“Well, then,” said he, “if it must be so, let it be esteem or friendship.”  “Indeed, sir,” said I, “you are entitled to them both.  Merit has always a share in that bank; and I know of none who has a larger claim on that score than Mr. Boyer.”  I suppose my manner was hardly serious enough for what he considered a weighty cause.  He was a little disconcerted, but, soon regaining his presence of mind, entreated me, with an air of earnestness, to encourage his suit, to admit his addresses, and, if possible, to reward his love.  I told him that this was rather a sudden affair to me, and that I could not answer him without consideration.  “Well, then,” said he, “take what time you think proper; only relieve my suspense as soon as may be.  Shall I visit you again to-morrow?” “O, not so soon,” said I; “next Monday, I believe, will be early enough.  I will endeavor to be at home.”  He thanked me even for that favor, recommended himself once more to my kindness, and we walked towards the company, returned with them to the house, and he soon took leave.  I immediately retired to write this letter, which I shall close without a single observation on the subject until I know your opinion.

ELIZA WHARTON.

LETTER XIII.

TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON.

HARTFORD.

And so you wish to have my opinion before you know the result of your own.

This is playing a little too much with my patience; but, however, I will gratify you this once, in hopes that my epistle may have a good effect.  You will ask, perhaps, whether I would influence your judgment.  I answer, No, provided you will exercise it yourself; but I am a little apprehensive that your fancy will mislead you.  Methinks I can gather from your letters a predilection for this Major Sanford.  But he is a rake, my dear friend; and can a lady of your delicacy and refinement think of forming a connection with a man of that character?  I hope not; nay, I am confident you do not.  You mean only to exhibit a few more girlish airs before you turn matron; but I am persuaded, if you wish to lead down the dance of life with regularity, you will not find a more excellent partner than Mr. Boyer.  Whatever you can reasonably expect in a lover, husband, or friend, you may perceive to be united in this worthy man.  His taste is undebauched, his manners not vitiated, his morals uncorrupted.  His situation in life is, perhaps, as elevated as you have a right to claim.  Forgive my plainness, Eliza.  It is the task of friendship, sometimes, to tell disagreeable truths.  I know your ambition is to make a distinguished figure in the first class of polished society, to shine in the gay circle of fashionable amusements, and to bear off the palm amidst the votaries of pleasure.  But these are fading honors, unsatisfactory enjoyments, incapable of gratifying those immortal principles of reason and religion which have been implanted in