University of Virginia Library

LETTER XXIX.

You desire me to write to you, my
friend; but if you had not, I should by no
means have refrained. I tremble at the precipice
on which you stand; and must echo, and
re-echo the seasonable admonition of the excellent

Mrs. Richman, “Beware of the delusions
of fancy!” You are strangely infatuated by
them! Let not the magic arts of that worthless
Sanford lead you, like an ignis fatuus from the
path of rectitude and virtue!

I do not find, in all your conversations with
him, that one word about marriage drops from
his lips. This is mysterious? No, it is characteristic
of the man. Suppose, however, that
his views are honorable; yet what can you expect,
what can you promise yourself from such
a connection? “A reformed rake,” you say,
“makes the best husband;” a trite, but a very
erroneous maxim, as the fatal experience of
thousands of our sex can testify. In the first
place, I believe that rakes very seldom do referm,
while their fortunes and constitutions enable
them to pursue their licentious pleasures. But
even allowing this to happen, can a woman of
refinement and delicacy enjoy the society of a
man, whose mind has been corrupted, whose
taste has been vitiated, and who has contracted
a depravity both of sentiment and manners,
which no degree of repentance can wholly
efface? Besides, of true love they are absolutely
incapable. Their passions have been too much
hackneyed to admit so pure a flame. You cannot
anticipate sincere and lasting respect from
them. They have been so long accustomed to the
company of those of our sex, who observe no
esteem; that the greatest dignity and purity of
character can never excite it in their breasts. They

are naturally prone to jealousy. Habituated to
an intercourse with the baser part of the sex, they
level the whole, and seldom believe any to be incorruptible.
They are always hard hearted and
cruel. How else could they triumph in the
miseries which they frequently occasion? Their
specious manners may render them agreeable
companions abroad; but at home the evil propensities
of their minds will invariably predominate.
They are steeled against the tender affections,
which render domestic life delightful;
strangers to the kind, the endearing sympathies
of husband, father, and friend! The thousand
nameless attentions which soften the rugged
path of life, are neglected, and deemed unworthy
of notice by persons who have been innured
to scenes of dissipation and debauchery! and is
a man of this description to be the partner, the
companion, the bosom friend of my Eliza?
Forbid it heaven! Let not the noble qualities,
so lavishly bestowed upon her, be thus unworthily
sacrificed!

You seem to be particularly charmed with the
fortune of Major Sanford; with the gaiety of
his appearance; with the splendor of his equipage;
with the politeness of his manners; with
what you call the graces of his person! These,
alas! are superficial, ensnaring endowments.
As to fortune, prudence, economy, and regularity
are necessary to preserve it, when possessed.
Of these Major Sanford is certainly destitute;
unless common fame (which more frequently

tells truth than some are willing to allow) does
him great injustice. As to external parade, it
will not satisfy the rational mind, when it aspires
to those substantial pleasures for which
yours is formed. And as to the graces of
person and manners, they are but a wretched
substitute for those virtues which adorn and
dignify human life. Can you, who have always
been used to serenity and order in a family, to
rational, refined and improving conversation,
relinquish them, and launch into the whirlpool
of frivolity, where the correct taste and the delicate
sensibility which you possess must constantly
be wounded by the frothy and illiberal sallies
of licentious wit?

This, my dear, is but a faint picture of the
situation to which you seem inclined! Reverse
the scene, and you will perceive the alternative,
which is submitted to your option, in a virtuous
connection with Mr. Boyer. Remember that
you are acting for life; and that your happiness
in this world; perhaps in the next, depends on
your present choice!

I called, last evening, to see your mamma. She
is fondly anticipating your return; and rejoicing
in the prospect of your agreeable and speedy
settlement. I could not find it in my heart to distress
her by intimating that you had other views.
I wish her benevolent bosom never more to feel
the pangs of disappointed hope.

I am busily engaged in preparing for my
nuptials. The solemn words “as long as ye

both shall live,” render me thoughtful and serious.
I hope for your enlivening presence soon;
which will prove a seasonable cordial to the spirits
of your