We are ſuch creatures of habit, my love, that, though I cannot ſay I was ſorry, childiſhly ſo, for your going, when I knew that you were to ſtay ſuch a ſhort time, and I had a plan of employment; yet I could not ſleep.—I turned to your ſide of the bed, and tried to make the moſt of the comfort of the pillow, which you uſed to tell me I was churliſh about; but all would not do.—I took nevertheleſs my walk before breakfaſt, though the weather was not very inviting—and here I am, wiſhing you a finer day, and ſeeing you peep over my ſhoulder, as I write, with one of your kindeſt looks—when your eyes gliſten, and a ſuffuſion creeps over your relaxing features.
But I do not mean to dally with you this morning—So God bleſs you! Take care of yourſelf—and ſometimes fold to your heart your affectionate
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LETTER XIX
DO not call me ſtupid, for leaving on the table the little bit of paper I was to incloſe.—This comes of being in love at the fag-end of a letter of buſineſs.—You know, you ſay, they will not chime together.—I had got you by the fire-ſide, with the gigot ſmoking on the board, to lard your poor bare ribs—and behold, I cloſed my letter without taking the paper up, that was directly under my eyes!—What had I got in them to render me ſo blind?—I give you leave to anſwer the queſtion, if you will not ſcold; for I am
Yours moſt affectionately
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