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diff --git a/old/13314-h/13314-h.htm b/old/13314-h/13314-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5cd616f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13314-h/13314-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5257 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta name="generator" + content="HTML Tidy for Linux/x86 (vers 1st November 2002), see www.w3.org" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Barford Abbey, by Susannah Minific Gunning.</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + } + HR { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .note {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} /* footnote */ + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: smaller; float: right; clear: right;} + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + .poem .caesura {vertical-align: -200%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Barford Abbey, by Susannah Minific Gunning + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Barford Abbey + +Author: Susannah Minific Gunning + +Release Date: August 28, 2004 [EBook #13314] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BARFORD ABBEY *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by Jonathan Ingram, Josephine Paolucci and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +</pre> + + <!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> + <h1><a href='#BARFORD_ABBEY_I'><b>BARFORD ABBEY,</b></a></h1> + <br /> + <a href='#LETTER_I'><b>LETTER I.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_II'><b>LETTER II.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_III'><b>LETTER III.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_IV'><b>LETTER IV.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_V'><b>LETTER V.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_VI'><b>LETTER VI</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_VII'><b>LETTER VII.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_VIII'><b>LETTER VIII.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_IX'><b>LETTER IX.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_X'><b>LETTER X.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XI'><b>LETTER XI.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XII'><b>LETTER XII.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XIII'><b>LETTER XIII.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XIV'><b>LETTER XIV.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XV'><b>LETTER XV.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XVI'><b>LETTER XVI.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XVII'><b>LETTER XVII.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XVIII'><b>LETTER XVIII.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XIX'><b>LETTER XIX.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XX'><b>LETTER XX.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXI'><b>LETTER XXI.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXII'><b>LETTER XXII.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#END_OF_THE_FIRST_VOLUME'><b>END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#BARFORD_ABBEY_II'><b>BARFORD ABBEY, SECOND VOLUME</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXIII'><b>LETTER XXIII.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXIV'><b>LETTER XXIV.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXV'><b>LETTER XXV.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXVI'><b>LETTER XXVI.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXVII'><b>LETTER XXVII.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXVIII'><b>LETTER XXVIII.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXIX'><b>LETTER XXIX.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXX'><b>LETTER XXX.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXXI'><b>LETTER XXXI.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXXII'><b>LETTER XXXII</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXXIII'><b>LETTER XXXIII.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXXIV'><b>LETTER XXXIV.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXXV'><b>LETTER XXXV.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXXVI'><b>LETTER XXXVI.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXXVII'><b>LETTER XXXVII.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXXVIII'><b>LETTER XXXVIII.