h she was not able to carry away with
her. By the perusal of some of her notes before marriage, we have seen
the vivacity of sentiment which united the Demoiselle de Surcourt to the
Sieur Lebrun. That vivacity is traceable, in all its force, in a letter
she wrote to him after the marriage, when he had left her for a short
time in the August of 1760.

"I heard yesterday from my dear Misis. I have not heard to-day. It
brings back all my uneasiness. Has he slept well to-night? is he not
fatigued? I hope he has nothing else to complain of but ennui. My dear
Misis, I do not doubt that you think of your dear Fanny, of her grief,
her love, her impatience. Tell me the day, then, the day I so long for,
that is to bring you back to me again. All my thoughts turn only to you.
Nothing has any interest for me that is not in some way or other
connected with you. I rejoice in seeing the fine weather, for I think
you can now enjoy a walk. I hate the heat, for it keeps you from
exercise, and may make you ill. The moment I feel the slightest zephyr,
I long to send it to you. I wish there was even a tempest for your sake.
I would make the very elements do your bidding. I wish that every thing
in nature may only serve to make you happy, my dear Misis. How much does
she not owe him, since he has painted her so well? He makes her still
more beautiful by the light of his own soul--that soul fired at once by
genius and by love. You write such beautiful things, and I can't see
them! I have no pleasure in life. I have no consolation left, but the
hope of our meeting soon. To-day I passed the morning with your mother.
She pities me. We spoke of nothing but you. She told me some anecdotes
of your childhood that amused me much. You must have been interesting
even then. At four years old, I really believe I should have fallen in
love with you. I like every thing that belongs to you; I feel as if they
brought me nearer to yourself. She and your sister send you a thousand
loves, and your brother also, who supped here this evening. They talked
a great deal of Homer, Greek, Latin, &c. My dear aunt and uncle were
delighted with him, and think him very clever. It is now midnight. I am
in my couch--my solitary couch--far from thee. Alas! nothing which you
see where you now are can remind you of love. Love dwells not in
palaces. I have nothing but your heart to rely on to recall me to your
mind. Adieu, my dear Misis--adieu, my little man! I send you a thousa