You are a pretty pair of Paddies, you and your sister. Only see how you enclosed your letter for me, to Lord Abercorn, without seal and without direction. Your second letter came at the usual time; but judge my consternation, when Lord Abercorn gave me your first at breakfast, premising he had read three sides of it, under the supposition it was for him, till he came quite at the end, to “my dear Morgan,” which rather surprised him. In good truth, the letter is so much like the Epistle General of St. Jude, that it will do for any church. Well, “the gods take care of Cato.” There was not a word of his frolics, of the stupidity of B. C——, of Livy’s not coming, or anything one would much care about his reading; but I was in a special flight till I could get an opportunity of reading it and convincing myself; for Heaven’s sake be more careful. I think he must have laughed at your jealous suspicions, though I don’t believe he has a very high opinion of my Josephism. I wish I had something to confess, just to satisfy you; but, ah, alas! you have the best security in the world for my fidelity, the want of opportunity for me to go astray. For unless I made love to a young diablesse or an old witch, and became the papa of an incubus, the devil a chance have I of doing wrong. I should like to know the “when and the who” of your thoughts; perhaps it would give me an idea. Seriously, my best love, if you doubt me, come and claim your own, for I am yours and only yours.
Dearest girl, how much I wish I could say anything satisfactory to you about your father. I cannot judge accurately, but all your accounts of him have given me an unfavourable impression of his chance of ultimate recovery. I should think the whiskey bad for him; at least, if not rendered necessary by circumstances, it must be injurious. Your low spirits distress me very, very much. Would to God I could be with you to soothe and comfort you! I am, however, not less so than yourself, as you must see by my awkward attempts at humour. I am very irritable at these times, and do not know whether to laugh or cry.
My yesterday’s letter (written in this mood) was particularly dull and fade; I am very much pleased, flattered, delighted by your second letter; it is so decisive a mark of your tenderness and affection. Dearest Glorvina, I have no love for any but you; you have my whole, whole heart, and if my letters vary, it is because my spirits vary, and with them my tone of thinking. When, when will the day come that shall make me yours for ever. Glorvina, we have both suffered much on each other’s account; I feel, however, conscious we shall both be ultimately happy in each other. God, God bless you! I am writing myself into dreadful spirits; I believe catching your tone.
You give a horrid picture of poor dad! He must
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