been in the room a few moments, to
see this charming languor change to a joy which animated her whole
form, and of which I was so happy as to believe myself the cause: my
eyes had told her all that passed in my heart; hers had shewed me
plainly they understood their language. We were standing at a window at
some little distance from the rest of the company, when I took an
opportunity of hinting my concern at having, though without knowing it,
offended her: she blushed, she looked down, she again raised her lovely
eyes, they met mine, she sighed; I took her hand, she withdrew it, but
not in anger; a smile, like that of the poet's Hebe, told me I was
forgiven.

There is no describing what then passed in my soul: with what
difficulty did I restrain my transports! never before did I really know
love: what I had hitherto felt even for her, was cold to that
enchanting, that impassioned moment.

She is a thousand times dearer to me than life: my Lucy, I cannot
live without her.

I contrived, before I left Silleri, to speak to Bell Fermor on the
subject of Emily's reception of me; she did not fully explain herself,
but she convinced me hatred had no part in her resentment.

I am going again this afternoon: every hour not passed with her is
lost.

I will seek a favorable occasion of telling her the whole happiness
of my life depends on her tenderness.

Before I write again, my fate will possibly be determined: with
every reason to hope, the timidity inseparable from love makes me dread
a full explanation of my sentiments: if her native softness should have
deceived me--but I will not study to be unhappy.

Adieu!
Your affectionate
Ed. Rivers.

LETTER 95.

To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.

Silleri, March 20.

I have been telling Fitzgerald I am jealous of his prodigious
attention to Emily, whose cecisbeo he has been the last ten days: the
simpleton took me seriously, and began to vindicate himself, by
explaining the nature of his regard for her, pleading her late
indisposition as an excuse for shewing her some extraordinary
civilities.

I let him harangue ten minutes, then stops me him short, puts on my
poetical face, and repeats,

"When sweet Emily complains,
I have sense of all her pains;
But for little Bella, I
Do not only grieve, but die."

He smiled, kissed my hand, praised my amazing penetration, and was
going to take this opportunity of saying a thousand civil things,