Lord DARCEY to Sir JAMES POWIS.

London.

Even whilst I write, I see before me the image of my expiring father; I hear the words that issued from his death-like lips; my soul feels the weight of his injunctions; again in my imagination I seal the sacred promise on his livid hand; and my heart bows before Sir James with all that duty which is indispensable from a child to a parent.

Happiness is within my reach, yet without your sanction I will not, dare not, bid it welcome; I will not hold out my hand to receive it. Yes, Sir, I love Miss Warley; I can no longer disguise my sentiments. On the terrace I should not have disguis’d them, if your warmth had not made me tremble for the consequence. You remember my arguments then; suffer me now to reurge them.

I allow it would be convenient to have my fortune augmented by alliance; but then it is not absolutely necessary I should make the purchase with my felicity. A thousand chances may put me in possession of riches; one event only can put me in possession of content. Without it, what is a fine equipage? what a splendid retinue? what a table spread with variety of dishes?

Judge for me, Sir James; you who know, who love Miss Warley, judge for me. Is it possible for a man of my turn to see her, to talk with her, to know her thousand virtues, and not wish to be united to them? It is to your candour I appeal. Say I am to be happy, say it only in one line, I come immediately to the Abbey, full of reverence, of esteem, of gratitude.

Think, dear Sir James, of Lady Powis; think of the satisfaction you hourly enjoy with that charming woman; then will you complete the felicity of

DARCEY.