrained and cowed than boys, speak of the wearisome confinement, which they endured at school. Not allowed, perhaps, to step out of one broad walk in a suberb garden, and obliged to pace with steady deportment stu|pidly backwards and forwards, holding up their heads and turning out their toes, with shoulders braced back, instead of bounding, as nature di|rects to complete her own design, in the various attitudes so conducive to health* 1.68. The pure animal spirits, which make both mind and body shoot out, and unfold the tender blossoms of hope, are turned sour, and vented in vain wishes, or pert repinings, that contract the faculties and spoil the temper; else they mount to the brain, and sharpening the understanding before it gains proportionable strength, produce that pitiful cun|ning which disgracefully characterizes the female mind—and I fear will ever characterize it whilst women remain the slaves of power!

The little respect which the male world pay to chastity is, I am persuaded, the grand source of many of the physical and moral evils that tor|ment mankind, as well as of the vices and follies that degrade and destroy women; yet at school, boys infallibly lose that decent bashfulness, which might have ripened into modesty, at home.

And what nasty indecent tricks do they also learn from each other, when a number of them pig together in the same bedchamber, not to speak of the vices, which render the body weak whilst they effectually prevent the acquisition of any del|icacy of mind. The little attention paid to the cultivation of modesty, amongst men, produces great depravity in all the relationships of society; for, not only love—love that ought to purify the heart, and first call forth all the youthful powers, to prepare the man to discharge the benevolent duties of life, is sacrificed to premature lust; but, all the social affections are deadened by the selfish gratifications, which very early pollute the mind, and dry up the generous juices of the heart. In what an unnatural manner is innocence often vi|olated; and what serious consequences ensue to render private vices a public pest. Besides, an habit of personal order, which has more effect on the moral character, than is, in general, supposed, can only be acquired at home, where that respect|able reserve is kept up which checks the familiar|ity, that sinking into beastliness, undermines the affection it insults.

I have already animadverted on the bad habits which females acquire when they are shut up to|gether;

and, I think, that the observation may fairly be extended to the other sex, till the natural inference is drawn which I have had in view throughout—that to improve both sexes they ought, not only in private families, but in public schools, to be educated together. If marriage be the cement of society, mankind should all be ed|ucated after the same model, or the intercourse of the sexes will never deserve the name of fellow|ship, nor will women ever fulfil the peculiar du|ties of their sex, till they become enlightened citizens, till they become free by being enabled to earn their own subsistence, independent of men; in the same manner, I mean, to prevent misconstruction, as one man is independent of another. Nay, marriage will never be held sa|cred till women, by being brought up with men, are prepared to be their companions rather than their mistresses; for the mean doublings of cun|ning will ever render them contemptible, whilst oppression renders them timid. So convinced am I of this truth, that I will venture to predict that virtue will never prevail in society till the virtues of both sexes are founded on reason; and, till the affections common to both are allowed to gain their due strength by the discharge of mutual du|ties.

Were boys and girls permitted to pursue the same studies together, those graceful decencies might early be inculcated which produce modes|ty without those sexual distinctions that taint the mind. Lessons of politeness, and that formulary of decorum, which treads on the heels of false|hood, would be rendered useless by habitual pro|priety

of behaviour. Not indeed, put on for vi|sitors like the courtly robe of politeness, but the sober effect of cleanliness of mind. Would not this simple elegance of sincerity be a chaste hom|age paid to domestic affections, far surpassing the meretricious compliments that shine with false lustre in the heartless intercourse of fashionable life? But, till more understanding preponderate in society, there will ever be a want of heart and taste, and the harlot's rouge will supply the place of that celestial suffusion which only virtuous af|fections can give to the face. Gallantry, and what is called love, may subsist without simplici|ty of character; but the main pillars of friend|ship, are respect and confidence—esteem is never founded on it cannot tell what!

A taste for the fine arts requires great cultiva|tion; but not more than a taste for the virtuous affections; and both suppose that enlargement of mind which opens so many sources of mental pleasure. Why do people hurry to noisy scenes, and crowded circles? I should answer, because they want activity of mind, because they have not cherished the virtues of the heart. They only, therefore, see and feel in the gross, and continu|ally pine after variety, finding every thing that is simple insipid.

This argument may be carried further than phi|losophers are aware of, for if nature destined wo|man, in particular, for the discharge of domestic duties, she made her susceptible of the attached affections in a great degree. Now women are notoriously fond of ple••sure; and, naturally must be so according to my definition, because they

cannot enter into the minutiae of domestic taste; lacking judgment, the foundation of all taste. For the understanding, in spite of sensual cavil|lers, reserves to itself the privilege of conveying pure joy to the heart.

With what a languid yawn have I seen an ad|mirable poem thrown down, that a man of true taste returns to, again and again with rapture; and, whilst melody has almost suspended respira|tion, a lady has asked me where I bought my gown▪ I have seen also an eye glanced coldly over a most exquisite picture, rest, sparkling with pleasure, on a caricature rudely sketched; and whilst some terrific feature in nature has spread a sublime still|ness through my soul, I have been desired to ob|serve the pretty tricks of a lap-dog, that my per|verse fate forced me to travel with. Is it sur|prising that such a tasteless being should rather caress this dog than her children? Or, that she should prefer the rant of flattery to the simple accents of sincerity?

To illustrate this remark I must be allowed to observe, that men of the first genius and most cultivated minds, have appeared to have the high|est relish for the simple beauties of nature▪ and they must have forcibly felt, what they have so well described, the charm, which natural affec|tions, and unsophisticated feelings spread ••ound the human character. It is this power of look|ing into the heart, and responsively vibrating with each emotion, that enables the poet to personify each passion, and the painter to sketch with a pencil of fire.

True taste is ever the work of the understand|ing employed in observing natural effects; and till women have more understanding, it is vain to expect them to possess domestic taste. Their lively senses will ever be at work to harden their hearts, and the emotions struck out of them will continue to be vivid and transitory, unless a pro|per education stores their mind with knowledge.

It is the want of domestic taste, and not the acquirement of knowledge, that takes women out of their families, and tears the smiling babe from the breast that ought to afford it nourish|ment. Women have been allowed to remain in ignorance, and slavish dependence, many, very many years, and still we hear of nothing but their fondness of pleasure and sway, their preference of rakes and soldiers, their childish attachments to toys, and the vanity that makes them value ac|complishments more than virtues.

History brings forward a fearful catalogue of the crimes which their cunning has produced, when the weak slaves have had sufficient address to overreach their masters. In France, and in how many other countries, have men been the luxurious despots, and women the crafty minis|ters?—Does this prove that ignorance and de|pendence domesticate them? Is not their folly the by-word of the libertines, who relax in their society; and do not men of sense continually la|ment that an immoderate fondness for dress and dissipation carries the mother of a family for ever from home. Their hearts have not been debauched by knowledge, nor their minds led astray by scien|tific pursuits; yet, they do not fulfil the pecu|liar

duties which as women they are called upon by nature to fulfil. On the contrary, the state of warfare which subsists between the sexes, makes them employ those wiles, that frustrate the more open designs of force.

When, therefore, I call women slaves, I mean in a political and civil sense; for, indirectly they obtain too much power, and are debased by their exertions to obtain illicit sway.

Let an enlightened nation * 1.69 then try what ef|fect reason would have to bring them back to na|ture, and their duty; and allowing them to share the advantages of education and government with man, see whether they will become better, as they grow wiser and become free. They cannot be injured by the experiment; for it is not in the power of man to render them more insignificant than they are at present.

To render this practicable, day schools, for particular ages, should be established by govern|ment, in which boys and girls might be educated together. The school for the younger children, from five to nine years of age, ought to be abso|lutely free and open to all classes† 1.70. A sufficient number of masters should also be chosen by a select committee, in each parish, to whom any com|plaint of negligence, &c. might be made, if sign|ed by six of the children's parents.

Ushers would then be unnecessary; for I be|lieve experience will ever prove that this kind of subordinate authority is particularly injurious to

the morals of youth. What, indeed, can tend to deprave the character more than outward sub|mission and inward contempt? Yet how can boys be expected to treat an usher with respect, when the master seems to consider him in the light of a servant, and almost to countenance the ridicule which becomes the chief amusement of the boys during the play hours.

But nothing of this kind could occur in an elementary day school, where boys and girls, the rich and poor, should meet together. And to prevent any of the distinctions of vanity, they should be dressed alike, and all obliged to submit to the same discipline, or leave the school. The school-room ought to be surrounded by a large piece of ground, in which the children might be usefully exercised, for at this age they should not be confined to any sedentary employment for more than an hour at a time. But these relaxations might all be rendered a part of elementary educa|tion, for many things improve and amuse the senses, when introduced as a kind of show, to the principles of which, dryly laid down, children would turn a deaf ear. For instance, botany, mechanics, and astronomy. Reading, writing, arithmetic, natural history, and some simple ex|periments in natural philosophy, might fill up the day; but these pursuits should never en|croach on gymnastic plays in the open air. The elements of religion, history, the history of man, and politics, might also be taught, by conversa|tions, in the socratic form.

After the age of nine, girls and boys, intended for domestic employments, or mechanical trades,

ought to be removed to other schools, and re|ceive instruction, in some measure appropriated to the destination of each individual, the two sex|es being still together in the morning; but in the afternoon, the girls should attend a school, where plain-work, mantua-making, millinery, &c. would be their employment.

The young people of superiour abilities, or for|tune, might now be taught in another school, the dead and living languages, the elements of science, and continue the study of history and politics, on a more extensive scale, which would not exclude polite literature.

Girls and boys still together? I hear some read|ers ask: yes. And I should not fear any other consequence than that some early attachment might take place: which, whilst it had the best effect on the moral character of the young people, might not perfectly agree with the views of the parents, for it will be a long time, I fear, before the world is so enlightened that parents, only anxious to render their children virtuous, will let them choose companions for life themselves.

Besides, this would be a sure way to promote early marriages, and from early marriages the most salutary physical and moral effects naturally flow. What a different character does a married citizen assume from the selfish coxcomb, who lives but for himself, and who is often afraid to marry lest he should not be able to live in a cer|tain style. Great emergencies excepted, which would rarely occur in a society of which equality was the basis, a man could only be prepared to discharge the duties of public life, by the habitu|al

practice of those inferiour ones which form the man.

