has returned, has made us a visit, and a treaty of peace and amity (but
not of commerce) is ratified. Eliza appears to be rapidly returning to
her former cheerfulness--if not gayety. I hope she will not diverge too
far from her present sedateness and solidity; yet I am not without
apprehensions of danger on that score. One extreme commonly succeeds
another. She tells me that she assiduously cultivates her natural
vivacity; that she finds her taste for company and amusements
increasing; that she dreads being alone, because past scenes arise to
view which vex and discompose her.
These are indications of a mind not perfectly right. I flatter myself,
however, that the time is not far distant when her passions will vibrate
with regularity.
I need not repeat to you any thing relative to Major Sanford's
conciliatory visit. Eliza has given you a particular, and, I believe, a
faithful detail. I was called down to see this wonderful man, and
disliked him exceedingly. I am astonished that Eliza's penetrating eye
has not long since read his vices in his very countenance. I am told by
a friend, who has visited them, that he has an agreeable wife; and I
wish she may find him a husband of the same description; but I very much
doubt the accomplishment of my wish, for I have no charity for these
reformed rakes.
We were walking abroad the other afternoon, and met Major Sanford and
lady. Eliza did not see them till they were very near us. She started,
turned pale, and then colored like crimson. I cannot but think a little
envy rankled in her heart. Major Sanford very politely accosted us, and
congratulated Mrs. Sanford on this opportunity of introducing her to a
particular friend, presenting Eliza. She received her with an easy
dignity, and bade her welcome to this part of the country. Mrs. Sanford
answered her modestly, hoped for the pleasure of a further acquaintance,
and urged us, as we were not far from their house, to return with them
to tea. We declined, and wishing each other good evening, parted. Major
Sanford's eyes were riveted on Eliza the whole time we were together,
and he seemed loath to remove them when we separated. I suspect there is
some truth in his tale of love. I shall therefore discourage Eliza from
associating with him under any pretext whatever. She appeared more
pensive and thoughtful than common as we returned home, and said little
the rest of the evening, but next morning was as chatty as ever.
She is warm in the praises of Mrs. Sanford, thinks her an accomplished
woman, and wonders that the major could suggest an idea of marrying her
for her money. She intends, she says, to visit her soon, and wishes me
to accompany her. This, for her own sake, I shall defer as long as
possible. I am, &c.,
JULIA GRANBY.
LETTER LVII.
TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER.
HARTFORD.
By Julia's advice we have neglected the repeated invitations of Major
Sanford to visit and commence neighborhood with them till yesterday,
when we received a polite billet requesting the honor of our company to
dine. My mamma declined going, but said she had no objection to our
compliance with the message if we thought proper. Julia and I
accordingly went. We found a large company assembled in a spacious hall,
splendidly furnished and decorated. They were all very polite and
attentive to me, but none more so than Major Sanford and his lady, who
jointly strove to dissipate the pensiveness of my mind, which I found it
impossible to conceal. When we were summoned to dinner, the major, being
near me, offered his hand, and, leading me into the dining room, seated
me at a table furnished with all the variety which could please the eye
or regale the taste of the most luxurious epicure. The conversation
turned on various subjects--literary, political, and miscellaneous. In
the evening we had a ball. Major Sanford gave the hand of his wife to a
Mr. Grey, alleging that he was a stranger, and therefore entitled to
particular attention, and then solicited mine himself. I was on the
point of refusing him, but recollecting that it might have the
appearance of continued resentment, contrary to my declaration of
forgiving what was past, I complied. He was all kindness and assiduity;
the more so, I imagined, with a view to make amends for his former
ingratitude and neglect. Tenderness is now peculiarly soothing to my
wounded heart. He took an opportunity of conversing with his wife and me
together, hoped she would be honored with my friendship and
acquaintance, and begged for her sake that I would not be a stranger at
his house. His Nancy, he said, was far removed from her maternal
friends, but I could supply their place if I would generously undertake
the task. She joined in expressing the same sentiments and wishes.
