Did he write it a hundred times or
five hundred, moved anew each time by its sweet potencies, its rarest of
suggestions? I know not, but it must have been very many times, for I
would find the copies in his school books, growing in beauty of
flourish day by day. As well as if he had confessed it I knew that this
letter was intended for the father of his love--for old Sam Murdock, to
be literal, who uncouthly performed for us the offices of drayman; but
who, in my namesake's eyes, shone pure and splendid for his
relationship. Doubtless the letter was never sent, but I am sure it was
written each time with an iron resolve to send it. Its title in the
excellent book was "From a Lover to a Father on his Attachment to the
Daughter," and it ran:--
=DEAR SIR: As I scorn to act in any manner that may bring
reproach upon myself and family, and hold clandestine proceedings
unbecoming in any man of character, I take the liberty of distinctly
avowing my love for your daughter and humbly request your permission to
pay her my addresses, as I flatter myself my family and expectancies
will be found not unworthy of your notice. I have some reason to imagine
that I am not altogether disagreeable to your daughter, but I assure you
that I have not as yet endeavored to win her affections, for fear it
might be repugnant to a father's will.
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