In this plan of education the constitution of boys would not be ruined by the early debauche|ries, which now makes men so selfish, nor girls rendered weak and vain, by indolence, and frivo|lous pursuits. But, I presuppose, that such a degree of equality should be established between the sexes as would shut out gallantry and co|quetry, yet allow friendship and love to temper the heart for the discharge of higher duties.

These would be schools of morality—and the happiness of man, allowed to flow from the pure springs of duty and affection, what advances might not the human mind make? Society can only be happy and free in proportion as it is virtuous; but the present distinctions, established in society, corrode all private, and blast all public virtue.

I have already inveighed against the custom of confining girls to their needle, and shutting them out from all political and civil employments; for by thus narrowing their minds they are ren|dered unfit to fulfil the peculiar duties which nature has assigned them.

Only employed about the little incidents of the day, they necessarily grow up cunning. My very soul has often sickened at observing the sly tricks practised by women to gain some foolish thing on which their silly hearts were set. Not allowed to dispose of money, or call any thing their own, they learn to turn the market penny; or, should a husband offend, by staying from home, or give rise to some emotions of jealousy— a new gown, or any pretty bawble, smooths Ju|no's angry brow.

But these littlenesses would not degrade their character, if women were led to respect them|selves, if political and moral subjects were opened to them; and, I will venture to affirm, that this is the only way to make them properly attentive to their domestic duties.—An active mind em|braces the whole circle of its duties, and finds time enough for all. It is not, I assert, a bold attempt to emulate masculine virtues; it is not the enchantment of literary pursuits, or the stea|dy investigation of scientific subjects, that lead women astray from duty. No, it is indolence and vanity—the love of pleasure and the lo•••• of sway, that will rain paramount in an empty mind. I say empty emphatically, because the education which women now receive scarcely deserves the name. For the little knowledge that they are led to acquire, during the important years of youth, is merely relative to accomplishments; and accomplishments without a bottom, for un|less the understanding be cultivated, superficial and monotonous is every grace. Like the charms of a made up face, they only strike the senses in a crowd; but at home, wanting mind, they want variety. The consequence is obvious; in gay scenes of dissipation we meet the artificial mind and face, for those who fly from solitude dread, next to solitude, the domestic circle; not having it in their power to amuse or interest, they feel their own insignificance, or find nothing to amuse or interest themselves.

Besides, what can be more indelicate than a girl's coming out in the fashionable world? Which, in other words, is to bring to market a marriage|ble

miss, whose person is taken from one public place to another, richly caparisoned. Yet, mix|ing in the giddy circle under restraint, these but|terflies long to flutter at large, for the first af|fection of their souls is their own persons, to which their attention has been called with the most sedulous care whilst they were preparing for the period that decides their fate for life. In|stead of pursuing this idle routine, sighing for r••steless shew, and heartless state, with what dig|nity would the youths of both sexes form attach|ments in the schools that I have cursorily pointed out; in which, as life advanced, dancing, music, and drawing, might be admitted as relaxations, for at these schools young people of fortune ought to remain, more or less, till they were of age. Those, who were designed for particular profes|sions, might attend, three or four mornings in the week, the schools appropriated for their im|mediate instruction.

I only drop these observations at present, as hints; rather, indeed, as an outline of the plan I mean, than a digested one; but I must add, that I highly approve of one regulation mention|ed in the pamphlet * 1.71 already alluded to, that of making the children and youths independent of the masters respecting punishments. They should be tried by their peers, which would be an admi|rable method of fixing sound principles of justice in the mind, and might have the happiest effect on the temper, which is very early soured or ir|ritated by tyranny, till it becomes peevishly cun|ning, or ferociously overbearing.

My imagination darts forward with benevolent fervour to greet these amiable and respectable groups, in spite of the sneering of cold hearts, who are at liberty to utter, with frigid self-im|portance, the damning epithet—romantic; the force of which I shall endeavour to blunt by re|peating the words of an eloquent moralist.—

I know not whether the allusions of a truly hu|mane heart, whose zeal renders every thing easy, is not preferable to that rough and repulsing reason, which always finds in indifference for the public good, the first obstacle to whatever would promote it.

I know that libertines will also exclaim, that woman would be unsexed by acquiring strength of body and mind, and that beauty, soft bewitch|ing beauty! would no longer adorn the daughters of men! I am of a very different opinion, for I think that, on the contrary, we should then see dignified beauty, and true grace; to produce which, many powerful physical and moral cau|ses would concur.—Not relaxed beauty, it is true, nor the graces of helplessness; but such as appears to make us respect the human body as a majestic pile fit to receive a noble inhabitant, in the relics of antiquity.

I do not forget the popular opinion that the Grecian statues were not modelled after nature. I mean, not according to the proportions of a particular man; but that beautiful limbs and features were selected from various bodies to form an harmonious who••. This might, in some degree, be true. The fine ideal pictur•• of an ex|alted imagination might be superiour to the mate|rials

which the painter found in nature, and thus ••g••t with propriety be termed rather the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of mankind ••han of a man. It was not, however, the mechanical selection of limbs and features; but the ebullition of an heated fancy that burst forth, and the fine senses and enlarged understanding of the artist selected the solid mat|t••▪ which he drew into this glowing focus.

I observed that it was not mechanical, because a whole was produced—a model of that grand simplicity, of those concurring energies, which arrest our attention and command our reverence. For only insipid lifeless beauty is produced by a servile copy of even beautiful nature. Yet, in|dependent of these observations, I believe that the human form must have been far more beau|tiful than it is at present, because extreme indo|lence, barbarous ligatures, and many causes, which forcibly act on it, in our luxurious state of society, did not retard its expansion, or ren|der it deformed. Exercise and cleanliness appear to be not only the surest means of preserving health, but of promoting beauty, the physical causes only considered; yet, this is not sufficient, moral ones must concur, or beauty will be mere|ly of that rustic kind which blooms on the inno|cent, wholesome, countenances of some country people, whose minds have not been exercised. To render the person perfect, physical and moral beauty ought to be attained at the same time; each lending and receiving force by the combi|nation. Judgment must reside on the brow, af|fection and fancy beam in the eye, and humanity curve the cheek, or vain is the sparkling of the

finest eye or the elegantly turned finish of the fairest features: whilst in every motion that dis|plays the active limbs and well-knit joints, grace and modesty should appear. But this fair assem|blage is not to be brought together by chance; it is the reward of exertions met to support each other; for judgment can only be acquired by reflection▪ affe••tion by the discharge of duties, and humanity by the exercise of compassion to every living creature.

Humanity to animals should be particularly inculcated as a part of national education, for it is not at present one of our national virtues. Tenderness for their humble dumb domestics, amongst the lower class, is oftener to be found in a savage than a civilized state. For civilization prevents that intercourse which creates affection in the rude hut, or mud cabin, and leads uncul|tivated minds who are only depraved by the re|finements which prevail in the society, where they are trodden under foot by the rich, to domi|neer over them to revenge the insults that they are obliged to bear from their superiours.

This habitual cruelty is first caught at school, where it is one of the rare sports of the boys to torment the miserable brutes that fall in their way. The transition, as they grow up, from barbarity to brutes to domestic tyranny over wives, chil|dren, and servants, is very easy. Justice, or even benevolence, will not be a powerful spring of ac|tion unless it be extended to the whole creation; nay, I believe that it may be delivered as an axi|om, that those who can see pain, unmoved, will soon learn to inflict it.

The vulgar are swayed by present feelings, and the habits which they have accidentally acquired; but on partial feelings much dependence cannot be placed, though they be just; for, when they are not invigorated by reflection, custom weakens them, till they are scarcely felt. The sympa|thies of our nature are strengthened by ponder|ing cogitations, and deadened by thoughtless use. Mackbeth's heart smote him more for one mur|der, the first, than for a hundred subsequent ones, which were necessary to back it. But, when I used the epithet vulgar, I did not mean to con|fine my remark to the poor, for partial humanity, founded on present sensations, or whim, is quite as conspicuous, if not more so, amongst the rich.

The lady who sheds tears for the bird starved in a snare, and execrates the devils in the shape of men, who goad to madness the poor ox, or whip the patient ass, tottering under a burden above its strength, will, nevertheless, keep her coach|man and horses whole hours waiting for her, when the sharp frost bites, or the rain beats against the well-closed windows which do not admit a breath of air to tell her how roughly the wind blows without. And she who takes her dogs to bed, and nurses them, with a parade of sensibility, when sick, will suffer her babes to grow up crook|ed in a nursery. This illustration of my argu|ment is drawn from a matter of fact. The wo|man whom I allude to was handsome, reckoned very handsome, by those who do not miss the mind when the face is plump and fair; but her understanding had not been led from female du|ties by literature, nor her innocence debauched by

knowledge. No, she was quite feminine, accord|ing to the masculine acceptation of the word; and, so far from loving these spoiled brutes that filled the place which her children ought to have occupied, she only lisped out a pretty mixture of French and English nonsense, to please the men who flocked round her. The wife, mother, and human creature, were all swallowed up by the factitious character which an improper education and the selfish vanity of beauty had produced.

I do not like to make a distinction without a difference, and I own that I have been as much disgusted by the fine lady who took her lap-dog to her bosom instead of her child; as by the fe|rocity of a man, who, beating his horse, declared, that he knew as well when he did wrong, as a Christian.

This brood of folly shews how mistaken they are who, if they allow women to leave their ha|rams, do not cultivate their understandings, in order to plant virtues in their hearts. For had they sense, they might acquire that domestic taste which would lead them to love with reasonable subordination their whole family, from their hus|band to the house-dog; nor would they ever in|sult humanity in the person of the most menial servant by paying more attention to the comfort of a brute, than to that of a fellow-creature.

My observations on national education are ob|viously hints; but I principally wish to enforce the necessity of educating the sexes together to perfect both, and of making children sleep at home that they may learn to love home; yet to make private support, instead of smothering pub|lic

affections, they should be sent to school to mi|••ith a number of equals, for only by the jost|lings of equality can we form a just opinion of ourselves.

To render mankind more virtuous, and hap|pier of course, both sexes must act from the same principle; but how can that be expected when only one is allowed to see the reasonableness of it? To render also the social compact truly equit|able, and in order to spread those enlightening principles, which alone can meliorate the fate of man, women must be allowed to found their virtue on knowledge, which is scarcely possible unless they are educated by the same pursuits as men. For they are now made so inferiour by ignorance and low desires, as not to deserve to be ranked with them; or, by the serpentine wrig|glings of cunning they mount the tree of know|ledge, and only acquire sufficient to lead men astray.

