Advice to Young Men Part 2

This is not history; a list of battles and a string of intrigues are not history, they communicate no knowledge applicable to our present state; and it really is better to amuse oneself with an avowed romance, which latter is a great deal worse than pa.s.sing one's time in counting the trees.

75. History has been described as affording arguments of experience; as a record of what has been, in order to guide us as to what is likely to be, or what ought to be; but, from this romancing history, no such experience is to be derived: for it furnishes no facts on which to found arguments relative to the existing or future state of things. To come at the true history of a country you must read its laws: you must read books treating of its usages and customs in former times; and you must particularly inform yourself as to _prices of labour and of food_. By reading the single Act of the 23rd year of EDWARD the THIRD, specifying the price of labour at that time; by reading an Act of Parliament pa.s.sed in the 24th year of HENRY the EIGHTH; by reading these two Acts, and then reading the CHRONICON PRECIOSUM of BISHOP FLEETWOOD, which shows the price of food in the former reign, you come into full possession of the knowledge of what England was in former times. Divers books teach how the divisions of the country arose, and how its great inst.i.tutions were established; and the result of this reading is a store of knowledge, which will afford you pleasure for the whole of your life.

76. History, however, is by no means the only thing about which every man's leisure furnishes him with the means of reading; besides which, every man has not the same taste. Poetry, geography, moral essays, the divers subjects of philosophy, travels, natural history, books on sciences; and, in short, the whole range of book-knowledge is before you; but there is one thing always to be guarded against; and that is, not to admire and applaud anything you read, merely because it is the _fas.h.i.+on_ to admire and applaud it. Read, consider well what you read, form _your own judgment_, and stand by that judgment in despite of the sayings of what are called learned men, until fact or argument be offered to convince you of your error. One writer praises another; and it is very possible for writers so to combine as to cry down and, in some sort, to destroy the reputation of any one who meddles with the combination, unless the person thus a.s.sailed be blessed with uncommon talent and uncommon perseverance. When I read the works of POPE and of SWIFT, I was greatly delighted with their las.h.i.+ng of DENNIS; but wondered, at the same time, why they should have taken so much pains in running down such a _fool_. By the merest accident in the world, being at a tavern in the woods of America, I took up an old book, in order to pa.s.s away the time while my travelling companions were drinking in the next room; but seeing the book contained the criticisms of DENNIS, I was about to lay it down, when the play of 'CATO' caught my eye; and having been accustomed to read books in which this play was lauded to the skies, and knowing it to have been written by ADDISON, every line of whose works I had been taught to believe teemed with wisdom and genius, I condescended to begin to read, though the work was from the pen of that _fool_ DENNIS. I read on, and soon began to _laugh_, not at Dennis, but at Addison. I laughed so much and so loud, that the landlord, who was in the pa.s.sage, came in to see what I was laughing at. In short, I found it a most masterly production, one of the most witty things that I had ever read in my life. I was delighted with DENNIS, and was heartily ashamed of my former admiration of CATO, and felt no little resentment against POPE and SWIFT for their endless reviling of this most able and witty critic. This, as far as I recollect, was the first _emanc.i.p.ation_ that had a.s.sisted me in my reading. I have, since that time, never taken any thing upon trust: I have judged for myself, trusting neither to the opinions of writers nor in the fas.h.i.+ons of the day. Having been told by DR. BLAIR, in his lectures on Rhetoric, that, if I meant to write correctly, I must 'give my days and nights to ADDISON,' I read a few numbers of the Spectator at the time I was writing my English Grammar: I gave neither my nights nor my days to him; but I found an abundance of matter to afford examples _of false grammar_; and, upon a reperusal, I found that the criticisms of DENNIS might have been extended to this book too.

77. But that which never ought to have been forgotten by those who were men at the time, and that which ought to be _made known to every young man of the present day_, in order that he may be induced to exercise his own judgment with regard to books, is, the transactions relative to the writings of SHAKSPEARE, which transactions took place about thirty years ago. It is still, and it was then much more, the practice to extol every line of SHAKSPEARE to the skies: not to admire SHAKSPEARE has been deemed to be a proof of want of understanding and taste. MR. GARRICK, and some others after him, had their own good and profitable reasons for crying up the works of this poet. When I was a very little boy, there was a _jubilee_ in honour of SHAKSPEARE, and as he was said to have planted a _Mulberry tree_, boxes, and other little ornamental things in wood, were sold all over the country, as having been made out of the trunk or limbs of this ancient and sacred tree. We Protestants laugh at the _relics_ so highly prized by Catholics; but never was a Catholic people half so much duped by the relics of saints, as this nation was by the mulberry tree, of which, probably, more wood was sold than would have been sufficient in quant.i.ty to build a s.h.i.+p of war, or a large house. This madness abated for some years; but, towards the end of the last century it broke out again with more fury than ever. SHAKSPEARE'S works were published by BOYDELL, an Alderman of London, at a subscription of _five hundred pounds for each copy_, accompanied by plates, each forming a large picture. Amongst the mad men of the day was a MR. IRELAND, who seemed to be more mad than any of the rest. His adoration of the poet led him to perform a pilgrimage to an old farm-house, near Stratford-upon-Avon, said to have been the birth-place of the poet. Arrived at the spot, he requested the farmer and his wife to let him search the house for papers, _first going upon his knees_, and praying, in the poetic style, the G.o.ds to aid him in his quest. He found no papers; but he found that the farmer's wife, in clearing out a garret some years before, had found some rubbishy old papers which she had _burnt_, and which had probably been papers used in the wrapping up of pigs' cheeks to keep them from the bats. 'O, wretched woman!'

exclaimed he; 'do you know what you have done?' 'O dear, no!' said the woman, half frightened out of her wits: 'no harm, I hope; for the papers were _very old_; I dare say as old as the house itself.' This threw him into an additional degree of _excitement_, as it is now fas.h.i.+onably called: he raved, he stamped, he foamed, and at last quitted the house, covering the poor woman with very term of reproach; and hastening back to Stratford, took post-chaise for London, to relate to his brother madmen the horrible sacrilege of this heathenish woman. Unfortunately for MR. IRELAND, unfortunately for his learned brothers in the metropolis, and unfortunately for the reputation of SHAKSPEARE, MR.

