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 LETTERS 
 
 CHARLOTTE, 
 
 DURING HER CONNEXION 
 
 WERTER. 
 
 A NEW EDITION. 
 
 " Grazia sola di su ne vaglia, inanti 
 
 Che piu '1 desio d" amore al cor s'invecchi." 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Primed by T. Gillet, Crown-court, Fleet-street j 
 
 POR J. BOUNDEN, 19, MORTIMER-STREET, CAVENDISH" 
 SQUARE; T. KELSEY, 10, KENTON-STREET} 
 
 BRUNSWICK-SQUARE; AND s. HEARD, 
 
 ISROMLEY, KENT; AND SOLD 
 
 BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. 
 
 L810.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 I AM happy that in presenting the following let 
 ters to the public, I am not exhibiting scenes, or 
 communicating opinions, that can wound delicacy, 
 or pervert sentiment. And though I too well know, 
 that to avoid licentious description, and to reject 
 fashionable ideas, is to wander far from the road 
 that leads to wealth and fame in the literary world, 
 yet I am not willing to acquire either one or the 
 other at the expense of my reader's happiness. If 
 amusement only is to be found in the Letters of 
 Charlotte, it will at least be innocent amusement. 
 If opinions are advanced which may appear un 
 common, they will not be found to militate against 
 the precepts of religion. If the mind of the reader 
 is not expanded by additional knowledge, it will 
 not be contracted by the subtleties of scepticism. 
 
 Whether these negative recommendations will 
 carry any weight, I know not ; but I am sorry to 
 find any book published, in favour of which even 
 these cannot be advanced ; and I am still more 
 sorry that a book so universally read as the Sorrows 
 of IVerter, should fall under this predicament; a 
 book which is not simply an apology for the horri 
 ble crime of Suicide, but in which, as far as the 
 author's abilities would go, it is justified and re 
 commended ! 
 
 In the Preface to the Sorrows of Werter , we are 
 told, that the author had been called the apologist 
 of Suicide, " by those who absurdly ascribed to him 
 the erroneous sentiments which he has given to his 
 principal character." Here seems to be a dis 
 tinction without a difference. If the author gave 
 
 his hero those sentiments, surely they are his own ;
 
 11 PREFACE. 
 
 and if they are erroneous, be whose they will, why 
 are they published without their antidote ? As a 
 translator, the Editor tells us, that to avoid giving 
 offence, several exceptionable sentiments are omit 
 ted. Had the author been influenced by" similar 
 motives, the work would never have appeared ; at 
 least he might have indulged us with the efforts of 
 his genius, without shocking us with the depravity 
 of his principles. The most extensive evil a man 
 can do, is to publish a bad book. 
 
 The letters of Werter having been read with 
 avidity, I am to solicit public indulgence for those 
 of the amiable Charlotte. They commence at the 
 time Werter's commence, and were written by her 
 to a female friend, with whom she corresponded both 
 before and after the death of Werter. Though they 
 are, in general, miscellaneous, (hey partake more 
 of the nature of a novel than those of Werter. I 
 might say, that the female mind is more given to 
 narrative than to reflection ; the letters of Charlotte, 
 however, will not warrant the assertion: they 
 abound with reflections which, if they do not dis 
 play a brilHant understanding, discover a good 
 heart. Susceptible of the most tender impressions, 
 and alive to all the feelings of refined sensibility, 
 the natural cheerfulness of her disposition often 
 gave way to pathetic contemplation ; and she is not 
 less communicative of her thoughts than of her 
 conduct. 
 
 It afforded me no small pleasure to find, that in 
 the letters of Charlotte there was nothing to sup 
 press. 1 give them at large ; and wish I could do 
 the same by her fair friend, of whom one cannot but 
 conceive a high opinion, from the confidence re 
 posed in her by Charlotte, and the great regard she 
 expresses for her correspondence. Regardless of 
 m/yfateasan Editor, I solicit protection and indul 
 gence only for CHARLOTTE.
 
 OF 
 
 CHARLOTTE. 
 
 LETTER I.* 
 
 THE elegant description of your retire 
 ment charms me ; but you always sketch 
 with a flattering pencil, and the most 
 captivating colours. You think I can 
 have no objection to so delightful a spot ; 
 and indeed I have but one it is too far 
 from Walheim. As I sincerely regret 
 your absence, do not neglect, my dear 
 girl, to give me the only consolation in 
 your power the consolation of your en- 
 
 * As the dates of these letters only specified 
 the week-days on which they were written, it was 
 thought needless to notice them.
 
 2 LETTERS OP 
 
 chanting correspondence. To you it will 
 afford some amusement; to me it will 
 communicate real happiness. 
 
 Why you are as absolutely buried as 
 if you were in a convent ; but though 
 you are thus devoted to Solitude, and are 
 become one of her best beloved disciples, 
 you must by no means take the veil. We 
 cannot dispense with your occasional 
 visits. Walheim, believe me, suffers con 
 siderably by your absence. Our conver 
 sations are become dull, for want of your 
 sprightliness ; our evenings long ; our 
 dances languid. Adolphus Ferdinand 
 very justly, and very prettily, called you 
 the Euphrosyne of Walheim. 
 
 Y'our raillery, my sweet friend, is out 
 of time. Albert is not here. A melan 
 choly event hath called him hence : the 
 grave receives his father. Albert, over 
 whelmed with filial grief, pays the last 
 sad duties of filial love ; and for a time 
 forgets his Charlotte. 
 
 I cannot but lament the death of this 
 good old man. In him Albert found not
 
 CHARLOTTE. 3 
 
 only an affectionate father, but a sincere 
 friend ; one, who, destitute of the peevish 
 ness of age, remembered that he once 
 was young : one, whose evening sky was 
 illumined by the sunshine of cheerfulness, 
 and the beams of religion ; and of all 
 characters, what can be more pleasing 
 than that of a good old man ? 
 
 Albert means to settle all his affairs be 
 fore his return; I do not, therefore, ex 
 pect to see him this month. Now, as you 
 are so great an advocate for him, and 
 " would do any thing to accelerate the 
 festival of Hymen," I think you ought, 
 during his absence, to come and plead 
 his cause ; and by your presence render 
 his absence the less irksome. Adieu ! 
 Present or absent, always believe me to be 
 Your affectionate 
 
 CHARLOTTE.
 
 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 You forget, my dear Carolina, that I 
 have not much of what you term " idle 
 time." You forget that I have the 
 superintendence of a little family ; and 
 that, in being an eldest sister, I have all 
 the cares of a parent. How, then, can 
 you expect me not only to write fre 
 quently, but to write long letters ? Be 
 sides, I am bound to write to Albert 
 twice a week, and those letters cost me 
 no small trouble ; for, in order to improve 
 ourselves in the English language, we have 
 agreed to correspond in no other. So that 
 all my " idle time," as you call it, is de 
 voted to the reading of English books. 
 
 I have just had with me several of your 
 admirers, to invite me to a ball next 
 Tuesday. As I know most of the party, 
 and as no exercise can be more charming, 
 I have promised to attend. I hope there
 
 CHARLOTTE. 5 
 
 is no impropriety in it. Albert, I am sure, 
 will not be displeased ; though I am sorry 
 I have not time to acquaint him, and have 
 his answer on the subject. 
 
 It has been very warmly, arid I dare 
 say, very feelingly asserted by Adolphus 
 Ferdinand, that there can be no dance 
 without you. The language of lovers, 
 you know, is not to be judged by common 
 rules : this is a sort of poetical licence of 
 Ferdinand's, by which we are to under 
 stand, that he cannot dance without you. 
 If you had a grain of compassion you 
 would give spirit to our dance, and peace 
 to Ferdinand.
 
 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 THE occurrences of a ball, you know, 
 always form a grand article in female 
 correspondence; and you will expect a 
 faithful narrative of all our late pro 
 ceedings. And, indeed, they are not un 
 worthy of commemoration. Independent 
 of mere amusement, meetings of this kind 
 always afford matter of observation, and 
 exhibit traits in characters discoverable 
 only on such occasions. 
 
 Mrs. C. accompanied by her lovely 
 niece, and a gentleman, whose name is 
 Werter, was so obliging as to give me a 
 corner in a coach ; and though the horizon 
 was gloomy, the good spirits and charming 
 conversation of my companions, rendered 
 the journey very short, and we presently 
 found ourselves in the ball room. Besides 
 our usual set, there were eight or ten 
 strangers, and as they all danced, the room 
 was tolerably well filled.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 7 
 
 Much grace was displayed in the 
 minuets, particularly by Frederick, An- 
 dran, W, Selftadt, and the gentleman 
 who accompanied us. Your Adolphus 
 and I commenced country dances. The 
 third, I danced with Werter who does 
 the waltz uncommonly well, and was very 
 animated. You know nothing affords me 
 
 o 
 
 more pleasure than good dancing- ; and, 
 having a good partner, perhaps I too 
 might be more than ordinarily animated ; 
 for in the midst of this dance, our friend 
 Matilda Selftadt significantly pronounced 
 the name of u Albert," which so much 
 excited the curiosity of my partner, and 
 rendered him so importunate, that I at 
 length frankly told him the nature of my 
 connexion with Albert. 
 
 I am not vain enough to suppose this 
 information had any effect on the spirits 
 of Werter ; but from that moment he 
 was perpetually out. I did not know 
 what to think. I was willing to attribute 
 his disorder to the increase of the light 
 ning, which, during the last half hour,
 
 8 LETTERS OF 
 
 had become quite alarming ; and the 
 thunder was so loud as to overpower the 
 music. Several ladies quitted the dance ; 
 the panic became general ; the musicians 
 ceased ; and an awful silence succeeded. 
 The mistress of the ceremonies, for so J 
 call Mrs. K. took us into a room, the 
 window -shutters of which prevented us 
 seeing the lightning. Most of the gen 
 tlemen went to drinking, and we played 
 at counting. The morning approached, 
 and we returned home. The scene was 
 truly delightful. We heard the thunder 
 roll afar off; and whilst the sun was rising 
 in the east, a beautiful rainbow gave 
 splendour to the west. u Ah," I said, 
 " what magnificent simplicity is here I 
 what vivid colours in the skies! what 
 emulation in the fields ! O, Klopstock ! 
 who, besides thee, can paint a scene like 
 this ?" The tear started in my eye, and 
 my heart glowed ; but who can describe 
 angelic luxury ? Werter said, " How the 
 splendour of our ball fades away before 
 this !"
 
 CHARLOTTE. 
 
 Mrs. C. and her niece slept : besides 
 being extremely early and regular in 
 their hours, they were wearied with 
 dancing. I was set down without dis 
 turbing them; and Werter said he would 
 call in the evening, to tell me how they 
 did. 
 
 You will not ask me any thing about 
 the dresses of the ladies. A few years 
 ago, indeed, they would have come in for 
 their share of admiration and description : 
 but to notice them now would be irksome 
 to me, and afford no pleasure to you. 
 Simplicity seemed to be the goddess of 
 taste, which all the ladies had worship 
 ped ; so that there could be little discri 
 mination or distinction where each was 
 adorned with one species of elegance. I 
 have a great opinion of the good sense 
 and taste of those ladies, who are the fir^t 
 to sacrifice the petty distinctions of 
 splendid apparel to elegant neatness. 
 Adieu! 
 
 B5
 
 10 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 I FORGOT in ray last to tell you, my 
 dear Carolina, that I had a thousand com 
 pliments to deliver to you ; for a ball 
 without you, would, you know, neces 
 sarily excite much inquiry. Indeed the 
 beaux were very inquisitive. When I 
 told them that you was hid in the very 
 bosom of retirement, Antonine Frederick 
 said, that confirmed his opinion of you-r 
 being an angel. " How can you," I said, 
 " use such common appellations 2" 
 " Nay," replied he, " I am speaking as 
 a philosopher, and not as a lover : doa't 
 you know," he added, that one of the 
 ancients has said, no being but a brute 
 or an angel can beaT absolute retirement ?" 
 So you see, my dear, you are a philo 
 sophical angel, and I shll expect not 
 only learned but frequent disco urges from 
 you. Have compassion on your disciple, 
 and write to me soon. Adieu !
 
 CHARLOTTE. II 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 INDEED you have approved yourself a 
 philosopher. Your last letter on reiire- 
 ment, shews how well you can enjoy it, 
 and to what an admirable end you can 
 convert it. It certainly requires a portion 
 of philosophic resolution, a mind well 
 stored, and, above all, it requires inno 
 cence. Guilt seeks dissipation of thought; 
 whilst retirement is the very nurse of 
 contemplation. But it is not necessary 
 that we should always contemplate. The 
 active virtues of society demand our 
 presence in the world. Retirement is not 
 the business of life : it is only the scor.e 
 of preparation, or of relaxation. That 
 religious philosophy, therefore, which 
 taught men to erect monasteries and con 
 vents, could not be founded in truth or 
 nature. In hiding ourselves from a pos 
 sibility of temptation, we may, indeed, 
 avoid many dangers ; but do we not, at
 
 12 LETTERS OF 
 
 the same time, preclude ourselves from 
 innumerable opportunities of receiving 
 and of communicating happiness ? Be 
 sides, our leading star lights us on the 
 way : " He went about doing good,' 1 and 
 retired but to pray. 
 
 It amounts just to the same thing : 
 you spoke of temporary retirement, and, 
 you see, I am on the same side of the 
 question. 
 
 Though your aunt who, you say, is 
 the only rational being in your " enchanted 
 castle," though she is cheerful, you 
 must necessarily pass many hours, which 
 can be appropriated to nothing but re 
 flection : convert your thoughts into 
 epistles, my dear Carolina, for the in 
 struction and amusement of your friend*
 
 CHARLOTTE. 13 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 I CANNOT but laugh, though I am 
 angry, at your raillery against Adolphus 
 Ferdinand; a man \vhosegreatestfoibleis, 
 his being in love, which makes him guilty 
 of some little extravagancies that you 
 treat severely, though you are the cause 
 of them. You should not complain of 
 him, without having an eye to yourself: 
 you should not censure the effect, without 
 adverting to the cause. Come, you are a 
 strenuous advocate for Albert ; and it 
 would be ungenerous in me not to take the 
 part of Ferdinand, though I think he 
 is in no great danger, for, if you did not 
 esteem him, you would not write about 
 him. 
 
 Ferdinand, you say, is not possessed of 
 those graces of conversation and exterior 
 deportment, by which some others, that 
 you mention, are distinguished. I migh'
 
 14 LETTERS OF 
 
 ask, are not those others equally destitute 
 of the higher and more amiable accom 
 plishments for which Ferdinand is so 
 universally esteemed ? And are you so 
 avaricious as to desire, and so unrea 
 sonable as to expect, every species of per 
 fection in your lover ? 
 
 The merit of Ferdinand is of the same 
 complexion with that of Albert ; and, 
 believe me, my dear girl, it is not for want 
 of abilities that they do not cultivate the 
 graces you allude to: it is either because 
 they cfespise them , or because the posses 
 sion of them is incompatible with higher 
 attainments. There is a frivolity neces 
 sarily attached to-tftose acquisitions, that 
 would ill become Ferdinand and Albert. 
 I do not expect in the laurel the colours 
 of the tulip, 
 
 I admire your commending Albert, 
 and, in the same letter, censuring Ferdi 
 nand f If there is any difference, it is in 
 favour of Ferdinand, who, besides a 
 liberal education, has had the advantage 
 of travelling. And are you really sorry
 
 CHARLOTTE. 15 
 
 he did not return a coxcomb ? O Caro 
 lina ! but I know you ; and I suspect 
 you will laugh at me for seriously animad 
 verting on what perhaps you wrote in 
 jest. 
 
 Remember that, for the future, when 
 you censure Ferdinand, I shall include 
 Albert ; thus, what you gain on one side, 
 you will lose on the other; so, my phi 
 losophical censor, adieu !
 
 16 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 Do you want another lover, that you 
 inquire so particularly about Werter ? 
 Female curiosity, to be sure ! A new cha 
 racter in our little hemisphere, like a 
 comet, always attracts general attention, 
 and excites much inquiry ; yes, and as 
 many strange conjectures are formed of 
 one as of the other. 
 
 I fyave not yet seen enough of Werter 
 to form any certain idea of his character. 
 At present, I can only say, that he seems 
 to be a man of taste and sentiment ; 
 strongly attached to the polite arts, and, 
 I dare say, can write verses, and probably 
 will when he sees you. His eye is keen, 
 and there is great expression in his counte 
 nance : it is that kind of expression which 
 indicates a lofty spirit, tempered by the 
 perpetual operation of a philosophic judg 
 ment. 
 But it is useless in me to attempt cle-
 
 CHARLOTTE. 17 
 
 scribing what you will discover at a first 
 interview, for you must see him, and that 
 speedily , though, perhaps, you do not 
 know that you are coming to Walheim. 
 I am sure you love my father too well, to 
 refuse a request of his ; and his request 
 with many compliments to your aunt and 
 yourself is, that you will favour him 
 with your company a few days, to super 
 intend our little family whilst I visit a 
 dying friend Yes, my dear Carolina, poor 
 Theresa W. whom you have often heard 
 me mention with tenderness, as another 
 Carolina, calls on me to close her dying 
 eyes. Melancholy errand ! but 'tis the 
 voice of friendship : 
 
 As if an angel spoke, 
 
 I feel the solemn sound. 
 
 She is abandoned by her physicians, and 
 wishes only to see me. Dear, dear girl ! 
 I come, asa dove to its wounded mate O, 
 thatl could bear " healing in my wings 1" 
 Adieu, my Carolina! In your prayers 
 remember poor Theresa, the friend of 
 your Charlotte.
 
 '16 LETTERS OF 
 
 ."..-. " ' 
 
 .... 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 
 YOUR residence at Walheira gives me 
 great satisfaction, because I know every 
 thing- will go on as ray father wishes. I 
 found here, a shadow of my Theresa 
 alas, how wan ! I was impatient to see 
 her, and, though she was asleep when I 
 arrived, I stepped softly to her bedside, 
 and kissed her pale hand, that accidentally 
 lay uncovered, as if on purpose to re 
 ceive me. Disease had robbed her face 
 of all its charms, but delicacy : she looked 
 like a sleeping infant. I sat down by 
 her, and wept. A thousand tender re 
 collections heightened my distress. At 
 length the dear girl awoke, and with an 
 infantile accent, said, " Is my Charlotte 
 come yet ? ' I took hold of her hand 
 " Thy Charlotte is here," I said, " thy 
 ownCharlotte that loves thee" She turned 
 her head, and, raising it a little, looked
 
 CHARLOTTE. W 
 
 wistfully in my faee ; a faint pleasure 
 glimmered in her- blue eyes <c Indeed, 
 indeed," she said, " this is my Charlotte 
 O Charlotte ! you see 7 ' She could say 
 no more ; she grasped my hand, and, 
 reclining 1 her head on the pillow, her eyes 
 were filled with tears. I kneeled by her ; 
 my heart was full ; but teats had already 
 given me some relief. u Do not add 
 strength to your disease," I said, " by 
 distressing yonrself : Think, Charlotte is 
 with you." She put ray hand to her lips, 
 and kissed it eagerly. I was glad to find 
 she had so much strength u Believe me, 
 my dear Theresa," I added, " you will 
 be better." " Now Charlotte is come," 
 she said, I shall be happy : but I must 
 leave thee, my Charlotte ; and thou wilt 
 remember" I interrupted her, " Nay, do 
 not talk of leaving me : I am come to 
 stay with thee, and thou wilt be better." 
 I had brought with me a phial of those 
 drops that had afforded my dearest mother 
 great relief in her fatal illness. I gave 
 some to Theresa. She raised her languid
 
 90 LETTERS OF 
 
 head and smiled : " Now Charlotte is 
 the ministering angel," she said, " who 
 knows yes, this, indeed, will do me 
 good : I feel it will." Her lips did not 
 look so livid, and her cheeks were suffused 
 with a pale pink. She was quite placid, 
 and talked with her accustomed elegance 
 but with a tremulous voice of the 
 sweets of friendship, and the power of 
 death, which, she said, could not divide 
 the souls that love each other. " Death," 
 she added, " is like an arrow passing 
 through the air : as that occasions a mo 
 mentary division ; so death divides the 
 flame of friendship, but it soon closes 
 again." In this manner she conversed, 
 till weariness brought on sleep. 
 
 I hope, and think she is better ; but she 
 is of a spirit so calm and so fortified, that 
 it is difficult to know what she suffers. 
 You never knew Theresa W. but she is 
 worthy of being known, and you shall 
 know her. Tell my father, she is better ; 
 he loves her. 
 
 I am afraid you find the children trou-
 
 CHARLOTTE. 2-1 
 
 blesome ; but you love them too well to 
 think so. They will be very good if you 
 tell them that Charlotte is gone to fetch 
 Theresa. Heaven restore her to them 
 and me.
 
 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 I AM glad, my dear friend, to find that 
 Werter visits ray father ; and that Ferdi 
 nand visits you. Society, is the soul of 
 life, and such society, I hope, will render 
 your temporary residence at Walheim 
 agreeable. 
 
 I am happy to say that Theresa is better, 
 but not removed from danger, if it may 
 be called danger to be so near heaven. I 
 do not wonder at your solicitude to know 
 the story of this dear girl ; though I am 
 rather surprised, my father has not told 
 you, for he loves to talk of Theresa. 
 Probably he is too greatly affected with 
 her situation to say much ; for though 
 adversity is generally loquacious, grief, 
 especially in men, is mostly silent. 
 
 The father of my Theresa was an Eng 
 lish gentleman, and lived at Walheim : 
 an intimacy subsisted between our mothers,
 
 25 
 
 and the same day gave us birth ; but Mrs. 
 W. alas ! did not survive the birth of 
 Theresa ; and iu two years afterwards, 
 Mr. W. died, appointing my father 
 guardian to Theresa, and leaving all his 
 effects in my father's oare. The little 
 orphan was removed to our house, and 
 
 became one of us. It waBLpatural that 
 
 JBT 
 
 between Theresa and me^fhe tenderest 
 friendship should arise : " grow with 
 our growth, and strengthen with our 
 strength." We slept in the same bed; 
 were educated in the same manner ; and 
 bol h my parents regarded Theresa as 
 another Charlotte. 
 
 When we grew up, we discovered a 
 similarity of taste and sentiment, which 
 added new joys to our friendship, and 
 rendered it permament ; for friendship not 
 founded on similarity of sentiment, can 
 never be durable. We were pleased with 
 the same books, and delighted with the 
 same music. Our days were spent in the 
 same pursuits, and our evenings con-
 
 24 LETTERS OF 
 
 eluded with the same diversions.* The 
 happy years rolled swiftly on ; and a 
 friendship thus formed, can end only 
 with life, and then, alas, " 'tis the sur 
 vivor dies !" 
 
 The conduct of my father j during the 
 minority of Theresa, was such as highly 
 endeared hitife all who knew under what 
 circumstanc^Prae was left. To be the 
 sole guardian of an infant, possessed of 
 unknown property, is a delicate trust. 
 Nothing so soon awakes suspicion, and 
 excites scandal ; few are the guardians 
 
 * The connexion between Charlotteand Theresa, 
 naturally reminds one of Shakespear's Rosalind 
 and Celia, but more particularly of the friendship 
 of Helena and Hermia, so exquisitively described 
 in ' Midsummer Night's Dream.' 
 We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, 
 Created with our needles both one flower, 
 Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion ; 
 Both warbling of one song, both in one key ; 
 As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds 
 Had been incorporate. So we gfew together 
 Like to a double cherry, seeming parted
 
 CHARLOTTE. 25 
 
 who are not envied by the avaricious, 
 and censured by the malevolent ; and or 
 phans, however decently they have been 
 provided for, generally become objects of 
 pity, from the supposition, that an un- 
 controuled guardian cannot resist the 
 temptation of enriching himself by those 
 artifices of fraud, which may be prac 
 tised without the danger of detection. 
 