••plain from the history of all nations, that women cannot be confined to merely domestic pursuits, for they will not fulfil family duties, unless their minds take a wider range, and whilst they are kept in ignorance they become in the same proportion the slaves of pleasure as they are the slaves of man. Nor can they be shut out of great enterprises, though the narrowness of their minds often make them mar, what they are una|ble to comprehend.

The libertinism, and even the virtues of supe|riour men, will always give women, of some de|scription, great power over them; and these weak women, under the influence of childish

passions and selfish vanity, will throw a false light over the objects which the very men view with their eyes, who ought to enlighten their judg|ment. Men of fancy, and those sanguine ch••|acters who mostly hold the helm of huma•• af|fairs, in general, relax in the society of women; and surely I need not cite to the most superficial reader of history the numerous examples of vice and oppression which the private intrigues of fe|male favourites have produced; not to dwell on the mischief that naturally arises from the blun|dering interposition of well-meaning folly. For in the transactions of business it is much better to have to deal with a knave than a fool, because a knave adheres to some plan; and any plan of reason may be seen through much sooner than a sudden flight of folly. The power which vile and foolish women have had over wise men, who possessed sensibility, is notorious; I shall only mention one instance.

Who ever drew a more exalted female character than Rousseau? though in the lump he constant|ly endeavoured to degrade the sex. And why was he thus anxious? Truly to justify to himself the affection which weakness and virtue had made him cherish for that fool Theresa. He could not raise her to the common level of her sex; and therefore he laboured to bring woman down to her's. He found her a convenient humble companion, and pride made him determine to find some superiour virtues in the being whom he chose to live with; but did not her conduct during his life, and after his death, clearly shew how grossly he was mistaken who called her a

celestial innocent. Nay, in the bitterness of his heart, he himself laments, that when his bodily in|firmities made him no longer treat her like a wo|man, she ceased to have an affection for him. And it was very natural that she should, for having so few sentiments in common, when the sexual tie was broken, what was to hold her? To hold her affection whose sensibility was confined to one sex, nay, to one man, it requires sense to turn sensibility into the broad channel of humanity; many women have not mind enough to have an affection for a woman, or a friendship for a man. But the sexual weakness that makes woman de|pend on man for a subsistence, produces a kind of cattish affection which leads a wife to purr about her husband as she would about any man who fed and caressed her.

Men are, however, often gratified by this kind of fondness, which is confined in a beastly man|ner to themselves; but should they ever become more virtuous, they will wish to converse at their fire-side with a friend, after they cease to play with a mistress.

Besides, understanding is necessary to give va|riety and interest to sensual enjoyments, for low, indeed, in the intellectual scale, is the mind that can continue to love when neither virtue nor sense give a human appearance to an animal ap|petite. But sense will always preponderate; and if women are not, in general, brought more on a level with men, some superiour women, like the Greek courtezans, will assemble the men of abil|ities around them, and draw from their families many citizens, who would have stayed at home

had their wives had more sense, or the graces which result from the exercise of the understand|ing and fancy, the legitimate parents of taste. A woman of talents, if she be not absolutely ugly, will always obtain great ••ower, raised by the weakness of her sex; and 〈…〉〈…〉 acquire virtue and delicacy, by the exertion of reason, they will look for both in women, but they can only acquire them in the same way that men do.

In France or Italy, have the women confined themselves to domestic life? though they have not hitherto had a political existence, yet, have they not illicitly had great sway? corrupting themselves and the men with whose passions they played. In short, in whatever light I view the subject, reason and experience convince me that the only method of leading women to fulfil their peculiar duties, is to free them from all re|straint by allowing them to participate the in|herent rights of mankind.

Make them free, and they will quickly be|come wise and virtuous, as men become more so; for the improvement must be mutual, or the in|justice which one half of the human race are obliged to submit to, retorting on their oppres|sors, the virtue of man will be worm-eaten by the insect whom he keeps under his feet.

Let men take their choice, man and woman were made for each other, though not to become one being; and if they will not improve women, they will deprave them!

I speak of the improvement and emancipation of the whole sex, for I know that the behaviour

of a few women, who, by accident, or following a strong bent of nature, have acquired a po••ion of knowledge superiour to that of the rest of their sex, has often been overbearing; but there have been i•• of women who, attaining know|ledge, have not discarded modesty, nor have they always pedantically appeared to despise the ignor|ance which they laboured to disperse in their own minds. The exclamations then which any ad|vice respecting female learning, commonly pro|duces, especially from pretty women, often arise from envy. When they chance to see that even the lustre of their eyes, and the flippant sportive|ness of refined coquetry will not always secure them attention, during a whole evening, should a woman of a more cultivated understanding en|deavour to give a rational turn to the conversa|tion, the common source of consolation is, that such women seldom get husbands. What arts have I not seen silly women use to interrupt by flirtation, a very significant word to describe such a manoeuvre, a rational conversation which made the men forget that they were pretty women.

But, allowing what is very natural to man, that the possession of rare abilities is really calcu|lated to excite over-weening pride, disgusting in both men and women—in what a state of inferi|ority must the female faculties have rusted when such a small portion of knowledge as those wo|men attained, who have sneeringly been termed learned women, could be singular?—Sufficiently so to puff up the possessor, and excite envy in her contemporaries, and some of the other sex. Nay, has not a little rationality exposed many women

to the severest censure? I advert to well known facts, for I have frequently heard women ridicu|led, and every little weakness exposed, only be|cause they adopted the advice of some medical men, and deviated from the beaten track in their mode of treating their infants. I have actually heard this barbarous aversion to innovation car|ried still further, and a sensible woman stigma|tized as an unnatural mother, who has thus been wisely solicitous to preserve the health of her chil|dren, when in the midst of her care she has lost one by some of the casualties of infancy, which no prudence can ward off. Her acquaintance have observed, that this was the consequence of new-fangled notions—the new-fangled notions of ease and cleanliness. And those who pretend|ing to experience, though they have long adhered to prejudices that have, according to the opinion of the most sagacious physicians, thinned the hu|man race, almost rejoiced at the disaster that gave a kind of sanction to prescription.

Indeed, if it were only on this account, the national education of women is of the utmost con|sequence, for what a number of human sacrifices are made to that moloch prejudice! And in how many ways are children destroyed by the lascivi|ousness of man? The want of natural affection, in many women, who are drawn from their duty by the admiration of men, and the ignorance of others, render the infancy of man a much more perilous state than that of brutes; yet men are unwilling to place women in situations proper to enable them to acquire sufficient understanding to know how even to nurse their babes.

So forcibly does this truth strike me, that I would rest the whole tendency of my reasoning upon it, for whatever tends to incapacitate the maternal character, takes woman out of her sphere.

But it is vain to expect the present race of weak mothers either to take that reasonable care of a child's body, which is n••cessary to lay the foundation of a good constitution, supposing that it do not suffer for the sins of its father; or, to manage its temper so judiciously that the child will not have, as it grows up, to throw off all that its mother, its first instructor, directly or indirectly taught; and unless the mind has uncommon vig|our, womanish follies will stick to the character throughout life. The weakness of the mother will be visited on the children! And whilst wo|men are educated to rely on their husbands for judgment, this must ever be the consequence, for there is no improving an understanding by halves, nor can any being act wisely from imitation, be|cause in every circumstance of life there is a kind of individuality, which requires an exertion of judgment to modify general rules. The being who can think justly in one track, will soon ex|tend its intellectual empire; and she who has suf|ficient judgment to manage her children, will not submit, right or wrong, to her husband, or pa|tiently to the social laws which make a nonentity of a wife.

In public schools women, to guard against the errors of ignorance, should be taught the elements of anatomy and medicine, not only to enable them to take proper care of their own health, but to make them rational ••urses of their infants, par|ents,

and husbands; for the bills of mortality are swelled by the blunders of self-willed old women, who give nostrums of their own without know|ing any thing of the human frame. It is like|wise proper, only in a domestic view, to make women acquainted with the anatomy of the mind, by allowing the sexes to associate together in every pursuit; and by leading them to observe the progress of the human understanding in the improvement of the sciences and arts; never for|getting the science of morality, nor the study of the political history of mankind.

A man has been termed a microcosm; and eve|ry family might also be called a state. States, it is true, have mostly been governed by arts that disgrace the character of man; and the want of a just constitution, and equal laws, have so per|plexed the notions of the worldly wise, that they more than question the reasonableness of contend|ing for the rights of humanity. Thus morality, polluted in the national reservoir, sends off streams of vice to corrupt the constituent parts of the body politic; but should more noble, or rather, more just principles regulate the laws, which ought to be the government of society, and not those who execute them, duty might become the rule of private conduct.

Besides, by the exercise of their bodies and minds women would acquire that mental activi|ty so necessary in the maternal character, united with the fortitude that distinguishes steadiness of conduct from the obstinate perverseness of weak|ness. For it is dangerous to advise the indolent to be steady, because they instantly become rigor|ous,

and to save themselves trouble, punish with severity faults that the patient fortitude of reason might have prevented.

But fortitude presupposes strength of mind; and is strength of mind to be acquired by indo|lent acquiescence? by asking advice instead of exerting the judgment? by obeying through fear, instead of practising the forbearance, which we all stand in need of ourselves?—The conclusion which I wish to draw, is obvious; make women rational creatures, and free citizens, and they will quickly become good wives, and mothers; that is—if men do not neglect the duties of husbands and fathers.

Discussing the advantages which a public and private education combined, as I have sketched, might rationally be expected to produce, I have dwelt most on such as are particularly relative to the female world, because I think the female world oppressed; yet the gangrene, which the vices engendered by oppression have produced, is not confined to the morbid part, but pervades society at large▪ so that when I wish to see my sex become more like moral agents, my heart bounds with the anticipation of the general dif|fusion of that sublime contentment which only morality can diffuse.

CHAP. XIII. SOME INSTANCES OF THE FOLLY WHICH THE IGNORANCE OF WOMEN GENE|RATES; WITH CONCLUDING REFLEC|TIONS ON THE MORAL IMPROVEMENT THAT A REVOLUTION IN FEMALE MAN|NERS MIGHT NATURALLY BE EXPECTED TO PRODUCE.