"Alas! sir," said I, "Eliza Wharton is not now what she once was. I
labor under a depression of spirits which must render my company rather
painful than pleasing to my friends." The idea of what I had been,
contrasted with what I then was, touched my sensibility, and I could not
restrain the too officious tear from stealing down my cheek. He took me
by the hand, and said, "You distress me, Miss Wharton; indeed you
distress me. Happiness must and shall attend you. Cursed be the wretch
who could wound a heart like yours."
Julia Granby now joined us. An inquisitive concern was visible in her
countenance.
I related this conversation to her after we returned home; but she
approved it not.
She thought Major Sanford too particularly attentive to me, considering
what had previously happened. She said it would be noticed by others,
and the world would make unfavorable remarks upon any appearance of
intimacy between us. "I care not for that," said I; "it is an
ill-natured, misjudging world, and I am not obliged to sacrifice my
friends to its opinion. Were Major Sanford a single man, I should avoid
his society; but since he is married, since his wife is young,
beautiful, and lovely, he can have no temptation to injure me. I
therefore see no evil which can arise from the cultivation of friendship
with her at least. I relish company so little, that I may surely be
indulged in selecting that which is most agreeable to my taste, to
prevent my becoming quite a misanthrope." I thank you, my dear Mrs.
Sumner, for your kind letter. It was a seasonable cordial to my mind,
and I will endeavor to profit by your advice. Your remarks on the public
entertainments are amusing, and, as far as I am a judge, perfectly
just. I think it a pity they have not female managers for the theatre. I
believe it would be under much better regulations than at present.
With cordial respects to Mr. Sumner, I subscribe myself, yours in
sincerity,
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER LVIII.
TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.
HARTFORD.
Rejoice with me, my friend, that I have made my peace with the mistress
of my heart. No devotee could have been more sincere in his penitence
than I was in mine. Indeed, Charles, I never knew I had so much
sensibility before. Why, I was as much a woman as the very weakest of
the sex.
But I dealt very plainly and sincerely with her, to be sure; and this
atones for all past offences, and procures absolution for many others
yet to be committed.
The dear girl was not inexorable; she was as placable and condescending
as I could expect, considering the nature of the crime, which was
apparently slighting her person and charms by marrying another. This,
you know, is one of the nicest points with the ladies. Attack their
honor, that is, their chastity, and they construe it to be the effect of
excessive love, which hurries you a little beyond the bounds of
prudence. But touch their vanity by preferring another, and they will
seldom pardon you. You will say I am very severe upon the sex; and have
I not reason to be so, since I have found so many frail ones among them?
This, however, is departing from my subject.
Eliza is extremely altered. Her pale, dejected countenance, with the
sedateness of her manners, so different from the lively glow of health,
cheerfulness, and activity which formerly animated her appearance and
deportment, struck me very disagreeably.
With all my gallantry and fluency in love matters, I was unable to
acquit myself tolerably, or to address her with any degree of ease and
confidence. She was very calm, and spoke with great indifference about
my marriage, &c., which mortified me exceedingly. Yet I cannot consent
to believe that her present depression of spirits arises solely from
Mr. Boyer's infidelity. I flatter myself that I am of sufficient
consequence to her to have contributed in a degree.
When I inquired after her health, she told me she had been indisposed;
but was now much better. This indisposition, I am informed, was purely
mental; and I am happy to observe her recovering from it. I frequently
visit her, sometimes with and sometimes without my wife, of whom,
through my mediation, she has become a favorite. I have married, and
according to the general opinion reformed. Yet I suspect my reformation,
like most others of the kind, will prove instable as "the baseless
fabric of a vision," unless I banish myself entirely from her society.
But that I can never do; for she is still lovely in my eyes, and I
cannot control my passions.
When absent from her I am lost to every thing but her idea. My wife
begins to rally me on my fondness for Miss Wharton. She asked me the
other day if she had a fortune. "No," said I; "if she had I should have
married her." This wounded her sensibility. I repented of my sincerity,
and made my peace for that time. Yet I find myself growing extremely
irritable, and she must take heed how she provokes me; for I do not love
her, and I think the name of wife becomes more and more distasteful to
me every day.
In my mind, Eliza has no competitor. But I must keep up appearances,
though I endeavor to regain her love. I imagine that the enjoyment of
her society as a neighbor and friend may content me for the present, and
render my condition supportable.
