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may be aware of. A woman ought to be, if I may use such a word, an anti-ultraist. Consistency and simplicity should mark her demeanour, and modesty veil her attainments.

A moderate portion of science may serve as an antidote to frivolous trifling. A little anecdote occurs to me, which, I am sorry to say, is no fiction. A testy old gentleman devoted to scientific pursuits, being one day in unwonted good humour with woman-kind, was pleased to admit a party of ladies to take a peep through his telescope. One of these favoured ones, when it came to her turn to place herself in the chair of observation, could not forbear expressing her admiration of the appearance of the moon. "Oh dear!" was her simple-hearted cry, "what a beautiful pattern it would make for a worked petticoat!"

The story may be paralleled by that of the French nobleman, who escorted a bevy of fair dames to see an eclipse of the moon, and arriving too late, cheered them under their disappointment by saying that the astronomer was a particular friend of his, and he had no doubt would have the kindness to begin again.

All your life long, be careful of your time. Many

a precious hour, which might be redeemed and usefully employed, is spent in light reading, desultory reading, newspaper reading, in trifling pursuits, and in idle conversation.

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One word more. I had no thought of ladies' competing with men on the field of science; I should as soon think of their appearing with their liege lords, in martial array, on the field of battle. Allow me to illustrate my feeling on the subject. The introductory personages in the Faery Queene' are а gentle knight pricking oe'r the plaine,' fair seated on a powerful courser, and a lovely ladie' by his side upon a lowly asse more white than snow.' While the knight reined in his steed, and the ladie kept up the full pace of hers, they seem to have moved on together very comfortably; but in the morning, when the dame attempted on her slow beast,' to follow her receding lord borne on his light-foot steed,' she found what we shall find if we are foolish enough to make a similar attempt,— that donkeys will not overtake horses.

You tell me that I have still to write to you on poetry. It is true, but its very enchantments render it a path of peculiar peril; and to speak the truth, I have a good deal of the plain prose of

every-day life, almost enough to banish from my mind that there is such a thing as poetry in the world. And there are many reasons which make me shrink from writing on this subject, which reasons will be more evident in my next letter.

LETTER VI.

THERE is, indeed, a real difficulty in treating the subject of poetry publicly. I should have little comparative difficulty had I to discuss it between you and me alone; but not knowing into whose hands my papers may fall-how remarks may be misconstrued, in quarters where explanations could not possibly be made; and being deeply convinced of the importance of cultivating sobriety of mind, and of restraining imagination, especially in young females, you can hardly feel surprised at my feeling reluctant to discuss the subject. I would that it had fallen into almost any other hands. Poetry was my passion, and, if you will have it, my bane even in childhood; and if I appear to speak with harshness of so early and intimate a friend, it is because I know her to be deceitful and

treacherous, and a very Circe. The cup which she holds is crowned with flowers, but the draught is poisoned, and woe to those who drink deep of the brook of Castaly, and never turn their steps towards the purer rill of Siloam !

The pleasures of the imagination have been described in prose and verse. A volume might be written upon its evils. It is surprising that our divines and moralists have been so silent upon this head. With the exception of Johnson, in his Rasselas and Rambler, Hannah More, in very many of her writings, and Abercrombie, in the valuable work previously referred to, the field is, comparatively speaking, untrod.* Yet few points relative to the discipline of the mind, can be supposed of greater importance, more especially when we remember that the indulgence of the imagination is connected with present pleasure, its cultivation with the exercise of fascinating talent.

I yield all that can be reasonably asked; but, in yielding this, I contend that the passing pleasure is, like opium-eating, more than counterbalanced by

1 Since this paper was written, an anonymous friend has remarked that the Rev. J. Davies, has fully spoken of the abuse of the imagination in his "Estimate of the Human Mind."

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