Digby, with so pretty a semblance of alarm at the moment the snake, which my foot disturbed, glided across your path. You did not know I was within hearing of the tent where you made so agreeable a repast, and from which your laughter sent peals so merry and so numerous.—Laughter!—O, Julia, can you tell me that you love, and yet be happy, even to mirth, when I am away? Love!—O God, how different a sensation is mine!—Mine makes my whole principle of life! yours!—I tell you, that I think, at moments, I would rather have your hate, than the lukewarm sentiment you bear to me, and honour by the name of 'affection.' Pretty phrase!—I have no affection for you! Give me not that sickly word; but try with me, Julia, to invent some expression that has never filtered a paltry meaning through the lips of another! Affection!—why, that is a sister's word—a girl's word to her pet squirrel!—never was it made for that ruby and most ripe mouth! Shall I come to your house this evening?—your mother has asked me, and you—you heard her, and said nothing.—Oh! but that was maiden reserve—was it?—and maiden reserve caused you
