To Mrs. Rivers, Bellfield, Rutland.
London, Sunday.
No words, my dear Emily, can speak our joy at the receipt of your
two last letters.
You are then as happy as you deserve to be; we hope, in a few days,
to be witnesses of your felicity.
We knew from the first of your father's proposal to Rivers; but he
extorted a promise from us, never on any account to communicate it to
you: he also desired us to detain you in Berkshire, by lengthening our
visit, till your marriage, lest any friend of your father's in London
should know his design, and chance acquaint you with it.
Fitzgerald is _Monsieur le Majeur_, at your ladyship's service:
he received his commission this morning.
I once again congratulate you, my dear, on this triumph of
tenderness: you see love, like virtue, is not only its own reward, but
sometimes intitles us to other rewards too.
It should always be considered, that those who marry from love,
_may_ grow rich; but those who marry to be rich, will _never_
love.
The very idea that love will come after marriage, is shocking to
minds which have the least spark of delicacy: to such minds, a marriage
which begins with indifference will certainly end in disgust and
aversion.
I bespeak your papa for my _cecisbeo_; mine is extremely at
your service in return.
But I am piqued, my dear. "Sentiments so noble, so peculiar to your
Rivers--"
I am apt to believe there are men in the world--that nobleness of
mind is not so very _peculiar_--and that some people's sentiments
may be as noble as other people's.
In short, I am inclined to fancy Fitzgerald would have acted just
the same part in the same situation.
But it is your great fault, my dear Emily, to suppose your love a
phoenix, whereas he is only an agreable, worthy, handsome fellow,
_comme un autre_.
I suppose you will be very angry; but who cares? I will be angry
too.
Surely, my Fitzgerald--I allow Rivers all his merit; but
comparisons, my dear--
Both our fellows, to be sure, are charming creatures; and I would
not change them for a couple of Adonis's: yet I don't insist upon it,
that there is nothing agreable in the world but them.
You should remember, my dear, that beauty is in the lover's eye; and
that, however highly you may think of Rivers, every woman breathing has
the same idea of _the dear man_.
O heaven! I must tell you, because it will flatter your vanity about
your charmer.
I have had a letter from an old lover of mine at Quebec, who tells
me, Madame Des Roches has just refused one of the best matches in the
country, and vows she will live and die a batchelor.
'Tis a mighty foolish resolution, and yet I cannot help liking her
the better for making it.
My dear papa talks of taking a house near you, and of having a
garden to rival yours: we shall spend a good deal of time with him, and
I shall make love to Rivers, which you know will be vastly pretty.
One must do something to give a little variety to life; and nothing
is so amusing, or keeps the mind so pleasingly awake, especially in the
country, as the flattery of an agreable fellow.
I am not, however, quite sure I shall not look abroad for a flirt,
for one's friend's husband is almost as insipid as one's own.
Our romantic adventures being at an end, my dear; and we being all
degenerated into sober people, who marry and _settle_; we seem in
great danger of sinking into vegetation: on which subject I desire
Rivers's opinion, being, I know, a most exquisite enquirer into the
laws of nature.
Love is a pretty invention, but, I am told, is apt to mellow into
friendship; a degree of perfection at which I by no means desire
Fitzgerald's attachment for me to arrive on this side seventy.
What must we do, my dear, to vary our days?
Cards, you will own, are an agreable relief, and the least subject
to pall of any pleasures under the sun: and really, philosophically
speaking, what is life but an intermitted pool at quadrille?