It is the profuse, the vicious, the profligate, the needy, who arethe Clodios and Catilines of this world.
That love of order, of moral harmony, so natural to virtuous minds,to minds at ease, is the strongest tie of rational obedience.
The man who feels himself prosperous and happy, will not easily beperswaded by factious declamation that he is undone.
Convinced of the excellency of our constitution, in which libertyand prerogative are balanced with the steadiest hand, he will notendeavor to remove the boundaries which secure both: he will notendeavor to root it up, whilst he is pretending to give itnourishment: he will not strive to cut down the lovely and venerabletree under whose shade he enjoys security and peace.
In short, and I am sure you will here be of my opinion, the man whohas competence, virtue, true liberty, and the woman he loves, willchearfully obey the laws which secure him these blessings, and theprince under whose mild sway he enjoys them.
Adieu! Your faithful Ed. Rivers.
LETTER 200.
To Captain Fitzgerald.
Oct. 17.
I every hour see more strongly, my dear Fitzgerald, the wisdom, asto our own happiness, of not letting our hearts be worn out by amultitude of intrigues before marriage.
Temple loves my sister, he is happy with her; but his happiness isby no means of the same kind with yours and mine; she is beautiful, andhe thinks her so; she is amiable, and he esteems her; he prefers her toall other women, but he feels nothing of that trembling delicacy ofsentiment, that quick sensibility, which gives to love its mostexquisite pleasures, and which I would not give up for the wealth ofworlds.
His affection is meer passion, and therefore subject to change; oursis that heartfelt tenderness, which time renders every moment morepleasing.
The tumult of desire is the fever of the soul; its health, thatdelicious tranquillity where the heart is gently moved, not violentlyagitated; that tranquillity which is only to be found where friendshipis the basis of love, and where we are happy without injuring theobject beloved: in other words, in a marriage of choice.
In the voyage of life, passion is the tempest, love the gentle gale.
Dissipation, and a continued round of amusements at home, willprobably secure my sister all of Temple's heart which remains; but hislove would grow languid in that state of retirement, which would have athousand charms for minds like ours.
I will own to you, I have fears for Lucy's happiness.
But let us drop so painful a subject.
Adieu! Your affectionate Ed. Rivers.
LETTER 201.
To Colonel Rivers, Bellfield, Rutland.
Oct. 19.
Nothing, my dear Rivers, shews the value of friendship more than theenvy it excites.
The world will sooner pardon us any advantage, even wealth, genius,or beauty, than that of having a faithful friend; every selfish bosomswells with envy at the sight of those social connexions, which are thecordials of life, and of which our narrow prejudices alone prevent ourenjoyment.
Those who have neither hearts to feel this generous affection, normerit to deserve it, hate all who are in this respect happier thanthemselves; they look on a friend as an invaluable blessing, and ablessing out of their reach; and abhor all who possess the treasure forwhich they sigh in vain.
For my own part, I had rather be the dupe of a thousand falseprofessions of friendship, than, for fear of being deceived, give upthe pursuit.
Dupes are happy at least for a time; but the cold, narrow,suspicious heart never knows the glow of social pleasure.
In the same proportion as we lose our confidence in the virtues ofothers, we lose our proper happiness.
The observation of this mean jealousy, so humiliating to humannature, has influenced Lord Halifax, in his Advice to a Daughter, theschool of art, prudery, and selfish morals, to caution her against allfriendships, or, as he calls them, _dearnesses_, as what will makethe world envy and hate her.
After my sweet Bell's tenderness, I know no pleasure equal to yourfriendship; nor would I give it up for the revenue of an easternmonarch.
I esteem Temple, I love his conversation; he is gay and amusing;but I shall never have for him the affection I feel for you.
I think you are too apprehensive in regard to your sister'shappiness: he loves her, and there is a certain variety in her manner,a kind of agreable caprice, that I think will secure the heart of a manof his turn, much more than her merit, or even the loveliness of herperson.
She is handsome, exquisitely so; handsomer than Bell, and, if youwill allow me to say so, than Emily.
I mean, that she is so in the eye of a painter; for in that of alover his mistress is the only beautiful object on earth.
I allow your sister to be very lovely, but I think Bell moredesirable a thousand times; and, rationally speaking, she who has,_as to me_, the art of inspiring the most tenderness is, _as to me_,to all intents and purposes the most beautiful woman.
In which faith I chuse to live and die.
I have an idea, Rivers, that you and I shall continue to be happy: areal sympathy, a lively taste, mixed with esteem, led us to marry; thedelicacy, tenderness, and virtue, of the two most charming of women,promise to keep our love alive.
We have both strong affections: both love the conversation of women;and neither of our hearts are depraved by ill-chosen connexions with thesex.
I am broke in upon, and must bid you adieu!
Your affectionate J. Fitzgerald.
Bell is writing to you. I shall be jealous.
LETTER 202.
To Colonel Rivers, Bellfield, Rutland.
London, Oct. 19.
