Small Things I Find
Edwardian Driving Lessons
Last week, the final book in the Wicked Little Secrets series, How to Impress a Marquess, was released in audiobook form. I should like to think that the heroine of this enemies-to-lovers tale would have wildly approved of Dorothy Levitt—a spirited society woman, a daring racer of cars and boats, and the author of The Woman And The Car; A Chatty Little Handbook For All Women Who Motor Or Who Want To Motor (1909).
In fact, had I set How to Impress a Marquess in the early 1900s, I suspect the romance would have been quite different—if it happened at all. When the starchy George, Marquess of Marylewick, arrives to “rescue” the bohemian Lilith Dahlgren after her cousins leave her high and dry in London with no money, I can well imagine her reading Levitt’s book, hopping into a motorcar, and racing away. Goodbye, George!
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Now that you’ve secured your copy of How to Impress a Marquess, it’s time to learn how to drive an Edwardian automobile. Goggles on, and off we go!
From The Woman And The Car; A Chatty Little Handbook For All Women Who Motor Or Who Want To Motor (1909):
Dorothy Levitt is the premier woman motorist and botorist of the world. And she is ready to prove and uphold her title at any time. In the United Kingdom, in France and in Germany, she has achieved distinctions, won success and carried off trophies such as no woman and few men can claim.
She is immensely popular, has been toasted by Royalty at German motor banquets, elected honorary member of many of the first automobile clubs in this country and on the Continent, and has a host of friends, some in the sacred circles of society, others distinguished men and women of the more Bohemian circles of art and literature, music and the drama. She is an inveterate first-nighter, wears simple but ravishing clothes and, to those who do not know her, passes as a bright butterfly of fashion.
In a flat in a quiet but fashionable neighbourhood in the West-end of London, Miss Levitt lives the life of a bachelor girl. There she has a housekeeper and maid and a tiny Pomeranian, one “Dodo,” to keep her company. The flat contains, as its feature rooms, a Louis XIV. drawing-room and a Flemish dining-room, the latter the scene of many little luncheon parties for which Miss Levitt is also famous.
Hers is a busy life, involving many thousands of miles of travel in the year. She is to be seen at Ascot, Goodwood, Cowes, at Henley, at Ranelagh. To-day she may be in London. Next week you may hear of her as in France or Germany taking part in a motor competition; the week following she may be in Scotland or of a house-party in the Shires or botoring in the blue waters off the Riviera coast.
It is little wonder that her ambition is to leave the gay whirl and to settle down quietly in the country, with her motor, her dogs and a fishing-rod and a gun.
Of her public records I can do no better than quote extracts from her diary, for Miss Levitt…
September 1904.—Light Car Trials. Successful. Drove small De Dion, 8 horse-power. Entirely alone. No mechanic attended to car. Did everything myself. Had non-stop for five days but small difficulties on sixth and last day.
October 1904.—Southport Speed Trials. Drove 50 horse-power Napier. Won two medals.
February 1905.—Did Liverpool and back to London in two days, averaging a level 20 miles per hour throughout for the entire 411 miles. Unaccompanied by mechanic. Eight horse-power De Dion.
May 1905.—Won Non-stop Certificate at Scottish Trials. Ran over very rough and hilly roads in the Highlands. Eight horse-power De Dion.
July 1905.—Won Brighton Sweepstakes on 80 horse-power Napier, at rate of 79¾ miles per hour, constituting the woman’s world record. Beat a great many professional drivers. Drove at rate of 77¾ miles in Daily Mail Cup.
October 1906.—Broke my own record and created new world’s record for women at Blackpool. Ninety horse-power six-cylinder Napier. Racing car. Drove at rate of 91 miles per hour. Had near escape as front part of bonnet worked loose and, had I not pulled up in time, might have blown back and beheaded me. Was presented with a cup by the Blackpool Automobile Club and also a cup by S. F. Edge, Limited.
I am writing this little book not so much for those women who have already taken up motoring, but for those who would like to, but either dare not because of nervousness, or who imagine it is too difficult to understand the many necessary details.
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For your own driving, if you are going to attend to the mechanism yourself, you should purchase a single-cylinder car—more cylinders mean more work, and also more expense as regards tyres, petrol, oil, &c. The single-cylinder car is the most economical to run. Being constructed in a much lighter manner the weight on the tyres is less, consequently the tyre bill is smaller, a matter of great importance in the upkeep of a car.
The horse-power of a single-cylinder car is usually 8 h.p. or less. As regards carriage work, of course the purchaser can suit herself, but the “Victoria” type of body has the most graceful lines. Colour, also, is a matter of one’s own selection. Dark blue, brown, green, red or cream, they all look well, and can be picked out with lines to match the upholstery, or further embellished with a top panel of basket-work, as is the car in the photograph.
Such a car as I have described will cost, new, from £230. This price, however, is for the car itself, upholstered and complete as to seats and side lamps. It is the accessories that bring up the cost. It adds greatly to one’s comfort to have a hood, made of either black leather or khaki-coloured canvas, with nickel or brass mountings to match the finish of your car. Such a hood will cost, in leather, about £20, and in canvas £18. I am quoting for the best quality in every instance, for with motoring it is quality that counts in the long run. A folding glass screen, with nickel or brass fittings, framed in stained wood, will cost £10. The front lamps will cost about £6 per pair, and the rear lamp £1 to £1 5s. A waterproof rug can be bought for £1 to £2.
The car will, of course, seat two, but it is often advisable to have a third seat. This should be constructed so as to fold down when not in use, and would cost £15. You can have a stationary seat fitted for £10, but these do not look so nice (though quite as comfortable)
It is accessories that bring up the cost—you must have a hood as those that fold down. In addition to these things it is necessary to carry a tyre repair outfit, which will cost about £1, also the following tools and spares:
Ammeter, jack, pliers, spanners, carburetter jet key, large and small screw-drivers, hammer, oil-can, grease injector, tyre-pump, sparking-plug, inlet and exhaust valves, trembler blade and screw, some washers, split pins, file, very fine file for platinum points, emery-powder, insulated tape, and some waste or swabs.
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In regard to housing the car, if you are not fortunate enough to possess a stable or garage of your own, one of the following courses is open to you: Hire a stable, or garage, and a man to attend to the cleaning of the car; place it at one of the many garages, public and semi-private, now in existence—or you can stable it at the nearest mews and arrange with the ostler to do the washing. I cannot give the exact cost of the first and last of these, as they would naturally vary, but if placed at a regular garage the cost would be from 8s. 6d. to 12s. 6d. per week.
Another outlay is to be found in “tips.” The men at a garage are always hungry for “tips,” and your car will be polished with greater zest if the “tips” are frequent or generous. The advertisement of the “no tip” garage is a fallacy. The proprietor may consider this principle the right one, but if you act according to his ideas your car will probably suffer.
Petrol varies slightly in price, but is usually from 1s. to 1s. 4d. per gallon. As, with the car illustrated, you are able to run 28 to 32 miles on one gallon, you will see that petrol is not a great item.
The next duty that devolves on you after becoming the owner of a car is to procure your licences. There are two—one a licence for the car (the same as a carriage licence), the cost of which is governed according to the weight of the car, probably near two guineas; the other a driving licence, costing 5s. Both of these are to be obtained from the London County Council offices in Spring Gardens, London, S.W., or in the country at the various County Council headquarters—though the carriage licence can be obtained, after due application, at almost any post office. Your driving licence is an official printed paper with your name and address written in.
To obtain a number for the car it is necessary to apply to Spring Gardens, or any of the Registration and Licensing authorities in the United Kingdom. If one writes to a County Council, the letter should be addressed: “Clerk to the County Council of ——, County Council Offices, ——,” and if to a county borough, to “The Town Clerk, Town Hall, ——.” The registration fee is 20s. You will have to fill up a form and will then have a number registered.
