I hope neither you nor I, Eliza, shall ever be tried by a man of debauched principles.  Such characters I conceive to be totally unfit for the society of women who have any claim to virtue and delicacy.

I intend to be with you in about a month.  If agreeable to you, we will visit and spend a few weeks with the afflicted Mrs. Richman.  I sincerely sympathize with her under her bereavement.  I know her fondness for you will render your company very consoling to her; and I flatter myself that I should not be an unwelcome guest.

Make my respects to your mamma, and believe me ever yours,

JULIA GRANBY.

LETTER LXIV.

TO MRS. LUCY SUMNER.

HARTFORD.

Dear madam:  I have arrived in safety to the mansion of our once happy and social friends.  But I cannot describe to you how changed, how greatly changed this amiable family appears since I left it.  Mrs. Wharton met me at the door, and, tenderly embracing, bade me a cordial welcome.  “You are come, Julia,” said she, “I hope, to revive and comfort us.  We have been very solitary during your absence.”  “I am happy, madam,” said I, “to return; and my endeavors to restore cheerfulness and content shall not be wanting.  But where is Eliza?” By this time we had reached the back parlor, whither Mrs. Wharton led me; and, the door being open, I saw Eliza reclined on a settee, in a very thoughtful posture.  When I advanced to meet her, she never moved, but sat, “like Patience on a monument, smiling at Grief.”

I stopped involuntarily, and involuntarily raising my eyes to heaven, exclaimed, “Is that Eliza Wharton?” She burst into tears, and attempted to rise, but sank again into her seat.  Seeing her thus affected, I sat down by her, and, throwing my arm about her neck, “Why these tears?” said I.  “Why this distress, my dear friend?  Let not the return of your Julia give you pain; she comes to soothe you with the consolations of friendship.”  “It is not pain,” said she, clasping me to her breast; “it is pleasure too exquisite for my weak nerves to bear.  See you not, Julia, how I am altered?  Should you have known me for the sprightly girl who was always welcome at the haunts of hilarity and mirth?” “Indeed,” said I, “you appear indisposed; but I will be your physician.  Company and change of air will, I doubt not, restore you.”  “Will these cure disorders of the mind, Julia?” “They will have a powerful tendency to remove them, if rightly applied; and I profess considerable skill in that art Come,” continued I, “we will try these medicines in the morning.  Let us rise early, and step into the chaise, and, after riding a few miles, call and breakfast with Mrs. Freeman.  I have some commissions from her daughter.  We shall be agreeably entertained there, you know.”