Abashed—confounded—defeated—
I waited upon my beloved with my

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head well furni&longs;hed with ready made arguments,
to prevail on her to acquie&longs;ce in my
benevolent &longs;cheme—&longs;he never appeared &longs;o
amiable—grace accompanied every word &longs;he
uttered, and every action &longs;he performed.
“Think, my love,” &longs;aid I, in a tone something
between &longs;ighing and tears, and took
her hand in a very cordial manner—
“Think, my love, on your pre&longs;ent, unhappy,
menial &longs;ituation, in the family of Mrs.
Francis.” I enlarged on the violence of my
pa&longs;&longs;ion—expatiated mo&longs;t metaphy&longs;ically on
our future happine&longs;s; and concluded by
largely an&longs;wering objections. “Shall we
not,” continued I, “obey the dictates of nature,
rather than confine our&longs;elves to the
forced, unnatural rules of—and—and
&longs;hall the halcyon days of youth &longs;lip through
our fingers unenjoyed?”

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Do you think, Worthy, I &longs;aid this to Harriot?—
Not a &longs;yllable of it. It was impossible—
my heart had the courage to dictate,
but my rebellious tongue refu&longs;ed to utter
a word—it faultered—&longs;tammered—hesitated.—

THERE is a language of the eyes—and we
converfed in that language; and though I
&longs;aid not a word with my tongue, &longs;he &longs;eemed
perfectly to under&longs;tand my meaning—for
&longs;he looked—(and I comprehended it as well
as if &longs;he had &longs;aid)—“Is the crime of dependence
to be expiated by the &longs;acrifice of
virtue? And becau&longs;e I am a poor, unfortunate
girl, mu&longs;t the little I have be taken from
me?” “No, my love,” an&longs;wered I, passionately,
“it &longs;hall not.”

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OF all tho&longs;e unde&longs;cribable things which
influence the mind, and which are mo&longs;t apt
to per&longs;uade—none is &longs;o powerful an orator—
&longs;o feelingly eloquent as beauty—I bow to
the allconquering force of Harriot's eloquence—
and what is the confequence?—I
am now determined to continue my addresses
on a principle the mo&longs;t ju&longs;t, and the mo&longs;t
honourable.

HOW amiable is that beauty which has its
foundation in goodne&longs;s! Rea&longs;on cannot
contemplate its power with indifference—
Wi&longs;dom cannot refrain from enthu&longs;ia&longs;m—
and the &longs;neering exertions of Wit cannot
render it ridiculous. There is a dignity in
confcious virtue that all my impudence cannot
bring me to de&longs;pi&longs;e—and if it be beauty

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that &longs;ubdues my heart, it is this that completes
the triumph—It is here my pompous
parade, and all my flim&longs;y &longs;ubterfuges, appear
to me in their proper light. In fine, I have
weighed matters maturely, and the alternative
is—Harriot mu&longs;t be mine, or I mi&longs;erable
without her.—I have &longs;o well weighed the
matter that even this idea is a fla&longs;h of joy
to my heart—But, my friend, after the lightning
comes the thunder—my father is mortally
aver&longs;e to my making any matrimonial engagement
at &longs;o early a period—this is a bar
in my way, but I mu&longs;t leap over it.

Adieu!

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