In short, my Lucy, I cannot live without her esteem and friendship; and though her eyes, her attention to me, her whole manner, encourage me in the hope of being beloved, yet the possibility of my being mistaken makes me dread an explanation by which I hazard losing the lively pleasure I find in her friendship.

This timidity however must be conquered; ’tis pardonable to feel it, but not to give way to it.  I have ordered my carriole, and am determined to make my attack this very morning like a man of courage and a soldier.

    Adieu! 
      Your affectionate
          Ed. Rivers.

A letter from Bell Fermor, to whom I wrote this morning on the subject: 

“To Colonel Rivers, at Quebec.

Silleri, Friday morning.

“You are a foolish creature, and know nothing of women.  Dine at Silleri, and we will air after dinner; ’tis a glorious day, and if you are timid in a covered carriole, I give you up.

    “Adieu! 
        Yours,
          A. Fermor.”

LETTER 103.

To Mrs. Temple, Pall Mall.

Quebec, March 27, 11 at night.

She is an angel, my dear Lucy, and no words can do her justice:  I am the happiest of mankind; I painted my passion with all the moving eloquence of undissembled love; she heard me with the most flattering attention; she said little, but her looks, her air, her tone of voice, her blushes, her very silence—­how could I ever doubt her tenderness? have not those lovely eyes a thousand times betrayed the dear secret of her heart?

My Lucy, we were formed for each other; our souls are of intelligence; every thought, every idea—­from the first moment I beheld her—­I have a thousand things to say, but the tumult of my joy—­she has given me leave to write to her; what has she not said in that permission?

I cannot go to bed; I will go and walk an hour on the battery; ’tis the loveliest night I ever beheld, even in Canada:  the day is scarce brighter.

One in the morning.

I have had the sweetest walk imaginable:  the moon shines with a splendor I never saw before; a thousand streaming meteors add to her brightness; I have stood gazing on the lovely planet, and delighting myself with the idea that ’tis the same moon that lights my Emily.

Good night, my Lucy!  I love you beyond all expression; I always loved you tenderly, but there is a softness about my heart to-night—­this lovely woman—­

I know not what I would say, but till this night I could never be said to live.

      Adieu!  Your affectionate
          Ed. Rivers.

LETTER 104.

To Mrs. Temple, Pall Mall.

Quebec, 28th March.

I had this morning a short billet from her dear hand, entreating me to make up a quarrel between Bell Fermor and her lover:  your friend has been indiscreet; her spirit of coquetry is eternally carrying her wrong; but in my opinion Fitzgerald has been at least equally to blame.