ABSTRACT
I am now, my dear Dubois, at a little villa of my brother’s, about three miles from the residence of my fair friend – What does that name express! Surely, with a female, every thing that is tender: Dull, insensible clods, who talk of Platonick love, 44 a dream, a chimera, which never did, nor ever will exist, but in the brains of monks and religious enthusiasts; who having deadened all tender feelings in themselves, endeavour to degrade the Deity, to whom all mankind have bowed, and set up this unnatural idol in his stead: Yet, my Zilia would persuade me, that it is possible for me to yield to their nonsensical jargon. Strange! that she, who judges so justly in all other things, should in this so much deceive herself; and that, while she cherishes a hopeless passion for a lover who is for ever lost, should imagine that I, the beloved object daily in my sight, can cease to wish her mine.
