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.
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