morning, in the quiet hour of awakening, the same determination was upon me.  To die!  It is not despair:  it is conviction that I have filled up the measure of my sufferings, that I have reached my appointed term, and must sacrifice myself for thee.  Yes, Charlotte, why should I not avow it?  One of us three must die:  it shall be Werther.  O beloved Charlotte! this heart, excited by rage and fury, has often conceived the horrid idea of murdering your husband —­ you —­ myself!  The lot is cast at length.  And in the bright, quiet evenings of summer, when you sometimes wander toward the mountains, let your thoughts then turn to me:  recollect how often you have watched me coming to meet you from the valley; then bend your eyes upon the churchyard which contains my grave, and, by the light of the setting sun, mark how the evening breeze waves the tall grass which grows above my tomb.  I was calm when I began this letter, but the recollection of these scenes makes me weep like a child.”

About ten in the morning, Werther called his servant, and, whilst he was dressing, told him that in a few days he intended to set out upon a journey, and bade him therefore lay his clothes in order, and prepare them for packing up, call in all his accounts, fetch home the books he had lent, and give two months’ pay to the poor dependants who were accustomed to receive from him a weekly allowance.

He breakfasted in his room, and then mounted his horse, and went to visit the steward, who, however, was not at home.  He walked pensively in the garden, and seemed anxious to renew all the ideas that were most painful to him.

The children did not suffer him to remain alone long.  They followed him, skipping and dancing before him, and told him, that after to-morrow and tomorrow and one day more, they were to receive their Christmas gift from Charlotte; and they then recounted all the wonders of which they had formed ideas in their child imaginations.  “Tomorrow and tomorrow,” said he, “and one day more!” And he kissed them tenderly.  He was going; but the younger boy stopped him, to whisper something in his ear.  He told him that his elder brothers had written splendid New-Year’s wishes so large! one for papa, and another for Albert and Charlotte, and one for Werther; and they were to be presented early in the morning, on New Year’s Day.  This quite overcame him.  He made each of the children a present, mounted his horse, left his compliments for papa and mamma, and, with tears in his eyes, rode away from the place.

He returned home about five o’clock, ordered his servant to keep up his fire, desired him to pack his books and linen at the bottom of the trunk, and to place his coats at the top.  He then appears to have made the following addition to the letter addressed to Charlotte: 

“You do not expect me.  You think I will obey you, and not visit you again till Christmas Eve.  O Charlotte, today or never!  On Christmas Eve you will hold this paper in your hand; you will tremble, and moisten it with your tears.  I will —­ I must!  Oh, how happy I feel to be determined!”