state of perturbation. I am so pestered with these admirers! Not that I
am so very handsome neither; but, I don't know how it is, I am certainly
very much the taste of the other sex. Followed, flattered, and caressed,
I have cards and compliments in profusion. But I must try to be serious;
for I have, alas! one serious lover. As I promised you to be particular
in my writing, I suppose I must proceed methodically. Yesterday we had a
party to dine. Mr. Boyer was of the number. His attention was
immediately engrossed; and I soon perceived that every word, every
action, and every look was studied to gain my approbation. As he sat
next me at dinner, his assiduity and politeness were pleasing; and as we
walked together afterwards, his conversation was improving. Mine was
sentimental and sedate--perfectly adapted to the taste of my gallant.
Nothing, however, was said particularly expressive of his apparent
wishes. I studiously avoided every kind of discourse which might lead to
this topic. I wish not for a declaration from any one, especially from
one whom I could not repulse and do not intend to encourage at present.
His conversation, so similar to what I had often heard from a similar
character, brought a deceased friend to mind, and rendered me somewhat
pensive. I retired directly after supper. Mr. Boyer had just taken
leave.
Mrs. Richman came into my chamber as she was passing to her own. "Excuse
my intrusion, Eliza," said she. "I thought I would just step in and ask
you if you have passed a pleasant day."
"Perfectly so, madam; and I have now retired to protract the enjoyment
by recollection." "What, my dear, is your opinion of our favorite, Mr.
Boyer?" "Declaring him your favorite, madam, is sufficient to render me
partial to him; but to be frank, independent of that, I think him an
agreeable man." "Your heart, I presume, is now free." "Yes, and I hope
it will long remain so." "Your friends, my dear, solicitous for your
welfare, wish to see you suitably and agreeably connected." "I hope my
friends will never again interpose in my concerns of that nature. You,
madam, who have ever known my heart, are sensible that, had the
Almighty spared life in a certain instance, I must have sacrificed my
own happiness or incurred their censure. I am young, gay, volatile. A
melancholy event has lately extricated me from those shackles which
parental authority had imposed on my mind. Let me, then, enjoy that
freedom which I so highly prize. Let me have opportunity, unbiased by
opinion, to gratify my natural disposition in a participation of those
pleasures which youth and innocence afford." "Of such pleasures, no one,
my dear, would wish to deprive you; but beware, Eliza! Though strewed
with flowers, when contemplated by your lively imagination, it is, after
all, a slippery, thorny path. The round of fashionable dissipation is
dangerous. A phantom is often pursued, which leaves its deluded votary
the real form of wretchedness." She spoke with an emphasis, and, taking
up her candle, wished me a good night. I had not power to return the
compliment. Something seemingly prophetic in her looks and expressions
cast a momentary gloom upon my mind; but I despise those contracted
ideas which confine virtue to a cell. I have no notion of becoming a
recluse. Mrs. Richman has ever been a beloved friend of mine; yet I
always thought her rather prudish. Adieu.
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER VI.
TO THE SAME.
NEW HAVEN.
I had scarcely seated myself at the breakfast table this morning when a
servant entered with a card of invitation from Major Sanford, requesting
the happiness of my hand this evening at a ball given by Mr. Atkins,
about three miles from this. I showed the billet to Mrs. Richman,
saying, "I have not much acquaintance with this gentleman, madam; but I
suppose his character sufficiently respectable to warrant an affirmative
answer." "He is a gay man, my dear, to say no more; and such are the
companions we wish when we join a party avowedly formed for pleasure." I
then stepped into my apartment, wrote an answer, and despatched the
servant. When I returned to the parlor, something disapprobating
appeared in the countenances of both my friends. I endeavored, without
seeming to observe, to dissipate it by chitchat; but they were better
pleased with each other than with me, and, soon rising, walked into the
garden, and left me to amuse myself alone. My eyes followed them
through the window. "Happy pair!" said I. "Should it ever be my fate to
wear the hymeneal chain, may I be thus united! The purest and most
ardent affection, the greatest consonance of taste and disposition, and
the most congenial virtue and wishes distinguish this lovely couple.
