The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH
to RICHARD RISBY, Esq;
Dover.
All is happiness, Dick!—I see nothing else; I hear of nothing else.—It is thelastthing I take leave of at night;—thefirstthing I meet in the morning.—Yesterdaywas full of it!—yesterdayI dined with Mr. and Mrs. Powis and their charming daughter, at the Banker's.—To look back, it seems as if I had gone through all the vexations of my life in the last three weeks.
Darcey would not let me rest 'till I had been to congratulate them, or rather to satisfy his own impatience, being distracted to hear how Miss Powis bore the great discovery.—Her fortitude is amazing!—But Sir James has had every particular from his son, therefore I shall be too late on that subject.
The following short epistle I receiv'd from Mr. Powis, as I was setting off for Town.
Mr. Powis to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH.
London,
"The first moment I can tear myself from the tender embraces of all my hopes;—the first moment I can leave my belov'd daughter, I come to Dover;—I come to acknowledge my gratitude to the noble-minded Molesworth—I come to testify my affection to the generous, disinterested Lord Darcey.—We pray for the recovery of his. Lordship's health.—When that is establish'd, not one wish will be wanting to complete the felicity of
J. Powis."
The more I know ofthisfamily, the more I admire them.—Imustbe their neighbour, that's certain—SupposeI petition for a little spot at one end of the park;supposeyou throw up your commission; and we live together two snug batchelors.
Darcey vows he will go to Town next week.—If fatigue should cause him to relapse, what will become of usthen?—But I will not think of thatnow.
We shall come down a joyful, cavalcade to the Abbey.—I long to see the doors thrown open to receive us.—School-boy like, I shall first count days;—next hours;—then minutes: though I am your's the same here, there, and every where.
MOLESWORTH.
The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to the same.
London.
Build in the park, and live batchelors!—Pish!—A horrid scheme!—I give it up.—Over head and ears, Dick!
Last Monday arriv'd at his Lordship's house inSt. James's-Square, the Right Honourable the Earl and Countess of Hampstead,—Lord Hallum,—the Ladies Elizabeth and Sophia Curtis.
True, as I hope to be sav'd;—and astrue, that Lady Elizabeth and Sophiaareblooming as angels.
Three times have I sat down,penin my hand,paperfolded, yet could not tune my mind to write one word.—Over head and ears! I say.—
Past one in the morning!—All silent! Let me try if I can scribble now.
First, I must tell you the body drove on shore at Dover, which I concluded was Miss Powis's, is discover'd to be a Miss Frances Walsh, going over in the yacht which was unfortunately cast-away;—the corpse much defac'd:—but what confirm'd it to be the body of Miss Powis, was a handkerchief taken from the neck mark'd F W.—Poor young Lady! her friends, perhaps are suffering the excesses of grief whichyouand I have so lately witness'd.—Butthisis a subject I shall not dwell on.
I came to Town this evening with Darcey:—he bore the journey very poorly;—sinking, fainting, all the way.—When we got to our lodgings, and he was put into a bed, recovering a little, he press'd me to go to the Banker's.—I saw his impatience, and went immediately.
My name was no sooner sent up, than Mr. Powis flew to receive me.—Welcome, my friend! said he; you come opportunely. We have a noble family with us that has been just wishing to see Mr. Molesworth.—He had time for no more; the door open'd.—What was my surprize to be embrac'd by Lord Hampstead and Lord Hallum, by them, led to the Countess and our two divinities,whosemild eyes,—whoseelegant deportment, told meLovesandGraceshad put a finishing stroke to the great work ofvirtueandhumility.—Lady Mary Sutton,—yes, Lady Mary Sutton too was there: she advanc'd towards me, Miss Powis in her hand.
I have the honour, said Mr. Powis, of presenting Lady Mary Sutton (the source of all my felicity) to Mr. Molesworth.—Then addressing himself to her Ladyship, Permit me, Madam, to introduce to you the friend I love.
