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at too great a distance for her to expect their indulgence in sending for her ; besides, were they to do so, the expense attending her journey would be placed to her account, and deducted out of the small fortune left by her parents.
This young lady's affability, sense, and good nature, have gained her the friendship and esteem of the whole school; each of us contending to render her retirement (as I may justly call it) from her native home and friends, as comfortable and agreeable as we possibly can.
How happy should I think myself above the rest of my female companions if you will give me leave to invite ber to spend the holidays with me at home! And I doubt not but her address and behaviour will attract your esteem, amongst the rest of those she has already acquired.
Your compliance with this request will greatly add to the happiness I already enjoy from repeated indulgences and favours conferred on one, who will always endeavour to merit the continuance of them. I am, with duty to my Father,
From a young Lady to her Father, who lately embarked for
the East Indies, in the Company's Service, but who was detained at Portsmouth by contrary winds.
My dear Father, I FLATTER myself you are too well convinced of my steady adherence to my duty and affection, ever to imagine I will omit the least opportunity that offers of writing to you.
I beg my dear Father may not be offended if I say that it gives me a secret satisfaction to hear you are still within the reach of a post letter; and though I cannot have the pleasure of a paternal embrace, yet I rejoice in the expectation of receiving the wished-for account of your health's continuance, which, to me, my dear mother, and brother, is the greatest blessing that Providence can possibly bestow upon us.
O Sir! though the interval of time since I received your blessing ere your departure from us may seem short to some, to me it seems an age.
Oh, may the Divine Being be your protector against the
many dangers of that boisterous element you are obliged to traverse! May be direct such gentle and favourable breezes that may conduct you to your destined port! May he add to this a happy and successful voyage; and to crown all my wishes, grant you a speedy and safe return.
I have nothing worthy of notice to advise you of, but that we are all in the same good health you
left us, and are in great expectations of the same coinfortable account in your answer to this, from,
My dear father,
Your most dutiful daughter.
From a young Woman just gone to Service, to her Mother at
Home. Dear Mother, 'Tis a fortnight this very day that I have been at Mr. Johnson's; and I begin to find myself a little easier than I have been. But, indeed, I have suffered a great deal since I parted from you, and all the rest of my friends. At our first coming hither I thought every thing looked strange about me; and when John got upon his horse, and rode out of the yard, methought every thing looked stranger and stranger; so I got up to the window and looked after him, till he turned into the London road (for you know we live a quarter of a mile on the farther side of it) and then I sat down and cried, and that always gives me some relief. Many a time bave I cried since; but I do my best to dry up my tears, and appear as cheerful as I can.
Dearest mother, I return you a thousand thanks for all the kind advice you were so good as to give me at parting, and I think it over often and often. But yet, methinks, it would be better if I had it in writing, that would be what I would value above all things; but I am afraid to ask what would give you so much trouble. So with my duty to you and my father, and kind love to all friends, I remain ever
Your most dutiful daughter.
The Mother's Answer. My dear Child, I am very sorry that you have suffered so much since we parted, but it is always so at first, and will wear away in time. I have had my share too, but I bear it now prette well, and I hope you will endeavour to follow my example in this, as you used to say you loved to do in every thing. You must consider, that we never should have parted with you had it not been for your good. If you continue virtuous and obliging, all the family will love and esteem you. You will get new friends there; and I think I can assure you, that yod will lose no love hiere, for we all talk of you every evening, and every body speaks of you as fondly, or rather more fondly than ever they did. In the mean time keep yourself employed as much as you can, which is the best way of wearing off any concern.
concern. Do all the business of your place; and be always ready to assist your fellowservants, where you can, in their business. This will both fill ap your time, and help to endear you to them, and then you will soon have as many friends about you there, as you used to have here. I do not caution you against speaking ill of any body living, for I know you never used to do it; but if
you hear a bad story of any body, try to soften it all you can, and never tell it again, but raiher let it slip out of your mind as soon as possible. I am in great hopes that all the family are kind to you already, from the good character I have heard of them ; but I should be glad to see it confirmed by your next, and the more parțicular you are in it the better. If you have any time to spare from your business, I hope you will give a good share of it to your devotions; that is an exercise which gives confort and spirits without tiring one. My prayers you have daily, I might have said hourly, and there is nothing that I pray for with more earnestness, than that my dearest child may do well. You did not mention any thing of your health in your last; but I had the pleasure of hearing you were well, by Mr. Cooper's young man, who said he called upon you in his way from London, and that you looked as fresh as a rose, and as bonny as a black bird. You know James's way of talking. However I was glad to hear you were well, and desire you will not forget to mention your health yourseif in your next letter. Your father desires his blessing, and your brothers their kind love to you. Heaven bless you, my dear child! and continue you to be a comfort to us all, and more particularly to
Your affectionate mather.
