 | The coquette, or, The history of Eliza Wharton : a novel, founded on fact |  |
LETTER XL.
Hampshire.
I HAVE returned; and the day, indeed,
is fixed; but Oh! how different from my fond
expectations! It is not the day of union, but
the day of final separation; the day which divides
me from my charmer; the day which breaks
asunder the bands of love; the day on which my
reason assumes its empire, and triumphs over
me, my friend, that I have thus overcome
my feelings, and repelled the infatuating
wiles of a deceitful girl. I would not be
understood to impeach Miss Wharton's virtue;
I mean her chastity. Virtue in the common acceptation
of the term, as applied to the sex, is
confined to that particular, you know. But in
my view, this is of little importance, where all
other virtues are wanting!
When I arrived at Mrs. Wharton's, and inquired
for Eliza, I was told that she had rode
out; but was soon expected home. An hour
after, a phaeton stopped at the door, from which
my fair one alighted, and was handed into the
house by Major Sanford, who immediately took
leave. I met her and offered my hand, which
she received with apparent tenderness.
When the family had retired after supper,
and left us to talk on our particular affairs, I
found the same indecision, the same loathness to
bring our courtship to a period, as formerly.
Her previous excuses were renewed, and her
wishes to have a union still longer delayed, were
zealously urged. She could not bear the idea
of consinement to the cares of a married life at
persent; and begged me to defer all solicitation
on that subject to some future day. I found my
temper rise, and told her plainly, that I was
not thus to be tristed with; that if her regard
for me was sincere; if she really intended to
form a connection with me, she could not thus
other pleasure to the rational interchange of
affection, to the calm delights of domestic life.
But in vain did I argue against her false notions
of happiness; in vain did I represent the dangerous
system of conduct, which she now pursued,
and urge her to accept, before it was too
late, the hand and heart which were devoted to
her service. That, she said, she purposed, ere
long to do; and hoped amply to reward my
faithful love; but she could not fix the time this
evening. She must consider a little further; and
likewise consult her mother. Is it not Major
Sanford whom you wish to consult, madam?
said I. She blushed, and gave me no answer.
Tell me, Eliza, I continued, tell me frankly, if
he has not supplanted me in your affections; if
he be not the cause of my being thus evasively,
thus cruelly treated? Major Sanford, sir, replied
she, has done you no harm. He is a
particular friend of mine; a polite gentleman,
and an agreeable neighbor; and therefore I
treat him with civility; but he is not so much
interested in my concerns, as to alter my disposition
towards any other person. Why, said
I, do you talk of friendship with a man of his
character? Between his society and mine, there
is a great contrast. Such opposite putsuits and
inclinations cannot be equally pleasing to the
same taste. It is therefore necessary, that you
renounce the one, to enjoy the other. I will
give you time to decide which. I am going to a
on you to morrow, if agreeable, and converse
with you further upon the matter. She bowed
assent, and I retired.
The next afternoon I went as agreed; and
found her mamma and her alone in the parlor.
She was very pensive and appeared to have been
in tears. The sight affected me. The idea
of having treated her harshly, the evening before,
disarmed me of my resolution to insist on her
decision that day. I invited her to ride with
me and visit a friend, to which she readily consented.
We spent our time agreeably. I
forebore to press her on the subject of our
future union; but strove rather to soothe
her mind, and inspire her with sentiments
of tenderness towards me. I conducted her
home, and returned early in the evening to my
friend's, who met me at the door; and jocosely
told me, that he expected I should now rob them
of their agreeable neighbor. But, added he,
we have been apprehensive that you would be
rivalled, if you delayed your visit much longer.
I did not suspect a rival, said I. Who can the
happy man be? I can say nothing from personal
observation, said he; but same, of late,
has talked loudly of Major Sanford and Miss
Wharton. Be not alarmed, continued he,
feeing me look grave. I presume no harm is
intended. The Major is a man of gallantry,
and Miss Wharton is a gay lady; but I dare
say that your connection will be happy, if it he
word if; and as we were alone, I followed him
with questions, till the whole affair was developed.
I informed him of my embarrassment; and
he gave me to understand that Eliza's conduct
had, for some time past, been a subject of speculation
in the town; that formerly, her character
was highly esteemed; but that her intimacy
with a man of Sanford's known libertinism;
more especially as she was supposed to be engaged
to another, had rendered her very censurable;
that they were often together; that wherever she
went, he was sure to follow, as if by appointment;
that they walked, talked, sung and danced together
in all companies; that some supposed he would
marry her; others, that he only meditated adding
her name to the black catalogue of deluded
wretches, whom he had already ruined!
I rose, and walked the room in great agitation.
He apologized for his freedom; was forry
if he had wounded my feelings; but friendship
alone had induced him frankly to declare
the truth, that I might guard against duplicity
and deceit.
I thanked him for his kind intensions; and
assured him that I should not quit the town till I
had terminated this affair, in one way or another.
I retired to bed, but sleep was a siranger to my
eyes. With the dawn I 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
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 head
ache 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 Mrs. 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
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 perrisied
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 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 soften
emotions of the soul. I found myself perfectly
unmanned. I gave free scope to the sensibility
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 inclose 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 gaiety 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:
God's watchful eye surveys,
Oh, who so wise to choose our lot,
Or regulate our ways?
Since none can doubt his equal love,
Unmeasurably kind.
To his nuerring gracious will,
Be every wish resign'd.
Not less when he denies;
E'en crosses from his sovereign hand,
Are blessings in disguise.”
I am, &c.
Enclosed in the foregoing.
Hartford.
Fearing, that my resolution may
not be proof against the eloquence of those
charms, which have 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 for ever dissolved; but I address you as a
friend; 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 diffipated
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 gaiety, not to say, the
licentiousness of a station calculated to gratify
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, have 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 waired 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 for
ever!
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 of his
treachery! O Eliza! add not to the number!
Banish him from your society, if you wish to
preserve your virtue unsullied, your character
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 conflict is great; the trial is
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 servent prayer of your sincere
friend, and humble servant,
| The coquette, or, The history of Eliza Wharton : a novel, founded on fact | |