eathing in the thought of your marrying my sister; but I
tremble lest this resolution should be the effect of passion merely,
and not of that settled esteem and tender confidence without which
mutual repentance will be the necessary consequence of your connexion.

Lucy is one of the most beautiful women I ever knew, but she has
merits of a much superior kind; her understanding and her heart are
equally lovely: she has also a sensibility which exceedingly alarms me
for her, as I know it is next to impossible that even her charms can
fix a heart so long accustomed to change.

Do I not guess too truly, my dear Temple, when I suppose the
charming mistress is the only object you have in view; and that the
tender amiable friend, the pleasing companion, the faithful confidante,
is forgot?

I will not however anticipate evils: if any merit has power to fix
you, Lucy's cannot fail of doing it.

I expect with impatience a further account of an event in which my
happiness is so extremely interested.

If she is yours, may you know her value, and you cannot fail of
being happy: I only fear from your long habit of improper attachments;
naturally, I know not a heart filled with nobler sentiments than yours,
nor is there on earth a man for whom I have equal esteem. Adieu!

Your affectionate
Ed. Rivers.

LETTER 99.

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 destit