m Madame Jules?"

His restless imagination tossed a thousand such questions to him;
but when he read the first words of the letter he smiled. Here it
is, textually, in all the simplicity of its artless phrases and its
miserable orthography,--a letter to which it would be impossible to add
anything, or to take anything away, unless it were the letter itself.
But we have yielded to the necessity of punctuating it. In the original
there were neither commas nor stops of any kind, not even notes of
exclamation,--a fact which tends to undervalue the system of notes
and dashes by which modern authors have endeavored to depict the great
disasters of all the passions:--

Henry,--Among the manny sacrifisis I imposed upon myself for your
sake was that of not giving you anny news of me; but an
iresistible voise now compells me to let you know the wrong you
have done me. I know beforehand that your soul hardened in vise
will not pitty me. Your heart is deaf to feeling. Is it deaf to
the cries of nature? But what matter? I must tell you to what a
dredful point you are gilty, and the horror of the position to
which you have brought me. Henry, you knew what I sufered from my
first wrong-doing, and yet you plunged me into the same misery,
and then abbandoned me to my dispair and sufering. Yes, I will say
it, the belif I had that you loved me and esteemed me gave me
corage to bare my fate. But now, what have I left? Have you not
made me loose all that was dear to me, all that held me to life;
parents, frends, onor, reputation,--all, I have sacrifised all to
you, and nothing is left me but shame, oprobrum, and--I say this
without blushing--poverty. Nothing was wanting to my misfortunes
but the sertainty of your contempt and hatred; and now I have them
I find the corage that my project requires. My decision is made;
the onor of my famly commands it. I must put an end to my
suferins. Make no remarks upon my conduct, Henry; it is orful, I
know, but my condition obliges me. Without help, without suport,
without one frend to comfort me, can I live? No. Fate has desided
for me. So in two days, Henry, two days, Ida will have seased to
be worthy of your regard. Oh, Henry! oh, my frend! for I can never
change to you, promise me to forgive me for what I am going to do.
Do not forget that you have driven me to it; it is your work, and
you must judge it. May heven not punish you for all your c