paring for me a poifon which will destroy us both; and this deadly poifon which she presents to me I swallow it in large draughts. What mean thofe looks of kindness which she sometimes bestows upon me, that complacency with which fhe hears the fentiments that fometimes escape me, and the tender pity which appears in her countenance? Yefterday when I took leave of her, fhe held out her hand to me, and said, Adieu, my dear Werter."-Dear Werter.It was the first time she ever called me dear; the found funk deep into my heart: I have repeated it a hundred times fince; and when I went to bed, I-faid, " Good night, my. dear Werter."-I recollected myfelf, and laughed. LETTER LXX. CH November 24. HARLOTTE is fenfible of my fufferings. I found her alone, and was filent: fhe looked ftedfaftly at me; the fire of genius, the charms of beauty were fled. But I faw in her her countenance an expreffión much more touching;-the expreffion of foft pity, and the tendereft concern. Why was I withheld from throwing myself at her feet? Why did I not dare to take her in my arms, and answer her by a thousand kiffes?-She had recourse to her harpficord, and in a low and fweet voice accompanied it with melodious founds. Her lips never appeared fo lovely; they feemed but just to open to receive the notes of the inftrument, and return half the vibration.-But who could express fuch fenfations! I was foon overcome, and bending down, I pronounced G4 nounced this vow; "Beautiful lips, which celestial spirits guard, never will I seek to profane you." And yet I wish-Oh! my friend, 'tis like drawing a curtain before my heart-only to tafte this felicity, and die and expiate my crimes.-My crimes ! LETTER LXXI. November 30. T is all over; I fee it, my fate is IT decided. Every thing encreases my woes; every thing points out my deftiny. To-day again I went to walk by the river-fide, about about dinner-time, for I could not eat. The The country was gloomy and deferted; a cold and damp easterly wind blew from the mountains, and black heavy clouds spread over the plain. I perceived a man at a diftance in an old great coat; he was wandering amongst the rocks, and feemed to be looking for plants. When I came up to him, he turned about, and I saw an interesting countenance with all the marks of a fettled melancholy; his fine black hair was flowing on his fhoulders. "What are you looking for, friend?” faid I. He answered, with a deep દ figh, I am looking for flowers, and |