To Colonel Rivers, at Quebec.
London, July 23.
You have no idea, Ned, how much your absence is lamented by the
dowagers, to whom, it must be owned, your charity has been pretty
extensive.
It would delight you to see them condoling with each other on the
loss of the dear charming man, the man of sentiment, of true taste, who
admires the maturer beauties, and thinks no woman worth pursuing till
turned of twenty-five: 'tis a loss not to be made up; for your taste,
it must be owned, is pretty singular.
I have seen your last favorite, Lady H----, who assures me, on the
word of a woman of honour, that, had you staid seven years in London,
she does not think she should have had the least inclination to change:
but an absent lover, she well observed, is, properly speaking, no lover
at all. "Bid Colonel Rivers remember," said she, "what I have read
somewhere, the parting words of a French lady to a bishop of her
acquaintance, Let your absence be short, my lord; and remember that a
mistress is a benefice which obliges to residence."
I am told, you had not been gone a week before Jack Willmott had the
honor of drying up the fair widow's tears.
I am going this evening to Vauxhall, and to-morrow propose setting
out for my house in Rutland, from whence you shall hear from me again.
Adieu! I never write long letters in London. I should tell you, I
have been to see Mrs. Rivers and your sister; the former is well, but
very anxious to have you in England again; the latter grows so very
handsome, I don't intend to repeat my visits often.
Yours,
J. Temple.