in some other way; that the enemy a few days past had made a sortie and killed a few hundred men, but that they themselves, with considerable loss, had to retreat rapidly into the fortress, and that three Neapolitan regiments had entered Brescia.  But between each of these sentences intervene some strong assurance of his love, some tender or flattering words; and finally, at the end of the letter, comes the principal object, the cause why it was written.  The tender lover wanted some token from his beloved:  it is not enough for him always to carry her portrait and her letters, he must also have a lock of her hair.  He writes: 

“I have lost my snuffbox; I pray you find me another, somewhat more flat, and pray have something pretty written upon it, with a lock of your hair.  A thousand burning kisses, since you are so cold, love unbounded, and faithfulness beyond all proof.”

Two days afterward he writes again from Marmirolo, at first hastily, a few words about the war, then he comes to the main point.  He has been guilty, toward Josephine, of a want of politeness, and, with all the tenderness and humility of a lover, he asks forgiveness.  Her pardon and her constant tardiness in answering his letters, are to him more weighty matters than all the battles and victories of his restless camp-life, and therefore he begins at once with a complaint at his separation from her.

“Marmirolo, the 1st Thermidor, Year iv. (July 19, 1796.) “For the last two days I am without letters from you.  This remark I have repeated thirty times; you feel that this for me is sad.  You cannot, however, doubt of the tenderness and undivided solicitude with which you inspire me.”

“We attacked Mantua yesterday.  We opened upon it, from two batteries, a fire of shells and red-hot balls.  The whole night the unfortunate city was burning.  The spectacle was terrible and sublime.  We have taken possession of numerous outworks, and we open the trenches to-night.  To-morrow we make our headquarters at Castiglione, and think of passing the night there.”

“I have received a courier from Paris.  He brought two letters for you:  I have read them.  Though this action seems to me very simple, as you gave me permission so to do, yet, I fear, it will annoy you, and that troubles me exceedingly.  I wanted at first to seal them over again; but, pshaw! that would have been horrible.  If I am guilty, I beg your pardon.  I swear to you I did it not through jealousy; no, certainly not; I have of my adored one too high an opinion to indulge in such a feeling.  I wish you would once for all allow me to read your letters; then I should not have any twittings of conscience or fear.”

“Achilles, the courier, has arrived from Milan; no letter from my adored one!  Farewell, my sole happiness!  When will you come, and be with me?  I shall have to fetch you from Milan myself.”

“A thousand kisses, burning as my heart, pure as yours!”