LETTER II.

EUGENIA to ALBERT.

WHEN I recently addressed you, my dear friend, upon a subject which pressed painfully on my heart, every sentiment of which has so long been habitually unfolded, and perfectly known to you, I prepared myself for your surprise, your indignation, and even your raillery, but not for your reproaches. Never could I think that Albert would one moment harbour the thought, that Eugenia wished to retract the solemn promises she had made, the vows she had pledged in the sight of heaven,—and not in her view less irrevocable than if they

had been sanctioned by her country's laws. In full force do those vows still, in willing bondage, bind my soul; but their public and solemn ratification must be suspended till I am assured they may be so confirmed with safety to my present well-being and eternal happiness, without the hazard of making shipwreck of my own peace, by vain endeavours to effect what I am assured you cannot long enjoy, while cherishing your present sentiments..

But of this, no more,-for my heart disclaims the imputations of caprice and unfaithfulness.

When you, with a levity, certainly, my dear Albert, ill-suited to the subject, say, that “although your opinions clash with that simplicity which is so infinitely becoming to me, and being one of my greatest charms in your eyes, that you shall never seek to invade it; so it ought not to excite any fear of undue influence in my breast." "Still," (you add) " you must

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remind me, it renders me incapable of judging of the more enlarged ideas of those who have thrown aside such antiquated notions, which do not appear often in such grace as in your Eugenia." Perhaps, when you say this, you think you have banished all just apprehension from a heart, you have ever found ready to give credence to your assurances.

Perhaps when you laugh at the gloomy picture I have drawn of a matrimonial life, under the circumstances detailed in my last, and challenge me to prove in what possible manner the opinions you now hold can be inimical to your own happiness and virtue, or are likely to endanger mine, perhaps you did not imagine I should dare to take up the gauntlet;—that I, an inexperienced, trembling, and feeble combatant, would unhesitatingly enter the lists with an adversary, in all points, so superior,one, before whose genius I have been wont to bow. Unaffectedly diffident as I am in my

own power, and, if I know my own heart, devoid of that culpable vanity which would obtrude willingly upon a subject I am unable to discuss, but through the medium and by the aid of feeling, yet bold in that imparted strength for which I fervently supplicate, confident in the inherent strength of my cause, I dare endeavour to substantiate my assertions, that your present structure of happiness has no solid basis; that the slightest storm of the passions will have power to make it tremble from the foundation; that it is raised in weakness, and must in the clash of contending interests, inseparable from human circumstances, become a lamented ruin. That making feeling only the rule of your actions, they must inevitably be inconsist ent and inconstant, have but little virtue in their present exercise, and offering not a single guarantee for their future display; as it may pass as a meteor to enliven for a moment, but be seen no more. Therefore, in order to secure the stability of the one, and to give force, con

sistency, and constancy to the other, to form social good, and ensure private and individual happiness, the aid of Religion is absolutely necessary.

In doing this, however feebly, I must, my dear Albert, oppose, in every point, your present system; but, as you value the issue, even only so far as relates to myself, have patience with me, and reject not what I shall urge in the spirit of affection, until you have maturely reflected upon it.

And, oh! if the soft affections of the soul, if the zealous love of a devoted heart, are permitted to be the ministers of good to a beloved being, how great may be the hope of Eugenia, that she may indeed prevail with her Albert to believe

"The virtues grow on immortality,—

"That root destroy'd, they wither and expire."

YOUNG