o
introduce to my acquaintance Sir George Clayton, who brought it; he
wanted no other introduction to me than his being dear to the most
amiable woman breathing; in virtue of that claim, he may command every
civility, every attention in my power. He breakfasted with me
yesterday: we were two hours alone, and had a great deal of
conversation; we afterwards spent the day together very agreably, on a
party of pleasure in the country.

I am going with him this afternoon to visit Miss Fermor, to whom he
has a letter from the divine Emily, which he is to deliver himself.

He is very handsome, but not of my favorite stile of beauty:
extremely fair and blooming, with fine features, light hair and eyes;
his countenance not absolutely heavy, but inanimate, and to my taste
insipid: finely made, not ungenteel, but without that easy air of the
world which I prefer to the most exact symmetry without it. In short,
he is what the country ladies in England call _a sweet pretty man_.
He dresses well, has the finest horses and the handsomest liveries I
have seen in Canada. His manner is civil but cold, his conversation
sensible but not spirited; he seems to be a man rather to approve than
to love. Will you excuse me if I say, he resembles the form my
imagination paints of Prometheus's man of clay, before he stole the
celestial fire to animate him?

Perhaps I scrutinize him too strictly; perhaps I am prejudiced in
my judgment by the very high idea I had form'd of the man whom Emily
Montague could love. I will own to you, that I thought it impossible
for her to be pleased with meer beauty; and I cannot even now change
my opinion; I shall find some latent fire, some hidden spark, when we
are better acquainted.

I intend to be very intimate with him, to endeavour to see into his
very soul; I am hard to please in a husband for my Emily; he must have
spirit, he must have sensibility, or he cannot make her happy.

He thank'd me for my civility to Miss Montague: do you know I
thought him impertinent? and I am not yet sure he was not so, though I
saw he meant to be polite.

He comes: our horses are at the door. Adieu!

Yours,
Ed. Rivers.

Eight in the evening.

We are return'd: I every hour like him less. There were several
ladies, French and English, with Miss Fermor, all on the rack to engage
the Baronet's attention; you have no notion of the effect of a title
in America. To do the ladies justice however, he really