The Coquette: Or, the History of Eliza Wharton 9780231892803

Citation preview

THE

COQJUETTE

PUBLICATION NO. 46 OF THE FACSIMILE T E X T SOCIETY

THE C O Q U E T T E OR,

THE

HIS TORT

ELIZA

OF

WHARTON

By Hannah Webster Foster

REPRODUCED ORIGINAL

FROM

EDITION

THE

OF

W I T H AN I N T R O D U C T I O N

H E R B E R T ROSS

PUBLISHED

179 7 BY

BROWN

FOR

THE F A C S I M I L E T E X T S O C I E T Y BY

COLUMBIA NEW

UNIVERSITY

YORK:

PRESS

M-CM-XXXIX

COPYRIGHT

1939

C O L U M B I A U N I V E R S I T Y PRESS PUBLISHED

1939

P R I N T E D IN T H E U N I T E D S T A T E S OF

AMERICA

INTRODUCTION The Coquette survives today as the most memorable of all the sentimental, "handkerchiefly" novels written somewhat apologetically by American women in the eighteenth century. It is surpassed in narrative power by only one other early American novel, Hugh Henry Brackenridge's picaresque Modern Chivalry. Without either the wide popularity and lurid sensationalism of Susanna Rowson's Charlotte Temple, or the feverish sensibility and heavy didacticism of William Hill Brown's The Power of Sympathy, Mrs. Foster's moving story of Eliza Wharton has lost little of its appeal to the heart. The publication of the novel was announced in an advertisement printed in the Columbian Centinel of Boston for Saturday, August 5, 1797: Just

published,

( I n 1 vol. neatly bound and lettered, price One Dollar) Sold by E . L A R K I N , No. 47, The C O Q U E T T E ; ELIZA

or, T h e History of

WHARTON,

[v]

Comhill,

a Novel, Founded on fact by a Lady Massachusetts. EXTRACT FROM THE

of

WORK.

"Upon your reflecting and steady mind, my dear J U L I A , I need not inculcate the lessons which may be drawn from this woe-fraught tale; but for the sake of my sex in general, I wish it engraved upon every heart, that virtue alone, independent of the trappings of wealth, the parade of equipage, and the adulation of gallantry, can secure lasting felicity.—From the melancholy story of E L I Z A W H A R T O N , 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 innocence and the ruin of reputation. T o associate, is to approve; to approve, is to be betrayed! " This announcement, with its disarming sample of the author's moral purpose, was reprinted in the issues for August twelfth and nineteenth. A bookseller's advertisement in Thomas's chusetts

Spy

Massa-

of Worcester for September 20,

1 7 9 7 , commended The

as " A

Coquette

new

Novel, founded on fact. This work was written by a L a d y near Boston, and is much admired." Proposals for the publication by subscription of Mrs. Foster's The Boarding of Massachusetts,

School,

author of The

peared in the Columbian

" B y a lady

Coquette"

Centinel

ap-

for Sep-

tember 6, 1 7 9 7 . On J u l y 1 1 , 1 7 9 8 , a copyright [vi]

of The Coquette was issued to Larkin, as proprietor, by the 143d Massachusetts District. Although The Coquette yielded in popular favor to only one other "female novel" printed in America in the last decade of the century,1 Larkin did not hazard a second edition until 1802. Its appearance was noticed under the caption of "Literary Intelligence" in the Boston Weekly Magazine for January 29, 1803: "The Coquette, or the History of Eliza Wharton,' a novel founded on fact, by a lady of Massachusetts, as just published, and for sale by E, Larkin, Cornhill—the rapid sale of the first edition, is a proof of its estimation by the moral, instructive and entertaining reader." Shprtly before the publication of this new edition, a dramatization by J . Horatius Nichols entitled The New England Coquette was issued by N. Coverly of Salem.2 Despite this evidence of public interest in the story, Larkin's second edition seems to have satisfied the demand for ' M r s . Rowson's novel was published in London in 1791 as Charlotte, a Tale of Truth, but it had its largest circulation in America under the more familiar title of Charlotte Temple. R. W. G. Vail has located 1 6 1 of the "well over 200 editions" of this famous work. See his Susanna Haswell Ronoson, The Author of Charlotte Temple: A Bibliographical Study (Worcester, 1 9 2 2 ) . 2 The title page is not dated; Coverly moved his printingestablishment from Salem to Boston in 1803. There is no record of the production of this play. See C. K . Bolton, The Elizabeth Whitman Mystery (Peabody, Mass., 1 9 1 2 ) , PP- 154-55-

[vii]

eight years. A third edition was published in 1811 by Thomas & Whipple, Newburyport. The Coquette enjoyed its greatest vogue between 1824 and 1828, when the novel was reprinted eight times. It was probably to this period that a reviewer in Putnam's referred when he wrote in April, 1855, that Mrs. Foster's story had "attracted, perhaps, almost as much attention as that of the Waverley Novels." T h e tenth and eleventh editions bear the imprint of Abel Brown of Exeter in 1828. 3 J. P . Clusman issued the twelfth edition in New Y o r k in 1831. A spurious "30th ed.," probably a misprint for the thirteenth, was published by Charles Gaylord of Boston in 1833 and reprinted in 1840.4 T h e edition of W . P . Fetridge & Company of Boston in 1855 included an "Historical Preface, and a Memoir of the Author," by Jane E . Locke. 5 T . B. 3 T h e eleventh edition differs in pagination from the tenth. It also has an engraved portrait of the heroine as a frontispiece. T h e same engraving was used to embellish an edition of The Boarding School in 1829. Neither this engraving, nor the later one reproduced in the Fetridge edition in 1855 has a proved resemblance to Elizabeth Whitman. See Bolton, pp. 133—40. 4 The title page of Gaylord's "30th edition," when taken at its face value, has led to extravagant claims of the popularity of the novel. N o evidence appears to support the inference that eighteen editions were published between 1831 and 1833. 5 Mrs. Locke's Preface contains a considerable amount of information, mainly mistaken. Her identification of

[ viii ]

Peterson

&

Brothers

of

Philadelphia,

whose

cheap reprints of p o p u l a r n o v e l s catered to the d e l i g h t of a vast u n d e r w o r l d of fiction readers, f o u n d it profitable in 1 8 6 6 to a d d The to their list of titles in t h e w i d e l y

Coquette distributed

" D o l l a r S e r i e s . " 0 M r s . Foster's name appeared u p o n t h e title p a g e of her n o v e l f o r the

first

t i m e in this edition. 7 T h e present facsimile reprint is the first p r i n t i n g since 1 8 7 4 . C o p i e s of the first edition h a v e been located in

the

Library

of

Congress,

the

Henry

E.

H u n t i n g t o n L i b r a r y a n d A r t G a l l e r y , the N e w Y o r k P u b l i c L i b r a r y , a n d the libraries of

the

U n i v e r s i t y of C h i c a g o a n d of Y a l e . T h e H u n t Pierrepont Edwards as the original of Sanford, and the father of Elizabeth Whitman's child, is discussed by Mrs. C. H. Dall in The Romance of the Association (Cambridge, 1 8 7 5 ) , and by Bolton in The Elizabeth Whitman Mystery. The chief facts of Mrs. Foster's life are set forth by R. L. Shurter in "Mrs. Hannah Webster Foster and the Early American Novel," American Literature, IV, 306—8. 0 Peterson advertised the series as containing " T h e best, the largest, the handsomest, and the cheapest books in the world." The Coquette was bound "In Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold." A cheaper edition in paper binding was offered at seventy-five cents. * The title page of this edition made ample atonement for the anonymity of earlier issues: The Coquette;/ or, The Life and Letters of Eliza Wharton,/ a Novel, Founded on Fact./ By Mrs. Hannah Foster./ Wife of Rev. John Foster, of Brighton, and daughter/ of Grant Webster, of Boston./ With an Historical Preface,/ and a/ Memoir of the Author, by Jane E. Locke./ Philadelphia:/ T . B. Peterson & Brothers; 306 Chestnut Street./

[ix]

ington copy is in contemporary sheepskin, rebacked. A red morocco label with title Coquette stamped in gold within a double gilt rule, is on the spine. The Library of Congress copy has an unusual contemporary binding in full morocco stretched over pasteboard; the leather has been stained black or a very dark green. The title is stamped in gold within an ornamental doublerule box j five gold dotted rules are stamped on the spine over the bands. The Chicago, New York, and Yale copies have been rebound. The page measurements of the Yale copy are 6%6 x 4 inches j it is this copy which, except for certain defective pages, has been used in this facsimile reproduction. Pages 6, 9, 10, 2 1 , 22, 35, 231, and 249 are reproduced from the copy in the New York Public Library. The claim that The Coquette was "Founded on Fact" appears to have been more than a conventional gesture designed to forestall the criticism of a generation of readers who had been taught to regard all fiction as lies. In its main outline, at least, the tragic career of Elizabeth Whitman of Hartford provided Mrs. Foster with a subject which must have had peculiar interest for an ambitious novelist. For almost a decade before she began to write her story, the fatal seduction of Miss Whitman had been wept over and discussed up and down the Connecticut Valley. Gossip and tradition had united to in[x]

vest this cause célèbre with many of the most precious ingredients of sentimental fiction. A fascinating heroine, who had moved in the best circles of society} her clandestine affair with a mysterious rake, her elopement, desertion, and finally, her pitiful death in a public tavern— these events seemed destined for exploitation in the fiction market. 8 Less than two months after Miss Whitman's death, the melancholy episode was cited to point a moral by a writer in the Indefendent Chronicle of Boston for September n , 1788: What I mention it for is, that I think the story may serve as a good moral lesson for young ladies: For this lady whose conduct appeared so mysterious, proves to be the daughter of a deceased clergyman, in Connecticut. She was handsome, genteel and sensible, but vain and coquettish; a great reader of romances. She refused two as good offers of marriage as she deserved, because she aspired higher than to be a clergyman's wife ; and having coquetted 8

Readers of

the death Danvers,

of

The

Coquette,

Miss W h i t m a n

should

have

had

published

nine years a f t e r

at the old B e l l T a v e r n

in

little difficulty in i d e n t i f y i n g

certain of the characters. T h e R e v . Joseph H o w e ,

Eliza-

beth's fiance w h o died in her home in 1 7 7 5 , is represented in -the n o v e l by the R e v . M r .

