University of Virginia Library

To George Mordaunt, Esq;
Wednesday, Five in the Morning.

GREAT Heaven! what a night have I past! all other fears give way before that of displeasing her. Yes, let me be wretched, but let her not suppose me unworthy: let her not see me in the light of a man who barters the sentiments of his soul for sordid views of avarice or ambition, and, using means proportioned to the baseness of his end, forges a falsehood to excuse his attendance on her, seduces an heiress to give him clandestine assignations, and in a place guarded, doubly guarded at this time, by the sacred and inviolable laws of hospitality, from such unworthy purposes.

I will clear my conduct, though at the hazard of exposing her whose love for me

deserves a different treatment: let her be the victim of that indiscretion by which she has ruined me.–And can I be thus base?–Can I betray the believing unsuspecting heart?–My mind is distracted– but why do I say betray? I know Lady Anne's greatness of mind; and for Lady Julia–yes, the secret will be as safe with them as in my own bosom.

Shall I own all my folly? I cannot, tho' she shall never know my passion for herself, support one moment the idea of Lady Julia's imagining I love another.

I will go to Lady Anne, as soon as she is up, and beg her to convince her lovely friend my meeting this Lady was accidental; I will not, if I can avoid it, say more.

I cannot see her before this explanation. I will ride out, and breakfast with some

friend: I would not return till they are gone back to their apartments, that I may see Lady Anne alone.

Twelve o'Clock.

Lady Anne has probed me to the quick; I have trusted her without reserve as to this affair; I have begged her to vindicate me to Lady Julia, who is walking in the garden with some Ladies of the neighbourhood: we are going to follow them, I am to take the Ladies aside, whilst Lady Anne pleads my cause: she calls me. Farewell.

Twelve at Night.

She forgives me, and I am most happy. Lady Anne has told her all, and has had the goodness to introduce me to her as we walked, unobserved by the Ladies who were with us. I have kissed her hand as a seal of my pardon. That moment! Oh!

Mordaunt! with what difficulty did I restrain the transport of my soul!

Yes, my friend, she forgives me, a sweet benign serenity reigns in her lovely eyes; she approves my conduct; she is pleased with the concern I shew at giving pain to the heart which loves me; her chearfulness is returned, and has restored mine; she rules every movement of my heart as she pleases: never did I pass so happy a day. I am all joy; no sad idea can enter; I have scarce room even for the tender compassion I owe to her I have made wretched. I am going to-bed, but without the least expectation of sleep: joy will now have the same effect as I last night found from a contrary cause. Adieu!

H. Mandeville.