In my opinion, the man who conveys, and causes to grow, in any country, a grain, a fruit, or even a flower, it never possessed before, deserves more praise than a thousand heroes:  he is a benefactor, he is in some degree a creator.

  I have the honor to be,
    My Lord,
      Your Lordship’s &c. 
          William Fermor.

LETTER 124.

To Miss Montague, at Quebec.

Montreal, April 14.

Is it possible, my dear Emily, you can, after all I have said, persist in endeavoring to disswade me from a design on which my whole happiness depends, and which I flattered myself was equally essential to yours?  I forgave, I even admired, your first scruple; I thought it generosity:  but I have answered it; and if you had loved as I do, you would never again have named so unpleasing a subject.

Does your own heart tell you mine will call a settlement here, with you, an exile?  Examine yourself well, and tell me whether your aversion to staying in Canada is not stronger than your tenderness for your Rivers.

I am hurt beyond all words at the earnestness with which you press Mrs. Melmoth to disswade me from staying in this country:  you press with warmth my return to England, though it would put an eternal bar between us:  you give reasons which, though the understanding may approve, the heart abhors:  can ambition come in competition with tenderness? you fancy yourself generous, when you are only indifferent.  Insensible girl! you know nothing of love.

Write to me instantly, and tell me every emotion of your soul, for I tremble at the idea that your affection is less lively than mine.

Adieu!  I am wretched till I hear from you.  Is it possible, my Emily, you can have ceased to love him, who, as you yourself own, sees no other object than you in the universe?

      Adieu!  Yours,
          Ed. Rivers.

You know not the heart of your Rivers, if you suppose it capable of any ambition but that dear one of being beloved by you.

What have you said, my dear Emily? You will not marry me in Canada.  You have passed a hard sentence on me:  you know my fortune will not allow me to marry you in England.

END OF VOL.  II.

THE HISTORY OF EMILY MONTAGUE.

Vol.  III

LETTER 125.

To Colonel Rivers, at Montreal.

Quebec, April 17.

How different, my Rivers, is your last letter from all your Emily has ever yet received from you!  What have I done to deserve such suspicions?  How unjust are your sex in all their connexions with ours!

Do I not know love? and does this reproach come from the man on whom my heart doats, the man, whom to make happy, I would with transport cease to live? can you one moment doubt your Emily’s tenderness? have not her eyes, her air, her look, her indiscretion, a thousand times told you, in spite of herself, the dear secret of her heart, long before she was conscious of the tenderness of yours?