calmly resign her to so severe a fate? Can I bear the idea of her being
lost to honor, to fame, and to life? No; she shall still live in the
heart of her faithful Lucy, whose experience of her numerous virtues and
engaging qualities has imprinted her image too deeply on the memory to
be obliterated. However she may have erred, her sincere repentance is
sufficient to restore her to charity.

Your letter gave me the first information of this awful event. I had
taken a short excursion into the country, where I had not seen the
papers, or, if I had, paid little or no attention to them. By your
directions I found the distressing narrative of her exit. The poignancy
of my grief, and the unavailing lamentations which the intelligence
excited, need no delineation. To scenes of this nature you have been
habituated in the mansion of sorrow where you reside.

How sincerely I sympathize with the bereaved parent of the dear,
deceased Eliza, I can feel, but have not power to express. Let it be her
consolation that her child is at rest. The resolution which carried this
deluded wanderer thus far from her friends, and supported her through
her various trials, is astonishing. Happy would it have been had she
exerted an equal degree of fortitude in repelling the first attacks upon
her virtue. But she is no more, and Heaven forbid that I should accuse
or reproach her.

Yet in what language shall I express my abhorrence of the monster whose
detestable arts have blasted one of the fairest flowers in creation? I
leave him to God and his own conscience. Already is he exposed in his
true colors. Vengeance already begins to overtake him. His sordid mind
must now suffer the deprivation of those sensual gratifications beyond
which he is incapable of enjoyment.

Upon your reflecting and steady mind, my dear Julia, I need not
inculcate the lessons which may be drawn from this woe-fraught tale; but
for the sake of my sex in general, I wish it engraved upon every heart,
that virtue alone, independent of the trappings of wealth, the parade of
equipage, and the adulation of gallantry, can secure lasting felicity.
From the melancholy story of Eliza Wharton let the American fair learn
to reject with disdain every insinuation derogatory to their true
dignity and honor. Let them despise and forever banish the man who can
glory in the seduction of innocence and the ruin of reputation. To
associate is to approve; to approve is to be betrayed.

I am, &c.,

LUCY SUMNER.


LETTER LXXIV.

TO MRS. M. WHARTON.

BOSTON.

Dear madam: We have paid the last tribute of respect to your beloved
daughter. The day after my arrival, Mrs. Sumner proposed that we should
visit the sad spot which contains the remains of our once amiable
friend. "The grave of Eliza Wharton," said she, "shall not be unbedewed
by the tears of friendship."

Yesterday we went accordingly, and were much pleased with the apparent
sincerity of the people in their assurances that every thing in their
power had been done to render her situation comfortable. The minutest
circumstances were faithfully related; and, from the state of her mind
in her last hours, I think much comfort may be derived to her afflicted
friends.

We spent a mournful hour in the place where she is interred, and then
returned to the inn, while Mrs. Sumner gave orders for a decent stone to
be erected over her grave, with the following inscription:--

THIS HUMBLE STONE,
IN MEMORY OF
ELIZA WHARTON,
IS INSCRIBED BY HER WEEPING FRIENDS, TO WHOM SHE
ENDEARED HERSELF
BY UNCOMMON TENDERNESS AND AFFECTION.
ENDOWED WITH SUPERIOR ACQUIREMENTS, SHE WAS STILL MORE
DISTINGUISHED
BY HUMILITY AND BENEVOLENCE.
LET CANDOR THROW A VEIL OVER HER FRAILTIES, FOR GREAT WAS
HER CHARITY TO OTHERS.
SHE SUSTAINED THE LAST PAINFUL SCENE
FAR FROM EVERY FRIEND,
AND EXHIBITED AN EXAMPLE OF CALM RESIGNATION.
HER DEPARTURE WAS ON THE 25TH DAY OF JULY, A.D.----, IN
THE 37TH YEAR OF HER AGE;
AND THE TEARS OF STRANGERS WATERED HER GRAVE.

I hope, madam, that you will derive satisfaction from these exertions of
friendship, and that, united to the many other sources of consolation
with which you are furnished, they may alleviate your grief, and, while
they leave the pleasing remembrance of her virtues, add the supporting
persuasion that your Eliza is happy.

I am, &c.,

JULIA GRANBY.