LETTER LXVIII.
TO MRS. M. WHARTON.
Tuesday.
MY HONORED AND DEAR MAMMA,
In what words, in what language shall
I address you? What shall I say on a subject
which deprives me of the power of expression?
Would to God I had been totally
deprived of that power before so fatal a subject
required its exertion! Repentance comes
too late, when it cannot prevent the evil lamented.
For your kindness, your more than
maternal affection towards me, from my infancy
to the present moment, a long life of
filial duty and unerring rectitude could hardly
compensate. How greatly deficient in gratitude
must I appear then, while I confess, that
precept and example, counsel and advice, instruction
and admonition, have been all lost
upon me!
Your kind endeavors to promote my happiness
have been repaid by the inexcusable
folly of sacrificing it. The various emotions
of shame, and remorse, penitence and regret,
which torture and distract my guilty breast,
exceed description. Yes, madam, your Eliza
has fallen; fallen, indeed! She has become
the victim of her own indiscretion, and of the
intrigue and artifice of a designing libertine,
who is the husband of another! She
is polluted, and no more worthy of her
parentage! She flies from you, not to conceal
her guilt, that she humbly and penitently
owns; but to avoid what she has never experienced,
and feels herself unable to support,
a mother's frown; to escape the heart-rending
sight of a parent's grief, occasioned by the
crimes of her guilty child!
I have become a reproach and disgrace to
my friends. The consciousness of having
forfeited their favor, and incurred their disapprobation
and resentment, induces me to conceal
from them the place of my retirement;
but, lest your benevolence should render you
anxious for my comfort in my present situation,
I take the liberty to assure you that I am
amply provided for.
I have no claim even upon your pity; but
from my long experience of your tenderness,
I presume to hope it will be extended to me.
Oh, my mother, if you knew what the state of
my mind is, and has been, for months past,
you would surely compassionate my case!
Could tears efface the stain, which I have
brought upon my family, it would, long since
have been washed away! But, alas, tears are
vain; and vain is my bitter repentance! It cannot
obliterate my crime, nor restore me to innocence
and peace! In this life I have no
ideas of happiness. These I have wholly resigned!
The only hope which affords me any
solace, is that of your forgiveness. If the deepest
contrition can make an atonement; if the severest
pains, both of body and mind, can restore
me to your charity, you will not be inexorable!
Oh, let my sufferings be deemed a
sufficient punishment; and add not the insupportable
weight of a parent's wrath! At present,
I cannot see you. The effect of my crime is
too obvious to be longer concealed, to elude
the invidious eye of curiosity. This night,
therefore, I leave your hospitable mansion!
This night I become a wretched wanderer from
thy paternal roof! Oh, that the grave were
this night to be my lodging! Then should I
lie down and be at rest! Trusting in the mercy
of God, through the mediation of his son;
I think I could meet my heavenly father
with more composure and confidence, than
my earthly parent!
Let not the faults and misfortunes of your
daughter oppress your mind. Rather let the
conviction of having faithfully discharged your
duty to your lost child, support and console
you in this trying scene.
Since I wrote the above, you have kindly
granted me your forgiveness, though you
knew not how great, how aggravated was my
offence! You forgive me, you say: Oh, the
harmonious, the transporting sound! It has
revived my drooping spirits; and will enable
me to encounter, with resolution, the trials before
me!
Farewell, my dear mamma! pity and pray
for your ruined child; and be assured, that
affection and gratitude will be the last sentiments,
which expire in the breast of your
repenting daughter,
