]\IISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



923 



s possible, and every pufF ended 

 ifh a sigh. At last being a little 

 recovered, Do not you know me 

 flien, neighbour ? said the poor lad. 

 ^V'ell, I own I have some slight 

 Tiowledge of your person, says she, 

 . s I have seen you pass this M'ay 

 more than once. iS'o wonder, 

 :ure!y, replied the young man, 1 

 Iiave passed by this door above a 

 luindred times, but I never dared 

 to speak to you : 'twas as if I had 

 an ague-fit, when I only attempted 

 to move a foot towards you. But 

 now I have taken courage. Jjisten, 

 I must break the ice, without which 

 I cannot rest night or day, for your 

 sake, and 1 hope, my dear girl, you 

 will take it in good part, an3 not 

 be angry with me, because 1 love 

 you, which cannot possibly do you 



any harm 



Ah ! do but hear this mad boy, 

 interrupted Agnes, how nicely he 

 wheedles; one might think him in 

 earnest. Come, come, my lad, that 

 pipe-lighting lasts too long, you 

 have not met with the proper person 

 I assure jou ; had 1 known you 

 came here to make a fool of me, 

 you should not have had the use of 

 my fire ; come quickly friend, re- 

 turn the stove, and march off to 

 other girls who may believe such 

 stories. — I make a fool of you ! I 

 make a fool of you ! see, when I 

 hear such words from you, 'tis as if 

 a knife was piercing my heart. Oh ! 

 my angel, my dear soul, do not be- 

 .lieve that of me; there is not a bit of 

 falsehood in my whole heart from 

 top to bottom : every one who 

 knows me will bear witness to that, 

 my dearest girl. Come, come, said 

 sbe, don't dally, give me my stove 

 directly ; I must go in doors, and 

 moreover I am not called dearest 

 uor angel, and I do not permit you 

 2 



to call me by those names anymore. 

 Agnes was 1 cIiristened,aiKlso must 

 you call me, if you have any thing 

 to say to me. Well, now then^ my 

 dear Agnes, resumetl the lad, ap- 

 parently hurt by the spitefulness of 

 the girl, I did not know I thereby 

 offended you : those words issued 

 from my mouth of their own ac- 

 cord, I never sought for them, they 

 were at my tongue's end. I am 

 fiuite inexperienced in the world, 

 and you are, as true as I live, the 

 first young woman I ever spoke to. 

 I shall take better care in future, 

 my dear Agnes ; here is your stove, 

 but I beg you will grant me leave to 

 say a few more words : what Avould 

 you gain by my becoming sick 

 through sorrow ? you need not be- 

 lieve what I tell you of myself, but 

 only hear me. RIy parents live just 

 by, irv the next street, and are 

 esteemed as worthy, honest people. 

 I am their only son, and have one 

 sister. They are in easy circum- 

 stances, and I am of a good pro-? 

 fessiori, which I diligently follow : 

 moreover I have an old aunt, who 

 lives warmly on her income; she 

 loves me as if I were her own child, 

 and my sister and I are her heirs : 

 so that in time I may be master- 

 carpenter, and make you a happy 

 wife, my dearest Agnes. Nobody 

 ever sees me in taverns or alehouses. 

 I go to church every Sunday, and at 

 Easter I liope to make my confes- 

 sion. You will, on enquiry, find all 

 this to bo exactly as I have stated, 

 and if I hav<', told you the smallest 

 fib, 1 am content never more to see 

 your pretty face, and that is all I 

 can say. 



'I'he young woman had listened 

 with too much attention to all this, 

 to have heard it with indifference. 

 . Neighbour, sayu &he, in a more 



friendly 