 My father was aware of this, and on 
 the death of Mr. W. took some reputable 
 people, who delivered the property into 
 my father's hands " All this," he said, 
 " is the property of Theresa, and when 
 sixteen years are elapsed, if Providence 
 permit, I will resign it to her, if not 
 augmented, at least nothing diminished." 
 He kept his word. The joint birth 
 day of our eighteenth year was solem 
 nized with greater pomp than we had 
 been accustomed to ; an unusual quantity 
 of company was present, and fortunately, 
 among the rest, three of the gentlemen 
 who had assisted my father in removing 
 Theresa's effects. The dear girl and my-
 
 26 LETTERS OF 
 
 self, directed to dress with more than even 
 birth-day splendour, were astonished at 
 all this preparation ; but after dinner, my 
 father, in the presence of the whole com 
 pany, delivered Theresa's fortune into 
 her own hands, greatly augmented in 
 value. Theresa, who was loveliness itself, 
 arose gracefully from her seat, and was 
 going to thank him on her knee, but my 
 father prevented it, by meeting, and 
 affectionately embracing, her : u Thank 
 God !" he said, " I have done my duty. 
 Be as true to thyself as I have been to 
 thee, and be happy and God for ever 
 bless thee !" Having pronounced this, 
 with tears, he retired, to indulge those 
 sensations which convey the purest bliss, 
 and mock description. Indeed we all 
 felt a part of it, and the tear of sensibility 
 was in every eye. When my father re 
 turned, the glass circulated " To the 
 long life and happiness of Theresa." She 
 arose again, and, after thanking the com 
 pany, requested my father " to continue 
 her father and guardian : let me, dear
 
 CHARLOTTE. 27 
 
 Sir," she added, " let me continue lo 
 enjoy your protection, and the friendship 
 of my dear Charlotte, and do with this 
 treasure what seems best to yourself." 
 I embraced her, and we retired till the 
 dancing begun. My father gave her a 
 written acknowledgment for the deposit 
 she left in his hands ; and thus happily 
 discharged a trust of sixteen years, with 
 honour to himself, and advantage to 
 Theresa. Ever since, she has lived some 
 times in town, and sometimes with us ; 
 and happily combines what seldom are 
 combined great discretion and elegant 
 accomplishmen ts . 
 
 Conceive then, what I should lose in 
 the death of this amiable girl, and think 
 how her illness distresses me. I blush at 
 the length of this letter ; but narrative is 
 prolix, and, as the Frenchman said, " I 
 have not time to shorten it."* Adieu ! 
 
 * Pascal.
 
 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 MY dear Theresa is so much recovered, 
 that I shall be at Walheim on Saturday. 
 She kindly ascribes the amendment of 
 her health to my presence. The fact is, 
 that her strength has increased ever since 
 the physicians left her. They either 
 mistook the nature of her complaint, or 
 of her constitution. Nature, however, 
 with little assistance, has so far conquered 
 disease, that I rejoice in the thought of 
 seeingher once moreat Walheim. What 
 felicity in prospect ! to see Theresa em 
 brace my Carolina ! and Charlotte made 
 happy by the presence of both ! May 
 no dark cloud intercept those white hours !
 
 CHARLOTTE. 
 
 LETTER XI. 
 
 I AM glad you are convinced : I believe 
 nothing but experience would have con 
 vinced you how much my time is taken 
 up. You now know how my days are 
 divided, and that each hour has its stated 
 duty. I thank you again and again for 
 your friendly at(entions at Walheim ; 
 you have won the heart of my father : 
 he says, you are a another Theresa ;"and 
 that, I assure you, from him, is a very 
 high compliment. 
 
 It is too true, my dear Carolina 
 Werter loves me ; and it could not escape 
 your penetration. His perpetual solicitude 
 respecting me, you say, confirmed your 
 opinion. I have for some time observed, 
 with sad anxiety, this growing passion. 
 I have observed it in a thousand minute 
 circumstances : it has given rise to a 
 thousand little incidents that more strongly 
 confirm its reality than innumerable pro-
 
 30 
 
 testations. I cannot but esteem him for 
 his delicacy : he knows I am engaged to 
 Albert ; and though I see the ardour of 
 his passion, I learn it only from his eyes ; 
 his tongue is silent. 
 
 Had he not known of my attachment to 
 my dear Albert ; my dear Albert I say, 
 for why should I hide my heart from 
 you ? had he not heard me acknowledge 
 (he worth of Albert, and mention him 
 wilh tenderness Charlotte, you know, 
 could never hide her heart : then would 
 it have been criminal in me to have per 
 mitted his visits ; to have associated and 
 conversed with him on those friendly 
 terms which banished ceremonious re 
 straint and acknowledge a more than com 
 mon esteem. 
 
 And that I have more than a common 
 esteem for Werter, I do not blush to con 
 fess. His taste and sentiments are con 
 genial with my own ; his conversation 
 enlightens ; and he enters into the spirit 
 of the sciences ; he reads Klopstock with 
 feeling, tempered by judgment ; and 
 has translated a part of Ossian ; for, what
 
 CHARLOTTE. 31 
 
 is better than all, he understands English.* 
 He loves music, and makes himself useful 
 by keeping my harpsichord nicely in 
 tune. Tell me, my dear Carolina, tell 
 me, is there any impropriety in esteeming 
 a man of merit ? But do not think I love 
 No, Albert ! my vows are sacred to 
 thee! I have but one heart: it is thine 
 And though I can love none but thee, 
 surely I may esteem Werter: though 
 that love only can be pure, which glows 
 for one ; yet holy is that friendship which 
 glows for all. Tell me, my Carolina, 
 am I in this to blame ? 
 
 Your Ferdinand I will call \Amyour 
 Ferdinand esteems Werter ; and so, I 
 know, will Albert ; for he loves the society 
 of men of genius. Adieu ! Need I say 
 my father greets you ? he does more : 
 he loves you. 
 
 * From this passage, it is plain that Werter, 
 who speaks highly of Ossian in his letters, had Mr. 
 Macpherson's translation; and that Germany, as 
 well as Scotland, is a strauger to the original Erse.
 
 32 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 AH, my dear Carolina ! I see my error, 
 and I acknowledge the justice of your re 
 mark. An attachment so sudden and so 
 sfrong ! I see my error, Carolina, but 
 could I see it then ; and could I avoid it ? 
 Whilst I conversed with Werler, the 
 idea of passion never entered my mind. 
 You well know the disposition of your 
 Charlotte and you will reflect, how 
 often we are made happy or miserable by 
 the accidental concurrence of even trivial 
 circumstances : of circumstances that, 
 like small rivulets, derive all their power 
 from casual conjunction. But how could 
 I forsee this ? 
 
 " When you first discovered the flame 
 in his bosom" it was then too late to 
 apply your remedy : it was then too late 
 to " throw on the water of cold reserve." 
 Werter knew the candour of Charlotte-:
 
 CHARLOTTE. 33 
 
 he knew she was incapable of affecting 
 what she did not feel and to treat with 
 indifference that affection which she could 
 not return. And how could I speak to 
 him on the subject of a passion which he 
 had never declared ? 
 
 When I discovered the flame in his 
 bosom, and saw it sparkle in his eyes ; 
 when his visits became more and more 
 frequent, and his conversations were in 
 terrupted by involuntary sighs ; when I 
 saw him come like a bounding roe over 
 the fields, with all the ardour of youth ; 
 and when I saw him return, melancholy 
 and dejected, measuring his pace with 
 funeral steps ; then, my Carolina, then I 
 began to tremble : I stood aghast at the 
 innocent mischief I had done: like poor 
 villagers that from a hill behold their 
 cottages in flames, and can only lament 
 their fall ; so I regarded the passion of 
 Werter : I saw, but could not relieve. 
 I put confidence in his reason ; I opposed 
 the strength of his philosophy to that of 
 his passion, and derived consolation from
 
 34: LETTEIIS OF 
 
 the great English poet :* u Violent 
 love," he says, u soon evaporates; furious 
 flames quickly expire." 
 
 Yes, I see my error : I should not have 
 admitted an intimacy with one so suscep 
 tible of the finer feelings ; yet these, alas, 
 were the silken threads that formed the 
 cord of friendship ; the unfortunate friend 
 ship of Werter and Charlotie ! Yet, 
 why unfortunate ? let me not " cast the 
 fashion of uncertain evils :" Werter may 
 conquer his passion ; Charlotte may lose 
 the lover, and regain the friend ; and all 
 may yet be well. May heaven so speed 
 the hours '.Adieu ! 
 
 * I imagine Charlotte alludes to the following 
 passage in ' Romeo and Juliet :' 
 
 These violent delights have violent ends, 
 And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, 
 Which as they meet consume . 
 
 Therefore love moderately, long love doth so.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 TELL me, ray dear friend, are you of 
 the common opinion, that love has not 
 the same influence in this age it had in 
 that which we call the age of romance ? 
 Believe me, I think it has. Human nature, 
 we are told, is the same in all ages ; arid 
 if so, surely it must, at all times, be ac 
 tuated by the same passions, and in nearly 
 the same degree. 
 
 You will ask me, whether I believe, 
 that a modern gallant would turn knight 
 errant for his mistress ? I answer, that if 
 it was the fashion, he would. There is 
 a fashion for every tiling. As manners 
 change, the modes of expressing the pas 
 sions change with them. It is not so in 
 love only, but in all the passions. Malice 
 and revenge, which heretofore assumed 
 horrible and tremendous forms, now wear 
 different aspects ; I mean in what are
 
 36 LETTERS OF 
 
 called civilized countries. So that though 
 the " outward signs" of the passions are 
 considerably varied, it does not follow 
 that the passions themselves are extinct ; 
 they continue to exhibit themselves as 
 much as ever, but in different shapes. 
 
 It is a kind of fashion, nay, I know not 
 whether there is not a natural propensity 
 in us to depreciate the age in which we 
 happen to live ; but I think they go too 
 far, who contend, that the nobler passions 
 have not the same influence they ever had, 
 and at the same time affirm, that those of 
 a malignant nature have gained an ascen 
 dancy. This does not agree with either 
 fact or reason. I am persuaded, that 
 those who make these unfavourable con 
 clusions are such as are unwilling to at 
 tribute actions to their true motives, and 
 are more studious to discover the agency 
 of malevolence, than to give to others the 
 credit of virtuous principles. 
 
 Indeed, my dear friend, I doubt not 
 the existence of real and honourable, nay, 
 of romantic love, in as great a degree as
 
 CHARLOTTE. 37 
 
 ever we read of; that it is frequently 
 counterfeited, I must also admit. You 
 will next ask me, how we are to distin 
 guish the true from the false ? But, you 
 know, almost all the poets have answered 
 that question.* To them, I must, there- 
 
 * None of the poets have displayed more happy 
 talents on the subject than Mrs, Barbauld; and 
 I cannot resist gratifying the reader of taste with 
 the following very elegant and truly poetic stanzas, 
 by that lady, so immediately applicable to Char 
 lotte's observation. 
 
 Come here, fond youth, whoe'er thou be, 
 
 That boasts to love as well as me, 
 And if thy breast have felt so wide a wound, 
 
 Come hither, and thy flame approve ; 
 
 I'll teach thee what it is to love, 
 And by what marks true passion may be found. 
 
 It is to be all bath'd in tears, 
 To live upon a smile for years. 
 
 To lie whole ages at a beauty's feet ; 
 To kneel, to languish, and implore, 
 And still, tho' she disdain, adore ; 
 
 It is to do all this, and think thy sufferings sweet. 
 It is to gaze upon her eyes, 
 With eager joy and fond surprize,
 
 38 LETTERS OF 
 
 fore, refer you, as the best philosophers in 
 love. Adieu, my sweet friend ! I sin 
 cerely hope Adolphus Ferdinand will 
 
 Yet temperM with such chaste and awful fear 
 As wretches feel who wait their doom ; 
 Nor must one ruder thought persume, 
 
 Tho' but in whispers breath'd, to meet her ear. 
 
 It is to hope, tho' hope were lost, 
 
 Tho' heaven and earth thy passion crost ; 
 
 Tho' she were bright as sainted queens above, 
 And thou the least and meanest swain 
 That folds his flock upon the plain, 
 
 Yet if thou dars't not hope, thou dost not love. 
 
 It is to quench thy joy in tears, 
 
 To nurse strange doubts and groundless fears; 
 If pangs of jealousy thou hast not prov'd, 
 
 Tho' she were fonder and more true 
 
 Than any nymph old poets drew, 
 Oh, never dream again that thou hast lov'd. 
 
 If when the darling maid is gone, 
 
 Thou dost not seek to be alone, 
 Wrapt in a pleasing trance of tender woe ; 
 
 And muse, and fold thy languid arms, 
 
 Feeding thy fancy on her charms, 
 Thou dost not love, for love is nourish'd so.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 39 
 
 convince you, better than my arguments, 
 that there are hearts which flame with 
 true devotion to the god of love ! 
 
 If any hopes thy bosom share 
 
 But those which love has planted there, 
 Or any cares but his thy breast enthral, 
 
 Thou never yet his power hast known ; 
 
 Love sits on a despotic throne, 
 And reigns a tyrant, if he reigns at all. 
 
 Now if thou art so lost a thing, 
 Here all thy tender sorrows bring, 
 
 And prove whose patience longest can endure ; 
 We'll strive whose fancy shall be lost 
 Tn dreams of fondest passion most, 
 
 For if thou thus hastlov'd,oh! never hope a cure.
 
 40 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 IT seldom happens that the language of 
 panegyric is just ; yet so excellent is your 
 judgment, that I cannot withhold my 
 assent to the character you have drawn 
 of Werter ; but, give me leave to tell you, 
 the picture is not finished, and that 
 another dash of the pencil a dark shade 
 is wanting to perfect the likeness. 
 
 You have seen Werter only with others. 
 Notwithstanding his philosophical rea 
 sonings, and the apparent complacency 
 of his disposition, he is the very slave of 
 a temper naturally impetuous, and, if I 
 may so express it, rarefied by irritability 
 of nerves, and extreme delicacy, or, at 
 least, peculiarity of taste. 
 
 You will, perhaps, smile at my idea, 
 that extreme delicacy of taste is injurious 
 to the temper ; and you will tell me, 
 that true taste not only refines the under-
 
 CHARLOTTE. 41 
 
 standing, but meliorates the disposition. 
 Much, certainly, depends on the natural 
 tendency of the temper; and extreme 
 delicacy of taste in one of a cynical turn, 
 will by no means diminish a propensity 
 to querulous fastidity : on the contrary, 
 it will add fuel to the flame of intellectual 
 discontent, in proportion as the taste is 
 offended, and the feelings are hurt, by the 
 obtrusions of incongruity, and the ab 
 surdities of ignorance. 
 
 I cannot call Werter a cynic ; but his 
 infirmity of temper is augmented by his 
 delicacy of taste ; and the most trifling 
 occurrences make lasting impressions on 
 his mind. He has little command over 
 himself; and whilst his natural temper 
 thus overpowers him, how will he stem 
 the torrent of passion ? like the exube 
 rance of his imagination, it will know no 
 bounds : as the one is the source of his 
 most exalted pleasures, so the other, I 
 fear, will prove the cause of his severest 
 afflictions.
 
 40 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 You know how delightful it is to walk 
 on the terrace under the chesnut-trees, 
 and see the setting sun. Our little mansion 
 is at a convenient distance from the 
 village, and its situation on an eminence 
 gives it an air of cheerfulness unknown 
 to the valley. Werter is charmed with 
 the terrace, and said, last night, if it 
 would not seem odd, he would every 
 evening contemplate the beauties of the 
 valley, and the meanderings of the stream 
 by the setting sun. " And why," I said, 
 " will it seem odd ? you knowyour com 
 pany is always acceptable at the loJge." 
 " Nay," he replied, " I need not tell 
 you why it will seem so. 'Tis a sad thing, 
 Charlotte, that I cannot contemplate the 
 setting sun, nor the loveliness of those 
 eyes, but that some will regard it as a 
 trespass" I interrupted him : " See," I
 
 CHARLOTTE. 43 
 
 said, " see how swiftly th&t solitary bird 
 wings over the wood, on our left." " The 
 flock," said Werter, " is gone before ; 
 more s uccessful than this, they have found 
 provision for their young, and are returned 
 home richly laden. This too is a parent : 
 unwilling to return without the expected 
 food, she has stopped beyond the minute 
 of departure ; for nothing equals the re 
 gularity of birds, but the sun they rise 
 with." " And yet," I said, " she cannot 
 be late."" O," he replied, " a minute, 
 in her account, is an age : consider, 
 Charlotte, the joy of every little family 
 when the flock arrives ! what a chirping 
 through the wood '.-whilst one poor brood 
 hears all, but sees no parent bird : the 
 surrounding joy, and every moment's 
 delay, add to their distress. This the 
 parent bird knows she wings her way 
 with treble haste" " And if" I said, 
 but he interrupted me, and, seizing my 
 hand, exclaimed, " O Charlotte ! do not 
 make the cruel supposition If, after a 
 day's absence, I ascended this hill to see
 
 44 LETTERS OF 
 
 the setting sun, and under these shades 
 found no Charlotte if hurried away by 
 ruffian hands O God !" " Do not," 1 
 said, " do not subject your imagination 
 to fictitious distress ; it is thus you weary 
 your spirits, and not only darken, but 
 shorten your days." He sighed, and 
 lifting up his eyes towards heaven," Alas!" 
 he said, " when I cannot bear to think of 
 the time when there will be no Charlotte, 
 what days of misery must I count when 
 but thou art here, my Charlotte, and I 
 will be composed." " Werter," I re 
 plied, " it is ungenerous to distress me 
 thus : you know Charlotte's friend ship is" 
 " It is," said he, " beyond all price : 
 it binds me to the earth, and gives me a 
 foretaste of heaven."- " There was a 
 time," I said, " when Charlotte was un 
 known to Werter recollect those days, 
 and be happy." " Alas !" he replied, 
 " the recollection of past pleasures, how 
 ever innocent, makes us melancholy. I 
 never yet felt content so absolute, but 
 that hope flattered me with unknown
 
 CHARLOTTE. 45 
 
 prospects and now the Paradise, the 
 blooming Eden, is revealed : one moment 
 I feast on celestial delicacies ; the land 
 scape shews nothing but perennial bril 
 liancy : it vanishes the next just as the 
 sun, this moment, sinks behind the hills, 
 and, like him, leaves a few rays of hope 
 to keep me from despair." " Yes," said 
 I, " but you remember the poet: 
 
 Setting suns shall rise in glory 
 
 And to morrow, Werter, I shall expect 
 your promised translation of a song of 
 Ossian. It is time now to bid the children 
 good night." 
 
 We went in, and after kissing the chil 
 dren all round, I played some lively airs 
 on my harpsichord ; and, soon after 
 my father came, Werter went away, I 
 thought, in tolerable spirits. 
 
 You see, my dear Carolina, you see, 
 there is a wild enthusiasm in the friendship 
 and sentiments of Werter, that mast 
 subject him to perpetual extremes of hap 
 piness or misery. That spark of divinity
 
 46 LETTERS OF 
 
 which animates his frame, resembles one 
 of those glaring meteors that sometimes 
 cross the hemisphere, at once exciting 
 dread and pleasure. I thank heaven, the 
 soul of Albert more resembles a fixed 
 star !
 
 CHARLOTTE. 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 
 You have the advantage of me, Caro 
 lina. Your residence in England has 
 made you too learned for me. I could 
 hardly read the English quotation in your 
 last letter: I mean I could not read it 
 with ease. I will, however, read the 
 " Seasons ;" though I have heard Albert 
 say, he thought it very difficult to enter 
 into the spirit of that poem. My English 
 reading has, in a great measure, been con 
 fined to the dramatic poets ; they are ex 
 tremely interesting ; and I think, of all 
 modes of writing, dialogue is the easiest 
 to be understood. I begin to relish the 
 Night-Thoughts, and so much admire the 
 " Narcissa,"* that I am attempting a 
 translation, with which I intend to surprize 
 Albert on his return. 
 
 * Night the third.
 
 48 LETTERS OF 
 
 I wonder you have patience to learn tbe 
 French ; for though it is easy enough, it 
 has nothing to recommend it : neither the 
 strength of the English, nor the delicacy 
 of the Italian ; and when one hears it 
 spoken, one would imagine it was but a 
 kind of half language, for there is a per 
 petual distortion of the body in gesticula 
 tion, which seems to be as essential as the 
 words. Werter understands it well 
 enough to point out its peculiar beauties 
 and I suppose the Cherokee itself has 
 beauties but he prefers the language of 
 every other civilized country, except the 
 Dutch, and of their civilization he enter 
 tains some doubts you know what a 
 people must be, for him to think them ci 
 vilized. When I first asked him, what 
 he thought of the French language ? 
 " Think !" said he, " why I think, if 
 heaven was suddenly to endue baboons 
 and monkeys with the power of articula 
 tion, they would instantly jabber French." 
 " And yet," replied J, " you read 
 French" " True," said Werter, " just
 
 CHARLOTTE. 4$ 
 
 as I do many otherfoolish things, because 
 it is the fashion. 
 
 " How comes it then," I asked, " that 
 if the language is not intrinsically good, 
 it has become so general ? it is the com 
 mon language of all Europe." " Be 
 cause," said Werter, " the French have 
 more vanity than all Europe : it is," added 
 he, " that kind of vanity, which, in some 
 countries, is peculiar to quack-doctors : 
 they have the assurance to tell you that 
 no language is like their's indeed," said 
 he, " so far I believe them ; that their's 
 is the best of all possible languages, and 
 people very good-naturedly take their 
 word for it." 
 
 And so, my dear Carolina, you are 
 studying the language of " baboons and 
 monkeys!" I am surprized that Ferdi 
 nand does not persuade you to study my 
 favourite, the Italian. Would not it bo 
 more pleasant, think you, to read a son 
 net of Petrarch, than an epigram of Vol 
 taire ?
 
 50 LETTERS OF 
 
 Jesting apart, my dearest friend, let ray 
 tongue speak what language it will, the 
 language of my heart is, that I am ever, 
 and affectionately thine.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 51 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 
 WALHEIM is once more blessed with 
 the presence of Theresa W. the dear 
 girl is come ! She is come, Carolina, to 
 re-establish her health and to regain her 
 bloom. My father received her with open 
 arms, and the children wearied their Terey 
 with kisses. 
 
 I have nothing now to disturb my re 
 pose, but the too ardent attachment of 
 Werter. I wish Providence would so 
 ordain it, that the charms of Theresa may 
 influence Werter, as those of Carolina do 
 Ferdinand. 
 
 To complete our felicity, cannot you 
 pass a week at Walheim ? We are to 
 have another ball the next month ; and 
 must I again prove a poor substitute for 
 Carolina, and join the dance with Ferdi 
 nand ? For by that time, Theresa, I 
 hope, will be able, to accompany us, and 
 
 D2
 
 52 LETTERS OF 
 
 of course, I shall contrive that Werter 
 shall be chiefly engaged with her. 
 
 Theresa, since her arrival here, has 
 found a tenth muse in Hy geia the goddess 
 of health. And the following are her 
 effusions. 
 
 O shades of Walheim ! and ye streams that give 
 Melodious murmurs to the passing gale, 
 
 Once more I breathe among your healthy groves, 
 Once more I drink the music of the vale. 
 
