sums up the notions we form of that mysterious First Cause.  But, in spite of the subtleties and infinite variety of language, I have no words that can express to you the exquisite union by which my life is merged into yours whenever I think of you.

“And with what word can I conclude when I cease writing to you, and yet do not part from you?  What can farewell mean, unless in death?  But is death a farewell?  Would not my spirit be then more closely one with yours?  Ah! my first and last thought; formerly I offered you my heart and life on my knees; now what fresh blossoms of feelings can I discover in my soul that I have not already given you?  It would be a gift of a part of what is wholly yours.

“Are you my future?  How deeply I regret the past!  I would I could have back all the years that are ours no more, and give them to you to reign over, as you do over my present life.  What indeed was that time when I knew you not?  It would be a void but that I was so wretched.”

FRAGMENT.

“Beloved angel, how delightful last evening was!  How full of riches your dear heart is!  And is your love endless, like mine?  Each word brought me fresh joy, and each look made it deeper.  The placid expression of your countenance gave our thoughts a limitless horizon.  It was all as infinite as the sky, and as bland as its blue.  The refinement of your adored features repeated itself by some inexplicable magic in your pretty movements and your least gestures.  I knew that you were all graciousness, all love, but I did not know how variously graceful you could be.  Everything combined to urge me to tender solicitation, to make me ask the first kiss that a woman always refuses, no doubt that it may be snatched from her.  You, dear soul of my life, will never guess beforehand what you may grant to my love, and will yield perhaps without knowing it!  You are utterly true, and obey your heart alone.

“The sweet tones of your voice blended with the tender harmonies that filled the quiet air, the cloudless sky.  Not a bird piped, not a breeze whispered—­solitude, you, and I. The motionless leaves did not quiver in the beautiful sunset hues which are both light and shadow.  You felt that heavenly poetry—­you who experienced so many various emotions, and who so often raised your eyes to heaven to avoid answering me.  You who are proud and saucy, humble and masterful, who give yourself to me so completely in spirit and in thought, and evade the most bashful caress.  Dear witcheries of the heart!  They ring in my ears; they sound and play there still.  Sweet words but half spoken, like a child’s speech, neither promise nor confession, but allowing love to cherish its fairest hopes without fear or torment!  How pure a memory for life!  What a free blossoming of all the flowers that spring from the soul, which a mere trifle can blight, but which, at that moment, everything