ou my sincerity) is none of the handsomest, being
of a figure somewhat short; but what I want in length, I make out
in breadth. But in amends for that and all other defects, If you
can like me when you see me, I shall continue to you, whether I
find you fair, black or brown,

"THE MOST CONSTANT OF LOVERS.
"_January 27, 1709/10._"

This letter seems to be written by a wag, and for that reason I am not
much concerned for what reception Mopsa shall think fit to give it; but
the following certainly proceeds from a poor heart, that languishes
under the most deplorable misfortune that possibly can befall a woman. A
man that is treacherously dealt with in love may have recourse to many
consolations. He may gracefully break through all opposition to his
mistress, or explain with his rival; urge his own constancy, or
aggravate the falsehood by which it is repaid. But a woman that is
ill-treated has no refuge in her griefs but in silence and secrecy. The
world is so unjust, that a female heart which has been once touched is
thought for ever blemished. The very grief in this case is looked upon
as a reproach, and a complaint almost a breach of chastity. For these
reasons, we see treachery and falsehood are become as it were male
vices, and are seldom found, never acknowledged, in the other sex. This
may serve to introduce Statira's letter, which, without any turn or art,
has something so pathetical and moving in it, that I verily believe it
to be true, and therefore heartily pity the injured creature that wrote
it:

"_To Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq._
"SIR,

"You seem in many of your writings to be a man of a very
compassionate temper, and well acquainted with the passion of love.
This encourages me to apply myself to you in my present distress,
which I believe you will look upon to be very great, and treat with
tenderness, notwithstanding it wholly arises from love, and that it
is a woman that makes this confession. I am now in the twenty-third
year of my age, and have for a great while entertained the
addresses of a man who I thought loved me more than life. I am sure
I did him; and must own to you, not without some confusion, that I
have thought on nothing else for these two long years, but the
happy life we should lead together, and the means I should use to
ma