one way or other. I acquiesced, and
added, that "I had brought all this upon myself, by acting contrary to
the suggestions of my friend, Mr. ----, who had desired me to take no
notice whether she came near me or kept away, whether she smiled or
frowned, was kind or contemptuous--all you have to do, is to wait
patiently for a month till you are your own man, as you will be in all
probability; then make her an offer of your hand, and if she refuses,
there's an end of the matter." Mr. L. said, "Well, Sir, and I don't
think you can follow a better advice!" I took this as at least a sort
of negative encouragement, and so we parted.

TO THE SAME

(In continuation)

My dear Friend, The next day I felt almost as sailors must do after a
violent storm over-night, that has subsided towards daybreak. The
morning was a dull and stupid calm, and I found she was unwell, in
consequence of what had happened. In the evening I grew more uneasy,
and determined on going into the country for a week or two. I gathered
up the fragments of the locket of her hair, and the little bronze
statue, which were strewed about the floor, kissed them, folded them up
in a sheet of paper, and sent them to her, with these lines written in
pencil on the outside--"Pieces of a broken heart, to be kept in
remembrance of the unhappy. Farewell." No notice was taken; nor did I
expect any. The following morning I requested Betsey to pack up my box
for me, as I should go out of town the next day, and at the same time
wrote a note to her sister to say, I should take it as a favour if she
would please to accept of the enclosed copies of the Vicar of
Wakefield, The Man of Feeling and Nature and Art, in lieu of three
volumes of my own writings, which I had given her on different
occasions, in the course of our acquaintance. I was piqued, in fact,
that she should have these to shew as proofs of my weakness, and as if I
thought the way to win her was by plaguing her with my own performances.

She sent me word back that the books I had sent were of no use to her,
and that I should have those I wished for in the afternoon; but that she
could not before, as she had lent them to her sister, Mrs. M----. I
said, "very well;" but observed (laughing) to Betsey, "It's a bad rule
to give and take; so, if Sarah won't have these books, you must; they
are very pretty ones, I assure you." She curtsied and took them,
according to the family custom. In the after