But, though no one will be frightened out of their opinions, yet they may be perſuaded out of them: they may be touched by the affecting earneſtneſs of ſerious converſation, and allured by the attractive beauty of a conſiſtently ſerious life. And while a young woman ought to dread the name of a wrangling polemic, it is her duty to aſpire after the honourable character of a ſincere Chriſtian. But this dignified character ſhe can by no means deſerve, if ſhe is ever afraid to avow her principles, or aſhamed to defend them. A profligate, who makes it a point to ridicule every thing which comes under the appearance of formal inſtruction, will be diſconcerted at the ſpirited yet modeſt rebuke of a pious young woman. But there is as much efficacy in the manner of reproving prophaneneſs, as in the words. If ſhe corrects it with moroſeneſs, ſhe defeats the effect of her remedy, by her unſkilful manner of adminiſtring it. If, on the other hand, ſhe affects to defend the inſulted cauſe of God, in a faint tone of voice, and ſtudied ambiguity of phraſe, or with an air of levity, and a certain expreſſion of pleaſure in her eyes, which proves ſhe is ſecretly delighted with what ſhe pretends to cenſure, ſhe injures religion much more than he did who publickly prophaned it; for ſhe plainly indicates, either that ſhe does not believe, or reſpect what ſhe profeſſes. The other attacked it as an open foe; ſhe betrays it as a falſe friend. No one pays any regard to the opinion of an avowed enemy; but the deſertion or treachery of a profeſſed friend, is dangerous indeed!
It is a ſtrange notion which prevails in the world, that religion only belongs to the old and the melancholy, and that it is not worth while to pay the leaſt attention to it, while we are capable of attending to any thing elſe. They allow it to be proper enough for the clergy, whoſe buſineſs it is, and for the aged, who have not ſpirits for any buſineſs at all. But till they can prove, that none except the clergy and the aged die, it muſt be confeſſed, that this is moſt wretched reaſoning.
Great injury is done to the intereſts of religion, by placing it in a gloomy and unamiable light. It is ſometimes ſpoken of, as if it would actually make a handſome woman ugly, or a young one wrinkled. But can any thing be more abſurd than to repreſent the beauty of holineſs as the ſource of deformity?
There are few, perhaps, ſo entirely plunged in buſineſs, or abſorbed in pleaſure, as not to intend, at ſome future time, to ſet about a religious life in good earneſt. But then they conſider it as a kind of dernier reſſort, and think it prudent to defer flying to this diſagreeable refuge, till they have no reliſh left for any thing elſe. Do they forget, that to perform this great buſineſs well requires all the ſtrength of their youth, and all the vigour of their unimpaired capacities? To confirm this aſſertion, they may obſerve how much the ſlighteſt indiſpoſition, even in the moſt active ſeaſon of life, diſorders every faculty, and diſqualifies them for attending to the moſt ordinary affairs: and then let them reflect how little able they will be to tranſact the moſt important of all buſineſs, in the moment of excruciating pain, or in the day of univerſal debility.
When the ſenſes are palled with exceſſive gratification; when the eye is tired with ſeeing, and the ear with hearing; when the ſpirits are ſo ſunk, that the graſshopper is become a burthen, how ſhall the blunted apprehenſion be capable of underſtanding a new ſcience, or the worn-out heart be able to reliſh a new pleaſure?
To put off religion till we have loſt all taſte for amuſement; to refuſe liſtening to the "voice of the charmer," till our enfeebled organs can no longer liſten to the voice of "ſinging men and ſinging women," and not to devote our days to heaven till we have "no pleaſure in them" ourſelves, is but an ungracious offering. And it is a wretched ſacrifice to the God of heaven, to preſent him with the remnants of decayed appetites, and the leavings of extinguiſhed paſſions.
MISCELLANEOUS
OBSERVATIONS
on
GENIUS, TASTE, GOOD
SENSE, &c. [8]
Good ſenſe is as different from genius as perception is from invention; yet, though diſtinct qualities, they frequently ſubſiſt together. It is altogether oppoſite to wit, but by no means inconſiſtent with it. It is not ſcience, for there is ſuch a thing as unlettered good ſenſe; yet, though it is neither wit, learning, nor genius, it is a ſubſtitute for each, where they do not exiſt, and the perfection of all where they do.
Good ſenſe is ſo far from deſerving the appellation of common ſenſe, by which it is frequently called, that it is perhaps one of the rareſt qualities of the human mind. If, indeed, this name is given it in reſpect to its peculiar ſuitableneſs to the purpoſes of common life, there is great propriety in it. Good ſenſe appears to differ from taſte in this, that taſte is an inſtantaneous deciſion of the mind, a ſudden reliſh of what is beautiful, or diſguſt at what is defective, in an object, without waiting for the ſlower confirmation of the judgment. Good ſenſe is perhaps that confirmation, which eſtabliſhes a ſuddenly conceived idea, or feeling, by the powers of comparing and reflecting. They differ alſo in this, that taſte ſeems to have a more immediate reference to arts, to literature, and to almoſt every object of the ſenſes; while good ſenſe riſes to moral excellence, and exerts its influence on life and manners. Taſte is fitted to the perception and enjoyment of whatever is beautiful in art or nature: Good ſenſe, to the improvement of the conduct, and the regulation of the heart.
Yet the term good ſenſe, is uſed indiſcriminately to expreſs either a finiſhed taſte for letters, or an invariable prudence in the affairs of life. It is ſometimes applied to the moſt moderate abilities, in which caſe, the expreſſion is certainly too ſtrong; and at others to the moſt ſhining, when it is as much too weak and inadequate. A ſenſible man is the uſual, but unappropriated phraſe, for every degree in the ſcale of underſtanding, from the ſober mortal, who obtains it by his decent demeanor and ſolid dullneſs, to him whoſe talents qualify him to rank with a Bacon, a Harris, or a Johnson.