* * * * * July 31—am tired to death with the hurrying pleasures of these Races—I want still & _silent_ ones—so return home to morrow, in search of them—I shall find them as I sit contemplating over thy passive picture; sweet Shadow! of what is to come! for ’tis all I can now grasp—first and best of woman kind! remember me, as I remember thee—’tis asking a great deal my Bramine!—but I cannot be satisfied with less—farewell—fare—happy till fate will let me cherish thee myself.—O my Eliza! thou writest to me with an Angels pen—& thou wouldst win me by thy Letters, had I never seen thy face or known thy heart. * * * * * Aug^{st}. 1. what a sad Story thou hast told me of thy Sufferings & Despondences from S^t. Iago, till thy meeting w^th. the Dutch Ship—’twas a sympathy above Tears—I trembled every Nerve as I went from line to line—& every moment the Acc^t. comes across me—I suffer all I felt, over & over again—will providence suffer all this anguish without end—& without pity?—“_it no can be_”—I am tried my dear Bramine in the furnace of Affliction as much as thou—by the time we meet, We shall be fit only for each other—& should cast away upon any other Harbour. * * * * * Aug^{st}. 2. my wife uses me most unmercifully—every Soul advises me to fly from her—but where can I fly If I fly not to thee? The Bishop of Cork & Ross[35] has made me great offers in Ireland—but I will take no step without thee—& till heaven opens us some track—He is the best of feeling tender hearted men—knows our Story—sends You his Blessing—and says if the Ship you return in touches at Cork (w^ch. many India men do)—he will take you to his palace, till he can send for me to join You—he only hopes, he says, to join us together for ever—but more of this good man, and his attachment to me—hereafter and of and [_sic_] couple of Ladies in the family &c.—&c. * * * * * Aug^t. 3. I have had an offer of exchanging two pieces of preferment I hold here (but sweet Cordelia’s Parish is not one of ’em) for a living of 350 p^{ds}. a year in Surry[36] ab^t. 30 miles from London—& retaining Coxwould & my Prebendaryship—w^{ch}. are half as much more—the Country also is sweet—but I will not—I cannot take any step unless I had thee my Eliza for whose sake I live, to consult with—& till the road is open for me as my heart wishes to advance—with thy sweet light Burden in my Arms, I could get up fast the hill of preferment, if I chose it—but without thee I feel Lifeless—and if a Mitre was offer’d me, I would not have it, till I could have thee too, to make it sit easy upon my brow—I want kindly to smooth thine, & not only wipe away thy tears but dry up the Source of them for ever— * * * * *