Health and wealth, with every attendant blessing, preside over their
favored dwelling, and shed their benign influence without alloy." The
consciousness of exciting their displeasure gave me pain; but I consoled
myself with the idea that it was ill founded.
"They should consider," said I, "that they have no satisfaction to look
for beyond each other; there every enjoyment is centred; but I am a poor
solitary being, who need some amusement beyond what I can supply myself.
The mind, after being confined at home for a while, sends the
imagination abroad in quest of new treasures; and the body may as well
accompany it, for aught I can see."
General Richman and lady have ever appeared solicitous to promote my
happiness since I have resided with them. They have urged my acceptance
of invitations to join parties; though they have not been much
themselves of late, as Mrs. Richman's present circumstances render her
fond of retirement. What reason can be assigned for their apparent
reluctance to this evening's entertainment is to me incomprehensible;
but I shall apply the chemical powers of friendship, and extract the
secret from Mrs. Richman to-morrow, if not before. Adieu. I am now
summoned to dinner, and after that shall be engaged in preparation till
the wished-for hour of hilarity and mirth engrosses every faculty of
your
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER VII.
TO MR. SELBY.
NEW HAVEN.
Divines need not declaim, nor philosophers expatiate, on the
disappointments of human life. Are they not legibly written on every
page of our existence? Are they not predominantly prevalent over every
period of our lives?
When I closed my last letter to you, my heart exulted in the pleasing
anticipation of promised bliss; my wishes danced on the light breezes of
hope; and my imagination dared to arrest the attention of, and even
claim a return of affection from, the lovely Eliza Wharton. But
imagination only it has proved, and that dashed with the bitter
ranklings of jealousy and suspicion.
But to resume my narrative. I reached the mansion of my friend about
four. I was disagreeably struck with the appearance of a carriage at the
door, as it raised an idea of company which might frustrate my plan; but
still more disagreeable were my sensations when, on entering the parlor,
I found Major Sanford evidently in a waiting posture. I was very
politely received; and when Eliza entered the room with a brilliance of
appearance and gayety of manner which I had never before connected with
her character, I rose, as did Major Sanford, who offered his hand and
led her to a chair. I forgot to sit down again, but stood transfixed by
the pangs of disappointment. Miss Wharton appeared somewhat confused,
but, soon resuming her vivacity, desired me to be seated, inquired after
my health, and made some commonplace remarks on the weather; then,
apologizing for leaving me, gave her hand again to Major Sanford, who
had previously risen, and reminded her that the time and their
engagements made it necessary to leave the good company; which, indeed,
they both appeared very willing to do. General Richman and lady took
every method in their power to remove my chagrin and atone for the
absence of my fair one; but ill did they succeed. They told me that Miss
Wharton had not the most distant idea of my visiting there this
afternoon, much less of the design of my visit; that for some months
together she had been lately confined by the sickness of Mr. Haly, whom
she attended during the whole of his last illness; which confinement had
eventually increased her desire of indulging her natural disposition for
gayety. She had, however, they said, an excellent heart and reflecting
mind, a great share of sensibility, and a temper peculiarly formed for
the enjoyments of social life. "But this gentleman, madam, who is her
gallant this evening,--is his character unexceptionable? Will a lady of
delicacy associate with an immoral, not to say profligate, man?" "The
rank and fortune of Major Sanford," said Mrs. Richman, "procure him
respect; his specious manners render him acceptable in public company;
but I must own that he is not the person with whom I wish my cousin to
be connected even for a moment. She never consulted me so little on any
subject as that of his card this morning. Before I had time to object,
she dismissed the servant; and I forbore to destroy her expected
happiness by acquainting her with my disapprobation of her partner. Her
omission was not design; it was juvenile indiscretion. We must, my dear
sir," continued she, "look with a candid eye on such eccentricities.
