You don’t deserve a longer letter.

      Adieu!  Yours,
          Ed. Rivers.

LETTER 198.

To Mrs. Fitzgerald.

Bellfield, Oct. 12.

I am very conscious, my dear Bell, of not meriting the praises my Rivers lavishes on me, yet the pleasure I receive from them is not the less lively for that consideration; on the contrary, the less I deserve these praises, the more flattering they are to me, as the stronger proofs of his love; of that love which gives ideal charms, which adorns, which embellishes its object.

I had rather be lovely in his eyes, than in those of all mankind; or, to speak more exactly, if I continue to please him, the admiration of all the world is indifferent to me:  it is for his sake alone I wish for beauty, to justify the dear preference he has given me.

How pleasing are these sweet shades! were they less so, my Rivers’s presence would give them every charm:  every object has appeared to me more lovely since the dear moment when I first saw him; I seem to have acquired a new existence from his tenderness.

You say true, my dear Bell:  heaven doubtless formed us to be happy, even in this world; and we obey its dictates in being so, when we can without encroaching on the happiness of others.

This lesson is, I think, plain from the book providence has spread before us:  the whole universe smiles, the earth is clothed in lively colors, the animals are playful, the birds sing:  in being chearful with innocence, we seem to conform to the order of nature, and the will of that beneficent Power to whom we owe our being.

If the Supreme Creator had meant us to be gloomy, he would, it seems to me, have clothed the earth in black, not in that lively green, which is the livery of chearfulness and joy.

I am called away.

    Adieu! my dearest Bell. 
      Your faithful
          Emily Rivers.

LETTER 199.

To Captain Fitzgerald.

Bellfield, Oct. 14.

You flatter me most agreably, my dear Fitzgerald, by praising Emily; I want you to see her again; she is every hour more charming:  I am astonished any man can behold her without love.

Yet, lovely as she is, her beauty is her least merit; the finest understanding, the most pleasing kind of knowledge; tenderness, sensibility, modesty, and truth, adorn her almost with rays of divinity.

She has, beyond all I ever saw in either sex, the polish of the world, without having lost that sweet simplicity of manner, that unaffected innocence, and integrity of heart, which are so very apt to evaporate in a crowd.

I ride out often alone, in order to have the pleasure of returning to her:  these little absences give new spirit to our tenderness.  Every care forsakes me at the sight of this temple of real love; my sweet Emily meets me with smiles; her eyes brighten when I approach; she receives my friends with the most lively pleasure, because they are my friends; I almost envy them her attention, though given for my sake.