Adieu!  Your
          Emily Montague.

LETTER 74.

To Miss Montague.

Feb. 25, Eight o’clock, just up.

My dear, you deceive yourself; you love Colonel Rivers; you love him even with all the tenderness of romance:  read over again the latter part of your letter; I know friendship, and of what it is capable; but I fear the sacrifices it makes are of a different nature.

Examine your heart, my Emily, and tell me the result of that examination.  It is of the utmost consequence to you to be clear as to the nature of your affection for Rivers.

      Adieu!  Yours,
          A. Fermor.

LETTER 75.

To Miss Fermor.

Yes, my dear Bell, you know me better than I know myself; your Emily loves.—­But tell me, and with that clear sincerity which is the cement of our friendship; has not your own heart discovered to you the secret of mine? do you not also love this most amiable of mankind?  Yes, you do, and I am lost:  it is not in woman to see him without love; there are a thousand charms in his conversation, in his look, nay in the very sound of his voice, to which it is impossible for a soul like yours to be insensible.

I have observed you a thousand times listening to him with that air of softness and complacency—­Believe me, my dear, I am not angry with you for loving him; he is formed to charm the heart of woman:  I have not the least right to complain of you; you knew nothing of my passion for him; you even regarded me almost as the wife of another.  But tell me, though my heart dies within me at the question, is your tenderness mutual? does he love you?  I have observed a coldness in his manner lately, which now alarms me.—­My heart is torn in pieces.  Must I receive this wound from the two persons on earth most dear to me?  Indeed, my dear, this is more than your Emily can bear.  Tell me only whether you love:  I will not ask more.—­Is there on earth a man who can please where he appears?

LETTER 76.

To Miss Montague.

You have discovered me, my sweet Emily:  I love—­not quite so dyingly as you do; but I love; will you forgive me when I add that I am beloved?  It is unnecessary to add the name of him I love, as you have so kindly appropriated the whole sex to Colonel Rivers.

However, to shew you it is possible you may be mistaken, ’tis the little Fitz I love, who, in my eye, is ten times more agreable than even your nonpareil of a Colonel; I know you will think me a shocking wretch for this depravity of taste; but so it is.

Upon my word, I am half inclined to be angry with you for not being in love with Fitzgerald; a tall Irishman, with good eyes, has as clear a title to make conquests as other people.

Yes, my dear, there is a man on earth, and even in the little town of Quebec, who can please where he appears.  Surely, child, if there was but one man on earth who could please, you would not be so unreasonable as to engross him all to yourself.