CHAPTER VI.

_Shewing how the method of educating daughters, makes it difficult for them to enter into the spirit of christianity; how miserably they are injured and abused by such an education; and the spirit of a better education represented in the character of |Eusebia|._

THAT turn of mind which is taught and encouraged in the _education of daughters_, makes it exceeding difficult for them to enter into such a sense and practice of true devotion, as the spirit of christianity requires.

For if it were a virtue in a woman, to be proud and vain in herself, and fond of the world; we could hardly use better means to raise these passions, than those that are now used in their education.

_Matilda_ is a fine woman, of good breeding, great sense, and has a great deal of regard for religion: she has three daughters, educated by herself; she will trust them to no one else, nor at any school, for fear they should learn any thing ill. She stays with the _dancing-master_ all the time he is with them, because she will hear every thing that is said to them. She has heard them read the _scriptures_ so often, that they can repeat great part of them without book; and there is scarce a good book of devotion, but you may find it in their closets.

Her daughters see her great zeal for religion, but then they see an equal earnestness for all sorts of finery. They are afraid to meet her, if they have missed the _church_; but then they are more afraid to see her, if they are not laced as strait as they can possibly be.

_Matilda_ is so intent upon all the arts of improving their _dress_, that she has some new fancy almost every day, and leaves no ornament untryed, from the richest jewel to the poorest flower. She is so nice and critical in her judgment, and so sensible of the smallest error, that her maid is often forced to dress and undress her daughters three or four times a day, before she can be satisfied with it.

As to the _patching_, she reserves that to herself; for she says, if they are not stuck on with judgment, they are rather a prejudice, than an advantage to the face.

The children see so plainly the temper of their mother, that they even affect to be more pleased with dress, than they really are, merely to gain her favour.

They saw the eldest sister once brought to her tears, and her perverseness severely reprimanded, for presuming to say, that she thought it was better to cover the neck, than to go so far naked as the modern dress requires.

She stints them in their meals, and is very scrupulous of what they eat and drink; and tells them how many fine shapes she has seen spoiled in her time, for want of such care. If a _pimple_ rises in their faces, she is in a great fright, and they themselves are as afraid to see her with it, as if they had committed some great sin.

Whenever they begin to look sanguine and healthy, she calls in the assistance of the _doctor_; and if physic and issues will keep the complexion from inclining to _coarse_ or _ruddy_, she thinks them well employed.

By this means they are pale, sickly, infirm creatures, vapoured through want of spirits, crying at the smallest accidents, swooning away at any thing that frightens them, and hardly able to bear the weight of their best cloaths.

The eldest daughter lived as long as she could under this discipline, and died in the twentieth year of her age. When she was opened, it appeared, that her ribs had grown into her liver, and that her other entrails were much hurt, by being crushed together with her stays, which her mother had ordered to be twitched so strait, that it often brought tears into her eyes, whilst the maid was dressing her.

Her youngest daughter is run away with a gamester, a man of great beauty, and who, in dressing and dancing, has no superior.

_Matilda_ says, she should die with grief at this accident, but that her conscience tells her, she has contributed nothing to it herself. She appeals to their closets and their books of devotion, to testify what care she has taken to establish her children in a life of solid piety and devotion.

Now, though I do not intend to say, that no daughters are brought up in a better way than this (for I hope many are) yet thus much, I believe, may be said, that the much greater part of them are not brought up so well, or accustomed to so much religion, as in the present instance.

Their minds are turned as much to the care of beauty and dress, and the indulgence of vain desires, as in the present case, without having such rules of devotion to stand against it. So that if solid piety is much wanted in that sex, it is the plain and natural consequence of a vain and corrupt education. If they are often too ready to receive the first fops, beaux, and fine dancers for their husbands; it is no wonder they should like that in men, which they have been taught to admire in themselves. And if they are often seen to lose that little regard to religion, that they were taught in their youth, it is no more to be wondered at, than to see a little flower choaked and killed amongst rank weeds.

Personal pride, affectation, a delight in beauty, and fondness of finery, are tempers that must kill all religion in the soul, or be killed by it; they can no more thrive together than health and sickness.

But how possible it is to bring up daughters in a more excellent way, let the following character declare.

_Eusebia_ is a pious widow, well born, and well bred, and has a good estate for five daughters, whom she loves not only as her natural, but also as her spiritual children; and they reverence her as their spiritual mother, with an affection equal to that of the fondest friends.

“My children, (says she) your dear father was an humble, watchful, truly devout man. Whilst his sickness would suffer him to talk with me, his discourse was chiefly about your education. He knew the ruins that a wrong education made in our sex; and therefore conjured me with the tenderest expressions, to renounce the _fashionable ways_ of educating daughters, and to bring you all up in the most unaffected instances of a truly christian and devout life.

