To John Temple, Esq; Temple-house, Rutland.
Bellfield, Oct. 21.
You ridicule my enthusiasm, my dear Temple, without considering
there is no exertion of the human mind, no effort of the understanding,
imagination, or heart, without a spark of this divine fire.
Without enthusiasm, genius, virtue, pleasure, even love itself,
languishes; all that refines, adorns, softens, exalts, ennobles life,
has its source in this animating principle.
I glory in being an enthusiast in every thing; but in nothing so
much as in my tenderness for this charming woman.
I am a perfect Quixote in love, and would storm enchanted castles,
and fight giants, for my Emily.
Coldness of temper damps every spring that moves the human heart; it
is equally an enemy to pleasure, riches, fame, to all which is worth
living for.
I thank you for your wishes that I was rich, but am by no means
anxious myself on the subject.
You sons of fortune, who possess your thousands a year, and find
them too little for your desires, desires which grow from that very
abundance, imagine every man miserable who wants them; in which you are
greatly mistaken.
Every real pleasure is within the reach of my little fortune, and I
am very indifferent about those which borrow their charms, not from
nature, but from fashion and caprice.
My house is indeed less than yours; but it is finely situated, and
large enough for my fortune: that part of it which belongs peculiarly
to my Emily is elegant.
I have an equipage, not for parade but use; and the loveliest of
women prefers it with me to all that luxury and magnificence could
bestow with another.
The flowers in my garden bloom as fair, the peach glows as deep, as
in yours: does a flower blush more lovely, or smell more sweet; a peach
look more tempting than its fellows, I select it for my Emily, who
receives it with delight, as the tender tribute of love.
In some respects, we are the more happy for being less rich: the
little avocations, which our mediocrity of fortune makes necessary to
both, are the best preventives of that languor, from being too
constantly together, which is all that love founded on taste and
friendship has to fear.
Had I my choice, I should wish for a very small addition only to my
income, and that for the sake of others, not myself.
I love pleasure, and think it our duty to make life as agreable as
is consistent with what we owe to others; but a true pleasurable
philosopher seeks his enjoyments where they are really to be found; not
in the gratifications of a childish pride, but of those affections
which are born with us, and which are the only rational sources of
enjoyment.
When I am walking in these delicious shades with Emily; when I see
those lovely eyes, softened with artless fondness, and hear the music
of that voice; when a thousand trifles, unobserved but by the prying
sight of love, betray all the dear sensations of that bosom, where
truth and delicate tenderness have fixed their seat, I know not the
Epicurean of whom I do not deserve to be the envy.
Does your fortune, my dear Temple, make you more than happy? if not,
why so very earnestly wish an addition to mine? believe me, there is
nothing about which I am more indifferent. I am ten times more anxious
to get the finest collection of flowers in the world for my Emily.
You observe justly, that there is nothing so insipid as women who
have conversed with women only; let me add, nor so brutal as men who
have lived only amongst men.
The desire of pleasing on each side, in an intercourse enlivened by
taste, and governed by delicacy and honor, calls forth all the graces
of the person and understanding, all the amiable sentiments of the
heart: it also gives good-breeding, ease, and a certain awakened
manner, which is not to be acquired but in mixed conversation.
Remember, you and my dear Lucy dine with us to-morrow; it is to be a
little family party, to indulge my mother in the delight of seeing her
children about her, without interruption: I have saved all my best
fruit for this day; we are to drink tea and sup in Emily's apartment.
Adieu! Your affectionate
Ed. Rivers.
I will to-morrow shew you better grapes than any you have at
Temple-house: you rich men fancy nobody has any thing good but
yourselves; but I hope next year to shew you that you are mistaken in a
thousand instances. I will have such roses and jessamines, such bowers
of intermingled sweets--you shall see what astonishing things Emily's
taste and my industry can do.