 Hygeia ! goddess of the smiling hours ! 
 
 Daughter of Temperance and of chaste Desire ! 
 To thee once more I lift the cheerful eye, 
 
 To thee once more I strike the sylvan lyre. 
 
 Dost thou not dwelFmongWalheim's blessed shades? 
 
 Dost thou not wanton in her happy vale? 
 Thy beaming face I see in orient morn, 
 
 I feel thy kisses in the summer's gale. 
 
 I hear thee in the sprightly song of birds, 
 And in the mid-day humming of the bee ; 
 
 Thou can'st not breathe, but sweetest music plays 
 'Mpng bending corn, and in the waving tree.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 53 
 
 Give me O goddess of the smiling hours ! 
 
 With thee to dwell in Walheim's peaceful groves, 
 With thee to wander o'er her shady hills, 
 
 With thee repose me in her green alcoves. 
 
 With grateful feeling glows my cheerful heart, 
 Warm'd with return of thy all-sacred fire ; 
 
 To thee I dedicate this humble verse, 
 Daughter of Temperance and of chaste Desire ! 
 
 O shades of Walheim ! and ye streams that give 
 Melodious murmurs to the passing gale, 
 
 Once more T breathe among your healthy groves, 
 Once more I drink the music of the vale. 
 
 I expect these verses to have no small 
 influence with Werter, I assure you. 
 Adieu !
 
 54; LETTERS OP 
 
 LETTER XVIII. 
 
 FOR your generous sentiments, a thou 
 sand thanks ! The good opinion of my 
 dear Carolina, makes me happy ; and I 
 trust my conduct will always be such as 
 to merit a continuation of that friendly 
 intercourse which is to me 
 
 , A perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, 
 Where no crude surfeit reigns. 
 
 I will be watchful over my heart your 
 advice is engraved there and what shall 
 erase the image of Albert ? Need I blush 
 to say this to my Carolina ? Your letter 
 must be my apology, wherein you bid me 
 " beware of my heart." Why should I 
 play the hypocrite, and with Carolina 
 too ? my heart is Albert's. Of course, 
 what you call the " old emblem of the
 
 CHARLOTTE. 55 
 
 moth and flame," applies not to me. Need 
 I dread the fire when my wings are gone ? 
 Be candid, Carolina, and tell me, has 
 Ferdinand burnt your wings ? How say 
 you : wings or no wings ?
 
 LETTERS OP 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 " JUST touched the flame, and likely 
 to grow again !" I am glad, however, 
 you cannot fly Shall I tell Ferdinand, 
 that you are half wingless ? 
 
 The two strangers have met : Werter 
 and Theresa are mutually pleased with 
 each other ; there is already that very 
 friendship between them which I wished 
 to have subsisted between Werter and 
 myself: they are, as it were, brother and 
 sister. That delightful intercourse of 
 sentiment, and sympathy of taste, that 
 delicate sensibility which displays all the 
 blossoms of friendship, unmixed with the 
 thorns of passion this, my Carolina, is 
 the happy lot of Werter and Theresa.* 
 
 * It is rather extraordinary that this lady is not 
 mentioned in Werter's lettters ; but Charlotte en 
 grossed all his serious thoughts all his literary 
 attention.
 
 CHAHLOTTE. 57 
 
 Ah, Werter! why must the blossom of 
 our friendship wither with the heat of too 
 warm a sun ? O, call to its aid the dews 
 of reason, the showers of philosophy, 
 or if it must be so drown it in the 
 waters of oblivion ! 
 
 O, my Carolina ! his eyes have too, too 
 much expression. Without his saying 
 even a u civil thing," Theresa discovered 
 all. Will Albert read with such dis 
 crimination, the sad contents of Werter's 
 countenance ? My Carolina ! what is 
 to be done ? 
 
 Theresa advised me, as you did, to 
 treat him with great coldness I did so 
 and the consequence was, so much ex 
 travagance of action, such incoherent con 
 versations, such dejection, that it attracted 
 my father's attention, who very seriously 
 told me, that "he thought Werter had 
 read a little too much of the Greek look 
 which he calls his pocket companion," 
 meaning Homer, which Werter always 
 carries about him. Even the children re 
 marked it, and complained, that " Wer- 
 D 5
 
 58 LETTERS OF 
 
 ter did riot build houses of cards, nor 
 romp with them on the floor." This was 
 just as I expected : Carolina and Theresa 
 are strangers to the disposition and temper 
 of Werter. I was afraid to repeat the 
 experiment ; and it may seem vanity in 
 me to say, that I dreaded more fatal con 
 sequences ; but the impetuosity of Wer- 
 ter's temper, the wildness of his eye, the 
 distraction of soul, which he endeavoured 
 to hide O my dear friend ! 
 
 Theresa too was alarmed. I was, in 
 some measure, obliged to follow her 
 advice, as she might have attributed my 
 neglect of it to a wrong motive ; but, 
 acquitting me of all improper attach 
 ment, she requested I would resume the 
 smile of friendship, and treat Werter in 
 my accustomed manner. Perhaps I over 
 acted my part :* for the next time Werter 
 
 * This seems to have given occasion to Werter's 
 nineteenth letter, in which he says, " She loves 
 me !"
 
 CHARLOTTE. 59 
 
 went away, he repeated two lines of our 
 favourite English poet :* 
 
 My gloom is scatter'd, sprightly spirits flow, 
 Tho' wither'd is my vine, and harp unstrung. 
 
 Again, my Carolina what is to be done ? 
 Is there no such thing as lasting bliss ? 
 and is not innocence secure from misery ? 
 Alas, I fear not! devouring tempests 
 and gentle rains descend on all alike. 
 
 * Young.
 
 60 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 
 No ! I by no means think it " indeli 
 cate" in you to contend against the exist 
 ence of platonic friendship : it is mere mat 
 ter of opinion. But against your opinion, 
 I bring a fact ; I produce my vouchers 
 Werter and Theresa. There is platonic 
 friendship in the strictest sense. But you 
 will, perhaps, ask me, will it continue 
 such ? Will not Albert's presence Ah, 
 my dear friend! do not flatter me with 
 ideal peace. Can Wertcr's presence make 
 me forget Albert ? Will not my esteem 
 remain for Werter when Albert comes ? 
 In Albert's presence will Werter's flame 
 expire ? 
 
 If the friendship which I envy would 
 terminate in Jove, I should indeed be 
 happy. But I fear my Carolina pro 
 phesies in vain. 
 
 Respecting Platonics, I admire your
 
 CHARLOTTE. 61 
 
 candour, though I do not subscribe to 
 your creed . Possibly I may be mistaken ; 
 I may have too high an opinion of human 
 nature. We all believe that angelic in 
 tercourse is intellectual ; and we all know 
 and feel, that our most supreme felicity 
 originates in mind; that our affections are 
 stronger in proportion as they are refined, 
 and are refined in proportion to the cul 
 tivation of our intellectual faculties. And 
 why may not minds be so cultivated, and 
 so rapt, as it were, in the exercise and 
 contemplation of their own powers, as to 
 hold an independent intercourse ? I do 
 not say this is common. I contend only 
 for the possibility of its existence. Holy 
 men hold converse with heaven : they 
 have a spiritual intercourse with the 
 " Father of lights ;" yet holy men are 
 mortal. 
 
 But this you will call a summer even 
 ing's reverie. Be it so : I love to indulge 
 myself in such reveries as impress on my 
 mind a favourable idea of human nature, 
 which makes me respect mankind, and
 
 62 LETTERS OF 
 
 myself; and so long as these impressions 
 remain, I cannot easily be led to do any 
 thing unbecoming the duty and the dig 
 nity of a rational being. 
 
 My last letter from Albert informs me, 
 that he has settled his father's affairs ; has 
 great hope of succeeding in his applica 
 tion to the minister, and that he shall soon 
 be able to fix the day for his return to 
 Walheira. My dear Carolina, adieu !
 
 CHARLOTTE. 63 
 
 LETTER XXI. 
 
 TRANQUILLITY reigns at Walheim. 
 My days pass pleasantly ; the presence of 
 my Theresa gives me great consolation. 
 To be fully employed in domestic scenes, 
 and to enjoy the communications of such 
 a mind as Theresa's this is the source of 
 my felicity. It recals to my memory 
 those days of happiness, when my dear 
 mother blessed this mansion she that was 
 at once my parent, guide, instructor, 
 friend. 
 
 Werter was here yesterday, and in the 
 evening we walked under the lime-trees. 
 Theresa has recovered all her sprightliness, 
 and was jocular at the expense of Werter, 
 by pretending to have discovered that he 
 is in love, by certain poetical signs ; and 
 asked what maid of the village had been 
 able to captivate the philosophical Wer 
 ter ?
 
 64 LETTERS OF 
 
 " Nay," said he, " I shall not pretend 
 to deny that I am in love : because I 
 would not pay so ill a compliment to your 
 judgment. But if, my dear Theresa," 
 added he, " these signs were not visible 
 before you came to Walheim, I leave 
 you to guess whose chains I wear." 
 Theresa blushed" There, Theresa," 
 said I, " you see what it is to accuse 
 philosophy of so much weakness." 
 " Yes," she replied, " Minerva scorns the 
 darts of Cupid." " Not so," said Wer- 
 ter, " she sometimes assists the little god, 
 and, because he is blind, directs his arrows 
 to the proper objects. But," he con 
 tinued, " every attachment accompanied 
 by reciprocal civility now receives the 
 appellation of love ; either because there 
 is little real affection subsisting, or be 
 cause people cannot, perhaps will not, 
 distinguish love from friendship." " I 
 remember a lady Sir," said Theresa, 
 " whose sentiments I had great reason to 
 admire, who contended, that there actu 
 ally was not any distinction ; and I wish
 
 CllARLOlTE. 65 
 
 I could also remember her argument to 
 prove it." " For ray part," I said, " I 
 have not turned my thoughts to the sub 
 ject, but," I added, laughing, " you know 
 I am very learned, and can read English 
 poetry : the English poets, you know, are 
 philosophers, and one of them* decides 
 the matter in a single line 
 
 " True love and friendship are the same." 
 
 " I should be extremely happy," said 
 Werter, looking at me, " if that were the 
 fact. But, my dear friend, you must 
 recollect the circumstance that gave rise 
 to your quotation. The poet's mistress 
 had promised him her friendship, and, to 
 augment his happiness, he adduces your 
 argument, which he found excellent in 
 theory, but false in fact ; for I never 
 learnt that he could persuade her into the 
 same opinion." 
 
 " I know not," replied Theresa," what 
 may be the sentiments of poets and phi 
 losophers ; but I feel I love my friends, 
 
 * Thomson.
 
 66 LETTERS OF 
 
 and I cannot separate the ideas of love 
 and friendship : be so good, Sir," added 
 she, " as to favour me with the line of dis 
 tinction." " Answer ray questions can 
 didly," said Werter, " and I have a 
 solution at hand. Either I deceive my 
 self, or I am honoured with your friend 
 ship."" Certainly."" And yet," he 
 said, " according to your account, that 
 cannot be, unless you are in love with 
 me." "Inlove!" replied Theresa, colour 
 ing, " I ha ve, indeed, a sisterly affection." 
 " And what is that," said he, " but the 
 truest friendship ? for that, a thousand 
 thanks, my dear Theresa. This friend 
 ship, however," he continued, " origi 
 nates in similarity of sentiment; in a re 
 ciprocation of good opinion, and is in 
 dependent of passion. Though it adds 
 charms to existence, yet existence is to be 
 borne without it. But you may one day 
 feel an attachment which will render ex 
 istence miserable, except in the presence 
 of a particular object" " I suppose, 
 Sir," said Theresa, interrupting Werter,
 
 CHARLOTTE. C7 
 
 " I suppose, Sir, you speak from ex 
 perience ; otherwise I may fairly oppose 
 theory to theory ; and we may contend 
 without a possibility of conviction." 
 " There are few women," replied Werter, 
 " to whom I would acknowledge myself 
 to have been the slave of that passion, 
 though it is the ' noblest and the best.' 
 It is a subject on which they can never be 
 serious, but when they are under its in 
 fluence. I have too good an opinion of 
 Theresa's candour to suppose her desirous 
 of any confession to confirm my opinion." 
 We were at that instant joined by your 
 Ferdinand, to whom we referred the 
 question in debate. I need not tell you 
 his manner " Difference between love 
 and friendship !" said he, "just the same 
 difference there is between fruit and blos 
 soms." " Exactly!" resumed Werter, 
 "we are contented with contemplating 
 the one, and cannot help devouring the 
 other." 
 
 " It is vain," I said, " to put the ques 
 tion to a vote, where there is an equal
 
 138 LETTERS OJ-' 
 
 division ; but if Carolina were here" 
 " O, then," said Ferdinand, I should be 
 a true advocate, and change sides for the 
 sake of better fees." 
 
 So pass our evening walks. Theresa 
 has brought a quantity of new music ; 
 and her melodious voice again gives 
 cheerfulness to Walheim. 
 
 And why, my dear Carolina, why will 
 you not personally join this little band of 
 friends ? Theresa longs to embrace you ; 
 and Werter teases Ferdinand, by telling 
 him that you will certainly be the most 
 domestic wife in the world, for, says he, 
 " you see, neither friendship, love, nor 
 music, can draw her from home !" How 
 can you withstand such mighty powers 
 as these ?
 
 CHARLOTTE. 69 
 
 LETTER XXII. 
 
 SPELLS, and preternatural powers ! So 
 you have converted Solitude into an en 
 chantress, by whose magic you are bound 
 to your lonely castle ! Theresa and I will 
 come, and drive the sorceress forth, and 
 set you free, if we find her power too 
 potent against your own efforts. For my 
 part, I have provided an English incan- 
 talion, which, as it was penned by the 
 greatest magician that ever called " spirits 
 from the vasty deep," I expect will be 
 very powerful : and thus it runs : * c Let 
 
 * me conjure you, by the rights of our 
 
 * fellowship, by the consonancy of our 
 6 youth, by the obligation of our ever- 
 
 * preserved love, and by what more dear, 
 ' a better proposer could charge you 
 ' withal' fly to Walheim! 
 
 * Hamlet.
 
 70 LETTERS OF 
 
 If this will not do, I shall have recourse 
 to another expedient. There resides in 
 this neighbourhood a great magician, 
 whom I will oppose to your enchantress, 
 and I shall be wofully deceived if he does 
 not break her wand, and dissolve the 
 charm. You may have heard of him 
 his name is Adolphus Ferdinand. So 
 look to it !
 
 CHARLOTTE. 71 
 
 LETTER XXIII. 
 
 I AM glad you think of coming to the 
 ball ; I am likewise glad there is to be a 
 ball. Albert will be here; and novelty 
 may attract Werter. Yes, my dear Caro 
 lina, Albert is on his way to Walheim. 
 The presence of Theresa will be a vast 
 relief to me, without which I should be 
 at a loss to know what to do ; for, alas ! I 
 have a new lesson to teach rny heart. It 
 must not appear to Albert, that I know 
 any thing of the passion of Werter ; and 
 I hope it will escape Albert's attention. 
 Indeed, indeed, my Carolina, strange sen 
 sations arise in my bosom : I wish, yet 
 tremble, to see Albert ! 
 
 A gentleman came from the town yes 
 terday on business to Theresa ; and, as 
 he staid late, Werter and I walked under 
 the thick chesnut-trees, and my father 
 joined us, on his return from the town,
 
 72 LETTERS OF 
 
 where he had been a few days." Char 
 lotte," he said, " there is a friend of yours 
 on the way to Walheim, who means to 
 visit you speedily." " Dear Sir," I re 
 plied, " who is it ?" " Need I tell you ?" 
 he said, " Albert." Leaning on Wer- 
 ter's arm, I perceived him to be agitated, 
 and looking in his face, I saw he was pale. 
 I was glad my father did not notice it ; 
 but he went forward, saying, " I suppose 
 I shall find a housekeeper my little Spa 
 niard" so he frequently calls Theresa, 
 whose mother was a Spanish gentlewoman 
 of good family. 
 
 The moon was just beginning to rise, 
 and I said to Werter, " Let us follow my 
 father."" O Charlotte " he replied, 
 u what shall now become of Werter ? T 
 respect Albert, because he loves you ; 
 but the idea of his approach chills rne. 
 I cannot think of entering the houseagain : 
 I am too much agitated. And must I 
 then lose this heavenly intercourse ? Must 
 J no more see Charlotte ? no more pour 
 out my soul before her, and receive com-
 
 CHARLOTTE. 73 
 
 fort from her smiles ? Shall I not learn 
 to regulate my spirit by her serenity ? 
 and must I wander through the world des 
 titute of light for without Charlotte all 
 is darkness !" I replied, " These are 
 words, Werter, which I did not expect to 
 hear from you, and I know not how to 
 answer them. Indeed, Werter, you dis 
 tress me. You must either accept my 
 friendship on such terms as heaven may 
 afford, or" " Spare," he cried, "spare 
 the cruel word. O Charlotte! can any 
 thing equal the thought of separation ? 
 I could die, my Charlotte nay, and" 
 I interrupted him " Alas, Werter," I 
 said, " I have been to blame to en courage 
 a friendship so prejudicial to the peace of 
 both. But friendship is the child of 
 peace, and Werter's passion murders the 
 innocent offspring of unoffending sym 
 pathy. Do not," I added, " anticipate 
 the sorrows that may never come: I re 
 spect you, Werter, take this hand, 
 Werter, nay bathe it not with tears, 
 and let me intreat you I value your 
 E
 
 74 LETTERS OF 
 
 friendship let me prevail on you if not 
 for your own, at least for ray peace, for 
 bear a language, which, however it may 
 distress me, I cannot I must not regard. 
 "Will Werter let Charlotte ask in vain?" 
 " O Charlotte !" he said, " yourgood- 
 ness overwhelms me ; I will endeavour to 
 be happy : indeed I ought to be, when 
 Charlotte is my friend."" Charlotte," 
 I replied, " will always be the friend of 
 Werter, whilst Werter is friendly to the 
 peace of Charlotte." 
 
 He was a good deal composed, and I 
 knew that by diverting his attention to 
 some peculiar object, his mind would be 
 come serene. " How beautifully," I said, 
 "do the moon-beams danceon the waters!" 
 "But the waters," he replied, "are 
 ruffled: so Charlotte's goodness plays 
 upon my heart, and" " Why, Werter," 
 I said, " why will you let fond imagina 
 tion destroy your peace ? Is this becoming 
 Werter ? Werter whose mind should be 
 calmed by the superiority of its powers ? 
 or does philosophy aid passion ? and
 
 CHARLOTTE. 75 
 
 must Werter envy the peace that dwells 
 in yon miserable huts where one sees 
 glimmering lights over the hills ? Come, 
 Werter," I added, " let not poor hinds in 
 struct us to be happy : let us join the 
 domestic circle, and seek felicity in the 
 bosom of friendship believe me," I said, 
 " we shall find it there."" Alas!" he 
 replied, "where shall Werter find felici 
 ty, but in Charlotte's friendship ? and 
 " Albert"" Albert," I said, will 
 esteem the friends of Charlotte, and is not 
 Werter one ?" 
 
 As we returned , I endeavoured to con 
 vince Werter of the advantages he would 
 derive from the friendship of a good and 
 liberal-minded man, who was happy in 
 joining a knowledge of the world with a 
 love of retirement, and whose judgment 
 was never warped by passion. " Yes," 
 he replied, smiling, u an excellent con 
 trast to me, who despise the world, and 
 never discovered any judgment but in lov 
 ing Charlotte."" Nay," I said, " I dare 
 say your judgment had nothing to do in 
 ft
 
 76 LETTERS OF 
 
 the mailer : love, you know, is involun 
 tary." (l My affection, I grant you," he 
 said, "was involuntary ; but it was rea 
 son that ri vetted the chain." u The chain 
 of friendship," said I, " for what has rea 
 son to do with passion ?" 
 
 I foresaw this would have been a long 
 argument, but we were now at the door^ 
 and he was for returning home : " Come," 
 I said, " one song from Theresa." " Let 
 it be plaintive,- let it be heavenly," said 
 he, " let it lead me, as you do, from the 
 earth." 
 
 Thus, you see, my dearest Carolina, 
 my days of trial are hastening on. The 
 return of my dear Albert but who shall 
 drink from the cup of joy unmixed ? 
 The beverage is immortal, and none but 
 angels taste it.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 77 
 
 LETTER XXIV. 
 
 HE is come, my dear friend ! Albert is 
 come, and I am happy! Werter has 
 seen, and esteems him. Nor is the esteem 
 lost : Albert returns it, and regards Wer 
 ter as a man whose taste can be surpassed 
 only by his eccentricity. Rejoice, my 
 dear girl, for your Charlotte is happy. 
 We want nothing but Carolina, to enjoy 
 every pleasure which can be communi 
 cated by friendship, music, and retire 
 ment. 
 
 Albert has not only paid the last duties 
 to his father, and settled all his affairs, 
 but he has also been successful in his ap 
 plication at court ; and though the place 
 he has obtained is not so lucrative as had 
 been expected, fortunately it requires no 
 attendance to prevent his remaining here. 
 
 You would have laughed to have seen 
 how Albert was puzzled what to make of
 
 78 LETTERS OF 
 
 Werter, from the descriptions given by 
 my father and Theresa. When he in 
 quired whether we had any new visitants : 
 " O yes," said ray father, " there is 
 Werter, a lover of Theresa's."" Of 
 mine, Sir !" said Theresa. " Why, to 
 be sure," replied ray father, " for, before 
 you came, he was not here above three 
 times a week ; and now, when is he away ?" 
 " And what is he ?" Albert asked. 
 " Heaven knows !" answered ray father, 
 " but sometimes, I think he is mad. v 
 " Mad !" cried Theresa, " do you think, 
 Sir, he is mad because, as you say, he is 
 a lover of mine?" " No, no," said my 
 father, " I rather think his pocket com 
 panion, as he calls his Greek book, has 
 had the most influence." " O, then," 
 Albert said, " much learning hath made 
 him mad."" My dear Sir," said The 
 resa, <c it is no such thing : Werter is a 
 man of genius." " Yes !" exclaimed my 
 father, " he has a very pretty genius at 
 building houses of cards for the children, 
 and rambling in the woods when he should
 
 CHARLOTTE. 79 
 
 be in bed. To be sure, lie tunes Charlotte's 
 harpsichord, and that" added my father, 
 " is the only thing he does like other peo 
 ple. "_ Why now, Albert," said The 
 resa, " I assure you, Werter is a man of 
 extraordinary taste" " Very extraordi 
 nary indeed !" interrupted my father, " he 
 has a very extraordinary taste in making 
 speeches, and, rather than be out of prac 
 tice, I caught him one day making a 
 speech to a pear-tree !" " To a pear- 
 tree!"* said Albert, " what could he say 
 to a pear-tree ?" " Nay," replied my 
 father, " I suppose it was Greek ; I walked 
 on, and would not interrupt him." 
 " Well," said Albert, " I cannot tell 
 what to make of him." u O," my father 
 said, " the day will not pass without your 
 seeing him, and then I'll ask your opinion 
 whether he is mad or not ?" 
 
 When ray father had left table, for this 
 was at dinner, we explained to Albert the 
 character of Werter, who came in the 
 
 * See Werter, Letter xxxiv.
 
 80 
 
 evening, and my father was astonished ta 
 hear him and Albert converse on subjects 
 which my father was fully persuaded 
 Werter knew nothing about ; and when 
 he was gone, my father said, " Take 
 away his pocket companion, and don't let 
 him see Theresa, and I believe Werter 
 might do something." 
 
