She was not mortally offended.  And now must I make out the rest as well as I can.  But this I will tell thee, that although her triumph has not diminished my love for her, yet it has stimulated me more than ever to revenge, as thou wilt be apt to call it.  But victory, or conquest, is the more proper word.

There is a pleasure, ’tis true, in subduing one of these watchful beauties.  But by my soul, Belford, men of our cast take twenty times the pains to be rogues than it would cost them to be honest; and dearly, with the sweat of our brows, and to the puzzlement of our brains, (to say nothing of the hazards he run,) do we earn our purchase; and ought not therefore to be grudged our success when we meet with it—­especially as, when we have obtained our end, satiety soon follows; and leaves us little or nothing to show for it.  But this, indeed, may be said of all worldly delights.—­And is not that a grave reflection from me?

I was willing to write up to the time.  Although I have not carried my principal point, I shall make something turn out if my favour from Captain Tomlinson’s errand.  But let me give thee this caution; that thou do not pretend to judge of my devices by parts; but have patience till thou seest the whole.  But once more I swear, that I will not be out-Norris’d by a pair of novices.  And yet I am very apprehensive, at times, of the consequences of Miss Howe’s smuggling scheme.

My conscience, I should think, ought not to reproach me for a contrivance, which is justified by the contrivances of two such girls as these:  one of whom (the more excellent of the two) I have always, with her own approbation, as I imagine, proposed for my imitation.

But here, Jack, is the thing that concludes me, and cases my heart with adamant:  I find, by Miss Howe’s letters, that it is owing to her, that I have made no greater progress with my blooming fair-one.  She loves me.  The ipecacuanha contrivance convinces me that she loves me.  Where there is love there must be confidence, or a desire of having reason to confide.  Generosity, founded on my supposed generosity, has taken hold of her heart.  Shall I not now see (since I must forever be unhappy, if I marry her, and leave any trial unessayed) what I can make of her love, and her newly-raised confidence?—­Will it not be to my glory to succeed?  And to her’s and to the honour of her sex, if I cannot?—­Where then will be the hurt to either, to make the trial?  And cannot I, as I have often said, reward her when I will by marriage?

’Tis late, or rather early; for the day begins to dawn upon me.  I am plaguy heavy.  Perhaps I need not to have told thee that.  But will only indulge a doze in my chair for an hour; then shake myself, wash and refresh.  At my time of life, with such a constitution as I am blessed with, that’s all that’s wanted.

Good night to me!—­It cannot be broad day till I am awake.—­Aw-w-w-whaugh—­pox of this yawning!