selves with some distant Hope, that we shall not be quite forgotten.

Yes, Abelard, I conjure you by the Chains I bear here, to ease the Weight of them, and make them as agreeable as I wish they were to me: Teach me the Maxims of Divine Love. Since you have forsaken me I glory in being wedded to Heaven. My Heart adores that Title, and disdains any other; tell me how this Divine Love is nourished, how it operates, and purifies itfelf. When we were toffed in the Ocean of the World we could hear of Nothing but your Verfes, which published every where our Joys and our Pleasures. Now we are in the Haven of Grace, is it not fit you should discourse to me of this Happiness, and teach me every Thing which might improve and heighten it? Shew me the same Complaisance in my present Condition, as you did when we were in the World. Without changing the Ardor of our Affections, let us change their Object; let us leave our Songs, and sing Hymns; let us lift up our Hearts to God, and have no Transports but for his Glory.

I expect this from you as a Thing you cannot refuse me. God has a peculiar Right over the Hearts of great Men, which he has created. When he pleases to touch them, he ravishes them, and lets them not speak nor breathe but for his Glory: 'Till that Moment of Grace arrives, O think of me -- do not forget me -remember

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remember my Love, my Fidelity, my Constancy; love me as your Mistress, cherish me as your Child, your Sister, your Wife. Confider that I still love you, and yet strive to avoid loving you. What a Word, what a Design is this! I shake with Horror, and my Heart revolts against what I say. I shall blot all my Paper with Tears - I end my long Letter, wishing you, if you can defire it, (would to Heaven I could) for ever Adieu.

LETTER III.

ABELARD to HELOISE.

That the Reader may make a right Judgment on the following Letter, it is proper he should be informed of the Condition Abelardowas in when he wrote it. The Duke of Britany, whose Subject he was born, jealous of the Glory of France, which then ingrossed all the most famous Scholars of Europe, and being befides acquainted with the Perfecution Abelard had suffered from his Enemies, had nominated him to the Abby of St. Gildas, and by this Benefaction and Mark of his Esteem, engaged him to pass the rest of his Days in his Dominions. He received this Favour with great Joy, imagining, that by leaving France, he should lose his Paffion, and gain a new turn of Mind upon entering into his new Dignity. The Abby of St. Gildas is feated upon a Rock, which the Sea beats with its Waves. Abelard, who had laid on himself the Neceffity of vanquishing a Passion which Abfence had in a great measure weakened, endeavoured in this Solitude to extinguish the Remains of it by his Tears. But upon his receiving the foregoing Letter, he could not refift fo powerful an Attack, but proves as weak and as much to be pitied as Heloise: 'Tis not then a Master or Di

rector that speaks to her, but a Man who had loved ber, and loves her ftill: And under this Character we are to confider Abelard when he wrote the following Letter. If he seems by some Passages in it to have begun to feel the Motions of Divine Grace, they appear as yet to be only by Starts, and without any Uniformity.

OULD I have imagined that a Letter C not written to yourself could have fal& len into your Hands, I had been more cautious not to have inserted any Thing in it which might awaken the Memory of our past Misfortunes. I described with Boldness the Series of my Disgraces to a Friend, in order to make him less sensible of the Loss he had sustained. If by this well-meaning Artifice I have disturbed you, I purpose here to dry up those Tears which the sad Description occafioned you to shed: I intend to mix my Grief with yours, and pour out my Heart before you; in short, to lay open before your Eyes all my Trouble, and the Secret of my Soul, which my Vanity has hitherto made me conceal from the rest of the World, and which you now force from me, in spight of my Resolutions to the contrary:

It is true, that in a Sense of the Afflictions which had befallen us, and observing that no change of our Condition was to be expected; that those profperous Days which had seduced us were now past, and there remained nothing but to eraze

out of our Minds, by painful Endeavours, all Marks and Remembrance of them, I had wished to find in Philosophy and Religion a Remedy for my Disgrace; I searched out an Afylum to secure me from Love, I was come to the sad Experiment of making Vows to harden my Heart. But what have I gained by this? If my Passion has been put under a Restraint, my Ideas yet remain. I promise myself that I will forget you, and yet cannot think of it without loving you; and am pleased with that Thought. My Love is not at all weakened by those Reflections I make in order to free myself. The Silence I am furrounded with makes me more fenfible to its Impressions, and while I am unemployed with any other Things, this makes itself the Business of my whole Vacation. Till after a Multitude of useless Endeavours I begin to perfuade myself, that 'tis a superfluous Trouble to strive to free myself; and that it is Wisdom fufficient if I can conceal from every one but you, my Confufion and Weakness.

I remove to a Distance from your Person, with an Intention of avoiding you as an Enemy; and yet I incessantly feek for you in my Mind: I recall your Image in my Memory; and in such different Difquietudes I betray and contradict-myself. I hate you; I love you; Shame presses me on all Sides; I am at this Moment afraid left I should seem more indifferent than you, and yet I am ashamed to difcover my Trouble. How weak are we in ourselves,