This number you must have painted on two tin plates, white on a black ground. The figures must be 3½ in. deep. These number-plates must be affixed to the back and front of your car. The back one must be so placed that the light from the back lamp is thrown on it and thus the number distinctly seen at night. It is also necessary for part of the rear lamp to show a red light.
You should never go in your car without this licence—your driving licence, for you must produce it when asked by the proper authorities or pay the penalty of £5. But more of this later.
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An all-important question is dress. Automobilists are nowadays more careful in the choice of their attire, but there are still a goodly number who seem to imagine it is impossible to look anything but hideous when in an automobile. On a closed-in car, limousine or landaulette, any kind of attire is permissible as the conditions are precisely the same as being driven in a carriage, but with an open car neatness and comfort are essential. When racing, or when in countries where speed is not looked upon with such horror as in England—on the long, straight seemingly never-ending, military roads of France, one can travel at a speed that makes goggles or masks a necessity, but for motoring under ordinary conditions there is no reason why one should wear them. It might be borne in mind that I am writing this book for the woman who is desirous of being her own driver and owning her own car; yet perhaps my advice will be applicable to the whole sex. I average about 400 miles per week—in all conditions of weather—all sorts of cars and all sorts of places, and therefore speak from experience—in many instances dearly bought.
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One of the most important articles of wear is a scarf or muffler for the neck with a shirt blouse of linen, silk or “Viyella” is without doubt the most comfortable—and the wearer has the advantage, at the end of a days’ run, of appearing trim and neat. Under no circumstances wear lace or “fluffy” adjuncts to your toilette—if you do, you will regret them before you have driven half a dozen miles.
As to head-gear, there is no question: the round cap or close-fitting turban of fur are the most comfortable and suitable, though with the glass screen up it is possible to wear an ordinary hat, with a veil round it. However, if you go in for caps, see that they fit well—there is nothing more uncomfortable than the cap that does not fit. It is a good plan to have caps made to match your costumes. When fixing the cap, pin it securely, and over it put a crêpe-de-chine veil, of length a-plenty. These can be obtained from most of the leading drapers, and it is quite a simple matter to make them yourself with a length of crêpe or washing silk. Before tying the veil, twist the ends. This prevents the knot working loose and is very necessary, as the veil, in addition to protecting the hair, helps to keep the hat securely in place.
Remember to twist the veil before tying—this prevents the knot working loose. One of the most important articles of wear is a scarf, or muffler, for the neck—and the manner of wearing it is also important. Fold it, then wind round the throat, beginning at the front, bringing the ends round from the back, and fold over in front. See that the throat is covered closely, and not too loosely. Wearing this properly will save you all manner of colds, sore throats and kindred sufferings.
Regarding gloves—never wear woollen gloves, as wool slips on the smooth surface of the steering-wheel and prevents one getting a firm grip. Gloves made of good, soft kid, fur-lined, without a fastening, and made with just a thumb, are the ideal gloves for winter driving.
Indispensable to the motoriste who is going to drive her own car is the overall. This should be made of butcher-blue or brown linen, to fasten at the back—the same shape as an artist’s overall. It should have long sleeves. You can always slip off your coat and put on the overall in a moment—and it is necessary if you have anything to do in the car. Remember it is better to get grease-spots on your washable overall than on your coat or other clothes.
This little drawer is the secret of the dainty motoriste. What you put in it depends upon your tastes, but the following articles are what I advise you to have in its recesses. A pair of clean gloves, an extra handkerchief, clean veil, powder-puff (unless you despise them), hair-pins and ordinary pins, a hand mirror—and some chocolates are very soothing, sometimes!
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It is also advisable to carry a tablet of “Antioyl” soap. If it has been necessary to use bare hands for a repair you will nearly always find some grease on your hands, and this it is impossible to remove with ordinary soap. Of course it is possible to remove it with a little petrol, but I have found that petrol roughens the skin and that the “Antioyl” soap is much better.
The mirror should be fairly large to be really useful, and it is better to have one with a handle to it. Just before starting take the glass out of the little drawer and put it into the little flap pocket of the car. You will find it useful to have it handy—not for strictly personal use, but to occasionally hold up to see what is behind you. Sometimes you will wonder if you heard a car behind you—and while the necessity or inclination to look round is rare, you can, with the mirror, see in a flash what is in the rear without losing your forward way, and without releasing your right-hand grip of the steering-wheel.
If you are going to drive alone in the highways and byways it might be advisable to carry a small revolver. I have an automatic “Colt,” and find it very easy to handle as there is practically no recoil—a great consideration to a woman. While I have never had occasion to use it on the road (though, I may add, I practise continually at a range to keep my eye and hand “in”) it is nevertheless a comfort to know that should the occasion arise I have the means of defending myself.
If you are driving alone a dog is great company. The majority of dogs like motors and soon get into the habit of curling up on the seat by your side, under your coat.
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I am constantly asked by some astonished people, “Do you really understand all the horrid machinery of a motor, and could you mend it if it broke down?” but it really is not a very difficult matter. The details of the engine may sound complicated and may look “horrid,” but an engine is easily mastered. A few hours of proper diligence, provided you are determined to learn, and you know all that you have to know. Again, I must remind you that I am discussing the single-cylinder car, which is by far the simplest for a woman to drive and attend to alone.
Before starting out for a ride your first duty is to see that the petrol-tank is full. It is unpleasant to be stranded on the road, miles from anywhere, minus petrol. The petrol-tank is, in many instances, under the seat. Lift the cushions, unscrew the cap and peep in. If it is dark it will be necessary to hold a piece of stick in to see how much petrol there is, but when there is occasion to do this, be very careful that there is no dirt on the stick, or a choked petrol-pipe or carburetter will result. The slightest atom of dirt in the petrol will cause trouble. If you are going for a very long run it is a wise plan to take an extra can with you. It is, perhaps, unnecessary for me to warn you not to take a light near the petrol-tank while it is being filled up. Many cars have been wrecked through carelessness in this direction. Remember it is not actually the petrol that catches alight, but the vapour that arises from it. If your petrol-tank runs dry there is no danger—the car will simply come to a standstill.
The chamber in which the petrol and air mix and vapourise is called the carburetter, from which the vapour is carried to the cylinder head by means of a pipe, and is there exploded by the tiny electric spark from the sparking-plug, the explosion forcing down the piston and causing the crank-shaft to revolve.
Having examined your petrol-supply, being sure to replace the screw quite tightly, your next duty is to see that the water-tank is full. This tank is situated behind the engine, close to the dash-board. Unscrew the top and if you cannot see without uncomfortably bending over take a twig or stick and poke it in, and the wet portion will tell you how much water there is; though on some cars there is, affixed to the screw tops of both the petrol-and water-tanks, a metal rod which shows the amount of petrol or water in the tank. When you are refilling the water-tank you can tell by the “overflow” when the tank is full—there is a special outlet, so as to prevent the surplus from flowing over the top of the engine. Be sure to screw the top of the tank on again.
The next for examination is the oil-tank. This supplies the oil to lubricate the engine and gears. There are several different types of lubricators, force or drip feed, according to the type of car. It is necessary to lift the bonnet to refill the oil-tank. The “bonnet” is the metal covering to the engine. When the bonnet is lifted, metal supports will be found each side to hold it up. It is important that you have plenty of oil, for it is the lubrication that keeps your machinery in working trim. Without oil your engine and gears would overheat and probably “seize.” The lubricating oil is forced, by a small hand pump, to all the different parts of the engine and gears requiring it.
