If you had ever any uneasiness on Bridgman’s account, it must be now at an end.—Married, and has brought his bride to town.—What a false fellow!—From undoubted authority, I am assured the writings have been drawn six months:—so that every thing must be concluded between him and his wife, at the very time he talked to me of Miss Warley.—I wash my hands from any further acquaintance with concealed minds:—there must be something very bad in a heart which has a dark cloud drawn before it.—Virtue and innocence need no curtain:—they were sent to us naked;—it is their loss, or never possessing them,—that makes caution necessary, to hide from the world their destined place of abode.—Without entering a house, and being conversant with its inhabitants, how is it possible to say, if they are worthy or unworthy:—so if you knock, and are not admitted, you still remain doubtful.—But I am grown wise from experience;—and shall judge, for the future, where a heart is closely shut up, there is nothing in it worth enquiring after.
I go on Thursday to meet Risby, and conduct him to town. It would give us great joy, at our return, to shake you by the hand.—What can avail your staying longer in the midst of doubts, perplexities, racks, tortures, and I know-not-what. Have you any more terms to express the deadly disorder?—If you have keep them to yourself; I want not the confounded list compleat:—no; no, not I; faith.—
I go this evening to see the new play, which is at present a general subject of conversation.—Now, was I a vain fellow—a boaster—would I mention four or six of the prettiest women about town, and swear I was to escort them.—Being a lover of truth, I confess I shall steal alone into an upper box, to fix my attention on the performance of the piece.—Perhaps, after all is over, I may step to the box of some sprightly, chatty girl, such as lady ——,—hear all the scandal of the town, ask her opinion of the play, hand her to her chair, and so home, to spend a snug evening with sir Edward Ganges, who has promised to meet me here at ten.
Lady MARY SUTTON to Miss WARLEY.
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.