A propos to playing the fool, I am strongly inclined to believe I shall marry.
Fitzgerald is so astonishingly 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 nobody 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 CXXXVIII.140.
To Mrs. Temple, Pall Mall.