Haly. T h e

initials of

the

R e v . Joseph Buckminster, with w h o m Elizabeth was alleged to have coquetted, a g r e e

w i t h those of J . B o y e r in the

novel.

record

No

contemporary

the name

of

E l i z a b e t h W h i t m a n ' s seducer. E f f o r t s have been made

mentions

to

i d e n t i f y her betrayer as Pierrepont E d w a r d s , but the evidence seems inconclusive. [Xi]

till past her prime, fell proved pregnant and (where she lodged and carried on the deception

into criminal indulgences, then eloped—pretending died) to be married, and till her death.

T h e author of a communication to the Massachusetts Centinel of Boston for September 20, 1 7 8 8 , attributed Elizabeth's miserable end to her depraved taste for the trash which stocked the shelves of the fashionable circulating libraries: In her younger days she was admired for her beauty, good sense, and other engaging qualities. She was a great reader of romances, and having formed her notions of happiness from that corrupt source, became vain and coquettish, and rejected some very advantageous offers of marriage in hope of realizing something more splendid. . . . T h e burden of these observations was echoed by Brown, who used Miss Whitman as a horrible example to enforce one of his many pious admonitions in The Power of Sympathy:9 This young lady was of a reputable family in Connecticut. In her youth she was admired for beauty and good sense. She was a great reader of novels and romances, and having imbibed her ideas of the characters of men, from those fallacious sources, became vain and coquettish, and rejected several offers of marriage, in expectation of receiving one more agreeable to her fanciful idea. 0

The Power

of Sympathy,

I, 50.

[Xii]

M r s . Foster was undoubtedly familiar with these comments and many similar homilies by those who held up Miss Whitman's conduct as a "beacon" to the "American Fair." Moreover, her marriage to a cousin of the victim should have enabled her to learn the facts had she cared to investigate them. 1 0 H e r e , ready at hand, was compelling material which might be used to furnish forth a novel based upon " T r u t h , " and yet one which could be made to inculcate sound moral principles and appeal strongly to the heart of sensibility. Somewhat similar domestic tragedies had been recorded a few years earlier in The Power of Sympathy and in Charlotte Temple. T h e career of Elizabeth W h i t m a n , however, was not the only source of M r s . Foster's story. T h e shades of Clarissa and Lovelace, as well as 10

Elizabeth

Whitman

has had several

champions

who

h a v e attempted the g a l l a n t , but hopeless task of correcting M r s . Foster's portrait. M r s . D a l l believed the records of Elizabeth's

marriage

manuscripts

hidden

still "exist in some of at this moment

the inedited

under the sheltering

r o o f s a l o n g the Connecticut R i v e r . " In an a u t o g r a p h letter inserted Romance

in the N e w of

Y o r k Public Library

the Association,

she w r o t e in

copy of

hoped, to be able to substantiate her claim. N o

conclusive

evidence has been a d v a n c e d to establish the m a r r i a g e E l i z a b e t h or the identity of her l o v e r . C . K . B o l t o n in Elizabeth

Whitman

Mystery

has

The

1 8 7 5 that she

concluded

wisely

of The that

w h a t e v e r w a s the source of M r s . Foster's inspiration, E l i z a beth's character has been fashioned f o r a l l time in the character of her heroine, E l i z a W h a r t o n .

[ xiii ]

those of Elizabeth and her unknown betrayer, constantly hover over the pages. In mood and pattern, The Coquette remains the most striking example in early American fiction of the pervasive influence of the novels of Samuel Richardson. The author of Clarissa enjoyed a singular immunity from the censure which was heaped upon other English novelists by the custodians of American morals. Mrs. Foster exempted his works from her condemnation of the "greasy, combustible, duodecimos" which flooded the fiction market: 11 T h e noble c o n d u c t of C l e m e n t i n a a n d Miss B y r o n are w o r t h y of i m i t a t i o n ;

while the indiscretion

of

Clarissa, in putting herself u n d e r the protection of a libertine, is a w a r n i n g to every fair. . . .

I am not

equally pleased with all R i c h a r d s o n ' s w r i t i n g s ;

yet

so multifarious are his excellencies, that his faults appear but specks, which serve as foils to display his beauties to better a d v a n t a g e .

I f Mrs. Foster was captivated by Richardson's moral "beauties," she also found much to admire in his craftsmanship. "But the species of writing, which is open to every capacity, and ornamental to every station, is the epistolary," she testified in The Bc.irding School.12 Her skillful use of the letter form lifts The Coquette 11 12

The Boarding Ibid., p. 31.

School (Boston, 1 7 9 8 ) , p., 161.

[xiv]

far above the artless, go-as-you-please narratives of her contemporaries. T h e seventy-two letters which comprise the novel reflect the varying moods of their authors, and, at the need of the plot, shift from the easy circumstantiality of familiar correspondence to moments of agonized self-betrayal. Mrs. Foster deftly trimmed the outline of Elizabeth Whitman's story to fit the popular pattern bequeathed by Richardson in Clarissa. Eliza was provided with an American cousin of Clary's Anna Howe in the person of Lucy Freeman, to whom she confided her problems; while Deighton, who played the part of a Yankee Jack Belford to Sanford's Lovelace, was regularly informed of the progress of the rake's intrigue. Although letters by other hands appear from time to time, the main narrative, as in Pamela and Clarissa, is presented by the heroine. T h e confidante, like Anna Howe, has a placid love affair of her own, but her chief end in the story is to furnish advice and solace to the victim. " I have received your letter; your moral lecture rather;" Eliza wrote to Lucy, "and be assured, my dear, your monitorial lessons and advice shall be attended to." 18 T h e influence of Richardson is also to be found in the mood of the letters and in the general tone of the story. The heroine, Clarissa13

The

Coquette,

p. 9. [XV]

J ike, is depleted in the novel as being hurried away by chaise at night, without the knowledge or consent of her friends and relatives. • " I n simple fact," wrote Mrs. Caroline Dall, who was in possession of certain of Elizabeth Whitman's letters, "she went away in the regular stage-coach, at high noon, with everybody's warm approval." 1 4 A similar Richardsonian bias was given to the character of Eliza's betrayer. O f all the seducers who gave their days and nights to a study of the maxims of Chesterfield and the wiles of Lovelace, none is more convincing than M a j o r Sanford. With sufficient fortune to procure him respect, and with manners captivating enough to make him a welcome figure at polite assemblies, he merited the titles of " a Chesterfieldian" and " a second Lovelace" which were bestowed upon him by Eliza's friends. Sanford possessed more than the outward trappings of his notorious original. His was something of the joy of the game which added zest to Lovelace's philandering. " N o t that I have any ill designs}" he wrote to Deighton, "but only to play off her own artillery, by using a little unmeaning gallantry." 1 5 W h e n Eliza seemed to favor the suit of Boyer, Sanford's pride was touched. " I shall be the more interested," he exulted, "as I am likely to meet 11

The Romance of the Association, p. 68. The Coquette, p. 26.

t xvi ]

with difficulties. . . . " 1,1 H e was impelled upon his criminal course as strongly by a desire to gratify his vanity as to satisfy his passion. " I must own myself a little revengeful too in this affair," Sanford admitted to his crony. " I wish to punish her friends, as she calls them, for their malice towards me 5 for their cold and negligent treatment of me whenever I go to the house." 1 7 It is this element of outraged pride which distinguishes the seducer in The Coquette from many of his wicked contemporaries in English as well as in American fiction. T h e ever-present menace of the seducer is only one of the many traces of Richardson's influence which have left their mark upon the form and subject matter of The Coquette. T o his example must also be ascribed the emphasis given to questions concerning "the grand article of marriage"; the action of the novel turns almost wholly upon the axis of Eliza's marital prospects. Richardson is also mainly responsible for the dissertations upon problems of conduct and conscience with which many of the letters are heavily freighted. Mrs. Foster's insistence upon the doctrine of poetic justice emanated from the same fertile source. T h e character of Eliza Wharton, however, becomes something more than the familiar stock V1 17

Ibi.l., p. 48. Ibid., p. 81. [ xvii ]

figure of the seduced female, a horrible example with which to frighten school girls. She makes her chief appeal to us across the years as a rebel against the terrific decorums which stifled the individuality of her sex. Before accepting the inevitable duties of marriage, Eliza demanded the right to live her own life. She chafed at the well-meaning attempts of her friends to provide her with a suitable husband. "Marriage is the tomb of friendship," she protested. " I t appears to me a very selfish state." 1 8 A young lady might be volatile, she insisted, and virtuous, too. W h e n Mrs. Richman urged the propriety of an early settlement, Eliza replied spiritedly to that dragon of discretion: " B u t I despise those contracted ideas which confine virtue to a cell. I have no notion of becoming a recluse." 1 9 Although she could be "sentimental and sedate" when the occasion demanded it, she found Boyer's conversation a bit cloying. " S o sweet a repast, for several hours together, was rather sickening to my taste," she confided gaily to her anxious friend. 20 Eliza was destined to learn that "natural volatility" and independence were not prized as virtues by those who made a modern ideal of the conduct of the patient Griselda. W e are allowed a glimpse of her tortured soul in the contrite letter in which she belatedly offered her hand "Ibid.,

p. 35.

"Ibid.,

p. 18.

[ xviii ]

25

Ibid., p. 46.

to Boyer. The miserable death which followed her yielding to Sanford probably seemed to many of Mrs. Foster's early readers a just retribution. In the feverish world of the sentimental novelists, this was the fate of all lovely heretics who refused to worship at the shrines of feminine punctilio, delicacy, and propriety. H . R. B. Bowdoin College Brunswick, Maine

[xix]

trea-Tn.!1:^.1'it.ij1 t i m "

W

1

? ! »

; • g .'.¡i' . « m ' T i ^ w ^ a g B «•

THE

COQUETTE; OB, T H E

i&totoiy,

of

Sll'za,

C

WAarton j

A.

N O V E L .

THE

C O Q U E T T E ; OK, THE

HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON ; A

N

O

V

E

FOUNDED

By a LADY

ON

L

;

FACT.

of M A S S A C H U S E T T S .

Mt S, H av^fcuV-J^0 sfftr TBoCot :

PRINTED

BY S A M U E L

FOR

ETHERIDCE,

E. L A R K I N,

N o . 47,

1

CORKIULL.

