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Lord DARCEY to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH.

Barford Abbey.

Prepare your ten pieces, George!—Upon my honour, I was at Barford Abbey a quarter before three, notwithstanding a detention on the road by Lord Michell and Flecher, driving on Jehu for Bath, in his Lordship's phaeton and fix.—You have seen them before this—and, I suppose, know their errand.—The girl is an egregious fool, that is certain.—I warrant there are a hundred bets depending.—I ask'd what he intended doing with her if he succeeded?—Do with her! said his Lordship; why, she is not more than eighteen; let her go to school: faith, Flecher, that's my advice.—Let her go to the devil after I am once sure of her, return'd the lover; and, whipping up the horses; drove away like lightning.

Be serious—Answer me one serious question—Is it not possible—very possible, to have a regard, a friendship, for an amiable girl, without endangering her peace or my own?—If I am further involv'd than friendship—the blame is not mine; it will lie at the door of Sir James and Lady Powis.—Talk no more of Lady Elizabeth's smile, or Miss Grevel's hair—Stuff!—meer stuff! nor keep me up after a late evening, to hear your nonsense of Miss Compton's fine neck and shoulders, or Fanny Middleton's eyes.—Come here next week, I will insure you a sight of all those graces in one form. Come, I say, you will be welcome to Sir James and his Lady as myself.—Miss Warley will smile on you.—What other inducement can you want?—Don't be too vain of Miss Warley's smiles; for know, she cannot look without them.

Who is Miss Warley?—What is Miss Warley?—you ask.—To your first question I can only answer, A visitor at Jenkings's.—To the second—She is what has been so much sought after in every age, perfect harmony of mind and person.—Such a hand, George—

Already have I been here eight days:—was I to measure time, I should call them hours.—My affairs with Sir James will take up longer in settling than I apprehended.—Come therefore this week or the next, I charge you.—Come as you hope to see Miss Warley. What do you think Sir James said to me the other day?—Was Miss Warley a girl of fortune, I should think her born for you, Darcey.—As that is not the case—take care of your heart, my Lord.—She will never attempt to drag you into scrapes:—your little favourite robin, that us'd to peck from your hand, has not less guile.

No! he will never consent;—I must only think of friendship.

Lady Powis doats on this paragon of beauty: scarce within their walls—when she was mention'd with such a just profusion of praises, as fill'd me with impatience.—Lady Powis is a heavenly woman.—You do not laugh;—many would, for supposing any of that sex heavenly after fifty.—The coach is this moment going for Miss Warley;—it waits only for me;—I am often her conductor.—Was you first minister of state—I the humble suitor whose bread depended on your favour—not one line more, even to express my wants.

Twelve o'clock, at night.

Our fair visitor just gone;—just gone home with Edmund.—What an officious fool, to take him in the carriage, and prevent myself from a pleasure I envy him for.—I am not in spirits;—I can write no more;—perhaps the next post:—but I will promise nothing.

I am, &c. &c.

DARCEY.