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“Madam,” says Mrs. Bargrave, “I am surprised to see you, you have been so long a stranger”; but told her she was glad to see her, and offered to salute her, which Mrs. Veal complied with, till their lips almost touched, and then Mrs. Veal drew her hand across her own eyes, and said, “I am not very well,” and so waived it. She told Mrs. Bargrave she was going a journey, and had a great mind to see her first. “But,” says Mrs. Bargrave, “how can you take a journey alone? I am amazed at it, because I know you have a fond brother.” “Oh,” says Mrs. Veal, “I gave my brother the slip, and came away, because I had so great a desire to see you before I took my journey.” So Mrs. Bargrave went in with her into another room within the first, and Mrs. Veal sat her down in an elbow-chair, in which Mrs. Bargrave was sitting when she heard Mrs. Veal knock. “Then,” says Mrs. Veal, “my dear friend, I am come to renew our old friendship again, and beg your pardon for my breach of it; and if you can forgive me, you are the best of women.” “Oh,” says Mrs. Bargrave, “do not mention such a thing; I have not had an uneasy thought about it.” “What did you think of me?” says Mrs. Veal. Says Mrs. Bargrave, “I thought you were like the rest of the world, and that prosperity had made you forget yourself and me.” Then Mrs. Veal reminded Mrs. Bargrave of the many friendly offices she did her in former days, and much of the conversation they had with each other in the times of their adversity; what books they read, and what comfort in particular they received from Drelincourt’s Book of Death, which was the best, she said, on the subject ever wrote. She also mentioned Doctor Sherlock, and two Dutch books, which were translated, wrote upon death, and several others. But Drelincourt, she said, had the clearest notions of death and of the future state of any who had handled that subject. Then she asked Mrs. Bargrave whether she had Drelincourt. She said, “Yes.” Says Mrs. Veal, “Fetch it.” And so Mrs. Bargrave goes up-stairs and brings it down. Says Mrs. Veal, “Dear Mrs. Bargrave, if the eyes of our faith were as open as the eyes of our body, we should see numbers of angels about us for our guard. The notions we have of Heaven now are nothing like what it is, as Drelincourt says; therefore be comforted under your afflictions, and believe that the Almighty has a particular regard to you, and that your afflictions are marks of God’s favor; and when they have done the business they are sent for, they shall be removed from you. And believe me, my dear friend, believe what I say to you, one minute of future happiness will infinitely reward you for all your sufferings. For I can never believe” (and claps her hand upon her knee with great earnestness, which, indeed, ran through most of her discourse) “that ever God will suffer you to spend all your days in this afflicted state. But be assured that your afflictions shall leave you, or you them, in a short time.” She spake in that pathetical and heavenly manner that Mrs. Bargrave wept several times, she was so deeply affected with it.

Then Mrs. Veal mentioned Doctor Kendrick’s Ascetic, at the end of which he gives an account of the lives of the primitive Christians. Their pattern she recommended to our imitation, and said, “Their conversation was not like this of our age. For now,” says she, “there is nothing but vain, frothy discourse, which is far different from theirs. Theirs was to edification, and to build one another up in faith, so that they were not as we are, nor are we as they were. But,” said she, “we ought to do as they did; there was a hearty friendship among them; but where is it now to be found?” Says Mrs. Bargrave, “It is hard indeed to find a true friend in these days.” Says Mrs. Veal, “Mr. Norris has a fine copy of verses, called Friendship in Perfection, which I wonderfully admire. Have you seen the book?” says Mrs. Veal. “No,” says Mrs. Bargrave, “but I have the verses of my own writing out.” “Have you?” says Mrs. Veal; “then fetch them”; which she did from above stairs, and offered them to Mrs. Veal to read, who refused, and waived the thing, saying, “holding down her head would make it ache”; and then desiring Mrs. Bargrave to read them to her, which she did. As they were admiring Friendship, Mrs. Veal said, “Dear Mrs. Bargrave, I shall love you forever.” In these verses there is twice used the word “Elysian.” “Ah!” says Mrs. Veal, “these poets have such names for Heaven.” She would often draw her hand across her own eyes, and say, “Mrs. Bargrave, do not you think I am mightily impaired by my fits?” “No,” says Mrs. Bargrave; “I think you look as well as ever I knew you.”