If you had ever any uneasiness on Bridgman's account, it must be now at an end.--Married, and has brought his bride to town.--What a false fellow!--From undoubted authority, I am a.s.sured the writings have been drawn six months:--so that every thing must be concluded between him and his wife, at the very time he talked to me of Miss Warley.--I wash my hands from any further acquaintance with concealed minds:--there must be something very bad in a heart which has a dark cloud drawn before it.--Virtue and innocence need no curtain:--they were sent to us naked;--it is their loss, or never possessing them,--that makes caution necessary, to hide from the world their destined place of abode.--Without entering a house, and being conversant with its inhabitants, how is it possible to say, if they are worthy or unworthy:--so if you knock, and are not admitted, you still remain doubtful.--But I am grown wise from experience;--and shall judge, for the future, where a heart is closely shut up, there is nothing in it worth enquiring after.

I go on Thursday to meet Risby, and conduct him to town. It would give us great joy, at our return, to shake you by the hand.--What can avail your staying longer in the midst of doubts, perplexities, racks, tortures, and I know-not-what. Have you any more terms to express the deadly disorder?--If you have keep them to yourself; I want not the confounded list compleat:--no; no, not I; faith.--

I go this evening to see the new play, which is at present a general subject of conversation.--Now, was I a vain fellow--a boaster--would I mention four or six of the prettiest women about town, and swear I was to escort them.--Being a lover of truth, I confess I shall steal alone into an upper box, to fix my attention on the performance of the piece.--Perhaps, after all is over, I may step to the box of some sprightly, chatty girl, such as lady ----,--hear all the scandal of the town, ask her opinion of the play, hand her to her chair, and so home, to spend a snug evening with sir Edward Ganges, who has promised to meet me here at ten.

Yours,

MOLESWORTH.

LETTER XX.

Lady MARY SUTTON to Miss WARLEY.

_German Spaw_.

No, my dear, _Lord Darcey_ is not the man he appears.--What signifies a specious outside, if within there's a narrow heart?--Such must be his, to let a virtuous love sit imprisoned in secret corners, when it delights to dwell in open day.

Perhaps, if he knew my intentions, all concealments would be thrown aside, and he glory to declare what at present he meanly darkly hints.--By my consent, you should never give your hand to one who can hold the treasures of the mind in such low estimation.

When you mention'd your happy situation, the friendly treatment of Sir James and Lady Powis, I was inclined to think for _many_ reasons, it would be wrong to take you from them;--_now_ I am convinced, the pain _that_ must occasion, or the danger in crossing the sea, is not to be compared to what you might suffer in your _peace_ by remaining where you are.--When people of Lord Darcey's rank weigh long a matter of this nature, it is seldom the scale turns of the right side;--therefore, let not _Hope_, my dear child, flatter you out of your affections.

Do not think you rest in security:--tender insinuations from a man such as you describe Lord Darcey, may hurt your quiet.

I speak not from experience;--Nature, by cloathing me in her plainest garb, has put all these hopes and fears far from me.

I have been ask'd, it is true, often, for my fortune;--at least, I look upon asking for my heart to be the same thing.--Sure, I could never be such a fool to part with the latter, when I well knew it was requested only to be put in possession of the former!

_You_ think Jenkings suspects his son has a _too_ tender regard for you;--_you_ think he is uneasy on that account.--Perhaps he is uneasy;--but time will convince you his suspicions, his uneasiness, proceed not from the _cause you imagine_.--He is a good man; you cannot think too well of him.

I hope this letter will find you safe return'd to Hampshire. I am preparing to leave the Spaw with all possible expedition: I should quit it with reluctance, but for the prospect of visiting it again next summer, with my dear f.a.n.n.y.

At Montpelier the winter will slide on imperceptibly: many agreeable families will there join us from the Spaw, whose good-humour and chearful dispositions, together with plentiful draughts of the Pouhon Spring, have almost made me forget the last ten years I have dragg'd, on in painful sickness.

The family in which I have found most satisfaction, is Lord Hampstead's:--every way calculated to make themselves and others happy;--such harmony is observed through the whole, that the mechanism of the individuals seem to be kept in order by one common wheel.--I rejoice that I shall have an opportunity of introducing you to them.--We have fixed to set out the same day for Montpelier.

Lady Elizabeth, the eldest daughter, has obligingly offer'd to travel in my coach, saying, she thought it would be dull for me to go alone.

It is impossible to say which of the two sisters, was it left to my choice, would be my companion, as both are superlatively pleasing.--They possess, to a degree, what I so much admire in our s.e.x;--a peculiar softness in the voice and manner; yet not quite so sprightly, perhaps, as may be thought necessary for some misses started up in this age; but sufficient, I think, for those who keep within certain bounds.--It requires an uncommon share of understanding, join'd with a great share of wit, to make a very lively disposition agreeable. I allow, if these two ingredients are happily blended, none can chuse but admire, as well as be entertain'd with, such natural fine talents:--on the contrary, where one sees a pert bold girl apeing such rare gifts, it is not only the most painful, but most absurd sight on earth.

