LETTER I.
Harrington to Worthy.
YOU may now felicitate me—I have had an interview with the charmer I informed you of. Alas! where were the thoughtfulness and circumspection of my friend Worthy? I did not possess them, and am graceless enough to acknowledge it. He would have considered the consequences, before he had resolved upon the project. But you call me, with some degree of truth, a strange medley of contradiction—the moralist and the amoroso—the sentiment and the sensibility—are interwoven in my constitution, so that nature and grace are at continual fisticuffs—To the point:—
I PURSUED my determination of discovering the dwelling of my charmer, and have at length obtained access. You may behold my Rosebud, but should you presume to place it in your bosom, expect the force of my wrath to be the infallible consequence.
I DECLARED the sincerity of my passion—the warmth of my affection—to the beautiful Harriot—Believe me, Jack, she did not seem inattentive. Her mien is elegant—her disposition inclining to the melancholy, and yet her temper is affable, and her manners easy. And as I poured my tender vows into the heart of my beloved, a crimson drop stole across her cheek, and thus I construe it in my own favor, as the sweet messenger of hope:—
“DO not wholly despair, my new friend; excuse the declaration of a poor artless female—you see I am not perfectly contented in my situation—(Observe, Jack, I have not the vanity to think this distress altogether upon my account)—Time may therefore disclose wonders, and perhaps more to your advantage than you imagine—do not despair then.”
SUCH vulgar, uncongenial souls, as that which animates thy clay, cold carcase, would have thought this crimson drop nothing more than an ordinary blush. Be far removed from my heart such sordid, earth-born ideas: But come thou spirit of celestial language, that canst communicate by one affectionate look—one tender glance—more divine information to the soul of sensibility than can be contained in myriads of volumes!
HAIL gentle God of Love! While thou rivetest the chains of thy slaves, how dost thou make them leap for joy, as with delicious triumph. Happy enthusiasm! that while it carries us away into captivity, can make the heart to dance as in the bosom of content. Hail gentle God of Love! Encircled as thou art with darts, torments, and ensigns of cruelty, still do we hail thee. How dost thou smooth over the roughness and asperities of present pain, with what thou seest in reversion! Thou banishest the Stygian glooms of disquiet and suspense, by the hope of approaching Elysium—Blessed infatuation!
I DESIRE you will not hesitate to pronounce an amen to my Hymn to Love, as an unequivocal evidence of your wish for my success.