n. I hope to be the last wretched female sacrificed by you to
the arts of falsehood and seduction. May my unhappy story serve as a
beacon to warn the American fair of the dangerous tendency and
destructive consequences of associating with men of your character, of
destroying their time and risking their reputation by the practice of
coquetry and its attendant follies. But for these I might have been
honorably connected, and capable, at this moment, of diffusing and
receiving happiness. But for your arts I might have remained a blessing
to society, as well as the delight and comfort of my friends. You being
a married man unspeakably aggravates both your guilt and mine. This
circumstance annexes indelible shame to our crime. You have rent asunder
the tenderest ties of nature. You have broken the bonds of conjugal
love, which ought ever to be kept sacred and inviolate. You have filled
with grief and discontent the heart of your amiable wife, whom
gratitude, if no other principle, should have induced you to cherish
with tenderness; and I, wretch that I am, have been your accomplice. But
I cease to reproach you. You have acted but too consistently with the
character which I was sufficiently apprised you sustained. The blame,
then, may be retorted on myself, for disregarding the counsels,
warnings, and admonitions of my best friends. You have prided yourself
in the character of a libertine. Glory no longer in your shame. You have
accomplished your designs, your dreadful designs, against me. Let this
suffice. Add not to the number of those deluded creatures who will one
day rise up in judgment against you and condemn you."

By this time we had nearly reached the inn, and were soon to part. I
seized her hand, and exclaimed, "You must not leave me, Eliza, with that
awful anathema on your lips. O, say that you will forget my past
faults." "That," said she, "I shall soon do; for in the grave there is
no remembrance." This, to my mind, was a harsher sentence than the
other, and almost threw me into despair. Never was I so wrought upon
before. I knew not what to say or do. She saw my distress, and kindly
softened her manner. "If I am severe," said she, "it is because I wish
to impress your mind with such a sense of your offences against your
Maker, your friends, and society in general, as may effect your
repentance and amendment. I wish not to be your accuser, but your
reformer. On several accounts, I view my own crime in a more aggr