If ever I wish'd to shine, it was then—I would have given the world for eloquence;—nay, common understanding.—The former Ineverpossessed:—A surprize and pleasure had flown away with the latter.—Miss Powis has that looks through one's very soul—a sweet compassionate eye: the dignity it expresses bespeaks your confidence.—She perceived my embarrassment, and said, Come, Mr. Molesworth, let me have the satisfaction of placing you next Lady Mary. So down sat the stupid blockhead.—Her Ladyship is very chatty, and very affable; she said a thousand obliging things; but half was lost upon me, whilst I watch'd the lips of my fair Elizabeth.
Mr. Mrs. Powis, and Lady Mary, enquired affectionately after the health of Lord Darcey. When I said he was come to Town, up flew the heart's tell-tale to the face of Miss Powis.—Her father and mother ask'd, if they might have the happiness of waiting on his Lordship next morning.—I arose to assure them what joy their visit would occasion; when having settled the hour, and so forth, I slid to a chair vacant between Lady Elizabeth and Lady Sophia,—How enchantingdidthey look!—how enchantingdidthey speak!—No reserve;—all frankness;—the same innocence in their manners as at fifteen;—the vivacity of the French,—the sedateness of the English, how charmingly blended!
Risby, thou art a fortunate fellow: Lady Sophia speaks of thee with esteem.
The sweet syrens—syrensonly by attraction—held me by the ear upwards of an hour.—From them I learnt Lady Mary Sutton came to England, on receiving an account from Mr. Delves that Miss Powis had the small-pox.—Happy for us, Dick, they lov'd Lady Mary too well to stay behind her!
As I was listening to their entertaining descriptions of places abroad, we were join'd by Lord Hallum.—Molesworth, said his Lordship, I will not suffer these girls to engage you solely:—My prating sisters are grown so saucy that I am obliged to be a very tyrant.—
A spirited conversation ensued, in which the cherub sisters bore away the palm.
More and more sick of my batchelor notions!—Yet I aver, that state should be my choice, rather than swallow one grain of indifference in the matrimonial pill, gilder'd over ever so nicely.—Think whatmustbe my friendship for Darcey, to tear myself from this engageing circle before nine!—As I was taking my leave, Lady Mary stepp'd towards me.—To-morrow, Mr. Molesworth, said her Ladyship, I bespeak the favour of your company and Lord Darcey's to dine with me inPall-Mall:—I bow'd, and answer'd both for his Lordship and myself.
We shall rejoice, continued she, to congratulate your friend on his recovery,—looking with peculiar meaning at Miss Powis.—I think bythatlook there will be an interview between thelovers, though I did not say so much to Darcey.—He requires sleep: none would he have had, if he knew my surmises.—I'll to bed, and dream of Lady Elizabeth;—sogood night, Dick.
Twelve o'clock at noon.
Mr. and Mrs. Powis this moment gone;—Lord Darcey dressing to meet them inPall-Mall.—Yes, they are to be there;—and the whole groupe of beauties are to be there;—Miss Powis,—Lady Elizabeth,—Lady Sophia,—and the little sprightly hawk-eyed Delves.—Risby,youknow nothing oflife; you aredeadandburied.
I will try to be serious.—Impossible! my head runs round and round with pleasure.—The interview was affecting to the last degree.—Between whom?—Why Darcey, Mr. and Mrs.—faith I can write no more.
MOLESWORTH.
The Hon. GEORGE MOLESWORTH to the same.
London
The day of days is over!
I am too happy to sleep:—exquisite felicity wants not the common supports of nature.—In such scenes as I have witness'd, thesoulbegins to know herself:—she gives us a peep into futurity:—the enjoyments of this day has been all her own.
Once more I regain the beaten path of narrative.
Suppose me then under the hands of hair-dressers, valets, &c. &c. &c. I hate those fellows about me:—but the singularity of this visit made me undergo their tortures with tolerable patience.—Now was the time when Vanity, under pretence of respect, love, and decorum, usher'd in her implements.
It was about two when we were set down at Lady Mary Sutton's.—Darcey trembled, and look'd so pale at coming out of his chair, that I desir'd a servant to shew us to a room, where we might be alone 'till Mr. Powis was inform'd of our being in the house.—He instantly came with Lady Mary.—Tender welcomes and affectionate caresses fill'd him with new life.—Her Ladyship propos'd he should first see Miss Powis in her dressing-room;—that none should be present but Mr. and Mrs. Powis, her Ladyship, and your humble servant.
