Imagination and Heart, Tales for Fifteen | Page 9

when Charles appeared riding at a
full gallop towards the house; his whole manner announced success,
and Julia sprang into the middle of the road to take the letter which he
extended towards her.
"I knew I should be successful, and it gives me almost as much
pleasure as yourself that I have been so," said the youth, dismounting
from his horse and opening the gate that his companion might pass.
"Thank you--thank you, dear Charles," said Julia kindly. "I never can
forget how good you are to me- -how much you love to oblige not only
me, but every one around. Excuse me now, I have this dear letter to
read another time, I will thank you as I ought."

So saying, Julia ran into the summer-house, and fastening its door, gave
herself up to the pleasure of reading a first letter. Notes and short
epistles from her aunt, with divers letters from Anna written slyly in the
school-room and slipped into her lap, she was already well acquainted
with; but of real, genuine letters, stamped by the post-office, rumpled
by the mail-bags, consecrated by the steam-boat, this was certainly the
first. This, indeed, was a real letter: rivers rolled, and vast tracts of
country lay, between herself and its writer, and that writer was a friend
selected on the testimony of innate evidence. It was necessary for Julia
to pause and breathe before she could open her letter; and by the time
this was done, her busy fancy had clothed both epistle and writer with
so much excellence, that she was prepared to peruse the contents with a
respect bordering on enthusiasm: every word must be true--every idea
purity itself. That our readers may know how accurately sixteen and a
brilliant fancy had qualified her to judge, we shall give them the letter
entire.
"My dearest love,
"Oh, Julia! here I am, and such a place!--no town, no churches, no
Broadway, nothing that can make life desirable; and, I may add, no
friend--nobody to see and talk with, but papa and mamma, and a house
full of brothers and sisters. You can't think how I miss you, every
minute more and more; but I am not without hopes of persuading pa to
let me spend the winter with your aunt in town. I declare it makes me
sick every time I think of her sweet house in Park-place. If ever I marry,
and be sure I will, it shall be a man who lives in the city, and next door
to my Julia. Oh! how charming that would be. Each of us to have one
of those delightful new houses, with the new-fashioned basement
stories; we would run in and out at all hours of the day, and it would be
so convenient to lend and borrow each other's things. I do think there is
no pleasure under heaven equal to that of wearing things that belong to
your friend. Don't you remember how fond I was of wearing your
clothes at school, though you were not so fond of changing as myself;
but that was no wonder, for pa's stinginess kept me so shabbily dressed,
that I was ashamed to let you be seen in them. Oh, Julia! I shall never
forget those happy hours; nor you neither. Apropos--I hope you have

not forgot the frock you promised to work for me, to remember you by.
I long for it dreadfully, and hope you will send it before the river shuts.
I suppose you and Charles Weston do nothing but ride round among
those beautiful villas on the island, and take comfort. I do envy you
your happiness, I can tell you; for I think any beau better than none,
though Mr. Weston is not to my taste. I am going to write you six
sheets of paper, for there is nothing that I so delight in as communing
with a friend at a distance, especially situated as I am without a soul to
say a word to, unless it be my own sisters. Adieu, my ever, ever
beloved Julia--be to me as I am to you, a friend indeed, one tried and
not found wanting. In haste, your
"ANNA.
"Gennessee, June 15, 1816.
"P. S. Don't forget to jog aunt Emmerson's memory about asking me to
Park-place.
"P. S. June 25th. Not having yet sent my letter, although I am sure you
must be dying with anxiety to hear how we get on, I must add, that we
have a companion here that would delight you--a Mr. Edward Stanley.
What a delightful name! and he is as delightful as his name: his eye, his
nose, his whole countenance, are perfect. In short, Julia, he is just such
a man as we used to draw in our conversation at