To George Mordaunt, Esq;
I Write this from my new abode, a little
sequestered farm, at the side of a romantic
wood: there is an arbor in the
thickest grove of intermingled jessamines
and roses. Here William mediates future
happy hours, when joined to his lovely
Anna: he has adorned it with every charm
of nature, to please the mistress of his soul.
Here I pass my sweetest hours: here William
brings me news of Lady Julia; he is
this moment returned; he saw her walking
to the rustic temple, leaning on Emily Howard:
he tells me she sighed as she past him.
Oh! Mordaunt! was that sigh for me?
Not certain Lady Julia would forgive
my being so near her, or a concealment
which has so guilty an air, I have enjoined
William secrecy even to his Anna, and
bribed it by a promise of making him happy.
My letters therefore come round by
Mr. Herbert's, and it is three days before I
receive them. I have not yet heard from
Belmont, or my father. I am supposed to
be still at Lord T — 's.
Ever an enthusiast, from warmth of
heart and imagination, my whole soul is
devoted to Lady Julia. I pass my days in
carving that loved name on the rinds of the
smoothest trees: and, when the good old
man retires to his rest, William and I steal
forth, and ride to the end of Belmont
Park, where, having contemplated the dear
abode of all that earth contains of lovely,
and breathed an ardent prayer to Heaven
for her happiness, I return to my rustic retreat,
and wait patiently till the next evening
brings back the same pleasing employment.
Since I left Belmont, I have never known
happiness like what I now feel. Certain
of her tenderness, tranquillity is restored to
my soul: for ever employed in thinking of
her, that painful restraint which company
brought is removed; the scenes around me,
and the dear solitude I enjoy, are proper
to flatter a love-sick heart; my passion is
soothed by the artless expression of William's;
I make him sit hours talking of his
Anna: he brings me every day intelligence
of my angel; I see every hour the place
which she inhabits. Am I not most happy?
Her idea is perpetually before me; when
I walk in these sweet shades, so resembling
those of Belmont, I look round as if expecting
to behold her; I start at every
sound, and almost fancy her lovely form in
my view.
Oh! Mordaunt! what transport do I
find in this sweet delirium of love! How
eagerly do I expect the return of evening!
Could I but once again behold her! once
again swear eternal passion — I have a
thousand things to say.
