Emily is planning a thousand embellishments for the garden, and will next year make it a wilderness of sweets, a paradise worthy its lovely inhabitant: she is already forming walks and flowery arbors in the wood, and giving the whole scene every charm which taste, at little expence, can bestow. I, on my side, am selecting spots for plantations of trees; and mean, like a good citizen, to serve at once myself and the public, by raising oaks, which may hereafter bear the British thunder to distant lands. I believe we country gentlemen, whilst we have spirit to keep ourselves independent, are the best citizens, as well as subjects, in the world. Happy ourselves, we wish not to destroy the tranquillity of others; intent on cares equally useful and pleasing, with no views but to improve our fortunes by means equally profitable to ourselves and to our country, we form no schemes of dishonest ambition; and therefore disturb no government to serve our private designs. It is the profuse, the vicious, the profligate, the needy, who are the Clodios and Catilines of this world. That love of order, of moral harmony, so natural to virtuous minds, to minds at ease, is the strongest tie of rational obedience. The man who feels himself prosperous and happy, will not easily be perswaded by factious declamation that he is undone. Convinced of the excellency of our constitution, in which liberty and prerogative are balanced with the steadiest hand, he will not endeavor to remove the boundaries which secure both: he will not endeavor to root it up, whilst he is pretending to give it nourishment: he will not strive to cut down the lovely and venerable tree under whose shade he enjoys security and peace. In short, and I am sure you will here be of my opinion, the man who has competence, virtue, true liberty, and the woman he loves, will chearfully obey the laws which secure him these blessings, and the prince under whose mild sway he enjoys them. Adieu! Your faithful Ed. Rivers. LETTER 200. To Captain Fitzgerald. Oct. 17. I every hour see more strongly, my dear Fitzgerald, the wisdom, as to our own happiness, of not letting our hearts be worn out by a multitude of intrigues before marriage. Temple loves my sister, he is happy with her; but his happiness is by no means of the same kind with yours and mine; she is beautiful, and he thinks her so; she is amiable, and he esteems her; he prefers her to all other women, but he feels nothing of that trembling delicacy of sentiment, that quick sensibility, which gives to love its most exquisite pleasures, and which I would not give up for the wealth of worlds. His affection is meer passion, and therefore subject to change; ours is that heartfelt tenderness, which time renders every moment more pleasing.