NEW YORK, JUNE, 1788.

A LETTER from a LADY, with REMARKS.

sir,

As you have, in your writings, discovered that you take a particular interest in the happiness of ladies, I hope you will not deem it a deviation from delicacy, if one of them offers you her grateful acknowlegements, and requests you to giv your sentiments upon what will be here related.

About four years ago, I was visited by a gentleman who professed an unalterable attachment for me. He being a genteel, sensible and handsome man, I thought myself justifiable in treating him with complacency. After I was convinced by his constant attention and frequent professions, that I was a favorite, he used frequently to upbraid me, for being so silent and reserved: It shewed, he said, a want of confidence in him; for I must be sensible he derived the greatest pleasure imaginable in my conversation, and why would I then deprive him of the greatest happiness by absenting myself, when he paid a visit, refusing to chat with my usual freedom. Tho he professed himself to be an admirer of candor, and a strict adherer to the rules of honor, still I could not but doubt his sincerity from the extravagance of his expressions. This he considered as an affront, saying that no man of honor would express sentiments that were not genuine. I found myself unwilling to say any thing that should be disagreeable, and disposed to make him understand by an attention that I supposed him entitled to, that he was prefered to any other person. He continued his visits in this manner for about eighteen months, conducting himself with the greatest delicacy, affection and respect. During this time, he never expressed a wish to be united, which made me uneasy, as I knew that all my friends thought us engaged. At last I told him his attention was too particular; I knew not what construction to put upon it. He replied that I was too particular in my ideas; it was a convincing proof to him, with my resenting trifling liberties, that I had not an affection for him, and that he was not the man I wished to be connected with; therefore he would not trouble me any longer with his company, and wished me a good night.

This, Sir, you must suppose, distressed me greatly; I viewed myself injured and trifled with, but knew not how to obtain redress. My attachment and pride were so great that I would not allow my friends to call him to an account for his behavior; tho I now despise his conduct, and would refuse him the hand of which he has proved himself unworthy, still I feel hurt at the treatment I have received. You, Sir, as a friend to our sex, and one who wishes to preserve the peace of mind of unsuspecting girls, will do them an essential service, by your animadversions on these facts, and guarding our sex from similar impositions.

These circumstances would not have been related, were I not rendered discontented and wretched at home, in consequence of refusing the offers of three other gentlemen; either of whom would doubtless have been acceptable, had not my affections been preengaged to one who has proved himself worthless. Their characters and situations in life are equal to my wishes; but I cannot do them so much injustice and myself so much injury, as to giv my hand unaccompanied with my heart. In consulting my own inclinations I have incurred the displeasure of all my family; they treat me with great inattention, and are continually reflecting on my want of spirit and resolution. I am confident, Sir, that every generous mind will pity your unhappy and distressed friend,

CONSTANTIA.

To CONSTANTIA.

While I acknowlege myself honored by your correspondence, and happy in an opportunity of rendering you or your sex the least service, permit me, in compliance with your request, which shall be to me a sacred law, to offer my sentiments with a frankness, corresponding with that which marks the relation of your misfortunes. For altho I feel the warmest indignation at every species of deception, and particularly at that long continued inexplicitness which is deliberate deception, and which is the cause of your wretchedness, candor and truth require that censure should fall where it is due.

