Yet what other pleasures are worth the name? what others have spiritand delicacy too?
I am preparing for the masquerade, which is to be the 18th; I amextremely disappointed you will not be with us.
My dress is simple and unornamented, but I think becoming andprettily fancied; it is that of a French _paisanne_: Lucy is tobe a sultana, blazing with diamonds: my mother a Roman matron.
I chuse this dress because I have heard my dear Rivers admire it; tobe one moment more pleasing in his eyes, is an object worthy all myattention.
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 eventhis pleasure, innocent as it is.
I remember my aunt Cecily, who died at sixty-six, without everhaving felt the least spark of affection for any human being, used totell me, a prudent modest woman never loved any thing but herself.
For my part, I think all the kind propensities of the heart oughtrather to be cherished than checked; that one is allowed to esteemmerit even in the naughty creature, man.
I love you very sincerely, Emily: but I like friendships for the menbest; and think prudery, by forbidding them, robs us of some of themost lively as well as innocent pleasures of the heart.
That desire of pleasing; which one feels much the most strongly fora _male_ friend, is in itself a very agreable emotion.
You will say, I am a coquet even in friendship; and I am not quitesure you are not in the right.
I am extremely in love with my husband; yet chuse other men shouldregard me with complacency, am as fond of attracting the attention ofthe dear creatures as ever, and, though I do justice to your wit,understanding, sentiment, and all that, prefer Rivers's conversationinfinitely to yours.
Women cannot say civil things to each other; and if they could, theywould be something insipid; whereas a male friend--
'Tis absolutely another thing, my dear; and the first system ofethics I write, I will have a hundred pages on the subject.
Observe, my dear, I have not the least objection to your having afriendship for Fitzgerald. I am the best-natured creature in the world,and the fondest of increasing the circle of my husband's innocentamusements.
_A propos_ to innocent amusements, I think your fairsister-in-law an exquisite politician; calling the pleasures to Templeat home, is the best method in the world to prevent his going abroadin pursuit of them.
I am mortified I cannot be at your masquerade; it is my passion,and I have the prettiest dress in the world by me. I am half inclinedto elope for a day or two.
Adieu! Your faithful A. Fitzgerald.
LETTER 215.
To Captain Fitzgerald.
Bellfield, Nov. 12.
Please to inform the little Bell, I won't allow her to spoil myEmily.
I enter a caveat against male friendships, which are only fit forladies of the _salamandrine_ order.
I desire to engross all Emily's _kind propensities_ to myself;and should grudge the least share in her heart, or, if you please inher _friendship_, to an archangel.
However, not to be too severe, since prudery expects women to haveno propensities at all, I allow single ladies, of all ranks, sizes,ages, and complexions, to spread the veil of friendship between theirhearts and the world.
'Tis the finest day I ever saw, though the middle of November; a drysoft west wind, the air as mild as in April, and an almost Canadiansunshine.
I have been bathing in the clear stream, at the end of my garden;the same stream in which I laved my careless bosom at thirteen; anidea which gave me inconceivable delight; and the more, as my bosom isas gay and tranquil at this moment as in those dear hours ofchearfulness and innocence.
Of all local prejudices, that is the strongest as well as mostpleasing, which attaches us to the place of our birth.
Sweet home! only seat of true and genuine happiness.
I am extremely in the humor to write a poem to the houshold gods.
We neglect these amiable deities, but they are revenged; truepleasure is only to be found under their auspices.
I know not how it is, my dear Fitzgerald; but I don't find mypassion for the country abate.
I still find the scenes around me lovely; though, from the changeof season, less smiling than when I first fixed at Bellfield; we haverural business enough to amuse, not embarrass us; we have a small butexcellent library of books, given us by my mother; she and Emily aretwo of the most pleasing companions on earth; the neighbourhood is fullof agreable people, and, what should always be attended to in fixing inthe country, of fortunes not superior to our own.
The evenings grow long, but they are only the more jovial; I lovethe pleasures of the table, not for their own sakes, for no man is moreindifferent on this subject; but because they promote social,convivial joy, and bring people together in good humor with themselvesand each other.
My Emily's suppers are enchanting; but our little income obliges usto have few: if I was rich, this would be my principal extravagance.
To fill up my measure of content, Emily is pleased with myretirement, and finds all her happiness in my affection.
We are so little alone, that I find our moments of unreservedconversation too short; whenever I leave her, I recollect a thousandthings I had to say, a thousand new ideas to communicate, and amimpatient for the hour of seeing again, without restraint, the mostamiable and pleasing of woman-kind.
My happiness would be complete, if I did not sometimes see a cloudof anxiety on that dear countenance, which, however, is dissipated themoment my eyes meet hers.
I am going to Temple's, and the chaise is at the door.
Adieu! my dear friend! Your affectionate Ed. Rivers.
LETTER 216.
To Colonel Rivers.
Nov. 14.
