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and soul. The long summer days passed beneath theshades of the forest, recalled the wanderings of hisyouth, and the passions that had warmed his youngheart. — A settled life with Theresa ; the cares anddiscontents he had endured in Paris , his literary occu-pations and theories, engrossing his thoughts, had ban-ished love. Now, in his solitary rambles, as his memoryreverted to the illusions of bygone years, his imagin-ation fired, his heart swelled, his being became ab-sorbed. No real object presenting itself, he createdchimerical beings, on whom he exhausted the most pas-sionate sentiments, the most brilliant imaginations. Hisday-dreams became extatic : he was drunk with an ab-stract love for one who lived only as he painted her, in theform most delightful to his thoughts: he charmed him-self by figuring various situations—-by addressing lettersto her — by fancying those he received in return. Hechecked himself in his vague reveries, and gave a form andplace, a name and a habitation to his creations: the loverand beloved, and the friend dear to both, were imagedand placed in a spot careiully selected as beautiful initself, and associated with his fondest recollections.Julie, Claire, and Saint Preux, lived and loved at Vevay,beside his native lake, in the midst of the most maj esticand lovely scenes that exist on earth.
The winter was passed tranquilly; he occupied him-self by completing and copying the first two parts of the“ Nouvelle Heloise." When spring returned he againdelivered himself up to his entrancing reveries, and wan-dered in the woods, as he composed the latter parts ofhis work. In these there reigns a sort of paradisaical peace—a voluptuous yet innocent transport of acknowledged,bliss, that charms the reader, as it inspired the writer.That to be thus engrossed by ideas of passionate love, how-ever we may imagine that we can restrain them withinproper bounds, leads at last to the errors of passion,cannot be doubted. Rousseau instinctively felt thistruth when he made death the catastrophe of his novel ;not so much to mar the scene, as to prevent sin and re-