shame for my folly. I would hide it in your bosom if you would again open it to me, and nestle closely till you bade my fluttering heart be still. by saying that you forgave me. With eyes overflowing with tears, and in the humblest attitude, I entreat you. Do not turn from me, for indeed I love you fondly, and have been very wretched since the night I was so cruelly hurt by thinking that you had no confidence in me.

It is time for me to grow more reasonable; a few more of these caprices of sensibility would destroy me.

Write the moment you receive this. I shall count the minutes. But drop not an angry word. I cannot bear it. Yet, if you think I deserve a scolding (it does not admit of a question, I grant), wait till you come back, and then if you are angry one day I shall be sure of seeing you the

next.

did not write to you, I suppose, because he talked of going to Havre. Hearing that I was ill, he called very kindly on me, not dreaming that it was some words that he incautiously let fall which rendered me so.

God bless you, my love! Do not shut your heart against a return of tenderness; and as I now in fancy cling to you, be more than ever my

support. Feel but as affectionate when you read this letter as I did writing it, and you will make happy your

MARY.

The Same to the Same.

Written after the birth of their child.

HAVRE, Aug. 19, 1794.

I RECEIVED both your letters to-day. I had reckoned on hearing from you yesterday, therefore was disappointed, though I imputed your silence to the right cause. I intended answering your kind letter immediately, that you might have felt the pleasure it gave me; but came in,

and some other things interrupted me, so that the fine vapour has evaporated, yet leaving a sweet scent behind. I have only to tell you, what is sufficiently obvious, that the earnest desire I have shown to keep my place, or gain more ground in your heart, is a sure proof how necessary your affection is to my happiness. Still I do not think it false delicacy or foolish pride to wish that your attention to my happiness should arise as much from love, which is always rather a selfish passion, as reason, that is, I want you to promote my felicity by seeking your own. For, what

ever pleasure it may give me to discover your generosity of soul, I would not be dependent for your affection on the very quality I most admire. No: there are qualities in your heart which demand my affection; but unless the attachment appears to me clearly mutual, I shall labour only to esteem your character instead of cherishing a tenderness for your person.

me.

I write in a hurry, because the little one, who has been sleeping a long time, begins to call for Poor thing! when I am sad I lament that all my affections grow on me, till they become too strong for my peace, though they all afford me snatches of exquisite enjoyment. This for our little girl was at first very reasonable, more the

effect of reason, a sense of duty, than feeling; now she has got into my heart and imagination, and when I walk out without her her little figure is ever dancing before me.

You, too, have somehow clung round my heart. I found I could not eat my dinner in the great room, and when I took up the large knife to carve for myself, tears rushed into my eyes. Do not, however, suppose that I am melancholy, for when you are from me I not only wonder how I can find fault with you, but how I can doubt your affection.

I will not mix any comments on the enclosed (it roused my indignation) with the effusion of tenderness with which I assure you that you are the friend of my bosom and the prop of my heart. MARY.

The Same to the Same.

PARIS, Dec. 26, 1794.

I HAVE been, my love, for some days tormented by fears that I would not allow to assume a form. I had been expecting you daily, and I heard that many vessels had been driven on shore during the late gale. Well, I now see your letter, and find that you are safe; I will not regret, then, that your exertions have hitherto been so unavailing.

Be that as it may, return to me when you have arranged the other matters which has been crowding on you. I want to be sure that you are safe, and not separated from me by a sea that must be passed. For, feeling that I am happier than I ever was, do you wonder at my sometimes dreading that fate has not done persecuting me? Come to me, my dearest friend, husband, father of my child! All these fond ties glow at my heart at this moment, and dim my eyes. With you an independence is desirable, - and it is always within

our reach, if affluence escapes us; without you the world again appears empty to me. But I am recurring to some of the melancholy thoughts that have flitted across my mind for some days past, and haunted my dreams.

My little darling is indeed a sweet child; and I am sorry that you are not here to see her little mind unfold itself. You talk of “ dalliance," but certainly no lover was ever more attached to his mistress than she is to me. Her eyes follow me everywhere, and by affection I have the most despotic power over her. She is all vivacity or softness - yes, I love her more than I thought I should. When I have been hurt at your stay, I have embraced her as my only comfort when pleased with you for looking and laughing like you; nay, I cannot, I find, long be angry with you, whilst I am kissing her for resembling you. But there would be no end to these details. Fold us both to your heart; for I am truly and affectionately

Yours,

MARY.

The Same to the Same.

PARIS, Dec. 30, 1794.

SHOULD you receive three or four of the letters at once, which I have written lately, do not think