What would you say if I should tell you that ----- had absolutely
professed love for me? Now I can see you with both hands up--eyes and
mouth wide open; but don't be over scrupulous. Trust me, I tell you
the whole truth. I cannot at present give you any further particulars
about the matter, than that I felt foolish enough, and gave as
cautious a turn to it as I could, for which I am destined to suffer
her future hostility.
Last week I received a letter from T. Edwards, which I fear may prove
fatal to the dear project of the 15th of April. He intends to be
hereabout the middle of that month. Supposing he should come here the
13th of April, what could I do? Run off and leave him? Observe the
uncertainty of all sublunary things. I, who a few months ago was as
uncontrolled in my motions as the lawless meteors, am now (sad
reverse!) at the beck of a person forty miles off. But all this
lamentation, if well considered, is entirely groundless, for (_between
you and me_) I intend to see you at Elizabethtown this spring. But
even supposing I should fail in this--where is this sad reverse of
fortune?--this lamentable change? Is it not a very easy matter to fix
on another time, and write you word by T. Edwards?
I have struck up a correspondence with J. Bellamy (son to the famous
divine of that name). He has very lately settled in the practice of
the law at Norwich, a place about seventy miles S. E. of this. He is
one of the cleverest fellows I have to deal with.
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