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ME        d
N o~~~~Ig7




THE
COQUETTE;
OR,
THE HISTORY OF
ELIZA WHARTON.
A NOVEL:
FOUNDED ON FACT.
BY
A LADY OF MASSACITSJE'TTS.
WITH AN HISTORICALPREFACE,
AND
A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR.
BOSTON:
WILLIAM P. FETRIDGE AND COMPANY.
1855.




Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by
W. P. FETRIDGE & CO.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
STEREOTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.




HISTORICAL PREFACE,
INCLUDING
A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR.
HE who waits beside the folded gates of mystery, over which forever float the impurpled vapors
of the PAST, should stand with girded loins, and
white, unshodden feet.  So he who attempts to
lift the veil that separates the REAL from the IDEAL,
or to remove the heavy curtain that for a century
may have concealed from view the actual personages of a well-drawn popular fiction, or what may
have been received as such, should bring to his
task a tender heart and a delicate and gentle hand.
Thus, in preparing an introductory chapter for
these pages which are to follow, many and various
thoughts suggest themselves, and it is necessary
to recognize and pursue them with gentleness and
caution.
(3)




4            HISTORICAL PREFACE.
The romance of " Eliza Wharton " appeared
in print not many years subsequent to the assumed
transactions it so faithfully attempts to record.
Written as it was by one highly educated for the
times, - the popular wife of a popular clergyman,
connected in no distant degree, by marriage, with
the family of the heroine, and one who by the
very profession and position of her husband was,
as by necessity, brought into the sphere of actual
intercourse with the principal characters of the
novel, and as the book also took precedence in time
of all American romances, when, too, the literature
of the day was any thing but " light," —it is not
surprising that it thus took precedence in interest
as well of all American novels, at least throughout
New England, and was found, in every cottage
within its borders, beside the family Bible, and
though pitifully, yet almost as carefully treasured.
Since that time it has run through a score of
editions, at long intervals out of print, and again
revived at the public call with an eagerness of
distribution which few modern romances have
enjoyed.  Its author, Hannah Foster, was the
daughter of Grant Webster, a well-known merchant of Boston, and wife of Rev. John Foster,
of Brighton, Massachusetts, whose pedigree, but
few removes backward in the line of her hus



HISTORICAL PREFACE.              5
band,* interlinked, as has been already hinted,
with that of the " Coquette." Thus did they
hold towards each other that very significant relationship-especially in the past century-of
"cousins," a relationship better heeded and more
earnestly recognized and cherished than that of
nearer kin at the present day.  Therefore, not only
by family ties, but by similarity of positions and
community of interests, was she brought into immediate acquaintance with the circumstances herein combined, and especially qualified to write the
history with power and effect. Nor is this the
only work which bears the impress of her gifted
pen. There is still another extant, of which I
need not at this time and place make mention,
besides many valuable literary contributions to the
scattered periodicals of that day. It is to be regretted here that a short time previous to her
death she destroyed the whole of her manuscripts,
which might, in many respects, have been particularly valuable.
She has, however, transmitted her genius and
* John Whitman, whose father was brother to the grandfather of
"Eliza Wharton," married a daughter of Rev. Mr. Foster, of Stafford,
Connecticut, who afterwards settled in Stow, Massachusetts, and who
was father of Rev. John Foster, of Brighton, Massachusetts, the husband of the author of this book.
1*




6            HISTORICAL PREFACE.
her powers, which find expression and appreciation
in two daughters still living in Montreal, Canada
East, one of whom is the gifted author of " Peep
at the Pilgrims," "Sketches from the Life of
Christ," and " Confessions of an early Martyr," all
of which have been very popular; the first having
been republished here within a short period, and
also in England with still greater success. The
other daughter, the widow of the late Dr. Cushing.
who, while firm at his post as physician at the
Emigrant Hospital, fell a victim to that terrible
malady, ship fever, in 1846, is also author of many
minor works, and co-editor of the " Snowdrop," a
monthly publication of much merit in Montreal.
Mrs. Foster died in that place, at the residence of
her daughter, Mrs. Cushing, April 17, 1840, at the
advanced age of eighty-one years.
It may seem, however, at a period so long
subsequent to the actual transpiration of events
herein recorded, that little could be said to throw
light or interest upon the history, and even less
upon the character, or in extenuation of the follies
or the frailties of the unfortunate subject of the
following pages, and upon which public opinion
had long ago rendered its verdict and sealed it
for a higher tribunal. Yet I am happy in assuring
any who may pause over these prefatory leaves




HISTORICAL PREFACE.          7
that this is not the fact; and it harms us not to
believe that over every life, however full of error
it may be, there is an unwritten chapter which the
angels take into account as they bear upward the
tearful record, and which He, the great Scribe,
"who ever sitteth at the right hand of the Father,"
and from whose solemn utterance on earth dropped
the forever cherished words which have so often
given life and hope to the penitent fallen,- "neither
do I condemn thee," -interpolates on the mighty
leger of eternity for the great reckoning day.
" Eliza Wharton," generally known, perhaps, as
Elizabeth Whitman, was the eldest of four children - Elizabeth, Mary, Abigail, and William; the
latter of whom was a physician, twice married,
and who also left a son of his own name, (William Elnathan,) who died in Philadelphia in 1846,
unmarried. Her father, the Rev. Elnathan Whitman, was the son of Rev. Samuel Whitman, who
was the third son of Rev. Zechariah Whitman, the
youngest child of John, the original ancestor of the
Whitman family.  He (Rev. Samuel W.) graduated at Harvard University in 1696, and was for
several years a tutor there. Thus having passed
through the usual, though then somewhat limited,
course of theology, he was ordained as minister
of the gospel in Farmington, Connecticut, in 1706,




8            HISTORICAL PREFACE.
at that time one of the largest towns in the state.
He inherited by bequest one half of his father's
lands in Stow, Massachusetts, and was thereby
also made executor of his will.  He married,
March 19, 1707, Mary Stoddard, daughter of Rev.
Solomon Stoddard, second minister of Northampton, Massachusetts. Mr. Stoddard was born in
Boston in 1643, and died in Northampton in 1729.
This Solomon Stoddard was the great-grandfather
of Hon. Solomon Stoddard, now residing in Northampton.
It is worthy of remark here that the early ancestors of " Eliza Wharton" intermarried also
with the Edwards family; so that Hon. Pierpont
Edwards, who figures in this volume as " Major
Sanford," could be no less than second cousin to
his unfortunate victim.
Rev. Elnathan-Whitman, the father of Elizabeth, was born January 12, 1708-9, and graduated
from Yale College, New Haven, where he was for
several subsequent years a tutor. He at length settled as minister over the Second Church in Hartford, Connecticut, and there married Abigail Stanley, daughter of Colonel Nathaniel Stanley, treasurer of the colony of Connecticut, a woman of uncommon energy of character and of superior mental
acquirements, (a correct portrait of whom accom



HISTORICAL PREFACE.                      9
panies these pages, taken from an original painting.)   He died in     Hartford also, March 2, 1776,
aged sixty-eight years, after having served in the
ministry in that place forty-three of the same. His
tombstone bears the following inscription: —
IN MEMORY OF
THE REV. ELNATHAN WHITMAN,
Pastor of the Second Church of Christ in Hartford, and one of the
fellows of the corporation of Yale College, who departed this life
the 2d day of March, A. D. 1776, in the 69th year of his age and 44th
of his ministry.
Endowed with superior natural abilities and good literary acquirements, he was still more distinguished for his unaffected piety, primitive simplicity of manners, and true Christian benevolence.  He
closed a life spent in the service of his Creator in humble confidence
of eternal happiness through the merits of the Savior.
" Blessed are.the dead who die in the Lord."
His wife survived him       nineteen-years, and died
November 19, 1795, aged seventy-six. It was
during the dark, early period of her widowhood
that the sad events occurred which have furnished
the historian and the novelist with themes of the
deepest pathos, and to which prominence is given
in the following pages.       But,
" Woes cluster. Rare are solitary woes;
They love a train- they tread each other's heels."
So said the sublimest of poets, and so has all ex



10           HISTORICAL PREFACE.
perience proved. Thus, in her case, this affliction
did not come alone; but at a period nearly connected with this, in the dreary, solitary hours of
the night, - her night of sorrow too, - her house
was discovered on fire, which, for lack of modern
appliances, was totally destroyed, with all its contents, consisting not only of many curious and
valuable articles of furniture both for use and
ornament, but embracing, also, an uncommon
library, overflowing with rare books, pamphlets,
&c., whic; her late husband had collected with
great effort and research.
Elizabeth, the eldest of her family, was born
in 1752. She was a child of early promise, and
remarkable in maturer years for her genius (I
use the term in no merely conventional sense, as
will hereafter appear) and accomplishments, as
well as for her genial spirit and tender and endearing qualities.  Her maternal ancestor, Thomas
Stanley, was an original owner and settler in
Hartford, Connecticut, and removed to, and died
in, Hadley, Massachusetts, January 30, 1662-3.
Thus nobly descended and connected, so singularly unfortunate, and her fate so afflicting and
disastrous, it is no wonder that the novelist pointed her pen to record, with historical accuracy, a
destiny so fearful, a career so terrible. By her exceeding personal beauty and accomplishments,




HISTORICAL PREFACE.         11
added to the wealth of her mind, she attracted to
her sphere the grave and the gay, the learned and
the witty, the worshippers of the beautiful, with
those who reverently bend before all inner graces.
Prominent among these was the Rev. Joseph
Howe, then pastor at the New South Church, on
Church Green, in this city, a young man of rare
talents and eminent piety.  Unfortunately, the
fear and excitement consequent on the hostile relation of the colonies at that time towards the
mother country forced him from his position here;
and he left, with the family whose house had
been his home, for a more quiet, temporary retreat in Norwich, Connecticut. Soon after this
he repaired to the residence of Rev. Mr. Whitman,
in Hartford, for a short visit, high in the anticipation of soon becoming the happy husband of the
gifted daughter Elizabeth.  But Providence, in
wisdom, had ordered it otherwise; and, while on
this visit, he suddenly sickened and died.
However much or little of soul or of sorrow she
had in this event we are not to know; but another
stood ready to worship in his place, what we will
endeavor to believe was in some degree worthy
of homage.   This was "J. Boyer," known as
the Rev. Joseph Buckminster, a graduate of Yale
College, and at that time tutor in the same insti



12           HISTORICAL PREFACE.
tution, who afterwards settled as minister over the
religious society in Portsmouth, New Hampshire,
and whose Biography was but a few years ago
published.
We have no reason to believe, however, that
either of these persons was her earliest choice,
especially the latter, or that, in this case most certainly, there could have been at all that sacred
congeniality of spirit so deeply necessary to woman's nature, bearing out from her bosom that
deathless affection which nor pride, nor affluence,
nor folly, nor love of conquest, with the victory
every where certain, could in any wise overcome.
The feeling that existed on her part was of circumstances only, influenced by strong parental
predilection, and the desire which so often obtains
in the heart of a true woman - that of soothing
the love she cannot return, resolving itself at length
into pity.
We might here also dwell upon the idiosyncrasies of genius as applicable to her case, which are
generally banned, of whatever character they may
be, and evermore shut out all sympathy, till, in
despair or despite, folly is made crime. But since
sin must ever be arraigned for itself, and error is
prone to plead for mercy, I leave no word here that
can be misconstrued or misapplied. Certain it is




HISTORICAL PREFACE.          13
that Elizabeth Whitman was marked as one of
strangely fluctuating moods, as the truly gifted
ever are, and of a wild, incomprehensible nature,
little understood by those who should have known
her best, and with whom she was most intimate.
Over this, in tracing her history, it were well to
pause, were it not that thus we might give countenance to this prominent fact of modern days,
that the eccentricities of genius are often substituted for genius itself, or are made its prime characteristics, as the gold of the jeweller is recommended for its beauty and strength in proportion
to its alloy.
However much we may regret the waywardness
of such a heart in the present instance, in that it
rejected one so nobly qualified as was Mr. Buckminster to appreciate its genius and its love, while
sympathizing with his own mortifying disappointment, (for this we must admit,) that she had in the
secrets of her nature a preference for another, we
cannot altogether know its results. So cautiously
and discreetly did he, through a long and beautiful
life, qualify both his lips and his pen, that little or
nothing remains beyond these letters of the novelist- which we may not doubt are authentic, as
they were long in the possession of Mrs. Henry Hill,
of Boston, the " Mrs. Sumner" of the novel - to
2




14           HISTORICAL PREFACE.
tell how the heart was instructed, and how blighted
hope and blasted affection were made the lobes
through which the spirit caught its sublimest and
holiest respiration. We know
"Through lacerations takes the spirit wing,
And in the heart's long death throe grasps true life."
One little remark which has been suffered to creep
into his Memoirs is, however, of peculiar significance. I quote it here.
In speaking of Connecticut to a friend, he says,
" My place was there; I always wished that state
to be my home; but Providence has directed my
line of duty far away from the place of my first
affections."
He also -as one Oho had every means of
knowing the fact has informed me —was deeply
affected on reading the "romance " here following,
and at the time remarked that, had the author
been personally acquainted (not knowing that
she was) with the circumstances of his engagement with Elizabeth Whitman, she could not
have described them with more graphic truth.
The Hon. Pierrepont Edwards, to whom was
given the preference and precedence above referred
to, and who is made to assume in the chapters of
the novel the name of "Sanford," was the son of




HISTORICAL PREFACE.         15
Rev. Jonathan Edwards, president of Princeton
College, New Jersey. His maternal grandmother
was Esther, the second daughter of the Rev.
Solomon Stoddard, and sister to the paternal
grandmother of Elizabeth Whitman, the wife of
Rev. Samuel Whitman before mentioned. A Mr.
Burt has by some been identified with this " Sanford," the rival of "Boyer," yet without the least
pretension in history to authenticity. Nor can we
place much reliance upon the letters here introduced as his in point of originality, as there is
sufficient reason for believing that these are, for
the most part, of the author's invention, founded
upon the current reputation of his after years.
And we may be happy in so considering them,
since they would betray a character, even in earliest manhood, too depraved and debased for honorable mention, although his errors were no doubt
altogether beyond the palliation of a woman's
pen. Yet we would fain look at him, in youth at
least, as undebauched and uncorrupt, however
stained may be the record of his manhood.
Between him and Elizabeth Whitman there
was, notwithstanding, over all and under all, a
close affinity of spirit; and there is no question,
aside from the frailties and objections which the
writer of the romance has introduced, that there




16           HISTORICAL PREFACE.
was a marriage of the soul, superseding all after
ties which worldliness and depravity might have
consummated, that overshadows sin, and may
not pass into. our reckoning. Not only such a
marriage, but one, though secret, actually sanctioned by the laws of the land, she is known to
have declared a fact previous to her death.
Question this who may, that deep down under
the impulses of surging passion there existed a
purer and holier affection for her, is in history sufficiently clear. They had been set in family connection, intimate by kin, intimate in earliest life
by every outward tie, and especially intimate by
the subtile affinities of their spiritual natures. Yet
he who can, under any circumstances, entreat the
love of woman, and then take advantage of her
weakness or her confidence, is an anomaly in nature, and should have a special. judiciary here and
in heaven.
Since so much of the romance here following
is truth, veritable truth, it is to be regretted that
any error of historical character was suffered to
assume importance in the narrative.  Yet this
is so often the case in works of this kind, that it
is not remarkable here. More surprising is it that
truth was so carefully and conscientiously guarded
and preserved.




HISTORICAL PREFACE.         17
In conflicting statements, it is difficult to determine the precise year of the marriage of Mr. Edwards, whether before or after the death of " Eliza
Wharton," although it may have been long before,
even as one of his biographers has it, and that
recklessness and extravagance may have lifted him
to a too fearful height from the calm Eden of love
and honor, till he at length compromised the influence of both to baser avarice.
That he married Frances Ogden, of Elizabethtown, New Jersey, for his first wife, is the fact, and
the date given is 1769. Yet the ciphers may be
questioned, I think, as it would make him but
nineteen years of age at the time of the event,
besides other considerations which make it appear
more doubtful still.
He was, however, as has been already stated,
the eleventh and youngest child of Rev. Jonathan
Edwards, and was born in Northampton, Massachusetts, Sabbath. His biographer has been particularly faithful in thus recording it, as if the
hallowed influences of the Sabbath upon birth have
a bearing on subsequent life, and were in his case
either strikingly marked or missed. He was born,
then, Sabbath, April 8, 1750, and was cousin, in
good or evil, to the notorious Aaron Burr. He
2X




18           HISTORICAL PREFACE.
was also brother to Rev. Jonathan Edwards, president of Union College.
His mother, Sarah Pierrepont, was of aristocratic
origin, and the daughter of Rev. James Pierrepont,
and granddaughter of John Pierrepont, of Roxbury,
from whom descended Rev. John Pierpont, the
celebrated poet and divine of our own time. The
Pierrepont family was a branch of the family of
the Duke of Kingston, (Pierrepont being the family name;) and the mother of Mr. Edwards was
thus cousin-german to Mary Pierrepont, (Lady
Mary Wortley Montague.)
Through his whole ancestral line we trace the
"laying on of hands " in the most conspicuous as
in the divinest order; and thus might he be truly
called a child of prayer and consecration. What
pity that his biographer should have been compelled
to record, " The most remarkable feature of his
character was his unbridled licentiousness"! But
we cannot drop the curtain here. We would relieve the picture by this somewhat lighter shade.
" His intellectual energies were gigantic. As a
pleader and a determined and artful advocate, he
had few equals. Hence, as a lawyer, he scarcely
ever lost a case in his whole practice." An amusing
anecdote is related of him in his professional career.




HISTORICAL PREFACE.          19
"' In an insurance case, the evidence of which was
strongly against him, he went in disguise to New
London, where the witnesses, mostly sailors, resided. In a loafer-like swagger he proposed and
secured bets from every material evidence in the
case, and thus disqualified them from bearing
testimony, on the ground that they were interested
witnesses." In his old age he married his housekeeper, and closed an eventful and unblessed life
at Bridgeport, April 14,1826.'Tis well to memorize him here, and thus register birth and death on
the very page that records the most mysterious
chapter of his history.
Let us return to unite and conclude our story.
In June, 1788, a female.of uncommon beauty of
person, yet with an oppressed and melancholy
bearing, suddenly appeared at the old Bell Tavern in Danvers, Massachusetts, (a drawing of
which is here introduced.) She was habited in
black, and was seldom seen abroad, never except
alone, and at twilight, when she was observed to
wander as far as the old burying ground hard by,
and there to pause at its entrance, gazing long and
earnestly upon its silent, scattered mounds, at
length retracing her steps with the same melancholy gait and air.
Here she remained nearly a month, discovering




20           HISTORICAL PREFACE.
to none her real name or situation. She passed
her time in writing, and occasionally playing upon
a guitar, which was the only companion of her solitude. After remaining there about two weeks a
chaise was seen to pause before the door, upon the
lintel of which had secretly been traced in chalk,
as it afterwards appeared, the letters " E. W."  A
gentleman hastily alighted, and was also observed
through the darkness of the evening to examine the
casing of the door, and then return to the chaise
and drive rapidly away.
The opinion was, by those who were cognizant
of the fact, that this was a secret, preconcerted
sign by which the lover should recognize the place
of her retreat; and being too faintly drawn, through
the darkness of the night he failed to discover the
characters.
From this time, however, the spirits of the stranger evidently sunk; and in two weeks more birth
and death had followed each other, and the grave
had closed over all.
This stranger had, in her peculiar situation,
tenderly won upon the sympathies of a few kindhearted individuals who had made their way to
her, one of whom, a Mrs. Southwick, lived directly
opposite the Bell Tavern. These were with her in
her last great agony, in which all sense of guilt




HISTORICAL PREFACE.         21
was lost in pity. Mrs. S. has related that no word
of complaint or accusation was heard to fall from
her lips, while the spirit seemed brightening with an
unearthly hope, till what was charming in life was
indescribably lovely in death. Thus they laid the
beautiful stranger in the saintly robes of the sepulchre without censure and without accusation, not
knowing how painfully she was mourned and
missed, as a star shut out of vision by clouds
and storm, in the home of her childhood and in
the heart of a widowed mother.
She had passed under the assumed name of
Walker while at the Bell Tavern of Danvers, and
her wardrobe was found marked with the corresponding initials,'" E. W.," although applying to
her real name as well. These facts, in connection with her death, were immediately published
in the Boston and Salem journals, and her friends
advertised to appear; and thus were her real name
and place of residence elicited.
A short time afterwards, and a -stranger came
and caused to be erected in the old burying ground
in Danvers, on the spot where she was interred,
two "gray stones," after the manner of Ossian,
with the touching inscription which this volume
records; and the feet of strangers, moved by pity
and, humanity, have worn a path to her grave




22           HISTORICAL PREFACE.
which he who covets most in the world's memory
might even envy.
The tombstones (which the fathers of that ancient
town should shame to have recorded) have been
battered and broken for relics, till much of the inscription is gone already, and the footstone entirely
removed.
But I have noted that Elizabeth Whitman was
of superior merit, and had been recognized as a
child of genius in its most earnest sense. From
her earliest childhood she had been remarkable for
a deeply poetic temperament, and it appears she
was recognized as a poet of no common order by
the most distinguished writers of the day- Barlow, Trumbull, and others. Why her name and
writings have not been handed down to us by
those who have essayed to make careful compilations of the literature of the past century, I am unable to divine. She was a relative as well of the
last-named poet, Trumbull, on the side of his
mother, who was Sarah Whitman, a sister of Rev.
Elnathan Whitman, the father of Elizabeth.
I find in the journals of that time the following
poem, which, though not the best of her productions, certainly gives evidence of much poetic
power: -




HISTORICAL PREFACE.                     23
TO MR. BARLOW.
By his Friezd ELIZABETI WHITMAN, on New Year's Day, 1783.
Should every wish the heart of friendship knows
Be to your ear conveyed in rustic prose,
Lost in the wonders of your Eastern clime,
Or rapt in vision to some unborn time,
Th' unartful tale might no attention gain;
For Friendship knows not, like the Muse, to feign.
Forgive her, then, if in this weak essay
She tries to emulate thy daring lay,
And give to truth and warm affection's glow
The charms that from the tuneful sisters flow.
On this blest morning's most auspicious rise,
Which finds thee circled with domestic joys,
May thy glad heart its grateful tribute pay
To Him who shaped thy course and smoothed thy way -
That guardian Power, who, to thy merit kind,
Bestowed the bliss most suited to thy mind -
Retirement, friendship, leisure, learned ease,
All that the philosophic mind can please;
All that the Muses love, th' harmonious nine,
Inspire thy lays, and aid the great design.
But more than all the world could else bestow,
All pleasures that from fame or fortune flow,
To fix secure in bliss thy future life,
Heaven crowned thy blessings with a lovely wife -
Wise, gentle, good, with every grace combined
That charms the sense or captivates the mind;
Skilled every soft emotion to improve,
The joy of friendship, and the wish of love;
To soothe the heart which pale Misfortune's train
Invades with grief or agonizing pain;




24               HISTORICAL PREFACE.
To point through devious paths the narrow road
That leads the soul to virtue or to God.
O friend! 0 sister! to my bosom dear
By every tie that binds the soul sincere;
0, while I fondly dwell upon thy name,
Why sinks my soul, unequal to the theme?
But though unskilled thy various worth to praise,
Accept my wishes, and excuse my lays.
May all thy future days, like this, be gay,
And love and fortune blend their kindest ray;
Long in their various gifts mayst thou be blessed,
And late ascend the realms of endless rest.
Among her papers, also, after her decease, was
found a pastoral on "Disappointment," which here
follows, evidently written during her seclusion in
Danvers, with     this brief   and   pathetic letter in
stenographic characters:"Must I die      alone?    Shall I never see you
more? I know that you will come; but you will
come too    late.   This is, I fear, my last ability.
Tears fall so fast I know not how to write.        Why
did you leave me in such distress? But I will not
reproach   you.    All that was dear I forsook for
you, but do not regret it.       May God forgive in
both what was amiss.        When I go from        here, I
will leave you some way to find me.        If I die, will
-you come and drop a tear over my grave? 
The poem, which continues in the same moving




HISTORICAL PREFACE.                     25
strain, is touching and tender, and betrays a heart
full of refinement and sensibility.
DISAPPOINTMENT.
With fond impatience, all the tedious day
I sighed, and wished the lingering hours away;
For when bright Hesper led the starry train,
My shepherd swore to meet me on the plain.
With eager haste to that dear spot I flew,
And lingered long, and then in tears withdrew.
Alone, abandoned to love's tenderest woes,
Down my pale cheeks the tide of sorrow flows;
Dead to all joy that Fortune can bestow,
In vain for me her useless bounties flow.
Take back each envied gift, ye powers divine,
And only let me call Fidelio mine.
Ah, wretch! what anguish yet thy soul must prove!
For thou canst hope to lose thy care in love;
And when Fidelio meets thy tearful eye,
Pale fear and cold despair his presence fly.
With pensive steps I sought thy walks again,
And kissed thy token on the verdant plain;
With fondest hope, through many a blissful hour,
We gave our souls to Fancy's pleasing power.
Lost in the magic of that sweet employ,
To build gay scenes and fashion future joy,
We saw mild Peace over fair Canaan rise,
And shower her pleasures from benignant skies.
On airy hills our happy mansion rose,
Built but for joy- no room for future woes.
Round the calm solitude with ceaseless song,
*     -*            *     *      *
Sweet as the sleep of innocence the day,
By transports measured, lightly danced away;
3




26                 HISTORICAL PREFACE.
To love, to bliss, the unioned soul was given,
And - ah, too happy!  asked no brighter heaven.
And must the hours in ceaseless anguish roll?
Will no soft sunshine cheer my clouded soul?
Can this dear earth no transient joy supply?
Is it my doom to hope, despair, and die?
0, come once more, with soft endearments come;
Burst the cold prison of the sullen tomb;
Through favored walks thy chosen maid attend
Where well-known shades their pleasing branches bend;
Shed the soft poison of thy speaking eye,
And look those raptures lifeless words deny.
Still he, though late, reheard what ne'er could tire,
But, told each eve, fresh pleasures would inspire;
Still hope those scenes which love and fancy drew,
But, drawn a thousand times, were ever new.
Can fancy paint, can words express,
Can aught on earth my woes redress?
E'en thy soft smiles can ceaseless prove
Thy truth, thy tenderness, and love.
Once thou couldst every bliss inspire,
Transporting joy and gay desire;
Now cold Despair her banner rears,
And Pleasure flies when she appears;
Fond Hope within my bosom dies,
And Agony her place supplies.
O thou, for whose dear sake I bear
A doom so dreadful, so severe,
May happy fates thy footsteps guide,
And o'er thy peaceful home preside;
Nor let E-  a's early tomb
Infect thee with its baleful gloom.
Still another poem, of more genuine beauty and




HISTORICAL PREFACE.                      27
strength than either of these, has been preserved
in her own handwriting, which I doubt not the
reader will thank me for introducing here, although
it bears more of recrimination than the others.
Thy presents to some happier lover send;
Content thyself to be Lucinda's friend.
The soft expression of thy gay design
Ill suits the sadness of a heart like mine -
A heart like mine, forever doomed to prove
Each tender woe, but not one joy of love.
First from my arms a dying lover torn,
In early life it was my fate to mourn.
A father next, by fate's relentless doom,
With heartfelt woe I followed to the tomb.
Now all was lost; no friends remained to guide
My erring step, or calm life's boisterous tide.
Again th' admiring youths around me bowed;
And one I singled from the sighing crowd.
Well skilled he was in every winning art —
To warm the fancy, or to touch the heart.
Why must my pen the noble praise deny,
Which virtue, worth, and honor should supply?
O youth beloved! what pangs my breast has borne
To find thee false, ungrateful, and forsworn!
A shade and darkness o'er my prospect spreads,
The damps of night and death's eternal shades.
The scorpion's sting, by disappointment brought,
And all the horrors of despairing thought,
Sad as they are, I might, perhaps, endure,
And bear with patience what admits no cure.
But here my bosom is to madness moved;
I suffer by the wrongs of,him I loved.




28               HISTORICAL PREFACE.
0, had I died by pitying Heaven's decree,
Nor proved so black, so base, a mind in thee!
But vain the wish; my heart was doomed to prove
Each torturing pang, but not one joy of love.
Wouldst thou again fallacious prospects spread,.And woo me from the confines of the dead?
The pleasing scenes that charmed me once retrace -
Gay scenes of rapture and ecstatic bliss?
How did my heart embrace the dear deceit,
And fondly cherish the deluding cheat!
Delusive hope, and wishes sadly vain,
Unless to sharpen disappointment's pain.
These are but the fragmentary proofs of her
poetic ability; still they are the most that have
been preserved bearing full authenticity; yet these
betray a skilful and accustomed pen, though
stamped with the bitterness of woe.
Here, then, we will take up the idea which we
left several pages back, in order to introduce a
quotation from a volume of singular power in behalf of those thus gifted, who are every where
looked upon with some degree of suspicion at
least, as I find our heroine was even long before
she wandered from the path of virtue.         I quote it
only to soften the harsher judgment of the world,
ever eager to condemn what it cannot comprehend; yet must it by no means be made to apologize for any sin.
While I am willing to be known as believing




HISTORICAL PREFACE.         29
that genius can be governed by no conventional
laws, but is ever a law unto itself, I am also in
the full belief of the independent moral power of
every individual to regulate his own acts according to the purest code of morality. But to the
quotation, which, with the above remarks, the
reader would find pertinent to time and place had
he turned over the historical pages having a bearing on this romance which I have.
"The strong seductions and fierce trials of the
heart of genius who shall estimate? *    * 
What does an ordinary mind know of the inner
storm and whirlwind, as it were, of restlessness;
the craving after excitement and high action; the
inability to calm the breast and repose in fixity;
the wild beatings and widowed longings after
sympathy? " *      It is the severe lot of genius
that its blessedness should be its bane; that that
wherein its heavenly franchise gives it to excel,mankind is the point wherein it should be cursed
above its brethren!"
More I might quote; but these few extracts
are sufficient for my purpose; and I hasten to conclude this chapter with what may to the general
reader appear more relevant.
Not many years ago the Bell Tavern,.as it
3Q




30            HISTORICAL PREFACE.
was ever named, was razed to its foundation, and
a new building erected on the spot where it stood.
At this time a pleasant jeu d'esprit from the humorous and ready pen-which has failed not to
make its mark in the world - of Fitch Poole, Esq.,
of Danvers, was published, which gained a wide
credence in its authenticity. This curious witticism affected to have discovered in the wall of
the room which "Eliza Wharton " occupied an
original letter fiom her to Mr. Edwards, dated
May, 1778, besides various articles of her wearing
apparel, such as slippers, &c., and also her guitar,
all of which had been concealed in the ceiling
since the sad close of her history.   Numbers
flocked to see them; but, as it was a mere pleasantry, the hoax was well received, and ended in
the neighborhood of Danvers with the privileged
"April fool's day" of its date, although it may
even yet have believers in distant places.
Thus, kind reader, have I accomplished the task
assigned me with fidelity to truth and to human-.ty, and here lay the offering on the altar of universal love without excuse.
JANE E. LOCKE.
BOSTON, 1854.
NOTE. - For important facts which have greatly aided me in preparing this prefatory chapter I am much indebted, as I would here
gratefully acknowledge, to Ezekiel White, Esq., of Easthampton, and
Mrs. H. V. Cheney, of Montreal.        J. E. L.