IRELAND took with him to the scene of his adoration _a son, about sixteen years of age_, who was articled to an attorney in London. The son was by no means so sharply bitten as the father; and, upon returning to town, he conceived the idea of _supplying the place of the invaluable papers_ which the farm-house heathen had destroyed. He thought, and he thought rightly, that he should have little difficulty in writing plays _just like those of Shakspeare_! To get _paper_ that should seem to have been made in the reign of QUEEN ELIZABETH, and _ink_ that should give to writing the appearance of having the same age, was somewhat difficult; but both were overcome. Young IRELAND was acquainted with a son of a bookseller, who dealt in _old books_: the blank leaves of these books supplied the young author with paper; and he found out the way of making proper ink for his purpose. To work he went, _wrote several plays_, some _love-letters_, and other things; and having got a Bible, extant in the time of SHAKSPEARE, he wrote _notes_ in the margin. All these, together with _sonnets_ in abundance, and other little detached pieces, he produced to his father, telling him he got them from a gentleman, who had _made him swear that he would not divulge his name_. The father announced the invaluable discovery to the literary world: the literary world rushed to him; the ma.n.u.scripts were regarded as genuine by the most grave and learned Doctors, some of whom (and amongst these were DOCTORS PARR and WARTON) gave, _under their hands_, an opinion, that the ma.n.u.scripts _must have been written_ by SHAKSPEARE; for that _no other man in the world could have been capable of writing them_!

78. MR. IRELAND opened a subscription, published these new and invaluable ma.n.u.scripts at an enormous price; and preparations were instantly made for _performing one of the plays_, called VORTIGERN. Soon after the acting of the play, the indiscretion of the lad caused the secret to explode; and, instantly, those who had declared that he had written as well as SHAKSPEARE, did every thing in their power _to destroy him_! The attorney drove him from his office; the father drove him from his house; and, in short, he was hunted down as if he had been a malefactor of the worst description. The truth of this relation is undeniable; it is recorded in numberless books. The young man is, I believe, yet alive; and, in short, no man will question any one of the facts.

79. After this, where is the person of sense who will be guided in these matters by _fas.h.i.+on_? where is the man, who wishes not to be deluded, who will not, when he has read a book, _judge for himself_? After all these jubilees and pilgrimages; after BOYDELL'S subscription of 500_l._ for one single copy; after it had been deemed almost impiety to doubt of the genius of SHAKSPEARE surpa.s.sing that of all the rest of mankind; after he had been called the '_Immortal Bard_,' as a matter of course, as we speak of MOSES and AARON, there having been but one of each in the world; after all this, comes a lad of sixteen years of age, writes that which learned Doctors declare could have been written by no man but SHAKSPEARE, and, when it is discovered that this laughing boy is the real author, the DOCTORS turn round upon him, with all the newspapers, magazines, and reviews, and, of course, the public at their back, revile him as an _impostor_; and, under that odious name, hunt him out of society, and doom him to starve! This lesson, at any rate, he has given us: not to rely on the judgment of Doctors and other pretenders to literary superiority. Every young man, when he takes up a book for the first time, ought to remember this story; and if he do remember it, he will disregard fas.h.i.+on with regard to the book, and will pay little attention to the decision of those who call themselves critics.

80. I hope that your taste would keep you aloof from the writings of those detestable villains, who employ the powers of their mind in debauching the minds of others, or in endeavours to do it. They present their poison in such captivating forms, that it requires great virtue and resolution to withstand their temptations; and, they have, perhaps, done a thousand times as much mischief in the world as all the infidels and atheists put together. These men ought to be called _literary pimps_: they ought to be held in universal abhorrence, and never spoken of but with execration. Any appeal to bad pa.s.sions is to be despised; any appeal to ignorance and prejudice; but here is an appeal to the frailties of human nature, and an endeavour to make the mind corrupt, just as it is beginning to possess its powers. I never have known any but bad men, worthless men, men unworthy of any portion of respect, who took delight in, or even kept in their possession, writings of the description to which I here allude. The writings of SWIFT have this blemish; and, though he is not a teacher of _lewdness_, but rather the contrary, there are certain parts of his poems which are much too filthy for any decent person to read. It was beneath him to stoop to such means of setting forth that wit which would have been far more brilliant without them. I have heard, that, in the library of what is called an '_ill.u.s.trious_ person,' sold some time ago, there was an immense collection of books of this infamous description; and from this circ.u.mstance, if from no other, I should have formed my judgment of the character of that person.

81. Besides reading, a young man ought to write, if he have the capacity and the leisure. If you wish to remember a thing well, put it into writing, even if you burn the paper immediately after you have done; for the eye greatly a.s.sists the mind. Memory consists of a concatenation of ideas, the place, the time, and other circ.u.mstances, lead to the recollection of facts; and no circ.u.mstance more effectually than stating the facts upon paper. A JOURNAL should be kept by every young man. Put down something against every day in the year, if it be merely a description of the weather. You will not have done this for one year without finding the benefit of it. It disburthens the mind of many things to be recollected; it is amusing and useful, and ought by no means to be neglected. How often does it happen that we cannot make a statement of facts, sometimes very interesting to ourselves and our friends, for the want of a record of the places where we were, and of things that occurred on such and such a day! How often does it happen that we get into disagreeable disputes about things that have pa.s.sed, and about the time and other circ.u.mstances attending them! As a thing of mere curiosity, it is of some value, and may frequently prove of very great utility. It demands not more than a minute in the twenty-four hours; and that minute is most agreeably and advantageously employed. It tends greatly to produce regularity in the conducting of affairs: it is a thing demanding a small portion of attention _once in every day_; I myself have found it to be attended with great and numerous benefits, and I therefore strongly recommend it to the practice of every reader.

LETTER III

TO A LOVER

82. There are two descriptions of Lovers on whom all advice would be wasted; namely, those in whose minds pa.s.sion so wholly overpowers reason as to deprive the party of his sober senses. Few people are ent.i.tled to more compa.s.sion than young men thus affected: it is a species of insanity that a.s.sails them; and, when it produces self-destruction, which it does in England more frequently than in all the other countries in the world put together, the mortal remains of the sufferer ought to be dealt with in as tender a manner as that of which the most merciful construction of the law will allow. If SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY'S remains were, as they were, in fact, treated as those of a person labouring under '_temporary mental derangement_,' surely the youth who destroys his life on account of unrequited love, ought to be considered in as mild a light! SIR SAMUEL was represented, in the evidence taken before the Coroner's Jury, to have been _inconsolable for the loss of his wife_; that this loss had so dreadful an effect upon his mind, that it _bereft him of his reason_, made life insupportable, and led him to commit the act of _suicide_: and, on _this ground alone_, his _remains_ and his _estate_ were rescued from the awful, though just and wise, sentence of the law. But, unfortunately for the reputation of the administration of that just and wise law, there had been, only about two years before, a _poor_ man, at Manchester, _buried in crossroads_, and under circ.u.mstances which ent.i.tled his remains to mercy much more clearly than in the case of SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY.

