rose; and after breakfast walked to Mrs. Wharton's, who informed me,
that Eliza was in her chamber, writing to a friend, but would be down in
a few minutes. I entered into conversation with the old lady on the
subject of her daughter's conduct; hinted my suspicions of the cause,
and declared my resolution of knowing my destiny immediately. She
endeavored to extenuate, and excuse her as much as possible; but frankly
owned that her behavior was mysterious; that no pains had been wanting,
on her part, to alter and rectify it; that she had remonstrated,
expostulated, advised and entreated, as often as occasion required. She
hoped that my resolution would have a good effect, as she knew that her
daughter esteemed me very highly.
In this manner we conversed till the clock struck twelve; and, Eliza not
appearing, I desired her mamma to send up word that I waited to see her.
The maid returned with an answer that she was indisposed, and had lain
down. Mrs. Wharton observed that she had not slept for several nights,
and complained of the headache in the morning. The girl added that she
would wait on Mr. Boyer in the evening. Upon this information I rose,
and abruptly took my leave. I went to dine with a friend, to whom I had
engaged myself the day before; but my mind was too much agitated to
enjoy either the company or the dinner. I excused myself from tarrying
to tea, and returned to Miss Wharton's. On inquiry, I was told that
Eliza had gone to walk in the garden, but desired that no person might
intrude on her retirement. The singularity of the request awakened my
curiosity, and determined me to follow her. I sought her in vain in
different parts of the garden, till, going towards an arbor, almost
concealed from sight by surrounding shrubbery, I discovered her sitting
in close conversation with Major Sanford! My blood chilled in my veins,
and I stood petrified with astonishment at the disclosure of such
baseness and deceit. They both rose in visible confusion. I dared not
trust myself to accost them. My passions were raised, and I feared that
I might say or do something unbecoming my character. I therefore gave
them a look of indignation and contempt, and retreated to the house. I
traversed the parlor hastily, overwhelmed with chagrin and resentment.
Mrs. Wharton inquired the cause. I attempted to tell her, but my tongue
refused utterance. While in this situation, Eliza entered the room. She
was not less discomposed than myself. She sat down at the window and
wept. Her mamma wept likewise. At length she recovered herself, in a
degree, and desired me to sit down. I answered, No, and continued
walking. "Will you," said she, "permit me to vindicate my conduct, and
explain my motives?" "Your conduct," said I, "cannot be vindicated; your
motives need no explanation; they are too apparent. How, Miss Wharton,
have I merited this treatment from you? But I can bear it no longer.
Your indifference to me proceeds from an attachment to another, and,
forgive me if I add, to one who is the disgrace of his own sex and the
destroyer of yours. I have been too long the dupe of your dissimulation
and coquetry--too long has my peace of mind been sacrificed to the arts
of a woman whose conduct has proved her unworthy of my regard;
insensible to love, gratitude, and honor.
"To you, madam," said I, turning to her mother, "I acknowledge my
obligations for your friendship, politeness, and attention. I once hoped
for the privilege of rocking for you the cradle of declining age. I am
deprived of that privilege; but I pray that you may never want a child
whose love and duty shall prove a source of consolation and comfort.
"Farewell. If we never meet again in this life, I hope and trust we
shall in a better--where the parent's eye shall cease to weep for the
disobedience of a child, and the lover's heart to bleed for the
infidelity of his mistress."
I turned to Eliza, and attempted to speak; but her extreme emotion
softened me, and I could not command my voice. I took her hand, and
bowing, in token of an adieu, went precipitately out of the house. The
residence of my friend, with whom I lodged, was at no great distance,
and thither I repaired. As I met him in the entry, I rushed by him, and
betook myself to my chamber. The fever of resentment and the tumult of
passion began now to give place to the softer emotions of the soul. I
found myself perfectly unmanned. I gave free scope to the sensibility
of my heart; and the effeminate relief of tears materially lightened the
load which oppressed me.
After this arduous struggle I went to bed, and slept more calmly than
for several nights before. The next morning I wrote a farewell letter to
Eliza, (a copy of which I shall enclose to you,) and, ordering my horse
to be brought, left town immediately.