THE COQUETTE;
OR,
THE   HISTORY    OF ELIZA    WHARTON.
LETTER       I.
To Miss Lucy FREEMAN.
NiEW -HAVEN.
AN unusual sensation possesses my breast-a
sensation which I once thought could never pervade it on any occasion whatever. It is pleasure,
pleasure, my dear Lucy, on leaving my paternal
roof. Could you have believed that the darling
child of an indulgent and dearly-beloved mother
would feel a gleam of joy at leaving her? But so
it is. The melancholy, the gloom, the condolence
which surrounded me for a month after the death
of Mr. Haly had depressed my spirits, and palled
every enjoyment of life. Mr. Haly was a man of
worth -a man of real and substantial merit. He
is, therefore, deeply and justly regretted by his
(31)




32         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
friends. He was chosen to be a future guardian
and companion for me, and was, therefore, beloved
by mine. As their choice, as a good man, and a
faithful friend, I esteemed him; but no one acquainted with the disparity of our tempers and dispositions, our views and designs, can suppose my
heart much engaged in the alliance. Both nature
and education had instilled into my mind an implicit obedience to the will and desires of my parents.
To them, of course, I sacrificed my fancy in this
affair, determined that my reason should concur
with theirs, and on that to risk my future happiness. I was the more encouraged, as I saw, from
our first, acquaintance, his declining health, and
expected that the event would prove as it has.
Think not, however, that I rejoice in his death.
No; far be it from me; for though I believe that I
never felt the passion of love for Mr. Haly, yet a
habit of conversing with him, of hearing daily the
most virtuous, tender, and affectionate sentiments
from his lips, inspired emotions of the sincerest
friendship and esteem.
He is gone. His fate is unalterably, and I trust
happily, fixed. He lived the life, and died the death,
of the righteous. O that my last end may be like
his! This event will, I hope, make a suitable and
abiding impression upon my mind, teach me the




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       33
fading nature of all sublunary enjoyments, and the
little dependence which is to be placed on earthly
felicity. Whose situation was more agreeable,
whose prospects more flattering, than Mr. Haly's?
Social, domestic, and connubial joys were fondly
anticipated, and friends and fortune seemed ready
to crown every wish; yet, animated by still brighter
hopes, he cheerfully bade them all adieu. In conversation with me but a few days before his exit,
"There is," said he, "but one link in the chain of
life undissevered; that, my dear Eliza, is my attachment to you. But God is wise and good in
all his ways; and in this, as in all other respects, I
would cheerfully say, His will be done."
You, my friend, were witness to the concluding
scene; and, therefore, I need not describe it.
I shall only add on the subject, that if I have
wisdom and prudence to follow his advice and example, if his prayers for my temporal and eternal welfare be heard and answered, 1 shall be happy indeed.
The disposition of mind which I now feel I
wish to cultivate. Calm, placid, and serene,
thoughtful of my duty, and benevolent to all
around me, I wish for no other connection than
that of friendship.
This letter is all an egotism. I have even
neglected to mention the respectable and happy




34         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
friends with whom I reside, but will do it in my
next. Write soon and often; and believe me sincerely yours,
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       II.
TO THE SAME.
NEW HAVEN.
Time, which effaces every occasional impression,
I find gradually dispelling the pleasing pensiveness
which the melancholy event, the subject of my last,
had diffused over my mind. Naturally cheerful, volatile, and unreflecting, the opposite disposition I
have found to contain sources of enjoyment which
I was before unconscious of possessing.
My friends here are the picture of conjugal
felicity. The situation is delightful -the visiting parties perfectly agreeable. Every thing tends
to facilitate the return of my accustomed vivacity.
I have written to my mother, and received an answer. She praises my fortitude, and admires the
philosophy which I have exerted under what she
calls my heavy bereavement. Poor woman! she
-little thinks that my heart was untouched; and
when that is unaffected, other sentiments and pas



HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       35
sions make but a transient impression. I have
been, for a month or two, excluded from the gay
world, and, indeed, fancied myself soaring above it.
It is now that I begin to descend, and find my natural propensity for mixing in the busy scenes and
active pleasures of life returning. I have received
your letter -your moral lecture rather; and be assured, my dear, your monitorial lessons and advice
shall be attended to. I believe I shall never again
resume those airs which you term coquettish, but
which I think deserve a softer appellation, as they
proceed from an innocent heart, and are the effusions of a youthful and cheerful mind. We are all
invited to spend the day to-morrow at Colonel
Farington's, who has an elegant seat in this neighborhood. Both he and his lady are strangers to
me; but the friends by whom I am introduced
will procure me a welcome reception. Adieu.
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       III.
TO THE SAME.
NEW HAIEN.
Is it time for me to talk again of conquests?
or must I only enjoy them in silence? I must




36         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
write to you the impulses of my mind, or I must
not write at all. You are not so morose as to wish
me to become a nun, would our country and religion allow it. I ventured, yesterday, to throw
aside the habiliments of mourning, and to array
myself in those more adapted to my'taste. We
arrived at Colonel Farington's about one o'clock.
The colonel handed me out of the carriage, and
introduced me to a large company assembled in
the hall.
My. name was pronounced with an emphasis,
and I was received with the most flattering tokens of respect. When we were summoned to
dinner, a young gentleman in a clerical dress
offered me his hand, and led me to a table furnished with an elegant and sumptuous repast, with
more gallantry and address than commonly fall to
the share of students. He sat opposite me at
table; and whenever I raised my eye, it caught
his. The ease and politeness of his manners, with
his particular attention to me, raised my curiosity, and induced me to ask Mrs. Laiton who he
was. She told me that his name was Boyer; that
he was descended from a worthy family; had
passed with honor and applause through the university where he was educated; had since studied
divinity with success; and now had a call to




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      37
settle as a minister in one of the first parishes in a
neighboring state.
The gates of a spacious garden were thrown
open at this instant, and I accepted with avidity
an invitation to walk in it. Mirth and hilarity prevailed, and the moments fled on downy wings,
while we traced the beauties of Art and Nature, so
liberally displayed and so happily blended in this
delightful retreat.  An enthusiastic admirer of
scenes like these, I had rambled some way from
the company, when I was followed by Mrs. Laiton
to offer her condolence on the supposed loss which
I had sustained in the death of Mr. Haly. My
heart rose against the woman, so ignorant of human nature as to think such conversation acceptable at such a time. I made her little reply, and
waved the subject, though I could not immediately
dispel the gloom which it excited.
The absurdity of a custom authorizing people
at a first interview to revive the idea of griefs
which time has lulled, perhaps obliterated, is intolerable. To have our enjoyments arrested by the
empty compliments of unthinking persons for no
other reason than a compliance with fashion, is to
be treated in a manner which the laws of humanity forbid.
We were soon joined by the gentlemen, who
4




38         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
each selected his partner, and the walk was prolonged.
Mr. Boyer offered me his arm, which I gladly accepted, happy to be relieved from the impertinence
of my female companion. We returned to tea;
after which the ladies sung, and played by turns
on the piano forte; while some of the gentlemen
accompanied with the flute, the clarinet, and the
violin, forming in the whole a very decent concert.
An elegant supper, and half an hour's conversation
after it, closed the evening; when we returned
home, delighted with our entertainment, and
pleased with ourselves and each other. My imagination is so impressed with the festive scenes
of the day that Morpheus waves his ebon wand
in vain. The evening is fine beyond the power
of description; all Nature is serene and harmonious, in perfect unison with my present disposition of mind. I have been taking a retrospect of
my past life, and,' a few juvenile follies excepted,
which I trust the recording angel has blotted out
with a tear of charity, find an approving conscience and a heart at ease. Fortune, indeed, hasnot been very liberal of her gifts to me; but I presume on a large stock in the bank of friendship,
which, united with health and innocence, give me
some pleasing anticipations of future felicity.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       39
Whatever my fate may be, I shall always continue
your
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       IV.
To MR. SELBY.
NEW HAVEN.
You ask me, my friend, whether I am in pursuit
of truth, or a lady. I answer, Both. I hope and
trust they are united, and really expect to find
Truth, and the Virtues and Graces besides, in a fair
form. If you mean by the first part of your question whether I am searching into the sublimer doctrines of religion, -to these I would by no means
be inattentive; but, to be honest, my studies of that
kind have been very much interrupted of late.
The respectable circle of acquaintances with
which I am honored here has rendered my visits
very frequent and numerous. In one of these I
was introduced to Miss Eliza Wharton- a young
lady whose elegant person, accomplished mind, and
polished manners have been much celebrated. Her
fame has often reached me; but, as the Queen of
Sheba said to Solomon, the half was not told me.
You will think that I talk in the style of a lover.




40         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
I confess it; nor am I ashamed to rank myself
among the professed admirers of this lovely fair
one. I am in no danger, however, of becoming
an enthusiastic devotee.' No; I mean I act upon
just and rational principles. Expecting soon to
settle in an eligible situation, if such a companion
as I am persuaded she will make me may fall to
my lot, I shall deem myself as happy as this state
of imperfection will admit. She is now resident
at General Richman's. The general and his lady
are her particular friends; they are warm in her
praises. They tell me, however, that she is naturally of a gay disposition. No matter for that;
it is an agreeable quality, where there is discretion
sufficient for its regulation. A cheerful friend,
much more a cheerful wife, is peculiarly necessary
to a person of a studious and sedentary life.
They dispel the gloom of retirement, and exhilarate the spirits depressed by intense application.
She was formerly addressed by the late Mr. Haly,
of Boston. He was not, it seems, the man of her
choice; but her parents were extremely partial to
him, and wished the connection to take place.
She, like a dutiful child, sacrificed her own inclination to their pleasure so far as to acquiesce in his
visits. This she more easily accomplished, as his
health, which declined from their first acquaint



HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      41
ance, led her to suppose, as the event has proved,
that he would not live to enter into any lasting engagements. Her father, who died some months
before him, invited him to reside at his house for
the benefit of a change of air, agreeably to the advice of his physicians. She attended him during
his last illness with all the care and assiduity of a
nurse and with all the sympathizing tenderness
of a sister.
I have had several opportunities of conversing
with her. She discovers an elevated mind, a ready
apprehension, and an accurate knowledge of the
various subjects which have been brought into
view. I have not yet introduced the favorite subject of my heart. Indeed, she seems studiously to
avoid noticing any expression which leads towards
it; but she must hear it soon. I am sure of the
favor and interest of the friends with whom she resides. They have promised to speak previously in
my behalf. I am to call, as if accidentally, this
afternoon just as they are to ride abroad. They
are to refer me to Miss Wharton for entertainment
till their return. What a delightful opportunity for
my purpose! I am counting the hours —nay, the
very moments. Adieu.   You shall soon again
hear from your most obedient,
J. BOYER.
4*




42         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
LETTER V.
To Miss Lucy FREEMAN.
NEW HAVEN.
These bewitching charms of mine have a tendency to keep my mind in a state of perturbation.
I am so pestered with these admirers! Not that I
am so very handsome neither; but, I don't know how
it is, I am certainly very much the taste of the
other sex. Followed, flattered, and caressed, I have
cards and compliments in profusion. But I must
try to be serious; for I have, alas! one serious
lover. As I promised you t'be.particular in my
writing, I suppose I must proceed methodically.
Yesterday we had a party to dine. Mr. Boyerwas
of the number. His attention was immediately
engrossed; and I soon perceived that every word,
every action, and every look was studied to gain
my approbation. As he sat next me at dinner, his
assiduity and politeness were pleasing; and as we
walked together afterwards, his conversation was
improving. Mine was sentimental and sedateperfectly adapted to the taste of my gallant.
Nothing, however, was said particularly expressive of his apparent wishes. I studiously avoided
every kind of discourse which might lead to this
topic. I wish not for a declaration from any one,




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       43
especially from one whom I could not repulse and
do not intend to encourage at present. His conversation, so similar to what I had often heard
from a similar character, brought a deceased friend
to mind, and rendered me somewhat pensive. I
retired directly after supper. Mr. Boyer had just
taken leave.
Mrs. Richman came into my chamber as she
was passing to her own. "Excuse my intrusion,
Eliza," said she. " I thought I would just step in
and ask you if you have passed a pleasant day."
"Perfectly so, madam; and I have now retired to
protract the enjoyment by recollection." "What, my
dear, is your opinion of our favorite, Mr. Boyer?"
" Declaring him your favorite, madam, is sufficient
to render me partial to him; but to be frank, independent of that, I think him an agreeable man."
" Your heart, I presume, is now free."  "Yes, and I
hope itwill long remain so." "Your friends, my dear,
solicitous for your welfare, wish to see you suitably
and agreeably connected."  " I hope my friends will
never again interpose in my concerns of that nature.
You, madam, who have ever known my heart, are
sensible that, had the Almighty spared life in a
certain instance, I must have sacrificed my own
happiness or incurred their censure.' I am young,




44         THE COQUETTE; OR) THE
gay, volatile.  A  melancholy event has lately
extricated me from those shackles which parental'authority had imposed on my mind. Let me, then,
enjoy that freedom which I so highly prize. Let me
have opportunity, unbiased by opinion, to gratify
my natural disposition in a participation of those
pleasures which youth and innocence afford." " Of
such pleasures, no one, my dear, would wish to deprive you; but beware, Eliza! Though strewed
with flowers, when contemplated by your lively
imagination, it is, after all, a slippery, thorny path.
The round of fashionable dissipation is dangerous.
A phantom is often pursued, which leaves its deluded votary the real form of wretchedness."  She
spoke with an emphasis, and, taking up her candle,
wished me a good night. I had not power to return the compliment. Something seemingly prophetic in her looks and expressions cast a momentary gloom upon my mind; but I despise_ those
contracted ideas which.confine vixufet to a cell. I
have no notion of becoming a recluse. Mrs. Richman has ever been a beloved friend of mine; yet
I always thought her rather prudish. Adieu.
ELIZA WHARTON.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       45
LETTER       VI.
To THE -SAME.
NEW HAVEN.
I had scarcely seated myself at the breakfast
table this morning when a servant entered with a
card of invitation from Major Sanford, requesting
the happiness of my hand this evening at a ball
given by Mr. Atkins, about three miles from this.
I showed the billet to Mrs. Richman, saying, " I have
not much acquaintance with this gentleman, madam; but I suppose his character sufficiently respectable to warrant an affirmative answer." " He is
a gay man, my dear, to say no more; and such are
the companions we wish when we join a party
avowedly formed for pleasure." I then stepped into
my apartment, wrote an answer, and despatched
the servant. When I returned to the parlor, something disapprobating appeared in the countenances
of both my friends. I endeavored, without seeming
to observe, to dissipate it by Chitchat; but they
were better pleased with each other than with me,
and, soon rising, walked into the garden, and left
me to amuse myself alone. My eyes followed
them through the window. " Happy pair! " said I.
"Should it ever be my fate towear the hymeneal
chain, may I be thus united! The purest and




46         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
most ardent affection, the greatest consonance of
taste and disposition, and the most congenial virtue and wishes distinguish this lovely couple.
Health and wealth, with every attendant blessing,
preside over their favored dwelling, and shed their
benign influence without alloy." The consciousness of exciting their displeasure gave me pain;
but I consoled myself with the idea that it was ill
founded.
They should consider," said I, " that they have
no satisfaction to look for beyond each other;
there every enjoyment is centred; but I am  a
poor solitary being, who need some amusement beyond what I can supply myself. The mind, after
being confined at home for a while, sends the imagination abroad in quest of new treasures; and
the body may as well accompany it, for aught I
can see."
General Richman and lady have ever appeared
solicitous to promote my happiness since I have
resided with them  They have urged my acceptance of invitations to join parties; though they
have not been much themselves of late, as Mrs.
Richman's present circumstances render her fond
of retirement. What reason can be assigned for
their apparent reluctance to this evening's entertainment is to me incomprehensible; but I shall




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      47
apply the chemical powers of friendship, and extract the secret from Mrs. Richman to-morrow, if
not before. Adieu. I am now summoned to dinner, and after that shall be engaged in preparation
till the wished-for hour of hilarity and mirth engrosses every faculty of your
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       VII.
To MR. SELBY.
NEW HAVEN.
Divines need not declaim, nor philosophers expatiate, on the disappointments of human life.
Are they not legibly written on every page of our
existence? Are they not predominantly prevalent
over every period of our lives?
When I closed my last letter to you, my heart
exulted in the pleasing anticipation of promised
bliss; my wishes danced on the light breezes of
hope; and my imagination dared to arrest the
attention of, and even claim a return of affection
from, the lovely ElizaWharton. But imagination
only it has proved, and that dashed with the bitter ranklings of jealousy and suspicion.
But to resume my narrative. I reached the




48         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
mansion of my friend about four. I was disagreeably struck with the appearance of a carriage at
the door, as it raised an idea of company which
might frustrate my plan; but still more disagreeable were my sensations when, on entering the
parlor, I found Major Sanford evidently in a waiting posture. I was very politely received; and
when Eliza entered the room with a brilliance of
appearance and gayety of manner which I had
never before connected with her character, I rose,
as did Major Sanford, who offered his hand and
led her to a chair. I forgot to sit down again,
but stood transfixed by the pangs of disappointment. Miss Wharton appeared somewhat confused, but, soon resuming her vivacity, desired me
to be seated, inquired after my health, and made
some commonplace remarks on the weather; then,
apologizing for leaving me, gave her hand again
to Major Sanford, who had previously risen, and
reminded her that the time and their engagements
made it necessary to leave the good company;
which, indeed, they both appeared very willing
to do. General Richman and lady took every
method in their power to remove my chagrin and
atone.for the absence of my fair one; but ill did
they succeed. They told me that Miss Wharton
had not the most distant idea of my visiting there




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       49
this afternoon, much less of the design of my visit;
that for some months together she had been lately
confined by the sickness of Mr. Haly, whom she attended during the whole of his last illness; which
confinement had eventually increased her desire
of indulging her natural disposition for gayety.
She had, however, they said, an excellent heart
and reflecting mind, a great share of sensibility,
and a temper peculiarly formed for the enjoyments of social life. "But this gentleman, madam,
who is her gallant this evening, —is his character unexceptionable?  Will a lady of delicacy
associate with an immoral, not to say profligate,
man?"   "The rank and fortune of Major Sanford," said Mrs. Richman, "procure him respect;
his specious manners render him acceptable in
public company; but I must own that he is not
the person with whom I wish my cousin to be
connected even for a moment. She never consulted me so little on any subject as that of his
card this morning. Before I had time to object,
she dismissed the servant; and I forbore to destroy her expected happiness by acquainting her
with my disapprobation of her partner. Her omission was not design; it was juvenile indiscretion.
We must, my dear sir," continued she, " look with
a candid eye on such eccentricities. Faults, not
5




50         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
foibles, require the severity of censure." "Far,
madam, be it from me to censure any conduct
which as yet I have observed in Miss Wharton;
she has too great an interest in my heart to admit
of that."
We now went into more general conversation.
Tea was served; and I soon after took leave.
General Richman, however, insisted on my dining
with him on Thursday; which I promised. And
here I am again over head and ears in the hypo -
a disease, you will say, peculiar to students. I
believe it peculiar to lovers; and with that class I
must now rank myself, though I did not know,
until this evening, that I was so much engaged as
I find I really am. I knew, indeed, that I was extremely pleased with this amiable girl; that I was
interested in her favor; that I was happier in her
company than any where else; with innumerable
other circumstances, which would have told me
the truth had I examined them. But be that as it
may, I hope and trust that I am, and ever shall be,
a reasonable creature, and not suffer my judgment
to be misled by the operations of a blind passion.
I shall now lay aside this subject; endeavor to
divest even my imagination of the charmer; and
return, until Thursday, to the contemplation of those
truths and duties which have a happy tendency




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.        51
to calm the jarring elements which compose our
mortal frame. Adieu.
J. BOYER.
LETTER       VIII.
To MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.
NEW HAVEN.
We had an elegant ball, last night, Charles;
and what is still more to the taste of your old friend,
I had an elegant partner; one exactly calculated to
please my fancy-gay, volatile, apparently thoughtless of every thing but present enjoyment. It was
Miss Eliza Wharton -a young lady whose agreeable person, polished manners, and refined talents
have rendered her the toast of the country around
for these two years; though for half that time she
has had a clerical lover imposed on her by her
friends; for I am told it was not agreeable to her
inclination. By this same clerical lover of hers
she was for several months confined as a nurse.
But his death has happily relieved her; and she
now returns to the world with redoubled lustre.
At present she is a. visitor to Mrs. Richman, who
is a relation. I first saw her-on a party of pleasure at Mr. Frazier's, where we walked, tallked,




52         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
sang, and danced together. I thought her cousin
watched her with a jealous eye; for she is, you
must know, a prude; and immaculate - more so
than you or I- must be the man who claims admission to her society. But I fancy this young
lady is a coquette; and if so, I shall avenge my
sex by retaliating the mischiefs she meditates
against us. Not that I have any ill designs, but
only to play off her own artillery by using a little
unmeaning gallantry. And let her beware of the
consequences. A young clergyman carne in at
General Richman's yesterday, while I was waiting
for Eliza, who was much more cordially received
by the general and his lady than was your humble servant; but I lay that up.
When she entered the room, an air of mutual
embarrassment was evident. The lady recovered
her assurance much more easily than the gentleman. I am just going to ride, and shall make it
in my way to call and inquire after the health of
my dulcinea. Therefore, adieu for the present.
PETER SANFORD.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       53
LETTER       IX.
To Miss Lucy FREEMAN.
NEW HIAVEN.
I am not so happy to-day in the recollection of
last evening's entertainment as I was in the enjoyment.
The explanation which I promised you from
Mrs. Richman yesterday I could not obtain. When
I went down to dinner some friends of General
Richrnan's had accidentally dropped in, which precluded all particular conversation. I retired soon
to dress, and saw Mrs. Richman no more till I
was informed that Major Sanford waited for me.
But I was surprised, on going into the parlor, to find
Mr. Boyer there. 1 blushed and stammered; but I
know not why; for certain I am that I neither love
nor fear the good man yet, whatever I may do some
future day. I would not be understood that I do
not respect and esteem him; for I do both. But
these are calm passions, which soothe rather than
agitate the mind. It was not the consciousness
of any impropriety of conduct; for I was far from
feeling any. The entertainment for which I was
prepared was such as virtue would not disapprove,
and my gallant was a man of fortune, fashion,
and, for aught I knew, of unblemished character.
5 YT




54         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
But Mr. Boyer was much more disconcerted
than myself. Indeed, he did not recover his philosophy while I staid. I believe, by some hints I
have received since, that he had some particular
views in which he was disappointed.
Our ball had every charm which could render a
ball delightful. My partner was all ease, politeness, and attention; and your friend was as much
flattered and caressed as vanity itself could wish.
We returned to General Richman's about two.
Major Sanford asked leave to call and inquire after
my health this morning; and I am now expecting
him. I rose to breakfast. The late hour of retiring
to rest had not depressed, but rather exhilarated,
my spirits. My friends were waiting for me in
their parlor. They received me sociably, inquired
after my health, my last evening's entertainment,
the company, &c.; when, after a little pause, Mrs.
Richman said, " And how do you like Major Sanford, Eliza?"  "Very well indeed, madam; I
think him a finished gentleman. Will you, who
are a connoisseur, allow him that title?"  " No,
my dear; in my opinion he falls far below it,
since he is deficient in one of the great essentials
of the character; and that is virtue."  "I am surprised," said I; " but how has he incurred so
severe a censure?  "By being a professed liber



HISTORY OF ELIZA WTHARTON.     55
tine; by having but too successfully practised the
arts of seduction; by triumphingJn the destruction
of innocence and the peace of families."  " 0,
why was I not informed of this before?  But
perhaps these are old affairs - the effects of juvenile
folly - crimes of which he may have repented, and
which charity ought to obliterate." " No, my dear,
they are recent facts -facts which he dares not
deny-facts for which he ought to be banished
from all virtuous society. I should have intimated
this to you before; but your precipitate acceptance
of his invitation deprived me of an opportunity
until it was too late to prevent your going with
him; and we thought it best to protract your enjoyment as long as possible, not doubting but your
virtue and delicacy would, in future, guard you
against the like deception."
" Must I, then,- become an avowed prude at
once, and refuse him admission if he call in compliance with the customary forms?  "By no
means. I am sensible that even the false maxims
of the world must be complied with in a degree.
But a man of Major Sanford's art can easily distinguish between a forbidding and an encouraging
reception. The former may, in this case, be given
without any breach of the rules of politeness."
Astonished and mortified, I knew not what further




56         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
to say. I had been so pleased with the man that
I wished to plead in his favor; but virtue and prudence forbade. I therefore rose and retired. He
is this moment, I am told, below stairs; so that I
must bid you adieu until the next post.
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER X.
TO THE SAME.
NEW HAVEN.
Upon closing my last, I walked down, and
found Major Sanford alone. He met me at the
door of the parlor, and, taking my hand with an
air of affectionate tenderness, led me to a seat, and
took one beside me. I believe the gloom of suspicion had not entirely -forsaken my brow. He
appeared, however, not to notice it, but, after the
compliments of the day had passed, entered into
an easy and agreeable conversation on the pleasures of society — a conversation perfectly adapted
to my taste, and calculated to dissipate my chagrin and pass the time imperceptibly. He inquired
the place of my native abode; and, having in.
formed him, he said he had thoughts of purchasing
the seat of Captain Pribble, in that neighborhood,




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       57
for his residence; and could he be assured of my society and friendship, his resolution would be fixed.
I answered his compliment only by a slight bow.
He took leave, and I retired to dress for the day,
being engaged to accompany my cousin to dine at
Mr. Lawrence's - a gentleman of fortune and fashion in this vicinity. Mr. Lawrence has but one
daughter, heiress to a large estate, with an agreeable form, but a countenance which, to me, indicates not much soul. I was surprised in the afternoon to see Major Sanford alight at the gate.
He entered with the familiarity of an old acquaintance, and, after accosting each of the company,
told me, with a low bow, that he did not expect
the happiness of seeing me again so soon. I received his compliment with a conscious awkwardness. Mrs. Richman's morning lecture still rang
in my head; and her watchful eye now traced
every turn of mine and every action of the major's.
Indeed, his assiduity was painful to me; yet I
found it impossible to disengage myself a moment
from him, till the close of the day brought our
carriage to the door; when he handed me in, and,
pressing my hand to his lips, retired.
What shall I say about this extraordinary man?
Shall I own to you, my friend, that he is pleasing
to me? His person, his manners, his situation, all




58         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
combine to charm my fancy, and, to my lively
imagination, strew the path of life with flowers.
What a pity, my dear Lucy, that the graces and
virtues are not oftener united! They must, however, meet in the man of my choice; and till I find
such a one, I shall continue to subscribe my name
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       XI.
To MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.
NEW HAVEN.
Well, Charles, I have been manceuvring today a little revengefully. That, you will say, is
out of character. So baleful a passion does not
easily find admission among those softer ones
which you well know I cherish. However, I am a
mere Proteus, and can assume any shape that will
best answer my purpose.
I called this afternoon, as I told you I intended,
at General Richman's. I waited some time in
the parlor alone before Eliza appeared; and when
she did appear, the distant reserve of her manners
and the pensiveness of her countenance convinced
me that she had been vexed, and I doubted not
but Peter Sanford was the occasion. Her wise




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       59
cousin, I could have sworn, had been giving her a
detail of the vices of her gallant, and warning her
against the dangers of associating with him in
future. Notwithstanding, I took no notice of any
alteration in her behavior, but entered with the
utmost facetiousness into a conversation which I
thought most to her taste. By degrees she assumed her usual vivacity; cheerfulness and good
humor again animated her countenance. I tarried
as long as decency would admit. She having intimated that they were to dine at my friend Lawrence's, I caught at this information, and determined to follow them, and tease the jealous Mrs.
Richman by playing off all the gallantry I was
master of in her presence.
I went, and succeeded to the utmost of my
wishes, as I read in the vexation visible in the one,
and the ease and attention displayed by the other.
I believe, too, that I have charmed the eye, at least,
of the amiable Eliza. Indeed, Charles, she is a
fine girl. I think it would hurt my conscience to
wound her mind or reputation. Were I disposed
to marry, I am persuaded she would make an excellent wife; but that, you know, is no part of my
plan, so long as I can keep out of the noose.
Whenever I do submit to be shackled, it must be
from a necessity of mending my fortune. This




60         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
girl would be far from doing that. However, I am
pleased with her acquaintance, and mean not to
abuse her credulity and good nature, if I can help it.
PETER SANFORD.
iLETTER      XII.
To MIss LucY FREEMAN.
NEWv HAVEN.
The heart of your friend is again besieged.
Whether it will surrender to the assailants or not
I am unable at present to determine. Sometimes
I think of becoming a predestinarian, and submitting implicitly to fate, without any exercise of free
will; but, as mine seems to be a wayward one, I
would counteract the operations of it, if possible.
Mrs. Richman told me this morning that she
hoped I should be as agreeably entertained this
afternoon as I had been the preceding; that she
expected Mr. Boyer to dine and take tea, and
doubted not but he would be as attentive and sincere to me, if not as gay and polite, as the gentleman who obtruded his civilities yesterday.  I
replied that I had no reason to doubt the sincerity
of the one or the other, having never put them to
the test, nor did I imagine I ever should. " Your




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.          61
friends, Eliza," said she, "would be very happy to
see you united to a man of Mr. Boyer's worth,
and so agreeably settled as he has a prospect of
being."  "I hope," said I, "that my friends are
not so weary of my company as to wish to dispose of me. I am too happy in my present connections to quit them for new ones. Marriage is
the tomb of friendship. It appears to me a very
selfish state. Why do people in general, as soon
as they are married, centre all their cares, their
concerns, and pleasures in their own families?
Former acquaintances are neglected or forgotten;
the tenderest ties between friends are weakened
or dissolved; and benevolence itself moves in a
very limited sphere."  It is the glory of the marriage state," she rejoined, " to refine by circumscribing our enjoyments. Here we can renose in
safety.'The friendships of the world are oft
Confed'racies in vice, or leagues in pleasure:
Ours has the purest virtue for its basis;
And such a friendship ends not but with life.'
True, we cannot always pay that attention to
former associates which we may wish; but the
little community which we superintend is quite
as important an object, and certainly renders us
more beneficial to the public. True benevolence,
6




62         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
though it may change its objects, is not limited
by time or place. Its effects are the same, and,
aided by a second self, are rendered more diffusive
and salutary."
Some pleasantry passed, and we retired to dress.
When summoned to dinner, I found Mr. Boyer
below. If what is sometimes said be true, that
love is diffident, reserved, and unassuming, this
man must be tinctured with it. These symptoms
were visible in his deportment when I entered the
room. However, he soon recovered himself, and
the conversation took a general turn. The festive
board was crowned with sociability, and we found
in reality "the feast of reason and the flow of
soul."  After we rose from table, a walk in the
garden was proposed-an amusement we arc
all peculiarly fond of. Mr. Boyer offered me his
arm. When at a sufficient distance from our
company, he begged leave to congratulate himself on having an opportunity, which he had
ardently desired for some time, of declaring to
me his attachment, and of soliciting an interest
in my favor; or, if he might be allowed the term,
affection. I replied, " That, sir, is indeed laying
claim to an important interest. I believe you
must substitute some more indifferent epithet for
the present. "  Well, then," said he, "if it must




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.        63
be so, let it be esteem or friendship."  "Indeed,
sir," said I, "you are entitled to them both. Merit
has always a share in that bank; and I know of
none who has a larger claim on that score than
Mr. Boyer."  I suppose my manner was hardly
serious enough for what he considered a weighty
cause. He was a little disconcerted, but, soon regaining his presence of mind, entreated me, with
an air of earnestness, to encourage his suit, to admit his addresses, and, if possible, to reward his
love. I told him that this was rather a sudden
affair to me, and that I could not answer him
without consideration.  " Well, then," said he,
" take what time you think proper;: only relieve my
suspense as soon as may be. Shall I visit you again
to-morrow?" ", not so soon," said I; " next Monday, I believe, will be early enough. I will endeavor
to be at home."  He thanked me even for that favor,
recommended himself once more to my kindness,
and we walked towards the company, returned
with them to the house, and he soon took leave. I
immediately retired to write this letter, which I
shall close without a single observation on the subject until:I know05 your;opinion.
ELIZA WHARTON.




64         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
LETTER XIII.
To Miss ELIZA WHARTON.
HARTFORD.
And so you wish to have my opinion before you
know the result of your own.
This is playing a little too much with my patience; but, however, I will gratify you this once,
in hopes that my epistle may have a good effect.
You will ask, perhaps, whether I would influence
your judgment. I answer, No, provided you will
exercise it yourself; but I am a little apprehensive
that your fancy will mislead you. Methinks I can
gather from your, letters a predilection for this Major Sanford. But he is a rake, my dear friend; and
can a lady of your delicacy and refinement think
of forming a connection with a man of that character? I hope not; nay, I am confident you do
not. You mean only to exhibit a few more girlish
airs before you turn matron; but I am persuaded,
if you wish to lead down the dance of life with
regularity, you will not find a more excellent part.
ner than Mr. Boyer. Whatever you can reasonably
expect in a lover, husband, or friend, you. may perceive to be united in this worthy man. His taste is
undebauched, his manners not vitiated, his morals
uncorrupted. His situation in life is, perhaps, as




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.        65
elevated as you have a right to claim. Forgive
my plainness, Eliza. It is the task of friendship,
sometimes, to tell disagreeable truths. I know
your ambition is to make a distinguished figure in
the first class of polished society, to shine in the
gay circle of fashionable amusements, and to bear
off the palm amidst the votaries of pleasure. But
these are fading honors, unsatisfactory enjoyments, incapable of gratifying those immortal
principles of reason and religion which have been
implanted in your mind by Nature, assiduously
cultivated by the best of parents, and exerted, I
trust, by yourself. Let me advise you, then, in
conducting this affair, - an affair big, perhaps, with
your future fate, - to lay aside those coquettish airs
which you sometimes put on; and remember that
you are not dealing with a fop, who will take advantage of every concession, but with a man of
sense and honor, who will properly estimate your
condescension and frankness. Act, then, with that
modest freedom, that dignified unreserve, which bespeak conscious rectitude and sincerity of heart.
I shall be extremely anxious to hear the process
and progress of this business. Relieve my impatience as soon as possible; and believe me yours
with undissembled affection.
Lucy FREEMAN.
6.



