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.