To George Mordaunt, Esq:
HOW inconsistent is the human mind!
I cannot leave Belmont, I cannot
give up the delight of beholding her: I
fancy a softness in her manner which raises
the most flattering ideas; she blushes when
her eyes meet mine.–Tho' I see the madness
of hope, I indulge it in spite of myself.
No one can deserve her; yet, as Lord
Belmont honors me with his esteem, I
would persuade myself fortune alone forbids
–I will struggle with impossibilities;
I have many and powerful friends; we have
a Prince in the early prime of life, the
season of generous virtue: a Prince, to whom
the patriot glow, and that disinterested
loyalty, which is almost my whole inheritance,
cannot but be the strongest recommendations;
to him it may be merit to
have suffered, when the basest of the people
rose on the ruins of their country.
Those ample possessions, which would have
descended to me, and might have raised
my hopes to the most angelic of womankind,
were gloriously spent in endeavouring
to support the throne, when shook by
the rage of faction and narrow-minded
bigoted enthusiasm; the younger branch
of our family escaped the storm by having
a minor at it's head: to this accident, the
partiality of an ancestor, and the military
talents of his father, Lord Belmont owes
the affluence he so nobly enjoys, and which
I only, of all mankind, have cause to regret.
These circumstances raise a flattering
hope–my views are confused, but I will
pursue the track. If I succeed, I may
openly avow my passion; if not, the secret
of my love shall die with me: never, my
friend, will I attempt her heart by unworthy
means: let me endeavour to deserve,
and leave to Heaven to determine whether
I shall possess the noblest gift it has to bestow.
Farewell.
H. Mandeville.
