Your brother is a divine fellow, and yet there is a sauciness about Fitzgerald which pleases me better; as he has told me a thousand times, he thinks me infinitely more agreable than Emily.

Adieu!  I am going to Quebec.

      Yours,
          A. Fermor.

LETTER 140.

To Mrs. Temple, Pall Mall.

May 20, Evening.

Io triumphe! A ship from England!  You can have no idea of the universal transport at the sight; the whole town was on the beach, eagerly gazing at the charming stranger, who danced gaily on the waves, as if conscious of the pleasure she inspired.

If our joy is so great, who preserve a correspondence with Europe, through our other colonies, during the winter, what must that of the French have been, who were absolutely shut up six months from the rest of the world?

I can scarce conceive a higher delight than they must have felt at being thus restored to a communication with mankind.

The letters are not delivered; our servant stays for them at the post-office; we expect him every moment:  if I have not volumes from you, I shall be very angry.

He comes.  Adieu!  I have not patience to wait their being brought up stairs.

      Yours,
          A. Fermor.

They are here; six letters from you; I shall give three of them to Emily to read, whilst I read the rest:  you are very good, Lucy, and I will never call you lazy again.

LETTER 141.

To Miss Fermor, at Silleri.

Pall Mall, April 8.

Whilst I was sealing my letter, I received yours of the 1st of
February.

I am excessively alarmed, my dear, at the account it gives me of Miss Montague’s having broke with her lover, and of my brother’s extreme affection for her.

I did not dare to let my mother see that letter, as I am convinced the very idea of a marriage which must for ever separate her from a son she loves to idolatry, would be fatal to her; she is altered since his leaving England more than you can imagine; she is grown pale and thin, her vivacity has entirely left her.  Even my marriage scarce seemed to give her pleasure; yet such is her delicacy, her ardor for his happiness, she will not suffer me to say this to him, lest it should constrain him, and prevent his making himself happy in his own way.  I often find her in tears in her apartment; she affects a smile when she sees me, but it is a smile which cannot deceive one who knows her whole soul as I do.  In short, I am convinced she will not live long unless my brother returns.  She never names him without being softened to a degree not to be expressed.

Amiable and lovely as you represent this charming woman, and great as the sacrifice is she has made to my brother, it seems almost cruelty to wish to break his attachment to her; yet, situated as they are, what can be the consequence of their indulging their tenderness at present, but ruin to both?