But, alas! can your volatile
daughter ever acquire your wisdom--ever possess your resolution,
dignity, and prudence?
I hope soon to converse with you personally upon the subject, and to
profit by your precepts and example. I anticipate the hour of my return
to your bosom with impatience. My daily thoughts and nightly dreams
restore me to the society of my beloved mamma; and, till I enjoy in
reality, I subscribe myself your dutiful daughter,
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER XXI.
TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON.
HARTFORD.
How welcome to me, my dear Eliza, are the tidings of your return! My
widowed heart has mourned your absence, and languished for the company
of its now dearest connection. When stripped of one dependence, the mind
naturally collects and rests itself in another. Your father's death
deprived me, for a while, of every enjoyment. But a reviving sense of
the duties which I owed to a rising family roused me from the lethargy
of grief. In my cares I found an alleviation of my sorrows. The
expanding virtues of my children soothed and exhilarated my drooping
spirits, and my attention to their education and interest was amply
rewarded by their proficiency and duty. In them every hope, every
pleasure, now centres. They are the axis on which revolves the temporal
felicity of their mother. Judge, then, my dear, how anxiously I must
watch, how solicitously I must regard, every circumstance which relates
to their welfare and prosperity! Exquisitely alive to these sensations,
your letter awakens my hopes and my fears.
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