I envy Captain Fermor the happiness of being in the same chaise with her; I shall be very bad company to Bell, who insists on my being her cecisbeo for the journey.

Adieu!  The chaises are at the door.

      Your affectionate
          Ed. Rivers.

LETTER 194.

To Captain Fitzgerald.

Temple-house, Sept. 29.

I regret your not being with us, more than I can express.

I would have every friend I love a witness of my happiness.

I thought my tenderness for Emily as great as man could feel, yet find it every moment increase; every moment she is more dear to my soul.

The angel delicacy of that lovely mind is inconceivable; had she no other charm, I should adore her:  what a lustre does modesty throw round beauty!

We remove to-morrow to Bellfield:  I am impatient to see my sweet girl in her little empire:  I am tired of the continual crowd in which we live at Temple’s:  I would not pass the life he does for all his fortune; I sigh for the power of spending my time as I please, for the dear shades of retirement and friendship.

How little do mankind know their own happiness! every pleasure worth a wish is in the power of almost all mankind.

Blind to true joy, ever engaged in a wild pursuit of what is always in our power, anxious for that wealth which we falsely imagine necessary to our enjoyments, we suffer our best hours to pass tastelessly away; we neglect the pleasures which are suited to our natures; and, intent on ideal schemes of establishments at which we never arrive, let the dear hours of social delight escape us.

Hasten to us, my dear Fitzgerald:  we want only you, to fill our little circle of friends.

      Your affectionate
          Ed. Rivers.

LETTER 195.

To Captain Fitzgerald.

Bellfield, Oct. 3.

What delight is there in obliging those we love!

My heart dilated with joy at seeing Emily pleased with the little embellishments of her apartment, which I had made as gay and smiling as the morn; it looked, indeed, as if the hand of love had adorned it:  she has a dressing room and closet of books, into which I shall never intrude:  there is a pleasure in having some place which we can say is peculiarly our own, some sanctum sanctorum, whither we can retire even from those most dear to us.

This is a pleasure in which I have been indulged almost from infancy, and therefore one of the first I thought of procuring for my sweet Emily.

I told her I should, however, sometimes expect to be amongst her guests in this little retirement.

Her look, her tender smile, the speaking glance of grateful love, gave me a transport, which only minds turned to affection can conceive.  I never, my dear Fitzgerald, was happy before:  the attachment I once mentioned was pleasing; but I felt a regret, at knowing the object of my tenderness had forfeited the good opinion of the world, which embittered all my happiness.