ons of that day! How well I remember them all, and that
when I came home at night, and looked back to the morning, it seemed to
have been a month agone. Go on, then, like a kind comforter, and paint
to me the day we went to St. Germains. How beautiful was every object!
the _Port de Reuilly_, the hills along the Seine, the rainbows of the
machine of Marly, the terras of St. Germains, the chateaux, the gardens,
the statues of Marly, the pavillion of Lucienne. Recollect, too, Madrid,
Bagatelle, the King's garden, the Desert. How grand the idea excited by
the remains of such a column. The spiral staircase, too, was beautiful.
Every moment was filled with something agreeable. The wheels of time
moved on with a rapidity, of which those of our carriage gave but a
faint idea. And yet, in the evening, when one took a retrospect of the
day, what a mass of happiness had we travelled over! Retrace all those
scenes to me, my good companion, and I will forgive the unkindness with
which you were chiding me. The day we went to St. Germains was a little
too warm, I think; was it not?

Head. Thou art the most incorrigible of all the beings that ever sinned!
I reminded you of the follies of the first day, intending to deduce from
thence some useful lessons for you, but instead of listening to them,
you kindle at the recollection, you retrace the whole series with a
fondness, which shows you want nothing but the opportunity, to act
it over again. I often told you, during its course, that you were
imprudently engaging your affections, under circumstances that must cost
you a great deal of pain; that the persons, indeed, were of the greatest
merit, possessing good sense, good humor, honest hearts, honest manners,
and eminence in a lovely art; that the lady had, moreover, qualities and
accomplishments belonging to her sex, which might form a chapter
apart for her; such as music, modesty, beauty, and that softness of
disposition, which is the ornament of her sex, and charm of ours: but
that all these considerations would increase the pang of separation,
that their stay here was to be short; that you rack our whole system
when you are parted from those you love, complaining that such a
separation is worse than death, inasmuch as this ends our sufferings,
whereas that only begins them; and that the separation would, in this
instance, be the more severe, as you, would probably never see them
again.

Heart. But they told me, they would come back