With the car illustrated, it is necessary to pump a charge of oil into the engine about every twenty miles. This is an easy matter and it is not necessary to stop the car to do it. Before starting out each day you should allow the “used” oil to run out of the base chamber. This is done by lifting a small rod you will find on the left-hand side of the commutator. If you pull this up it releases the oil, which you will see running out. When it is all out do not forget to press the rod into place again, as failure to do this would mean serious trouble, as the fresh oil, when pumped into the engine, would simply run right through on to the ground. After this stale oil has been released, two charges should be pumped into the engine before starting. This is done by turning the pointer on the pump handle to “Reservoir,” then pull up slowly, turn the pointer to “Moteur” and press gently down. To lubricate the gear, fill from “Reservoir” as before, turn the pointer to “Vitesse” and press down in the same manner.
Apart from filling the various grease-caps occasionally, on the steering, &c., and greasing the wheel bearings, this is all that is necessary in the way of lubrication. The wheels, however, only require greasing about every 400 miles.
Your next duty would be to test the brake. Get into the habit of doing this every time you go out. It is no trouble to run the car a few yards to ascertain whether the brakes grip or not. If all motorists, no matter how expert, were to spend a few moments in taking this precaution, there would undoubtedly be fewer accidents. We often read that “the steering-gear went wrong,” but I am right in saying that, in many cases, the accidents are caused by the failure of the brakes when applied suddenly on an emergency. The brakes may be in a satisfactory condition when you lock up the car after a day’s run, but when the car is stationary there is the slight possibility of a little oil dripping on to them during the night, rendering them practically useless. If there is oil on the brakes, however, it can easily be burnt off by running the car a little way and applying the brakes several times—the friction will gradually burn it off. The brakes sometimes slacken and need adjustment—an easy operation. Types of brakes may vary slightly with different types of cars. On my single-cylinder car the brake is very simple. To adjust, you will find a small handle underneath the frame towards the back of the car, on the off-side. Half a turn one way or the other if the brake is too slack or too fierce usually suffices. It can be adjusted one way or the other in about a second or two.
We now come to the various levers and their different functions. There are six levers, the change-speed, or gear-lever, on the left-hand side of the steering-column, under the steering-wheel; the ignition-lever and the air-lever, both to be found under the steering-wheel on the right-hand side of the steering-column; the hand-throttle, underneath the steering-wheel; in centre of column, on a small ratchet, the hand-brake lever and the first-speed lever. In this chapter I shall only deal with the first four.
It is the gear-lever that sets the gear in motion—practically puts the “muscles” of your car into play. It is imperative that it be in neutral (or central) position when starting the engine, or when applying either the hand-or foot-brake. This gear-lever, when in neutral position, disconnects the engine and gear, thereby allowing the road wheels to be brought to a standstill. When first learning to drive there is a tendency to suddenly apply the brake without bringing the gear-lever into neutral position, consequently a great strain is put upon the entire mechanism, as rival forces are brought into play, viz., while the engine is pulling, and through the driving-shaft turning the gears and propelling the wheels, the action of the brake is to make the back wheels stationary. As an example, the shock on the mechanism in the event of this happening can be compared to taking a watch and banging it on the ground.
With regard to the other levers, always be quite sure that the ignition (top) lever is retarded, and that the air-lever is in correct position. It is impossible to exactly give the correct position for these as it is a matter of adjustment and liable to slightly vary with different cars. However, when once you have found the correct position it is impossible to get it wrong.
The next thing to do is to switch on the electric current. The car carries a battery on the dash-board, where is also the coil. As it is possible to run 2000 or 3000 miles on one battery, the replacing is not an expensive item. The cost of a new battery is 15s. 9d. The switch is on the coil and the current is set in motion by moving the switch from “A” to “M.” Having done all these things you are ready to start up the engine, and after that, drive.
It has taken a long time to explain the preliminary things that you should do before starting off on a run, and the non-motoriste, and even perhaps the intending motoriste, will say, “If I have to do all those troublesome things it will take up all my time, so I thinkI had better have a chauffeur”; but let me assure you that while it has taken some little time to explain these things in the plainest possible language, it will take you but a few minutes to carry them out.
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Starting one’s engine is not the nicest thing about motoring when a woman is acting as her own driver and mechanician, but with the little cars no strength is required; it is only the big cars that need a swelling of muscle. There is a great knack in starting an engine, but this, once overcome, ceases to be hard work.
In front of the car you will notice a handle. Push it inwards until you feel it fit into a notch, then pull it up sharply, releasing your hold of the handle the moment you feel you have pulled it over the resisting (compression) point. Unless starting a car fitted with magneto ignition, on no account press down the handle—always pull it upwards, smartly and sharply. If it is pressed down the possibility of a backfire is greater—and a broken arm may result. This, however, is not a common occurrence, and is one that is brought about entirely through carelessness on the part of the would-be driver.
If the car has not been used for some hours it will sometimes be necessary to turn the starting handle two or three times—speaking from my own experience, three times is the maximum; it will usually start on the second turn. Of course in the winter it will take two or three turns, as the petrol freezes and takes longer to vapourise.
The moment the engine is running you can get in the car and start driving. Hold the steering-wheel with both hands in the manner and position in which it is most comfortable to yourself. Keep a firm hold of it all the time and do not get into the habit of driving with one hand on the wheel: use both except when it is necessary to use either for changing speed, &c. Advance the ignition-lever forward and give more air by pulling back the “air” lever. When you have tried the car once or twice you will easily be able to gauge the distance these various levers should be moved. Remember the faster the engine runs the more air she will take, though when climbing a hill it is necessary to drive on a richer mixture (less air, with the regular supply of petrol) and cut off the air inlet almost entirely.
You will soon understand the different sounds of the engine—and their prevention, or cure.
When the car is stationary (and the engine running) always endeavour to run it as quietly as possible. It is sometimes annoying to people to have the noise of an automobile outside their door and no good can accrue by allowing the engine to run on unchecked. Underneath the steering-wheel, on the steering-column you will notice the throttle-lever, mentioned in the preceding chapter. Its function is to regulate the mixture in the carburetter. When you wish the engine to run very quietly and slowly, you move this little lever from right to left. When starting to drive again do not omit releasing the throttle, otherwise the engine may stop owing to insufficiency of gas.
Your next move is to take off the side brake. You will find this lever on the right-hand side of the car. Now you are absolutely ready to start. Always remember that a car should receive careful treatment, so therefore do not attempt to move anything by jerking it roughly—take everything very quietly.
You will notice two pedals on the left and right respectively of the steering-column, on the floor. The left-hand pedal acts as a throttle (shutting off gas) in exactly the same manner as the hand-throttle explained above, that is, when it is pressed down half-way—and the throttling process acts according to the amount of pressure put upon the pedal.
If it is pressed down still further it acts as a brake. This foot-throttle and foot-brake are more frequently used than the hand-throttle and hand-brake.
The small pedal on the right-hand side of the steering-column is brought into service when first (or lowest) speed is required. Thus, to start the car you press down this pedal as far as it will go, at the same time pressing lightly on the throttle (left-hand pedal), and take hold of the change-speed (or gear) lever and push it as far forward as it will go, at the same time releasing the left-hand pedal and keeping down the one on the right. You are now travelling on first speed. You will soon tell when this speed has reached its maximum power as the engine will be running very fast. It will then be time to change to second speed. This is done by releasing the right-hand pedal, throttle slightly with the left foot and bring the gear-lever towards you as far as it will go, at the same time slowly lifting your foot off the throttle. You will now find the car moving much faster and will be able to tell, as in the former instance, when the maximum speed is obtained. When you hear the engine beginning to “race” (run very fast), slightly throttle again and push the gear-lever into third speed—away from you, the same position as for “first,” though, of course, in this instance it is unnecessary to touch the right-hand pedal, which, you must remember, is only used for lowest speed. You are now on third (or top) gear and will find that unless the country is very hilly you will usually be able to keep the car running on this gear for a long time, varying the speeds from 10 to 28 miles an hour by deftly manipulating the ignition, air and throttle.
