―389―For the Weekly Magazine.
A SERIES OF ORIGINAL LETTERS.
[Continued from page 366.]
LETTER II.
TO HENRY D—.
Burlington, May * 7, 1794.
IT would seem harsh to censure
you, my dear Henry, for the in-
dulgence of a sentiment which you
already perceive to be culpable. You
are always the first to discover and
condemn your own errors. Yet
allow me to say your excessive sorrow
was a weakness unworthy of my
brother. You and I have been edu-
cated together. Our union is as per-
fect as that of brother and sister can
be. We have received some lessons
in the school of adversity; let us shew
* The first of these letters, by mistake,
was dated March instead of May, and the
word Philadelphia omitted.
―390―
the world that we have derived ad-
vantage from them. I thought I had
better understood you. I believed you
would have borne our separation with
more fortitude. I, indeed, might
have been excused, if I had given
vent to my feelings in tears and com-
plaints. My sex, and the solitude
to which your absence condemns me,
would plead my apology to others,
but would not ensure my own for-
giveness. I perceive the thing to be
inevitable; that neither sighs nor
tears will lessen or remove the neces-
sity of this separation. To indulge
the emotions which I sometimes feel
rising in my bosom when I think of
you, would be a crime against myself;
I will therefore rise superior to them.
I know not what imperceptible
difference of circumstances has pro-
duced a disparity in our dispositions,
but it certainly does exist. You are
prone to contemplate the gloomy and
I the bright aspect of every object.
Your letter did not serve to deepen but
create a gloom of which I was before
unconscious.
My situation may, indeed, be term-
ed solitary. Society implies com-
munion of sentiment and sympathy
of views and characters. Of this
kind of intercourse you know I
am destitute. You do not suppose
that I find in Mrs. Hadwin, or her
guileless daughter a companion, to
compensate me for the loss of your
society. Yet they are very good
people, and not without sagacity,
which is rendered more acute by their
desire to oblige. Apparently their
first wish is to render my home
agreeable to me. The ardour with
which they desire this, gives penetra-
tion to discover the means. They
perceive that my separation from
you has cost me some efforts and are
anxious to divert me when thought
grows too intense; but are careful
not to intrude upon me undesired.
This disposition renders them very
eligible companions, and I return
their civilities with as much frank-
ness and good humour as I am mistres;
of. Thus to accommodate myself to
my circumstances does not occasion
me any important sacrifice of time,
or interfere with my particular pur-
suits, as they never obtrude their con-
versation on me.
You know I am fond of rambling.
I adhere to my morning and evening
excursions, in which Miss Hadwin
generally accompanies me. The
effect of these exercises is eminently
salutary. What golden visions irra-
diate my soul in these hours of recre-
ation! Every step I take on the green
level which surrounds this delightful
village; every flower I pluck; every
songster I listen to, all whisper to my
soul of virtue, of happiness, and of
gay futurity.
Yet, I confess to you, that, even
on these occasions, I am sometimes
conscious of a sentiment which I
almost blush to acknowledge. When
I compare the uncultivated mind and
slender acquisitions of Miss Hadwin
with the condition in which I find
my own understanding, I feel a sense
of superiority, a kind of supercilious-
ness excited, which my reason utterly
condemns. My pride is less vincible
than yours, as it is founded in differ-
ent principles. If it arose from ideas
of rank, or if my contempt were ex-
cited by particular occupations, I
could easily furnish myself with argu-
ments sufficiently cogent to extermi-
nate it.
When I take a view of the various
professions which are found in the
present state of society, my criterion
of dignity is usefulness. A taylor,
in this point of view, is a very respec-
table personage, provided he fill his
station with integrity. Knowledge is
as necessary to the mind as apparel to
the body. Better that it should be
communicated in the present imper-
fect manner than be totally withheld.
I do not approve of the present school
establishments, yet I think a learned
and conscientious usher may, at least,
rank as high on the scale of utility
as he whose business it is, instead of
enlightening, to perplex and bewilder
―391―
the human understanding—as he who
makes a trade of weaving together
subtleties and sophisms calculated to
mislead that consciousness of justice
implanted in the mind of every ra-
tional being.—A pride arising from the
source you mention I should find no
difficulty in surmounting. My error
is of a different nature. It arises
from intellectual superiority. Utility
is the true criterion. Surely on the
score of usefulness there can be no
comparison between the illiterate
Eliza Hadwin and myself. Her mind
is entirely occupied by trivial or de-
basing cares; by the occurrences of
the passing moment; and her sterile
imagination is incapable of one grand
or beautiful creation: While my un-
derstanding takes an extensive range;
my soul glows with the ardours of
benevolence; and my fancy is ever
teeming with ennobling and delightful
images. The estimate I make is just,
but the contempt I feel is certainly
wrong. I perceive it is a puerile error
to exult in a superiority, which, but
for circumstances apparently fortui-
tous, had, perhaps, been hers. Teach
me, Dear Henry, to make the proper
distinction.
I shall write punctually by Mostyn:
Mutual benefit may result from this
kind of intercourse, provided we be
always candid and sincere. Adieu.