When your father died, I was much pitied by my friends, as having all the care of a family, and the management of an estate fallen upon me. But my own grief was founded on another principle; I was grieved to see myself deprived of so faithful a friend, and that such an eminent example of real devotion, should be taken from the eyes of his children, before they were of an age to love and follow it. But as to worldly cares, which my friends thought lay so heavy upon me, they are most of them of our own making, and fall away as soon as we begin to _know ourselves_.

For this reason, all my discourse with you, has been to acquaint you with yourselves, and to accustom you to such books of devotion, as may best instruct you in this greatest of all knowledge.

You would think it hard, not to know the family into which you was born, what ancestors you were descended from, and what estate was to come to you. But, my children, you may know all this with exactness, and yet be as ignorant of yourselves, as a man that should take himself to be wax, and therefore dared not to let the sun shine upon him.

In order to know yourselves aright, you must consider yourselves as so many fallen embodied spirits, conceived and born in sin, and that your lives began in a state of corruption and disorder, full of tempers and passions, that blind and darken the reason of your minds, and incline you to that which is hurtful.

Your bodies are not only poor and perishing like your cloaths, but they are as _infected cloaths_, that fill you with ill distempers, which oppress the soul with sickly appetites, and vain envyings.

Hence all of us are like two beings, that have as it were two hearts within us: with the one, we see, taste, and admire reason, purity, and holiness; with the other we incline to pride, vanity, and sensual delights.

This internal war we always feel within us more or less; and if you would know the one thing necessary to you and all the world, it is this, to preserve, strengthen, and perfect all that is rational, holy, and divine in our nature, and by the assistance of the blessed Spirit of GOD, to mortify and subdue all that vanity, pride, and sensuality, which springs from the corruption of our state.

Whilst you live thus, you live like yourselves, and what is more, like christians; but whenever you are more intent upon adorning your persons, than upon perfecting your souls, you are much more beside yourselves, than he, that had rather have a laced coat, than an healthful body.

Never consider yourselves, therefore, as persons that are to be seen, admired, and courted by men; but as _poor sinners_, that are to be washed in the blood of the Lamb of GOD, and accepted through his all-sufficient righteousness, received by faith, and to be saved from the follies of a miserable world, and made meet for heaven by the powerful operations of his blessed Spirit.

These considerations have made me think it my duty to teach you nothing that was dangerous for you to learn. I have kept you from every thing that might betray you into weakness and folly, or make you think any thing fine, but a _fine mind_; any thing happy, but an interest in the favour of GOD, through JESUS CHRIST; or any thing desirable, but his love shed abroad in the heart, and to do all the good you possibly can to your fellow-creatures.

Instead of the vain, immodest entertainment of _plays_ and _operas_, I have taught you to delight in pious reading and religious conversation. What music, dancing, and diversions are to the people of the world, that holy meditation, fervent prayers, and other acts of devotion, have been to you. Instead of forced shapes, patched faces, and affected motions, I have taught you to conceal your bodies with _modest garments_, and to let the world have nothing to view of you, but the plainness and sincerity, the humility and unaffectedness of all your behaviour.

You know, my children, that a single state frees from worldly cares and troubles, and gives a woman an opportunity of caring only how she may please the LORD; but as I look upon you all to be so many great blessings of a married state; so I leave it to your choice, either to do as I have done, or to continue in a virgin state. Only let me remind you, if you intend to marry, let the time never come till you find a man that has those graces, which you are aspiring after yourselves; who is likely to be a friend to all your virtues, and with whom it is better to live, than to want the benefit of his example.

Avoid therefore the conversation of what the world calls _fine-bred fops_, and _beaux_; for they are the shame of their own sex, and ought to be the abhorrence of yours.

If evil speaking, scandal, or backbiting, be the conversation where you happen to be, keep your hearts to yourselves; and if you have no opportunity to reprove or turn the stream of such conversation into a proper channel, retire as soon as you can.

Love and reverence _poor people_; as for many reasons, so particularly for this, because our blessed Saviour was one of the number. Visit and converse with them frequently: you will often find simplicity, innocence, patience, fortitude, and great piety amongst them; and where they are not so, your good example may amend them. For this cause, you know I have divided part of my estate already amongst you, that you each may be charitable out of your own stock, and take it in your turns to provide for the poor and sick of the parish.

Whether married or unmarried, consider yourselves as mothers and sisters, as friends and relations to all that want your assistance; and never allow yourselves to be idle, whilst others want any thing that your hands can make for them.

I have brought you up to all kinds of labour, that are proper for women, as sowing, knitting, spinning, and all other parts of housewifery; not merely for your amusement, and that you may know how to direct your servants; but that you may be serviceable to yourselves and others, and be saved from those temptations which attend an idle life. I must therefore repeat to you, my daughters, what I have often reminded you of before, that I had rather see you reduced to the necessity of maintaining yourselves by your own hands, than to have riches to excuse yourselves from labour. Never therefore consider your labour merely as an amusement to get rid of your time, and so may be as trifling as you please; but consider it as something that is to be serviceable to yourselves and others, that is to serve some sober ends of life, to save and redeem your time, and make it turn to your account, when the works of all people shall be tried by fire.

