tempestuous voyage of life; we ought therefore to enjoy them, while they last, with unmixed delight, and not turn the blessing into a curse, by lamenting that it cannot endure without interruption. We, my beloved friend, are united in our affections by no common bands, which I trust are too strong to be easily dissevered, yet we know not what God may intend with respect to us, nor have we any business to enquire; we should rely no the mercy of our Father, who is in heaven, and if we are to anticipate, we should hope the best. I stand self-accused, therefore, for what I now see to have been my irreligious fears. A prudent foresight, as it may guard us from many impending dangers, is laudable; but a morbid propensity to seize and brood over future ills, is agonizing, while it is utterly useless, and therefore ought to be repressed. LETTER LXXV. On early Female Education. From Henry Kirke White to his Auat. I hope you concluded the Christmas Holidays on Monday evening, with the customary glee. I hope my uncle was well enough to partake of your merriment. You must now begin your penitential days, after so much riot and feasting; and, with your three little prattlers around you, I am sure your evenings will flow pleasantly by your own fireside. Visiting and gaiety are very well by way of change; but there is no enjoyment so lasting as that of one's own family. Elizabeth will soon be old enough to amuse you by her conversation; and I trust you will take every opportunity of teaching her to put the right value on things, and to exercise her own good sense. It is amazing how soon a child may become a real comfort to its mother, and how much even young minds will form habits of affection towards those who treat them like reasonable beings, capable of seeing the right and the wrong of themselves. A very little girl may be made to understand that there are some things which are pleasant and amusing, which are still less worthy of attention than others more disagreeable and painful. Children are, in general, fond of little ornaments of dress, especially females; and although we may allow them to be elevated with their trifling splendours, yet we should not forget to remind them, that although people may admire their dress, they will admire them much more for their good sense, sweetness of temper, and generosity of disposition. Children are very quick-sighted to discern whether you approve of them, and they are very proud of your approbation when they think you bestow it: we should therefore be careful how we praise them, and for what. If we praise their dress, it should be slightly, and as if it were a matter of very small importance; but we should never let any mark of consideration, or goodness of heart, in a child, pass by, without some token of approbation. Still you must never praise a child too much, nor too warmly, for that would beget vanity; and when praise is moderately yet judiciously bestowed, a child values it more, because it feels that it is just. I don't like 'punishments. You will never torture a child into duty; but a sensible child will dread the frown of a judicious mother, more than all the rods, dark rooms, and scolding schoolmistresses in the universe. We should teach our children to make friends of us, to communicate all their thoughts to us; and while their innocent prattle will amuse us, we shall find many opportunities of teaching them important truths, almost without knowing it. LETTER LXXVI. * From a Gentleman who had lost his Wife, to a Clergyman of his acquaintance.-On the Death of a Wife. I use the first moment of composure to return my thanks to you for having thought of me in my affliction. It was impossible for you to know the bitterness of that affliction, for I myself scarcely knew the greatness of my calamity till it had fallen upon me; nor did I know the acuteness of my own feelings till they had been subjected to this trial. Alas! it is only now that I feel the value of what I have lost. In this state of deep, but quiet melancholy, which has succeeded to the first violent agitations of my sorrow, my greatest pleasure is to look back with gratitude and pious affection on the memory of my beloved wife, and my chief consolation is the soothing recollection of her virtues. Allow me in justice to her memory to tell you what she was, and what I owed her. I was guided in my choice, only by the blind affection of my youth. I found an intelligent companion, and a tender friend, a prudent monitress, the most faithful of wives, and a mother as tender as children ever had the misfortune to lose. I met a woman, who, by the tender management of my weaknesses, gradually corrected the most pernicious of them. She became prudent from affection; and though of the most generous nature, she was taught economy and frugality, by her love for me. During the most critical period of my life, she preserved order in my affairs, from the care of which she relieved me. She gently reclaimed me from dissipation; she propped my weak and irresolute nature; she urged my indolence to all the exertions which have been useful and creditable to me, and she was perpetually at hand to admonish my heedlessness and improvidence. To her I owe whatever I am; to her, whatever I shall be. In her solici • Sir James Macintosh to Dr. Parr. tude for my interest, she never for a moment forgot my feelings, or my character. Even in her occasional resentment, for which I but too often gave her cause, (would to God I could recal those moments,) she had no sullenness or ceremony. Her feelings were warm and impetuous, but she was placable, tender, and constant. Such was she whom I have lost; and I have lost her, when her excellent natural sense was rapidly improving, after eight years of hard struggle and distress had bound us fast together, and moulded our tempers to each other, when a knowledge of her worth had refined my youthful love into friendship, befors age had deprived it of much of its original ardour, I lost her, alas! (the choice of my youth, and the partner of my misfortunes,) at a moment when I had the prospect of her sharing my better days. This is, my dear sir, a calamity which the prosperities of the world cannot repair. To expect that anything on this side the grave can make it up, would be vain and delusive expectation. If I had lost the giddy and thoughtless companion of prosperity, the world could easily repair the loss: but I have lost the faithful and tender partner of my misfortunes, and my only consolation is in that Being, under whose severe but paternal chastisement I am bent down to the ground. The philosophy which I have learnt, only teaches me that virtue and friendship are the greatest of human blessings, and that their loss is irreparable. It aggravates my calamity, instead of consoling me under it. My wounded heart seeks another consolation. Governed by those feelings, which have, in every age and region of the world, actuated the human mind, I seek relief, and I find it in the soothing hope and consolatory opinion, that a Benevolent Wisdom inflicts the chastisement, as well as bestows the enjoyments of human life; that superintending goodness will one day enlight man. en the darkness which surrounds our nature, and hangs over our prospects; that this dreary and wretched life is not the whole of man; that an animal so sagacious and provident, and capable of such proficiency in science and virtue, is not like the beasts that perish; that there is a dwelling-place appointed for the spirits of the just, and that the ways of God will yet be vindicated to The sentiments of religion which were implanted in my mind in my early youth, and which are revived by the awful scenes which I have seen passing before my eyes in the world, are, I trust, deeply rooted in my heart by this great calamity. I shall not offend your rational piety, by saying that modes and opinions appear to me matters of secondary importance, but I can sincerely declare, that Christianity, in its genuine purity and spirit, appears to me the most amiable and venerable of all the forms in which the homage of man has ever been offered to the Author of his being. LETTER LXXVII. 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 any offence to the meanest of your domestics; well knowing that good nature and affability always procure respect; and I appeal to every person of your family, whether my |