LETTER LVIII.58.

　　To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.

　　Jan.28.

　　I every hour, my dear, grow more in love with French manners; there is something charming in being young and sprightly all one’s life: it would appear absurd in England to hear, what I have just heard, a fat virtuous lady of seventy toast Love and Opportunity to a young fellow; but’tis nothing here: they dance too to the last gasp; I have seen the daughter, mother, and grand-daughter, in the same French country dance.

　　They are perfectly right; and I honor them for their good sense and spirit, in determining to make life agreable as long as they can.

　　A propos to age, I am resolved to go home, Lucy; I have found three grey hairs this morning; they tell me’tis common; this vile climate is at war with beauty, makes one’s hair grey, and one’s hands red.I won’t stay, absolutely.

　　Do you know there is a very pretty fellow here, Lucy, Captain Howard, who has taken a fancy to make people believe he and I are on good terms?He affects to sit by me, to dance with me, to whisper nothing to me, to bow with an air of mystery, and to shew me all the little attentions of a lover in public, though he never yet said a civil thing to me when we were alone.

　　I was standing with him this morning near the brow of the hill, leaning against a tree in the sunshine, and looking down the precipice below, when I said something of the lover’s leap, and in play, as you will suppose, made a step forwards: we had been talking of indifferent things, his air was till then indolence itself; but on this little motion of mine, though there was not the least danger, he with the utmost seeming eagerness catched hold of me as if alarmed at the very idea, and with the most passionate air protested his life depended on mine, and that he would not live an hour after me.I looked at him with astonishment, not being able to comprehend the meaning of this sudden flight, when turning my head, I saw a gentleman and lady close behind us, whom he had observed though I had not.They were retiring:“Pray approach, my dear Madam,”said I;“we have no secrets, this declaration was intended for you to hear; we were talking of the weather before you came.”

　　He affected to smile, though I saw he was mortified; but as his smile shewed the finest teeth imaginable I forgave him: he is really very handsome, and’tis pity he has this foolish quality of preferring the shadow to the substance.

　　I shall, however, desire him to flirt elsewhere, as this badinage, however innocent, may hurt my character, and give pain to my little Fitzgerald: I believe I begin to love this fellow, because I begin to be delicate on the subject of flirtations, and feel my spirit of coquetry decline every day.

　　29th.

　　Mrs.Clayton has wrote, my dear; and has at last condescended to allow Emily the honor of being her daughter-in-law, in consideration of her son’s happiness, and of engagements entered into with her own consent; though she very prudently observes, that what was a proper match for Captain Clayton is by no means so for Sir George; and talks something of an offer of a citizen’s daughter with fifty thousand pounds, and the promise of an Irish title.She has, however, observed that indiscreet engagements are better broke than kept.

　　Sir George has shewn the letter, a very indelicate one in my opinion, to my father and me; and has talked a great deal of nonsense on the subject.He wants to shew it to Emily, and I advise him to it, because I know the effect it will have.I see plainly he wishes to make a great merit of keeping his engagement, if he does keep it: he hinted a little fear of breaking her heart; and I am convinced, if he thought she could survive his infidelity, all his tenderness and constancy would cede to filial duty and a coronet.

　　Eleven o’clock.

　　After much deliberation, Sir George has determined to write to Emily, inclose his mother’s letter, and call in the afternoon to enjoy the triumph of his generosity in keeping his engagement, when it is in his power to do so much better:’tis a pretty plan, and I encourage him in it; my father, who wishes the match, shrugs his shoulders, and frowns at me; but the little man is fixed as fate in his resolve, and is writing at this moment in my father’s apartment.I long to see his letter; I dare say it will be a curiosity:’tis short, however, for he is coming out of the room already.

　　Adieu!my father calls for this letter; it is to go in one of his to New York, and the person who takes it waits for it at the door.

　　Ever yours,

　　A.Fermor. The History of Emily Montague