LETTER 214.

To Mrs. Rivers, Bellfield, Rutland.

London, Nov. 10.

Certainly, my dear, friendship is a mighty pretty invention, and,
next to love, gives of all things the greatest spirit to society.

And yet the prudery of the age will hardly allow us poor women even
this pleasure, innocent as it is.

I remember my aunt Cecily, who died at sixty-six, without ever
having felt the least spark of affection for any human being, used to
tell me, a prudent modest woman never loved any thing but herself.

For my part, I think all the kind propensities of the heart ought
rather to be cherished than checked; that one is allowed to esteem
merit even in the naughty creature, man.

I love you very sincerely, Emily: but I like friendships for the men
best; and think prudery, by forbidding them, robs us of some of the
most lively as well as innocent pleasures of the heart.

That desire of pleasing; which one feels much the most strongly for
a _male_ friend, is in itself a very agreable emotion.

You will say, I am a coquet even in friendship; and I am not quite
sure you are not in the right.

I am extremely in love with my husband; yet chuse other men should
regard me with complacency, am as fond of attracting the attention of
the dear creatures as ever, and, though I do justice to your wit,
understanding, sentiment, and all that, prefer Rivers's conversation
infinitely to yours.

Women cannot say civil things to each other; and if they could, they
would be something insipid; whereas a male friend--

'Tis absolutely another thing, my dear; and the first system of
ethics I write, I will have a hundred pages on the subject.

Observe, my dear, I have not the least objection to your having a
friendship for Fitzgerald. I am the best-natured creature in the world,
and the fondest of increasing the circle of my husband's innocent
amusements.

_A propos_ to innocent amusements, I think your fair
sister-in-law an exquisite politician; calling the pleasures to Temple
at home, is the best method in the world to prevent his going abroad
in pursuit of them.

I am mortified I cannot be at your masquerade; it is my passion,
and I have the prettiest dress in the world by me. I am half inclined
to elope for a day or two.

Adieu! Your faithful
A. Fitzgerald.

LETTER 215.

To Captain Fitzgerald.

Bellfield, Nov. 12.

Please to inform the little Bell, I won't allow her to spoil my
Emily.

I enter