Part 10 (2/2)

Oh what a charming morning I spent!--Tho' my angel persisted in going to France, yet it was in a manner that made me love her, if possible, ten thousand times more than ever.--Good G.o.d! had you seen how she look'd!--But no matter now;--I must forget her angelical sweetness.--Forget did I say?--No, by heaven and earth--she lives in every corner of my heart.--I wish I had told her my whole soul.--I was going to tell her, if I had not been interrupted.--It is too late now.--She would not hear me: I see by her manners she would not hear me.

She has learnt to look with indifference:--even smiles with indifference.--Why does she not frown? That would be joy to what her smiles afford.--I hate such smiles; they are darts dipp'd in poison.--

Lord Allen said he heard I was going to be marry'd:--_What was that to him?_--Sir James look'd displeased. To quiet _his_ fears I a.s.sured him--G.o.d! I know not what I a.s.sured _him_--something very foreign from my heart.

She blushed when Sir James asked, to whom?--With what raptures did I behold her blushes!--But she shrunk at my answer.--I saw the colour leave her cheek, like a rose-bud fading beneath the h.o.a.ry frost.

I _will_ know my fate.--Twill be with you in a few days,--if Sir James should consent.--_What if he should consent?_--She is steeled against my vows--my protestations;--my words affect her not;--the most tender a.s.siduities are disregarded:--she seems to attend to what I say, yet regards it not.

Where are those looks of preference fled,--those expressive looks?--I saw them not till now:--it is their loss,--it is their sad reverse that tells me what they were. She turns not her head to follow my foot-steps at parting;--or when I return, does not proclaim it by advancing pleasure tip-toe to the windows of her soul.--No anxiety for my health!

No, she cares not what becomes of me.--I complain'd of my head, said I was in great pain;--heaven knows how true! My complaints were disregarded.--I attended her home. She sung all the way; or if she talked, it was of music:--not a word of _my poor head_;--no charges to draw the gla.s.ses up going back.

There was a time, Molesworth--there was a time, if my finger had but ached, it was, My Lord, you look ill. Does not Lady Powis persuade you to have advice? You are really too careless of your health.

Shall she be _another's?_--Yes; when I shrink at sight of what lies yonder,--my sword, George;--that shall prevent her ever being _another's_.

Tell me you believe she will be _mine_:--it may help to calm my disturbed mind.--Be sure you do not hint she will be _another's_.

Have I told you, Mr. Powis is coming home?--I cannot recollect whether I have or not;--neither can I pain myself to look back.

All the world has something to comfort them, but your poor friend.--Every thing wears the face of joy, till I turn my eyes inwards:--_there it is_ I behold the opposite;--_there it is_ where Grief has fix'd her abode.--Does the fiend ever sleep? Will she be composed by ushering in the happy prospects of others?--Yes, I will feel, joy.--Joy did I say? Joy I cannot feel.--Satisfaction then?--Satisfaction likewise is forbid to enter.--What then will possess my mind; on recollecting peace is restor'd, where grat.i.tude calls for such large returns?--I'll pray for them;--I'll pray for a continuance of their felicity.--I'll pray, if they have future ills in store, they may light on the head of Darcey.--Yes, he can bear more yet:--let the load be ever so heavy, he will stoop to take up the burthen of his friends;--such friends as Sir James and Lady Powis have been to

DARCEY.

LETTER XIX.

The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to LORD DARCEY.

London.

Well, give me the first salute of your fair bride;--_and for your bride_ I'll ensure Miss Warley.--Why there is not a symptom but is in your favour.--She is nettled; can't you perceive it?--Once a studied disregard takes place, we are safe:--nothing will hurt you _now_, my Lord.--

You have been stuttering falsehoods.--From what I can gather, you have been hus.h.i.+ng the Baronet at the expence of your own and Miss Warley's quiet.--If you have, never mind it; things may not be the worse.--Come away, I advise you; set out immediately.--See how she looks at parting.--But don't distress her;--I charge you not to distress her.--Should you play back her own cards, I will not answer for the pride of the s.e.x.--

Sir James's consent once gained, and she rejects your proposals, lay all your letters to me on the subject before her.--I have them by me.--These cannot fail of clearing every doubt; she will be convinced then how sincerely you have loved her.--

You surprise me concerning Mr. Powis:--I thought he was settled in his government for life;--or rather, for the life of his father.--However, I am convinced his coming over will be no bad thing for you;--he has suffered too much from avarice, not to a.s.sist another so hardly beset.--

Was not his settling abroad an odd affair!--If he determined to remain single till he had an opportunity of pleasing himself, why did he leave England?--The mortification could not be great to have his overtures refused, where they were made with such indifference.--

As he has lived so many years a batchelor, I suppose there will be now an end to that great family.--

What a leveller is avarice! How does it pull down by attempting to raise? How miserable, as Seneca says, in the desire?--how miserable in attaining our ends?--The same great man alledges, that as long as we are solicitous for the increase of wealth, we lose the true use of it; and spend our time in putting out, calling in, and pa.s.sing our accounts, without any substantial benefit, either to the world, or to ourselves.--

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