from Edinburgh. It is situated
on a rising ground (a mark for all the winds, which blow here
incessantly)--there is a woody hill opposite, with a winding valley
below, and the London road stretches out on either side. You may guess
which way I oftenest walk. I have written two letters to S. L. and got
one cold, prudish answer, beginning SIR, and ending FROM YOURS
TRULY, with BEST RESPECTS FROM HERSELF AND RELATIONS. I was going to
give in, but have returned an answer, which I think is a touch-stone. I
send it you on the other side to keep as a curiosity, in case she kills
me by her exquisite rejoinder. I am convinced from the profound
contemplations I have had on the subject here and coming along, that I
am on a wrong scent. We had a famous parting-scene, a complete quarrel
and then a reconciliation, in which she did beguile me of my tears, but
the deuce a one did she shed. What do you think? She cajoled me out of
my little Buonaparte as cleverly as possible, in manner and form
following. She was shy the Saturday and Sunday (the day of my
departure) so I got in dudgeon, and began to rip up grievances. I asked
her how she came to admit me to such extreme familiarities, the first
week I entered the house. "If she had no particular regard for me, she
must do so (or more) with everyone: if she had a liking to me from the
first, why refuse me with scorn and wilfulness?" If you had seen how
she flounced, and looked, and went to the door, saying "She was obliged
to me for letting her know the opinion I had always entertained of
her"--then I said, "Sarah!" and she came back and took my hand, and
fixed her eyes on the mantelpiece--(she must have been invoking her idol
then--if I thought so, I could devour her, the darling--but I doubt
her)--So I said "There is one thing that has occurred to me sometimes as
possible, to account for your conduct to me at first--there wasn't a
likeness, was there, to your old friend?" She answered "No, none--but
there was a likeness!" I asked, to what? She said "to that little
image!" I said, "Do you mean Buonaparte?"--She said "Yes, all but the
nose."--"And the figure?"--"He was taller."--I could not stand this. So
I got up and took it, and gave it her, and after some reluctance, she
consented to "keep it for me." What will you bet me that it wasn't all
a trick? I'll tell you why I suspect it, besides being fairly out of my
wits about her. I had told her mother half an hour befo