In

man and wife, have been exceedingly burthensome to each other. The lady, who has had full leisure most minutely to consider her other moiety, has either positively or comparatively found out, that he is by no means a pretty man, and meditates indemnification to herself, either by her return to the pretty man, or by enlisting one for the current service of the year. these dispositions she opens the winter, but, at the same time, with firm and steadfast purpose of not transgressing the bounds, or even violating the appearances, of virtue. But, alas! how frail are all our best resolves! The lover appears at first in the innocent form of value and esteem; his conversation is listened to with attention, and approved of: it grows frequent and particular; how can one help that? Where is the harm of being distinguished by the friendship of a man of sense and fashion? Can it be wondered at, that one converses more with him than with a thousand fools that would be always plaguing one? Besides, he says nothing one has reason to take ill, or that would justify one in not being civil to him.

With these early and just distinctions in his favour, the pretty man proceeds, and gains the more ground, as his approaches are the less perceived or apprehended. He is admitted to the toilet, as an agreeable friend and companion where he improves the morning moments, which I take to be the mollia tempora, so propitious to tête-à-têtes: here the conversation insensibly

grows more serious; particular applications are made of general topics; sentiments of love and constancy are discussed; the pretty man confesses, and laments his unfortunate disposition to both, and wishes to heaven that he knew neither; the lady, not without some emotion, and an awkward smartness, tells him that she believes they will neither of them ever do him any great hurt. This unjust reproach extorts from him, what otherwise he could never have had the courage to have said, viz. "that that depends entirely upon her." Here it is out; the ice is broken. What is to be done? The lady now plainly perceives his meaning, which she never before suspected. She flattered herself that he had a friendship and value for her, but now she finds the contrary. She is sorry he has put it out of he. power to have any longer that esteem for him, which she confesses she once had; but they must never meet any more, if that is to be the language. The lover, for now I may call him so, deprecates her wrath, bids her blame her own beauty, and his fate, but pity him, and, pressing her hand, which, it may be, in her anger, she forgets to pull away, faithfully promises never to hold that language more, if he can help it. Upon this solemn engagement he is forgiven, re-admitted, and all danger is looked upon to be over. Short and fallacious security! for, this point once gained, the besieger, if I may borrow some military metaphors, is most advantageously posted, is in

garrison, and Here he can

a situation to parley with the stands fair for the horn work. argue the case fully, show the negligence, the injustice, or the oppression of the present governor, offer terms of honour, safety, and better usage, and, by persuasions, either bring about a willing surrender, or at least so far abate the rigour of the resistance, as with a little force to make himself master of the place.

I therefore recommend to my countrywomen, to be particularly upon their guard against the very man whose conquest they most wish for, and to be assured that the reasons which determine their choice are so many instances of their danger. Let them begin to reflect, as soon as ever they begin to find a particular pleasure in his conversation, and let them tremble when they first make him a graver courtesy than they do to other people. But if, when he approaches them, they pull up their gloves, adjust their tucker, and count the sticks of their fan, let them despair, for they are further gone than they imagine. And though they may, for a time, deceive themselves with a notion that it is his understanding only that engages their attention, they will find at last that man, like the serpent, when he has once got his head in, the rest will soon follow. Friendship and esteem are the bearded arrows of love, that enter with ease, but when torn out, leave the wound greater.

THE TRUE ENJOYMENT of PLEASURE.

Enjoy pleasures, but let them be your own, and then you will taste them: but adopt none; trust to Nature for genuine ones. The pleasures that you would feel you must earn; the man who gives himself up to all, feels none sensibly. Sardanapalus, I am convinced, never in his life felt any. Those only who join serious occupations with pleasures feel either as they should do. Alcibiades, though addicted to the most shameful excesses, gave some time to philosophy, and some to business. Julius Cæsar joined business with pleasure so properly, that they mutually assisted each other; and, though he was the husband of all the wives at Rome, he found time to be one of the best scholars, almost the best orator, and absolutely the best general there. An uninterrupted life of pleasure is as insipid as contemptible. Some hours given every day to serious business must whet both the mind and the senses, to enjoy those of pleasure. A surfeited glutton, an emaciated sot, and an enervated, rotten whoremaster, never enjoy the pleasures to which they devote themselves; they are only so many human sacrifices to false gods. The pleasures of low life are all of this mistaken, merely sensual, and disgraceful nature; whereas those of high life, and in good company, (though possibly in themselves not more moral,) are more delicate, more refined, less dangerous, and less disgrace

ful; and, in the common course of things, not reckoned disgraceful at all. In short, pleasure must not, nay, cannot, be the business of a man of sense and character; but it may be, and is, his relief and reward.

RELIGION AND MORALITY.

I have seldom or never written to you upon the subject of religion and morality: your own reason, I am persuaded, has given you true notions of both; they speak best for themselves; but, if they wanted assistance, you have Mr. Harte at hand, both for precept and example; to your own reason, therefore, and to Mr. Harte, shall I refer you, for the reality of both, and confine myself in this letter to the decency, the utility, and the necessity of scrupulously preserving the appearances of both. When I say the appearances of religion, I do not mean that you should talk or act like a missionary, or an enthusiast, nor that you should take up a controversial cudgel against whoever attacks the sect you are of; this would be both useless and unbecoming your age: but I mean that you should by no means seem to approve, encourage, or applaud, those libertine notions, which strike at all religions equally, and which are the poor threadbare topics of half-wits, and minute philosophers. Even those who are silly enough to laugh at their jokes are still wise enough to distrust and detest their characters;