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of the most urgent necessity; yet there is no tenderness but in women, there is no attention but in old women. The young ones are constantly occupied in taking care of themselves. As for me, I divide myself into four parts when I am nursing one that is sick I have an eye to every thing. I do not fear that want of sleep will weigh my eye-lids down, make me become pale, and even indisposed.
"A sick person never constrains self with an old woman."
I felt that this woman knew exceedingly well the utility of her age. Still the door was unopened. I knocked again, but no answer was made. At this moment a man arrived from the house that the old woman had quitted. "Ah, Mrs. Thompson, are you here yet!" cried he, " your patient wants you again; he will have none but you; I beg you will return." The good old woman returned. I saw that she was not destitute of information; she was highly pleased that the sick person had sent for her again. I went with her, in order to have a little further talk on the subject.
after the battle of Rosbach, the general, who had many wounded soldiers, and few people to take care of them, deterinjned to make nurses of all the loose females that follow the army, and told them that they would do well to behave properly. Well, Sir, the greatest part of them became steady, industrious, and attentive; they took care of the soldiers as if they had been their children, and saved three parts of him-them. A woman is often praised, but never sufficiently valued. When a man sees a woman, what ought he to see in her? His nurse, his guardian, his mistress, his wife, his unceasing friend, his comforter in sickness; the being that gives him his first life, that affords him his first food, that is the creator or promoter of every pleasure he enjoys during his life, and whose tender attention can alleviate the dreadful pangs of approaching dissolution. Young, she is beautifal; old, she is good; one grateful word over-pays her. Old women are fit for a number of things which young ones are incapable of performing, either from ignorance, or because they will not take the trouble. An old woman is never tired of any thing. I am old, Sir, and I know my value in society."
"Women," said she to me," are men's nurses. I heard it once told to an old officer, whom I nursed during sickness, that
THE LADIES' TOILETTE, OR ENCYCLOPEDIA OF BEAUTY.
OF CLEANLINESS.-The toilette without cleanliness fails of obtaining its object. A careful attention to the person, frequent OF THE SKIN.-It was not on the form, ablutions, linen always white, which never or the nature of attire, that the great chabetrays the inevitable effect of perspira-racters of antiquity bestowed their attention and of dust; a skin always smooth and brilliant, garments not soiled by any stain, and which might be taken for the garments of a nymph; a shoe which seems never to have touched the ground; this it is that constitutes cleanliness. To this might likewise be added a scrupulous care to avoid every thing that can indicate functions which undeceive the imagination. Women, among the ancients were nymphs, nothing about them belied the graceful imagery of the poets who immortalized them in their works. At Rome and at Athens a woman could neither spit nor use her handkerchief in public. If she had
tion, but it was devoted to the preserva tion of the beauty of the person. They did not follow the same method as we, who frequently decorate a wretched picture with a magnificent frame. The ancients had a more profound theory; the cares they bestowed were the result of the esteem they had for themselves, of the persuasion that every thing is comprehended in nature, and that the beauty, health, and the good qualities of the heart, almost always proceed hand in hand.
It is from particular attention to the skin that we must expect health, long life, and a happy old age.
a cold, she was under the necessity of remaining at home.
The air is the natural enemy of the nobility, and most of the higher classes, lilies of a beautiful complexion; but un-is owing to the aliments they use. Water fortunately for our handsome women, it is has an influence equally powerful on the not the only enemy; a laborious life, or beauty of the carnation. excess in pleasure; too much sleep or too If a fortunate change of circumstances frequent watchings; too intense applica-enable a young female of limited means, tion, or the languor of a life of indo- who scarcely attracted any observation, to lence or apathy; melancholy and violent attend the minute details of the toilette, passions, grief, fear, anxiety, or hatred, we in a short time behold a new beauty are all prejudicial to the beauty of the expand in her. How many village girls, skin, diminish its lustre, efface or alter its with charms somewhat rustic, and figures colours. On the contrary, a life of pru- rather coarse, have improved themselves dence and regularity; easy and varied oc- by a residence in the city and the use of cupations; benevolent, exalted, generous the toilette. "Twas thus I beheld the ceaffections; the exercise of virtue, with lestial beauty of Sophia dawn forth. Sophia that inward satisfaction which is the pre- at fifteen was a mere country girl. Sophia cious reward of it; such are the causes has now attained her eighteenth spring, which preserve the flexibility of the or- and she is an elegant and delicate nymph. gans, a free circulation, a perfect state of Her dark and coarse complexion has acall the functions, whence results health, quired lustre, and whiteness; her lips, as well as beauty. at the same time that they have become more delicate, have assumed the colour of coral.