66         THE COQUETTE; OR; THE
LETTER       XIV.
To Miss LuCY FREEMIAN.
NEW IHAVEN.
I have received, and read again and again, your
friendly epistle. My reason and judgment entirely
coincide with your opinion; but my fancy claims
some share in the decision; and I cannot yet tell
which will preponderate. This was the day fixed for
deciding Mr. Boyer's cause. My friends here gave
me a long dissertation on his merits. Your letter, likewise, had its weight; and I was candidly
summoning up the pros and cons in the garden,
whither I had walked, (General Richmnan and lady
having rode out,) when I was informed that he was
waiting in the parlor. I went immediately in, (a
good symptom, you will say,) and received him
very graciously. After the first compliments were
over, he seemed eager to improve the opportunity to
enter directly on the subject of his present visit. It is
needless for me to recite to you, who have long been
acquainted with the whole process of courtship, the
declarations, propositions, protestations, entreaties,
looks, words, and actions of a lover. They are, I believe, much the same in,the whole sex, allowing for
their different dispositions, educations, and character; but you are impatient, I know, for the conclusion.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       67
You have hastily perused the preceding lines, and
are straining your eye forward to my part of the
farce; for such it may prove, after all. Well, then,
not to play too long with the curiosity which I
know to be excited and actuated by real friendship, I will relieve it. I think you would have been
pleased to have seen my gravity on this important
occasion.  With all the candor and frankness
which I was capable of assuming, I thus answered
his long harangue, to which I had listened without interrupting him: " Self-knowledge, sir, that
most important of all sciences, I have yet to learn.
Such have been my situations in life, and the natural volatility of my temper, that I have looked
but little into my own heart in regard to its future
wishes and views. From a scene of constraint and
confinement, ill suited to my years and inclination,
I have just-launched into society. My heart beats
high in expectation of its fanci6d joys. My sanguine imagination paints, in alluring colors, the
charms of youth and freedom, regulated by virtue
and innocence.  Of these I wish to partake.
While I own myself under obligations for the
esteem which you are pleased to profess for me,
and, in return, acknowledge that neither your person nor manners are disagreeable to me, I recoil
at the thought of immediately forming a connec



68         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
tion which must confine me to the duties of domestic life, and make me dependent for happiness,
perhaps, too, for subsistence, upon a class of people who will claim the right of scrutinizing every
part of my conduct, and, by censuring those foibles which I am conscious of not having prudence
to avoid, may render me completely miserable.
While, therefore, I receive your visits, and cultivate towards you sentiments of friendship and
esteem, I would not have you consider me as
confined to your society, or obligated to a future
connection.  Our short acquaintance renders it
impossible for me to decide what the operations
of my mind may hereafter be. You must either
quit the subject, or leave me to the exercise of my
free will, which, perhaps, may coincide with your
present wishes." " Madam," said he, far is the wish
from me to restrain your person or mind. In your
breast I will repose my cause. It shall be my
study to merit a return of affection; and I doubt
not but generosity and honor will influence your
conduct towards me.   I expect soon to settle
among a generous and enlightened people, where
I flatter myself I shall be exempt from those dif
ficulties and embarrassments to which too many
of my brethren are subject. The local situation is
agreeable, the society refined and polished; and




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       69
if, in addition, I may obtain that felicity which you
are formed to bestow in a family connection, I
shall be happy indeed."
He spoke with emphasis. The tear of sensibility sparkled in his eye. I involuntarily gave him my
hand, which he pressed with ardor to his lips;
then, rising, he walked to the window to conceal
his emotion. I rang the bell and ordered tea,
during and after which we shared that social converse which is the true zest of life, and in which I am
persuaded none b.ut virtuous minds can participate.
General Richman and lady returned with the
shades of the evening. The penetrating eye of
my cousin traced in our countenances the progress
of the cause, and the smile of approbation animated hers. Mr. Boyer asked the favor of my cornpany to ride to-morrow morning; which was
granted. He tarried to supper, and took his leave.
I retired immediately to my chamber, to which 1
was followed by Mrs. Richman., I related to her
the conversation and the encouragement which I
had given to Mr. Boyer. She was pleased, but
insisted that I should own myself somewhat engaged to him. This, I told her, I should never do
to any man before the indissoluble knot was tied.
" That," said I, "will be time enough to resign my
freedom." She replied, that I had wrong ideas of




70         THE COQUETTE; OR) THE
freedom and matrimony; but she hoped that Mr.
Boyer would happily rectify them.
I have now, my dear friend, given you an account of my present situation, and leave you to
judge for yourself concerning it. Write me your
opinion, and believe me ever yours,
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER XV.
To Miss ELIZA WHARTON.
HARTFORD.
I congratulate you, my dear Eliza, on the stability of your conduct towards Mr. Boyer.  Pursue the system which you have adopted, and I
dare say that happiness will crown your future
days. You are indeed very tenacious of your
freedom, as you call it; but that is a play aboutwords. A man of Mr. Boyer's honor and.good
sense will never abridge any privileges which virtue can claim.
When do you return To emDelllsn our society
here? I am impatient to see you, and likewise
this amiable man. I am much interested in'his
favor. By the way, I am told that Major Sanford
has been to look at the seat of Captain Pribble,




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      71
which is upon sale. It is reported that he will
probably purchase it.  Many of our gentry are
pleased with the prospect of such a neighbor.
"As an   accomplished gentleman," say they,
"he will be an agreeable addition to our social
parties; and as a man of property and public
spirit, he will be an advantage to the town."
But from what I have heard of him, I am far from
supposing him a desirable acquisition in either of
theserespects. A man of a vicious character cannot be a good member of society. In order to
that, his principles and practice must be uncorrupted; in his morals, at least, he must be a man
of probity and honor. Of these qualifications, if I
mistake not, this gallant of yours cannot boast.
But I shall not set up for a censor. I hope neither
you nor I shall have much connection with him.
My swain interests himself very much in your
affairs. You will possibly think him impertinent;
but I give his curiosity a softer name. Should I
own to you that I place great confidence in his
integrity and honor, you would, perhaps, laugh at
my weakness; but, my dear, I have pride enough
to keep me above coquetry or prudery, and discretion enough, I hope, to secure me from the errors of both. With him I am determined to walk
the future round of life. What folly, then, would




72     ETHE COQUETTE; OR THE
it be to affect reserve and distance relative to an
affair in which I have so much interest! Not that
I am going to betray your secrets; these I have
no right to divulge; but I must be the judge what
may, and what may not, be communicated. I am
very much pressed for an early day of consummation; but I shall not listen to a request-of that
kind till your return. Such is my regard for you,
that a union of love would be imperfect if friendship attended not the rites. Adieu.
LUCy FREEMAN.
LETTER       XVI.
To Miss Lucy FREEMAN.
NEw HAVEN.
We go on charmingly here, almost as soft and
smooth as your ladyship. It seems to me that
love must stagnate if it have not a light breeze of
discord once in a while to keep it in motion. We
have not tried any yet, however. We had a lovely
tour this -forenoon, were out three long hours, and
returned to dinner in perfect harmony.
Mr. Boyer informed me that he should set out
to-morrow morning for his future residence, and
soon put on the sacred bands. He solicited an




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       73
epistolary correspondence, at the same time, as an
alleviation of the care which that weighty charge
would bring on his mind. I consented, telling
him that he must not expect any thing more than
general subjects from me.
We were somewhat interrupted in our confidential intercourse, in the afternoon, by the arrival of
Major Sanford. I cannot say that I was not agreeably relieved. So sweet a repast, for several hours
together, was rather sickening to my taste. My
inamorato looked a little mortified at the cheerful reception which I gave the intruder, and joined
not so placidly in the social conversation as I
could have wished.
When Mr. Boyer, after the major took leave,
pressed me to give him some assurance of my
constancy, I only reminded him of the terms of
our engagement.   Seeing me decided, he was
silent on the subject, and soon bade me an affectionate adieu, not expecting, as he told me, the
pleasure of a personal interview again for two or
three months.
- Thus far we have proceeded in this sober business. A good beginning, you will say. Perhaps
it is.: I do not, however, feel myself greatly interestedi- in the progress of the negotiation. Time
may consolidate my affections, and enable me to
7




74         THE COQUETTE; OR1 THE
fix them on some particular object. At present
the most lively emotions of my heart are those of
friendship, that friendship which I hope you will
soon participate with your faithful
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER XVII.
To MR. SELBY.
NEW HAVEN.
I have succeeded in my addresses to the lovely
Eliza Wharton-as far, at least, as I had any
reason to expect from our short acquaintance. I
find the graces of her person and mind rise in my
esteem, and have already enjoyed in her society
some of the happiest hours of my life. She is
kind, affable, and condescending; yet I must own
that I have not been able to infuse into her bosom
the ardor which I feel in my own. I know that
the native modesty of the sex would restrain the
discovery; but there is an animation of countenance, which betrays the sensations of the heart,
that I find wanting in hers on this occasion.
I have just taken leave of my fair, and propose
returning to-morrow morning to take upon me the
solemn charge which lies with such weight upon




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       75
my mind that I need every support, both human
and divine. Eliza has promised to correspond
with me. From this I anticipate a source of
pleasure which alone can atone for her absence.
I am, &c.,
J. BOYER.
LETTER       XVIII.
To MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.
NEnw HAVEN.
Do you know, Charles, that I have commenced
lover? I was always a general one, but now I am
somewhat particular. I shall be the more interested, as I am likely to meet with difficulties; and
it is the glory of a rake, as well as of a Christian,
to combat obstacles. This same Eliza, of whom
I have told you, has really made more impression
on my heart than I was aware of, or than the sex,
take them as they rise, are wont to do. But she
is besieged by a priest-a likely lad though. I
know not how it is, but they are commonly successful with the girls, even the gayest of them.
This one, too, has the interest of all her friends, as
I am told. I called yesterday at General Richman's, and found this pair together, apparently too




76         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
happy in each other's society for my wishes.  I
must own that I felt a glow of jealousy, which I
never experienced before, and vowed revenge for
the pain it gave me, though but momentary. Yet
Eliza's reception of me was visibly cordial; nay,
I fancied my company as pleasing to her as that
which she had before. I tarried not long, but left
him to the enjoyment of that pleasure which I
flatter myself will be but shortlived. 0, I have
another plan in my head- a plan of necessity,
which, you know, is the mother of invention. It
is this: I am very much courted and caressed by
the family of Mr. Lawrence, a man of large property in this neighborhood. He has only one child
-a daughter, with whom I imagine the old folks
intend to shackle me in the bonds of matrimony.
The girl looks very well; she has no soul, though,
that I can discover; she is heiress, nevertheless,
to a great fortune, and that is all the soul I wish
for in a wife. In truth, Charles, I know of no
other way to mend my circumstances. But lisp
not a word of my embarrassments for.your life.
Show and equipage are my hobby horse; and if
any female wishes to share them with me, and
will furnish me with the' means of supporting
them, I have: no objection. Could I conform to
the sober rules of wedded life, and renounce those




HISTORY OF ELIZA VWHARTON.      77
dear enjoyments of dissipation in which I have
so long indulged, I know not the lady in the
world with whom I would sooner form a connection -of this sort than with Eliza Wharton. But
it will never do. If my fortune or hers were better,
I would risk a union; but as they are, no idea of the
kind can be admitted. I shall endeavor, notwithstanding, to enjoy her company as long as possible.
Though I cannot possess her wholly myself, I
will not tamely see her the property of another.
I am now going to call at General Richman's, in
hopes of an opportunity to profess my devotion to
her. I know I am not a welcome visitor to the
family; but I am independent of their censure or
esteem, and mean to act accordingly.
PETER SANFORDLETT ER      XIX.
To MIss Lucy FREEMAN.
NEW HAVEN.
I find the ideas of sobriety and domestic solitude I have been cultivating for three days past
somewhat deranged by the interruption of a visitor, with whom I know you will not be pleased.
It is no other than Major Sanford. I was walk7 *




78         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
ing alone in the garden yesterday, when he suddenly appeared to my view. "' How happy am I,"
said he, seizing my hand, "in this opportunity of
finding you alone-an opportunity, Miss Wharton,
which I must improve in expatiating on a theme
that fills my heart and solely animates my frame! "
I was startled at his impetuosity, and displeased
with his freedom.  Withdrawing my hand, I
told him that my retirement was sacred. He
bowed submissively; begged pardon for his intrusion; alleged that he found nobody but the servants in the house; that they informed him I was
alone in the garden - which intelligence was too
pleasing for him to consult any forms of ceremony
for the regulation of his conduct. He then went
on rhapsodically to declare his passion; his suspicions that I was forming a connection with Mr.
Boyer, which would effectually destroy all his hopes
of future happiness. He painted the restraint,
the confinement, the embarrassments to which a
woman connected with a man of Mr. Boyer's profession must be subjected, however agreeable his
person might be. He asked if my generous mind
could submit to cares and perplexities like these;
whether I could not find greater sources of enjoyment in a more elevated sphere of life, or share
pleasures better suited to my genius and dispo



HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       79
sition, even in a single state. I listened to him
involuntarily. My heart did not approve his sentiments; but my ear was charmed with his rhetoric,
and my fancy captivated by his address.
He invited my confidence by the most ardent
professions of friendship, and labored to remove my
suspicions by vows of sincerity. I was induced
by his importunity gradually to disclose the state of
affairs between Mr. Boyer and myself. He listened
eagerly; wished not, he said, to influence me unduly; but if I were not otherwise engaged, might
he presume to solicit a place in my friendship and
esteem, be admitted to enjoy my society, to visit me
as an acquaintance, and to attend my excursions
and amusements as a brother, if not more?  I
replied that I was a pensioner of friendship at
present; that friends were extremely refined in
their notions of propriety; and that I had no
right to receive visitants independent of them. "I
understand you, madam," said he. " You intimate that my company is not agreeable to them;
but I know not why. Surely my rank in life is as
elevated, and my knowledge of and acceptance in
the world are as extensive, as General Richman's."
":I hope," said I, "since we are engaged in the
conversation, that you will excuse my frankness
if I tell you that the understanding and virtue of




80         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
this worthy couple induce them, without any regard to rank, to bestow their esteem wherever it is
merited. I cannot say that you are not a sharer.
Your own heart can best determine whether upon
their principles you are or not." He appeared
mortified and chagrined; and we had walked
some distance without exchanging a word or a
look. At last he rejoined, " I plead guilty to the
charge, madam, which they have undoubtedly
brought against me, of imprudence and folly in
many particulars; yet of'malignancy and vice I
am innocent. Brought up in affluence, inured
from my infancy to the gratification of every passion, the indulgence of every wish, it is not strange
that a life of dissipation and gayety should prove
alluring to a youthful mind which had no care but
to procure what is deemed enjoyment. In this
pursuit I have, perhaps, deviated from the rigid
rules of discretion and the harsher laws of morality.
But let the veil of charity be drawn over my
faults; let the eye of candor impartially examine
my present behavior; let the kind and lenient
hand of friendship assist in directing my future
steps; and perhaps I may not prove unworthy
of associating with the respectable inhabitants of
this happy mansion; for such I am sure it must
be while honored with Miss Wharton's presence.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       81
But, circumstanced as you and I are at present, I
will not-sue for your attention as a lover, but rest
contented, if possible, with that share of kindness
and regard which your benevolence may afford me
as a-friend." I bowed in approbation of his resolution.::He.pressed my hand with ardor to his
lips; and at that instant General Richman entered
the garden.:: He approached us cheerfully, offered
Major Sanford his hand with apparent cordiality,
and told us pleasantly that'he hoped he should not
be considered as an intruder. "'By no means, sir,"
said Major Sanford; "it is I who have incurred
that imputation. I called this afternoon to pay
you my respects, when, being informed that you
and your lady were abroad, and that Miss Wharton was in the garden, I took the liberty to invade
her retirement. She has graciously forgiven my
crime, and I was just affixing the seal to my pardon as you entered."
We then returned into the house. Mrs. Richman
received us politely. During tea, the conversation
turned on literary. subjects, in:which I cannot say
th4at, the major bore a very distinguished part.
After he was gone, Mrs. Richman said,. "I hope
you have been agreeably entertained, Miss Wharton.";  I did not choose my company, madam,"
said I. "Nor," said she, " did you refuse it, I




82         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
presume." "' Would you not have me respect the
rights of hospitality towards your guests when you
are absent, madam?"' "If you had acted from
that motive, I own my obligations to you, my
dear; but even that consideration can hardly reconcile me to the sacrifice of time which you have
made to the amusement of a seducer." "I hope,
madam, you do not think me an object of seduction." "I do not think you seducible; nor was
Richardson's Clarissa till she made herself the victim by her own indiscretion. Pardon me, Elizathis is a second Lovelace. I am alarmed by his
artful intrusions. His- insinuating attentions to
you are characteristic of the man. Come, I presume you are not interested to keep his secrets if
you know them; will you give me a little sketch
of his conversation?"  "Most willingly," said I,
and accordingly related the whole. When I had
concluded, she shook her head, and replied," Beware, my friend, of his arts. Your own heart is
too sincere to suspect treachery and dissimulation
in another; but suffer not your ear to be charmed
by the siren voice of flattery, nor your eye to be
caught by the phantom of gayety and pleasure.
Remember your engagements to Mr. Boyer. Let
sincerity and virtue be your guides, and they will
lead you to happiness and peace."  She waited




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       83
not for an answer, but, immediately rising, begged
leave to retire, alleging that she was fatigued.
General Richman accompanied her, and I hastened
to my apartment, where I have written thus far,
and shall send it on for your comments. I begin
to think of returning soon to your circle; One inducement is, that I may be free from the intrusions
of this man. Adieu.
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER XX.
To MRS. M. WHARTON.
NEw HAVEN.
From the conversation of the polite, the sedate,
the engaging, and the gay,  from corresponding
with the learned, the sentimental, and the refined,my heart and my pen turn with ardor and alacrity
to a tender and affectionate parent, the faithful
guardian and guide of my youth, the unchanging
friend of my riper years. The different dispositions of various associates sometimes perplex the
mind which seeks direction; but in the disinterested affection of the maternal breast we fear no dissonance of passion, no jarring interests, no disunion
of love. In this seat of felicity is every enjoyment




84         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
which fancy can form, or friendship, with affluence,
bestow; but still my mind frequently returns to
the happy shades of my nativity. I wish there to
impart mypleasures, and share the counsels of my
best, my long-tried, and experienced friend. At
this time, my dear mamma, I am peculiarly solicitous for your advice. I am again importuned
to listen to the voice of love; again called upon to
accept the addresses of a gentleman of merit and
respectability. You will know the character of
the man when I tell you it is Mr. Boyer. But his
situation in life! I dare not enter it. My disposition is not calculated for that sphere. There are
duties arising from the station which I fear I
should not be able to fulfil, cares and restraints
to which I could not submit. This man is not
disagreeable to me; but if I must enter the connubial state, are there not others who may be equally
pleasing in their persons, and whose profession
may be more conformable to my taste? You, madam, have passed through this scene of trial with
honor and applause. But, alas! can your volatile
daughter ever acquire your wisdom — ever possess
your resolution, dignity, and prudence?
I hope soon to-converse with you personally
upon the subject, and to profit by your precepts
and example. I anticipate the hour of my return to




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      85
your bosom with impatience. My daily thoughts
and nightly dreams restore me to the society of
my beloved mamma; and, till I enjoy in reality, I
subscribe myself your dutiful daughter,
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       XXI.
To Miss ELIZA WHARTON.
HARTFORD.
How welcome to me, my dear Eliza, are the
tidings of your return! My widowed heart has
mourned your absence, and languished for the
company of its now dearest connection. When
stripped of one dependence, the mind naturally
collects and rests itself in another. Your father's
death deprived me; for a while, of every enjoyment.
But a reviving sense of the duties which I owed to
a rising family roused me from the lethargy of grief.
In my cares I found an alleviation of my sorrows.
The expanding virtues of my children soothed and
exhilarated my drooping spirits, and my attention
to their education and interest was amply rewarded by their proficiency and duty. In them every
hope, every pleasure, now centres. They are the
axis on which revolves the temporal felicity of
S




86         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
their mother. Judge, then, my dear, how anxiously I must watch, how solicitously I must regard,
every circumstance which relates to their welfare
and prosperity! Exquisitely alive to these sensations, your letter awakens my hopes and my fears.
As you are young and charming, a thousand dangers lurk unseen around you. I wish you to find
a friend and protector worthy of being rewarded
by your love and your society. Such a one I
think Mr. Boyer will prove. I am, therefore, sorry,
since there can be no other, that his profession
should be an objection in your mind. You say
that I have experienced the scenes of trial connected with that station. I have, indeed; and I
will tell you the result of this experience. It is,
that I have found it replete with happiness. No
class of society has domestic enjoyment more at
command than clergymen. Their circumstances
are generally a decent competency. They are removed alike from the perplexing cares of want
and from the distracting parade of wealth. They
are respected by all ranks, and partakers of the
best company. With regard to its being a dependent situation, what one is not so? Are we
not all links in the great chain of society, some
more, some less important, but each upheld by
others, throughout the confederated whole?  In




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      87
whatever situation we are placed, our greater or
less degree of happiness must be derived from ourselves. Happiness is in a great measure the result
of our own dispositions and actions. Let us conduet uprightly and justly; with propriety and
steadiness; not servilely cringing for favor, nor
arrogantly claiming more attention and respect
than our due; let us bear with fortitude the providential and unavoidable evils of life, and we shall
spend our days with respectability and contentment at least.
I will not expatiate on the topic of your letter
till we have a personal interview, for which I am
indeed impatient. Return, my daughter, as soon
as politeness will allow, to your expecting friends;
more especially to the fond embraces of your affectionate mother.
M. WHARTON.
LETTER       XXII.
To Miss ELIZA WHARTON.
HAMPSHIRE.
Can time, can distance, can absence allay or extinguish the sentiments of refined affection, the
ardor of true love? No, my dear Eliza. If I may




88          THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
judge by my own heart, I shall say they cannot.
Amidst the parade which has attended me, the interesting scenes in which I have been engaged, and
the weighty cares which have occupied my attention,
your idea has been the solace of my retired moments, the soother of every anxious thought. I
recall with pleasure the conversation which we
have shared. I dwell with rapture on the marks
of favor which I have received from you. My first
wish is the continuance and increase of these favors; my highest ambition, to deserve them. I
look forward and anticipate with impatience the
future enjoyment of your society, and hope we
shall one day experience the reality of those beautiful lines of Thomson: -
" ---  an elegant sufficiency,
Content, retirement, rural quiet, friendship,
Books, ease, and alternate labor; useful life,
Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven;
These are the matchless joys of virtuous love.
Mr. Selby, my particular friend, will-have the
honor of delivering this letter. He will be able to
give you any information,'relative to our public
transactions, which you may wish. May I solicit
the favor of a line, through him, in return? It will
relieve, in some measure, the tediousness of this
separation. I intend to pay my respects to you




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       89
personally in about a fortnight; till when I sub.
scribe myself your sincere and affectionate friend,
J. BOYER.
LETTER       XXIII.
TO THE REV. J. BOYER.
NEW HAVEN.
I have executed your commission, and been amply rewarded. for my trouble by the pleasures I enjoyed in the society of the agreeable family to
which I was introduced; especially of the amiable
and accomplished lady who is the object of your
particular regard. I think she fully justifies your
partiality to her. She appears to possess both the
virtues and the graces. Her form is fine, and her
countenance interests us at once in her favor.
There is a mixture of dignity and ease which commands respect and conciliates affection. After
these encomiums, will you permit me to say there
is an air of'gayety in her appearance and deportment which savors a little of'coquetry?  I am
persuaded, however, that she has too much good
sense to practise its arts. She received your letter
very graciously, asked leave to retire a few mo8*




90         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
ments, and returned with a smile of complacency
on her brow, which I construe favorably to you.
There was a Mr. Lawrence, with his lady and
daughter, and a certain Major Sanford, at the
house. The latter, I believe, in the modern sense
of the phrase, is much of a gentleman; that is, a
man of show and fashion.
Miss Wharton asked me when I should leave
town, and when I should return, or have an opportunity of conveyance to Hampshiie. I told her
I should write by the next post, and, if she had any
commands, would be happy to execute them.
She would send a line to her friend, she said, if
I would take -the trouble to enclose it in my letter.  I readily consented, and told her that 1
would call and receive her favor to-morrow
morning. This chitchat was a little aside; but
I could not but observe that the aforesaid Major
Sanford had dropped his part in the conversation
of the rest of the company, and was attending to
us, though he endeavored to conceal his attention
by looking carelessly over a play which lay on the
window by him. Yet he evidently watched every
word and action of Miss Wharton, as if he were
really interested in her movements.
It is said she has many admirers, and I conceive




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       91
it very possible that this may be one of them;
though, truly, I do not think that she would esteem
such a conquest any great honor. I now joined in
the general topic of conversation, which was politics; Mrs. Richman and Miss Wharton judiciously, yet modestly, bore a part; while the other
ladies amused themselves with Major Sanford, who
was making his sage remarks on the play, which
he still kept in his hand. General Richman at
length observed that we had formed into parties.
Major Sanford, upon this, laid aside his book.
Miss Lawrence simpered, and looked as if she was
well pleased with being in a party with so fine a
man; while her mother replied that she never
meddled with politics. " Miss Wharton and I,"
said Mrs. Richman, " must beg leave to differ from
you, madam. We think ourselves interested in the
welfare and prosperity of our country; and, consequently, claim the right of inquiring into those
affairs which may conduce to or interfere with the
common weal. We shall not be called to the senate or the field to assert its privileges and defend
its rights, but we shall feel for the honor and safety
of our friends and connections who are thus employed.  If the community flourish and enjoy
health and freedom, shall we not share in the hap.
py effects? If it be oppressed and disturbed, shall




92         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
we not endure our proportion of the evil? Why,
then, should the love of our country be a masculine
passion only? Why should government, which
involves the peace and order of the society of
which we are a part, be wholly excluded from our
observation?" Mrs. Lawrence made some slight
reply, and waived the subject. The gentlemen applauded Mrs. Richman's sentiments as truly Roman, and, what was more, they said, truly republican.
I rose to take leave, observing to Miss Wharton
that I should call to-morrow, as agreed. Upon
this, General Richman politely requested the favor
of my company at dinner. I accepted his invitation, and bade them good night. I shall do the
same to you for the present, as I intend, to-morrow, to scribble the cover, which is to enclose your
Eliza's letter.
T. SELBY.
LETTER       XXIV.
TO THE REV. J. BOYER.
NEW H.AVEN.
I resume my pen, having just returned from
General Richman's; not with an expectation,




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.        93
however, of your reading this till you have perused and reperused the enclosed. I can bear such
neglect in this case, as I have been alike interested
myself.
I went to General Richman's at twelve o'clock.
About a mile from thence, upon turning a corner,
I observed a gentleman and lady on horseback,
some way before me, riding at a very moderate pace,
and seemingly in close conversation. I kept at the
same distance from them till I saw them stop at
the general's gate. I then put on, and, coming up
with them just as they alighted, was surprised
to find them no other than Major Sanford and
Miss Wharton. They were both a little disconcerted at my salutation: I know not why. Miss
Wharton invited him in; but he declined, being engaged to dine. General Richman received us at
the door. As I handed Miss Wharton in, he observed, jocosely, that she had changed company.
" Yes, sir," she replied, "more than once since I
went out, as you doubtless observed." "I was
not aware," said Mrs. Richman, "that Major Sanford was to be of your party to-day."  "It was
quite accidental, madam," said Miss Wharton.
"Miss Lawrence and I had agreed, last evening,
to take a little airing this forenoon. A young




94         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
gentleman, a relation of hers, who is making
them a visit, was to attend us.
" We had not rode more than two miles when
we were overtaken by Major Sanford, who very
politely asked leave to join our party. Miss Lawrence very readily consented; and we had a very
sociable ride. The fineness of the day induced me
to protract the enjoyment of it abroad; but Miss
Lawrence declined riding so far as I proposed, as
she had engaged company to dine. We therefore
parted till the evening, when we are to meet
again."  "What, another engagement!" said Mrs.
Richman.   " Only to the assembly, madam."
"May I inquire after your gallant, my dear? But I
have no right, perhaps, to be inquisitive," said Mrs.
Richman. Miss Wharton made no reply, and the
conversation took a general turn. Miss Wharton
sustained her part with great propriety. Indeed,
she discovers a fund of useful knowledge and extensive reading, which render her peculiarly entertaining; while the brilliancy of her wit, the fluency
of her language, the vivacity and ease of her manners are inexpressibly engaging. I am going myself to the assembly this evening, though I did not
mention it to General Richman. I therefore took
my leave soon after dinner.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       95
I have heard so much in praise of Miss Wharton's penmanship, in addition to her other endowments, that I am almost tempted to break the seal
of her letter to you; but I forbear. Wishing you
much happiness in the perusal of it, and more in
the possession of its writer, I subscribe myself
yours, &c.,
T. SELBY.
LETTER       XXV.
TO THE REV. BOYER.
NEW HAVEN.
Sir: Your favor of the 4th instant came to hand
yesterday. I received it with pleasure, and embrace
this early opportunity of contributing my part to
a correspondence tending to promote a friendly
and social intercourse. An epistolary communica.
tion between the sexes has been with some a subject of satire and censure; but unjustly, in my
opinion. With persons of refinement and information, it may be a source of entertainment and
utility. The knowledge and masculine virtues of
your sex may be softened and rendered more diffusive by the inquisitiveness, vivacity, and docility
of ours, drawn forth and exercised by each other.




96         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
In regard to the particular subject of yours, I
shall be silent. Ideas of that kind are better conveyed, on my part, by words than by the pen.
I congratulate you on your agreeable settlement, and hope it will be productive of real and
lasting happiness. I am convinced that felicity
is not confined to any particular station or condition in life; yet, methinks, some are better calculated to afford it to me than others.
Your extract from a favorite poet is charmingly
descriptive; but is it not difficult to ascertain what
we can pronounce "an elegant sufficiency"?
Perhaps you will answer, as some others have
done, we can attain it by circumscribing our wishes
within the compass of our abilities. I am not very
avaricious; yet I must own that I should like to
enjoy it without so much trouble as that would
cost me.
Excuse my seeming levity. You have flattered
my cheerfulness by commending it, and must,
therefore, indulge me in the exercise of it.  I
cannot conveniently be at the pains of restraining its sallies when I write in confidence.
Is a sprightly disposition, in your view, indicative of a giddy mind or an innocent heart? Of
the latter, I presume; for I know you are not a
misanthrope.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       97
We expect the pleasure of Mr. Selby's company
to dinner. You are certainly under obligations to
his friendship for the liberal encomiums he bestowed on you and your prospects yesterday,
Mrs. Richman rallied me, after he was gone, on
my listening ear. The general and she unite in
requesting me to present their respects.
Wishing you health and happiness, I subscribe
myself your friend,
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       XXVI.
To MIss Lucy FREEMAN.
NEW HAVEN.
I am perplexed and embarrassed, my friend, by
the assiduous attentions of this Major Sanford. I
shall write circumstantially and frankly to you,
that I may have the benefit of your advice. He
came here last Monday in company with Mr.
Lawrence, his wife, and daughter, to make us a
visit. While they were present, a Mr. Selby, a
particular friend of Mr. Boyer, came in, and delivered me a letter from him. I was really happy in
the reception of this proof of his affection. His
9




98         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
friend gave a very flattering account of his situation and prospects.
The watchful eye of Major Sanford traced every
word and action respecting Mr. Boyer with an attention which seemed to border on anxiety. That,
however, did not restrain, but rather accelerated,
my vivacity and inquisitiveness on the subject; for
I wished to know whether it would produce any
real effect upon him or not.
After Mr. Selby's departure, he appeared pensive
and, thoughtful the remainder of the evening, and
evidently sought an opportunity of speaking to me
aside, which I studiously avoided.  Miss Lawrence and I formed an engagement to take an
airing in the morning on horseback, attended by
a relation of hers who is now with them. They
called for me about ten, when we immediately
set out upon our preconcerted excursion. We
had not proceeded far before we were met by
Major Sanford.  He was extremely polite, and
finding our destination was not particular, begged
leave to join our party. This was granted; and
we had an agreeable tour for several miles, the
time being passed in easy and unstudied remarks
upon obvious occurrences. Major Sanford could
not, however, conceal his particular attention to




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       99.
me, which rather nettled Miss Lawrence.  She
grew somewhat serious, and declined riding so far
as we had intended, alleging that she expected
company to dine.
Major Sanford, understanding that she was going
to the assembly in the evening with Mr. Gordon,
solicited me to accept a ticket, and form a party
with them. The entertainment was alluring, and
I consented. When we had parted with Miss
Lawrence, Major Sanford insisted on my riding a
little farther, saying he must converse with me on
a particular subject, and if I refused him this opportunity, that he must visit me at my residence,
let it offend whom it would. I yielded to his importunity, and we rode on. He then told me that
his mind was in a state of suspense and agitation
which was very painful to bear, and which I only
could relieve; that my cheerful reception of Mr.
Boyer's letter yesterday, and deportment respecting him, had awakened' in his breast all the pangs
of jealousy which the most ardent love could feel;
that my treatment of Mr. Boyer's friend convinced
him that I was more interested in his affairs than
I was willing to own; that he foresaw himself to
be condemned to an eternal separation, and the
total loss of my favor and society, as soon as time
and circumstances would allow.




100        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
His zeal, his pathos, alarmed me. I begged him
to be calm. " To you," said I, "as a friend, I
have intrusted my situation in relation to Mr.
Boyer. You know that I am under no special
obligation to him, and I do not intend to form any
immediate connection."  "Mr. Boyer must have
different ideas, madam; and he has reason for
them, if I may judge by appearances. When do
you expect another visit from him? " "In about a
fortnight." " And is my fate to be then decided?
and so decided, as I fear it will be, through the
influence of your friends, if not by your own inclination?" " My friends, sir, will not control,
they will only advise to what they think most for
my interest, and I hope that my conduct will not
be unworthy of their approbation."  " Pardon me,
my dear Eliza," said he, "if I am impertinent; it
is my regard for you which impels me to the presumption. Do you intend to give your hand to
Mr. Boyer?"  "I do not intend to give my hand
to any man at present. I have but lately entered
society, and wish, for a while, to enjoy my freedom in the participation of pleasures suited to my
age and sex." "These," said he, " you are aware,
I suppose, when you form a connection with that
man, you must renounce, and content yourself
with a confinement to the tedious round of do



HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     101
mestic duties, the pedantic conversation of scholars, and the invidious criticisms of a whole town."
"I have been accustomed," said I, "and am therefore attached, to men of letters; and as to the
praise or censure of the populace, I hope always
to enjoy that approbation of conscience which will
render me superior to both. But you forget your
promise not to talk in this style, and have deviated
far from the character of a friend and brother, with.
which you consented to rest satisfied." "Yes; but
I find myself unequal to the task. I am not stoic
enough tamely to make so great a sacrifice. I
must plead for an interest in your favor till you
banish me from your presence, and tell me plainly
that you hate me." We had by this time reached
the gate, and as we dismounted, were unexpectedly accosted by Mr. Selby, who had come, agreeably to promise, to dine with us, and receive my
letter to M1r. Boyer.
Major Sanford took his leave as General Richman appeared at the door. The general and his
lady rallied me on my change of company, but
very prudently concealed their sentiments of Major
Sanford while Mr. Selby was present. Nothing
material occurred before and during dinner, soon
after which Mr. Selby went away. I retired to
dress for the assembly, and had nearly completed
9*




102        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
the labor of the toilet when Mrs. Richman entered.
My friendship for you, my dear Eliza," said she,
" interests me so much in your affairs that I cannot repress my curiosity to know who has the
honor of your hand this evening." " If it be any
honor," said I," it will be conferred on Major Sanford."  "I think it far too great to be thus bestowed," returned she. " It is perfectly astonishing
to me that the virtuous part of my sex will countenance, caress, and encourage those men whose
profession it is to blast their reputation, destroy
their peace, and triumph in their infamy." "Is
this, madam, the avowed design of Major Sanford?"  "I know not what he avows, but his
practice too plainly bespeaks his principles and
views." " Does he now practise the arts you mention? or do you refer to past follies?" "I cannot
answer for his present conduct; his past has established his character." " You, madam, are an advocate for charity; that, perhaps, if exercised in
this instance, might lead you to think it possible
for him to reform, to become a valuable member
of society, and, when connected with a lady of
virtue and refinement, to be capable of making a
good husband." " I cannot conceive that such a
lady would be willing to risk her all upon the
slender prospect of his reformation. I hope the




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     103
one with whom I am conversing has no inclination to so hazardous an experiment." "Why, not
much."  " Not much! If you have any, why do
you continue to encourage Mr. Boyer's addresses?"?  I am  not sufficiently acquainted with
either, yet, to determine which to take. At present, I shall not confine myself in any way. In
regard to these men, my fancy and my judgment
are in scales; sometimes one preponderates, sometimes the other; which will finally prevail, time
alone can reveal." " O my cousin, beware of the
delusions of fancy! Reason must be our guide if
we would expect durable happiness." At this instant a servant opened the door, and told me that
Major Sanford waited in the parlor. Being ready,
I wished Mrs. Richman a good evening, and went
down. Neither General Richman nor his lady appeared.  He therefore handed me immediately
into his phaeton, and we were soon in the assembly room.
I was surprised, on my entrance, to find Mr.
Selby there, as he did not mention, at dinner, his
intention of going. He attached himself to our
party, and, in the intervals of dancing, took every
opportunity of conversing with me. These, however, were not many; for Major Sanford assiduously precluded the possibility of my being much




104        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
engaged by any one else. We passed the evening
very agreeably; but the major's importunity was
rather troublesome as we returned home. He insisted upon my declaring whether Mr. Boyer really
possessed my affections, and whether I intended
to confer myself on him or not. "If," said he,
"you answer me in the affirmative, I must despair; but if you have not absolutely decided
against me, I will still hope that my persevering
assiduity, my faithful love, may at last be rewarded." I told him that I was under no obligation to
give him any account of my disposition towards
another, and that he must remember the terms of
our present association to which he had subscribed.
I therefore begged him to waive the subject now,
if not forever. He asked my pardon, if he had
been impertinent, but desired leave to renew his
request that I would receive his visits, his friendly
visits. I replied that I could not grant this, and
that he must blame himself, not me, if he was an
unwelcome guest at General Richman's. He lamented the prejudices which my friends had imbibed against him, but flattered himself that I was
more liberal than to be influenced by them without any positive proof of demerit, as it was impossible that his conduct towards me should ever
deviate from the strictest rules of honor and love.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      105
What shall I say now, my friend? This man
to an agreeable person has superadded graceful
manners, an amiable temper, and a fortune sufficient to insure the enjoyments of all the pleasing
varieties of social life. Perhaps a gay disposition
and a lax education may have betrayed him into
some scenes of dissipation. But is it not an adage
generally received, that " a reformed rake makes.
the best husband"? My fancy leads me for happiness to the festive haunts of fashionable life. I am
at present, and know not but I ever shall be, too
volatile for a confinement to domestic avocations
and sedentary pleasures. I dare not, therefore,
place myself in a situation where these must be
indispensable. Mr. Boyer's person and character
are agreeable. I really esteem the man. My reason and judgment, as I have observed before, declare for a connection with him, as a state of tranquillity and rational happiness. But the idea of
relinquishing those delightful amusements and flattering attentions which wealth and equipage bestow is painful. Why were not the virtues of the
one and the graces and affluence of the other
combined? I should then have been happy indeed. But, as the case now stands, I am loath to
give up either; being doubtful which will conduce
most to my felicity.




