entreat you, as you love your own happiness, to suppress these early risings of passion, that can procure you nothing but the keenest anguish of heart; and to give no ear to the idle tales of those officious and wicked people, who, perhaps, may find an interest in setting you at variance. Omy child, take care of a suspicion, which will not only give you present uneasiness, by spoiling your temper, but wean from you the affections of your busband. If he be innocent, your suspicions are one of the greatest injuries, one of the highest marks of injustice that can be offered him; and you are in danger, if you give loose to resentment, of precipitating him to the course you dread, and rendering those evils real, which are now only imaginary. I say imaginary,-for I cannot think a man of his sense can be guilty of any thing so base and so foolish. But supposing that what you have heard is but too true, your reproaches would only make him fly from home, and from you, to one who will side with him, and harden his heart against you. Thus would you yourself contribute to her triumph, while he, seeing that he can no longer have occasion for reserve, will grow hardened in vice, and pursue that course openly, which he would otherwise, for fear of its coming to your knowledge, have followed privately, and by stealth. Let me, therefore, beg of you to summon all your prudence. Instead of loading him with reproaches, and by your ill humour driving him to her you would have him shun, strive to make home agreeable to him, and let him see that it is not in the power of a strumpet to surpass you in sweetness of temper, and an obliging behaviour; and though he be so abandoned as to forget his duty, you will keep steadily to yours. By this means you will, in time, overpower him by your goodness: you will force conviction into his soul, and obtain the noblest of all conquests; you will recover his heart, and, perhaps, save him you love from eternal ruin. This conduct your own conscience will approve, and your children will have the greatest reason to rejoice in the prudence of such a mother. I am, My dear daughter, &c, Sir, LETTER LVI. From a Young Lady after the Small-pox to her Lover. The reason of my long silence will now, I hope, appear, and plead its own excuse. You were pleased, when you first honoured me with your addresses, to say the beauties of my person were only excelled by the perfections of my mind; if you really preferred the latter, and thought, as you declared, those mental accomplishments were predominant; the loss of my charms, which are now totally spoiled by the severity of the small-pox, is not to be so much regretted.It gives you an happy opportunity of proving yourself to be a man of truth and veracity; by now accepting my hand (which will consequently be accompanied with my heart) when my only recommendation, if I have any, arises from that consideration, which you were pleased to prefer and avow your partiality for. I am, Sir, Madam, LETTER LVII. The Answer. Your's, &c. THOUGH I confess that the declarations of suiters are in general questionable, and that personal beauty is always most attractive, I hope to prove that it is really your disposition which I admire. Though I regret your misfortune, I exult in this opportunity of proving my honour and truth; and will be proud to accept your inestimable hand, being accompanied with your heart, whenever my dear Susanna thinks me worthy of the boon. I am still Sir, Your affectionate and sincere admirer. LETTER LVIII. From a Friend to a foolish Lover. AN early attachment created a friendship between us that I thought would have been lasting and permanent; but I have lately perceived a great indifference on your side; I am exceedingly concerned for this, conscious that I have given no just reason for a suspension of our intimacy. My regard therefore induces me to write upon the subject; and true friendship, which is always officious about the health and welfare of those we esteem, having prompted me to make inquiries, I have now discovered that you are in love; but why was this concealed from your friend? Love is no crime, no shame, except it is attended with base designs, which then makes it criminal indeed, or ill-placed, and renders it a disgrace. My opinion of your integrity and honour, removes the former idea; and being convinced of your prudence and discretion, I cannot doubt the propriety of your choice; but authorized by friendship and our long intimacy, I must chide you, (and that severely) for both the secrecy and folly of your love; your devotion to your fair one is by all accounts, so constant, that I fear you will counteract, instead of promoting your design; you will spend too much time with the lady, by which means, your presence will become so common and troublesome, that your absence may be often desired; the company of your friend is now totally neglected, for that of the young lady; the sight of every visitor is disagreeable, and every subject painful, except the theme of love; be assured my friend, that disappointment and vexation will be the consequence of this over-passion; the lady I expect will become totally indifferent in a few days; her love will terminate in disdain; and