Buffon has observed that the delicate complexion, and happy physiognomy of the
FRAGMENT OF A SIAMESE LETTER.
ed, the sacrificer moves his hand, trembling all the time, over the rest of the book, and remains for some moments petrified with fear and impatience. All the others, in anxious suspence and motionless like himself, are attentive to what he is going to do afterwards, at every leaf which he turns up, these motionless spectators are alternately agitated in different ways, according to the spirit which takes possession of them: this, clasping his hands returns thanks to heaven; that, grinning, looks steadfastly at his image; a third bites his fingers and stamps the floor; in a word, all throw themselves into 'such extraordinary postures and contortions that they no longer have the appearance of human beings. But no sooner has the sacrificer turned up a certain leaf than he himself is seized with phrenzy, tears the book, and devours it from rage-overturns the altar, and curses the sacrifice. Nothing is now heard but lamentations, groans, cries, and imprecations. On beholding them thus transported with fury, I judged that the deity whom they adore
After the ceremony I have just describ- is a jealous god, who, to punish them for
THE English affirm that they adore but || one God; I cannot believe them, for in addition to the living deities to whom they are used to address their prayers, they have many other inanimate ones to whom they offer sacrifice, as I observed in one of their assemblies into which I accidentally entered.
I beheld a large, circular altar, covered with a green cloth, lighted in the middle, and surrounded by several persons seated in the same manner as we are at our domestic sacrifices.
At the moment of my entrance, one of them, who appeared to be the sacrificer, spread over the altar the detached leaves of a little book which he held in his hand; on these leaves were represented various figures; these figures were very rudely painted, yet they must be images of certain deities, for as they were distributed to the circle, each of the persons present placed an offering upon them, according to his devotion. I observed that these offerings were much larger than those which they made in their temples.
sacrificing to others, sends to each an evil spirit to take possession of them.
Such is the opinion a Siamese might deduce from the passion of male gam
MAXIMS AND RULES FOR THE CONDUCT OF WOMEN.
2. In demeanor, reason and simplicity. 3. In actions, justice and generosity. 4. In language, truth and perspicuity. 5. In adversity, fortitude and pride. 6. In prosperity, moderation and modesty.
1. In the exterior, decency and clean- || consider dangers only as inconveniences, liness.
7. In company, affability and ease. 8. In domestic life, rectitude and kindness, without familiarity.
9. Fulfil duties according to their order and importance.
10. Never allow yourself any thing but what a third enlightened and impartial person would allow you.
11. Avoid giving advice.
12. When you have a duty to fulfil,
blers.-What would he think, if he had an opportunity of observing those of the female party?
Fortune is in the habit of taking back from us, by means of our desires, all that she has given us to satisfy them.
When I see unhappy men who are unsuccessful in every thing, who lose their children, their property, their friends, and still are attached to life, I look upon them in the same light as masks at a ball, who know nobody, to whom no person speaks; who experience the utmost languor and disgust, and yet are the last to quit the scene.
I think this rule may be given, with respect to pleasantry: it is good as long as
and not as obstacles.
13. Sacrifice every thing to peace of mind.
14. Combat adversity, as disease, with temperance.
15. Be anxious only to do what is right, paying as much respect as possible to the world and to the laws of decorum; but, having observed this rule, be indifferent to public opinion.
MISCELLANEOUS REFLECTIONS ON THE CONDUCT OF WOMEN.