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XXXIX'><b>LETTER XXXIX</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XL'><b>LETTER XL.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XLI'><b>LETTER XLI</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XLII'><b>LETTER XLII.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XLIII'><b>LETTER XLIII.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XLIV'><b>LETTER XLIV.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LETTER_XLV'><b>LETTER XLV.</b></a><br /> + <a href='#FINIS'><b>FINIS.</b></a><br /> + <!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + <a id="BARFORD_ABBEY_I" name='BARFORD_ABBEY_I'></a> + <h1>BARFORD ABBEY,</h1> + <br /> + + <h2>A NOVEL:</h2> + <h2>IN A</h2> + <h2>SERIES of LETTERS.</h2> + <h2>IN TWO VOLUMES.</h2> + <br /> + + <h2>VOL. I.</h2> + <p>LONDON:</p> + <p>Printed for T. CADELL, (Successor to Mr. MILLAR) in the Strand; and J. PAYNE, in + Pasternoster-Row.</p> + <p>MDCCLXVIII.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_I" name='LETTER_I'></a> + <h2>LETTER I.</h2> + <p>Lady MARY SUTTON, at the German Spaw, to Miss WARLEY, in England.</p> + <br /> + + <p>How distressing, how heart-rending, is my dear Fanny's mournful detail!—It + lies before me; I weep over it!—I weep not for the departed saint: no; it is + for you, myself, for all who have experienced her god-like virtues!—Was she not + an honour to her sex? Did she not merit rewards too great for this world to + bestow?—Could the world repay her innocence, her piety, her resignation? Wipe + away, my best love, the mark of sorrow from your cheek. Perhaps she may be permitted + to look down: if so, will she smile on those that grieve at her entering into the + fullness of joy?—Here a sudden death cannot be called dreadful. A life like + hers wanted not the admonitions of a sick-bed;—her bosom accounts always clear, + always ready for inspection, day by day were they held up to the throne of + mercy.—Apply those beautiful lines in the Spectator to her; lines you have so + often admir'd.—How silent thy passage; how private thy journey; how glorious + thy end! Many have I known more famous, some more knowing, not one so + innocent.—Hope is a noble support to the drooping head of sorrow.—Though + a deceiver, court her, I counsel you;—she leads to happiness;—we shall + bless her deceptions:—baffling our enjoyments here, she teaches us to look up + where every thing is permanent, even bliss most exquisite.</p> + <p>Mr. Whitmore you never knew, otherwise would have wonder'd how his amiable wife + loiter'd so long behind.—Often she has wish'd to be reunited to him, but ever + avoided the subject in your presence.</p> + <p>Keep not from me her rich bequest:—<i>rich</i> indeed,—her most + valuable treasure.—That I could fold you to my arms!—But hear me at a + distance;—hear me call you my beloved daughter,—and suppose what my + transports will be when I embrace an only child:—yes, you are mine, till I + deliver you up to a superior affection.</p> + <p>Lay aside, I conjure you, your fears of crossing the sea.—Mr. and Mrs. Smith + intend spending part of this winter at Montpelier: trust yourself with them; I shall + be there to receive you at the Hôtel de Spence.</p> + <p>The season for the Spaw is almost at an end. My physicians forbid my return to + England till next autumn, else I would fly to comfort,—to console my dearest + Fanny,—We shall be happy together in France:—I can love you the same in + all places.</p> + <p>My banker has orders to remit you three hundred pounds;—but your power is + unlimited; it is impossible to say, my dear, how much I am in your debt.—I have + wrote my housekeeper to get every thing ready for your reception:—consider her, + and all my other servants, as your own.—I shall be much disappointed if you do + not move to the Lodge immediately.—You shall not,—must + not,—continue in a house where every thing in and about it reminds you of so + great a loss.—Miss West, Miss Gardner, Miss Conway, will, at my request, + accompany you thither.—The Menagerie,—plantations, and other places of + amusement, will naturally draw them out;—you will follow mechanically, and by + that means be kept from indulging melancholy.—Go an-airing every day, unless + you intend I shall find my horses unfit for service:—why have you let them live + so long idle?</p> + <p>I revere honest Jenkings—he is faithful,—he will assist you with his + advice on all occasions.—Can there be a better resource to fly to, than a heart + governed by principles of honour and humanity?