“I have the pleasure to see I give no pain to his heart, by a step which has relieved mine from misery: his feelings are those of wounded vanity, not of love.
“Adieu! Your
Emily Montague.”
I have no patience with relations, Lucy; this sweet girl has been two years wretched under the bondage her uncle’s avarice (for he foresaw Sir George’s acquisition, though she did not) prepared for her. Parents should chuse our company, but never even pretend to direct our choice; if they take care we converse with men of honor only, tis’tis impossible we can chuse amiss: a conformity of taste and sentiment alone can make marriage happy, and of that none but the parties concerned can judge.
By the way, I think long engagements, even between persons who love, extremely unfavorable to happiness: it is certainly right to be long enough acquainted to know something of each other’s temper; but ’tis bad to let the first fire burn out before we come together; and when we have once resolved, I have no notion of delaying a moment.
If I should ever consent to marry Fitzgerald, and he should not fly for a licence before I had finished the sentence, I would dismiss him if there was not another lover to be had in Canada.
Adieu!
Your faithful
A. Fermor.
My Emily is now free as air; a sweet little bird escaped from the gilded cage. Are you not glad of it, Lucy? I am amazingly.
LETTER LXVI.66.
To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Quebec, Feb. 11.