A time may come, when he may see his folly; I hope, before it be too late to repair it. Why should such a man marry? Or why did fate lead him to our innocent retreat? Oh! why did I foolishly mistake a rambling disposition, and a transient liking, for a permanent attachment? But why do I run on thus? Dear Louisa, you will think me far gone in a phrenzy. But, believe me, I will ever deserve your tender affection. JULIA STANLEY. LETTER XV. TO Lady STANLEY. Good heavens! what a variety of emotions has your last letter excited in my breast! Surely, my Julia did not give it a second perusal! I can make allowance for the expressions of gratitude which you (in a manner lavish, not) bestow on the Baron. But oh! beware, my beloved sister, that your gratitude becomes not too warm; that sentiment, so laudable when properly placed, should it be an introduction to what my fears and tenderness apprehend, would change to the most impious.--You already perceive a visible difference between him and your husband--I assert, no woman ought to make a comparison,--'tis dangerous, 'tis fatal. Sir William was the man of your choice;--it is true you were young; but still you ought to respect your choice as sacred.--You are still young; and although you may have seen more of the world, I doubt your sentiments are little mended by your experience. The knowledge of the world--at least so it appears to me--is of no further use than to bring one acquainted with vice, and to be less shocked at the idea of it. Is this then a knowledge to which we should wish to attain?--Ah! believe me, it had been better for you to have blushed unseen, and lost your sweetness in the desart air, than to have, in _the busy haunts of men_, hazarded the privation of _that peace which goodness bosoms ever_. Think what I suffer; and, constrained to treasure up my anxious fears in my own bosom, I have no one to whom I can vent my griefs: and indeed to whom could I impart the terrors which fill my soul, when I reflect on the dangers by which my sister, the darling of my affections, is surrounded? Oh, Julia! you know how fatally I have experienced the interest a beloved object has in the breast of a tender woman; how ought we then to guard against the admission of a passion destructive to our repose, even in its most innocent and harmless state, while we are single!--But how much more should _you_ keep a strict watch over every outlet of the heart, lest it should fall a prey to the insidious enemy;--you respect his silence;--you pity his sufferings.--Reprobate respect!--abjure pity!--they are both in your circumstances dangerous; and a well-experienced writer has observed, more women have been ruined by pity, than have fallen a sacrifice to appetite and passion. Pity is a kindred virtue, and from the innocence and complacency of her appearance, we suspect no ill; but dangers inexplicable lurk beneath the tear that trembles in her eye; and, without even knowing that we do so,