I think I see you and my good aunt, seated
on the blue sofa in your dressing-room, with your needle work on the
little table before you; I see Mary in her usual nook--the recess by
the old harpsichord--and my dear father bringing in this happy letter
from your son! I must confess this romantic kind of fancy-sketching
makes me feel rather oddly: very unlike what I felt a few months ago,
when I was a mere coxcomb--indifferent, unreflecting, unappreciating,
and fit for nothing better than to hold pins at my lady's toilet.
Well, it is now made evident to me that we never know the blessings
bestowed on us until we are separated from the possession of them.
Absence tightens the strings which unites friends as well as lovers:
at least I find it so; and though I am in the fruition of every good
on this side the ocean, yet my very happiness renders me ungrateful,
and I repine because I enjoy it alone. Positively, I must bring you
all hither to pass a summer, or come back at the termination of my
travels, and carry away this dear family by main force to England.
"Tell my cousin Mary that, either way, I shall present to her esteem
the most amiable and accomplished of my sex; but I warn her not to
fall in love with him, neither in _propri?, person?_, nor by his
public fame, nor with his private character. Tell her 'he is a bright
and particular star,' neither in her sphere nor in any other woman's.
Pages:
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108