THERE are many follies, in some degree, peculiar to women: sins against reason of com|mission as well as of omission; but all flowing from ignorance or prejudice, I shall only point out such as appear to be particularly injurious to their moral character. And in animadverting on them, I wish especially to prove, that the weak|ness of mind and body, which men have endea|voured, impelled by various motives, to perpetu|ate, prevents their discharging the peculiar duty of their sex: for when weakness of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 will not permit them to suckle their children, and weak|ness of mind makes them spoil their tempers—is woman in a natural state?

SECT. I.

ONE glaring instance of the weakness which proceeds from ignorance, first claims attention, and calls for severe reproof.

In this metropolis a number of lurking leeches infamously gain a subsisten•• by practising on the

credulity of women, pretending to cast nativities, to use the technical word; and many females who, proud of their rank and fortune, look down on the vulgar with sovereign contempt, shew by this credulity, that the distinction is arbitrary, and that they have not sufficiently cultivated their minds to rise above vulgar prejudices. Women, because they have not been led to consider the knowledge of their duty as the one thing neces|sary to know, or, to live in the present moment by the discharge of it, are very anxious to peep into futurity, to learn what they have to expect to render life interesting, and to break the vacuum of ignorance.

I must be allowed to expostulate seriously with the ladies who follow these idle inventions; for ladies, mistresses of families, are not ashamed to drive in their own carriages to the door of the cunning man* 1.72. And if any of them should pe|ruse this work, I entreat them to answer to their own hearts the following questions, not forget|ting that they are in the presence of God.

Do you believe that there is but one God, and that he is powerful, wise, and good?

Do you believe that all things were created by him, and that all beings are dependent on him?

Do you rely on his wisdom, so conspicuous in his works, and in your own frame, and are you con|vinced that he has ordered all things which do not come under the cognizance of your senses, in the same perfect harmony, to fulfil his designs?

Do you acknowledge that the power of look|ing into futurity, and seeing things that are not, as if they were, is an attribute of the Creator? And should he, by an impression on the minds of his creatures, think fit to impart to them some event hid in the shades of time yet unborn, to whom would the secret be revealed by immediate inspiration? The opinion of ages will answer this question—to reverend old men, to people dis|tinguished for eminent piety.

The oracles of old were thus delivered by priests dedicated to the service of the God who was sup|posed to inspire them. The glare of worldly pomp which surrounded these impostors, and the respect paid to them by artful politicians, who knew how to avail themselves of this useful en|gine to bend the necks of the strong under the dominion of the cunning, spread a sacred myste|rious veil of sanctity over their lies and abomi|nations. Impressed by such solemn devotional parade, a Greek, or Roman lady might be ex|cused, if she enquired of the oracle, when she was anxious to pry into futurity, or enquire about some dubious event: and her enquiries, however contrary to reason, could not be reckoned impi|ous.—But, can the professors of Christianity ward off that imputation? Can a Christian suppose that the favourites of the most High, the highly fa|voured, would be obliged to lurk in disguise, and practise the most dishonest tricks to cheat silly women out of the money—which the poor cry for in vain?

Say not that such questions are an insult to common sense—for it is your own conduct, O ye

foolish women! which throws an odium on your sex! And these reflections should make you shud|der at your thoughtlessness, and irrational devo|tion.—For I do not suppose that all of you laid aside your religion, such as it is, when you en|tered those mysterious dwellings. Yet, as I have throughout supposed myself talking to ignorant women, for ignorant ye are in the most emphati|cal sense of the word, it would be absurd to rea|son with you on the egregious folly of desiring to know what the Supreme Wisdom has concealed.

Probably you would not understand me, were I to a••tempt to shew you that it would be abso|lutely inconsistent with the grand purpose of life, that of rendering human creatures wise and virtuous: and that, were it sanctioned by God, it would disturb the order established in creation; and if it be not sanctioned by God, do you ex|pect to hear truth? Can events be foretold, events which have not yet assumed a body to become subject to mortal inspection, can they be foreseen by a vicious worldling, who pampers his appe|tites by preying on the foolish ones?

Perhaps, however, you devoutly believe in the devil, and imagine, to shift the question, that he may assist his votaries; but, if really respecting the power of such a being, an enemy to goodness and to God, can you go to church after having been under such an obligation to him?

From these delusions to those still more fash|ionable deceptions, practised by the whole tribe of magnetisers, the transition is very natural. With respect to them, it is equally proper to ask women a few questions.

Do you know any thing of the construction of the human frame? If not, it is proper that you should be told what every child ought to know, that when its admirable economy has been dis|turbed by intemperance or indolence, I speak not of violent disorders, but of chronical diseases, it must be brought into a healthy state again, by slow degrees, and if the functions of life have not been materially injured, regimen, another word for temperance, air, exercise, and a few medi|cines prescribed by persons who have studied the human body, are the only human means, yet dis|covered, of recovering that inestimable blessing, health, that will bear investigation.

Do you then believe that these magnetisers, who, by hocus pocus tricks, pretend to work a miracle, are delegated by God, or assisted by the solver of all these kinds of difficulties—the devil.

Do they, when they put to flight, as it is said, disorders that have baffled the powers of medi|cine, work in conformity to the light of reason? or, do they effect these wonderful cures by super|natural aid?

By a communication, an adept may answer, with the world of spirits. A noble privilege, it must be allowed. Some of the ancients mention familiar daemons, who guarded them from dan|ger by kindly intimating, we cannot guess in what manner, when any danger was nigh; or, pointed out what they ought to undertake. Yet the men who laid claim to this privilege, out of the order of nature, insisted that it was the re|ward, or consequence, of superiour temperance and piety. But the present workers of wonders

are not raised above their fellows by superiour temperance or sanctity. They do not cure for the love of God, but money. These are the priests of quackery, though it be true they have not the convenient expedient of selling masses for souls in purgatory, nor churches where they can display crutches, and models of limbs made sound by a touch or a word.

I am not conversant with the technical terms, nor initiated into the arcana, therefore, I may speak improperly; but it is clear that men who will not conform to the law of reason, and earn a subsistence in an honest way, by degrees, are very fortunate in becoming acquainted with such obliging spirits. We cannot, indeed, give them credit for either great sagacity or goodness, else they would have chosen more noble instruments, when they wished to shew themselves the benev|olent friends of man.

It is, however, little short of blasphemy to pretend to such powers!

From the whole tenor of the dispensations of Providence, it appears evident to sober reason, that certain vices produce certain effects; and can any one so grossly insult the wisdom of God, as to suppose that a miracle will be allowed to disturb his general laws, to restore to health the intemperate and vicious, merely to enable them to pursue the same course with impunity? Be whole, and sin no more, said Jesus. And, are greater miracles to be performed by those who do not follow his footsteps, who healed the body to reach the mind?

The mentioning of the name of Christ, after such vile impostors, may displease some of my readers—I respect their warmth; but let them not forget that the followers of these delusions bear his name, and profess to be the disciples of him, who said, by their works we should know who were the children of God or the servants of sin. I allow that it is easier to touch the body of a faint, or to be magnetised, than to restrain our appetites or govern our passions; but health of body or mind can only be recovered by these means, or we make the Supreme Judge partial and revengeful.

Is he a man that he should change, or punish out of resentment? He—the common father, wounds but to heal, says reason, and our irregu|larities producing certain consequences, we are forcibly shewn the nature of vice; that thus learn|ing to know good from evil, by experience, we may hate one and love the other, in proportion to the wisdom which we attain. The poison contains the antidote; and we either reform our evil habits and cease to sin against our own bo|dies, to use the forcible language of scripture, or a premature death, the punishment of sin, snaps the thread of life.

Here an awful stop is put to our enquiries.— But, why should I conceal my sentiments? Con|sidering the attributes of God, I believe that whatever punishment may follow, will tend, like the anguish of disease, to shew the malignity of vice, for the purpose of reformation. Posi|tive punishment appears so contrary to the nature of God, discoverable in all his works, and in our

own reason, that I could sooner believe that the Deity paid no attention to the conduct of men, than that he punished without the benevolent de|sign of reforming.

To suppose only that an all-wise and powerful Being, as good as he is great, should create a be|ing foreseeing, that after fifty or sixty years of feverish existence, it would be plunged into never ending woe—is blasphemy. On what will the worm feed that is never to die?—On folly, on ignorance, say ye—I should blush indignantly at drawing the natural conclusion, could I insert it, and wish to withdraw myself from the wing of my God!—On such a supposition, I speak with reverence, he would be a consuming fire. We should wish, though vainly, to fly from his presence when fear absorbed love, and darkness involved all his counsels!

I know that many devout people boast of sub|mitting to the Will of God blindly, as to an ar|bitrary sceptre or rod, on the same principle as the Indians worship the devil. In other words, like people in the common concerns of life, they do homage to power, and cringe under the foot that can crush them. Rational religion, on the contrary, is a submission to the will of a being so perfectly wise, that all he wills must be directed by the proper motive—must be reasonable.

And, if thus we respect God, can we give cre|dit to the mysterious insinuations, which insult his laws? can we believe, though it should stare us in the face, that he would work a miracle to au|thorise confusion by sanctioning an error? Yet we must either allow these impious conclusions,

or treat with contempt every promise to restore health to a diseased body by supernatural means, or to foretell the incidents that can only be fore|seen by God.

SECT. II.

ANOTHER instance of that feminine weakness of character, often produced by a confined educa|tion, is a romantic twist of the mind, which has been very properly termed sentimental.

Women subjected by ignorance to their sen|sations, and only taught to look for happiness in love, refine on sensual feelings, and adopt meta|physical notions respecting that passion, which lead them shamefully to neglect the duties of life, and frequently in the midst of these sublime refinements they plump into actual vice.

These are the women who are amused by the reveries of the stupid novelists, who, knowing little of human nature, work up stale tales, and describe meretricious scenes, all retailed in a sentimental jargon, which equally tend to corrupt the taste, and draw the heart aside from its daily duties. I do not mention the understanding, because never having been exercised, its slumbering energies rest inactive, like the lurking particles of fire which are supposed universally to pervade matter.

Females, in fact, denied all political privileges, and not allowed, as married women, excepting in criminal cases, a civil existence, have their atten|tion naturally drawn from the interest of the whole community to that of the minute parts, though the private duty of any member of society must

be very imperfectly performed when not con|nected with the general good. The mighty busi|ness of female life is to please, and restrained from entering into more important concerns by po|litical and civil oppression, sentiments become events, and reflection deepens what it should, and would have effaced, if the understanding had been allowed to take a wider range.

