There's a pretty conclufion for you., Am I not a good girl? I fhall become a most elegant correspondent in time, I fee. This paragraph is the postscript, you knowand should therefore have been introduced by a well flourished P. S. the Sir Clement Cottrel upon thefe occafions. LETTER X. To Mifs Huntingdon, Your condefcenfion in removing my most groundless cause of jealoufy yesterday, was more than I deferved. How I exposed myself by my violence with you! But, I tell you my paffions are all gunpowder. Though, thank God, no Othello, yet am I "One not eafily jealous; but, being wrought, Perplex'd in th' extreme;" And that God knows how I love you, worship you, idolize you. How How could I think you particular to fuch a thing as B? You faid you forgave me today, and I hope you did. Let me have it again from your own dear lips to-morrow, instead of the next day. Every thing fhall be ready-and the guitar, which I wrote for, is come down, and I'll bring the song and you fhall fing it, and play it, and I'll beg you to forgive me, and you shall forgive me, and,-five hundred ands befides. Why, I would be jealous of this sheet of paper, if you kiffed it with too much rapture. What a fool!-No, my M., rather fay -what a lover! Many thanks for your picture. It is like. Accept this proof that I have examined it. 'Tis true, creative man, thine art can teach The living picture every thing but speech!— True, thou haft drawn her, as she is, all fair, Divinely fair! her lips, her eyes, her hair! Full well I know the fimile upon that faceFull well I know thofe features' every grace! But what is this-my M.'s mortal part- Paint but her mind, by Heav'n! and thou shalt be, Shalt be my more than pagan deity.- Another beauty with fo fair a mind. LETTER To the Same. XI. Huntingdon, Jan. 1776. LEST I should not fee you this morning, I will fcribble this before I mount honest Crop; that I may leave it for you. This is a new year. it be happy to my M. May every day of May-but don't you you know there's not a wifh of bliss I do not wish you? A new year-I like not this world. There may be new lovers.-I lie-there may not. M. will never change her H. I am fure she'll never change him for a truer lover. A new year-76. Where fhall we be in 77? Where in 78? Where in 79? Where in 80? In mifery or blifs, in life or death, in heaven or hell-wherever you are there may H. be alfo! The foldier whom you defired me to beg off, returns thanks to his unknown benefactress. Difcipline must be kept up in our way; but I am fure you will do me the justice to believe I am no otherwise a friend to it. LETTER XII. To the Same. Huntingdon, Feb. 8, 1776. SINCE the thaw fent me from H. the day before yesterday, I have written four times to you, and believe verily I fhall write four-and-forty times to you in the next four days. The blifs I have enjoyed with you thefe three weeks has increased, not diminished, my affection. Three weeks and more in the fame house with my M.-'Twas more than I deferved. And yet, to be obliged to refign you every night to another!-By these eyes, by your ftill dearer eyes, I don't think I flept three hours during the whole three weeks. Yet, yet, 'twas blifs. How lucky, that I was preffed to stay at H. the night the snow set in! Would it had fnowed till doomsday! But, then, you must have been his every night till doomsday. Now, my happy L time may come. Though |