to take up a book the moment I left you, as if my company made but an ordinary amusement, instantly to be replaced by another! When I have seen you, society, books, food, all are hateful to me; but you, sweet Julia, you can read, can you? Why, when I left you, I lingered by the parlour window for hours, till dusk, and you never once lifted your eyes, nor saw me pass and repass. At least, I thought you would have watched my steps, when I left the house; but I err, charming moralist! according to you, that vigilance would have been meanness."
In another part of the correspondence, a more grave, if not a deeper, gush of feeling struggled for expression.
"You say, Julia, that were you to marry one who thinks so much of what he surrenders for you, and who requires from yourself so vast a return of love, you should tremble for the future happiness of both of us. Julia, the triteness of that fear proves that you love not at all. I do not tremble for our future happiness; on the contrary, the intensity of my passion for you makes me know, that we never can be happy! never beyond