But, confined to trifling employments, they naturally imbibe opinions which the only kind of reading calculated to interest an innocent fri|volous mind, inspires. Unable to grasp any thing great, is it surprising that they find the reading of history a very dry task, and disquisitions ad|dressed to the understanding intollerably tedious, and almost unintelligible? Thus are they neces|sarily dependent on the novelist for amusement. Yet, when I exclaim against novels, I mean when contrasted with those works which exercise the understanding and regulate the imagination.— For any kind of reading I think better than leav|ing a blank still a blank, because the mind must receive a degree of enlargement and obtain a lit|tle strength by a slight exertion of its thinking powers; besides even the productions that are only addressed to the imagination, raise the read|er a little above the gross gratification of appe|tites, to which the mind has not given a shade of delicacy.

This observation is the result of experience; for I have known several notable women, and one in particular, who was a very good woman—as good as such a narrow mind would allow her to be, who took care that her daughters (three in

number) should never see a novel. As she was a woman of fortune and fashion, they had various masters to attend them, and a sort of mental gov|erness to watch their footsteps. From their mas|ters they learned how tables, chairs, &c. were called in French and Italian; but as the few books thrown in their way were far above their capacities, or devotional, they neither acquired ideas nor sentiments, and passed their time when not compelled to repeat words, in dressing, quar|relling with each other, or conversing with their maids by stealth, till they were brought into com|pany as marriageable.

Their mother, a widow, was busy in the mean time in keeping up her connections, as she term|ed a numerous acquaintance, lest her girls should want a proper introduction into the great world. And these young ladies, with minds vulgar in every sense of the word, and spoiled tempers, en|tered life puffed up with notions of their own consequence, and looking down with contempt on those who could not vie with them in dress and parade.

With respect to love, nature, or their nurses, had taken care to teach them the physical mean|ing of the word; and, as they had few topics of conversation, and fewer refinements of sentiment, they expressed their gross wishes not in very deli|cate phrases, when they spoke freely, talking of matrimony.

Could these girls have been injured by the pe|rusal of novels? I almost forgot a shade in the character of one of them; she affected a simplici|ty bordering on folly, and with a simper would

utter the most immodest remarks and questions, the full meaning of which she had learned whilst secluded from the world, and afraid to speak in her mother's presence, who governed with a high hand: they were all educated, as she prided her|self, in a most exemplary manner; and read their chapters and psalms before breakfast, never touch|ing a silly novel.

This is only one instance; but I recollect ma|ny other women who, not led by degrees to pro|per studies, and not permitted to choose for them|selves, have indeed been overgrown children; or have obtained, by mixing in the world, a little of what is termed common sense; that is a distinct manner of seeing common occurrences, as they stand detached: but what deserves the name of intellect, the power of gaining general or abstract ideas, or even intermediate ones, was out of the question. Their minds were quiescent, and when they were not roused by sensible objects and em|ployments of that kind, they were low-spirited, would cry, or go to sleep.

When, therefore, I advise my sex not to read such flimsy works, it is to induce them to read something superiour; for I coincide in opinion with a sagacious man, who, having a daughter and niece under his care, pursued a very different plan with each.

The niece, who had considerable abilities, had, before she was left to his guardianship, been in|dulged in desultory reading. Her he endeavour|ed to lead, and did lead to history and moral es|says; but his daughter, whom a fond, weak mo|ther had indulged, and who consequently was

averse to every thing like application, he allowed to read novels: and used to justify his conduct by saying, that if she ever attained a relish for reading them, he should have some foundation to work upon; and that erroneous opinions were better than none at all.

In fact the female mind has been so totally ne|glected, that knowledge was only to be acquired from this muddy source, till from reading novels some women of superior talents learned to despise them.

The best method, I believe, that can be adopted to correct a fondness for novels is to ridicule them: not indiscriminately, for then it would have little effect; but, if a judicious person, with some turn for humour, would read several to a young girl, and point but both by tones, and apt comparisons with pathetic incidents and heroic characters in history, how foolishly and ridicu|lously they caricatured human nature, just opin|ions might be substituted instead of romantic sentiments.

In one respect, however, the majority of both sexes resemble, and equally shew a want of taste and modesty. Ignorant women, forced to be chaste to preserve their reputation, allow their imagination to revel in the unnatural and mere|tricious scenes sketched by the novel writers of the day, slighting as insipid the sober dignity and matronly graces of history* 1.73, whilst men carry

the same vitiated taste into life, and fly for amuse|ment to the wanton, from the unsophisticated charms of virtue, and the grave respectability of sense.

Besides, the reading of novels makes women, and particularly ladies of fashion, very fond of using strong expressions and surperlatives in con|versation; and, though the dissipated artificial life which they lead prevents their cherishing any strong legitimate passion, the language of passion in affected tones slips forever from their glib tongues, and every trifle produces those phospho|ric bursts which only mimick in the dark the flame of passion.

SECT. III.

IGNORANCE and the mistaken cunning that nature sharpens in weak heads as a principle of self-preservation, render women very fond of dress, and produce all the vanity which such a fondness may naturally be expected to generate, to the exclusion of emulation and magnanimity.

I agree with Rousseau that the physical part of the art of pleasing consists in ornaments, and for that very reason I should guard girls against the contagious fondness for dress so common to weak women, that they may not rest in the phy|sical part, Yet, weak are the women who ima|gine that they can long please without the aid of the mind, or, in other words, without the moral art of pleasing. But the moral art, if it be not a profanation to use the word art, when alluding to the grace which is an effect of virtue, and not

the motive of action, is never to be found with ignorance; the sportiveness of innocence, so pleasing to refined libertines of both sexes, is widely different in its essence from this superiour gracefulness.

A strong inclination for external ornaments ever appears in barbarous states, only the men not the women adorn themselves; for where women are allowed to be so far on a level with men, society has advanced, at least, one step in civilization.

The attention to dress, therefore, which has been thought a sexual propensity, I think natural to mankind. But I ought to express myself with more precision. When the mind is not sufficient|ly opened to take pleasure in reflection, the body will be adorned with sedulous care; and ambi|tion will appear in tattooing or painting it.

So far is the first inclination carried, that even the hellish yoke of slavery cannot stifle the savage desire of admiration which the black heroes in|herit from both their parents, for all the hardly earned savings of a slave are commonly expended in a little tawdry finery. A•• have seldom known a good male or female ••nt that was not particularly fond of dress. Their clothes were their riches; and, I argue from analogy, that the fondness for dress, so extravagant in fe|males, arises from the same cause—want of cul|tivation of mind. When men meet they con|verse about business, poli••s, or literature; but, says Swift,

how naturally do women apply their hands to each others lappets and ruffles.

And very natural is it—for they have not any business

to interest them, have not a taste for literature, and they find politics dry, because they have not acquired a love for mankind by turning their thoughts to the grand pursuits that exalt the human race, and promote general happiness.

Besides, various are the paths to power and fame which by accident or choice men pursue, and though they jostle against each other, for men of the same profession are seldom friends, yet there is a much greater number of their fellow-crea|tures with whom they never clash. But women are very differently situated with respect to each other—for they are all rivals.

Before marriage it is their business to please 〈◊〉〈◊〉; and after, with a few exceptions, they fol|low the same scent with all the persevering per|tinacity of instinct. Even virtuous women never forget their sex in company, for they are forever try|ing to make themselves agreeable. A female beau|ty, and a male wit appear to be equally anxious to draw the attention of the company to themselves; and the animosity of contemporary wits is pro|verbial.

Is it then surprising that when the sole ambition of woman centres in beauty, and interest gives vanity additional force, perpetual rivalships should ensue? They are all running the same race, and would rise above the virtue of mortals, if they did not view each other with a suspicious and even en|vious eye.

An immoderate fondness for dress, for pleasure, and for sway, are the passions of savages; the pas|sions that occupy those uncivilized beings who have not yet extended the dominion of the mind, or even learned to think with the energy necessary

to concatenate that abstract train of thought which produces principles. And that women from their education and the present state of civilized life, are in the same condition, cannot, I think, be controverted. To laugh at them then, or satirize the follies of a being who is never to be allowed to act freely from the light of her own reason, is as absurd as cruel; for, that they who are taught blindly to obey authority, will endea|vour cunningly to elude it, is most natural and certain.

Yet let it be proved that they ought to obey man implicitly, and I shall immediately agree that it is woman's duty to cultivate a fondness for dress, and in order to please, and a propensity to cunning for her own preservation.

The virtues, however, which are supported by ignorance, must ever be wavering—the house built on sand could not endure a storm. It is almost unnecessary to draw the inference.—If wo|men are to be made virtuous by authority, which is a contradiction in terms, let them be immured in seraglios and watched with a jealous eye.—Fear not that the iron will enter into their souls—for the souls that can bear such treatment are made of yielding materials, just animated enough to give life to the body.

'Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear, 'And best distinguish by black, brown, or fair.'

The most cruel wounds will of course soon heal, and they may still people the world, and dress to please man—all the purposes which certain cele|brated writers have allowed that they were cre|ated to fulfil.

SECT. IV.

WOMEN are supposed to possess more sensi|bility, and even humanity, than men, and their strong attachments and instantaneous emotions of compassion are given as proofs; but the clinging affection of ignorance has seldom any thing noble in it, and may mostly be resolved into selfishness, as well as the affection of children and b••ates. I have known many weak women whose sensibility was entirely engrossed by their husbands; and as for their humanity, it was very faint indeed, or rather it was only a transient emotion of compas|sion. Humanity does not consist

in a squeam|ish ear,

says an eminent orator.

It belongs to the mind as well as the nerves.

But this kind of exclusive affection, though it degrades the individual, should not be brought forward as a proof of the inferiority of the sex, because it is the natural consequence of confined views: for even women of superiour sense, hav|ing their attention turned to little employments, and private plans, rarely rise to heroism, unless when spurred on by love; and love, as an heroic passion, like genius, appears but once in an age. I therefore agree with the moralist who asserts,

that women have seldom so much generosity as men;

and that their narrow affections, to which justice and humanity are often sacrificed, render the sex apparently inferiour, especially, as they are commonly inspired by men; but I con|tend that the heart would expand as the under|standing gained strength, if women were not de|pressed from their cradles.

I know that a little sensibility, and great weak|ness, will produce a strong sexual attachment, and that reason must cement friendship; consequent|ly, I allow that more friendship is to be found in the male than the female world, and that men have a higher sense of justice. The exclusive af|fections of women seem indeed to resemble Cato's most unjust love for his country. He wished to crush Carthage, not to save Rome, but to pro|mote its vain-glory; and, in general, it is to sim|ilar principles that humanity is sacrificed, for ge|nuine duties support each other.

