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NO 181. Thursday, Siptumber 27.
Virg. £n. 2. v. 145.
Mlov'd by these tears, we pity and protest. I AM more pleased with a letter that is filled with
touches of nature than of wit. The following one is of this kind.
MONG all the distrefits which happen in families,
have touched upon ' the marriage of children without the consent of their
parents. I am one of these unfortunate persons. I was about fifteen when I took the liberty to chuse for my' self; and have ever since languished under the displca• sure of an inesorable father, who, though he fees mc happy in the best of husbands, and blessed with very
fuc children, can never be prevailed upon to forgive me. He
was so kind to me before this unhappy accident, that in. • deed it makes my breach of duty in foine measure in' excusable; and at the saine time creates in me such a • tenderness towards him, that I love him above all things, ' and would die to be reconciled to hini. I have thrown
myself at his feet, and befought him with tears to par. . don me; but he always pushes me away, and spurns me
from him; I have written several letters to him, but he I will neither open nor receive them.
About two year's ago
I fent my little boy to hiin, dressed in a new apparel; but the child returned to nie crying, because he said ' his grandfather would not see him, and had ordered hiin
to be put out of his house. My mother is won over to iny side, but darcs not mention me to my father for fear
of provoking him. About a month ago he lay sick upon ' his bed, and in great danger of his lite ; I wis pierced ' to the heart at the news, and could not forber going 'to enquire after his health. My inother took this opportunity of speaking in my behalf; she told him with abunVOL. III.
• device of tears, that I wis corne to lie hiin, that I could
noel, cak to lier for weering, and that I thould certainly bre? my hart if he returi at that time to give ine his • 11ling, and le reconciled to me. He was so far from o rideating towards me, that he bid her speak no more of
ine, unless (he had a mird so disturb liim in his last mo'ments; for, Sir, you 121.1 know that he has the refu
tation of an honest and religious meill, which makes nay mitortune foo much the greater. God be thanked he is (lince recovered: but his fevere usage has given me such ra blow, that I shall foon lirik under it, unless I inay be "relieved by any impreflions which the reading of this in your paper inay inake 1.; on hiin.
I am, &c. Or all hardncties of licart there is none so inexcusable as that of parents towards their children. An obstinate, irflexitl, untiirgiring temper is odious upon all occasions ; but here it is unnatural. The love, tenderness, and compallion, which are apt to arile in us tou ards those wherdepend upon us, is thit by which the whole world of life is upheld. Tlie Supreine Being, loy.the tranti endent excellency and goodness of lis nature, extends his mercy towards all his works; and because his creatures have not such a spontaneous benevolence and co!npaslion towards those who are under their care and protection, he has implanted in them an instinct, that supplies the place of this inherent goodness. I have illustrated this kind of instinct in formner papers, and have shewn how it runs through all the species of brute creatures, as indeed the whole animal creation fubfifts by it.
This instinet in man is more general and uncircumfcribed than in brutes, as being enlarged by the dictates of reason and duty. For if we consider ourselves attentively, we shall find that we are not only inclined to love those who descend from us, but that we bear a kind of sopyn, or natu. ral affection, to every thing which relies upon us for its good and preservation. Dependenccis a perpetual call upon humanity, and a greater incitement to tenderness and pity than any
other motive whatsoever. The man therefore who, notwithstandingany passion of resentment, can overcome this powerful initinct, and ex
tinguish natural affertion, debase's his iniud even below brutality, frustrates as much as in hiin lies the great design of providence, and strikes out of his nature one of the molt divine principles that is planted in it. · AMONG innumerable arguments which might be brought against fuch an unreasonable proceciling, I shall only in it
We make it the condition of our forgivencís that we forgive others. In our very prayers we desire 10 more than to be treated by this kind of retaliation. he cafe therefore before us feems to be what they call a Cafe in point;. the relation between the child and the father being what comes nearest to that between a creature and its Creator. If the father is inexorable to the child who has offended, let the offence be of never fo high a nature, how will he addreis himself to the Supreme Being, under the tender appellation of a father, and desire of him such a forgiveness as he himself refuses to grant?