Judge how agreeable this must be to his Lordship, whose extreme weakness consider'd, could not have supported this interview before so much company as were assembled in the drawing-room.
The plan settled, Lady Mary withdrew to prepare Miss Powis for our reception.—A footman soon came with a message from her Ladyship that she expected us.
I was all compassionate at this moment:—the conflicts of my feeble friend were not to be conceal'd.—We follow'd Mr. Powis;—the door open'd;—Darcey turn'd half round, and laying his cold clammy hand on mine, said, Oh Molesworth! my happiness is in view!—how can I meet it?
Inimitable creature!—Can I describe your reception of my friend?—can I describe the dignity of beauty;—the melting softness of sensibility;—the blushing emotion of surprize?—No, Risby;—impossible!
The Ladies stood to receive us; Miss Powis supported between her mother and Lady Mary;—sheall graceful timidity;—theyall extasy and rapture.—Do you not expect to see Darcey at the feet of his mistress?—No; at Mrs. Powis's, at Lady Mary's, he fell.
The eyes of his Adorable glisten'd.—He was rais'd, and embrac'd tenderly—by the parents,—by Lady Mary.—Mr. Powis said, presenting him to his delighted daughter,You, my dear, must makeourreturns of gratitude to Lord Darcey;—giving him her more than passive hand, which he press'd to his lips with fervor, saying,Thisis the hour my soul has flown up to petition—Dearest, best of women! tell me I am welcome.
She attempted to reply;—it was only an attempt.
She does bid you welcome, return'd Mr. Powis;—herheartbids you welcome.
Indeed, said she, I am not ungrateful:—indeed, my Lord, I am not insensible to the obligations you have laid me under.
As these words escap'd her, you must certainly take in the whole countenance of Darcey.
By this time we were seated, and Lady Mary return'd to the company.
Honour'd as I am, said his Lordship, addressing Miss Powis, will you permit me, Madam, in presence of your revered parents,—in presence of the friend to whom every wish of my heart has been confess'd;—will you permit me to hope you are not offended by my application to Sir James?—May I hope for your—
Friendship, my Lord (reply'd she, interrupting him); you may command my friendship.
Friendship!(retorted he) Miss Powis, starting up:—is thatall Iam to expect?—Can I accept yourfriendship?—No, Madam, the man who would have died for you aspires to more thanfriendship;—he aspires to yourlove.
I am no stranger, my Lord, return'd she, to the honour you intend me;—I am no stranger toyourworth;—but I have scruples;—scruples that seem to me insurmountable.
I never saw him so affected.
For heaven's sake, Madam, he answer'd, don't drive me to despair:—tear not open the wound which the hand of Mercy has just clos'd:—my shatter'd frame will not bear another rub from fortune.—What scruples?—Tell me, Miss Powis, I conjure you.
You have none, my dear child, said Mrs. Powis. You have none, Fanny, said Mr. Powis, but what his Lordship can remove.
Indeed, Sir!—indeed, Madam! replied she, I meant not to give Lord Darcey pain.—Then turning to him in a tender, soothing accent,—Your peace, my Lord, has never been lightly regarded by me.—Here he brighten'd up,—and said, taking her hand, You know not, Miss Powis, from the first moment I saw you, how ardent,—how steady has been my love.
Whythenmy Lord, resum'd she—whyendeavour to gain my affections, yet hide your preference for me from theworld;—even frommyself?—Think of thedayLord Allen dined at the Abbey;—think what pass'd in a walk precedingthatyou set out for town:—on both these,—on many others, how mysterious your conduct?—If you thought me worthy your regard, my Lord, whysuchmysteries?
For God's sake, my dear,—dear Miss Powis, said Darcey, suffer me to vindicate myself.—Pardon me, my Lord (continued the angel that harangued him) hear me patiently another moment, and I will listen to your vindication.
She went on.
From whence can I suppose, my Lord, your embarrassments proceeded, if not fromsomeentanglement grown irksome?—No; before I can promisemyselfhappiness, I must be first satisfied I do not borrow thathappinessfromanother.
