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felicity is good nature." And, surely, whatever accidental difference there may happen to be in the conceptions or judgment of a husband and wife, if neither can give pain or pleasure without feeling it themselves, it is easy to perceive which sensation they will concur to produce.

It may now be expected, that I should give some general rules, by which the ladies may discover the disposition of those, by whom they are addressed; but it is extremely difficult to detect malevolence amid the assiduities of courtship, and to distinguish the man under that almost inscrutable disguise, the lover. Good nature, however, is not indicated by the fulsome fawning of a perpetual grin, the loud laughter which almost anticipates the jest, or the constant echo of every sentiment; neither is it safe to trust the appearance of profuse liberality, or busy officiousness. Let it rather be remarked, how the lover is affected by incidents, in which the lady is not concerned ; what is his behaviour to his immediate dependants, and whether they approach him with a slavish timidity, or with the cheerful reverence of voluntary servitude. Is he ever merry at the expense of another; or does he ever attempt thus to excite mirth in his mistress? Does he mention the absent with candour, and behave to those who are present with a manly complacency? By a diligent attendance to these circumstances perhaps a probable judgment may be formed of his character.

To conclude with a general remark, good nature is not of less importance to ourselves than to others. The morose and petulant first feel the anguish that they give. Reproach, revilings, and invective, are but the overflowings of their own infelicity, and are constantly again forced back upon their source. Sweetness of temper is not, indeed, an acquired, but a natural excellence; and, therefore, to recommend it to those who have it not may be deemed rather an insult than advice. But let that, which in happier

they can inflict more exquisite pain, because they can wound with more poignant reproach: and by him, whom good nature does not restrain from retaliating the pain that he feels, the offence, whether voluntary or not, will always be thus punished.

If this punishment is suffered with silence, confusion, and tears, it is possible that the tyrant may relent; but this, like the remorse of a murderer, is too late; the dread of incurring the same anguish, by a like fault, will substitute for the smile of cheerfulness, that sunshine of beauty, the glooms of doubt, solicitude, and anxiety. The offence will, notwithstanding, be again repeated; the punishment, the distress, and the remorse, will again return; because errour is involuntary, and anger is not restrained. If the reproach is retorted, and whether it was deserved becomes the subject of debate; the consequences are yet more dreadful: after a vain attempt to show an incongruity, which can no more be perceived than sounds by the deaf, the husband will be insulted for causeless and capricious displeasure, and the wife for folly, perverseness, and obstinacy. In these circumstances, what will become of "the refined, the exalted, and the permanent felicity, which alone is worthy of reasonable beings, and which elevated genius only can bestow?"

That this conduct is, by a man of sense, known to be wrong, I am content to allow; but it must also be granted, that the discernment of wrong is not always a propensity to right; and that, if pain was never inflicted, but when it was known to produce salutary effects, mankind would be much more happy than they are.

Good nature, therefore, if intellectual excellence cannot atone for the want of it, must be admitted as the highest personal merit. If, without it, wisdom is not kind; without it, folly must be brutal. Let it, therefore, be once more repeated, "The quality most essential to conjugal

felicity is good nature." And, surely, whatever accidental difference there may happen to be in the conceptions or judgment of a husband and wife, if neither can give pain or pleasure without feeling it themselves, it is easy to perceive which sensation they will concur to produce.

It may now be expected, that I should give some general rules, by which the ladies may discover the disposition of those, by whom they are addressed; but it is extremely difficult to detect malevolence amid the assiduities of courtship, and to distinguish the man under that almost inscrutable disguise, the lover. Good nature, however, is not indicated by the fulsome fawning of a perpetual grin, the loud laughter which almost anticipates the jest, or the constant echo of every sentiment; neither is it safe to trust the appearance of profuse liberality, or busy officiousness. Let it rather be remarked, how the lover is affected by incidents, in which the lady is not concerned; what is his behaviour to his immediate dependants, and whether they approach him with a slavish timidity, or with the cheerful reverence of voluntary servitude. Is he ever merry at the expense of another; or does he ever attempt

thus to excite mirth in his mistress? Does he mention the absent with candour, and behave to those who are present with a manly complacency? By a diligent attendance to these circumstances perhaps a probable judgment may be formed of his character.

To conclude with a general remark, good nature is not of less importance to ourselves than to others. The morose and petulant first feel the anguish that they give. Reproach, revilings, and invective, are but the overflowings of their own infelicity, and are constantly again forced back upon their source. Sweetness of temper is not, indeed, an acquired, but a natural excellence; and, therefore, to recommend it to those who have it not may be deemed rather an insult than advice. But let that, which in happier

natures is instinct, in these be reason; let them pursue the same conduct, impelled by a nobler motive. As the sourness of the crab enhances the value of the graft, so that which on it's parent plant is good nature, will on a less kindly stock be improved by virtue. No action, by which others receive pleasure or pain, is indifferent: the sacred rule, "Do that to others which ye would that others should do to you," extends to every deed; and " shall be brought into judgment."

ON AMUSEMENT.

every word ADVENTURER.

THE love of promiscuous amusement, how innocent Boever it may often seem, and sometimes be, ensnares multitudes of our sex. Their earliest days are marked by a mixture of sprightliness and simplicity. They run, they laugh, they prattle; and then they often blush, for fear of having offended. As they grow up, their sensibilities become more enlightened, and more awake. They blush oftener. It is the precious colouring of virtue, as one has happily phrased it. They contract a quicker perception of what is decent, and of what is wise. A sweet timidity was given them to guard their innocence, by inclining them to shrink from whatever might threaten to injure it, Their passions, as they rise, are restrained from exorbitance, by a secret sentiment of shame and honour. In this state of mind, they come to hear much concerning public diversions. The description is frequently repeated, and always exaggerated. Their curiosity takes fire; they are eager to participate. They are indulged once, a second, a third time, often, without control. By little and little, their natural fearfulness begins to abate. For a while, they are shocked at signs of rudeness. Their ears are wounded by the language of vice: oaths, imprecations, double meanings, every thing obscene, fills them with disgust and hor

ror. But custom soon begets familiarity; and familiarity produces indifference. The emotions of delicacy are less frequent, less strong. And now they seldom blush, although perhaps they often affect it. At the image of sin they tremble no longer: their minds are already debauched. All the internal fences of modesty are broken down. Can you wonder, if it be then easily assailed from without? But what if it be not? What if appearances be still preserved, if open scandal be not incurred, or if secret enormity should be always avoided? Is it enough for a young woman to be free from infamy, from crimes? Between the state of virgin purity and actual prostitution, are there no intermediate degrees? Is it nothing to have the soul deflowered, the fancy polluted, the passions flung into a ferment? Say, is it nothing to forfeit inward freedom and selfpossession? The beauty, the dignity, the tranquillity of conscious virtue—are all these of no account?

Such, indeed, one would think were the opinions of those, who imagine there can be no harm in a passion for places of entertainment; because, say they, all attacks on the honour of persons who resort thither are precluded. Be that as it may, I must ever maintain, that young women of principle will be cautious of frequenting scenes, where shamefacedness, at once the companion and the guardian of female innocence, is in danger of being lost. But I add, that every prudent young woman also will be extremely wary in this particular; because, the ornament we now recommend is as wise, as it is necessary. There is nothing so engaging as bashful beauty. The beauty that obtrudes itself, how considerable soever, will either disgust, or at most excite but inferior desires. Men are so made. They refuse their admiration, where it is courted; where it seems rather shunned, they love to bestow it. The retiring graces have been always the most attractive.

FORDYCE.

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