formed us in his own image, and the breath of that universal love which bears and sustains us, as it floats around us in an eternity of bliss; and then, my friend, when darkness overspreads my eyes, and heaven and earth seem to dwell in my soul and absorb its power, like the form of a beloved mistress, then I often think with longing, Oh, would I could describe these conceptions, could impress upon paper all that is living so full and warm within me, that it might be the mirror of my soul, as my soul is the mirror of the infinite God!  O my friend —­ but it is too much for my strength —­ I sink under the weight of the splendour of these visions!

May 12.

I know not whether some deceitful spirits haunt this spot, or whether it be the warm, celestial fancy in my own heart which makes everything around me seem like paradise.  In front of the house is a fountain, —­ a fountain to which I am bound by a charm like Melusina and her sisters.  Descending a gentle slope, you come to an arch, where, some twenty steps lower down, water of the clearest crystal gushes from the marble rock.  The narrow wall which encloses it above, the tall trees which encircle the spot, and the coolness of the place itself, —­ everything imparts a pleasant but sublime impression.  Not a day passes on which I do not spend an hour there.  The young maidens come from the town to fetch water, —­ innocent and necessary employment, and formerly the occupation of the daughters of kings.  As I take my rest there, the idea of the old patriarchal life is awakened around me.  I see them, our old ancestors, how they formed their friendships and contracted alliances at the fountain-side; and I feel how fountains and streams were guarded by beneficent spirits.  He who is a stranger to these sensations has never really enjoyed cool repose at the side of a fountain after the fatigue of a weary summer day.

May 13.

You ask if you shall send me books.  My dear friend, I beseech you, for the love of God, relieve me from such a yoke!  I need no more to be guided, agitated, heated.  My heart ferments sufficiently of itself.  I want strains to lull me, and I find them to perfection in my Homer.  Often do I strive to allay the burning fever of my blood; and you have never witnessed anything so unsteady, so uncertain, as my heart.  But need I confess this to you, my dear friend, who have so often endured the anguish of witnessing my sudden transitions from sorrow to immoderate joy, and from sweet melancholy to violent passions?  I treat my poor heart like a sick child, and gratify its every fancy.  Do not mention this again:  there are people who would censure me for it.

May 15.