I am, Madam, Your affectionate, &c. Emily Montague. LETTER 93. To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street. Silleri, Thursday. Your brother dines here to-day, by my father's invitation; I am afraid it will be but an awkward party. Emily is at this moment an exceeding fine model for a statue of tender melancholy. Her anger is gone; not a trace remaining; 'tis sorrow, but the most beautiful sorrow I ever beheld: she is all grief for having offended the dear man. I am out of patience with this look; it is so flattering to him, I could beat her for it: I cannot bear his vanity should be so gratified. I wanted her to treat him with a saucy, unconcerned, flippant air; but her whole appearance is gentle, tender, I had almost said, supplicating: I am ashamed of the folly of my own sex: O, that I could to-day inspire her with a little of my spirit! she is a poor tame household dove, and there is no making any thing of her. Eleven o'clock. "For my shepherd is kind, and my heart is at ease." What fools women are, Lucy! He took her hand, expressed concern for her health, softened the tone of his voice, looked a few civil things with those expressive lying eyes of his, and without one word of explanation all was forgot in a moment. Good night! Yours, A. Fermor. Heavens! the fellow is here, has followed me to my dressing-room; was ever any thing so confident? These modest men have ten times the assurance of your impudent fellows. I believe absolutely he is going to make love to me: 'tis a critical hour, Lucy; and to rob one's friend of a lover is really a temptation. Twelve o'clock. The dear man is gone, and has made all up: he insisted on my explaining the reasons of the cold reception he had met with; which you know was impossible, without betraying the secret of poor Emily's little foolish heart. I however contrived to let him know we were a little piqued at his going without seeing us, and that we were something inclined to be jealous of his _friendship_ for Madame Des Roches. He made a pretty decent defence; and, though I don't absolutely acquit him of coquetry, yet upon the whole I think I forgive him. He loves Emily, which is great merit with me: I am only sorry they are two such poor devils, it is next to impossible they should ever come together. I think I am not angry now; as to Emily, her eyes dance with pleasure; she has not the same countenance as in the morning; this love is the finest cosmetick in the world. After all, he is a charming fellow, and has eyes, Lucy--Heaven be praised, he never pointed their fire at me! Adieu! I will try to sleep. Yours, A. Fermor. LETTER 94. To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street. Quebec, March 20.