Julia's perplexities were now over. She felt that she ought to be happy, and endeavoured to persuade herself that she was so. Nevertheless, the scenes which had passed with Seymour, had left her mind in a state of disturbance and depression, which she could not immediately conquer, but which she determined not to indulge.

By her affectionate attention, she tried to supply to Mr. Clifford the loss of his daughter; made every effort to be cheerful; and when, in spite of her efforts, her cheerfulness forsook her, she imputed it to an anxious solicitude which hung upon her mind respecting Charlotte's happiness.

It was fortunate that Julia had at this time but little leisure for solitude, or reflection, Mr. Clifford's house being crouded with a succession of visitors, who came to congratulate him on his daughter's marriage. We must add, much to the honour of Charlotte, that their congratulations were not made in opposition to their feelings: and what higher eulogium can we bestow on Charlotte's merit, than to declare that her prosperity excited no envy? Her uniform sweetness of disposition, her kind and unassuming manners, and constant attention to promote the satisfaction of others, had endeared her to all by whom she was known; and even those who had the greatest insensibility of temper, agreed, that if some one in the world must be more fortunate, more happy than themselves, Charlotte was the very person who best deserved that distinguished lot.

Among Mr. Clifford's visitors was Mr. F—, who was dressed in deep mourning, and appeared in great dejection of spirits. In the course of a walk, which Mr. Clifford proposed, Mr. F— took an opportunity of telling Julia, that he had lately lost his only brother. ‘The circumstances of his death,’ said he, ‘are such as I am unable to relate, but they were particularly affecting, and, if you will give me permission, I will send you a packet which contains the account, and which, I believe, will interest you.’