106        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
Pray write me impartially; let me know your
real sentiments, for I rely greatly upon your opinion. I am, &c.,
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       XXVII.
To THE REV. MR. BOYER.
NEW HAVEN.
I am quite a convert to Pope's assertion, that
" Every woman is at heart a rake."
How else can we account for the pleasure which
they evidently receive from the society, the flattery,
the caresses of men of that character? Even the
most virtuous of them seem naturally prone to
gayety, to pleasure, and, I had almost said, to dissipation. How else shall we account for the existence of this disposition in your favorite fair?
It cannot be the result of her education. Such a
one as she has received is calculated to give her a
very different turn of mind. You must forgive me,
my friend, for I am a little vexed and alarmed on
your -account. I went last evening to the assembly, as I told you in my last that I intended. I
was purposely without a partner, that I might have




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      107
the liberty to exercise my gallantry as circumstances should invite. Indeed I must own that
my particular design was to observe Miss Wharton's movements, being rather inclined to jealousy
in your behalf. She was handed into the assembly
room by Major Sanford. The brilliance of their
appearance, the levity of their manners, and the
contrast of their characters I found to be a general subject of speculation. I endeavored to associate with Miss Wharton, but found it impossible
to detach her a moment from the coxcomb who
attended her. If she has any idea of a connection
with you, why does she continue to associate with
another, especially with one of so opposite a description? I am seriously afraid that there is
more intimacy between them than there ought to
be, considering the encouragement she has given
you.
I hope you will not be offended by my freedom
in this matter. It originates in a concern for your
honor and future happiness. I am anxious lest
you should be made the dupe of a coquette, and
your peace of mind fall a sacrifice to an artful
debauchee. Yet I must believe that Miss Wharton has, in reality, all that virtue and good sense
of which she enjoys the reputation; but her presenit conduct is mysterious.




108        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
I have said enough (more than I ought, perhaps)
to awaken your attention to circumstances which
may lead to important events. If they appear of
little or no consequence to you, you will at least
ascribe the mention of them to motives of sincere
regard in your friend and humble servant,
T. SELBY.
LETTER       XXVIII.
To MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.
NEW HAVENW.
I go on finely with my amour. I have every encouragement that I could wish. Indeed my fair
one does not verbally declare in my favor; but
then, according to the vulgar proverb, that "actions speak louder than words," I have no reason
to complain; since she evidently approves my gallantry, is pleased with my company, and listens to
my flattery. Her sagacious friends have undoubtedly given her a detail of my vices. If, therefore,
my past condiict has been repugnant to her notions
of propriety, whydoes she not act consistently, and
refuse at once to associate with a man whose character she cannot esteem? But no; that, Charles,
is no part of the female plan; our entrapping a




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       109
few of their sex only discovers the gayety of our
dispositions, the insinuating graces of our manners, and the irresistible charms of our persons and
address. These qualifications are very alluring to
the sprightly fancy of the fair. They think to enjoy the pleasures which result from this source,
while their vanity and ignorance prompt each one
to imagine herself superior to delusion, and to
anticipate the honor of reclaiming, the libertine and
reforming the rake. I don't know, however, but
this girl will really have that merit with me; for I
am so much attached to her that I begin to suspect I should sooner become a convert to sobriety
than lose her. I cannot find that I have made
much impression on her heart as yet. Want of
success in this point mortifies me extremely, as it
is the first time I ever failed. Besides, I am apprehensive that she is prepossessed in favor of the
other swain, the clerical lover, whom I have mentioned to you before. The chord, therefore, upon
which I-play the most, is the dissimilarity of their
dispositions and pleasures. I endeavor to detach
her from  him, and disaffect her towards him;
knowing that, if I can separate them entirely, I
shall be more likely to succeed in my plan. Not
that I have any thoughts of marrying her myself;
that will not do at present. But I love her too
10




110        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
well to see her connected with another for life. I
must own myself a little revengeful, too, in this affair. I wish to punish her friends, as she calls
them, for their malice towards me, for their cold
and negligent treatment of me whenever I go to
the house. I know that to frustrate their designs
of a connection between Mr. Boyer and Eliza
would be a grievous disappointment. I have not
yet determined to seduce her, though, with all her
pretensions to virtue, I do not think it impossible.
And if I should, she can blame none but herself,
since she knows my character, and has no reason
to wonder if I act consistently with it. If she will
play with a lion, let her beware of his paw, I say.
At present, I wish innocently to enjoy her society;
it is a luxury which I never tasted before. She
is the very soul of pleasure. The gayest circle is
irradiated by her presence, and the highest entertainment receives its greatest charms from her
smiles. Besides, I have purchased the seat of
Captain Pribble, about a mile from her mother's;
and can I think of suffering her to leave the neighborhood just as I enter it? I shall exert every
nerve to prevent that, and hope to meet with the
usual success of
PETER SANFORD.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     111
LETTER       XXIX.
To Miss ELIZA WHARTON.
HARTFORD.
You desire me to write to you, my friend; but
if you had not, I should by no means have refrained. I tremble at the precipice on which you
stand, and must echo and reecho the seasonable
admonition of the excellent Mrs. Richman, " Beware of the delusions of fancy."   You are
strangely infatuated by them! Let not the magic
arts of that worthless Sanford lead you, like an
ignis fatuus, from the path of rectitude and virtue.
I do not find, in all your conversations with
him, that one word about marriage drops from
his lips. This is mysterious. No, it is characteristic of the man. Suppose, however, that his
views are-honorable; yet what can you expect,
what can you promise yourself, from such a connection? "A reformed rake," you say, "makes
the best husband" -a trite, but a very erroneous
maxim, as the fatal experience of thousands of
our sex can testify. In the first place, I believe
that rakes very seldom do reform while their fortunes and constitutions enable them to pursue
their licentious pleasures. But even allowing this
to happen; can a woman of refinement and deli



112        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
cacy enjoy the society of a man whose mind has
been corrupted, whose taste has been vitiated, and
who has contracted a depravity, both of sentiment
and -manners, which no degree of repentance can
wholly efface? Besides, of true love they are absolutely incapable. Their passions have been much
too hackneyed to admit so pure a flame. You cannot anticipate sincere and lasting respect from
them.  They have been so long accustomed to
the company of those of our sex who deserve no
esteem, that the greatest dignity and purity of
character can never excite it in their breasts.
They are naturally prone to jealousy. Habituated to an intercourse with the baser part of the
sex, they level the whole, and seldom believe any
to be incorruptible. They are always hardhearted
and cruel. How else could they triumph in the
miseries which they frequently occasion? Their
specious manners may render them agreeable companions abroad, but at home the evil propensities
of their minds will invariably predominate. They
are steeled against the tender affections which
render domestic life delightful; strangers to the
kind, the endearing sympathies of husband, father,
and friend.  The thousand nameless attentions
which soften the rugged path of life are neglected,
and deemed unworthy of notice, by persons who




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     113
have been inured to scenes of dissipation and debauchery. And is a man of this description to be
the partner, the companion, the bosom friend of
my Eliza? Forbid it, Heaven! Let not the noble
qualities so lavishly bestowed upon her be thus
unworthily sacrificed!
You seem to be particularly charmed with the
fortune of Major Sanford, with the gayety of his
appearance, with the splendor of his equipage,
with the politeness of his manners, with what you
call the graces of his person. These, alas! are
superficial, insnaring endowments. As to fortune,
prudence, economy, and regularity are necessary to
preserve it when possessed.  Of these Major Sanford is certainly destitute-unless common fame
(which more frequently tells the truth than some
are willing to allow) does him great injustice. As
to external parade, it will not satisfy the rational
mind when it aspires to those substantial pleasures
for which yours is formed. And as to the graces
of person and manners, they are but a wretched
substitute for those virtues which adorn and dignify human life. Can you, who have always been
used to serenity and order in a family, to rational,
refined, and improving conversation, relinquish
them, and launch into the whirlpool of frivolity,
where the correct taste and the delicate sensibil10 




114        THE COQUETTE.; OR, THE
ity which you possess must constantly be wounded
by the frothy and illiberal sallies of licentious wit?
This, my dear, is but a faint picture of the situation to which you seem inclined. Reverse the
scene, and you will perceive the alternative which
is submitted to your option in a virtuous connection with Mr. Boyer. Remember that you are acting for life, and that your happiness in this world,
perhaps in the next, depends on your present
choice.
I called last evening to see your mamma. She
is fondly anticipating your return, and rejoicing in
the prospect of your agreeable and speedy settlement. I could not find it in my heart to distress
her by intimating that you had other views. I
wish her benevolent bosom nevermore to feel the
pangs of disappointed hope.
I am busily engaged in preparing for my nuptials. The solemn words, "As long as ye both
shall live,' render me thoughtful and serious. I
hope for your enlivening presence soon, which will
prove a seasonable cordial to the spirits of your
Lucy FREEMAN.




HISTORY OF ELIZA AWHVARTON.    115
LETTER       XXX.
To Miss Lucy FREEMAIN.
NEw HAV-EIN.
I believe your spirits need a cordial indeed, my
dear Lucy, after drawing so dreadful a portrait of
my swain. But I call him mine no longer. I renounce him entirely. My friends shall be gratified; and if their predictions are verified, I shall
be happy in a union with a man of their choice.
General Richman and lady have labored abundantly to prove that my ruin was inevitable if I
did not immediately break all intercourse with
Major Sanford.  I promised a compliance with
their wishes, and have accomplished the task,
though a hard one I found it.  Last Thursday
he was here, and desired leave to spend an hour
with me. I readily consented, assuring my friends
it should be the last hour which I would ever spend
in his company.
He told me that he was obliged to leave town
for a few days; and as I should probably see Mr.
Boyer before his return, he could not depart in
peace without once more endeavoring to interest
me in his favor, to obtain some token of esteem,
some glimpse of hope that I would not utterly reject him, to support him in his absence. I thanked




116        THE COQUETTE; OR., THE
him for the polite attention he had paid me since
our acquaintance, told him that I should ever retain a grateful sense of his partiality to me, that
he would ever share my best wishes, but that all
connection of the kind to which he alluded must
from that time forever cease.
He exerted all his eloquence to obtain a retraction of that sentence, and ran with the greatest
volubility through all the protestations, prayers,
entreaties, professions, and assurances which love
could feel or art contrive.  I had resolution, however, to resist them, and to command my own
emotions on the occasion better than my natural
sensibility gave me reason to expect.
Finding every effort vain, he rose precipitately,
and bade me adieu. I urged his tarrying to tea;
but he declined, saying that he must retire to his
chamber, being, in his present state of mind, unfit
for any society, as he was banished from mine. I
offered him my hand, which he pressed with ardor
to his lips, and, bowing in silence, left the room.
Thus terminated this affair-an affair which,
perhaps, was only the effect of mere gallantry on
his part, and of unmeaning pleasantry on mine,
and which, I am sorry to say, has given my friends
so much anxiety and concern. I am under obligations to them for their kind solicitude, however
causeless it may have been.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      117
As an agreeable companion, as a polite and finished gallant, Major Sanford is all that the most
lively fancy could wish. And as you have always
affirmed that I was a little inclined to coquetry,
can you wonder at my exercising it upon so happy
a subject? Besides, when I thought more seriously, his liberal fortune was extremely alluring
to me, who, you know, have been hitherto confined
to the rigid rules of prudence and economy, not to
say necessity, in my finances.
Miss Lawrence called on me yesterday, as she
was taking the air, and asked me whether Major
Sanford took leave of me when he left town. " He
was here last week," said I, "but I did not know
that he was gone away." "0, yes," she replied,
" he is gone to take possession of his seat which
he has lately purchased of Captain Pribble. I am
told it is superb; and it ought to be, if it has the
honor of his residence."  " Then you have a great
opinion of Major Sanford," said I. " Certainly;
and has not every body else?" said she. "I am
sure he is a very fine gentleman."  Mrs. Richman
smiled rather contemptuously, and I changed the
subject. I believe that the innocent heart of this
simple girl is a little taken in.
I have just received a letter from Mr. Boyer in
the usual style. He expects the superlative hap



118        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
piness of kissing my hand next week. 0, dear!
I believe I must begin to fix my phiz. Let me
run to the glass, and try if I can make up one that
will look madamish. Yes, I succeeded very well.
I congratulate you on your new neighbor; but
I advise friend George to have the Gordian knot
tied immediately, lest you should be insnared by
this bewitching squire.
I have been trying to seduce General Richman
to accompany me to the assembly this evening,
but cannot prevail. Were Mrs. Richman able to
go with us, he would be very happy to wait on us
together; but, to tell the truth, he had rather enjoy
her company at home than any which is to be
found abroad. I rallied him on his old-fashioned
taste, but my heart approved and applauded his
attachment. I despise the married man or woman
who harbors an inclination to partake of separate
pleasures.
I am told that a servant man inquires for me
below- the messenger of some enamoured swain,
I suppose. I will step down and learn what message he brings.
Nothing extraordinary; it is only a card of compliments from a Mr. Emmons, a respectable merchant of this city, requesting the honor to wait on
me to the assembly this evening- a welcome




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      119
request, which I made no hesitation to grant. If
I must resign these favorite amusements, let me
enjoy as large a share as possible till the time arrives. I must repair to the toilet, and adorn for a
new conquest the person of
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       XXXI.
To MIss ELIZA WHARTON.
HIATFORD.
I am very happy to find you are in so good
spirits, Eliza, after parting with your favorite
swain; for I perceive that he is really the favorite of your fancy, though your heart cannot esteem
him; and, independent of that, no sensations can
be durable.
I can tell you some news of this strange man.
He has arrived, and taken possession of his seat.
Having given general invitations, he has been
called upon and welcomed by most of the neighboring gentry.  Yesterday he made an elegant
entertainment. Friend George (as you call him)
and I were of the number who had cards. Twentyone couple went, I am told. We did not go. I
consider my time too valuable to be spent in culti



120        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
vating acquaintance with a person from whom
neither pleasure nor improvement is to be expected. His profuseness may bribe the unthinking multitude to show him respect; but he must
know that, though
"Places and honors have been bought for gold,
Esteem and love were never to be sold."
I look upon the vicious habits and abandoned
character of Major Sanford to have more pernicious
effects on society than the perpetrations of the robber and the assassin. These, when detected, are
rigidly punished by the laws of the land. If their
lives be spared, they are shunned by society, and
treated with every mark of disapprobation and
contempt. But, to the disgrace of humanity and
virtue, the assassin of honor, the wretch who breaks
the peace of families, who robs virgin innocence
of its charms, who triumphs over the ill-placed
confidence of the inexperienced, unsuspecting, and
too credulous fair, is received and caressed, not
only by his own sex, to which he is a reproach, but
even by ours, who have every conceivable reason
to despise and avoid him. Influenced by these
principles, I am neither ashamed nor afraid openly
to avow my sentiments of this man, and my reasons for treating him with the most pointed neglect.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      121
I write warmly on the subject; for it is a subject in which I think the honor and happiness of
my sex concerned. I wish they would more generally espouse their own cause. It would conduce
to the public, weal, and to their personal respectability. I rejoice, heartily, that you have had resolution to resist his allurements, to detect and repel
his artifices. Resolution in such a case is absolutely necessary; for,
" In spite of all the virtue we can boast,
The woman that deliberates is lost."
As I was riding out yesterday I met your mamma. She wondered that I was not one of the
party at our new neighbor's. "The reason, madam," said I, " is, that I do not like the character
of the man." "I know nothing of him," said she;
" he is quite a stranger to me, only as he called at
my house last week to pay me his respects, as he
said, for the sake of my late husband, whose memory he revered, and because I was the mother of
Miss Eliza Wharton, with whom he had the honor
of some little acquaintance. His manners are engaging, and I am sorry to hear that his morals are
corrupt."
This; my dear, is a very extraordinary visit. I
fear that he has not yet laid aside his arts. Be
11




122        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
still on your guard, is the advice of your sincere
and faithful friend,
Lucy FREEMAN.
LETTER       XXXII.
To MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.
HARTFORD.
I am  really banished and rejected — desired
nevermore to think of the girl I love with a view
of indulging that love or of rendering it acceptable to its object. You will perhaps dispute the
propriety of the term, and tell me it is not loveit is only gallantry, and a desire to exercise it with
her as a favorite nymph. I neither know nor care
by what appellation you distinguish it; but it truly
gives me pain. I have not felt one sensation of
genuine pleasure since I heard my sentence; yet I
acquiesced in it, and submissively took my leave;
though I doubt not but I shall retaliate the indignity one time or other.
I have taken possession of my new purchase -
an elegant and delightful residence. It is rendered
more so by being in the vicinity of my charmer's
native abode.  This circumstance will conduce
much to my enjoyment, if I can succeed in my




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      123
plan of separating her from Mr. Boyer. I know
that my situation and mode of life are far more
pleasing to her than his, and shall therefore trust
to my appearance and address for a reestablishment in her favor. I intend, if possible, to ingratiate myself with her particular friends. For this
purpose I called last week at her mother's to
pay my respects to her (so I told the good woman) as an object of my particular regard, and
as the parent of a young lady whom I had the
honor to know and admire.   She received me
very civilly, thanked me for my attention, and
invited me to call whenever I had opportunity;
which was the very thing I wanted. I intend,
likewise, to court popularity. I don't know but
I must accept, by and by, some lucrative office
in the civil department; yet I cannot bear the
idea of confinement to business. It appears to
me quite inconsistent with the character of a
gentleman; I am sure it is with that of a man of
pleasure. But something I must do; for I tell
you, in confidence, that I was obliged. to mortgage
this place because I had not wherewithal to pay
for it. But I shall manage matters very well, I
have no doubt, and keep up the appearance of
affluence till I find some lady in a strait for a hus



124        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
band whose fortune will- enable me to extricate
myself from these embarrassments. Do come and
see me, Charles; for, notwithstanding all my gayety and parade, I have some turns of the hypo,
some qualms of conscience, you will call them;
but I meddle not with such obsolete words. And
so good by to you, says
PETER SANFORD.
LETTER        XXXIII.
To Miss Lucy FREEMAN.
NEW HAVENP
My dear friend: I believe I must begin to assume airs of gravity; and they will not be quite
so foreign to my feelings now as at some other
times. You shall know the reason. I have been
associated for three days with sentiment and sobriety in the person of Mr. Boyer. I don't know but
this man will seduce me into matrimony. He is
very eloquent upon the subject; and his manners
are so solemn that I am strongly tempted -yet I
dare not -to laugh. Really, Lucy, there is something extremely engaging, and soothing, too, in
virtuous and refined conversation. It is a source




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     125
of enjoyment which cannot be realized by the dissolute and unreflecting. But then this particular
theme of his is not a favorite one to me; I mean
as connected with its consequences -care and
confinement. However, I have compounded the
matter with him, and conditioned that he shall expatiate on the subject, and call it by what name
he pleases, platonic or conjugacl, provided he will
let me take my own time for the consummation.
I have consented that he shall escort me next
week to see my mamma and my Lucy. 0, how
the idea of returning to that revered mansion, to
those beloved friends, exhilarates my spirits!
General Richman's politeness to me has induced him to invite a large party of those gentlemen and ladies who have been particularly attentive to me during my residence here to dine and
take tea to-morrow. After that, I expect to-be engaged in making farewell visits till I leave the place.
I shall, therefore, forego the pleasure of telling you
any occurrences subsequent to this date until you
see and converse with your sincere friend,
ELIZA WHARTON.
II




126        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
LETTER        XXXIV.
TO MRS. RICHIMAN.
HARTFORD.
Dear madam: The day after I left your hospitable dwelling brought me safe to that of my honored mamma; to the seat of maternal and filial
affection; of social ease and domestic peace; of
every species of happiness which can result from
religion and virtue, from refinement in morals and
manners.
I found my brother and his wife, with Lucy
Freeman and Mr. Sumner, waiting to receive and
bid me welcome.    I flew with ecstasy to the
bosom of my mamma, who received me with her
accustomed affection, testified by the expressive
tears of tenderness which stole silently down her
widowed cheek. She was unable to speak. I
was equally so. We therefore indulged a moment
the pleasing emotions of sympathizing sensibility.
When disengaged from her fond embrace, I was
saluted by the others in turn; and, having recovered myself, I presented Mr. Boyer to each of the
company, and each of the company to him. He
was cordially received by all, but more especially
by my mamma.
The next day I was called upon and welcomed




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      127
by several of my neighboring acquaintance; among
whom I was not a little surprised to see Major
Sanford. He came in company with Mr. Stoddard and lady, whom he overtook, as he told me,
near by; and, as they informed him that the design of their visit was to welcome me home, he
readily accepted their invitation to partake of the
pleasure which every one must receive on my return. I bowed slightly at his compliment, taking
no visible notice of any peculiarity of expression
either in his words or looks.
His politeness to Mr. Boyer appeared to be the
result of habit; Mr. Boyer's to him to be forced
by respect to the company to which he had gained
admission. I dare say that each felt a conscious
superiority-the one on the score of merit, the
other on that of fortune. Which ought to outweigh the judicious mind will easily decide. The
scale, as I once observed to you, will turn as fancy
or reason preponderates.  I believe the esteem
which I now have for Mr. Boyer will keep me
steady; except, perhaps, some little eccentricities
now and then, just by way of variety. I am going
to-morrow morning to spend a few days with
Lucy Freeman, to assist in the preparation for,
and the solemnization of, her nuptials. Mr. Boyer,




128        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
in the mean time, will tarry among his friends in
town. My mamma is excessively partial to him,
though I am not yet jealous that she means to rival me. I am not certain, however, but it might
be happy for him if she should; for I suspect, notwithstanding the disparity of her age, that she is
better calculated to make him a good wife than I
am or ever shall be.
But to be sober. Please, madam, to make my
compliments acceptable to those of your neighbors, whose politeness and attention to me while
at your house have laid me under particular obligations of gratitude and respect. My best regards attend General Richman. Pray tell him
that, though I never expect to be so good a wife
as he is blessed with, yet I intend, after a while,
(when I have sowed all my wild oats,) to make a
tolerable one.
I am anxious to hear of a wished-for event, and
of your safety. All who know you feel interested
in your health and happiness, but none more
warmly than your obliged and affectionate
ELIZA WHARTON.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      129
LETTER XXXV.
To Miss ELIZA WHARTON.
NEW HAVEN.
I write a line, at Mrs. Richman's request, just to
inform you, Eliza, that, yesterday, that lovely and
beloved woman presented me with a daughter.
This event awakens new sensations in my mind,
and calls into exercise a kind of affection which
had before lain dormant. I feel already the tenderness of a parent, while imagination fondly
traces the mother's likeness in the infant form.
Mrs. Richman expects to receive your congratulations in a letter by the next post. She bids me
tell you, moreover, that she hopes soon to receive
an invitation, and be able to attend, to the consummation you talk of. Give Mrs. Richman's and my
particular regards to your excellent mother and
to the worthy Mr. Boyer. With sentiments of
esteem and friendship, I am, &c.,
S. RICHMAN.




130        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
LETTER       XXXVI.
To MRS. RICHMAN.
HARTFORD.
From the scenes of festive mirth, from the conviviality of rejoicing friends, and from the dissipating amusements of the gay world, I retire with
alacrity, to hail my beloved friend on the important charge which she has received; on the accession to her family, and, may I not say, on the addition to her care? since that care will be more
than counterbalanced by the pleasure it confers.
Hail, happy babe! ushered into the world by the
best of mothers; entitled by birthright to virtue
and honor; defended by parental love from the
weakness of infancy and childhood, by guardian
wisdom from the perils of youth, and by affluent
independence from the griping hand of poverty in
more advanced life! May these animating prospects be realized by your little daughter, and may
you long enjoy the rich reward of seeing her all
that you wish.
Yesterday, my dear friend, Lucy Freeman, gave
her hand to the amiable and accomplished Mr.
George Sumner. A large circle of congratulating
friends were present. Her dress was such as wealth
and elegance required. Her deportment was every




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      131
thing that modesty and propriety could suggest.
They are, indeed, a charming couple. The consonance of their dispositions, the similarity of their
tastes, and the equality of their ages are a sure
pledge of happiness. Every eye beamed with
pleasure on the occasion, and every tongue echoed
the wishes of benevolence. Mine only was silent.
Though not less interested in the felicity of my
friend than the rest, yet the idea of a separation,
perhaps of an alienation of affection, by means of
her entire devotion to another, cast an involuntary
gloom over my mind. Mr. Boyer took my hand
after the ceremony was past. "Permit me, Miss
Wharton," said he, "to lead you to your lovely
friend; her happiness must be heightened by your
participation of it." " 0, no," said I, " I am too
selfish for that. She has conferred upon another
that affection which I wished to engross. My love
was too fervent to admit a rival." "Retaliate,
then," said he, "this fancied wrong by doing likewise." I observed that this was not a proper time
to discuss that subject, and, resuming my seat,
endeavored to put on the appearance of my accustomed vivacity. I need not relate the remaining
particulars of the evening's entertainment. Mr.
Boyer returned with my mamma, and I remained
at Mrs. Freeman's.




132         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
We are to have a ball here this evening. Mr.
Boyer has been with us, and tried to monopolize
my company; but in vain. I am too much engaged by the exhilarating scenes around for attending.to a subject which affords no variety. I shall
not close this till to-morrow.
I am rather fatigued with the amusements of
last night, which were protracted to a late hour.
Mr. Boyer was present; and I was pleased to see
him not averse to the entertainment, though his
profession prevented him from taking an active
part. As all the neighboring gentry were invited,
Mr. Freeman would by no means omit Major
Sanford, which his daughter earnestly solicited.
It happened (unfortunately, shall I say?) that I
drew him for a partner. Yet I must own that I
felt verylittle reluctance to my lot. He is an excellent
dancer, and well calculated for a companion in the
hours of mirth and gayety. I regretted Mr. Boyer's being present, however, because my enjoyment
seemed to give. him pain. I hope he is not inclined to the passion of jealousy. If he is, I fear
it will be somewhat exercised.
Lucy Freeman, now Mrs. Sumner, removes next
week to Boston. I have agreed to accompany her,
and spend a month or two in her family. This




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       133
will give variety to the journey of life. Be so
kind as to direct your next letter to me there.
Kiss the dear little babe for me. -Give love,
compliments, &c., as respectively due; and believe
me, with every sentiment of respect, your affectionate
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       XXXVII.
To MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.
HAlRTFORD.
Dear Charles: My hopes begin to revive. I am
again permitted to associate with my Eliza-invited to the same entertainment. She does not
refuse to join with me in the mazy dance, and partake the scenes of festive mirth. Nay, more; she
allows me to press her hand to my lips, and listens to the sighing accents of love. Love her I
certainly do. Would to Heaven I could marry
her! Would to Heaven I had preserved my fortune, or she had one to supply its place! I am
distracted at the idea of losing her forever. I am
sometimes tempted to solicit her hand in serious
earnest; but if I should, poverty and want must
be the consequence. Her disappointment in the
12




134        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
expectation of affluence and splendor, which I believe her ruling passion, would afford a perpetual
source of discontent and mutual wretchedness.
She is going to Boston with her friend, Mrs.
Sumner. I must follow her. I must break the
connection which is rapidly forming between her
and Mr. Boyer, and enjoy her society a while
longer, if no more.
I have had a little intimation from New Haven
that Miss Lawrence is partial to me, and might
easily be obtained, with a handsome property into
the bargain. I am neither pleased with nor averse
to the girl; but she has money, and that may supply the place of love, by enabling me to pursue independent pleasures. This she must expect, if she
marries a man of my cast. She, doubtless, knows
my character; and if she is so vain of her charms
or influence as- to think of reforming or confining
me, she must bear the consequences.
However, I can keep my head up at present
without recourse to the noose of matrimony, and
shall therefore defer any particular attention to
her till necessity requires it. I am, &c.,
PETER SANFORD.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON       135
LETTER       XXXVIII.
To MRS. M. WHARTON.
BOSTON.
You commanded me, my dear mamma, to write
to you. That command I cheerfully obey, in testimony of my ready submission and respect. No
other avocation could arrest my time, which is now
completely occupied in scenes of amusement.
Mrs. Sumner is agreeably settled and situated.
She appears to be possessed of every blessing
which can render life desirable. Almost every day
since our arrival has been engrossed by visitants.
Our evenings we have devoted to company abroad;
and that more generally than we should otherwise
have done, as my stay is limited to so short a
period, The museum, the theatres, the circus, and
the assemblies have been frequented.
Mrs. Sumner has made me several presents;
notwithstanding which, the articles requisite to a
fashionable appearance have involved me in considerable expense. I fear that you will think me
extravagant when you are told how much.
Mr. Boyer tarried in town about a week, having
business. He appeared a little concerned at my
taste for dissipation, as he once termed it. He even
took the liberty to converse seriously on the subject.




136        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
I was displeased with his freedom, and reminded
him that I had the disposal of my own time as
yet, and that, while I escaped the censure of my
own heart, I hoped that no one else would presume
to arraign it. He apologized, and gave up his
argument.
I was much surprised, the first time I went to
the play, to see Major Sanford in the very next
box. He immediately joined our party; and wherever I have been since, I have been almost sure to
meet him.
Mr. Boyer has taken his departure; and I do
not expect to see him again till I return home.
0 mamma, I am embarrassed about this man.
His worth I acknowledge; nay, I esteem him very
highly. But can there be happiness with such a
disparity of dispositions?
I shall soon return to the bosom of domestic
tranquillity, to the arms of maternal tenderness,
where I can deliberate and advise at leisure about
this important matter. Till when, I am, &c.,
ELIZA WHARTON.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      137
LETTER       XXXIX.
To MR. T. SELBY.
HlAMPSHIRE.
Dear sir: I believe that I owe you an apology
for my long silence. But my time has been much
engrossed of late, and my mind much more so.
When it will be otherwise I cannot foresee. I
fear, my friend, that there is some foundation
for your suspicions respecting my beloved Eliza.
What pity it is that so fair a form, so accomplished
a mind, should be tarnished in the smallest degree
by the follies of coquetry! If this be the fact,
which I am loath to believe, all my regard for her
shall never make me the dupe of it.
When I arrived at her residence at New Haven,
where I told you in my last I was soon to go, she
gave me a most cordial reception. Her whole behavior to me was correspondent with those sentiments of esteem and affection which she modestly
avowed. She permitted me to accompany her to
Hartford, to restore her to her mother, and to declare my wish to receive her again from her hand.
Thus far all was harmony and happiness. As all
my wishes were consistent with virtue and honor,
she readily indulged them. She took apparent
pleasure in my company, encouraged my hopes of
12 *




138        TIHE COQUETTE; OR, THE
a future union, and listened to the tender accents
of love.
But the scenes of gayety which invited her
attention reversed her conduct. The delightful
hours of mutual confidence, of sentimental converse, and of the interchange of refined affection
were no more. Instead of these, parties were
formed unpleasing to my taste, and every opportunity was embraced to join in diversions in which
she knew I could not consistently take a share. I,
however, acquiesced in her pleasure, though I
sometimes thought myself neglected, and even
hinted it to her mother. The old lady apologized
for her daughter, by alleging that she had been absent for a long time; that her acquaintances were
rejoiced at her return, and welcomed her by striving
to promote her amusement.
One of her most intimate friends was married
during my stay, and she appeared deeply interested
in the event. She spent several days in assisting
her previous to the celebration. I resided, in the
mean time, at her mamma's, visiting her at her
friend's, where Major Sanford, among others, was
received as a guest. Mrs. Sumner acquainted me
that she had prevailed on Miss Wharton to go and
spend a few weeks with her at Boston, whither
she was removing, and urged my accompanying




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      139
them. I endeavored to excuse myself, as I had
been absent from my people a considerable time,
and my return was now expected. But their importunity was so great, and Eliza's declaration that
it would be very agreeable to her so tempting, that
I consented.  Here I took lodgings, and spent
about a week, taking every opportunity to converse
with Eliza, striving to discover her real disposition
towards me. I mentioned the inconvenience of
visiting her so often as I wished, and suggested my
desire to enter, as soon as might be, into a family
relation. I painted, in'the most alluring colors, the
pleasures resulting from domestic tranquillity, mutual confidence, and conjugal affection, and insisted on her declaring frankly whether she designed
to share this happiness with me, and when it
should commence. She owned that she intended
to give me her hand, but when she should be ready
she could not yet determine. She pretended a
promise from me to wait her time, to consent
that she should share the pleasures of the fashionable world as long as she chose, &c.
I then attempted to convince her of her mistaken
ideas of pleasure; that the scenes of dissipation,
of which she was so passionately fond, afforded no
true enjoyment; that the adulation of the coxcomb could not give durability to her charms, or




140        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
secure the approbation of the wise and good; nor
could the fashionable amusements of brilliant assemblies and crowded theatres furnish the mind
with
" That which nothing earthly gives or can destroy -
The soul's calm sunshine and the heartfelt joy."
These friendly suggestions, I found, were considered as the theme of a priest, and my desire
to detach her from such empty pursuits as the selfishness of a lover. She was even offended at my
freedom, and warmly affirmed that no one had a
right to arraign her conduct. I mentioned Major
Sanford, who was then in town, and who (though
she went to places of public resort with Mr. and
Mrs. Sumner) always met and gallanted her home.
She rallied me upon my jealousy, as she termed it,
wished that I would attend her myself, and then
she should need no other gallant. I answered that
I had rather resign that honor to another, but
wished, for her sake, that he might be a gentleman
whose character would not disgrace the company
with which he associated. She appeared mortified and chagrined in the extreme. However, she
studiously suppressed her emotions, and even
soothed me with the blandishments of female softness. We parted amicably.   She promised to
return soon and prepare for a compliance with my