My resentment of her behavior has much assisted me in erasing her image
from my breast. In this exertion I have succeeded beyond my most
sanguine expectations. The more I reflect on her temper and disposition,
the more my gratitude is enlivened towards the wise Disposer of all
events for enabling me to break asunder the snares of the deluder. I am
convinced that the gayety and extravagance of her taste, the frivolous
levity of her manners, disqualify her for the station in which I wished
to have placed her. These considerations, together with that resignation
to an overruling Providence which the religion I profess and teach
requires me to cultivate, induce me cheerfully to adopt the following
lines of an ingenious poet:--
"Since all the downward tracts of time
God's watchful eye surveys,
O, who so wise to choose our lot,
Or regulate our ways?
"Since none can doubt his equal love,
Unmeasurably kind,
To his unerring, gracious will
Be every wish, resigned.
"Good when he gives, supremely good;
Not less when he denies;
E'en crosses from his sovereign hand
Are blessings in disguise."
I am, &c., J. BOYER.
TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON.
[_Enclosed in the foregoing_.]
HARTFORD.
Madam: Fearing that my resolution may not be proof against the eloquence
of those charms which has so long commanded me, I take this method of
bidding you a final adieu. I write not as a lover,--that connection
between us is forever dissolved,--but I address you as a friend; as a
friend to your happiness, to your reputation, to your temporal and
eternal welfare. I will not rehearse the innumerable instances of your
imprudence and misconduct which have fallen under my observation. Your
own heart must be your monitor. Suffice it for me to warn you against
the dangerous tendency of so dissipated a life, and to tell you that I
have traced (I believe aright) the cause of your dissimulation and
indifference to me. They are an aversion to the sober, rational, frugal
mode of living to which my profession leads; a fondness for the parade,
the gayety, not to say the licentiousness, of a station calculated to
gratify such a disposition; and a prepossession for Major Sanford,
infused into your giddy mind by the frippery, flattery, and artifice of
that worthless and abandoned man. Hence you preferred a connection with
him, if it could be accomplished; but a doubt whether it could, together
with the advice of your friends, who have kindly espoused my cause, has
restrained you from the avowal of your real sentiments, and led you to
continue your civilities to me. What the result of your coquetry would
have been had I waited for it, I cannot say; nor have I now any desire
or interest to know. I tear from my breast the idea which I have long
cherished of future union and happiness with you in the conjugal state.
I bid a last farewell to these fond hopes, and leave you forever.
For your own sake, however, let me conjure you to review your conduct,
and, before you have advanced beyond the possibility of returning to
rectitude and honor, to restrain your steps from the dangerous path in
which you now tread.
Fly Major Sanford. That man is a deceiver. Trust not his professions.
They are certainly insincere, or he would not affect concealment; he
would not induce you to a clandestine intercourse. Many have been the
victims to his treachery. O Eliza, add not to the number. Banish him
from your society if you wish to preserve your virtue unsullied, your
character unsuspicious. It already begins to depreciate. Snatch it from
the envenomed tongue of slander before it receive an incurable wound.
Many faults have been visible to me, over which my affection once drew a
veil. That veil is now removed; and acting the part of a disinterested
friend, I shall mention some few of them with freedom. There is a levity
in your manners which is inconsistent with the solidity and decorum
becoming a lady who has arrived to years of discretion. There is also an
unwarrantable extravagance betrayed in your dress. Prudence and economy
are such necessary, at least such decent, virtues, that they claim the
attention of every female, whatever be her station or her property. To
these virtues you are apparently inattentive. Too large a portion of
your time is devoted to the adorning of your person.
Think not that I write thus plainly from resentment. No, it is from
benevolence. I mention your foibles, not to reproach you with them, but
that you may consider their nature and effects, and renounce them.
I wish you to regard this letter as the legacy of a friend, and to
improve it accordingly. I shall leave town before you receive it. O, how
different are my sensations at going from what they were when I came!
