need not beg you not to fhow it. Only remem ber, the painter's M. is not to rob your own M. of a certain quantity of things called and known by the name of kiffes, which I humbly conceive to be her due, though he has been disappointed of them to-day. So, having nothing further to add at present, and the poft being just going out, I remain, with all truth, Dear Sir, Your most humble fervant, M. There's a pretty conclufion for you. AmInot a good girl? I fhall become a most elegant correfpondent in time, I fee. This paragraph is the poftfcript, you know--and should therefore have been introduced by a well flourished P. S. the Sir Clement Cottrel upon thefe occafions. LETTER X. To Mifs Huntingdon, 28 Dec. 75. Your condefcenfion in removing my moft groundless caufe of jealousy yesterday, was morethan I deferved. How I expofed myself by my violence 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 could I think you particular 'to such a thing as B? You faid you forgave me to-day, and I hope you did. Let me have it again from your own dear lips to-morrow, instead of the next day. Every thing shall be ready--and the guitar, which I wrote for, is come down, and I'll bring the fong and you shall fing it, and play it, and I'll beg you to forgive me, and you fhall forgive me, and,-five hundred ands befides. Why, I would be jealous of this sheet of раper, 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 fairDivinely fair! her lips, her eyes, her hair! Full Full well I know the fmile upon that faceFull well I know thofe features' every grace! But what is this-my M.'s mortal part― There is a fubject beggars all thine art: Paint but her mind, by Heav'n! and thou shalt be, Shalt be my more than pagan deity.- Some other beauty in as fair a mould But all in vain you'll search the world to find Another beauty with fo fair mind. LETTER To the Same. XI. Huntingdon, Jan. 1776. LEST I fhould not fee you this morning, I will fcribble this before I mount honeft Crop; that I may leave it for you. This is a new year. May every day of it be happy to my M. May-but don't you know, there's not a wifh of blifs I do not wish you? A new year-I like not this word. 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 A new year—76. Where shall 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 also ! The foldier whom you defired me to beg off, returns thanks to his unknown benefactress.Discipline must be kept up in our way; but I am fure you will do me the juftice 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 be fore 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 increafed, not diminished, my affection. Three weeks and more in the fame house with my M. 'Twas more than I deserved. And yet, to be obliged to refign you every night to another!-By thefe eyes, by your ftill dearer eyes, I don't think I slept three hours during the whole three weeks. Yet, yet, 'twas blifs. How lucky, that I was preffed to stay at H. the H. the night the fnow fet in! Would it had fnowed till doomfday! But, then, you must have been his every night till doomsday. Now, my happy time may come. Though I had not strength to refift when under the fame roof with you, ever fince we parted, the recollection that it was his roof has made me miferable. Whimsical, that he should bid you prefs me, when I at first refufed his folicitation. Is H. guilty of a breach of hofpitality? I must not queftion-I must not think, I must not write. But, we will meet as we fixed. Does Robin Gray fufpect?-Suspect! And is H. a subject for suspicion? LETTER To the Same. XIII. Huntingdon, 16 Feb. 1776. EVERY time I fee you I discover some new charm, fome new accomplishment. Before Heaven, there was not a title of flattery in what I told you yesterday. Nothing can be flattery which I fay of you, for no invention, no poetry, no any thing can come up to what I think of you. One of our Kings faid of the citizens of his good city of London, that when he confidered their |