To John Temple, Esq; Pall Mall.
Quebec, March 23.
I have received your second letter, my dear Temple, with the account
of your marriage.
Nothing could make me so happy as an event which unites a sister I
idolize to the friend on earth most dear to me, did I not tremble for
your future happiness, from my perfect knowledge of both.
I know the sensibility of Lucy's temper, and that she loves you: I
know also the difficulty of weaning the heart from such a habit of
inconstancy as you have unhappily acquired.
Virtues like Lucy's will for ever command your esteem and
friendship; but in marriage it is equally necessary to keep love alive:
her beauty, her gaiety, her delicacy, will do much; but it is also
necessary, my dearest Temple, that you keep a guard on your heart,
accustomed to liberty, to give way to every light impression.
I need not tell you, who have experienced the truth of what I say,
that happiness is not to be found in a life of intrigue; there is no
real pleasure in the possession of beauty without the heart; with it,
the fears, the anxieties, a man not absolutely destitute of humanity
must feel for the honor of her who ventures more than life for him,
must extremely counterbalance his transports.
Of all the situations this world affords, a marriage of choice gives
the fairest prospect of happiness; without love, life would be a
tasteless void; an unconnected human being is the most wretched of all
creatures: by love I would be understood to mean that tender lively
friendship, that mixed sensation, which the libertine never felt; and
with which I flatter myself my amiable sister cannot fail of inspiring
a heart naturally virtuous, however at present warped by a foolish
compliance with the world.
I hope, my dear Temple, to see you recover your taste for those
pleasures peculiarly fitted to our natures; to see you enjoy the pure
delights of peaceful domestic life, the calm social evening hour, the
circle of friends, the prattling offspring, and the tender impassioned
smile of real love.
Your generosity is no more than I expected from your character; and
to convince you of my perfect esteem, I so far accept it, as to draw
out the money I have in the funds, which I intended for my sister: it
will make my settlement here turn to greater advantage, and I allow you
the pleasure of convincing Lucy of the perfect disinterestedness of
your affection: it would be a trifle to you, and will make me happy.
But I am more delicate in regard to my mother, and will never
consent to resume the estate I have settled on her: I esteem you above
all mankind, but will not let _her_ be dependent even on you: I
consent she visit you as often as she pleases, but insist on her
continuing her house in town, and living in every respect as she has
been accustomed.
As to Lucy's own little fortune, as it is not worth your receiving,
suppose she lays it out in jewels? I love to see beauty adorned; and
two thousand pounds, added to what you have given her, will set her on
a footing in this respect with a nabobess.
Your marriage, my dear Temple, removes the strongest objection to
mine; the money I have in the funds, which whilst Lucy was unmarried I
never would have taken, enables me to fix to great advantage here. I
have now only to try whether Emily's friendship for me is sufficiently
strong to give up all hopes of a return to England.
I shall make an immediate trial: you shall know the event in a few
days. If she refuses me, I bid adieu to all my schemes, and embark in
the first ship.
Give my kindest tenderest wishes to my mother and sister. My dear
Temple, only know the value of the treasure you possess, and you must
be happy. Adieu!
Your affectionate
Ed. Rivers.