All I can say is, that if imprudence is a sin, heaven help your poor little Bell! On those principles, Sir George is the most virtuous man in the world; to which assertion, I believe, you will enter a caveat. LETTER 221. To Colonel Rivers, at Bellfield, Rutland. London, Nov. 19. You are right, my little Rivers: I like your friend, Colonel Willmott vastly better for his aquiline nose; I never yet saw one on the face of a fool. He is a fortunate man to be introduced to such a party of fine women at his arrival; it is literally _to feed among the lilies_. Fitzgerald says, he should be jealous of him in your esteem, if he was fifteen years younger; but that the strongest friendships are, where there is an equality in age; because people of the same age have the same train of thinking, and see things in the same light. Every season of life has its peculiar set of ideas; and we are greatly inclined to think nobody in the right, but those who are of the same opinion with ourselves. Don't you think it a strong proof of my passion for my _sposo_, that I repeat his sentiments? But to business: Sir William is charmed with his little nephew; has promised to settle on him what he before mentioned, to allow Miss Williams an hundred pounds a year, which is to go to the child after her death, and to be at the expence of his education himself. I die to hear whether your oriental Colonel is in love with Emily. Pray tell us every thing. Adieu! Your affectionate A. Fitzgerald. LETTER 222. To Captain Fitzgerald. Temple-house, Thursday morning, 11 o'clock. Our masquerade last night was really charming; I never saw any thing equal to it out of London. Temple has taste, and had spared no expence to make it agreable; the decorations of the grand saloon were magnificent. Emily was the loveliest _paisanne_ that ever was beheld; her dress, without losing sight of the character, was infinitely becoming: her beauty never appeared to such advantage. There was a noble simplicity in her air, which it is impossible to describe. The easy turn of her shape, the lovely roundness of her arm, the natural elegance of her whole form, the waving ringlets of her beautiful dark hair, carelessly fastened with a ribbon, the unaffected grace of her every motion, all together conveyed more strongly than imagination can paint, the pleasing idea of a wood nymph, deigning to visit some favored mortal. Colonel Willmott gazed on her with rapture; and asked me, if the rural deities had left their verdant abodes to visit Temple-house. I introduced him to her, and left her to improve the impression: 'tis well I was married in time; a nabob is a dangerous rival. Lucy looked lovely, but in another style; she was a sultana in all the pride of imperial beauty: her charms awed, but Emily's invited; her look spoke resistless command, Emily's soft persuasion. There were many fine women; but I will own to you, I had, as to beauty, no eyes but for Emily.