Farewell, Charles. I hope you will never be embarrassed with a wife, nor
lack some favorite nymph to supply the place of one.
PETER SANFORD.
LETTER LIX.
TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER.
HARTFORD.
Dear Lucy: I intended this week to have journeyed to Boston with Julia
Granby; but my resolution fails me. I find it painful even to think of
mixing again with the gay multitude. I believe the melancholy
reflections by which I am oppressed will be more effectually, if not
more easily, surmounted by tarrying where they are rendered familiar,
than by going from them awhile and then returning.
Julia will therefore go without me. I envy her no enjoyment there,
except your company.
The substitution of friendship, in the place of love, for Major Sanford,
I find productive of agreeable sensations. With him, he assures me, it
is a far more calm and rational pleasure. _He_ treats me with the
affection and tenderness of a brother, and his _wife,_ who exceeds him
in professions of regard, with all the consoling softness and attention
of a sister. Indeed, their politeness has greatly contributed to revive
the cheerfulness of my natural disposition. I believe the major's former
partiality to me as a lover is entirely obliterated; and for my part, I
feel as little restraint in his company and his lady's as in that of any
other in the neighborhood.
I very much regret the departure of Julia, and hope you will permit her
to return to me again as soon as possible. She is a valuable friend. Her
mind is well cultivated, and she has treasured up a fund of knowledge
and information which renders her company both agreeable and useful in
every situation of life. We lately spent the afternoon and evening at
Mr. Smith's. They had a considerable number of visitants, and among the
rest Major Sanford. His wife was expected, but did not come, being
indisposed.
I believe, my friend, you must excuse me if my letters are shorter than
formerly. Writing is not so agreeable to me as it used to be. I love my
friends as well as ever, but I think they must be weary of the gloom and
dulness which pervade my present correspondence. When my pen shall have
regained its original fluency and alertness, I will resume and prolong
the pleasing task.
I am, my dear Lucy, yours most affectionately,
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER LX.
TO THE SAME.
HARTFORD.
Dear madam: Agreeably to your desire every art has been tried, every
allurement held out, every argument used, and every plan adopted, which
Mrs. Wharton and I could devise to induce Eliza to accompany me to
Boston; but all in vain. Sometimes she has been almost persuaded to a
compliance with our united request, but soon has resolutely determined
against it. I have observed her sentiments to be suddenly changed after
being in company with Major Sanford. This alarms us exceedingly. Indeed,
the major seems to have insinuated himself into her good opinion more
than ever. She is flattered into the belief that his attention to her is
purely the result of friendship and benevolence.
I have not so favorable an opinion of the man as to suppose him capable
of either. He has become very familiar here. He calls in almost every
day. Sometimes he but just inquires after our health, and sometimes
makes long visits. The latter is his invariable practice when he finds
Eliza alone. Mrs. Wharton always avoids seeing him if she can. She
dreads, she says, his approaching the house.
I entered the parlor the other day, somewhat suddenly, and found him
sitting very near Eliza, in a low conversation. They both rose in
apparent confusion, and he soon retired.
When he was gone, "I suspect," said I, "that the major was whispering a
tale of love, Eliza." "Do you imagine," said she, "that I would listen
to such a theme from a married man?" "I hope not," said I, "but his
conduct towards you indicates a revival of his former sentiments, at
least." "I was not aware of that," said she. "As yet I have observed
nothing in his behavior to me inconsistent with the purest friendship."
We drank tea not long since at Mr. Smith's. Late in the afternoon Major
Sanford made his appearance, to apologize, as he said, for Mrs. Sanford,
who was indisposed, and could not enjoy the pleasure of the visit she
had contemplated. He was very gay the whole evening; and when the
company separated, he was the first to present his arm to Eliza, who
accepted it without hesitation. A Mr. Newhall attended me, and we
endeavored to keep them company; but they evidently chose to walk by
themselves. Mr. Newhall observed, that if Major Sanford were not married
he should suspect he still intended a union with Miss Wharton. I
replied, that their former intercourse, having terminated in friendship,
rendered them more familiar with each other than with the generality of
their acquaintance.
