have just been looking over it from the commencement. Many and various
are the feelings which it attempts to describe--anger, pique, joy,
sorrow, hope, pleasure, weariness, ennui; but never, never once,
humiliation or remorse!--these were not doomed to be my portion in the
bright years of my earliest youth. How shall I describe them now? I have
received--I have read, as well as my tears would let me, a long letter
from Julia. It is true that I have not dared to write to her: when shall
I answer this? She has showed me the state of my heart; I more than
suspected it before. Could I have dreamed two months--six weeks--since
that I should have a single feeling of which I could be ashamed? He has
just been here He--the only one in the world, for all the world seems
concentred in him. He observed my distress, for I looked on him; and my
lips quivered and my eyes were full of tears. He came to me--he sat next
to me--he whispered his interest, his anxiety--and was this all? Have
I loved before I even knew that I was beloved? No, no; the tongue was
silent, but the eye, the cheek, the manner--alas! these have been but
too eloquent!

Wednesday.--It was so sweet to listen to his low and tender voice; to
watch the expression of his countenance--even to breathe the air that he
inhaled. But now that I know its cause, I feel that this pleasure is a
crime, and I am miserable even when he is with me. He has not been here
to-day. It is past three. Will he come? I rise from my seat--I go to
the window for breath--I am restless, agitated, disturbed. Lady Margaret
speaks to me--I scarcely answer her. My boy--yes, my dear, dear Henry
comes, and I feel that I am again a mother. Never will I betray that
duty, though I have forgotten one as sacred though less dear! Never
shall my son have cause to blush for his parent! I will fly hence--I
will see him no more!

FROM ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ., TO THE HON. FREDERICK MONKTON.

Write to me, Monkton--exhort me, admonish me, or forsake me for ever.
I am happy yet wretched: I wander in the delirium of a fatal fever, in
which I see dreams of a brighter life, but every one of them only brings
me nearer to death. Day after day I have lingered here, until weeks have
flown--and for what? Emily is not like the women of the world--virtue,
honour, faith, are not to her the mere _convenances_ of society. "There
is no crime," said Lady A., "where there is concealment." Such can never
be the creed of Emily M