utely essential to your happiness, keep the secret inviolable in your own Bosoms, for the reasons I formerly mentioned; but shun, as you would he most fatal poison, all that species of reading and conversation which warms the imagination, which engages and softens the heart, and raises the taste above the level of common life. If you do otherwise, consider the terrible conflict of passions which this may afterwards raise in your breasts.

If this refinement once takes deep root in your minds, and you do not obey its dictates, but marry from vulgar and mercenary views, you may never be able to eradicate it entirely; and then it will embitter all your married days. Instead of meeting with sense, delicacy, tenderness, a lover, a friend, an equal companion, in a husband, you may be tired with insipidity and dullness, shocked with indelicacy, or mortified with indifference. You will find none to compassionate or even understand your sufferance; for your husbands may not use you cruelly, and may give you as much money for your clothes, personal expense, and domestic necessaries, as is suitable to their fortunes; the world would therefore look upon you as unreasonable women, who did not deserve to be happy, if you were not so. To avoid these complicated evils, if you are determined at all events to marry, I would advise you to make all your reading and amusements of such a kind as do not affect the heart, nor the imagination.

I have no view by these advices to lead your taste; I only want to persuade you of the necessity of knowing your own minds, which, though seemingly very easy, is what your sex seldom attain on many important occasions in life, but particularly on this of which I am speaking. There is not a quality I more anxiously wish you to possess than a collected decisive spirit which rests on itself, which enables you to see where your true happiness lies, and to pursue it with the most determined resolution. In matters of business follow the advice of those who know them better than yourselves, and in whose integrity you can confide; but, in matters of taste, that depend upon your own feelings, consult no one friend whatever, but consult your own hearts.

If a gentleman makes his addresses to you, or gives you reason to believe he will do so, before you allow your affections to be engaged, endeavor, in the most prudent and secret manner, to procure from your friends all necessary information concerning him; such as his character for sense, his morals, his temper, fortune and family; whether it is distinguished for parts and worth, or for folly, knavery, and loathsome hereditary diseases. When your friends inform you of these they have fulfilled their duty. If they go further they have not that deference for you which a becoming dignity on your part would effectually command. Whatever your views are in marrying, take every possible precaution to prevent their being disappointed. If fortune and the pleasures it brings are your aim, it is not sufficient that the settlement of a jointure and children's provisions be amply and properly secured; it is necessary that you should enjoy the fortune during your own life. The principal security you can have for this will depend on your marrying a good natured, generous man, who despises money, and who will let you live where you can best enjoy that pleasure, that pomp and parade of life for which I am, &c. vou married him.

LETTER 147.

From the same to the same, on the foregoing subject.

DEAR DAUGHTERS,

From what I wrote in my last, you will easily see that I could never pretend to advise whom you should marry; but I can with confidence advise whom you should not marry.

Avoid a companion that may entail any hereditary disease on your posterity; particularly that most dreadful of all human calamities, madIt is the height of imprudence to run into such danger, and, in my opinion, highly criminal.

ness.

Do not marry a fool; he is the most untractable of all animals; he is led by his passions and caprices, and is incapable of hearing the voice of reason. It may probably too hurt your vanity to have husbands for whom you have reason to blush and tremble every time they open their lips in company. But the worst circumstance that attends a fool is, his constant jealousy of his wife's being thought to govern him. This renders it impossible to lead him, and he is continually doing absurd and disagreeable things, for no other reason but to show he dares to do them. A rake is always a suspicious husband, because he has only known the most worthless of your sex. He likewise entails the worst of diseases on his wife and children, if he has the misfortune to have any.

If you have a sense of religion yourselves, do not think of husbanas who have none. If they have tolerable understandings they will be glad that you have religion, for their own sake, and for the sake of their families. If they are weak men, they will be continually teazing and shocking you about your principles. If you have children, you will suffer the most bitter distress in seeing all your endeavors to form their minds to virtue and piety, all your endeavors to secure their present and eternal happiness, frustrated and turned into ridicule.