When we reached the house, Mr. Newhall chose not to go in, and took his
leave. I waited at the door for Eliza and Major Sanford. At some little
distance, I saw him press her hand to his lips. It vexed me exceedingly;
and no sooner had they come up, than I sullenly bade them good night,
and walked directly in. Eliza soon followed me. I sat down by the fire
in a thoughtful posture. She did the same. In this situation we both
remained for some time without speaking a word. At length she said, "You
seem not to have enjoyed your walk, Miss Granby: did you not like your
gallant?" "Yes," said I, "very well; but I am mortified that you were
not better provided for." "I make no complaint," rejoined she; "I was
very well entertained." "That is what displeases me," said I; "I mean
your visible fondness for the society of such a man. Were you averse to
it, as you ought to be, there would be no danger. But he has an alluring
tongue and a treacherous heart. How can you be pleased and entertained
by his conversation? To me it appears totally repugnant to that
refinement and delicacy for which you have always been esteemed.
"His assiduity and obtrusion ought to alarm you. You well know what his
character has been. Marriage has not changed his disposition. It is only
a cloak which conceals it. Trust him not, then, my dear Eliza; if you
do, depend upon it you will find his professions of friendship to be
mere hypocrisy and deceit. I fear that he is acting over again the same
unworthy arts which formerly misled you. Beware of his wiles. Your
friends are anxious for you. They tremble at your professed regard and
apparent intimacy with that unprincipled man." "My friends," said she,
"are very jealous of me lately. I know not how I have forfeited their
confidence, or incurred their suspicion." "By encouraging that
attention," I warmly replied, "and receiving those caresses, from a
married man which are due from him to none but his wife. He is a villain
if he deceived her into marriage by insincere professions of love. If he
had then an affection for her, and has already discarded it, he is
equally guilty. Can _you_ expect sincerity from the man who withholds it
from an amiable and deserving wife? No, Eliza; it is not love which
induces him to entertain you with the subject. It is a baser passion;
and if you disdain not his artifice, if you listen to his flattery, you
will, I fear, fall a victim to his evil machinations. If he conducted
like a man of honor, he would merit your esteem; but his behavior is
quite the reverse: yet, vile as he is, he would not dare to lisp his
insolent hopes of your regard if you punished his presumption with the
indignation it deserves; if you spurned from your presence the
ungrateful wretch who would requite your condescension by triumphing in
your ruin."
She now burst into tears, and begged me to drop the subject. Her mind,
she said, was racked by her own reflections. She could bear but little.
Kindness deceived, and censure distressed her.
I assured her of my good intentions; that, as I saw her danger, I
thought it a duty of the friendship and affection I bore her solemnly to
warn her against it before we parted. We talked over the matter more
calmly, till she professed herself resolved in future to avoid his
company, and reject his insinuations.
The next day, as I walked out, I met Major Sanford. He accosted me very
civilly. I barely bade him good morning, and passed on.
I made it in my way to call at his house, and bid Mrs. Sanford adieu;
not expecting another opportunity equally favorable. When I entered the
parlor, she was playing a melancholy air on the harpsichord. She rose,
and gave me a polite and graceful reception. I told her, as I was soon
to leave the town, I called to take my leave of her--a compliment which
her attention to me required. "Are you going to leave us then, Miss
Granby?" said she. "I shall regret your departure exceedingly. I have so
few friends in this part of the country, that it will give me sensible
pain to part with one I so highly value."
I told her, in the course of conversation, that I expected the pleasure
of seeing her yesterday at Mr. Smith's, and was very sorry for the
indisposition which prevented her favoring us with her company.
"Indeed," said she, "I did not know I was expected there. Were you
there, pray?" "Yes," said I; "and Major Sanford excused your not coming,
on the account I have mentioned." "Well," said she, "this is the first
word that I ever heard about it; he told me that business led him
abroad. Did he gallant any lady?" "O," said I, "he was with us all
together. We had no particular gallants."
Seeing her curiosity excited, I heartily repented saying any thing of
the matter, and waived the subject. Little did I suspect him to have
been guilty of so base an artifice. It was evidently contrived to
facilitate an interview with Eliza.
