I have this moment a letter from Temple which has set my heart at rest:  he writes like a lover, yet owns his past danger, with a frankness which speaks more strongly than any professions could do, the real present state of his heart.

My anxiety for my sister has a little broke in on my own happiness; in England, where the married women are in general the most virtuous in the world, it is of infinite consequence they should love their husbands, and be beloved by them; in countries where gallantry is more permitted, it is less necessary.

Temple will make her happy whilst she preserves his heart; but, if she loses it, every thing is to be feared from the vivacity of his nature, which can never support one moment a life of indifference.

He has that warmth of temper which is the natural soil of the virtues; but which is unhappily, at the same time, most apt to produce indiscretions.

Tame, cold, dispassionate minds resemble barren lands; warm, animated ones, rich ground, which, if properly cultivated, yields the noblest fruit; but, if neglected, from its luxuriance is most productive of weeds.

His misfortune has been losing both his parents when almost an infant; and having been master of himself and a noble fortune, at an age when the passions hurry us beyond the bounds of reason.

I am the only person on earth by whom he would ever bear to be controlled in any thing; happily for Lucy, I preserve the influence over him which friendship first gave me.

That influence, and her extreme attention to study his taste in every thing; with those uncommon graces both of mind and person she has received from nature, will, I hope, effectually fix this wandering star.

She tells me, she has asked you to a masquerade at Temple-house, to which you will extremely oblige us all by coming.

You do not tell us, whether the affair of your majority is settled:  if obliged to return immediately, Temple will send you back.

      Adieu!  Your faithful
          Ed. Rivers.

I have this moment your last letter:  you are right, we American travellers are under great disadvantages; our imaginations are restrained; we have not the pomp of the orient to describe, but the simple and unadorned charms of nature.

LETTER 212.

To Colonel Rivers, Bellfield, Rutland.

Nov. 4.

Sir William Verville is come back to town; I was with him this morning; he desires to see the child; he tells me, his brother, in his last moments, mentioned this story in all the agony of remorse, and begged him to provide for the little innocent, if to be found; that he had made many enquiries, but hitherto in vain; and that he thought himself happy in the discovery.

He talks of settling three thousand pounds on the child, and taking the care of educating him into his own hands.