797-

THE C

O

Q

U

E

T

T

E

;

O R , THE

HIS TORT

L

OF ELIZA

E

TO

T

MISS

T

LUCY

E

IVII ART

R

OK

I.

FREEMAN. NLK'-IIJ.

TEX.

A N u n u f u a l fenfotion pofleiTes m y breaft ; a fenfation, w h i c h I once t h o u g h t could n e v e r pervade it o n any occaiion w h a t ever. It is pleajure ; pleafure, m y dear L u c y , o n leaving my paternal r o o f ! C o u l d y o u h a v e b e l i e v e d that the darling child of an i n d u l g e n t a nd dearly beloved m o t h e r w o u l d feel a g l e a m o f joy at l e i v i n g her ? but lb it is. T h e melanc h o l y , the g l o o m , the c o n d o l e n c e , w h i c h furr o u n d e d me for a m o n t h after the death o f M r . H a l y , had depreffed m y fpirits, and palled every e n j o y m e n t o f life. M r . H a l y was a m a n o f w o r t h ; a man of real and f u b ' h u n i i! merit. H e is therefore i b e p l v , a i d iuitly regreted b y bis friends ; he was c h o f e n to be a future sruardB 2 ian,.

6

THE C O Q U E T T E , OR THE

ian, and companion for me, and was, therefore, belovefl by mine. As their choice ; as a good man, and a faithful friend, I efteemed him. But no one acquainted with the difparity of our tempers and difpofitions, our views and detion, all combine to charm my fancy ; and to my lively imagination, ftrew the path of life with flowers. What a pity, my dear Lucy, that th« graces and virtues are not oftner united! They muft, however, meet in the man of my choice ; and till I find fuch a one, 1 ihaU continue to fubfcrib« my name ELIZA

WHARTON. LETTER

3®

THE COQUETTE, OR THE

L E T T E R

TO U K . C H A R L E S

XI.

DEIGHTON. NEW-KAYZW,

W E L L , Charles, I have been matt, ccuvxing to day, a little revengefully. That, you will fay, is out of charafter. So baleful a paffion does not eafily find admiffion among thofe fofter ones, which you well know I cherilh. However, I am a mere Proteus, and can aflurae any ihape that will beil anfwer my purpofe. I called this forenooon, as I told you I intended, at Gen. Richman's. I waited lome time in the parlor alone, before Eliza appeared ; and when ihe did appear, the diftant referve of her manners, and the peniivenefs of her countenance convinced me that Ihe had been vexed, and I doubted not but Peter Sanford was the occafion. Her wife coufin, I could have fworn, had been giving her a detail of the vices of her gallant ; and warning her againil the danger of ? Ho d a t i n g with hiin in future. Notwith* ft?riding, I took no nolicc of any alteration in hc;r behavior ; but entered with the utmoit faccticuihci'o into a convcriation which I thought moil

HISTORY or ELIZA WHARTON.

moft to her tafte. By degrees, flie aflfumed her ufual vivacity ; cheerfulnefs 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 teaze the jealous Mrs. R i c h n a n , by playing oiT all the gallantly I was mailer of in her prefence. I v;en.r, and fucceeded to the utmoil of m y wiihes, as I read in the vexation, vifibfe in th« one ; and the eafe and attention difplayed by the other. I believe too, that I have charmed the eye at leait, of the amiable Eliza. Indeed, Charles, lhe is a fine girl. I taink it would hurt my confcience to wound her mind or reputation. W e r e 1 difpofcd to marry, I am perluaded ihe would make an excellent wife ; but that you know is no part of my plan, fo long as I can keep out of the noofe, Whenever I do fubmit to be ihacklcd, it muit be from a neceffity of mending my fortune. This girl would be far from doing that. However, I am pleafed with her acquaintance, and mean not to abufe her credulity and good nature, if I can help it. PETER

SANFORD.

LETTER

THE C O Q U E T T E , OR TH*

L

E

T

T

E

T O M I S S LUCY

R

XIT.

FHEEMAN. NEW-HAY

ev,

E heart of your friend is again befieged. Whether it will furrender to the aflailants or not, I am unable at prefent to determine. Sometimes 1 think of becoming a predeitinarian, and fubmitting implicitly to fate, without any exercife of free will; but, a? mine feems to be a wayward one, I would counteract the operations of it, if poflible. Mrs. Richman told me this morning, that ihe hoped I iliould be as agreeably entertained this afternoon, as I had been the preceding j that ihe expe&ed Mr. Boyer to dine, and take t e a ; and doubted not but he would be as attentive and fincere to me, if not as gay and polite as the gentleman who obtruded his civilities yefterday. I replied that I had no reafon to doubt the fincerity of the one, or the other, having never put them to the teft, nor did I imagine I ever ihould. Your friends, Eliza, faid ihe, would be very happy to fee you united to a man of Mr. Boyer's worth ; and fo agreeably fettled, as be has a profpeft of being. I hope,

HISTORY or ELIZA WHARTON.

^

faid I, that my friends are not fo weary of my company, as to wifh to difpofe of me. I am too happy in my prefent connections to quit them for new ones. Marriage is the tomb of friendiliip. It appears to me a very felfiih ftate. Why do people, in general, as foon as they are mar* ried, centre all their cares, their concerns, and pleafures in their own families ? former acquaintance« are negle&ed or forgotten. The tendereft ties between friends are weakened, or diflclved ; 4nd benevolence itfelf moves in a very limited fphere. It is the glory of the marriage ftate, ihe rejoined, to refine, by circumfcribing our enjoyments. .Here we can repofe in fafety. " The friend (hip* of th« world »re oft Confed'racies in vice, or leagues in plea lure : Our'« l m the pureft rirtne for its bafis ; Aud fuel» a friendship end» not but with life."

True, we cannot always pay that attention to former affodates, which we may wiih } but the little community which we luperintend is quite as important an objeft ; and certainly renders us more beneficial to the public. True benevolence, though it may change its ohjefts, is not limited by time or place. Its effects are the fame, and aided by a fecond felf, are rendered more difTufive and falutary. Some pleafaiitry pafied, and we retired to drefs. Wlien fummoned to dinner, I found Mr. Boyer below. If what is fometirnes faid be true, that love Is diffident, rcfcrvcd, and unaifuming,

THE COQUETTE, OK TBE

fuming, this man muft be tinctured with it* Thefe fymptoms were vifible in his deportment when I entered the room. However, he foon recovered himfelf, and the conv^rfation took a general turn. The feilive board was crowned with fociability, and we found in reality, " The feaft of reafon, and the flow of foul." After we rofe from table, a walk in the. garden was propofed, an amufement we are all peculiarly fond of. Mr. Boyer offered me his arm. When at a fufficient diftance from our company, he begged leave to congratulate himfelf on having an opportunity which he had ardently defired for fome time, of declaring to me his attachment ; and of foliciting an inter eft in my favor ; or, if he might be allowed the term, affe&ion. I replied, that, Sir, is indeed laying claim to an important intereft. I believe you muil fubilitute fome more indifferent epithet for the prefent. Well then, faid he, if it muil be fo, let it be eiteem, or friendlhip. Indeed, Sir, faid I, you are intitled to them both. Merit has always a ihare in that bank ; and I know of none, who has a larger claim on that fcore, than Mr. Boyer. I fuppofe my manner was hardly ferious enough for what he confidered a weighty caufe. He was a little aifconcerted ; but • foon regaining his prefence of mind, entreated me, with an air of earneftnefs, to encourage his fuit, to admit his addreffes, . and, if poflible, to reward his love. I told him, that this was rather a fudden affair to me ; and that I could

HISTORY or ELIZA WHARTON.

yj

I could not anfwer him without coniideration. Well then, faid he, take what time you think proper, only relieve my fufpenfe, as foon as may be. Shall I vifit you again to morrow ? O, not fo foon, faid I. Next Monday, I believe will be early enough. I will endeavor to be at home. He- thanked me even for that favor, recommended himfelf once more to my kindnefs ; and we walked towards the company, returned with them to the houfe, and he foon took leave. I immediately retired to write this letter, which. I ihall clofe, without a lingle obfer/ation on the fubjeft, until I know your opinion. ELIZA WHARTON.

L E T T E R

XIII.

TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON. HARTFOXP,

A n d fo you wifh to have my opinion before you know the refult 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 epiftle may have a good effeft. You will aik, perhaps, whether I would influence your judgment ? I anfwer, no -f provided I) you

2 8

THE C O Q U E T T E ,

OR T H E

you will exercife it yourfelf: but I am a little apprehenfive that your fancy will miilead you. Methinks I can gather from your letters, a predile&ion for this Majdr Sanford. But he is a rake, my dear friend ; and can. a lady of your delicacy and refinement, think of forming a connexion with a man of that character? 1 hope not. Nay, lam confident you do not. Youmean-enly to exhibit a few more girliih airs, before you turn matron. But I am perfuaded, if you wilh to lead down the dance of life with regularity, you will not find a more excellent partner than Mr. Boyer. Whatever you can reafonably expert in a lover, huiband, or friend, you may perceive to be united in this worthy man. His tafte is un. debauched, his manners not vitiated, his morals uncorrupted. His fituation in life is, perhaps, as elevated as you have a right to claim. Forgive my plainnefs, Eliza. It is the talk of friendfhip, fometimes to tell difagreeable truths. I know your ambition is to make a diftinguiihed figure in the firft clafs of polifhed fociety ; to ihine in the gay circle of faihionable amufements, and to bear off the palm amidil the votaries of pleafure. But thefe are fading honors, unfatisfadtory enjoyments ; incapable of gratifying thofe immortal principles of reafon and religion, which have been implanted in your mind by nature ; affiduoufly cultivated by the belt of parents, and exerted, 1 truft, by yourfelf. Let me advife you then, in cond ucling this affair; an affair, big,perhaps,with your futurefate,to lay afidethofe coquettifh

HISTORY OF ELIZA W H A R T O N .

39

aii • which you fometimes put o n ; and remember that you are not dealing with a fop, •who will take advantage of evei y cohceffion ; but with a man of feni'e and honor, who will properly eltimate your condefcenfion, and franknefs. A f t then with that modeit freedom, that dignified unreferve which befpeaks confcious re&itude and fincerity of heart. I ihall be extremely anxious to hear the procefs and progrefs of this buiinefs. . Relieve my impatience, as foon as poffible, and believe me yours, with undiflembled affeftion. Goquettiih

LUCY

L

E

T

T

E

T O M I S S LUCY

R

FREEMAN.

