are always ready to bend on such occasions.

This finished the matter, it seems. I rose, and went into a neighbor's
to observe what happened, and in about half an hour saw Mr. Boyer come
out and go to his lodgings. "This," said I to myself, "is a good omen."
I went home, and was informed, next day, that he had mounted his horse
and departed.

I heard nothing more of her till yesterday, when I determined to know
how she stood affected towards me. I therefore paid her a visit, her
mamma being luckily abroad.

She received me very placidly, and told me, on inquiry, that Mr.
Boyer's resentment at her meeting me in the garden was so great that he
had bade her a final adieu. I congratulated myself on having no rival,
hoped that her favor would now be unbiased, and that in due time I
should reap the reward of my fidelity. She begged me not to mention the
subject, said she had been perplexed by our competition, and wished not
to hear any thing further about it at present. I bowed in obedience to
her commands, and changed the discourse.

I informed her that I was about taking a tour to the southward; that I
should be absent several months, and trusted that on my return her
embarrassments would be over.

I left her with regret After all, Charles, she is the _summum bonum_ of
my life. I must have her in some way or other. Nobody else shall, I am
resolved.

I am making preparations for my journey, which, between you and me, is
occasioned by the prospect of making a speculation, by which I hope to
mend my affairs. The voyage will at least lessen my expenses, and screen
me from the importunity of creditors till I can look about me.

PETER SANFORD.

LETTER XLIII.

TO MISS ELIZA WHARTON.

NEW HAVEN.

My dear Eliza: Through the medium of my friends at Hartford, I have been
informed of the progress of your affairs as they have transpired. The
detail which my sister gave me of your separation from Mr. Boyer was
painful, as I had long contemplated a happy union between you; but still
more disagreeable sensations possessed my breast when told that you had
suffered your lively spirits to be depressed, and resigned yourself to
solitude and dejection.

Why, my dear friend, should you allow this event thus to affect you?
Heaven, I doubt not, has happiness still in store for you--perhaps
greater than you could have enjoyed in that connection. If the
conviction of any misconduct on your part gives you pain, dissipate it
by the