A Model Love Letter.

Cromwell Argus, Volume IV, Issue 184, 20 May 1873, Page 7

A Model Love Letter.

Breach of promise cases usually produce laughter, and especially when the love-letters are read is the risibility of the court excited. Here is a letter which was not read the other day when a case was tried in one of the midland counties. Had it been, perhaps the damages given by the jury would have been more than they were—viz. , £SOO. We print the epistle more as a warning than as an example. It ran thus My Dear Miss M.,— Every time I think of you my heart flops up and down like an excited eel in a lime-basket. Sensations of unutterable joy caper through it like young kittens on an outhouse roof, and thrill through it like broken bottles on the top of a garden nail through the tight trousers of the nocturtnrnal thief. As a gosling swimmeth in a mud puddle, so swim I in a sea of glory. Visions of ecstatic rapture thicker than the liairs of a blacking brush, and brighter than the eyes of a humming bird’s pinions, visit me in my slumbers, and; borne on their invisible wings, your image stands before me, and I reach out to grasp it, like a pointer snapping at a blue-bottle fly. When I first beheld your angelic perfections I was bewildered, and my brain whirled round like a humble bee under a glass tumbler. My eyes stood open like the doors in a country town, and I lifted up my ears to catch the silvery accents of your voice. My tongue refused to rag, and in silent adoration I drank in the sweet infection of love, as a thirsty man swalloweth a tumbler of iced lemonade and sherry. Since the light of your face fell upon ®y life, I sometimes feel as if I could lift miyself up by my boot-jack to the top of the church steeple and pull the bellrope for morning school. Day and night you are in my thoughts. When Aurora, blushing like a bride, rises from her saffron-coloured couch ; when the sparrow pipes his tuneful lay in the apple tree ; when the chanticleer’s shrill clarion heralds the coming morn ; when the awakening pig arises from his bed, grunteth, and goeth for his morning refreshments; when 1 the drowsy beetle wheels to droning flight at sultry noontide ; and when the lowing herd come home at milking time, I think of thee; and like a piece of gutta percha my heart seems stretched clear across my bosom. Your bair is like the mane of a chestnut horse powdered with gold ; and the brass pins skewered through your waterfall fill me with unbounded Your forehead is smoother than the elbow of an old coat. Your eyes are glorious 0 bcliold. In their liquid depths, I see legions of little Cupids bathing, like a cohort °f an b s in an old Wellington boot. When neir fire hit upon my manly breast, it pene tmted my whole anatomy, as a charge of wrd-shot through a rotten apple. Your nose 18 “' orn a block of Parian marble, and your jnonth is puckered with sweetness. Nectar : “ngers on your lips like honey on a bear’s i |! w ! and myriads of unfledged kisses are ‘{ere ready to fly out and light somewhere, : lr e ywng birds out of their parents’ nest. °ur laugh rings in my ears like the jew’s- i wp s strain, or the bleat of the stray lamb 1 16 bleak hillside. The dimples on your 1 f ~ 3 are like bowers in beds of roses, or 1 e lows in the puffy paste of apple-pies. I ] ni dying to fly to thy presence and pour out 1 i e burning eloquence of my love, as thrifty i »°usewives pour out hot coffee. Away from 1 tir! * as m elancholy as a sick rat. Some- i e s l ean hear the cockchafers of desponenc 7 buzzing in my ears, and feel the cold 1 ]

lizards of despair crawling down my back Uncouth fears, like a thousand minnows, nibble at my spirits, and my soul is pierced with doubts, like an old cheese is bored with mites. My love for you is stronger than the smell of Battersea mud butter, or the kick of a young cow, and more unselfish than a kitten’s first caterwaul. As a song bird hankers for the light of day, the cautious mouse for the toasted cheese in the trap, as a lean pup honkers for new milk, so I long for thee. You are fairer than a speckled Dorking hen, sweeter than a raspberry tart fried in treacle, brighter than the plumage on the head of a Muscovy duck. You are brandy and water with lots of sugar in it. If these few remarks will enable you to see the inside of my soul, and me ton in your affections, I shall be as happy as a woodpecker on a cherry tree, or a coach-horse in a green pasture. _ If you cannot reciprocate my thrilling passion I will pine away like a poisoned flea, and fall away an untimely,branch from a flourishing vine of life ; and in coming years, when the shadows grow from the hills, and the philosophical frog sings his cheering hymns, you, happy in another’s love, can come and drop a tear and catch a cold upon the last resting-place of yours affectionately, H.