But I forbear description. Think not, Eliza, that I leave you with
indifference. The conquest is great, the trial more than I can calmly
support; yet the consciousness of duty affords consolation---a duty I
conceive it to be which I owe to myself and to the people of my charge,
who are interested in my future connection.
I wish not for an answer; my resolution is unalterably fixed. But should
you hereafter be convinced of the justice of my conduct, and become a
convert to my advice, I shall be happy to hear it.
That you may have wisdom to keep you from falling, and conduct you
safely through this state of trial to the regions of immortal bliss, is
the fervent prayer of your sincere friend and humble servant,
J. BOYER.
LETTER XLI.
TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER.
HARTFORD.
The retirement of my native home is not so gloomy, since my return from
Boston, as I expected, from the contrast between them. Indeed, the
customs and amusements of this place are materially altered since the
residence of Major Sanford among us. The dull, old-fashioned sobriety
which formerly prevailed is nearly banished, and cheerfulness, vivacity,
and enjoyment are substituted in its stead. Pleasure is now diffused
through all ranks of the people, especially the rich; and surely it
ought to be cultivated, since the wisest of men informs us that a merry
heart "doth good like a medicine." As human life hath many diseases
which require medicines, are we not right in selecting the most
agreeable and palatable? Major Sanford's example has had great influence
upon our society in general; and though some of our old ones think him
rather licentious, yet, for aught I can see, he is as strict an observer
of decorum as the best of them. True, he seldom goes to church; but
what of that? The Deity is not confined to temples made with hands. He
may worship him as devoutly elsewhere, if he chooses; and who has a
right to say he does not?
His return from Boston was but a day or two after mine. He paid me an
early visit, and, indeed, has been very attentive ever since. My mamma
is somewhat precise in her notions of propriety, and, of course, blames
me for associating so freely with him. She says that my engagements to
Mr. Boyer ought to render me more sedate, and more indifferent to the
gallantry of mere pleasure _hunters_, to use her phrase. But I think
otherwise. If I am to become a recluse, let me at least enjoy those
amusements which are suited to my taste a short time first. Why should I
refuse the polite attentions of this gentleman? They smooth the rugged
path of life, and wonderfully accelerate the lagging wheels of time.
Indeed, Lucy, he has an admirable talent for contributing to vary and
increase amusement. We have few hours unimproved. Some new plan of
pleasure and sociability is constantly courting our adoption. He lives
in all the magnificence of a prince: and why should I, who can doubtless
share that magnificence if I please, forego the advantages and
indulgences it offers, merely to gratify those friends who pretend to
be better judges of my happiness than I am myself? I have not yet told
my mamma that he entertains me with the lover's theme, or, at least,
that I listen to it. Yet I must own to you, from whom I have never
concealed an action or idea, that his situation in life charms my
imagination; that the apparent fervor and sincerity of his passion
affect my heart. Yet there is something extremely problematical in his
conduct. He is very urgent with me to dissolve my connection with Mr.
Boyer, and engage not to marry him without his consent, or knowledge, to
say no more. He warmly applauds my wish still longer to enjoy the
freedom and independence of a single state, and professedly adopts it
for his own. While he would disconnect me from another, he mysteriously
conceals his own intentions and views. In conversation with him
yesterday, I plainly told him that his conduct was unaccountable; that,
if his professions and designs were honorable, he could not neglect to
mention them to my mamma; that I should no longer consent to carry on a
clandestine intercourse with him; that I hourly expected Mr. Boyer, whom
I esteemed, and who was the favorite of my friends; and that, unless he
acted openly in this affair before his arrival, I should give my hand to
him.
He appeared thunderstruck at this declaration. All his words and actions
were indicative of the most violent emotions of mind. He entreated me
to recall the sentence; for I knew not, he said, his motives for
secrecy; yet he solemnly swore that they were honorable. I replied in
the words of the poet,--
"Trust not a man; they are by nature cruel,
False, deceitful, treacherous, and inconstant.
When a man talks of love, with caution hear him;
But if he swear, he'll certainly deceive you."
