“SIR,
“WE have a scene of distress at our house peculiarly pathetick and affecting, and of which you, perhaps, are the sole author—You have had a criminal connexion with Miss Fawcet—you have turned her upon the world inhumanly—but chance—rather let me say Providence, hath directed her footsteps to my dwelling, where she is kindly entertained, and will be so, as long as she remains in this wilderness world, which is to be, I fear, but a short time—And shall she not, though she hath been decoyed from the road that leadeth to peace, long life, and happiness—shall she not, if she return with tears of repentance and contrition, be entitled to our love and charity? Yes—this is my doctrine—If I behold any child of human nature distressed and forlorn, and in real want of the necessities of life, must I restrain or withhold the hand of charity—must I cease to recall the departing spirit of them that are ready to perish, until I make diligent inquiry into their circumstances and character? Surely, my friend, it is a duty incumbent on us by the ties of humanity and fellow-feeling, and by the duty imposed on us by our holy religion, equally to extend the hand of relief to all the necessitous—however they may be circumstanced in the great family of mankind.
“THE crime of Maria is not the blackest in the annals of human turpitude; but however guilty she might have been, the tears of penitence do certainly make atonement therefor.
“THUS much have I thought proper to say in vindication of my conduct—in sheltering under my roof a poor wanderer—who hath strayed, but not wantonly, and who hath now happily returned.
“ONE would imagine, there was little necessity of making such a vindication to you; but my sentiments always flow from the abundance of my heart, and I am willing the whole world should judge of those which influence my conduct.—Now, though some men, whose charity is contracted, and who may be denominated prudes in virtue, might deem wrongfully of my attention to the calamity of this frail woman yet let me appeal to the hearts and understandings of all men, and these in particular, if I have erred, whether it be not an errour on the side of humanity. Would to God such amiable errours were more frequent!—In as much, my friend, as there is joy in Heaven over one sinner that repenteth, I may say with assurance that I have felt an emanation of this heavenly joy animate my heart, in beholding this woman delighting to steer her course heavenward.
“FROM the unhappy condition of Maria, I have been led to reflect on the mischievous tendency of SEDUCTION. Methinks I view the distressing picture in all its horrid colours:—
“BEHOLD the youthful virgin arrayed in all the delightful charms of vivacity, modesty and sprightliness.—Behold even while she is rising in beauty and dignity, like a lily of the valley, in the full blossom of her graces, she is cut off suddenly by the rude hand of the Seducer. Unacquainted with his baseness and treachery, and too ready to repose confidence in him—she is deluded by the promises and flattery of the man who professes the greatest love and tenderness for her welfare:—
“BUT did she understand the secret villainy of his intentions—would she appear thus elate and joyous? Would she assent to her ruin? Would she subscribe her name to the catalogue of infamy? Would she kiss the hand of the atrocious dastard, already raised to give the final wound to her reputation and peace?
“O! WHY is there not an adequate punishment for this crime, when that of a common traitor is marked with its deserved iniquity and abhorrence!
“IS it necessary to depicture the state of this deluded young creature after her fall from virtue? Stung with remorse, and frantick with despair, does she not fly from the face of day, and secrete her conscious head in the bosom of eternal forgetfulness? Melancholy and guilt transfix her heart, and she sighs out her miserable existence—the prey of poverty, ignominy and reproach! Lost to the world, to her friends, and to herself, she blesses the approach of death in whatever shape he may appear, and terminates a life, no longer a blessing to its possessor, or a joy to those around her.