“I hope you know Valintine is now in season. I will take the pleasure to write you this; my hearth is yours and you are mine, but do you know it. I love you as the bee love the flower. The flower may fade, but true love shall never. My love for you is a love that cannot be fade. You shall be my love here as in heaven for ever. The Rose in June is not so sweet as when two lovers’ kisses meet. Kiss me quick and be my honey. I still remain true lover, “JAMES.” James is an honest and prosperous black man in the mountains of Jamaica. It is pleasant to know that “Mrs. Agostiss” listened to his simple appeal and became “his honey.” The second epistle has a religious flavour. King Solomon is artfully brought forward as a sort of “backer” of the ardent writer’s suit:-- “MY DEAR LOVE--At present my love for you is so strong that I cannot express. So I even write that you may see it. It is every man deauty to write a formil letter. “My pen is bad and my ink is pale, but my love will never fail. King Solomon say that Love is strong as death, and Jealousy is cruel than the grave. Love me little, bear me longer; hasty love is not love at all. This is the first time I sat down to write you about it. “I love my Dove. Your love is black and ruby--the chefer of ten thousand. You head is much fine gold. You lock are bushy and black as a raven. Your eyes was the eyes in the river, by the rivers of water. Your cheeks as a bead (_i.e._ bed) of spices as sweet flowers. Your lips is like lilies. You hand as gold wring. Your legs as a pillar of marble set upon sockets of fine gold. Your countenance as a Lebanon. Your mouth look to be more sweet. Your sweet altogether. “I have no more time to write as I am so tired and full time to go to bead. I will now close my letter with love.” Poor “Garg Plummer” is in a desperate plight indeed. It is to be hoped that his “dear lov” listened to his strong entreaty. But it could not be otherwise. What human woman could resist the following:-- “DEAR LOV--I is wrote you a letter to beg of you to make me your lover, but you is not wrote me again. I is dead of love every day wen you look so hansom I cane (_i.e._ cannot) sleep, cane eat. I dun no how I feel. I beg you to accep af me as your lover. The rose is not sweet as a kiss from you, my lov. “Do meet me to-night at the bottom gate an give me you love. Miss Lucy toots (_i.e._ teeth) so green I is like one ear of earn, an her eye dem is so pretty. Lard! I wish I never been born. Poor me, Garg (_i.e._ George), I lov Miss Lucy to distraction. Yours truly, “GARG PLUMMER. “Answer me sone lov.”