He begged that he might know by what means he had provoked my
suspicions; by what means he had forfeited my confidence. His
importunity vanquished my fortitude; and before we parted, I again
promised to make him acquainted, from time to time, with the progress of
my connection with Mr. Boyer.
Now, my dear friend, I want your advice more than ever. I am
inadvertently embarrassed by this man; and how to extricate myself I
know not. I am sensible that the power is in my hands; but the
disposition (shall I confess it?) is wanting.
"I know the right; and I approve it too;
I know the wrong, and yet the wrong pursue."
I have just received a card from Major Sanford, inviting me to ride
this afternoon. At first I thought of returning a negative answer; but,
recollecting that Mr. Boyer must soon be here, I concluded it best to
embrace this opportunity of talking further with him. I must now prepare
to go, but shall not close this letter, for I intend writing in
continuation, as events occur, till this important business is decided.
_Tuesday evening_.--The little tour which I mentioned to you this
afternoon was not productive of a final determination. The same plea was
repeated over and over again without closing the cause. On my return I
found Mr. Boyer waiting to receive me. My heart beat an involuntary
welcome. I received him very cordially, though with a kind of pleasure
mixed with apprehension. I must own that his conversation and manners
are much better calculated to bear the scrutinizing eye of a refined
understanding and taste than Major Sanford's. But whether the fancy
ought not to be consulted about our settlement in life, is with me a
question.
When we parted last I had promised Mr. Boyer to inform him positively,
at this visit, when my hand should be given. He therefore came, as he
told me in the course of our conversation, with the resolution of
claiming the fulfilment of this promise.
I begged absolution, told him that I could not possibly satisfy his
claim, and sought still to evade and put off the important decision. He
grew warm, and affirmed that I treated him ungenerously and made
needless delays. He even accused me of indifference towards him, and of
partiality to another. Major Sanford, he believed, was the man who
robbed him of the affection which he had supposed his due. He warned me
against any intercourse with him, and insisted that I must renounce the
society of the one or the other immediately.
He would leave me, he said, this evening, and call to-morrow to know the
result of my determination. It was late before he bade me good night,
since which I have written these particulars. It is now time to lay
aside my pen, and deliberate what course to take.
_Wednesday evening_.--Last night I closed not my eyes. I rose this
morning with the sun, and went into the garden till breakfast. My mamma
doubtless saw the disorder of my mind, but kindly avoided any inquiry
about it. She was affectionately attentive to me, but said nothing of my
particular concerns. I mentioned not my embarrassment to her. She had
declared herself in favor of Mr. Boyer; therefore I had no expectation
that she would advise impartially. I retired to my chamber, and
remained in a kind of revery for more than an hour, when I was roused by
the rattling of a carriage at the door. I hastened to the window, and
saw Major Sanford just driving away. The idea of his having been to
converse with my mamma gave me new sensations. A thousand perplexities
occurred to my mind relative to the part most proper for me to act in
this critical situation. All these might have been avoided, had I gone
down and inquired into the matter; but this I delayed till dinner. My
mamma then informed me that Major Sanford had been with her, and
inquired for me, but that she thought it unnecessary to call me, as she
presumed I had no particular business with him. I knew the motives by
which she was actuated, and was vexed at her evasions. I told her
plainly that she would never carry her point in this way; that Thought
myself capable of conducting my own affairs, and wished her not to
interfere, except by her advice, which I should always listen to and
comply with when I could possibly make it consistent with my inclination
and interest. She wept at my undutiful anger, (of which I have severely
repented since,) and affectionately replied, that my happiness was the
object of her wishes and prayers; conformably to which she felt
constrained freely to speak her mind, though it incurred my displeasure.