I die to come to Bellfield again, my dear Rivers; I have a passionfor your little wood; it is a mighty pretty wood for an English wood,but nothing to your Montmorencis; the dear little Silleri too--
But to return to the shades of Bellfield: your little wood ischarming indeed; not to particularize detached pieces of your scenery,the _tout ensemble_ is very inviting; observe, however, I have nonotion of paradise without an Adam, and therefore shall bringFitzgerald with me next time.
What could induce you, with this sweet little retreat, to cross thatvile ocean to Canada? I am astonished at the madness of mankind, whocan expose themselves to pain, misery, and danger; and range the worldfrom motives of avarice and ambition, when the rural cot, the fanninggale, the clear stream, and flowery bank, offer such deliciousenjoyments at home.
You men are horrid, rapacious animals, with your spirit ofenterprize, and your nonsense: ever wanting more land than you cancultivate, and more money than you can spend.
That eternal pursuit of gain, that rage of accumulation, in whichyou are educated, corrupts your hearts, and robs you of half thepleasures of life.
I should not, however, make so free with the sex, if you and my_caro sposo_ were not exceptions.
You two have really something of the sensibility and generosity ofwomen.
Do you know, Rivers, I have a fancy you and Fitzgerald will alwaysbe happy husbands? this is something owing to yourselves, and somethingto us; you have both that manly tenderness, and true generosity, whichinclines you to love creatures who have paid you the compliment ofmaking their happiness or misery depend entirely on you, and partly tothe little circumstance of your being married to two of the mostagreable women breathing.
To speak _en philosophe_, my dear Rivers, you are not to betold, that the fire of love, like any other fire, is equally put outby too much or too little fuel.
Now Emily and I, without vanity, besides our being handsome andamazingly sensible, to say nothing of our pleasing kind of sensibility,have a certain just idea of causes and effects, with a natural blushingreserve, and bridal delicacy, which I am apt to flatter myself--
Do you understand me, Rivers? I am not quite clear I understandmyself.
All that I would insinuate is, that Emily and I are, take us for allin all, the two most ch
arming women in the world, and that, whoeverleaves us, must change immensely for the worse.
I believe Lucy equally pleasing, but I think her charms have not sogood a subject to work upon.
Temple is a handsome fellow, and loves her; but he has not thetenderness of heart that I so much admire in two certain youths of myacquaintance.
He is rich indeed; but who cares?
Certainly, my dear Rivers, nothing can be more absurd, or moredestructive to happiness, than the very wrong turn we give ourchildren's imaginations about marriage.
If miss and master are good, she is promised a rich husband, and acoach and six, and he a wife with a monstrous great fortune.
Most of these fine promises must fail; and where they do not, thepoor things have only the consolation of finding, when too late toretreat, that the objects to which all their wishes were pointed havereally nothing to do with happiness.
Is there a nabobess on earth half as happy as the two foolish littlegirls about whom I have been writing, though married to such poordevils as you and Fitzgerald? _Certainement_ no.
And so ends my sermon.
Adieu! Your most obedient, A. Fitzgerald.
LETTER 203.
To John Temple, Esq; Temple-house, Rutland.
Bellfield, Oct. 21.
You ridicule my enthusiasm, my dear Temple, without consideringthere is no exertion of the human mind, no effort of the understanding,imagination, or heart, without a spark of this divine fire.
Without enthusiasm, genius, virtue, pleasure, even love itself,languishes; all that refines, adorns, softens, exalts, ennobles life,has its source in this animating principle.
I glory in being an enthusiast in every thing; but in nothing somuch as in my tenderness for this charming woman.
I am a perfect Quixote in love, and would storm enchanted castles,and fight giants, for my Emily.
Coldness of temper damps every spring that moves the human heart; itis equally an enemy to pleasure, riches, fame, to all which is worthliving for.
I thank you for your wishes that I was rich, but am by no meansanxious myself on the subject.
You sons of fortune, who possess your thousands a year, and findthem too little for your desires, desires which grow from that veryabundance, imagine every man miserable who wants them; in which you aregreatly mistaken.
Every real pleasure is within the reach of my little fortune, and Iam very indifferent about those which borrow their charms, not fromnature, but from fashion and caprice.
My house is indeed less than yours; but it is finely situated, andlarge enough for my fortune: that part of it which belongs peculiarlyto my Emily is elegant.
I have an equipage, not for parade but use; and the loveliest ofwomen prefers it with me to all that luxury and magnificence couldbestow with another.
The flowers in my garden bloom as fair, the peach glows as deep, asin yours: does a flower blush more lovely, or smell more sweet; a peachlook more tempting than its fellows, I select it for my Emily, whoreceives it with delight, as the tender tribute of love.
In some respects, we are the more happy for being less rich: thelittle avocations, which our mediocrity of fortune makes necessary toboth, are the best preventives of that languor, from being tooconstantly together, which is all that love founded on taste andfriendship has to fear.
Had I my choice, I should wish for a very small addition only to myincome, and that for the sake of others, not myself.