83. This unfortunate youth, whose name was SMITH, and who was a shoemaker, was in love with a young woman, who, in spite of all his importunities and his proofs of ardent pa.s.sion, refused to marry him, and even discovered her liking for another; and he, unable to support life, accompanied by the thought of her being in possession of any body but himself, put an end to his life by the means of a rope. If, in any case, we are to _presume_ the existence of insanity; if, in any case, we are led to believe the thing _without positive proof_; if, in any case, there can be an apology in human nature itself, for such an act; _this was that case_. We all know (as I observed at the time); that is to say, all of us who cannot wait to calculate upon the gains and losses of the affair; all of us, except those who are endowed with this provident frigidity, know well what youthful love is; and what its torments are, when accompanied by even the smallest portion of jealousy. Every man, and especially every Englishman (for here we seldom love or hate by halves), will recollect how many mad pranks he has played; how many wild and ridiculous things he has said and done between the age of sixteen and that of twenty-two; how many times a kind glance has scattered all his reasoning and resolutions to the winds; how many times a cool look has plunged him into the deepest misery! Poor SMITH, who was at this age of love and madness, might, surely, be presumed to have done the deed in a moment of '_temporary mental derangement_.' He was an object of compa.s.sion in every humane breast: he had parents and brethren and kindred and friends to lament his death, and to feel shame at the disgrace inflicted on his lifeless body: yet, HE was p.r.o.nounced to be a _felo de se_, or _self-murderer_, and his body was put into a hole by the way-side, with a stake driven down through it; while that of ROMILLY had mercy extended to it, on the ground that the act had been occasioned by '_temporary mental derangement_' caused by his grief for the death of his wife!

84. To _reason_ with pa.s.sion like that of the unfortunate SMITH, is perfectly useless; you may, with as much chance of success, reason and remonstrate with the winds or the waves: if you make impression, it lasts but for a moment: your effort, like an inadequate stoppage of waters, only adds, in the end, to the violence of the torrent: the current must have and will have its course, be the consequences what they may. In cases not quite so decided, _absence_, the sight _of new faces_, the sound _of new voices_, generally serve, if not as a radical cure, as a mitigation, at least, of the disease. But, the worst of it is, that, on this point, we have the girls (and women too) against us!

For they look upon it as right that every lover should be _a little maddish_; and, every attempt to rescue him from the thraldom imposed by their charms, they look upon as an overt act of treason against their natural sovereignty. No girl ever liked a young man less for his having done things foolish and wild and ridiculous, provided she was _sure_ that love of her had been the cause: let her but be satisfied upon this score, and there are very few things which she will not forgive. And, though wholly unconscious of the fact, she is a great and sound philosopher after all. For, from the nature of things, the rearing of a family always has been, is, and must ever be, attended with cares and troubles, which must infallibly produce, at times, feelings to be combated and overcome by nothing short of that ardent affection which first brought the parties together. So that, talk as long as Parson MALTHUS likes about 'moral _restraint_;' and report as long as the Committees of Parliament please about preventing '_premature_ and _improvident_ marriages' amongst the labouring cla.s.ses, the pa.s.sion that they would _restrain_, while it is necessary to the existence of mankind, is the greatest of all the compensations for the inevitable cares, troubles, hards.h.i.+ps, and sorrows of life; and, as to the _marriages_, if they could once be rendered universally _provident_, every generous sentiment would quickly be banished from the world.

85. The other description of lovers, with whom it is useless to reason, are those who love according to the _rules of arithmetic_, or who measure their matrimonial expectations by the _chain of the land-surveyor_. These are not love and marriage; they are bargain and sale. Young men will naturally, and almost necessarily, fix their choice on young women in their own rank in life; because from habit and intercourse they will know them best. But, if the length of the girl's purse, present or contingent, be a consideration with the man, or the length of his purse, present or contingent, be a consideration with her, it is an affair of bargain and sale. I know that kings, princes, and princesses are, in respect of marriage, restrained by the law: I know that n.o.bles, if not thus restrained by positive law, are restrained, in fact, by the very nature of their order. And here is a disadvantage which, as far as real enjoyment of life is concerned, more than counterbalances all the advantages that they possess over the rest of the community. This disadvantage, generally speaking, pursues rank and riches downwards, till you approach very nearly to that numerous cla.s.s who live by manual labour, becoming, however, less and less as you descend. You generally find even very vulgar rich men making a sacrifice of their natural and rational taste to their mean and ridiculous pride, and thereby providing for themselves an ample supply of misery for life.

By preferring '_provident_ marriages' to marriages of love, they think to secure themselves against all the evils of poverty; but, _if poverty come_, and come it may, and frequently does, in spite of the best laid plans, and best modes of conduct; _if poverty come_, then where is the counterbalance for that ardent mutual affection, which troubles, and losses, and crosses always increase rather than diminish, and which, amidst all the calamities that can befall a man, whispers to his heart, that his best possession is still left him unimpaired? The WORCESTERs.h.i.+RE BARONET, who has had to endure the sneers of fools on account of his marriage with a beautiful and virtuous servant maid, would, were the present ruinous measures of the Government to drive him from his mansion to a cottage, still have a source of happiness; while many of those, who might fall in company with him, would, in addition to all their other troubles, have, perhaps, to endure the reproaches of wives to whom poverty, or even humble life, would be insupportable.

86. If marrying for the sake of money be, under any circ.u.mstances, despicable, if not disgraceful; if it be, generally speaking, a species of legal prost.i.tution, only a little less shameful than that which, under some governments, is openly licensed for the sake of a tax; if this be the case generally, what ought to be said of a young man, who, in the heyday of youth, should couple himself on to a libidinous woman, old enough, perhaps, to be his grandmother, ugly as the nightmare, offensive alike to the sight and the smell, and who should pretend to _love_ her too: and all this merely for the sake of her money? Why, it ought, and it, doubtless, would be said of him, that his conduct was a libel on both man and womankind; that his name ought, for ever, to be synonymous with baseness and nastiness, and that in no age and in no nation, not marked by a general depravity of manners, and total absence of all sense of shame, every a.s.sociate, male or female, of such a man, or of his filthy mate, would be held in abhorrence. Public morality would drive such a hateful pair from society, and strict justice would hunt them from the face of the earth.

87. BUONAPARTE could not be said to marry for _money_, but his motive was little better. It was for dominion, for power, for ambition, and that, too, of the most contemptible kind. I knew an American Gentleman, with whom BUONAPARTE had always been a great favourite; but the moment the news arrived of his divorce and second marriage, he gave him up.

