absence; and I can goe no weare, but I misse you; and to misse you so often, and never to find you, is wors than a continuall death to me; and indeed, I live here just like one that wer lost, and could not tell wher to find out any that would owne them. But great are my hopes, that if I sufer this patiantly, I shall once be possessed with so blest a fortune, as to bee owned by you, for your ever most afectionat sister,

CONSTANCE, F.

I here that Sir John Thimelby dos intend to mach his sister to a gentleman harde by him, in the countterey; and I must tell you, for I canot dissemble any of my thoughts frome you,

* These affectionate passages put me in mind of Madame de Sevigné's lamentations for the absence of her daughter: "Mon cœur ou à droite ou à gauche est tout plein de vous. Il n'y a point d'endroit, point de lieu, ni dans la maison, ni dans l'Eglise, ni dans le pays, ni dans le jardin, où je ne vous aie vue; il n'y en a point, qui ne me fasse souvenir de quelque chose; de quelque maniere que ce soit, je vous vois, vous m'êtes présente, je pen se et repense à tout; ma tête et mon esprit se creusent: mais j'ai beau tourner, j'ai beau chercher; cette chere enfant que j'aime avec tant de passion, est à deux cens lieues de moi; je ne l'ai plus: sur cela je pleure sans pouvoir m'en en empêcher.

that so infinitly much I love her, that I shall be aflicted to the soule, if it prove so indeed; for I vow to you, with my eyes drownd in teares, I am most certayne, ther is none in England worthy of her; and, oh, how grived shall I be to here she is mach to one unworthy of her. Oh, she is more deare to me then all the women in the world; and this will seperat us much, if it shuld hapen. None knowes so much of my thoughts as you.

With the last few lines I writt to you, I sent letters to you from Mrs Thimelby, and her brothers. Pray lett me know in your next letter to me, wether you have receaved them; and wether you receave this. My humble duety to my lord, pray present.

I have saed nothinge, by the next I will. Oh, my hart is ever with you, yet I canot follow.

Oh, lett me know what you suffer in, that I may judg wether ther be a write simpathy betwixt your hart and mine. Oh that there wer. Colton, the 11th of February, 1636.

LETTER XXII.

MY DEAREST BROTHER,

Sence my last letter to you, I receaved one

my

from which you, was writt to sister and me; you not haveing time, as you there tell us, to write to us severall. In my last letter I tould you that I had much to write of to you, and that I would shortly send many lines to discource to you a true storry of your owne happynesse; for, if I have any powre with you, who have soe much with me, you must esteeme it soe, or else I am the most miserably unfortunat creture that ever breathed: believe it, I am. For ther is no hope of my ever being happy in this world, if you consent not to what I will here after propound. Oh, I hope you will not prove unconstant; and if you be the same you wer, when I vowed to you the best of my afection, you will be far from paying my infinit afection with such hatefull ingratitude, as to make my life misserable; and make me att

my death wish I had never knowne soe unkind a brother: no, God forbid, I shuld ever have any such cause to wish such wishes. I feare no such thinge; for I doubt not, but you will reward all my sufferings, and take into your consideration all the expressions I have made to you; and, that you will thinke of each sigh I shall dayly offer, till I see you. And if you give these my suetters leave to present themselves often to your thoughts, I hope they will move you to pay my afection with many faithful asurences, that I shall dispose of you as I will, and you will be contented to obay me. Oh, doe this, I beseech you, if you desire to make me hapy: trust your selfe with me, I beg of you; and be confident, I will be carefull of you, and make you most hapy. If I doe not this, may she be ever haetted by you, who is, in the greatest height of afection, never to be alter'd,

Your perfect loveing sister,

CONSTANCE, F.

Colton, the 11th of January, 1638.

You shall know all my bissness to you very shortly. Be sure you thinke, nor say nothing

of it, to your selfe nor no body, till you here from me. Doe not, as you love C. F.

My sister Persall remembers her most kindly to you. She desires you will except that, insteed of a letter, for she is very bissy playing with her boy Jack.*

Remember wher fath loves.

Oh that you knew what I doe.

* Mrs Henry Thimelby, sister to Constance Fowler, wrote an epitaph on the death of this little boy, which has a considerable share of simplicity and pathos.

AN EPITAPH

On a sweet little Boy of Sir William Persall.

Stay, courteous passenger, this stone
Says something that concernes each one.
If maydes and bachelors that wed
For pledges of their marriage bed,
Here may they fix their hearts, and wish
For such a lovely boy as this.

But oh! it will allay desire

So soon your noblest sparkes expire.

If you be loving parents, bere's
A jewel richly worth your teares.
Yet know, altho you shed amaine,
It cannot be redeemed againe.

Tixall Poetry, p. 105,