will not control, they will only advise to what they think most for my interest, and I hope that my conduct will not be unworthy of their approbation.”  “Pardon me, my dear Eliza,” said he, “if I am impertinent; it is my regard for you which impels me to the presumption.  Do you intend to give your hand to Mr. Boyer?” “I do not intend to give my hand to any man at present.  I have but lately entered society, and wish, for a while, to enjoy my freedom in the participation of pleasures suited to my age and sex.”  “These,” said he, “you are aware, I suppose, when you form a connection with that man, you must renounce, and content yourself with a confinement to the tedious round of domestic duties, the pedantic conversation of scholars, and the invidious criticisms of a whole town.”  “I have been accustomed,” said I, “and am therefore attached, to men of letters; and as to the praise or censure of the populace, I hope always to enjoy that approbation of conscience which will render me superior to both.  But you forget your promise not to talk in this style, and have deviated far from the character of a friend and brother, with, which you consented to rest satisfied.”  “Yes; but I find myself unequal to the task.  I am not stoic enough tamely to make so great a sacrifice.  I must plead for an interest in your favor till you banish me from your presence, and tell me plainly that you hate me.”  We had by this time reached the gate, and as we dismounted, were unexpectedly accosted by Mr. Selby, who had come, agreeably to promise, to dine with us, and receive my letter to Mr. Boyer.

Major Sanford took his leave as General Richman appeared at the door.  The general and his lady rallied me on my change of company, but very prudently concealed their sentiments of Major Sanford while Mr. Selby was present.  Nothing material occurred before and during dinner, soon after which Mr. Selby went away.  I retired to dress for the assembly, and had nearly completed the labor of the toilet when Mrs. Richman entered.  “My friendship for you, my dear Eliza,” said she, “interests me so much in your affairs that I cannot repress my curiosity to know who has the honor of your hand this evening.”  “If it be any honor,” said I, “it will be conferred on Major Sanford.”  “I think it far too great to be thus bestowed,” returned she.  “It is perfectly astonishing to me that the virtuous part of my sex will countenance, caress, and encourage those men whose profession it is to blast their reputation, destroy their peace, and triumph in their infamy.”  “Is this, madam, the avowed design of Major Sanford?” “I know not what he avows, but his practice too plainly bespeaks his principles and views.”  “Does he now practise the arts you mention? or do you refer to past follies?” “I cannot answer for his present conduct; his past has established his character.”  “You, madam, are an advocate for charity; that, perhaps, if exercised in this instance, might lead you to think it possible