To Captain Fitzgerald.
Stamford, Sept. 16, Evening.
Being here on some business, my dear friend, I receive your letter
in time to answer it to-night.
We hope to be in town this day seven-night; and I flatter myself,
my dearest Emily will not delay my happiness many days longer: I grudge
you the pleasure of seeing her on Friday.
I triumph greatly in your having been seduced into matrimony,
because I never knew a man more of a turn to make an agreable husband;
it was the idea that occurred to me the first moment I saw you.
Do you know, my dear Fitzgerald, that, if your little syren had not
anticipated my purpose, I had designs upon you for my sister?
Through that careless, inattentive look of yours, I saw so much
right sense, and so affectionate a heart, that I wished nothing so much
as that she might have attached you; and had laid a scheme to bring you
acquainted, hoping the rest from the merit so conspicuous in you both.
Both are, however, so happily disposed of elsewhere, that I have no
reason to regret my scheme did not succeed.
There is something in your person, as well as manner, which I am
convinced must be particularly pleasing to women; with an extremely
agreable form, you have a certain manly, spirited air, which promises
them a protector; a look of understanding, which is the indication of a
pleasing companion; a sensibility of countenance, which speaks a friend
and a lover; to which I ought to add, an affectionate, constant
attention to women, and a polite indifference to men, which above all
things flatters the vanity of the sex.
Of all men breathing, I should have been most afraid of you as a
rival; Mrs. Fitzgerald has told me, you have said the same thing of me.
Happily, however, our tastes were different; the two amiable
objects of our tenderness were perhaps equally lovely; but it is not
the meer form, it is the character that strikes: the fire, the spirit,
the vivacity, the awakened manner, of Miss Fermor won you; whilst my
heart was captivated by that bewitching languor, that seducing
softness, that melting sensibility, in the air of my sweet Emily, which
is, at least to me, more touching than all the sprightliness in the
world.
There is in true sensibility of soul, such a resistless charm, that
we are even affected by that of which we are not ourselves the object:
we feel a degree of emotion at being witness to the affection which
another inspires.
'Tis late, and my horses are at the door.
Adieu! Your faithful
Ed. Rivers.