I have been frequently into
company, and find my relish for it gradually returning.
I intend to accept the pleasure, to which you invite me, of spending a
little time with you this winter. Julia and I will come together.
Varying the scene may contribute effectually to dissipate the gloom of
my imagination. I would fly to almost any resort rather than my own
mind. What a dreadful thing it is to be afraid of one's own reflections,
which ought to be a constant source of enjoyment! But I will not
moralize. I am sufficiently melancholy without any additional cause to
increase it.
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER LIV.
TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.
HARTFORD.
Dear Deighton: Who do you think is writing to you? Why, it is your old
friend, metamorphosed into a _married man_! You stare, and can hardly
credit the assertion. I cannot realize it myself; yet I assure you,
Charles, it is absolutely true. Necessity, dire necessity, forced me
into this dernier resort. I told you some time ago it would come to
this.
I stood aloof as long as possible; but in vain did I attempt to shun the
noose. I must either fly to this resource or give up all my show,
equipage, and pleasure, and degenerate into a downright, plodding money
catcher for a subsistence. I chose the first; and who would not? Yet I
feel some remorse at taking the girl to wife from no better motives. She
is really too good for such an imposition.
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