XIV.

FREEMAN. New-11/j

IN.

I H A V E received, and read again and again, your friendly epiftle. My reafon and judgment entirely coincide with your opinion j but tny fancy claims fome ihar^ in the decifion : and I cannot yet tell which will preponderate. This was the day fixed for deciding Mr, Boyer's caufe. My friends here gave me a long differtation on his merits. Your letter, likewife, had

4O

Tflt

COQUETTE, OR THE

had Its 'weight, and I was candidly fumming up the pros and cons in the garden, whither I had walked (Gen. Richman and lady having rode coit) when I was informed that he was waiting in the parlor. I went immediately in (a good fymptom, you will fay) and received him very gracioufiy. After the fiift compliments were over, he feemed eager to improve the opportunity to enter dire&ly on the fubje£t of his prefent vifit. If is needlefs for me to recite to you, •who have long been acquainted with the whole procefs of courtihip, the declarations, propoiitions, proteftations, intreaties, looks, words and adtions of a lover. They are, I believe, much the fame, in the whole fex, allowing for their different difpofitions, educations, and chara&ers. But you are impatient I know for the concluiion. You have haftily perufed the preceding lines, and are {training your eye forward to my part of the farce; for fuch it may prove after all. Well then, not to play too long with the curiofity, which 1 know to be excited, and a&uated by real friendihip, I will relieve it. I think you would have been pleafed to have feen my gravity, on this important occafion. With all the candor and franknefs which I was capable of affuming, I thus anfwered his long harangue, to which I had liftened, without interrupting him. Self knowledge, fir, that moil important of all fciences, I have yet to learn. Such have been my fituations in life, and the natural volatility of my temper, that I have looked

HISTORY o r ELIZA WHARTON.

4 I

looked but little into my own heart, in regard to its future wiihes and views. From a fcene of conftraint and confinement, ill fuited to my years and inclination, 1 have juil launched into fociety. My heart beats high in expeftation of its fancied joys My fanguine imagination paints, in alluring colors, the charms of youth and freedom, regulated by virtue and innocence. Of thefe, I wifli to partake. While I own myfelf under obligations for the efteem which you are pleafed to profefs for me, and rn return, acknowledge, that neither your perfon nor manners are difagieeable to me, 1 recoil at the thought of immediately forming a connexion, which mull confine me to the duties of domeftic life, and make me dependent for happinefc-, perhaps too, for fubiiftence, upon a clafs of people, who will claim the right of fcrutinifing every part of my conduct; and by cenfuring thofe foibles, which 1 am confcious of not having prudence to avoid, may Tender me completely miferable. While, therefore, I receive your vifits, and cultivate towards you fentiments of friendihip and efteem, I would not have you confider me as confined to your fociety, or obligated to a future connection. Our fhort acquaintance renders it impoffible for me to decide what ths operations- of my mind may hereafter be. You muft either quit the fubjett, or leave me to the exerdfe of tny free will, which perhaps may coincide with your prefent wiihes. Madam, faid he, far is the wilh from me to reD 2 ftrain

THE C O Q U E T T E , OR THE

ftraifi your perfon or mind. In your breaft I will repofe my caufe. It ihall be my ftudy to merit a return of affection ; and I doubt not, but generofity and honor will influence your conduit towards me. I expert foon to fettle among a generous and enlightened people, tvhere I flatter myfelf I ihall be exempt from thofe difficulties, and embarraflments, to which too many of my brethren are fubject. The local fituation is agreeable, the fociety refined and poliihed ; and if, in addition, I may obtain that felicity which you are formed to beftow, in a family connection, I ihall be happy indeed. He fpoke with emphafis. T h e tear of feniibility fparkled in his eye. I involuntarily gave him my hand, which he prefied with ardor to his lips. Then rifing, he walked to the window to conceal his emotion. I rang the bell and ordered tea ; during, and after which, we iharecl that focial converfe, which is the true zefl: of life, and which, I am perfuaded, none but virtuous minds can participate. General Richman and lady returned v/ith the ihades of the evening. The penetrating eye of my coufin traced in our countenances the progrefs of the caufe, and the fmile of approbation animated hers. Mr. Boyer aiked the favor of my company to ride to morrow morning, which was granted. He tarried to fupper, and took his leave. I retiied immediately to my chamber, to which I was followed by Mrs. Richman.

HISTORY or ELIZA. W H A R T O N

^

Richman. I related to- her the converfaiion, and the encouragement which I had given to M r . Boyer. She was pleafed ; but infilled that I ihould own myfelf fomewhat engaged to him. This, I told her 1 ihould never do to any man, before the indiilcliible knot was tied. That, faid I, will be time enough to refign my freedom. She replied that I had wrong ideas of freedom, and matrimony ; but ihe hoped that Mr. Boyer would happily rectify them. I have now, my dear friend, given you an account of my prefent fituation, and leave you to judge for yourfelf concerning it. Write me your opinion, and believe me ever yours. ELIZA

WHARTON.

" "flrir* '—*—*•••*•• t

T O

E

T

IFJSS

T

ELI'/JA

E

R.

XV.

W H A R T O N .

HARTFOR».

I C O N G R A T U L A T E you, my dear Eliza, on the liability of your conduct towards Mr. Boyer. Purfue the fyftem which you have adopted, and I dare fay, that happinefs will crown your future days. Y o u are indeed very tenacious

T m COQUETTE, OR THB

tenacious of your freedom, as you call i t ; but that is a play about words. A ¿nan of Mr. Boyei's honor and good fenfe will never abridge any privileges which virtue can claim. W h e n do you return to embelliih our fociety, here ? I am impatient to fee 7 ou, and likewife this amiable man. I am much interefted in his favor. By the way, I am told that Major Sanford has been to look at the feat of Captain Pribble, which is upon fale. It is reported that he will probably purchafe it. Many of our gentry are pleafed with the profpeft of fuch a neighbor. As an accompiiihed gentleman, fay they, he will be an agreeable addition to our focial parties ; a n d as a man of property, and public fpirit, he will be an advantage to the town ; but, from what I have heard of him, I atn far from fuppofing him a defirable acquiiition in either of thefe refpe&s. A man of a vicious char; f K r cannot be a good member of fociety. In order to that, his principles and ¿ rattice mull be uncorrupted : in his morals, at leaf!:, he muft be a mail of'probilv, and honor. O f thefe qualifications, if I miftake not, this gallant of yours cannot boaft. But I fnall not fet up for a ccn r or. I hope neither you nor 1 fnall have much connection with him. My fwain interefts himfelf very much in your affairs. You will poiTit ly think him impertinent ; but 1 give his curinfity a fofter name. Should I own to you that J p'aoe giVc't confidence in his integrity and honor, you would, perhaps, laugh at my weaknefs j but, my dear, I have

HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.

I have pride enough to keep me above coquettry, or prudery ; and difcretion enough, I hope, to fecure me from the errors of both. With him I have determined to walk the future round of life. What folly then would it be to affedl referve and diftance, relative to an affair in which I have fo much intereft ? Not that I am going to betray your fecrets. Thefe I have no right to divulge ; but I muft be the judge what may, and what may not be communicated. I am very much prefied for an early day of confummation ; but I ihall not liften to a requeft of that kind, till your return. Such is my regard for you, that a union of love would be imperfect, if friendihip attended not the rites. Adieu, LUCY

L E T T E R

FREEMAN.

XVI.

T O MISS L U C r F R E E M A N . NEV-HAVEÌT.

go on charmingly here ; almoft as foft and fmooth as your ladyfliip. It feems to me that love muft ilagnate, if it have not a light breeze of difcord once in a while to keep it in motion.

45

THT- C O Q U E T T E , o r THE

motion. W e have not tried any yet, however. W e had a levcly tour this forenoon ; were out three long Lou. s, and returned to dinner in perfect harmony. M r . Beyer informed me that he fhould ill out to morrow morning, for his f u t u r e refidence, and ioon put on the facred bands. H e folieited an cpiilclary corrcfpondence, at the fame time, as ;m ai'evioiion of the care which that weighty charge would bring on his mind. 1 confented j telling him, that he m a i l not expect any thing snore than general fubje£ts f r o m me. W e were i'omewhat interrupted in our confidential intercourfe, in the afternoon, by the arrival of Major Sanford. I cannot fay that I was not agreeably relieved. So fweet a repaft, for ieveral hours together, was rather fickening to my taile. My enamorato looked a little mortified at the cheerful reception which I gave the intruder, and joined not fo placidly in the focial converfation, as I could have wiihed. W h e n M r . Boyer, after the Major took leave, preffed me to give him feme afluranee of my conftancy, I only reminded him of the terms of our engagement. Seeing me decided, he was nlent on the fubjett, and foon bid me an affectionate adieu ; not expecting, as he told m e , the pleafure of a perfonal interview again, for two or three months. T h u s far we have proceeded in this fober bufrnefs. A good beginning, you will fay. Perhaps it is. I do not, however, feel myfelf greatiy

HISTORY or ELIZA W H A R T O N .

47 ly interefted in the progrefs of the négociation. Time may coniolidate rny afi^ctions, and enable me to fix them on lame particular object. At prdi_-nt the moil lively emotions of my heart are thole of friendihip ; that friendship which I hope you will icon participate with, your iaithi 1.11

ELIZA

L E T T E R TO M S .

WHARTON.

XVIL.

SELBY. NEW-HATES,

I H A V E fucceeded in my addreffes to the lovely Eliza W h a r t o n ; as far at lead as I had any reafon to expeft from our Ihort acquaintance. I find the graces of her perlon and mind rife in my efleem ; and have already enjoyed, in her focietv, forne of the happieft hours of my life. She is kind, affable, and condelcending ; yet I muil own that I have not been able to infufe into her boibm, the ardor which I feel in my own. I know that the native modefty of the fex would reftrain the difcovery ; but there is an animation of countenance, which betrays the fenfaticns of the heart, that I find wanting in her j on this occafion. I have

48

THE COQUETTE, OR THE f have juft taken leave of my fair, and pro. pofe returning to morrow morning ; to take upon me the folemn charge, which lies with fuch weight upon my mind, that I need every fupport, both humanrand divine,. Eliza has promifed to correfpond with me. From this I anticipate a fource of pleafure, which alone can atone for her abfence. I am, See. J. BOYIR.

