, you might be perfectly happy with him, all the days of your life—I am now convinced of the fallacy of this opinion, as well as of the imprudence of the declaration you then too openly and unguardedly made.

Believe me, Louisa, that this was the first thing that soured your husband's temper—Men are naturally proud and jealous; they do not easily brook disappointments, or mortifications; a hopeless pursuit must be attended with both—We are not then to wonder either at Sir William's declining it, or resenting his ill success.
In a former letter you say, that
"had Sir William continued to solicit your affections a little longer, they would have been all his."
You know not that, Louisa; your vanity was flattered by the assiduities of a lover, and your pride revolted at the authority of a husband—Neither of these sentiments have any thing to do with passion—Had you loved the man you married, you would have wished

to preserve his affection, without being vain of it; and had you seen it declining, you would have tried every means to recover it, without considering how much your pride would be hurt by its loss.

There are, I am convinced, abundance of ingredients necessary to form an happy union for life; but love is, in my opinion, of all others the most necessary—Like the sun, it not only brightens and gilds every amiable quality of the beloved object, but draws forth every latent virtue in our hearts, and excites us to become as perfect as we can, in order to merit that affection which constitutes our true happiness.
Milton seems to be of my opinion, when he makes the first of lovers, and of men, say thus to Eve,—

" I from the influence of thy looks receive
" Access in every virtue, in thy sight
" More wise, more watchful, stronger, if need were
" Of outward strength; while shame, thou looking on,
" Shame to be overcome or over-reached,
" Would utmost vigor raise, and raised unite."

I know not why, or how I have launched out into this dissertation upon matrimony, unless it be that I wish to avoid the painful subject of your last letters, and yet cannot turn my thoughts upon any thing quite foreign to it—I think I ought, at least, to acknowledge that I am pleased with the resolution you have shewn in banishing Lord Lucan; and the delicacy of your motive for confessing your passion to him, is the only possible excuse that can be urged for such an hazardous impropriety.
But let me now hope that my