LETTER XXII.
TO Colonel MONTAGUE.
What are we to make of this divine and destructive beauty? this Lady Stanley? Did you not observe with what eager avidity she became a votary to the gaming-table, and bragged away with the best of us? You must: you was witness to the glow of animation that reigned despotic over every lovely feature when she had got a pair-royal of braggers in her snowy fingers. But I am confoundedly bit! She condescended to borrow of that pattern of Germanic virtue, Baron Ton-hausen. Perhaps you will say, why did not you endeavour to be the Little Premium? No, I thought I played a better game: It was better to be the second lender; besides, I only wanted to excite in her a passion for play; and, or I am much deceived, never woman entered into it with more zeal. But what a turn to our affairs! I am absolutely cast off the scent; totally ignorant of the doubles she has made. I could hardly close my eyes, from the pleasing expectations I had formed of gratifying the wishes of my heart in both those interesting passions of love and revenge. Palpitating with hopes and fears, I descended from my chariot at the appointed hour. The party were assembled, and my devoted victim looked as beautiful as an angel of light; her countenance wore a solemnity, which added to her charms by giving an irresistible and persuasive softness to her features. I scrutinized the lineaments of her lovely face; and, I assure you, she lost nothing by the strict examination. Gods! what a transporting creature she is! And what an insensible brute is Stanley! But I recall my words, as to the last:—he was distractedly in love with her before he had her; and perhaps, if she was my wife, I should be as indifferent about her as he is, or as I am about the numberless women of all ranks and conditions with whom I have "trifled away the dull hours."—While I was in contemplation anticipating future joys, I was struck all of a heap, as the country-girls say, by hearing Lady Stanley say,—"It is in vain—I have made a firm resolution never to play again; my resolution is the result of my own reflections on the uneasiness which those bits of painted paper have already given me. It is altogether fruitless to urge me; for from the determination I have made, I shall never recede. My former winnings are in the sweepstake-pool at the commerce-table, which you will extremely oblige me to sit down to; but for me, I play no more.—I shall have a pleasure in seeing you play; but I own I feel myself too much discomposed with ill fortune; and I am not unreasonable enough to be pleased with the misfortunes of others. I have armed my mind against the shafts of ridicule, that I see pointed at me; but, while I leave others the full liberty of following their own schemes of diversion, I dare say, none will refuse me the same privilege."—We all stared with astonishment; but the devil a one offered to say a word, except against sitting down to divide her property;—there we entered into a general protest; so we set down, at least I can answer for myself, to an insipid game.—Lady Stanley was marked down as a fine pigeon by some of our ladies, and as a delicious morçeau by the men. The gentle Baron seemed all aghast. I fancy he is a little disappointed in his expectations too.—Perhaps he has formed hopes that his soft sighs and respectful behaviour may have touched the lovely Julia's heart. He felt himself flattered, no doubt, at her giving him the preference in borrowing from his purse. Well then, his hopes are derangé, as well as mine.—But, courage, mi Lor, I shall play another game now; and peradventure, as safe a one, if not more so, than what I planned before.—I will not, however, anticipate a pleasure (which needs no addition should I succeed) or add to my mortification should I fail, by expatiating on it at present.
Adieu! dear Montague! Excuse my boring you with these trifles;—for to a man in love, every thing is trifling except the trifle that possesses his heart; and to one who is not under the guidance of the soft deity, that is the greatest trifle (to use a Hibernicism) of all.
I am your's most cordially,
BIDDULPH.
LETTER XXIII.
To Miss GRENVILLE.