ABSTRACT
The repetition of a lover’s promises is perhaps as irksome to those who may coldly peruse them, as the remembrance is delightful to those who have known the rapture of receiving them. I cannot, however, think that to describe them is either erroneous or unprofitable.a It may indeed be held immoral to exhibit, in glowing language, scenes which ought never to have been at all; but when every day, and every hour of the day – at all times, and in all places, and in all countries alike, man is gaining possession of his victim by similar arts, to paint the portrait to the life, to display his base intentions, and their mournful consequences, is to hold out a warning and admonition to innocence and virtue:b / this cannot be wrong. All deceive themselves. At this very instant of time, what thousands of beguiled and credulous beings are saying to themselves in the pride of their hearts, ‘I am not like thisc Calantha,’ or, ‘thank God,d the idol of my fancy is not a Glenarvon.’ They deem themselves virtuous, because they are yet only upon the verge of ruin:e they think themselves secure, because they know not yet the heart of him who would mislead them. But the hour of trial is at hand; and the smile of scorn may soon give place to the bitter tear of remorse.f
