“I learn that you are unhappy; confide but in me, give yourself up to my devoted tender cares, and my whole life shall be spent in loving and protecting you. Be generous, and give peace to my heart by saying that you will endeavour to return my affection, at present I ask no more. “I do not want fortune, indeed I should infinitely prefer that you had not a cent in the world; if you are not ambitious I have enough to render you happy; my income is now nearly eight hundred dollars a year, and I shall soon have it in my power to increase it to a thousand. I know that your tastes are simple, and with your right-mindedness and my unceasing cares, you will find enough for all that is desirable. Dearest lady, listen to my entreaties, and do not drive me to despair by doubts, either of my love or my ability to make you happy.” Martha Porter took this letter from my trembling hand, and promising to be back by noon, she departed, leaving me in a state to which I cannot look back without great pain—the answer was to seal my fate. One o’clock, two o’clock came; but Martha Porter did not return; I invented a thousand excuses—it might have been difficult to see the young lady alone—she might be ill—married—every thing pressed on my burning brain at once, and when poor Martha made her appearance at last, I rushed up to my room unable to hear the result of her mission. A gentle knock at the door, and a gentle voice as I opened it brought some comfort—Martha’s face too was in smiles, and a letter was in her hand—she saw that I was stupified, as it were, and unable to ask questions, so she quietly laid the letter on the table, and closing the door, went softly down stairs. Martha, dear Martha Porter, have I not been as a son to thee? When the tumult of my feelings subsided I ventured to open the precious letter; my eye ran over the lines, but the sense came not, I did not comprehend a word. I sealed myself and prayed for composure, for my reason seemed departing, and as I prayed my strength returned. I am now persuaded that it was a sense of the blissful import of the letter that so completely unmanned me, although I would not allow myself to believe it. The blessed letter was as follows: