For your own sake, however, let me conjure you to review your conduct, and, before you have advanced beyond the possibility of returning to rectitude and honor, to restrain your steps from the dangerous path in which you now tread.

Fly Major Sanford.  That man is a deceiver.  Trust not his professions.  They are certainly insincere, or he would not affect concealment; he would not induce you to a clandestine intercourse.  Many have been the victims to his treachery.  O Eliza, add not to the number.  Banish him from your society if you wish to preserve your virtue unsullied, your character unsuspicious.  It already begins to depreciate.  Snatch it from the envenomed tongue of slander before it receive an incurable wound.

Many faults have been visible to me, over which my affection once drew a veil.  That veil is now removed; and acting the part of a disinterested friend, I shall mention some few of them with freedom.  There is a levity in your manners which is inconsistent with the solidity and decorum becoming a lady who has arrived to years of discretion.  There is also an unwarrantable extravagance betrayed in your dress.  Prudence and economy are such necessary, at least such decent, virtues, that they claim the attention of every female, whatever be her station or her property.  To these virtues you are apparently inattentive.  Too large a portion of your time is devoted to the adorning of your person.

Think not that I write thus plainly from resentment.  No, it is from benevolence.  I mention your foibles, not to reproach you with them, but that you may consider their nature and effects, and renounce them.

I wish you to regard this letter as the legacy of a friend, and to improve it accordingly.  I shall leave town before you receive it.  O, how different are my sensations at going from what they were when I came!  But I forbear description.  Think not, Eliza, that I leave you with indifference.  The conquest is great, the trial more than I can calmly support; yet the consciousness of duty affords consolation—–­a duty I conceive it to be which I owe to myself and to the people of my charge, who are interested in my future connection.

I wish not for an answer; my resolution is unalterably fixed.  But should you hereafter be convinced of the justice of my conduct, and become a convert to my advice, I shall be happy to hear it.

That you may have wisdom to keep you from falling, and conduct you safely through this state of trial to the regions of immortal bliss, is the fervent prayer of your sincere friend and humble servant,

J. BOYER.

LETTER XLI.

TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER.

HARTFORD.