Bees-Inn.
My good friend,Here I am in Scotland (and shall have been here three weeks,next Monday)as I may say,ON MY PROBATION.This is a lone inn,but on a great scale,thirty miles 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 before,that I should take this image and leave it at Mrs.B.'s,for that I didn't wish to leave anything behind me that must bring me back again.Then up she comes and starts a likeness to her lover:she knew I should give it her on the spot--"No,she would keep it for me!"So I must come back for it.Whether art or nature,it is sublime.I told her I should write and tell you so,and that I parted from her,confiding,adoring!--She is beyond me,that's certain.Do go and see her,and desire her not to give my present address to a single soul,and learn if the lodging is let,and to whom.My letter to her is as follows.If she shews the least remorse at it,I'll be hanged,though it might move a stone,Imodestly think.(See before,Part I.first letter.)N.B.--I have begun a book of our conversations (I mean mine and the statue's)which I call LIBER AMORIS.I was detained at Stamford and found myself dull,and could hit upon no other way of employing my time so agreeably.