you will be both neglected and despised; though for the present she may seem to entertain the same regard for you, which you do for her, yet this reiteration of vows and sighs, will soon exhaust her stock of affection and tenderness, and render her in time languid and cool. Love is such a nice matter, that it requires more economy than you are aware; it is equally as bad to be profuse as reserved; I fear my friend is but a novice in the science; occasional separations, though painful as they may be, are absolutely necessary in order to render our future interviews mutually agreeable; nothing can more effectually renew an old flame, nothing revive a languishing one, sooner than absence, which is the chief promoter of love; besides different objects should be Occasionally introduced, to render the theme of love more pleasing; else it will be attended with such a sameness, that sooner or later it must appal; I hope my friend will pardon me for this seeming officiousness, and attribute the cause to true friendship, for I ingenuously confess, that I have been induced to offer my opinion on this occasion, because I have been deprived of the society of a man whom I have long held in the greatest estimation, and in whose service I shall always be happy to prove myself His affectionate and sincere friend. LETTER LIX. Sentiments of a Lady a few weeks before her Marriage. Dear Madam, MY imagination has lately been employed in building a pleasent fairy castle concerning the life I would lead whenever I become the wife of Floria; for notwithstanding the affectation of some women, who assert that they are married quite accidently, and without having once thought of it; yet such a scheme of life passes, I believe, in every woman's head, concerning the man whom she thinks well enough of to desire to marry him. There are some, perhaps, who go no farther than the visiting-scene, dressed in white satin to receive their company; while others in their imaginations follow the sad remains of their rich husbands to the grave, and plan out a scheme of widowhood or a future marriage. The two ideas, husband and Floria, are now so closely connected in my fancy, that the former cannot be mentioned without the image of the latter's becoming its pleasing companion. I consider him as the husband of my mind, the husband of my voluntary choice, selected from among the rest of mankind by the joint consent of my judgment and inclination; and could I be prevailed on to marry any other man, I might justly be deemed guilty of the highest ingratitude and treachery. To be bribed, from the consideration of wealth and grandeur, to become the wife of one man, while my heart is fixed upon another; to marry a man in whose conversation I could have no enjoyment; to sit at the upper end of one man's table, a very common prudential motive to marriage, and at the same time to wish another in his place -what prudence! what goodness! It is a sort of policy I could never fathom. Whenever I read the speech which Shakspeare has put into the mouth of Queen Catharine, in his Henry VIII. wherein she says, 'I have been to you a true and faithful wife, 'Ever in fear to kindle your dislike; 'Yea, subject to your countenance; glad or sorry I ever contradicted your desire, 'Or made it not mine too?" just such a wife I think I could with pleasure make to Floria. I never could hear Portia, in the Merchant of Venice, freely and without reserve giving herself and all her riches to the disposal of Bassanio, without ardently wishing for the power of using the same words, and acting in the same manner to Floria. How is my heart warmed when I read of the faith and true affection of the Roman Arria to her Petus! and how often have I wished in this manner: My heart let Floria most strictly prove; 'There's Arria's truth, her innocence and love It is not however, the death, but the life of Arria which is to me so exemplary. In what manner my fears might be alarmed at the approach of immediate dissolution, I pretend not to say, nor as a Christian can I think it justifiable, or even excusable to give my husband such a proof of my affection. But when I reflect on Arria's gentleness of spirit, her choosing retirement with her husband before all the most alluring baits of grandeur, her placing her chief enjoyment in her innocent endeavours to make Petus happy, the joining her own cares with his in the education of their children; and when Petus lay ill with a fever in one room, and their youngest favourite child dead in the next, her walking to and fro as if her child was yet living, feigning also a cheerfulness which her heart was unable to feel; these are the virtues which raise my admiration, and it is her tender, her affectionate behaviour, throughout her whole life, that I could wish to imitate. Frequently have I thought within myself, to be placed in the bosom of my Floria, not as a treacherous snake, but as a faithful friend; to have his entire confidence; to be indulged by him, because he sees me capable of receiving such indulgence, without crying like a humoured child, for want of finding out my own desires; "is a consummation "Devoutly to be wished!" There is a haughty pride of mind that scorns even indul |