Changing speed on the car illustrated is an easy task, and that is why I have taken the De Dion car as an object-lesson. With the majority of cars there is a deal of “arm work” necessary, and in many cases not a little strain, this strain very often counteracting the benefits otherwise derived from the driving.
In changing speed always remember to throttle slightly, whether in changing from first or second to top, or in slackening speed, from top to second or first.
Never change from first to top speed, or from top to first without using the intermediate speed. The first speed on these little cars is from zero to 9 miles an hour, the second from 9 to 18, and the top from 18 to 28. I should advise you to get thoroughly used to the steering while on second speed, and at first drive very slowly. Do not expect to be able to control the car in a few minutes. Take your time and get in sympathy with your motor as you would the horses you drive or ride. Gain confidence slowly. Once you have confidence in yourself the battle is nearly won. Bear in mind that when riding or driving a horse it is only partly under your control. As it has a brain and will of its own it can bolt if it wishes to—but with a motor-car you rely upon yourself alone—you are master (or should I say mistress?) of the situation.
When it is necessary to drive backwards, push forward the small lever you will find at the side, by the hand-brake, push the change-speed lever forward (same position as for top speed) and steer exactly the reverse way to what you would do if you were going forward.This will no doubt prove awkward at first, and will necessitate a little practice, but when once mastered you will find it equally easy to steer the car either in a backward or forward direction. When running on any speed, if you allow the car to gain impetus and then put the change-speed lever in neutral position, the car will travel on in the same manner as a free-wheel bicycle, the action of the gear being neutral temporarily disconnecting the engine and gear.
If you see an obstacle in the road do not go up to it at full speed and suddenly put on the brake. The sudden application of the brake will hasten the end of the life of your tyres—and if you are not driving on non-skid tyres a bad accident may be the result if the road is at all wet. Of course occasion may sometimes arise whereby it is absolutely necessary to apply the brakes very suddenly—for instance, if a car makes its appearance from a side turning that perhaps you had not noticed, or an individual or dog attempts to cross the road a few yards in front of your car—but in cases of this kind you must rely on your own judgment.
You will soon understand how far the car will run with a given impetus and learn to use the brakes gently and sparingly.
Never get into the habit of using only one brake. It is more convenient to use the foot-brake, but if you do not sometimes use the hand-brake, when an emergency arises you will find yourself looking for the hand-brake instead of your hand instinctively going out to it in the fraction of a second.
In travelling uphill run as far as possible at top speed—meanwhile listening to the throb of the engine. When the top speed drops to about the maximum speed of the second, it is time to change back to second, but do not allow the engine to run too slowly before changing, otherwise it will not “pick up” and it will be a great strain on it. If the hill is a very steep one it may be necessary to change to first. There is always a correct moment for changing speed, both on the level and on hills, but this is a thing that can only come with practice.
If you have a long decline to negotiate, turn the switch off so that the engine is not running,allowing the car to roll down on its own impetus, controlling with the brakes, but remember, on the car slowing down, after passing the foot of the hill, to put the top gear in and switch on again, otherwise the engine may stop.
If you are driving in a very hilly or mountainous country you must give the engine a charge of oil more frequently than every twenty miles on account of its having to be on low gear, when the engine runs much faster and is liable to get over-heated—and if it does become over-heated you will soon notice a nasty “knock”
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There are numberless little things which, after you have graduated to the ranks of the experienced motoriste, you will buy, not because they are absolutely necessary, but because of their convenience. For instance, a speedometer. All the half-dozen makes are good ones. A speedometer is a very interesting accessory, for it tells you exactly the pace at which you are travelling, and in some instances has been known to influence the decision of a magistrate when deciding a charge of exceeding the speed-limit.
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You may drive for weeks, months, almost years, without a tiny bit of trouble, if you are careful. The looking after the little things saves a heap of trouble. The testing of this thing, the dusting of that, the tightening of a nut, the loosening of a screw—all these may be commonplace trivial matters, but if attended to will pay in the long run.
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Above all, whatever may arise, try to forget to weep and remember to laugh. Then you will have won half the battle of “Motor Woe.”
The Georgian Ladies Complete Letter-Writer of Love, Marriage, and Betrayal
It’s almost Valentine’s Day, and Wicked, My Love—the second book in the Wicked Little Secrets series—releases today in audiobook form. That means a new post about old love letters. Yay! ( Wicked, My Love is available on Amazon, Audible, and other Audiobook sellers. Learn more about this zany comedy!)
Err, actually, this post isn’t about love letters. Rather, it’s about letters about love, marriage, and other perils of the Georgian era.
I would like to use very modern terms to describe love in the Eighteenth Century: It’s complicated.
Marriages were tense, ruthless negotiations involving extended families (and you know what families are like). The delicate bud of love was often crushed under the heavy foot of an ambitious papa or mama before it had the chance to bloom. Sincere suitors were dismissed for the tiniest blemish on their résumé, a mere glance in the wrong direction, or—most unforgivably—for committing the greatest faux pas of all: being poor.
Thank goodness I didn’t have to marry in the 18th century, mostly because I doubt I could write so verbosely and ad nauseam about my anguish at being forced to wed someone I despised. I’m not sure I could conjure such brilliance as: “Consider, Sir, the Misery of bestowing yourself upon one who can have no Prospect of Happiness but from your Death.”
Alas, dear reader, I must confess—I have formed a little bit of a Black Mirror-esque tendre for AI these past few weeks. While the letters below have been faithfully extracted from The Ladies Complete Letter-Writer, published in 1765, their introduction comes from my delightful new assistant—who, unlike an 18th-century suitor, requires neither a dowry nor a family’s meddling approval. (← AI said that about itself.)
Let’s dive in!
Courtship and Parental Intervention
Romance in the 18th century was rarely just a matter of the heart. These letters capture the careful negotiations between hopeful suitors, cautious parents, and wary daughters.
From a Daughter to a Mother, Requesting Approval for a Suitor
A young woman, having secured respectable employment, finds herself the object of a dancing master’s affections. Though pleased, she seeks her mother’s approval before proceeding.
Honoured Madam,
Soon after I left you and my Friends in the Country, I happily engaged with one Mrs. Prudence, a Governess of a noted Young Ladies’ Boarding School at the Court End of the Town, to act as her Assistant. She has treated me, ever since I have been with her, with the utmost Good-Nature and Condescension, and has all along endeavoured to make my Service more easy and advantageous to me than I could reasonably expect. On the other hand, as a grateful Acknowledgment of her Favours, I have made her Interest my whole Study and Delight.
My courteous Deportment towards the young Ladies, and my constant Care to oblige my Governess, have not only gained me the Love and Esteem of the whole House, but young Mr. Byron, the Dancing Master who attends our School weekly, has cast a favourable Eye upon me some Time, and has lately made me such Overtures of Marriage as are, in my own Opinion, worthy of my Attention. However, notwithstanding he is a great Favourite of Mrs. Prudence, a Man of unblemished Character, and very extensive Business, I thought it would be an Act of the highest Ingratitude to so indulgent a Parent as you have been to me, to conceal from you an Affair whereon my future Happiness or Misery must so greatly depend.
As to his Person, Age, and Temper, I must own, Madam, with a Blush, that they are all perfectly agreeable; and I should think myself very happy, should you countenance his Address. I flatter myself, however, that I have so much Command of my own Passions, as in Duty to be directed in so momentous an Affair by your superior Judgment. Your speedy Answer therefore will be looked upon as an additional Act of Indulgence shown to
Your most dutiful Daughter.
