The History of Emily Montague Part 42

LETTER 139.

To Mrs. Temple, Pall Mall.

Silleri, May 20.

I confess the fact, my dear; I am, thanks to papa, amazingly learned, and all that, for a young lady of twenty-two: yet you will allow I am not the worse; no creature breathing would ever find it out: envy itself must confess, I talk of lace and blond like another christian woman.

I have been thinking, Lucy, as indeed my ideas are generally a little pindaric, how entertaining and improving would be the history of the human heart, if people spoke all the truth, and painted themselves as they really are: that is to say, if all the world were as sincere and honest as I am; for, upon my word, I have such a contempt for hypocrisy, that, upon the whole, I have always appeared to have fewer good qualities than I really have.

I am afraid we should find in the best characters, if we withdrew the veil, a mixture of errors and inconsistencies, which would greatly lessen our veneration.

Papa has been reading me a wise lecture, this morning, on playing the fool: I reminded him, that I was now arrived at years of _indiscretion_; that every body must have their day; and that those who did not play the fool young, ran a hazard of doing it when it would not half so well become them.

_A propos_ to playing the fool, I am strongly inclined to believe I shall marry.

Fitzgerald is so astonis.h.i.+ngly pressing--Besides, some how or other, I don't feel happy without him: the creature has something of a magnetic virtue; I find myself generally, without knowing it, on the same side the room with him, and often in the next chair; and lay a thousand little schemes to be of the same party at cards.

I write pretty sentiments in my pocket-book, and carve his name on trees when n.o.body sees me: did you think it possible I could be such an ideot?

I am as absurd as even the gentle love-sick Emily.

I am thinking, my dear, how happy it is, since most human beings differ so extremely one from another, that heaven has given us the same variety in our tastes.

Your brother is a divine fellow, and yet there is a sauciness about Fitzgerald which pleases me better; as he has told me a thousand times, he thinks me infinitely more agreable than Emily.

Adieu! I am going to Quebec.

Yours, A. Fermor.

LETTER 140.

To Mrs. Temple, Pall Mall.

May 20, Evening.

_Io triumphe!_ A s.h.i.+p from England! You can have no idea of the universal transport at the sight; the whole town was on the beach, eagerly gazing at the charming stranger, who danced gaily on the waves, as if conscious of the pleasure she inspired.

If our joy is so great, who preserve a correspondence with Europe, through our other colonies, during the winter, what must that of the French have been, who were absolutely shut up six months from the rest of the world?

I can scarce conceive a higher delight than they must have felt at being thus restored to a communication with mankind.

The letters are not delivered; our servant stays for them at the post-office; we expect him every moment: if I have not volumes from you, I shall be very angry.

He comes. Adieu! I have not patience to wait their being brought up stairs.

Yours, A. Fermor.

They are here; six letters from you; I shall give three of them to Emily to read, whilst I read the rest: you are very good, Lucy, and I will never call you lazy again.

LETTER 141.

To Miss Fermor, at Silleri.

Pall Mall, April 8.

Whilst I was sealing my letter, I received yours of the 1st of February.

I am excessively alarmed, my dear, at the account it gives me of Miss Montague's having broke with her lover, and of my brother's extreme affection for her.

I did not dare to let my mother see that letter, as I am convinced the very idea of a marriage which must for ever separate her from a son she loves to idolatry, would be fatal to her; she is altered since his leaving England more than you can imagine; she is grown pale and thin, her vivacity has entirely left her. Even my marriage scarce seemed to give her pleasure; yet such is her delicacy, her ardor for his happiness, she will not suffer me to say this to him, lest it should constrain him, and prevent his making himself happy in his own way. I often find her in tears in her apartment; she affects a smile when she sees me, but it is a smile which cannot deceive one who knows her whole soul as I do. In short, I am convinced she will not live long unless my brother returns. She never names him without being softened to a degree not to be expressed.

Amiable and lovely as you represent this charming woman, and great as the sacrifice is she has made to my brother, it seems almost cruelty to wish to break his attachment to her; yet, situated as they are, what can be the consequence of their indulging their tenderness at present, but ruin to both?

At all events, however, my dear, I intreat, I conjure you, to press my brother's immediate return to England; I am convinced, my mother's life depends on seeing him.

I have often been tempted to write to Miss Montague, to use her influence with him even against herself.

If she loves him, she will have his true happiness at heart; she will consider what a mind like his must hereafter suffer, should his fondness for her be fatal to the best of mothers; she will urge, she will oblige him to return, and make this step the condition of preserving her tenderness.

Read this letter to her; and tell her, it is to her affection for my brother, to her generosity, I trust for the life of a parent who is dearer to me than my existence.

Tell her my heart is hers, that I will receive her as my guardian angel, that we will never part, that we will be friends, that we will be sisters, that I will omit nothing possible to make her happy with my brother in England, and that I have very rational hopes it may be in time accomplished; but that, if she marries him in Canada, and suffers him to pursue his present design, she plants a dagger in the bosom of her who gave him life.

I scarce know what I would say, my dear Bell; but I am wretched; I have no hope but in you. Yet if Emily is all you represent her--

I am obliged to break off: my mother is here; she must not see this letter.

Adieu! your affectionate Lucy Temple.

LETTER 142.

To Mrs. Temple, Pall Mall.

Silleri, May 21.

Your letter of the 8th of April, my dear, was first read by Emily, being one of the three I gave her for that purpose, as I before mentioned.