The Sun.
London, England, 1835-05-25 00:00:00

No. I.

" You think I cannot be serious. I shall convince you how
much you are mistaken ; your note is before me at this mo-
ment, and I have studied it attentively. But it would be
acting unfairly both to you and myself were I to reply to
your questions until you were made acquainted with the cir-
cumstances I mentioned last night. Yes, I have resolved I
shall tell you all, and if then you feel disposed to repeat them,
I shall answer them in any way you wish ; but you must give
me a week, at least, for I have so few opportunities of writing
that I cannot promise sooner. And even supposing I am not
ready then, you must not look cross.
" I shall write down everything as clearly as I can recollect,
and you will then be able to judge whether I am Mgere or not.
" You really frighten me when I think of all you said on
Thursday night ; and can I give a greater proof of—what
shall I say—than in making the disclosure I purpose, and re-
calling to my memory a subject which I never can look back
upon without the bitterest feelings both of resentment and
contempt.
" Have I not written enough? I have had great difficulty
in even doing this ; and now I shall expect to see you in good
humour this evening. Adieu."

No. 2.

" Saturday evening.
" You are unjust as well as ungenerous to me ; you ask me
to write to you with sincerity and candour, and yet when I do
so you object to all that I say. What would you have, or do
you know yourself ? You are proud, capricious, and unkind.
How have I merited such treatment from you ? You are angry
because I did not meet !you last night. Upon my honour I
could not bring myself to do so now, were I never to see you
again. You do not know, nor can I tell you, what some of
these odious Italians have said. I was with the young Mar-
chioness after I saw you to-day, and heard the whole story,
and thought I should have died when she was telling me, and
yet I could scarcely keep from laughing either.
" Whether she suspected me or not, God knows ; but I am
vexed and angry when I think of it, I really am so unfortu-
nate. I never did anything wrong yet that I was not found
out, and the worst construction put upon it, and I see others go
on sinning with impunity.
" Ah 1 why did you look so angry to-day ? I could not ima-
gine what had happened, for it never occurred to me that any-
thing I had said in my letter could displease you. It may,
indeed I am sure it did, appear to you cold, heartless, calcu-
lating. But do not judge me like others—l feel myself a dif-
ferent person from all young companions I have ever associated
with, and so I am. My character is already in a great degree
formed, for circumstances have thrown it far in advance of my
years, and have effected the usual work of time. The senti-
ments arising from humiliation and wrong, namely, subdued
anger and compulsory endurance, have destroyed the bloom
and softness of mental youth, almost before they had time to
appear in full existence.
" No ! Mr. Swift, you do not love me, or you would not
suppose I had deceived you with regard to that circumstance
at Armagh ; and yet in yesterday's note 3ou tell me you sus-
pect that more has happened than I confessed. If you think
me capable of a falsehood, and so unprovoked a one as that,
you place yourself in a most extraordinary light in telling me,
a few lines after, that you esteem me. In short, I am puzzled,
and, still more strange, lam out of temper this evening. I
shall see you at Borghese's, but then I can hardly speak to
you, and then not till Tuesday evening. I had better write no
more now—what need I ? you misconstrue all I say ; if I tell
you the truth, lam cold ; if I conceal it, I am hypocritical ; if
I don't come down to meet you it is a proof of my indifference ;
if I do, I am to be literally shocked the next day at hearing
what has been said. •

" You think I am happy because I am always gay, but ap-
pearances are deceitful.
" It is not joy, that, sometimes gay,
I share the laugh in being light ;
Too often smiles that play by day,
Contrast with tears that fall by night."
" Adieu--E. C. KELLY."

No. 3.
" Si la Mano Io ti_prometto.
" Sunday morning, 44 o'clock."
No. 4.
" En verite cela ne va pas mal
J'ai taut press 4, tent sermonne .ma mere
Que malgre tout nous finissons l'affaire."
--••-- - - - - •

" Ah 1I wish-what I have written was true, but it is only
a ' plaisanterie.' I have said nothing, as yet, because some-
thing tells me,—if I defer it a week longer—l should have
more.

