Thus could you sport with my too easy heart? Yet tremble, lest not unaveng'd I grieve! The winds may learn your own delusive art, And faithless Ocean smile--but to deceive!
I have written too long a letter. Give me a hint, and I will avoid a repetition of the offence.
It's a compensation for the above-written rhymes (which if you ever condescend to read a second time, pray let it be by the light of their own flames) in my next letter I will send some delicious poetry lately published by the exquisite Bowles.
To-morrow morning I fill the rest of this sheet with a letter to Anne. And now, good-night, dear sister! and peaceful slumbers await us both!
DEAR ANNE,--To be sure I felt myself rather disappointed at my not receiving a few lines from you; but I am nevertheless greatly rejoiced at your amicable dispositions towards me. Please to accept two kisses, as the seals of reconciliation--you will find them on the word "Anne" at the beginning of the letter--at least, there I left them. I must, however, give you warning, that the next time you are affronted with Brother Coly, and show your resentment by that most cruel of all punishments, silence, I shall address a letter to you as long and as sorrowful as Jeremiah's Lamentations, and somewhat in the style of your sister's favourite lover, beginning with,--
My dear Anne, you are my Valentine. I dreamt of you this morning, and I have seen no female in the whole course of the day, except an old bedmaker belonging to the College, and I don't count her one, as the bristle of her beard makes me suspect her to be of the masculine gender. Some one of the genii must have conveyed your image to me so opportunely, nor will you think this impossible, if you will read the little volumes which contain their exploits, and crave the honour of your acceptance.
If I could draw, I would have sent a pretty heart stuck through with arrows, with some such sweet posy underneath it as this:--
"The rose is red, the violet blue; The pink is sweet, and so are you."
But as the Gods have not made me a drawer (of anything but corks), you must accept the will for the deed.
You never wrote or desired your sister to write concerning the bodily health of the Barlowites, though you know my affection for that family. Do not forget this in your next.