To this I inight add many other religious, -as well as many prudential confiderations'; but if the last mentioned motive does not prevail, I despair of succeeding by any other; and shall therefore conclude my paper with a very remarkable story, which is recorded in an old chronicle published by Freher, among the writers of the German history: ÉGINHART, who was secretary to Charles the Great'
; hecame exceeding popular by his behaviour in that post. His great abilities gained him the favour of his master, and the esteem of the whole court. Imma the daughter of the emperor, was so pleased with his person and conversation, that she felt in love with him. As she was one of the greatest beauties of the age, Eginhart answered her with a more than equal return of pasion. They stifled their fames for some time, under apprehension of the fatal consequences that might enfue. Eginhart at length re+ solving to hazard all, rather than live deprived of one whom his heart was so much fet upon, conveyed himself one night into the princess's apartinent, and knocking gently at the door, was admitted as a person who had son.eu thing to communicate. to her from the emperor: he was with her in private most part of the night; but upon his preparing to go away about break of day, he observed that there had fallen a great low during his stay with the prin
celi. Tl.is very inuch perplexed him, left the prints of his feet in the Inow miglit inake discoveries to the king, who often uiled to :ilit his daughter in the morning. He acquainted the prin els Inima uith his fears; who after come confultations upon the matter, prevailed upon him to let her carry him through the snow upon her own shoulders. It happened that the emperor not being able to sleep, wils at that time up and walking in his chamler, when upon locking through the window he perceived his daughter tuttering under her burden, and carrying his first minister across the low'; which the had no lioner done, but the return(d again with the utmost speed to her own apartinent. 'The emperor was extremely troubled and astonished at this accident; but relölved to speak nothing of i* till a proper opportunity. In the mean time, Eginhart knowing that what he had done could not be long a secret, determined to retire from court; and in order to it, begged the emperor that he would be pleased to difiniss him, pretending à kind of discontent at his not having been rewarded for his long services. The emperor would not give a direct answer to his petition, but told him he would think of it, and appointed a certain day when he would let him knowy bis pleasure. He then called together the most faithful of his counsellors, and acquainting then with his fecretary's crime, asked them their advice in fo delicate an affair.
They most of thein gave their opinion, that the perfon could not be too severely punished who had tlius dishonoura ed his master. Upon the whole debate, the emperor declired it was his opinion, that Eginhart's punishment would rather increase than diminish the shaine of his family, and that therefore he thought it the most advisable to wear out the incmory of the fact, by marrying hiin to liis daughter. Accordingly Eginhart was called in, and acquainted by the emperor, that he should no longer have any pretence of complaining his fcrvices were not rewarded, for that the princess Inm should be given hiin in marriage, with a dower fiiitable to her quality; which was soon after performed accordingly.
Friday, September 28.
Juv. fat. 6. v. 180.
The bitter overbalances the sweet.
S all parts of human life come under my observation, niy reader must not make uncharitable in-,
'ferences from my seaking knowingly of that fort of crime which is at present treated of. He will, I hope, fuppofe I know it only from the letters of correfpondents, tivo of which you shall have as follow.
the tics which you have treatai of, you have not menti6 oned that of wenching, and particularly the infaring 6-part; I mean, that it is a thing very fit for your pen, 'to expofe
' the villany of the practice of deluding women. 5. You are to know, Sir, that I myself am a woman wlio
have been one of the unhappy that have fillen into this < misfortune, and that by the insinuation of a very worth6-less fellow, who served others in the same manner both 6. before
ruit and fince that time. I had, as soon as o the rascal left: me, so inuch indignation and resolution, as 'not to go upon the town, as the phrase is, but took to & work for my living in an obscure place, out of the knowledge of all with whom I was- before acquainted.'
* It is the ordinary practice and business of life with a 6.fct of idle fellows about this town, to write letters, fend • 'messages, and form appointments with little raw unthink
ing girls, and leave them after possession of thein, with
out any 'mercy, to shame, infimy, poverty, and discale: 6. Were you to read the nauseous inpertinencies which are
written on these occasions, and to see the silly creatures fighing over then, it could not but be matter of mirti
as well as pity: A little prentice-girl of mine has been s for some timne applied to by an Irish fellow, who dresses