He holds the wool and she winds the ball, and the curtain falls, leaving them in the same position its rising discovered them in.
LOVE IN OLD CLOATHES.
Newe York, yᵉ 1ˢᵗ Aprile, 1883.
Yᵉ worste of my ailment is this, yᵗ it groweth not Less with much nursinge, but is like to those fevres wᶜʰ yᵉ leeches Starve, ’tis saide, for that yᵉ more Bloode there be in yᵉ Sicke man’s Bodie, yᵉ more foode is there for yᵉ Distemper to feede upon.—And it is moste fittinge yᵗ I come backe to yᵉ my Journall (wherein I have not writt a Lyne these manye months) on yᵉ 1ˢᵗ of Aprile, beinge in some Sort myne owne foole and yᵉ foole of Love, and a poore Butt on whome his hearte hath play’d a Sorry tricke.—
For it is surelie a strange happenninge, that I, who am ofte accompted a man of yᵉ Worlde, (as yᵉ Phrase goes,) sholde be soe Overtaken and caste downe lyke a Schoole-boy or a countrie Bumpkin, by a meere Mayde, & sholde set to Groaninge and Sighinge, &, for that She will not have me Sighe to Her, to Groaninge and Sighinge on paper, wᶜʰ is yᵉ greter Foolishnesse in Me, yᵗ some one maye reade it Here-after, who hath taken his dose of yᵉ same Physicke, and made no Wrye faces over it; in wᶜʰ case I doubte I shall be much laugh’d at.—Yet soe much am I a foole, and soe enamour’d of my Foolishnesse, yᵗ I have a sorte of Shamefull Joye in tellinge, even to my Journall, yᵗ I am mightie deepe in Love withe yᵉ yonge Daughter of Mistresse Ffrench, and all maye knowe what an Angell is yᵉ Daughter, since I have chose Mʳˢ. French for my Mother in Lawe.—(Though she will have none of my choosinge.)—and I likewise take comforte in yᵉ Fancie, yᵗ this poore Sheete, whᵒⁿ I write, may be made of yᵉ Raggs of some lucklesse Lover, and maye yᵉ more readilie drinke up my complaininge Inke.—
This muche I have learnt yᵗ Fraunce distilles not, nor yᵉ Indies growe not, yᵉ Remedie for my Aile.—For when I 1ˢᵗ became sensible of yᵉ folly of my Suite, I tooke to drynkinge & smoakinge, thinkinge to cure my minde, but all I got was a head ache, for fellowe to my Hearte ache.—A sorrie Payre!—I then made Shifte, for a while, withe a Bicycle, but breakinge of Bones mendes no breakinge of Heartes, and 60 myles a Daye bringes me no nearer to a Weddinge.—This being Lowe Sondaye, (wᶜʰ my Hearte telleth me better than yᵉ Allmanack,) I will goe to Churche; wh. I maye chaunce to see her.—Laste weeke, her Eastre bonnett vastlie pleas’d me, beinge most cunninglie devys’d in yᵉ mode of oure Grandmothers, and verie lyke to a coales Scuttle, of white satine.—
2ⁿᵈ Aprile.
I trust I make no more moane, than is just for a man in my case, but there is small comforte in lookinge at yᵉ backe of a white Satine bonnett for two Houres, and I maye saye as much.—Neither any cheere in Her goinge out of yᵉ Churche, & Walkinge downe yᵉ Avenue, with a Puppe by yᵉ name of Williamson.