When I returned, I related this affair to Mrs. Wharton and her daughter.
The old lady and I expatiated largely on the vileness of this conduct,
and endeavored to expose it to Eliza's view in its true colors. She
pretended not to justify it; yet she looked as if she wished it in her
power.
I am now preparing for my journey to Boston, which I must, however,
defer another week for the sake of a more agreeable passage in the
stage. I regret leaving Eliza. I tremble at her danger. She has not the
resolution to resist temptation which she once possessed. Her mind is
surprisingly weakened. She appears sensible of this, yet adds to it by
yielding to her own imbecility. You will receive a letter from her with
this, though I had much difficulty to persuade her to write. She has
unfortunately become very averse to this, her once favorite amusement.
As I shall soon have the pleasure of conversing with you personally, I
conclude without any other addition to this scrawl than the name of your
obliged
JULIA GRANBY.
LETTER LXI.
TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON.
BOSTON.
My dear friend: I have received your letters, and must own to you that
the perusal of them gave me pain. Pardon my suspicions, Eliza; they are
excited by real friendship. Julia, you say, approves not Major Sanford's
particular attention to you. Neither do I. If you recollect and examine
his conversation in his conciliatory visit, you will find it replete
with sentiments for the avowal of which he ought to be banished from all
virtuous society.
Does he not insidiously declare that you are the only object of his
affections; that his union with another was formed from interested
views; and, though that other is acknowledged to be amiable and
excellent, still he has not a heart to bestow, and expects not happiness
with her? Does this discover even the appearance of amendment? Has he
not, by false pretensions, misled a virtuous woman, and induced her to
form a connection with him? She was a stranger to his manner of life,
and doubtless allured, as you have been, by flattery, deceit, and
external appearance, to trust his honor, little thinking him wholly
devoid of that sacred tie. What is the reward of her confidence?
Insensibility to her charms, neglect of her person, and professed
attachment to another!
Is he a man, my dear Eliza, whose friendship you wish to cultivate? Can
that heavenly passion reside in a breast which is the seat of treachery,
duplicity, and ingratitude? You are too sensible of its purity and worth
to suppose it possible. The confessions of his own mouth condemn him.
They convince me that he is still the abandoned libertine, and that
marriage is but the cloak of his intrigues. His officious attentions to
you are alarming to your friends. Your own mind weakened, and peculiarly
susceptible of tender impressions, beware how you receive them from
him. Listen not a moment to his flattering professions; it is an insult
upon your understanding for him to offer them; it is derogatory to
virtue for you to hear them.
Slight not the opinion of the world. We are dependent beings; and while
the smallest traces of virtuous sensibility remain, we must feel the
force of that dependence in a greater or less degree. No female, whose
mind is uncorrupted, can be indifferent to reputation. It is an
inestimable jewel, the loss of which can never be repaired. While
retained, it affords conscious peace to our own minds, and insures the
esteem and respect of all around us.
Blessed with the company of so disinterested and faithful a friend as
Julia Granby, some deference is certainly due to her opinion and advice.
To an enlarged understanding, a cultivated taste, and an extensive
knowledge of the world, she unites the most liberal sentiments with a
benevolence and candor of disposition, which render her equally
deserving of your confidence and affection.
I cannot relinquish my claim to a visit from you this winter. Marriage
has not alienated nor weakened my regard for my friends. Come, then, to
your faithful Lucy. Have you sorrows? I will soothe and alleviate them.
Have you cares? I will dispel them. Have you pleasures? I will heighten
them. Come, then, let me fold you to my expecting heart. My happiness
will be partly suspended till your society renders it complete. Adieu.
LUCY SUMNER.
LETTER LXII.
TO MISS JULIA GRANBY.
HARTFORD.
Dear Julia: I hope Mrs. Sumner and you will excuse my writing but one
letter in answer to the number I have received from you both. Writing is
an employment which suits me not at present. It was pleasing to me
formerly, and therefore, by recalling the idea of circumstances and
events which frequently occupied my pen in happier days, it now gives me
pain. Yet I have just written a long consolatory letter to Mrs. Richman.
She has buried, her babe--her little Harriet, of whom she was dotingly
fond.