Another, Madam! repeated he, throwing himself at her feet:—May all my brighter prospects fly me;—may my youth be blighted by the loss of reason if I have ever lov'danother!
She was affected with the solemnity of his air: one pearly drop stray'd down her cheek;—one that escap'd the liquid body of tenderness assembled in her eyes:—she could not speak, but held out her snowy hand for him to be seated.
He obey'd; and placing himself next her, so clearly accounted for that part of his conduct she call'd mysterious, that Mr. and Mrs. Powis both at once exclaim'd, Now, my dear, complete our felicity;—now all yourscruples mustbe over.
And do you, said she, my tender, my indulgent parents, rising and throwing herself into their arms;—do you say it is inmypower to complete your felicity?—Willconfessing a preference for Lord Darcey;—willdeclaring I wish you to prefer him to your daughter;—willthatcomplete it?
My friend caught the blushing beauty from the arms of her parents, and, frantic with joy, folded her to his bosom, standing as if he wonder'd at his own happiness.
What innocence in the look of Miss Powis, when she greatly acknowledg'd her heart!—How reverse fromthisinnocence,thisgreatness, is theprudish hypocrite, who forbidsevenher features to say she is susceptible of love! You may suppose a profusion of friendly acknowledgments fell tomyshare; but I am not vain enough to repeat them.
It is well Lady Elizabeth stands portress at the door of my heart:—there is such bustling and pushing to get in;—but, notwithstanding her Ladyship's vigilance, Miss Powis has slipp'd by, and sits perch'd up in the same corner with Darcey.
If you go back to Lady Mary's dressing-room, you will find nobodythere:—but give a peep into the dining-parlour, and you will see us just set down at dinner;—allsmiling,—allhappy;—an inexhaustible fountain of pleasure in every breast.
I will go down to Slope Hall;—give Lady Dorothy a hint that she has it now in her power to make one man happy;—a hintI believe she never had before.—A snug twenty thousand added to my present fortune,—the hand of Lady Elizabeth,—and then, Risby, get hold of my skirts, and you mount with me.
Next Tuesday prepare, as governor of the castle, for a warm siege.—Sucha battery of eyes,—suchbundles of darts,—suchstores of smiles,—sucha train of innocence will be laid before the walls, as never was withstood!—No; I shall see youcap-à-péeopen the gates to the besiegers.—Away goes my pen.—I write no more positively.
MOLESWORTH.
Miss DELVES to Mrs. DELVES.
Barford Abbey.
Are you well, Madam? Is my dear father well? Tell me you are, and never was so happy a creature as your daughter. I tremble with pleasure,—with joy,—with delight:—but Imust—my duty, my affection, every thing says Imustsit down to write.—You did not see how we were marshall'd at setting out:—I wish you could have got up early enough:—never was there such joyous party!
All in Lady Mary's dining-room by seven;—the fine equipages at the door;—servants attending in rich new liveries, to the number of twenty;—Lord Darcey and his heavenly bride that is to be,—smiling on each other,—smiling on all around;—Lady Mary Sutton—yes,sheis heavenlytoo;—I believe I was the only earthly creature amongst them;—Lord and Lady Hampstead,—the angelic Ladies Elizabeth and Sophia,—Mr. Molesworth,—the generous, friendly, open-hearted Mr. Molesworth,—Lord Hallum.—But why mention him last?—Because, Bessy, I suppose he waslastin your thoughts.—Dear Madam, how can you think so?
In Lady Mary's coach went her Ladyship, Lord Darcey, Mrs. and Miss Powis:—in Lord Hampstead's, his Lordship, Lady Hampstead, Lady Elizabeth, and Mr. Molesworth:—in Lord Darcey's, Lady Sophia, Mr. Powis, Lord Hallum, and your littlegood-for-nothing:—in Mr. Powis's, the women-servants.—We lay fifty miles short of the Abbey, and the next evening reach'd it at seven.
We reach'd Barford Abbey, I say—but what shall I saynow?—I cannot do justice to what I have seen of duty,—of affection,—of joy,—of hospitality.—Do, dear Madam, persuade my father to purchase a house inthisneighbourhood.
