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the Mind,” addressed to her favorite niece, the eldest daughter of the Rev. John Mulso. The work was most favorably received, and soon became extensively circulated. It is, indeed, " one of the best books that can be put into the hands of female youth; the style is easy and pure, the advice practical and sound, and the whole uniformly tends to promote the purest principles of morality and religion.” In 1775, she published her " Miscellanies in Prose and Verse,” in one volume. Of the poems of this volume, which were, for the most part, the productions of her early life, the best is the "Ode to Solitude.” This was the last work she published. From this time she was called almost every year to mourn the loss of some near and dear friend. Towards the close of the century her faculties began to decay, and she died at Hadley, on the 25th of December, 1801.

ODE TO SOLITUDE.

Thou gentle nurse of pleasing woe,
To thee from crowds, and noise, and show,

With eager haste I fly;
Thrice welcome, friendly Solitude,
O let no busy foot intrude,

Nor listening ear be nigh!
Soft, silent, melancholy maid,
With thee, to yon sequester'd shade,

My pensive steps I bend;
Still at the mild approach of night,
When Cynthia lends her sober light,

Do thou my walk attend !
To thee alone my conscious heart
Its tender sorrow dares impart,

And ease my lab'ring breast;
To thee I trust the rising sigh,
And bid the tear that swells my eye

No longer be supprest.
With thee among the haunted groves,
The lovely sorc'ress Fancy roves;

O let me find her here!
For she can time and space control,
And swift transport my fleeting soul

To all it holds most dear.
Ah! no-ye vain delusions, hence !
No more the hallow'd innocence

Of Solitude pervert!
Shall Fancy cheat the precious hour,
Sacred to Wisdom's awful power

And calm Reflection's part?

O Wisdom! from the sea-beat shore,
Where, listening to the solemn roar,

Thy lov'd Eliza' strays,
Vouchsafe to visit my retreat,
And teach my erring, trembling feet

Thy heaven-protected ways!
O guide me to the humble cell
Where Resignation loves to dwell,

Contentment's bower in view !
Nor pining gries, with absence drear,
Nor sick suspense, nor anxious fear,

Shall there my steps pursue.
There, let my soul to Him aspire,
Whom none e'er sought with vain desire,

Nor loy'd in sad despair;
There, to his gracious will divine,
My dearest, fondest hope resign,

And all my tenderest care.
Then peace shall heal this wounded breast,
That pants to see another blest,

From selfish passion pure;
Peace wlich, when human wishes rise,
Intense, for aught beneath the skies,

Can never be secure.

ON THE GOVERNMENT OF THE TEMPER.

The next great point of importance to your future happiness is what your parents have, doubtless, been continually attentive to from your infancy, as it is impossible to undertake it too earlyI mean the due Regulation of your Temper. Though you are in great measure indebted to their forming hands for whatever is good in it, you are sensible, no doubt, as every human creature is, of propensities to some infirmity of temper, which it must now be your own care to correct and to subdue: otherwise, the pains that have hitherto been taken with you may all become fruitless; and, when you are your own mistress, you may relapse into those faults which were originally in your nature, and which will require to be diligently watched and kept under, through the whole course

of your

life.

If you consider that the constant tenor of the gospel precepts is to promote love, peace, and good-will amongst men, you will not doubt that the cultivation of an amiable disposition is a great part

· Eliza Carter.

O Wisdom! from the sea-beat shore,
Where, listening to the solemn roar,

Thy lov'd Eliza' strays,
Vouchsafe to visit my retreat,
And teach my erring, trembling feet

Thy heaven-protected ways!
O guide me to the humble cell
Where Resignation loves to dwell,

Contentment's bower in view!
Nor pining griel, with absence drear,
Nor sick suspense, nor anxious fear,

Shall there my steps pursue.
There, let my soul to Him aspire,
Whom nove e'er sought with vain desire,

Nor lov'd in sad despair; There, to his gracious will divine, My dearest, fondest hope resign,

And all my tenderest care.
Then peace shall heal this wounded breast,
That pants to see another blest,

From selfish passion pure;
Peace which, when human wishes rise,
Intense, for aught beneath the skies,

Can never be secure.