This piece of grand prost.i.tution was too much to be defended. And the truth is, that BUONAPARTE might have dated his decline from the day of that marriage. My American friend said, 'If I had been he, I would, in the first place, have married the poorest and prettiest girl in all France.' If he had done this, he would, in all probability, have now been on an imperial throne, instead of being eaten by worms at the bottom of a very deep hole in Saint Helena; whence, however, his bones convey to the world the moral, that to marry for money, for ambition, or from any motive other than the one pointed out by affection, is not the road to glory, to happiness, or to peace.

88. Let me now turn from these two descriptions of lovers, with whom it is useless to reason, and address myself to you, my reader, whom I suppose to be a _real_ lover, but not so smitten as to be bereft of your reason. You should never forget, that marriage, which is a state that every young person ought to have in view, is a thing to last _for life_; and that, generally speaking, it is to make life _happy_, or _miserable_; for, though a man may bring his mind to something nearly a state of _indifference_, even _that_ is misery, except with those who can hardly be reckoned amongst sensitive beings. Marriage brings numerous _cares_, which are amply compensated by the more numerous delights which are their companions. But to have the delights, as well as the cares, the choice of the partner must be fortunate. I say _fortunate_; for, after all, love, real love, impa.s.sioned affection, is an ingredient so absolutely necessary, that no _perfect_ reliance can be placed on the judgment. Yet, the judgment may do something; reason may have some influence; and, therefore, I here offer you my advice with regard to the exercise of that reason.

89. The things which you ought to desire in a wife are, 1. Chast.i.ty; 2.

sobriety; 3. industry; 4. frugality; 5. cleanliness; 6. knowledge of domestic affairs; 7. good temper; 8. beauty.

90. CHASt.i.tY, perfect modesty, in word, deed, and even thought, is so essential, that, without it, no female is fit to be a wife. It is not enough that a young woman abstain from everything approaching towards indecorum in her behaviour towards men; it is, with me, not enough that she cast down her eyes, or turn aside her head with a smile, when she hears an indelicate allusion: she ought to appear _not to understand_ it, and to receive from it no more impression than if she were a post. A loose woman is a disagreeable _acquaintance_: what must she be, then, as a _wife_? Love is so blind, and vanity is so busy in persuading us that our own qualities will be sufficient to ensure fidelity, that we are very apt to think nothing, or, at any rate, very little, of trifling symptoms of levity; but if such symptoms show themselves _now_, we may be well a.s.sured, that we shall never possess the power of effecting a cure. If _prudery_ mean _false_ modesty, it is to be despised; but if it mean modesty pushed to the utmost extent, I confess that I like it. Your '_free and hearty_' girls I have liked very well to talk and laugh with; but never, for one moment, did it enter into my mind that I could have endured a 'free and hearty' girl for a wife. The thing is, I repeat, to _last for life_; it is to be a counterbalance for troubles and misfortunes; and it must, therefore, be perfect, or it had better not be at all. To say that one _despises_ jealousy is foolish; it is a thing to be lamented; but the very elements of it ought to be avoided. Gross indeed is the beast, for he is unworthy of the name of man; nasty indeed is the wretch, who can even entertain the thought of putting himself between a pair of sheets with a wife of whose infidelity he possesses the proof; but, in such cases, a man ought to be very slow to believe appearances; and he ought not to decide against his wife but upon the clearest proof. The last, and, indeed, the only effectual safeguard is, to _begin_ well; to make a good choice; to let the beginning be such as to render infidelity and jealousy next to impossible. If you begin in grossness; if you couple yourself on to one with whom you have taken liberties, infidelity is the natural and _just_ consequence. When a _Peer of the realm_, who had not been over-fortunate in his matrimonial affairs, was urging MAJOR CARTWRIGHT to seek for nothing more than '_moderate_ reform,' the Major (forgetting the domestic circ.u.mstances of his Lords.h.i.+p) asked him how he should relish '_moderate_ chast.i.ty' in a wife! The bare use of the two words, thus coupled together, is sufficient to excite disgust. Yet with this '_moderate_ chast.i.ty' you must be, and ought to be, content, if you have entered into marriage with one, in whom you have ever discovered the slightest approach towards lewdness, either in deeds, words, or looks. To marry has been your own act; you have made the contract for your own gratification; you knew the character of the other party; and the children, if any, or the community, are not to be the sufferers for your gross and corrupt pa.s.sion. '_Moderate_ chast.i.ty' is all that you have, in fact, contracted for: you have it, and you have no reason to complain. When I come to address myself to the _husband_, I shall have to say more upon this subject, which I dismiss for the present with observing, that my observation has convinced me, that, when families are rendered unhappy from the existence of '_moderate_ chast.i.ty,' the fault, first or last, has been in the man, ninety-nine times out of every hundred.

91. SOBRIETY. By _sobriety_ I do not mean merely an absence of _drinking to a state of intoxication_; for, if that be _hateful_ in a man, what must it be in a woman! There is a Latin proverb, which says, that wine, that is to say, intoxication, _brings forth truth_. Whatever it may do in this way, in men, in women it is sure, unless prevented by age or by salutary ugliness, to produce a moderate, and a _very moderate_, portion of chast.i.ty. There never was a drunken woman, a woman who loved strong drink, who was chaste, if the opportunity of being the contrary presented itself to her. There are cases where _health_ requires wine, and even small portions of more ardent liquor; but (reserving what I have further to say on this point, till I come to the conduct of the husband) _young_ unmarried women can seldom stand in need of these stimulants; and, at any rate, only in cases of well-known definite ailments. Wine! '_only_ a _gla.s.s or two_ of wine at dinner, or so'! As soon as have married a girl whom I had thought liable to be persuaded to drink, habitually, '_only_ a gla.s.s or two of wine at dinner, or so;' as soon as have _married_ such a girl, I would have taken a strumpet from the streets. And it has not required _age_ to give me this way of thinking: it has always been rooted in my mind from the moment that I began to think the girls prettier than posts. There are few things so disgusting as a guzzling woman. A gormandizing one is bad enough; but, one who tips off the liquor with an appet.i.te, and exclaims '_good!

good!_' by a smack of her lips, is fit for nothing but a brothel. There may be cases, amongst the _hard_-labouring women, such as _reapers_, for instance, especially when they have children at the breast; there may be cases, where very _hard-working_ women may stand in need of a little _good_ beer; beer, which, if taken in immoderate quant.i.ties, would produce intoxication. But, while I only allow the _possibility_ of the existence of such cases, I deny the necessity of any strong drink at all in every other case. Yet, in this metropolis, it is the general custom for tradesmen, journeymen, and even labourers, to have regularly on their tables the big brewers' poison, twice in every day, and at the rate of not less than a pot to a person, women, as well as men, as the allowance for the day. A pot of poison a day, at fivepence the pot, amounts to _seven pounds and two s.h.i.+llings_ in the year! Man and wife suck down, in this way, _fourteen pounds four s.h.i.+llings_ a year! Is it any wonder that they are clad in rags, that they are skin and bone, and that their children are covered with filth?