Servants were posted at the distance of six miles to carry intelligence when we should approach.—I suppose in their way back it was proclaim'd in the village:—men, women, and children, lined the road a mile from the Abbey, throwing up their hats with loud huzzaing,—bells ringing in every adjacent parish;—bonfires on every rising ground;—in short, we were usher'd in like conquerors.—The coachmen whipp'd up their horses full speed through the park;—thump, thump, went my heart, when by a number of lights I discover'd we were just at the house.
What sensations did I feel when the carriages stopp'd!—At the entrance stood Sir James and Lady Powis,—the Chaplain,—Mr. Morgan,—Captain Risby,—you know their characters, Madam;—every servant in the house with a light:—but who could have stay'd within at this juncture?
The first coach that drove up was Lady Mary's. Out sprang Lord Darcey, Miss Powis in his hand; both in a moment lock'd in parental embraces.—Good heaven, what extasy!—I thought Mr. Watson and Mr. Morgan would have fought a duel which should first have folded Miss Powis in his arms, whilst Sir James and Lady Powis quitted her to welcome Lady Mary.—We were all receiv'd tenderly affectionate:—a reception none can have an idea of, but those who have been at Barford Abbey.
In my way to the house, I suppose I had a hundred kisses:—God knows from whom.—What can I say of Lord Hampstead's family?—what of Mr. Molesworth?—The general notice taken of him is sufficient.—Absolutely that charming man will be spoil'd.—Pity to set him up for an idol!—I hope he will notalwaysexpect to be worshipp'd—Mr. Risbytoo—Well, I'll mention you all, one after another, as fast as possible.—Let me see, where did I leave off?—Oh! we were just out of our carriages.—And now for the pathetics:—an attempt;—a humble attempt only.
Lady Powis, Lady Mary, and their darling, had given us the slip.—What could be done?—I mean with Mr. Morgan:—he was quite outrageous.—What could be done? I repeat.—Why Sir James, to pacify him, said, we should all go and surprize them in his Lady's dressing-room.—We did go;—we did surprize them;—great God! in what an attitude!—The exalted Lady Powis at the feet of Lady Mary;—Miss Powis kneeling by her;—she endeavouring to raise them.—I said it would be an attempt at the pathetics;—it must be an attempt:—I can proceed no farther.
To be sure, Mr. Morgan is a queer-looking man, but a great favourite at the Abbey.—He took Miss Powis on his knee;—call'd her a hundred times his dear, dear daughter;—and I could not forbear laughing, when he told her he had not wore a tye-wig before these twenty years. This drew me to observe his dress, which, unless you knew the man, you can have no idea how well it suited him:—a dark snuff-colour'd coat with gold buttons, which I suppose by the fashion of it, was made when he accustomed himself totye-wigs;—the lace a rich orrice; but then it was so immoderately short, both in the sleeves and skirts, that whilst full dress'd he appeared to want cloathing.
Thenextmorning,—ay, thenextmorning, then it was I lost my freedom.—Disrob'd of his gingerbread coat, I absolutely sell a sacrifice to a plain suit of broad cloth,—or rather, to a noble, plain heart.—Now pray, dear Madam, do not cross me in myfirstlove;—at least,seeMr. Morgan, before you command me to give him up:—and you, sweet Sir, steal to a corner of your new possession, whilst I take notice of those who are capering to my fingers ends.
You have seen Miss Powis, Madam, on Mr. Morgan's knee;—you have heard him say enough to fill any other girl than myself with jealousy:—nay, Madam, you may smile;—he really makes love to me.—But for a moment let me forget my lover;—let me forget hismeltingsighs,—histenderprotections,—hispersuasiveeloquence,—his airsolanguishing:—let me forget themall, I say, and lead you to the library, where by a message flew Miss Powis.—A look from her drew me after:—I suppose Lord Darcey had a touch from the same magnet.