 This mutual harmony of Werter and 
 Albert gives me great comfort; and I 
 hope the passion of Werter will subside 
 into a friendship which I shall always re 
 gard as a source of intellectual pleasure. 
 Once more, my dear Carolina, I can 
 conclude my letter with a cheerful heart ; 
 and once more write adieu ! without any 
 sigh but for your absence.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 
 
 LETTER XXV. 
 
 I AM afraid my dear Carolina must 
 havediscovered, in some of my late letters, 
 an appearance of vanity. But you will 
 recollect that they are chiefly narrative. 
 In relating what has passed between Wer- 
 ter and myself, I could not avoid giving 
 you his own words ; and little regard is 
 to be paid to the language of passion, 
 whether of love or anger. You see, my 
 dear, how nearly abuse and compliment 
 are allied : so nearly, that sometimes one 
 is mistaken for the other. 
 
 I should find myself extremely at a loss 
 to give, verbally, an account of the cir 
 cumstances which I communicate to you 
 by letter. But in a confidential corre 
 spondence, and especially with my Caro 
 lina, I can lay open my heart, and reveal 
 all its weaknesses. 
 
 I have always regarded letters as a sort 
 
 5
 
 82 LETTERS OF 
 
 of proxies, sometimes instructed to deliver 
 such sentiments as one could not freely 
 communicate otherwise. 
 
 Some very grave, and some very light 
 people, look on a correspondence of this 
 kind as very silly. The contents of the 
 correspondence may frequently be silly 
 enough ; but the practice is not the worse 
 for that ; like every thing else, it may 
 sometimes be abused. To put our thoughts 
 in writing, and habituate ourselves to give 
 them language, will soon enable us to do 
 it with facility ; and surely that is an 
 accomplishment well worth cultivation. 
 
 But this is not the only advantage re 
 sulting from a confidential correspondence. 
 If we made it a rule to give an account of 
 our actions, it might be one way of pre 
 venting some from doing things which 
 they would be ashamed to acknowledge. 
 Hence, the vast importance in our choice 
 of friends : virtue, as well as vice, is 
 strengthened by connexion ; example 
 comes directly home, and has its full in 
 fluence on the mintl. Those, therefore,
 
 CHARLOTTE. 83 
 
 who contend against the confidential cor 
 respondence of virtuous friends, would 
 prevent their progress in a necessary ac 
 complishment, and deprive them of one 
 of the guards of virtue. 
 
 Believe me, my dear Carolina, I regard 
 your friendship as one of the chief bles 
 sings of my life ; and the communication 
 of your sentiments as one of my most 
 exalted pleasures. The hemisphere of 
 my friendship is very small ; I look on 
 you as no less than the sun in it : arid all 
 your letters as rays, conveying light and 
 comfort to your Charlotte. Adieu.
 
 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER XXVI. 
 
 YOUR Adolphus, yesterday, favoured 
 us with a visit. The conversation acci 
 dentally turned on the education of women. 
 Poor Theresa and myself were almost 
 beaten out of the field of contention. My 
 father enumerated several instances of 
 female indiscretion and ruin, which he 
 called the natural consequences of elegant 
 accomplishments. I observe that the 
 aged, in general, have this strange pre 
 judice against female education being car 
 ried beyond the common extent. Jt is 
 not difficult to account for this : most 
 women who have a turn for menial acqui 
 sition, are apt (o neglect the more com 
 mon, and, consequently, the more useful, 
 pursuits of life ; and people do not judge, 
 and form their opinion of us, from what 
 we know, but from what we do. Those 
 parents may well declaim against a, refined
 
 CHARLOTTE. 85 
 
 education, who find themselves and their 
 commands disregarded, and their opi 
 nions treated with contempt or ridicule, 
 by their children. Nothing is more 
 universally shunned than, what is called, 
 a learned woman ; as if learning, so far 
 from being ornamental, were actually a 
 disgrace to the sex. It is simply the mis 
 application of it : a woman may, if she 
 pleases, be very learned, without being 
 ridiculous. I will fairly own, however, 
 that there are not so many women ren 
 dered amiable, as ridiculous by learning, 
 at least in this country. But this is owing 
 to literary attainments being uncommon 
 among us. To find ourselves possessed 
 of superiority 'n any accomplishment, 
 especially of the mind, is apt to make us 
 vain, and vanity never fails to make us 
 ridiculous. 
 
 Whilst my father argued seriously, Al 
 bert, Werter, and Ferdinand, jocularly 
 supported him. Theresa did not fail to 
 remind the gentlemen, that all they said 
 applied just as strongly against them-
 
 86 LETTERS OF 
 
 selves. " For," said Theresa, u Can any 
 thing in nature be more ridiculous than a 
 learned man, with all his whims, preju 
 dices, and odd notions about him ! I have 
 read of few, who, with all their knowledge, 
 were not the mere slaves of system : so 
 that there," added she, " I think we have 
 the advantage ; women, in general, are 
 too volatile to be systematic ; I will not 
 take the advantage of saying, that their 
 minds are not sufficiently contracted to be 
 systematic ; for, in my idea, all senti 
 mental system implies a certain degree of 
 contraction." Albert would not allow of 
 this conclusion ; he called system the 
 helm of science, and gave us a metapho 
 rical discussion of the subject, in which 
 he displayed more ingenuity than I ex 
 pected. 
 
 I think there is great propriety in giving 
 to our sex every possible advantage re 
 sulting from education . It must be recol 
 lected that, as we are precluded joining in 
 the common business of life, we must ne 
 cessarily pass many hours alone: many
 
 CHARLOTTE. 87 
 
 of our domestic employments are such as 
 not to require much attention ; and many 
 hours we are obliged to pass without any 
 peculiar object of pursuit. The mind is 
 the most active of all principles : it must 
 be employed ; and surely it is of the 
 utmost consequence that it be employed 
 on proper objects : on objects which educa 
 tion only can supply ; and the more ex 
 tensive the education, the more inexhaus 
 tible the source of contemplation. 
 
 It is generally allowed, that there is, in 
 human nature, a propensity to evil ; that 
 the mind not occupied in virtuous, will 
 be employed on vicious, pursuits. And 
 hence it is, that vice is generally the 
 daughter of idleness. Viewed in this 
 light, a scientific education seems more 
 essentially necessary to women than to men, 
 their sphere of action being confined to 
 the domestic duties, which presently be- 
 . coming an almost mechanical routine, 
 leave the mind at liberty to indulge itself 
 in scientific or rational inquiry, or in the 
 reveries of fancy. 
 
 The idea, therefore, that the possession
 
 88 LETTERS OF 
 
 of any accomplishment can tend to weaken 
 virtuous principle, is extremely erroneous. 
 Singing, dancing, playing, exhilarate and 
 expand the mind : they are the most in 
 nocent and the most delightful of all our 
 pleasures, and 
 
 Where virtue is, these are most virtuous. 
 
 That they are too frequently perverted is 
 too true ; but that is no argument against 
 their excellence ; for is not every blessing 
 liable to abuse ? 
 
 As ignorance is a principal source of 
 vice, so knowledge is a principal source 
 of virtue. Let us, then, my Carolina, 
 endeavour to contribute to the happiness 
 of each other, by furnishing ourselves with 
 such ideas as may expand the mind, and 
 strengthen the habits of virtue. Continue, 
 my dear girl, to make your Charlotte 
 wiser and better, for one, I hope, will 
 be the natural consequence of the other, 
 by communicating those sentiments, 
 for which I so much admire and love you. 
 Adieu !
 
 CHARLOTTE. 
 
 LETTER XXVII. 
 
 IF I did not love my Carolina, could I 
 excuse that excess of praise she bestowed 
 on me in her last letter ? But I do love 
 her, and I do excuse it. The extreme 
 partialities of friendship, though founded 
 on error, should never be regarded as the 
 effusions of flattery, but as proofs of af 
 fection : thus, what too frequently excites 
 vanity, would strengthen esteem. 
 
 I know, my Carolina, you will not 
 write what you do not think : and yet, I 
 am not vain of your eulogiura : for though 
 your heart dictates, it is not because I 
 deserve such praise, but because you love 
 me as I do you dearly. 
 
 I am glad, however, to find that your 
 sentiments on epistolary correspondence, 
 agree with my own. The affectation of 
 what is called ease in writing, disgusts
 
 00 LETTERS OF 
 
 me extremely: indeed, more than the 
 solemnity of pedantry ; as I prefer form 
 ality in dress to downright carelessness. 
 Yet this chit-chat way of writing is much 
 in vogue ; and this coxcomical kind of 
 negligence is greatly admired by those 
 who write more for the sake of shewing 
 their wit (like people laughing to shew 
 their teeth), than from the impulse of 
 feeling, or any other laudable motive. 
 
 I lore your mode of writing letters : 
 they resemble yourself simply elegant 
 and friendly. When I receive a letter 
 from you, I kiss it, and say, " This is my 
 Carolina in miniature." 
 
 Werter would write nay does write, 
 charmingly ; but his imagination gets the 
 better of his judgment, and involves him 
 in description fit only for poetical enthu 
 siasm. The imagination and the taste of 
 Werter would have ranked him among 
 our first poets ; but his fancy led him (o 
 drawing : and, it must be confessed, that 
 he imitates nature with much success, arid 
 selects his objects with happy judgment.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 
 
 But I hear him below, and I must 
 abruptly bid you adieu ! I believe there 
 is a fatality in it : he generally comes 
 when I am writing about him Again 
 adieu !
 
 9f LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER XXVIIf. 
 
 WERTER yesterday commenced bis 
 pilgrimage into the mountains. I believe 
 he makes these pilgrimages, as he calls 
 them, about once a quarter. He is an 
 enthusiastic admirer of nature. To ascend 
 lofty mountains, and behold the rising 
 sun ; to wander in unfrequented woods ; 
 to hear the distant cataract : these are 
 the supreme pleasures of Werter ; plea 
 sures which indicate an expanded mind, 
 and a taste un vitiated. 
 
 Indeed, prospects of this kind naturally 
 induce elevated contemplation. To see, 
 as it were, all creation before our eyes, 
 cannot but excite magnificent ideas, and 
 lead the mind to an immediate love and 
 veneration of* the first good, first perfect, 
 and first fair !' Then it is that we can 
 not avoid contemplating his goodness and 
 power : every object charms and con-
 
 CHARLOTTE. 93 
 
 vinces. And then, my dear Carolina, 
 how sublimely wonderful, how pleasingly 
 awful is it to recollect, that all this pro 
 fusion of excellence and beauty, this 
 divine union of order and magnificence, 
 sprung from darkness and confusion ! 
 
 ' 
 
 Ere the rising sun 
 
 Shone o'er the deep, or mid the vault of night 
 The moon her silver lamp suspended ; ere 
 The vales with springs were watered ; or with groves 
 Of oak or pine the ancient hills were covered : 
 Then the great spirit, whom his works adore, 
 Withia his own deep essence view'd the forms, 
 The forms eternal, of created things, 
 The radiant sun, the moon's noctural lamp, 
 The mountains and the streams, the ample stores 
 Of earth, of heaven, of nature 
 
 What pity is it, that considerations like 
 these, do not perpetually operate on the 
 human mind, to deter us from the paths 
 of folly! Compared with such as these, 
 how all other objects shrink into insigni 
 ficance ! 
 
 It is thus that the mind of Werter has 
 been elevated. To all that is excellent in
 
 94: LETTERS OF 
 
 art ; to the communications of philosophy, 
 and the enthusiasm of poetry, he adds an 
 intimate acquaintance with the wonders 
 of creation ; a species of knowledge 
 which never fails (o eradicate vanity. 
 
 So far from being vain, Werter, I think, 
 entertains too humble an opinion of human 
 nature : an opinion dangerous to incul 
 cate, as it may tend to make us despise 
 ourselves, and, consequently, render us, 
 in some degree, inattentive to our conduct, 
 or, at least, not sufficiently solicitous to 
 obtain the good opinion of our fellow 
 creatures. 
 
 A still more dangerous consequence re 
 sulting from this idea, is, that, regarding 
 ourselves as dust in the scale of existence, 
 we may be induced to think ourselves 
 unworthy the peculiar protection of Pro 
 vidence : of Him 
 
 Who all things form'd,and forra'd them all for man ! 
 
 Indeed, we cannot give way to such 
 opinions, without drawing conclusions too 
 shocking to mention. They who entertain
 
 CHARLOTTE. 95 
 
 ideas so gloomy^ and who fancy them 
 selves too insignificant to merit the atten 
 tion of him, by whose breath they were 
 called into being, should recollect, that 
 as nothing was created without his special 
 interposition, so nothing can exist without 
 his special protection, or cease to exist 
 without his special concurrence. 
 
 In almost every thing eccentric, Wer- 
 ter's ideas on many subjects soar to a pitch 
 of extravagance that sometimes involves 
 him in contradiction. And this is not 
 surprizing. So limited is our view, even 
 of terrestrial objects ; so unable are we to 
 account for the most common operations 
 of nature, that when we attempt to speak 
 of mind, it is no wonder we always dis 
 cover the most childish ignorance ; and 
 that the conclusions of our philosophy are 
 often contradictory to common sense. 
 
 Thus, turn which way we will, we 
 cannot but discover our dependence on a 
 ruling power, and the necessity of secur 
 ing his love as well as his protection. 
 
 It is the pride of modern philosophy at
 
 96 LETTERS OP 
 
 once to exalt and degrade the human 
 species : at once to prove the unlimited 
 extent of the powers of intellect, and to 
 contend for their limited duration ; and 
 that sophism is the most universally ad 
 mired, and those philosophers as they 
 are erroneously called the most univer 
 sally estemed, whose chief aim is to make 
 us believe the grossest absurdities, and to 
 contradict our own feelings ; to divide 
 reason and common sense ; to give the 
 passions an unlimited controul ; to ex 
 tinguish the love of virtue, that vice and 
 misery may be universally disseminated, 
 and ' the image of God' reduced to an 
 equality with the brutes that perish ! 
 Such, my dear Carolina, are the sublime 
 reveries of modern philosophy ! the off 
 spring of those vices, which seek justifica 
 tion, and scorn repentance. 
 
 Pardon me, ray dear girl, for repeating 
 what you so well know. And do not 
 think me a professed advocate for what is 
 termed, ' the dignity of human nature.' 
 One thing I am sure of: that let meta-
 
 CHARLOTTE. 97 
 
 physicians say what they will, great part 
 of our present importance depends ori 
 ourselves ; and, serious as the truth is, 
 our future dignity or degradation will 
 be determined by our own conduct. 
 
 Again pardon me, Carolina, for the 
 length of this letter. The subject must 
 be my excuse : it is your favourite theme : 
 and you will receive it with hospitality, 
 though it approach you in a very uncouth 
 form. The effusions of the moment, I 
 know, are always acceptable to my Caro 
 lina. Adieu!
 
 98 LETTEKS 01 
 
 LETTER XXIX. 
 
 I HAD no sooner finished my last letter 
 to you, than I indulged myself in a walk 
 almost as far as the recess, under the row 
 of elms (hat defend our little mansion from 
 the chilling blasts of the east wind. I 
 was alone : Albert had accompanied 
 Theresa to the town, and Werler was not 
 returned from the mountains. The 
 evening was serene : there was that kind 
 of stillness in the air, which inspires me 
 lancholy musings, and fills the mind with 
 philosophic tranquillity. The moon was 
 rising, and, by her wan lustre, discovered 
 the grey mists slowly ascending from the 
 lakes on my right hand ; whilst the 
 woody mountains on my left were charm 
 ingly diversified with innumerable lights 
 and shades. " This scene," I said to 
 myself, u this scene, dearest of mothers ! 
 is sacred to thec : under the shade of these
 
 CHARLOTTE. 99 
 
 elms, how often have I been blessed with 
 thy blessing ! how often received the in 
 structions of true wisdom !" The re 
 membrance of those endearing moments 
 filled my eyes with tears : lifting them 
 towards heaven, I could not help uttering 
 aloud one of those spontaneous ejacula 
 tions of the heart which draw down 
 blessings, and dissipate distress. My tears 
 relieved me, and the recollection of having: 
 
 7 O 
 
 obeyed her sacred, her last commands, 
 restored to my mind a melancholy tran 
 quillity. 
 
 Turning my eyes towards the moun 
 tains, I discovered a man approaching me 
 in great haste. His head was uncovered, 
 and lie had the dry stalk of a weed in his 
 .hand ; the moon shone on his face, and I 
 saw it was the unfortunate Henry, whose 
 passion for me had deprived him of rea 
 son.* I was extremely terrified ; and he 
 came with so much precipitation, that it 
 was impossible for me to escape, for I 
 
 * See Werter, Letter LX xi. 
 F2
 
 100 LETTERS OF 
 
 was at the upper end of the avenue. 1 
 tberefore stood still. Poor wretch ! I 
 had no occasion to be alarmed ; he knew 
 me not ; but, looking earnestly in my 
 face, asked me, where his Charlotte was ? 
 " She is not at home," I said." I 
 know that," replied he, " I looked all 
 over the hills for her and she is not there. 
 She was with me last night, and then I 
 shewed her the moon, and played upon 
 this pipe her eyes danced it was on the 
 high hill, and we talked to the moon. 
 When the States pay me, I shall buy the 
 golden stars for my Charlotte." He 
 smiled as he uttered this. " Go thy way 
 home, Henry," I said. He burst into 
 tears, and I was afraid he recollected me. 
 " No," said he, with a heavy sigh, and 
 a faint voice, " I am no Henry." Fold 
 ing his hands together, and again looking 
 stedfastly in my face, whilst the tears ran 
 down his own, he said, " There is no 
 Henry Henry died when the wind 
 whistled in the great tree, and the white ' 
 clouds took Charlotte to the stars" HP
 
 CHARLOTTE. 101 
 
 turned his eyes towards the sky, and never 
 saw I so true a picture of settled melan 
 choly : there was a wonderful expression 
 of sadness in his countenance. " Alas, 
 poor youth !" I said, u go home to thy 
 mother." He again looked at me with 
 great earnestness, and, in a kind of half 
 whisper, yaid, " These things must not 
 be known to the Princess ; she will be 
 angry when she knows Henry is dead, 
 and there are no flowers hush ! the 
 moon whispers to Charlotte ; I must go." 
 Then, putting the forefinger of each 
 hand to his lips, he stepped slowly away, 
 as one walks across a room where others 
 are asleep. 
 
 I saw him at a considerable distance, 
 going in the same manner, till he entered 
 the wood. The air grew cold, and the 
 wind began to rise. I returned home 
 with a mind full of melancholy reflections. 
 Poor youth ! may HE who alone is 
 able restore thee to thyself, arid givethee 
 that sweet peace which forms the sovereign, 
 balm to all afflicted minds !
 
 102 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER XXX. 
 
 Youii heart bleeds, you say, for the 
 wandering Henry ; and you complain 
 that, in my last letter, I left you in a scene 
 of exquisite distress. " The poor wretch," 
 you add, " was entering the wood, when 
 the air grew cold, and the wind began to 
 rise ;'* and you are solicitous to know 
 what became of him ; and the particulars 
 of that unfortunate attachment which has 
 reduced him to his present state of misery. 
 You may be sure that I should have 
 sent somebody after him, had it been ne 
 cessary ; but he is so well known all over 
 this part of the country, that his wander 
 ings are not attended with much danger. 
 I never think of him but with extreme 
 commiseration ; and had I, by any word 
 or action, given him the least ray of 
 hope, I should now be the most miserable 
 ofwomen.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 103 
 
 He was my father's secretary, ami dis 
 covered a turn for business and literature, 
 that might have rendered him respectable 
 to society, and happy in himself. He 
 came very young into the family, and was 
 not long before he was able to support his 
 mother decently. He was mild in his 
 disposition ; of little conversation ; and 
 dedicated most of his leisure time to the 
 classics. Albert discovered in him those 
 qualities which my father disregarded, 
 and accommodated him with books. He 
 read Italian, and his favourite poet was 
 Petrarch ; a writer whose language fasci 
 nates, and whose images allure. 
 
 With an imagination thus stored, with 
 feelings thus refined, and with a taste for 
 the polite arts, it is no wonder that Henry, 
 at eighteen, should be susceptible of the 
 most delicate of all passions. Albert said, 
 that Henry wanted nothing but amUtress 
 to make him a poet : " He has," said Al 
 bert, "all the materials in his com position ; 
 and when a spark from the brilliancy of 
 some female eye, has set them in a flame,
 
 101 LETTERS OF 
 
 we shall have German sonnets and elegies 
 in abundance!" But Albert was deceived; 
 the passion operated differently on Henry. 
 Instead of animating him to poetical 
 flights, it plunged him into the depths of 
 melancholy. Every one perceived a 
 change in him, and every one assigned a 
 different cause for it. He neglected his 
 books ; he sh unned company ; was fre 
 quently discovered in tears ; and seemed 
 to delight in nothing so much as rambling 
 in the neighbouring woods. The general 
 opinion was, that he had injured his in 
 tellects by too much application to study. 
 In this state of mind, however, he did not 
 neglect his duty : he went through the 
 usual business of the day almost mechani 
 cally ; for though he committed no errors, 
 he did not appear to think of what he was 
 doing. When asked the reason of his 
 melancholy, he would seldom answer, 
 but blushed extremely, and found some 
 excuse to get away. 
 
 As he lived with his mother, and only 
 attended my father at certain hours, it was
 
 CHARLOTTE. 105 
 
 seldom that I saw him ; but when I was 
 told of the nature of his melancholy, and 
 the particulars 1 have mentioned, I had 
 no doubt of the cause of his complaint ; 
 and went privately to his mother, and 
 informed her of my thoughts. She said 
 that it was impossible, from his conversa 
 tion, to guess what it might be, but 
 strongly suspected it was the effect of 
 studious application ; and had he been 
 inclined to metaphysical inquiries, 01 
 abstract sciences, I should certainly have 
 joined the general opinion. Besides, she 
 added, that he had not, in any manner, 
 discovered a partiality for any particular 
 person. This shook my opinion con 
 siderably ; and I returned home, without 
 being able to draw any certain conclusion. 
 Sooti after this, my birth-day was kept, 
 and, as was usual, all the family, of which 
 Henry was reckoned a part, and many of 
 the neighbours, dined with us. As there 
 was somelhing very mysterious in the 
 distempcrature of Henry, I was deter 
 mined to observe him with attention, and 
 
 F3
 
 106 LETTERS OF 
 
 to endeavour to make some discovery, 
 by oblique conversation. How I suc 
 ceeded must form the subject of my next 
 letter ; for here I have scarcely room to 
 add with what sincerity and affection, I 
 am yours.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 107 
 
 LETTER XXXI. 
 
 WERTER has been here, and prevented 
 my writing to you so soon as I intended. 
 I will now proceed with the story of 
 Henry, on whose behalf you express 
 yourself with so much feeling. Believe 
 me, he is worthy of your commiseration. 
 
