The air of faſhion, which many young people are ſo eager to attain, always ſtrikes me like the ſtudied attitudes of ſome modern prints, copied with taſteleſs ſervility after the antiques;—the ſoul is left out, and none of the parts are tied together by what may properly be termed character. This varniſh of faſhion, which ſeldom ſticks very cloſe to ſenſe, may dazzle the weak; but leave nature to itſelf, and it will ſeldom diſguſt the wiſe. Beſides, when a woman has ſufficient ſenſe not to pretend to any thing which ſhe does not underſtand in ſome degree, there is no need of determining to hide her talents under a buſhel. Let things take their natural courſe, and all will be well.
It is this ſyſtem of diſſimulation, throughout the volume, that I deſpiſe. Women are always to ſeem to be this and that—yet virtue might apoſtrophize them, in the words of Hamlet—Seems! I know not ſeems!—Have that within that paſſeth ſhow!—
Still the ſame tone occurs; for in another place, after recommending, without ſufficiently diſcriminating delicacy, he adds, 'The men will complain of your reſerve. They will aſſure you that a franker behaviour would make you more amiable. But, truſt me, they are not ſincere when they tell you ſo.—I acknowledge, that on ſome occaſions it might render you more agreeable as companions, but it would make you leſs amiable as women: an important diſtinction, which many of your ſex are not aware of.'
This deſire of being always women, is the very conſciouſneſs that degrades the ſex. Excepting