A venerable pair with joy next to phrenzy caught her in their extended arms, as the door open'd. Mykind, my dear,everdear friends, said the lovely creature,—and is itthuswe meet? is itthusI return to you?—Mr. Jenkings clasp'd her to him; but his utterance was quite choak'd:—the old Lady burst into a flood of tears, and then cried out,—How great is thy mercy, O God!—Suffer me to be grateful.—Again she flew to their arms;—again they folded her to their bosoms.—Lord Darcey too embrac'd them;—he condescendingly kiss'd their hands;—he said, next to the parents of his Fanny,—next to Lady Mary, they were most dear to him.—Miss Powis seated herself between them, and hung about the neck of Mrs. Jenkings;—whilst his Lordship, full of admiration, look'd as if his great soul labour'd for expression.—
Overcome with tender scenes, I left the library.—I acquainted Lady Mary who was there, and she went to them immediately.—Mr. Watson and Mr. Morgan for a quarter of an hour were all my own;—captain Risby, Mr. Molesworth, Lady Elizabeth and Sophia, being engag'd in a conversation at another part of the room:—you mayguessour subject, Madam;—but I declare, whilst listening to Mr. Watson, I thought myself soaring above earthly enjoyments.—
Sir James, who had follow'd Lady Mary, soon return'd with her Ladyship, Miss Powis, Lord Darcey, and, what gave me heart-felt pleasure, the steward and his wife;—an honour they with difficulty accepted, as they were strangers to Lord Hampstead's family.—
Who says there is not in this life perfect happiness?—I say they are mistaken:—such felicity as I here see and partake of, cannot be call'd imperfect—How comes it that the domestics ofthisfamilysomuch surpass those ofotherpeople?—how is itoneinterest governs the whole?—I want to know a thousand mysteries.—I could write,—I could think eternally,—of the first happy evening.—First happy evening do I say? And can the days that crown that eve be forgot?—Heaven forbid! at least whilst I have recollection.—My heart speaks so fast to my pen, that fain my fingers would,—but cannot keep up with it.
The next morning Lord Darcey introduc'd to us the son of Mr. Jenkings.—A finer youth I never saw!—Well might the old gentleman besuspicious.—Few fathers would, likehim, have sacrificed the interest of a son, to preserve that of a friend.—To know the real rank of Miss Powis;—her ten thousand virtues;—her great expectations; yet act with somuchcaution!—with an anxiety which the most sordid miser watching his treasure, could not have exceeded! and forwhat?—Why lest involuntarily she might enrich his belov'd son withheraffections.—Will you part with me to this extraordinary man?—Only for an hour or two.—A walk is propos'd.—Our ramble will not be farther than his house.—You say I may go. Thank you, Madam: I am gone.
Just return'd from the steward's, so cramm'd with sweet-meats, cake, and jellies, that I am absolutely stupified.
I must tell you who led Miss Powis.—Lord Darcey, to be sure.—No, Madam; I had the favour of his Lordship's arm:—it was Edmund.—I call him Edmund;—every body calls him Edmund;—yes, and at Lord Darcey's requesttoo.—Never shall I forget in what a graceful manner!—But his Lordship does every thing with grace.—He mention'd something of past times, hinting he should not always have courted him tosuchhonour, presenting the hand of his belov'd.
I wish I could send you her look at that moment; it was all love,—all condescension.—I say I cannot send it.—Mortifying! I cannot even borrowit.
Adieu, dear Madam!—Adieu, dear Sir!—Adieu, you best of parents—It is impossible to say which is most dear to your ever dutiful and affectionate
E. DELVES.
Miss DELVES to the same.
Barford Abbey.
Lost my heartagain!—Be not surpriz'd, Madam; I lose and find it ten times a day;—yet it never strays from Barford Abbey.—The last account you had from me it was button'd inside Mr. Morgan's hunting-frock:—since that, it has been God knows with whom:—sometimes wrapt in a red coat;—sometimes in a blue;—sometimes in a green:—but finding many competitors flew to black, where it now lies snug, warm, and easy.—Restless creature! I will never take it home again.
What think you, Madam, of aDeanfor a son-in-law?
What do I think? you say.—Why the gentlemen of the church have too much sense and gravity to take my madcap off my hands.—Well, Madam, but suppose the Dean of H—— now you look pleas'd.—Oh, the Dean ofH——!What theDean, Bessy, that Lady Mary used to talk of:—theDeanthat married Mr. and Mrs. Powis.