The Mother’s Response: Proceed with Caution
A measured and pragmatic reply. The mother urges patience, warning her daughter that men may promise much but deliver little. Yet, she does not dismiss the match outright…
Dear Daughter,
I received yours in regard to the Overtures of Marriage made you by Mr. Byron, and as that is a very weighty Affair, I shall return to London as soon as possible, in order to make all due Enquiries. And in case I find no just Grounds for Exception to the Man, I have none to his Occupation, since ’tis suitable enough to that State of Life for which you seem to have a peculiar Taste.
However, though I should rejoice to see you settled to your Satisfaction and Advantage, and though you seem to entertain a very favourable Opinion of his Honour and Abilities to maintain you in a very decent Manner, yet I would have you weigh well the momentous Matter in Debate: Don’t be too hasty, my Dear; consider, all is not Gold that glitters. Men are too often false and perfidious; promise fair, and yet, at the same Time, aim at nothing more than the Gratification of their unruly Desires.
I don’t say that Mr. Byron has any such dishonourable Intentions, and I hope he has not; for which Reason I would only have you act with Discretion and Reserve; give him neither too great Hopes of Success, nor an absolute Denial to put him in Despair. All that you have to say till you see me is this: that you have no Aversion to his Person, but that you are determined to be wholly directed by your Mother in an Affair of so serious a Concern.
This will naturally induce him to make his Application to me on my first Arrival; and you may depend upon it, no Care shall be wanting on my Side to promote your future Happiness and Advantage.
I am,
Dear Daughter, Your truly affectionate Mother.
Forced Marriages and Pleas for Mercy
Not all proposals come with joy—many come with dread. These letters capture the voices of young women fighting against their fates, protesting marriages arranged for power, wealth, or revenge.
From a Daughter to Her Father: A Plea Against a Wealthy but Detestable Suitor
“Does wealth purchase peace? Does it purchase happiness?” A daughter writes in anguish, knowing she is to be sold into a marriage with a man she cannot love
Honoured Sir,
I never till now thought it could be a Pain to me to answer any Letter that came from my dear Papa; but this last of yours distresses me to the greatest Degree, as I know not how to send an Answer that is consistent with the Duty I owe, and the Affection I bear, to the best of Parents, without at the same Time offering up my Sincerity, and making a Sacrifice of my Peace and Happiness.
Ah! dear Sir, reflect, do reflect on the real Worth and Use of Riches: Do they purchase Health? Do they purchase Peace? Do they purchase Happiness? No—Then why am I to barter Health, and Peace, and Happiness, for Riches?—The Man you propose to me, I know, you would never have thought on but for his immense Wealth, for he has nothing else to recommend him: And I, who can live upon a little; I, who at present have no Canker in my Heart, and am happy in the Company of my dear Papa and Mamma, can never think of giving up this Peace and Tranquility, and of throwing myself at the Mercy of a Brute, that I detest, for the sake of being thought worth a large Sum of Money that I don’t want, and can make no Use of.
These are Truths that I am afraid will be disagreeable to you, and therefore ’tis with Pain I write them; but, my dear Papa, what Pain would it give you to see me made for ever miserable! I know what would shorten my Days, would put an end to yours, so great is your Affection for me. The Sense of that Affection, and my own Love and Gratitude to you, the best of Parents, will make me submit to anything. Do by me as you please, but pray think of the Consequences; and believe me to be,
Honoured Sir, your most dutiful, affectionate, and obedient Daughter.
From a Daughter to Her Father: Dutifully Resisting an Old Man’s Proposal
Politeness thinly veils desperation as a young woman explains why she cannot possibly wed a man far older than herself. Will reason prevail over fortune?
Honoured Sir,
Though your Injunctions should diametrically oppose my own secret Inclinations, yet I am not insensible that the Duty which I owe you binds me to comply with them. Besides, I should be very ungrateful, should I presume, in any Point whatever, considering your numberless Acts of parental Indulgence towards me, to contest your Will and Pleasure.
Though the Consequence thereof should prove never so fatal, I am determined to be all Obedience, in case what I have to offer in my own Defence should have no Influence over you, or be thought an insufficient Plea for my Aversion to a Match, which, unhappily for me, you seem to approve of. ‘Tis very possible, Sir, the Gentleman you recommended to my Choice may be possessed of all that Substance, and all those good Qualities, that bias you so strongly in his Favour; but be not angry, dear Sir, when I remind you, that there is a vast Disproportion in our Years. A Lady of more Experience, and of a more advanced Age, should, in my humble Opinion, be a much fitter Help Mate for him.
To be ingenuous, (permit me, good Sir, to speak the Sentiments of my Heart without Reserve for once) a Man, almost in his grand Climacteric, can never be an agreeable Companion for me; nor can the natural Gaiety of my Temper, which has hitherto been indulged by yourself in every innocent Amusement, be ever agreeable to him.
Though his Fondness at first may connive at the little Freedoms I shall be apt to take, yet as soon as the Edge of his Appetite shall be abated, he’ll grow jealous, and for ever torment me without a Cause. I shall be debarred of every Diversion suitable to my Years, though never so harmless and inoffensive; permitted to see no Company; hurried down perhaps to some melancholy rural Recess; and there, like my Lady Grace in the Play, sit pensive and alone, under a Green Tree.
Your long-experienced Goodness, and that tender Regard which you have always expressed for my Ease and Satisfaction, encourage me thus freely to expostulate with you on an Affair of so great an Importance. If, however, after all, you shall judge the Inequality of our Age an insufficient Plea in my Favour, and that Want of Affection for a Husband is but a Trifle, where there is a large Fortune, and a Coach and Six to throw into the Scale; if, in short, you shall lay your peremptory Commands upon me to resign up all my real Happiness and Peace of Mind for the Vanity of living in Pomp and Grandeur, I am ready to submit to your superior Judgment.
Give me leave, however, to observe, that ’tis impossible for me ever to love the Man into whose Arms I am to be thrown; and that my Compliance with so detested a Proposition is nothing more than the Result of the most inviolable Duty to a Father, who never made the least Attempt before to thwart the Inclinations of—
His ever obedient Daughter.
From a Young Lady to Her Unwanted Suitor, Begging Him to Refuse Her
In a chillingly honest letter, a woman who has been forced to accept a man’s courtship pleads with him to release her. She warns that she will never love him—and that her only solace in the match would be his eventual death.
SIR,
It is a very ill Return which I make to the Respect you have for me, when I acknowledge to you, that though the Day of our Marriage is appointed, I am incapable of loving you.
You may have observed, in the long Conversation we have had at those Times that we were left together, that some Secret hung upon my Mind. I was obliged to an ambiguous Behaviour, and durst not reveal myself further, because my Mother, from a Closet near the Place where we sat, could both hear and see our Conversation.
I have strict Commands from both my Parents to receive you, and am undone for ever, except you will be so kind and generous as to refuse me.
Consider, Sir, the Misery of bestowing yourself upon one who can have no Prospect of Happiness but from your Death.
This is a Confession made perhaps with an offensive Sincerity; but that Conduct is much to be preferred to a secret Dislike, which could not but pall all the Sweets of Life, by imposing on you a Companion that dotes on, and languishes for, another.
I will not go so far as to say my Passion for the Gentleman, whose Wife I am by Promise, would lead me to anything criminal against your Honour. I know it is dreadful enough to a Man of your Sense to expect nothing but forced Civilities in Return for the tenderest Endearments, and cold Esteem for undeserved Love.
If you will on this Occasion let Reason take place of Passion, I doubt not but Fate has in Store for you some worthier Object of your Affection, in Recompense of your Goodness to the only Woman that could be insensible of your Merit.
