have been my brother's case—On a man who may be superior to her in degree or fortune; or who may be greatly inferior to her in both.—If Love be not a voluntary passion, why not upon an hostler, a groom, a coachman, a footman—A grenadier, a trooper, a footsoldier?—She may be in Mrs. Eggleton's case: Her Lover may be taken from her by death. In either, or any, of these cases, what is to be done? Must a woman sit down, cry herself blind, and become useless to the principal end of her being, as to this life, and to all family connexions, when, probably, she has not lived one third of her time?—Silly creatures!—to maintain these nonsenses at their own expence, in favour of a passion that is generally confined to the days of girlhood; and which they themselves would laugh at in a woman after she was arrived at honest thirty, or at years of discretion—Thus narrowing their own use and consequence.—I, for my part, am, and ever will be, a friend of my Sex.
But hark ye, girls—Let me ask you—Do you find many of these constant nymphs, when they have had their foolish way given them, and they have buried the honest man of whom they were once so dotingly fond, refuse to marry again?—Do they wish, like the wives of some Pagan wretches, to be thrown into the funeral pile, with the dead bodies of their Lords?—No! They have had their whimsey out. Their Fit of constancy is over; and, quiet good souls as they are by that time become, they go on without Rantipoling, in the ordinary course of reasonable creatures.

Not but Harriet was in earnest: I am sure she was. She believed, she certainly believed, HERSELF. And were it given to us women always to be in one mind, she would have made all her friends, the good Mrs. Shirley at the head of us, despair of succeeding with her in our endeavours to induce her to change it. But Harriet, with all her wisdom, could not know what Time would have done for her. Time is the pacifier of every woe, the qualifier of every disappointment—Pity for the man [the Earl of D. suppose—He would have thought it worth his while to feign dying for her]; the Entreaty of her friends:-You see what arguments her excellent grandmamma could have produced—Pho, pho, never fear but Harriet would have married before my Brother and Clementina had seen the face of their