</p> + <p>Write, my dear, to Mrs. Smith, and let me know if the time is fixed for their + coming over.—Say you will comply with the request my heart is so much set + on;—say you will be one of the party.</p> + <p>My health and spirits are better:—the latter I support for your + sake;—who else do I live for?—Endeavour to do the same, not only for me, + but <i>others</i>, that one day will be as dear to you as you are to</p> + <p>Your truly affectionate,</p> + <p>M. SUTTON.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_II" name='LETTER_II'></a> + <h2>LETTER II.</h2> + <p>Miss WARLEY to Lady MARY SUTTON.</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>BARFORD ABBEY! <i>Yes</i>, my dearest Lady,—I date from Barford Abbey: a + house I little thought ever to have seen, when I have listened hours to a description + of it from Mr. Jenkings.—What are houses,—what palaces, in competition + with <i>that</i> honour, <i>that</i> satisfaction, I received by your Ladyship's last + letter!—The honour all must acknowledge;—the satisfaction is not on the + surface,—<i>it centers in the heart</i>.—I feel too much to express any + thing.—One moment an orphan; next the adopted child of Lady Mary + Sutton.—What are titles, except ennobled by virtue! <i>That</i> only makes a + coronet fit graceful on the head;—<i>that</i> only is the true ornament of + greatness.</p> + <p>Pardon my disobedience.—Can there be a stronger command than your + request?—But, my Lady, I must have died,—my life <i>must</i> have been + the sacrifice, had I gone to the Lodge.—The windows opposite, the windows of + that little mansion where I spent nineteen happy years with my angelic + benefactress,—could it be borne?—Your Ladyship's absence too;—what + an aggravation;—The young ladies you kindly propose for my companions, though + very amiable, could not have shut my eyes, or deaden'd my other senses.</p> + <p>Now let me account for being at Barford Abbey.—Was Mr. Jenkings my father, I + think I could not love him more; yet when he press'd me to return with him to + Hampshire, I was doubtful whether to consent, till your Ladyship's approbation of him + was confirmed in so particular a manner.—His son an only one;—the fine + fortune he must possess;—these were objections not only of <i>mine</i>, but, I + believe, of my dear, dear—Oh! my Lady, I cannot yet write her name.—Often + has she check'd Mr. Jenkings, when he has solicited to take me home with + him:—her very looks spoke she had something to fear from such a + visit.—She loved me;—the dear angel loved me with maternal affection, but + her partiality never took place of noble, generous sentiments.—Young people, + she has frequently said, are, by a strict intimacy, endeared to each other. This, I + doubt not, was her motive for keeping me at a distance.—She well knew my poor + expectations were ill suited to his large ones.—I know what was her opinion, + and will steadily adhere to it.</p> + <p>Edmund, to do him common justice, is a desirable youth:—such a one as I can + admire his good qualities, without another with than to imitate them.—Monday, + the tenth, I took my leave of Hillford Down, and, after a melancholy journey, arrived + Tuesday evening at Mr. Jenkings's.—Nothing did I enjoy on the road;—in + spight of my endeavours, tears stream'd from my eyes incessantly;—even the fine + prospects that courted attention, pass'd unnotic'd.—My good conductor strove to + draw me off from gloomy subjects, but in vain, till we came within a few miles of his + house; then of a sudden I felt a serenity, which, for some time, has been a stranger + to my breast;—a serenity I cannot account for.</p> + <p><i>Mrs. Jenkings!</i>—never shall I forget her humanity. She flew to the + chaise the instant it stopp'd, receiv'd me with open arms, and conducted me to the + parlour, pouring out ten thousand welcomes, intermingled with fond + embraces.—She is, I perceive, one of those worthy creatures, who make it a + point to consider their husbands friends as their own; in my opinion, the highest + mark of conjugal happiness.</p> + <p>Plac'd in a great chair next the fire, every one was busied in something or other + for my refreshment.—One soul,—one voice,—one manner, to be seen in + the father,—mother,—son:—they look not on each other but with a + smile of secret satisfaction. <i>To me</i> their hearts speak the same expressive + language;—their house,—their dress,—their words, plainly + elegant.