I hinted at some little provision for the amiable girl who had saved him from perishing, and had the pleasure to find Sir William listen to me with attention.

I am sorry it is not possible for me to be at your masquerade; but my affair is just at the crisis:  Bell expects a particular account of it from Mrs. Rivers, and desires to be immediately in the secret of the ladies dresses, though you are not:  she begs you will send your fair cottager and little charge to us, and we will take care to introduce them properly to Sir William.

I am too much hurried to say more.

    Adieu! my dear Rivers! 
      Your affectionate
          J. Fitzgerald.

LETTER 213.

To Mrs. Fitzgerald.

Nov. 8.

Yes, my dear Bell, politeness is undoubtedly a moral virtue.

As we are beings formed for, and not capable of being happy without, society, it is the duty of every one to endeavor to make it as easy and agreable as they can; which is only to be done by such an attention to others as is consistent with what we owe to ourselves; all we give them in civility will be re-paid us in respect:  insolence and ill-breeding are detestable to all mankind.

I long to see you, my dear Bell; the delight I have had in your society has spoiled my relish for that of meer acquaintance, however agreable.

’Tis dangerous to indulge in the pleasures of friendship; they weaken one’s taste too much for common conversation.

Yet what other pleasures are worth the name? what others have spirit and delicacy too?

I am preparing for the masquerade, which is to be the 18th; I am extremely disappointed you will not be with us.

My dress is simple and unornamented, but I think becoming and prettily fancied; it is that of a French paisanne:  Lucy is to be a sultana, blazing with diamonds:  my mother a Roman matron.

I chuse this dress because I have heard my dear Rivers admire it; to be one moment more pleasing in his eyes, is an object worthy all my attention.

    Adieu! 
      Your faithful
          Emily Rivers.

LETTER 214.

To Mrs. Rivers, Bellfield, Rutland.

London, Nov. 10.

Certainly, my dear, friendship is a mighty pretty invention, and, next to love, gives of all things the greatest spirit to society.

And yet the prudery of the age will hardly allow us poor women even this pleasure, innocent as it is.

I remember my aunt Cecily, who died at sixty-six, without ever having felt the least spark of affection for any human being, used to tell me, a prudent modest woman never loved any thing but herself.

For my part, I think all the kind propensities of the heart ought rather to be cherished than checked; that one is allowed to esteem merit even in the naughty creature, man.