ef. Sometimes I lie stretched on the ground,
overcome with fatigue and dying with thirst; sometimes, late in the
night, when the moon shines above me, I recline against an aged tree
in some sequestered forest, to rest my weary limbs, when, exhausted
and worn, I sleep till break of day. O Wilhelm! the hermit's cell, his
sackcloth, and girdle of thorns would be luxury and indulgence compared
with what I suffer. Adieu! I see no end to this wretchedness except the
grave.

SEPTEMBER 3.

I must away. Thank you, Wilhelm, for determining my wavering purpose.
For a whole fortnight I have thought of leaving her. I must away.
She has returned to town, and is at the house of a friend. And then,
Albert--yes, I must go.

SEPTEMBER 10.

Oh, what a night, Wilhelm! I can henceforth bear anything. I shall never
see her again. Oh, why cannot I fall on your neck, and, with floods of
tears and raptures, give utterance to all the passions which distract my
heart! Here I sit gasping for breath, and struggling to compose myself.
I wait for day, and at sunrise the horses are to be at the door.

And she is sleeping calmly, little suspecting that she has seen me for
the last time. I am free. I have had the courage, in an interview of
two hours' duration, not to betray my intention. And O Wilhelm, what a
conversation it was!

Albert had promised to come to Charlotte in the garden immediately
after supper. I was upon the terrace under the tall chestnut trees, and
watched the setting sun. I saw him sink for the last time beneath this
delightful valley and silent stream. I had often visited the same
spot with Charlotte, and witnessed that glorious sight; and now--I was
walking up and down the very avenue which was so dear to me. A secret
sympathy had frequently drawn me thither before I knew Charlotte; and
we were delighted when, in our early acquaintance, we discovered that we
each loved the same spot, which is indeed as romantic as any that ever
captivated the fancy of an artist.

From beneath the chestnut trees, there is an extensive view. But I
remember that I have mentioned all this in a former letter, and have
described the tall mass of beech trees at the end, and how the avenue
grows darker and darker as it winds its way among them, till it ends
in a gloomy recess, which has all the charm of a mysterious solitude. I
still remember the strange feeling of melancholy which came over me the
first time I entered that dark retreat, at brigh