 It was not till after a peremptory com 
 mand from my father, that Henry could 
 be prevailed on to dine will) us. He had 
 much rather have amused himself in the 
 woods. My father's command, however, 
 was not to be resisted ; and Henry dined 
 with us. I was shocked to see him t,o 
 pale ; and privately told Albert my 
 opinion, that Henry was in love. " Hen 
 ry," I said, " if this were the proper 
 season of the year, I should say, you had 
 robbed the garden of all the snow drops." 
 This brought, the colour into his cheeks 
 o much, that Albert said, " You mean
 
 ICS LETTERS OF 
 
 the beet-root, Charlotte, for the colour is 
 Ligh, and I suppose temporary." This 
 occasioned a general smile, and height 
 ened the confusion of Henry. I pitied 
 him, and was sorry for what I had said. 
 He hung down his head, and I could just 
 see so much of his eyes, as to perceive a 
 starting tenr. I wished to relieve him ; 
 when Albert added, " I suppose Henry 
 has changed complexion with some 
 delicate girl."" No," said I, " Henry 
 is too great a favourite with the muses, 
 to hold intercourse with mortals. Pray, 
 Sir," I added, " to which of the nine do 
 yon give the preference ?" " Madam," 
 replied Henry, " when I am reading 
 Petrarch, I cannot but adore the muse 
 that gives language to the inspirations of 
 love ; but when I am so happy, madam, 
 as to hear your harpsichord, I am sensible 
 of the immediate presence of the charm 
 ing muse that fills the soul with harmony, 
 and I anticipate the bliss of immortality." 
 This was too elegant a compliment to 
 pass unnoticed. " Sir," said I, "that is
 
 CHARLOTTE. 109 
 
 a poetical effusion so much in ray favour, 
 as to merit my best curtsey : it is a Par 
 nassian flo\ver of the most delicate culti 
 vation." This threw him into confusion 
 again ; but Frederick taking up the con 
 versation, Henry had time (o recover 
 himself. " It is a difficult thing, some 
 times," said Frederick, u to make a pro 
 per distinction between the weeds and the 
 flowers of Parnassus : so difficult, that I 
 have known many prefer the former to 
 the latter ; nay, I believe, most young 
 people do." " Frederick," I said, 
 " don't be so severe upon Henry's com 
 pliment and ray judgment." " Nay, 
 madam," replied he, " you interrupt me 
 before I declare my opinion : I was going 
 to say, it was a nosegay presented from 
 one muse toanother." " You are right;" 
 said Albert, " though I think Henry the 
 most of a muse of the two, if we can admit 
 the idea of a male muse ; the muses never 
 write themselves : and if Henry possesses 
 their power, he is not destitute of their in 
 dolence." " Probably," I said, " Henry
 
 110 LETTERS OF 
 
 has written something." " Madam," re 
 plied Henry, " be assured I have not : 
 though I love the muses, the muses love 
 not me; and I must confess, that I think 
 all human language inadequate to express 
 the feelings on some poetical occasions." 
 This gave Frederick an opportunity to 
 exercise his raillery respecting Henry's 
 feelings, and from thence adverting to his 
 melancholy. But as I think nothing so 
 inhuman as sporting with the feelings of 
 others, J presently put an end to the con 
 versation, by starling a general subject. 
 
 My father had, all this time, been en 
 gaged in discourse with W. Selftadt, 
 about English horses; so that Henry's 
 confusion and compliments had escaped 
 his attention ; and it was well they did, 
 for it would not have been in my power 
 to have stopped his raillery. You, my 
 dear Carolina, have more than once felt 
 the effects of rny father's satiric jocu 
 larity. 
 
 From what I had observed, no doubt 
 remained with me respecting Henry's
 
 CHARLOTTE. Ill 
 
 melancholy. But I was extremely con 
 cerned to find myself the cause of his 
 misery ; and began to consider in what 
 manner I should act, so as to relieve him 
 from his distress, without injury to my 
 own feelings. It was at this time, my 
 dearest friend, that I wanted your counsel 
 and assistance. I had nobody in whom 
 I could repose confidence : Theresa was 
 in the town, and you was then in England. 
 I considered Henry's natural dispo 
 sition and acquirements, and 1 found that 
 they all contributed to root the passion in 
 his heart. I well knew that it would be 
 the height of cruelty to treat it with de 
 rision ; and I fancied that I knew enough 
 of the human mind, to use him with re 
 spect, without flattering him with hopes 
 that could never be realized.
 
 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER XXXII. 
 
 SHE must be strangely destitute of 
 feeling, who, conscious that she is beloved 
 by another, withholds from her lover, that 
 share of respect and complaisance to 
 which he would be entitled, and which she 
 would pay him, as a visiting acquaint 
 ance. Though this conduct is very com 
 mon, there is in it something extremely 
 ridiculous, and, in my opinion, extremely 
 wrong. Notwithstanding the difference 
 of our situations'^ and that this kind of 
 conduct might not, according to general 
 construe! ion, appear improper in me, I 
 determined not to add to the sufferings 
 of Henry by adopting it. 
 
 I had now made a considerable progress 
 in the English language, and, at the re 
 quest of Albert, had translated l Hassan, 
 or the Camel'drii'erJ the most beautiful 
 eclogue of Collins, one of the modern
 
 CHARLOTTE. 113 
 
 English poets ; and Albert being impa 
 tient for a copy, 1 sent the translation to 
 Henry, requesting him to transcribe it for 
 me. He soon returned me a copy, and 
 expressed a desire to make one for him 
 self. As I knew that he was fond of the 
 English language, I complied with his 
 request, and when he returned my trans 
 lation, it was accompanied with some 
 complimentary verses to myself. Un 
 fortunately, the servant, in coming from 
 Henry, was met by my father, who, 
 having occasion to send him elsewhere, 
 took the papers from him, read them, and 
 the immediate dismission of Henry was 
 the consequence. 
 
 The discovery of his passion, and (he 
 dismission from his service, gave a double 
 stub to the peace of Henry : his melan 
 choly increased, and soon terminated in a 
 total deprivation of his reason ; his frenzy 
 became desperate ; and it was found ne 
 cessary to have recourse to confinement, 
 and the means usually practised for the 
 relief of the most miserable of the human 
 race. In this unhappy situation he con-
 
 114 LETTERS OF 
 
 tinued a whole year, and gradually re 
 lapsed into his former state of melan 
 choly. In this state he remains : an ex 
 ample of the influence of passion on deli 
 cate feelings ; the wonder of the vulgar, 
 and the pity of his friends. 
 
 Such, my dearest Carolina, is the story, 
 such have been the sufferings, and such 
 is the situation of the unhappy youth, the 
 object of your inquiry, and of your com 
 miseration. As he was the principal 
 support of his mother, she also became 
 an object of compassion; and, that best 
 of women, my dearest mother, when 
 Henry became insane, allowed her a decent 
 maintenance ; and since my mother's 
 death, I have added something to her 
 bounty ; and though I have no hope 
 that Henry's mind will ever be re-illu 
 mined with the light of reason, yet I trust 
 that Providence will enable me to protect 
 him from the common ills of life, the 
 bitterness of poverty, and the wanton 
 pastime of unfeeling minds. Alas ! I 
 cannot do more I will not do less. 
 Adieu !
 
 CHARLOTTE. 115 
 
 LETTER XXXIII. 
 
 YOUR reflections on the story of Hen 
 ry, do much credit to your understand 
 ing, as well as to % your humanity ; and 
 your solicitation to contribute to his re 
 lief, I regard as a most exalted proof of 
 that friendship for me, which you have 
 ever professed, and from which I have 
 derived no inconsiderable share of my 
 happiness ; and though I well know, that 
 my dear Carolina is " more willing to 
 give than to receive," and that no cha 
 racter so well becomes her as that of a 
 benefactress ; yet, having sufficiently pro 
 vided for Henry, I cannot think of divert 
 ing the current of your benevolence from 
 other objects, equally entitled to the tear 
 of compassion, and the relief of gene 
 rosity. 
 
 No, my dear girl this must not be ; 
 but as I am unaccustomed wholly to refuse
 
 116 LETTERS O li 
 
 the solicitations of my Carolina, I will, in 
 some measure, and conditionally, agree to 
 your request. My dear girl well knows 
 on what terms we hold the breath of ex 
 istence " the battle is not to the strong" 
 the grave may receive Charlotte, and 
 leave Henry destitute. Need I say more ? 
 I know that my Carolina will become a 
 Charlotte to Henry : that he will find a 
 protecting angel in her friend, when 
 Charlotte is no more.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 117 
 
 LETTER XXXIV, 
 
 THE arrival of a Spanish gentleman at 
 the town, who was very particular in his 
 inquiries after Mrs. W.the mother of my 
 Theresa, required her presence there; 
 and Albert staid some days, on business of 
 his own. He is nowreturned, and Werter 
 continues to visit us as usual. I am 
 greatly at a loss for Theresa, as you may 
 well suppose; though Albert is enough 
 at home to prevent much solicitude re 
 specting Werter. The most cordial 
 friendship subsists between them; and I 
 shall be exfremely happy if the love of 
 Werter for Charlotte shall be lost in his 
 friendship for Albert. This could not 
 fail being productive of much happiness ; 
 and I trust in Providence it will be so. 
 
 I am greatly obliged to my dear Caro 
 lina, for the repeated instances I receive 
 of her friendly regard, and estimation of 
 my sentiments. You say right, my dear 
 girl, I am not vain of my conquests, as
 
 118 LETTERS OF 
 
 they are generally called. There can be 
 little merit in a conquest gained without 
 resistance, and -where the vanquished 
 prefer chains to freedom. An involuntary 
 passion may excite pity, but that mind 
 must be very weak in which it excites 
 vanity. And yet what is so apt to make 
 us vain, as the idea of having at our dis 
 posal, the happiness of others ? Where 
 the passion is real, I always regard it in 
 too serious a light to make it an object of 
 vanity ; and surely there is a crime in 
 wantonly sporting with the feelings of 
 others. I am, therefore, often surprized 
 and as frequently hurt, by the conduct of 
 those who take delight in exposing the 
 weaknesses of their lovers, without con- 
 'siclering, that, at the same time, they ex 
 pose their own. But when they are 
 charged with the impropriety, the usual 
 apology is, that " they know not the 
 gentleman's real sentiments." I think a 
 man cannot long feign a passion without 
 being discovered : a hypocrite is a diffi 
 cult character to sustain in every ihing 
 but religion, as it is more easy to affect
 
 CHARLOTTE. 119 
 
 solemnity than passion. Where afieciion 
 is feigned, coquetry is allowable in those 
 who have inclination and spirits to sup 
 port it ; but I should rather choose to 
 treat pretended love with silent contempt. 
 You will perceive, my dear friend, 
 that I regard lovers as poor people do 
 beggars : I give them good words, and 
 tell them to go to those who are richer 
 than myself. Indeed, there is self-interest 
 at the bottom of this charity. I have a 
 wonderful facility in assuming the situa 
 tions of others, and frequently recollect 
 the language of a certain lover,* who, 
 with no small ingenuity, reminds his mis 
 tress, that she may, some time, want the 
 consolation he solicits. 
 
 If ever as that ever may be near 
 You meet in some fresh cheek the pow'r of fancy, 
 Then shall you know the wounds invisible 
 That love's keen arrows make. 
 
 These poetical predictions, you know, 
 are not to be totally disregarded. 
 
 * Sylvias to Phoebe, in ' As you like it.'
 
 120 LETTERS OP 
 
 Vanity, you see, has nothing to do in 
 ray system. I regard it as an exotic 
 not worth cultivation ; and when I per 
 ceive it budding, I try to pluck it up by 
 the roots, but its texture is such, that it 
 generally breaks in the ground. Some 
 times it seems to have lost all power of 
 vegetation ; at others, it shools up again 
 in an hour. Sometimes it will bud when 
 I am reading English ; but the very 
 sight of a Greek alphabet stops it in an 
 instant. 
 
 If there were a possibility of deducing a 
 right to be vain, I should claim mine from 
 having it in my power to call Carolina 
 and Theresa my friends, and Albert, by 
 a dearer name ; for the affection of my 
 female friends^as well as that of Albert, is 
 founded, I trust, on the basis of those 
 qualities of the mind, without which 
 friendship and love have no claim to that 
 permanency by which they are ripened 
 to perfection. That our friendship, my 
 dear Carolina, may remain durable and 
 happy, is never omitted in the best wishes 
 of Charlotte.
 
 CIIAKLOTTE. 121 
 
 LETTER XXXV, 
 
 ALAS, my Carolina! I flatter myself 
 with hopes that are vain. The passion 
 of Werter, I fear, knows no bounds. Last 
 night, whilst I was playing a pathetic air 
 on my harpsichord, Albert was reading, 
 and Werter leaned on the back of my 
 chair, and turned over the leaves of the 
 music as I played ; at last I perceived 
 his hand tremble, and, in turning over the 
 last page, his tears dropped on my arm. 
 I was alarmed, and instantly struck into 
 a lively air, con spirito, but confusedly, 
 and, for a moment, in the wrong key. 
 The sudden change, with the dissonance, 
 interrupted Albert, who said, u Why, 
 Charlotte, such a change as that is 
 enough to shake Wertcr's nerves to 
 pieces !" Werter walked about the room 
 in agitation ; I played still louder, and 
 Albert resumed his reading. 
 I was distressed. It is at ihese mo-
 
 LETTERS OF 
 
 ments that I doubly regret the loss of 
 Theresa's company. I never more 
 anxiously wished for my father to come in. 
 Albert having finished the book he was 
 reading, went up stairs for the next 
 volume. I expostulated with Werter 
 " Forgive me, Charlotte," he said, " for 
 give my weakness yet why do I call it 
 weakness ? it is the effect of that attach 
 ment which" " Consider, Werter !" I 
 said, " consider ! and be calm." Al 
 bert entered the room, and I left off play 
 ing. I perceived it was with difficulty 
 that Werter could compose his spirits. 
 Fortunately my father came in, and my 
 alarms were dissipated in general conver 
 sation. 
 
 The disquietude these scenes give me, 
 is inconceivable ; and I look forward 
 with terror to succeeding days. Say, my 
 Carolina, what can I do ? Albert is im 
 patient my father solicitous O, my 
 dear friend ! when will my heart find 
 peace again ? when shall it be undis 
 turbed by any emotion, but that of hap 
 piness ?
 
 LETTER XXXYL 
 
 THAT our happiness or misery should 
 so frequently depend on others, is the 
 most unanswerable proof that society is 
 the proper sphere of human action ; and 
 that he was well acquainted with human 
 nature, who said, " None of us liveth to 
 himself." To philosophize, you will say, 
 argues a mind at ease : and the mind of 
 your Charlotte is at ease Werter is gone. 
 
 It is some days since we saw him last.* 
 He met Albert and me at ike end of the 
 terrace in the evening : we sat down ; but 
 Werter walked backwards and forwards 
 with emotion. 1 saw his agitation, and 
 attributed it to a painful recollection of 
 past events. My mind, from the same 
 principle, was filled \vi(h the image of 
 my dear mother : I spoke of her virtues 
 source of tender, of inexhaustible con 
 templation ! I recalled to my memory 
 
 * See Werter, Letter xxxvu. 
 G*
 
 121 LETTERS OF 
 
 those happy evenings when, sitting round 
 our winter fire, Albert has often thrown 
 aside his books, and received more wis 
 dom from her conversation than they could 
 teach. " Happy ! happy evenings !" I 
 said, " You, Albert, as one of her chil 
 dren, received her dying benediction : 
 she blessed us with her last breath." 
 Albert embraced me tenderly : " She did, 
 Charlotte," he said, " she did, and we 
 shall be happy." Werter shed tears : I 
 knew not then that they were the tears of 
 separation as well as of sympathy. 
 
 A day or two afterwards we received a 
 letter from him, by which we learn, that 
 he is employed in some trust under the 
 Minister. Albert is fearful that the spirit 
 and eccentricity of Werter will militate 
 against his court interest. I hope, how 
 ever, that business, dissipation, and other 
 objects, will reduce the strength of his 
 partiality for me, into that species of 
 friendship which may contribute to our 
 happiness. Once more, my dear Caro 
 lina, the heart of your Charlotte enjoys 
 domestic peace. Adieu !
 
 CHAULOTTE. 125 
 
 LETTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE indisposition of your worthy aunt, 
 is a circumstance that grieves me, not only 
 in itself, but as it deprives me of your pro 
 mised visit. As you do not come, we 
 shall not go to the ball : for, O Carolina ! 
 how shall I mention it ? preparations are 
 making and the day approaches that 
 day O my sweet friend! may happy 
 years succeed it ! 
 
 And will you not come, and see your 
 friend, your Charlotte I cannot write 
 Albert is gone for Theresa My heart 
 flutters, my hand trembles Adieu ! Pray 
 heaven for white hours !
 
 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER XXXVJII. 
 
 THE ceremony is performed, which 
 binds me for ever to Albert. All my 
 friends were present, except my dear 
 Carolina and Werter. It was my father's 
 pleasure that our nuptials should be 
 public. And now, my dear girl, the fate 
 of Charlotte, the important act, the 
 irrevocable word is ratified ! Have com 
 passion on poor Adolphus Ferdinand, and 
 accompany your Charlotte on her new 
 journey. Again adieu \
 
 CHARLOTTE. 127 
 
 LETTER XXXIX. 
 
 How happily do you unite sincerity 
 and elegance ! Your last letter charms 
 me, and I trust in Providence for the com 
 pletion of your predictions. I read a 
 part of it to Albert" Tell her," he said, 
 " that I love her, for loving you ; and 
 that I will do all in rny power to establish 
 her prophetic character, so long as she 
 prophesies felicity to Charlotte." And 
 so he will ; for rny dearest Albert is not 
 the slave of passion. I have witnessed 
 several instances of his steadiness in 
 friendship ; and what is love but the 
 most zealous friendship ? 
 
 The evening before the ceremony took 
 place, Albert, with great good humour, 
 observed, that it sometimes happened, 
 women had favours to request, or raiher, 
 said he, orders to give to their intended 
 husbands, which, being neglected a cer-
 
 128 LETTERS OF 
 
 tain time, were not always complied with. 
 " Now," added Albert, * I know that my 
 dear Charlotte will never ask of Albert in 
 vain, because she will never make an im 
 proper request ; but as the last compli 
 ment I can pay her as a bachelor, 1 beg 
 of you, Charlotte, to make some demand, 
 in complying wilh which, 1 may con 
 clude the services of a lover before mar 
 riage." 
 
 I was happy in this opportunity of 
 mentioning a circumstance that I had 
 often wished, but did not know how, to 
 introduce. " Yes, Albert," I said, " I 
 will ask a favour of you, a serious favour." 
 " What, Charlotte ?" he said, with 
 impatience, for he saw I was agitated 
 " what does my dear Charlotte ask ?" 
 tf O Albert !" I said, " in our happiness 
 let us not forget the miseries of others : 
 you know not Albert neither does my 
 father know that I am the only guardian 
 except heaven the sole guardian of poor 
 Henry unfortunate and innocent." 
 " Had it been a stranger, nay, and un-
 
 CHARLOTTE. 129 
 
 worthy loo," siid Albert, " I should have 
 confirmed thy bounty ; but for the poor 
 young man, whose sufferings arise from a 
 love for Charlotte, I will provide him 
 amply ; arid 1 am happy Charlotte," he 
 added, u I am happy you have men 
 tioned it." 
 
 This, my dear Carolina, was my last 
 request. Albert has provided for Henry 
 and his mother : they can never want the 
 common comforts of life. You cannot 
 conceive how this action endeared Albert 
 to me : it gave ease to my mind ; and 
 added lustre to the torcli of Hymen. 
 
 a 5
 
 130 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER XL. 
 
 ALWAYS happy to meet the wishes of 
 my dear friend, the following are the lines 
 written to me by the unfortunate Henry, 
 which discovered his passion to my 
 father, and occasioned his dismission. 
 You will recollect, that they accompanied 
 my translation of Hassan, which I would 
 have also sent, but think it too imperfect. 
 
 Go, simple verse, with Charlotte's matchless strain, 
 The humble daisy with the eglantine 
 
 Reveal what artless Henry strives to hide : 
 Reveal the woe that drowns this heart of mine. 
 
 Tell her, 'tis not alone the favour'd rose 
 That drinks the nectar of the morning dew : 
 
 The lowly field-flower sinks with liquid pearl, 
 And in the blessing finds affliction too. 
 
 Tell her, the lowliest of the admiring throng, 
 Whose verse her flatteringkindness taught to flow, 
 
 By fortune banbh'd from the soothing smile, 
 In secret sorrow muses o'er his woe.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 131 
 
 So when the choristers of vocal woods 
 
 Have sung their amorous songs the live-long day, 
 
 Sad Philomela to the night complains, 
 
 And lonely warbles on the cheerless spray. 
 
 Sweet, sorrow-breathing bird ! O might my strain 
 In aught but melancholy equal thine, 
 
 Then should that pity which thy song inspires, 
 That pity then should sooth this breast of mine. 
 
 But me no muses taught with skilful strains 
 To mock the harmony of heavenly spheres ; 
 
 The muse of melancholy blots my verse, 
 And brings no other aid than sighs and tears. 
 
 On earth no garland grows for this sad brow ; 
 For me, alas! the fates unkindly wove 
 
 The sable cypress of consuming grief 
 With thy sweet rosebuds, hope-deluding love ! 
 
 A heaven, O Charlotte ! is thy matchless form, 
 Where dwell those powers that are more divine : 
 
 There the illumin'd star of science glows ; 
 The graces in a constellation shine ! 
 
 I hear harmonious sounds 'tis Charlotte's voice! 
 I hear her strike the sorrow-soothing lyre ; 
 
 Ah ! how persuasive is that melting air, 
 
 That makes my bosom thrill with new desire !
 
 LETTEltS OF 
 
 But, O presumptuous youth! forbear to tell 
 With what emotions thy fond breast may glow: 
 
 Hide thee, vain youth, in some sequester'd shade, 
 Where Walheim's waving willows weep thy woe ! 
 
 You may discover, in this hasty com 
 position, the seeds of genius, which time 
 and cultivation might have ripened to 
 maturity. Abandoned by reason, the 
 muses have not forsaken Henry ; he some 
 times writes, for a few minutes, verses that 
 resemble the united melody of birds : a 
 kind of music without harmony.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 133 
 
 LETTER XLI. 
 
 YOUR observations on the absence of 
 Werter are very just ; and it has been 
 well remarked, that absence does not 
 always eradicate passion. 1 remember 
 one of the English poets observes, ab 
 sence acts on the mind of a lover as a 
 tempestuous wind does on flames of fire, 
 which, if weak, are quickly extinguished ; 
 but when extended, burn with double 
 fury. It is upon this principle, I sup- 
 pose, that the heroines of ancient romance 
 doomed their knights to certain periods of 
 absence : so that every thing we read in 
 those curious productions, are not entirely 
 destitute of nature. 
 
 I have just received a letter from Wer 
 ter,* which affords me some hope of his 
 forming an attachment with a Miss B. of 
 whom he speaks in high terms, and as one 
 whose ideas correspond with his own. 
 
 * See Werter, Letter xui.
 
 134 LETTERS OF 
 
 Flis letter, however, is in the same strain 
 of enthusiasm as usual, and he regrets 
 his absence from Walheim. I wish the 
 charms of Miss B. may reconcile him to 
 his situation. 
 
 We have or more properly Theresa 
 has had, a visitor from the town : Ernestus 
 M. He is a lover of Theresa's, but, un 
 fortunately for him, he is a great beau ; 
 a sprcies of animal to which Theresa has 
 an invincible antipathy. Certainly, a 
 minute attention to external ornament in 
 dicates interior imbecility. But allow 
 ance, I think, ought to be made for situa 
 tion and circumstances : a continual resi 
 dence in a town, may demand that atten 
 tion to dress, which, in the country, 
 would be totally unnecessary ; I mean in 
 a certain class of people, whose business 
 it is to engage respect, and to conciliate 
 esteem ; with a gentleman it can make 
 no difference: he will always be well 
 dressed ; but when he makes even a 
 splendid appearance, it will be without a 
 single article that goes towards constitut 
 ing a beau.
 
