to intereſt them, have not a taſte for literature, and they find politics dry, becauſe they have not acquired a love for mankind by turning their thoughts to the grand purſuits that exalt the human race, and promote general happineſs.
Beſides, various are the paths to power and fame which by accident or choice men purſue, and though they joſtle againſt each other, for men of the ſame profeſſion are ſeldom friends, yet there is a much greater number of their fellow-creatures with whom they never claſh. But women are very differently ſituated with reſpect to each other—for they are all rivals.
Before marriage it is their buſineſs to pleaſe men; and after, with a few exceptions, they follow the ſame ſcent with all the perſevering pertinacity of inſtinct. Even virtuous women never forget their ſex in company, for they are forever trying to make themſelves agreeable. A female beauty, and a male wit appear to be equally anxious to draw the attention of the company to themſelves; and the animoſity of contemporary wits is proverbial.
Is it then ſurpriſing that when the ſole ambition of woman centres in beauty, and intereſt gives vanity additional force, perpetual rivalſhips ſhould enſue? They are all running the ſame race, and would riſe above the virtue of mortals, if they did not view each other with a ſuſpicious and even envious eye.
An immoderate fondneſs for dreſs, for pleaſure, and for ſway, are the paſſions of ſavages; the paſſions that occupy thoſe uncivilized beings who have not yet extended the dominion of the mind, or even learned to think with the energy neceſſary
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