 process. The capacity of perception, or of receiving sensation, is (or generates) the power; into what channel that power shall be directed, depends not on ourselves. Are we not the creatures of outward impressions? Without such impressions, should we be any thing? Are not passions and powers synonimous—or can the latter be produced without the lively interest that constitutes the former? Do you dream of annihilating the one—and will not the other be extinguished? With the apostle, Paul, permit me to say—"I am not mad, but speak the words of truth and soberness."

'To what purpose did you read my confessions, but to trace in them a character formed, like every other human character, by the result of unavoidable impressions, and the chain of necessary events. I feel, that my arguments are incontrovertible:—I suspect that, by affecting to deny their force, you will endeavour to deceive either me or yourself.—I have acquired the power of reasoning on this subject at a dear rate—at the expence of inconceivable suffering. Attempt not to deny me the miserable, expensive, victory. I am ready to say—(ungrateful that I am)—Why did you put me upon calling forth my strong reason?

'I perceive there is no cure for me—(apathy is, not the restoration to health, but, the morbid lethargy of the soul) but by a new train of impressions, of whatever nature, equally forcible with the past.—You will tell me, It remains with myself whether I will predetermine to resist such impressions. Is this true? Is it philosophical? Ask yourself. What!—can even you shrink from the consequences of your own principles?

'One word more—You accuse me of brooding in silence over my sensations—of considering them as a "sacred deposit." Concealment is particularly repugnant to my disposition—yet a thousand delicacies—a thousand nameless solicitudes, and apprehensions, sealed my lips!—He who inspired them was, alone, the depositary of my most secret thoughts!—my heart was unreservedly open before him—I covered my paper with its emotions, and transmitted it to him—like him who whispered his secret into the earth, to relieve the burden of uncommunicated thought. My secret was equally safe, and received in equal silence! Alas! he was not then ignorant of the effects it was likely to produce!

'Emma.'

Mr Francis continued his humane and friendly attentions; and, while he opposed my sentiments, as conceiving them destructive of my tranquillity, mingled with his opposition a gentle and delicate consideration for my feelings, that sensibly affected me, and excited my grateful