I am, Sir, your most humble Servant,
M. H.
Lucidamia’s Letter to Her Mother: A Gothic Masterpiece of Despair
A young woman, locked away from the world, learns that she is to be forced into marriage—not for love, not even for money, but out of revenge. She begs her mother for intervention, swearing she would rather be exiled to a land of tigers than endure the embrace of Andrugio…
Most dear and honoured Madam,
As on a thousand Occasions I have experienced your Indulgence, I impute rather to your Compliance with my Father’s Request than your own Inclination, that I have been denied the Happiness of an Answer to any of those very many Letters I have sent since my Confinement in this solitary Recess; and am therefore emboldened once more to pour out the Fulness of my Soul before you—to beseech you to have Compassion on my forlorn Condition—nay, even to conjure you, by the tender Name of Mother, and all the Ties of Nature and Affection, to vouchsafe me your Assistance in this distracting Exigence—this terrible Dilemma, that, wheresoever way I turn, affords nothing but the Prospect of eternal Ruin.
My Aunt has just now shown me a Letter she received from my Father, wherein he desires her to prepare for our Return to London; but, O Heaven—to what End!—to be the wretched Bride, the Victim of a Man I can have no Taste for as a Husband—a Man who, were my Heart entirely free from all Attachment to another, I never could be brought to love!
How can I assume a Tenderness it is not in my Power to feel! To be sincere in all my Words and Actions was the first Precept of my early Youth; I have ever since held it sacred, and I cannot, and am certain you would not wish me to forget it.
But I am now told that Reason ought to guide Inclination, that the softer Passions should give way to the Considerations of Interest and the World’s Esteem, and that these plead strongly in favour of Andrugio. Alas, how different are my Thoughts! What are his Titles to me? What all the Honours his late Success has gained? Mere Shadows to attract the distant Eye, but afford no real Charms upon a near Approach.
Can his Wealth purchase for me the least Moment’s Peace of Mind? Or outward Grandeur compensate for inward Discontent? No—where Hearts are not linked by a secret Sympathy, an invisible, undiscernible Attraction that binds them to each other, Heaven never intended a Union of Hands, nor will vouchsafe a Blessing.
Thus, Madam, I have heard you say you argued with yourself, when you refused a Coronet for my Father. Your Parents indeed did not oppose your Inclination, but left you free to make your Choice between Love and Greatness—that, alas! is not my unhappy Case. Yet do I not complain, much less presume to expect you should sacrifice your Resentment to comply with the Tenderness of my Heart.
As I am torn from what I had once your Leave to think would form my greatest Happiness, I only entreat I may not be forced to what I know will be the most extreme Wretchedness that can be inflicted on me.
Celia has given me some Hints which I believe she had from my Aunt, that it is more out of Hatred to Seraphino, than Good Will to Andrugio, that my Father has taken this cruel Resolution, and, merely to prevent my disposing of myself against his Consent, intends to dispose of me so contrary to my own.
Ah, Madam! if it be so, I beseech you to assure him, as you safely may, that there is nothing (not even this dreadful Marriage) which more shocks my Imagination, than being guilty of so rash, so unpardonable a Violation of my Duty.
I agree to renounce Seraphino forever—utterly to abjure him—to see him no more, and as little as possible to think of him. I will put it out of my Power to listen to any Dictates my fond Heart must suggest in his Favour, by the most sacred Obligations that Words can form, or Incredulity exact from me.
But if all this should be thought too weak to atone for my failing in that implicit Obedience which is expected from me, reverse at least my Sentence—punish me by any other Kind of Means provoked Authority can invent—condemn me to pass the whole Remainder of my Days in lonely Solitude—shut me from all Society, or banish me where only Lions and Tigers dwell.
Fate cannot reach me in any Shape so horrid as the Embraces of Andrugio.
Pardon, I beseech you, Madam, the Wildness of these Expressions, which nothing but the most poignant Anguish of the last Despair could have forced from me; and be assured, that, though I have said much more than you may think I ought to have done, I have said little in comparison of what is felt by,
Madam,
Your unhappy, but obedient Daughter,
LUCIDAMIA
Love, Betrayal, and Retaliation
Promises of love are easily broken, as these letters prove. Here, we see the suspicions, accusations, and icy retaliations of lovers scorned.
From a Young Lady to a Gentleman She Suspects of Infidelity
After witnessing her suitor’s suspicious attentions toward another woman, a young lady writes a letter that demands an explanation—or a confession.
SIR,
The Freedom and Sincerity with which I have at all Times laid open my Heart to you, ought to have some Weight in my Claim to a Return of the same Confidence: But I have Reason to fear, that the best Men do not always act as they ought. I write to you what it would be impossible to speak; but before I see you, I desire you will either explain your Conduct last Night, or confess that you have used me not as I have deserved of you.
It is in vain to deny that you took Pains to recommend yourself to Miss Peacock; your Earnestness of Discourse also showed me that you were no Stranger to her. I desire to know, Sir, what Sort of Acquaintance you can wish to have with another Person of Character, after making me believe that you wish to be married to me.
I write very plainly to you, because I expect a plain Answer. I am not apt to be suspicious, but this was too particular; and I must be either blind or indifferent to overlook it. Sir, I am neither; though perhaps it would be better for me if I were one or the other.
Yours, &c.
From a Lady to Her Lover, Responding to His Accusation of Disloyalty
A woman, falsely accused, reminds her lover that jealousy is a flaw not easily forgiven. The fate of their relationship teeters on the edge.
SIR,
If I did not make all the Allowances you desire in the End of your Letter, I should not answer you at all. But although I am really unhappy to find you are so, and the more to find myself to be the Occasion, I can hardly impute the Unkindness and Incivility of your Letter to the single Cause you would have me.
However, as I would not be suspected of anything that should justify such Treatment from you, I think it necessary to inform you, that what you have heard has no more Foundation than what you have seen: However, I wonder that other Eyes should not be as easily alarmed as yours; for, instead of being blind, believe me, Sir, you see more than there is. Perhaps, however, their Sight may be as much sharpened by unprovoked Malice, as yours by undeserved Suspicion.
Whatever may be the End of this Dispute, for I do not think so lightly of Lovers’ Quarrels as many do, I think it proper to inform you, that I never have thought favourably of any one but yourself; and I shall add, that if the Fault of your Temper, which I once little suspected, should make me fear you too much to marry, you will not see me in that State with any other, nor courted by any Man in the World.
I did not know that the Gaiety of my Temper gave you Uneasiness; and you ought to have told me of it with less Severity. If I am particular in it, I am afraid it is a Fault in my natural Disposition; but I would have taken some Pains to get the better of that, if I had known it was disagreeable to you.
I ought to resent this Treatment more than I do, but do not insult my Weakness on that Head; for a Fault of that Kind would want the Excuse this has for my Pardon, and might not be so easily overlooked, though I should wish to do it. I should say, I will not see you Today, but you have an Advocate that pleads for you much better than you do for yourself.
I desire you will first look carefully over this Letter, for my whole Heart is in it, and then come to me.
Yours, &c.
From an Anonymous Lady to a Gentleman: A Bold Declaration of Love
A woman, after secretly adoring a man for over a year, finally gathers the courage to write him. She does not sign her name but leaves a cryptic instruction: if he wishes to meet her, he will find her at two o’clock in the park…
SIR,
My only Hope of Redress is in your Goodness. I now labour under Misfortunes—but oh! with what Words shall I declare a Passion which I blush to own?
It is now a Year and a Half since I first saw, and (must I say?) loved you, and so long I have striven to forget you; but frequent Sights of what I could not but admire, have made my Endeavours prove vain. I dare not subscribe to this Letter, lest it should fall into Hands that may possibly expose it; but if you, Sir, have any Curiosity or Desire to know who I am, I shall be in the Park Tomorrow exactly at two o’clock.
I cannot but be under Apprehensions, lest you should come more out of Curiosity than Compassion; but, however, that you may have some Notion of me, if you do come, I will give you a short Description of my Person, which is tall and slender, my Eyes and Hair dark; perhaps you will think me vain, when I tell you that my Person altogether is what the flattering World calls handsome; and as to my Fortune, I believe you will have no Reason to find fault with it.