As sure as I live, Madam, theveryman:—andto-morrow,—to-morrow at ten, he is to unite their lovely daughter with Lord Darcey.—Am I notverygood,—extremelygood,indeed, to sit down and write,—when every person below is solacing themselves on the approach of this happy festival?
I would suffer shipwreck ten times;—ten times would I be drove on uninhabited islands, for such a husband as Lord Darcey.—Miss Powis's danger was only imaginary, yetshemust besorewarded.—Well, sheshallbe rewarded:—sheoughtto be rewarded:—Lord Darcey shall reward her.
But is it notveryhard upon yourpoorgirl, thatallthe young smarts we brought down, andthatwhich we foundhere, should have dispos'd of their hearts?—All;—even Lord Hallum,—hewho used to boast so much of freedom,—now owns he has dispos'd of his.—
But to whom?—Aye: that's a question.—
They think, perhaps, theoldstuff will do well enough for poor me!—Thanks to my genius, I can set my cap at any thing.
Why there's something tolerable in the sound of a Dean's Lady—Let me see if it will do.—"TheDeans'scoach;—theDean'sservants."—Something better this than a plainMr.
Here comes Miss Powis. Now shall I be forc'd to huddle this into my pocket.—I am resolv'd she shall not see the preferment I have chalk'd out for myself.—No, no; I must be secret, or I shall have it taken from me.
ThisMiss Powis,—thisvery dutiful young Lady, that I used to have set up for a pattern,—nowtells me that Imustwrite no more;thatyou will not expect to hear from me 'till the next post.—If Imusttake Miss Powis's advice in everything;—if Imustbe guided byher;—you knowwhosaid this, Madam;—why then there is an end of my scribbling for this night.—But remember it is notmyfault.—No, indeed, I was sat down as sober sedate as could be.—Quite fit for a Dean's Lady?—Yes;—quite fit, indeed.—Now comes Lady Elizabeth and Lady Sophia.—Well, it is impossible, I find, to be dutiful in this house.
Thursday, twelve o'clock at noon.
Bless my soul! one would think I was the bride by my shaking and quaking! Miss Powis is—Lady Darcey.—Down drops my letter:—Yes, dear Madam, I see you drop it to run and tell my father.
I may write onnow;—I may do what I will;—Lord and Lady Darcey areeverything witheverybody Well as I love them, I was not present at the ceremony:—I don't know why neither.—Not a soul but attended, except your poor foolish girl—At the window I stood to see them go, and never stirr'd a step 'till they return'd.—Mr. Molesworth gave her away.—I vow I thought near as handsome as the bridegroom.—But what signifies my thinking him handsome?—I'll ask Lady Elizabeth by and bye what she thinks.—Now for a little about it, before I ature myself with implements of destruction.—The Dean is not quite dead yet; but if he live out this day,—I say, he is invulnerable.
Let us hear no more of yourself:—tell us of Lord and Lady Darcey
Have patience, Madam, and I will,
Well,theirdress?—Whytheirfaces were dress'd in smiles of love:—Nature's charms should always take place of art.—You see with what order I proceed.
Lord Darcey was dress'd in white richly lac'd with gold;—Lady Darcey in a white lutestring négligée nounc'd deep with a silver net;—no cap, a diamond sprig; her hair without powder; a diamond necklace and sleeve-knots;—bracelets set round with diamonds; and let me tell you, her jewels are a present from my first Adorable;—on the knowledge of which I discarded him.—No, no, Mr. Morgan; you are not ajewelof yourself neither.—Lady Darcey would have wore quite a morning dishabille, if the vain old Gentleman had not requested the contrary:—so forsooth, to humour him, we must be all put out of our way.
There they are on the lawn, as I hope to live, going to invite in Caesar.—Only an old dog, Madam, that lives betwixt this house and the steward's.
Lady Elizabeth and Mr. Molesworth, Lady Sophia and Captain Risby,—Oh, I long to be with you!—throw no more gravel to my window.—Iwillbe dutiful;—in spite of your allurements, Iwill.
I left them in the library, inspecting a very charming piece, just brought from Brandon Lodge, done by the hand of Lady Mary Sutton.—Upon my word, they have soon conn'd it over:—but I have not told you it is the portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Powis;—my dear Dean too joining their hands.—
God defend me! there he is, hopping out.—I wish he had kept within.—Why, Sir, I should have been down in a moment: then we might have had the most comfortable tête-à-tête.
