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“Suddenly I felt as if the veil had fallen from my eyes,” continued Francis, “indeed, I may say, that by this interview, I was quite a changed being. Truth and reality had now, at length, with victorious power, asserted their ascendancy over me. Many periods of life may be compared to a vivid fantastic dream; we awake to sober consciousness, but still feel the reality of the vision.

“But, ah! my friend, this truth created a hell within me. My mind yielded to the noble father in every thing. He was right in the fullest sense of the word. If I admired Juliet, and recognised her worth, if she was my friend, and I sufficiently important to elevate her mind, what had that to do with our passion and my efforts to possess her? With this conviction I was now penetrated, and the feeling exerted a benign influence over me. But how different were her feelings! When such changes occur, women usually suffer from the consuming fire of passion. What letters did I receive from her, when I had communicated to her my resolution and the advice that we must submit to necessity! I almost repeated the words which I had heard from her beautiful lips when I urged my ardent attachment. She now listened in a spirit different from that which harassed her formerly; deaf to all advice, unsusceptible to every kindness, inaccessible to conviction, she only listened to the wild suggestions of her ardent affection. My reason seemed to her cowardice, my resignation baseness. She alone was exclusively to be considered in the question that agitated my heart. In short, she now played the same part that I had done formerly. Looking back upon my former conduct with repentance and shame, I hoped I should be able, by calm perseverance, to bring her gradually to the same conviction. But she frustrated my hopes. It was singular that I was made unhappy by possessing, in the fullest measure, what I had formerly considered my supreme felicity; and that my most fervent desire extended no further than to be able to restore her to tranquillity, nay, even to produce coldness and indifference.

“So whimsical are the gods frequently towards us in the bestowal of their gifts.

“My letters grieved her deeper and deeper, as she showed by her replies. Thence it was that I could not but wish myself once more able to obtain a tete-a-tete with her in some evening hour, such as I had formerly enjoyed over and over again. By bribery, entreaty, and humiliation, I succeeded.

“But, oh, Heavens! how different was this Juliet from her who once had so enraptured and inspired me. With her grief, her mortified feelings and her offended pride she resembled a raving Bacchante. On approaching her, I said to myself: ‘To this state then has my love, vanity, and eloquence, reduced her! Oh! ye men, who, by your power, are able to elevate these tender beings to angels, or change them to wild furies!’ But these reflections came too late. If her letters were violent, her words were raging. Nothing in the whole world she desired, except my love. She cared for nothing; every thing seemed right and desirable,–flight into the open world, sacrifice of station, mortification of her father and family. I was terrified at this distraction, that seemed to fear and dread nothing. The more persuasive my manner, and the more desirous I was to convince her of the unavoidable necessity of submitting, the more furious in words and gestures she became. She would fly with me immediately. I felt it required nothing more than to express the wish, and she would have surrendered herself, in this distraction, totally and unconditionally. I was wretched from my inmost heart, indeed, all my energies were annihilated.