ROYAL LOVE LETTERS.

Pretty! pretty! Mistress CLARKE,
None than I can love thee better;
And to prove it, lo! thy spark
Sends his *Dear* this pretty letter.

In it, pretty Angel bright,
I will pen with all my skill,
Pretty things as Princes write,
When 'tis Cupid guides the quill.

Every day I plainly see,
While I think upon thy charms,
Happy I can never be,
But within thy pretty arms #.

* " Be assured that my heart is fully sensible of your affection, and that upon it 'alone its whole happiness depends."—This was written to the woman who was afterwards threatened with the Bastile if she ventured to complain, because the annuity promised her was not paid.

‡ " Hew can I sufficiently express to my Sweetest, my Darling Love, the delight which *her dear*, her pretty Letter, gave me.—Millions of millions of thanks for it, my Angel.—Units, tem, hundreds, thousands, millions! It is clear his Royal Highness is a good arithmetician as well as a good soldier.

+ " Ten thousand thanks, my Love, for the hand-kerechiefs, which are delightful; and I need not, I trust, assure you of the pleasure I feel in wearing them; and thinking of the dear hands that made them."—Qy. Whether the latter epithet in this sentence should not occupy the place of the former. It would then stand,

For your pretty note, receive
Thanks, in countless millions told †;
Thanks, instead of gold, I give—
(Cupid does not deal in gold).

Oh! the 'kerchiefs how I prize!
(From your pretty hands I got 'em) ‡
Blessings on your pretty *****!||

Pretty, cooing, dove-like CLARKE,
Nought our billing loves shall sever
You shall ever love your spark;
Pretty dear, I'm your's for ever §.

"Ten thousand thanks, my Love, for the hand—kerchiefs, which are dear." Dearly bought, indeed, the gentleman probably by this time thinks them. And there cannot be a doubt that the lady esteemed them a very dear bargain if she got nothing but ten thousand—thanks for them!

|| A wicked woman is said to be a deep pit. It would appear she is not a bottomless pit.

‡ " Oh, believe me ever, to the last hour, "your's and your's alone."—Again, "Be as sure, that to my last hour, I shall ever remain your's and yow'r's alone." This puts one in mind of

When Pat he was ask'd if his love it would last, The Chancellor echoed with laughter, O!

"By my soul," says Pat, "and you may say that, "To the end of the world, and after, O!"

Promises and pyc-crists !—Oh! what a lying race your true lovers are!

Published by M. C. STRINGSCUTH.