Mrs. Chapone b. 1727; d. 1801. Mrs. CHAPONE'S Letters on the Improvement of the Mind, originally de signed for the use of her Niece only, but published, in 1775, at the suggestion of Mrs. Montague, ought to be placed in the Library of every young lady. Some account of the Manner in which a Modern Lady of Fashion Spends her Time. If a Modern Lady of Fashion were called upon to account for the Disposition of her Time, I imagine her defence would run in this style one - "I cannot, you know, be out of the world, nor act differently from every body in it. The hours are every where late consequently, I rise late. I have scarcely breakfasted before morning visits begin, or 'tis time to go to an auction, or a concert, or to take a little exercise for my health. Dressing my hair is a long operation, but cannot appear with a head unlike everybody else, One must sometimes go to a play, or an opera; though I own it hurries one to death. Then, what with necessary visits, the perpetual engagements to card-parties at private houses, and attendance on public assemblies to which all persons of fashion subscribe the evenings you see are fully disposed of. What time then can I possibly have for what you call domestic duties? You talk of the offices and enjoyments of friendship alas, I have no hours left for friends! I must see them in a crowd, or not at all. As to cultivating the friendship of my Husband, we are very civil when we meet, but we are both of us too much engaged to spend much time with each other; and with regard to my Daughters, I have given them a Frenchgoverness, and proper masters I cannot do more for them. You tell me, I should instruct my servants but I have not time to inform myself, much less can I undertake anything of that sort for them; I am not even able to guess what they do with themselves the greatest part of the twentyfour hours. I go to church, if possible, once on a Sunday, and, then some of my servants attend me; and if they will not mind what the Minister says, how can I help it! The management of our fortune, as far as I am concerned, I must leave to the steward and housekeeper for I find I can barely snatch a quarter of an hour just to look over the bill of fare when I am to have Company, that they may not send up anything frightful or oldfashioned. Respecting the christian duty of Charity, I can assure you I am not illnatured; and considering that the great expense of being always dressed for company, losses at cards, subscriptions, and public spectacles, leave me very little to dispose of I am ready enough to give my money when I meet with a miserable object. You say, I should inquire out such, inform myself thoroughly of their cases, make an acquaintance with the poor of my neighbourhood, and plan out the best methods of relieving the unfortunate and assisting the industrious but this supposes much more time, and much more money, than I have to bestow. I have had hopes, indeed, that my sum mers in the country would have afforded me more leisure; but we stay pretty late in town; and then we generally pass several weeks at one or other of the waterdrinking-places, where every moment is spent in public; and, for the few months, in which we reside at our own seat, our house is always full, with a succession of company, to whose amusement one is obliged to dedicate every hour of the day." Such is the Account of that Time which was given you to prepare and educate yourself for Eternity! Yet you believe in the immortality of the soul, and a future state of rewards and punishments. Ask your own heart what rewards you deserve, or what kind of felicity you are fitted to enjoy? Which of those faculties or affections, that Heaven can be supposed to gratify, have you culti vated and improved? If, in that eternal world, the stores of knowledge should be laid open before you, have you preserved that thirst of knowledge, or that taste for truth, which is to be indulged with endless information? If, in the society of saints and angels, the purest benevo lence and most cordial love is to constitute your happiness, where is the Heart that should enjoy this delightful intercourse of affection? Has yours been exercised and refined to a proper capacity for it, during your state of discipline, by the energies of generous friendship, by the meltings of parental fondness, or by that union of heart and soul, that mixed exertion of perfect friendship and ineffable tenderness, which approaches nearest to the full satisfaction of our nature, in the bands of conjugal love? Alas! you scarce know you have a heart, except when you feel it swell with pride, or flutter with vanity. Has your piety and gratitude to the Source of all Good been exercised and strengthened by constant acts of praise and thanksgiving? Has it been nourished by frequent meditation, and silent recollection of all the wonders he hath done for us till it burst forth in fervent prayer and praise? I fear that Decency rather than Devotion carries you once a week to the place of public worship; and, that, for the rest of the week, your thoughts and time are so very differently filled up, that the idea of a Ruler of the Universe can but seldom occur, and then, more as an object of terror, than of hope and joy. How then shall a soul so dead to divine love, so lost to all but the most childish pursuits, be able to exalt and enlarge itself to a capacity for that bliss which we are encouraged to hope for, in a more intimate perception of the Divine Presence, in contemplating more nearly the perfections of our Creator, and in pouring out before his throne our ardent gratitude, love, and adoration! What kind of training is the life you have passed through, for such an Immortality! Chapone. Montgomery b. 1771; yet Living. Sweet the hour of Tribulation, And the tear of resignation Twinkles in the mournful eye. Have you felt a kind emotion Tremble through your troubled breast, Soft as evening o'er the ocean When she charms the waves to rest? Have you lost a friend, or brother? Gazed upon a lifeless mother, Till she seemed to wake from death? Have you felt a spouse expiring Did not Grief then grow romantic, Yes! but, when you had resigned her, One, one dear, one only Child. But before the green moss, peeping, His poor mother's grave arrayed, In that grave the infant, sleeping, On the mother's lap was laid. Horror then, your heart congealing, Chilled you with intense despair; Can you call to mind that feeling? No; there was no Feeling there. Sunk in self-consuming anguish, O'er the yielding brow of Sadness One faint smile of comfort stole; One soft pang of tender gladness Exquisitely thrilled your soul. While the wounds of wo are healing, While the heart is all resigned, 'Tis the solemn feast of feeling 'Tis the Sabbath of the mind! Pensive memory then retraces And when night's prophetic slumbers You have seen a friend, a brother, Dreams of love your Grief beguiling, Trembling, pale, and agonizing, Opened heaven, from whence it shone. Thither all your wishes bending, Thus afflicted, bruised, and broken, MONTGOMERY. Locke b. 1632; d. 1704. Locke's Works are read by few, though every one considers it ne cessary to appear acquainted with his Writings. There is too much thought in Locke to render him agreeable to the generality of readers. The number of those who can be interested in his Writings, must be limited to that class of readers who have learned to think and to think deliberately; not as Rousseau, Diderot, and Helvetius have done hastily and wildly; for it has been publicly made known by Simmonds, whose knowledge of the two languages and indisputable ability of passing judgement on such questions, render his authority conclusive, that these three Writers" have exaggerated Locke." Nor should this writer ever be read in Translations by those who are capable of comprehending English. Species of Spirits. It is not impossible to conceive, nor repugnant to reason, that there may be many Species of Spirits, as much separated and diversified one from another, by distinct |