Seriously, Madam—now I amreallyserious—can you believe, after beholding Lord and Lady Darcey, I will ever be content with a moderate share of happiness?—No, I will die first.—To see them at this instant would be an antidote for indifference.—Not any thing of foolish fondness:—no; that will never be seen in Lord and Lady Darcey.—Their happiness is not confin'd:—we are all refreshed by it:—it pours forth from their homes like streams flowing from a pure terrain.—I think I said I could not go to church:—no, not for the world would I have gone:—I expected Miss Powis would be crying, fainting, and I know not what.—Instead of all this fuss, not a tear was shed.—I thought every body cried when they were married:—those thathad, or hadnotcause.—Well, I am determin'd to appear satisfied, however, if the yoke is a little galling.
How charming look'd Miss Powis, when she smil'd on Lord Darcey!—On Lord Darcey? On every body I mean.—And for him—But I must forget his air,—his words,—his looks, if ever I intend to say love, honour, and obey.—Once I am brought to say love,—honour and obey will slide off glibly enough. I must go down amongst them. Believe me, Madam, I shut myself up to write against intreaties,—against the most persuasive eloquence.
This is the day when the Powis family are crown'd with felicity.—I think on it with rapture.—I will set it down on the heart of your dutiful and affectionate
E. Delves.
Miss Delves to the same.
Barford Abbey
Surely I must smell of venison,—roast beef, and plumb-puddings.—Yes, I smell of the Old English hospitality.—You, Madam, have no tenants to regale so;—are safe from such troubles on my account.—Will you believe me, Madam, I had rather see their honest old faces than go to the finest opera ever exhibited.—What think you of a hundred-and-seven chearful farmers sitting at long tables spread with every thing the season can afford;—two hogsheads of wine at their elbows;—the servants waiting on them with assiduous respect:—Their songs still echo in my ears.
I thought the roof would have come down, when Lord and Lady Darcey made their appearance.—Some sung one tune,—some another;—some paid extempore congratulations;—others that had not a genius, made use of ballads compos'd on the marriage of the King and Queen.—One poor old soul cried to the Butler, because he could neither sing or repeat a verse.—Seeing his distress, I went to him, and repeated a few lines applicable to the occasion, which he caught in a moment, and tun'd away with the best of them.
Lord and Lady Hampstead are so delighted with the honest rustics, that they declare every Christmas their tenants shall be regal'd at Hallum Grove.
What can one feel equal to the satisfaction which arises on looking out in the park?—Three hundred poor are there feasting under a shed erected for the purpose;—cloath'd by Sir James and Lady Powis;—soclean,—sowarm,—socomfortable, that to see them at this moment, one would suppose they had never tasted of poverty.
Lord Darcey has order'd two hundred guineas to be given amongst them,—that to-morrow might not be less welcome to them than this day.
For my part, I have only two to provide for out of the number;—a pretty little boy and girl, that pick'd me up before I came to the shed.—The parents of those children were very good, and gave them to me on my first application.
Here comes Mrs. Jenkings.—Well, what pleasing thing have you to tell me, Mrs. Jenkings?
Five hundred pounds, as I live, to be given to the poor to-morrow from Lady Mary Sutton.—
What blessings will follow us on our journey! I believe I have not told you, Madam, we set out for Faulcum Park on Monday.—Notto stay:—no, I thank God we arenotto stay.—If Lord and Lady Darcey were to inhabit Faulcum Park, yet it would not be tomelike Barford Abbey,—Barford Abbey is to be their home whilst Sir James and Lady Powis live.
Lord Hallum wants me to walk with him.—Not I, indeed:—I hate atête-à-têtewith heartless men.—On second thoughts, I will go.
Oh Madam! out of breath with astonishment!—What think you:—I am the confidante of Lord Hallum's passion;—with permission too of the earl and countess.—Heavens! and can you guess, Madam, who it is he loves?—Adieu, mydear,—dearDean!—Need I say more?—Will you not spare the blushes of your happy daughter,
E. DELVES.