On the other hand, ſhe who was lately
An angel call'd, and angel-like ador'd,
is ſhocked to find herſelf at once ſtripped of all her celeſtial attributes. This late divinity, who ſcarcely yielded to her ſiſters of the ſky, now finds herſelf of leſs importance in the eſteem of the man ſhe has choſen, than any other mere mortal woman. No longer is ſhe gratified with the tear of counterfeited paſſion, the ſigh of diſſembled rapture, or the language of premeditated adoration. No longer is the altar of her vanity loaded with the oblations of fictitious fondneſs, the incenſe of falſehood, or the ſacrifice of flattery.—Her apotheoſis is ended!—She feels herſelf degraded from the dignities and privileges of a goddeſs, to all the imperfections, vanities, and weakneſſes of a ſlighted woman, and a neglected wife. Her faults, which were ſo lately overlooked, or miſtaken for virtues, are now, as Caſſius ſays, ſet in a note-book. The paſſion, which was vowed eternal, laſted only a few ſhort weeks; and the indifference, which was ſo far from being included in the bargain, that it was not ſo much as ſuſpected, follows them through the whole tireſome journey of their inſipid, vacant, joyleſs exiſtence.
Thus much for the completion of the ſentimental hiſtory. If we trace it back to its beginning, we ſhall find that a damſel of this caſt had her head originally turned by pernicious reading, and her inſanity confirmed by imprudent friendſhips. She never fails to ſelect a beloved confidante of her own turn and humour, though, if ſhe can help it, not quite ſo handſome as herſelf. A violent intimacy enſues, or, to ſpeak the language of ſentiment, an intimate union of ſouls immediately takes place, which is wrought to the higheſt pitch by a ſecret and voluminous correſpondence, though they live in the ſame ſtreet, or perhaps in the ſame houſe. This is the fuel which principally feeds and ſupplies the dangerous flame of ſentiment. In this correſpondence the two friends encourage each other in the falſeſt notions imaginable. They repreſent romantic love as the great important buſineſs of human life, and deſcribe all the other concerns of it as too low and paltry to merit the attention of ſuch elevated beings, and fit only to employ the daughters of the plodding vulgar. In theſe letters, family affairs are miſrepreſented, family ſecrets divulged, and family miſfortunes aggravated. They are filled with vows of eternal amity, and proteſtations of never-ending love. But interjections and quotations are the principal embelliſhments of theſe very ſublime epiſtles. Every panegyric contained in them is extravagant and hyperbolical, and every cenſure exaggerated and exceſſive. In a favourite, every frailty is heightened into a perfection, and in a foe degraded into a crime. The dramatic poets, eſpecially the moſt tender and romantic, are quoted in almoſt every line, and every pompous or pathetic thought is forced to give up its natural and obvious meaning, and with all the violence of miſapplication, is compelled to ſuit ſome circumſtance of imaginary woe of the fair tranſcriber. Alicia is not too mad for her heroics, nor Monimia too mild for her ſoft emotions.
Fathers have flinty hearts is an expreſſion worth an empire, and is always uſed with peculiar emphaſis and enthuſiaſm. For a favourite topic of theſe epiſtles is the groveling ſpirit and ſordid temper of the parents, who will be ſure to find no quarter at the hands of their daughters, ſhould they preſume to be ſo unreaſonable as to direct their courſe of reading, interfere in their choice of friends, or interrupt their very important correſpondence. But as theſe young ladies are fertile in expedients, and as their genius is never more agreeably exerciſed than in finding reſources, they are not without their ſecret exultation, in caſe either of the above intereſting events ſhould happen, as they carry with them a certain air of tyranny and perſecution which is very delightful. For a prohibited correſpondence is one of the great incidents of a ſentimental life, and a letter clandeſtinely received, the ſupreme felicity of a ſentimental lady.
Nothing can equal the aſtoniſhment of theſe ſoaring ſpirits, when their plain friends or prudent relations preſume to remonſtrate with them on any impropriety in their conduct. But if theſe worthy people happen to be ſomewhat advanced in life, their contempt is then a little ſoftened by pity, at the reflection that ſuch very antiquated poor creatures ſhould pretend to judge what is fit or unfit for ladies of their great refinement, ſenſe, and reading. They conſider them as wretches utterly ignorant of the ſublime pleaſures of a delicate and exalted paſſion; as tyrants whoſe authority is to be contemned, and as ſpies whoſe vigilance is to be eluded. The prudence of theſe worthy friends they term ſuſpicion, and their experience dotage. For they are perſuaded, that the face of things has ſo totally changed ſince their parents were young, that though they might then judge tolerably for themſelves, yet they are now (with all their advantages of knowledge and obſervation) by no means qualified to direct their more enlightened daughters; who, if they have made a great progreſs in the ſentimental walk, will no more be influenced by the advice of their mother, than they would go abroad in her laced pinner or her brocade ſuit.
But young people never ſhew their folly and ignorance more conſpicuouſly, than by this over-confidence in their own judgment, and this haughty diſdain of the opinion of thoſe who have known more days. Youth has a quickneſs of apprehenſion, which it is very apt to miſtake for an acuteneſs of penetration. But youth, like cunning, though very conceited, is very ſhort-ſighted, and never more ſo than when it diſregards the inſtructions of the wife, and the admonitions of the aged. The ſame vices and follies influenced the human heart in their day, which influence it now, and nearly in the ſame manner. One who well knew the world and its various vanities, has ſaid, "The thing which hath been, it is that which ſhall be, and that which is done is that which ſhall be done, and there is no new thing under the ſun."
It is alſo a part of the ſentimental character, to imagine that none but the young and the beautiful have any right to the pleaſures of ſociety, of even to the common benefits and bleſſings of life. Ladies of this turn alſo affect the moſt lofty diſregard for uſeful qualities and domeſtic virtues; and this is a natural conſequence: for as this ſort of ſentiment is only a weed of idleneſs, ſhe who is conſtantly and uſefully employed, has neither leiſure nor propenſity to cultivate it.
A sentimental lady principally values herſelf on the enlargement of her notions, and her liberal way of thinking. This ſuperiority of ſoul chiefly manifeſts itſelf in the contempt of thoſe minute delicacies and little decorums, which, trifling as they may be thought, tend at once to dignify the character, and to reſtrain the levity of the younger part of the ſex.
Perhaps the error here complained of, originates in miſtaking ſentiment and principle for each other. Now I conceive them to be extremely different. Sentiment is the virtue of ideas, and principle the virtue of action. Sentiment has its ſeat in the head, principle in the heart. Sentiment ſuggeſts fine harangues and ſubtile diſtinctions; principle conceives juſt notions, and performs good actions in conſequence of them. Sentiment refines away the ſimplicity of truth and the plainneſs of piety; and, as a celebrated wit[6] has remarked of his no leſs celebrated contemporary, gives us virtue in words and vice in deeds. Sentiment may be called the Athenian, who knew what was right, and principle the Lacedemonian who practiſed it.