“Her father was almost distracted at her elopement. He traced her steps, and, following her to the house, condescended to soothe her with parental kindness; and promised her pardon and continued affection, if she would renounce her worthless lover, and return. She confessed it was too late; that she was his wife.
“Petrified with astonishment, he looked at her, for some time, with speechless grief; and, showing his arm, bound up with the wound he had received, left her with every token of anguish and indignation!
“When the fever of passion had abated, a returning sense of duty in Juliana, and, in the captain, the fear of losing the property which he sought, induced them to seek a reconciliation, and make submissive efforts to obtain it. But her father was too highly incensed to grant it to him, on any terms; or to her, on any other than the utter rejection of her unworthy companion. These terms were not complied with.
“Sorrow and vexation preyed so deeply upon the mind of this afflicted parent, that they brought on a rapid decline; and he died without again seeing his undutiful and ruined daughter. His estate was divided between Juliana and her four brothers. Her portion was received by her husband, and soon spent in dissipation and excess. Having rioted on the fortune of his wife, while she often pined at home for want of the common necessaries of life, he left her, to join his regiment, promising remittances from time to time, for her support. This promise, however, was but ill performed; and she now feels the dreadful effects of her folly, in the accumulated ills of poverty and neglect. Yet she still cherishes the most passionate fondness for what has proved her bane. A friend called to see her, not long since, and found her the emblem of wretchedness and sloth. Her emaciated form, her squalid appearance, the disorder of her house, and her tattered raiment, bespoke the shameful negligence of the owner. Yet she was sitting with a novel in her hand, over which she had apparently been weeping. She expatiated largely on the tale it contained, while her children, who exhibited a picture of real woe, engaged not her attention. Her friend enquired how she could be thus interested and distressed by mere fiction, while every thing about her was calculated to arouse the keenest feelings of her soul! She coolly replied, I have fortitude sufficient to support my own calamity, but I must sympathize with the heroine of adversity. I have not lost my sensibility with my fortune. My only luxury is now imagination! How ill-timed, and how improperly exerted, was this kind of sensibility, in Juliana! Where, and what was her sensibility, when she disobeyed an indulgent parent, sacrificed her reputation, and threw herself into the arms of a worthless man for protection—from what? from the kindness and love of her best friends!
“But I would not be understood to condemn all novels indiscriminately; though great prudence is necessary to make a useful selection. Some of them are fraught with sentiment; convey lessons for moral improvement; and exhibit striking pictures of virtue rewarded; and of vice, folly, and indiscretion punished; which may prove encouragements to imitate, or warnings to avoid similar practices. I shall not descend to particulars. Those, which are sanctioned by the general voice of delicacy and refinement, may be allowed a reading; yet none should engross your minds, to the neglect of more important objects; nor be suffered to monopolize too large a portion of your time.
“Novels are a kind of light reading, on which the imagination feasts, while the more substantial food which is requisite to the nourishment of the understanding, is either untasted or undigested. Imagination is a sportive faculty, which should be curbed by the reins of prudence and judgment. Its sallies are delightful in youth, provided they be not too excursive.
“Poetry is, by some, ranked with novels; but I think injudiciously. Good poetry is certainly a sublime source of entertainment and instruction. What music is to the ear, poetry is to the heart. There must, indeed, be a natural taste for it, before it can be highly relished or enjoyed; and this taste, whereever it exists, should be cultivated. I know of no kind of reading more richly formed for the mental repast of a liberal and polished young lady, than the poetical productions of true genius. The trifling and indelicate cantos of ordinary witlings, and every day poetasters, are unworthy your attention. But the species of poetry which I now recommend, is peculiarly adapted to soften the passions, excite sympathy, and meliorate the affections. It soothes the jarring cares of life, and, pervading the secret recesses of the soul, serves to rouse and animate its dormant powers.
“Many essays, written by monitors of both sexes, are extant, which you may find profitable and pleasing, both in youth and more advanced age. Among the foremost of these, I mention Mrs. Chapone’s letters to her niece, which contain a valuable treasure of information and advice.
“But among your hours devoted to reading, history must not be without a place. Here an extensive field of ages and generations, which have gone before you, is opened to your view. Here your curiosity may be gratified by a retrospection of events, which, by conducting your thoughts to remotest climes and periods, interests and enlarges the mind. Here the various revolutions, the rise, fall, and dismemberment of ancient kingdoms and states may be traced to the different springs of action, in which they originated. Hence you may gain a competent acquaintance with human nature in all its modifications, from the most rude and barbarous, to the most civilized and polished stages of society. This is a species of knowledge, which will not only be of constant use to you, in the government of your own temper and manners, but highly ornamental in your intercourse with the polite and learned world.
“But let your reading of every description be regular and methodical. Never confuse your minds by a variety of subjects at once. When you turn your attention to any one in particular, finish, and lay that aside, before you take up another. Let what you read be well understood at the time, and well digested afterwards. Possess yourselves, at least, of the leading traits: otherwise your labor will be totally lost. If convenient, always recapitulate what you have been perusing, and annex to it your own sentiments and remarks, to some friend. If you have no friend at hand, who will be disposed to hear, recollect, and run it over in your own thoughts. This will be a great assistance to memory. But whatever be the kind of reading which you undertake, select such authors as good judges esteem the best, upon the subject. Have a particular regard to the morality and delicacy of the books you peruse.