How was I tormented in receiving the letter which I so impatiently expected! I waited at the post-house. The mail was scarce opened before I gave in my name, and begun to importune the man. He told me there was a letter for me; my heart leaped; I asked for it with great impatience, and at last received it. O Eloisa! how I rejoiced to behold the well-known hand! A thousand times would I have kissed the precious characters, but I wanted resolution to press the letter to my lips, or to open it before so many witnesses. Immediately I retired, my knees trembled; I scarce knew my way; I broke the seal the moment I had past the first turning; I run over, or rather devoured, the dear lines, till I came to that part which so movingly speaks your tenderness and affection for your venerable father; I wept; I was observed; I then retired to a place of greater privacy, and there mingled my joyful tears with yours. With transport I embraced your happy father, though I hardly remember him. The voice of nature reminded me of my own, and I shed fresh tears to his memory. O incomparable Eloisa! what can you possibly learn of me? It is from you only can be learnt every thing that is great and good, and especially that divine union of nature, love, and virtue, which never existed but in you. Every virtuous affection is distinguished in your heart by a sensibility so peculiar to yourself, that, for the better regulation of my own, as my actions are already submitted to your will, I perceive, my sentiments also must be determined by yours. Yet what a difference there is between your situation and mine! I do not mean as to rank or fortune; sincere affection, and dignity of soul, want none of these. But you are surrounded by a number of kind friends who adore you; a tender mother, and a father who loves you as his only hope; a friend and cousin who seem to breathe only for your sake: you are the ornament and oracle of an entire family, the boast and admiration of a whole town; these, all these divide your sensibility, and what remains for love is but a small part in comparison of that which is ravished from you by duty, nature and friendship. But I, alas! Eloisa, a wanderer without a family, and almost without country, have no one but you upon earth, and am possessed of nothing, save my love. Be not, therefore, surprized, though your heart may have more sensibility, that mine should know better how to love; and that you, who excel me in every thing else, must yield to me in this respect. You need not, however, be apprehensive lest I should indiscreetly trouble you with my complaints. No, I will not interrupt your joy, because it adds to your felicity, and is in its nature laudable. Imagination shall represent the pathetic scene; and, since I have no happiness of my own, I will endeavour to enjoy yours.