—Envy never stops at such a dwelling;—nothing there is fit for + her service:—no pomp,—no grandeur,—no ostentation.—I slept + sweetly the whole night;—sweetly!—not one disagreeable idea intruded on + my slumbers.</p> + <p>Coming down in the morning, I found breakfast on the table, linen white as snow, a + large fire,—every thing that speaks cleanliness, content, and plenty.—The + first thing in a house which attracts my notice is the fire;—I conclude from + that, if the hearts of the inhabitants are warm or cold.—Our conversation was + interesting;—it might have lasted, for aught I know, till dinner, had it not + been interrupted by the entrance of Sir James and Lady Powis.—I knew Mr. + Jenkings was their steward, but never expected they came to his house with such easy + freedom.—We arose as they entered:—I was surprised to see Mr. and Mrs. + Jenkings appear confused;—in my opinion, their visitors accosted them more like + <i>equals</i> than <i>dependants</i>.</p> + <p>Your Ladyship cannot imagine how greatly I was prepossessed in their favour even + before they spoke.—In their manner was something that struck me + excessively;—few—very few—can express the nameless beauties of + grace,—never to be seen but in a carriage sweetly humble.</p> + <p>Lady Powis seated herself opposite to me.—We called, said she, addressing + Mr. Jenkings, to inquire what was become of you, fearing your Oxfordshire friends had + stolen you from us;—but you have made up for your long absence, if this is the + young lady, bowing to me, your wife told us was to return with you.—A + politeness so unexpected,—so deliver'd,—visibly affected me:—I sat + silent, listening for the reply Mr. Jenkings would make.</p> + <p>Pardon me, my Lady! pardon me, Miss Warley! said the good man,—I am a + stranger to punctilio;—I see my error:—I should have acquainted your + Ladyship before with the name of this dear young Lady; I should have said she is an + honour to her friends.—Need I tell Miss Warley, Sir James and Lady Powis are + present:—I hope the deportment of their <i>servant</i> has confirmed + it;—I hope it has.</p> + <p>Sir James kindly took his hand, and, turning to me, said, Don't believe him, + Madam, he is not our servant;—he has been our <i>friend</i> forty years; we + flatter ourselves he deems not <i>that</i> servitude.</p> + <p>Not your <i>servant!</i>—not your <i>dependant!</i>—not your + <i>servant</i>, Sir James!—and was running on when her Ladyship interrupted + him.</p> + <p>Don't make me angry, Jenkings;—don't pain me;—hear the favour I have + to ask, and be my advocate:—it is with Miss Warley I want you to be my + advocate.—Then addressing herself to me, Will you, Madam, give me the pleasure + of your company often at the Abbey?—I mean, will you come there as if it was + your home?—Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings have comforts, I have not,—at least that + I can enjoy.—Here she sigh'd deeply;—so deep, that I declare it pierced + through my heart;—I felt as if turn'd into stone;—what I suppose I was a + true emblem of.—The silent friends that trickled down my cheeks brought me back + from that inanimate state,—and I found myself in the embraces of Lady Powis, + tenderly affectionate, as when in the arms of Mrs. Whitmore.—Judge not, Madam, + said I, from my present stupidity, that I am so wanting in my head or heart, to be + insensible of this undeserv'd goodness.—With Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings's + permission, I am devoted to your Ladyship's service.—<i>Our</i> approbation! + Miss Warley, return'd the former;—<i>yes, that</i> you have:—her Ladyship + cannot conceive how happy she has made us.—Sir James seconded his Lady with a + warmth perfectly condescending:—no excuse would be taken; I must spend the next + day at the Abbey; their coach was to attend me.</p> + <p>Our amiable guests did not move till summoned by the dinner-bell, which is plainly + to be heard there.—I thought I should have shed tears to see them + going.—I long'd to walk part of the way, but was afraid to propose it, lest I + should appear presumptuous.—Her Ladyship perceiv'd my + inclinations,—look'd delighted,—and requested my company; on which Mr. + Jenkings offer'd his service to escort me back.</p> + <p>How was I surpris'd at ascending the hill!—My feet seem'd leading me to the + first garden—the sweet abode of innocence!—Ten thousand beauties broke on + my sight;—ten thousand pleasures, before unknown, danced through my + heart.