Besides, how can women be just or generous, when they are the slaves of injustice?

SECT. V.

AS the rearing of children, that is, the laying a foundation of sound health both of body and mind in the rising generation, has justly been in|sisted on as the peculiar destination of woman, the ignorance that incapacites them must be con|trary to the order of things. And I contend that their minds can take in much more, and ought to do so, or they will never become sen|sible mothers. Many men attend to the breeding of horses, and overlook the management of the sta|ble, who would, strange want of sense and feeling! think themselves degraded by paying any atten|tion to the nursery; yet, how many children are absolutely murdered by the ignorance of women! But when they escape, and are neither destroyed by unnatural negligence nor blind fondness, how few are managed properly with respect to the in|fant

mind! So that to break the spirit, allowed to become vicious at home, a child is sent to school; and the methods taken there, which must be taken to keep a number of children in order, scatter the seeds of almost every vice in the soil thus forcibly torn up.

I have sometimes compared the struggles of these poor children who ought never to have felt restraint, nor would, had they been always held in with an even hand, to the despairing plunges of a spirited filly, which I have seen breaking on a strand: its feet sinking deeper and deeper in the sand every time it endeavoured to throw its rider, till at last it sullenly submitted.

I have always found horses, an animal I am at|tached to, very tractable when treated with hu|manity and steadiness, so that I doubt whether the violent methods taken to break them; do not essentially injure them; I am, however, certain that a child should never be thus forcibly tamed after it has injudiciously been allowed to run wild; for every violation of justice and reason, in the treatment of children, weakens their reason. And, so early do they catch a character, that the base of the moral character, experience leads me to infer, is fixed before their seventh year, the period during which women are allowed the sole management of children. Afterwards it too often happens that half the business of education is to correct, and very imperfectly is it done, if done hastily, the faults, which they would never have acquired if their mothers had had more under|standing.

One striking instance of the folly of women must not be omitted.—The manner in which they treat servants in the presence of children, permitting them to suppose that they ought to wait on them, and bear their humours. A child should always be made to receive assistance from a man or woman as a favour; and, as the first lesson of independence, they should practically be taught, by the example of their mother, not to require that personal attendance, which it is an insult to humanity to require, when in health; and instead of being led to assume airs of conse|quence, a sense of their own weakness should first make them feel the natural equality of man. Yet, how frequently have I indignantly heard servants imperiously called to put children to bed, and sent away again and again, because master or miss hung about mamma, to stay a little longer. Thus made slavishly to attend the little idol, all those most disgusting humours were exhibited which characterize a spoiled child.

In short, speaking of the majority of mothers, they leave their children entirely to the care of servants; or, because they are their children treat them as if they were little demi-gods, though I have always observed, that the women who thus idolize their children, seldom shew common hu|manity to servants, or feel the least tenderness for any children but their own.

It is, however, these exclusive affections, and an individual manner of seeing things produced by ignorance, which keep women for ever at a stand, with respect to improvement, and make many of them dedicate their lives to their chil|dren

only to weaken their bodies and spoil their tempers, frustrating also any plan of education that a more rational father may adopt; for unless a mother concurs, the father who restrains will ever be considered as a ••rant.

But, fulfilling the duties of a mother, a wo|man with a sound constitution, may still keep her person scrupulously neat, and assist to main|tain her family, if necessary, or by reading and conversations with both sexes, indiscriminately, improve her mind. For nature has so wisely ordered things, that did women suckle their children, they would preserve their own health, and there would be such an interval between the birth of each child, that we should seldom see a houseful of babes. And did they pursue a plan of conduct, and not waste their time in follow|ing the fashionable vagaries of dress, the manage|ment of their household and children need not shut them out from literature, nor prevent their attaching themselves to a science with that steady eye which strengthens the mind, or practising one of the fine arts that cultivate the taste.

But, visiting to display finery, card-playing, and balls, not to mention the idle bustle of morning trifling, draw women from their duty to render them insignificant, to render them pleasing, ac|cording to the present acceptation of the word, to every man, but their husband. For a round of pleasures in which the affections are not exercised, cannot be said to improve the understanding, though it ••e erroneously called seeing the world; yet the heart is rendered cold and averse to duty, by such a senseless intercourse, which becomes

necessary from habit even when it has ceased to amuse.

But, till more equality be established in society, till ranks are confounded and women freed, we shall not see that dignified domestic happiness, the simple grandeur of which cannot be relished by ignorant or vitiated minds; nor will the im|portant task of education ever be properly begun till the person of a woman is no longer preferred to her mind. For it would be as wife to expect corn from tares, or figs from thistles, as that a foolish ignorant woman should be a good moth|er.

SECT. VI.

IT is not necessary to inform the sagacious reader, now I enter on my concluding reflections, that the discussion of this subject merely consists in opening a few simple principles, and clearing away the rubbish which obscured them. But, as all readers are not sagacious, I must be allowed to add some explanatory remarks to bring the subject home to reason—to that sluggish reason, which supinely takes opinions on trust, and obstinately supports them to spare itself the labour of think|ing.

Moralists have unanimously agreed, that un|less virtue be nursed by liberty, it will never at|tain due strength—and what they say of man I extend to mankind, insisting that in all cases mor|als must be fixed on immutable principles; and, that the being cannot be termed rational or vir|tuous, who obeys any authority, but that of rea|son.

To render women truly useful members of so|ciety, I argue that they should be led, by having their understandings cultivated on a large scale, to acquire a rational affection for their country, founded on knowledge, because it is obvious that we are little interested about what we do not un|derstand. And to render this general knowledge of due importance, I have endeavoured to shew that private duties are never properly fulfilled un|less the understanding enlarges the heart; and that public virtue is only an aggregate of pri|vate. But, the distinctions established in society undermine both, by beating out the solid gold of virtue, till it becomes only the tinsel-covering of vice; for whilst wealth renders a man more re|spectable than virtue, wealth will be sought be|fore virtue; and whilst women's persons are ca|ressed, when a childish simper shews an absence of mind—the mind will lie fallow. Yet, true vo|luptuousness must proceed from the mind—for what can equal the sensations produced by mu|tual affection, supported by mutual respect? What are the cold, or feverish caresses of appetite, but sin embracing death, compared with the modest overflowings of a pure heart and exalted imagin|ation? Yes, let me tell the libertine of fancy when he despises understanding in woman—that the mind, which he disregards, gives life to the enthusiastic affection from which rapture, short-lived as it is, alone can flow! And, that, with|out virtue, a sexual attachment must expire, like a tallow candle in the socket, creating intolerable disgust. To prove this, I need only observe, that men who have wasted great part of their

lives with women, and with whom they have ••ought for pleasure with eager thirst, entertain the meanest opinion of the sex.—Virtue, true refiner of joy!—if foolish men were to fright thee from earth, in order to give loose to all their appetites without a check—some sensual wight or taste would scale the heavens to invite thee back, to give a zest to pleasure!

That women at present are by ignorance ren|dered foolish or vicious, is, I think, not to be disputed; and, that the most salutary effects tend|ing to improve mankind might be expected from a REVOLUTION in female manners, ap|pears, at least, with a face of probability, to rise out of the observation. For as marriage has been termed the parent of those endearing chari|ties which draw man from the brutal herd, the cor|rupting intercourse that wealth, idleness, and fol|ly, produce between the sexes, is more universally injurious to morality than all the other vices of mankind collectively considered. To adulterous lust the most sacred duties are sacrificed, be|cause before marriage, men, by a promiscuous intimacy with women, learned to consider love as a selfish gratification—learned to separate it not only from esteem but from the affection merely built on habit, which mixes a little hu|manity with it. Justice and friendship are also set at defiance, and that purity of taste is vitiated which would naturally lead a man to relish an art|less display of affection rather than affected airs. But that noble simplicity of affection, which dares to appear unadorned, has few attractions for the lib|ertine, though it be the charm, which by cement|ing

the matrimonial tie, secures to the pledges of a warmer passion the necessary parental attention; for children will never be properly educated till friendship subsists between parents. Virtue flies from a house divided against itself—and a whole legion of devils take up their residence there.

The affection of husbands and wives cannot be pure when they have so few sentiments in common, and when so little confidence is estab|lished at home, as must be the case when their pur|suits are so different. That intimacy from which tenderness should flow, will not, cannot subsist between the vicious.

Contending, therefore, that the sexual dis|tinction which men have so warmly insisted upon, is arbitrary, I have dwelt on an observa|tion, that several sensible men, with whom I have conversed on the subject, allowed to be well founded; and it is simply this, that the little chastity to be found amongst men, and conse|quent disregard of modesty, tend to degrade both sexes; and further, that the modesty of women, characterized as such, will often be only the art|ful veil of wantonness instead of being the natu|ral reflection of purity, till modesty be universally respected.

From the tyranny of man, I firmly believe, the greater number of female follies proceed; and the cunning, which I allow makes at pre|sent a part of their character, I likewise have re|peatedly endeavoured to prove, is produced by op|pression.

Were not dissenters, for instance, a class of people, with strict truth characterized as cun|ning?

And may I not lay some stress on this fact to prove, that when any power but reason curbs the free spirit of man, dissimulation is practised, and the various shifts of art are naturally called forth? Great attention to decorum, which was carried to a degree of scrupulosity, and all that puerile bustle about trifles and consequential so|lemnity, which Butler's caricature of a dissenter, brings before the imagination, shaped their per|sons as well as their minds in the mould of prim littleness. I speak collectively, for I know how many ornaments to human nature have been en|rolled amongst sectaries; yet, I assert, that the same narrow prejudice for their sect, which wo|men have for their families, prevailed in the dis|senting part of the community, however worthy in other respects; and also that the same timid prudence, or headstrong efforts, often disgraced the exertions of both. Oppression thus formed many of the features of their character perfectly to coincide with that of the oppressed half of mankind; for is it not notorious that dissenters were, like women, fond of deliberating together, and asking advice of each other, till by a com|plication of little contrivances, some little end was brought about? A similar attention to pre|serve their reputation was conspicuous in the dis|senting and female world, and was produced by a similar cause.

