TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER.
Hartford.

A NEW &longs;cene has opened upon us
to day, my dear Mrs. Sumner; a vi&longs;it from
Major Sanford. My mamma, Mi&longs;s Granby,
and my&longs;elf, were &longs;itting together in the chamber.
Mi&longs;s Granby was entertaining us by
reading aloud in Millot's elements of hi&longs;tory,
when a &longs;ervant rapped at the door, and handed
in the following billet.

“Will Mi&longs;s Wharton conde&longs;cend to converse
a few moments with her once favored
Sanford? He is but too &longs;en&longs;ible that he has
forfeited all claim to the privilege. He therefore
pre&longs;umes not to reque&longs;t it on the &longs;core of
merit, or of former acquaintance; but solicits
it from her benevolence, and pity.”

I read and &longs;howed it to my mamma, and Julia.
What, &longs;aid I, &longs;hall I do? I wi&longs;h not to
&longs;ee him. His artifice has de&longs;troyed my peace

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of mind; and his prefence may open the
wounds which time is clo&longs;ing. Act, &longs;aid my
mamma, agreeably to the dictates of your own
judgment. I &longs;ee no harm in conver&longs;ing with
him, &longs;aid Julia. Perhaps it may remove &longs;ome
di&longs;agreeable thoughts, which now oppre&longs;s and
give you pain. And as he is no longer a candidate
for your affections, added &longs;he, with a
&longs;mile, it will be le&longs;s hazardous than formerly.
He will not have the in&longs;olence to &longs;peak; nor
you the folly to hear, the language of love.

He was accordingly invited in. When I
ro&longs;e to go down, I he&longs;&longs;itated, and even trembled.
I fear, &longs;aid I, to my&longs;elf, it will be too
much for me; yet why &longs;hould it? Con&longs;cious
innocence will &longs;upport me. This he has not.
When I entered the room he &longs;tepped forward
to meet me. Confu&longs;ion and &longs;hame were visibly
depicted in his countenance. He approached
me ha&longs;tily; and without uttering a
word, took my hand. I withdrew it. O! Mi&longs;s
Wharton, &longs;aid he, de&longs;pi&longs;e me not. I am convinced
that I de&longs;erve your di&longs;plea&longs;ure, and disdain;
but my own heart has avenged your
cau&longs;e. To your own heart, then, &longs;aid I, I will
leave you! But why do you again &longs;eek an interview
with one whom you have endeavored
to mi&longs;lead; with one whom you have treated
with unmerited neglect? Ju&longs;tice to my&longs;elf required
my appearing before you; that by confessing
my faults, and obtaining your

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forgiveness, I might &longs;often the reproaches of my own
mind. Will you be &longs;eated, &longs;ir? &longs;aid I. Will you,
rejoined he, conde&longs;cend to &longs;it with me, Eliza?
I will, &longs;ir, an&longs;wered I. The rights of hospitality
I &longs;hall not infringe. In my own hou&longs;e,
therefore, I &longs;hall treat you with civility. Indeed,
&longs;aid he, you are very &longs;evere; but I have
provoked all the coldne&longs;s and re&longs;erve which
you can inflict!

I am a married man, Eliza. So I understand,
&longs;aid I; and I hope you will never treat
your wife with that di&longs;&longs;imulation and fal&longs;hood,
which you have exerci&longs;ed towards me. Would
to heaven, exclaimed he, that you were my
wife! I &longs;hould not then fail in my love or duty
as a hu&longs;band! Yet &longs;he is an amiable girl;
and, had I a heart to give her, I might &longs;till be
happy! but that, alas! I can never recal.
Why, then, &longs;aid I, did you marry her? You
were doubtle&longs;s ma&longs;ter of your own actions.
No, &longs;aid he, I was not. The embarra&longs;&longs;ed &longs;tate
of my affairs precluded the po&longs;&longs;ibility of acting
as I wi&longs;hed. Loving you mo&longs;t ardently, I was
anxious to prevent your union with another,
till I could &longs;o far improve my circum&longs;tances,
as to &longs;ecure you from poverty and want in a
connection with me. My regard was too sincere
to permit me to deceive you, by a marriage
which might have proved unhappy for us
both. My pride forbad my telling you the
motives of my delay; and I left you to &longs;ee if