L E T 'T

TO

E R

MR. CHARLES

XVIII.

DIIGHTON. •

Nt.iv.H.ifEX,

D O you know, Charles, that I have commenced lover ? I was always a general one j but now I am fomewhat particular. I ihall be the more intereiled, as I am likely to meet with difficulties; and it is the . glory of a rake, as well as a chriitian to combat obftacles. This fame Eliza, of whom I have told you, has really made more imprelfion on my heart, than I was aware of; or than the lex, take them as they rife, are wont to do. . But ihe is beieged by a prieft (a likely iad though.) I know not how it is,

HISTORY or ELIZA WHARTON.

^

but they are commonly fuceefsful with the girls, even the gayeft of them. This one, too, has the intereft of all her friends, as I am told. I called yefterday, at General Richman's, and found this pair together, apparently too happy in each other's fociety for my wiihes. I muft own, that I felt a glow of jealoufy, which I never experienced before; and vowed revenge for the pain it gave me, though but momentary. Yet Eliza's reception of me was vifibly cordial; nay, I fancied my company as pleafing to her as that which ihe had before. I tarried not long, but left him to the enjoyment of that pleafure which I flatter myfelf will be ihort-lived'. O, I have another plan in my head ; a plan of necefiity, which, you know, is the mother of invention. It is this : 1 am very much courted and carefled 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 fhackle me in the bonds of matrimony. The girl looks very well. She has no foul though, that I can difcover. She is heirefs, neverthelefs, to a great fortune ; and that is all the foul I wiih for in a wife. In truth, Charles, I know of no other way to mend my circuinftances. But lifp not a word of my enibarraifments for your life. Show and equipage are my hobby-horfe ; and if any female wiih to fharc them with me, and will furniih me with the means of fupporting them, I have no objection. Could I conform to the fober rules of wedded E life,

THE C O Q U E T T E , OR THE

life, and renounce thofe dear enjoyments of diffipation, in which I have fo long indulged, I know not the lady in the world with whom I would fooner form a connexion of this fort than with Eliza Wharton. .But it will never do. If my fortune, or hers were better, I would riik a union -f but as they are, no idea of the kind can be admitted. I fhall endeavor, notwith/landing, to enjoy her company as long as pofiibie. Though I cannot poffefs her wholly myfelf, I will not tamely fee her the property of another. I am now going to call at General Richman's, in hopes of an opportunity to profefs my devotion to her. I know I am not a welcome vifitor to the family ; but I am independent of their cenfure or eiteem, and mean to a61 accordingly. PITER

SANFORP.

LETTER

HISTOPvY or ELIZA WHARTON.

L

E

TO

T

MISS

T

E

LUCY

R

XIX.

FREEMAN.

Xi-ir-ff.irEs-, ] [ F I N D the ideas of fcbriety, and domestic folitude, I have been cultivating for three days paft, fomewhat deranged by the interruption of a vifitor, with w h o m , I k n o w , y o u will not be pleafed. It is no other than Maior Sanf o r d . I was walking alone in thé garden yefterday, w h e n he fuddenly appeared to my view. H o w happy a m I, faid he, feizing my h a n d , in this opportunity of finding you alor.e ; an opportunity, Mifs W h a r t o n , which I m a i l improve in expatiating on a theme, tha* nils m y hearv, and folely animates my f r a m e . I was flartled.at his impetuoilty, and difpleafed with his f r e e d o m . W i t h d r a w i n g my h a n d , I told h i m , that m y retirement was u c r e d . He bowed fubtniflively ; begged pardon For his intrufion, alledged, that he f o u n d no body but the fervants in the h o u f e ; that they informed him, I was alone in the g a r d e n , which intelligence was too plealing for him to confult any forms of ceremony for the regulation of his c o n d u i t . H e t h e n went on rhapfodically to declare his padi o n , his fufpicions, that I was forming a connection

THE COQUETTE, O* TKB

connexion with Mr. Boyer, which would effectually deitroy all his hopes of future happinefs. He painted the reftraint, the confinement, the embarraflments to which a woman, connected T.ith a man of Mr. Boyer's profefficn, muit be fubjected j however agreeable his perfon might be. He afked if my generous mind Could fubinit to cares and perplexities like thefe ; whether I could not find greater fources of enjoyment in a more elevated fphere of life, or ihare pleasures better fuited to my genius and difpofition, even in a fingle ftate ? I liftened to him involuntarily. M y heart did not approve his fentimtnts, but my ear was charmed with his rhetoric, and my fancy captivated by his addrefs. He invited my confidence, by the moft ardent profeffions of friendfhip, and labored to remove m y fufpicions by vows of fincerity. I was induced by his importunity, gradually to difclofe the ilate of affairs between Mr. Boyer and- myfelf. He liftened eagerly ; wiihed not, he faid, to influence me unduly ; but if I were not otherwife engaged, might he prefume to folicit a. place in my firiendlhip and efteem ; be admitted to enjoy my fociety, to vifit me as* an acquaintance, and to attend my excurfions and amufements, as a brother, if no more ? I replied, that I was a penfioner of friendfhip, at prefent j that my friends were extremely refined in their notions of propriety, and that I had no right to receive vifitants independent of them. I underhand you, madam,, faid he. Y q u intimate that my

HISTORY o r ELIZA WHARTON.

^

my company is not agreeable to them* but I know not why. Surely my rank in life is as elevated ; and iny knowledge of, and acceptance in the world, are as extenfive as General Richman's. I hope, faid I, iince we are engaged in the converfation, that you will excufe my franknefs, if I tell you, that the underftanding and virtue of this worthy couple, induce them, without any regard to rank, to beftow their eileem wherever it i3 merited. I cannot fay that you are not a fharer. Your own heart can beft determine, whether upon thek principles, you are, or n o t ! H e appeared mortified, and chagrined ; and we had walked fome diftance without exchanging a word, or a look. At laft, he rejoined, I plead guilty to the charge, madam, which they have undoubtedly brought againft me, of imprudence and folly in many particulars ; yet of jnalignancy and vice I am innocent. Brought up in affluence ; innured 'from my_ infancy to the gratification of every paflion ; the indulgence of every wiih, it is not frrange, that a life of diiilpation and gaiety jhould prove alluring to a youthful mind, which had no care but to procure what it deemed enjoyment. In this purfuit I have perhaps deviated, from the rigid rules of difcr'etion,-and the harfher laws of morality. But let the veil of charity be drawn over my faults ; let the eye of candor impattk y examine my prefent behavior ; let the kind and leaient hand of fritndihip aiiiit in dire&ing my future fteps ; and, perhaps, I may not prove un* E 2 worthy

THE COQUETTE,

o r

xi(e

worthy of aifociating with the refpe&able inhabitants of this happy manfion ; for fuch I am f u r e it muft be, while honored with Mifs W h a r t o n ' s prefence. But, circumftanced as you and I are, at prefent, I will not fue for your attention, as a lover ; but reft contented, if poffible, with that ihare of kindnefs, and regard, which your benevolence may aiford me as a friend. I bowed in approbation of his refolution. H e preffed my hand with ardor to his lips; and at that inftant General Richman entered the garden. H e approached us cheerfully, offered Major Sanrord his hand with apparent cordiality, and told us pleafantly, that he hoped he ihculd not be confidered as an intruder. By no means, fir, faid Major Sanford. It is I who have incurred that imputation. I called this afternoon to pay you my refpe&s ; when being informed that you and your lady were abroad, and that Mifs W h a r t o n was in the garden, I took the liberty to invade her retirement. She has gracioufly forgiven my crime, ;.nd I was juil affixing the feal to my pardon as you entered. W e then returned into the houfe. Mrs. Richman received us politely. During tea, the converfation turned on literary fubjects, in which I cannot fay that the Major bore a very diftinguiihed part. After he was gone, Mrs. Richman faiJ, I hope you have been agreeably entertained, Mifs W h a r t o n ? I did not chufe my company, madam, faid I. N o r , faid ihe, did you reiufe it, I p r e f u m e . W o u l d you not have me

HISTORY or ELIZA WHARTON.

^

me refpeft the rights of hofpitality towards your guefts, when you are abfent, madam ? If you had atted from that motive, I own my obligations to you, my dear ; but even that confideration can hardly reconcile me to the facrifice of time, which you have made to the amufement of a feducer. I hope, madam, you do not think me an objed of feduttion ! I do not think you feducible ; rior was Richardfon's Glarifia, till ihe made herfelf the vi&im, by her own indifcretion. Pardon me, Eliza, this is a fecond Lovelace. I am alarmed by his artful intrufions. His iniinuating attention to you are. charatteriftic of the man. Come, I prefume you are not interefted to keep his fecrets, if you. know them. Will you give me a little {ketch of his converfation ? Moil willingly, faid I ; and, accordingly, related the whole. When I had concluded, ihe ihook her head, and replied, beware* my friend, of his arts. Your own heart is too fincere to fufpe« treachery and diifimulaiion in another ; but fuffer not your ear to be charmed by the fyren voice of flattery ; nor your eye to be caught by the phantom of gaiety and pleafure. Remember your engagements to Mr. Boyer. Let fincerity and virtue be your guides,, and they will lead you to happinefs and peace.. She waited not for an anfwer, but immediately fifing, begged leave to retire, alledging that ihe was fatigued. Gen. Richman accompanied her, and I battened to my apartment, where I have written thus far, and ihall fend it on for your comments.

THE C O Q U E T T E , OR THE

comments. I begin to think of returning foon to your circle. One inducement is, that I may be free from the intrufions of this man. Adieu. ELIZA WHARTON.

L E T T E R

TO

MRS.

M,

XX.

W H A R T O N . NEW-HAVEX.

O M the converfation of the polite, the fedate, the engaging and the gay ; from correfponding with the learned, the fentimental and the refined, my heart and my pen turn with ardor and alacrity to a tender and affezionate parent, the faithful guardian and guide of my youth ; the unchanging friend of my riper years. The different difpofitions of various afiociates, fometimes perplex the mind, which feeks direction ; but in the difintereiled affeftion of the maternal bread, wq fear no diffonance of paffion, no jarring intereils, no difunion of love. In this feat of felicity is every enjoyment which fancy can form, or friendfhip, •with affluence, beftow ; but itili my mind frequently returns to the happy {hades of my nativity. I wiih there to impart my pleafures, and ihare the counfels of my heft, my long tried and

HISTORY OÌ ELIZA WHARTON.

