University of Virginia Library

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 mein 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 favour, 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 therefore may
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, ſuch">such sordid, earthborn
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.