University of Virginia Library

LETTER XXXVI.
SARAH TO FREDERIC.

MY brother, the world and I have done with
each other; the grave yawns, I stand shivering
on its brink, and whispering spirits seem to say,
“a moment more, and you will burst through
the veil of mortality, and stand in the presence
of the Eternal.” I have surveyed my past life,
and what does it appear? a vast blank, on which
my history may be written in one expressive
word, disappointment. I have lived for others,
lost to myself.

In the early part of my life, the friendship of
Anne was a firm rock on which I could rest secure,
even though the dashing tempests of calumny
and persecution threatened to whelm my devoted
bark. She passed to her place of rest,
and the ice of indifference benumbed with its
petrifying power every sensation of my soul.
Separated from every being with whom I could
hold communion; thrown among strangers at a
period of life, when, though the sensibility is supposed
not to be so impetuous as in youth, yet when
called into action by merit, and sanctioned by reason,
it is more lasting, more powerful; and being
divested of passion, becomes at once a source
of delight, and an encitement to all that is laudable
and praise worthy.

Thus situated, with discernment to discover,

and judgment to appreciate sterling worth,
wherever I found it, I became acquainted with
Mr. Hayley. Our intercourse gradually grew
into intimacy, and that intimacy ripened into a
strong and lasting friendship; from that time
the color of my fate became more cheerful, and
I cannot describe to you the pleasure that pervaded
my mind when I discovered, there was
one worthy being in the world to whom my
peace, my reputation, my welfare was of consequence.
I was naturally of a social communicative
disposition; but after the experience I have
had of the duplicity, weakness, and wickedness
of the world, is it surprising, that while I mixed
in the circle of visitors which comprised the society
of my place of residence, I shrunk from every
advance to confidential intimacy with any?
Of my own sex, I have seldom met with any
who are formed for more than the companion of
an hour. Your sex, in general, accustom themselves
to consider women in so inferior a light,
that they oftener treat us like children and playthings,
than intelligent beings. I must be candid
enough to confess, it is too frequently our
own fault, that we are not held in higher estimation.
How gratifying, then, was it to my self
love, to be considered by a man of sense and
erudition as an equal, and to be conversed with
as a rational companion.

I recapitulate these particulars, to let you see,
my brother, I am not passing out of life, without
having had, during my last years, some bright

gleams of sunshine, which gave me a full conviction
that happiness was attainable in this
world; though it was placed beyond my grasp.
When I first married, had we each pursued a
different course to what we unfortunately took,
we might have come very near happiness, at
least, as near as any one can approach it in a
married state, whose heart is silent to the language
of affection; but my soul refused to commune
with a sensualist, and where love really
exists it requires so many delicate attentions,
such a decency of manner, purity of language,
and cleanliness of person, to keep it alive after
so near a connexion has taken place; that where
all those circumstances are entirely neglected, or
the direct contrary practised, it could never be
expected to arise in a heart where it had never
the smallest previous admission. Want of confidence
in a husband, is death to the affection of a
wife, and she who is by turns the slave of capricious
passion, or the object of contempt or neglect,
if she is possessed of the least degree of delicacy
and feeling, must suffer a bondage more
severe than the slave who is chained to the
oar.

I think, my good and dear Frederic, that this
will be the last letter I shall ever write you. My
health has been declining for several months.
My strength fails daily, and it has cost me many
trials to write this. I wish you could come and
see me before I go hence; but the distance is
great, and I know your finances are bounded. I

pray you, my brother, keep up a correspondence
with Mr. Hayley; should you not be able to visit
me, he will communicate to you the tidings of
my departure. I have said much to him concerning
Charles. I know he will have a watchful
eye upon him, and ever be his friend and
counsellor; I have nought to leave him, poor lad,
but my blessing; and yet methinks I bequeath
him an invaluable treasure in giving him such a
friend. Adieu.