MRS. Bourn turned toward Mr. Holmes, which was hint enough for the good old man to proceed.
“THERE is a medium to be observed,” continued he, “in a lady’s reading; she is not to receive everything she finds, even in the best books, as invariable lessons of conduct; in books written in an easy, flowing style, which excel in description and the luxuriance of fancy, the imagination is apt to get heated—she ought, therefore, to discern with an eye of judgement, between the superficial and penetrating—the elegant and the tawdry—what may be merely amusing, and what may be useful. General reading will not teach her a true knowledge of the world.
“IN books she finds recorded the faithfulness of friendship—the constancy of true love, and even that honesty is the best policy. If virtue is represented carrying its reward with it, she too easily persuades herself that mankind have adopted this plan: Thus she finds, when, perhaps, it is too late, that she has entertained wrong notions of human nature; that her friends are deceitful—her lovers false—and that men consult interest oftener than honesty.
“A YOUNG lady who has imbibed her ideas of the world from desultory reading and placed confidence in the virtue of others, will bring back disappointment, when she expected gratitude. Unsuspicious of deceit, she is easily deceived—from the purity of her own thoughts, she trusts the faith of mankind, until experience convinces her of her errour—she falls a sacrifice to her credulity, and her only consolation is the simplicity and goodness of her heart.
“THE story of Miss Whitman[[1]] is an emphatical illustration of the truth of these observations. An inflated fancy not restricted by judgement, leads too often to disappointment and repentance. Such will be the fate of those who become (to use her own words)
“Lost in the magick of that sweet employ,
To build GAY SCENES and fashion FUTURE JOY.”
[1]. THIS young lady was of a reputable family in Connecticut. In her youth she was admired for beauty and good sense. She was a great reader of novels and romances, and having imbibed her ideas of THE CHARACTERS OF MEN, from those fallacious sources, became vain and coquettish, and rejected several offers of marriage, in expectation of receiving one more agreeable to her fanciful idea. Disappointed in her FAIRY hope, and finding her train of admirers less solicitous for the honour of her hand, in proportion as the roses of youth decayed, she was the more easily persuaded to relinquish that STABILITY which is the honour and happiness of the sex. The consequences of her amour becoming visible, she acquainted her lover of her situation, and a HUSBAND was proposed for her, who was to receive a considerable sum for preserving the reputation of the lady; but having received security for payment, he immediately withdrew. She then left her friends, and travelled in the stage as far as Watertown, where she hired a young man to conduct her in a chaise to Salem. Here she wandered alone and friendless, and at length repaired to the Bell-Tavern, in Danvers, where she was delivered of a lifeless child, and in about a fortnight after (in July, 1788) died of a puerperal fever, age about 35 years.
Before her death she amused herself with reading, writing and needlework, and though in a state of anxiety, preserved a cheerfulness, not so much the effect of insensibility, as of patience and fortitude. She was sensible of her approaching fate, as appears from the following letter, which was written in characters.
“MUST I die alone? Shall I never see you more? I know that you will come, but you will come too late: This is I fear, my last ability. Tears fall so, I know not how to write. Why did you leave me in so much distress? But I will not reproach you: All that was dear I left for you; but do not regret it.—May God forgive in both what was amiss: When I go from hence, I will leave you some way to find me; if I die, will you come and drop a tear over my grave?”