University of Virginia Library

LETTER LV.

A NEW scene has opened upon us
to day, my dear Mrs. Sumner; a visit from
Major Sanford. My mamma, Miss Granby,
and myself, were sitting together in the chamber.
Miss Granby was entertaining us by
reading aloud in Millot's elements of history,
when a servant rapped at the door, and handed
in the following billet.

“Will Miss Wharton condescend to converse
a few moments with her once favored
Sanford? He is but too sensible that he has
forfeited all claim to the privilege. He therefore
presumes not to request it on the score of
merit, or of former acquaintance; but solicits
it from her benevolence, and pity.”

I read and showed it to my mamma, and Julia.
What, said I, shall I do? I wish not to
see him. His artifice has destroyed my peace

of mind; and his prefence may open the
wounds which time is closing. Act, said my
mamma, agreeably to the dictates of your own
judgment. I see no harm in conversing with
him, said Julia. Perhaps it may remove some
disagreeable thoughts, which now oppress and
give you pain. And as he is no longer a candidate
for your affections, added she, with a
smile, it will be less hazardous than formerly.
He will not have the insolence to speak; nor
you the folly to hear, the language of love.

He was accordingly invited in. When I
rose to go down, I hessitated, and even trembled.
I fear, said I, to myself, it will be too
much for me; yet why should it? Conscious
innocence will support me. This he has not.
When I entered the room he stepped forward
to meet me. Confusion and shame were visibly
depicted in his countenance. He approached
me hastily; and without uttering a
word, took my hand. I withdrew it. O! Miss
Wharton, said he, despise me not. I am convinced
that I deserve your displeasure, and disdain;
but my own heart has avenged your
cause. To your own heart, then, said I, I will
leave you! But why do you again seek an interview
with one whom you have endeavored
to mislead; with one whom you have treated
with unmerited neglect? Justice to myself required
my appearing before you; that by confessing
my faults, and obtaining your forgiveness,

I might soften the reproaches of my own
mind. Will you be seated, sir? said I. Will you,
rejoined he, condescend to sit with me, Eliza?
I will, sir, answered I. The rights of hospitality
I shall not infringe. In my own house,
therefore, I shall treat you with civility. Indeed,
said he, you are very severe; but I have
provoked all the coldness and reserve which
you can inflict!

I am a married man, Eliza. So I understand,
said I; and I hope you will never treat
your wife with that dissimulation and falshood,
which you have exercised towards me. Would
to heaven, exclaimed he, that you were my
wife! I should not then fail in my love or duty
as a husband! Yet she is an amiable girl;
and, had I a heart to give her, I might still be
happy! but that, alas! I can never recal.
Why, then, said I, did you marry her? You
were doubtless master of your own actions.
No, said he, I was not. The embarrassed state
of my affairs precluded the possibility of acting
as I wished. Loving you most ardently, I was
anxious to prevent your union with another,
till I could so far improve my circumstances,
as to secure you from poverty and want in a
connection with me. My regard was too sincere
to permit me to deceive you, by a marriage
which might have proved unhappy for us
both. My pride forbad my telling you the
motives of my delay; and I left you to see if

I could place myself in a situation worthy of
your acceptance. This I could not effect; and
therefore have run the risk of my future happiness,
by marrying a lady of affluence. This
secures to me the externals of enjoyment; but
my heart, I fear, will never participate it. Yet
it affords me some degree of satisfaction that I
have not involved you in distress. The only
alleviation of which my banishment from you
is capable, is your forgiveness. In compassion,
then, refuse it not! It cannot injure you! To
me it will be worth millions! He wept! Yes,
Lucy, this libertine; this man of pleasure and
gallantry wept! I really pitied him from my
heart. I forgive you, said I and wish you
happy; yet, on this condition only, that you
never again pollute my ears with the recital of
your infamous passion. Yes, infamous, I call it,
for what softer appellation can be given to
such professions from a married man? Harbor
not an idea of me, in future, inconsistent
with the love and fidelity which you owe your
wife; much less, presume to mention it, if you
wish not to be detested by me; and for ever
banished from my presence. He expressed
gratitude for his absolution even upon these
terms; and hoped his future conduct would
entitle him to my friendship and esteem.
That, I replied, time only can determine.

One favor more he begged leave to solicit;
which was, that I would be a neighbor to his

wife. She was a stranger, he said, and would
deem my society a particular privilege. This,
I told him, I could not grant, at present, whatever
I might do hereafter. He did not urge it
any further, but inquired after my mamma,
and expressed a wish to see her. I rung the
bell, and ordered her and Miss Granby to be
called. When they came, he was very polite
to them both; and, after usual compliments,
told my mamma that he was happy in having
obtained my forgiveness, to which he was anxious
to have her seal affixed. My daughter,
said she, is the injured party; and if she be
satisfied, I shall not complain. He thanked her
for her condescention; informed her that he
was married, and requested her to visit his wife.
We then conversed upon different subjects for
a short time, and he took his leave. A sigh
escaped him as he departed; and a gloom was
visible in his countenance, which I never observed
before.

I must acknowledge that this interview has
given me satisfaction. I have often told
you that if I married Major Sanford, it would
be from a predilecton for his situation in life.
How wretched must have been my lot, had I
discovered, too late, that he was by no mean,
possessed of the independence, which I fondly
anticipated. I knew nor my own heart, when
I contemplated a connection with him. Little
did I think that my regard for Mr. Boyer was

so deeply rooted, as I now find it. I foolishly
imagined that I could turn my affections into
what channel I pleased. What then must
have been my feelings, when I found myself
deprived both of inward peace, and outward
enjoyment! I begin now to emerge from the
darkness, in which I have been long benighted!
I hope the tragic comedy, in which I have
acted so conspicuous a part, will come to a
happy end.

Julia and I talk, now and then, of a journey
to Boston. As yet I have not resolution
to act with much decision upon the subject.
But, wherever I am, and whatever may be my
fate, I shall always be your's in truth,