92. But by the word SOBRIETY, in a young woman, I mean a great deal more than even a rigid abstinence from that love of _drink_, which I am not to suppose, and which I do not believe, to exist any thing like generally amongst the young women of this country. I mean a great deal more than this; I mean _sobriety of conduct_. The word _sober_, and its derivatives, do not confine themselves to matters of _drink_: they express _steadiness, seriousness, carefulness, scrupulous propriety of conduct_; and they are thus used amongst country people in many parts of England. When a Somersets.h.i.+re fellow makes too free with a girl, she reproves him with, 'Come! be _sober_!' And when we wish a team, or any thing, to be moved on _steadily_ and with _great care_, we cry out to the carter, or other operator, '_Soberly, soberly_.' Now, this species of sobriety is a great qualification in the person you mean to make your wife. Skipping, capering, romping, rattling girls are very amusing where all costs and other consequences are out of the question; and they _may_ become _sober_ in the Somersets.h.i.+re sense of the word. But while you have _no certainty_ of this, you have a presumptive argument on the other side. To be sure, when girls are _mere children_, they are to play and romp like children. But, when they arrive at that age which turns their thoughts towards that sort of connexion which is to be theirs for life; when they begin to think of having the command of a house, however small or poor, it is time for them to cast away the levity of the child.

It is natural, nor is it very wrong, that I know of, for children to like to gad about and to see all sorts of strange sights, though I do not approve of this even in children: but, if I could not have found a _young woman_ (and I am sure I never should have married an _old_ one) who I was not _sure_ possessed _all_ the qualities expressed by the word sobriety, I should have remained a bachelor to the end of that life, which, in that case, would, I am satisfied, have terminated without my having performed a thousandth part of those labours which have been, and are, in spite of all political prejudice, the wonder of all who have seen, or heard of, them. Scores of gentlemen have, at different times, expressed to me their surprise, that I was '_always in spirits_;' that nothing _pulled me down_; and the truth is, that, throughout nearly forty years of troubles, losses, and crosses, a.s.sailed all the while by more numerous and powerful enemies than ever man had before to contend with, and performing, at the same time, labours greater than man ever before performed; all those labours requiring mental exertion, and some of them mental exertion of the highest order; the truth is, that, throughout the whole of this long time of troubles and of labours, I have never known a single hour of _real anxiety_; the troubles have been no troubles to me; I have not known what _lowness of spirits_ meaned; have been more gay, and felt less care, than any bachelor that ever lived. 'You are _always in spirits_, Cobbett!' To be sure; for why should I not? _Poverty_ I have always set at defiance, and I could, therefore, defy the temptations of riches; and, as to _home_ and _children_, I had taken care to provide myself with an inexhaustible store of that '_sobriety_,' which I am so strongly recommending my reader to provide himself with; or, if he cannot do that, to deliberate long before he ventures on the life-enduring matrimonial voyage. This sobriety is a t.i.tle to _trust-worthiness_; and _this_, young man, is the treasure that you ought to prize far above all others. Miserable is the husband, who, when he crosses the threshold of his house, carries with him doubts and fears and suspicions. I do not mean suspicions of the _fidelity_ of his wife, but of her care, frugality, attention to his interests, and to the health and morals of his children. Miserable is the man, who cannot leave _all unlocked_, and who is not _sure_, quite certain, that all is as safe as if grasped in his own hand. He is the happy husband, who can go away, at a moment's warning, leaving his house and his family with as little anxiety as he quits an inn, not more fearing to find, on his return, any thing wrong, than he would fear a discontinuance of the rising and setting of the sun, and if, as in my case, leaving books and papers all lying about at sixes and sevens, finding them arranged in proper order, and the room, during the lucky interval, freed from the effects of his and his ploughman's or gardener's dirty shoes. Such a man has no _real cares_; such a man has _no troubles_; and this is the sort of life that I have led. I have had all the numerous and indescribable delights of home and children, and, at the same time, all the bachelor's freedom from domestic cares: and to this cause, far more than to any other, my readers owe those labours, which I never could have performed, if even the slightest degree of want of confidence at home had ever once entered into my mind.

93. But, in order to possess this precious _trust-worthiness_, you must, if you can, exercise your _reason_ in the choice of your partner. If she be vain of her person, very fond of dress, fond of _flattery_, at all given to gadding about, fond of what are called _parties of pleasure_, or coquetish, though in the least degree; if either of these, she never will be trust-worthy; worthy; she cannot change her nature; and if you marry her, you will be _unjust_ if you expect trust-worthiness at her hands. But, besides this, even if you find in her that innate '_sobriety_' of which I have been speaking, there requires on your part, and that at once too, confidence and trust without any limit. Confidence is, in this case, nothing unless it be reciprocal. To have a trust-worthy wife, you must begin by showing her, even before you are married, that you have no suspicions, no fears, no doubts, with regard to her. Many a man has been discarded by a virtuous girl, merely on account of his querulous conduct. All women despise jealous men; and, if they marry such their motive is other than that of affection. Therefore, _begin_ by proofs of unlimited confidence; and, as _example_ may serve to a.s.sist precept, and as I never have preached that which I have not practised, I will give you the history of my own conduct in this respect.

94. When I first saw my wife, she was _thirteen years old_, and I was within about a month of _twenty-one_. She was the daughter of a Serjeant of artillery, and I was the Serjeant-Major of a regiment of foot, both stationed in forts near the city of St. John, in the Province of New-Brunswick. I sat in the same room with her, for about an hour, in company with others, and I made up my mind that she was the very girl for me. That I thought her beautiful is certain, for that I had always said should be an indispensable qualification; but I saw in her what I deemed marks of that sobriety of _conduct_ of which I have said so much, and which has been by far the greatest blessing of my life. It was now dead of winter, and, of course, the snow several feet deep on the ground, and the weather piercing cold. It was my habit, when I had done my morning's writing, to go out at break of day to take a walk on a hill at the foot of which our barracks lay. In about three mornings after I had first seen her, I had, by an invitation to breakfast with me, got up two young men to join me in my walk; and our road lay by the house of her father and mother. It was hardly light, but she was out on the snow, scrubbing out a was.h.i.+ng-tub. 'That's the girl for me,' said I, when we had got out of her hearing. One of these young men came to England soon afterwards; and he, who keeps an inn in Yorks.h.i.+re, came over to Preston, at the time of the election, to verify whether I were the same man. When he found that I was, he appeared surprised; but what was his surprise, when I told him that those tall young men, whom he saw around me, were the _sons_ of that pretty little girl that he and I saw scrubbing out the was.h.i.+ng-tub on the snow in New-Brunswick at day-break in the morning!

