Tell him, I entreat him to forget me, and to come into views which will make his mother, and I have no doubt himself, happier than a marriage with a woman whose chief merit is that very sincerity of heart which obliges her to refuse him.
I am, Madam,
Your affectionate, &c.
Emily Montague.
LETTER XCIII.93.
To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Silleri, Thursday.
Your brother dines here to-day, by my father’s invitation; I am afraid it will be but an awkward party.
Emily is at this moment an exceeding fine model for a statue of tender melancholy.
Her anger is gone; not a trace remaining; ’tis sorrow, but the most beautiful sorrow I ever beheld: she is all grief for having offended the dear man.
I am out of patience with this look; it is so flattering to him, I could beat her for it: I cannot bear his vanity should be so gratified.
I wanted her to treat him with a saucy, unconcerned, flippant air; but her whole appearance is gentle, tender, I had almost said, supplicating: I am ashamed of the folly of my own sex: O, that I could to-day inspire her with a little of my spirit! she is a poor tame household dove, and there is no making any thing of her.