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of your religious duty; since nothing leads more directly to the breach of charity, and to the injury and molestation of our fellowcreatures, than the indulgence of an ill-temper. Do not, therefore, think lightly of the offences you may commit, for want of a due command over it, or suppose yourself responsible for them to your fellow-creatures only; but, be assured, you must give a strict account of them all to the Supreme Governor of the world, who has made this a great part of your appointed trial upon earth.

A woman, bred up in a religious manner, placed above the reach of want, and out of the way of sordid or scandalous vices, can have but few temptations to the flagrant breach of the divine laws. It particularly concerns her, therefore, to understand them in their full import, and to consider how far she trespasses against them, by such actions as appear trivial when compared with murder, adultery, and theft, but which become of very great importance, by being frequently repeated, and occurring in the daily transactions of life.

The principal virtues or vices of a woman must be of a private and domestic kind. Within the circle of her own family and dependents lies her sphere of action--the scene of almost all those tasks and trials which must determine her character and her fate here and hereafter. Reflect, for a moment, how much the happiness of her husband, children, and servants, must depend on her temper, and you will see that the greatest good, or evil, which she ever may have in her power to do, may arise from her correcting or indulging its infirmities.

Though I wish the principle of duty towards God to be your ruling motive in the exercise of every virtue, yet, as human nature stands in need of all possible helps, let us not forget how essential it is to present happiness, and to the enjoyment of this life, to cultivate such a temper as is likewise indispensably requisite to the attainment of higher felicity in the life to come. outward blessings cannot afford enjoyment to a mind ruffled and uneasy within itself. A fit of ill-humor will spoil the finest entertainment, and is as real a torment as the most painful disease. Another unavoidable consequence of ill-temper is the dislike and aversion of all who are witnesses to it, and, perhaps, the deep and lasting resentment of those who suffer from its effects. We all, from social or self-love, earnestly desire the esteem and affection of our fellow-creatures; and indeed our condition makes them so necessary to us that the wretch who has forfeited them must feel desolate and undone, deprived of all the best enjoyments and comforts the world can afford, and given up to his inward misery, unpitied and scorned. But this can never be the fate of a good

4

ON THE GOVERNMENT OF THE TEMPER.

The greatest

The next great point of importance to your future happiness is what your parents have, doubtless

, been continually attentire to from your infancy, as it is impossible to undertake it too earlyI mean the due Regulation of your Temper. Though you are in great measure indebted to their forming hands for whatever is good in it, you are sensible, no doubt, as every human creature is, of propensities to some infirmity of temper, which it must now be your own care to correct and to subdue: otherwise, the pains that hare hitherto been taken with you may all become fruitless; and, when you are your own mistress, you may relapse into those faults which were originally in your nature, and which will require to be diligently watched and kept under, through the whole course of your

life. If you

consider that the constant tenor of the gospel precepts is to promote love, peace, and good-will amongst men, you will not doubt that the cultivation of an amiable disposition is a great part

· Eliza Carter.

natured person: whatever faults he may have, they will generally be treated with lenity; he will find an advocate in every human heart; his errors will be lamented rather than abhorred; and his virtues will be viewed in the fairest point of light. His goodhumor, without the help of great talents or acquirements, will make his company preferable to that of the most brilliant genius, in whom this quality is wanting; in short, it is almost impossible that you can be sincerely beloved by anybody, without this engaging property, whatever other excellencies you may possess; but, with it, you will scarcely fail of finding some friends and favorers, even though you should be destitute of almost every other advantage.