I love pleasure, and think it our duty to make life as agreable asis consistent with what we owe to others; but a true pleasurablephilosopher seeks his enjoyments where they are really to be found; notin the gratifications of a childish pride, but of those affectionswhich are born with us, and which are the only rational sources ofenjoyment.
When I am walking in these delicious shades with Emily; when I seethose lovely eyes, softened with artless fondness, and hear the musicof that voice; when a thousand trifles, unobserved but by the pryingsight of love, betray all the dear sensations of that bosom, wheretruth and delicate tenderness have fixed their seat, I know not theEpicurean of whom I do not deserve to be the envy.
Does your fortune, my dear Temple, make you more than happy? if not,why so very earnestly wish an addition to mine? believe me, there isnothing about which I am more indifferent. I am ten times more anxiousto get the finest collection of flowers in the world for my Emily.
You observe justly, that there is nothing so insipid as women whohave conversed with women only; let me add, nor so brutal as men whohave lived only amongst men.
The desire of pleasing on each side, in an intercourse enlivened bytaste, and governed by delicacy and honor, calls forth all the gracesof the person and understanding, all the amiable sentiments of theheart: it also gives good-breeding, ease, and a certain awakenedmanner, which is not to be acquired but in mixed conversation.
Remember, you and my dear Lucy dine with us to-morrow; it is to be alittle family party, to indulge my mother in the delight of seeing herchildren about her, without interruption: I have saved all my bestfruit for this day; we are to drink tea and sup in Emily's apartment.
Adieu! Your affectionate Ed. Rivers.
I will to-morrow shew you better grapes than any you have atTemple-house: you rich men fancy nobody has any thing good butyourselves; but I hope next year to shew you that you are mistaken in athousand instances. I will have such roses and jessamines, such bowersof intermingled sweets--you shall see what astonishing things Emily'staste and my industry can do.
LETTER 204.
To Mrs. Fitzgerald.
Bellfield, Oct. 22.
Finish your business, my dear girl, and let us see you again atBellfield. I need not tell you the pleasure Mr. Fitzgerald'saccompanying you will give us.
I die to see you, my dear Bell; it is not enough to be happy, unlessI have somebody to tell every moment that I am so: I want a confidanteof my tenderness, a friend like my Bell, indulgent to all my follies,to talk to of the loveliest and most beloved of mankind. I want to tellyou a thousand little instances of that ardent, that refined affection,which makes all the happiness of my life! I want to paint theflattering attention, the delicate fondness of that dear lover, who isonly the more so for being a husband.
You are the only woman on earth to whom I can, without theappearance of insult, talk of my Rivers, because you are the only one Iever knew as happy as myself.
Fitzgerald, in the tenderness and delicacy of his mind, resemblesstrongly--
I am interrupted: adieu! for a moment.
It was my Rivers, he brought me a bouquet; I opened the door,supposing it was my mother; conscious of what I had been writing, I wasconfused at seeing him; he smiled, and guessing the reason of myembarrassment, "I must leave you, Emily; you are writing, and, by yourblushes, I know you have been talking of your lover."
I should have told you, he insists on never seeing the letters Iwrite, and gives this reason for it, That he should be a great loser byseeing them, as it would restrain my pen when I talk of him.
I believe, I am very foolish in my tenderness; but you will forgiveme.
Rivers yesterday was throwing flowers at me and Lucy, in play, as wewere walking in the garden; I catched a wallflower, and, by aninvoluntary impulse, kissed it, and placed it in my bosom.
He observed me, and his look of pleasure and affection is impossibleto be described. What exquisite pleasure there is in these agreablefollies!
He is the sweetest trifler in the world, my dear Bell: but in whatdoes he not excel all mankind!
As the season of autumnal flowers is almost over, he is sending forall those which blow early in the spring: he prevents every wish hisEmily can form.
Did you ever, my dear, see so fine an autumn as this? you will,perhaps, smile when I say, I never saw one so pleasing; such a seasonis more lovely than even the spring: I want you down before thisagreable weather is all over.
I am going to air with my mother; my Rivers a
ttends us on horseback;you cannot think how amiable his attention is to both.
Adieu! my dear; my mother has sent to let me know she is ready.
Your affectionate Emily Rivers.
LETTER 205.
To Captain Fitzgerald.
Bellfield, Oct. 24.
Some author has said, "The happiness of the next world, to thevirtuous, will consist in enjoying the society of minds like theirown."
Why then should we not do our best to possess as much as possible ofthis happiness here?
You will see this is a preface to a very earnest request to seeCaptain Fitzgerald and the lovely Bell immediately at our farm: takenotice, I will not admit even business as an excuse much longer.
I am just come from a walk in the wood behind the house, with mymother and Emily; I want you to see it before it loses all its charms;in another fortnight, its present variegated foliage will be literally_humbled in the dust_.
There is something very pleasing in this season, if it did not giveus the idea of the winter, which is approaching too fast.
The dryness of the air, the soft western breeze, the tremulousmotion of the falling leaves, the rustling of those already fallenunder our feet, their variety of lively colors, give a certain spiritand agreable fluctuation to the scene, which is unspeakably pleasing.