To Colonel Rivers, at Quebec.
London, Dec. 1.
You need be in no pain, my dear brother, on Mr. Temple's account;
my heart is in no danger from a man of his present character: his
person and manner are certainly extremely pleasing; his understanding,
and I believe his principles, are worthy of your friendship; an
encomium which, let me observe, is from me a very high one: he will be
admired every where, but to be beloved, he wants, or at least appears
to me to want, the most endearing of all qualities, that genuine
tenderness of soul, that almost feminine sensibility, which, with all
your firmness of mind and spirit, you possess beyond any man I ever yet
met with.
If your friend wishes to please me, which I almost fancy he does, he
must endeavor to resemble you; 'tis rather hard upon me, I think, that
the only man I perfectly approve, and whose disposition is formed to
make me happy, should be my brother: I beg you will find out somebody
very like yourself for your sister, for you have really made me saucy.
I pity you heartily, and wish above all things to hear of your
Emily's marriage, for your present situation must be extremely
unpleasant.
But, my dear brother, as you were so very wise about Temple, allow
me to ask you whether it is quite consistent with prudence to throw
yourself in the way of a woman so formed to inspire you with
tenderness, and whom it is so impossible you can ever hope to possess:
is not this acting a little like a foolish girl, who plays round the
flame which she knows will consume her?
My mother is well, but will never be happy till you return to
England; I often find her in tears over your letters: I will say no
more on a subject which I know will give you pain. I hope, however, to
hear you have given up all thoughts of settling in America: it would be
a better plan to turn farmer in Rutland; we could double the
estate by living upon it, and I am sure I should make the prettiest
milk-maid in the county.
I am serious, and think we could live very superbly all together in
the country; consider it well, my dear Ned, for I cannot bear to see my
mother so unhappy as your absence makes her. I hear her on the stairs;
I must hurry away my letter, for I don't chuse she should know I write
to you on this subject.
Adieu!
Your affectionate
Lucy Rivers.
Say every thing for me to Bell Fermor; and in your own manner to
your Emily, in whose friendship I promise myself great happiness.