" You tell me it would be cruel to flirt with you; you need
not be afraid—l never flirted with anybody I cared for ; nor,
indeed, do I think I have a spark of coquetry in my whole
composition, but perhaps I am a little more etourdie' than
most people, and that is what makes you think so.
Besides, you cannot judge what. I am. You never see
me but at a ball, and then even I can hardly speak to you, there
is always some gentleman or lady near enough to hear our
conversation.

" Were it otherwise, depend on it I should not write to you
these notes, for I know I could not take a surer method of
lowering myself in your estimation, and also in my own, for I
hate any thing that is hypocritical.
" I thought, perhaps, we should have *remained after the
Opera last night, and that I should have danced with you, but
it was all in vain. When I went there, I had so much to say
to you, but le bonhfur de tevoir, me fait tout oublier.
" You thought I was quizzing you on Monday evening in
the cotillon, but that was only because you were cross.
" By-the-by, I hope you had a pleasanter one last night—
I heard you danced with Miss H.
" Now I have one request, which, though a very trifling
one, I wish you would attend to, and that is, not to speak so
very loud to me when you are next me ; for were the words
letter' or ' -write' to be overheard, you know not how much
I should suffer for it.

" I shall give you this, if we are able to get out, to-day ;
if not, when I see you to-morrow evening. Adieu.
" Si je vous vois constant et raisonable
C'en .est assez—Je vous vois trop amiable."
Notarial Translation of such parts of the Exhibit No. 4, as are

in the French language.
" In truth that does not go ill ;
1 have so pressed, so sermonized my mother,
That, in spite of all, we will finish the affair."
" The happiness of seeing you makes me forget all."
" If I see you constant and reasonable
It is enough—l see you too amiable."
No. 5.

" I am almost sure some of our conversation was overheard
last night. I beg, I entreat, you will be more careful in fu-
ture, or else I shall be forbidden to dance with you.
" I have a great deal more to say, but dare not venture to
write it now—perhaps I may have an opportunity on Friday
evening.

" Wednesday." No. 6.
" Oh ! what agonies I have endured on your account. Wei.*
you hurt, or did you get home safe ? I cannot tell you what
lam suffering. Things have taken the most extraordinary
turn, and you are not the peison suspected. I will explain
all to you this evening ; but must come to Mrs. S--th, but
don't attempt to see me before that. Indeed I hardly know
what lam saying, my head is so confused. I hope there will
be no ' brouillerie' while we are in Florence ; but, for God's
sake, take care of not betraying yourself; and, above all
things, keep away from this. I will explain all this evening,
but I send this now at all risks, to set your mind at ease. Oh 1
when you came to the ground with such force last night, I
cannot tell you what I felt. Adieu.—A Monsieur Swift,
Palazzo Pucci."

No. 7.

" I should certainly advise your writing either this even-
ing or to-morrow, which you like. I told you the objec-
tions were all trivial ones, but I was ashamed to say what
they were ; but yet Ido not despair. She does not seem
displeased with me as I had expected, and perhaps she may
relent in the end. Oh I I shall be miserable if something
is not soon decided, for every moment almost I expect
something to be found out ; I have not had one happy hour
since I came to Rome. To-morrow, I believe, we change
these apartments, and then I shall perhaps not even have
an opportunity of giving you a note ; but I cannot ever
change my sentirfents, therefore my not being able to
write to you need tiot make you uneasy. It is better to
run no risk, because mamma so completely acquits you of
any deception. Ah I if I thought you still loved me the
same as formerly, I could bear all the hopes and fears
which I now have; but sometimes when I think of all the
past, I fancy your opinion towards me is changed. I shall
write you to-morrow anything more I can find out from
mamma before we leave these rooms.—(lo o'clock.) No
letter has come, and I suppose will not come now. Do not
be angry at anything mamma may have said. I only
heard part of the letter, and did not seem curious about
it, because I knew I should hear of it from you. Adieu.
Pensez a moi que je pense a vous. Once more, Ibe you to take
care of F--- seeing you near these windows."