A DIGGER'S VALENTINE.

Westport Times, Volume III, Issue 468, 20 February 1869, Page 3

A DIGGER'S VALENTINE.

(To the Editor of the Westport Times.) Sir, —As I was travelling down the Buller track on Monday morning, the 15th instant, I picked up a letter addressed—"Miss Fortune, Lyell Creek, Buller Eiver." As it was not sealed I took the liberty of reading it. It seems to have been written bv some infatuated digger to his lady love. It struck me that I had seen worse things in print, so I leave it at the Junction Hotel to be forwarded to you, as " I am off to Charleston early in the morning." Here is the epistle.—l am, &c, TOUB DIGGEB EeIEJTD. My dear Miss Eortune, Weary and tired with running after you, I sit down this (Valentine's) morning to write you these few lines. Where I am now sitting is by the creek where poor Tommy Dudley was found poisoned with iutu last week, and where his mate had a narrow escape from the same fate. It is a few miles above the bridge (?) where poor Jack M'Curdy broke his leg a short time ago, and close to the crag where some poor unfortunate digger will break his neck some day if the Government does not do something soon to the track. I sat down to write of love, but I could not keep these melancholy notions out of my head. Now, my darling, I will devote a few minutes entirely to love and thee, and "away with melancholy." I know that young ladies like you do not value a valentine unless there is a verse of poetry in it. It sounds more like love-making. So here goes to make one:— My swag is on my back ; I'm on the Buller track, "Wet to the skin. Loved one, whom I adore, I'm knocking at thy door, " Wilt let me in ? Long time I've sought for thee But. through thy shunning me, Unhappy I am made. Wilt thou listen to my love, And now more constant prove, Thou fickle jade? I didn't mean to write that last'line. It sounds kinder harsh for a valentine, but I am writing this on the bottom of a tin dish, which is turned upsidedoAvn on my knee, and the rain is pouring down on my back, and blotting the paper too, which, I think, would be enough to rile Saint Valentime himself if he were here and in my position. However If this time I do succeed I'll show you that I love indeed, I'll press you to this loving heart, And then we'll never never part. I am your loving Valentine, Tim Lovetee. Hawk's Crag, Feb. 14.