Faults, not foibles, require the severity of censure." "Far, madam, be
it from me to censure any conduct which as yet I have observed in Miss
Wharton; she has too great an interest in my heart to admit of that."
We now went into more general conversation. Tea was served; and I soon
after took leave. General Richman, however, insisted on my dining with
him on Thursday; which I promised. And here I am again over head and
ears in the hypo--a disease, you will say, peculiar to students. I
believe it peculiar to lovers; and with that class I must now rank
myself, though I did not know, until this evening, that I was so much
engaged as I find I really am. I knew, indeed, that I was extremely
pleased with this amiable girl; that I was interested in her favor; that
I was happier in her company than any where else; with innumerable other
circumstances, which would have told me the truth had I examined them.
But be that as it may, I hope and trust that I am, and ever shall be, a
reasonable creature, and not suffer my judgment to be misled by the
operations of a blind passion.
I shall now lay aside this subject; endeavor to divest even my
imagination of the charmer; and return, until Thursday, to the
contemplation of those truths and duties which have a happy tendency to
calm the jarring elements which compose our mortal frame. Adieu.
J. BOYER.
LETTER VIII.
TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.
NEW HAVEN.
We had an elegant ball, last night, Charles; and what is still more to
the taste of your old friend, I had an elegant partner; one exactly
calculated to please my fancy--gay, volatile, apparently thoughtless of
every thing but present enjoyment. It was Miss Eliza Wharton--a young
lady whose agreeable person, polished manners, and refined talents have
rendered her the toast of the country around for these two years; though
for half that time she has had a clerical lover imposed on her by her
friends; for I am told it was not agreeable to her inclination. By this
same clerical lover of hers she was for several months confined as a
nurse. But his death has happily relieved her; and she now returns to
the world with redoubled lustre. At present she is a visitor to Mrs.
Richman, who is a relation. I first saw her on a party of pleasure at
Mr. Frazier's, where we walked, talked, sang, and danced together. I
thought her cousin watched her with a jealous eye; for she is, you must
know, a prude; and immaculate--more so than you or I--must be the man
who claims admission to her society. But I fancy this young lady is a
coquette; and if so, I shall avenge my sex by retaliating the mischiefs
she meditates against us. Not that I have any ill designs, but only to
play off her own artillery by using a little unmeaning gallantry. And
let her beware of the consequences. A young clergyman came in at General
Richman's yesterday, while I was waiting for Eliza, who was much more
cordially received by the general and his lady than was your humble
servant; but I lay that up.
When she entered the room, an air of mutual embarrassment was evident.
The lady recovered her assurance much more easily than the gentleman. I
am just going to ride, and shall make it in my way to call and inquire
after the health of my dulcinea. Therefore, adieu for the present.
PETER SANFORD.
LETTER IX.
TO MISS LUCY FREEMAN.
NEW HAVEN.
I am not so happy to-day in the recollection of last evening's
entertainment as I was in the enjoyment.
The explanation which I promised you from Mrs. Richman yesterday I could
not obtain. When I went down to dinner some friends of General Richman's
had accidentally dropped in, which precluded all particular
conversation. I retired soon to dress, and saw Mrs. Richman no more till
I was informed that Major Sanford waited for me. But I was surprised, on
going into the parlor, to find Mr. Boyer there. I blushed and stammered;
but I know not why; for certain I am that I neither love nor fear the
good man yet, whatever I may do some future day. I would not be
understood that I do not respect and esteem him; for I do both. But
these are calm passions, which soothe rather than agitate the mind. It
was not the consciousness of any impropriety of conduct; for I was far
from feeling any. The entertainment for which I was prepared was such as
virtue would not disapprove, and my gallant was a man of fortune,
fashion, and, for aught I knew, of unblemished character.
But Mr. Boyer was much more disconcerted than myself. Indeed, he did not
recover his philosophy while I staid. I believe, by some hints I have
received since, that he had some particular views in which he was
disappointed.