^

and experienced friend. At this time, my dear mamma, I am peculiarly folicitous for your advice. I am again inportuned to liften to the voice of love ; again called upon to accept the addrefles of a gentleman of merit and refpettafciiity. You will know the chara&er of the man, when 1 tell ycru, it is Mr.'Boyer. But his fituation in life! I dare not enter it. My difpofition is not calculated for that fphere. There are duties arifing from the fiation, which I fear I ihould not be able to fulfil ; cares and reftraints to which I could not fubmit. This man is not difagreeable to me ; but if I muft enter the connubial fiate, are there not ethers, who may be equally pleating in their perfons, and whofe profeffion may be more conformable to my tafte ? You, madam, have pafled through this fcene of trial, with honor aiid applaufe. But alas ! can your volatile daughter ever acquire your wifdom ; ever poffefs your refolution, dignity arid prudence ? I hope foon to converfe with you perfonally upon the fubjeft, and to profit by your precepts and example. I anticipate the hour of my return to your bofom, with impatience. My daily thoughts and nightly dreams reftore me to the fociety of my beloved mamma j and, till I enjoy it in reality, I fubfcrihe tuyfelf your dutiful daughter, ELIZA

WHARTON. LETTER

THE COQUETTE, ax TU»

58

L

E

T

T

TO

MISS

E

ELIZA

R

XXI..

WHARTON. HiXTFORD.

H O W welcome to me, my dear Eliz a , are the tidings of your return ? M y -widowed heart has mourned your abfence, riiiJ languilhed for the company of its now, deareil conaetlion. W h e n ihipt of one dependence, the mind naturally collects, and refts itielf in another. Y o u r fa-, thcr's death deprived m e , for a while, of every enjoyment. B u t a reviving fenfe of the duties which I owed to a riling family, roufed me from the lethargy of grief. In my cares I found an alleviation of my forrovvs. T h e expanding virtues of my children foothed and exhiierated my drooping fpirits ; and my attention to their education, and intereft, was amply rewarded by their proficiency and duty. In them, every hope, every pleafure now centres. T h e y are the axis on which revolves the temporal felicity of their mother. Judge then, m y dear, how anxioufly I rauft w a t c h , how folicitouily I muft regard every circumftance which relates to their •welfare and profperity ! Exquifitely alive to thefe feniations, your letter awakens my hopes and

HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.

59 and my fears. As you are young and charming, a thoufand dangers lurk unfeen around you. I wiih you to find a friend and prote&or, worthy of being rewarded by your love and your fociety. Such a one, I think, Mr. Boyer will prove. I am, therefore, forry, fince there can be no other, that his profeffion ihould be an objection- in your mind. You fay, that I have experienced the fcenes of trial, connected with that ftation. I have, indeed ; and I will tell you the refult of this experience. It is, that I have found it replete with happinefs. No clais of fociety has domeitic enjoyment more at command, than clergymen. Their circumftances are generally a decent competency. They are removed alike from the perplexing cares of want, and from the diftradting parade of wealth. They are refpected by all ranks, and partakers of the belt company. With regard to its being a dependent frtuation, what one is not fo ? Are we not all links in the great chain of fociety, fome more, fome lefs important ; but each upheld by others, throughout the confederated whole ? In whatever fituation we are placed, our greater or lefs degree of happinefs rnuft be derived from ourfelves. Happinefs is in a great meafure the lefult of our own difpofulons and actions. Let us condu£t uprightly and juftlv ; with propriety and fteadinefs ; not fervilely cringing for favor, nor arrogantly claiming more attention and refped than our due j let us bear with fortitude the providential,

THE COQJJETTE, OR THE

dential, and unavoidable evils of life, and we ihall fpend our days with refpeftability and contentment, at leaft. I will not expatiate on the topic of your letter, till we have a perfonal interview, for which I am, indeed, impatient. Return, my daughter, as foon as politenefs will allow, to your expe&ing friehds j more efpecially, to the fond embraces of your affectionate mother, M . WHARTON.

L E T T E R

TO

MISS ELIZA

XXII.

WHARTON. HAMPSHIRE.

C A N time, can diftance, can abfence allay, or extinguiih the fentiments of refined affe&ion, the ardor of true love. ? No, my dear Eliza. If I may judge by my own heart, I Ihall fay they cannot. Amidft the parade which has attended me, the interefting fcenes in which I have been engaged, and the weighty cares, which have occupied my attention, your idea has been the folace of my retired moments ; the foother of every anxious thought. I recal, with pleafure, the converfation which we have ihared

HISTORY or ELIZA WHARTON.

•

LXI1I.

WHARTON. Boi

vo\.

A P A R A D O X , indeed, is the greater part of your letter to us, my dear Eliza. W e had fondly flattered ourfelves that the melancholy of your mind was exterminated. I hope no new caufe has revived it. Little did I intend, when I left you, to have been abfent fo long ; but Mrs. Sumner's difappointment, in her plan of fpending the fummer at HartR ford,

THÇ C O Q U E T T E , OR THE so6 ford, induced me, in compliance with her requeft, to prolong my reiidence here. But for your fake, ihe now confents to my leaving her, in hopes 1 may be fo happy as to contribute to your amufement. I am both pleafed and inftru£ted by the conduit of this amiable woman. As I always endeavored to imitate her difcreet-and modeft behavior in a fingle ftate ; fo likewife ihall I take her for a pattern, ihould I ever enter a married life. She is molt happily united. Mr. Sumner,to all the graces and accompliihments of the gentleman, adds the ftill more important and eifential properties of virtue, integrity and honor. I was once prefent when a perfon was recommended to her for a huiband. She objecled that he was a rake. True, faid the other, he has been, but he has reformed. That will never do for me, rejoined lhe ; I wifh my future companion to need no reformation : a fentiment worthy the attention of our whole fex ; the general adoption of which, I am perfuaded, would have a happy influence upon the manners of the other. I hope neither you, nor I, Eliza, ihall ever be tried by a man of debauched principles. Such chara&ers I conceive to be totally unfit for the fociety of women, who have any claim to virtue and delicacy. I intend

HISTORY or ELIZA WHARTON.

I intend to be with you, in about a month. If agreeable to you, we will vifit, and fpend a few weeks with the afflicted Mrs. Richman. I fincerely fympathize with her, under her bereavement. 1 know her fondnefs for you will render your company very confoling to her ; and I flatter nnyfelf that 1 ihould not be an unwelcome gueft. Make my refpe&s to your mamma ; and believe me ever your's, JULIA

GRANBY.

LETTER

so

$

THI COQUETTE, OR t h e

L E T T E R

TO M R S .

LUCY

LX1V.

SUMNER. HJSTFOSO.

OEAE

MADAM,

I H A V E arrived in fafety, to the maniion of our once happy and focial friends. But I cannot defcribe to you, how changed, h e v greatly changed this amiable family appears iince I left it. Mrs. Wharton met me at the door; and tenderly embracing, bade me n cordial welcome. You are come, Julia, faid. die, I hope, to revive and comfort us. W e have been very folitary during your abfence. I am happy madam, faid I, to r e t u r n ; and my endeavors to reitore cheerfulnefs and content, ihall not be wanting. But, where is Eliza ? By this time we had reached the back parlor, whither Mrs. Wharton led m e ; and the door being open, I faw Eliza, reclined on a fcttee, in a very thoughtful poilure. When 1 advanced to meet her, ihe never moved ; but fat " like patience on a monument, fmiiing at grief!" I (topped

HI6T0RY OF ELIZA W H A R T O N .

20

G

I flopped involuntarily, and involuntarily railing my eyes to heaven, exclaimed, is that Eliza Wharton ! She burft into tears; and attempted to rife, but funk again into her feat. Seeing her thus aftetted, I fat down by her ; and throwing my arm about her neck, why thefe tears ? faid I. W h y this diftrefs, my dear friend ? Let not the return of your Julia give you pain ! She comes to footh you with the confolations of friendihip ! It is not pairi, faid Ihe, clafping me to her breail; it is pleafure, too exquifite for my weak nerves to bear ! See you not, Julia, how I am altered ? Should you have known me for the fprightly girl, who was always welcome at the haunts of hilarity and mirth ? Indeed, faid I, you appear indifpofed, but I will be your phyfician. Company, and change of air will, I doubt not, reftore you. W i l l thefe cure diforders of the mind, Julia? T h e y will have "a powerful tendency to remove them, if rightly applied; and I profefs confiderable fkill in that ait.- Come, continued I, we will try thefe medicines in the morning. Let us rife early, and ftep into the chaife ; and after riding a few miles, call and breakfaft with Mrs. Freeman. I have fome commiffions from her daughter. W e iliall be agreeably entertained there, you know. Being fummoned to flipper, 1 took her by the.hand, and we walked inro another room, where we found her brother, and his wife, S 2 wilh

2 IO

THE C O Q U E T T E , OR THE

with her m a m m a waiting for us. W e were all very chatty ; even E l i z a refumed, in a degree, her former fociabiiity. A fettled gloom, notwithilanding-, brooded on her countenance ; and a deep iigh often efcapcd her, in fpite of her evident endeavors to fupprefs it. She went to bed before us ; when her m a m m a informed me that her health had been declining for fome months, that (he never complained, but ftudioufly concealed eveiy fymptom of indifpofition. Whether it were any real diforder of body, or whether it arofe from her depreffion of fpirits, ilie could not t e l l ; but fuppofed they operated together, and mutually heightened each other. I inquired after Major Sanford ; whether he and Eliza had affociated together during my abfence ? Sometimes, ihe faid, they feemed on good t e r m s ; and he frequently called to fee her ; at others, they had very little, if any correfpondence at all. She told me that Eliza never went abroad, and was very loath to fee company at home ; that her chief amufement confiited in solitary walks ; that the dreadful idea of her meeting Major Sanford in thefe walks, had now and then intruded upon her imagination; that Ihe had not the leail evidence of the f a f t , however ; and indeed, was afraid to make any inquiries into the matter, left her own fufpicions fhould be difcovercd j that the major's character was worfe than ever j

history

of

eliza

w h a r t o n .

an

ever ; that he was much abroad, and frequently entertained large parties of worthlefs bacchanalians at his houfe ; that common report faid he treated his wife with indifference, neglect, and ill nature; with many other circumilances, which it is not material to relate. Adieu, my dear friend, for the prefent. When occafion requires, you ihall hear again, from vour affectionate J J u l i a

1

'

Tit"»

L E T T E R

TO

MR.