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I could place my&longs;elf in a &longs;ituation worthy of
your acceptance. This I could not effect; and
therefore have run the ri&longs;k of my future happiness,
by marrying a lady of affluence. This
&longs;ecures to me the externals of enjoyment; but
my heart, I fear, will never participate it. Yet
it affords me &longs;ome degree of &longs;atisfaction that I
have not involved you in di&longs;tre&longs;s. The only
alleviation of which my bani&longs;hment from you
is capable, is your forgivene&longs;s. In compa&longs;&longs;ion,
then, refu&longs;e it not! It cannot injure you! To
me it will be worth millions! He wept! Yes,
Lucy, this libertine; this man of plea&longs;ure and
gallantry wept! I really pitied him from my
heart. I forgive you, &longs;aid I and wi&longs;h you
happy; yet, on this condition only, that you
never again pollute my ears with the recital of
your infamous pa&longs;&longs;ion. Yes, infamous, I call it,
for what &longs;ofter appellation can be given to
&longs;uch profe&longs;&longs;ions from a married man? Harbor
not an idea of me, in future, incon&longs;i&longs;tent
with the love and fidelity which you owe your
wife; much le&longs;s, pre&longs;ume to mention it, if you
wi&longs;h not to be dete&longs;ted by me; and for ever
bani&longs;hed from my pre&longs;ence. He expre&longs;&longs;ed
gratitude for his ab&longs;olution even upon the&longs;e
terms; and hoped his future conduct would
entitle him to my friend&longs;hip and e&longs;teem.
That, I replied, time only can determine.

One favor more he begged leave to &longs;olicit;
which was, that I would be a neighbor to his

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wife. She was a &longs;tranger, he &longs;aid, and would
deem my &longs;ociety a particular privilege. This,
I told him, I could not grant, at pre&longs;ent, whatever
I might do hereafter. He did not urge it
any further, but inquired after my mamma,
and expre&longs;&longs;ed a wi&longs;h to &longs;ee her. I rung the
bell, and ordered her and Mi&longs;s Granby to be
called. When they came, he was very polite
to them both; and, after u&longs;ual compliments,
told my mamma that he was happy in having
obtained my forgivene&longs;s, to which he was anxious
to have her &longs;eal affixed. My daughter,
&longs;aid &longs;he, is the injured party; and if &longs;he be
&longs;atisfied, I &longs;hall not complain. He thanked her
for her conde&longs;cention; informed her that he
was married, and reque&longs;ted her to vi&longs;it his wife.
We then conver&longs;ed upon different &longs;ubjects for
a &longs;hort time, and he took his leave. A &longs;igh
e&longs;caped him as he departed; and a gloom was
vi&longs;ible in his countenance, which I never observed
before.

I mu&longs;t acknowledge that this interview has
given me &longs;atisfaction. I have often told
you that if I married Major Sanford, it would
be from a predilecton for his &longs;ituation in life.
How wretched mu&longs;t have been my lot, had I
di&longs;covered, too late, that he was by no mean,
po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed of the independence, which I fondly
anticipated. I knew nor my own heart, when
I contemplated a connection with him. Little
did I think that my regard for Mr. Boyer was

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&longs;o deeply rooted, as I now find it. I fooli&longs;hly
imagined that I could turn my affections into
what channel I plea&longs;ed. What then mu&longs;t
have been my feelings, when I found my&longs;elf
deprived both of inward peace, and outward
enjoyment! I begin now to emerge from the
darkne&longs;s, in which I have been long benighted!
I hope the tragic comedy, in which I have
acted &longs;o con&longs;picuous a part, will come to a
happy end.

Julia and I talk, now and then, of a journey
to Bo&longs;ton. As yet I have not re&longs;olution
to act with much deci&longs;ion upon the &longs;ubject.
But, wherever I am, and whatever may be my
fate, I &longs;hall always be your's in truth,