tleman when a lady holds forth on the virtues of her own sex. He is a parricide of his mother's fame, And with an impious hand murders her fame, That wrongs the praise of women; that dares write Libels on saints, or with foul ink requite The milk they lent us. 66 MEDON. Only a rhyme I learned from one I talked withal;" 'tis a quotation from some old poet that has fixed itself in my memory-from Randolph, I think. ALDA. 'Tis very justly thought, and very politely quoted, and my best curtsey is due to him and to you;—but now will you listen to me? MEDON. With most profound humility. ALDA. Nay, then! I have done, unless you will lay aside these mock airs of gallantry, and listen to me for a moment! Is it fair to bring a secondhand accusation against me, and not attend to my defence? MEDON. Well, I will be serious. ALDA. Do so, and let us talk like reasonable beings. MEDON. Then tell me, (as a reasonable woman you will not be affronted with the question,) do you really expect that any one will read this little book of yours? ALDA. I might answer, that it has been a great source VOL. I. b of amusement and interest to me for several months, and that so far I am content: but no one writes a book without a hope of finding readers, and I shall find a few. Accident first made me an authoress; and not now, nor ever, have I written to flatter any prevailing fashion of the day for the sake of profit, though this is done, I know, by many who have less excuse for thus coining their brains. This little book was undertaken without a thought of fame or money: out of the fulness of my own heart and soul have I written it. In the pleasure it has given me, in the new and various views of human nature it has opened to me, in the beautiful and soothing images it has placed before me, in the exercise and improvement of my own faculties, I have already been repaid: if praise or profit come beside, they come as a surplus. I should be gratified and grateful, but I have not sought for them, nor worked for them. Do you believe this? MEDON. I do in this I cannot suspect you of affecta tion, for the profession of disinterestedness is uncalled for, and the contrary would be too far countenanced by the custom of the day to be matter of reserve or reproach. But how could you, (saving the reverence due to a lady-authoress, and speaking as one reasonable being to another,) choose such a threadbare subject? What do you mean? ALDA. I MEDON. presume you have written a book to maintain the superiority of your sex over ours; for so I judge by the names at the heads of some of your chapters; women, fit indeed to inlay heaven with stars, but, pardon me, very unlike those who at present walk upon this earth. ALDA. Very unlike the fine ladies of your acquaintance, I grant you; but as to maintaining the supe |