The History of Emily Montague Part 50

I am arrived, my dear friend, after a pa.s.sage agreable in itself; but which my fears for Emily made infinitely anxious and painful: every wind that blew, I trembled for her; I formed to myself ideal dangers on her account, which reason had not power to dissipate.

We had a very tumultuous head-sea a great part of the voyage, though the wind was fair; a certain sign there had been stormy weather, with a contrary wind. I fancied my Emily exposed to those storms; there is no expressing what I suffered from this circ.u.mstance.

On entering the channel of England, we saw an empty boat, and some pieces of a wreck floating; I fancied it part of the s.h.i.+p which conveyed my lovely Emily; a sudden chillness seized my whole frame, my heart died within me at the sight: I had scarce courage, when I landed, to enquire whether she was arrived.

I asked the question with a trembling voice, and had the transport to find the s.h.i.+p had pa.s.sed by, and to hear the person of my Emily described amongst the pa.s.sengers who landed; it was not easy to mistake her.

I hope to see her this evening: what do I not feel from that dear hope!

Chance gives me an opportunity of forwarding this by New York; I write whilst my chaise is getting ready.

Adieu! yours, Ed. Rivers.

I shall write to my dear little Bell as soon as I get to town. There is no describing what I felt at first seeing the coast of England: I saw the white cliffs with a transport mixed with veneration; a transport, which, however, was checked by my fears for the dearer part of myself.

My chaise is at the door.

Adieu!

Your faithful, &c.

Ed. Rivers.

LETTER 164.

To Miss Fermor, at Silleri.

Rochester, July 24.

I am obliged to wait ten minutes for a Canadian gentleman who is with me, and has some letters to deliver here: how painful is this delay! But I cannot leave a stranger alone on the road, though I lose so many minutes with my charming Emily.

To soften this moment as much as possible, I will begin a letter to my dear Bell: our sweet Emily is safe; I wrote to Captain Fermor this morning.

My heart is gay beyond words: my fellow-traveller is astonished at the beauty and riches of England, from what he has seen of Kent: for my part, I point out every fine prospect, and am so proud of my country, that my whole soul seems to be dilated; for which perhaps there are other reasons. The day is fine, the numerous herds and flocks on the side of the hills, the neatness of the houses, of the people, the appearance of plenty; all exhibit a scene which must strike one who has been used only to the wild graces of nature.

Canada has beauties; but they are of another kind.

This unreasonable man; he has no mistress to see in London; he is not expected by the most amiable of mothers, by a family he loves as I do mine.

I will order another chaise, and leave my servant to attend him.

He comes. Adieu! my dear little Bell! at this moment a gentleman is come into the inn, who is going to embark at Dover for New York; I will send this by him. Once more adieu!

LETTER 165.

To Miss Fermor, at Silleri.

Clarges Street, July 25.

I am the only person here, my dear Bell, enough composed to tell you Rivers is arrived in town. He stopped in his post chaise, at the end of the street, and sent for me, that I might prepare my mother to see him, and prevent a surprize which might have hurried her spirits too much.

I came back, and told her I had seen a gentleman, who had left him at Dover, and that he would soon be here; he followed me in a few minutes.

I am not painter enough to describe their meeting; though prepared, it was with difficulty we kept my mother from fainting; she pressed him in her arms, she attempted to speak, her voice faltered, tears stole softly down her cheeks: nor was Rivers less affected, though in a different manner; I never saw him look so handsome; the manly tenderness, the filial respect, the lively joy, that were expressed in his countenance, gave him a look to which it is impossible to do justice: he hinted going down to Berks.h.i.+re to-night; but my mother seemed so hurt at the proposal, that he wrote to Emily, and told her his reason for deferring it till to-morrow, when we are all to go in my coach, and hope to bring her back with us to town.

You judge rightly, my dear Bell, that they were formed for each other; never were two minds so similar; we must contrive some method of making them happy: nothing but a too great delicacy in Rivers prevents their being so to-morrow; were our situations changed, I should not hesitate a moment to let him make me so.

Lucy has sent for me. Adieu!

Believe me, Your faithful and devoted, J. Temple.

LETTER 166.

To Miss Fermor, at Silleri.

Pall Mall, July 29.

I am the happiest of human beings: my Rivers is arrived, he is well, he loves me; I am dear to his family; I see him without restraint; I am every hour more convinced of the excess of his affection; his attention to me is inconceivable; his eyes every moment tell me, I am dearer to him than life.

I am to be for some time on a visit to his sister; he is at Mrs.

Rivers's, but we are always together: we go down next week to Mr.

Temple's, in Rutland; they only stayed in town, expecting Rivers's arrival. His seat is within six miles of Rivers's little paternal estate, which he settled on his mother when he left England; she presses him to resume it, but he peremptorily refuses: he insists on her continuing her house in town, and being perfectly independent, and mistress of herself.

I love him a thousand times more for this tenderness to her; though it disappoints my dear hope of being his. Did I think it possible, my dear Bell, he could have risen higher in my esteem?

If we are never united, if we always live as at present, his tenderness will still make the delight of my life; to see him, to hear that voice, to be his friend, the confidante of all his purposes, of all his designs, to hear the sentiments of that generous, that exalted soul--I would not give up this delight, to be empress of the world.

My ideas of affection are perhaps uncommon; but they are not the less just, nor the less in nature.

A blind man may as well judge of colors as the ma.s.s of mankind of the sentiments of a truly enamored heart.

The sensual and the cold will equally condemn my affection as romantic: few minds, my dear Bell, are capable of love; they feel pa.s.sion, they feel esteem; they even feel that mixture of both which is the best counterfeit of love; but of that vivifying fire, that lively tenderness which hurries us out of ourselves, they know nothing; that tenderness which makes us forget ourselves, when the interest, the happiness, the honor, of him we love is concerned; that tenderness which renders the beloved object all that we see in the creation.

Yes, my Rivers, I live, I breathe, I exist, for you alone: be happy, and your Emily is so.

My dear friend, you know love, and will therefore bear with all the impertinence of a tender heart.

I hope you have by this time made Fitzgerald happy; he deserves you, amiable as you are, and you cannot too soon convince him of your affection: you sometimes play cruelly with his tenderness: I have been astonished to see you torment a heart which adores you.

I am interrupted.