—Behold me on the summit;—behold me full of surprise,—full of + admiration!—How enchanting the park! how clear the river that winds through + it!—What taste,—what elegance, in the plantations!—How charmingly + are Nature's beauties rang'd by art!—The trees,—the shrubs,—the + flowers,—hold up their heads, as if proud of the spot they grow on!—Then + the noble old structure,—the magnificent mansion of this ancient family, how + does it fire the beholder with veneration and delight! The very walls seem'd to + speak; at least there was something that inform'd <i>me</i>, native dignity, and + virtues hereditary, dwelt within them.</p> + <p>The sight of a chaise and four, standing at the entrance, hurried me from the + charming pair of this paradise, after many good days ecchoed to me, and thanks + respectful return'd them by the same messenger.</p> + <p>Mr. Jenkings, in our return, entertain'd me with an account of the family for a + century past. A few foibles excepted in the character of Sir James, I find he + possesses all the good qualities of his ancestors. Nothing could be more pleasing + than the encomiums bestow'd on Lady Powis; but she is not exempt from trouble: the + <i>good</i> and the <i>bad</i> the <i>great</i> and the <i>little</i>, at some time + or other, feel Misfortune's touch. Happy such a rod hangs over us! Were we to glide + on smoothly, our affections would be fixed here, and here only.</p> + <p>I could love Lady Powis with a warmth not to be express'd;—but—forgive + me, my dear lady—I pine to know why <i>your</i> intimacy was + interrupted.—Of <i>Lady Mary's</i> steadiness and integrity I am + convinc'd;—of <i>Lady Powis</i> I have had only a transitory view.—Heaven + forbid she should be like such people as from my heart I despise, whose regards are + agueish! Appearances promise the reverse;—but what is appearance? For the + generality a mere cheat, a gaudy curtain.</p> + <p>Pardon me, dear Lady Powis—I am distress'd,—I am perplex'd; but I do + not think ill of you;—indeed I cannot,—unless I find—<i>No</i>, I + cannot find it neither;—something tells me <i>Lady Mary</i>, my dear honour'd + Lady Mary, will acquit you.</p> + <p>We were receiv'd by Mrs. Jenkings, at our return, with a chearful countenance, and + conducted to the dining-parlour, where, during our comfortable, meal, nothing was + talk'd of but Sir James and Lady Powis:—the kind notice taken of your Fanny + mentioned with transport.</p> + <p>Thus honour'd,—thus belov'd,—dare I repine?—Why look on past + enjoyments with such a wistful eye!—Mrs. Whitmore, my dear maternal Mrs. + Whitmore, cannot be recall'd!—Strange perversenss!—why let that which + would give me pleasure fleet away!—why pursue that which I cannot + overtake!—No gratitude to heaven!—Gratitude to you, my dearest Lady, + shall conquer this perverseness;—even now my heart overflows like a swoln + river.</p> + <p>Good night, good night, dear Madam; I am going to repose on the very bed where, + for many years, rested the most deserving of men!—The housekeeper has been + relating many of his virtues;—so many, that I long to see him, <i>though only + in a dream</i>.</p> + <p>Was it not before Mr. Powis went abroad, that your ladyship visited at the + Abbey?—Yet, if so, I think I should have heard you mention him.—Merit + like his could never pass unnotic'd in a breast so similar—Here I drop my pen, + lest I grow impertinent.—Once again, good night,—my more than + parent:—to-morrow, at an early hour, I will begin the recital to your Ladyship + of this day's transactions—I go to implore every blessing on your head, the + only return that can be offer'd by</p> + <p>F. WARLEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_III" name='LETTER_III'></a> + <h2>LETTER III.</h2> + <p>Miss WARLEY to Lady MARY SUTTON, in continuation.</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>I think I have told your Ladyship, I was to be honour'd with the coach to convey + me to the Abbey.—About half an hour after one it arriv'd, when a card was + deliver'd me from Lady Powis, to desire my friends would not be uneasy, if I did not + return early in the evening, as she hop'd for an agreeable party at whist, Lord + Darcey being at the Abbey.</p> + <p>Mrs. Jenkings informed me, his Lordship was a ward of Sir James's just of + age;—his estate genteel, not large;—his education liberal,—his + person fine,—his temper remarkably good.—Sir James, said she, is for ever + preaching lessons to him, that he must marry <i>prudently</i>;—which is, that + he must never marry without an immense fortune.