ment on ſenſual deſire, that men fall into who have not ſufficient virtue to reliſh the innocent pleaſures of love. A man of delicacy carries his notions of modeſty ſtill further, for neither weakneſs nor ſenſibility will gratify him—he looks for affection.
Again; men boaſt of their triumphs over women, what do they boaſt of? Truly the creature of ſenſibility was ſurpriſed by her ſenſibility into folly—into vice[1]; and the dreadful reckoning falls heavily on her own weak head, when reaſon wakes. For where art thou to find comfort, forlorn and diſconſolate one? He who ought to have directed thy reaſon, and ſupported thy weakneſs, has betrayed thee! In a dream of paſſion thou conſentedſt to wander through flowery lawns, and heedleſly ſtepping over the precipice to which thy guide, inſtead of guarding, lured thee, thou ſtarteſt from thy dream only to face a ſneering, frowning world, and to find thyſelf alone in a waſte, for he that triumphed in thy weakneſs is now purſuing new conqueſts; but for thee—there is no redemption on this ſide the grave! And what reſource haſt thou in an enervated mind to raiſe a ſinking heart?
But, if the ſexes are really to live in a ſtate of warfare, if nature has pointed it out, let men act nobly, or let pride whiſper to them, that the victory is mean when they merely vanquiſh ſenſibility. The real conqueſt is that over affection not taken by ſurpriſe—when, like Heloiſa, a woman gives up all the world, deliberately, for love. I do not now conſider the wiſdom or virtue of
- ↑ The poor moth fluttering round a candle, burns its wings.
