tter; and, to give it you frankly, I really think
that Mr ----'s demand is unreasonable, as his wife's constitution is
tender, and her temper fretful. A true philosopher would consider
these circumstances; but a pedant is always throwing his system in
your face, and applies it equally to all things, times and places,
just like a taylor who would make a coat out of his own head, without
any regard to the bulk or figure of the person that must wear it.
All those fine-spun arguments that he has drawn from nature, to stop
your mouths, weigh, I must own to you, but very little with me. This
same _Nature_ is, indeed, a specious word, nay there is a great deal
in it, if it is properly understood and applied; but I cannot bear to
hear people using it, to justify what common sense must disavow. Is
not nature modified by art in many things? Was it not designed to be
so? And is it not happy for human society, that it is so? Would you
like to see your husband let his beard grow, until he would be
obliged to put the end of it in his pocket, because this beard is the
gift of nature? The instincts of nature point out neither taylors,
nor weavers, nor mantua-makers, nor sempsters, nor milliners; and yet
I am very glad that we do not run naked like the Hottentots. But not
to wander from the subject--I grant, that nature has furnished the
mother with milk to nourish her child; but I maintain, at the same
time, that if she can find better milk elsewhere, she ought to prefer
it without hesitation. I don't see why she should have more scruple
to do this, than her husband has to leave the clear fountain which
nature gave him, to quench his thirst, for stout october, port, or
claret. Indeed, if Mrs ---- was a buxom, sturdy woman, who lived on
plain food, took regular exercise, enjoyed proper returns of rest,
and was free from violent passions (which you and I know is not the
case) she might be a good nurse for her child; but, as matters stand,
I do verily think, that the milk of a good comely cow, who feeds
quietly in her meadow, never devours ragouts, nor drinks ratifia, nor
frets at quadrille, nor sits up till three in the morning, elated
with gain, or dejected with loss; I do think, that the milk of such a
cow, or of a nurse that came as near it as possible, would be likely
to nourish the young squire much better than hers. If it be true
that the child sucks in the mother's passions with her milk, this is
a strong argument in fav