So you disapprove male friendships, my sweet Colonel! I thought youhad better ideas of things in general.
Fitzgerald and I have been disputing on French and English manners,in regard to gallantry.
The great question is, Whether a man is more hurt by the imprudentconduct of his daughter or his wife?
Much may be said on both sides.
There is some hazard in suffering coquetry in either; bothcontribute to give charms to conversation, and introduce ease andpoliteness into society; but both are dangerous to manners.
Our customs, however, are most likely to produce good effects, asthey give opportunity for love marriages, the only ones which can makeworthy minds happy.
The coquetry of single women has a point of view consistent withhonor; that of married women has generally no point of view at all; itis, however of use _pour passer le tems_.
As to real gallantry, the French style depraves the minds of menleast, ours is most favorable to the peace of families.
I think I preserve the balance of argument admirably.
My opinion, however, is, that if people married from affection,there would be no such thing as gallantry at all.
Pride, and the parade of life, destroy all happiness: our wholefelicity depends on our choice in marriage, yet we chuse from motivesmore trifling than would determine us in the common affairs of life.
I knew a gentleman who fancied himself in love, yet delayed marryinghis mistress till he could afford a set of plate.
Modern manners are very unfavorable to the tender affections.
Ancient lovers had only dragons to combat; ours have the worsemonsters of avarice and ambition.
All I shall say further on the subject is, that the two happiestpeople I ever knew were a country clergyman and his wife, whose wholeincome did not exceed one hundred pounds a year.
A pretty philosophical, sentimental, dull kind of an epistle this!
But you deser
ve it, for not answering my last, which was divine.
I am pleased with Emily's ideas about her dress at the masquerade;it is a proof you are still lovers.
I remember, the first symptoms I discovered of my _tendresse_for Fitzgerald was my excessive attention to this article: I havetried on twenty different caps when I expected him at Silleri.
Before we drop the subject of gallantries, I must tell you I amcharmed with you and my _sposo_, for never giving the least hintbefore Emily and me that you have had any; it is a piece of delicacywhich convinces me of your tenderness more than all the vows that everlovers broke would do.
I have been hurt at the contrary behaviour in Temple; and haveobserved Lucy to be so too, though her excessive attention not to givehim pain prevented her shewing it: I have on such an occasion seen asmile on her countenance, and a tear of tender regret starting into hereyes.
A woman who has vanity without affection will be pleased to hear ofyour past conquests, and regard them as victims immolated to hersuperior charms: to her, therefore, it is right to talk of them; butto flatter the _heart_, and give delight to a woman who trulyloves, you should appear too much taken up with the present passion tolook back to the past: you should not even present to her imaginationthe thought that you have had other engagements: we know such thingsare, but had rather the idea should not be awakened: I may be wrong,but I speak from my own feelings.
I am excessively pleased with a thought I met with in a littleFrench novel:
"Un homme qui ne peut plus compter ses bonnes fortunes, est de tous,celui qui connoit le moins les _faveurs_. C'est le coeur qui lesaccorde, & ce n'est pas le coeur qu'un homme a la mode interesse. Pluson est _prone_ par les femmes, plus il est facile de les avoir,mais moins il est possible de les enflammer."
To which truth I most heartily set my hand.
Twelve o'clock.
I have just heard from your sister, who tells me, Emily is turned alittle natural philosopher, reads Ray, Derham, and fifty other strangeold fellows that one never heard of, and is eternally poring through amicroscope to discover the wonders of creation.
How amazingly learned matrimony makes young ladies! I suppose weshall have a volume of her discoveries bye and bye.
She says too, you have little pets like sweethearts, quarrel andmake it up again in the most engaging manner in the world.
This is just what I want to bring Fitzgerald to; but the perversemonkey won't quarrel with me, do all I can: I am sure this is not myfault, for I give him reason every day of his life.
Shenstone says admirably, "That reconciliation is the tenderest partof love and friendship: the soul here discovers a kind of elasticity,and, being forced back, returns with an additional violence."
Who would not quarrel for the pleasure of reconciliation! I shall bevery angry with Fitzgerald if he goes on in this mild way.
Tell your sister, she cannot be more mortified than I am, that it isimpossible for me to be at her masquerade.
Adieu! Your affectionate A. Fitzgerald.
Don't you think, my dear Rivers, that marriage, on prudentprinciples, is a horrid sort of an affair? It is really cruel of papasand mammas to shut up two poor innocent creatures in a house together,to plague and torment one another, who might have been very happyseparate.
Where people take their own time, and chuse for themselves, it isanother affair, and I begin to think it possible affection may lastthrough life.
I sometimes fancy to myself Fitzgerald and I loving on, from theimpassioned hour when I first honored him with my hand, to thattranquil one, when we shall take our afternoon's nap _vis a vis_in two arm chairs, by the fire-side, he a grave country justice, and Ihis worship's good sort of a wife, the Lady Bountiful of the parish.
