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