 | The coquette, or, The history of Eliza Wharton : a novel, founded on fact |  |
LETTER XLV.
Hartford.
I have returned to the once smiling
seat of maternal affection; but I find not repose
and happiness, even there!
In the society of my amiable friends at New-Haven,
I enjoyed every thing that friendship
could bestow; but rest to a disturbed mind
was not in their power.
I was on various parties of pleasure, and
passed through different scenes of amusement;
but with me they have lost their charms. I relished
them not as formerly.
Mrs. Richman advises me to write to Mr.
Boyer, and I have concluded to act accordingly.
If it answer no other purpose, it will be a
relies to my mind. If he ever felt for me the
tenderness and regard which he prosessed, methinks
they cannot be entirely obliterated. If
they still remain, perhaps I may rekindle the
gentle slame, and we may both be happy. I
a satisfaction to my conscious mind.
I wonder what has become of Major Sanford!
Has he too forsaken me? Is it possible
for him wilfully to neglect me? I will not entertain
so injurious a suspicion.
Yet, if it were the case, it would not affect me
like Mr. Boyer's disaffection; for I frankly
own, that my fancy, and a taste for gaity of life,
induced me to cherish the idea of a connection
with Major Sanford; while Mr. Boyer's real
merit has imprinted those sentiments of esteem
and love in my heart, which time can never efface.
Instead of two, or three, more than twelve
months have elapsed, and I have not received
a line from Major Sanford in all that time,
which I fully expected, though he made no mention
of writing; nor have I heard a syllable about
him, except a report circulated by his servants,
that he is on the point of marrying, which
I do not believe. No, it is impossible! I am
persuaded that his passion for me, was sincere,
however deceitful he may have been with others.
But I will not bestow an anxious thought upon
him. My design relative to Mr. Boyer, demands
my whole attention.
My hopes and fears alternately prevail, and
my resolution is extremely fluctuating. How
It finally terminates you shall hear in my next.
Pray write to me soon. I stand in need of
can beguile my pensive hours, and exhilerate
my drooping spirits, like your letters.
Let me know how you are to be entertained
this winter at the theatre. That, you know, is
a favorite amusement of mine. You see I can
step out of myself a little. Afford an assisting
hand, and perhaps I may again be fit for society.
| The coquette, or, The history of Eliza Wharton : a novel, founded on fact | |