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LETTER L.
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160

Page 160

LETTER L.

My Julia Granby has arrived. She
is all that I once was; easy, sprightly, debonair.
Already has she done much towards relieving
my mind. She endeavors to divert,
and lead my thoughts into a different channel
from that to which they are now prone. Yesterday,
we had each an invitation to a ball.
She labored hard to prevail on me to go; but I
obstinately refused. I cannot yet mix with
gay and cheerful circles. I therefore alledged
that I was indisposed, and persuaded her to go
without me.

The events of my life have always been unaccountably
wayward. In many instances I
have been ready to suppose that some evil genius
presided over my actions, which has directed
them contrary to the sober dictates of my
own judgment.


161

Page 161

I am sometimes tempted to adopt the sentiment
expressed in the following lines of the
poet,

“To you, great gods, I make my last appeal;
O, clear my conscience, or my crimes reveal!
If wand'ring through the paths of life I've run;
And backward trod the steps, I sought to shun,
Impute my errors to your own decree;
My feet were guilty, but my heart was free.”

I suppose you will tell me, that the fate I accuse,
through the poet, is only the result of my
own imprudence. Well, be it what it may; either
the impulse of my own passions, or some
higher efficiency; sure I am, that I pay dear for
its operation.

I have heard it remarked, that experience is
the preceptor of fools; but that the wise need
not its instruction. I believe I must be content to
rank accordingly, and endeavor to reap advantage
from its tuition.

Julia urges me to revisit the scenes of amusements
and pleasure; in which she tells me,
she is actuated by selfish motives. She wishes
it for her own sake. She likes neither to be
secluded from them, nor to go alone. I am
sometimes half inclined to seek, in festive mirth,
a refuge from thought and reflection. I would
escape, if possible, from the idea of Mr. Boyer.
This I have never been able to accomplish,
since he dropped a tear upon my hand, and
left me. I marked the spot with my eye; and


162

Page 162
twenty times in a day, do I view it, and fondly
imagine it still there! How could I give him
pain! I hope his happy Maria never will! I
hope she will reward that merit, which I have
slighted! but I forbear. This theme carries
away my pen, if I but touch upon it. And no
wonder; for it is the sole exercise of my
thoughts! Yet I will endeavor to divert them.
Send me some new books; not such, however,
as will require much attention. Let them
be plays or novels, or any thing else, that will
amuse and extort a smile.

Julia and I have been rambling in the garden.
She insisted upon my going with her into
the arbor, where I was surprised with Major
Sanford. What a croud of painful ideas rushed
upon my imagination! I believe she repented
her rashness. But no more of this. I must
lay aside my pen; for I can write nothing
else!

Eliza Wharton.