June 12. I have return’d from a delicious walk of Romance, my Bramine, which I am to tread a thousand times over with You swinging upon my arm—’tis to my Convent—& I have pluckd up a score [of] Bryars by the roots w^{ch}. grew near the edge of the foot way, that they might not scratch or incommode you—had I been sure of y^r. taking that walk with me the very next day, I could not have been more serious in my employm^t.—dear Enthusiasm?—thou bringst things forward in a moment, w^{ch}. Time keeps for Ages back—I have you ten times a day besides me—I talk to you Eliza, for hours together—I take y^r. Council—I hear your reasons—I admire you for them!—to this magic of a warm Mind, I owe all that’s worth living for, during this State of our Trial—Every Trinket you gave or exchanged w^{th}. me has its force—y^r. Picture is Y^rself—all Sentiment, Softness & Truth—It speaks—it listens—’tis concerned—it resignes—Dearest Original! how like unto thee does it seem—& will seem—till thou makest it vanish, by thy presence—I’m but so, so—but advancing in health—to meet you—to nurse you, to nourish you ag^{st}. you come—for I fear, You will not arrive, but in a State that calls out to Yorick for support—Thou art Mistress, Eliza, of all the powers he has to sooth & protect thee—for thou art Mistress of his heart; his affections; and his reason—& beyond that, except a paltry purse, he has nothing worth giving thee—. * * * * * June 13. This has been a year of presents to me—my Bramine—How many presents have I rec^d. from You in the first place?—L^d. Spencer has loaded me with a grand Ecritoire of 40 Guineas—I am to receive this week a fourty Guinea-present of a gold Snuff Box, as fine as Paris can fabricate one with an Inscription on it, more valuable, than the Box itself—I have a present of a portrait, (which by the by I have immortalized in my Sentimental Journey) worth them both—I say nothing of a gold Stock buccle & Buttons—tho’ I rate them above rubies, because they were Consecrated by the hand of Friendship, as She fitted them to me.—I have a present of the Sculptures upon poor Ovid’s Tomb, who died in Exile, tho’ he wrote so well upon the Art of Love—These are in six beautiful Pictures executed on Marble at Rome—& these Eliza, I keep sacred as Ornaments for y^r. Cabinet, on Condition I hang them up.—and last of all, I have had a present, Eliza! this Year, of a Heart so finely set—with such rich materials—& Workmanship—That Nature must have had the chief hand in it—If I am able to keep it—I shall be a rich Man—If I lose it—I shall be poor indeed—so poor! I shall stand begging at y^r. gates.—But what can all these presents portend—That it will turn out a fortunate earnest, of what is to be given me hereafter. * * * * * June 14.