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Within a week, my dear friend, I shall be a married man!

I can see you burst into a fit of the loudest laughter at this unexpected
revelation! Joke me as much as you please, my friend; remind
me of my bitter diatribes against matrimony, and of the oaths by which
I, with you, bound ourselves never to augment the list of its victims!—
But how has it turned out? I surely have not changed my opinion; I
only act contrary from what I think! Shall I be the first one whose
actions have been in complete opposition to his words, or, at least, who
has not the courage to sustain his opinion? You already know that
my past history has been romantic and adventurous enough to make
me a fit hero for a novel or a comedy! What I am about to relate
will not lessen in your mind this idea.

I will not say that Louise is beautiful! for you yourself saw her when
here, and she appeared to you so perfect, that when you parted from
me at the depot you recommended to me careful vigilance over myself!
I have struggled like a hero! but I have finally yielded to my fate, and
in imitation of the ancient paladin knights, I have chosen to surrender
my arms to the most formidable of my enemies, MATRIMONY. Thus in
my fall, I have fallen with honor!

Indeed and in truth, my friend, it was impossible for me to resist!—
I will not bring into account by way of extenuation of my fault, the
lively desire of my poor father, who was highly displeased on discovering
my anti-conjugal ideas. This consideration, although powerful,
would not have been sufficient to determine me to this step; but I love
Louise! I confess it to my disgrace that what filial love and the tears
of my father could not achieve has been brought about effectually by
my own passion, by the egotistical desire of my own personal felicity.
In vain have I invoked and arrayed against my weakness, the remembrance
of our convivial, anti-conjugal meeting, and recalled to my aid
the ardent and once sincere repugnances I once entertained with you
and among you! In deed and in truth, my dear Charles, I still do most
cordially hate matrimony, but I love Louise more!

I have just written to my father, asking his consent. I question
whether his business added to his obstinate gout will suffer him to come
and bring it to me in person. But I am quite confident he will not long
delay a reply. There is one thing that is in my favour. Louise is the

daughter of his most intimate friend, and, as you are aware, being an
orphan my father had taken a deep intesest in her. It was, I begin to
mistrust, a trap of his to get me to call on her with the letter of introduction
he gave me! If so, I can only say I am fairly taken captive!
My father, I know, is greatly attached to her; for I have often heard
him speak of her with the most paternal interest! Therefore I know
that in marrying her I am going to make my excellent parent happy!
The idea of his joy consoles me something for the sadness—yes, for the
sadness which a certain discontent of myself causes me in the midst of
my happiness! Truly and frankly, Charles, I am the most miserable
man that ever was known. I am about to marry freely and voluntarily,
and if Louise should come to me and say, `No longer do I love you!'
I should be in utter dispair and misery, and be tempted to blow out my
brains! Nevertheless, the idea of matrimony makes my turn pale, and
before taking the first vacillating step I — Ah! my Charles! I
feel a faintness seize me at the heart. I have already shown myself a
coward in retreating from the firm resolution never to marry: and I will
not now be one also in now refusing to marry!

I have had a bad head-ache and must close. Fortunately my heart
is firm. Adieu.