I look around for happiness, and find it
not. The world is to me a desert. If I indulge myself in temporary
enjoyment, the consciousness or apprehension of doing amiss destroys my
peace of mind. And when I have recourse to books, if I read those of
serious descriptions, they remind me of an awful futurity, for which I
am unprepared; if history, it discloses facts in which I have no
interest; if novels, they exhibit scenes of pleasure which I have no
prospect of realizing.
My mamma is solicitously attentive to my happiness; and though she fails
of promoting it, yet I endeavor to save her the pangs of disappointment
by appearing what she wishes.
I anticipate, and yet I dread, your return; a paradox this, which time
alone can solve.
Continue writing to me, and entreat Mrs. Sumner, in my name, to do
likewise. Your benevolence must be your reward.
ELIZA WHARTON.
LETTER LXIII.
TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON.
BOSTON.
A paradox, indeed, is the greater part of your letter to us, my dear
Eliza. We had fondly flattered ourselves that the melancholy of your
mind was exterminated. I hope no new cause has revived it. Little did I
intend, when I left you, to have been absent so long; but Mrs. Summer's
disappointment, in her plan of spending the summer at Hartford, induced
me, in compliance with her request, to prolong my residence here. But
for your sake, she now consents to my leaving her, in hopes I may be so
happy as to contribute to your amusement.
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