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      141
wishes. I cannot refuse to believe her. I cannot
cease to love her. My heart is in her possession. She has a perfect command of my passions.
Persuasion dwells on her tongue. With all the
boasted fortitude and resolution of our sex, we are
but mere machines. Let love once pervade our
breasts, and its object may mould us into any
form that pleases her fancy, or even caprice.
I have just received a letter from Eliza, informing me of her return to Hartford. To-morrow I
shall set out on a visit to the dear girl; for, my
friend, notwithstanding all her foibles, she is very
dear to me. Before you hear from me again I expect that the happy day will be fixed-the day
which shall unite in the most sacred bands this
lovely maid and your faithful friend,
J. BOYER.
LETTER XL.
To MR. T. SELBY.
HAMPSHIRE.
I have returned; and the day, indeed, is fixed;
but 0, how different from my fond expectations!
It is not the day of union, but the day of final
separation; the day which divides me from my




142        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
charmer; the day which breaks asunder the bands
of love; the day on which my reason assumes its
empire,. and triumphs over the arts of a finished
coquette.  Congratulate me, my friend, that I
have thus overcome my feelings, and repelled the
infatuating wiles of a deceitful girl. I would not
be understood to impeach Miss Wharton's virtue;
I mean her chastity. Virtue, in the common acceptation of the term, as applied to the sex, is confined to that particular, you know. But in my
view, this is of little importance where all other
virtues are wanting.
When I arrived at Mrs. Wharton's, and inquired
for Eliza, I was told that she had rode out, but
was soon expected home. An hour after, a phaeton stopped at the door, from which my fair one
alighted, and was handed into the house by Major
Sanford, who immediately took leave. I met her,
and offered my hand, which she received with apparent tenderness.
When the family had retired after supper, and
left us to talk on our particular affairs, I found the
same indecision, the same loathness to bring our
courtship to a period, as formerly. Her previous
excuses were renewed, and her wishes to have a
union still longer delayed were zealously urged.
She could not bear the idea of confinement to the




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      143
cares of a married life at present, and begged me
to defer all solicitation on that subject to some future day. I found my temper rise, and told her
plainly that I was not thus to be trifled with; that
if her regard for me was sincere, if she really intended to form a connection with me, she could not
thus protract the time, try my patience, and prefer
every other pleasure to the rational interchange of
affection, to the calm delights of domestic life. But
in vain did I argue against her false notions of happiness, in vain did I represent the dangerous system of conduct which she now pursued, and urge
her to accept, before it was too late, the hand and
heart which were devoted to her service. That, she
said, she purposed ere long to do, and hoped amply
to reward my faithful love; but she could not fix
the time this evening. She must consider a little
further, and likewise consult her mother. " Is it not
Major Sanford whom you wish to consult, madam? "
said I. She blushed, and gave me no answer.
" Tell me, Eliza," I continued, "tell me frankly, if he
has not supplanted me in your affections - if he be
not the cause of my being thus evasively, thus
cruelly, treated. " Major Sanford, sir," replied she,
" has done you no harm. He is a particular friend
of mine, a polite gentleman, and an agreeable
neighbor, and therefore I treat him with civility;




144        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
but he is not so much interested in my concerns
as to alter my disposition towards any other person." " Why," said'I, " do you talk of friendship
with a man of his character? Between his society
and mine there is a great contrast. Such opposite
pursuits and inclinations cannot be equally pleasing to the same taste. It is, therefore, necessary
that you renounce the one to enjoy the other; I
will give you time to decide which. I am going
to a friend's house to spend the night, and will call
on you to-morrow, if agreeable, and converse with
you further upon the matter."  She bowed assent,
and I retired.
The next afternoon I went, as agreed, and found
her mamma and her alone in the parlor. She was
very pensive, and appeared to have been in tears.
The sight affected me. The idea of having treated
her harshly the evening before disarmed me of
my resolution to insist on her decision that day.
I invited her to ride with me and visit a friend, to
which she readily consented. We spent our time
agreeably. I forbore to press her on the subject
of our future union, but strove rather to soothe her
mind, and inspire her with sentiments of tenderness towards me. I conducted her home, and returned early in the evening to my friend's, who
met me at the door, and jocosely told me that he




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      145
expected that I should now rob them of their
agreeable neighbor. " But," added he, " we have
been apprehensive that you would be rivalled if
you delayed your visit much longer."' I did not
suspect a rival," said I. " Who can the happy
man be?"    "I can say nothing from personal
observation," said he; " but fame, of late, has
talked loudly of Major Sanford and Miss Wharton.
Be not alarmed," continued he, seeing me look
grave; " I presume no harm is intended; the major
is a man of gallantry, and Miss Wharton is a gay
lady; but I dare say that your connection will be
happy, if it be formed." I noticed a particular emphasis on the word if; and, as we were alone, I
followed him with questions till the whole affair
was developed. I informed him of my embarrassment, and he gave me to understand that Eliza's
conduct had, for some time past, been a subject
of speculation in the town; that, formerly, her
character was highly esteemed; but that her intimacy with a man of Sanford's known libertinism,
more especially as she was supposed to be engaged to another, had rendered her very censurable; that they were often together; that wherever
she went he was sure to follow, as if by appointment; that they walked, talked, sung, and danced
together in all companies; that some supposed he
13




146        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
would marry her; others that he only meditated
adding her name to the black catalogue of deluded
wretches whom he had already ruined.
I rose and walked the room in great agitation.
He apologized for his freedom; was sorry if he
had wounded my feelings; but friendship alone
had induced him frankly to declare the truth, that
I might guard against duplicity and deceit. I
thanked him for his kind intentions, and assured
him that I should not quit the town till I had determined this affair in one way or another.
I retired to bed, but sleep was a stranger to my
eyes. With the dawn I rose, and after breakfast
walked to Mrs. Wharton's, who informed me that
Eliza was in her chamber, writing to a friend, but
would be down in a few minutes. I entered into
conversation with the old lady on the subject of
her daughter's conduct, hinted my suspicions of
the cause, and declared my resolution of knowing
my destiny immediately. She endeavored to extenuate, and excuse her, as much as possible, but
frankly owned that her behavior was mysterious;
that no pains had been wanting, on her part, to
alter and rectify it; that she had remonstrated, expostulated, advised, and entreated as often as occasion required. She hoped that my resolution
would have a good effect, as she knew that her
daughter esteemed me very highly.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      147
In this manner we conversed till the clock struck
twelve; and, Eliza not appearing, I desired her
mamma to send up word that I waited to see
her. The maid returned with an answer that she
was indisposed, and had lain down. Mrs. Wharton observed that she had not slept for several
nights, and complained of the headache in the
morning. The girl added that she would wait on
Mr. Boyer in the evening. Upon this information
I rose, and abruptly took my leave. I went to
dine with a friend, to whom I had engaged myself
the day before; but my mind was too much agitated to enjoy either the company or the dinner.
I excused myself from tarrying to tea, and returned
to Miss Wharton's. On inquiry, I was told that
Eliza had gone to walk in the garden, but desired
that no person might intrude on her retirement.
The singularity of the request awakened my curiosity, and determined me to follow her. I sought
her in vain in different parts of the garden, till,
going towards an arbor, almost concealed from
sight by surrounding shrubbery, I discovered her
sitting in close conversation with Major Sanford!
My blood chilled in my veins, and I stood petrified with astonishment at the disclosure of such
baseness and deceit.  They both rose in visible
confusion.  I dared not trust myself to accost




148        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
them. My passions were raised, and I feared that
I might say or do something unbecoming my character. I therefore gave them a look of indignation
and contempt, and retreated to the house. I traversed the parlor hastily, overwhelmed with chagrin
and resentment. Mrs. Wharton inquired the cause.
I attempted to tell her, but my tongue refused utterance. While in this situation, Eliza entered the
room. She was not less discomposed than myself.
She sat down at the window and wept. Her
mamma wept likewise. At length she recovered
herself, in a degree, and desired me to sit down.
I answered, No, and continued walking. " Will
you," said she, "permit me to vindicate my conduct, and explain my motives?"   "Your conduct," said I, "cannot be vindicated; your motives need no explanation; they are too apparent.
How, Miss Wharton, have I merited this treatment from you?   But I can bear it no longer.
Your indifference to me proceeds from an attachment to another, and, forgive me if I add, to one
who is the disgrace of his own sex and the destroyer of yours. I have been too long the dupe
of your dissimulation and coquetry - too long has
my peace of mind been sacrificed to the arts of a
woman whose conduct has proved her unworthy
of my regard; insensible to love, gratitude, and
honor.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      149
( To you, madam," said I, turning to her mother,
" I acknowledge my obligations for your friendship,
politeness, and attention. I once hoped for the
privilege of rocking for you the cradle of declining
age. I am deprived of that privilege; but I pray
that you may never want a child whose love and
duty shall prove a source of consolation and
comfort.
" Farewell. If we never meet again in this life,
I hope and trust we shall in a better - where the
parent's eye shall cease to weep for the disobedience of a child, and the lover's heart to bleed for
the infidelity of his mistress."
I turned to Eliza, and attempted to speak; but
her extreme emotion softened me, and I could not
command my voice. I took her hand, and bowing,
in token of an adieu, went precipitately out of the
house. The residence of my friend, with whom I
lodged, was at no great distance, and thither I repaired. As I met him in the entry, I rushed by
him, and betook myself to my chamber. The fever
of resentment and the tumult of passion began now
to give place to the softer emotions of the soul. I
found myself perfectly unmanned.  I gave free
scope to the sensibility of my heart; and the effeminate relief of tears materially lightened the
load which oppressed me.
13 "




150         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
After this arduous struggle I went to bed, and
slept more calmly than for several nights before.
The next morning I wrote a farewell letter to
Eliza, (a copy of which I shall enclose to you,)
and, ordering my horse to be brought, left town
immediately.
My resentment of her behavior has much assisted
me in erasing her image from my breast. In this
exertion I have succeeded beyond my most sanguine expectations.  The more I reflect on her
temper and disposition, the more my gratitude is
enlivened towards the wise Disposer of all events
for enabling me to break asunder the snares of the
deluder. I am convinced that the gayety and extravagance of her taste, the frivolous levity of her
manners, disqualify her for the station in which I
wished to have placed her. These considerations,
together with that resignation to an overruling
Providence which the religion I profess and teach
requires me to cultivate, induce me cheerfully to
adopt the following lines of an ingenious poet:Since all the downward tracts of time
God's watchful eye surveys,
0, who so wise to choose our lot,
Or regulate our ways?
"Since none can doubt his equal love,
Unmeasurably kind,




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       151
To his unerring, gracious will
Be every wish resigned.
"Good when he gives, supremely good;
Not less when he denies;
E'en crosses from his sovereign hand
Are blessings in disguise."
I am, &c.,          J. BOYER.
To Miss ELIZA WHARTON.
[Enclosed in the foregoing.]
HARTFORD.
Madam: Fearing that my resolution may not
be proof against the eloquence of those charms
which has so long commanded me, I take this
method of bidding you a final adieu. I write not
as a lover, - that connection between us is forever
dissolved, -but I address you as a friend; as a
friend to your happiness, to your reputation, to
your temporal and eternal welfare. I will not rehearse the innumerable instances of your imprudence and misconduct which have fallen under my
observation. Your own heart must be your monitor.  Suffice it for me to warn you against the
dangerous tendency of so dissipated a life, and to




152        THE COQUETT.E;-OR, THE
tell you that I have traced (I believe aright) the
cause of your dissimulation and indifference to me.
They are an aversion to the sober, rational, frugal
mode of living to which my profession leads; a
fondness for the parade, the gayety, not to say the
licentiousness, of a station calculated to gratify
such a disposition; and a prepossession for Major
Sanford, infused into your giddy mind by the frippery, flattery, and artifice of that worthless and
abandoned man. Hence you preferred a connection with him, if it could be accomplished; but a
doubt whether it could, together with the advice
of your friends, who have kindly espoused my
cause, has restrained you from the avowal of your
real sentiments, and led you to continue your
civilities to me. What the'result of your coquetry would have been had I waited for it, I cannot
say; nor have I now any desire or interest to know.
I tear from my breast the idea which I have long
cherished of future union and happiness with you
in the conjugal state.  I bid a last farewell to
these fond hopes, and leave you forever.
For your own sake, however, let me conjure
you to review your conduct, and, before you have
advanced beyond the possibility of returning to
rectitude and honor, to restrain your steps from
the dangerous path in which you now tread.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      153
Fly Major Sanford. That man is a deceiver.
Trust not his professions. They are certainly insincere, or he would not affect concealment; he
would not induce you to a clandestine intercourse.
Many have been the victims to his treachery. O
Eliza, add not to the number. Banish him from
your society if you wish to preserve your virtue
unsullied, your character unsuspicious. It already
begins to depreciate. Snatch it from the envenomed tongue of slander before it receive an
incurable wound.
Many faults have been visible to me, over which
my affection once drew a veil. That veil is now
removed; and acting the part of a disinterested
friend, I shall mention some few of them with
freedom. There is a levity in your manners which
is inconsistent with the solidity and decorum becoming a lady who has arrived to years of discretion. There is also an unwarrantable extravagance betrayed in your dress. Prudence and economy are such necessary, at least such decent, virtues, that they claim the attention of every female,
whatever be her station or her property. To these
virtues you are apparently inattentive. Too large
a portion of your time is devoted to the adorning
of your person.
Think not that I write thus plainly from resent



154        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
ment. No, it is from benevolence. I mention
your foibles, not to reproach you with them, but
that you may consider their nature and effects, and
renounce them.
I wish you to regard this letter as the legacy of
a friend, and to improve it accordingly. I shall
leave town before you receive it. 0, how different
are my sensations at going from what they were
when I came! But I forbear description. Think
not, Eliza, that I leave you with indifference.
The conquest is great, the trial more than I can
calmly support; yet the consciousness of duty
affords consolation-a duty I conceive it to be
which I owe to myself and to the people of my
charge, who are interested in my future connection.
I wish not for an answer; my resolution is unalterably fixed. But should you hereafter be convinced of the justice of my conduct, and become a
convert to my advice, I shall be happy to hear it.
That you may have wisdom to keep you from
falling, and conduct you safely through this state
of trial to the regions of immortal bliss, is the fervent prayer of your sincere friend and humble
servant,
J. BOYER.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      155
LETTER       XLI.
To MRS. LUCY SUMNER.
HARTFORD.
The retirement of my native home is not so
gloomy, since my return from Boston, as I expected,
from the contrast between them. Indeed, the customs and amusements of this place are materially
altered since the residence of Major Sanford among
us.  The dull, old-fashioned sobriety which formerly prevailed is nearly banished, and cheerfulness, vivacity, and enjoyment are substituted in its
stead. Pleasure is now diffused through all ranks
of the people, especially the rich; and surely it
ought to be cultivated, since the wisest of men informs us that a merry heart "doth good like a
medicine." As human life hath many diseases
which require medicines, are we not right in selecting the most agreeable and palatable? Major
Sanford's example has had great influence upon
our society in general; and though some of our
old ones think him rather licentious, yet, for aught
I can see, he is as strict an observer of decorum as
the best of them. True, he seldom goes to church 
but what of that?  The Deity is not confined to
temples made with hands. He may worship him
as devoutly elsewhere, if he chooses; and who has
a right to say he does not?




156        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
His return from Boston was but a day or two
after mine.  He paid me an early visit, and, indeed, has been very attentive ever since. My
mamma is somewhat precise in her notions of propriety, and, of course, blames me for associating
so freely with him. She says that my engagements to Mr. Boyer ought to render me more
sedate, and more indifferent to the gallantry of
mere pleasure hunters, to use her phrase. But I
think otherwise. If I am to become a recluse, let
me at least enjoy those amusements which are
suited to my taste a short time first. Why should
I refuse the polite attentions of this gentleman?
They smooth the rugged path of life, and wonderfully accelerate the lagging wheels of time.
Indeed, Lucy, he has an admirable talent for
contributing to vary and increase amusement.
We have few hours unimproved. Some new plan
of pleasure and sociability is constantly courting
our adoption. He lives in all the magnificence of
a prince; and why should I, who can doubtless
share that magnificence if I please, forego the advantages and indulgences it offers, merely to gratify those friends who pretend to be better judges of
my happiness than I am myself? I have not yet
told my mamma that he entertains me with the
lovers theme, or, at least, that I listen to it. Yet




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      157
I must own to you, from whom I have never concealed an action or idea, that his situation in life
charms my imagination; that the apparent fervor
and sincerity of his passion affect my heart. Yet
there is something extremely problematical in his
conduct. He is very urgent-with me to dissolve
my connection with Mr. Boyer, and engage not to
marry him without his consent, or knowledge,
to say no more. He warmly-applauds my wish
still longer to enjoy the freedom and independence
of a single state, and professedly adopts it for his
own. While he would disconnect me from another, he mysteriously conceals his own intentions
and views. In conversation with him yesterday,
I plainly told him that his conduct was unaccountable; that, if his professions and designs were honorable, he could not fneglect to mention them to
my mamma; that I should no longer consent to
carry on a clandestine intercourse with him; that
I hourly expected Mr. Boyer, whom I esteemed,
and who was the favorite of my friends; and that,
unless he acted openly in this affair before his arrival, I should give my hand to him.
He appeared thunderstruck at this declaration.
All his words and actions were indicative of the
most violent emotions of mind.. He entreated me
to recall the sentence; for I knew not, he said, his
14




158         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
motives for secrecy; yet he solemnly swore that
they were honorable.  I replied in the words of
the poet, -
"Trust not a man; they are by nature cruel,
False, deceitful, treacherous, and inconstant.
When a man talks of love, with caution hear him;
But if he swear, he'll certainly deceive you."
He begged that he might know by what means he
had provoked my suspicions; by what means he
had forfeited my confidence.    His importunity
vanquished my fortitude; and before we parted, I
again promised to make him acquainted, from
time to time, with the progress of my connection
with Mr. Boyer.
Now, my dear friend, I want your advice more
than ever.  I am   inadvertently embarrassed by
this man; and how to extricate myself I know
not. I am sensible that the power is in my hands;
but the disposition (shall I confess it?) is wanting.
"I know the right, and I approve it too;
I know the wrong, and yet the wrong pursue."
I have just received a card from  Major Sanford,
inviting me to ride this afternoon.   At first I
thought of returning a negative answer; but,
recollecting that Mr. Boyer must soon be here, I




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     159
concluded it best to embrace this opportunity of
talking further with him. I must now prepare to
go, but shall not close this letter, for I intend
writing in continuation, as events occur, till this
important business is decided.
Tuesday evening. -The little tour which I mentioned to you this afternoon was not productive
of a final determination. The same plea was
repeated over and over again without closing the
cause. On my return I found Mr. Boyer waiting
to receive me. My heart beat an involuntary welcome. I received him very cordially, though with
a kind of pleasure mixed with apprehension. I
must own that his conversation and manners are
much better calculated to bear the scrutinizing eye
of a refined understanding and taste than Major
Sanford's. But whether the fancy ought not to be
consulted about our settlement in life, is with me
a question.
When we parted last I had promised Mr. Boyer
to inform him positively, at this visit, when my
hand should be given. He therefore came, as he
told me in the course of our conversation, with the
resolution of claiming the fulfilment of this promise.
I begged absolution, told him that I could not
possibly satisfy his claim, and sought still to evade
and put off the important'decision. He grew




160        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
warm, and affirmed that I treated him ungenerously and made needless delays. He even accused
me of indifference towards him, and of partiality
to another. Major Sanford, he believed, was the
man who robbed him of the affection which he had
supposed his due. He warned me against any
intercourse with him, and insisted that I must renounce the society of the one or the other immediately.
He would leave me, he said, this evening, and
call to-morrow to know the result of my determination. It was late before he bade me good night,
since which I have written these particulars. It is
now time to lay aside my pen, and deliberate what
course to take.
Wednesday evening. -Last night I closed not
my eyes. I rose this morning with the sun, and
went into the garden till breakfast. My mamma
doubtless saw the disorder of my mind, but kindly
avoided any inquiry about it. She was affectionately attentive to me, but said nothing of my particular concerns. I mentioned not my embarrassment to her. She had declared herself in favor of
Mr. Boyer; therefore I had no expectation that she
would advise impartially. I retired to my chamber, and remained in a kind of revery for more
than an hour, when I was roused by the rattling




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     161
of a carriage at the door. I hastened to the window, and saw Major Sanford just driving away.
The idea of his having been to converse with my
mamma gave me new sensations. A thousand
perplexities occurred to my mind relative to the
part most proper for me to act in this critical situation. All these might have been avoided, had I
gone down and inquired into the matter; but this
I delayed till dinner. My mamma then informed
me that Major Sanford had been with her, and
inquired for me, but that she thought it unnecessary to call me, as she presumed I had no particular business with him. I knew the motives by
which she was actuated, and was vexed at her
evasions. I told her plainly that she would never
carry her point in this way; that ithoought myself
capable of. coanduting tmy own affairs, and wished
her not to interfere, except by her advice, which I
should always listen to and comply with when I
could possibly make it consistent with my inclination and interest.  She wept at my undutiful
anger, (of which I have severely repented since,)
and affectionately replied, that my happiness was
the object of her wishes and prayers; conformably
to which she felt constrained freely to speak her
mind, though it incurred my displeasure. She
then went through again with all the comparative
14 e




162        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
circumstances and merits of the two candidates
for my favor, which have perpetually rung in my
ears for months. I shed tears at the idea of my
embarrassment; and in this condition Mr. Boyer
found us. He appeared to be affected by my visible disorder, and, without inquiring the cause,
endeavored to dissipate it. This was kindly done.
He conversed upon indifferent subjects, and invited
me to ride, and take tea with your mamma, to
which I readily consented. We found Iter at home,
and passed the time agreeably, excepting the alloy
of your absence. Mr. Boyer touched lightly on
the subject of our last evening's debate, but expatiated largely on the pleasing power of love, and
hoped that we should one day both realize and
exemplify it in perfection. When we returned he
observed that it was late, and took his leave, telling me that he should call to-morrow, and begged
that I would then relieve his suspense. As I was
retiring to bed, the maid gave me a hint that
Major Sanford's servant had been here and left a
letter. I turned instantly back to my mamma, and,
telling her my information, demanded the letter.
She hesitated, but I insisted on having it; and
seeing me resolute, she reluctantly gave it into my
hand. It contained the following words: —




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      163
"Am I forsaken? am I abandoned?     0 my
adorable Eliza, have you sacrificed me to my rival?
have you condemned me to perpetual banishment
without a hearing?
"I came this day to plead my cause at your
feet, but was cruelly denied the privilege of seeing
you. My mind is all anarchy and confusion. My
soul is harrowed up with jealousy. I will be revenged on those who separate us, if that distracting
event take place. But it is from your lips only
that I can hear my sentence. You must witness
its effects. To what lengths my despair may carry
me I know not. You are the arbitress of my
fate.
" Let me conjure you to meet me in your garden
to-morrow at any hour you shall appoint. My
servant will call for an answer in the morning.
Deny me not an interview, but have pity on your
faithful                         SANFORD."
I wrote for answer that I would meet him tomorrow, at five o'clock in the afternoon.
I have now before me another night for consideration, and shall pass it in that employment. I
purpose not to see Mr. Boyer till I have conversed
with Major Sanford.
Thursday morning. —The morning dawns, and




164        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
ushers in the day — a day, perhaps, big with the
fate of your friend. What that fate may be is
wrapped in the womb of futurity —that futurity
which a kind Providence has wisely concealed from
the penetration of mortals.
After mature consideration, after revolving and
re-revolving every circumstance on both sides of
the question, I have nearly determined, in compliance with the advice of my friends and the dictates
of my own judgment, to give Mr. Boyer the preference, and with him to tread the future round
of life.
As to the despair of Major Sanford, it does not
much alarm me. Such violent passions are seldom so deeply rooted as to produce lasting effects.
I must, however, keep my word, and meet him according to promise.
Mr. Boyer is below. My mamma has just sent
me word that he wished to see me. My reply: was,
that I had lain down, which was a fact.
One o'clock. - My mamma, alarmed by my indisposition, has visited my apartment. I soon
convinced her that it was but trifling, owing principally to the want of sleep, and that an airing in
the garden, which I intended towards night, would
restore me.
Ten o'clock at night. - The day is past; and




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     165
such a day it has been as I hope nevermore to
see. At the hour appointed, I went, tolerably composed and resolute, into the garden. I had taken
several turns, and retired into the little arbor, where
you and I have spent so many happy hours, before
Major Sanford entered. When he appeared, a
consciousness of the impropriety of this clandestine intercourse suffused my cheek, and gave a
coldness to my manners. He immediately penetrated the cause, and observed that my very countenance told him he was no longer a welcome guest
to me. I asked him if he ought so to be, since
his motives for seeking admission were unworthy
of being communicated to my friends. That, he
said, was not the case, but that prudence in the
present instance required a temporary concealment.
He then undertook to exculpate himself from
blame, assuring me that as soon as I should discountenance the expectations of Mr. Boyer, and discontinue the reception of his address, his intentions
should be made known. He was enlarging upon
this topic, when we heard a footstep approaching
us, and, looking up, saw Mr. Boyer within a few
paces of the arbor. Confusion seized us both.
We rose involuntarily from our seats, but were
mute as statues. He spoke not a word, but casting
a look of indignant accusation at me, -a glance




166        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
which penetrated my very soul, -turned on his
heel, and walked hastily back to the house.
I stood a few moments, considering what course
to take, though shame and regret had almost taken
from me the power of thought.
Major Sanford took my hand. I withdrew it
from him. " I must leave you," said I. "Where
will you go?" said he. "I will go and try to retrieve my character. It has suffered greatly by
this fatal interview."
He threw himself at my feet, and exclaimed,
" Leave me not, Eliza; I conjure you not to
leave me." " Let me go now," I rejoined, "or I
bid you farewell forever." I flew precipitately by
him, and went into the parlor, where I found Mr.
Boyer and my mamma, the one traversing the
room in the greatest agitation, the other in a flood
of tears. Their appearance affected me, and I
wept like an infant. When I had a little recovered myself, I begged him to sit down. He answered, No. I then told him that however unjustifiable my conduct might appear, perhaps I might
explain it to his satisfaction if he would hear me;
that my motives were innocent, though they doubtless wore the aspect of criminality in his view.
He sternly replied, that no palliation could avail;
that my motives were sufficiently notorious. He




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      167
accused me of treating him ill, of rendering him
the dupe of coquetting artifice, of having an intrigue with Major Sanford, and declared his determination to leave me forever, as unworthy of his
regard, and incapable of love, gratitude, or honor.
There was too much reason in support of his accusations for me to gainsay them, had his impetuosity suffered me to attempt it.
But, in truth, I had no inclination to self-defence.
My natural vivacity had forsaken me, and I listened without interrupting him to the fluency of
reproachful language which his resentment inspired. He took a very solemn and affectionate
leave of my mamma, thanking her for her politeness, and wishing her much future felicity. He attempted to address me, I suppose, somewhat in the
same way; but his sensibility somewhat overcame
him, and he only took my hand, and, bowing in
silence, departed.
The want of rest for two long nights together,
the exercise of mind, and conflict of passions
which now tortured my breast, were too much for
me to support.
When I saw that he was gone, that he had actually forsaken me, I fainted. My mamma, with
the assistance of the maid, soon restored me.
When I opened my eyes and beheld this amiable




168        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
and tender parent watching and attending me with
the most anxious concern, without one reproachful word, without one accusing look, my reflections
upon the part I had acted, in defeating her benev.
olent wishes, were exquisitely afflictive. But we
mutually forbore to mention the occasion of my
illness; and I complied with her advice to take
some refreshment, and retire to my chamber. I am
so much fatigued by the exertions of the day that
rest is absolutely necessary; and I lay aside my
pen to seek it.
Friday morning.- When I shall again receive
the balmy influence of sleep, I know not. It has
absolutely forsaken me at present. I have had a
most restless night. Every awakening idea presented itself to my imagination; whether I had
sustained a real loss in Mr. Boyer's departure, reflections on my own misconduct, wvith the censure
of my friends, and the ill-natured remarks of my
enemies, excited the most painful anxiety in my
mind.
I am going down; but how shall I see my mamma? To her I will confess my faults, in her maternal breast repose my cares, and by her friendly
advice regulate my conduct. Had I done this before, I might have escaped this trouble, and saved
both her and myself many distressing emotions.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     169
Friday evening. - I have had a long conversation
with my mamma, which has greatly relieved my
mind. She has soothed me with the most endearing tenderness.
Mr. Atkins, with whom Mr. Boyer lodged while
in town, called here this afternoon. I did not see
him; but he told my mamma that Mr. Boyer had
returned home, and left a letter for me, which he
had promised to convey with his own hand. By
this I am convinced that the die is absolutely cast
with respect to him, and that no attempts on my
part to bring about a reconciliation would be either
prudent or successful.  He has penetrated the
cause of my proceedings; and such is his resentment, that I am inclined -not much to regret his
avoiding another interview.
My. excuses would be deemed utterly insufficient, and truth would not befriend and justify
me.
As I know you are impatient to hear from me,
I will now despatch this long letter without any
other addition than that I am your sincere friend,
ELIZA WHARTON.
15




170        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
LETTER       XLII.
To MR. CHARLES DEIGHITON.
HARTFORD.
Well, Charles, the show is over, as we Yankees
say, and the girl is my own; that is, if I will
have her. I shall take my own time for that, however. I have carried my point, and am amply revenged on the whole posse of those dear friends of
hers. She was entangled by a promise (not to
marry this priest without my knowledge) which
her conscience would not let her break. Thank
God, I have no conscience. If I had, I believe it
would make wretched work with me. I suppose she
intended to have one or the other of us, but preferred me. I have escaped the noose this time, and
I11' be fairly hanged if I ever get so near it again;
for indeed, Charles, I was seriously alarmed. 1
watched all their motions, and the appearance of
harmony between them awakened all my activity
and zeal. So great was my infatuation, that I verily believe I should have asked her in marriage,
and risked the consequences, rather than to have
lost her.
I went to the house while Mr. Boyer was in
town; but her mamma refused to call her, or to
acquaint her that I was there. I then wrote a




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      171
despairing letter, and obtained a conference with her
in the garden. This was a fortunate event for me.
True, Eliza was very haughty, and resolutely insisted on an immediate declaration or rejection;
and I cannot say what would have been the result
if Mr. Boyer had not surprised us together. He
gave us a pretty harsh look, and retired without
speaking a word.
I endeavored to detain Eliza, but in vain. She
left me on my knees, which are always ready to
bend on such occasions.
This finished the matter, it seems. I rose, and
went into a neighbor's to observe what happened,
and in about half an hour saw Mr. Boyer come
out and go to his lodgings. "' This," said I to myself, 4 is a good omen." I went home, and was informed, next day, that he had mounted his horse
and departed.
I heard nothing more of her till yesterday, when
I determined to know how she stood affected towards me. I therefore paid her a visit, her mamma
being luckily abroad.
She received me very placidly, and told me, on
inquiry, that Mr. Boyer's resentment at her meeting me in the garden was so great that he had
bade her a final adieu. I congratulated myself on
having no rival, hoped that her favor would now




172        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
be unbiased, and that in due time I should reap
the reward of my fidelity. She begged me not to
mention the subject, said she had been perplexed
by our competition, and wished not to hear any
thing further about it at present. I bowed in
obedience to her commands, and changed the discourse.
I informed her that I was about taking a tour to
the southward; that I should be absent several
months, and trusted that on my return her erbarrassments would be over.
I left her with regret. After all, Charles, she is
the summurm bonurm of my life. I must have her
in some way or other. Nobody else shall, I am
resolved.
I am making preparations for my journey, which,
between you and me, is occasioned by the prospect
of making a speculation, by which I hope to mend
my affairs. The voyage will at least lessen my expenses, and screen me from the importunity of
creditors till I can look about me.
PETER SANFORD.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     173
LETTER       XLIII.
To Miss ELIZA WHARTON.
NEW HIAEN.
My dear Eliza: Through the medium of my
friends at Hartford, I have been informed of the
progress of your affairs as they have transpired.
The detail which my sister gave me of your separation from Mr. Boyer was painful, as I had long
contemplated a happy union between you; but
still more disagreeable sensations possessed my
breast when told that you had suffered your lively
spirits to be depressed, and resigned yourself to
solitude and dejection.
Why, my dear friend, should you allow this
event thus to affect you? Heaven, I doubt not,
has happiness still in store for you -perhaps
greater than you could have enjoyed in that connection. If the conviction of any misconduct on
your part gives you pain, dissipate it by the reflection that unerring rectitude is not the lot of mortals; that few are to be found who have not deviated, in a greater or less degree, from the maxims
of prudence. Our greatest mistakes may teach
lessons which will be useful through life.
But I will not moralize. Come and see us, and
we will talk over the matter once, and then dismiss
15 




174        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
it forever. Do prevail on your mamma to part
with you a month or two at least. I wish you
to witness how well I manage my nursery business.  You will be charmed with little Harriet.
I am already enough of the mother to think her
a miniature of beauty and perfection.
How natural and how easy the transition from
one stage of life to another! Not long since, I
was a gay, volatile girl, seeking satisfaction in
fashionable circles and amusements; but now I
am thoroughly domesticated. All my happiness
is centred within the limits of my own walls, and
I grudge every moment that calls me from the
pleasing scenes of domestic life. Not that I am so
selfish as to exclude my friends from my affection
or society. I feel interested in their concerns, and
enjoy their company. I must own, however, that
conjugal and parental love are the mainsprings of
my life. The conduct of some mothers, in depriving their helpless offspring of the care and kindness
which none but a mother can feel, is to me unaccountable. There are many nameless attentions
which nothing short of maternal tenderness and
solicitude can pay, and for which the endearing
smiles and progressive improvements of the lovely
babe are an ample reward.
How delightful to trace from day to day the




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       175
expansion of reason and the dawnings of intelligence! 0, how I anticipate the time when these
faculties shall be displayed by the organs of speech,
when the lisping accent shall heighten our present
pleasure, and the young idea be capable of direction "how to shoot"!  General Richman is not
less interested by these enjoyments than myself.
All the father beams in his eye; all the husband
reigns in his heart and pervades his every action.
Miss Lawrence is soon to be married to Mr.
Laiton. I believe he is a mere fortune hunter.
Indeed, she has little to recommend her to any
other. Nature has not been very bountiful either
to her body or mind. Her parents have been
shamefully deficient in her education, but have
secured to her what they think the chief good -
not considering that happiness is by no means the
invariable attendant of wealth.
I hope this incoherent scrawl will amuse, while
it induces you speedily to favor us with another
visit.
My best wishes attend your honored mamma,
while I subscribe myself, &c.,
A. RICHMAN.




