I will to-morrow shew you better grapes than any you have at Temple-house: you rich men fancy nobody has any thing good but yourselves; but I hope next year to shew you that you are mistaken in a thousand instances. I will have such roses and jessamines, such bowers of intermingled sweets--you shall see what astonishing things Emily's taste and my industry can do. LETTER 204. To Mrs. Fitzgerald. Bellfield, Oct. 22. Finish your business, my dear girl, and let us see you again at Bellfield. I need not tell you the pleasure Mr. Fitzgerald's accompanying you will give us. I die to see you, my dear Bell; it is not enough to be happy, unless I have somebody to tell every moment that I am so: I want a confidante of my tenderness, a friend like my Bell, indulgent to all my follies, to talk to of the loveliest and most beloved of mankind. I want to tell you a thousand little instances of that ardent, that refined affection, which makes all the happiness of my life! I want to paint the flattering attention, the delicate fondness of that dear lover, who is only the more so for being a husband. You are the only woman on earth to whom I can, without the appearance of insult, talk of my Rivers, because you are the only one I ever knew as happy as myself. Fitzgerald, in the tenderness and delicacy of his mind, resembles strongly-- I am interrupted: adieu! for a moment. It was my Rivers, he brought me a bouquet; I opened the door, supposing it was my mother; conscious of what I had been writing, I was confused at seeing him; he smiled, and guessing the reason of my embarrassment, "I must leave you, Emily; you are writing, and, by your blushes, I know you have been talking of your lover." I should have told you, he insists on never seeing the letters I write, and gives this reason for it, That he should be a great loser by seeing them, as it would restrain my pen when I talk of him. I believe, I am very foolish in my tenderness; but you will forgive me. Rivers yesterday was throwing flowers at me and Lucy, in play, as we were walking in the garden; I catched a wallflower, and, by an involuntary impulse, kissed it, and placed it in my bosom. He observed me, and his look of pleasure and affection is impossible to be described. What exquisite pleasure there is in these agreable follies! He is the sweetest trifler in the world, my dear Bell: but in what does he not excel all mankind! As the season of autumnal flowers is almost over, he is sending for all those which blow early in the spring: he prevents every wish his Emily can form. Did you ever, my dear, see so fine an autumn as this? you will, perhaps, smile when I say, I never saw one so pleasing; such a season is more lovely than even the spring: I want you down before this agreable weather is all over. I am going to air with my mother; my Rivers attends us on horseback; you cannot think how amiable his attention is to both. Adieu! my dear; my mother has sent to let me know she is ready.