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dear, I persuade myself that so much innocence and goodness will never be deserted by that Being it so brightly resembles; but will rather draw down a blessing on all who are so happy as to be allied to it. Should you honour me with that alliance, I faithfully assure you that it shall be the dearest care of my life to make you easy and comfortable. I need not say that this is no compliment; but rather an irrepressible demonstration of my esteem and affection.

Should I have passed an erroneous judgment upon your character-if you have not really that mildness, sweetness, and steadiness of temper, that patience, generosity, prudence, and piety, which I suppose you to possess; be at least so good as to convince me of the mistake, and suffer me not, on a false assumption, to ruin both myself and you, for the sake of a pretty face, a fine form, and an elegant air. Nay, I will add, that if you cannot really love me, if you cannot delight in my converse and friendship, if you cannot bear with a thousand infirmities of temper, if you cannot smile me out of my follies, and, in spite of them all, take a pleasure in expressing your tenderness to me, as well as in receiving the expressions of mine, flatter me not with a vain hope, which would only strengthen those bonds which are, on that supposition, already too strong for my tranquillity, and perhaps for yours. But if this does not appear unreasonable, and you can venture to embark with me on such terms as these, receive me with an indulgent smile, affect not to try the little artifices of your sex on so honest and so fond a heart, nor immoderately

delay that happy hour, which will entitle me to a still dearer and tenderer name than that of, good Madam,

Your most affectionate Lover,

and obliged humble Servant,

PHILIP DODDRIDGE.

MY DEAR LIFE,

TO MISS MARIS*.

October 23, 1730.

THROUGH the care of Divine Providence, I got safe home last night. By the way, I drew up a copy of verses, which I will send you next week, but have not now time to transcribe them, for I am at present in a great hurry, into which I have thrown myself, by taking so much time in the morning to think of you, and so, at least in this way, to converse with you. Had I the most ample time, all I could say would be utterly insufficient to express the sense I entertain of your worth, and the warmth of my gratitude for the obliging reception you gave me. Words cannot tenderly, that

express it; but my heart feels it so it often throbs with joy and fondness. Will you be mine? Methinks it is presumption to hope it. I fear I shall overlove you; and then perhaps God will afflict you. That is the only way in which I

*After a visit, during which she declared her acceptance of my addresses.

can fear being afflicted in you; as we must be in every thing which we suffer to usurp the place of God in our hearts. But I hope you will rather lead me to Him. I am sure it ought to be so; for I am fully conscious that it was He, that gave you that lovely form, that intelligence, that wisdom, generosity, and goodness, without which your beauty and your wit might have tormented, but would never have made me happy. It was He, that opened to me a heart which the greatest and best of men could hardly have deserved; and kindly disposed events, by His Providence, in a manner favourable to my dearest wishes. And is He to be forgotten and neglected, and for this? No, my dearest, it shall not be.

When I possess you, I am sure you will endeavour to raise my soul to Him; and I will endeavour to improve my hopes of you to the same happy purpose. Nay, I hope they are now improved, by encouraging my expectation as to what is future, as well as awakening my gratitude for present blessings. When I consider my own unworthiness, and survey the glories of the heavenly world, I hardly dare to imagine they are designed for me. But I am unworthy of so much excellence as He bestows in you; and can the more easily believe, that He will give me heaven at last, when he is now giving me so much, in the enjoyment of one, who seems already fit to be its inhabitant. I write my heart; call it not flattery.

As for you, my love, I know you have so much philosophy as not to suffer any passion to disturb

your serenity; and it would be unkindness in me to wish that it should. Yet I would hope, an absence, so uneasy to me, is not entirely pleasing to you; and that when you are alone, you sometimes wish me with you.

I shall write to Mr. Hankins by the next post; and if there be any thing in his to you, or Mrs. Owen's, which you think proper to communicate to me, good Mr. Simeon will be your secretary. I shall remember the caution you gave me about concealing the result of our late conversation; though, if I were to indulge myself, I should be ever talking of you, so entirely am I,

Dearest Madam, your own

DODDRIDGE.

TO MISS MARIS*.

DEAREST CREATURE,

October 26, 1736.

How strangely do our passions impose upon us. I have often thought the enjoyment of a lady so wise and so good would have an admirable effect upon me, and that the very consciousness of a relationship

to

you, and a share in your stock of affection, would render me superior to some little provocations at which I have been too ready to lose my temper. But I begin to doubt it; nay, I rather fear that my fondness for you will make me more impatient, when any * When the former letter had been delayed by Mr. Paul's neglect.

thing happens which may be displeasing to you, though I even know that impatience will trouble you more than any trifle which can occasion it.

I am afraid of this, because I have just now been very severe on one of the most honest and obliging creatures in the world, merely for failing to deliver a letter to Mr. Simson, in which I had inclosed one for you. However, madam, I would make some advantage of the omission, by taking this opportunity of again paying my respects to you and of sending you the verses I had not before time to transcribe*. I beg you would peruse them with your usual candour; and remember, that whatever faults they may have, they are at least valuable in one respect, as speaking the heart of,

Dearest Madam,

Your most affectionate and faithful Servant,

PHILIP DODDRIDGE.

N. B. To-morrow five weeks is not, as we supposed, the last of November, but the first of December; so that I hope to gain a week,-which, I assure you, I earnestly desire.

I must see you at Coventry before that time, having matters to communicate which I do not care to write, lest the letter should miscarry.

I hope you will excuse the severity of an epigram, which came into my mind, almost extemporary, as I was reflecting upon your character, and comparing it *These lines do not appear.

VOL. III.

E

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