is fond of home, to be obliged to be always wrapped up in himſelf, and to have nobody about him to whom he can impart his ſentiments.
'Beſides, how ſhould a woman void of reflection be capable of educating her children? How ſhould ſhe diſcern what is proper for them? How ſhould ſhe incline them to thoſe virtues ſhe is unacquainted with, or to that merit of which ſhe has no idea? She can only ſooth or chide them; render them inſolent or timid; ſhe will make them formal coxcombs, or ignorant blockheads; but will never make them ſenſible or amiable.' How indeed ſhould ſhe, when her huſband is not always at hand to lend her his reaſon?—when they both together make but one moral being. A blind will, 'eyes without hands,' would go a very little way; and perchance his abſtract reaſon, that ſhould concentrate the ſcattered beams of her practical reaſon, may be employed in judging of the flavour of wine, deſcanting on the ſauces moſt proper for turtle; or, more profoundly intent at a card-table, he may be generalizing his ideas as he bets away his fortune, leaving all the minutiæ of education to his help-mate or to chance.
But, granting that woman ought to be beautiful, innocent and ſilly, to render her a more alluring and indulgent companion;—what is her underſtanding ſacrificed for? And why is all this preparation neceſſary only, according to Rouſſeau's own account, to make her the miſtreſs of her huſband, a very ſhort time? For no man ever inſiſted more on the tranſient nature of love.
