before it ripens into love, and in the bloom of life forgets her ſex—forgets the pleaſure of an awakening paſſion, which might again have been inſpired and returned. She no longer thinks of pleaſing, and conſcious dignity prevents her from priding herſelf on account of the praiſe which her conduct demands. Her children have her love, and her brighteſt hopes are beyond the grave, where her imagination often ſtrays.
I think I ſee her ſurrounded by her children, reaping the reward of her care. The intelligent eye meets hers, whilſt health and innocence ſmile on their chubby cheeks, and as they grow up the cares of life are leſſened by their grateful attention. She lives to ſee the virtues which ſhe endeavoured to plant on principles fixed into habits, to ſee her children attain a ſtrength of character ſufficient to enable them to endure adverſity without forgetting their mother's example.
The taſk of life thus fulfilled, ſhe calmly waits for the ſleep of death, and riſing from the grave, may ſay—Behold, thou gaveſt me a talent—and here are five talents.
I wiſh to ſum up what I have ſaid in a few words, for I here throw down my gauntlet, and deny the exiſtence of ſexual virtues, not excepting modeſty. For man and woman, truth, if I underſtand the meaning of the word, muſt be the ſame; yet the fanciful female character, ſo prettily drawn by poets and noveliſts, demanding the ſacrifice of truth and ſincerity, virtue becomes a relative idea, having no other foundation than utility, and of that utility men pretend arbitrarily to judge, ſhaping it to their own convenience.
