EXTRACTS FROM THE JOURNAL OF LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE.

Monday.--This is the most joyless day in the whole week; for it can bring
me no letter from him. I rise listlessly, and read over again and again
the last letter I received from him--useless task! it is graven on my
heart! I long only for the day to be over, because to-morrow I may,
perhaps, hear from him again. When I wake at night from my disturbed
and broken sleep, I look if the morning is near; not because it gives
light and life, but because it may bring tidings of him. When his letter
is brought to me, I keep it for minutes unopened--I feed my eyes on the
handwriting--I examine the seal--I press it with my kisses, before I
indulge myself in the luxury of reading it. I then place it in my bosom,
and take it thence only to read it again and again,--to moisten it with
my tears of gratitude and love, and, alas! of penitence and remorse!
What can be the end of this affection? I dare neither to hope that it
may continue or that it may cease; in either case I am wretched for ever!

Monday night, twelve o'clock.--They observe my paleness; the tears which
tremble in my eyes; the listlessness and dejection of my manner. I think
Mrs. Dalton guesses the cause. Humbled and debased in my own mind, I
fly, Falkland, for refuge to you! Your affection cannot raise me to my
former state, but it can reconcile--no--not reconcile, but support me in
my present. This dear letter, I kiss it again--oh! that to-morrow were
come!

Tuesday.--Another letter, so kind, so tender, so encouraging: would that
I deserved his praises! alas! I sin even in reading them. I know that I
ought to struggle more against my feelings--once I attempted it; I prayed
to Heaven to support me; I put away from me everything that could recall
him to my mind--for three days I would not open his letters. I could