CHARLES

G r a n b y .

"'

1

LXV.

DEIGHTON. HERTFORD.

G O O D news, Charles, good news I I have arrived to the utmoft bounds of my wiihes ; the full poifefiion of my adorable Eliza 1 I have heard a quotation from a certain book ; but what book it was I have forgotten, if i evei knew. No matter for that j

212

THE COQUETTE, «rv THE

the quotation is, that " ftolen waters are fweet, and bread eaten in fecret is pleafant." If it has reference to the pleaiures, which I have enjoyed with Eliza, I like it hugely, as Triftram Shandy's father faid of Yorick's fermon ; and I think it fully verified. I had a long and tedious fiege. Every method which love could fuggeft, or art invent, was adopted. 1 was fometimes ready to defpair, under an idea that her refolution was unconquerable, her virtue impregnable. Indeed, I ihould have given over the purfuit long ago, but for the hopes of fuccefs I entertained from her parlying with me, and in reliance upon her. own iirength, endeavoring to combat, and counteract my defigns. Whenever this has been the cafe, Charles, I have never yet been defeated in my plan. If a lady will confent to enter the lifts againft the antagonift of her honor, fhe may fure of loofing the prize. Befides, were her delicacy genuine, Ihe would banifh the man at once, who prefumed to doubt, which he certainly does, w h o attempts to vanquiih it!. But, far be it from me to criticife the pretentions of the fex. If I gain the rich reward of my diflimulation and gallantry, that you know is all I want, T o return then to the point. A n unlucky, but not a miraculous accident, has takf.n puice, which mull foon expofe our amour Wnr.t '.-.a

HISTORY or ELTZA WHARTON.

can be done ? At the firft difcovery, abfolute diftraftion feized the foul of Eliza, which has fince terminated in a fixed melancholy. Her health too is much impaired. She thinks herfelf rapidly declining ; and I tremble w h e n l fee her emaciated form! My wife has been reduced very low, of late. She brought me a boy a few weeks paft, a dead one though. Thefe circumftances give me neither pain nor pleafure. I am too much ingroffed by my divinity, to take an intereft in any thing elfe. True, I have lately fuffered myfelf to be fomewhat engaged here and there, by a few jovial lads, who affift me in difpelling the anxious thoughts, which my perplexed fituation excites. I muft, however, feek fome means to relieve Eliza's diftrefs. My finances are low; but the laft fra&ion ihall be expended in her fervice, if Ihe need it. Julia Granby is expected at Mrs. Wharton's every hour. J fear that her inquifitorv al eye will foon deteft our intrigue, and obilruft its continuation. Now there's a girl, Charles, I ihould never attempt to feduce ; yet ihe is a moft alluring objeft, I allure you. But the dignity of her manners forbid all aflauk:; upon her virtue. W h y , the very expreflicn of her eye, blafls in the bud, every thought, derogatory to her honor ; and tells you plainly, that the firft imlnuation of the kind,

T H E C O Q U E T T E , OR T H *

kind, would be puniihed with eternal banifhment and difpleafure ! Of her there is no danger ! But I can write no more, except that I am, &c. PETER

L

T

E

R

SANFORD.

E

T

LXVI.

TO

MRS. LUCY SUMMER. HJXTFOXD.

, my friend ! I have a tale to unfold ; a ta\e which will rend every nerve of fympathizing pity, which will rack the breaft of feniibility, and vnfpeakably diftrefs your benevolent heart! Eliza—Oh the ruined, loil Eliza ! I want words to exprefs the emotions of indignation, and grief which opprefs me ! But I will endeavor to compofe myfelf ; and relate the circumftances as they came to my knowledge. After

HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.

After my laft letter, Eliza remained much in the fame gloomy fituation as 1 .v-und her. She refufed to go, agreeably to her promife, to vifit your mamma; and under one pretext or another, has conftaiiily declined accompanying me any where clie, fince my arrival. Till laft Thurfday night ihe llept in the fame bed with me ; when ihe excufed herfelf, by faying ihe was reftlefs, and ihould difturb my repofe. I yeilded to her humor of taking a different apartment, little fufpeiling the real caufe! She frequently walked cut ; and though I fometimes followed, I very feldom found her. Two or three times, when I happened to be awake, I heard "her go down ftairs ; and on inquiry in the morning, Ihe told me that Ihe was very thirfty, and went down for water. I obferved a degree of hefitancy in her anfwers, for which I could not account. But laft night, the dreadful myftery was developed ! A little before day, I heard the front door opened with great caution. I fprang from my bed, and running to the window, faw by the light of the moon, a man going from the houfe. Soon after I perceived a footftep upon ihe ftairs, which carefully approached and entered Eliza's chamber. Judge of my aftoniihjnent, my iurprife, my feelings, upon this occafion ! 1 doubted not but Major Sanford was the perfon I haa feen; and the difcovery of Eliza's guilt, in this infamous

2 ltj

THE COQUETTE, OR tke

famous intrigue, almcil deprived me of thought and recollection 1 My blood thrilled with horror at this facrifice of virtue ! After a while 1 recovered myfeif, and put on lny clothes. But what to do, I knew not ; whether to go direftly to her chamber, and let her know that ihe was dete£led ; or to wait another opportunity. I refolved on the lirft. The day had now dawned. 1 tapped at her door ; and ihe bid me come in. She was fitting in an eafy chair by the fide of her bed. As t entered ihe withdrew her handkerchief from her face; and looking earneitly at me, faid, what procures me the favor of a vifit, at this earlv hour, Mils Granby ? I was difturbed, faid I, and wiihed not to return to my bed. But what breaks your r e f t ; and calls you up fo unfeafonably, Eliza ? Remorfe, and defpair, anfwerecl ihe, weeping. After what 1 have witneifed, this morning, rejoined I, I cannot wonder at it ! Was it not Major Sanford whom I faw go from the houfe fome time ago ? She was filent, but tears flowed abundantly. It is too late, continued I, to deny, or evade. Anfwer my queftion fincerely ; for, believe me, Eliza, it is not malice, but concern for you, which prompts it. I will anfwer you, Julia, faid ihe. You have difcovered a fecret, which harrows up my very foul! A fecret, which 1 wiihed you to know, but could

HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.

could not exert refolution to reveal ! Y e s ! It was Maior Sanford; the man who has robbed me or my peace ; who has triumphed in my deitru&ion ; and who will caufe my fan to fit at noon ! I flmdder, faid I, at your confeffion! Wretched, deluded girl! Is this a return for your parent's love, and alliduous care ; for your friends' folicitude, and premonitory advice ? You are ruined, you fay ! You have facrificed your virtue to an abandoned, defpieable profligate ! And you live to acknowledge and bear your infamy ! I do, faid ihe ; but not long ihall I fupport this burden ! See you not, Julia, my decaying frame, my faded cheek, and tottering limbs ? Soon ihall I be infenfible to cenfure and reproach ! Soon Ihall I be fequeftered in that manfion, " where the wicked ceafe from troubling, and where the weary are at reft ! " Reft ! faid I, can you expeft to find reft either in this world, or another, with fuch a weight of guilt on your head ? She exclaimed, with great emotion, add not to the upbraidings of a wounded fpirit! Have pity upon me, Oh J my friend, have pity upon me ! Could you know what I fuffer, you would think me fufficiently puniflied ! I wiih you no other puniihment, faid I, than what may eiredt your repentance and reformation. But your mother, Eliza ! She cannot long be ignorant of T your

2x8

T-HE C O Q U E T T E , OR THE

your fall; and I tremble to think of her diftrefs! It will break her widowed heart! How has Ihe loved ; how has Ihe doated upon you 1 Dieadful is the requital which you have made ! My mother, rejoined ihe—Oh, name her not ! The very found is diilraftion to m e ! Oh ! my Julia, if your heart be not iliut againit mercy and compafiion towards me, aid me through this trying fcene! Let my fituation call forth your pity, and induce you, undeferving as I am, to exert it in rny behalf! During this time, I had walked the chamber. My fpirits had been raifed 'above their natural key, and were exhaufted. I fat down, but thought I ihould have fainted, till a copious flood of tears gave me relief. Eliza was extremely affefted. The appearance of calamity which ihe exhibited would have foftened the moil obdurate anger. Indeed, I feared fome immediate and fatal eifed. I therefore feated myfelf befide her ; and afluming an air of kindnefs, compofe yourfelf, Eliza, faid I ; I repeat what I told you before, it is the pureit friendihip, which thus interefts me in your concerns. This, under the direction of charity, induces me again to offer you my hand. Yet you have erredagainil knowledge and reafon ; againil warning and counfel. You have forfeited the favor of your friends j and relu&ant will be their forgivenefs»

HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.

glveaaefs. I plead guilty, faid ihe, to all your charges. From the general voice I expert no; clemency. If 1 can make my peace with my mother, it is all I feek or wilh on this fide the grave. In your benevolence I confide for this. In you, I-hope to find an intercefior. By the remembrance of our former affection and happinefs, I conjure you, refufe me not. At preient, I entreat you to conceal from her this clli'• trefling tale, A Ihort reprieve is all I a f k . W h y , faid I, ihould you defer it ? When the painful talk is over, you may find relief in her lenient kindnefs. After Ihe knows my condition, I cannot fee her, refumed ihe, till I am affured of her forgivenefs. , I have not ftrength. to fupport the appearance of her anger and grief. I will write to her what I cannot fpeak. You muft bear the melancholy mefiage, and plead for me, that her difpleafure may not follow me to the grave; whither I am rapidly haitening. Be affured, replied I, that I will keep your fecret as long as prudenie requires. But I muft leave you now : your mamma will wonder at our being thus clofetted together. When opportunity prefents, we will converfe further on the fubjeft. In the mean time, keep yourfelf as compofed as poifible, if you would avoid fufpicion. She raifed "her clafped hands, and with a piteous look, threw her handkerchief over her face, and

220

THE C O Q U E T T E , OR THE

and reclined in her chair, without fpeaking a word. I returned to my chamber, and endeavored to diilipate every idea which might tend to diforder my countenance, and break the iilence I wiihed to obferve, relative to what had happened. W h e n I went down, Mrs. W h a r t o n deiired me to ftep up, and inform Eliza that break-fail was ready. She told me ihe could not yet compoTe herfelf fumciently to fee her mamma ; and begged me to excufe her abfence as I thought proper. I accordingly returned for aniwer to Mrs. W h a r t o n , that E l i z a had refted but indifferently, and being fomewhat indifpofed, would not come down, but wiilied me to bring her a bowl o f chocolate, when we had breakfafted. I was obliged fhidiouilv to fupprefs even my thoughts concerning her, left the emotions they excited might be obferved. Mrs. W h a r t o n converged much of her daughter, and exprefled great concern about her health and itate o f mind. Her return to this ftate of deje&ion, afrer having recovered her fpirits and cheerfulnefs, in a great degree, was owing, ihe feared, to fome caufe unknown to h e r ; and ihe entreated me to extra£t the fecret, if poiTible. I aiiured her of my beit endeavors, and doubted not, I told her, but I iliould be able in a few days to effect what ihe wiihed. E l i z a came down and walked in the gaiden

HISTORY or ELIZA WHARTON.

