If you call theſe obſervations romantic, a phraſe in this place which would be tantamount to nonſenſical, I ſhall be apt to retort, that you are embruted by trade, and the vulgar enjoyments of life—Bring me then back your barrier-face, or you ſhall have nothing to ſay to my barrier-girl; and I ſhall fly from you, to cheriſh the remembrances that will ever be dear to me; for I am yours truly
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LETTER XXIV
Evening, Sept. 23.
I have been playing and laughing with the little girl ſo long, that I cannot take up my pen to addreſs you without emotion. Preſſing her to my boſom, ſhe looked ſo like you (entre nous, your beſt looks, for I do not admire your commercial face) every nerve ſeemed to vibrate to the touch, and I began to think that there was ſomething in the aſſertion of man and wife being one—for you ſeemed to pervade my whole frame, quickening the beat of my heart, and lending me the ſympathetic tears you excited.
Have I any thing more to ſay to you? No; not for the preſent—the reſt is all flown away; and, indulging tenderneſs for you, I cannot now complain of ſome people here, who have ruffled my temper for two or three days paſt.
Morning.