Three long Months and three long days are passed & gone, since my Eliza sighed on taking her Leave of Albions Cliffs, & of all in Albion, which was dear to her—How oft have I smarted at the Idea, of that last longing Look by w^{ch}. thou badest adieu to all thy heart sufferd at that dismal Crisis—’twas the Separation of Soul & Body—& equal to nothing but what passes on that tremendous Moment.—& like it in one Consequence, that thou art in another world; where I w^d. give a world to follow thee, or hear even an Acc^t. of thee—for this I shall write in a few days to our dear friend M^{rs}. James—she possibly may have heard a single Syllable or two ab^t. You—but it cannot be; the same must have been directed towards Yoricks ear, to whom you w^d. have wrote the Name of _Eliza_, had there been no time for more. I w^d almost now compound w^{th}. Fate—& was I sure Eliza only breathd—I w^d. thank heaven & acquiesce. I kiss your Picture—your Shaul—& every trinket I exchanged with You—every day I live—alas! I shall soon be debarrd of that—in a fortnight I must lock them up & clap my seal & y^{rs}. upon them in the most secret Cabinet of my Bureau—You may divine the reason, Eliza! adieu—adieu! * * * * * July 7. —But not Yet—for I will find means to write to you every night whilst my people are here—if I sit up till midnight, till they are asleep.—I should not dare to face you, if I was worse than my word in the smallest Item—& this Journal I promised You Eliza should be kept without a chasm of a day in it—& had I my time to myself & nothing to do but gratify my propensity—I sh^d. write from sun rise to sun set to thee—But a Book to write—a Wife to receive & make Treaties with—an estate to sell—a Parish to superintend—and a disquieted heart perpetually to reason with, are eternal calls upon me—& yet I have you more in my mind than ever—and in proportion as I am thus torn from y^r. embraces—_I cling the closer to the Idea of you_. Your Figure is ever before my eyes—the sound of y^r. voice vibrates with its sweetest tones the live long day in my ear—I can see & hear nothing but my Eliza, remember this, when you think my Journal too short & compare it not with thine, w^{ch}. tho’ it will exceed it in length, can do no more than equal it in Love and truth of esteem—for esteem thee I do beyond all the powers of eloquence to tell thee how much—& I love thee my dear Girl, & prefer thy Love, to me more than the whole world— * * * * * _night_—have not eat or drunk all day thro’ vexation of heart at a couple of ungrateful unfeeling Letters from that Quarter, from whence, had it pleased God, I should have look’d for all my Comforts—but he has will’d they sh^d. come from the east—& he knows how I am satisfyed with all his Dispensations—but with none, my dear Bramine, so much as this—with w^{ch}. Cordial upon my Spirits—I go to bed, in hopes of seeing thee in my Dreams.