 inclosed.

I SHOULD be unjust to my unhappy friend, should I conceal the noble and generous sentiments he expresses for the most lovely and deserving of her sex; and I should still more highly injure the unbounded confidence of my dear Emily, should I prevent her receiving the tribute due to that merit, which could inspire so truly delicate and sincere a passion. I feel I know not what kind of a mixed sensation, for poor Thornton; I both admire and pity him.
I would have delivered the inclosed with my own hand, but feared my presence might distress my Emily, or, perhaps restrain the pity-stowing tear, which, I confess, I think his sufferings merit.

my dearest Emily.


Indebted as I am for many obligations to your lordship, and sensibly awake to the warmest sensations of gratitude, I could not think of quitting Woodfort, and England, for ever, without gratifying that friendly curiosity, which has so often sought the cause of the too visible change in my manners and appearance. You will perhaps be startled when I tell you, that this alteration is owing to yourself.
Ignorant of every refinement, and elegance of life, dissipated in my temper, and unattached to any particular object, by your lordship's

friendly invitation, I arrived at Woodfort.—Heavens! what a scence opened to my astonished sense! The sudden effect of colours, to a person just restored to sight, could not be felt more strongly. Every object I beheld, was new, was amiable! yet in this charming groupe, my lord, there were degrees of merit, and my then vacant heart dared to aspire at the most perfect of her sex. Need I now tell you, that lady Woodville was its choice! Yes, I avow it! Passion is involuntary; nor would I, if I could, be cured of mine.
Yet witness for me, heaven, that sensual and abandoned, as my past life has been, no gross idea ever mixed with hers, nor did her beauteous form ever raise one thought, that even she need blush to hear.
I DO not my lord, affect to place this purity of setiment to the account of my own honour, or even my friendship for you. No, I confess myself indebted for it to her charming image, which ever appeared to my delighted sense, accompanied by that uncommon delicacy that graces every word and action of her spotless life.—That, like a sacred talisman, has charmed the unruly passions of my mind, and made me only feel the pangs of hopeless love.
Such a confession,
