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 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.”  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.