She then went through again with all the comparative circumstances and
merits of the two candidates for my favor, which have perpetually rung
in my ears for months. I shed tears at the idea of my embarrassment; and
in this condition Mr. Boyer found us. He appeared to be affected by my
visible disorder, and, without inquiring the cause, endeavored to
dissipate it. This was kindly done. He conversed upon indifferent
subjects, and invited me to ride, and take tea with your mamma, to which
I readily consented. We found her at home, and passed the time
agreeably, excepting the alloy of your absence. Mr. Boyer touched
lightly on the subject of our last evening's debate, but expatiated
largely on the pleasing power of love, and hoped that we should one day
both realize and exemplify it in perfection. When we returned he
observed that it was late, and took his leave, telling me that he should
call to-morrow, and begged that I would then relieve his suspense. As I
was retiring to bed, the maid gave me a hint that Major Sanford's
servant had been here and left a letter. I turned instantly back to my
mamma, and, telling her my information, demanded the letter. She hesitated,
but I insisted on having it; and seeing me resolute, she reluctantly gave it
into my hand. It contained the following words:--
"Am I forsaken? am I abandoned? O my adorable Eliza, have you sacrificed
me to my rival? have you condemned me to perpetual banishment without a
hearing?
"I came this day to plead my cause at your feet, but was cruelly denied
the privilege of seeing you. My mind is all anarchy and confusion. My
soul is harrowed up with jealousy. I will be revenged on those who
separate us, if that distracting event take place. But it is from your
lips only that I can hear my sentence. You must witness its effects. To
what lengths my despair may carry me I know not. You are the arbitress
of my fate.
"Let me conjure you to meet me in your garden to-morrow at any hour you
shall appoint. My servant will call for an answer in the morning. Deny
me not an interview, but have pity on your faithful SANFORD."
I wrote for answer that I would meet him to-morrow, at five o'clock in
the afternoon.
I have now before me another night for consideration, and shall pass it
in that employment. I purpose not to see Mr. Boyer till I have conversed
with Major Sanford.
_Thursday morning_.--The morning dawns, and ushers in the day--a day,
perhaps, big with the fate of your friend. What that fate may be is
wrapped in the womb of futurity--that futurity which a kind Providence
has wisely concealed from the penetration of mortals.
After mature consideration, after revolving and re-revolving every
circumstance on both sides of the question, I have nearly determined, in
compliance with the advice of my friends and the dictates of my own
judgment, to give Mr. Boyer the preference, and with him to tread the
future round of life.
As to the despair of Major Sanford, it does not much alarm me. Such
violent passions are seldom so deeply rooted as to produce lasting
effects. I must, however, keep my word, and meet him according to
promise.
Mr. Boyer is below. My mamma has just sent me word that he wished to see
me. My reply was, that I had lain down, which was a fact.
_One o'clock._--My mamma, alarmed by my indisposition, has visited my
apartment. I soon convinced her that it was but trifling, owing
principally to the want of sleep, and that an airing in the garden,
which I intended towards night, would restore me.
_Ten o'clock at night_.--The day is past; and such a day it has been as
I hope nevermore to see. At the hour appointed, I went, tolerably
composed and resolute, into the garden. I had taken several turns, and
retired into the little arbor, where you and I have spent so many happy
hours, before Major Sanford entered. When he appeared, a consciousness
of the impropriety of this clandestine intercourse suffused my cheek,
and gave a coldness to my manners. He immediately penetrated the cause,
and observed that my very countenance told him he was no longer a
welcome guest to me. I asked him if he ought so to be, since his motives
for seeking admission were unworthy of being communicated to my friends.
That, he said, was not the case, but that prudence in the present
instance required a temporary concealment. He then undertook to
exculpate himself from blame, assuring me that as soon as I should
discountenance the expectations of Mr. Boyer, and discontinue the
reception of his address, his intentions should be made known. He was
enlarging upon this topic, when we heard a footstep approaching us, and,
looking up, saw Mr. Boyer within a few paces of the arbor. Confusion
seized us both. We rose involuntarily from our seats, but were mute as
statues. He spoke not a word, but casting a look of indignant accusation
at me,--a glance which penetrated my very soul,--turned on his heel,
and walked hastily back to the house.
I stood a few moments, considering what course to take, though shame and
regret had almost taken from me the power of thought.
Major Sanford took my hand. I withdrew it from him. "I _must_ leave
you," said I. "Where will you go?" said he. "I will go and try to
retrieve my character. It has suffered greatly by this fatal interview."