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David Spafford. She’s writin’ to him on business an’ she don’t rightly know his street an’ number in New York.” Mr. Clark willingly wrote the address, and Miranda took it to the post office, and sped back to Marcia, happy in the accomplishment of her purpose. In the same mail bag that brought Miranda’s package came a letter from Aunt Clarinda. David’s face lit up with a pleased smile.
They sat around one table now, the evenings when they were at home, for there were still occasional tea-drinkings at their friends’ houses; and there was one night a week held religiously for a formal supper with the aunts, which David kindly acquiesced in—more for the sake of his Aunt Clarinda than the others,—whenever he was not detained by actual business.
Again, on the 21st: "Will you open, with satisfaction and delight, a letter from a man who loves you, who has loved you, and who will love you, to death, through death, and for ever. . . . How rich am I to have such a treasure as you! . . . 'The Lord God knoweth, and, perhaps, 'Israel he shall know, my love and your merit. Adieu, Clarinda! I am going to remember you in my prayers."
Usually he returned to Edinburgh, partly to be near his jovial intimates, and partly because, after the excitement attending his first appearance in the capital, he found himself incapable of settling down contentedly in the humble circle at Mossgiel. IV. The Clarinda Romance During the winter of 1787 1788, he had a little romance with Mrs.
"What would I not give to be present when Lady Clarinda introduces you to Mrs. Beauly! Think of the situation. A woman with a hideous secret hidden in her inmost soul: and another woman who knows of it another woman who is bent, by fair means or foul, on dragging that secret into the light of day. What a struggle! What a plot for a novel! I am in a fever when I think of it.
If any such feeling as sympathy is a possible feeling in such a nature as his, he ought to like Helena Beauly. She is the most completely unconventional person I know. When she does break out, poor dear, she says things and does things which are almost reckless enough to be worthy of Dexter himself. I wonder whether you would like her?" "You have kindly asked me to visit you, Lady Clarinda.
Clarinda, first of your sex, if ever I am the veriest wretch on earth to forget you, if ever your lovely image is effaced from my soul, May I be lost, no eye to weep my end; And find no earth that's base enough to bury me! What trifling silliness is the childish fondness of the every-day children of the world!
She did all this like a good girl." And then he took advantage of the situation. To Clarinda he wrote: "I this morning called for a certain woman. I am disgusted with her; I cannot endure her;" and he accused her of "tasteless insipidity, vulgarity of soul, and mercenary fawning." This was already in March; by the thirteenth of that month he was back in Edinburgh.
O Clarinda! did you know how dear to me is your look of kindness, your smile of approbation! you would not, either in prose or verse, risk a censorious remark. Curst be the verse, how well soe'er it flow, That tends to make one worthy man my foe! Saturday, Jan. 12, 1788. You talk of weeping, Clarinda! Some involuntary drops wet your lines as I read them. Offend me, my dearest angel!
You shall hear from me next post town. I would write you a long letter, but for the present circumstance of my friend. Adieu, my Clarinda! I am just going to propose your health by way of grace-drink. CUMNOCK, 2nd March 1788. I hope, and am certain, that my generous Clarinda will not think my silence, for now a long week, has been in any decree owing to my forgetfulness.
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