MONDAY AFTERNOON, SEPT. 11.


SIR,

We are such bad company here to one another, that it is some relief to
retire and write.

I was summoned to breakfast about half an hour after nine. Slowly did
the mournful congress meet. Each, lifelessly and spiritless, took our
places, with swoln eyes, inquiring, without expecting any tolerable
account, how each had rested.

The sorrowing mother gave for answer, that she should never more know
what rest was.

By the time we were well seated, the bell ringing, the outward gate
opening, a chariot rattling over the pavement of the court-yard, put them
into emotion.

I left them; and was just time enough to give Miss Howe my hand as she
alighted: her maid in tears remaining in the chariot.

I think you told me, Sir, you never saw Miss Howe. She is a fine,
graceful young lady. A fixed melancholy on her whole aspect, overclouded
a vivacity and fire, which, nevertheless, darted now-and-then through the
awful gloom. I shall ever respect her for her love to my dear cousin.

Never did I think, said she, as she gave me her hand, to enter more these
doors: but, living or dead, Clarissa brings me after her any where!