To Colonel Mandeville.
OH! Heavens! Bellville! Nay, there is
absolutely no resisting a man that carries
one off. Since you have mentioned the
thing, I shall not abate you a scruple.
There is no saying how charming it will
be: let common beauties inspire whining,
submissive, respectful passions; but let me
— heaven! earth! to be run away with
at four-and-twenty — a paragraph in
the papers. — "Yesterday the celebrated
Lady Anne Wilmot was forcibly
carried off by a gentleman who had long
in vain deprecated her pity: if any thing
can excuse so atrocious an action, the unrivalled
beauty of the Lady" — Dear
Bellville! when do you begin your adventure?
But, in sober sadness, how come you so
flippant on the sudden? Thus it is with
you all; use you ill, and not a spaniel can
be more under command: but the least
encouragement quite ruins you. There is
no saying a civil thing, but you presume
upon one's favour so intolerably––
Why, yes, as you say, the hours past
pleasantly enough at Sudley farm. Pretty
rural scenes, tender Platonic chat, perfect
confidence, the harmony of souls in unison;
infinite flattery on your side, and implicit
belief on mine: the sprightly god of love
gave wings to the rapid hours. The gentle
Muses too.–I think Bellville, you are
a pretty enough poet for a man of fashion;
flowery, mild, not overburdened with
ideas.
"O, can you forget the fond hours,
When all by yon fountain we stray'd?"
I wish I could remember the rest; but you
are a cruel creature, never will leave me a
copy of any thing, dreading the severity of
my criticism: nay, you are right; yours
are excellent verses, as Moliere says, to lock
up in your bureau.
Nine at Night.
Peace to the gentle spirit of him who invented
cards! the very bond of peace, and
cement of society.
After a philosophical enquiry into the
summum bonum, I find it to consist in play:
the more sublime pleasures require relaxation,
are only for holidy wear, come but
now and then, and keep the mind too much
expanded: all other delights, all other amusements,
pall; but play, dear, divine,
seraphic play, is always new, the same to-day,
to-morrow, and for ever.
It reconciles parties, removes distinctions,
and restores what my Lord calls the natural
equality of mankind.
I have only one fault to find with it;
that for the time it extremely weakens, or
rather totally suspends, the impressions of
beauty: the finest woman in the world,
whilst at the card-table, is regarded by the
most susceptible man only as being which
is to lose its money.
You will imagine success produced these
wise reflexions: yes, we have been playing
a most engaging pool at quadrille
in the wood, where I have with the utmost
composure won an immensity. If I go on
thus, all objections to our union will be-removed: I shall be literally a fortune in
myself.
Without vanity, I have some little skill
in the game; but, at present, there is no
great degree of merit in winning of the
friends who happened to be of my party,
with an absurd conceited squire, who loves
quality, and thinks it the greatest honor
in the world that I will condescend to win
his money. We had four tables under the
shade of a spreading oak.
I can no more.–
Adieu! A. Wilmot.
We have had a penitential letter from
the Cittadina, with another from Papa, offering
30,000£. at present, and 50,000£. at
his death, on condition Lord Belmont will
get Harry an Irish title: knows it is a bad
match, but won't baulk his girl's fancy;
and besides, considers Harry has good blood
in his veins: re rejected it politely, but
with a little of the Mandeville stateliness.
Oh! Heavens! Fondville's valet–A billet-doux.–I shall be cruel,–This murderous
form–I must absolutely hide myself, or
wear a mask, in pity to mankind.–My
Lord has taken the letter,–He brings it
me–He is on the stairs–How! gone on
to Lady Belmont's apartment!–A billet,
and not to me!–What can it mean?–Can
the dear man be false?
The infidel! Yes, he has left me–forgot
his vows.–The bewitching Lady Julia;
it is really an heroic exertion of virtue
not to hate her. Could you have
thought it possible?–but read his cruel
letter.
