ONCE more let me intreat you, my dear friend, to arm yourself with every virtue which is capable of sustaining the heaviest calamity. Let the impetuosity of the lover’s passion be forgotten in the undisturbed quietness of the brother’s affection, and may all the blessings that life can supply be yours—Seek for content, and you will find it, even though we should never meet again in this world. Adieu! LETTER LI. _Myra_ to Mrs. _Holmes_. _Boston._ THE curtain is dropped, and the scene of life is forever closed—THE LOVELY HARRIOT IS NO MORE. SHE is fit to appear in Heaven, for her life was a scene of purity and innocence—If there is any consolation to be felt by a survivour, it is in the reflection of the amiable qualities of the deceased. My heart shall not cease to cherish her idea, for she was beautiful without artifice, and virtuous without affectation. See! there all pale and dead she lies; Forever flow my streaming eyes— There dwelt the fairest—loveliest mind, Faith, sweetness, wit together join’d. Dwelt faith and wit and sweetness there? O, view the change, and drop a tear. MY brother is exceedingly agitated—He will never support this disastrous stroke—Nothing can attract his attention—nothing allay his grief—but it is the affliction of reason and not of weakness—God grant that it prove not fatal to him. Adieu!—Adieu! LETTER LII. _Harrington_ to _Worthy_. _Boston._ SHE is gone—she is dead—she who was the most charming, the most gentle, is gone—You may come—you may desire to behold all that was lovely—but your eyes will not see her. YES! I raved—I was distracted—but now I am calm and dispassionate—I am smooth as the surface of a lake—I shall see her again. WHEN our spirits are disencumbered of this load of mortality, and they wing their flight to the celestial regions, shall we not then know those who were dear to us in this world? Shall we not delight in their society, as we have done in this state of existence? Yes—certainly we shall—we shall find them out in Heaven—there alone is happiness—there shall I meet her—there our love will not be a crime—Let me indulge this thought—it gives a momentary joy to my heart—it removes the dark mist that swims before my eyes—it restores tranquility; but the more I reflect on this thought—the more I long to be there—the more I detest this world and all it contains. I sigh to fly away from it. LETTER LIII. _Harrington_ to _Worthy_.