The History of Emily Montague Part 75

In short, love bore down every other consideration; if I persisted in this delay, I might hazard losing all my soul held dear, the only object for which life was worth my care.

I determined, if I married, to give up all claim to my father's fortune, which I should justly forfeit by my disobedience to his commands: I hoped, however, Rivers's merit, and my father's paternal affection, when he knew us both, would influence him to make some provision for me as his daughter.

Half his fortune was all I ever hoped for, or even would have chose to accept: the rest I determined to give up to the man whom I refused to marry.

I gave my hand to Rivers, and was happy; yet the idea of my father's return, and the consciousness of having disobeyed him, cast sometimes a damp on my felicity, and threw a gloom over my soul, which all my endeavors could scarce hide from Rivers, though his delicacy prevented his asking the cause.

I now know, what was then a secret to me, that my father had offered his daughter to Rivers, with a fortune which could, however, have been no temptation to a mind like his, had he not been attached to me: he declined the offer, and, lest I should hear of it, and, from a romantic disinterestedness, want him to accept it, pressed our marriage with more importunity than ever; yet had the generosity to conceal this sacrifice from me, and to wish it should be concealed for ever.

These sentiments, so n.o.ble, so peculiar to my Rivers, prevented an explanation, and hid from us, for some time, the circ.u.mstances which now make our happiness so perfect.

How infinitely worthy is Rivers of all my tenderness!

My father has sent to speak with me in his apartment: I should have told you, I this morning went to Bellfield, and brought from thence my mother's picture, which I have just sent him.

Adieu! Your faithful Emily Rivers.

LETTER 227.

To Mrs. Rivers, Bellfield, Rutland.

London, Sunday.

No words, my dear Emily, can speak our joy at the receipt of your two last letters.

You are then as happy as you deserve to be; we hope, in a few days, to be witnesses of your felicity.

We knew from the first of your father's proposal to Rivers; but he extorted a promise from us, never on any account to communicate it to you: he also desired us to detain you in Berks.h.i.+re, by lengthening our visit, till your marriage, lest any friend of your father's in London should know his design, and chance acquaint you with it.

Fitzgerald is _Monsieur le Majeur_, at your ladys.h.i.+p's service: he received his commission this morning.

I once again congratulate you, my dear, on this triumph of tenderness: you see love, like virtue, is not only its own reward, but sometimes int.i.tles us to other rewards too.

It should always be considered, that those who marry from love, _may_ grow rich; but those who marry to be rich, will _never_ love.

The very idea that love will come after marriage, is shocking to minds which have the least spark of delicacy: to such minds, a marriage which begins with indifference will certainly end in disgust and aversion.

I bespeak your papa for my _cecisbeo_; mine is extremely at your service in return.

But I am piqued, my dear. "Sentiments so n.o.ble, so peculiar to your Rivers--"

I am apt to believe there are men in the world--that n.o.bleness of mind is not so very _peculiar_--and that some people's sentiments may be as n.o.ble as other people's.

In short, I am inclined to fancy Fitzgerald would have acted just the same part in the same situation.

But it is your great fault, my dear Emily, to suppose your love a phoenix, whereas he is only an agreable, worthy, handsome fellow, _comme un autre_.

I suppose you will be very angry; but who cares? I will be angry too.

Surely, my Fitzgerald--I allow Rivers all his merit; but comparisons, my dear--

Both our fellows, to be sure, are charming creatures; and I would not change them for a couple of Adonis's: yet I don't insist upon it, that there is nothing agreable in the world but them.

You should remember, my dear, that beauty is in the lover's eye; and that, however highly you may think of Rivers, every woman breathing has the same idea of _the dear man_.

O heaven! I must tell you, because it will flatter your vanity about your charmer.

I have had a letter from an old lover of mine at Quebec, who tells me, Madame Des Roches has just refused one of the best matches in the country, and vows she will live and die a batchelor.

'Tis a mighty foolish resolution, and yet I cannot help liking her the better for making it.

My dear papa talks of taking a house near you, and of having a garden to rival yours: we shall spend a good deal of time with him, and I shall make love to Rivers, which you know will be vastly pretty.

One must do something to give a little variety to life; and nothing is so amusing, or keeps the mind so pleasingly awake, especially in the country, as the flattery of an agreable fellow.

I am not, however, quite sure I shall not look abroad for a flirt, for one's friend's husband is almost as insipid as one's own.

Our romantic adventures being at an end, my dear; and we being all degenerated into sober people, who marry and _settle_; we seem in great danger of sinking into vegetation: on which subject I desire Rivers's opinion, being, I know, a most exquisite enquirer into the laws of nature.

Love is a pretty invention, but, I am told, is apt to mellow into friends.h.i.+p; a degree of perfection at which I by no means desire Fitzgerald's attachment for me to arrive on this side seventy.

What must we do, my dear, to vary our days?

Cards, you will own, are an agreable relief, and the least subject to pall of any pleasures under the sun: and really, philosophically speaking, what is life but an intermitted pool at quadrille?

I am interrupted by a divine colonel in the guards.

Adieu! Your faithful A. Fitzgerald.

LETTER 228.

To Mrs. Fitzgerald.

Bellfield, Tuesday.

I accept your challenge, Bell; and am greatly mistaken if you find me so very insipid as you are pleased to suppose.

Have no fear of falling into vegetation; not one amongst us has the least vegetative quality.

I have a thousand ideas of little amus.e.m.e.nts, to keep the mind awake.

None of our party are of that sleepy order of beings, who want perpetual events to make them feel their existence: this is the defect of the cold and inanimate, who have not spirit and vivacity enough to taste the natural pleasures of life.