If you was to live with Feliciana but one half year, you would see all the happiness that she is to have as long as she lives. She has no more to come, but the poor repetition of that which could never have pleased once, but through a wrong turn of mind, and want of thought.
She is to be again dressed fine, and keep her visiting days. She is again to change the colours of her cloaths, again to have a new head, and again put patches on her face. She is again to see who acts best at the play-house, and who sings finest at the opera. She is again to make ten visits in a day, and be ten times in a day trying to talk artfully, easily, and politely about nothing.
She is to be again delighted with some new fashion; and again angry at the change of some old one. She is to be again at cards and gaming at midnight, and again in bed at noon. She is to be again pleased with hypocritical compliments, and again disturbed with imaginary affronts. She is to be again pleased with her good luck at gaming, and again tormented with the loss of her money.
She is again to prepare herself for a birth night, and again see the town full of good company. She is again to hear the cabals and intrigues of the town, again to have secret intelligence of private amours, and early notice of marriages, quarrels, and partings.
If you see her come out of her chariot more briskly than usual, converse with more spirit, and seem fuller of joy than she was last week, it is because there is some surprizing new dress, or new diversion just come to town.
These are all the substantial and regular parts of Feliciana’s happiness; and she never knew a pleasant day in her life, but it was owing to some one or more of these things.
It is for this happiness, that she has been always deaf to the reasonings of religion; and if you look into the world, and observe the lives of those women, whom no arguments can prevail on to live wholly unto God; you will find most of them to be such, as lose all the comforts of religion, without gaining the tenth part of Feliciana’s happiness. They are such as spend their time and fortunes only in mimicking the pleasures of richer people; and rather look and long after, than enjoy those delusions, which are only to be purchased by considerable fortunes.
Nor does a life only of such vanity and sensuality as that of Flatus or Feliciana’s, but even the most regular kind of life, that is not governed by great devotion, sufficiently shews how dull and uncomfortable their lives must needs be, who are not wholly devoted unto God.
Octavius is a learned, ingenious man, well versed in most parts of literature, and no stranger to any kingdom in Europe. The other day, being just recovered from a lingering fever, he thus addressed his friends.
“My glass, says he, is almost run out; and your eyes see how many marks of age and death I bear about me: But I plainly feel myself sinking away faster than any standers by do imagine. I fully believe, that one year more will conclude my reckoning.”