LETTER LVIII.
TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.
Hartford.
Rejoice with me, my friend, that
I have made my peace with the mistress of my
heart. No devotee could have been more sincere
in his penitence, than I was in mine.
Indeed, Charles, I never knew I had so much
sensibility before! Why, I was as much a
woman as the very weakest of the sex!
But I dealt very plainly and sincerely with
her, to be sure; and this atones for all past
offences, and procures absolution for many
others yet to be committed.
The dear girl was not inexorable; she was
as placable and condescending as I could expect,
considering the nature of the crime,
which was apparently slighting her person
and charms, by marrying another. This you
know is one of the nicest points with the ladies.
Attack their honor, that is their chastity,
and they construe it to be the effect
of excessive love, which hurries you a little
beyond the bounds of prudence. But touch
their vanity, by preferring another, and they
will seldom pardon you. You will say I am
very severe upon the sex. And have I not
reason to be so, since I have found so many
frail ones among them. This, however, is
departing from my subject.
Eliza is extremely altered! Her pale dejected
countenance, with the sedateness of her
manners, so different from the lively glow of
health, cheerfulness and activity, which formerly
animated her appearance and deportment,
struck me very disagreeably.
With all my gallantry, and fluency in love
matters, I was unable to acquit myself tolerably;
or to address her with any degree of
ease and confidence. She was very calm;
and spoke with great indifference about my
marriage, &c. which mortified me exceedingly.
Yet I cannot consent to believe that her
present depression of spirits arises solely from
Mr. Boyer's infidelity. I slatter myself that
I am of sufficient consequence to her, to have
contributed in a degree.
When I inquired after her health, she told
me she had been indisposed; but was now
much better. This indisposition, I am informed,
was purely mental; and I am happy
to observe her recovering from it. I frequently
visit her, sometimes with, and sometimes
without my wife; of whom, through
my mediation, she has become a favorite. I
have married, and according to the general
opinion, reformed. Yet I suspect my reformation,
like most others of the kind, will
prove instable as “the baseless fabric of a vision;”
unless I banish myself entirely from her
society. But that I can never do; for she is
still lovely in my eyes, and I cannot control
my passions. When absent from her, I am
lost to every thing but her idea. My wife begins
to rally me on my fondness for Miss
Wharton. She asked me the other day if she
had a fortune? No, said I, if she had I should
have married her. This wounded her sensibility.
I repented of my sincerity, and made
my peace for that time. Yet, I find myself
growing extremely irritable, and she must
take heed how she provokes me; for I do not
love her; and I think the name of wife becomes
more and more distasteful to me every
day.
In my mind Eliza has no competitor. But
I must keep up appearances, though I endeavor
to regain her love. I imagine that the
enjoyment of her society, as a neighbor and
friend may content me for the present, and
render my condition supportable.
Farewell, Charles. I hope you will never
be embarrassed with a wife, nor lack some favorite
nymph to supply the place of one.