 CHAHLOTTE. 135 
 
 A man of this stamp is incapable of 
 love ; and Ernestus M. knows so little of 
 it, that he cannot even assume a passion, 
 which, we are told, " all can feign, but 
 few can feel." A total neglect of self, is 
 a common consequence of real affection 
 for another ; but this kind of gentry no 
 sooner conceive a penchant, as they term 
 it(beaux always speak French, you know) 
 than they endeavour to shew it by a 
 particular attention to their own persons ; 
 as if, like the sun, they were determined 
 to melt one by the glare of their appear 
 ance. And this is the case with Ernestus 
 M. who came here so outrageously genteel, 
 that Theresa affected not to know him, 
 and his introductory compliments, of 
 course, being lost, I never saw any body 
 look so foolish, and could scarcely refrain 
 laughing. 
 
 How odious is affectation ! To see this 
 man now, incapable of any one generous 
 idea, destitute of all those nice distinc 
 tions, that delicacy of sentiment, and 
 elegance of accomplishment, which are
 
 136 LETTERS OF 
 
 requisite to excite even attention in such 
 a rnind as Theresa's : to see such a man, 
 tricked out in the tinsel frippery of a town 
 beau, come on a serious embassy to The- 
 resaW.! affecting to shew his attachment 
 by ogling with eyes in which no ex 
 pression is to be found, but that of self- 
 complacency ; by smiles which degene- 
 rale into a grinning, expressive of con 
 summate felicity for the possession of some 
 rare qualities, invisible to every one but 
 himself! To see all this is enough to ex 
 haust the patience of a stoic : " But to 
 be the object of such addresses," Theresa 
 says, " is surely a punishment for sin, and 
 a warning sent from heaven, to guard one 
 against the horrible crimes of hypocrisy 
 and affectation !" 
 
 " And why," said I, " of hypocrisy ? 
 perhaps the man loves you, though he 
 has a mighty silly way of shewing it." 
 "It is impossible;" replied Theresa, 
 " he may, indeed, have some real regard 
 to what little fortune I possess ; but if he 
 is capable of any friendly attachment,
 
 CHARLOTTE. 137 
 
 which, however, I do not allow, it is al 
 ready in the possession of another lady : 
 a lady previously attached to a gentleman 
 of a quite opposite character. His name 
 is Antonine ; her's Adelaide. Ernestus 
 was introduced to Adelaide as the friend 
 of her lover, and, like the serpent in 
 Paradise, he determined on the seduction 
 of Adelaide, and so far succeeded, that 
 Antonine presently discovered he had lost 
 both his mistress and his friend. No 
 thing," added Theresa, " could equal 
 the misery of Antonine, as you may readily 
 conceive, when I tell you, that he resem 
 bled Werter in almost every thing, but 
 abilities. To find himself one day the 
 happiest of men, and counting on long 
 years of felicity to come and the next, 
 destitute of all that, in his eyes, could give 
 a charm to existence ; to think that he, 
 who had been an object of envy, must 
 never again feel that peace, which is the 
 balm of life; lhat a perpetual separation 
 must lake place, and the hands of Anto 
 nine and Adelaide never be rejoined ;
 
 138 LETTERS OF 
 
 that every thing was sacrificed to the 
 vanity of a wretch, incapable of setting a 
 proper value on what Antonine esteemed 
 beyond all riches; for the vanity of an 
 amour with Adelaide was all the happi 
 ness Ernestus could know : the contem 
 plation of these objects induced Antonine 
 to retire into this neighbourhood, with a 
 resolution never to revisit a place which 
 must remind him that he once was happy, 
 and redouble those inexpressible sorrows, 
 which a mind like bis must suffer from 
 divided affection." 
 
 " Indeed, Theresa," I said, " I pity 
 Antonine ; and if he is, as you say, in 
 this neighbourhood, let us endeavour to 
 administer to his relief, by making him 
 one of ou r musical party ; for, by your de 
 scription, his acquaintance is not alto 
 gether unworthy of cultivation." u I 
 know him," replied Theresa, " and will 
 introduce him, and you will then be able 
 to judge whether I have done him justice 
 in a little poem I am writing, under the 
 title of Antonine and Adelaide."
 
 CHARLOTTE. 139 
 
 " But how is it, Theresa," I said, " that 
 you permit so unworthy" She inter 
 rupted me : " Make yourself easy, my 
 dear Charlotte ; I fancy the presence of 
 Ernestus will never again contaminate 
 Walheim on my account." 
 
 Such, my dear Carolina, is the visitant 
 we have had, and, I thank heaven, are 
 never likely to have again ! Be grateful 
 to Providence, Carolina, that Adolphus 
 Ferdinand is not a beau ! Adieu.
 
 140 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER XLII. 
 
 So you compare Walheitn to those 
 mountains, in -which Don Quixote met 
 with Cardenio, Dorothea, and various 
 other lovers and I must confess, that, 
 what with your Ferdinand whom you 
 have left out of your catalogue of Wal- 
 heim swains Henry, Antonine, &c. we 
 are as much haunted with romantic lovers, 
 as any spot on modern plains. I think it 
 would not only be charitable, but a kind 
 of justice in you, to come and claim your 
 own share of the spoil, or it may chance 
 to go astray and be lost. 
 
 You complain of me, and say, I am 
 indolent, or that I should write more fre 
 quently. But you know how my atten 
 tion is taken up with the children ; and I 
 am unwilling to resign, even to Theresa, 
 any part of my charge the sacred charge 
 of the best of parents. When I cut their 
 bread and butter with my own hands, and 
 see them all smiling around me when at
 
 CHARLOTTE. 141 
 
 night they all kneel before me, and lisp 
 the prayers their dear mother taught them, 
 I think her blessings descend from heaven, 
 and I feel my heart glow with the melan 
 choly rapture of a pilgrim surrounded by 
 the precious relics of a departed saint. 
 
 As Albert predicted, so it is : the forms 
 and ceremonies of a court ill agree with 
 the liberal temper of Werter, and we 
 daily expect him at Walheim. Besides, 
 the natural contempt he cannot but enter 
 tain for such as he must necessarily have 
 associated with, and his aversion to a 
 life of dissipation, he is urged by the 
 peculiarity of his taste, to seek those 
 shades wherein he may indulge his medi 
 tative fancy, and contemplate the beau 
 ties of the universe. Whether he has 
 resigned or not, I cannot tell. I hope, 
 however, to find, that Miss B. has had 
 some influence on his heart. Be this as 
 it may, fortunately for me, 1 have The 
 resa, who wishes to see my dear Carolina 
 as the friend of her Charlotte, and to em 
 brace her as one deserving many friends. 
 Adieu !
 
 142 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER XLIII. 
 
 WERTER has not only resigned, but is 
 now at Walheim. He paid us his first 
 visit yesterday. " Once more," he said, 
 " I ana come to enjoy a life of rationality. 
 Like a knight-errant,! have been in quest 
 of adventures, and met with nothing worth 
 combating ; and as to happiness, I can 
 find it nowhere but at Walheim." 
 " What '."said Theresa, " no windmills?" 
 " Yes," replied Werter, " the wind- 
 mills of prejudice, formality, and folly : 
 J did indeed attack one or two ; but it 
 was an infant contending with Hercules." 
 
 " There is no true felicity," added he, 
 " but in the country, when you are so 
 happy as to meet with friends who can 
 enter into your sentiments, and have a 
 relish for intellectual pleasures, withoat 
 which there can be no real happiness in 
 existence. All the comforts of this world,*'
 
 CHAB.LOTTE. 143 
 
 he continued, " arc comprized in a few 
 things, elegantly described by an English 
 poet,* who seems tome to have perfectly 
 comprehended the true nature of social 
 pleasure. 
 
 An elegant sufficiency, content, 
 Retirement, tranquil quiet, friendship, books, 
 Ease and alternate labour, useful life, 
 Progressive virtue 
 
 " Most of these advantages," said Theresa, 
 " may be found in towns." " Happy 
 they !" replied Wer(er, " who find them 
 there, or any where ! But the attention 
 of people residing in towns is generally 
 directed to other objects : the petty vanity 
 of aping the manners of a court ; the per 
 petual contention for interest ; the bustle 
 of trade ; and the vulgar prejudice, that 
 wealth can procure everything, when, on 
 the contrary, it generally extinguishes all 
 desire of intellectual attainment ; all 
 these," said Werter, " arc causes that/ 
 
 * Thomson.
 
 144 LETTERS OF 
 
 with many others, operate against the 
 cultivation of those virtues and that dis 
 position of mind, that form the felicity of 
 which I am speaking. Besides," con 
 tinued he, ** these things, like baleful 
 weeds, choak the tender plant of friend 
 ship : you rarely know it flourish in towns, 
 even amongst your own sex ; when I see 
 an instance of tender friendship subsisting 
 in a great town, I think it is like dis 
 covering a sweet violet in a forest over 
 run with brambles and brushwood. And 
 without friendship," he added, " though 
 so few in the world know more of it than 
 the name, I do not allow a possibility of 
 happiness : 
 
 Is aught so fair, 
 
 In all the dewy landscape of the spring, 
 In the bright eye of Hesper or the morn, 
 In Nature's fairest forms, is aught so fair 
 As virtuous friendship ? 
 
 11 But what is peculiarly grateful to me," 
 said Werter, " is the opportunity the 
 country affords of perpetually contem-
 
 CHARLOTTE. 145 
 
 plating the beauties of nature. There are 
 few of the pursuits of a town life that do 
 not contract the mind ; and nothing more 
 so, than the regular routine of that silly 
 dissipation, in which amusement is sought 
 but never found. I pity those of any 
 liberality of sentiment, who are confined 
 to such miserable drudgery. The feelings 
 I most delight in," added he, " are those 
 1 experience, when in a fine morning, I 
 ascend a mountain that commands an ex 
 tensive prospect of woods and waters I 
 look around me, and my heart glows with 
 universal benevolence. My mind ex 
 pands with the prospect before me, and I 
 forget all the petty distinctions of mor 
 tality, by contemplating the whole globe 
 as one spot as a little paradise, diversi 
 fied with innumerable beautiful objects, 
 which receive additional splendour and 
 cheerfulness from the rays of a refulgent 
 sun : But when I descend again, and mix 
 among, mankind, my paradise, which in 
 the eye of philosophy is at most but a 
 point, becomes still smaller, and I find it 
 H
 
 146 LETTERS OF 
 
 only at Walheira, You cannot blame 
 me then," he said, smiling, " if, like the 
 dove from the ark, after in vain seeking 
 for repose elsewhere, I return to the spot 
 where I know it may be found." 
 
 My father and Albert soon after came 
 in, and received Werter with great friend- 
 snip ; but I discovered embarrassment in 
 the countenance of Werter when he com 
 plimented Albert on our union ; and I felt 
 my heart sink within me, when I saw him 
 give a significant glance at my ring, 
 wjiich, I believe, he had not noticed be 
 fore. 
 
 I have since been reflecting on Wer- 
 ter's idea of situation, as it respects hap 
 piness ; and I cannot say, that I think 
 external objects can have so much influ 
 ence as he ascribes to them. Felicity 
 must originate, and have its residence in 
 the mind,* and is to be acquired only by 
 
 * The leading idea of Charlotte's observation 
 is beautifully expressed by Goldsmith : 
 
 " Vain, very vain my weary search to find 
 
 That bliss which only centres in the mind." 
 
 TRAVELLER.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 147 
 
 the cultivation of those virtues which, 
 being intellectual, cannot be so affected by 
 external objects, as to lose their nature, or 
 fail of producing their natural fruit, that 
 peace and contentment, which the opera 
 tion of external circumstances can neither 
 give nor take away. 
 
 Add to this, that it is certain happiness 
 is pretty equally distributed among man 
 kind. Like the warmth of the SUB, we all 
 enjoy it, but in different degrees, and some 
 times with long intervals of darkness. At 
 one time it is obstructed by the passing 
 clouds of providence ; at another by the 
 mists of error, and the storms of passion. 
 That my dearest Carolina may ever 
 enjoy that " sunshine of the breast,*' 
 without which the world is a gloomy 
 wilderness, will always be the sincere 
 wish of her affectionate Charlotte.
 
 J4B LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER XLIV. 
 
 ALAS, my Carolina ! I see no change in 
 the sentiments or conduct of Werter. 
 Nothing but the continual presence of 
 Theresa restrains him from the commission 
 of a thousand follies ; and she is obliged 
 to leave Walheim this week ; having ef 
 fects to receive from Spain, which de 
 volve to her as the only remaining repre 
 sentative of her mother. 
 
 Independent of this, our time passes 
 not unpleasantly at Walheim Lodge. The 
 children are quite happy in the return of 
 Werter, who has told them many new 
 stories, and has loaded them with new 
 trinkets. 
 
 Our conversations, as usual, turn chiefly 
 on objects of taste, music, and literature; 
 and you would laugh to hear the argu 
 ments of Werter and Albert respecting
 
 CHARLOTTE. ]49 
 
 Homer and Ossian :* for Ossian, you 
 must know, has supplanted Homer in the 
 good graces of Werter, which not a little 
 exposes him to the ridicule of Albert, who 
 draws comparisons between them highly 
 degrading to Ossian. " Homer," says Al 
 bert, " is the father of the two most re 
 gular and finished poems in the world, in 
 both of which you find all the requisites 
 of the epic : sublime images, nervous and 
 flowery diction, a beginning, a middle, 
 and an end. To these," adds he, " you 
 oppose a collection of northern ballads, 
 destitute of every principle of an epic 
 poem, except, here and there, a romantic 
 image which pleases an imagination that, 
 like yours, delights in , eccentricity." 
 Werter, however, has a great deal to say 
 for his friend Ossian. My father, attend 
 ing particularly to Albert, takes his side 
 of the question, and tells Werter, that he 
 seems to have exchanged " a pocket com 
 panion of gold for one of lead." " No, 
 
 * See Werter, Letter LXI.
 
 i50 
 
 Sir," replied Albert, " of lead ore, if you 
 please, for it glitters more than the gold, 
 which is no uncommon thing even with 
 dross.'* 
 
 For my part, I am much pleased with 
 many passages in Ossian ; but the per 
 petual recurrence of the same images, and 
 a continual effort to affect the sublime, so 
 wearies the mind, that I can never read 
 more than a few pages at a time. Ossian 
 resembles a tremendous rock, over-hung 
 with waving woods, where you may dis 
 cover foaming cataracts, gloomy caverns, 
 and dismal precipices. Homer is like a 
 fertile country, in which you may at once 
 contemplate the variegated beauties of 
 woods and waterfalls ; torrents that rush 
 with impetuosity from lofty mountains, 
 and streams that murmur through Arca 
 dian valleys. Like the shield of Achilles, 
 the poems of Homer present the whole 
 world to our view.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 151 
 
 LETTER XLV. 
 
 I RECEIVED both your letters, my dear 
 friend, and am glad to find you have had 
 a healthful and agreeable journey. In 
 deed, you have been, what would appear 
 to me, a long, long way ; but to you, 
 who are a traveller, I suppose the distance 
 was not 'extraordinary. I hope you have 
 settled every thing to your aunt's satis- 
 faction ; and that your next journey will 
 be to Walheim. 
 
 Theresa has been gone upwards of a 
 month ; she left us the day after I wrote 
 my last letter to you. She will pass the 
 Christmas holidays with us, when I hope 
 our party will receive the addition of my 
 dear Carolina's company. I am so ac 
 customed to have a companion, that these 
 winter evenings are sometimes dreary ; 
 the children go early to bed, and Albert 
 is a gpod deal engaged. I hope, there-
 
 LETTERS OF 
 
 fore, you will commence your holidays as 
 soon as possible ; in truth, I want your 
 assistance, your advice for, Werter O 
 Carolina ! my heart feels heavy as I write 
 the name. 
 
 His assiduities are increased, and Al 
 bert daily finds him at Walheim Lodge, 
 but always bids him welcome, and has 
 never yet intimated any disapprobation of 
 his visits. 
 
 But I see, my dearest girl, I see that this 
 unfortunate passion is making rapid pro 
 gress in the bosom of Werter. Sometimes, 
 when he sits silent by me, I discover tears 
 in his eyes, whilst they are earnestly fixed 
 on my ring, at which he gazes till the 
 colour forsakes his cheek, and a deep 
 sigh gives him relief. I am obliged to 
 have instant recourse to my harpsichord, 
 and to play some airs, by which he is par 
 ticularly affected. Fortunately this ex 
 pedient never fails of the desired effect ; 
 and I cannot help comparing myself to 
 David soothing the passion of Saul. So 
 true is it, that there is divinity in music,
 
 CHARLOTTE, 153 
 
 and such is (he magic power of harmony ! 
 When I reprove his weakness, he an 
 swers me with sighs, but assures me, he 
 will endeavour to repress every feeling 
 that may disturb our peace. 
 
 I remind him of Miss B. " I love her, 
 my dear Charlotte," he says, " because 
 she has a liberal mind, and because she 
 resembles you So I told you in my letter 
 and though it carries Ihe appearance 
 of a compliment, yet, believe me, rny 
 heart dictates it. Miss B. was to me 
 as a picture of Charlotte, endued with 
 the power of speech." " Miss B." I 
 said, " is but little obliged to you." 
 " Indeed, Charlotte," he replied, " I told 
 her the same thing ; and so highly does 
 she think of you, that she is proud of be 
 ing thought like so amiable an original." 
 " Tis well," I said, " she is not likely 
 to see me, or your judgment, Werter, 
 would suffer very considerably in her 
 opinion. Your partiality," I added, 
 " gives grace even to foibles, and thus, 
 beholding with disordered optics, you 
 ii 5
 
 154 LETTERS OF 
 
 misrepresent" He would not allow the 
 inference; and I have the mortification to 
 find Miss B. on whom I placed so many 
 hopes, regarded but as a representative of 
 myself. Thus, from every concurrent 
 circumstance I have reason to fear, that 
 Werter will not speedily regain that tran 
 quillity, which forms the peculiar bliss of 
 those who do not permit passion to usurp 
 the authority of reason. 
 
 Advise me, my dear Carolina, what to 
 do. His continuing to visit here, will, I 
 fear, increase the passion that onght to 
 be subdued. 
 
 I thank you again and again for your 
 elegant present of English books. 1 have 
 read a volume of the " Rambler," and 
 observe, that like the" Night Thoughts," 
 every line contains a sentence, and every 
 sentence not only finds its way to the 
 heart, but ought to be registered there, 
 Adieu !
 
 CHARLOTTE. 155 
 
 LETTER XLVI. 
 
 No, my dear Carolina : music may 
 soothe, but cannot subdue the passions ; 
 it is, indeed, a medicine of the mind, and 
 perhaps the most efficacious : but though 
 it may administer temporary relief, it 
 seldom removes the disease. Yet, I believe, 
 every syllable I have ever read of its 
 power. And it gives me great pleasure 
 to find it mentioned as a " sovereign 
 remedy" in diseases more immediately 
 affecting the mind, by the author of the 
 two medical volumes which formed a part 
 of your acceptable and obliging English 
 present, and which I had before read in a 
 German translation.* This elegant writer 
 has observed, that " the salutary power 
 of music, and its manner of operating on 
 
 * ' Medical Observations on Diseases peculiar 
 to Women,' by Dr. John Leake, of Craven-Street; 
 translated into the German, &c.
 
 156 LETTERS OF 
 
 the body and mind, depend as much upon 
 rational and demonstrative principles, as 
 that of any medicine in the ' Maleria 
 Medica.'" And 1 have reason to sub 
 scribe lo the opinion. " Cicero," he re 
 marks, " asserts its amazing power, and 
 Plato supposes that the effect of harmony 
 on the mind is equal to that of air on the 
 body. Its divine influence," he con 
 tinues, u is exemplified by David, in .the 
 cure of Saul ; and the Eastern monarch, 
 who had conquered the world, was him 
 self subdued by the seraphic strains of 
 Timotheus's harp. It mitigates bodily 
 pain, suspends the malignant force of 
 madness and despair, and lulls the soul 
 into tranquillity and peace. Let us," he 
 proceeds, " appeal to the refined feelings 
 of those most susceptible of the divine 
 power of harmony, to prove its sovereign 
 influence over the mind : viz. that it is 
 the true oblivious antidote ; the Nepen 
 the of t he gods, to heal the wounded spirit, 
 to exalt the mind above low-thoughted 
 care, and lap it in Elysium."
 
 CHARLOTTE. 157 
 
 I am highly delighted with these ob 
 servations, because they accord with na 
 ture, and are founded on just principles. 
 How exquisite would it be, were all the 
 sciences, without the incumbrance of 
 hypothetical system or professional jar 
 gon, thus pleasingly illustrated ! Then, 
 indeed, even we, my dear Carolina, might 
 be tempted to exclaim, 
 
 " How charming is divine philosophy ! 
 Not harsh and crabbed as dull fools suppose, 
 But musical as is Apollo's lute, 
 And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets "* 
 
 But you ascribe too much power even io 
 the divinity of music, when you imagine 
 its airs might allay the passion of Werter, 
 as the wand of a magician is supposed to 
 quell a tempest. That it sometimes 
 " lulls the soul into tranquillity and 
 peace," I happily experience : but love is 
 a passion alas ! my dear friend, am I not 
 adding fuel to the flame, by administering 
 the liquid notes of harmony ? And such 
 
 * Milton.
 
 158 LETTERS OF 
 
 too as Werter has selected ! Since my 
 acquaintance with him, my musical taste 
 has undergone considerable change. 
 Those compositions, whose chief merit 
 consists in difficulty of execution, and 
 which I took a pride in performing-, are 
 totally rejected for the simple strains of 
 ancient melody, which touch the ear with 
 exquisite sweetness, and find access to the 
 inmost recesses of the heart ; and indeed, 
 what is that music or poetry good for, 
 which produces no effect on the mind ? 
 There is very little modern music that 
 Werter will sit to hear : he says, it is like 
 Gothic architecture, whose parts, instead 
 of captivating, serve to puzzle and con 
 found ; whilst the harmonious strains of 
 antiquity, like the Grecian temples, charm 
 us by an union of grandeur and sim 
 plicity. 
 
 Indeed, simplicity ought to be the 
 leading principle, not only in all the 
 arts, but in life itself; and happy they, 
 who, in their mortal conduct, follow sim 
 plicity : for " all her ways are ways of 
 pleasantness, and all her paths are peace !"
 
 CHARLOTTE. 159 
 
 LETTER XL VII. 
 
 ADIEU! a long adieu to the white hours 
 of domestic peace ! -O, ray Carolina ! I 
 stand on a fearful precipice, and find no 
 friendly hand to snatch me from the dis 
 mal prospect! Condemn me not, my 
 dearest girl condemn not your Charlotte 
 she is innocent, and unhappy. 
 
 I see and pity the sufferings of Wer- 
 ter : though pity be allied to love, yet 
 friendship sure may pity : I pity him, 
 Carolina, and my heart sinks when I see 
 him. Miserable and dejected, he strives 
 in vain to hide a passion which consumes 
 him. His countenance is pale ; his spirits 
 sunk, and he no longer joins society with 
 cheerfulness. Even in these cold nights, 
 the moon only witness to his woe, he wan 
 ders o'er (he hills of Walheim, and sighs 
 to the blast that whistles through the leaf 
 less trees. Indeed, indeed, Carolina, I
 
 160 LETTERS OF 
 
 cannot but pity him. His time, his youth, 
 is wasted in a vain pursuit ; his spirits 
 destroyed ; his life, perhaps O, ray 
 Carolina! am I the cause of all his misery ? 
 and can I be happy ? 
 
