What art thou, Love? whence are those charms, That thus thou bear'st an universal rule? For thee the soldier quits his arms, The king turns slave, the wise man fool. In vain we chase thee from the field, And with cool thoughts resist thy yoke: Next tide of blood, alas! we yield; And all those high resolves are broke! I like to have quotations for every occasion They give one's ideas so pat, and save one the trouble of finding expression adequate to one's feelings. I think it is one of the greatest pleasures attending a poetic genius, that we can give our woes, cares, joys, loves, etc., an embodied form in verse, which, to me, is ever immediate ease. Goldsmith says finely of his Muse-- Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe; Thou foundst me poor at first, and keep'st me so. My limb has been so well to-day, that I have gone up and down stairs often without my staff. To-morrow I hope to walk once again on my own legs to dinner. It is only next street.--Adieu. Sylvander. [Footnote 65: A native of Edinburgh, and a schoolmaster in London. He was a friend of Samuel Johnson] * * * * XIII. _Tuesday Evening_, _Jan_. 15. That you have faults, my Clarinda, I never doubted; but I knew not where they existed, and Saturday night made me more in the dark than ever. O Clarinda! why will you wound my soul, by hinting that last night must have lessened my opinion of you? True, I was "behind the scenes with you;" but what did I see? A bosom glowing with honour and benevolence; a mind ennobled by genius, informed and refined by education and reflection, and exalted by native religion, genuine as in the climes of heaven: a heart formed for all the glorious meltings of friendship, love, and pity. These I saw--I saw the noblest immortal soul creation ever showed me. I looked long, my dear Clarinda, for your letter; and am vexed that you are complaining. I have not caught you so far wrong as in your idea, that the commerce you have with _one_ friend hurts you, if you cannot tell every tittle of it to _another_. Why have so injurious a suspicion of a good God, Clarinda, as to think that Friendship and Love, on the sacred inviolate principles of Truth, Honour, and Religion! can be anything else than an object of His divine approbation. I have mentioned in some of my former scrawls, Saturday evening next. Do allow me to wait on you that evening. Oh, my angel! how soon must we part! and when can we meet again! I look forward on the horrid interval with tearful eyes! What have I lost by not knowing you sooner. I fear, I fear my acquaintance with you is too short, to make that _lasting_ impression on your heart I could wish. SYLVANDER. * * * * XIV. _Saturday Morning_, 19_th Jan_