flection will be felt by ſome of my readers. Animated by this important object, I ſhall diſdain to cull my phraſes or poliſh my ſtyle;—I aim at being uſeful, and ſincerity will render me unaffected; for, wiſhing rather to perſuade by the force of my arguments, than dazzle by the elegance of my language, I ſhall not waſte my time in rounding periods, nor in fabricating the turgid bombaſt of artificial feelings, which, coming from the head, never reach the heart.—I ſhall be employed about things, not words!—and, anxious to render my ſex more reſpectable members of ſociety, I ſhall try to avoid that flowery diction which has ſlided from eſſays into novels, and from novels into familiar letters and converſation.
Theſe pretty nothings—theſe caricatures of the real beauty of ſenſibility, dropping glibly from the tongue, vitiate the taſte, and create a kind of ſickly delicacy that turns away from ſimple unadorned truth; and a deluge of falſe ſentiments and overſtretched feelings, ſtifling the natural emotions of the heart, render the domeſtic pleaſures inſipid, that ought to ſweeten the exerciſe of thoſe ſevere duties, which educate a rational and immortal being for a nobler field of action.
