University of Virginia Library

LETTER XXVII. WORTHY to MYRA.

I AM just returned from a melan-choly
excursion with Eliza. I will give you
the history of it—We generally walk out
together, but we this time went further than
usual—The morning was calm and serene—
all Nature was flourishing, and its universal
harmony conspired to deceive us in the
length of the way.

WHILE we were pursuing our walk, our
ears were struck with a plaintive, musical
voice, singing a melancholy tune.—“This,”
said Mrs. Holmes, “must be Fidelia—the
poor distracted girl was carried off by a ruf-fian
a few days before her intended marriage,
and her lover, in despair, threw himself into
the river”—Eliza could say no more—for
Fidelia refumed her melancholy strain in the
following words:—

WE advanced towards the place from
whence the sound issued, and Fidelia, who
heard our approach, immediately rose from

the ground; “I was tired,” said she, “and sat
down here to rest myself.”

SHE was dressed in a long white robe, tied
about the waist with a pink ribband; her
fine brown hair flowed loosely round her
shoulders—In her hand she held a number
of wild flowers and weeds, which she had
been gathering. “These,” she cried, “are
to make a nosegay for my love.” “He
hath no occasion for it,” said Eliza. “Yes!
where he lives,” cried Fidelia, “there are
plenty—and flowers that never fade too—I
will throw them into the river, and they will
swim to him—they will go straight to him”—
“And what will he do with them?” I asked.
“O!” said the poor girl as she looked wistfully
on them, and forted them in her hand,

“he loves every thing that comes from me—
he told me so”—“He will be happy to receive
them,” cried Eliza—“Where he is,”
said Fidelia, “is happiness—and happy are
the flowers that bloom there—and happy
shall I be, when I go to him—alas! I am
very ill now”—“He will love you again,”
said Eliza, “when you find him out”—“O
he was very kind,” cried she, tenderly, “he
delighted to walk with me over all these
fields—but now, I am obliged to walk
alone.” Fidelia drew her hand across
her cheek, and we wept with her.—
“I must go,” she said, “I must go,” and
turned abruptly from us, and left us with
great precipitation.

Farewel!