 | The coquette, or, The history of Eliza Wharton : a novel, founded on fact |  |
LETTER LI.
Hartford.
You commanded me to write you
respecting Miss Wharton; and I obey. But
I cannot describe to you the surprising change,
which she has undergone. Her vivacity has
entirely forsaken her; and she has actually become,
what she once dreaded above all things,
a recluse! She slies from company, as eagerly
as she formerly sought it! Her mamma is exceedingly
distressed by the settled melancholy
which appears in her darling child; but neither
of us think it best to mention the subject
to her. We endeavor to find means to amuse
her; and we flatter ourselves that the prospect
of success rather increases. It would add greatly
to my happiness, to contribute, in any degree,
to restore her to herself, to her friends, and to
society.
We are all invited to dine abroad to morrow;
and to oblige me, she has consented to go.
Pray madam, write to her often. Your letters
may do much for her. She is still feelingly
alive to the power of friendship; and none
can exercise it upon her to greater acceptance,
or with more advantage than yourself.
Major Sanford's house is undergoing a complete
repair. The report is, that he is soon to
be married. Miss Wharton has heard, but
does not believe it. I hope, for her sake, it
will prove true. For, at any rate, he is about
returning; and from her mamma's account of
his past conduct towards Eliza, were he to return
unconnected, he would probably renew
his attentions; and though they might end in
marriage, her happiness would not be secured.
She has too nice a sense of love and honor, to
compound with his licentious principles. A
man, who has been dissolute before marriage,
will very seldom be faithful afterwards.
I went into Eliza's chamber the other day,
and found her with a miniature picture in her
hand. You pretend to be a physiognomist, Julia,
said she. What can you trace in that
countenance? I guessed whose it was; and
looking wistfully at it, replied, I believe the original
is an artful, designing man. He looks to
me like a Chesterfieldian. Pray who is he?
Major Sanford, said she; and I am afraid you
have hit his character exactly. Sure I am, that
the appearance of those traits in it has made my
heart ache! She wept, as she spoke it.
Poor girl! I wish he may never give you
greater cause to weep! She is strongly blind
to the vices and imperfections of this man.
Though naturally penetrating, he has some
how or other, cast a deceptious mist over her
imagination, with respect to himself. She prosesses
neither to love, nor esteem him; and owns
that his ungenerous artifice mislead her in her
treatment of Mr. Boyer. Yet she has forgiven
him, and thinks him a pleasing companion!
How prone to error is the human mind!
How much lighter than the breath of zephyrs
the operations of fancy! Strange then, it should
ever preponderate over the weightier powers of
the understanding!
But I will not moralize. My business here
is to dissipate, not to collect ideas; and I must
regulate myself accordingly.
I am endeavoring to prepare Eliza, by degrees,
to accompany me to Boston, the ensuing
winter; but think it doubtful whether I shall
succeed. I shall, however, return myself; till
when, I am, &c.
| The coquette, or, The history of Eliza Wharton : a novel, founded on fact | |