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but love-letters. This morning, pardon me: I am unable to trifle, I must be allowed to talk of love, of M.

And, when I am able, you must allow me to put in a word or two fometimes for myself. To-day, however, I will not make you unhappy by telling you how truly fo I am.

The truth is my heart is full; and though I thought, when, I took up my pen, I could have filled a quire of paper with it, I now have not a word to fay. Were I fitting by your fide now (oh that I were!) I should only have power to recline my cheek upon your fhoulder, and to wet your hankerchief with my tears.

My own fafety, but for your fake, is the last of my confiderations. Our pallage was rather boisterous, but not dangerous. Mrs. F. (whom I mentioned to you, I believe, in the letter I wrote juft before we embarked) has enabled me to make you laugh with an account of her behaviour; were either of us in a humour to laugh.

Why

Why did you cheat me fo about that box?

Had I known I should find, upon openit, that the things were for me, I would

never have brought it. But that you]

knew. Was it kind, my M. to give me fo many daily memorandums of you, when I was to be at fuch a diftance from you? Oh, yes, it was, it was, most kind. And that, and you, and all your thousand and ten thousand kindneffes I never will forget. The purse shall be my conftant companion, the fhirts I'll wear by night, one of the handkerchiefs I was obliged to use in drying my eyes as foon as I opened the box, the

God, God, blefs you in this world—that is, give you your H.-, and grant you an eafy paffage to eternal bleffings in a better world.

H.!

LE T

LETTER XXVI.

To the Same.

Ireland, 8 April, 1776.

YOUR's, dated April the firft, would have diverted me, had I been fome leagues nearer to you. It contained true wit and humour. I truly thank you for it, because I know with how much difficulty you ftudy for any thing like wit or humour in the prefent fituation of your mind. But you do it to divert me; and it is done for one, who, though he cannot laugh at it, as he ought, will remember it, as he oughtYet, with what a melancholy tenderness it concluded! There spoke your heart.

Your fituation, when you wrote it, was fomething like that of an actress, who fhould be obliged to play a part in comedy, on the evening of a day which, by fome real catastrophe, had marked her out for the capital figure of a real tragedy. Perhaps I have faid fomething like this in the long

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letter I have written you fince. mind.

Never

Pray be careful how you feal your let ters. The wax always robs me of five or fix words. Leave a space for your feal. Suppose that should be the part of your letter which tells me you ftill love me. If the wax cover it, I fee it not-I find no fuch expreffion in your letter,—I grow distracted -and immediately fet out for CharingCrofs to afk you whether you do indeed ftill love me.

In the hofpitality of this country I was not deceived. They have a curfe in their language, ftrongly defcriptive of it"May the grafs grow at your door!"-The women, if I knew not you, I fhould find fenfible and pretty. But I am deaf, dumb, blind, to every thing, and to every perfon but you. If I write any more this morning, I fhall certainly fin against your coinmands.

Why do you fay nothing of your dear children? I infift upon it you buy my

friend

friend a taw, and two dozen of marbles; and place them to the account of

Your humble Servant.

LETTER

XXVII.

To the Same.

Ireland, 20 April, 76.

THANKS for the two letters I received laft week. They drew tears from me, but not tears of forrow.

To my poetry you are much too partial. Never talk of writing poetry for the prefs. It will not do. Few are they, who like you, can judge of poetry; and, of the jud ges, few, alas! are just. Juvenal, the Roman Churchill, advises a young man to turn auctioneer, rather than poet. In our days, Chriftie would knock Chatterton out of all chance in a week.-The Spaniards have a proverb, "He, who cannot make one verfe, is a block-head; he who makes more, is a fool."-Pythagoras you know a little by name. Perhaps

you

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