What would you think of the wisdom of him, that should employ his time in distilling of waters, and making liquors which no body could use, merely to amuse himself with the variety of their colour and clearness; when with less labour and expence, he might satisfy the wants of those who have nothing to drink? And yet he would be as wisely employed, as those that are amusing themselves with such tedious works as they neither need, nor hardly know how to use when they are finished; when with less labour and expence they might be doing as much good, as he that is cloathing the naked, or visiting the sick. Be glad therefore to know the wants of the poorest people, and think it not beneath you, to let your hands be employed in making such mean and ordinary things for them, as their necessities require. Thus _Dorcas_ was employed, who is mentioned with so much honour in holy writ; and by so doing, you will behave like true disciples of that Lord and Master, ‘who came into the world not to be ministered unto, but to minister.’

In short, my dear children, strive to do every thing that is praise-worthy, but do nothing in order to be praised; nor think of any reward of all your works of faith and labours of love, till JESUS CHRIST cometh with all his holy angels. Think, my children, that the soul of your good father, now with GOD, speaks to you through my mouth; and let the double desire of your father who is gone, and of me who am with you, above all, let the mercies of GOD in CHRIST JESUS, prevail upon you to love GOD with all your souls, to study your own perfection, to practise humility, and to do all the good you can to all your fellow-creatures, especially to those who are of the houshold of faith, till it shall please GOD to call you to another life.”

Thus did the pious widow educate her daughters. The spirit of this education speaks so plainly for itself, that, I hope, I need say nothing in its justification. If we could see it in life, as well as read of it in books, the world would soon find the happy effects.

There is nothing more desirable for the common good of all the world, than that we might see it. For though _women_ do not carry on the trade and business of the world, yet as they are _mothers_ and _mistresses_ of families, they have for some time the care of the education of their children of both sorts, and are entrusted with that which is of the greatest consequence to human life. For as the health and strength, or weakness of our bodies, is very much owing to their methods of treating us when we are young; so the soundness or folly of our minds, are not less owing to those first tempers and ways of thinking, which we eagerly received from the love, tenderness, authority and constant conversation of our mothers.

Is it not then much to be lamented, that this sex, on whom so much depends, who have the first forming of our bodies and our minds, are not only educated in pride, but in the silliest and most contemptible part of it?

They are not suffered to dispute with us the proud _prizes_ of arts and sciences, of learning and ♦eloquence, in which I have much suspicion they would often prove our superiors; but we turn them over to the study of beauty and dress, and the whole world conspire to make them to think of nothing else. Fathers and mothers, friends and relations, seem to have no other wish towards the _little girl_, but that she may have a _fair skin_, a _fine shape_, _dress well_, and _dance_ to admiration.

♦ “eloqence” replaced with “eloquence”

And what makes this matter the more to be lamented, is this. That women are not only spoiled by this education, but we spoil that part of the world, which would otherwise furnish the most instances of an eminent and exalted piety. The _Church_ has formerly had eminent saints in that sex; and it may reasonably be thought, that it is purely owing to their poor and vain education, that this honour of their sex is for the most part confined to former ages.

The corruption of the world indulges them in great vanity, and mankind seem to consider them in no other view, than as so many _painted idols_, that are to allure and gratify their passions; so that if many women are vain, light, gew-gaw creatures, they have this to say in excuse of themselves, that they are not only such as their education has made them, but such as the generality of the world allow them to be.

Some indeed are pleased to say, that women are naturally of little and vain minds, and consequently their trifling vain behaviour is owing solely to that; but this I look upon to be as false and unreasonable, as to say, that _butchers_ are naturally cruel: for as their cruelty is not owing to their natures, but to their _way_ of life, which has changed their natures; so whatever littleness and vanity is to be observed in the minds of women, it is like the cruelty of butchers, a temper that is wrought into them by that life which they are taught and accustomed to lead. At least thus much must be said, that we cannot justly charge any thing upon their nature, till we take care that it is not perverted by their education.

But supposing it were true, that they were thus naturally vain and light, then how much more blameable is that education, which seems contrived to strengthen and increase the folly and weakness of their minds? For if it were a virtue in women to be proud, and vain, and indevout, we could hardly take better means to raise these bad things in them, than those which are now used in their education.

Some people that judge hastily, will perhaps say, I have been exercising too great a severity against the sex. But more reasonable persons will easily observe, that I entirely spare the sex, and only arraign their education; that, I profess, I cannot spare; but the only reason is, because it is their greatest enemy, because it deprives the world of so many blessings, and the church of so many saints as might reasonably be expected from persons, formed by their natural temper to all goodness and tenderness, and fitted, by the clearness and brightness of their minds, to contemplate, love and admire every thing that is holy, virtuous, and divine.