which render the spectacle splendid, and which raise the admiration of the beholders, endanger the fabric and tend to its destruction. But you will tell me, dear mother, that allusion is not argument--and I am almost afraid to proceed, lest you should think me an advocate for vice. I would not shut the gates of mercy, inexorably and indiscriminately, upon all those of my own sex, who have even been _more than imprudent_. “He taught them shame, the sudden sense of ill-- Shame, Nature’s hasty conscience, which forbids Weak inclination ere it grows to will, Or stays rash will before it grows to deeds.” Whilst a woman is alive to shame she cannot be dead to virtue. But by injudicious or incessant reproach, this principle, even where it is most exquisite, may be most easily destroyed. The mimosa, when too long exposed to each rude touch, loses its retractile sensibility. It ought surely to be the care of the wise and benevolent to cherish that principle, implanted in our nature as the guard of virtue, that principle, upon which legislators rest the force of punishment, and all the grand interests of society. My dear mother, perhaps you will be surprised at the style in which I have been writing, and you will smile at hearing your Leonora discuss the duties of legislators and the grand interests of society. She has not done so from presumption, or from affectation. She was alarmed by your supposing that her judgment was deluded by fascinating manners, and she determined to produce _general_ arguments, to convince you that she is not actuated by particular prepossession. You see that I have at least some show of reason on _my_ side. I have forborne to mention Olivia’s name: but now that I have obviated, I hope by reasoning, the imputation of partiality, I may observe that all my arguments are strongly in her favour. She had been attacked by slander; _the world_ has condemned her upon suspicion merely. She has been imprudent; but I repeat, in the strongest terms, that I am _convinced of her innocence_; and that I should bitterly regret that a woman with such an affectionate heart, such uncommon candour, and such superior abilities, should be lost to society. Tell me, my dear mother, that you are no longer in anxiety about the consequences of my attachment to Olivia. Your affectionate daughter, LEONORA. * * * * * LETTER VI. THE DUCHESS OF ---- TO HER DAUGHTER. You lament, my dear child, that such an affectionate heart, such great abilities as Olivia’s, should be lost to society. Before I sympathize in your pity, my judgment must be convinced that it is reasonable.