amidst the instruments of torture and death, displays
something so noble, so exalted, that in despite of the
prejudices of education I cannot but admire it, even
in a savage. The prepossession which our sex is
supposed to entertain for the character of a soldier is,
I know, a standing piece of raillery among the wits.
A cockade, a lapell'd coat, and a feather, they will
tell you, are irresistible by a female heart. Let it be
so. Who is it that considers the helpless situation of
our sex, that does not see that we each moment stand
in need of a protector, and that a brave one too?
Formed of the more delicate materials of nature,
endowed only with the softer passions, incapable,
from our ignorance of the world, to guard against the
wiles of mankind, our security for happiness often
depends upon their generosity and courage. Alas!
how little of the former do we find! How inconsis-
tent! that man should be leagued to destroy that
honour upon which solely rests his respect and
esteem. Ten thousand temptations allure us, ten
thousand passions betray us; yet the smallest deviation
from the path of rectitude is followed by the contempt
and insult of man, and the more remorseless pity of
woman; years of penitence and tears cannot wash
away the stain, nor a life of virtue obliterate its
remembrance. Reputation is the life of woman; yet
courage to protect it is masculine and disgusting;
and the only safe asylum a woman of delicacy can
find is in the arms of a man of honour. How
naturally, then, should we love the brave and the