The Daughter to the Mother. Dear Mother, THOUGH we begin to have such cold weather, I am got up into my chamber to write to you. I am now grown alinost quite easy; which is owing to my following your good advice, and the kindness that is already shewn me in the family. Betty and I are bedfellows; and she, and Robin, and Thomas, are all so kind to me, that I can scarcely say which is the kindest. My master is sixty-five years of age next April, but by his looks you would hardly take him to be fifty. He has always an easy siniling countenance, and is very good to all his servants. When he has happened to pass by me, as I have been dusting out the chambers, or in the passage, he generally says soinething to encourage me, and that makes one's work go on more pleasantly. My mistress is as thin as my master is plump; not much short of him in age, and more apt to be a little peevish. Indeed that may easily be borne, for I have never heard my master say a single word to any of us, but what was kind and encouraging. My master, they say, is vastly rich; for he is a prudent man, and laid up a great deal of money while he was in business, with which he purchased his estate here, and another in Sussex, some time before he left off; and they have, I find, a very good house in London as well as this here. But my master and mistress both love the country best, and so they sometimes stay here for a whole winter, and all the suminer constantly; of which I am very glad, because I am so much nearer you; and have heard so much of the wickedness of London, ihat I do not at all desire to go there. As to my fellow-servants, it is thought that Betty (wbo is very good natured, and as merry as the day is long) is to be married to the jovial landlord over the way, and io say the truth, I am apt to believe that they are actually promised 10 one another. Our coachinan, Thomas, seems to be a very good worthy man, you may see by his that it does his heart good whenever he can do a kind thing for any of the neighbours. He was born io the parish, and his father has a good farm of his own in it and rents another. Robin, the footman, is good natured too; he is always merry, and loves to laugh as much as he loves to eat, and I am sure he has a good appetite. But I need not talk of that, for, now mine is come again, I eat almost as heariy
eyes as he does. With such fellow-gervants, and such a inaster, I think it would be my own fault if I were not happy. Welt in health I assure you I am, and begin to be pretty well in spirits, only my heart will still heave a little every time I look towards the road that goes to your house.
Heaven bless you all there! and make me a deserving daughter of so good a inother !
So prays your affectionate daughter.
From a Mother to her Daughter on a visit in London,
Dear Child, The last piece of advice that I gave you was, “ To think often how much a life of virtue is to be preferred to a life of pleasure; and how much better, and more lasting, a good name is than beauty.”
If we call things by their right names, there is nothing that deserves the name of pleasure so truly as virtue: but, one must talk as people are used to talk ; and, I think, by a life of pleasure, they generally mean a life of gaiety.
Now our gaieties, are ai best very trifling, always unsatisfactory, ofien attended with difficulties in the procuring them, and fatigue in the very enjoyment, and too often followed by regret and self-condemnation.
Whai they call a life of pleasure among the great, must be a very laborious life; they spend the greatest part of their nights in balls and assemblies, and throw away the greatest part of their days in sleep; their life is too much opposed io nalere, to be capable of happiness; it is all a hurry of visits, twenty or thirty perhaps in a day, to persons of whom there are not above iwo or three that they have any real friendship or esteen for (supposing them to be capable of either); a perpetual seeking after what they call diversions, and insipidity and want of taste, when they are engaged in them; and a certain languishing and restlessness when they are without them. This is not living, but a constant endeavour to cheat themselves out of the little time they have to live; for they generally inherit a bad constitution, make it worse by their absurd way of life, and deliver a still weaker and weaker thread down to their children. I do not kuow any one thing more ridiculous than the seeing their wrinkled sallow faces all set off with diamonds. Poor mistaken gentlewomen ! they should endeavour to avoid