Dawn tore the East to tatters, Phœbus shook himself and leaped out golden. One by one the birds awoke. Yet my dream did not die until Hieronimo (for so I have named the young peacock) shrieked harshly beneath my window. Only then did I understand that you were still at Bath; and with the knowledge of the eightscore miles of separating hill and plain came the bitterest of tears--those from a lonely woman’s eyes. So, genius and divine, wipe out their remembrance with the tenderest, lovingest letter you ever wrote, and earn the everlasting gratitude of thy Bedeswoman ALTHEA. THE SAME TO THE SAME. _Sept. 1st, 1710._ Since you chide me for my melancholy, dear, good Marston, tell me how I may avoid it. Stay, do not write. Your protracted absence will soon be over--’tis but a week to your return; a week of leaden hours whose passing I shall count one by one, and enjoy them in the same way that we enjoy crab-apples before a feast. The rapture of seeing you again, of hearing your voice, ay, of breathing the same air, must come in one overpowering excess. Because you love me I am crowned amongst women! What glorious, mad words were those ending your last letter: ‘There may be no real happiness for us in this sphere, but in the next, whate’er betide, all my joy shall be with you.’ O fools that we be, not to dare to pluck the good which lies in our power! Forgive me now, for I am a coward and need assuring. Art thou sure that after death thou wilt be mine? Nay, I could not live here under suspicion of having yielded to the sweetest temptation. Rest content then, dear heart. There is a particular Paradise for those denied joy on earth. _Addio_, I have kissed the spot of my signature. FRAGMENT OF A DIDACTIC SERMON BY THE ESTIMABLE DR. MARSTON. Conquer then, I say, conquer the lusts of the flesh; trample them beneath the feet; crush them as men crush venomous reptiles. Live loftily and purely, admit no evil thought; do what good thou canst, and thou shalt inherit God’s Kingdom. To the righteous evil desires never come, and the most lovely career is that which like the sun swerves not in its path and sinks to rest amidst the peaks of the country of Beulah. The only perfect man is he whose life is calm and passionless, etc. etc. ALTHEA SWARTHMOOR TO DR. MARSTON. _15th November 1710._