I doubt you will think such a Declaration as this, from a Woman, ridiculous; but, if you will consider, ’tis Custom, not Nature, that makes it so. My Hand trembles so, while I write, that I believe you can hardly read it.
The Lady’s Retaliation: A Scathing Denunciation
Rather than respond with kindness, the gentleman exposes the woman’s letter for public ridicule. But she is not done yet.
One of the most vicious rejections ever penned. Having suffered his ridicule, the woman now holds nothing back—accusing the gentleman of cruelty, vanity, and an “incurable defect of understanding.” She ensures the world knows him for the coxcomb he truly is.
SIR,
You will the more easily pardon this second Trouble from a slighted Correspondent, when I assure you it shall be the last.
A Passion like mine, violent enough to break through customary Decorums, cannot be supposed to grow calm at once; but I hope I shall undergo no severer Trials, or Censures, than what I have done by taking this Opportunity of discharging the Remains of a Tenderness, which I have too unfortunately and imprudently indulged.
I would not complain of your Unkindness and Want of Generosity in exposing my Letter, because the Man, that is so unworthy of a Woman’s Love, is too inconsiderable for her Resentment; but I can’t forbear asking you, what could induce you to publish my Letter, and so cruelly to sport with the Misery of a Person whom you know nothing worse of, than that she had entertained too good, too fond an Opinion of you?
For your own Sake, I am loath to speak it, but such Conduct cannot be accounted for, but from Cruelty of Mind, a Vanity of Temper, and an incurable Defect of Understanding; but whatsoever be the Reason, amidst all my Disappointments, I cannot but think myself happy in not subscribing my Name; for you might perhaps have thought my Name a fine Trophy to grace your Triumph after the Conquest; and how great my Confusion must have been, to be exposed to the Scorn, or at least to the Pity of the World, I may guess from the Mortifications I now feel from seeing my Declarations and Professions returned without Success, and in being convinced, by the rash Experiment I have made, that my Affections have been placed without Discretion.
How ungenerous your Behaviour hath been, I had rather you were told by the Gentlemen (who I hear universally condemn it) than force myself to say anything severe; but although their kind Sense of the Affair must yield me some Satisfaction under my present Uneasiness, yet it furnishes me with a fresh Evidence of my own Weakness in lavishing my Esteem upon the Person that least deserved it.
I hope the Event will give me Reason not only to forgive, but to thank you for this ill Usage. That pretty Face, which I have so often viewed with a mistaken Admiration, I believe I shall be able to look on with an absolute Indifference; and Time, I am sensible, will abundantly convince me that your Features are all the poor Amends which Nature hath made you for your Want of Understanding, and teach me to consider them only as a decent Cover for the Emptiness and Deformity within.
To cut off all Hopes of your Discovery who I am, if you do not yet know, I have taken care to convey this by a different Hand from the former Letter, for which I am obliged to a Friend on whose Goodness and Fidelity I can safely rely. And it is my last Request that you would make this Letter as public as you have done the former: If you don’t, there are other Copies ready to be dispersed; for though I utterly despair of ever showing it to yourself, yet I am very sure of making it plain to everyone else, that you are a Coxcomb.
Adieu.
A Satirical Exchange on Marriage
Lydia to Harriot: A Mocking Letter to a Newly Married Friend
My dear Harriot,
If thou art she, but oh! how fallen, how changed, what an Apostate! how lost to all that’s gay and agreeable!
To be married, I find, is to be buried alive. I can’t conceive it more dismal to be shut up in a Vault to converse with the Shades of my Ancestors, than to be carried down to an old Manor-House in the Country, and confined to the Conversation of a sober Husband and an awkward Chambermaid.
For Variety, I suppose, you may entertain yourself with Madam in her Grogram Gown, the Spouse of your Parish Vicar, who has by this Time, I am sure, well furnished you with Receipts for making Salves and Possets, distilling Cordial Waters, making Syrups, and applying Poultices.
Bless’d Solitude! I wish thee Joy, my Dear, of thy loved Retirement, which indeed you would persuade me is very agreeable, and different enough from what I have here described: But, Child, I am afraid thy Brains are a little disordered with Romances and Novels.
After six Months’ Marriage, to hear thee talk of Love, and paint the Country Scenes so softly, is a little extravagant; one would think you lived the Lives of the Sylvan Deities, or roved among the Walks of Paradise, like the first happy Pair. But pr’ythee leave these Whimsies, and come to Town, in order to live and talk like other Mortals.
However, as I am extremely interested in your Reputation, I would willingly give you a little good Advice, at your first Appearance under the Character of a married Woman: ‘Tis a little insolent in me, perhaps, to advise a Matron; but I am so afraid you’ll make so silly a Figure as a fond Wife, that I cannot help warning you not to appear in any public Place with your Husband, and never to saunter about St. James’s Park together.
If you presume to enter the Ring at Hyde Park together, you are ruined for ever; nor must you take the least Notice of one another at the Playhouse, or Opera, unless you would be laughed at for a very loving Couple most happily paired in the Yoke of Wedlock.
I would recommend the Example of an Acquaintance of ours to your Imitation; she is the most negligent and fashionable Wife in the World; she is hardly ever seen in the same Place with her Husband, and if they happen to meet, you would think them perfect Strangers. She never was heard to name him in his Absence, and takes care he shall not be the Subject of any Discourse that she has a Share in.
I hope you’ll propose this Lady as a Pattern, though I am very much afraid you’ll be so silly to think Portia, Sabine, &c., Roman Wives, much brighter Examples. I wish it may never come into your Head to imitate those antiquated Creatures so far, as to come into public in the Habit, as well as Air, of a Roman Matron.
You make already the Entertainment of Mrs. Modish’s Tea-Table. She says, she always thought you a discreet Person, and qualified to manage a Family with admirable Prudence. She dies to see what demure and serious Airs Wedlock has given to you; but she says she shall never forgive your Choice of so gallant a Man as Bellamour, to transform him to a mere sober Husband; ’twas unpardonable.
You see, my Dear, we all envy your Happiness, and no Person more than
Your humble Servant,
LYDIA.
Harriot’s Response: A Defense of Wedded Bliss
BE not in Pain, good Madam, for my Appearance in Town;
I shall frequent no public Places, or make any Visits where the Character of a modest Wife is ridiculous.
As for your wild Raillery on Matrimony, ’tis all Hypocrisy; you, and all the handsome young Women of your Acquaintance, show themselves to no other Purpose, than to gain a Conquest over some Man of Worth, in order to bestow your Charms and Fortune on him.
There’s no Indecency in the Confession; the Design is modest and honourable, and all your Affectation can’t disguise it.
I am married, and have no other Concern but to please the Man I love; he’s the End of every Care I have; if I dress, ’tis for him; if I read a Poem or Play, ’tis to qualify myself for a Conversation agreeable to his Taste: He’s almost the End of my Devotion; half my Prayers are for his Happiness.
I love to talk of him, and never hear him named but with Pleasure and Emotion.
I am your Friend, and wish you Happiness; but am sorry to see, by the Air of your Letter, that there are a Set of Women who are got into the Common-Place Raillery of everything that is sober, decent, and proper. Matrimony and the Clergy are the Topics of People of little Wit and no Understanding.
I own to you, I have learned of the Vicar’s Wife all you tax me with: She is a discreet, ingenious, pleasant, pious Woman; I wish she had the handling of you and Mrs. Modish; you would find, if you were too free with her, she would make you blush as much as if you had never been fine Ladies.
The Vicar, Madam, is so kind as to visit my Husband, and his agreeable Conversation has brought him to enjoy many sober happy Hours when even I am shut out, and my dear Husband is entertained only with his own Thoughts.