Asserting the rights which women in common with men ought to contend for, I have not at|tempted to extenuate their faults; but to prove them to be the natural consequence of their edu|cation and station in society. If so, it is reason|able

to suppose that they will change their cha|racter, and correct their vices and follies, when they are allowed to be free in a physical, moral, and civil sense* 1.74.

Let woman share the rights and she will em|ulate the virtues of man; for she must grow more perfect when emancipated, or justify the authority that chains such a weak being to her duty.—If the latter, it will be expedient to open a fresh trade with Russia for whips; a present which a father should always make to his son-in-law on his wedding day, that a husband may keep his whole family in order by the same means; and without any violation of justice reign, wield|ing this sceptre, sole master of his house, because he is the only being in it who has reason:—the divine, indefeasible earthly sovereignty breathed into man by the Master of the universe. Allow|ing this position, women have not any inherent rights to claim, and by the same rule, their duties Vanish for rights and duties are inseparable.

Be just then, O ye men of understanding! and mark not more severely what women do amiss, than the vicious tricks of the horse or the ass for whom ye provide provender—and allow her the privileges of ignorance, to whom ye deny the rights of reason, or ye will be worse than Egyp|tian task-masters, expecting virtue where nature has not given understanding!

Notes

• * 1.1

  Contrary to the opinion of anatomists, who argue by analogy from the formation of the teeth, stomach, and intestines, Rousseau will not al|low a man to be a carnivorous animal. And, carried away from na|ture by a love of system, he disputes whether man be a gregarious ani|mal, though the long and helpless state of infancy seems to point him out as particularly impelled to pair.
• † 1.2

  What would you say to a mechanic whom you had desired to make a watch to point out the hour of the day, if, to shew his ingenuity, he added wheels to make it a repeater, &c. that perplexed the simple me|chanism; should he urge, to excuse himself—had you not touched a certain spring, you would have known nothing of the matter, and that he should have amused himself by making an experiment without doing you any harm: would you not retort fairly upon him, by insisting that if he had not added those needless wheels and springs, the accident could not have happened?
• * 1.3

  Could there be a greater insult offered to the rights of man than the beds of justice in France, when an infant was made the organ of the ••|testable Dubois▪
• * 1.4

  Dr. Price.
• * 1.5

  Men of abilities scatter seeds that grow up and have a great influ|ence on the forming opinion; and when once the public opinion pre|ponderates, through the exertion of reason, the overthrow of arbitrary power is not very distant.
• * 1.6

  Why should women be censured with petulent acrimony, because they seem to have a passion for a scarlet coat? Has not education placed them more on a level with soldiers than any other class of men?
• * 1.7

  Similar feelings has Milton's pleasing picture of paradis••cal happi|ness ever raised in my mind; yet, instead of envying the lovely pair, I have, with conscious dignity, or Satanic pride, turned to hell for sublim|er objects. In the same style, when viewing some noble monument of human art, I have traced the emanation of the Deity in the order I ad|mired, till, descending from that giddy height, I have caught my self contemplating the grandest of all human sights;—for fancy quickly placed, in some solitary recess, an outcast of fortune, rising superior to passion and discontent.
• * 1.8

  For example, the herd of novelists.
• * 1.9

  Vide Rousseau, and Swedenborg.
• * 1.10

  Researches into abstract and speculative truths, the principles and ••ioms of sciences, in short, every thing which tends to generalize our ideas, is not the proper province of women; their studies should be relative to point of practice; it belongs to them to apply those principles which men have discovered; and it is their part to make observations, which direct men to the establishment of general princi|ples. All the ideas of women, which have not the immediate tenden|cy to points of duty, should be directed to the study of men, and to the attainment of those agreeable accomplishments which have taste for their object; for as to works of genius, they are beyond their capaci|ty; neither have they sufficient precision or power of attention to suc|ceed in sciences which require accuracy: and as to physical know|ledge, it belongs to those only who are most active, most inquisitive; who comprehend the greatest variety of objects: in short, it belongs to those who have the strongest powers, and who exercise them most, to judge of the relations between sensible beings and the laws of nature. A woman who is naturally weak, and does not carry her ideas to any great extent, knows how to judge and make a proper estimate of those movements which she sets to work, in order to aid her weak|ness; and these movements are the passions of men. The mechanism she employs is much more powerful than ours; for all her levers move the human heart. She must have the skill to incline us to do every thing which her sex will not enable her to do of herself, and which is necessary or agreeable to her; therefore she ought to study the mind of man thoroughly, not the mind of man in general, ab|stracted, but the dispositions of those men to whom she is subject, either by the laws of her country or by the force of opinion. She should learn to penetrate into their real sentiments from their conversation, their actions, their looks, and gestures. She should also have the art, by her own conversation, actions, looks, and gestures, to communi|cate those sentiments which are agreeable to them, without seeming to intend it. Men will argue more philosophically about the human heart; but women will read the heart of man better than they. It belongs to women, if I may be allowed the expression, to form an ex|perimental morality, and to reduce the study of man to a system. Women have most wit, men have most genius; women observe, men reason: from the concurrence of both we derive the clearest light and the most perfect knowledge, which the human mind is, of itself, capa|ble of attaining. In one word, from hence we acquire the most in|timate acquaintance, both with ourselves and others, of which our na|ture is capable; and it is thus that art has a constant tendency to perfect those endowments which nature has bestowed.—The world is the book of women.

  Rousseau's Emilius. I hope my readers still re|member the comparison, which I have brought forward, between women and officers.
• * 1.11

  A respectable old man gives the following sensible account of the method he pursued when educating his daughter.

  I endeavoured to give both to her mind and body a degree of vigour, which is seldom found in the female sex. As soon as she was sufficiently advanced in strength to be capable of the lighter labours of husbandry and gar|dening, I employed her as my constant companion. Selene, for that was her name, soon acquired a dexterity in all these rustic employ|ments, which I considered with equal pleasure and admiration. If women are in general feeble both in body and mind, it arises less from nature than from education. We encourage a vicious indolence and inactivity, which we falsely call delicacy; instead of hardening their minds by the severer principles of reason and philosophy, we breed them to useless arts, which terminate in vanity and sensuality. In most of the countries which I had visited, they are taught nothing of an higher nature than a few modulations of the voice, or useless pos|tures of the body; their time is consumed in sloth or trifles, and tri|fles become the only pursuits capable of interesting them. We seem to forget, that it is upon the qualities of the female sex that our own domestic comforts and the education of our children must depend. And what are the comforts or the education which a race of beings, corrupted from their infancy, and unacquainted with all the duties of life, are fitted to bestow? To touch a musical instrument with useless skill, to exhibit their natural or affected graces to the eyes of indolent and debauched young men, to dissipate their husband's patrimony in riotous and unnecessary expenses, these are the only arts cultivated by women in most of the polished na••ions I had seen. And the conse|quences are uniformly such as may be expected to proceed from such poluted sources, private misery and public servitude.

  But Selene's education was regulated by different views, and con|ducted upon severer principles; if that can be called severity which opens the mind to a sense of moral and religious duties, and most ef|fectually arms it against the inevitable evils of life.

  Mr. Day's Sanford and Merton, Vol. III.
• * 1.12

  I once knew a young person who learned to write before she learn|ed to read, and began to write with her needle before she could use a pen. At first, indeed, she took it into her head to make no other letter than the O: this letter she was constantly making of all sizes, and always the wrong way. Unluckily, one day, as she was intent on this employment, she happened to see herself in the looking-glass; when, taking a disl••ke to the constrained attitude in which she 〈◊〉〈◊〉 while writing, she threw away her pen, like another Pallas, and determined against mak|ing the O any more. Her brother was also equally averse to writing? it was the confinement, however, and not the constrained attitude, that most disgusted him.

  Rousseau's Emilius.
• * 1.13

  In the union of the sexes, both pursue one common object, but not in the same manner. From their diversity in this particular, arises the first determinate difference between the moral relations of each. The one should be active and strong, the other passive and weak: it is necessary the one should have both the power and the will, and that the other should make little resistance.

  This principle being established, it follows that woman is expressly formed to please the man: if the obligation be reciprocal also, and the man ought to please in his turn, it is not so immediately necessary: his great merit is in his power, and he pleases merely because he is strong. This, I must confess, is not one of the refined maxims of love; it is, however, one of the laws of nature, prior to love itself.

  If woman be formed to please and be subjected to man it is her place, doubtless, to render herself agreeable to him, instead of challenging his passion. The violence of his desires depends on her charms; it is by means of these she should urge him to the exertion of those powers which nature hath giving him. The most successful method of exciting them, is, to render such exertion necessary by their resistance; as, in that case, self-love is added to desire, and the one triumphs in the victory which the other obliged to acquire. Hence arise the various modes of attack and defence between the sexes; the boldness of one s•• and the timidity of the other; and, in a word, that bashfulness and modesty with which nature hath armed the weak, in order to subdue the strong.

  Rousseau's Emilius.

  I shall make no other comment on this ingenius passage, than just to ob|serve, that it is the philosophy of lasciviousness.
• * 1.14

  'O how lovely,' exclaims Rousseau, speaking of Sophia,

  is her igno|rance! Happy is he who is destined to instruct her! She will never pre|tend to be the tutor of her husband, but will be content to be his pupil. Far from attempting to subject him to her taste, she will accommodate herself to his. She will be more estimable to him, than if she was learn|ed: he will have a pleasure in instructing be••

  Rousseau's Emilius.

  I shall content myself with simply asking, how friendship can subsist, when love expires, between the master and his pupil?
• * 1.15

  Into what inconsistencies do men fall when they argue without the compass of principles. Women, weak women, are compared with angels; yet, a superiour order of beings should be supposed to possess more intellect than man; or, in what does their superiority consist? In the same style, to drop the sneer, they are allowed to possess more goodness of heart, piety, and benevolence.—I doubt the fact, though it be courteously brought for|ward, unless ignorance be allowed to be the mother of devotion; for I am firmly persuaded that, on an average, the proportion between virtue and knowledge, is more upon a par than is commonly granted.
• * 1.16

  'The brutes,' says Lord Monboddo,

  remain in the state in which nature has placed them, except in so far as their natural instinct is im|proved by the culture we bestow upon them.
• † 1.17

  Vide Milton.
• ‡ 1.18

  This word is not strictly just, but I cannot find a better.
• * 1.19

  Pleasure's the portion of th' inferiour kind; But glory, virtue, Heaven for man design'd.

  After writing these lines, how could Mrs. Barbauld write the following ignoble comparison?

