Lady MARY SUTTON to Miss WARLEY.
_German Spaw_.
No, my dear, _Lord Darcey_ is not the man he appears.--What signifies a
specious outside, if within there's a narrow heart?--Such must be his,
to let a virtuous love sit imprisoned in secret corners, when it
delights to dwell in open day.
Perhaps, if he knew my intentions, all concealments would be thrown
aside, and he glory to declare what at present he meanly darkly
hints.--By my consent, you should never give your hand to one who can
hold the treasures of the mind in such low estimation.
When you mention'd your happy situation, the friendly treatment of Sir
James and Lady Powis, I was inclined to think for _many_ reasons, it
would be wrong to take you from them;--_now_ I am convinced, the pain
_that_ must occasion, or the danger in crossing the sea, is not to be
compared to what you might suffer in your _peace_ by remaining where you
are.--When people of Lord Darcey's rank weigh long a matter of this
nature, it is seldom the scale turns of the right side;--therefore, let
not _Hope_, my dear child, flatter you out of your affections.
Do not think you rest in security:--tender insinuations from a man such
as you describe Lord Darcey, may hurt your quiet.
I speak not from experience;--Nature, by cloathing me in her plainest
garb, has put all these hopes and fears far from me.
I have been ask'd, it is true, often, for my fortune;--at least, I look
upon asking for my heart to be the same thing.--Sure, I could never be
such a fool to part with the latter, when I well knew it was requested
only to be put in possession of the former!
_You_ think Jenkings suspects his son has a _too_ tender regard for
you;--_you_ think he is uneasy on that account.--Perhaps he is
uneasy;--but time will convince you his suspicions, his uneasiness,
proceed not from the _cause you imagine_.--He is a good man; you cannot
think too well of him.
I hope this letter will find you safe return'd to Hampshire. I am
preparing to leave the Spaw with all possible expedition: I should quit
it with reluctance, but for the prospect of visiting it again next
summer, with my dear Fanny.
At Montpelier the winter will slide on imperceptibly: many agreeable
families will there join us from the Spaw, whose good-humour and
chearful dispositions, together with plentiful draughts of the Pouhon
Spring, have almost made me forget the last ten years I have dragg'd, on
in painful sickness.
The family in which I have found most satisfaction, is Lord
Hampstead's:--every way calculated to make themselves and others
happy;--such harmony is observed through the whole, that the mechanism
of the individuals seem to be kept in order by one common wheel.--I
rejoice that I shall have an opportunity of introducing you to them.--We
have fixed to set out the same day for Montpelier.
Lady Elizabeth, the eldest daughter, has obligingly offer'd to travel in
my coach, saying, she thought it would be dull for me to go alone.
It is impossible to say which of the two sisters, was it left to my
choice, would be my companion, as both are superlatively pleasing.--They
possess, to a degree, what I so much admire in our sex;--a peculiar
softness in the voice and manner; yet not quite so sprightly, perhaps,
as may be thought necessary for some misses started up in this age; but
sufficient, I think, for those who keep within certain bounds.--It
requires an uncommon share of understanding, join'd with a great share
of wit, to make a very lively disposition agreeable. I allow, if these
two ingredients are happily blended, none can chuse but admire, as well
as be entertain'd with, such natural fine talents:--on the contrary,
where one sees a pert bold girl apeing such rare gifts, it is not only
the most painful, but most absurd sight on earth.
Lady Elizabeth, and her amiable sister Sophia strive to hide every
perfection they possess;--yet these I have just mention'd, with all
others, will on proper occasions, make their appearance through a croud
of blushes.--This timidity proceeds partly from nature,--partly from the
education they have received under the best of mothers, whose tenderness
for them would not suffer her to assign that momentous task to any but
herself; fearing, as she has often told me, they would have had a
thousand faults overlook'd by another, which her eye was ever on the
watch to discover. She well knew the most trivial might be to them of
the worst consequence:--when they were call'd to an account for what was
pass'd, or warn'd how to avoid the like for the future, her manner was
so determin'd and persuasive, as if she was examining her own
conscience, to rectify every spot and blemish in it.
Though Lady Hampstead's fondness for her daughters must cause her to
admire their good qualities, like a fine piece of perspective, whose
beauties grow upon the eye,--yet she has the art not only to conceal her
admiration, but, by the ascendency her tenderness has gain'd, she keeps
even from themselves a knowledge of those perfections.--To this is owing
the humility which has fortified their minds from the frequent attacks
flattery makes against the unstable bulwarks of title and beauty.
Matchless as these sisters appear, they are to be equalled in their own,
as well as the other sex.--I hope you will allow it in _one_, when you
see Lord Hallum: he is their brother as much by _virtue_ as _birth_.--I
could find in my heart to say a thousand things of this fine youth;--but
that I think such subjects flow easier from a handsome young woman than
a plain old one.--Yet don't be surpriz'd;--unaccountable things happen
every day;--if I _should_ lend a favourable ear to this
Adonis!--Something whispers me I shall receive his proposals.--An
excuse, on these occasions, is never wanting; mine will be a good
one:--that, at my death, you may be left to the protection of this
worthy Lord.--But, first, I must be assured you approve of him in that
light;--being so firmly attach'd to my dear Fanny, to your happiness,
my Love, that the wish of contributing to it is the warmest of your
ever affectionate