The History of Emily Montague Part 62

Your faithful Ed. Rivers.

LETTER 200.

To Captain Fitzgerald.

Oct. 17.

I every hour see more strongly, my dear Fitzgerald, the wisdom, as to our own happiness, of not letting our hearts be worn out by a mult.i.tude of intrigues before marriage.

Temple loves my sister, he is happy with her; but his happiness is by no means of the same kind with yours and mine; she is beautiful, and he thinks her so; she is amiable, and he esteems her; he prefers her to all other women, but he feels nothing of that trembling delicacy of sentiment, that quick sensibility, which gives to love its most exquisite pleasures, and which I would not give up for the wealth of worlds.

His affection is meer pa.s.sion, and therefore subject to change; ours is that heartfelt tenderness, which time renders every moment more pleasing.

The tumult of desire is the fever of the soul; its health, that delicious tranquillity where the heart is gently moved, not violently agitated; that tranquillity which is only to be found where friends.h.i.+p is the basis of love, and where we are happy without injuring the object beloved: in other words, in a marriage of choice.

In the voyage of life, pa.s.sion is the tempest, love the gentle gale.

Dissipation, and a continued round of amus.e.m.e.nts at home, will probably secure my sister all of Temple's heart which remains; but his love would grow languid in that state of retirement, which would have a thousand charms for minds like ours.

I will own to you, I have fears for Lucy's happiness.

But let us drop so painful a subject.

Adieu!

Your affectionate Ed. Rivers.

LETTER 201.

To Colonel Rivers, Bellfield, Rutland.

Oct. 19.

Nothing, my dear Rivers, shews the value of friends.h.i.+p more than the envy it excites.

The world will sooner pardon us any advantage, even wealth, genius, or beauty, than that of having a faithful friend; every selfish bosom swells with envy at the sight of those social connexions, which are the cordials of life, and of which our narrow prejudices alone prevent our enjoyment.

Those who have neither hearts to feel this generous affection, nor merit to deserve it, hate all who are in this respect happier than themselves; they look on a friend as an invaluable blessing, and a blessing out of their reach; and abhor all who possess the treasure for which they sigh in vain.

For my own part, I had rather be the dupe of a thousand false professions of friends.h.i.+p, than, for fear of being deceived, give up the pursuit.

Dupes are happy at least for a time; but the cold, narrow, suspicious heart never knows the glow of social pleasure.

In the same proportion as we lose our confidence in the virtues of others, we lose our proper happiness.

The observation of this mean jealousy, so humiliating to human nature, has influenced Lord Halifax, in his Advice to a Daughter, the school of art, prudery, and selfish morals, to caution her against all friends.h.i.+ps, or, as he calls them, _dearnesses_, as what will make the world envy and hate her.

After my sweet Bell's tenderness, I know no pleasure equal to your friends.h.i.+p; nor would I give it up for the revenue of an eastern monarch.

I esteem Temple, I love his conversation; he is gay and amusing; but I shall never have for him the affection I feel for you.

I think you are too apprehensive in regard to your sister's happiness: he loves her, and there is a certain variety in her manner, a kind of agreable caprice, that I think will secure the heart of a man of his turn, much more than her merit, or even the loveliness of her person.

She is handsome, exquisitely so; handsomer than Bell, and, if you will allow me to say so, than Emily.

I mean, that she is so in the eye of a painter; for in that of a lover his mistress is the only beautiful object on earth.

I allow your sister to be very lovely, but I think Bell more desirable a thousand times; and, rationally speaking, she who has, _as to me_, the art of inspiring the most tenderness is, _as to me_, to all intents and purposes the most beautiful woman.

In which faith I chuse to live and die.

I have an idea, Rivers, that you and I shall continue to be happy: a real sympathy, a lively taste, mixed with esteem, led us to marry; the delicacy, tenderness, and virtue, of the two most charming of women, promise to keep our love alive.

We have both strong affections: both love the conversation of women; and neither of our hearts are depraved by ill-chosen connexions with the s.e.x.

I am broke in upon, and must bid you adieu!

Your affectionate J. Fitzgerald.

Bell is writing to you. I shall be jealous.

LETTER 202.

To Colonel Rivers, Bellfield, Rutland.

London, Oct. 19.

I die to come to Bellfield again, my dear Rivers; I have a pa.s.sion for your little wood; it is a mighty pretty wood for an English wood, but nothing to your Montmorencis; the dear little Silleri too--

But to return to the shades of Bellfield: your little wood is charming indeed; not to particularize detached pieces of your scenery, the _tout ensemble_ is very inviting; observe, however, I have no notion of paradise without an Adam, and therefore shall bring Fitzgerald with me next time.

What could induce you, with this sweet little retreat, to cross that vile ocean to Canada? I am astonished at the madness of mankind, who can expose themselves to pain, misery, and danger; and range the world from motives of avarice and ambition, when the rural cot, the fanning gale, the clear stream, and flowery bank, offer such delicious enjoyments at home.

You men are horrid, rapacious animals, with your spirit of enterprize, and your nonsense: ever wanting more land than you can cultivate, and more money than you can spend.

That eternal pursuit of gain, that rage of acc.u.mulation, in which you are educated, corrupts your hearts, and robs you of half the pleasures of life.

I should not, however, make so free with the s.e.x, if you and my _caro sposo_ were not exceptions.

You two have really something of the sensibility and generosity of women.