To Mrs. Temple.
Rose-hill, Sept. 18, Morning.
I have this moment, my dear Mrs. Temple's letter: she will imagine
my transport at the happy event she mentions; my dear Rivers has, in
some degree, sacrificed even filial affection to his tenderness for me;
the consciousness of this has ever cast a damp on the pleasure I should
otherwise have felt, at the prospect of spending my life with the most
excellent of mankind: I shall now be his, without the painful
reflection of having lessened the enjoyments of the best parent that
ever existed.
I should be blest indeed, my amiable friend, if I did not suffer
from my too anxious tenderness; I dread the possibility of my becoming
in time less dear to your brother; I love him to such excess that I
could not survive the loss of his affection.
There is no distress, no want, I could not bear with delight for
him; but if I lose his heart, I lose all for which life is worth
keeping.
Could I bear to see those looks of ardent love converted into the
cold glances of indifference!
You will, my dearest friend, pity a heart, whose too great
sensibility wounds itself: why should I fear? was ever tenderness equal
to that of my Rivers? can a heart like his change from caprice? It
shall be the business of my life to merit his tenderness.
I will not give way to fears which injure him, and, indulged, would
destroy all my happiness.