  To a Lady, with some painted flowers.

  Flowers to the fair: to you these flowers I bring, And strive to greet you with an earlier spring. Flowers SWEET, and gay, and DELICATE LIKE YOU; Emblems of innocence, and beauty too. With flowers the Graces bind their yellow hair, And flowery wreaths consenting lovers wear. Flowers, the sole luxury which nature knew, In Eden's pure and guiltless garden grew. To loftier forms are rougher tasks assign'd; The sheltering oak resists the stormy wind, The tougher yew repels invading foes, And the tall pine for future navies grows; But this soft family, to cares unknown, Were born for pleasure and delight ALONE. Gay without toil, and lovely without art, They spring to CHEER the sense, and GLAD the heart, Nor b••ush, my fair, to own you copy these; Your BEST, your SWEETEST empire is—to PLEASE.

  So the men tell us; but virtue must be acquired by rough toils, and use|ful struggles with worldly cares.
• * 1.20

  And a wit, always a wit, might be added; for the vain fooleries of wits and beauties to obtain attention, and make conquests, are much upon a par.
• * 1.21

  The mass of mankind are rather the slaves of their appetites than of their passions.
• † 1.22

  Men of these descriptions pour it into their compositions, to amalga|mate the gross materials; and, moulding them with passion, give to the inert body a soul; but, in woman's imagination, love alone concentrates these etherial beams.
• * 1.23

  Many other names might be added.
• * 1.24

  The strength of an affection is, generally, in the same proportion as the character of the species in the object beloved, is lost in that of the indi|vidu••l.
• * 1.25

  Dr. Young supports the same opinion, in his plays, when he talks of the misfortune that shunned the light of day.
• * 1.26

  'I take her body,' says Ranger.
• † 1.27

  Supposing that women are voluntary slaves—slavery of any kind is unfavourable to human happiness and improvement.

  Knox's Essays.
• ‡ 1.28

  Sappho, Eloisa, Mrs. Macauley, the Empress of Russia, Madame d'Eon, &c. These, and many more, may be reckoned exceptions; and, are not all heroes, as well as heroines, exceptions to general rules? I wish to see women neither heroines her brutes; but reasonable creatures.
• * 1.29

  I have already inserted the passage, page 88
• † 1.30

  What nonsense!
• * 1.31

  Rousseau's Emilius, Vol. III. p. 16••,
• * 1.32

  Rousseau'•• Emil••us, V••l. III p 176.
• † 1.33

  Rousseau's Emilius, V••l. III. p. 1••.
• * 1.34

  Rousseau's Emilius, Vol. III. p. 181.
• * 1.35

  What is to be the consequence, if the mother's and hushand's opinion should chance not to agree? An ignorant person cannot be reasoned out of an error—and when persuaded to give up one prejudice for another the mind is unsettled. Indeed, the husband may not have any religion to teach her, though in such a situation she will be in great want of a sup|port to her virtue, independent of worldly considerations.
• * 1.36

  Rousseau's Emilius.
• * 1.37

  Can you?—Can you? would be the most emphatical comment, were it drawled out in a whining voice.
• * 1.38

  Let women once acquire good sense—and if it deserve the name, it will teach them; or, of what use will it be? how to employ it.
• * 1.39

  'He is the free man, whom the truth makes free!' Cowper.
• † 1.40

  I mean to use a word that ••mprehends more than chastity the sexual virtue.
• * 1.41

  A person is not to act in this or that way, though convinced they are right in so doing, because some equivoc••l circumstances may lead the world to suspect that they acted from different motives.—This is sacrificing the substance for a shadow. Let people but watch their own hearts, and act rightly, as far as they can judge, and they may patiently wait till the opin|ion of the world comes round. It is best to be directed by a simple mo|tive —for justice has too often been sacrificed to property;—another 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for convenience
• * 1.42

  Coinciding in opinion with Mrs. Macaulay relative to many branches of education, I refer to her valuable work, instead of quoting her sentiments to support my own.
• * 1.43

  That children ought to be constantly guarded against the vices and follies of the world, appears, to me, a very mistaken opinion; for in the course of my experience, and my eyes have looked abroad, I never knew a youth educated in this manner, who had early ••ed these ••hilling suspicions, and repeated by ••ote the 〈…〉〈…〉 of age, that did not prove a selfish character.
• * 1.44

  I have already observed that an early knowledge of the world, obtain|ed in a natural way, by mixing in the wor••d, has the same effect; instan+••ing officers and women.
• * 1.45

  'I find that all is but lip-wisdom which wants experience,' says Sid|ney.
• * 1.46

  Vide Mr. Burke.
• † 1.47

  'Convince a man against his will, 'He's of the same opinion still.'
• * 1.48

  One sees nothing when one is content to contemplate only; it is neccessary to act oneself to be able to see how others act. Rousseau.
• * 1.49

  See an excellent essay on this subject by Mrs. Barbauld, in Miscella|neous Pieces in Prose.
• * 1.50

  I have sometimes, when inclined to laugh at materialists, asked whe|ther, as the most powerful effects in nature, are apparently produced by fluids, the magnetic, &c. the passions might not be fine volatile fluids that embraced humanity, keeping the more refractory elementary parts togeth|er —or whether they were simply a liquid fire that pervaded the more dug|gish materials, giving them life and heat?
• * 1.51

  I have frequently seen this exemplified in women, whose beauty could no longer be repaired. They have retired from the noisy scenes of dissi|pation▪ but, unless they became methodists, the solitude of the select socie|ty of their family connexions or acquaintance, has presented only a fearful void; consequently, nervous complaints, and all the vapourish train of idleness, rendered them quite as useless, and far more unhappy, than when they joined the giddy throng.
• * 1.52

  'Such is the country-maiden's s••, 'When first a red-coat is in sight; 'Behind the door she hides her face; 'Next time at distance eyes the lace: 'She now can all his terrors stand, 'Nor from his squeeze withdraws her hand. 'She plays familiar in his arms, 'And ev'ry soldier hath his charms; 'From tent to tent she spreads her flame; 'For custom conquers fear and shame.' Gay.
• * 1.53

  Modesty, is the graceful calm virtue of maturity; bashfulness, the charm of vivacious youth.
• * 1.54

  I have conversed, as man with man, with medical men, on anatomical subjects; and compared the proportions of the human body with artists— yet such modesty did I meet with, that I was never reminded by word or look of my sex, of the absurd rules which make modesty a pharisaical cloak of weakness. And I am persuaded that in the pursuit of knowledge women would never be insulted by sensible men, and rarely by men of any description, if they did not by mock modesty remind them that they were women: actuated by the same spirit as the Portuguese ladies, who would think their charms insulted, if, when left alone with a man, he did not, at least, attempt to be very familiar with their persons. Men are not always men in the company of women, nor would women always remem|ber that they are women, if they were allowed to aquire more understand|ing.
• † 1.55

  Male or female; for the world contains many modest men.
• * 1.56

  The immodest behaviour of many married women, who are neverthe|less faithful to their husbands beds, will 〈…〉〈…〉.
• * 1.57

  The poor moth fl••ttering round a candle, burns its wings.
• * 1.58

  Children very early see eats with their kittens, birds with their young ones, &c. Why then are they not to be told that their mothers carry and nourish them in the same way? As there would then be no appearance of mystery they would never think of the subject more. Truth may always be told to children, if it be told gravely; but it is the immodesty of affected modesty, that does all the mischief; and this smoke heats the imagination by vainly endeavouring to obsure certain objects. If, indeed, children could be kept entirely from improper company, we should never allude to any such subjects; but as this is impossible, it is best to tell them the truth, especially as such information, not interesting them, will make no impres|sion on their imagination.
• * 1.59

  Affection would rather make one choose to perform these offices, to spare the delicacy of a friend, by still keeping a veil over them, for the per|sonal helplessness, produced by sickness, is of an humbling nature.
• * 1.60

  I remember to have met with a sentence, in a book of education, that made me smile.

  It would be needless to caution you against putting your hand, by chance, under your neck-handkerchief; for a modest woman never did so!
• * 1.61

  The behaviour of many newly married women has often disgusted me. They seem anxious never to let their husbands forget the privilege of marriage; and to find no pleasure in his society unless he is acting the lover. Short, indeed, must be the reign of love, when the flame is thus constantly blown up, without its receiving any solid fuel!
• * 1.62

  I allude to various biographical writings, but particularly to Boswell's Life of Johnson.
• † 1.63

  Smith.
• * 1.64

  L'amour propre. L'amour de soi mēme,
• * 1.65

  Dr. Johnson makes the same observation.
• * 1.66

  I myself heard a little girl once say to a servant,

  My mamma has been scolding me finely this morning, because her hair was not dressed to please her.

  Though this remark was pert, it was just. And what respect could a girl acquire for such a parent without doing violence to reason?
• * 1.67

  I now particularly allude to the numerous academies in, and about London, and to the behaviour of the trading part of this great city.
• * 1.68

  I remember a circumstance that once came under my own observation, and raised my indignation. I went to visit a little boy at a school where young children were prepared for a larger one. The master took me into the school-room, &c. but whilst I walked down a broad gravel walk, I could not help observing that the grass grew very luxuriantly on each side of me. I immediately asked the child some questions, and found that the poor boys were not allowed to stir off the walk, and that the master some|times permitted sheep to be turned in to crop the untrodden grass. The ty|rant of this domain used to sit by a window that overlooked the prison yard, and one ••ook turning from it, where the unfortunate babes could sport freely, he enclosed, and planted it with potatoes. The wife likewise was equally anxious to keep the children in order, lest they should dirty or tear their clothes.
• * 1.69

  France.
• † 1.70

  Treating this part of the subject, I have borrowed some hints from a very sensible pamphlet, written by the late bishop of Autu•• on Public Education.
• * 1.71

  The Bishop of Autun's.
• * 1.72

  I once lived in the neighbourhood of one of these men, a handsome man, and saw with surprise and indignation, women, whose appearance and attendance bespoke that rank in which females are supposed to receive a superiour education, flock to his door.
• * 1.73

  I am not now alluding to that superiority of mind which leads to the creation of ideal beauty, when life, surveyed with a penetrating eye, ap|pears a trag••-comedy, in which little can be seen to satisfy the heart with|out the help of fancy.
• * 1.74

  I had further enlarged on the advantages which might reasonably be expected to result from an improvement in female manners, towards the general reformation of society; but it appeared to me that such reflections would more properly close the last volume.