95. From the day that I first spoke to her, I never had a thought of her ever being the wife of any other man, more than I had a thought of her being transformed into a chest of drawers; and I formed my resolution at once, to marry her as soon as we could get permission, and to get out of the army as soon as I could. So that this matter was, at once, settled as firmly as if written in the book of fate. At the end of about six months, my regiment, and I along with it, were removed to FREDERICKTON, a distance of a _hundred miles_, up the river of ST. JOHN; and, which was worse, the artillery were expected to go off to England a year or two before our regiment! The artillery went, and she along with them; and now it was that I acted a part becoming a real and sensible lover. I was aware, that, when she got to that gay place WOOLWICH, the house of her father and mother, necessarily visited by numerous persons not the most select, might become unpleasant to her, and I did not like, besides, that she should continue to _work hard_. I had saved a _hundred and fifty guineas_, the earnings of my early hours, in writing for the paymaster, the quartermaster, and others, in addition to the savings of my own pay. _I sent her all my money_, before she sailed; and wrote to her to beg of her, if she found her home uncomfortable, to hire a lodging with respectable people: and, at any rate, not to spare the money, by any means, but to buy herself good clothes, and to live without hard work, until I arrived in England; and I, in order to induce her to lay out the money, told her that I should get plenty more before I came home.

96. As the malignity of the devil would have it, we were kept abroad _two years longer_ than our time, Mr. PITT (England not being so tame then as she is now) having knocked up a dust with Spain about Nootka Sound. Oh, how I cursed Nootka Sound, and poor bawling Pitt too, I am afraid! At the end _of four years_, however, home I came; landed at Portsmouth, and got my discharge from the army by the great kindness of poor LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD, who was then the Major of my regiment. I found my little girl _a servant of all work_ (and hard work it was), at _five pounds a year_, in the house of a CAPTAIN BRISAC; and, without hardly saying a word about the matter, she put into my hands _the whole of my hundred and fifty guineas unbroken_!

97. Need I tell the reader what my feelings were? Need I tell kind-hearted English parents what effect this anecdote _must_ have produced on the minds of our children? Need I attempt to describe what effect this example ought to have on every young woman who shall do me the honour to read this book? Admiration of her conduct, and self-gratulation on this indubitable proof of the soundness of my own judgment, were now added to my love of her beautiful person.

98. Now, I do not say that there are not many young women of this country who would, under similar circ.u.mstances, have acted as my wife did in this case; on the contrary, I hope, and do sincerely believe, that there are. But when _her age_ is considered; when we reflect, that she was living in a place crowded, literally _crowded_, with gaily-dressed and handsome young men, many of whom really far richer and in higher rank than I was, and scores of them ready to offer her their hand; when we reflect that she was living amongst young women who put upon their backs every s.h.i.+lling that they could come at; when we see her keeping the bag of gold untouched, and working hard to provide herself with but mere necessary apparel, and doing this while she was pa.s.sing from _fourteen to eighteen years of age_; when we view the whole of the circ.u.mstances, we must say that here is an example, which, while it reflects honour on her s.e.x, ought to have weight with every young woman whose eyes or ears this relation shall reach.

99. If any young man imagine, that this great _sobriety of conduct_ in young women must be accompanied with seriousness approaching to _gloom_, he is, according to my experience and observation, very much deceived.

The _contrary_ is the fact; for I have found that as, amongst men, your jovial companions are, except over the bottle, the dullest and most insipid of souls; so amongst women, the gay, rattling, and laughing, are, unless some party of pleasure, or something out of domestic life, is going on, generally in the dumps and blue-devils. Some _stimulus_ is always craved after by this description of women; some sight to be seen, something to see or hear other than what is to be found _at home_, which, as it affords no incitement, nothing '_to raise and keep up the spirits_', is looked upon merely as a place _to be at_ for want of a better; merely a place for eating and drinking, and the like; merely a biding place, whence to sally in search of enjoyments. A greater curse than a wife of this description, it would be somewhat difficult to find; and, in your character of Lover, you are to provide against it. I hate a dull, melancholy, moping thing: I could not have existed in the same house with such a thing for a single month. The mopers are, too, all giggle at other times: the gaiety is for others, and the moping for the husband, to comfort him, happy man, when he is alone: plenty of smiles and of badinage for others, and for him to partic.i.p.ate with others; but the moping is reserved exclusively for him. One hour she is capering about, as if rehearsing a jig; and, the next, sighing to the motion of a lazy needle, or weeping over a novel and this is called _sentiment_!

Music, indeed! Give me a mother singing to her clean and fat and rosy baby, and making the house ring with her extravagant and hyperbolical encomiums on it. That is the music which is '_the food of love_;' and not the formal, pedantic noises, an affectation of skill in which is now-a-days the ruin of half the young couples in the middle rank of life. Let any man observe, as I so frequently have, with delight, the excessive fondness of the labouring people for their children. Let him observe with what pride they dress them out on a Sunday, with means deducted from their own scanty meals. Let him observe the husband, who has toiled all the week like a horse, nursing the baby, while the wife is preparing the bit of dinner. Let him observe them both abstaining from a sufficiency, lest the children should feel the pinchings of hunger. Let him observe, in short, the whole of their demeanour, the real mutual affection, evinced, not in words, but in unequivocal deeds.