If the slightest blame can fall on you, it is that you indulged the visits of a gentleman for eighteen months without an explicit and honorable declaration of his intention. A delicate, affectionate and respectful attention to a lady, for one quarter of that period, is sufficient to make an impression on her mind, and decide her choice: At the same time, it might not render an attachment on her part, so strong as to make a separation very painful; it might not giv the world an opinion that an engagement exists, or subject the lady to the necessity of dismissing other suitors. It is therefore prudent at least for a lady to conduct herself in such a manner as to bring her admirer to an explicit declaration of his designs. A man of real honor and principle would not wait for a stratagem on the part of the lady, or for a frank demand of an explanation of his conduct. A tolerable acquaintance with the human heart would enable him to discover when a declaration would be agreeable to the lady, and after this discovery, he would not keep her a moment in suspense. A man of generous feelings, who has a lively attachment, looks with anxiety for some proof that his addresses are agreeable, and that a declaration of his intentions will be well received. No sooner does he find this proof, than he hastens to unbosom himself to the dear object of his wishes, and communicate the happiness he so ardently desires to receive. When therefore a man neglects such a declaration, after he has had convincing proofs that his offers would be well received, it may and should be taken for granted that his intentions are not honorable, and the lady should treat him accordingly. If therefore, my unhappy friend, you deserve the least degree of censure, it is because you delayed too long to take measures for undeceiving yourself. Yet this delay is a proof of your unsuspecting confidence and sincere attachment; and faults, proceeding from such amiable causes, are almost changed to virtues; in your sex, they entitle the sufferer to forgivness and to love.

You inform me, Constantia, that the man who has injured you, professed to adhere to the rules of honor. Never, Constantia, trust a man who deals largely in that hackneyed virtue, honor. Honor, in the fashionable sense of the word, is but another name for villany. The man of honor would not be guilty of the least impropriety in public company; he would not for the world neglect the least punctilio of the customary etiquette, but he would, without hesitation or remorse, blow out the brains of a friend, for treading on his toe, or rob an amiable woman of her reputation and happiness to gratify his vanity.

If a man talks too much of his honor, he is to be avoided, like the midnight ruffian. He that really possesses a virtue never boasts of it, for he does not suspect the world think him destitute of it. Numerous professions are commonly mere substitutes for what is professed.

The man, who has given you so much uneasiness, never deserved the confidence he won; he must be destitute of principle, of virtue, and of attachment to you. His deliberate ill usage proves him to be callous to every tender emotion, and to deserve your contempt. Will not a generous pride and detestation expel the least sentiment of respect for him from your breast? Can you not forget that you have been misled, and will not your innocence buoy you above misfortunes? That you have refused good offers, is to be regretted; but your friends, if they know the reason, as they ought, will not pain you by disingenuous reflections. On the other hand, they will assist you in finding objects to amuse you and dissipate your own melancholy reflections. Smile away the anxiety that shuts your heart against other impressions. Base as men are, there may be some found who despise the character of him who has given even an hour's pain; there may be one who knows your worth, and may be disposed to reward your constancy.

It is a mortifying reflection to an honest mind, that bad hearts are so often suffered to giv pain to the good; that the trifling and the base of our sex are not constrained, by necessity, to associate only with the trifling and the base of yours, and that the good, the generous and the constant should be exposed to the abuses of the fickle and designing. But such is the constitution of society, and for the evils of it, we have no remedy, but cautious circumspection to prevent, or patient fortitude to support the adverse events of our conditions.

No man can entertain a more cordial detestation of the smallest disposition to annoy the peace of mind and disturb the tranquillity of mankind, than myself; the design of existence here is to sooth the evils, and multiply the felicities of each other, and he must be a villain indeed, who can deliberately attempt to poison the sources of pleasure, by crossing and disappointing the social passions.

To your sex, Constantia, permit me to giv a word of caution; never to make any inquiries about a man's family, fortune or accomplishments, till you know whether he is a man of principle. By principle, I mean, a disposition of heart to conduct with strict propriety, both as a moral being and as a member of civil society; that is, a disposition to increase the happiness of all around him. If he appears to wish for his own gratification, at the expense even of a servant's happiness, he is an unsocial being, he is not a fit associate for men, much less for amiable women. If he is a man of principle, then proceed to inquire into his standing in life. With principle he may make a woman happy in almost any circumstances; without it, birth, fortune and education serve but to render his worthlessness the more conspicuous. With sentiments of esteem, I am your obliged friend, and humble servant,

E.