Our ball had every charm which could render a ball delightful. My
partner was all ease, politeness, and attention; and your friend was as
much flattered and caressed as vanity itself could wish. We returned to
General Richman's about two. Major Sanford asked leave to call and
inquire after my health this morning; and I am now expecting him. I rose
to breakfast. The late hour of retiring to rest had not depressed, but
rather exhilarated, my spirits. My friends were waiting for me in their
parlor. They received me sociably, inquired after my health, my last
evening's entertainment, the company, &c.; when, after a little pause,
Mrs. Richman said, "And how do you like Major Sanford, Eliza?" "Very
well indeed, madam; I think him a finished gentleman. Will you, who are
a connoisseur, allow him that title?" "No, my dear; in my opinion he
falls far below it, since he is deficient in one of the great essentials
of the character; and that is _virtue_." "I am surprised," said I; "but
how has he incurred so severe a censure?" "By being a professed
libertine; by having but too successfully, practised the arts of
seduction; by triumphing in the destruction of innocence and the peace
of families." "O, why was I not informed of this before? But perhaps
these are old affairs--the effects of juvenile folly--crimes of which he
may have repented, and which charity ought to obliterate." "No, my dear,
they are recent facts---facts which he dares not deny--facts for which
he ought to be banished from all virtuous society. I should have
intimated this to you before; but your precipitate acceptance of his
invitation deprived me of an opportunity until it was too late to
prevent your going with him; and we thought it best to protract your
enjoyment as long as possible, not doubting but your virtue and delicacy
would, in future, guard you against the like deception."
"Must I, then, become an avowed prude at once, and refuse him admission
if he call in compliance with the customary forms?" "By no means. I am
sensible that even the false maxims of the world must be complied with
in a degree. But a man of Major Sanford's art can easily distinguish
between a forbidding and an encouraging reception. The former may, in
this case, be given without any breach of the rules of politeness."
Astonished and mortified, I knew not what further to say. I had been so
pleased with the man that I wished to plead in his favor; but virtue and
prudence forbade. I therefore rose and retired. He is this moment, I am
told, below stairs; so that I must bid you adieu until the next post.
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER X.
TO THE SAME.
NEW HAVEN.
Upon closing my last, I walked down, and found Major Sanford alone. He
met me at the door of the parlor, and, taking my hand with an air of
affectionate tenderness, led me to a seat, and took one beside me. I
believe the gloom of suspicion had not entirely forsaken my brow. He
appeared, however, not to notice it, but, after the compliments of the
day had passed, entered into an easy and agreeable conversation on the
pleasures of society--a conversation perfectly adapted to my taste, and
calculated to dissipate my chagrin and pass the time imperceptibly. He
inquired the place of my native abode; and, having informed him, he said
he had thoughts of purchasing the seat of Captain Pribble, in that
neighborhood, for his residence; and could he be assured of my society
and friendship, his resolution would be fixed. I answered his compliment
only by a slight bow. He took leave, and I retired to dress for the day,
being engaged to accompany my cousin to dine at Mr. Lawrence's--a
gentleman of fortune and fashion in this vicinity. Mr. Lawrence has but
one daughter, heiress to a large estate, with an agreeable form, but a
countenance which, to me, indicates not much soul. I was surprised in
the afternoon to see Major Sanford alight at the gate. He entered with
the familiarity of an old acquaintance, and, after accosting each of the
company, told me, with a low bow, that he did not expect the happiness
of seeing me again so soon. I received his compliment with a conscious
awkwardness. Mrs. Richman's morning lecture still rang in my head; and
her watchful eye now traced every turn of mine and every action of the
major's. Indeed, his assiduity was painful to me; yet I found it
impossible to disengage myself a moment from him, till the close of the
day brought our carriage to the door; when he handed me in, and,
pressing my hand to his lips, retired.
What shall I say about this extraordinary man? Shall I own to you, my
friend, that he is pleasing to me? His person, his manners, his
situation, all combine to charm my fancy, and, to my lively imagination,
strew the path of life with flowers. What a pity, my dear Lucy, that the
graces and virtues are not oftener united! They must, however, meet in
the man of my choice; and till I find such a one, I shall continue to
subscribe my name
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER XI.
TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.
NEW HAVEN.
Well, Charles, I have been manoeuvring to-day a little revengefully.
That, you will say, is out of character. So baleful a passion does not
easily find admission among those softer ones which you well know I
cherish. However, I am a mere Proteus, and can assume any shape that
will best answer my purpose.
I called this afternoon, as I told you I intended, at General Richman's.
I waited some time in the parlor alone before Eliza appeared; and when
she did appear, the distant reserve of her manners and the pensiveness
of her countenance convinced me that she had been vexed, and I doubted
not but Peter Sanford was the occasion. Her wise cousin, I could have
sworn, had been giving her a detail of the vices of her gallant, and
warning her against the dangers of associating with him in future.
Notwithstanding, I took no notice of any alteration in her behavior, but
entered with the utmost facetiousness into a conversation which I
thought most to her taste. By degrees she assumed her usual vivacity;
cheerfulness and good humor again animated her countenance. I tarried
as long as decency would admit. She having intimated that they were to
dine at my friend Lawrence's, I caught at this information, and
determined to follow them, and tease the jealous Mrs. Richman by playing
off all the gallantry I was master of in her presence.
I went, and succeeded to the utmost of my wishes, as I read in the
vexation visible in the one, and the ease and attention displayed by the
other. I believe, too, that I have charmed the eye, at least, of the
amiable Eliza. Indeed, Charles, she is a fine girl. I think it would
hurt my conscience to wound her mind or reputation. Were I disposed to
marry, I am persuaded she would make an excellent wife; but that, you
know, is no part of my plan, so long as I can keep out of the noose.
Whenever I do submit to be shackled, it must be from a necessity of
mending my fortune. This girl would be far from doing that. However, I
am pleased with her acquaintance, and mean not to abuse her credulity
and good nature, if I can help it.
PETER SANFORD.
LETTER XII.
TO MISS LUCY FREEMAN.
NEW HAVEN.
The heart of your friend is again besieged. Whether it will surrender to
the assailants or not I am unable at present to determine. Sometimes I
think of becoming a predestinarian, and submitting implicitly to fate,
without any exercise of free will; but, as mine seems to be a wayward
one, I would counteract the operations of it, if possible.
Mrs. Richman told me this morning that she hoped I should be as
agreeably entertained this afternoon as I had been the preceding; that
she expected Mr. Boyer to dine and take tea, and doubted not but he
would be as attentive and sincere to me, if not as gay and polite, as
the gentleman who obtruded his civilities yesterday. I replied that I
had no reason to doubt the sincerity of the one or the other, having
never put them to the test, nor did I imagine I ever should. "Your
friends, Eliza," said she, "would be very happy to see you united to a
man of Mr. Boyer's worth, and so agreeably settled as he has a prospect
of being." "I hope," said I, "that my friends are not so weary of my
company as to wish to dispose of me. I am too happy in my present
connections to quit them for new ones. Marriage is the tomb of
friendship. It appears to me a very selfish state. Why do people in
general, as soon as they are married, centre all their cares, their
concerns, and pleasures in their own families? Former acquaintances are
neglected or forgotten; the tenderest ties between friends are weakened
or dissolved; and benevolence itself moves in a very limited sphere."
"It is the glory of the marriage state," she rejoined, "to refine by
circumscribing our enjoyments. Here we can repose in safety.
'The friendships of the world are oft
Confed'racies in vice, or leagues in pleasure:
Ours has the purest virtue for its basis;
And such a friendship ends not but with life.'
True, we cannot always pay that attention to former associates which we
may wish; but the little community which we superintend is quite as
important an object, and certainly renders us more beneficial to the
public. True benevolence, though it may change its objects, is not
limited by time or place. Its effects are the same, and, aided by a
second self, are rendered more diffusive and salutary."