221

den before dinner ; at which fhe commanded herlelf much better than I expe&ed. She faid that a little ride might, ihe imagined, be o f fervice to h e r ; and afked me if I would accompany her a few miles in the afternoon. Her mamma was much pleafed with the propofition j and the chaiie was accordingly ordered. I obferved 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 furprifed at her becoming the prey of an infidious libertine, with whefe chara&er file was well acquainted, and whole principles ihe was fully apprifel would prompt him to deceive and betray her. Y o u r furprife is very natural, faid Ihe. T h e faine will doubtlefs be felt and expreifed by every one to w h o m my fad ftory is related. But the caufe may be found in that unreilrained levity of difpofition, that fondnefs for diilipation and coquetry which alienated the aile£tions o f M r . Boyer from me. This event fatally depreffed, and enfeebled my mind. I embraced with avidity the confoling power of friendihip, enfnaringly offered by my iedacer ; vainly inferring from his marriage with a virtuous woman, that he hadfeen the error of his ways, and' forfaken his licentious pra£lices, as he affirmed, and I, fool that I was, believed i t !

T 2

It

222

THE C O Q U E T T E , OR THE

It is needlefs for me to rehearfe the perfidious arts, by which he infinuated himfelf into my affections, and gained my confidence. Suffice it to fay, he effe&ed his purpofe ! But not long did I continue in the deluiive dream of fenfual gratification. I foon awoke to a inoft poignant fenfe of his bafenefs, and of my own crime and mifery. I would have fled from h i m ; I would have renounced him for ever ; and by a life of fincere humility and repentance, endeavored to make my peace with heaven, and to obliterate, by the rectitude of my future condu£t, the guilt I had incurred j but I found it too late ! My circumftances called for attention j and I had no one to participate my cares, to witnefs my diftrefs, and to alleviate my forrows, but him. I could not therefore prevail on myfelf, wholly to renounce his fociety. At times I have admitted his vifits ; always meeting him in the garden, or grove adjoining ; till of late, the weather, and my ill health induced me to comply with his folicitations, and receive him Into the parlor. Not long, however, ihall I be fubjeft to thefe embarraiTments. Grief has undermined my conilitution. My health has fallen a facrifice to a difordered mind. But I regret not its departure ! I have not a fingle wifh to live. Nothing which the world affords can reitore my former ferenity and happinefs 1

HISTORY OF ELIZA W H A R T O N .

^

The little innocent I bear, will quickly diiclofe its mother's ihame ! God Almighty grant it may not live as a monument of my guilt, and a partaker of the infamy and forrow, which is all I have to bequeath it ! Should it be continued in life, it will never know the tendernefs of a parent j and, perhaps, want and difgrace may be its wretched portion f The greateil confolation I can have, will be to carry it with me to a Hate of eternal reft ; which, vile as I am, I hope to obtain, through the infinite mercy of heaven, as revealed in the gofpel of Chrift. I muil fee Major Sanford again. It is neceffary to converfe further with "him, in order to carry my plan of operation into execution. W h a t is this plan of operation, Eliza ? faid I. I am on the rack of anxiety for your fafety. Be patient, continued ihe, and you ihall foon be informed. T o morrow I ihall write my dreadful ftory to my mother. She will be acquainted with my future intentions; and you Ihall know, at the fame time* the deilination of your loit friend. I hope, faid I, that you have formed no refolution againft your own life. God forbid, rejoined flie. My breath is in his hands, let him do what feemeth good in his fight! Keep my fecret one day longer, and I will never more impofe fo painful a filence uipon you. She

2 2

4

THE C O Q U E T T E , on THE

B y this time we had reached home. She drank tea with compofiire, and foon retired tc reft. Mrs. Wharton eagerly inquired whether I had found out the caufe of Eliza's melancholy. I have urged her, faid I, on the fubjeft ; but ihe alledges that ihe has particular reafons for prefent concealment. She has, notwithftanding, promifed to let me know, the day after to morrow. Oh, faid fhd, I (hall not reft till the period arrives. Dear, good woman, faid I to myfelf, I fear you will never reft afterwards ! This is our prefent iituation. Think what a fcene rifes to the view of your Julia ! She muft lhare the diftrefies of others, though her own feelings, on this unhappy occafion, are too keen to admit a moment's ferenity ! My greateft relief is in writing to you ; which I fliall do again by the next poft. In the mean time, 1 muft beg leave to fubfcribe my« feif, fincerely yours, JULIA GRANBY.

LETTER

HISTOR.Y or ELIZA WHARTON.

L E T T E R

TO

THE

LXVII.

SAME. HARTFOKD,

A L L is now loll; loft, indeed ! She is gone! Yes, my clear friend,our beloved Eliza,is gone ! Never more ihall we behold this once amiable companion, this once innoccnt and happy girl. She has forfaken, and, as ihe fays, bid an ever lading adieu to her home, her affli&ed parent and her friends ! But I will take up my melancholy ftory where 1 left it in my laft. She went, as ihe told me lhe expe&ed, into the garden, and met her deteftable paramour. In about an hour ihe returned, and went direftly to her chamber. At one o'clock I went up, and found her writing, and weeping. I begged her to compofe herfelf, and go down to dinner. No j ihe faid, ihe could not eat ; and was not fit to appear before any body. I remonitrated againil her immoderate grief; reprefenied the injury ihe muft futlain by the indulgence of it, and conjured her to fupprefs the violence of its emotions. She

A 2

6

THE COQUETTE,-en THE

She entreated me to excufe her to her mamma ; faid ihe was writing to her, and found it a taik too painful to be performed with any degree of compofure ; that the was almoil ready to link under the weight of her affliction ; but hoped and prayed for fupport, both in this, and another trying fcene, which awaited her. In compliance with her defire, I now left her; and told her mamma that ihe was very bufy in writing; wiflted not to be interrupted at prefent; but would take fome refreshment, an hour or two hence. I vifited her again, about foui o'clock; when Ihe appeared more calm and tranquil. It is finiihed, faid ihe, as I entered her apartment, it is finiihed. What faid I, is finiihed ? N o matter, replied ihe ; you will know all to morrow, »ulia. She complained of exceiiive fatigue, and expreiTed an inclination to lie down; in which I affifted her, and then retired. Some time after, her mamma went up, and found her ftilL on the bed. She rofe,however, and accompanied her down flairs. I met her at the door of the parlor, and taking her by the hand, inquired how ihe did ? Oh, Julia, ihiferably indeed, faid ihe. How feverely does my mother's kindnefs reproach me ! How infupportably it increafes my felf-condemnation ! She wept; ihe wrung her hands, and walked the room in the greateft agony i Mrs. Wharton was exceedingly diftrefied

HISTORY OF ELIZA WHARTON.

diitreffed by her appearance. Tell me, Eliza, faid ilie, tell me the caufe of your trouble ! O h , kill me not by your myfterious concealment I My dear child, let me, by fharing, alleviate your affliction ! Alk me not, mad* am, faid ihe ; O my mother, I conjure you not to iniift on my divulging to night, the fatal fecret which engroffes and diitra&s my mind ! T o morrow I will hide nothing from you. I will prefs you no further, rejoined her mamma. Chufe your own time, my dear ; but remember, I mull participate your grief, though I know not the caufe. Supper was brought in ; and we endeavored to prevail on Eliza to eat, but in vain. She fat down, in compliance with our united importunities ; but neither of us tailed food. Jt was removed untouched. For a while, Mrs. Wharton and I gazed in filent anguifli upon the fpeftacle of woe, before us ! A t length, Eliza rofe to retire. Julia, faid ihe, will you call at my chamber, as you» pafs to your own ? I aiTented. She then approached her mamma, fell upon her knees before her, and clafping her hand, faid, in broken accents, Oh madam ! can you forgive a wretch, who has forfeited j o u r love, your kindnefs, and your compaffion ? Surely, Eliza, faid ihe, you are not that being ! No, it is impoffible ! But however great your tranfgreffion, be allured of my forgivenefs, my

3 2

g

THE COQUETTE, OR i m

my compaffion, and my coniinued love! Saying this, Ihe threw her aims about her daughter's neck, and affe&ionately luffed her. Eliza ftruggled from her embrace, and looking at her with wild defpair, exclaimed, this is too much ! Oh, this unmerited goodnefs is more than I can bear ! She then ruihed precipitately out of the room, and left us overwhelmed in fympathy and aftonilhment! When Mrs« Wharton had recovered herfelf a little, ihe obferved, that Eliza's brain was eyidently difordered. Nothing elfe, continued ihe, could impel her to a d in this extraordinary manner. At firft ihe was refolved to follow h e r ; but 1 diffuaded her from it, alledging, that as ¿he had defired me to come into her chamber, 1 thought it better for me to go alone. She acquiefced ; but faid ihe fhould not think of going to bed ; but would, however, retire to her chamber,and feek confolation 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 ihe laid the two inclofea letters, the one to her mamma, and the other to me. Thefe, faid fhe, contain what I had not refolution to exprefs. Promife me, Julia, that they ihall not be opened till to morrow morning. I will, faid I. I have thought and wept, continued Ihe, till I .have almoft exhauited my itrength, and my reafon. I would now ob-

HISTORY or ELIZA WHARTON.

tain a little refpite, 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 purpofe, what I have written, and what I ihall yet fay to you, muft clofe the account between you and me. I have certainly n