 our poor old servant; comfort, comfort the good old man for our loss." Then, lifting up her hands and eyes, "Oh, my Creator and my judge," cried she, "Thou, whom I have sought in the sincerity of my soul; thou, whose bounties in the days of my happiness I loved to acknowledge, forgive me if I have suffered affliction to prey too much upon my heart, and have shortened my life! Thou canst witness, that amidst my sorrows, never has one murmuring thought arisen against thee! Oh, best of beings! object nearest to my heart! of thy benevolence and goodness it has never doubted for a moment. When thy dispensations appeared dark and mysterious, I have looked round on nature,

and seen it beaming with benignity and beauty. I have searched my own breast, and found it formed for happiness and virtue; and thou hast not formed it thus in vain. Thou wilt justify thy ways: thou hast afflicted me on earth, but my sufferings are past, and thou wilt make me for ever happy in thy presence." Her voice now faltered—she looked on me—and expired. Oh, my friend! my sweet, my amiable companion! You, whose heart, far from being wrapped in selfish woe, could forget its own sufferings to comfort the unhappy; you, whose soothing pity could heal the wounds of the afflicted; who seemed born, in this period of general distress, to lighten the burden of human wretchedness; to be the ministering angel of sorrow!—where shall the desolate mourner now look round for aid? He asks thy sympathy, but thou canst not hear his complaint: it is only poured to the cold earth that covers thee! Oh, when I think of all thy perfections, the tenderness of thy disposition, the virtues of thy heart,

how can I live without thee? How can I drag on a wretched existence which thy friendship endears no longer? But thou art happy. Yes, she is united to that amiable and unfortunate lover, whom she could not survive.
I have been visiting the grave where the remains of my friend repose. I have poured out my complaints; but the sorrow I feel is not for her, but for myself. She is at rest, and this cruel war had made her happiness impossible. Alas, how dreadful are the effects of war! Every form of evil and misery is in its train: the groans of despair are mingled with the song of triumph, and the laurels of victory are nourished with the tears of humanity.
I am,
