The
sensualist, indeed, has been the most dangerous of tyrants, and
women have been duped by their lovers, as princes by their
ministers, whilst dreaming that they reigned over them.
I now principally allude to Rousseau, for his character of Sophia
is, undoubtedly, a captivating one, though it appears to me grossly
unnatural; however, it is not the superstructure, but the
foundation of her character, the principles on which her education
was built, that I mean to attack; nay, warmly as I admire the
genius of that able writer, whose opinions I shall often have
occasion to cite, indignation always takes place of admiration, and
the rigid frown of insulted virtue effaces the smile of
complacency, which his eloquent periods are wont to raise, when I
read his voluptuous reveries. Is this the man, who, in his ardour
for virtue, would banish all the soft arts of peace, and almost
carry us back to Spartan discipline? Is this the man who delights
to paint the useful struggles of passion, the triumphs of good
dispositions, and the heroic flights which carry the glowing soul
out of itself? How are these mighty sentiments lowered when he
describes the prettyfoot and enticing airs of his little favourite!
But, for the present, I waive the subject, and, instead of severely
reprehending the transient effusions of overweening sensibility, I
shall only observe, that whoever has cast a benevolent eye on
society, must often have been gratified by the sight of humble
mutual love, not dignified by sentiment, nor strengthened by a
union in intellectual pursuits.
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