Let him observe these things, and, having then cast a look at the lives of the great and wealthy, he will say, with me, that, when a man is choosing his partner for life, the dread of poverty ought to be cast to the winds. A labourer's cottage, on a Sunday; the husband or wife having a baby in arms, looking at two or three older ones playing between the flower-borders going from the wicket to the door, is, according to my taste, the most interesting object that eyes ever beheld; and, it is an object to be beheld in no country upon earth but England. In France, a labourer's cottage means _a shed_ with a _dung-heap_ before the door; and it means much about the same in America, where it is wholly inexcusable. In riding once, about five years ago, from Petworth to Horsham, on a Sunday in the afternoon, I came to a solitary cottage which stood at about twenty yards distance from the road. There was the wife with the baby in her arms, the husband teaching another child to walk, while _four_ more were at play before them. I stopped and looked at them for some time, and then, turning my horse, rode up to the wicket, getting into talk by asking the distance to Horsham. I found that the man worked chiefly in the woods, and that he was doing pretty well. The wife was then only _twenty-two_, and the man only _twenty-five_. She was a pretty woman, even for _Suss.e.x_, which, not excepting Lancas.h.i.+re, contains the prettiest women in England. He was a very fine and stout young man. 'Why,' said I, 'how many children do you reckon to have at last?' 'I do not care how many,' said the man: 'G.o.d never sends mouths without sending meat.' 'Did you ever hear,' said I, 'of one PARSON MALTHUS?' 'No, sir.' 'Why, if he were to hear of your works, he would be outrageous; for he wants an act of parliament to prevent poor people from marrying young, and from having such lots of children.' 'Oh! the brute!' exclaimed the wife; while the husband laughed, thinking that I was joking. I asked the man whether he had ever had _relief from the parish_; and upon his answering in the negative, I took out my purse, took from it enough to bait my horse at Horsham, and to clear my turnpikes to WORTH, whither I was going in order to stay awhile, and gave him all the rest. Now, is it not a shame, is it not a sin of all sins, that people like these should, by acts of the government, be reduced to such misery as to be induced to abandon their homes and their country, to seek, in a foreign land, the means of preventing themselves and their children from starving? And this has been, and now is, actually the case with many such families in this same county of Suss.e.x!

100. An _ardent-minded_ young man (who, by-the-by, will, as I am afraid, have been wearied by this rambling digression) may fear, that this great _sobriety of conduct_ in a young woman, for which I have been so strenuously contending, argues a want of that _warmth_, which he naturally so much desires; and, if my observation and experience warranted the entertaining of this fear, I should say, had I to live my life over again, give me the _warmth_, and I will stand my chance as to the rest. But, this observation and this experience tell me the contrary; they tell me that _levity_ is, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the companion of _a want of ardent feeling_. Prost.i.tutes never _love_, and, for the far greater part, never did. Their pa.s.sion, which is more _mere animal_ than any thing else, is easily gratified; they, like rakes, change not only without pain, but with pleasure; that is to say, pleasure as great as they can enjoy. Women of _light minds_ have seldom any _ardent_ pa.s.sion; love is a mere name, unless confined to one object; and young women, in whom levity of conduct is observable, will not be thus restricted. I do not, however, recommend a young man to be _too severe_ in judging, where the conduct does not go beyond _mere levity_, and is not bordering on _loose_ conduct; for something depends here upon const.i.tution and animal spirits, and something also upon the manners of the country. That levity, which, in a French girl, I should not have thought a great deal of, would have frightened me away from an English or an American girl. When I was in France, just after I was married, there happened to be amongst our acquaintance a gay, sprightly girl, of about seventeen. I was remonstrating with her, one day, on the facility with which she seemed to s.h.i.+ft her smiles from object to object; and she, stretching one arm out in an upward direction, the other in a downward direction, raising herself upon one foot, leaning her body on one side, and thus throwing herself into _flying_ att.i.tude, answered my grave lecture by singing, in a very sweet voice (significantly bowing her head and smiling at the same time), the following lines from the _vaudeville_, in the play of Figaro:

Si l'amour a des _ailles_; N'est ce pas pour _voltiger_?

That is, if love has _wings_, is it not _to flutter about_ with? The wit, argument, and manner, all together, silenced me. She, after I left France, married a very worthy man, has had a large family, and has been, and is, a most excellent wife and mother. But that which does sometimes well in France, does not do here at all. Our manners are more grave: steadiness is the rule, and levity the exception. Love may _voltige_ in France; but, in England, it cannot, with safety to the lover: and it is a truth which, I believe, no man of attentive observation will deny, that, as, in general, English wives are _more warm_ in their conjugal attachments than those of France, so, with regard to individuals, that those English women who are the _most light_ in their manners, and who are the _least constant_ in their attachments, have the smallest portion of that _warmth_, that indescribable pa.s.sion which G.o.d has given to human beings as the great counterbalance to all the sorrows and sufferings of life.

101. INDUSTRY. By _industry_, I do not mean merely _laboriousness_, merely labour or activity of body, for purposes of gain or of saving; for there may be industry amongst those who have more money than they know well what to do with: and there may be _lazy ladies_, as well as lazy farmers' and tradesmen's wives. There is no state of life in which _industry_ in the wife is not necessary to the happiness and prosperity of the family, at the head of the household affairs of which she is placed. If she be lazy, there will be lazy servants, and, which is a great deal worse, children habitually lazy: every thing, however necessary to be done, will be put off to the last moment: then it will be done badly, and, in many cases, not at all: the dinner will be _too late_; the journey or the visit will be tardy; inconveniencies of all sorts will be continually arising: there will always be a heavy _arrear_ of things unperformed; and this, even amongst the most wealthy of all, is a great curse; for, if they have no _business_ imposed upon them by necessity, they _make business_ for themselves; life would be unbearable without it: and therefore a lazy woman must always be a curse, be her rank or station what it may.

102. But, _who is to tell_ whether a girl will make an industrious woman? How is the purblind lover especially, to be able to ascertain whether she, whose smiles and dimples and bewitching lips have half bereft him of his senses; how is he to be able to judge, from any thing that he can see, whether the beloved object will be industrious or lazy?

Why, it is very difficult: it is a matter that reason has very little to do with; but there are, nevertheless, certain outward and visible signs, from which a man, not wholly deprived of the use of his reason, may form a pretty accurate judgment as to this matter. It was a story in Philadelphia, some years ago, that a young man, who was courting one of three sisters, happened to be on a visit to her, when all the three were present, and when one said to the others, 'I _wonder_ where _our_ needle is.' Upon which he withdrew, as soon as was consistent with the rules of politeness, resolved never to think more of a girl who possessed a needle only in partners.h.i.+p, and who, it appeared, was not too well informed as to the place where even that share was deposited.

103. This was, to be sure, a very flagrant instance of a want of industry; for, if the third part of the use of a needle satisfied her when single, it was reasonable to antic.i.p.ate that marriage would banish that useful implement altogether. But such instances are seldom suffered to come in contact with the eyes and ears of the lover, to disguise all defects from whom is the great business, not only of the girl herself, but of her whole family. There are, however, certain _outward signs_, which, if attended to with care, will serve as pretty sure guides. And, first, if you find the _tongue_ lazy, you may be nearly certain that the hands and feet are the same. By laziness of the tongue I do not mean _silence_; I do not mean an _absence of talk_, for that is, in most cases, very good; but, I mean, a _slow_ and _soft utterance_; a sort of _sighing out_ of the words instead of _speaking_ them; a sort of letting the sounds fall out, as if the party were _sick at stomach_. The p.r.o.nunciation of an industrious person is generally _quick_, _distinct_, and the voice, if not strong, _firm_ at the least. Not masculine; as feminine as possible; not a _croak_ nor a _bawl_, but a quick, distinct, and sound voice. Nothing is much more disgusting than what the sensible country people call a _maw-mouthed_ woman. A maw-mouthed man is bad enough: he is sure to be a lazy fellow: but, a woman of this description, in addition to her laziness, soon becomes the most disgusting of mates. In this whole world nothing is much more hateful than a female's under jaw, lazily moving up and down, and letting out a long string of half-articulate sounds. It is impossible for any man, who has any spirit in him, to love such a woman for any length of time.

