LETTER LIV.
I have just returned from a visit to my new
friend. I begin to think that if I had time to
cultivate her good opinion I should gain as
much of it as I deserve. Her good will; her
sympathy at least might be awakened in my
favour.
We have had a long conversation. Her distance
and reserve are much less than they were.
She blames, yet pities me. I have been very
communicative, and have offered her the perusal
of all the letters that I have lately received
from Mrs. Talbot as vouchers for my sincerity.
She listened favourably to my account of the
unhappy misapprehension into which Mrs. Fielder
had fallen. She was disposed to be more
severe on Miss Jessup's imposture, than even
my irritated passions had been.
She would not admit that Mrs. Fielder's antipathy
to my alliance with her daughter, was
without just grounds. She thought that everlasting
separation was best for us both. A total
change of my opinions on moral subjects, might,
perhaps, in time subdue the mother's aversion
to me, but this change must necessarily be slow
and gradual. I was indeed already, from my own
account, far from being principled against religion,
but this was only a basis whereon to
build the hope of future amendment. No present
merit could be founded on my doubts.
I spared not myself in my account of former
follies. The recital made her very solemn. I
had—I had, indeed, been very faulty: My present
embarrassments were the natural and just
consequences of my misconduct. I had not merited
a different destiny. I was unworthy of the
love of such a woman as Jane. I was not qualified
to make her happy. I ought to submit to
banishment, not only as to a punishment justly
incurred, but in gratitude to one whose genuine
happiness, taking into view her mother's character
and the sacrifices to which her choice of
me would subject her, would be most effectually
consulted by my exile.
This was an irksome lesson. She had the
candour not to expect my cordial concurrence
in such sentiments, yet endeavoured in her artless
manner to enforce them. She did not content
herself with placing the matter in this
light. She still continued to commend the design
of a distant voyage, even should I intend
one day to return. The scheme was likely to
produce health and pleasure to me. It offered
objects which a rational curiosity must hold dear.
The interval might not pass away unpropitiously
to me. Time might effect desirable changes
in Mrs. Fielder's sentiments and views. A
thousand accidents might occur to level those
obstacles which were now insuperable. Pity
and complacency might succeed to abhorrence
and scorn. Gratitude and admiration for the patience,
meekness and self-sacrifices of the daughter
might gradually bring about the voluntary surrender
of her enmities; besides that event must,
one day come, which will place her above the
influence of all mortal cares and passions.
These conversations have not been without
their influence. Yes, my friend, my mind is
less gloomy and tumultuous than it was. I look
forward to this voyage with stronger hopes.
Methinks, I would hear once more from Jane.
Could she be persuaded cheerfully to acquiesce
in her mother's will: reserve herself for fortunate
contingencies: confide in my fidelity:
and find her content in the improvement of her
time and fortune: in befriending the destitute:
relieving, by her superfluities, the needy, and
consoling the afflicted by her sympathy, advice,
and succour—Would she not derive happiness
from these sources, though disappointed in the
wish nearest her heart.
Might I not have expected a letter ere this?
But she knows not where I am—probably imagines
me at my father's house. Shall I not venture
to write? A last and a long farewell? Yet
have I not said already all that the occasion will
justify? But, if I would write I know not how
to address her. It seems, she has not gone to
New-York. Her mother has a friend in Jersey,
whither she prevailed on Jane to accompany her.
I suppose it would be no arduous undertaking
to trace her footsteps and gain an interview, and
perhaps, I shall find the temptation irresistable.
Stephen has just now told me by letter that
he sails in ten days. There will be time enough
to comply with your friendly invitation. My
sister and you may expect to see me by Saturday
night. In the arms of my true friends, I
will endeavour to forget the vexations that at
present pray upon the peace of
