LETTER XV.

Lord DARCEY to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH.

_Barford Abbey_.


I envy not the greatest monarch on earth!--She is return'd with my
peace;--my joy;--my very soul.--Had you seen her restorative smiles!
they spoke more than my pen can describe!--She bestow'd them on me, even
before she ran to the arms of Sir James and Lady Powis.--Sweet
condescension!--Her hand held out to meet mine, which, trembling, stopt
half way.--What checks,--what restraint, did I inflict on myself!--Yes,
that would have been the decisive moment, had I not perceiv'd the eyes
of Argus planted _before, behind_, on _every side_ of Sir James.--God!
how he star'd.--I suppose my looks made some discovery.--Once more I
must take thee up, uneasy dress of hypocrisy;--though it will be as hard
to girt on, as the tight waistcoat on a lunatic.

Never has a day appear'd to me so long as _this_.--_Full_ of
expectation, _full_ of impatience!--All stuff again.--No matter; it is
not the groans of a sick man, that can convey his pain to another:--to
feel greatly, you must have been afflicted with the same malady.

I suppose you would laugh to hear how often I have opened and shut the
door;--how often look'd out at the window,--or the multiplicity of times
examined my watch since ten this morning!--Needless would it likewise
be to recount the impatient steps I have taken by the road-side,
attentive to the false winds, which would frequently cheat me into a
belief, that my heart's treasure was approaching.--Hark! I should say,