But suppose a person of your talents were to marry a man of inferior talents; Who, in this case, can be so happy in herself as Miss Clarissa Harlowe?  What delight do you take in doing good!  How happily do you devote the several portions of the day to your own improvement, and to the advantage of all that move within your sphere!—­And then, such is your taste, such are your acquirements in the politer studies, and in the politer amusements; such your excellence in all the different parts of economy fit for a young lady’s inspection and practice, that your friends would wish you to be taken off as little as possible by regards that may be called merely personal.

But as to what may be the consequence respecting yourself, respecting a young lady of your talents, from the preference you are suspected to give to a libertine, I would have you, my dear cousin, consider what that may be.  A mind so pure, to mingle with a mind impure!  And will not such a man as this engross all your solitudes?  Will he not perpetually fill you with anxieties for him and for yourself?—­The divine and civil powers defied, and their sanctions broken through by him, on every not merely accidental but meditated occasion.  To be agreeable to him, and to hope to preserve an interest in his affections, you must probably be obliged to abandon all your own laudable pursuits.  You must enter into his pleasures and distastes.  You must give up your virtuous companions for his profligate ones—­perhaps be forsaken by your’s, because of the scandal he daily gives.  Can you hope, cousin, with such a man as this to be long so good as you now are?  If not, consider which of your present laudable delights you would choose to give up! which of his culpable ones to follow him in!  How could you brook to go backward, instead of forward, in those duties which you now so exemplarily perform? and how do you know, if you once give way, where you shall be suffered, where you shall be able, to stop?

Your brother acknowledges that Mr. Solmes is not near so agreeable in person as Mr. Lovelace.  But what is person with such a lady as I have the honour to be now writing to?  He owns likewise that he has not the address of Mr. Lovelace:  but what a mere personal advantage is a plausible address, without morals?  A woman had better take a husband whose manners she were to fashion, than to find them ready-fashioned to her hand, at the price of her morality; a price that is often paid for travelling accomplishments.  O my dear cousin, were you but with us here at Florence, or at Rome, or at Paris, (where also I resided for many months,) to see the gentlemen whose supposed rough English manners at setting out are to be polished, and what their improvement are in their return through the same places, you would infinitely prefer the man in his first stage to the same man in his last.  You find the difference on their return—­a fondness for foreign fashions, an attachment to foreign vices, a supercilious contempt of his own country and countrymen; (himself more despicable than the most despicable of those he despises;) these, with an unblushing effrontery, are too generally the attainments that concur to finish the travelled gentleman!