As I look on your choice of a husband to be of the greatest conse. quence to your happiness, I hope you will make it with the utmost circunispection. Do not give way to a sudden sally of passion, and dignify it with the name of love. Genuine love is not founded in caprice; it is founded in nature, on honorable views and virtues, on similarity of taste and sympathy of soul. If you have these sentiments, you will never marry any one when you are not in that situation, in point of fortune, which is necessary to the happiness of either of you. What that competency may be can only be determined by your own tastes.It would be ungenerous in you to take advantage of a lover's attachment to plunge him into distress; and if he has any honor, no personal gratification will ever tempt him to enter into any connexion which will render you unhappy. If you have as much between you as will satisfy all your demands, it is sufficient. I shall conclude with endeavoring to remove a difficulty which must occur to any woman of reflection, on the subject of marriage.

What is to become of all those refinements of delicacy, that dignity of manner which checked all familiarities, and suspended desire in re spectful and awful admira ion? In answer to this I shall only observe, that if motives of interest or vanity have any share in your resolutions

to marry, none of these chimerical notions will give you any pain ́; nay, they will very quickly appear as ridiculous in your own eyes, as they probably always do in the eyes of your husband. They have been sen timents which floated in your imaginations, but have never reached your hearts. But if these sentiments have been truly genuine, and if you have had the singularly happy fate to attach those who understand them, you have no reason to be afraid.

I have thus given you my opinion on some of the most important ar ticles of your future life, chiefly calculated for that period when you are just entering the world. But in writing to you I am afaid my heart has been too full and too warmly interested to allow me to keep this resolution. This may have produced some embarrassment, and some seeming contradictions. What I have written has been the amusement of some solitary hours, and has served to divert some melancholly reflections. I am conscious I undertook a task to which I was very une. qual; but I have discharged a part of my duty. You will at least be pleased with it, as the last mark of your father's love and attention. I am your affectionate father.

PART IV.

LETTERS ON FRIENDSHIP.

LETTER 148.

The following Letter on Friendship was written by a Gentleman lately deceased, and found amongst his papers.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

It was a strange notion of Paschal, that he would never admit any man to a share of his friendship. Had that great man been a misanthrope, or an enemy to his fellow creatures, I should not have been much surprised; but as his love to mankind extended as far as either his knowl. edge or influence, it is necessary to consider his reasons for a conduct apparently so strange. Paschal had such elevated notions of the Deity on the one hand, and so low an opinion of human nature on the c her, that he thought if he placed his affections on any created being it would be a sort of insult to the Creator, and a robbing him of that worship which was due to him alone. But whatever were the notions of that great man, yet there is such a thing as real friendship, and there is also a necessity for it. It is true, indeed, that God is our only friend, and that on him our affections ought principally to be fixed. But those who are acquainted with human nature well know that we are such a composition of flesh and spirit, that however we may wish to keep up an

mtercourse with the Deity, yet our inclinations are such that we are more desirous of being conversant with those of our own species, to whom, at all times, we can be able to unbosom ourselves.

Friendship is as old as the first formation of society, and there is not one ancient writer now extant who has not said something in praise of it. Of this we have a fine example in the story of David and Jonathan, as recorded in the second book of Samuel. In the same sacred oracles we are told that love is stronger than death; and even the great Redeemer of the world had a beloved disciple.

But whatever the wise or learned may say, yet, we know that man is a social being, and consequently has a capacity, and even a desire for friendship, which is in its own nature so necessary, that I know not how a social being can exist without it.

Are we by any providential occurrence raised from poverty to affluence, to whom can we communicate the delightful news but our friend? On the other hand, are we reduced from the highest pinnacle of grandeur to the most abject state of poverty, to whom can we look for consolation but God and our friend? Indeed there is not one state or condition in life where friendship is not necessary. What wretched mortals would men be were they not empowered with so noble a principle!

