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H. 10 Dec. 75. Your two letters of the day before yesterday, and what you said to me yesterday in my dreslingroom, have drove me mad. To offer to fell out, and take the other step to get money for us both, was not kind. You know how such tenderness distracts me. As to marrying me, that you should not do upon any account. Shall the man I value be pointed at and hooted for selling himself to a Lord, for a commiflion, or fome such thing, to marry his cast mistress? My soul is above my situation.-Besides, I will not take advantage, Mr. H., of what may be only perhaps (excuse me) a youthful passion. After a more intimate acquaintance with me of a weekor ten days, your opinion of me might very much change. And yet--you may love me as sincerely as I
But I will transcribe you a fong which I don't believe you ever heard me sing, though it's my favourite. It is said to be an old Scots ballad nor is it generally known that Lady A. L. wrote it. Since we have understood each other, I have never sung it before you, because it is so descriptive of our situation how much more so since your cruelly kind proposal of yesterday! I wept, like an infant, over it this morning.
AU LD ROBIN GRAY.
The sheep were in the fold, and the cows were all at home,
Young Jamie lov'd me well, and he fought me for his bride,
Me had na been gone but a year and a day,
My father could na work, and my mother could na spin,
My heart it said no, and I wilh'd for Jamie back,
My father argu'd fore; though my mother did na speak;
And now Robin Gray is goodman to me,
I had na been a wife but of weeks only four,
Sore did we weer, and little did we say,
I gang like a ghost, and I do not care to spin,
My poor eyes will only suffer me to add, for God's sake, let me see my Jamie to-morrow. Your name also is Jamie.
13 Dec. 75. My life and soul ! But I will never more use any preface of this fort-and I beg you will not. A correspondence begins with dear, then my dear, dearest, my deareft, and so on, 'till, at last, panting language toils after us in vain.
No language can explain my feelings. Oh M. yesterday, yesterday ! Language, thou lieftthere is no such word as, satiety, positively no such word.--Oh, thou beyond my warmest dreams bewitching! what charms! what
But words would poorly paint ourjoys. When, when ?-yet you shall order, govern every thing. Only remember, I am sure of those we trust.
Are you now convinced that Heaven made us for each other? By that Heaven, by the paradise of your dear arms, I will be only yours!
Have I written fenfe? I know not what I write. This scrap of paper ('tis all I can find) will hold a line or two more.
I must fill it up to say that, whatever evils envious fate design me, after those few hours of yesterday, I never will complain nor murmur.
· Misfortune; I defy thee now.-M. loves me, and H.'s soul has its content most absolute. No other joy like this succeeds in unknown fate.
To the Same.
24 Dec. 1775 TALK not to me of the new year. I am a new man. I'll be sworn to it I am not the same idenC 2
tical J. H. that I was three months ago. You have created me--yes, I know what I saycreated me anew.
As to thanking you for the bliss I taste with you-to attempt it would be idle. What thanks can express the heaven of heavens
But I will obey you in not giving such a loose to my pen as I gave the day before yesterday. That letter, and the verses it contained, which were certainly too highly coloured, pray commit to the flames. Yet, pray too, as I begged you yesterday, do not imagine I thought less chaftely of you because I wrote them. By Heaven, I believe your mind as chaste as the snow which, while I write, is driving against my window. You know not what I think of you. One time perhaps you may.
The lines I repeated to you this morning, I send you. Upon my honour they are not mine. I think of them quite as you do. Surely an additional merit in them is, that to the uninitiated, in whom they might perhaps raise improper ideas, they are totally unintelligible.