Thomas DE QUINCEY (1785-1859). L.A. (draft), 26 May 1837, to Miss Jessie MILLER 4 pages in-12 filled with small handwriting (crumpled paper); in English. Rare letter to the daughter of his late friend Major Miller. [After his death, his daughters had left Holyrood, where De Quincey liked to meet his friends] After a few lines of sentimental introduction, and saying that he is sick of writing all the time, he says that he continually thinks back with painful memories to the happy times spent under the roof of his dear Miss Jessie ; These sad memories contrast with his present gloomy solitude; and the hope of a new evening under these same lamps is like the vernal garment of a happiness to come, instead of the sad autumnal garment of a happiness gone. This may sound sentimental, but it is profoundly true. But he fears that on Sunday evening Jessie will be taken up with her religious observances, a lecture, a charity sermon or a missionary meeting, instead of spending the evening more profitably in Duncan Street. For at the missionary meeting she will contribute little more than the 7th or 70th part to the conversion of some New Zealander or feathered prince of Owhyee. By granting her presence in Duncan Street, she would give a son of the Cross immense happiness. He has been busy writing some memorial lines for the cenotaph to Major Miller, Horse Guards Blue, for which he would need information. These lines number about 36; too many for an epitaph, intended for the actual burial place; but this is a cenotaph, to which a more extensive privilege is usually accorded.... "The moral, my dear Miss Jessie, is this - that I, soul-sick of endless writing, look back continually with sorrowful remembrances to the happy interval which I spent under your roof; and next after that, I regret those insulated evenings (scattered here and there) which, with a troubled pleasure - anxious and boding pleasure - I have passed beneath the soft splendours of your lamps since I was obliged to quit the quiet haven of your house. Sorrowful, I say, these remembrances are, and must be by contrast with my present gloomy solitude; and if they ever cease to be sorrowful, it is when some new evening to be spent underneath the same lamps comes within view. That which is remembered only suddenly puts on the blossoming of hope, and wears the vernal dress of a happiness to come, instead of the sad autumnal dress of happiness that has vanished. [...] And what I fear is - that you, so strict in your religious observances, will be dedicating to some evening lecture, or charity sermon, or missionary meeting, that time which might be spent in Duncan Street, and perhaps - pardon me for saying so - more profitably. 'How so?' Why, because, by attending the missionary meeting, for example, you will, after all, scarcely contribute the 7th, or even the 70th, share to the conversion of some New Zealander or feather-cinctured prince of Owhyee. Whereas now, on the other hand, by vouchsafing your presence to Duncan Street, you will give - and not to an unbaptized infidel, who can never thank you, but to a son of the Cross, who will thank you from the very centre of his heart - a happiness like that I spoke of as belonging to recurring festivals, furnishing a subject for memory through one half of the succeeding interval, and for hope through the other. [...] I have been for some time occupied at intervals in writing some memorial 'Lines for a Cenotaph to Major Miller, of the Horse Guards Blue,' and towards which I want some information from you. The lines are about thirty-six in number; too many, you will say, for an epitaph. Yes, if they were meant for the real place of burial; but these, for the very purpose of evading that restriction, are designed for a cenotaph, to which situation a more unlimited privilege in that respect is usually conceded." Alexander H. Japp, Thomas De Quincey His Life and Writings (1890), pp. 227-229.