Lady Elizabeth, and her amiable sister Sophia strive to hide every perfection they possess;--yet these I have just mention'd, with all others, will on proper occasions, make their appearance through a croud of blushes.--This timidity proceeds partly from nature,--partly from the education they have received under the best of mothers, whose tenderness for them would not suffer her to a.s.sign that momentous task to any but herself; fearing, as she has often told me, they would have had a thousand faults overlook'd by another, which her eye was ever on the watch to discover. She well knew the most trivial might be to them of the worst consequence:--when they were call'd to an account for what was pa.s.s'd, or warn'd how to avoid the like for the future, her manner was so determin'd and persuasive, as if she was examining her own conscience, to rectify every spot and blemish in it.

Though Lady Hampstead's fondness for her daughters must cause her to admire their good qualities, like a fine piece of perspective, whose beauties grow upon the eye,--yet she has the art not only to conceal her admiration, but, by the ascendency her tenderness has gain'd, she keeps even from themselves a knowledge of those perfections.--To this is owing the humility which has fortified their minds from the frequent attacks flattery makes against the unstable bulwarks of t.i.tle and beauty.

Matchless as these sisters appear, they are to be equalled in their own, as well as the other s.e.x.--I hope you will allow it in _one_, when you see Lord Hallum: he is their brother as much by _virtue_ as _birth_.--I could find in my heart to say a thousand things of this fine youth;--but that I think such subjects flow easier from a handsome young woman than a plain old one.--Yet don't be surpriz'd;--unaccountable things happen every day;--if I _should_ lend a favourable ear to this Adonis!--Something whispers me I shall receive his proposals.--An excuse, on these occasions, is never wanting; mine will be a good one:--that, at my death, you may be left to the protection of this worthy Lord.--But, first, I must be a.s.sured you approve of him in that light;--being so firmly attach'd to my dear f.a.n.n.y, to your happiness, my Love, that the wish of contributing to it is the warmest of your ever affectionate

M. SUTTON.

LETTER XXI.

Lord DARCEY to the Hon. GEORGE MOLESWORTH.

_Barford Alley_.

Five days more, and I am with you.--Sat.u.r.day morning!--Oh that I may support the hour of trial with fort.i.tude!--I tremble at the thought;--my blood freezes in my veins, when I behold the object I am to part from.--

I try in vain to keep out of her sight:--if I attempt to leave the room where she is, my resolutions are baffled before I reach the door.--Why do I endeavour to inflict so hard a penance!--Because I foolishly suppose it would wean me.--Wean me _from what?_--From virtue.--No, Molesworth, it is not _absence_;--it is not _time_ itself can deaden the exalted image;--it neither sickens or dies, it blooms to immortality,

Was I only to be parted from beauty, _that_ I might meet again in every town and village.--I want you to force me from the house.--Suppose I get up early, and slip away without taking leave.--But that will not do;--Sir James is ceremonious;--Lady Powis may deem it disrespect;--above all, Miss Warley, _that dear, dear Miss Warley_,--if _she_ should think me wanting in regard, all then must be at an end.

Ha! Sir James yonder on the terrace, and alone! Let me examine his countenance:--I see no clouds;--this is the time, if ever!--Miss Warley not yet come up from Jenkings's!--If successful, with what transports shall I run to fetch her!--_Yes, I will_ venture;--_I will_ have one trial, as I hope for mercy.--

_As I hope for mercy_, I see, were my last words.--I do indeed hope for it, but never from Sir James.

Still perplexed;--still miserable!--

I told you Miss Warley was not come from Jenkings's; but how I started, when I saw her going to Lady Powis's dressing-room!

I was hurried about her in a dream, last night.--I thought I had lost her:--I hinted it when we met;--that moment I fancied she eyed me with regard;--she spoke _too_ in a manner very different from what she has done some days past.--Then I'll swear it,--for it was not illusion, George,--her whole face had something of a sweet melancholy spread over it;--a kind of resignation in her look;--a melting softness that droop'd on her cheek:--I felt what it expressed;--it fir'd my whole frame;--it sent me to Sir James with redoubled eagerness.

I found him thoughtful and complaisant: we took several turns, before I could introduce my intended subject; when, talking of my setting out, I said, Now I have an opportunity, Sir James, perhaps I may not have another before I go, I should be glad of your sentiments in regard to my settling in life.--

How do you mean, my Lord; as to the choice of a wife?--

Why, I think, Sir, there's no other way of settling to one's satisfaction.

To be sure, it is very necessary your Lordship should consider on those matters,--especially as you are the last of a n.o.ble family:--when, you do fix, I hope it will be _prudently_.

_Prudently_, Sir James! you may depend on it I will never settle my affections _imprudently_.

Wall, but, my Lord, what are your notions of _prudence?_

Why, Sir, to make choice of a person who is virtuous, sensible, well descended.--_Well descended Jenkings has a.s.sured me she is_.

You say nothing, my Lord, of what is _most_ essential to happiness;--nothing of the _main point_.

Good-nature, I suppose you mean:--I would not marry an ill-natur'd woman, Sir James, for the world. And is good-nature, with those you have mention'd, the only requisites?

I think they are the chief, Sir.