heaven waft thee to us upon the wings of Mercy—that is, as speedily as the winds & tides can do thee this friendly office. This is the 7^{th}. day That I have tasted nothing better than Water gruel—am going, at the solicitation of Hall, to eat of a boild fowl—so he dines with me on it—and a dish of Macaruls— * * * * * 7 o’clock—I have drank to thy Name Eliza! everlasting peace & happiness (for my Toast) in the first glass of Wine I have adventured to drink. My friend has left me— & I am alone,—like thee in thy solitary Cabin after thy return from a tasteless meal in the round house & like thee I fly to my Journal, to tell thee, I never prized thy friendship so high, or loved thee more—or wish’d so ardently to be a Sharer of all the weights w^{ch}. Providence has laid upon thy tender frame—Than this moment—when upon taking up my pen, my poor pulse quickend—my pale face glowed—and tears stood ready in my Eyes to fall upon the paper, as I traced the word Eliza. O Eliza! Eliza! ever best & blessed of all thy Sex! blessed in thyself and in thy Virtues—& blessed and endearing to all who know thee—to Me, Eliza, most so; because I _know more_ of thee than any other—This is the true philtre by which Thou hast charm’d me & wilt for ever charm & hold me thine, whilst Virtue & faith hold this world together;’tis the simple Magic, by which I trust, I have won a place in that heart of thine on w^{ch}. I depend so satisfied, That Time & distance, or change of every thing w^{ch}. might allarm the little hearts of little men, create no uneasy suspence in mine—It scorns to doubt—& scorns to be doubted—’tis the only exception—where Security is not the parent of Danger. My Illness will keep me three weeks longer in town.—but a Journey in less time would be hazardous, unless a short one across the Desert w^{ch}. I should set out upon to morrow, could I carry a Medicine with me which I was sure would prolong one month of y^r. Life—or should it happen—— —but why make Suppositions?—when Situations happen—’tis time enough to shew thee That thy Bramin is the truest & most friendly of mortal Spirits, & capable of doing more for his Eliza, than his pen will suffer him to promise. * * * * *