woman, and he will at least assume the semblance of those virtues he admires in her, and
"Use (as Hamlet says) can almost change the stamp of nature, and master even the Devil, or throw him out with wonderous potency."

I find myself growing grave prematurely; for there is but one paragraph

in your letter, that I meant to answer seriously: you may easily guess—I mean the one where you speak of Miss Cleveland, and seem to acquiesce so intirely in your behaviour towards her—and now that I have entered upon this subject, I am at a loss to know how to treat it properly—I would fain persuade myself you were but in jest; yet surely it is wrong to trifle with the esteem of a friend, by suffering me to suppose that you could possibly behave so unworthily to a woman of merit and honour.
That the gaiety and levity of your temper and your youth might render it possible, nay probable, that you should change your affections, and cease to love a mistress you once admired, I can readily believe—but that you can suffer an

amiable woman, whom you both flattered, and inspired, with a serious passion for you; to be informed of your inconstancy, through so coarse a medium as rudeness and neglect, I will not, nay I cannot suppose.—My friend knows better what he owes to himself, and to the world.
I must be excused from replying to your queries, relative to the object of my passion, except so far as to afford you some faint description of her beauty and merits. Her personal charms are so obvious, that whoever views her does not wait to judge—they strike so suddenly that we feel before we think. The excellencies of her character require some refinement to become sensible of—one must have a nice discernment for natural beauties, and a

certain classic taste for the great simple.—Her mind is in such a state of perfect nature, that she is not to be examined by the rules of common life; for her words, her actions, and her whole manners, borrow a peculiar propriety, from herself alone.—She appears to be a sort of privileged genius, of whom may be said, with Milton,
" That whatso'er she says, or does,
" Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best."

In others we may trace the mechanical finger of the nurse, the mother, the tutoress, or the priest—In her can be discovered but one only forming hand—even his who made her.
In fine, such beauties, both of mind and person, have inspired your, till now, insensible