Perhaps you will say, "all this is very true; but our tempers are not in our own power-we are made with different dispositions, and, if mine is not amiable, it is rather my unhappiness than my fault.” This is commonly said by those who will not take the trouble to correct themselves. Yet, be assured, it is a delusion, and will not avail in our justification before Him “who knoweth whereof we are made," and of what we are capable. It is true, we are not all equally happy in our dispositions; but human virtue consists in cherishing and cultivating every good inclination, and in checking and subduing every propensity to evil. If you had been born with a bad temper, it might have been made a good one, at least with regard to its outward effects, by education, reason, and principle: and, though you are so happy as to have a good one while young, do not suppose it will always continue so, if you neglect to maintain a proper command over it. Power, sickness, disappointments, or worldly cares, may corrupt and embitter the finest disposition, if they are not counteracted by reason and religion.

It is observed, that every temper is inclined, in some degree, either to passion, peevishness, or obstinacy. Many are so unfortunate as to be inclined to each of the three in turn: it is necessary therefore to watch the bent of our nature, and to apply the reme. dies

proper for the infirmity to which we are most liable. With regard to the first, it is so injurious to society, and so odious in itself, especially in the female character, that one would think shame alone would be sufficient to preserve

young woman from giving way to it: for it is as unbecoming her character to be betrayed into ill-behavior by passion, as by intoxication, and she ought to be ashamed of the one as much as of the other. Gentleness, meekness, and patience are her peculiar distinctions, and an enraged woman is one of the most disgusting sights in nature.

ELIZABETH MONTAGU, 1720-1800.

ELIZABETH ROBINSON, daughter of Matthew Robinson, Esq., was born at York, on the 2d of October, 1720. When she was about seven years old, her parents removed to Cambridge, where she derived great advantage in the progress of her education from Dr. Conyers Middleton,' whom her grandmother had married as her second husband. Her uncommon sensibility and acuteness of understanding, as well as her extraordinary beauty as a child, rendered her an object of great notice and admiration in the society at Cambridge, and Dr. Middleton was in the habit of requiring from her an account of the learned conversations at which in his society she w

was frequently present; saying that, though she might but imperfectly understand them then, she would in future derive great benefit from the habit of attention inculcated by this practice.

In 1742, she was married to Edward Montagu, Esq., member of Parliament for Huntingdon. In three years, however, he died, leaving her the whole of his estate (for she had no children), and thus she was enabled to gratify her taste for study and literary society to the fullest extent. In 1769, she published her “Essay on the Writings and Genius of Shakspeare, compared with the Greek and French Dramatic Poets; with some Remarks upon the Misrepresentations of Voltaire.” This work soon passed through many editions, and gave her a high rank in the literary world. The praise which Cowper and Warton have bestowed upon it is decisive as to its merits. The learning," says Cowper, "the good sense, the sound judgment, and the wit displayed in it, fully justify pot only my compliment, but all compli. ments that either have been already paid to her talents, or shall be paid here. after." Soon after the publication of this essay, she opened her house, Port. man-square, in London, to the “Blue Stocking Club,"2 and was intimate with the most eminent literary men of her day. In private life she was an example of liberality and benevolence. It was at her house that an annual entertainment was given, on May-day, to all the climbing-boys and chim. ney.sweepers' apprentices in the metropolis. She died August 25, 1800.

The works of Mrs. Montagu consist of the Essay on Shakspeare, before mentioned, and four volumes of epistolary correspondence held with most of the eminent literary men of the day. These letters do great credit both to her head and heart: they are written in an easy and perspicuous style; are filled with judicious and pertinent reflections upon the passing events and the great men of the times; and, with her Essay on Shakspeare, give her no mean rank among English authors. If not a profound critic, she was certainly an acute and ingenious one, possessing judgment and taste

See his life in "Compendium of English Literature," p. 489. ? So called from the blue stockings” worn by a Mr. Stillingfleet, a member of this literary club. Such were the charms of his conversation, that when he was absent, it used to be said, “We can do nothing without the blue stockings," and thus by degrees the name was given to the society. See Croker's Boswell's Johnson, vol. viii. pp. 85 and 86.

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