A girl's life eighty years ago : $b Selections from the letters of Eliza Southgate BowneBowne, Eliza Southgate
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A girl's life eighty years ago : $b Selections from the letters of Eliza Southgate Bowne
Bowne, Eliza Southgate
Bowne, Eliza Southgate, 1783-1809; United States -- Social life and customs -- 1783-1865
I hardly know what to say to you, Cousin, you have attacked my system
with a kind of fury that has entirely obscured your judgment, and
instead of being convinced of its impracticability, you appear to fear
its justness. You tell me of some excellent effects of my system, but
pardon me for thinking they are dictated by prejudice rather than
reason. I feel fully convinced in my own mind that no such effects could
be produced. You ask if this plan of education will render one a more
dutiful child, a more affectionate wife, &c, &c., surely it will,—those
virtues which now are merely practised from the momentary impulse of the
heart, will then be adhered to from principle, a sense of duty, and a
mind sufficiently strengthened not to yield implicitly to every impulse,
will give a degree of uniformity, of stability to the female character,
which it evidently at present does not possess. From having no fixed
guide for our conduct we have acquired a reputation for caprice, which
we justly deserve. I can hardly believe you serious when you say that
“the enlargement of the mind will inevitably produce superciliousness
and a desire of ascendancy,”—I should much sooner expect it from an
ignorant, uncultivated mind. We cannot enlarge and improve our minds
without perceiving our weakness, and wisdom is always modest and
unassuming,—on the contrary a mind that has never been exerted knows not
its deficiencies and presumes much more on its powers than it otherwise
would. You beg me to drop this crazy scheme and say no more about
enlarging the mind, as it is disagreeable, and you are too much
prejudiced ever to listen with composure to me when I write on the
subject. I quit it forever, nor will I again shock your ear with a plan
which you think has nothing for its foundation either just or durable,
which a girlish imagination gave birth to, and a presumptuous folly
cherished. I fear I have rather injured the cause than otherwise, and
what I have said may have more firmly established those sentiments in
you which I wished to destroy. Be it as it may, I believe it is a cause
that has been more injured by its friends than its enemies. I am sorry
that I have said so much, yet I said no more than I really thought, and
still think, just and true. I beg you to say no more to me on the
subject as I shall know ’twill be only a form of politeness which I will
dispense with. You undoubtedly think I am acting out of my sphere in
attempting to discuss this subject, and my presumption probably gave
rise to that idea, which you expressed in your last, that however
unqualified a woman might be she was always equipt for the discussion of
any subject and overwhelmed her hearers with her “clack.” On what
subjects shall I write you? I shall either fatigue and disgust you with
female trifles, or shock you by stepping beyond the limits you have
prescribed. As I cannot pursue a medium I fear I shall be obliged to
relinquish the hope of pleasing—of course of writing. Good night, I am
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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