These Things, dear Madam, will be lasting Satisfactions, when the fine Ladies, and the Coxcombs by whom they form themselves, are irreparably ridiculous, ridiculous even in Old Age.
I am, Madam,
Your most humble Servant.
Harriot.
A Widow’s Warning and a Mother’s “I Told You So”
To a Widow Lady, to dissuade her from a Second Marriage, from an elderly Lady, her Relation.
Experience speaks in these letters—sometimes with wisdom, sometimes with sharp-edged scorn.
A Widow’s Warning to a Friend Considering Remarriage
“You are happy now. Do you know how rare that is?” A widow, experienced in marriage, urges her friend to reconsider a second match. A husband, she warns, is more often a burden than a blessing.
Dear Cousin,
I was accidentally in Company the other Day, where you were mentioned with great Respect; but it was said that you were about to marry again. I may be impertinent in what I have to say on this Subject, because the Observations may come too late: Yet I think that can hardly be the case, because this is the first Time I have heard of your designing it, and then but casually. I know how ready the World is to interpret the slightest Acquaintances into Courtships; and I think, had this been anything more, I should have heard of it earlier, and with more Certainty; nay, I will not believe but you would have written to me of it yourself.
As I will persuade myself from these Reasons that you have not gone so far in this Matter, if you have made any Step in it, as to have made it too late to go back, I shall, with all that Freedom which our Acquaintance and Affinity support me in using, give you my Reasons why I think you do wrong.
You are very happy at present, and those who do not know when they are well commonly change for the worse. It is a Maxim among the Gamesters, that nobody ought to play but those who have nothing to lose; and I think it ought to hold as good with those who marry after they are Thirty.
When there is a Bloom of Youth upon a Face, a Man may be tempted to do a great many Things to purchase it; but when that is gone, I should be always afraid that the Desire of winning the Bet might go farther than the Love of Play. If that is the Matter, wretched is she who is caught, for the Winner will be as ready in this Case, as the Losers in the other, to break the Tables.
But to talk in plain Words, and argue the Matter like People of this World, I should imagine that any Woman that had been married a dozen Years, let it have been ever so happily, would have seen enough of the Condition not to be in a Humour to enter upon it again when the best Season of it was over.
I talk very freely to you, Cousin; but I love you, and you know it: You will therefore excuse me; nay, I believe you will thank me. I advise you against Marriage, but I do not know who you are going to marry.
There is one Test of Affection, and there is but one, and if your Lover’s Affairs will bear that, why, I shall give up half of my Objections. The Man who has nothing may deceive you when he says he loves you, whether you have nothing, or have a Fortune; for in the one Case he may just like you enough for a Month’s living together, and, as it is all one to him where he lives, he may resolve upon bidding Good-bye to you afterwards: In the other, he may very reasonably be in love with your Fortune, and may think no Incumbrance of your Person too much for the Advantage.
But if the Lover has a Fortune more than equal to your own, take it for granted he is in earnest, and give yourself no Trouble but about his Constancy. It would not be worth while to marry a Man you were sure liked you Today, but who, it was fifty to one, might change his Mind Tomorrow: and as to him, who it was impossible to know whether he liked you or no, you, who will be too wise to fall into absolute Green-Sickness Love, would be distracted to venture upon.
Which of these, or whether either of these Descriptions, belongs to your present Admirer, I am entirely ignorant. You see I am a great Enemy to your marrying at all; but I have told you there is a Sort of Man that I think you may venture upon: She will have good Luck, however, that finds him.
It would be easy to be grave upon this Subject; but, dear Cousin, it is not easy to be grave without being dull; and I have not a mind you shall throw away my Letter without reading it.
You have a great many Years probably to come, and you have a Right to be happy in them. You have the Means in your own Hands, and in the Name of Wisdom keep them there.
You have Relations who will want your Money when you can make no more Use of it; and why should you rob them of it in Favour of a Stranger? Besides, I have that true Affection for you, that I should be unhappy to see you in Difficulties.
Consider all these Things, for you have Gratitude and Generosity; and consider yourself, for you have Prudence. You may be happy in yourself, and a Blessing to others, these forty Years; or you may be miserable and a Burden to your Relations: This is the Chance; and, I protest, I believe the Choice is now before you.
Dear Cousin, farewell; I only repeat it to you, consider.
Yours most affectionately.
A Mother to Her Married Daughter: “I Told You So”
After marrying against her mother’s wishes, a young wife now finds herself miserable. Her husband is a drunkard, a gambler, and a libertine. She writes home, seeking comfort. Her mother’s response is as cold as it is truthful.
Dear Mother,
You were right to tell me that I should repent of my Marriage, by suffering myself to be too easily seduced by the Appearances of Good-Nature and Behaviour in my Husband, during the Time I enjoyed my dear Liberty; for having followed the Motions of my own capricious Fancy, I suffer all that can be imagined from a Husband who spends his Time in a continued Scene of Rioting and Debauchery.
His Health, which he exhausts and destroys in a Way to lay him soon in his Grave, affects me infinitely more than the Expenses he is at.
In this melancholy Situation I have Recourse to you, dear Mother, to beg you would write to him. I know, as he has a particular Respect for your Person, he will pay a great Deference to anything you shall say to him.
Do not refuse me this Favour, for my Comfort.
I beg also you would be persuaded that I am, with all the Tenderness and Obedience I am capable of,
Your most dutiful Daughter.
Dear Daughter,
If your Marriage makes you uneasy, you have no Reason to complain, because you would marry, contrary to my Inclination, a young Man too well known for his ill Conduct.
I always thought that you would pass your Time very uncomfortably, and that you would not have that Satisfaction with him you imagined.
I have written to him, to let him know, that if he persists in his debauched Course of Life, I will certainly send for you home.
I hope my Letter will have its wished-for Effect: Torment yourself no longer.
On your Side, endeavour as much as possible to reclaim him with Kindness. The Way of Patience is the surest to induce him to a Reformation.
Send me an Account of all that may happen, and believe that I am, from my Heart,
Your most affectionate and tender Mother.
Parting Words: Beauty, Worth, and What Remains
Beauty fades, but character endures. In this final letter, a woman who has lost her looks receives wise counsel on where true worth resides.
My dear Ophelia,
I received yours, and rejoice too much in your Recovery to be able to condole with you on any Alteration your late Illness has made in you; and, indeed, how great soever it may be, am far from thinking it deserves to be mentioned with that Concern you express.
You have encountered Death, and foiled him at one of his sharpest Weapons; and if you have received some Scars, ought to look upon them rather as Trophies of Victory than Blemishes.
What if your Complexion has lost some Part of its fair Enamel, and your Features are not altogether so delicate? The less Charms your Glass presents you with, the more you will find in your Closet; and, deprived of vain Pleasure in contemplating the Graces of your outward Form, you will have the greater Leisure to improve and embellish those which are not so easily impaired.
Let us pretend what we will, it is the Ambition of attracting Admirers that renders Beauty of so much Value to all the Young and Gay; but, if we consider seriously, we shall find that it is Virtue, Good Sense, Sweetness of Disposition, and Complacence, of which the Girdle of Cytheria should be composed.
The finest Face in the World, without them, will not long maintain its Empire over the Heart of a Man of Understanding, as the Poet truly says,
“Beauty soon grows familiar to the Eye;
“Virtue alone has Charms that never die.”
Do not think, however, that I am glad to find you are more on Level than before this Accident with the greatest Part of our Sex.
I confess, the Beauties of the Person greatly contribute to set off and render those of the Mind conspicuous, and for that Reason should lament extremely any Defect in the one, if I were not certain you had enough of the other to engross the whole Attention of as many as know you; and that they may every Day increase in the Lustre of true Dignity, is the sincere Wish of,
My dear Ophelia,
Yours, SOPHRONIA.
