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 connection 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 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.