I allow your sister to be very lovely, but I think Bell more desirable a thousand times; and, rationally speaking, she who has, _as to me_, the art of inspiring the most tenderness is, _as to me_, to all intents and purposes the most beautiful woman. In which faith I chuse to live and die. I have an idea, Rivers, that you and I shall continue to be happy: a real sympathy, a lively taste, mixed with esteem, led us to marry; the delicacy, tenderness, and virtue, of the two most charming of women, promise to keep our love alive. We have both strong affections: both love the conversation of women; and neither of our hearts are depraved by ill-chosen connexions with the sex. I am broke in upon, and must bid you adieu! Your affectionate J. Fitzgerald. Bell is writing to you. I shall be jealous. LETTER 202. To Colonel Rivers, Bellfield, Rutland. London, Oct. 19. I die to come to Bellfield again, my dear Rivers; I have a passion for your little wood; it is a mighty pretty wood for an English wood, but nothing to your Montmorencis; the dear little Silleri too-- But to return to the shades of Bellfield: your little wood is charming indeed; not to particularize detached pieces of your scenery, the _tout ensemble_ is very inviting; observe, however, I have no notion of paradise without an Adam, and therefore shall bring Fitzgerald with me next time. What could induce you, with this sweet little retreat, to cross that vile ocean to Canada? I am astonished at the madness of mankind, who can expose themselves to pain, misery, and danger; and range the world from motives of avarice and ambition, when the rural cot, the fanning gale, the clear stream, and flowery bank, offer such delicious enjoyments at home. You men are horrid, rapacious animals, with your spirit of enterprize, and your nonsense: ever wanting more land than you can cultivate, and more money than you can spend. That eternal pursuit of gain, that rage of accumulation, in which you are educated, corrupts your hearts, and robs you of half the pleasures of life. I should not, however, make so free with the sex, if you and my _caro sposo_ were not exceptions. You two have really something of the sensibility and generosity of women. Do you know, Rivers, I have a fancy you and Fitzgerald will always be happy husbands? this is something owing to yourselves, and something to us; you have both that manly tenderness, and true generosity, which inclines you to love creatures who have paid you the compliment of making their happiness or misery depend entirely on you, and partly to the little circumstance of your being married to two of the most agreable women breathing. To speak _en philosophe_, my dear Rivers, you are not to be told, that the fire of love, like any other fire, is equally put out by too much or too little fuel.