176        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
LETTER       XLIV.
To MRS. LUCY SUMNER.
HARTFORD.
I am extremely depressed, my dear Lucy. The
agitating scenes through which I have lately passed
have broken my spirits, and rendered me unfit for
society. Major Sanford has visited me, and taken
his leave. He is gone to the southward on a tour
of two or three months. I declined any further
conversation with him on the subject of love. At
present I wish not to hear it mentioned by any
one.
I have received a very friendly and consolatory
letter from Mrs. Richman.  She invites me to
spend a few months with her, which, with my
mamma's consent, I shall do. I hope the change
of situation and company will dissipate the gloom
which hangs over my mind.
It is a common observation, that we know not
the value of a blessing but by deprivation. This
is strictly verified in my case. I was insensible of
my regard for Mr. Boyer till this fatal separation
took place. His merit and worth now appear in
the brightest colors. I am convinced of that excellence which I once slighted, and the shade of
departed happiness haunts me perpetually. I am




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      177
sometimes tempted to write to him and confess
my faults; to tell himr the situation of my mind,
and to offer him my hand; but he has precluded
all hopes of success by the severity of his letter to
me. At any rate, I shall do nothing of the kind
till my return from New Haven.
I am the more willing to leave home as my affairs are made a town talk. My mamma persuades me to disregard it; but how can I rise
superior to "the world's dread laugh, which
scarce the firm philosopher can scorn"?
Pray remember me to Mr. Sumner. You are
happy, my friend, in the love and esteem of a
worthy man, but more happy still in deserving
them. Adieu.
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       XLV.
TO THE SAME.
HARTFORD.
I have returned to the once smiling seat of maternal affection; but I find not repose and happiness even here.
In the society of my amiable friends at New
Haven, I enjoyed every thing that friendship could




178        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
bestow; but rest to a disturbed mind was not in
their power.
I was on various parties of pleasure, and passed
through different scenes of amusement; but with
me they have lost their charms. I relished them
not as formerly.
Mrs. Richman advises me to write to Mr. Boyer,
and I have concluded to act accordingly. If it
answer no other purpose, it will be a relief to my
mind. If he ever felt for me the tenderness and
regard which he professed, I think they cannot be
entirely obliterated. If they still remain, perhaps
I may rekindle the gentle flame, and we may both
be happy. I may at least recall his esteem, and
that will be a satisfaction to my conscious mind.
I wonder what has become of Major Sanford.
Has he, too, forsaken me? Is it possible for him
wilfully to neglect me? I will not entertain so
injurious a suspicion. Yet, if it were the case, it
would not affect me like Mr. Boyer's disaffection;
for I frankly own that my fancy, and a taste for
gayety of life, induced me to cherish the idea of a
connection with Major Sanford; while Mr. Boyer's
real merit has imprinted those sentiments of esteem
and love in my heart which time can never efface.
Instead of two or three, more than twelve
months have elapsed, and I have not received a




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     179
line from Major Sanford in all that time, which
I fully expected, though he made no mention of
writing; nor have I heard a syllable about him,
except a report circulated by his servants, that he
is on the point of marrying, which I do not believe. No; it is impossible. I am persuaded that
his passion for me was sincere, however deceitful
he may have been with others. But I will not
bestow an anxious thought upon him. My design
relative to Mr. Boyer demands my whole attention.
My hopes and fears alternately prevail, and my
resolution is extremely fluctuating. How it finally
terminates you shall hear in my next. Pray write
to me soon. I stand in need of the consoling
power of friendship. Nothing can beguile my
pensive hours, and exhilarate my drooping spirits,
like your letters.
Let me know how you are to be entertained
this winter at the theatre. That, you know, is a
favorite amusement of mine. You see I can step
out of myself a little. Afford an assisting hand,
and perhaps I may again be fit for society.
ELIZA WHARTON




180        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
LETTER       XLVI.
TO THE REV. J. BOYER.
HARTFORD.
Sir: It is partly in compliance with your desire,
in your last letter to me, in which you tell me
"that when I am convinced of the justice of your
conduct, andbecome a convert to your advice, you
shall be happy to hear it," and partly from a wish
to inform you that such is in truth my present state
of mind, that I now write to you.
I cannot but hope that this letter, coming from
the hand which you once sought, will not be unacceptable.
Pope very justly observes, that "every year is a
critic on the last." The truth of this observation
is fully exemplified in my years. How severely
this condemns the follies of the preceding, my own
heart alone can testify.
I shall not offer any palliation or apology for my
misconduct. You told me it admitted none. I
frankly confess it; and if the most humble acknowledgment of my offences, with an assurance
that they have cost me the deepest repentance, can
in any degree atone for them, I now make that
atonement. Casting off the veil of dissimulation,
I shall write with frankness, believing you pos



HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      181
sessed of more honor than to make any ungenerous
use of the confidence reposed in you.
To say that I ever esteemed you may, perhaps,
appear paradoxical when compared with certain
circumstances which occurred during our acquaintance; but to assert that I loved you may be deemed
still more so. Yet these are real facts-facts of
which I was then sensible, and by which I am
now more than ever affected.
I think you formerly remarked that absence
served but to heighten real love. This I find by
experience. Need I blush to declare these sentiments, when occasion like this calls for the avowal?
I will go even further, and offer you that heart
which you once prized, that hand which you once
solicited. The sentiments of affection which you
then cultivated, though suppressed, I flatter myself
are not wholly obliterated. Suffer me, then, to
rekindle the latent flame, to revive that friendship
and tenderness which I have so foolishly neglected. The endeavor of my future life shall be to
reward your benevolence, and perhaps we may yet
be happy together.
But let not this offer of myself constrain you.
Let not pity influence your conduct. I would
have your return, if that pleasing event take place,
16




182        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
a voluntary act. Receive, or consent not to confer,
happiness.
I thought it a duty which I owed to you, and to
myself, to make this expiation, this sacrifice of
female reserve, for the wrongs I have done you.
As such I wish you to accept it; and if your affections are entirely alienated or otherwise engaged, if you cannot again command the respect
and love which I would recall, do not despise
me for the concessions I have made. Think as
favorably of my past faults and of my present disposition as charity will allow. Continue, if possible, to be my friend, though you cease to be my
lover.
Should this letter find you in the full possession of happiness, let not the idea of your once
loved Eliza, thus intruding itself again upon your
thoughts, interrupt your enjoyments. May some
distinguished female, as deserving as fair, partake
with you of that bliss which I have forfeited.
Whatever may be my destiny, my best wishes
shall ever attend you, and a pleasing remembrance
of your honorable attentions preside, till death, in
the breast of
ELIZA WHARTON.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      183
LETTER       XLVII.
To Miss ELIZA WHARTON.
HAMPSHIRE.
Madam: As I was sitting last evening in my
study, a letter was handed me by a servant; upon
which-I no sooner cast my eye than I recognized,
with surprise, the hand and seal of my once loved,
but to me long lost, Eliza. I opened it hastily,
and with still greater surprise read the contents.
You write with frankness; I shall answer in
the same manner.
On reviewing our former intercourse, be assured
that I have not an accusing thought in my heart.
The regard which I felt for you was tender and
animated, but it was not of that passionate kind
which ends in death or despair. It was governed
by reason, and had a nobler object in view than
mere sensual gratification. It was excited by the
appearance of excellent qualities. Your conduct,
at length, convinced me it was misplaced; that
you possessed:ot in reality those charms which
I had fondly ascribed to you. They were inconsistent, I conceived, with that artifice and dissimulation of which you strove to render me the dupe.
But, thank Heaven, the snare was broken. My
eyes were open to discover your folly; and my




184         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
heart, engaged as it was, exerted resolution and
strength to burst asunder the chain by which you
held me enslaved, and to assert the rights of an
injured man.
The parting scene you remember. I reluctantly
bade you adieu. I tore myself from you, determined to eradicate your idea from my breast.
Long and severe was the struggle; at last I vanquished, as I thought, every tender passion of my
soul, (for they all centred in you,) and resigned
myself to my God and my duty, devoting those
affections to friendship which had been disappointed in love. But they are again called into exercise. The virtuous, the amiable, the accomplished
Maria Selby possesses my entire confidence and
esteem; and I trust I am not deceived when I
think her highly deserving of both. With her I
expect soon to be united in the most sacred and
endearing of human relations, with her to pass
my future days in serenity and peace.
Your letter, therefore, came too late, were there
no other obstacle to the renewal of our connection.
I hope at the close of life, when we take a retrospect of the past, that neither of us shall have reason to regret our separation.
Permit me to add, that for your own sake, and
for the sake of your ever-valued friends, I sincerely




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     185
rejoice that your mind has regained its native
strength and beauty; that you have emerged from
the shade of fanciful vanity. For although, to
adopt your own phrase, I cease to style myself
your lover, among the number of your friends I
am happy to be reckoned. As such, let me conjure you, by all that is dear and desirable, both in
this life and another, to adhere with undeviating
exactness to the paths of rectitude and innocence,
and to improve the noble talents which Heaven has
libeially bestowed upon you in rendering yourself
amiable and, useful to your friends. Thus will
you secure your own, while you promote the hapness of all around you.
I shall ever cherish sentiments of kindness towards you, and with gratitude remember your condescension in the testimony of regard which you
have given me in your last letter.
I hope soon to hear that your heart and hand
are bestowed on some worthy man, who deserves
the happiness you are formed to communicate.
Whatever we may have called errors will, on my
part, be forever buried in oblivion; and for your
own peace of mind I entreat you to forget
that any idea of a connection between us ever
existed.
I shall always rejoice at the news of your wel16*




186        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
fare, and my ardent prayers will daily arise for
your temporal and eternal felicity.
J. BOYER.
LETTER       XLVIII.
To MRS. LUCY SUMNER.
HARTFORD.
Health, placid serenity, and every domestic pleasure are the lot of my friend; while I, who once
possessed the means of each, and the capacity of
tasting them, have been tossed upon the waves of
folly, till I am shipwrecked on the shoals of despair.
O my friend, I am undone.  I am slighted, rejected, by the man who once sought my hand, by
the man who still retains my heart. And what
adds an insupportable poignancy to the reflection
is self-condemnation. From this inward torture
where shall I flee? Where shall I seek that happiness which I have madly trifled away?
The enclosed letters * will show you whence this
tumult of soul arises. But I blame not Mr. Boyer.
He has acted nobly. I approve his conduct, though
it operates my ruin.
* See the two preceding letters.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      187
He is worthy of his intended bride, and she is -
what I am not -worthy of him. Peace and joy
be their portion both here and hereafter.  But
what are now my prospects? What are to be the
future enjoyments of my life?
O that I had not written to Mr. Boyer! By
confessing my faults, and by avowing -my partiality to him, I have given him the power of triumphing in my distress; of returning to my tortured heart all the pangs of slighted love. And
what have I now to console me?  My bloom is
decreasing, my health is sensibly impaired. Those
talents, with the possession of which I have been
flattered, will be of little avail when unsupported
by respectability of character. My mamma, who
knows too well the distraction of my mind, endeavors to soothe and compose me on Christian
principles; but they have not their desired effect.
I dare not converse freely with her on the subject
of my present uneasiness, lest I should distress
her. I am therefore obliged to conceal my disquietude, and appear as cheerful as possible in her
company, though my heart is ready to burst with
grief. 0 that you were near me, as formerly, to
share and alleviate my cares!  To have some
friend. in whom I could repose confidence, and with
whom I could freely converse and advise on this




188        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
occasion, would be an unspeakable comfort. Such
a one, next to yourself, I think Julia Granby to be.
With your leave and consent, I should esteem it a
special favor if she would come and spend a few
months with me. My mamma joins in this request. I would write to her on the subject, but
cannot compose myself at present.  Will you
prefer my petition for me?
If I have not forfeited your friendship, my dear
Mrs. Sumner, write to me, and pour its healing
balm into the wounded mind of your
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       XLIX.
To MIss ELIZA WHARTON.
3BOSTON.
Your truly romantic letter came safe to hand.
Indeed, my dear, it would make a very pretty
figure in a novel. A bleeding heart, slighted love,
and all the et ceteras of romance enter into the
composition.
Excuse this raillery, and I will now write more
seriously. You refer yourself to my friendship for
consolation. It shall be exerted for the purpose.
But I must act the part of a skilful surgeon, and
probe the wound which I undertake to heal.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     189
Where, O Eliza Wharton, where is that fund
of sense and sentiment which once animated your
engaging form? Where that strength of mind,
that independence of soul, that alacrity and sprightliness of deportment, which formerly raised you
superior to every adverse occurrence? Why have
you resigned these valuable endowments, and suffered yourself to become the sport of contending
passions?
You have now emerged from that mist of fanciful folly which in a measure obscured the brilliance
of your youthful days.
True, you figured among the first-rate coquettes,
while your friends, who knew your accomplishments, lamented the misapplication of them; but
now they rejoice at the returning empire of reason.
True, you have erred; misled by the gayety of
your disposition, and that volatility and inconsideration which were incident to your years; but
you have seen and nobly confessed your errors.
Why do you talk of slighted love? True, Mr.
Boyer, supposing you disregarded him, transferred
his affections to another object; but have you not
your admirers still among men of real merit?
Are you not esteemed and caressed by numbers
who know you capable of shining in a distinguished sphere of life? Turn then, my friend,




190        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
from the gloomy prospect which your disturbed
imagination has brought into view. Let reason
and religion erect their throne in your breast; obey
their dictates, and be happy. Past experience will
point out the quicksands which you are to avoid
in yo.ur future course.
Date then, from this, a new era of life; and may
every moment be attended with felicity. Follow
Mr. Boyer's advice, and forget all former connections.
Julia accepts your invitation. Nothing short of
your request could induce me to part with her.
She is a good girl, and her society will amuse and
instruct you. I am, &c.,
LUCy SUMNER.
LETTER       L.
To MRS. Lucy SUMNER.
HARTFORD.
My Julia Granby has arrived. She is all that I
once was —easy, sprightly, debonnaire. 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




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.        191
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 alleged 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. 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;
0, clear my conscience, or my crimes reveal!
If wandering 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




192        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
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 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 and
novels, or any thing else that will amuse or 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 San



HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      193
ford. What a crowd of painful ideas rushed upon
my imagination! I believe she repented of her
rashness. But no more of this. I must lay aside
my pen, for I can write nothing else.
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       LI.
To MRS. LUCY SUMNER.
HARTFORD.
Dear madam: You commanded me' to write
you respecting Miss,Wharton; and I obey. But
I cannot describe to you the surprising change
which she has undergone. Her vivacity has certainly forsaken her; and she has actually become,
what she once dreaded above all things, a recluse.
She flies from company as eagerly as she formerly
sought it; her mamma is exceedingly distressed
by the settled melancholy which appears in her
darling child; but neither of us think it best to
mention the subject to her. We endeavor to find
means to amuse her; and we flatter ourselves that
the prospect of success rather increases. It would
add greatly to my happiness to contribute, in any
degree, to restore her to herself, to her friends, and
to society.
17




194        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
We are all invited to dine abroad to-morrow;
and, to oblige me, she has consented to go.
Pray, madam, write to her often. Your letters
may do much for her. She is still feelingly alive
to the power of friendship; and none can exercise
it upon her to greater acceptance or with more advantage than yourself.
Major Sanford's house is undergoing a complete
repair. The report is, that he is soon to be married. Miss Wharton has heard, but does not believe it. I hope for her sake it will prove true;
for, at any rate, he is about returning; and from
her mamma's account of his past conduct towards
Eliza, were he to return unconnected, he would
probably renew his attentions; and though they
might end in marriage, her happiness would not
be secured. She has too nice a sense of love and
honor to compound with his licentious principles.
A man who has been dissolute before marriage
will very seldom be'faithful afterwards.
I went into Eliza's chamber the other day, and
found her with a miniature picture in her hand.
"You pretend to be a physiognomist, Julia," said
she. " What can you trace in that countenance?"
I guessed whose it was; and looking wistfully at
it, replied," I believe the original is an artful, designing man. He looks to me like a Chesterfield



HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      195
ian. Pray who is he?" "Major Sanford," said
she; "and I am afraid you have hit his character
exactly. Sure I am that the appearance of those
traits in it -has made my heart ache." She wept
as she spoke it.
Poor girl, I wish he may never give you greater
cause to weep! She is strongly blind to the vices
and imperfections of this man. Though naturally
penetrating, he has somehow or other cast a deceptious mist over her imagination -with respect to
himself. She professes neither to love nor esteem
him, and owns that his ungenerous artifice misled
her in her treatment of Mr. Boyer. Yet she has
forgiven him, and thinks him a pleasing companion.
How prone to error is the human mind! how
much lighter than the breath of zephyrs the operations of fancy! Strange, then, it should ever
preponderate over the weightier powers of the understanding.
But I will not moralize. My business here is
to dissipate, not to collect, ideas; and I must regulate myself accordingly.
I am endeavoring to prepare Eliza, by degrees,
to accompany me to Boston the ensuing winter,
but think it doubtful whether I shall succeed. I
shall, however, return myself: till when, I am, &c.,
JULIA GRANBY.




196        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
LETTER      LII
To Miss ELIZA WHARTON.
BOSTON.
My dear Eliza: I received yours of the 24th ult.,
and thank you for it, though it did not afford me
those lively sensations of pleasure which I usually
feel at the perusal of your letters. It inspired me
both with concern and chagrin- with concern
lest your dejection of mind should affect your
health, and with chagrin at your apparent indulgence of melancholy. Indeed, my friend, your
own happiness and honor require you to dissipate
the cloud which hangs over your imagination.
Rise then above it, and prove yourself superior
to the adverse occurrences which have befallen you.
It is by surmounting difficulties, not by sinking
under them, that we discover our fortitude. True
courage consists not in flying from the storms of
life, but in braving and steering through them
with prudence. Avoid solitude. It is the bane
of a disordered mind, though of great utility to
a healthy one. Your once favorite amusements
court your attention. Refuse not their solicitations. I have contributed my mite by sending
you a few books, such as you requested. They
are of the lighter kind of reading, yet perfectly




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      197
chaste, and, if I mistake not, well adapted to your
taste.
You wish to hear from our theatre. I believe it
will be well supplied with performers this winter.
Come and see whether they can afford you any entertainment. Last evening I attended a tragedy;
but never will I attend another. I have not yet been
able to erase the gloom which it impressed upon
my mind. It was Romeo and Juliet. Distressing
enough to sensibility this! Are there not real woes
(if not in our own families, at least among our own
friends and neighbors) sufficient to exercise our
sympathy and pity, without introducing fictitious
ones into our very diversions? How can that be
a diversion which racks the soul with grief, even
though that grief be imaginary? The introduction of a funeral solemnity upon the stage is shocking indeed!
Death is too serious a matter to be sported with.
An opening grave cannot be a source of amusement to any considerate mind. The closing scene
of life can be no pastime when realized. It must
therefore awaken painful sensations in the representation.
The circus is a place of fashionable resort of
late, but not agreeable to -me. I think it inconsistent with the delicacy of a lady even to witness
17`




198        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
the indecorums which are practised there, especially
when the performers of equestrian feats are of our
own sex. To see a woman depart so far from the
female character as to assume the masculine habit
and attitude, and appear entirely indifferent even
to the externals of modesty, is truly disgusting,
and ought not to be countenanced by our attendance, much less by our approbation. But, setting
aside the circumstance, I cannot conceive it to be
a pleasure to sit a whole evening trembling with
apprehension lest the poor wight of a horseman,
or juggler, or whatever he is to be called, should
break his neck in contributing to our entertainment.
With Mr. Bowen's museum I think you were
much pleased. He has made a number of judicious additions to it since you were here. It is a
source of rational and refined amusement. Here
the eye is gratified, the imagination charmed, and
the understanding improved. It will bear frequent
reviews without palling on the taste. It always
affords something new; and, for one, I am never a
weary spectator.  Our other public and private
places of resort are much as you left them.
I am happy in my present situation; but when
the summer returns, I intend to visit my native
home. Again, my Eliza, will we ramble together
in those retired shades which friendship has ren



HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      199
dered so delightful to us. Adieu, my friend, till
then. Be cheerful, and you will yet be happy.
LUCY SUMNER.
LETTER LIII.
To MRS. Lucy SUMNER.
HARTFORD.
Gracious Heaven! What have I heard? Major
Sanford is married! Yes; the tngrateful, the deceitful wretch is married. He has forsworn, he
has perjured and given himself to another. That,
you will say, is nothing strange. It is characteristic of the man. It may be so; but I could not
be convinced of his perfidy till now.
Perhaps it is all for the best. Perhaps, had he
remained unconnected, he might still have deceived me; but now I defy his arts.
They tell me he has married a woman of fortune.  I suppose he thinks, as I once did, that
wealth can insure happiness. I wish he may
enjoy it.
This event would not affeict me at all were it
not for the depression of spirits which I feel in
consequence of a previous disappointment; since
which every thing of the kind agitates and over



200        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
comes me. I will not see him. If I do, I shall
betray my weakness, and flatter his vanity, as he
will doubtless think he has the power of mortifying
me by his connection with another.
Before this news discomposed me, I had attained
to a good degree of cheerfulness. Your kind letter,
seconded by Julia's exertions, had assisted me in
regulating my sensibility. I have been frequently
into company, and find my relish for it gradually
returning.
I intend to accept the pleasure, to which you
invite me, of spending a little time with you this
winter. Julia and I will come together. Varying
the scene may contribute effectually to dissipate
the gloom of my imagination. I would fly to almost any resort rather than my own mind. What
a dreadful thing it is to be afraid of one's own
reflections, which ought to be a constant source of
enjoyment! But I will not moralize. I am sufficiently melancholy without any additional cause
to increase it.
ELIZA WHARTON.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      201
LETTER       LIV.
To MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.
IIARTFORD.
Dear Deighton: Who do you think is writing
to you? Why, it is your old friend, metamorphosed into a married man! You stare, and can
hardly credit the assertion. I cannot realize it myself; yet I assure you, Charles, it is absolutely true.
Necessity, dire necessity, forced me into this dernier
resort. I told you some time ago it would come to
this.
I stood aloof as long as possible; but in vain
did I attempt to shun the noose. I must either fly
to this resource or give up all my show, equipage,
an~d pleasure, and degenerate into a downright,
plodding money catcher for a subsistence. I chose
the first; and who would not? Yet I feel some
remorse at taking the girl to wife from no better
motives. She is really too good for such an imposition. But she must blame herself if she suffer
hereafter; for she was visibly captivated by my
external appearance, and wanted but very little
solicitation to confer herself and fortune on so
charming a fellow. Her parents opposed her in-,
clination for a while, because I was a stranger,
and rather too gay for their taste. But she had




202        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
not been used to contradiction, and could not bear
it, and therefore they ventured not to cross her.
So I bore off the prize; and a prize she really is
-five thousand pounds in possession, and more
in reversion, if I do not forfeit it. This will compensate for some of my past mistakes, and set
matters right for the present.. I think it doing
much better than to have taken the little Lawrence girl I told you of with half the sum. Besides, my Nancy is a handsomer and more agreeable person; but that is of little consequence to
me, you know. "Beauty soon grows familiar to
the lover."  Were I a lover, it would be of no
great avail  A lover I am, yet not of my wife.
The dart which I received from Miss Wharton
sticks fast in my heart; and, I assure you, I could
hardly persuade myself even to appear unfaithful
to her. 0 Eliza! accuse me not of infidelity; for
your image is my constant companion. A thousand times have I cursed the unpropitious stars
which withheld from her a fortune. That would
-have enabled me to marry her; and with her even
wedlock would have been supportable.
I am told that she is still single. Her sober
lover never returned. Had he loved as I did, and
do, he could not have been so precipitate. But
these stoic souls are good for nothing, that I know
of, but,




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       203
"Fixed, like a plant, to one peculiar spot,
To draw nutrition, propagate, and rot."
I want to see Eliza, and I must see her; yet I
dread an interview. I shall frankly confess my
motives for marrying, and the reasons of my conduct before I went away. I shall own that my
circumstances would not allow me to possess her,
and yet that I could not resign her to another.
When I make up the matter with her, I shall
solicit her friendship for my wife. By this means
I may enjoy her society, at least, which will alleviate the confinement of a married state. To my
spouse I must be as civil as possible. I really wish
she had less merit, that I might have a plausible
excuse for neglecting her.
To-morrow I shall go to Mrs. Wharton's. I am
very much taken up with complimental visits at
present. What deference is always paid to equipage! They may talk of their virtue, their learning, and what not; but, without either of them, I
shall bear off the palm of respect from those who
have them, unadorned with gold and its shining
appendages.
Every thing hereabouts recalls Eliza to my mind1
I impatiently anticipate the hour which will convey me to her presence.
PETER SANFORD.




204        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
LETTER LV.
To MRs. Lucy SUMNER.
HARTFORD.
A new scene has opened upon us to-day, my
dear Mrs. Sumner-a visit from Major Sanford.
My mamma, Miss Granby, and myself were sitting together in the chamber. Miss Granby was
entertaining us by reading aloud in Millot's Elements of History, when a servant rapped at the
door, and handed in the following billet:"Will Miss Wharton condescend to converse a
few moments with her once-favored Sanford? He
is but too sensible that he has forfeited all claim
to the privilege. He therefore presumes not to
request it on the score of merit, nor of former acquaintance, but solicits it from.her benevolence
and pity."
I read and showed it to my mamma and Julia.
" What," said I, " shall I do? I wish not to see
him. His artifice has destroyed my peace of mind,
and his presence may. open the wounds which time
is closing."'A Act," said my mamma,-" agreeably
to the dictates of your own judgment."  " I see
no harm in conversing with him," said Julia. " Perhaps it may remove some disagreeable thoughts
which now oppress and give you pain. And as he




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      205
is no longer a candidate for your affections," added
she with a smile, "it will be less hazardous than
formerly. He will not have the insolence to speak,
nor you the folly to hear, the language of love."
He was accordingly invited in. When I rose to
go down, I hesitated, and even trembled. "I fear,"
said I to myself, " it will be too much for me; yet
why should it? Conscious innocence will support
me. This he has not." When I entered the room
he stepped forward to meet me. Confusion and
shame were visibly depicted in his countenance.
He approached me hastily, and without uttering a
word, took my hand. I withdrew it. "0 Miss
Wharton," said he, " despise me not. I am convinced that I deserve your displeasure and disdain;
but my own heart has avenged your cause." "To
your own heart, then," said I, " I will leave you.
But why do you again seek an interview with one
whom you have endeavored to mislead -with one
whom you have treated with unmerited neglect?"
"Justice to myself required my appearing before
you, that, by confessing my faults and obtaining
your forgiveness, I might soften the reproaches of
my own mind." "Will you be seated, sir? " said I.
" Will you," rejoined he, " condescend to sit with
me, Eliza?"  " I will, sir," answered I. "The
rights of hospitality I shall not infringe. In my
18




206        THE COQUETTE; ORj THE
own house, therefore, I shall treat you with civility." "Indeed,"'said he, "you are very severe;
but I have provoked all the coldness and reserve
which you can inflict.
"I am a married man, Eliza." "So I understand," said I; "and I hope you will never treat
your wife with that dissimulation and falsehood
which you have exercised towards me." " Would
to Heaven," exclaimed he, "that you were my
wife. I should not, then, fail in my love or duty
as a husband; yet she is an amiable girl, and, had
I a heart to give her, I might still be happy; but
that, alas! I cal never recall." " Why, then," said
I, "did you marry her? You were, doubtless,
master of your own actions.' " No," said he, " I
was not. The embarrassed state of my affairs precluded the possibility of acting as I wished. Loving you most ardently, I was anxious to prevent
your union with another, till I could so far improve
my circumstances as to secure you from poverty
and want in a connection with me. My regard
was too sincere to permit me to deceive you by a
marriage which might have proved unhappy for us
both. My pride forbade my telling you the motives of my delay; and I left you to see if I could
place myself in a situation worthy of your acceptance.  This I could not effect, and, therefore,




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      207
have run the risk of my future happiness by marrying a lady of affluence. This secures to me the
externals of enjoyment, but my heart, I fear, will
never participate it; yet it affords me some degree
of satisfaction that I have not involved you in distress. The only alleviation of which my banishment from you is capable, is your forgiveness. In
compassion, then, refuse it not. It cannot injure
you.  To me it will be worth millions."  He
wept. Yes, Lucy, this libertine, this man of pleasure and gallantry, wept. I really pitied him from
my heart. "I forgive you," said I, " and wish you
happy; yet on this condition only, that you never
again pollute my ears with the recital of your infamous passion.  Yes, infamous I call it; for
what softer appellation can be given to such professions from a married man? Harbor not an idea
of me, in future, inconsistent with the love and
fidelity which you owe your wife; much less presume to mention it, if you wish not to be detested
by me, and forever banished from my presence."
He expressed gratitude for his absolution, even
upon these terms, and hoped his future conduct
would entitle him to my friendship and esteem.
"That," I replied, " time only can determine."
One fayor more he begged leave to solicit;
which was, that I would be a neighbor to his wife.




208        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
"She was a stranger," he said, "and would deem
my society a particular privilege."  This, I told
him, I could not grant at present, whatever I might
do hereafter. He did not urge it any further, but
inquired after my mamma, and expressed a wish
to see her. I rang the bell, and ordered her and
Miss Granby to be called. When they came he
was very polite to them both, and, after usual
compliments, told my mamma that he was happy
in having obtained my forgiveness, to which he
was anxious to have her seal affixed. " My daughter," said she, "is the injured party; and if she be
satisfied, I shall not complain." He thanked her
for her condescension, informed her that he was
married, and requested her to visit his wife. We
then conversed upon different subjects for a short
time, and he took his leave. A sigh escaped him
as he departed, and a gloom was visible in his
countenance which I never observed before.
I must acknowledge that this interview has given
me satisfaction. I have often told you, that if I
married Major Sanford, it would be from a predilection for his situation in life. How wretched
must have been my lot, had I discovered, too late,
that he was by no means possessed of the independence which I fondly anticipated! I knew
not my own heart, when I contemplated a connec



HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      209
tion with him. Little did I think that my regard
for Mr. Boyer was so deeply rooted as I now find
it. I foolishly imagined that I could turn my affections into what channel I pleased. What, then,
must have been my feelings, when I found myself
deprived both of inward peace and outward enjoyment! I begin now to emerge from the darkness
in which I have been long benighted. I hope the
tragic comedy, in which I have acted so conspicuous a part, will come to a happy end.
Julia and I talk, now and then, of a journey to
Boston. As yet, I have not resolution to act with
much decision upon the subject; but, wherever I
am, and whatever may be my fate, I shall always
be yours in truth,
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       LVI.
To MRS. LUCY SUMNER.
HARTFORD.
I begin to hope we shall come to rights here by
and by. Major Sanford has returned, has made
us a visit, and a treaty of peace and amity (but
not of commerce) is ratified. Eliza appears to be
rapidly returning to her former cheerfulness-if
18*




210        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
not gayety. I hope she will not diverge too far
from her present sedateness and solidity; yet I am
not without apprehensions of danger on that score.
One extreme commonly succeeds another. She
tells me that she assiduously cultivates her natural
vivacity; that she finds her taste for company and
amusements increasing; that she dreads being
alone, because past scenes arise to view which vex
and discompose her.
These are indications of a mind not perfectly
right. I flatter myself,: however, that the time is
not far distant when her passions will vibrate with
regularity.
I need not repeat to you any thing relative to
Major Sanford's conciliatory visit. - Eliza has given
you a particular, and, I believe, a faithful detail.
I was called down to see this wonderful man, and
disliked him exceedingly. I am astonished that
Eliza's penetrating eye has not long since read his
vices in his very countenance. I am told by a
friend, who has visited them, that he has an agreeable wife; and I wish she may find him a husband
of the same description; but I very much doubt
the accomplishment of my wish, for I have no
charity for these reformed rakes.
We were walking abroad the other afternoon,
and met Major Sanford and lady. Eliza did not




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      211
see them till they were very near us. She started,
turned&pale, and then colored like crimson. I cannot but think a little envy rankled in her heart.
Major Sanford very politely accosted us, and congratulated Mrs. Sanford on this opportunity of
introducing her to a particular friend, presenting
Eliza. She received her with an easy dignity, and
bade her welcome to this part of the country. Mrs.
Sanford answered her modestly, hoped for the
pleasure of a further acquaintance, and urged us,
as we were not far from their house, to return with
them to tea. We declined, and wishing each
other good evening, parted. Major Sanford's eyes
were riveted on Eliza the whole time we were together, and he seemed loath to remove them when
we separated. I suspect there is some truth in his
tale of love. I shall therefore discourage Eliza
from associating with him under any pretext whatever. She appeared more pensive and thoughtful
than common as we returned home, and said little
the rest of the evening, but next morning was as
chatty as ever.
She is warm in the praises of Mrs. Sanford,
thinks her an accomplished woman, and wonders
that the major could suggest an idea of marrying her for her money. She intends, she says, to
visit her soon, and wishes me to accompany her.




212        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
This, for her own sake, I shall defer as long as
possible.       I am, &c.,
JULIA GRANBY.
LETTER       LVII.
TO MRS. Lucy SUMNER.
HARTFORD.
By Julia's advice we have neglected the repeated invitations of Major Sanford to visit and commence neighborhood with them till yesterday,
when we received a polite billet requesting the
honor of our company to dine. My mamma decined going, but said she had no objection to our
compliance with the message if we thought proper.
Julia and I accordingly went. We found a large
company assembled in a spacious hall, splendidly
furnished and decorated. They were all very polite and attentive to me, but none more so than
Major Sanford and his lady, who jointly strove to
dissipate the pensiveness of my mind, which I
found it impossible to conceal. When we were
summoned to dinner,' the major, being near me,
offered his hand, and, leading me into the dining
room, seated me at a table furnished with all the
variety which could please the eye or- regale the




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      213'
taste of the most luxurious epicure. The conversation turned on various subjects-literary, political, and miscellaneous. In the evening we had
a ball. Major Sanford gave the hand of his wifeto a Mr.- Grey, alleging that he was a stranger,
and therefore entitled to particular attention, and
then solicited mine himself. I was on the point
of refusing him, but recollecting that it might have
the appearance of continued resentment, contrary
to my declaration of forgiving what was past, I
complied. He was all kindness and assiduity;
the more so, I imagined, with a view to make
amends for his former ingratitude and neglect.
Tenderness is now peculiarly soothing to my
wounded heart. He took an opportunity of conversing with his wife and me together, hoped she
would be honored with my friendship and acquaintance, and begged for her sake that I would not be a
stranger at his house. His Nancy, he said, was far
removed from her maternal friends, but I could supply their place if I would generously undertake the
task. She joined in expressing the same sentiments and wishes. "Alas! sir," said I, "Eliza
Wharton is not now what she once was.  I labor
under a depression of spirits which must render
my company rather painful than pleasing to my
friends."  The idea of what I had been, contrasted




O14         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
with what I then was, touched my sensibility, and
I could not restrain the too officious tear from
stealing down my cheek. He took me by the
hand, and said, " You distress me, Miss Wharton;
indeed you distress me. Happiness must and
shall attend you. Cursed be the wretch who could
wound a heart like yours."
Julia Granby now joined us. An inquisitive
concern was visible in her countenance.
I related this conversation to her after we returned home; but she approved it not.
She thought Major Sanford too particularly attentive to me, considering what had previously
happened. She said it would be noticed by others,
and the world would make unfavorable remarks
upon any appearance of intimacy between us.
_' I care not for that," said I; "it is an ill-natured,
misjudging world, and I am not obliged to sacrifice my friends to its opinion. Were Major Sanford a single man, I should avoid his society; but
since he is married, since his wife is young, beautiful, and lovely, he can have no temptation to injure me. I therefore see no evil which can arise
from the cultivation of friendship with her at least.
I relish company so little, that I may surely be indulged in selecting that which is most agreeable to
my taste, to prevent my becoming quite a misanthrope."




