other? I beg of you not to mention gratitude any more. Your many virtues entitle you to much more than I am able to give; but all that I have shall be yours: nay, had I treble the fortune, it should be laid at your feet. With respect to my relations, I have none to consult besides my mother and my uncle, and not merely their consent, but their approbation, are already obtained. You have often heard my mother declare, that she preferred my happiness with a woman of virtue, to the possession of the greatest fortune; and though I forgot to mention it, yet I had communicated my sentiments to her before I opened my mind to you. Let me beg that you will lay aside all unnecessary scruples, which only serve to make one unhappy, who is already struggling under all the anxieties of real and genuine love. It is in your power, my dear, to make me happy, and none else can. I cannot enjoy one moment's rest till I have your answer, and then the happy day must be fixed. Let me beg that you will not start any more objections, unless you feel no affection for me in your heart; but your tender nature cannot suffer you to be cruel. Be mine, my dear, and I am yours for ever. My servant shall wait for the answer to your ever sincere lover, whose sole happiness is centred in you.-I am, &c. LETTER LVIII. Sir, I find that when one of your sex forms a resolution, you are determined to go through, whatever be the event. Your answer to my first objection, I must confess, is satisfactory. I wish I could say so of the others; but I find that if I must comply, I shall be obliged to trust the remainder to yourself. Perhaps this is always the case, and even the most cautious have been deceived. However, sir, I have communicated the contents of your letter to her ladyship, as you know she has been to me as a parent. She has not any objection, and I rely on your protestations of true affection. I must give myself up to you as a poor friendless orphan, and shall endeavour to act consistent with the rules laid down and enforced by our holy religion; and if you should so far deviate from the paths of virtue, as to upbraid me with poverty, I have no friends to complain to but that God who is the Father to the fatherless. But I have a better opinion of you than to entertain any such fears. I have left the time to your own appointment, and let me trust that your conduct is based upon those principles, which can alone render life happy, virtuous, holy, and consistent. Virtue is its own reward, and I cannot be unhappy with the man who prefers a life of piety to gaiety and dissipation.—I am yours sincerely. LETTER LIX. From a young Lady to a Gentleman, complaining of Indifference. Sir, However light you may make of promises, yet I am foolish enough to consider them as something more than trifles; and am likewise induced to believe that the man who voluntarily breaks a promise, will not pay much regard to an oath; and if so, in what light must I consider your conduct! Did I not give you my promise to be yours, and had you no other reason for soliciting, than merely to gratify your vanity; an unmanly gratification indeed, to triumph over the weakness of a woman, whose greatest fault was, that she loved you. I say, loved you; for it was in consequence of that passion I first consented to become yours. Has your conduct, sir, been consistent with my submission, or with your own solemn profession? is it consistent with the character of a gentleman, first to obtain a woman's consent, and afterwards boast that he has discarded her, and found one more agreeable to his wishes ? Do not equivocate, I have too convincing proofs of your insincerity; I saw you yesterday walking with Miss Benson, aud am informed that you have proposed marriage to her. Whatever you may think, sir, I have a spirit of disdain, and even resentment, equal to your ingratitude, and can treat the wretch with a proper indifference, who slightly makes and casts to the winds the most solemn promises. Miss Benson may be your wife, but she will receive into her arms a perjured husband; and the consciousness of misconduct can never cease to reproach. I leave you to the stings of an aocusing conscience.-Your obedient servant. LETTER LIX. The Gentleman's Answer. My dear Angel,-For by that name I must still call you: has cruelty entered into your tender nature, or has some designing wretch imposed on your credulity? My dear, I am not what you have represented; I am neither false nor perjured, I never proposed marriage to Miss Benson, I never designed it; and my sole reason for walking with her was, that I had been on a visit to her brother, who you know is my attorney. And was it any fault in me to take a walk into the fields along with him and his sister? surely prejudice itself cannot say so; but I am afraid you have been imposed on by some designing person, who had private views and private ends to answer by such baseness. But whatever may have been the cause, I am entirely innocent; and to convince you of my sincerity, beg that the day of marriage may be next week. My affections never wandered from the dear object of my love: in you are centred all my hopes of felicity: with you only can I be happy. Keep me not in misery one moment longer, by entertaining groundless jealousies against one who loves you above all the rest of your sex; I can set at defiance even malice itself. Let me beg your answer by my servant, which will either make me happy or miserable. The jewels which I hope you will wear on the day we are joined for ever, I beg you to accept from him whose thoughts have ever been haunted by your image. Yours till death. LETTER LXI. From a Young Officer, ordered to his regiment, on foreign service, to a young Lady whom he courted. My Dearest, I am scarce able to hold the pen. An order has just now arrived from the War-office, by which I am obliged to set sail to-morrow without even the poor privilege of saying adieu. Did you know, my dear, what a struggle I have between love and duty, you would consider me as an object of compassion. I am bound, by the most solemn oaths, to be yours; and at the same time, duty and honour compel me to depart; and whatever dangers may await for: me, I would meet them with the greatest cheerfulness, were I sure of possessing a place in your heart, for I cannot bear the most distant thoughts that you would place your affections on another. No, my dear, were that to happen I would head the forlorn hope, and trust to meet a soldier's grave. In every danger and privation I will think only of you. I have the bliss of knowing that my affection is returned; that nothing but my own ill conduct can ever make you discard me; but is not absence death to those who love? Nothing in this world can ever be so dear to me as you are. Believe all I say, and I am happy. If I do any that may appear wrong, inform me of it, and it shall be my first care to confess my fault and amend. I desire your advice in every thing: but alas! separation will render it difficult, though not impossible. Not having had time to settle with our agent, I have left an order with my mother for that purpose.-Let me beg that you will honour her with a visit, she will esteem it as a respect shewn to me. I have often told you what an excellent woman she is, and I am fully persuaded you will find her so, yea, more so than I have ever mentioned. We are to stop at where I hope to have a letter from you. If it comes too late, the governor will forward it to Once more, my dear, farewell; continue to be mine, and all the vicissitudes and dangers of war will appear as trifles; and when peace shall return, I will hasten to embrace her who is dearer than life. I am your sincere lover. LETTER LXII. The Lady's Answer. Dearest Charles,-If your hand could scarcely hold the pen, I am afraid that this will appear unintelligible, being wet with tears from beginning to end. When your letter arrived, we were drinking tea, and my father reading the newspaper, wherein it was said, that all the officers in the army were ordered to join their regiments; I was a good deal alarmed, but some hopes remained, till the fatal letter convinced me that my suspicions were but too well founded. Alas! how vain are human expectations! in the morning we dream of happiness, and before evening are really miserable. I was promising to myself that one month would have joined our hands, and now we are separated perhaps for years, if not for ever. For how do I know but the next post may bring me an account of your being killed in battle, and then farewell all happiness in this world! My pleasing prospects will then vanish, and although unmarried, I will remain a widow till death. And is it possible you can doubt one moment of my sincerity? or do you think that those affections can ever |