Yet, I shall not (let me tell you before these people enter, to force me to huddle away my letter) be content with only a kiss of DUTY--you _must_ be glad to see me--because you are glad--or I will make love to the _shade_ of Mirabeau, to whom my heart continually turned, whilst I was talking with Madame ----, forcibly telling me, that it will ever have sufficient warmth to love, whether I will or not, sentiment, though I so highly respect principle.----

Not that I think Mirabeau utterly devoid of principles--Far from it--and, if I had not begun to form a new theory respecting men, I should, in the vanity of my heart, have _imagined_ that _I_ could have made something of his----it was composed of such materials--Hush! here they come--and love flies away in the twinkling of an eye, leaving a little brush of his wing on my pale cheeks.

I hope to see Dr. ---- this morning; I am going to Mr. ----'s to meet him.

----, and some others, are invited to dine with us to-day; and to-morrow I am to spend the day with ----.

I shall probably not be able to return to ---- to-morrow; but it is no matter, because I must take a carriage, I have so many books, that I immediately want, to take with me.--On Friday then I shall expect you to dine with me--and, if you come a little before dinner, it is so long since I have seen you, you will not be scolded by yours affectionately,

MARY.

LETTER IV[3]

_Friday Morning [Paris, Sept. 1793]._

A man, whom a letter from Mr. ---- previously announced, called here yesterday for the payment of a draft; and, as he seemed disappointed at not finding you at home, I sent him to Mr. ----. I have since seen him, and he tells me that he has settled the business.

So much for business!--May I venture to talk a little longer about less weighty affairs?--How are you?--I have been following you all along the road this comfortless weather; for, when I am absent from those I love, my imagination is as lively, as if my senses had never been gratified by their presence--I was going to say caresses--and why should I not? I have found out that I have more mind than you, in one respect; because I can, without any violent effort of reason, find food for love in the same object, much longer than you can.--The way to my senses is through my heart; but, forgive me! I think there is sometimes a shorter cut to yours.

With ninety-nine men out of a hundred, a very sufficient dash of folly is necessary to render a woman _piquante_, a soft word for desirable; and, beyond these casual ebullitions of sympathy, few look for enjoyment by fostering a pa.s.sion in their hearts. One reason, in short, why I wish my whole s.e.x to become wiser, is, that the foolish ones may not, by their pretty folly, rob those whose sensibility keeps down their vanity, of the few roses that afford them some solace in the th.o.r.n.y road of life.

I do not know how I fell into these reflections, excepting one thought produced it--that these continual separations were necessary to warm your affection.--Of late, we are always separating.--Crack!--crack!--and away you go.--This joke wears the sallow cast of thought; for, though I began to write cheerfully, some melancholy tears have found their way into my eyes, that linger there, whilst a glow of tenderness at my heart whispers that you are one of the best creatures in the world.--Pardon then the vagaries of a mind, that has been almost "crazed by care," as well as "crossed in hapless love," and bear with me a _little_ longer!--When we are settled in the country together, more duties will open before me, and my heart, which now, trembling into peace, is agitated by every emotion that awakens the remembrance of old griefs, will learn to rest on yours, with that dignity your character, not to talk of my own, demands.

Take care of yourself--and write soon to your own girl (you may add dear, if you please) who sincerely loves you, and will try to convince you of it, by becoming happier.

MARY.

LETTER V

_Sunday Night [Paris, 1793]._

I have just received your letter, and feel as if I could not go to bed tranquilly without saying a few words in reply--merely to tell you, that my mind is serene and my heart affectionate.

Ever since you last saw me inclined to faint, I have felt some gentle twitches, which make me begin to think, that I am nourishing a creature who will soon be sensible of my care.--This thought has not only produced an overflowing of tenderness to you, but made me very attentive to calm my mind and take exercise, lest I should destroy an object, in whom we are to have a mutual interest, you know. Yesterday--do not smile!--finding that I had hurt myself by lifting precipitately a large log of wood, I sat down in an agony, till I felt those said twitches again.

Are you very busy?

So you may reckon on its being finished soon, though not before you come home, unless you are detained longer than I now allow myself to believe you will.--

Be that as it may, write to me, my best love, and bid me be patient--kindly--and the expressions of kindness will again beguile the time, as sweetly as they have done to-night.--Tell me also over and over again, that your happiness (and you deserve to be happy!) is closely connected with mine, and I will try to dissipate, as they rise, the fumes of former discontent, that have too often clouded the sunshine, which you have endeavoured to diffuse through my mind. G.o.d bless you! Take care of yourself, and remember with tenderness your affectionate

MARY.

I am going to rest very happy, and you have made me so.--This is the kindest good-night I can utter.

LETTER VI

_Friday Morning [Paris, Dec. 1793]._

I am glad to find that other people can be unreasonable, as well as myself--for be it known to thee, that I answered thy _first_ letter, the very night it reached me (Sunday), though thou couldst not receive it before Wednesday, because it was not sent off till the next day.--There is a full, true, and particular account.--

Yet I am not angry with thee, my love, for I think that it is a proof of stupidity, and likewise of a milk-and-water affection, which comes to the same thing, when the temper is governed by a square and compa.s.s.--There is nothing picturesque in this straight-lined equality, and the pa.s.sions always give grace to the actions.

Recollection now makes my heart bound to thee; but, it is not to thy money-getting face, though I cannot be seriously displeased with the exertion which increases my esteem, or rather is what I should have expected from thy character.--No; I have thy honest countenance before me--Pop--relaxed by tenderness; a little--little wounded by my whims; and thy eyes glistening with sympathy.--Thy lips then feel softer than soft--and I rest my cheek on thine, forgetting all the world.--I have not left the hue of love out of the picture--the rosy glow; and fancy has spread it over my own cheeks, I believe, for I feel them burning, whilst a delicious tear trembles in my eye, that would be all your own, if a grateful emotion directed to the Father of nature, who has made me thus alive to happiness, did not give more warmth to the sentiment it divides--I must pause a moment.

Need I tell you that I am tranquil after writing thus?--I do not know why, but I have more confidence in your affection, when absent, than present; nay, I think that you must love me, for, in the sincerity of my heart let me say it, I believe I deserve your tenderness, because I am true, and have a degree of sensibility that you can see and relish.

Yours sincerely, MARY.

LETTER VII.

_Sunday Morning [Paris, Dec. 29, 1793]._

You seem to have taken up your abode at Havre. Pray sir! when do you think of coming home? or, to write very considerately, when will business permit you? I shall expect (as the country people say in England) that you will make a _power_ of money to indemnify me for your absence.

Well! but, my love, to the old story--am I to see you this week, or this month?--I do not know what you are about--for, as you did not tell me, I would not ask Mr. ----, who is generally pretty communicative.

I long to see Mrs. ----; not to hear from you, so do not give yourself airs, but to get a letter from Mr. ----. And I am half angry with you for not informing me whether she had brought one with her or not.--On this score I will cork up some of the kind things that were ready to drop from my pen, which has never been dipt in gall when addressing you; or, will only suffer an exclamation--"The creature!" or a kind look to escape me, when I pa.s.s the slippers--which I could not remove from my _falle_ door, though they are not the handsomest of their kind.

_Be not too anxious to get money!--for nothing worth having is to be purchased._ G.o.d bless you.

Yours affectionately, MARY.

LETTER VIII