Mr. Lovelace, I know, deserves to have an exception made in his favour; for he really is a man of parts and learning:  he was esteemed so both here and at Rome; and a fine person, and a generous turn of mind, gave him great advantages.  But you need not be told, that a libertine of weak parts is able to do.  And this I will tell you further, that it was Mr. Lovelace’s own fault that he was not still more respected than he was among the literati here.  There were, in short, some liberties in which he indulged himself, that endangered his person and his liberty; and made the best and most worthy of those who honoured him with their notice give him up, and his stay both at Florence and at Rome shorter than he designed.

This is all I choose to say of Mr. Lovelace.  I had much rather have had reason to give him a quite contrary character.  But as to rakes or libertines in general, I, who know them well, must be allowed, because of the mischiefs they have always in their hearts, and too often in their power, to do your sex, to add still a few more words upon this topic.

A libertine, my dear cousin, a plotting, an intriguing libertine, must be generally remorseless—­unjust he must always be.  The noble rule of doing to others what he would have done to himself is the first rule he breaks; and every day he breaks it; the oftener, the greater his triumph.  He has great contempt for your sex.  He believes no woman chaste, because he is a profligate.  Every woman who favours him confirms him in his wicked incredulity.  He is always plotting to extend the mischiefs he delights in.  If a woman loves such a man, how can she bear the thought of dividing her interest in his affections with half the town, and that perhaps the dregs of it?  Then so sensual!—­How will a young lady of your delicacy bear with so sensual a man? a man who makes a jest of his vows? and who perhaps will break your spirit by the most unmanly insults.  To be a libertine, is to continue to be every thing vile and inhuman.  Prayers, tears, and the most abject submission, are but fuel to his pride:  wagering perhaps with lewd companions, and, not improbably, with lewder women, upon instances which he boast of to them of your patient sufferings, and broken spirit, and bringing them home to witness both.

I write what I know has been.

I mention not fortunes squandered, estates mortgaged or sold, and posterity robbed—­nor yet a multitude of other evils, too gross, too shocking, to be mentioned to a person of your delicacy.

All these, my dear cousin, to be shunned, all the evils I have named to be avoided; the power of doing all the good you have been accustomed to, preserved, nay, increased, by the separate provision that will be made for you:  your charming diversions, and exemplary employments, all maintained; and every good habit perpetuated:  and all by one sacrifice, the fading pleasure of the eye! who would not, (since every thing is not to be met with in one man, who would not,) to preserve so many essentials, give up to light, so unpermanent a pleasure!