To George Mordaunt, Esq;
Saturday Morning.
OH! Mordaunt! I have seen her; have
heard the sound of that enchanting
voice; my Lord was in the chaise with her;
they stopped to drink fresh cream; William
presented her a nosegay; she thanked him
with an air of sweetness, which would
have won the soul of a savage. My heart
beat with unutterable transport; it was
with difficulty I restrained myself.
Mordaunt! I must return; I can no
longer bear this absence: I will write this
moment to Lord Belmont, and own my
passion for his daughter: I will paint in the
most lively colors my love and my despair:
I will tell him I have nothing to hope from
the world, and throw myself intirely on
his friendship. I now the indiscretion of
this proceeding; I know I ought not to hope
for success; but I have too long concealed
my sentiments, and pursued a conduct unworthy
of my heart.
I have wrote; I have sent away the
letter. I have said all that can engage his
heart in my favor; to-morrow he will receive
my letter–To-morrow–O Mordaunt!
how soon will my fate be determined! A
chillness seizes me at the thought, my
hand trembles, it is with difficulty I hold
the pen. I have entreated an immediate
answer; it will come inclosed to Mr. Herbert,
to whom I have wrote to bring the
letter himself. On Wednesday I shall be
the most happy or most lost of mankind.
What a dreadful interval will it be! My
heart dies within me at the thought.
