University of Virginia Library

LETTER LIV.

Who do you think is writing to
you? Why, it is your old friend, metamorphosed
into a married man! You stare, and can
hardly credit the assertion. I cannot realize
it myself; yet, I assure you, Charles, it is
absolutely true! Necessity, dire necessity, forced
me into this dernier resort. I told you, some
time ago, it would come to this.

I stood aloof, as long as possible; but in
vain did I attempt to shun the noose. I must

either fly to this resource; or give up all my
show, equipage, and pleasure, and degenerate
into a downright plodding money-catcher, for
a subsistance. I chose the first; and who
would not? yet I feel some remorse at taking
the girl to wife, from no better motives. She
is really too good for such an imposition. But
she must blame herself, if she suffer hereafter;
for she was visibly captivated by my external
appearance; and wanted but very little solicitation
to confer herself, and fortune on so
charming a fellow. Her parents opposed her
inclination, for a while, because I was a stranger,
and rather too gay for their taste. But
she had not been used to contradiction, and
could not bear it; and therefore they ventured
not to cross her. So I bore off the prize;
and a prize she really is. Five thousand pounds
in possession, and more in reversion, if I do
not forfeit it. This will compensate for some
of my past mistakes, and set matters right
for the present. I think it doing much better
than to have taken the little Laurence girl, I
told you of, with half the sum. Besides, my
Nancy is a handsomer, and more agreeable
person. But that is of little consequence to
me, you know. “Beauty soon grows familiar
to the lover.” Were I a lover, it would
be of no great avail. A lover I am; yet not
of my wife. The dart which I received from
Miss Wharton, sticks fast in my heart; and I
assure you, I could hardly persuade myself
even to appear unfaithful to her. O, Eliza,
accuse me not of infidelity; for your image
is my constant companion! A thousand times
have I cursed the unpropitious stars, which
withheld from her a fortune. That would
have enabled me to marry her; and with her,
even wedlock would have been supportable.

I am told, that she is still single. Her sober
lover never returned. Had he loved as I
did, and do, he could not have been so precipitate.
But these stoic souls are good for nothing,
that I know of, but

I want to see Eliza, and I must see her; yet
I dread an interview. I shall frankly confess
my motives for marrying; and the reasons of
my conduct, before I went away. I shall own
that my circumstances would not allow me to
possess her; and yet that I could not resign
her to another.

When I make up the matter with her, I
shall solicit her friendship for my wife. By
this mean I may enjoy her society, at least,
which will alleviate the consinement of a married
state. To my spouse I must be as civil as
possible. I really wish she had less merit, that
I might have a plausible excuse for neglecting
her.

Tomorrow I shall go to Mrs. Wharton's. I
am very much taken up with complimental
visits, at present. What deference is always
paid to equipage! They may talk of this virtue,
their learning, and what not; but without
either of them, I shall bear off the palm of
respect from those, who have them, unadorned
with gold, and its shining appendages.

Every thing hereabouts recals Eliza to my
mind. I impatiently anticipate the hour, which
will convey me to her presence.