University of Virginia Library

LETTER LXXI.

The drama is now closed! A
tragical one indeed it has proved!

How sincerely, my dear Mrs. Sumner, must
the friends of our departed Eliza, sympathize
with each other; and with her afflicted, bereaved
parent!

You have doubtless seen the account, in
the public papers, which gave us the melancholy
intelligence. But I will give you a detail
of circumstances.

A few days after my last was written, we
heard that Major Sanford's property was
attached, and he a prisoner in his own house.
He was the last man, to whom we wished to
apply for information respecting the forlorn
wanderer; yet we had no other resource. And
after waiting a fortnight in the most cruel
suspense, we wrote a billet, entreating him, if
possible, to give some intelligence concerning
her. He replied, that he was unhappily deprived

of all means of knowing himself; but
hoped soon to relieve his own, and our
anxiety about her.

In this situation we continued, till a neighbor
(purposely, we since concluded) sent us a
Boston paper. Mrs. Wharton took it, and
inconscious of its contents, observed that the
perusal might divert her, a few moments.
She read for some time; when it suddenly
dropped upon the floor. She clasped her
hands together, and raising her streaming eyes
to heaven, exclaimed, It is the Lord; let
him do what he will! Be still, O my soul,
and know that he is God!

What, madam, said I, can be the matter?
She answered not; but with inexpressible anguish
depicted in her countenance, pointed to
the paper. I took it up, and soon found the
fatal paragraph. I shall not attempt to paint
our heart felt grief and lamentation upon this
occasion; for we had no doubt of Eliza's being
the person described, as a stranger, who
died at Danvers, last July. Her delivery of
a child; her dejected state of mind; the
marks upon her linen; indeed, every circumstance
in the advertisement convinced us beyond
dispute, that it could be no other. Mrs.
Wharton retired immediately to her chamber,
where she continued overwhelmed with sorrow
that night and the following day. Such, in
fact, has been her habitual frame ever since;

though the endeavors of her friends, who have
sought to console her, have rendered her somewhat
more conversable. My testimony of Eliza's
penitence, before her departure, is a source
of comfort to this disconsolate parent. She
fondly cherished the idea, that having expiated
her offence by sincere repentance and amendment,
her deluded child finally made a happy
exchange of worlds. But the desperate resolution,
which she formed, and executed of becoming
a fugitive; of deserting her mother's
house and protection, and of wandering and
dying among strangers, is a most distressing reflection
to her friends; especially to her mother,
in whose breast so many painful ideas arise,
that she finds it extremely difficult to compose
herself to that resignation, which she evidently
strives to exemplify.

Eliza's brother has been to visit her last retreat;
and to learn the particulars of her melancholy
exit. He relates, that she was well
accommodated, and had every attention and
assistance, which her situation required. The
people where she resided appear to have a
lively sense of her merit and misfortunes.
They testify her modest deportment, her fortitude
under the sufferings to which she was
called, and the serenity and composure, with
which she bid a last adieu to the world. Mr.
Wharton has brought back several scraps of
her writing, containing miscellaneous reflections

on her situation, the death of her babe,
and the absence of her friends. Some of these
were written before, some after her confinement.
These valuable testimonies of the affecting
sense, and calm expectation she entertained
of her approaching dissolution, are calculated
to sooth and comfort the minds of
mourning connections. They greatly alleviate
the regret occasioned by her absence, at
this awful period.

Her elopement can be equalled only by
the infatuation which caused her ruin.

I am told that Major Sanford is quite frantic.
Sure I am that he has reason to be. If
the mischiefs he has brought upon others return
upon his own head, dreadful indeed
must be his portion! His wife has left him,
and returned to her parents. His estate,
which has been long mortgaged, is taken from
him; and poverty and disgrace await him!
Heaven seldom leaves injured innocence unavenged!
Wretch, that he is, he ought
for ever to be banished from human society!
I shall continue with Mrs. Wharton, till the
lenient hand of time has assuaged her sorrows;
and then make my promised visit to you. I
will bring Eliza's posthumous papers with
me, when I come to Boston, as I have not
time to copy them now.

I foresee, my dear Mrs. Sumner, that this
disastrous affair will suspend your enjoyments,
as it has mine. But what are our feelings,
compared with the pangs which rend a parent's
heart? This parent, I here behold, inhumanly
stripped of the best solace of her declining
years, by the ensnaring machinations
of a profligate debauchee! Not only the life,
but what was still dearer, the reputation and
virtue of the unfortunate Eliza, have fallen
victims at the shrine of libertinism! Detested
be the epithet! Let it henceforth bear its true
signature, and candor itself shall call it lust
and brutality!

Execrable is the man, however arrayed in
magnificence, crowned with wealth, or decorated
with the external graces and accomplishments
of fashionable life, who shall presume
to display them, at the expense of virtue and
innocence! Sacred names! attended with real
blessings; blessings too useful and important
to be trifled away! My resentment at the base
arts, which must have been employed to complete
the seduction of Eliza, I cannot suppress.
I wish them to be exposed, and stamped with
universal ignominy! Nor do I doubt but you
will join with me in execrating the measures
by which we have been robbed of so valuable
a friend; and society, of so ornamental a
member. I am, &c.