I have, probably, had an opportunity of obſerving more girls in their infancy than J. J. Rouſſeau—I can recollect my own feelings, and I have looked ſteadily around me; yet, ſo far from coinciding with him in opinion reſpecting the firſt dawn of the female character, I will venture to affirm, that a girl, whoſe ſpirits have not been damped by inactivity, or innocence tainted by falſe ſhame, will always be a romp, and the doll will never excite attention unleſs confinement allows her no alternative. Girls and boys, in ſhort, would play harmleſsly together, if the diſtinction of ſex was not inculcated long before nature makes any difference.—I will go further, and affirm, as an indiſputable fact, that moſt of the women, in the circle of my obſervation, who have acted like rational creatures, or ſhewn any vigour of intellect, have accidentally been allowed to run wild—as ſome of the elegant formers of the fair ſex would inſinuate.
The baneful conſequences which flow from inattention to health during infancy, and youth, extend further than is ſuppoſed—dependence of body naturally produces dependence of mind; and how can ſhe be a good wife or mother, the greater part of whoſe time is employed to guard againſt or endure ſickneſs? Nor can it be expected that a woman will reſolutely endeavour to
and always the wrong way. Unluckily, one day, as ſhe was intent on this employment, ſhe happened to ſee herſelf in the looking-glaſs; when, taking a diſlike to the conſtrained attitude in which ſhe ſat while writing, ſhe threw away her pen, like another Pallas, and determined againſt making the O any more. Her brother was alſo equally averſe to writing; it was the confinement, however, and not the conſtrained attitude, that moſt diſguſted him.'
