H.



TO THE SAME





March, I822.


--You will be glad to learn I have done my work--a volume in less than a
month. This is one reason why I am better than when I came, and another
is, I have had two letters from Sarah. I am pleased I have got through
this job, as I was afraid I might lose reputation by it (which I can
little afford to lose)--and besides, I am more anxious to do well now,
as I wish you to hear me well spoken of. I walk out of an afternoon,
and hear the birds sing as I told you, and think, if I had you hanging
on my arm, and that for life, how happy I should be--happier than I ever
hoped to be, or had any conception of till I knew you. "But that can
never be"--I hear you answer in a soft, low murmur. Well, let me dream
of it sometimes--I am not happy too often, except when that favourite
note, the harbinger of spring, recalling the hopes of my youth, whispers
thy name and peace together in my ear. I was reading something about
Mr. Macready to-day, and this put me in mind of that delicious night,
when I went with your mother and you to see Romeo and Juliet. Can I
forget it for a moment--your sweet modest looks, your infinite propriety
of behaviour, all your sweet winning ways--your hesitating about taking