 I do not remonstrate in vain. Alarmed, 
 lest Albert should notice the foolish ex 
 travagancies he daily commits, and attri 
 bute them to the real cause, I reproved 
 Werterfor his excesses, and pointed out 
 to him the fatal consequences of a conduct 
 so incompatible with my peace. As if 
 passion were to be eradicated by impairing 
 reason, he drank wine to excess, and en 
 deavoured to seek consolation in forgetful- 
 ness.* To see him thus enervate his in 
 tellectual faculties, and injure his health, 
 gave me pain, and I dissuaded him from 
 it; for though wine may drown the finer 
 feelings, it will not extinguish passion. 
 
 " O Charlotte," he said, " let me in 
 dulge myself in forgetting every thing : 
 even in forgetting you, the best and dearest 
 
 * See Werter, Letter LXVIJ.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 161 
 
 of women ! let me forget all your charms, 
 and all your goodness ; for every tender 
 recollection" " Do not," I said, " do 
 not pursue this course ; Think of Char 
 lotte !" For, if I can by any means turn 
 his passion to his own advantage, am I 
 not right to do it ? But to find that I 
 have this influence makes me unhappy. 
 
 My dear Carolina ! friend of my 
 heart ! thou, who in knowing, sharest all 
 my sufferings, with Charlotte bend the 
 knee to Providence, for the restoration of 
 sweet tranquillity ! I ask not happiness 
 Illumine once more, O heaven ! with the 
 cheering rays of thy peace, the sorrowful 
 bosom of Charlotte !
 
 162 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER XLVIII. 
 
 IT will not be, my Carolina ! I ask too 
 great a bounty at the hand of heaven : 
 every thing concurs to make me wretched. 
 Alas ! there is no peace for Charlotte. 
 
 Werter has seen him, Carolina ! he has 
 seen Henry ! " Were I like him," be 
 said, " I should be happy ; he knows 
 not his wretchedness : in his bosom there 
 is room for hope : he climbs the wild rock 
 to gather flowers in winter ; but I have 
 no object ; I wander" " Why, Werter," 
 I said, " why will you seek every oppor 
 tunity to aggravate distress ?" He inter 
 rupted me: " There is but one way, 
 to be like him there is but one way 
 for Werter to be as happy as Henry." 
 " What do you mean, Werter ?" I said, 
 and held him my trembling hand 
 " Alas !" he replied, " thatthe possession 
 of this boasted reason should be given us
 
 CHARLOTTE. 163 
 
 only to distinguish, and (o adore the ex 
 cellencies we cannot obtain t" " Indeed, 
 Werter," I said, " you are not well ; re 
 pose yourself:" and I flew to my harp 
 sichord. I could hardly play; but, that 
 he might not imagine I regarded anything 
 he had said, I attempted to sing one of 
 his favourite airs. He sat, and looked at 
 me, as I have seen Henry look ; and when 
 I had finished the air, he said, " Char 
 lotte is kind : she comes like a ministering 
 angel of light, and, with seraphic strains, 
 leads my mind from woe : thanks, my 
 dearest Charlotte I breathe again !" 
 
 Fortunately the children came in from 
 walking, and by their innocent prattle, 
 diverted his attention. The whole cry 
 was for a story : u Tell us the story of 
 the prince that was served by dwarfs," 
 said Josephina. " No, no," exclaims 
 Maria, who can hardly speak plain yet, 
 " Tell us the story of the little boy and 
 the giant." The little boy and the giant 
 carried the day, and Werter told it with 
 so much solemnity, that though they had
 
 164 LETTERS OF 
 
 heard it twenty times before, they were 
 wonderfully silent. Maria sat on his 
 knee, and all the rest stood round him, 
 with their eyes fixed on him, delighted to 
 hear how the little boy got into the giant's 
 castle, and took away all his fine things ; 
 " which he could never have done," said 
 Werter, " if he had not been a very good 
 boy;" for, to tell children a story with 
 out a moral adapted to their capacities, is 
 giving them unwholesome food; it is 
 sowing tares without wheat, and planting 
 shrubs that will bear neither fruit nor 
 foliage. 
 
 The children were no sooner put to 
 bed, than Albert came in, and I thought 
 he looked coolly on Werter. I believe I 
 was mistaken, for I afterwards found, that 
 he had been engaged in business, that 
 had, in some degree, ruffled his temper. 
 As I knew Werter was ignorant of the 
 cause of Henry's wretched situation, I re 
 tired the moment I heard that unhappy 
 subject introduced. It is impossible, my 
 dear Carolina, to describe the perturba-
 
 CHARLOTTE. 165 
 
 lions I experienced during this interval. 
 I considered the impressions every word 
 would make on the mind of Werter, al 
 ready agitated with the sight of the 
 miserable sufferer.;! went into my cham 
 ber, and, reflecting on my situation, I 
 could not refrain tears, and, on my knees, 
 to ask of Providence the blessing of his 
 protection, and to shower on our afflicted 
 minds the reviving dews of heavenly tran 
 quillity. And surely heaven heard my 
 prayers, for when I returned, Werter 
 seemed composed ; but on leaving us, 
 gave me a look that affected me, as if I 
 were conscious of having committed some 
 crime. Thus it is, my Carolina, that my 
 feelings are, as it were, played upon, and 
 every note, alas, strikes sorrow to my 
 heart. Adieu, my dearest friend, once 
 more adieu !
 
 16G LETTEttS OF 
 
 LETTER XL1X. 
 
 Too well I know the heart of Werter, 
 my dear Carolina, too well, alas, I know 
 his heart, to follow your friendly counsel . 
 My mind misgives me when I think of 
 telling him not to waste his time at Wal- 
 heim Lodge. The excess of his passion, 
 Carolina I shudder but to think of it ! 
 
 I have reason, Carolina, to imagine 
 fearful things. And though I am de 
 pressed and spiritless, so far, alas, from 
 following your counsel, I receive him 
 with borrowed smiles yes, your once 
 lively Charlotte is a stranger to the sweet 
 emotions of heart-felt cheerfulness and 
 treat him with mild complacency.* This 
 conduct might appear blameable in the 
 eyes of a stranger ; but my Carolina 
 knows my heart. We must suit our 
 
 * See Werter, Letter JLXIX.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 167 
 
 actions, so as that they never deviate from 
 the line of rectitude, to the exigencies of 
 time. O heaven ! that ever Charlotte 
 my heart, be still ! 
 
 The story of Henry has made a deep 
 impression on the mind of Werter. 
 " Nothing," he said, yesterday, "nothing 
 but his happy translation" happy he 
 called it ! " could have made existence 
 sufterable: yet I endure" " Werter," I 
 said, " you seek distress, and indulge 
 yourself in imaginary woes." Imagi 
 nary ! Charlotte ?" and, lifting up his 
 eyes, he added " O God ! thou hast 
 pitied Henry thou hast taken him from 
 himself but Werter" " Forbear Wer 
 ter," I said, " forbear this wild extrava 
 gance : I must not hear you ; it is cruel 
 to remind me of Henry's sufferings.'' 
 " Can Werter then," he said, " be cruel 
 to Charlotte ? he whose life is not worth a 
 thought, who" " Pardon me, Werter," I 
 said, " a life like yours, which might be 
 rendered an ornament to society'* 
 " Alas!" he replied, " the existence of
 
 168 LETTERS OF 
 
 any human creature is of little moment . 
 as every tree adds to the shade of the 
 forest, so one being adds to the number of 
 society ; but he falls like a plant in an 
 unknown valley, unnoticed, and quickly 
 forgotten."" Nay, Werter," I said, 
 " you do wrong to society : no man falls 
 unnoticed, nor unregretted ; we bedew 
 with tears the pale corse, and remember 
 with tenderness the virtues that gave 
 loveliness to life. But if it were not so, 
 think." I added " think, Werter, of the 
 consequence of life in the eye of heaven 
 of him who regardeth even the fall of a 
 sparrow !" Taking hold of my hand, and 
 kissing it, he said, " It is in your power, 
 Charlotte. If, indeed, all society were 
 like yours who would not wish for life, 
 when to live would be to enjoy happiness ?" 
 "These compliments, Werler," I said, 
 " are due elsewhere." " Compliments !" 
 he exclaimed, and began to walk hastily 
 about the room. At that instant Albert 
 came in, and relieved me from a conversa* 
 tion that exceedingly oppressed me.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 169 
 
 Always welcome, my dear Albert! 
 How thy sleady mildness, and the serenity 
 of thy reason, charm away the perturba 
 tions of my mind, and restore half its 
 infant peace to my throbbing heart ;* 
 Thou com'st like the smiling blushes of 
 the breezy morning, after a tempestuous 
 night. 
 
 Do not censure me for rejecting your 
 counsel. I give thee, my dearest girl, a 
 thousand thousand thanks for thy good 
 wishes. Is there no certain course ? To 
 temporize is dangerous. Whilst Werter 
 regards society with indifference, and is 
 " at war with himself" do you not see 
 the fatal tendency of his sentiments? O 
 Carolina ! I tremble as I write Adieu ! 
 
 * In this, as well as several other passages, the 
 language is too poetical for epistolary composition. 
 It may, however, with justice, be remarked, that it 
 is a prevailing fault among young writers, to give 
 into this kind of diction, especially those whose 
 reading, like Charlotte's has been chiefly confined 
 to the poets.
 
 170 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER L. 
 
 How dangerous is that philosophy 
 which lends its aid to melancholy, and 
 dresses creation in the robes of sorrow ! 
 which extinguishes the lambent flame of 
 cheerfulness, and sinks in clouds the glim 
 mering star of reason ! This is that fatal 
 philosophy which, instead of repressing, 
 gives internal succour to the passions, and 
 adds the influence of sentiment to the 
 emotions of desire; and Omy Carolina! 
 this is the philosophy of Werter ! 
 
 To-day again* " I see Charlotte," he 
 said, " I plainly see what is the destiny 
 of man : he must fill up the measure of 
 his suiferings, and drink the bitter 
 draught ; none are excluded from this 
 the lot is universal; and had I not the 
 mournful privilege to bathe this hand with 
 tears" I interrupted him : " Indeed, 
 Werter," I said, " Providence is kind to
 
 CHARLOTTE. 171 
 
 all ; what ' though sadness tarrieth 
 through the night, joy cometh in the 
 morning;' but you, Werter, have no 
 right to utter the language of complaint ; 
 you, whose mind is enlarged, and who 
 have faculties to enjoy every intellectual 
 blessing. Consider, Werter," I added, 
 " consider the thousands that pine in, 
 want, that sicken with disease, to whom 
 the sun brings no comfort, and the night 
 no repose others, to whom the world is a 
 dreary wilderness through which, with 
 sorrowful hearts, they wander, and find 
 * not whereto lay their head,' till, destitute 
 and comfortless, with no pitying voice to 
 soothe their sorrows, no kind hand to re 
 lieve their wants, they sink, with eyes 
 uplifted to the ruling power, and they ex 
 pire, Werter, without a murmur nay, 
 they bless the hand thatafflicts and shall 
 we, Werter,"" O Charlotte !" he said, 
 " it is hard to know the human heart ; 
 they that thus wander in misery, and em 
 brace their woe, find some secret charm in 
 existence, and clasp the imaginary good 
 i 2
 
 172 LETTERS OF 
 
 till it deserts them."" Yes, Werter," I 
 replied, " there is a secret charm that 
 weds them to their woe : the ' still small 
 voice' that whispers com fort, and tells them 
 that felicity is the attendant of submission ; 
 and vain is that philosophy, Werter, 
 which, by expanding the mind, weakens 
 principle." " I boast not of philosophy," 
 he said," mymind, Charlotte, admits not 
 of ils comforts : one image only dwells 
 there the whole world affords no diver 
 sity to me 'tis a blank" " Where, Wer 
 ter," I asked, where is that spirit of ge 
 nius, and that love of nature from which 
 you derived unspeakable pleasures ? 
 where the friendly cheerfulness that gave 
 delight to our evenings, and made winter 
 pleasing ? Indeed, Werter," 1 added, 
 smiling, though my heart was full, ** In 
 deed, you must be corrected : is it not 
 childish, for the want of some particular 
 object, to reject all the blessings that sur 
 round us ? we cannot enjoy perpetual 
 sunshine." " Go on, dearest of women," 
 he said, " go on : I can bear this from
 
 CHARLOTTE. 173 
 
 you, because you, Charlotte, are that one 
 object for which I have patience to look 
 on others but when I leave you, my 
 dear Charlotte, then all my resolves 
 vanish 1 see your image your voice 
 continues to charm me every thing af 
 fects my heart, but those precepts that 
 would instil forgetfulness, and make me 
 look on Chariot' e with indifference: I can 
 not," he added, " Charlotte, I cannot, 
 forget ; and whilst I remember, I must be 
 miserable." " Come, Wertcr," I said, 
 and I gave him my hand, " [ am sure 
 your health is impaired, and you expose 
 yourself too much to the rigour of the 
 wintry elements : let your friendship for 
 us, induce you to be more careful of your 
 self." 
 
 Having said this, I went to my harpsi 
 chord, and played some lively airs. How 
 I learn to deceive myself! whilst my 
 fingers strike the notes of joy, my heart 
 throbs with woe ! Alas, my Carolina ! 
 will it never again feel the vibration of 
 rapture ?
 
 174 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER LI. 
 
 I WAS not mistaken Carolina, my 
 misery is complete ! Albert how shall I 
 write, whilst my eyes stream with tears, 
 and my hand trembles thus ? Albert O, 
 Carolina ! what am I become that Albert 
 my heart bleeds,! cannot write 
 Gracious God ! am I doomed only fo 
 create sorrow ?
 
 CHARLOTTE. 175 
 
 LETTER LII. 
 
 HE treats him coldly, yet he finds him 
 here ! Yes, my dearest friend, I am 
 guiltless Alas, that my hours wore the 
 colour of my thoughts ! I am guiltless, 
 Carolina but Albert's peace is wounded ! 
 O no ! 'tis a fatal delusion : if Char 
 lotte were innocent, could Albert be un 
 happy ? My thoughts ! heaven only 
 reads my thoughts heaven only sees my 
 heart. Albert marks rny woe he sees 
 dimness in my eyes he hears the sigh I 
 vainly endeavour to suppress he hears, 
 and thinks it is a sigh to Wcrter : for 
 blessed with her Albert should grief find 
 shelter in the heart of Charlotte ? 
 
 No, my Carolina, he will not surely 
 Albert cannot doubt the fidelity of his 
 Charlotte. He knows her heart he 
 knows its tenderness. Its tenderness, Al 
 bert ! never shall become a weakness :
 
 176 LETTERS OF 
 
 " Affliction may subdue the cheek, but 
 not take in the mind." O God ! who 
 knowest my heart, strengthen and support 
 it, that in suffering under thy will the 
 voice of murmuring may never pass my 
 lips ! 
 
 Werter sees Albert look on me with the 
 eye of reserve it pierces him to the heart. 
 He sees he is an unwelcome guest at Wai- 
 heim Lodge and yet he is daily here! 
 Unhappy man ! why will he pursue the 
 visionary shade that leads to ruin ? 
 
 On every side distressed! The chil 
 dren rejoicing at the approaching festival, 
 call to my remembrance happy, happy 
 hours that are past ! Their little hearts 
 exult, and they talk of nothing but 
 Christmas and sweetmeats, and what 
 pleasures are coming, when Carolina 
 and Theresa will bring them toys from 
 the town ! The dear infants cas>t their 
 wondering eyes on my starting tears ; 
 their joy is suddenly suppressed, and their 
 harmless bosoms throb with a sensation 
 they never felt before. Alas, my Caro-
 
 CHARLOTTE. J77 
 
 lina ! what has Charlotte done, (hat 
 heaven thus afflicts her, and all around 
 her ? If I have wandered into indiscre 
 tion and if indiscretion thus is punished, 
 what must be the lot of guilt! Father of 
 mercies ! shield me ! 
 
 Werler has not been gone long. He 
 was here all the afternoon, and was going 
 before; but I would make him stay till 
 Albert came, to save me the coufnsion of 
 saying he had been here in Albert's ab 
 sence. Instead of conversing with me, 
 Albert takes a book, or amuses himself 
 with the children. His reserve, Carolina, 
 chills my heart! I tee no kindness in his 
 eye. I watch in vain for those glances 
 that speak the silent satisfaction of the 
 soul ; and instead of soothing my mind 
 with music, I retire to indulge myself in 
 tears.
 
 178 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER LIII. 
 
 WHERE is the peace that blesses the 
 vacant mind ? Is it the lot of sensibility 
 to be wretched ? Or am I not dead to 
 sensibility ? When I thought I possessed 
 it in a more than common degree, was I 
 not more than commonly happy ? Have 
 I not often said, that even the grief of 
 sensibility is a luxury ? 
 
 " Sad luxury ! to vulgar minds unknown !" 
 I feel for the woes of another, and I arn 
 wretched. I am something more than 
 wretched, Carolina : a new sensation 
 arises in my bosom I tremble to think ! 
 perhaps it is guilt ! Are then my tears 
 criminal ? are my sighs offensive to 
 heaven ? They are, my Carolina ! for 
 do they not wound the peace of Albert? 
 
 How difficult is it, to conduct ourselves 
 with unerring propriety, when the heart 
 is subject to those emotions which lend to 
 an untimely indulgence of even virtuous 
 inclination.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 179 
 
 LETTER LIV. 
 
 IN vain I try to soothe my mind with 
 music. Even the most lively airs add to 
 ray melancholy. They recall to my me 
 mory past pleasures. 
 
 " Of joys departed, never to return, 
 How painful the remembrance !" 
 
 When the memory is tenacious of past 
 felicity, and hope fails to fill the mind 
 with ideal prospects of future bliss ; then 
 it is, that anguish becomes doubly bitter ; 
 and the retrospection even of innocence, 
 adds new sighs to melancholy, and gives 
 fresh poignancy to grief. Let the sooth 
 ing voice of thy friendship, Carolina, 
 calm my troubled spirit, and teach me to 
 regain the consolation the unspeakable 
 consolation of a mind at ease !
 
 180 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER LV. 
 
 YOUR letter, my dear friend, gives me 
 comfort ; but Carolina's letters always 
 communicate a ray of that divine peace, 
 which beams in her own mind. 
 
 Werter has not been here to-day, and 
 I feel my heart calm. Albert smiled when 
 he came in, and my bosom, for a moment, 
 fluttered with a sensation it has long 1 ' been 
 
 o 
 
 a stranger to. My father too came, and 
 told us, he had found a companion for 
 Werter" And Werter," Albert said, 
 " would do well to seek company." It 
 was Antonine, whose story my father had 
 accidentally learned, and told to Albert. 
 I saw it affected him ; and, fur the first 
 lime in my life, I heard him use an acri 
 monious expression : it related lo the con 
 duct of Adelaide. As if I had been 
 equally guilty, I felt the severity of his 
 remark, and retired to give relief to my
 
 CHARLOTTE. 181 
 
 feelings. This too was the first time my 
 dear father ever administered to the dis 
 tress of his Charlotte: happily for him, 
 he knew it not. 
 
 I cannot subscribe (o your opinion, that 
 1 should speak to Albert on this unhappy 
 subject. Though the object would be to 
 vindicate my innocence, would not such 
 an appeal imply a degree of self-convic 
 tion ? Silence best becomes unaccused 
 innocence. And if, indeed, it were ad 
 visable, how, my Carolina how should I 
 find words how find power to utter 
 them ? Charlotte was never taught the 
 language of supplication, but when she 
 addressed the throne of mercy. 
 
 My father inquires after you, my dear 
 Carolina, and depends as we all do 
 on seeing you very soon. The winter 
 has not made less havock about Walheim 
 than sorrow has in the bosom of your 
 friend. Your favourite lime trees, at the 
 top of the garden, are blown down ; the 
 waters have done considerable damage, 
 
 O 7 
 
 and the river in the valley, on wlio*e
 
 182 LETTERS OF 
 
 banks we have so often wandered in sum 
 mer evenings, is now a dreary sea. Too 
 like the change I find in my own mind, I 
 look on it with terror. My eyes search 
 in vain for the objects that diversified the 
 beauties of the valley ; I see nothing but 
 a solitary tree, reserved, like myself, to 
 be a witness of more woe : a weeping 
 monument of what has been !
 
 CHARLOTTE. 183 
 
 LETTER LVI. 
 
 YES; a kind of desolation surrounds me. 
 Nature seems as dead to animation, as my 
 heart to joy. Yet spring shall renew the 
 foliage of the fields, and summer suns 
 shall ripen the harvest of autumn. Per 
 haps tranquillity may revisit" my bosom, 
 and Charlotte may again be happy. 
 This is the language of hope : of hops 
 far distant. The prospect before me is 
 gloomy : it presents scenes of terror I 
 dread to look forwards O Thou ! at 
 whose word, myriads of worlds rush into 
 existence, and whose smile diffuses joy 
 through all dispel the gloom of sorrow, 
 and chase from hence the shadow of de 
 spair let cheerfulness revisit my sad 
 bosom, and domestic felicity once more 
 reign at Walheim. 
 
 Anxiety, my dearest friend, anxiety 
 preys on my heart. Unknown to me now,
 
 184 LETTEKS OF 
 
 are the delightful pleasures resulting from 
 the cheerful converse of surrounding 
 friends, and the communion of elegant 
 sentiment. Alas, my Carolina ! can I rc- 
 cal the past, without tears ? the days of 
 infancy, when my heart was a stranger to 
 all sorrow, and the smiles of my dearest 
 mother made a hraven indeed ! : Why do 
 my tears stream afresh ? Her spirit 
 hovers over me : I hear her voice. "Those 
 are the soothing, the sweetest moments of 
 my life, when, rapt in a pleasing delusion, 
 I see, -and I con verse with the. shade of her 
 whose blessing will preserve me. 
 
 " Have I not seen her, where she has not been ? 
 Have I not clasp' d her shadow ? Trod her steps ; 
 Transported trod ! as if they led to heaven ?"* 
 
 Had she yet lived ; had Werter known 
 her, he would have revered and loved her. 
 The contemplation of her virtues, the 
 charms of her conversation, would have 
 soothed his mind, and rectified his judg- 
 
 * i Young.
 
 185 
 
 ment ; and the fancied excellencies of 
 Charlotte would have made no impres 
 sion on the mind of Werter. 
 
 Pardon me, my dear Carolina : pardon 
 this incoherency . When shall I be able 
 again to write with a heart at ease ?
 
 186 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER LVJI. 
 
 LIKE those evanescent glimmerings be 
 fore death, which sometimes flatter weep 
 ing friends with illusive hopes, were the 
 serene moments that whispered returning 
 peace to my soul. Alas, they are fled ! 
 and again 
 
 Albert continues to love his Charlotte ; 
 he has given ease to her heart even byre- 
 proof; it was the reproof of cruelty and 
 tenderness. A day or two ago, when he 
 went out for he would not see my tears ; 
 he would not mark my confusion as he 
 opened the door, and I could not see his 
 countenance, he said, u From a regard 
 to appearance only, it would be well, 
 Charlotte, to abate the ardour of your 
 friendship to Werter, and not see him so 
 often." It was in vain that I hastened to 
 the door it was in vain that I cried, " O 
 Albert ! hear me !" he was gone. I ran
 
 CHARLOTTE. 187 
 
 wp to ray chamber- window, and saw him 
 walk with hasty steps from the lodge, and 
 often put his handkerchief to his eyes. It 
 pierced my heart, that the dearest and 
 best of men, should leave his Charlotte 
 thus, and fty from her that should wipe 
 away his tears. I saw him increase the 
 quickness of his walk, as if distance from 
 Charlotte would afford relief to his mind. 
 Alas, I could not see him long ! my eyes 
 streamed : I sunk on a chair. 
 
