I have this moment a letter from Madame Des Roches; she laments the loss of our two amiable friends; begs me to assure them both of her eternal remembrance: says, "she congratulates Emily on possessing the heart of the man on earth most worthy of being beloved; that she cannot form an idea of any human felicity equal to that of the woman, the business of whose life it is to make Colonel Rivers happy. That, heaven having denied her that happiness, she will never marry, nor enter into an engagement which would make it criminal in her to remember him with tenderness: that it is, however, she believes, best for her he has left the country, for that it is impossible she should ever have seen him with indifference." It is perhaps as prudent not to mention these circumstances either to your brother or Emily; I thought of sending her letter to them, but there is a certain fire in her style, mixed with tenderness, when she speaks of Rivers, which would only have given them both regret, by making them see the excess of her affection for him; her expressions are much stronger than those in which I have given you the sense of them. I intend to be very intimate with her, because she loves my dear Rivers; she loves Emily too, at least she fancies she does, but I am a little doubtful as to the friendships between rivals: at this distance, however, I dare say, they will always continue on the best terms possible, and I would have Emily write to her. Do you know she has desired me to contrive to get her a picture of your brother, without his knowing it? I am not determined whether I shall indulge her in this fancy or not; if I do, I must employ you as my agent. It is madness in her to desire it; but, as there is a pleasure in being mad, I am not sure my morality will let me refuse her, since pleasures are not very thick sown in this world. Adieu! Your affectionate A. Fermor. LETTER 158. To Mrs. Temple, Pall Mall. Silleri, July 10. By this time, my dear Lucy, I hope you are happy with your brother and my sweet Emily: I am all impatience to know this from yourselves; but it will be five or six weeks, perhaps much more, before I can have that satisfaction. As to me--to be plain, my dear, I can hold no longer; I have been married this fortnight. My father wanted to keep it a secret, for some very foolish reasons; but it is not in my nature; I hate secrets, they are only fit for politicians, and people whose thoughts and actions will not bear the light. For my part, I am convinced the general loquacity of human kind, and our inability to keep secrets without a natural kind of uneasiness, were meant by Providence to guard against our laying deep schemes of treachery against each other.