Is not this kind and thoughtful? Why did it never occur to you, so often as we have talked of my being obliged to leave this dear place? To me most dear, fince it has been the fcene of my acquaintance, my happiness with H.

But, am I to leave behind me that dearest H.? Surely your recruiting business must be nearly over now. You must go to town. Though things can't often be contrived at the A, they maythey may they hall happen elsewhere.

Fail not to-morrow-and do not laugh at me any more about my dream. If it was a proof of my weakness, it was a proof alfo of my love.

I wish the day on which I am to set out from hence could be conjured about a month further back or fo. Now, you afk why? Look in your laft year's almanack. Was not the shortest day fome where about that time? Come give me a kifs for that, I am fure I deferve it.-Oh! fye Mr. H., not twenty. You are too generous in your payments. I muft infift upon returning the overplus the next time we meet-that is to-morrow, you know.

you

LETTER XVII.

To Mifs

Huntingdon, 26 Feb. 1776.

you

WHY will not the wifhed-for day, or rather night, arrive? And here, I have not seen fince I know not when-not for two whole days. But I wrote you a long letter yesterday why it would be dangerous to meet; and all in rhyme. The beginning, I affure you, was not .poetry, but truth--If the conclufion was coloured too highly, you must excuse it. The pencil of love executed it, and the fly rogue will indulge himself sometimes. Let the time come, I'll convince you his pencil did not much exaggerate.

Just now I was thinking of your birth-day, about which I asked you the other day. It's droll that your's and mine fhould be so near together. And thus I obferve thereon.

Your poets, cunning rogues, pretend
That men are made of clay;

And that the heavenly potters make
Some five or fix a day.

No

No wonder, M. I and you
Don't quite deteft each other;
Or that my foul is link'd to your's,
As if it were it's brother:

For in one year we both were made,
Nay almost in one day———
So, ten to one, we both came from
One common heap of clay.

What? if I were not caft in near
So fine a mould as you
My heart (or rather, M. your's)
Is tender, fond, and true.

Corporal Trim fets off to-day for our head quarters. My plan is laid fo, that no difcovery can take place. Gods, that two fuch fouls, as your's and mine,

to arts and plans!

fhould be obliged to defcend

Were it not for your dear

fake, I'd fcorn to do any thing I would not wish

difcovered.

LETTER XVIII.

To Mr.

H. 21 Feb. 1776.

ALL your plans are useless. The Corporal has made his forced march to no purpose. The fates

.

are unkind. It is determined I am to go up poft. So, we cannot poffibly be happy together, as we hoped to have been had our own horses drawn me up, in which cafe I must have slept upon the road. I am not clear old Robin Gray will not stay and attend me. Why cannot my Jamie? Cruel fortune! But in town we will be happy. When, again, fhall I enjoy your dear fociety; as I did during that, to me at leaft, blefed fnow? Nothing but my dear children could prevent our going with Cook to seek for happiness in worlds unknown. There must be fome corner of the globe where mutual affection is refpected.

Don't forget to meet me. Scratch out forget. I know how much you think of me. Too much for your peace, nay for your health. Indeed my H. you don't look well. Pray be careful! "Whatever wounds thy tender health, "Will kill thy M.'s too."

Omiah is in good humour with me again.What kind of animal fhould a naturalift expect from a native of Otaheite and a Huntingdonshire dairy maid? If my eyes don't deceive me, Mr. Omiah will give us a specimen.-Will you bring me fome book to-morrow to divert me, as I poft it to town-that I may forget, if it be poffible, I am posting from you?

LET

LETTER XIX.

To Mifs

Hockerill, 1. March, 1776.

It is your ftrict injunction that I do not offend you by fuffering my pen to speak of last night. I will not, my M. nor fhould I, had you not injoined it. You once faid a nearer acquaintance would make me change my opinion of you. It has, I have changed my opinion. The more I know you, the more chastely I think of you. Notwithstanding last night (what a night!), and our first too, I protest to God, I think of you with as much purity, as if we were going to be married You take my meaning, I am fure; because they are the thoughts I know you wish me to entertain of you.

You got to town fafe, I hope. One letter may find me before I fhall be able to leave Huntingdon, whither I return to-day; or, at least, to Cambridge. I am a fool about Crop, you know. And I am now more tender of him, because he has carried you.-How little did we think that morning we should ever make each other fo happy!

Don't forget to write, and don't forget the