I lived,
and quickened new desires which I thought to be wholly dead? Can I
indeed hope that you will overlook all that has gained your secret
reproaches, and confide in a heart which is made conscious of better
things by the love you have inspired?

"Ah, Madge, it is not with a vain show of words, or with any counterfeit
of feeling, that I write now; you know it is not; you know that my heart
is leaning toward you with the freshness of its noblest instincts; you
know that--I love you!

"Can I, dare I hope, that it is not spoken in vain? I had thought in my
pride never to make such avowal,--never again to sue for affection; but
your gentleness, your modesty, your virtues of life and heart, have
conquered me! I am sure you will treat me with the generosity of a
victor.

"You know my weaknesses; I would not conceal from you a single
one,--even to win you. I can offer nothing to you which will bear
comparison in value with what is yours to bestow. I can only offer this
feeble hand of mine--to guard you; and this poor heart--to love you!

"Am I rash? Am I extravagant, in word, or in hope? Forgive it then, dear
Madge, for the sake of our old childish affection; and believe me, when
I say, that what is here written--is written honestly and tearfully.
Adieu."

* * * * *

It is with no fervor of boyish passion that you fold this letter: it is
with the trembling hand of eager and earnest manhood. They tell you that
man is not capable of love: so the September sun is not capable of
warmth! It may not indeed be so fierce as that of July; but it is
steadier. It does not force great flaunting leaves into breadth and
succulence, but it matures whole harvests of plenty!

There is a deep and earnest soul pervading the reply of Madge that makes
it sacred; it is full of delicacy, and full of hope. Yet it is not
final. Her heart lies intrenched within the ramparts of Duty and of
Devotion. It is a citadel of strength in the middle of the city of her
affections. To win the way to it, there must be not only earnestness of
love, but earnestness of life.

Weeks roll by, and other letters pass and are answered,--a glow of
warmth beaming on either side.

You are again at the home of Nelly; she is very joyous; she is the
confidante of Madge. Nelly feels, that with all your errors you have
enough inner goodness of heart to make Madge happy; and she
feels--doubly--that Madge has such excess of goodness as