LETTER CXCIV.198.
To Mrs. Fitzgerald.
Bellfield, Oct. 12.
I am very conscious, my dear Bell, of not meriting the praises my Rivers lavishes on me, yet the pleasure I receive from them is not the less lively for that consideration; on the contrary, the less I deserve these praises, the more flattering they are to me, as the stronger proofs of his love; of that love which gives ideal charms, which adorns, which embellishes its object.
I had rather be lovely in his eyes, than in those of all mankind; or, to speak more exactly, if I continue to please him, the admiration of all the world is indifferent to me: it is for his sake alone I wish for beauty, to justify the dear preference he has given me.
How pleasing are these sweet shades! were they less so, my Rivers’s presence would give them every charm: every object has appeared to me more lovely since the dear moment when I first saw him; I seem to have acquired a new existence from his tenderness.
You say true, my dear Bell: heaven doubtless formed us to be happy, even in this world; and we obey its dictates in being so, when we can without encroaching on the happiness of others.
This lesson is, I think, plain from the book providence has spread before us: the whole universe smiles, the earth is clothed in lively colors, the animals are playful, the birds sing: in being chearful with innocence, we seem to conform to the order of nature, and the will of that beneficent Power to whom we owe our being.
If the Supreme Creator had meant us to be gloomy, he would, it seems to me, have clothed the earth in black, not in that lively green, which is the livery of chearfulness and joy.
I am called away.
Adieu! my dearest Bell.
Your faithful
Emily Rivers.