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      215
I thank you, my dear Mrs. Sumner, for your
kind letter. It was a seasonable cordial to my
mind, and I will endeavor to profit by your advice. Your remarks on the public entertainments
are amusing, and, as far as I am a judge, perfectly
just. I think it a pity they have not female managers for the theatre. I believe it would be under
much better regulations than at present.
With cordial respects to Mr. Sumner, I subscribe myself, yours in sincerity,
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       LVIII.
To MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.
HARTFORD.
Rejoice with me, my friend, that I have made
my peace with the mistress of my heart. No
devotee could have been more sincere in his penitence than I was in mine. Indeed, Charles, I
never knew I had so much sensibility before.
Why, I was as much a woman as the very weakest of the sex.
But I dealt very plainly and sincerely with her,
to be sure; and this atones for all past offences,
and procures absolution for many others yet to be
committed.




216        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
The dear girl was not inexorable; she was as
placable and condescending as I could expect, considering the nature of the crime, which was apparently slighting her person and charms by marrying another. This, you know, is one of the
nicest points with the ladies. Attack their honor,
that is, their chastity, and they construe it to be
the effect of excessive love, which hurries you a
little beyond the bounds of prudence. But touch
their vanity by preferring another, and they will
seldom pardon you. You will say I am very
severe upon the sex; and have I not reason to
be so, since I have found so many frail ones
among them? This, however, is departing from
my subject.
Eliza is extremely altered. Her pale, dejected
countenance, with the sedateness of her manners,
so different from the lively glow of health, cheerfulness, and activity which formerly animated her
appearance and deportment, struck me very disagreeably.
With all my gallantry and fluency in love matters, I was unable to acquit myself tolerably, or to
address her with any degree of ease and confidence. She was very calm, and spoke with great
indifference about my marriage, &c., which mortified me exceedingly. Yet I cannot consent to be



HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      217
lieve that her present depression of spirits arises
solely from Mr. Boyer's infidelity. I flatter myself
that I am of sufficient consequence to her to have
contributed in a degree.
When I inquired after her health, she told
me she had been indisposed, but was now much
better. This indisposition, I am informed, was
purely mental; and I am happy to observe her recovering from it. I frequently visit her, sometimes
with and sometimes without my wife, of whom,
through my mediation, she has become a favorite.
I have married, and according to the general opinion reformed. Yet I suspect my reformation, like
most others of the kind, will prove instable as "the
baseless fabric of a vision," unless I banish myself
entirely from her society. But that I can never
do; for she is still lovely in my eyes, and I cannot
control my passions.
When absent from her I am lost to every thing
but her idea. My wife begins to rally me on my
fondness for Miss Wharton. She asked me the
other day if she had a fortune. "No," said I; "if
she had I should have married her." This wounded
her sensibility. I repented of my sincerity, and
made my peace for that time. Yet I find myself
growing extremely irritable, and she must take
heed how she provokes me; for I do not love her,
19




218        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
and I think the name of wife becomes more and
more distasteful to me every day.
In my mind, Eliza has no competitor. But I
must keep up appearances, though I endeavor to
regain her love. I imagine that the enjoyment of
her society as a neighbor and friend may content
me for the present, and render my condition supportable.
Farewell, Charles. I hope you will never be
embarrassed with a wife, nor lack some favorite
nymph to supply the place of one.
PETER SANFORD.
LETTER       LIX.
TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER.
HARTFORD.
Dear Lucy: I intended this week to have journeyed to Boston with Julia Granby; but my resolution fails me. I find it painful even to think of
mixing again with the gay multitude. I believe
the melancholy reflections by which I am oppressed will be more effectually, if not more easily,
surmounted by tarrying where they are rendered
familiar, than by going from them awhile and then
returning.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      219
Julia will therefore go without me. I envy her
no enjoyment there, except your company.
The substitution of friendship, in the place of
love, for Major Sanford, I find productive of agreeable sensations. With him, he assures me, it is a
far more calm and rational pleasure. He treats
me with the affection and tenderness of a brother,
and his wife, who exceeds him in professions of
regard, with all the consoling softness and attention of a sister. Indeed, their politeness has greatly
contributed to revive the cheerfulness of my natural disposition. I believe the major's former partiality to me as a lover is entirely obliterated; and
for my part, I feel as little restraint in his company
and his lady's as in that of any other in the neighborhood.
I very much regret the departure of Julia, and
hope you will permit her to return to me again as
soon as possible. She is a valuable friend. Her
mind is well cultivated, and she has treasured up
a fund of knowledge and information which renders her company both agreeable and useful in
every situation of life. We lately spent the afternoon and evening at Mr. Smith's. They had a
considerable number of visitants, and among the
rest Major Sanford. His wife was expected, but
did not come, being indisposed.




220        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
I believe, my friend, you must excuse me if my
letters are shorter than formerly. Writing is not
so agreeable to me as it used to be. I love my
friends as well as ever, but I think they must be
weary of the.gloom and dulness which pervade
my present correspondence. When my pen shall
have regained its original fluency and alertness, I
will resume and prolong the pleasing task.
I am, my dear Lucy, yours most affectionately,
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       LX.
To THE SAME.
HARTFORD.
Dear madam: Agreeably to your desire every
art has been tried, every allurement held out, every
argument used, and every plan adopted, which
Mrs. WVharton and I could devise to induce Eliza
to accompany me to Boston; but all in vain.
Sometimes she has been almost persuaded to a
compliance with our united request, but soon has
resolutely determined against it. I have observed
her sentiments to be suddenly changed after being
in company with Major Sanford. This alarms us
exceedingly. Indeed, the major seems to have in



HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      221
sinuated himself into her good opinion more than
ever. She is flattered into the belief that his at.
tention to her is purely the result of friendship and
benevolence.
I have not so favorable an opinion of the man
as to suppose him capable of either. He has become very familiar here. He calls in almost every
day., Sometimes he but just inquires after our
health, and sometimes makes long visits. The
latter is his invariable practice when he finds Eliza
alone. Mrs. Wharton always avoids seeing him
if she can. She dreads, she says, his approaching
the house.
I entered the parlor the other day, somewhat
suddenly, and found him sitting very near Eliza,
in a low conversation. They both rose in apparent
confusion, and he soon retired.
When he was gone, " I suspect," said I," that
the major was whispering a tale of love, Eliza."
"Do you imagine," said she, " that I would listen
to such a theme from a married man? "  I hope
not," said I, "but his conduct towards you indicates a revival of his former sentiments, at least."
" I was not aware of that," said she. "As yet I
have observed nothing in his behavior to me inconsistent with the purest friendship."
We drank tea not long since at Mr. Smith's.
19*




222        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
Late in the afternoon Major Sanford made his appearance, to apologize, as he said, for Mrs. Sanford,
who was indisposed, and could not enjoy the
pleasure of the visit she had contemplated. He
was very gay the whole evening; and when the
company separated, he was the first to present his
arm to Eliza, who accepted it without hesitation.
A Mr. Newhall attended me, and we endeavored
to keep them company; but they evidently chose
to walk by themselves. Mr. Newhall observed,
that if Major Sanford were not married he should
suspect he still intended a union with Miss Wharton. I replied, that their former intercourse, having
terminated in friendship, rendered them more familiar with each other than with the generality of
their acquaintance.
When we reached the house, Mr. Newhall chose
not to go in, and took his leave. I waited at the
door for Eliza and Major Sanford. At some little
distance, I saw him press her hand to his lips. It
vexed me exceedingly; and no sooner had they
come up, than I sullenly bade them good night,
and walked directly in. Eliza soon followed me.
I sat down by the fire in a thoughtful posture.
She did the same. In this situation we both remained for some time without speaking a word.
At length she said, " You seem not to have en



HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      223
joyed your walk, Miss Granby: did you not like
your gallant?" "Yes," said I, " very well; but I
am mortified that you were not better provided
for." "I make no complaint," rejoined she; "I
was very well entertained."  " That is what displeases me," said I; "I mean your visible fondness for the society of such a man. Were you
averse to it, as you ought to be, there would be no
danger. But he has an alluring tongue and a
treacherous heart. How can- you be pleased and
entertained by his conversation? To me it appears totally repugnant to that refinement and
delicacy for which you have always been esteemed.' His assiduity and obtrusion ought to alarm
you. You well know what his character has been.
Marriage has not changed his disposition. It is
only a cloak which conceals it. Trust him not,
then, my dear Eliza; if you do, depend upon it
you will find his professions of friendship to be
mere hypocrisy and deceit. I fear that he is acting over again the same unworthy arts which formerly misled you. Beware of his wiles. Your
friends are anxious for you. They tremble at
your professed regard and apparent intimacy with
that unprincipled man." " My friends," said she,
"are very jealous of me lately. I know not how
I have forfeited their confidence, or incurred their




224        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
suspicion."  "By encouraging that attention," I
warmly replied, " and receiving those caresses, from
a married man which are due from him to none
but his wife. He is a villain if he deceived her into
marriage by insincere professions of love. If he
had then an affection for her, and has already discarded it, he is equally guilty. Can you expect
sincerity from the man who withholds it from an
amiable and deserving wife? No, Eliza; it is not
love which induces him to entertain you with the
subject. It is a baser passion; and if you disdain
not his artifice, if you listen to his flattery, you will,
I fear, fall a victim to his evil machinations. If
he conducted like a man of honor, he would merit
your esteem; but his behavior is quite the reverse:
yet, vile as he is, he would not dare to lisp his insolent hopes of your regard if you punished his
presumption with the indignation it deserves; if
you spurned from your presence the ungrateful
wretch who would requite your condescension by
triumphing in your ruin."
She now burst into tears, and begged me to
drop the subject. Her mind, she said, was racked
by her own reflections. She could bear but little.
Kindness deceived, and censure distressed her.
I assured her of my good intentions; that, as I
saw her danger, I thought it a duty of the friend



HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     225
ship and affection I bore her solemnly to warn her
against it before we parted. We talked over the
matter more calmly, till she professed herself resolved in future to avoid his company, and reject
his insinuations.
The next day, as I walked out, I met Major
Sanford. He accosted me very civilly. I barely
bade him good morning, and passed on.
I made it in my way to call at his house, and bid
Mrs. Sanford adieu; not expecting another opportunity equally favorable. When I entered the
parlor, she was playing a melancholy air on the
harpsichord. She rose, and gave me a polite and
graceful reception. I told her, as I was soon to
leave the town, I called to take my leave of her - a
/compliment which her attention to me required.
" Are you going to leave us then, Miss Granby?"
said she. "I shall regret your departure exceedingly.
I have so few friends in this part of the country,
that it will give me sensible pain to part with one
I so highly value."
I told her, in the course of conversation, that I
expected the pleasure of seeing her yesterday at
Mr. Smith's, and was very sorry for the indisposition which prevented her favoring us with her
company. " Indeed," said she, " I did not know I
was expected there. Were you there, pray?"




226        THE COQUETTE; OR, TIHE
" Yes," said I; "and Major Sanford excused your
not coming, on the account I have mentioned."
" Well," said she, "this is the first word that I ever
heard about it; he told me that business led him
abroad. Did he gallant any lady?" " O," said I,
" he was with us all together. We had no particular gallants."
Seeing her curiosity excited, I heartily repented
saying any thing of the matter, and waived the
subject. Little did I suspect him to have been
guilty of so base an artifice. It was evidently contrived to facilitate an interview with Eliza.
When I returned, I related this affair to Mrs.
Wharton and her daughter. The old lady and I
expatiated largely on the vileness of this conduct,
and endeavored to expose it to Eliza's view in its
true colors. She pretended -not to justify it; yet
she looked as if she wished it in her power.
I am now preparing for my journey to Boston,
which I must, however, defer another week for the
sake of a more agreeable passage in the stage. I
regret leaving Eliza.  I tremble at her danger.
She has not the resolution to resist temptation
which she once possessed. Her mind is surprisingly weakened.  She' appears sensible of this,
yet adds to it by yielding to her own imbecility.
You will receive a letter from her with this, though




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     227
I had much difficulty to persuade her to write.
She has unfortunately become very averse to this,
her once favorite amusement.
As I shall soon have the pleasure of conversing
with you personally, I conclude without any other
addition to this scrawl than the name of your
obliged
JULIA GRANBY.
LETTER       LXI.
To Miss ELIZA WHARTON.
BOSTON.
My dear friend: I have received your letters,
and must own to you that the perusal of them
gave me pain. Pardon my suspicions, Eliza; they
are excited by real friendship. Julia, you say, approves not Major Sanford's particular attention to
you. Neither do I. If you recollect and examine
his conversation in his conciliatory visit, you will
find it replete with sentiments for the avowal of
which he ought to be banished from all virtuous
society.
Does he not insidiously declare that you are the
only object of his affections; that his union with
another was formed from interested views; and,




228        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
though that other is acknowledged to be amiable
and excellent, still he has not a heart to bestow,
and expects not happiness with her? Does this
discover even the appearance of amendment? Has
he not, by false pretensions, misled a virtuous woman, and induced her to form a connection with
him? She was a stranger to his manner of life,
and doubtless allured, as you have been, by flattery, deceit, and external appearance, to trust his
honor, little thinking him wholly devoid of that
sacred tie. What is the reward of her confidence?
Insensibility to her charms, neglect of her person,
and professed attachment to another!
Is he a man, my dear Eliza, whose friendship
you wish to cultivate? Can that heavenly passion reside in a breast which is the seat of treachery, duplicity, and ingratitude?  You are too
sensible of its purity and worth to suppose it
possible. The confessions of his own mouth condemn him. They convince me that he is still the
abandoned libertine, and that marriage is but the
cloakQ f his intrigues. His officious attentions to
you are alarming to your friends. Your own mind
weakened, and peculiarly susceptible of tender impressions, beware how you receive them from him.
Listen not a moment to his flattering professions;
it is an insult upon your understanding for him to




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      229
offer them; it is derogatory to virtue for you to
hear them.
Slight not the opinion of the world. We are
dependent beings; and while the smallest traces
of virtuous sensibility remain, we must feel the
force of that dependence in a greater or less degree. No female, whose mind is uncorrupted, can
be indifferent to reputation. It is an inestimable
jewel, the loss of which can never be repaired.
While retained, it affords conscious peace to our
own minds, and insures the esteem and respect of
all around us.
Blessed with the company of so disinterested
and faithful a friend as Julia Granby, some deference is certainly due to her opinion and advice.
To an enlarged understanding, a cultivated taste,
and an extensive knowledge of the world, she
unites the most liberal sentiments with a benevolence and candor of disposition, which render her
equally deserving of your confidence and affection.
I cannot relinquish my claim to a visit from you
this winter. Marriage has not alienated nor weakened my regard for my friends. Come, then, to your
faithful Lucy. Have you sorrows? I will soothe
and alleviate them. Have you cares? I will dispel
them. Have you pleasures? I will heighten them.
Come, then, let me fold you to my expecting heart.
20




230        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
My happiness will be partly suspended till your
society renders it complete. Adieu.
LUCY SUMNER.
LETTER       LXII.
To Miss JULIA GRANBY.
HARTFORD.
Dear Julia: I hope Mrs. Sumner and you will
excuse my writing but one letter in answer to the
number I have received from you both. Writing
is an employment which suits me not at present.
It was pleasing to me formerly, and therefore, by
recalling the idea of circumstances and events
which frequently occupied my pen in happier days,
it now gives me pain. Yet I have just written a:long consolatory letter to Mrs. Richman. She has
buried her babe -her little Harriet, of whom she
was dotingly fond.
It was a custom with some of the ancients, we
are told, to weep at the birth of their children.
Often should we be impelled to a compliance
with this custom, could we foresee the future incidents of their lives. I think, at least, that the uncertainty of their conduct and condition in more
advanced age may reconcile us to their removal to




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       231
a happier state before they are capable of tasting
the bitterness of woe.
" Happy the babe, who, privileged by fate
To shorter labors and a lighter weight,
Received but yesterday the gift of breath,
Ordered to-morrow to return to death."
Our domestic affairs are much as when you left
us. Nothing remarkable has occurred in the neighborhood worth communicating. The company and
amusements of the town are as usual, I suppose.
I frequent neither of them. Having incurred so
much censure by the indulgence of a gay disposition, I am now trying what a recluse and solitary
mode of life will, produce. You will call me splenetic. I own it. I am pleased with nobody; still
less with myself. I look around for happiness, and
find it not. The world is to me a desert. If I
indulge myself in temporary enjoyment, the consciousness or apprehension of doing amiss destroys
my peace of mind. And when I have recourse to
books, if I read those of serious descriptions, they
remind me of an awful futurity, for which I am
unprepared; if history, it discloses facts in which
I have no interest; if novels, they exhibit scenes
of pleasure which I have no prospect of realizing.
My mamma is solicitously attentive to my happiness; and though she fails of promoting it, yet




232        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
I endeavor to save her the pangs of disappointment
by appearing what she wishes.
I anticipate, and yet I dread, your return; a paradox this, which time alone can solve.
Continue writing to me, and entreat Mrs. Sumner, in my name, to do likewise. Your benevolence must be your reward.
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER       LXIII.
To Miss ELIZA WHARTON.
BOSTON.
A paradox, indeed, is the greater part of your
letter to us, my dear Eliza. We had fondly flattered ourselves that the melancholy of your mind
was exterminated. I hope no new cause has revived it. Little did I intend, when I left you, to
have been absent so long; but Mrs. Sumner's disappointment, in her plan of spending the summer
at Hartford, induced me, in compliance with her
request, to prolong my residence here. But for
your sake, she now consents to my leaving her, in
hopes I may be so happy as to contribute to your
amusement.
I am both pleased and instructed by the conduct




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      233
of this amiable woman. As I always endeavored
to imitate her discreet, and modest behavior in a
single state, so likewise shall I take her for a pattern should I ever enter a married life. She is
most happily united. Mr. Sumner, to all the graces
and accomplishments of the gentleman, adds the
still more important and essential properties of virtue, integrity, and honor. I was once present when
a person was recommended to her for a husband.
She objected that he was a rake. " True," said
the other, "he has been, but he has reformed."
"That will never do for me," rejoined she;  I
wish my future companion to need no reformation"-a sentiment worthy the attention of our
whole sex; the general adoption of which, I am
persuaded, would have a happy influence upon the
manners of the other.
I hope neither you nor I, Eliza, shall ever be
tried by a man of debauched principles.  Such
characters I conceive to be totally unfit for the society of women who have any claim to virtue and
delicacy.
I intend to be with you in about a month. If
agreeable to you, we will visit and spend a few
weeks with the afflicted Mrs. Richman.  I sincerely sympathize with her under her bereavement.
I know her fondness for you will render your
20*




234        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
company very consoling to her; and I flatter myself that I should not be an unwelcome guest.
Make my respects to your mamra, and believe
me ever yours,
JULIA- GRANBY.
LETTER LXIV.
TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER.
HARTFORD.
Dear madam:_ I have arrived in safety to the
mansion of our once happy and social friends.
But I cannot describe to you. how changed, how
greatly changed this amiable family appears since
I left it. Mrs. Wharton met me at the door, and,
tenderly embracing, bade me a cordial welcome.
" You are come, Julia," said she, " I hope, to revive and comfort us. We have been very solitary
during your absence."  "I am happy, madam,"
said I, " to return; and my endeavors to restore
cheerfulness and content shall not be wanting.
But where is Eliza?"    By this time we had
reached the back parlor, whither Mrs. Wharton led
me; and, the door being open, I saw Eliza reclined on'a settee, in a very thoughtful posture.
When I advanced to meet her, she never moved,




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      235
but sat, " like Patience on a monument, smiling at
Grief."
I stopped involuntarily, and involuntarily raising
my eyes to heaven, exclaimed, "Is that Eliza
Wharton? "  She burst into tears, and attempted
to rise, but sank again into her seat. Seeing her
thus affected, I sat down by her, and, throwing my
arm about her neck, " Why these tears? " said I.
"Why this distress, my dear friend? Let not the
return of your Julia give you pain; she comes to
soothe you with the consolations of friendship."
" It is not pain," said she, clasping me to her
breast; " it is pleasure too exquisite for my weak
nerves to bear. See you not, Julia, how I am
altered? Should you have known me for the
sprightly girl who was always welcome at the
haunts of hilarity and mirth?"  "Indeed," said
I, "you appear indisposed; but I will be your
physician. Company and change of air will, I
doubt not, restore you." " Will these cure disorders of the mind, Julia?" " They will have a
powerful tendency to remove them, if rightly applied; and I profess considerable skill in that art
Come," continued I, "we will try these medicines
in the morning. Let us rise early, and step into
the chaise, and, after riding a few miles, call and
breakfast with Mrs. Freeman. I have some com



236        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
missions from her daughter. We shall be agreeably entertained there, you know."
Being summoned to supper, I took her by the
hand, and we walked into another room, where
we found her brother and his wife, with her mamma, waiting for us. We were all very chatty;
even Eliza resumed, in a degree, her former sociability. A settled gloom, notwithstanding, brooded
on her countenance; and a deep sigh often escaped
her in spite of her evident endeavors to suppress it.
She went to bed before Us, when her mamma informed me that her health had beenedeclining for
some months; that she never complained, but studiously concealed every symptom of indisposition.
Whether it were any real disorder of body, or
whether it arose from her depression of spirits, she
could not tell, but supposed they operated together, and mutually heightened each other.
I inquired after Major Sanford; whether he and
Eliza had associated together during my absence.
Sometimes, she said, they seemed on good terms,
and he frequently called to see her; at others
they had very little, if any, correspondence at all.
She told me that Eliza never went abroad, and
was very loath to see company at home; that her
chief amusement consisted in solitary wallks; that
the dreadful idea of her meeting Major Sanford




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       237
in these walks had now and then intruded upon
her imagination; that she had not the least evidence of the fact, however, and, indeed, was
afraid to make any inquiries into the matter, lest
her own suspicions should be discovered; that the
major's character was worse than ever; that he
was much abroad, and frequently entertained large
parties of worthless bacchanalians at his house;
that common report said he treated his wife with
indifference, neglect, and ill nature; with many
other circumstances which it is not material to
relate.
Adieu, my dear friend, for the present. When
occasion requires, you shall hear again from your
affectionate
JULIA GRANBY.
LETTER       LXV.
To MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.
HARTFORD.
Good news, Charles, good news! I have arrived to the utmost bounds of my wishes- the full
possession of my adorable Eliza. I have heard a
quotation from a certain book, but what book.it
was I have forgotten, if I ever knew. No matter




238        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
for that; the quotation is, that " stolen waters are
sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant." If it
has reference to the pleasures which I have enjoyed
with Eliza, I like it hugely, as Tristram Shandy's
father said of Yorick's sermon; and I think it
fully verified.
I had a long and tedious siege. Every method
which love could suggest, or art invent, was adopted. I was sometimes ready to despair, under an
idea that her resolution was unconquerable, her
virtue impregnable. Indeed, I should have given
over the pursuit long ago, but for the hopes of success I entertained from her parleying with me, and,
in reliance upon her own strength, endeavoring to
combat and counteract my designs. Whenever
this has been the case, Charles, I have never yet
been defeated in my plan. If a lady will consent to
enter the lists against the antagonist of her honor,
she may be sure of losing the prize. Besides, were
her delicacy genuine, she would banish the-man at
once who presumed to doubt, which he certainly
does who attempts to vanquish it. But far be it
from me to criticize the pretensions of the sex.
If I gain the rich reward of my dissimulation and
gallantry, that, you know, is all I want.
To return, then, to the point. An unlucky, but
not a miraculous accident has taken place which




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       239
must soon expose our amour. What can be done?
At the first discovery, absolute distraction seized
the soul of Eliza, which has since terminated in a
fixed melancholy. Her health, too, is much impaired. She thinks herself rapidly declining, and
I tremble when I see her emaciated form.
My wife has been reduced very low of late.
She brought me a boy a few weeks past, a dead
one though.
These circumstances give me neither pain nor
pleasure. I am too much engrossed by my divinity to take an interest in any thing else. True, I
have lately suffered myself to be somewhat engaged here and there by a few jovial lads who
assist me in dispelling the anxious thoughts which
my perplexed situation excites. I must, however,
seek some means to relieve Eliza's distress. My
finances are low; but the last fraction shall be expended in her service, if she need it.
Julia Granby is expected at Mrs. Wharton's
every hour. I fear that her inquisitorial eye will
soon detect our intrigue and obstruct its continuation. Now, there's a girl, Charles, I should never
attempt to seduce; yet she is a most alluring object, I assure you. But the dignity of her manners
forbids all assaults upon her virtue. Why, the
very expression of her eye blasts in the bud every




240         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
thought derogatory to her honor, and tells you
plainly that the first insinuation of the kind would
be punished with eternal banishment and displeasure. Of her there is no danger. But I can write
no more, except that I am, &c.,
PETER SANFORD.
LETTER       LXVI.
To MRS. LUCY SUMNER.
HARTFORD.
O my friend, I have a tale to unfold -a tale
which will rend every nerve of sympathizing pity,
which will rack the breast of sensibility, and unspeakably distress your benevolent heart. Eliza0, the ruined, lost Eliza!
I want words to express the emotions of indignation and grief which oppress me. But I will
endeavor to compose myself, and relate the circumstances as they came to my knowledge.
After my last letter Eliza remained much in the
same gloomy situation as I found her. She refused to go, agreeably to her promise, to visit your
mamma, and, under one pretext or another, has
constantly declined accompanying me any where
else since my arrival.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     241
Till last Thursday night she slept in the same
bed with me, when she excused herself by saying
she was restless, and should disturb my repose. I
yielded to her humor of taking a different apartment, little suspecting the real cause. She frequently walked out, and though I sometimes followed, I very seldom found her. Two or three
times, when I happened to be awake, I heard her
go down stairs; and, on inquiry in the morning, she
told me that she was very thirsty, and went down
for water. I observed a degree of hesitancy in her
answers for which I could not account. But last
night the dreadful mystery was developed. A little before day, I heard the front door open with
great caution. I sprang from my bed, and, running
to the window, saw by the light of the moon a
man going from the house. Soon after, I perceived
a footstep upon the stairs, which carefully approached, and entered Eliza's chamber.
Judge of my astonishment, my surprise, my
feelings upon this occasion. I doubted not but
Major Sanford was the person I had seen; and the
discovery of Eliza's guilt in this infamous intrigue
almost deprived me of thought and recollection.
My blood thrilled with horror at this sacrifice of virtue. After a while I recovered myself, and put on
my clothes. But what to do I knew not — whether
21




242        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
to go directly to her chamber, and let her know that
she was detected, or to wait another opportunity.
I resolved on the first. The day had now
dawned. I tapped at her door, and she bade me
come in. She was sitting in an easy chair by the
side of her bed. As I entered she withdrew her
handkerchief from her face, and, looking earnestly
at me, said, " What procures me the favor of a
visit at this'early hour, Miss Granby?"  I was
disturbed," said I, " and wished not to return to
my bed. But what breaks your rest, and calls
you up so unseasonably, Eliza?'" "Remorse and
despair," answered she, weeping. "After what I
have witnessed, this morning," rejoined I, "I cannot wonder at it. Was it not Major Sanford
whom I saw go from the house some time ago?"
She was silent, but tears flowed abundantly. "It
is too late," continued I, " to deny or evade. Answer my question sincerely; for, believe me, Eliza,
it is not malice, but concern for you, which prompts
it." " I will answer you, Julia," said she. " You
have discovered a secret which harrows up my
very soul- a secret which I wished you to know,
but could not exert resolution to reveal. Yes, it
was Major Sanford —the man who has robbed
me of my peace, who has triumphed in my destruction, and who will cause my sun to set at
noon.,1




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      243
"I shudder," said I," at your confession! Wretched, deluded girl! Is this a return for your parent's
love and assiduous care; for your friends' solicitude and premonitory advice? You are ruined,
you say! You have sacrificed your virtue to an
abandoned, despicable profligate! And you live
to acknowledge and bear your infamy!" "I do,"
said she; " but not long shall I support this burden. See you not, Julia, my decaying frame, my
faded cheek, and tottering limbs?  Soon shall I
be insensible to censure and reproach. Soon shall
I be sequestered in that mansion'where the
wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary
are at rest.'" "Rest! " said I; "can you expect
to find rest, either in this world or another, with
such a weight of guilt on your head?" She exclaimed, with great emotion, " Add not to the
upbraidings of a wounded spirit.  Have pity
upon me, 0 my friend, have pity upon me.
Could you know what I suffer, you would think
me sufficiently punished." " I wish you no other
punishment," said I, "than what may effect your
repentance and reformation. But your mother,
Eliza! She cannot long be ignorant of your fall;
and I tremble to think of her distress. It will
break her widowed heart. How has she loved,
how has she doted upon you! Dreadful is the




244        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
requital which you have made." "My mother,"
rejoined she, " 0, name her not! The very sound
is distraction to me. O my Julia, if your heart
be not shut against mercy and compassion towards
me, aid me through this trying scene. Let my
situation call forth your pity, and induce you, undeserving as I am, to exert it in my behalf."
During this time, I had walked the chamber.
My spirits had been raised above their natural key,
and were exhausted. I sat down, but thought I
should have fainted, till a copious flood of tears
gave me relief. Eliza was extremely affected.
The appearance of calamity which she exhibited
would have softened the most obdurate anger.
Indeed, I feared some immediate and fatal effect.
I therefore seated myself beside her; and assuming
an air of kindness, " Compose yourself, Eliza," said
I; "I repeat what I told you before —it is the
purest friendship which thus interests me in your
concerns. This, under the direction of charity, induces me again to offer you my hand. Yet you
have erred against knowledge and reason, against
warning and counsel. You have forfeited the
favor of your friends, and reluctant will be their
forgiveness." "I plead guilty," said she, "to all
your charges. From the general voice I expect no
clemency. If I can make my peace with my




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      245
mother, it is all I seek or wish on this side the grave.
In your benevolence I confide for this. In you
I hope to find an intercessor. By the remembrance
of our former affection and happiness, I conjure
you, refuse me not. At present, I entreat you to
conceal from her this distressing tale. A short.
reprieve is all I ask." " Why," said I, "should
you defer it? When the painful task is over, you
may find relief in her lenient kindness."  " After
she knows my condition, I cannot see her," resumed
she, "till I am assured of her forgiveness. I have
not strength to support the appearance of her anger and grief. I will write to her what I cannot
speak. You must bear the melancholy message,
and plead for me, that her displeasure may not follow
me to the grave, whither I am rapidly hastening."
"Be assured," replied I, "that I will keep your
secret as long as prudence requires. But I must
leave you now; your mamma will wonder at our
being thus closeted together. When opportunity
presents, we will converse further on the subject. In
the mean time keep yourself as composed as possible, if you would avoid suspicion." She raised
her clasped hands, and with a piteous look, threw
her handkerchief over her face, and reclined in her
chair, without speaking a word. I returned to my
chamber, and endeavored to dissipate every idea
21*




246        TIE COQUETTE; OR, THE
which might tend to disorder my countenance, and
break the silence I wished to observe relative to
what had happened.
When I went down, Mrs. Wharton desired me
to step up and inform Eliza that breakfast was
ready. She told me she could not yet compose
herself sufficiently to see her mamma, and begged
me to excuse her absence as I thought proper. I accordingly returned for answer to Mrs. Wharton, that
Eliza had rested but indifferently, and being somewhat indisposed, would not come down, but wished
me to bring her a bowl of chocolate, when we had
breakfasted. I was obliged studiously to suppress
even my thoughts concerning her, lest the emotions they excited might be observed. Mrs. Wharton conversed much of her daughter, and expressed
great concern about her health and state of mind.
Her return to this state of dejection, after having
recovered her spirits and cheerfulness in a great
degree, was owing, she feared, to some cause unknown to her; and she entreated me to extract the
secret, if possible. I assured her of my best endeavors, and doubted not, I told her, but I should
be able in a few days to effect what she wished.
Eliza came down and walked in the garden before dinner; at which she commanded herself
much better than I expected. She said that a little




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      247
ride might, she imagined, be of service to her, and
asked me if I would accompany her a few miles
in the afternoon. Her mamma was much pleased
with the proposition, and the chaise was accordingly ordered.
I observed to Eliza, as we rode, that with her
natural and acquired abilities, with her advantages
of education, with her opportunities of knowing
the world, and of tracing the virtues and vices of
mankind to their origin, I was surprised at her becoming the prey of an insidious libertine, with
whose character she was well acquainted, and
whose principles, she was fully apprised, would
prompt him to deceive and betray her. "Your
surprise is very natural," said she. "The same
will doubtless be felt and expressed by every one
to whom my sad story is related. But the cause
may be found in that unrestrained levity of disposition, that fondness for dissipation and coquetry,
which alienated the affections of Mr. Boyer from
me. This event fatally depressed and enfeebled
my mind. I embraced with avidity the consoling
power of friendship, insnaringly offered by my
seducer; vainly inferring, -from his marriage with a
virtuous woman, that he had seen the error of his
ways, and forsaken "his licentious practices, as he
affirmed, and I, fool that I was, believed it.




