TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER.
Hartford.

The drama is now clo&longs;ed! A
tragical one indeed it has proved!

How &longs;incerely, my dear Mrs. Sumner, mu&longs;t
the friends of our departed Eliza, &longs;ympathize
with each other; and with her afflicted, bereaved
parent!

You have doubtle&longs;s &longs;een the account, in
the public papers, which gave us the melancholy
intelligence. But I will give you a detail
of circum&longs;tances.

A few days after my la&longs;t was written, we
heard that Major Sanford's property was
attached, and he a pri&longs;oner in his own hou&longs;e.
He was the la&longs;t man, to whom we wi&longs;hed to
apply for information re&longs;pecting the forlorn
wanderer; yet we had no other re&longs;ource. And
after waiting a fortnight in the mo&longs;t cruel
&longs;u&longs;pen&longs;e, we wrote a billet, entreating him, if
po&longs;&longs;ible, to give &longs;ome intelligence concerning
her. He replied, that he was unhappily

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deprived of all means of knowing him&longs;elf; but
hoped &longs;oon to relieve his own, and our
anxiety about her.

In this &longs;ituation we continued, till a neighbor
(purpo&longs;ely, we &longs;ince concluded) &longs;ent us a
Bo&longs;ton paper. Mrs. Wharton took it, and
incon&longs;cious of its contents, ob&longs;erved that the
peru&longs;al might divert her, a few moments.
She read for &longs;ome time; when it &longs;uddenly
dropped upon the floor. She cla&longs;ped her
hands together, and rai&longs;ing her &longs;treaming eyes
to heaven, exclaimed, It is the Lord; let
him do what he will! Be &longs;till, O my &longs;oul,
and know that he is God!

What, madam, &longs;aid I, can be the matter?
She an&longs;wered not; but with inexpre&longs;&longs;ible anguish
depicted in her countenance, pointed to
the paper. I took it up, and &longs;oon found the
fatal paragraph. I &longs;hall not attempt to paint
our heart felt grief and lamentation upon this
occa&longs;ion; for we had no doubt of Eliza's being
the per&longs;on de&longs;cribed, as a &longs;tranger, who
died at Danvers, la&longs;t July. Her delivery of
a child; her dejected &longs;tate of mind; the
marks upon her linen; indeed, every circumstance
in the adverti&longs;ement convinced us beyond
di&longs;pute, that it could be no other. Mrs.
Wharton retired immediately to her chamber,
where &longs;he continued overwhelmed with &longs;orrow
that night and the following day. Such, in
fact, has been her habitual frame ever &longs;ince;

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though the endeavors of her friends, who have
&longs;ought to con&longs;ole her, have rendered her somewhat
more conver&longs;able. My te&longs;timony of Eliza's
penitence, before her departure, is a &longs;ource
of comfort to this di&longs;con&longs;olate parent. She
fondly cheri&longs;hed the idea, that having expiated
her offence by &longs;incere repentance and amendment,
her deluded child finally made a happy
exchange of worlds. But the de&longs;perate resolution,
which &longs;he formed, and executed of becoming
a fugitive; of de&longs;erting her mother's
hou&longs;e and protection, and of wandering and
dying among &longs;trangers, is a mo&longs;t di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;ing reflection
to her friends; e&longs;pecially to her mother,
in who&longs;e brea&longs;t &longs;o many painful ideas ari&longs;e,
that &longs;he finds it extremely difficult to compo&longs;e
her&longs;elf to that re&longs;ignation, which &longs;he evidently
&longs;trives to exemplify.

Eliza's brother has been to vi&longs;it her la&longs;t retreat;
and to learn the particulars of her melancholy
exit. He relates, that &longs;he was well
accommodated, and had every attention and
a&longs;&longs;i&longs;tance, which her &longs;ituation required. The
people where &longs;he re&longs;ided appear to have a
lively &longs;en&longs;e of her merit and misfortunes.
They te&longs;tify her mode&longs;t deportment, her fortitude
under the &longs;ufferings to which &longs;he was
called, and the &longs;erenity and compo&longs;ure, with
which &longs;he bid a la&longs;t adieu to the world. Mr.
Wharton has brought back &longs;everal &longs;craps of
her writing, containing mi&longs;cellaneous

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reflections on her &longs;ituation, the death of her babe,
and the ab&longs;ence of her friends. Some of the&longs;e
were written before, &longs;ome after her confinement.
The&longs;e valuable te&longs;timonies of the affecting
&longs;en&longs;e, and calm expectation &longs;he entertained
of her approaching di&longs;&longs;olution, are calculated
to &longs;ooth and comfort the minds of
mourning connections. They greatly alleviate
the regret occa&longs;ioned by her ab&longs;ence, at
this awful period.

Her elopement can be equalled only by
the infatuation which cau&longs;ed her ruin.

“But let no one reproach her memory.
Her life has paid the forfeit of her folly.
Let that &longs;uffice.”

I am told that Major Sanford is quite frantic.
Sure I am that he has rea&longs;on to be. If
the mi&longs;chiefs he has brought upon others return
upon his own head, dreadful indeed
mu&longs;t be his portion! His wife has left him,
and returned to her parents. His e&longs;tate,
which has been long mortgaged, is taken from
him; and poverty and di&longs;grace await him!
Heaven &longs;eldom leaves injured innocence unavenged!
Wretch, that he is, he ought
for ever to be bani&longs;hed from human &longs;ociety!
I &longs;hall continue with Mrs. Wharton, till the
lenient hand of time has a&longs;&longs;uaged her &longs;orrows;
and then make my promi&longs;ed vi&longs;it to you. I
will bring Eliza's po&longs;thumous papers with
me, when I come to Bo&longs;ton, as I have not
time to copy them now.

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I fore&longs;ee, my dear Mrs. Sumner, that this
di&longs;a&longs;trous affair will &longs;u&longs;pend your enjoyments,
as it has mine. But what are our feelings,
compared with the pangs which rend a parent's
heart? This parent, I here behold, inhumanly
&longs;tripped of the be&longs;t &longs;olace of her declining
years, by the en&longs;naring machinations
of a profligate debauchee! Not only the life,
but what was &longs;till dearer, the reputation and
virtue of the unfortunate Eliza, have fallen
victims at the &longs;hrine of libertini&longs;m! Dete&longs;ted
be the epithet! Let it henceforth bear its true
&longs;ignature, and candor it&longs;elf &longs;hall call it lu&longs;t
and brutality!

Execrable is the man, however arrayed in
magnificence, crowned with wealth, or decorated
with the external graces and accomplishments
of fa&longs;hionable life, who &longs;hall pre&longs;ume
to di&longs;play them, at the expen&longs;e of virtue and
innocence! Sacred names! attended with real
ble&longs;&longs;ings; ble&longs;&longs;ings too u&longs;eful and important
to be trifled away! My re&longs;entment at the ba&longs;e
arts, which mu&longs;t have been employed to complete
the &longs;eduction of Eliza, I cannot &longs;uppre&longs;s.
I wi&longs;h them to be expo&longs;ed, and &longs;tamped with
univer&longs;al ignominy! Nor do I doubt but you
will join with me in execrating the mea&longs;ures
by which we have been robbed of &longs;o valuable
a friend; and &longs;ociety, of &longs;o ornamental a
member. I am, &c.

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