104. Look a little, also, at the labours of the _teeth_, for these correspond with those of the other members of the body, and with the operations of the mind. 'Quick at _meals_, quick at _work_,' is a saying as old as the hills, in this, the most industrious nation upon earth; and never was there a truer saying. But fas.h.i.+on comes in here, and decides that you shall not be quick at meals; that you shall sit and be carrying on the affair of eating for an hour, or more. Good G.o.d! what have I not suffered on this account! However, though she must _sit_ as long as the rest, and though she must join in the _performance_ (for it is a real performance) unto the end of the last scene, she cannot make her _teeth_ abandon their character. She may, and must, suffer the slice to linger on the plate, and must make the supply slow, in order to fill up the time; but when she _does_ bite, she cannot well disguise what nature has taught her to do; and you may be a.s.sured, that if her jaws move in slow time, and if she rather _squeeze_ than bite the food; if she so deal with it as to leave you in doubt as to whether she mean finally to admit or reject it; if she deal with it thus, set her down as being, in her very nature, incorrigibly lazy. Never mind the pieces of needle-work, the tambouring, the maps of the world made by her needle.

Get to see her at work upon a mutton chop, or a bit of bread and cheese; and, if she deal quickly with these, you have a pretty good security for that activity, that _stirring_ industry, without which a wife is a burden instead of being a help. And, as to _love_, it cannot live for more than a month or two (in the breast of a man of spirit) towards a lazy woman.

105. Another mark of industry is, a _quick step_, and a somewhat _heavy tread_, showing that the foot comes down with a _hearty good will_; and if the body lean a little forward, and the eyes keep steadily in the same direction, while the feet are going, so much the better, for these discover _earnestness_ to arrive at the intended point. I do not like, and I never liked, your _sauntering_, soft-stepping girls, who move as if they were perfectly indifferent as to the result; and, as to the _love_ part of the story, whoever expects ardent and lasting affection from one of these sauntering girls, will, when too late, find his mistake: the character runs the same all the way through; and no man ever yet saw a sauntering girl, who did not, when married, make a _mawkish_ wife, and a cold-hearted mother; cared very little for either by husband or children; and, of course, having no store of those blessings which are the natural resources to apply to in sickness and in old age.

106. _Early-rising_ is another mark of industry; and though, in the higher situations of life, it may be of no importance in a mere pecuniary point of view, it is, even there, of importance in other respects; for it is, I should imagine, pretty difficult to keep love alive towards a woman who _never sees the dew_, never beholds the _rising sun_, and who constantly comes directly from a reeking bed to the breakfast table, and there chews about, without appet.i.te, the choicest morsels of human food. A man might, perhaps, endure this for a month or two, without being disgusted; but that is ample allowance of time. And, as to people in the middle rank of life, where a living and a provision for children is to be sought by labour of some sort or other, late rising in the wife is _certain ruin_; and, never was there yet an early-rising wife, who had been a late-rising girl. If brought up to late rising, she will like it; it will be her _habit_; she will, when married, never want excuses for indulging in the habit; at first she will be indulged without bounds; to make a _change_ afterwards will be difficult; it will be deemed a _wrong_ done to her; she will ascribe it to diminished affection; a quarrel must ensue, or, the husband must submit to be ruined, or, at the very least, to see half the fruit of his labour snored and lounged away. And, is this being _rigid_? Is it being _harsh_; is it being _hard_ upon women? Is it the offspring of the frigid severity of age? It is none of these: it arises from an ardent desire to promote the happiness, and to add to the natural, legitimate, and salutary influence, of the female s.e.x. The tendency of this advice is to promote the preservation of their health; to prolong the duration of their beauty; to cause them to be beloved to the last day of their lives; and to give them, during the whole of those lives, weight and consequence, of which laziness would render them wholly unworthy.

107. FRUGALITY. This means the contrary of _extravagance_. It does not mean _stinginess_; it does not mean a pinching of the belly, nor a stripping of the back; but it means an abstaining from all _unnecessary_ expenditure, and all _unnecessary_ use, of goods of any and of every sort; and a quality of great importance it is, whether the rank in life be high or low. Some people are, indeed, so rich, they have such an overabundance of money and goods, that how to get rid of them would, to a looker-on, seem to be their only difficulty. But while the inconvenience of even these immense ma.s.ses is not too great to be overcome by a really extravagant woman, who jumps with joy at a basket of strawberries at a guinea an ounce, and who would not give a straw for green peas later in the year than January; while such a dame would lighten the bags of a loan-monger, or shorten the rent-roll of half-a-dozen peerages amalgamated into one possession, she would, with very little study and application of her talent, send a n.o.bleman of ordinary estate to the poor-house or the pension list, which last may be justly regarded as the poor-book of the aristocracy. How many n.o.blemen and gentlemen, of fine estates, have been ruined and degraded by the extravagance of their wives! More frequently by their _own_ extravagance, perhaps; but, in numerous instances, by that of those whose duty it is to a.s.sist in upholding their stations by husbanding their fortunes.

108. If this be the case amongst the opulent, who have estates to draw upon, what must be the consequences of a want of frugality in the middle and lower ranks of life? Here it must be fatal, and especially amongst that description of persons whose wives have, in many cases, the _receiving_ as well as the expending of money. In such a case, there wants nothing but extravagance in the wife to make ruin as sure as the arrival of old age. To obtain _security_ against this is very difficult; yet, if the lover be not _quite blind_, he may easily discover a propensity towards extravagance. The object of his addresses will, nine times out of ten, not be the manager of a house; but she must have her _dress_, and other little matters under her control. If she be _costly_ in these; if, in these, she step above her rank, or even to the top of it; if she purchase all she is _able_ to purchase, and prefer the showy to the useful, the gay and the fragile to the less sightly and more durable, he may be sure that the disposition will cling to her through life. If he perceive in her a taste for costly food, costly furniture, costly amus.e.m.e.nts; if he find her love of gratification to be bounded only by her want of means; if he find her full of admiration of the trappings of the rich, and of desire to be able to imitate them, he may be pretty sure that she will not spare his purse, when once she gets her hand into it; and, therefore, if he can bid adie