ell into my hands. I read it, and smiled. She asked the
reason. "What a heavenly treasure is imagination," I exclaimed. "I
fancied for a moment that this was written to me." She paused, and
seemed displeased. I was silent.

_October 10_. Only to gaze into her dark eyes is to me a source of
happiness. And what grieves me is that Albert does not seem so happy as
he--as I--as he hoped to be--as I should have been--if--. I am no friend
to these pauses, but here I cannot express myself otherwise; and
probably I am explicit enough.

_October 19_. Alas the void--the fearful void which I feel in my bosom!
Sometimes I think, if I could only once press her to my heart, this
dreadful void would be filled.

_October 30_. A hundred times I have been on the point of embracing her.
Heavens! what a torment it is to see so much loveliness passing and
repassing before us, and yet not dare to touch it. And to touch is the
most natural of human instincts. Do not children touch everything that
they see?

_November 8_. Charlotte reproves me for my excesses with so much
tenderness and goodness. I have lately drunk more wine than usual.
"Don't do it," she said; "think of Charlotte." "Think of you," I
answered; "can such advice be necessary? Do I not ever think of you?"
She immediately changed the subject to prevent me pursuing it further.
My dear friend, my energies are all prostrated; she can do with me what
she pleases. Yesterday, when I took leave, she seized me by the hand,
and said, "Adieu, dear Werther!" It was the first time she had ever
called me "dear." I have repeated it a hundred times.

_IV.--"I am Resolved to Die"_

_November 24_. She is sensible of my sufferings. This morning her look
pierced my soul. I found her alone; she was silent, and only gazed
steadfastly at me. Oh, who can express my emotions? I was quite
overcome, and bending down, pronounced this vow to myself, "Beautiful
lips, which angels guard, never will I seek to profane your purity with
a kiss." And yet, oh, I wish--But, alas, my heart is darkened by doubt
and indecision. Could I but taste felicity, and then die to expiate the
sin. What sin?

_December 21_. I am lost. My senses are bewildered, my recollection is
confused, my eyes are bathed in tears. I am ill, and yet am well. I wish
for nothing; I have no desires; it were better I were gone. I saw
Charlotte to-day; she was busy preparing some little gifts for her
brothers and sisters, to be given to