The tumult of desire is the fever of the soul; its health, that delicious tranquillity where the heart is gently moved, not violently agitated; that tranquillity which is only to be found where friendship is the basis of love, and where we are happy without injuring the object beloved: in other words, in a marriage of choice. In the voyage of life, passion is the tempest, love the gentle gale. Dissipation, and a continued round of amusements at home, will probably secure my sister all of Temple's heart which remains; but his love would grow languid in that state of retirement, which would have a thousand charms for minds like ours. I will own to you, I have fears for Lucy's happiness. But let us drop so painful a subject. Adieu! Your affectionate Ed. Rivers. LETTER 201. To Colonel Rivers, Bellfield, Rutland. Oct. 19. Nothing, my dear Rivers, shews the value of friendship more than the envy it excites. The world will sooner pardon us any advantage, even wealth, genius, or beauty, than that of having a faithful friend; every selfish bosom swells with envy at the sight of those social connexions, which are the cordials of life, and of which our narrow prejudices alone prevent our enjoyment. Those who have neither hearts to feel this generous affection, nor merit to deserve it, hate all who are in this respect happier than themselves; they look on a friend as an invaluable blessing, and a blessing out of their reach; and abhor all who possess the treasure for which they sigh in vain. For my own part, I had rather be the dupe of a thousand false professions of friendship, than, for fear of being deceived, give up the pursuit. Dupes are happy at least for a time; but the cold, narrow, suspicious heart never knows the glow of social pleasure. In the same proportion as we lose our confidence in the virtues of others, we lose our proper happiness. The observation of this mean jealousy, so humiliating to human nature, has influenced Lord Halifax, in his Advice to a Daughter, the school of art, prudery, and selfish morals, to caution her against all friendships, or, as he calls them, _dearnesses_, as what will make the world envy and hate her. After my sweet Bell's tenderness, I know no pleasure equal to your friendship; nor would I give it up for the revenue of an eastern monarch. I esteem Temple, I love his conversation; he is gay and amusing; but I shall never have for him the affection I feel for you. I think you are too apprehensive in regard to your sister's happiness: he loves her, and there is a certain variety in her manner, a kind of agreable caprice, that I think will secure the heart of a man of his turn, much more than her merit, or even the loveliness of her person. She is handsome, exquisitely so; handsomer than Bell, and, if you will allow me to say so, than Emily. I mean, that she is so in the eye of a painter; for in that of a lover his mistress is the only beautiful object on earth.