I have a notion there is nothing so very shocking in being an oldishgentlewoman; what one loses in charms, is made up in the happy libertyof doing and saying whatever one pleases. Adieu!
LETTER 217.
To Captain Fitzgerald.
Bellfield, Nov. 16.
My relation, Colonel Willmott, is just arrived from the East Indies,rich, and full of the project of marrying his daughter to me.
My mother has this morning received a letter from him, pressing theaffair with an earnestness which rather makes me feel for hisdisappointment, and wish to break it to him as gently as possible.
He talks of being at Bellfield on Wednesday evening, which isTemple's masquerade; I shall stay behind at Bellfield, to receive him,have a domino ready, and take him to Temple-house.
He seems to know nothing of my marriage or my sister's, and I wishhim not to know of the former till he has seen Emily.
The best apology I can make for declining his offer, is to shew himthe lovely cause.
I will contrive they shall converse together at the masquerade, andthat he shall sit next her at supper, without their knowing any thingof each other.
If he sees her, if he talks with her, without that prejudice whichthe knowledge of her being the cause of his disappointment might give,he cannot fail of having for her that admiration which I never yet metwith a mind savage enough to refuse her.
His daughter has been educated abroad, which is a circumstance I ampleased with, as it gives me the power of refusing her without woundingeither her vanity, or her father's, which, had we been acquainted,might have been piqued at my giving the preference to another.
She is not in England, but is hourly expected: the moment shearrives, Lucy and I will fetch her to Temple-house: I shall be anxiousto see her married to a man who deserves her. Colonel Willmott tellsme, she is very amiable; at least as he is told, for he has never seenher.
I could wish it were possible to conceal this offer for ever fromEmily; my delicacy is hurt at the idea of her knowing it, at least fromme or my family.
My mother behaves like an angel on this occasion; expresses herselfperfectly happy in my having consulted my heart alone in marrying, andspeaks of Emily's tenderness as a treasure above all price.
She does not even hint a wish to see me richer than I am.
Had I never seen Emily, I would not have married this lady unlesslove had united us.
Do not, however, suppose I have that romantic contempt for fortune,which is so pardonable, I had almost said so becoming, at nineteen.
I have seen more of the world than most men of my age, and I haveseen the advantages of affluence in their strongest light.
I think a worthy man not only may have, but ought to have, anattention to making his way in the world, and improving his situationin it, by every means consistent with probity and honor, and with hisown real happiness.
I have ever had this attention, and ever will, but not by basemeans: and, in my opinion, the very basest is that of selling one'shand in marriage.
With what horror do we regard a man who is kept! and a man whomarries from interested views alone, is kept in the strongest sense ofthe word.
He is equally a purchased slave, with no distinction but that hisbondage is of longer continuance.
Adieu! I may possibly write again on Wednesday.
Your faithful Ed. Rivers.
LETTER 218.
To Colonel Rivers, Bellfield, Rutland.
London, Nov. 18.
Fitzgerald is busy, and begs me to write to you.
Your cottagers are arrived; there is something very interesting inMiss Williams, and the little boy is an infant Adonis.
Heaven send he may be an honester man than his father, or I foreseeterrible devastations amongst the sex.
We have this moment your letter; I am angry with you for blasphemingthe sweet season of nineteen:
"O lovely source Of generous foibles, youth! when opening minds Are honest as the light, lucid as air, As fostering breezes kind, as linnets gay, Tender as buds, and lavish as the spring."
You will find out I am in a course of Shenstone, which I prescribeto all minds tinctured with the uncomfortable selfishness of thepresent age.
The only way to be good, is to retain the generous mistakes, if theyare such, of nineteen through life.
As to you, my dear Rivers, with all your airs of prudence andknowing the world, you are, in this respect, as much a boy as ever.
Witness your extreme joy at having married a woman with two thousandpounds, when you might have had one with twenty times the sum.
You are a boy, Rivers, I am a girl; and I hope we shall remain so aslong as we live.
Do you know, my dear friend, that I am a daughter of the Muses, andthat I wrote pastorals at seven years old?
I am charmed with this, because an old physician once told me it wasa symptom, not only of long life, but of long youth, which is muchbetter.
He explained this, by saying something about animal spirits, which Ido not at all understand, but which perhaps you may.
I should have been a pretty enough kind of a poetess, if papa hadnot attempted to teach me how to be one, and insisted on seeing myscribbles as I went on: these same Muses are such bashful misses, theywon't bear to be looked at.
Genius is like the sensitive plant; it shrinks from the touch.
So your nabob cousin is arrived: I hope he will fall in love withEmily; and remember, if he had obligations to Mrs. Rivers's father, hehad exactly the same to your grandfather.
He might spare ten thousand pounds very well, which would improveyour _petits soupers_.
Adieu! Sir William Verville dines here, and I have but just time todress.