 When my tears had sufficiently relieved 
 me, and my heart ceased to beat with ex 
 cess of grief, I determined instantly to 
 obey the command of Albert, and to find 
 out some mode of relieving myself from 
 the visits of Werter. I received consola 
 tion from the reflection, that Albert would 
 soon see Charlotte valued his peace, and 
 revered his mandate. 
 
 In the evening, before Albert returned, 
 Werter came. I was preparing Christ 
 mas gifts for the children. I thought 
 Werter seemed in better spirits than 
 usual. He talked of the innocent de-
 
 LETTERS OF 
 
 lights of infancy ; and said, he envied the 
 happiness of children that were unexpect 
 edly surprized with fruit and sweetmeats, 
 ushered in with wax-lights that communi 
 cate a sudden raptureto every countenance: 
 " You, shall have a gift loo," I said, " if 
 you behave well." " What do you mean, 
 Charlotte?" he. asked. " Thursday 
 night," I replied, "is Christmas eve : the 
 children are all to be here do you come 
 too but do not come before that time." 
 He looked earnestly in my face ; I saw 
 his emotion ; but I repeated my request. 
 " We must riot," I added, " goon in this 
 manner any longer." I found my heart 
 relieved by having said so much. Werter, 
 in great agitation, walked across the room. 
 He gave no attention to several questions 
 that J asked him, but.at last said, " Char 
 lotte, I will never see you more!" " Nay, 
 Werter," I said, " we may we must see 
 one another." I marked the fire in his 
 eyes, and, taking his hand, I begged of 
 him to be calm, and to conquer an attach- 
 ment.to me, who could only pity him.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 189 
 
 " Do not," I said " decei ve yourself : do 
 not seek your own destruction ; why 
 must it be only me me who belong to 
 another ?" He looked at me with an 
 angry countenance. The tears of Albert 
 had made too great an impression to be 
 easily effaced, and I continued to entreat 
 Werler to get the better of his unfortunate 
 attachment : I advised him to see more 
 company to travel. Lifting up his 
 eyes, he said " A little time, Charlotte 
 and all will be well !" Again I begged 
 him, not to come before Christmas-eve. 
 
 Albert came in : he might easily dis 
 cover confusion in Werter, and coldly 
 asked him to stay to supper. I wished he 
 would ; but dare not join in the request. 
 A painful silence succeeded. Werter's 
 heart was full ; anclatlasthetookleaveof us 
 abruptly I knew it was to hide his tears. 
 
 Albert observed his confusion, and at 
 tributing it to my having attended to his 
 admonition, became cheerful, but seemed 
 to avoid saying any thing of Werter, 
 who, I told him, would not come again
 
 190 LETTERS Of 
 
 till Christmas eve " I must go, Char 
 lotte," Albert said, to W. Selfiadt's ; I 
 have neglected that business too long." I 
 knew, my dear Carolina, of this journey, 
 and that it would detain Albert all night ; 
 and I feared it was postponed for a reason 
 which I trembled to think on. This in 
 timation confirmed the idea ; and I could 
 not but grieve that Albert should doubt 
 the faith of Charlotte. 
 
 Where there is no confidence, there 
 can be no happiness : and should Albert 
 can he alas ! what means this pressure 
 of my heart ? my mind is guiltless ; yet 
 it whispers fearful things. 
 
 Now, my Carolina now it is, that I 
 feel the sacred influence of religious senti 
 ment, and the unspeakable blessing of a 
 spotless mind. Amidst all my distress, it 
 conveys a sensation which philosophy 
 cannot communicate. It is the holy star 
 that guides my wandering steps, and saves 
 me from despair !
 
 CHARLOTTE. 191 
 
 LETTER LVIII 
 
 ALL, all, may yet be well, my Caro 
 lina. The absence of Werter affords my 
 mind relief; and Albert loves his Char 
 lotte with tenderness. Theresa will soon 
 be here, and your presence, my dear 
 friend, will add to the pleasures of the 
 approaching festival. 
 
 I have not slept of late, till last night,- 
 and I had pleasant dreams. Philosophy 
 teaches us to despise the chimeras of 
 fancy, while the poet says, that " dreams 
 descend from Jove." It is long, my dear 
 est girl, since my mind dwelt on a plea 
 sing idea, and I will, for a moment, in 
 dulge myself in the recollection of imagi 
 nary bliss. And what, but imaginary, is 
 the bliss of half the world ? The plea 
 sures of ambition, of pomp, of luxury, all 
 imaginary all delusive as the visions of a 
 mind disturbed.
 
 LETTERS OF 
 
 My fancy presented a spacious garden, 
 blooming with flowers, and watered with 
 fountains ; diversified with shrubberies, 
 and vocal with melody. The lodge and 
 the shades of Walheim seemed afar off. 
 I wandered a considerable time, lamenting 
 the absence of Albert, as we always wish 
 those whom we love best to partake of all 
 our pleasures. Ascending an eminence, 
 rendered inviting by a pleasant arbour on 
 its summit, my foot slipped, and, that in 
 stant O, my Carolina ! my heart yet 
 glows with the fiction ! I found myself 
 in the arms of the best of women, my dear 
 molher, whilst Albert, with smiles, seemed 
 to wait our approach in the arbour. She 
 embraced us tenderly. I was lost in 
 ecstasy. Throwing my arms round Al 
 bert's neck, and bathing his bosom with 
 tears of joy, u Albert I said, " I am thine 
 indeed !" With sweet mildness, my 
 mother blessed us : " Be faithful, and be 
 happy! Remember," she said " always 
 remember.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 193 
 
 When lovers swear true faith, the listening angels 
 Stand on the golden battlements of heaven, 
 And waft their vows to the eternal throne." 
 
 I fancied we quitted tbe arbour, and 
 that, casting my eyes towards Walheim, 
 I beheld Werter, pale, and with tears, 
 passing through the grove of lime-trees. 
 Turning to speak, the sudden disappear 
 ance of that dearest of women, and of Al 
 bert, awoke me. 
 
 Yet even this, my Carolina fictitious as 
 it is, made me happy. To feel my heart 
 throb with joy, though in a dream, is now 
 a luxury to Charlotte !
 
 194 -LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER LIX. 
 
 HAPPY they whose ill- fortune extends 
 not to their friends ! whose sufferings do 
 not wound the peace of those they love 
 best ! But love shares our woes, and 
 gives a double bitterness to misery. My 
 dear, dear Carolina, dp not let my mis 
 fortunes ruin the tranquillity of thy mind : 
 do not, my dearest girl, suffer with me : 
 pity, and comfort me. 
 
 And comfort, Carolina, will be a wel 
 come guest ; surely it will come witli 
 Carolina and Theresa. Albert is gone his 
 journey. Alone, and melancholy, how 
 could I sustain new sorrow ? how could 
 I bear additional calamity, and live to 
 tell thee, my Carolina, that Henry I 
 know thou wilt turn pale poor Henry is 
 
 no more 
 
 In his wanderings wretched wan 
 derer that he was ! he strayed through a 
 neighbouring village afflicted with an
 
 CHARLOTTE. 195 
 
 cndemial fever ; he became infected, and 
 was ill some days. As his strength de 
 cayed, his mind returned. He talked of 
 Charlotte: he inquired after my dear 
 mother, who always treated him with 
 kindness; he was told she was dead ! He 
 wrung his hands, and cried like a child. 
 " But Charlotte," he said, " Charlotte 
 is alive." His poor mother unhappy, 
 unthinking woman ! said, " Charlotte is 
 married to Albert." His cries instantly 
 ceased ; with wildness in his eyes, and 
 raising his folded hands, he sunk in his 
 mother's arms and expired. 
 
 This day the earth received his remains : 
 accidentally going into one of the back 
 chambers, I saw at a distance the melan 
 choly procession : nly heart turned cold 
 I wished to avoid the sight, but could 
 not move.* My eyes were filled with 
 
 * Funerals in Germany, are usually attended by 
 
 all the relatives of the deceased, besides friends, 
 
 sometimes forming a procession of eighty or a 
 
 hundred people, uniformly clad in mourning cloaks. 
 
 K2
 
 196 LETTERS OP 
 
 tears, and yet I gazed and saw the train 
 of mourners, through the branches of the 
 trees, covered with snow, and shaken with 
 chilling blasts : the wind was high, and 
 conveyed to my ears the mournful notes 
 of the funeral psalm, which they sung as 
 they moved along ; sometimes by a sud 
 den gust of wind, I heard the faint sound 
 of the distant bell. When they came 
 opposite the lodge, for a moment, every 
 eye was turned towards the wretched 
 mansion of Charlotte. Alone, and terri 
 fied, I sunk on my knees: I lifted my 
 streaming eyes to heaven, but I could not 
 speak God saw my sorrows and pitied 
 me : he took from my mind the poig 
 nancy of grief. I arose, and my eyes 
 once more wandered after the sad spec 
 tacle. At a distance from the rest, I saw 
 a young man, with folded arms, his loose 
 hair streaming in the wind, and his eyes 
 fixed on the earth, following, with pensive 
 steps, the sorrowful procession. From 
 Theresa's description, I knew it was the 
 unhappy Antonine, who, feeling what it
 
 CHARLOTTE. 197 
 
 is to love, and be deserted, perhaps envies 
 the everlasting peace of Henry ! For thy 
 peace, melancholy youth ! is to be envied 
 by all who know not the felicity of a mind 
 at ease. Thy poor distracted brain no 
 longer dwells on real or fancied misery : 
 thy heart no longer beats with unnuttera- 
 ble feelings ; thou hast found a cure for 
 all affliction : 
 
 " Death ends thy woe, 
 And the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene." 
 
 O my Carolina ! there is an anguish in 
 my mind which I will not cannot de 
 scribe to thee : must I communicate 
 nothing but sorrow ? Surely Albert's re 
 turn will give relief to my heart. Adieu ! 
 my dearest friend, my kind Carolina, 
 adieu !
 
 198 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER LX. 
 
 . 
 
 Cr A NCE no, it is not chance, for what, 
 Father of lights ! what has chance to 
 do in a world governed bythy providence? 
 No : it is thy will that Charlotte should 
 suffer ; that one woe should succeed 
 another, as clouds follow clouds, and 
 gather into storms but let thy goodness 
 disperse them mercifully disperse them, 
 before they overwhelm me ! 
 
 A few hours after I had seen the melan 
 choly spectacle of Henry's funeral, my 
 mind had become, in some degree, calm ; 
 and in the evening, I sat musing on the 
 vicissitudes to \vhich even a life of re 
 tirement is exposed. I thought on Wer- 
 ter : I recalled to my mind past scenes ; 
 and lamented the fate of an attachment 
 from which I promised myself the plea 
 sures of an innocent friendship. I felt, 
 deeply felt, forthe anxiety of Albert, -who,
 
 CHARLOTTE. 199 
 
 in his absence, might think too much of 
 Werter, when to ray inexpressible asto 
 nishment I heard the voice of Werter 
 on the stairs ! It was too late to be denied. 
 I was distressed, and reproved him. For 
 some minutes, I knew not what to do ; at 
 last I sent to desire Sophia Andran, to 
 come and sit with me ; she had company. 
 1 sent to others, but before the servant re 
 turned, it rained violently. I then thought 
 of calling in my maid ; but, conscious of 
 my own innocence, and ashamed to take 
 so unusual a step, I sat down to my 
 harpsichord, and, after playing a few 
 minutes, to prevent Werter entering into 
 conversation, I desired him to read some 
 thing, and gave him his own translation 
 of Ossian. I saw his heart was full; and 
 the passage he read affected me to tears. 
 It conveyed an idea of our mutual suffer 
 ings. Werter seized my hand, and kissed 
 it with an agitation that made me tremble. 
 I desired him to proceed with the poem : 
 " To morrow," he read, " shall the tra 
 veller come ; he that saw me in my beauty
 
 200 LETTERS OF 
 
 shall come : his eyes will search the field, 
 but they -will not find me." The heart of 
 Werter sunk at these words : a torrent of 
 tears ran down his cheeks ; he threw him 
 self at my feet, and whilst his whole frame 
 shook, he put my hands against his fore 
 head. Horror, instantly converted into 
 pity, seized me ; my heart told me his 
 fatal resolution : a thousand sensations 
 arose in my bosom fear pity, was pre 
 dominant : trembling, I sunk in his 
 arms ; for the first time, these lips met 
 the lips of Werter. The ardour of his 
 embrace recalled my bewildered senses : 
 11 Werter !" I said, with a tremulous ac 
 cent but he pressed me to his bosom ; 
 raising myself, and turning my face 
 from him, the picture of my dear mother 
 met my eyes. The full idea of virtue 
 rushed into my mind : I was instantly 
 collected, and, with a determined tone, I 
 repeated, u Werter !" He fell on his 
 knee before me. O Carolina! what emo 
 tions at that moment, filled my torn 
 bosom !-^at that moment, at once pitying
 
 CHARLOTTE. 
 
 and resenting, f pronounced the words of 
 eternal separation! " This is the last 
 time ! Werter ; you will never see me 
 more !" My heart bled, Carolina, as I 
 spoke the words I spoke them, and, with 
 a last look, flew into my room. 
 
 O, my Carolina ! what a night of ter 
 ror and distress ! How did my heart beat 
 when I heard the door shut after Werter ! 
 the rain poured ; and the dreadful idea 
 he had raised in my mind my imagina 
 tion presented such fearful images ! It 
 was in vain to seek repose : a thousand 
 recollections kept me awake. A new sen 
 sation pervaded my bosom yes, my Ca 
 rolina, I felt a friendship too tender for 
 Werter : and, for the first time, I dreaded 
 the looks of Albert. 
 
 Long and dismal was the night ; my 
 hurried fancy was filled with sad ideas : 
 the new-made grave of Henry ; the 
 floods of water that Werter, in despai r 
 must pass in his gloomy road to Wal- 
 heim ! At one moment the fervour of his 
 kisses thrilled through my heart, whilst
 
 202 LETTERS OF 
 
 blushes burned my cheeks : the next, 
 ray veins ran cold, when I thought I heard 
 his sighs in the howling wind, that al 
 most shook the Lodge. To add to my 
 grief, the morning light promised no 
 comfort. At length sleep came to my 
 relief; short sleep disturbed my gloomy 
 visions ; but in the morning, my spirits 
 wearied out, sunk in repose; and I was 
 but just arisen when Albert returned.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 203 
 
 LETTER LXI. 
 
 WHAT dreadful lives, alas ! must they 
 lead, my Carolina, who have feelings to 
 hide, and from those that love them most! 
 I was alarmed, lest Albert should dis 
 cover sadness in my eyes, and tried to re 
 ceive him with a glow of ecstasy : he was 
 cool, and when he asked me who I had 
 seen, I said, " Werter spent an hour here 
 yesterday." Going into his own room, 
 he replied, " He chooses his time well." 
 It stung me to the heart ; and, for a 
 moment, I felt an emotion something al 
 lied to resentment; but then I recollected, 
 how good, how gentle, how steady all 
 the amiable qualities of my dear Albert 
 filled my mind, and, taking my work, I 
 followed, and asked him whether he 
 wanted any thing ; he said, " No," and 
 began to write. It was painful to hide 
 my (ears. I suffered enough ; but to 
 complete my wretchedness, Werter's boy 
 came with a fatal message: u Give him
 
 204 LETTERS OF 
 
 the pistols," Albert said. I started my 
 heart died away my blood ran cold. O 
 Carolina ! how did my trembling limbs 
 support me ? I took down the deadly 
 instruments Freezing with horror, I stood 
 wiping off the dust : long, long should I 
 have sfood, had not the eye of Albert 
 With tears, I gave them the poor boy, 
 who seemed to wonder, arid pity my dis 
 tress. 
 
 I gave the fatal instruments ! Cruel, 
 cruel Charlotte ! what hast thou done ! 
 Why did I not fall at Albert's feet, and 
 tell him all I knew ? " Give him the 
 pistols!" O Albert! I heard, and I 
 obeyed thee ! " For a journey !" Were 
 then my words prophetic ? and shall I 
 never see thee more ? " Give him the 
 pistols !" Carolina ! my heart is marble ! 
 " Give him the pistols !" Death was 
 in the word and yet I live ! No com 
 forter, no Carolina no Theresa with me; 
 I sent for Sophia Selftadt to dine with me 
 " Werter," she said " is a stranger of 
 late." Albert replied, "He is gone a 
 journey." The tear stood in my eye. I
 
 CHARLOTTE. 205 
 
 silently heard Sophia speak of his accom 
 plishments. Poor girl ! she knew not 
 that every word went to my heart ! 
 
 And now, dearest, best of friends ! my 
 mind forebodes dreadful calamities ! I 
 know not when I shall write to thee again. 
 Pray for me, Carolina pray for Werter : 
 I see him, Carolina, I see him take the 
 fatal arms from the innocent boy ; I hear 
 him ask who delivered them : yes, he 
 kisses them as the last gift of Charlotte ! 
 
 I fear, Carolina, thoti canst not read 
 what I now write. my tears blot the paper 
 and thine will fall on ray ill-omened 
 words. I cannot write any more to thee ; 
 without any one to comfort or assist me, 
 my heart sinks ; my hand is feeble. 
 Recollect, ray dearest Carolina, all the 
 scenes of our youth : remember Char 
 lotte always loved thee. My hand fails 
 me adieu ! adieu ! I send thee Werter's 
 picture Is it a crime to kiss it before it 
 leaves me ? I send thee a thousand 
 kisses, Carolina thou wilt find them 
 warm on Werter's picture. O Carolina, 
 farewel ! God for ever bless thee !
 
 206 LETTERS OF 
 
 LETTER LXII. 
 
 BE not alarmed, my dearest Carolina 
 the pen is Theresa's, but the words are 
 Charlotte's. Hasten, dear girl, to join 
 with Theresa, in comforting Charlotte. 
 Yes, my Carolina, Charlotte lives to 
 mourn the death of Werter ! The fatal 
 moment is past ! our hopes and fears are 
 in the grave ! 
 
 He is no more, Carolina ! Werter he 
 whom we all admired: whom Charlotte 
 now may lore, and whose memory, whilst 
 remembrance is her's, will be dear to her 
 that unhappy Werter is no more ! 
 
 I went to bed early last night : sorrow 
 pressed heavy on me ; a dream awoke me 
 I heard the clock strike twelve O 
 power of sympathy ! my heart was sud 
 denly chilled I thought the cold hand 
 of Werter beckoned me ! I shrieked : 
 Albert started from his- sleep, " What
 
 CHARLOTTE. 207 
 
 cry is that !" he said ; I was afraid to 
 speak : I counterfeited sleep for, hard 
 as is the task, Charlotte has learned to 
 counterfeit I counted the dark hours till 
 six, when it was yet dark ; the gate-bell 
 rung horror shook me: " Albert!" I 
 said, " Albert ! the bell !" He instantly 
 arose, and, putting on his night-gown, de 
 scended. Half-dressed, my heart throb 
 bing with unutterable feelings I follow 
 ed. The sight of Werter's boy in tears, 
 surrounded by the astonished servants, 
 shocked me : Trembling I took hold of 
 Albert's arm " O my master, my dear 
 master!" I heard no more ; Albert's arm 
 could not support me : I fell 
 
 O Carolina ! in this insensibility I 
 shared the peace of Werter : my spirit 
 fled ! I know not what passed, till in the 
 evening, I found Theresaby my bed-side, 
 reading the last letter of Werter. I wish 
 but I dare not hear it read. 
 
 Heaven, my Carolina, is yet merciful : 
 it has spared my life to comfort Albert, 
 who knows, and is convinced toofatally
 
 208 LETTERS OF 
 
 convinced of Charlotte's true faith. 1 
 shall live, I hope, to accomplish the last 
 commands of my dear mother ; I will see 
 her children clothed and fed I will 
 teach the sweet infants all that I know: 
 all that she taught Charlotte; but whilst 
 I am thus Carolina and Theresa must 
 assist me. 
 
 For whatever wise purposes God has 
 thus afflicted me he has given me power 
 again to address his throne I am thank 
 ful and submissive. Hasten to us, Caro 
 lina : let Charlotte once more embrace her 
 friend.
 
 CHARLOTTE. 209 
 
 LETTER LXIII. 
 
 I HAVE heard his last letter ! I have 
 wept over every endearing recollection : 
 Albert joined his tears with mine; he 
 will build a tomb to perpetuate the me 
 mory of Werter's love to Charlotte ; for 
 though it was excessive, it was virtuous. 
 
 The dear children kneel around rny bed. 
 They lift up their little hands, and pray 
 for Charlotte " The black men must not 
 take Charlotte : Papa and Mr. Wcrter 
 will kill the black men that carried mama 
 away." Dear, dear innocents ! fear no 
 black men : those angels whom you most 
 resemble, will protect you ! 
 
 O, Werter ! why do you call to my 
 remembrance the scenes that are past ! 
 In vain shall I look for you in the valley ! 
 What will it avail, in a summer's eve 
 ning, to walk towards the mountains, or
 
 210 LETTERS OF 
 
 repose me under the elms ? Shall I see 
 your spirit in the pale clouds, or hear 
 your voice in the passing winds ? Alas ! 
 the evening shadows will terrify me ! 
 Suddenly emerging from behind the 
 clouds, the glimmerings of moon-light will 
 startle me ! 
 
 O, Werter ! was it not cruel, for ever 
 thus to wound the peace of Charlotte ? 
 Surely thy love but despair led thee to 
 the brink despair taught thee this sad 
 lesson ! 
 
 " May my death remove every obstacle 
 to your happiness !" Death, Werter ! 
 Does it not add to our misery ? Is not 
 Albert unhappy ? Is not Charlotte 
 wretched ? My father weeps over thee ! 
 We shall meet no more in the groves of 
 Walheim ! no more shall we see thee 
 musing by the river in the valley ! 
 
 His last letter recals to my memory a 
 thousand images of past felicity : they 
 arise before me in constant succession, and 
 add to my grief : they are the shades of 
 departed pleasures of innocent delights!
 
 CHARLOTTE. 211 
 
 " At the corner of the church -yard, 
 which looks towards the fields, there are 
 two lime trees" There rest thy remains ! 
 O Werter ! my father lays thee in the 
 appointed place. There will Albert build 
 thy tomb 
 
 But, O my Carolina ! when I think on 
 the last fatal act ! surely I shall dread to 
 approach the grave of him who thus 
 rashly " broke the golden bowl, and loosed 
 the silver cord." 
 
 Sure, 'lisa fearful, a tremendous act, pre 
 cipitately to rush before the awful throne 
 of God ! Not more dreadful would it be 
 for men to behold, at midnight, a rising 
 .sun shorn of his beams, spread horror on 
 the earth, than it is for the angelic hosts 
 to see an unsummoned spirit pass the 
 everlasting portals of the heavens, and, 
 unprotected, stand before the grand tri 
 bunal ! O Werter ! did no kind cherub 
 pity, and kneel with thee? did no friendly 
 angel hide thee with his wings ? Vain 
 effort, alas! to hide thee from him. 
 tl whose eye views all things at one view !"
 
 212 LETTERS OF CHARLOTTE. 
 
 If, O heaven! it is not presumption, 
 let my last prayer be heard for Werter : 
 may thy mercy equal Charlotte's pity ! 
 
 THE EXD, 
 
 T. Gillet, Printer, 
 
 Crown-court, Fleet-street, 
 
 London.
 
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