She is an angel, my dear Lucy, and no words can do her justice: I am the happiest of mankind; I painted my passion with all the moving eloquence of undissembled love; she heard me with the most flattering attention; she said little, but her looks, her air, her tone of voice, her blushes, her very silence--how could I ever doubt her tenderness? have not those lovely eyes a thousand times betrayed the dear secret of her heart? My Lucy, we were formed for each other; our souls are of intelligence; every thought, every idea--from the first moment I beheld her--I have a thousand things to say, but the tumult of my joy--she has given me leave to write to her; what has she not said in that permission? I cannot go to bed; I will go and walk an hour on the battery; 'tis the loveliest night I ever beheld, even in Canada: the day is scarce brighter. One in the morning. I have had the sweetest walk imaginable: the moon shines with a splendor I never saw before; a thousand streaming meteors add to her brightness; I have stood gazing on the lovely planet, and delighting myself with the idea that 'tis the same moon that lights my Emily. Good night, my Lucy! I love you beyond all expression; I always loved you tenderly, but there is a softness about my heart to-night--this lovely woman-- I know not what I would say, but till this night I could never be said to live. Adieu! Your affectionate Ed. Rivers. LETTER 104. To Mrs. Temple, Pall Mall. Quebec, 28th March. I had this morning a short billet from her dear hand, entreating me to make up a quarrel between Bell Fermor and her lover: your friend has been indiscreet; her spirit of coquetry is eternally carrying her wrong; but in my opinion Fitzgerald has been at least equally to blame. His behaviour at the governor's on Thursday night was inexcusable, as it exposed her to the sneers of a whole circle of her own sex, many of them jealous of her perfections. A lover should overlook little caprices, where the heart is good and amiable like Bell's: I should think myself particularly obliged to bring this affair to an amicable conclusion, even if Emily had not desired it, as I was originally the innocent cause of their quarrel. In my opinion he ought to beg her pardon; and, as a friend tenderly interested for both, I have a right to tell him I think so: he loves her, and I know must suffer greatly, though a foolish pride prevents his acknowledging it.