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 Dr. Kenrick's Ascetick, 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 frothy, vain 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, says she, we ought to do as they did. There was an 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
desired 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 for ever. 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 hands 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. After all this discourse, which the apparition put in much finer words than
Mrs. Bargrave said she could pretend to, and as much more than she can remember, (for it cannot be thought,
that an hour and three quarters' conversation could all be retained, though the main of it she thinks she does,)
she said to Mrs. Bargrave, she would have her write a letter to her brother, and tell him, she would have him
give rings to such and such; and that there was a purse of gold in her cabinet, and that she would have two
broad pieces given to her cousin Watson.
Talking at this rate, Mrs. Bargrave thought that a fit was coming upon her, and so placed herself in a chair just
before her knees, to keep her from falling to the ground, if her fits should occasion it: for the elbow-chair, she
thought, would keep her from falling on either side. And to divert Mrs. Veal, as she thought, took hold of her
gown-sleeve several times, and commended it. Mrs. Veal told her, it was a scowered silk, and newly made up.
But for all this, Mrs. Veal persisted in her request, and told Mrs. Bargrave, she must not deny her: and she
would have her tell her brother all their conversation, when she had opportunity. Dear Mrs. Veal, says Mrs.
Bargrave, this seems so impertinent, that I cannot tell how to comply with it; and what a mortifying story will
our conversation be to a young gentleman? Why, says Mrs. Bargrave, it is much better, methinks, to do it
yourself. No, says Mrs. Veal, though it seems impertinent to you now, you will see more reason for it
hereafter. Mrs. Bargrave then, to satisfy her importunity, was going to fetch a pen and ink; but Mrs. Veal said,
Let it alone now, but do it when I am gone; but you must be sure to do it: which was one of the last things she
enjoined her at parting; and so she promised her.
Then Mrs. Veal asked for Mrs. Bargrave's daughter; she said, she was not at home: But if you have a mind to
see her, says Mrs. Bargrave, I'll send for her. Do, says Mrs. Veal. On which she left her, and went to a
neighbor's to seek for her; and by the time Mrs. Bargrave was returning, Mrs. Veal was got without the door
in the street, in the face of the beast-market, on a Saturday, which is market-day, and stood ready to part, as
soon as Mrs. Bargrave came to her. She asked her, why she was in such haste. She said she must be going,
though perhaps she might not go her journey till Monday; and told Mrs. Bargrave, she hoped she should see her again at her cousin Watson's, before she went whither she was going. Then she said, she would take her
leave of her, and walked from Mrs. Bargrave in her view, till a turning interrupted the sight of her, which was
three quarters after one in the afternoon.
Mrs. Veal died the 7th of September, at twelve o'clock at noon of her fits, and had not above four hours'
senses before her death, in which time she received the sacrament. The next day after Mrs. Veal's appearing,
being Sunday, Mrs. Bargrave was mightily indisposed with a cold, and a sore throat, that she could not go out
that day; but on Monday morning she sent a person to Captain Watson's, to know if Mrs. Veal was there.