All the world has something to comfort them, but your poorfriend.--Every skinnyg wears the face of joy, till I turn my eyesinwards:--_there it is_ I behold the opposite;--_there it is_ whereGrief has fix'd her abode.--Does the fiend ever sleep? Will she becomposed by ushering in the happy prospects of others?--Yes, I willfeel, joy.--Joy did I say? Joy I cannot feel.--Satisfactionthen?--Satisfaction likewise is forbid to enter.--What then willpossess my mind; on recollecting peace is restor'd, where gratitudecalls for such large returns?--I'll pray for them;--I'll pray for acontinuance of their felicity.--I'll pray, if they have future ills instore, they may light on the head of Darcey.--Yes, he can bear moreyet:--let the load be ever so weighty, he will stoop to take up theburthen of his friends;--such friends as Sir James and Lady Powis havebeen to

DARCEY.

LETTER XIX.

The Honourable GE0RGE M0LESW0RTH to L0RD DARCEY.

London.