Convinced of the excellency of our constitution, in which liberty and prerogative are balanced with the steadiest hand, he will not endeavor to remove the boundaries which secure both:  he will not endeavor to root it up, whilst he is pretending to give it nourishment:  he will not strive to cut down the lovely and venerable tree under whose shade he enjoys security and peace.

In short, and I am sure you will here be of my opinion, the man who has competence, virtue, true liberty, and the woman he loves, will chearfully obey the laws which secure him these blessings, and the prince under whose mild sway he enjoys them.

    Adieu! 
      Your faithful
          Ed. Rivers.

LETTER 200.

To Captain Fitzgerald.

Oct. 17.

I every hour see more strongly, my dear Fitzgerald, the wisdom, as to our own happiness, of not letting our hearts be worn out by a multitude of intrigues before marriage.

Temple loves my sister, he is happy with her; but his happiness is by no means of the same kind with yours and mine; she is beautiful, and he thinks her so; she is amiable, and he esteems her; he prefers her to all other women, but he feels nothing of that trembling delicacy of sentiment, that quick sensibility, which gives to love its most exquisite pleasures, and which I would not give up for the wealth of worlds.

His affection is meer passion, and therefore subject to change; ours is that heartfelt tenderness, which time renders every moment more pleasing.

The tumult of desire is the fever of the soul; its health, that delicious tranquillity where the heart is gently moved, not violently agitated; that tranquillity which is only to be found where friendship is the basis of love, and where we are happy without injuring the object beloved:  in other words, in a marriage of choice.

In the voyage of life, passion is the tempest, love the gentle gale.

Dissipation, and a continued round of amusements at home, will probably secure my sister all of Temple’s heart which remains; but his love would grow languid in that state of retirement, which would have a thousand charms for minds like ours.

I will own to you, I have fears for Lucy’s happiness.

But let us drop so painful a subject.

    Adieu! 
      Your affectionate
          Ed. Rivers.

LETTER 201.

To Colonel Rivers, Bellfield, Rutland.

Oct. 19.

Nothing, my dear Rivers, shews the value of friendship more than the envy it excites.

The world will sooner pardon us any advantage, even wealth, genius, or beauty, than that of having a faithful friend; every selfish bosom swells with envy at the sight of those social connexions, which are the cordials of life, and of which our narrow prejudices alone prevent our enjoyment.