A MODEST assurance very nearly approaches grace. We are never better than when we feel that we are well.
the person you attack can reply in such a manner as to be satisfied with himself; but as soon as he becomes embarrassed, the pleasantry is too severe.
The quarrels of lovers are like storms in summer, which only render the country more verdant and more beautiful.
It is not sufficient to be beloved: we wish to be so for those parts of our character which we ourselves consider amiable.
If I durst, I would hazard a proposition, which will appear new. It is this-That I am better pleased to see my real friends when I am in prosperity than in adversity. We must be highly beloved indeed by our friends, if they share with us the feeling of our happiness, if their minds be engaged with ideas like our own, if they dwell with pleasure upon our circumstances. A fortunate man is chargeable to others; they envy him his good fortune, When he enters your house to communicate his felicity, and you are past the first moment of secret satisfaction which you feel at having been chosen by him for that purpose, you soon become impatient for him to be gone, that you may reason the matter over, and discover some drawback. In a word, it is the master-piece of the most tender friendship, to love so
16. Never indulge in any but innocent raillery, which is not injurious to principles, nor painful to persons.
17. Despise interest, and employ it nobly.
18. Deserve respect.
much as not to be importunate for the detail of the circumstances which have rendered a man happy; whereas, in adversity. I have only to shew my face, and people are too glad to see me wretched, not to converse with me with pleasure. They draw from me a narrative of my disaster, they dwell on all the particulars which attended it, they make long lamentations, they are never tired of the subject; while my true friends, overwhelmed with grief at my situation, have nothing to say to me, because they themselves stand in equal need of consolation.
habit of disguise prevents them from remaining a moment in their natural state; they overdo every thing, even the demonstration of the grief or the joy which they feel.
Ladies of gallantry are treated by the world nearly in the same manner as loose women are treated by the public. As long as they make no disturbance they are suffered to continue their trade in peace. In like manner a woman of gallantry associates with all the prudes, as long as she keeps matters within bounds; but on the first uproar, her whole conduct is scrutinized, the minutest circumstances are raked up, and her reputation is gone.
It cannot be more surprising to see a woman who has been unfaithful to her husband, prove inconstant to her paramour, than to see thieves mutually cheat each other.
Languor is the end of love.
ANNE, the present Marchioness of Townshend, was the youngest daughter of William Montgomery, Esq. afterwards created a Baronet. Her family was originally Scotch, though settled in Ireland. Mr. Montgomery was a gentleman of an ancient and honourable house, without any considerable fortune, but a man well esteemed and received in the polite world. Previously to his daughter's marriage, he was an army agent in Dublin., Sir William || Montgomery had four children, Elizabeth,|| Barbara, Anne, and the late unfortunate Colonel Montgomery, who was killed in a duel with Captain Macnamara.
The three Miss Montgomeries were the toasts of Ireland from their earliest introduction into the fashionable world. They were amiable and engaging, educated with the utmost propriety and attention, and
The pensive melancholy of youth makes us smile; that of old age draws tears into our eyes, because we presume that the one is sad from being embarrassed in his choice, and the other regrets that he has nothing left to choose.
THE MARCHIONESS OF TOWNSHEND:
A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.
To which is added, a correct Likeness of that Lady in her Court Dress of Jan. 8, 1806.
were so accomplished in all exterior and intellectual qualifications, and so attractive and interesting in their persons, man. ners, and demeanour, that they received the name of the three Graces.
The first acquaintance of the present Marchioness of Townshend with the noble Marquis her husband, arose when his Lordship held the high office of Viceroy, of Ireland. It was here that he first beheld Miss Montgomery, and became enamoured of her; his attachment was spee-. dily followed by an offer of his hand, and he married her, May 19th, 1773. Her sisters were not less fortunate in contracting splendid alliances. Barbara was married to the Hon. Mr. Beresford, of the family of the Marquis of Waterford; and Elizabeth to the first Viscount Mountjoy. It may not be superfluous to mention here,