University of Virginia Library

To Colonel Bellville.
Thursday.

Positively, Bellville, I can answer for nothing: these sylvan scenes are so very bewitching, the vernal grove, and balmy Zephyr, are so favourable to a lover's prayer, that if Fondville was any thing but a pretty man about town, my situation would be extremely critical.

This wicked Harry too has certainly some evil design; he forms nothing but enchanting rural parties, either à quarrée, or with others of the young and gay: not a maiden aunt has appeared at Belmont since his reign commenced. He suffers no ideas to enter our imaginations but those of youth, beauty, love, and the seducing

pleasures of the golden age. We dance on the green, dine at the hermitage, and wander in the woods by moonlight, listening to the song of the nightingale, or the sweeter notes of that little syren Lady Julia, whose impassioned sounds would soften the marble heart of a virgin of eighty-five.

I really tremble for my fair friend; young, artless, full of sensibility, exposed hourly to the charms of the prettiest fellow upon earth, with a manner so soft, so tender, so much in her own romantic way–

A rap at my door–Fondville is sent for away–company at his house–sets out immediately–I must bid the dear creature adieu–

I am returned: pity me, Bellville!

"The streams, the groves, the rocks remain;
But damon still I seek in vain."

Yes, the dear man is gone; Harry is retired to write letters, and Lady Julia and I are going to take a walk, Tete à Tete in the wood. Jesu Maria! a female Tete à Tete!–I shall never go through the operation –if we were en confidence indeed, it might be bearable: but the little innocent fool has not even a secret.

Adio!

Yours, A. Wilmot.