Adieu, my dear friend, I would not finish my letter so soon, but am called away. I leave you with regret, for I am at present in a chearful disposition, and I love you should partake of my happiness. The cause which now inspires it is, that my dear mother is much better within these few days; she has indeed found herself so well as to be present at the wedding, and to give away her niece, or rather her other daughter. Poor Clara wept for joy to see her; and I----but you may judge of my sensations, who, deserving her so little, hourly tremble at the thoughts of losing her. In fact, she did the honours of the table, and acquitted herself on the occasion with as good a grace as if she had been in perfect health. Nay, it seemed to me that some remains of languor in her disposition rendered her elegant complacencies still more affecting. Never did this incomparable parent appear so good, so charming, so worthy to be revered!----Do you know that she asked Mr. Orbe concerning you several times? Although she never speaks of you to me, I am not ignorant of her esteem for you; and that if ever she were consulted, your happiness and mine would be her first concern. Ah! my friend, if your heart can be truly grateful, you owe many, many obligations! Letter LXXIV. To Eloisa. There, my Eloisa, scold me, quarrel with me, beat me; I will endure every thing, but I will not cease to acquaint you with my thoughts. Who should be the depositary of those sentiments you have enlightened, and with whom should my heart hold converse, if you refuse to hear me? I give you an account of the observations I have made, and of my own opinions, not so much for your approbation, as correction; and the more liable I am to fall into error, the more punctual I should be in my applications to your judgment. If I censure the manners of the people in this great city, I do not seek to be justified for taking this liberty, because I write to you in confidence; for I never say any thing of a third person, which I would not aver to his face; and all I write to you concerning the Parisians, is no more than a repetition of what I daily advance in conversation with themselves: however, they are not displeased with me, and they even join with me in many particulars. They complain of our _Muralt_; I am persuaded, they see, and are convinced, how much he hated them, even in his panegyricks; but, I am much mistaken, if, in my criticism they do not perceive the contrary. The esteem and gratitude their generosity inspires, but increases my freedom; it may be serviceable to some of them, and, if I may judge from their manner of receiving truth from my lips, they do not think me below their regard. When this is the case, my Eloisa, true censure is more laudable than even true praise; for that only serves to corrupt the heart of those on whom it is bestowed, and there are none so eager to obtain it as the most worthless; on the