_Politica._ Every Creature desires to propagate its Species, and Nature dictates to every Part of the Creation the Manner of doing it. The brute Beasts are subservient to this Law, and wholly answer the End of their Creation: Now there is the same Desire in Mankind; but we, who are endowed with noble Faculties, and who have Countenances erected to behold the Wonders of God in the Firmament of Heaven, look so far into the Earth, that we sink beneath the Dignity of Beasts. In being averse to Generation, we offer Violence to the Laws of God and Nature imprinted on our Minds. What _she_ can say, that Nature does not prompt her to the Propagation of her Species? Which, indeed, is one Argument of the Immortality of the Soul; for the rational Faculties concur with the Dictates of Nature in this Point. We are, as it were, immortal upon Earth, in our surviving Children. It is a Sort of Hyperbole, but it is as near Truth as possibly can be. We are all of us desirous of Life; and, since, being mortal, we cannot for ever inhabit this glorious World, we are willing to leave our Children in Possession. I cannot agree with you, Madam, that it is our Fault we do not propagate our Species, at least, I am sure, it is none of mine; I am young, and healthy, and beautiful enough, and Nature daily tells me what Work I ought to do; the Laws of God circumscribe the Doing of it; and yet, notwithstanding my Conformity to both, you know, my Circumstances will not admit of Marriage. _Sophia._ The Impulse of Nature in me, in that Respect, is as great as it can be in you, but still under the Regulations of the strictest Rules of Virtue. The End of our Creation might be better answered, were not the matrimonial Knot to be tied only by the Purse-string. I can say, I am young and beautiful, and that without any Vanity. This Mr. _H----_ knows well enough; he loves me intirely, and, I am sure, had rather live all his Life-time with me in a Garret, on the Scrag-end of a Neck of Mutton, than with the Lady his Father proposes; but the old Curmudgeon will not let his Son have the least Thoughts of me, because the Muck, my Father has left me, will not fill so many Dung-carts, as he can fill for his Son: It is even true, what the Parson said, 'Matrimony is become a Matter of Money.' This is the Reason, that you and I stick on Hand so long, as the Tradesmen at _London_ say, when they cannot put off their Daughters.