Friendship is of a very delicate nature, and either the happiness or misery of both parties may, in some sense, be said to depend on it.Friendship is somewhat like marriage; it is made for life; or, as Cesar said, "The die is cast." Mrs. Rowe, in one of her letters to the Countess of Hertford, says, "When I contract a friendship it is for eternity." Her notions were always elevated, and the chief business of her life seems to have been promoting the interest of her fellow creatures. Friendship obliges the parties engaged to open their minds to each other; there must not be any concealment. There is not an endearing attribute of the Deity, not an amiable quality in man, but what is included in the word Friendship. Benevolence, mercy, pity, compassion, &c. are only parts of it.

From all this we may learn, that great care ought to be had in the choice of friends; and should they unhappily betray the sacred trust reposed in them, yet we ought not to pursue them with unrelenting fury.

In the course of my experience I remember two instances of the breach of friendship, which were attended with very different effects.Two gentlemen contracted a friendship for each other, which lasted some years. At last one of them unhappily revealed a secret to his wife, who told it to the wife of the other, in consequence of which an unhappy division took place in the family of the latter. The injured person upbraided his friend with infidelity, told him of the fatal effects occasioned by this imprudence; but, says he, although I cannot be your friend any longer, yet I will never be your enemy. My heart will pity you, whilst my hand shall be open to relieve your necessities. Such a declaration was consistent with the prudence of a man, and the piety of a Chris tian; but that of the other was of a nature totally opposite, and in my opinion truly diabolical. A difference of a similar nature happened, attended with the like circumstances; but the injured person, instea of sympathizing with the weakness of his friend, pursued him with un relenting cruelty, nor ever ceased until he ha. accomplished his ruin,

and even triumphed over it. You may make what comments you please; I can only assure you that both are facts. How different, my friend, has our conduct to each other been? During these thirty years no breach has ever happened; and it seems as new this day as at the beginning. As this is probably the last letter you will ever see in my hand writing, accept of my sincere thanks for the many benefits I have received from your faithful admonitions, and your benevolent consolations; and when we meet in the regions of bliss, our happiness will then remain uninterrupted. I am yours sincerely.

LETTER 149.

From a young Woman to a Lady, with whom she had formerly lived as a Companion.

MADAM,

The precipitate manner in which I left your family may seem inconsistent with the great tenderness you always treated me with. To remove, therefore, every imputation of ingratitude, I embrace this first opportunity of appearing in my own vindication, although for your sake I am sorry to descend to particulars, especially to mention names. But my reputation, which is dearer to me than life itself, is at stake, and as a woman, I doubt not but you will bear with me.

When I first came into your service, I was determined to act in such a manner as not to give offence to the meanest of your domestics; well knowing that good nature and affability always procure respect; and 1 appeal to every person in your family, whether my conduct was not consistent with my plan. In this manner I remained enjoying an uninterrupted state of felicity for some time. I obeyed your commands with alacrity, and even servitude became a pleasure. But this was too happy a state to last long without interruption. But I scarce know how to proceed. Whilst I am vindicating my own conduct to my most generous benefactress, I am obliged to impeach that of her dearest and most beloved relation.

When your son George returned from the university, where he had been finishing his studies, I had no thoughts that he would ever have made an attempt on my virtue. But alas! I was wretchedly deceived. He had only been a few days at home when he laid hold of every op portunity of being in my company. At first I did not take any notice, as I had not the least suspicion of his intentions. But I was soon con. vinced of my error, when he told me, that in consequence of my prostituting myself to his unlawful pleasure, he would make me a handsome settlement. This, madam, was a strong temptation, but blessed be God who preserved me innocent. You have often told me that young women ought to fly from every appearance of sin; and if so, how great was my necessity of avoiding the evil? Had I laid snares to entrap your son for a husband, it might have destroyed your peace of mind, and been considered as a dishonor to your family. Had I submitted to his unlawful desires, I should have forfeited every title to respect in this world, and highly offended that God who has graciously preserved me hitherto. He became more and more assiduous, till for his, for yours and for my own sake, I was obliged to retire in as silent a manner as