[No date. Postmark, Rhayader. Summer of 1811.]
MY DEAR FRIEND,
You will perhaps see me before you can answer this; perhaps not; Heaven knows! I shall certainly come to York, but Harriet Westbrook will decide whether now or in three weeks. Her father has persecuted her in a most horrible way, by endeavouring to compel her to go to school. She asked my advice: resistance, was the answer, at the same time that I essayed to mollify Mr. W. in vain! And in consequence of my advice she has thrown herself upon my protection.
I set off for London on Monday. How flattering a distinction!—I am thinking of ten million things at once.
What have I said? I declare, quite ludicrous. I advised her to resist. She wrote to say that resistance was useless, but that she would fly with me, and threw herself upon my protection. We shall have £200 a year; when we find it run short, we must live, I suppose, upon love! Gratitude and admiration, all demand that I should love her for ever. We shall see you at York. I will hear your arguments for matrimonialism, by which I am now almost convinced. I can get lodgings at York, I suppose. Direct to me at Graham's, 18, Sackville Street, Piccadilly.
Your inclosure of £10 has arrived; I am now indebted to you £30. In spite of philosophy, I am rather ashamed of this unceremonious exsiccation of your financial river. But indeed, my dear friend, the gratitude which I owe you for your society and attachment ought so far to overbalance this consideration as to leave me nothing but that. I must, however, pay you when I can.
I suspect that the strain is gone for ever. This letter will convince you that I am not under the influence of a strain.
I am thinking at once of ten million things. I shall come to live near you, as Mr. Peyton.
Ever your most faithful friend.
I shall be at 18, Sackville Street; at least direct there. Do not send more cash; I shall raise supplies in London.