To George Mordaunt, Esq;
I Have already told you I came hither
with a view of engaging Lord T — 's
interest in support of those views, on which
all my hopes of happiness depend. The
friendship he has ever professed for me has
been warm as that of a father. I was continually
with him at Rome, and he there
prest me to accept those services I then never
expected to have occasion for. Till
now content with my situation, love first
raised in me the spirit of ambition, and determined
me to accept those offers. In a
former letter, I told you I was going to follow
Lord T — into the garden, to communicate
to him my purpose of pushing my
fortune in the world; on which I had before
given general hints, which he seemed
to approve, as a kind of spirit becoming a
young man, warm with hope, and not destitute
of merit.
On revolving my scheme as I approached
him, it appeared so romantic, so void of
all rational hope, that I had not resolution
to mention it, and determined at least to
suspend it till better digested, and more
fitted to bear the cool eye of impartial
reason: in these sentiments I should still
have remained, had not a letter from Lady
Anne Wilmot, by giving me jealousy, determined
me not to defer one moment a design
on which all my happiness depended.
I therefore, with some hesitation, this
morning opened all my heart, and the
real state of my circumstances, to Lord
T — , concealing only what related to
Lady Julia. He heard me with great
coolness, carelessly lolling on a settee; his
eyes fixed on a new Chinese summer-house,
opposite the window near which he sat, and
made me the following answer; "Your
views, Mr. Mandeville, seem rather romantic,
for a man who has no party connexions,
and so little parliamentary interest.
However, you are of a good
family, and there are things to be had
in time if properly recommended. Have
you no friend who would mention you
to the minister?" He then rang the
bell hastily for his valet, and retired to
dress leaving me motionless with astonishment
and indignation.
We me no more till dinner, when he
treated me with a distant civility, the meaning
of which was easily understood. He
apologized, with an air of ceremony, on his
being forced to go for a fortnight to Scarborough,
with a party, who, being all strangers,
he was afraid would not be agreeable to
me; but, at his return, he should be glad of
the honor of seeing me again. I bowed
coldly, and took no other notice of what
he said, than to order my chaise immediately;
on which he pressed my stay to-night,
but in vain. The servants leaving the room,
he was a little disconcerted, but observed,
He was sorry for me; my case was really
hard; he always thought my fortune much
larger; wondered at my father's indiscretion
in educating me so improperly–People
ought to consider their circumstances–It
was pity I had no friend–Lord Belmont,
if he pleased, but he was so absurdly fond
of his independence.
During his harangue, I entirely recovered
my presence of mind; and, with an
air of great ease and unconcern, told his
Lordship, I was much obliged to him for
curing me of a pursuit so improper for a
man of my temper: that the liberal offers
of service he had formerly made me at
Rome had betrayed me into a false opinion
of the friendship of great men; but
that I was now convinced of what value
such professions are, and that they are only
made where it seems certain they will never
be accepted. That it was impossible
his Lordship could judge properly of the
conduct of a man of my father's character;
that I was proud of being son to the most
exalted and generous of mankind; and
would not give up that honor to be first
minister to the first prince on earth. That
I never so strongly felt the value of independence
as at that moment, and did not
wonder at the value Lord Belmont set on so
inestimable a blessing.
I came away without waiting for an answer,
and stopped at an inn about ten miles
off, where I am now waiting for one of my
servants, whom I left behind to bring me
a letter I expect to-day from Lady Anne
Wilmot.
And now, my dear Mordaunt, what
will become of your unhappy friend? The
flattering hopes I fondly entertained are
dispersing like a flitting cloud. Lord
T — 's behaviour has removed the veil
which love had spread over the wildness of
my design, and convinced me that success
is impossible. Where or to whom shall I
now apply? Lord T — was him on
whose friendship I most depended; whose
power to serve me was greatest, and whose
professions gave me most right to expect his
services.
I here for ever give up all views–Can I
then calmly give up the hopes of Lady
Julia? I will go back, confess my passion
to Lord Belmont, and throw myself on that
goodness whose first delight is that of
making others happy. Yet can I hope he
will give his daughter, the heiress of such
affluence–Disinterested and noble as he is,
the false maxims of the world–Mordaunt,
I am born to wretchedness–What have I
gained by inspiring the most angelic of women
with pity? I have doomed to misery
her for whose happiness I would sacrifise
my life.
The servant I left at Lord T — 's is
this moment arrived; he has brought me
a letter–I know not why, but my hand
trembles, I have scarce power to break the
seal.