248        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
" It is needless for me to rehearse the perfidious
arts by which he insinuated himself into my affections and gained my confidence. Suffice it to say,
he effected his purpose. But not long did I continue in the delusive dream of sensual gratification.
I soon awoke to a most poignant sense of his baseness, and of my own crime and misery. I would
have fled from him; I would have renounced him
forever, and by a life of sincere humility and repentance endeavored to make my peace with
Heaven, and to obliterate, by the rectitude of my
future conduct, the guilt I had incurred; but I
found it too late. My circumstances called for
attention; and I had no one to participate my
cares, to witness my distress, and to alleviate my
sorrows, but him. I could not therefore prevail
on myself wholly to renounce his society. At
times I have admitted his visits, always meeting
him in the garden, or grove adjoining; till, of
late, the weather and my ill health induced me
to comply with his solicitations, and receive him
into the parlor.
" Not long, however, shall I be subject to these
embarrassments. Grief has undermined my constitution. My health has fallen a sacrifice to a
disordered mind. But I regret not its departure.
I have not a single wish to live. Nothing which




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      249
the world affords can restore my former serenity
and happiness.
" The little innocent I bear will quickly disclose
its mothers shame. God Almighty grant it may
not live as a monument of my guilt, and a partaker of the infamy and sorrow, which is all I have
to bequeath it. Should it be continued in life, it
will never know the tenderness of a parent; and,
perhaps, want and disgrace may be its wretched
portion. The greatest consolation I can have will
be to carry it with me to a state of eternal rest;
which, vile as I am, I hope to obtain, through the
infinite mercy of Heaven, as revealed in the gQopel
of Christ. I must see Major Sanford again. It
is necessary to converse further with him in order
to carry my plan of operation into execution."
"What is this plan of operation, Eliza? " said
I. "I am on the rack of anxiety for your safety."
" Be patient," continued she, " and you shall soon
be informed. To-morrow I shall write my dreadful story to my mother. She will be acquainted
with my future intentions; and you shall know,
at the same time, the destination of your lost
friend." "I hope," said I, " that you have formed
no resolution against your own life." " God forbid," rejoined she. " My breath is in his- hands;
let him do what seemeth good in his sight! Keep




250        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
my secret one day longer, and I will never more
impose so painful a silence upon you."
By this time we had reached home. She drank
tea with composure, and soon retired to rest. Mrs.
Wharton eagerly inquired whether I had found out
the cause of Eliza's melancholy. " I have urged
her," said I, " on the subject; but she alleges that
she has particular reasons for present concealment. She has, notwithstanding, promised to let
me know the day after to-morrow." " O," said
she, " I shall not rest till the period arrives."
" Dear, good woman," said Ito myself, "I fear you
will never rest afterwards."
This is our present situation. Think what a
scene rises to the view of your Julia. She must
share the distress of others, though her own feelings on this unhappy occasion are too keen to admit a moment's serenity. My greatest relief is in
writing to you; which I shall do again by the
next post. In the mean time, I must beg leave to
subscribe myself sincerely yours,
JULIA GRANBY.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     251
LETTER      LXVII.
To THE SAME.
HARTFORD.
All is now lost; lost indeed! She is gone!
Yes, my dear friend, our beloved Eliza is gone!
Never more shall we behold this once amiable
companion, this once innocent and happy girl.
She has forsaken, and, as she says, bid an everlasting adieu to her home, her afflicted parent, and
her friends. But I will take up my melancholy
story where I left it in my last.
She went, as she told me she expected, into the
garden, and met her detestable paramour. In about
an hour she returned, and went directly to her
chamber. At one o'clock I went up, and found
her writing, and weeping. I begged her to compose herself, and go down to dinner.  No, she
said, she should not eat; and was not fit to appear
before any body. I remonstrated against her immoderate grief, represented the injury she must
sustain by the indulgence of it, and conjured her
to suppress the violence of its emotions.
She entreated me to excuse her to her mamma;
said she was writing to her, and found it a task
too painful to be performed with any degree of
composure; that she was almost ready to sink




252        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
under the weight of her affliction; but hoped
and prayed for support both in this and another
trying scene which awaited her.  In compliance
with her desire, I now left her, and told her
mamma that she was very busy writing, wished
not to be interrupted at present, but would take
some refreshment an hour or two hence. I visited
her again about four o'clock; when she appeared
more calm and tranquil.
"It is finished," said she, as I entered her apartment; "it is finished."' "What," said I, "is finished? "  No matter," replied she; "you will know
all to-morrow, Julia." She complained of excessive
fatigue, and expressed an inclination to lie down;
in which I assisted her, and then retired. Some
time after, her mamma went up, and found her still
on the bed. She rose, however, and accompanied her
down stairs. I met her at the door of the parlor,
and, taking her by the hand, inquired how she did.
"   Julia, miserably indeed," said she. "How
severely does my mother's kindness reproach me!
How insupportably it increases my self-condemnation!" She wept; she rung her hands, and
walked the room in the greatest agony. Mrs.'Wharton was exceedingly distressed by her appearance. "Tell me, Eliza," said she, "tell me
the cause of your trouble. 0, kill me not by your




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      253
mysterious concealment. My dear child, let me by
sharing alleviate your affliction." " Ask me not,
madam," said she; " O my mother, I conjure you
not to insist on my divulging to-night the fatal secret
which engrosses and distracts my mind; to-morrow I will hide nothing from you."  "I will press
you no further;" rejoined her mamma. " Choose
your own time, my dear; but remember, I must participate your grief, though I know not the cause."
Supper was brought in, and we endeavored to
prevail on Eliza to eat, but in vain. She sat down
in compliance with our united importunities; but
neither of us tasted food. It was removed untouched. For a while, Mrs. Wharton and I gazed
in silent anguish upon the spectacle of woe before
us. At length Eliza rose to retire. " Julia," said
she, " you will call at my chamber as you pass to
your own?" I assented. She then approached
her mamma, fell upon her knees before her, and
clasping her hand, said, in broken accents, " 0
madam, can you forgive a wretch, who has forfeited your love, your kindness, and your cornpassion?" " Surely, Eliza," said she, "you are not
that being! No, it is impossible! But however
great your transgression, be assured of my forgiveness, my compassion, and my continued love."
Saying this, she threw her arms about her daugh22




254        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
ter's neck, and affectionately kissed her. Eliza
struggled from her embrace, and looking at her
with wild despair, exclaimed, " This is too much!
0, this unmerited goodness is more than I can
bear! " She then rushed precipitately out of the
room, and left us overwhelmed in sympathy and
astonishment.
When Mrs. Wharton had recovered herself a
little, she observed that Eliza's brain was evidently disordered. " Nothing else," continued she,
" could impel her to act in this extraordinary manner."  At first she was resolved to follow her; but
I dissuaded her from it, alleging that, as she had
desired me to come into her chamber, I thought it
better for me to go alone.  She- acquiesced, but
said she should not think of going to bed, but
would, however, retire to her chamber, and seek
consolation there.  I bade her good night, and
went up to Eliza, who took me by the hand, and
led me to the toilet, upon which she laid the two
enclosed letters, the {one to her mamma, and the
other to me. " These," said she, " contain what I
had not resolution to express. Promise me, Julia,
that they shall not be opened till to-morrow morning." " I will," said I. " I have thought and wept,"
continued she, " till I have almost exhausted my
strength and my reason. I ould now obtain a




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       255
little respite, that I may prepare my mind for the
account I am one day to give at a higher tribunal
than that of earthly friends. For this purpose,
what I have written, and what I shall yet say to
you, must close the account between you and me."
I have certainly no balance against you," said I.
" In my breast you are fully acquitted. Your
penitential tears have obliterated your guilt and
blotted out your errors with your Julia. Henceforth, be they all forgotten. Live, and be happy."
"Talk not," said she, " of life; it would be a vain
hope, though I cherished it myself.'That I must die, it is my only comfort;
Death is the privilege of human nature,
And life without it were not worth the taking.
Thither the poor, the prisoner, and the mourner
Fly for relief, and lay their burdens down.'
You have forgiven me, Julia; my mother has
assured me of her forgiveness; and what have I
more to wish? My heart is much lightened by
these kind assurances; they will be a great support to me in the dreadful hour which awaits me."
"' What mean you, Eliza? " said I. "I fear some
dreadful purpose labors in your mind."  " 0, no,"
she replied; "you may be assured your fear is
groundless. I know not what I say; my brain is
on fire; I am all confusion. Leave me, Julia;




256        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
when I have had a little rest, I shall be composed.
These letters have almost distracted me; but they
are written, and I am comparatively easy." <" I will
not leave you, Eliza," said I, -" unless you will go
directly to bed, and endeavor to rest." " I will,"
said she, "and the sooner the better."  I tenderly
embraced her, and retired, though not to bed.
About an hour after, I returned to her chamber,
and opening the door very softly, found her apparently asleep. I acquainted Mrs. Wharton with
her situation, which was a great consolation to us
both, and encouraged us to go to bed: having suffered much in my mind, and being much fatigued,
I soon fell asleep; but the rattling of a carriage,
which appeared to stop a little distance from the
house, awoke me. I listened a moment, and heard
the door turn slowly on its hinges. I sprang from
my bed, and reached the window just in time to
see a female handed into a chaise by a man who
hastily followed her, and drove furiously away.
I at once concluded they could be no other than
Eliza and Major Sanford. Under this impression
I made no delay, but ran immediately to her
chamber.  A candle was burning on the table,
but Eliza was not there. I thought it best to acquaint her mamma with the melancholy discovery,
and, stepping to her apartment for the purpose,




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      257
found her rising. She had heard me walk, and
was anxious to know the cause. " What is the
matter, Julia? " said she; " what is the matter? "
"Dear madam," said I, " arm yourself with fortitude."   What new occurrence demands it? " rejoined she. " Eliza has left us." " Left us! What
mean you?" "She has just gone; I saw her
handed into a chaise, which instantly disappeared."
At this intelligence she gave a shriek, and fell
back on her bed. I alarmed the family, and by
their assistance soon recovered her. She desired
me to inform her of every particular relative to her
elopement, which I did, and then delivered her the
letter which Eliza had left for her. " I suspect,"
said she, as she took it; " I have long suspected
what I dared not believe. The anguish of my
mind has been known only to myself and my
God." I could not answer her, and therefore withdrew. When I had read Eliza's letter to me, and
wept over the sad fall, and, as I fear, the total loss
of this once amiable and accomplished girl, I returned to Mrs. Wharton. She was sitting in her
easy chair, and still held the fatal letter in her
hand. When I entered, she fixed her streaming
eyes upon me, and exclaimed, " 0 Julia, this is
more than the bitterness of death."   "True,
221




258        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
madam," said I,' your affliction must be great; yet
that all-gracious Being who controls every event
is able, and I trust disposed, to support you." "To
him," replied she, " I desire humbly to resign myself; but I think I could have borne almost any
other calamity with greater resignation and composure than this.  With how much comparative
ease could I have followed her to the grave at any
period since her birth!  0, my child, my child!
dear, very dear, hast thou been to my fond heart.
Little did I think it possible for you to prepare so
dreadful a cup of sorrow for your widowed mother. But where," continued she," where can the poor
fugitive have fled? Where can she find that protection and tenderness, which, notwithstanding her
great apostasy, I should never have withheld?
From whom can she receive those kind attentions
which her situation demands."
The agitation of her mind had exhausted her
strength, and I prevailed on her to refresh and endeavor to compose herself to rest, assuring her of
my utmost exertions to find out Eliza's retreat, and
restore her to a mother's arms.
I am obliged to suppress my own emotions, and
to bend all my thoughts towards the alleviation of
Mrs. Wharton's anxiety and grief.
Major Sanford is from home, as I expected; and




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.       259
I am determined, if he return, to see him myself,
and extort from him the place of Eliza's concealment.   Her flight in her present state of health
is inexpressibly distressing to her mother; and unless we find her soon, I dread-the effects.
I shall not close this till I have seen or heard
from the vile miscreant who has involved a worthy
family in wretchedness.
Friday morning. - Two days have elapsed without affording us much relief. Last evening, I was
told that Major Sanford was at home. I immediately wrote him a billet, entreating and conjuring
him to let me know where the hapless Eliza had
fled. He returned me the following answer: -' Miss Granby need be under no apprehensions
respecting the situation of our beloved Eliza. She
is well provided for, conveniently accommodated,
and has every thing to make her happy which love
and affluence can give.
"L Major Sanford has solemnly sworn not to discover her retreat. She wishes to avoid the accusations of her friends till she is better able to bear
them.
"Her mother may rest assured of immediate information, should any danger threaten her amiable
daughter; and also of having seasonable notice
of her safety."




260         THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
Although little dependence can be placed upon
this man, yet these assurances have, in a great degree, calmed our minds. We are, however, contriving means to explore the refuge of the wanderer, and hope, by tracing his steps, to accomplish
our purpose.  This we have engaged a friend
to do.
I know, my dear Mrs. Sumner, the kind interest
you will take in this disastrous affair. I tremble
to think what the event, may be. To relieve your
suspense, however, I shall write you every circumstance asit occurs; but at present, I shall only enclose Eliza's letters to her mamma and me, and
subscribe myself your sincere and obliged friend,
JULIA GRANBY.
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




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     261
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 heartrending 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




262        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
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 arn amply provided for.
I have no clairn even upon your pity; but from
my long experience of your tenderness, I presume
to hope it will be extended to me. 0 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 in 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. 0, 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




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     263
invidious eye of curiosity. This night, therefore, I
leave your hospitable mansion. This night I become a wretched wanderer from my paternal roof.
O 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. 0, 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,
ELIZA WHARTON.




264         THE COQUETTE; OR) THE
LETTER LXIX.
To Miss JULIA GRANBY.
TUESDAY.
My dear friend: By that endearing title you
permit me still to address you, and such you have
always proved yourself by a participation of my
distresses, as well as by the onsoling voice of pity
and forgiveness.  What destiny Providence designs for me I know not, but I have my forebodings that this is the last time I shall ever accost
you. Nor does this apprehension arise merely from
a disturbed imagination. I have reason to think
myself in a confirmed consumption, which commonly proves fatal to persons in my situation. I
have carefully concealed' every complaint of the
kind from my mamma, for fear of distressing her;
yet I have never been insensible of their probable
issue, and have bidden a sincere welcome to them,
as the harbingers of my speedy release from a life
of guilt-and woe.
I am going from you, Julia. This night separates us, perhaps, forever. I have not resolution
to encounter the tears of my friends, and therefore seek shelter among strangers, where none
knows or is interested in my melancholy story.
The place of my seclusion I studiously conceal;




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     265
yet I shall take measures that you may be apprised of my fate.
Should it please God to spare and restore me to
health, I shall return, and endeavor, by a life of
penitence and rectitude, to expiate my past offences. But should I be called from this scene of
action, and leave behind me a helpless babe, the
innocent sufferer of its mother's shame, 0 Julia, let
your friendship for me extend to the little stranger.
Intercede with my mother to take it under her
protection, and transfer to it all her affection for
me; to train it up in the ways of piety and virtue,
that it may compensate her for the afflictions
which I have occasioned.
One thing more I have to request. Plead for
me with my two best friends, Mrs. Richman and
Mrs. Sumner. I ask you not to palliate my faults,
- that cannot be done, - but to obtain, if possible,
their forgiveness. I cannot write all my full mind
suggests on this subject. You know the purport,
and can better express it for me.
And now, my dear Julia, recommending myself
again to your benevolence, to your charity, and
(may I add?) to your affection, and entreating
that the fatal consequences of my folly, now fallen
upon my devoted head, may suffice for my punishment, let me conjure you to bury my crimes in
23




266        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
the grave with me, and to preserve the remembrance
of my former virtues, which engaged your love
and confidence; more especially of that ardent
esteem for you, which will glow till the last expiring breath of your despairing
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER LXX.
To MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.
HARTFORD.
I have, at last, accomplished the removal of my
darling girl from a place where she thought every
eye accused and every heart condemned her.
She has become quite romantic in her notions.
She would not permit me to accompany her, lest
it should be reported that we had eloped together.
I provided amply for her future exigencies, and
conveyed her by night to the distance of ten or
twelve miles, where we met the stage, in which I
had previously secured her a seat. The agony of
her grief at being thus obliged to leave her
mother's house baffles all description.
It very sensibly affected me, I know. I was
almost a penitent. I am sure I acted like one,
whether I were sincere or not. She chose to go




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     267
where she was totally unknown. She would leave
the stage, she said, before it reached Boston, and
take passage in a more private carriage to Salem,
or its vicinity, where she would fix her abode;
chalking the initials of my name over the door, as
a signal to me of her residence.
She is exceedingly depressed, and says she
neither expects nor wishes to survive her lying in.
Insanity, for aught I know, must be my lot if she
should die. But I will not harbor the idea. I
hope, one time or other, to have the power to make
her amends, even by marriage. My wife may be
provoked, I imagine, to sue for a divorce. If she
should, she would find no difficulty in obtaining
it, and then I would take Eliza in her stead;
though I confess that the idea of being thus connected with a woman whom I have been enabled
to dishonor, would be rather hard to surmount.
It would hurt even my delicacy, little as you may
think me to possess, to have a wife whom I know
to be seducible. And on this account I cannot be
positive that even Eliza would retain my love.
My Nancy and I have lived a pretty uncomfortable life of late.  She has been very suspicious
of my amour with Eliza, and now and then expressed her jealous sentiments a little more warmly than my patience would bear. But the news




268        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
of Eliza's circumstances and retirement, being publicly talked of, have reached her ears, and rendered
her quite outrageous. She tells me she will no
longer brook my indifference and infidelity; intends soon to return to her father's house,'and
extricate herself from me entirely. My general
reply to all this is, that she knew my character
before we married, and could reasonably expect
nothing less than what has happened. I shall not
oppose her leaving me, as it may conduce to the
execution of the plan I have hinted above.
To-morrow I shall set out to visit my disconsolate fair one. From my very soul I pity her, and
wish I could have preserved her virtue consistently
with the indulgence of my passion. To her I lay
not the principal blame, as in like cases I do the
sex in general. My finesse was too well planned
for detection, and my snares too deeply laid for
any one to escape who had the least warmth in
her constitution, or affection in her heart. I shall,
therefore, be the less whimsical about a future
connection, and the more solicitous to make her
reparation, should it ever be in my power.
Her friends are all in arms about her. I dare say I
have the imprecations of the whole fraternity. They
may thank themselves in part, for I always swore revenge for their dislike and coldness towards me. Had




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     269
they been politic, they would have conducted more
like the aborigines of the country, who are said to
worship the devil out of fear.
I am afraid I shall be obliged to remove my
quarters, for Eliza was so great a favorite in town
that I am looked upon with an evil eye. I pleaded
with her, before we parted last, to forgive my seducing her, alleged my ardent love, and my inability to possess her in any other way. "How,"
said she, "can that be love which destroys its
object? But granting what you say, you have
frustrated your own purpose. You have deprived
yourself of my society, which might have been
innocently enjoyed. You have cut me off from
life in the midst of my days. You have rendered
me the reproach of my friends, the disgrace of my
family and a dishonor to virtue and my sex. But
I forgive you," added she. " Yes, Sanford, I forgive you, and sincerely pray for your repentance
and reformation. I hope to be the last wretched
female sacrificed by you to the arts of falsehood
and seduction. May my unhappy story serve as
a beacon to warn the American fair of the dangerous tendency and destructive consequences of
associating with men of your character, of destroying their time and risking their reputation by the
practice of coquetry and its attendant follies,
23'




270        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
But for these I might have been honorably connected, and capable, at this moment, of diffusing
and receiving happiness. But for your arts I
might have remained a blessing to society, as well
as the delight and comfort of my friends. You
being a married man unspeakably aggravates
both your guilt and mine. This circumstance
annexes indelible shame to our crime. You have
rent asunder the tenderest ties of nature. You
have broken the bonds of conjugal love, which
ought ever to be kept sacred and inviolate. You
have filled with grief and discontent the heart of
your amiable wife, whom gratitude, if no other
principle, should have induced you to cherish with
tenderness; and I, wretch that I am, have been
your accomplice. But I cease to reproach you.
You; have acted but too consistently with the character which I was sufficiently apprised you sustained. The blame, then, may be'retorted on myself, for disregarding the counsels, warnings, and
admonitions of my best friends. You have prided
yourself in the character of a libertine. Glory no
longer in your shame. You have accomplished
your designs, your dreadful designs, against me.
Let this suffice. Add not to the number of those
deluded creatures who will one day rise up in
judgment against you and condemn you."




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      271
By, this time we had nearly reached the inn, and
were soon to part. I seized her hand, and exclaimed, " You must not leave me, Eliza, with
that awful anathema on your lips. 0, say that you
will forget my past faults."  ( That," said she, "II
shall soon do; for in the grave there is no remembrance." This, to my mind, was a harsher sen-tence than the other, and almost threw me into
despair. Never was I so wrought upon before.
I knew not what to say or do. She saw my distress, and kindly softened her manner. " If I am
severe," said she, "it is because I wish to impress
your mind with such a sense of your offences
against your Maker, your friends, and society in
general, as may effect your repentance and amendment. I wish not to be your accuser, but your
reformer. On several accounts, I view my own
crime in a more aggravated light than yours; but
my conscience is awakened to a conviction of my
guilt. Yours, I fear, is not. Let me conjure you
to return home, and endeavor, by your future kindness and fidelity to your wife, to make her all the
amends in your power. By a life of virtue and
religion, you may yet become a valuable member
of society, and secure happiness both here and
hereafter."
I begged leave to visit her retirement next week,




272        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
not in continuation of our amour, but as a friend
solicitous to know her situation and welfare. Unable to speak, she only bowed assent. The stage
being now ready, I whispered some tender things
in her ear, and kissing her cheek, which was all she
would permit, suffered her to depart.
My body remains behind; but my soul, if I have
any, went with her.
This was a horrid lecture, Charles. She brought
every charge against me which a fruitful and
gloomy imagination could suggest. But I hope
when she recovers she will resume her former
cheerfulness, and become as kind and agreeable
as ever. My anxiety for her safety is very great. I
trust, however, it will soon be removed, and peace
and pleasure be restored to your humble servant,
PETER SANFORD.
LETTER       LXXI.
To MRS. LUCy SUMNER.
IHARTFORD.
The drama is now closed! A tragical one it
has proved!
How sincerely, my dear Mrs. Sumner, must
the friends of our departed Eliza sympathize




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.     273
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 unconscious 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, 0 my soul, and know
that he is God."




274        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
"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 paragraphs.
I shall not attempt to paint our heartfelt 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




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      275
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 bade 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 soothe 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.




276        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
"But let no one reproach her memory.
Her life has paid the forfeit of her folly.
Let that suffice."
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 forever
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 Bos.
ton, 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 insnaring
machinations of a profligate debauchee. Not only
the life, but, what was still dearer, the reputation
and virtuei of the unfortunate Eliza have fallen




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      277
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 name
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.,
JULIA GRANBY.
LE TTER      LXXII.
To MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.
HARTFORD.
Confusion, horror, and despair are the portion
of your wretched, unhappy friend. 0 Deighton,
I am undone. Misery irremediable is my future
24




278        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
lot. She is gone; yes, she is gone forever. The
darling of my soul, the centre of all my wishes
and enjoyments, is no more.  Cruel fate has
snatched her from me, and she is irretrievably
lost. I rave, and then reflect; I reflect, and then
rave. I have no patience to bear this calamity,
nor power to remedy it. Where shall I fly from
the upbraidings of my mind, which accuse me as
the murderer of my Eliza? I would fly to death,
and seek a refuge in the grave; but the forebodings of a retribution to come I cannot away with.
O that I had seen her! that I had once more
asked her forgiveness! But even that privilege,
that consolation, was denied me! The day on
which I meant to visit her, most of my property
was attached, and, to secure the rest, I was obliged
to shut my doors and become a prisoner in my
own house. High living, and old debts incurred
by extravagance, had reduced the fortune of my
wife to very little, and I could not satisfy the clamorous demands of my creditors.
I would have given millions, had I possessed
them, to have been at liberty to see, and to have
had the power to preserve Eliza.from death. But
in vain was my anxiety; it could not relieve, it
could not liberate me. When I first heard the
dreadful tidings of her exit, Ibelieve I acted like
a madman; indeed, I am little else now.




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      279
I have compounded with my creditors, and resigned the whole of my property. Thus that
splendor and equipage, to secure which I have
sacrificed a virtuous woman, is taken from me.
That poverty, the dread of which prevented my
forming an honorable connection with an amiable
and accomplished girl, - the only one I ever loved,
- has fallen with redoubled vengeance upon my
guilty head, and I must become a vagabond on
the earth.
I shall fly my country as soon as possible. I
shall go from every object which reminds me of
my departed Eliza; but never, never shall I eradicate from my bosom the idea of her excellence,
nor the painful remembrance of the injuries I have
done her. Her shade will perpetually haunt me;
the image of her - as she appeared when mounting the carriage which conveyed her forever from
my sight, waving her hand in token of a last adieu
- will always be present to my imagination; the
solemn counsel she gave me before we parted,
never more to meet, will not cease to resound in
my ears.
While my being is prolonged, I must feel the
disgraceful and torturing effects of my guilt in
seducing her. How madly have I deprived her
of happiness, of reputation, of life! Her friends,




280        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
could they know the pangs of contrition and the
horrors of conscience which attend me, would be
amply revenged.
It is said she quitted the world with composure
and peace. Well she might. She had not that
insupportable weight of iniquity which sinks me
to despair. She found consolation in that religion
which I have ridiculed as priestcraft and hypocrisy. But, whether it be true or false, would to
Heaven I could now enjoy the comforts which its
votaries evidently feel.
My wife has left me. As we lived together
without love, we parted without regret.
Now, Charles, I am to bid you a long, perhaps
a last farewell. Where I shall roam in future, I
neither know nor care. I shall go where the name
of Sanford is unknown, and his person and sorrows unnoticed.
In this happy clime I have nothing to induce
my stay. I have not money to support me with
my profligate companions, nor have I any relish,
at present, for their society. By the virtuous part
of the community I am shunned as the pest and
bane of social enjoyment. In short, I am debarred
from every kind of happiness. If I look back, I
recoil with horror from the black catalogue of vices
which have stained my past life, and reduced me to




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      281
indigence and contempt.  If I look forward, I
shudder at the prospects which my foreboding
mind presents to view both in this and a coming
world. This is a deplorable, yet just, picture of
myself. How totally the reverse of what I once
appeared!
Let it warn you, my friend, to shun the dangerous paths which I. have trodden, that you may
never be involved in the hopeless ignominy and
wretchedness of
PETER SANFORD.
LETTER       LXXIII.
To MIss JULIA GRANBY.
BOSTON.
A melancholy tale have you unfolded, my dear
Julia; and tragic indeed is the concluding scene.
Is she then gone? gone in this most distressing
manner? Have I lost my once-loved friend? lost
her in a way which I could never have conceived
to be possible?
Our days of childhood were spent together in
the same pursuits, in the same amusements. Our
riper years increased our mutual affection, and ma24 




282        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
turer judgment most firmly cemented our friendship. Can I, then, calmly resign her to so severe
a fate? Can I bear the idea of her being lost to
honor, to fame, and to life?  No; she shall still
live in the heart of her faithful Lucy, whose experience of her numerous virtues and engaging qualities has imprinted her image too deeply on the
memory to be obliterated. However she may have
erred, her sincere repentance is sufficient to restore
her to charity.
Your letter gave me the first information of
this awful event. I had taken a short excursion into the country, where I had not seen the
papers, or, if I had, paid little or no attention to
them. By your directions I found the distressing
narrative of her exit. The poignancy of my grief,
and the unavailing lamentations which the intelligence excited, need no delineation. To scenes of
this nature you have been habituated in the mansion of sorrow where you reside.
How sincerely I sympathize with the bereaved
parent of the dear, deceased Eliza, I can feel, but
have not power to express. Let it be her consolation that her child is at rest. The resolution which
carried this deluded wanderer thus far from her
friends, and supported her through her various




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.      283
trials, is astonishing. Happy would it have been
had she exerted an equal degree of fortitude in repelling the first attacks upon her virtue. But she
is no more, and Heaven forbid that I should accuse or reproach her.
Yet in what language shall I express my abhorrence of the monster whose detestable arts have
blasted one of the fairest flowers in creation? I
leave him to God and his own conscience. Already is he exposed in his true colors. Vengeance
already begins to overtake him. His sordid mind
must now suffer the deprivation of those sensual
gratifications beyond which he is incapable of enjoyment.
Upon your reflecting and steady mind, my dear
Julia, I need not inculcate the lessons which may
be drawn from this woe-fraught tale; but for the
sake of my sex in geral, I wish it engraved upon
every heart, thatvirtue) alone, independent of the
trappings of weal   e parade of equipage, and
the adulation of gallantry, can secure lasting felicity.< From the melancholy story of Eliza Wharton
let the American fair learn to reject with disdain
every insinuation derogatory to their true dignity
and honor. Let them despise and forever banish
the man who can glory in the seduction of inno



284        THE COQUETTE; OR, THE
cence and the ruin of reputation. To associate is
to approve; to approve is to be betrayed.
I am, &c.,
LUCY SUMNER.
LETTER       LXXIV.
To MRS. M. WHARTON.
BOSTON.
Dear madam: We have paid the last tribute of
respect to your beloved daughter. The day after
my arrival, Mrs. Sumner proposed that we should
visit the sad spot which contains the remains of
our once amiable friend. "The grave of Eliza
Wharton," said she, " shall not be unbedewed by
the tears of friendship."
Yesterday we went accordingly, and were much
pleased with the apparent sincerity of the people in
their assurances that every thing in their power
had been done to render her situation comfortable.
The minutest circumstances were faithfully related;
and, from the state of her mind in her last hours, I
think much comfort may be derived to her afflicted
friends.
We spent a mournful hour in the place where




HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.           285
she is interred, and then returned to the inn, while
Mrs. Sumner gave orders for a decent stone to'be
erected over her grave, with the following inscription:
THIS HUMBLE STONE,
IN MEMORY OF
ELIZA WHARTO.N,
IS INSCRIBED BY HER WEEPING FRIENDS, TO WHOM SHE
ENDEARED HERSELF
BY UNCOMMON TENDERNESS AND AFFECTION.
ENDOWED WITH SUPERIOR ACQUIREMENTS, SHE WAS STILL MORE
DISTINGUISHED
BY HUMILITY AND BENEVOLENCE.
LET CANDOR THROW A VEIL OVER HER FRAILTIES, FOR GREAT WAS
HER CHARITY TO OTHERS.
SHE SUSTAINED THE LAST PAINFUL SCENE
FAR FROM EVERY FRIEND,
AND EXHIBITED AN EXAMPLE OF CALM RESIGNATION.
HER DEPARTURE WAS ON TEE 25TH DAY OF JULY, A. D. -, IN
THE 37TH YEAR OF. HER AGE;
AND THE TEARS OF STRANGERS WATERED HER GRAVE.
I hope, madam, that you will derive satisfaction
from these exertions of friendship, and that, united
to the many other sources of consolation with




286    THE HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.
which you are furnished, they may alleviate your
grief, and, while they leave the pleasing remembrance of her virtues, add the supporting persuasion that your Eliza is happy.
I am, &c.,
JULIA GRANNY..




HAGAR THE MARTYR;
OR,
PASSION AND REALITY.
A TALE OF THE NORTH         AND   SOUTH.
BY
MRS. H. MARION STEPHENS.
WILL IS DESTINY.
Alas I 0, alas I for the trusting heart,
When its fairy dream is o'er;
When it learns that to trust is to be deceivedFinds the things most false which it most believed I
Alas I for it dreams no more I
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Q96       BFETRIDGE      AND    COMPANY.
Every one who has attended to the philosophy of health knows of
what immense importance it is to the true enjoyment of lie and a free
exercise of the faculties to keep the skin clean and the pores open, by
frequent ablutions. A composition tending to facilitate this operation,
and at the same time render it more salutary and pleasant, must be re,
ceived by all classes of the community, and particularly by those of intelligent and enlightened minds. The delicate and soothing sensations
which it produces, the delightful softness which it imparts to the skin,
the clearness and beauty which it gives to the complexion, and the pow.
erful sanative virtues it possesses in removing cutaneous diseases, will
be universally acknowledged. Its application relieves the surface of all
impurities, leaving a renovated skin and a pure and healthy bloom. As
an emollient for the hair it is unrivalled, promoting its growth, preventing its loss, and giving it a soft and glossy richness. As a wash for
cleaning the teeth it is unsurpassed by any dentifrice now in use, promoting their preservation, arresting their decay, and rendering them
clean and white as alabaster. As an article for shaving, it is superior
to any thing now in use that we have seen tried for that purpose, not
only facilitating that operation, but at the same time imparting an agreeable softness and freshness to the face.
Reader, do not class this with the thousand nostrums of the day. No
one can be in doubt of its virtues, as its qualities may be tested before
purchasing.
Fr'o- G6o~e, ys La dy9 s Book.
BALM OF THOUSAND FLOWERS,
For removing all tans, pimples, and freckles from the face, for removing grease spots from clothes or carpeting, for beautifying the skin, for
shaving, cleansing the teeth, or curling the hair. This is what we are
assured this celebrated'Balmn will do, and we see that the proprietors
offer $500 reward to any person who can produce its equal in efficacy.
Fetridge & Co., of Boston, are the proprietors of the Balm, and are
most enterprising gentlemen. The price is one dollar per bottle, and
the money to be returned if the article does not prove satisfactory. We
observe by a Boston paper a sign of the prosperity of the firm. It
says, -
"City improvements are visible on every hand; among the most consi icuous in our vicinity is one of Fetridge, the enterprising bookseller




FETRIDGE      AND   COMPANY.                297
and publisher. He has recently added two stories to his building on
Washington Street, making it six stories in height. One of these is
occupied as a library and reading room; so the ladies say Fetridge has
a new library idea, and a good one. He puts two hundred copies of
every new book that is likely to create an excitement into his library,
so that subscribers are never told that the volume they desire is' out.'"
A Letter from a Lonildo l    t erchasit to the Pl'oprietors.
MESSRS. FETRIDGE & CO.
Gentlemen: Seeing an advertisement some time since in the London
Times of Dr. Fontaine's Balm of Thousand Flowers, I was induced to
buy the article, having been completely covered with freckles ever since
I can recollect the appearance of my face. I had tried several cosmetics
for the purpose of removing them, butwithout success. After using one
bottle of the Balm, my face appeared much smoother, and I imagined
that some of the smaller freckles had vanished, at least by gaslight
they could not be seen.. I continued to use the article, and am now
rejoiced to state to you that they have entirely disappeared. I have
likewise used the Balm for shaving and cleansing the teeth, believing it
to be the best thing ever discovered for these purposes, as well as for
making and keeping the complexion beautiful. I address you this letter, hearing you had purchased the right to manufacture it from Dr.
Fontaine; and having seen Mr. Fetridge several times on his visits to
London, I thought it might be a service to you to record this testimony.
My kind regards to your Mr. Fetridge, and believe me,
Your ob't serv't,
H. T. JOHNSON,
St. Martin's Lane
The following is from Gaylord Clark, of thle Knieklerboclke
Magazine.
It is not our wont to allude to kindred fabrications, but we can say,
from the ocular proof, that the Balm of Thousand Flowers, a preparation for removing tan, pimples, and freckles from the face, shaving,
cleansing the teeth, curling the hair, removing grease spots from
clothes, carpets, etc., sold by our agents, Fetridge & Co., Boston, is
the best article of its kind we have ever encountered. It is, in reality, all that it purports to be.




PUBLISHERS AND BOOKSELLERS,
3 and-5 Stato Street, and 72 and 74 Washington Street, Boston,
Keep constantly on hand a large assortment of
L~TERARE9 SCIENTiIC9 JUTJET       LE,
AND
All the Cheap Publications of the day, comprising
NOVELS, TALES, 1OAv,i,
AND
WORKS OF A HIGIHER ORDER;
and receive subscriptions to all
Standard and Popular Periodicais,
for most of which they are the Publishers' Agents.
F. & Co. pay particular attention to Orders from the country.  Dealers who will send their favors may depend upon
having them answered with promptness, and at low rates, and
upon having their books packed with care.
All works, by whomsoever advertised or published, supplied as above.
(3293)