—Ah! Miss Warley, this same love + of money has serv'd to make poor Lady Powis very unhappy. Sir James's greatest fault + is covetousness;—but who is without fault?—Lord Darcey was a lovely + youth, continued she, when he went abroad; I long to see if he is alter'd by + travelling.—Edmund and his Lordship were school-fellows:—how my son will + be overjoy'd to hear he is at the Abbey!—I detain you, Miss Warley, or could + talk for ever of Lord Darcey! Do go, my dear, the family will expect + you.—Promise, said I, taking her hand,—<i>promise</i> you will not sit up + late on my account.—She answer'd nothing, but pressing me to her bosom, seem'd + to tell me her heart was full of affection.</p> + <p>The old coachman, as we drove up the lawn, eyed me attentively, saying to the + footman, <i>It will be so, John, you may depend upon it</i>.—John answer'd only + by a shrug.—What either meant, I shall not pretend to divine.—As I came + near the house, I met Mr. Jenkings almost out of breath, and, pulling the string, he + came to the coach-side. I was hurrying home, my dear young Lady, said he, + to—to—to—Now faith I'm afraid you'll be angry.</p> + <p>Angry with you, Sir!—angry with you, Mr. Jenkings!—is it possible!</p> + <p>Then, to be plain, Madam, I was hurrying home, to request you would wear no + cap.—Never shall I forget how pretty you look'd, when I saw you without + one!—Of all things, I would <i>this day</i> wish you might look your best.</p> + <p>To satisfy him I had taken some little pains in honour to the family, I let back + the hood of my cloke.—He examin'd the manner in which my hair was dress'd, and + smiled his approbation;—which <i>smile</i>, though only seen in the eyes, was + more expressive than a contraction of all the other features.—Wishing me a + happy day, he bid the coachman drive on.</p> + <p>Coming within sight of the Abbey, my heart beat as if breaking from + confinement.—I was oblig'd to call it to a severe trial,—to ask, Why this + insurrection,—whence these tumults?—My monitor reply'd, Beware of + self-sufficiency,—beware of its mortifying consequences.—</p> + <p>How seasonable this warning against the worst of foes!—a foe which I too + much fear was stealing on me imperceptibly,—else why did I not before feel + those sensations?—Could I receive greater honour than has been conferr'd on me + by the noblest mind on earth!—by <i>Lady Mary?</i>—Could I behold greater + splendor than <i>Lady Mary</i> is possess'd of!—What affection in another can I + ever hope for like <i>Lady Mary's!</i>—Thus was I arguing with myself, when the + coach-door open'd, and a servant conducted me to the drawing-room,—where, I was + receiv'd by Sir James and Lady Powis with an air of polite tenderness;—a kind + of unreserve, that not only supports the timid mind, but dignifies every + word,—every action,—and gives to education and address their highest + polish.</p> + <p>Lord Darcey was sitting in the window, a book in his hand;—he came forward + as Sir James introduc'd me, who said, <i>Now</i>, my Lord, the company of <i>this</i> + young Lady will make your Lordship's time pass more agreeably, than it could have + done in the conversation of two old people.—My spirits were flutter'd; I really + don't recollect his reply; only that it shew'd him master of the great art, to make + every one pleas'd with themselves.</p> + <p>Shall I tell you, my dear Lady, what are my thoughts of <i>this</i> Lord + Darcey?—To confess then, though his person is amazingly elegant, his manners + are still more engaging.—This I look upon to be the natural consequence of a + mind illumin'd with uncommon understanding, sweetness, and refinement.</p> + <p>A short time before dinner the chaplain made his appearance,—a venerable old + man, with hair white as snow:—what renders his figure to be completely + venerated, is the loss of sight.—Her Ladyship rising from her seat, led me + towards him: Mr. Watson, said she, I am going to introduce a lady whose <i>brightest + charms</i> will soon be visible to you.—The best man in the world! whisper'd + she, putting my hand in his;—which hand I could not avoid putting to my + lips.—<i>Thank</i> you, Miss Warley, said her Ladyship, <i>we all</i> revere + this gentleman.—Mr. Watson was affected, some drops stole from their dark + prisons, and he bless'd me as if I had been his daughter:—my pleasure was + exquisite,—it seem'd as if I had receiv'd the benediction of an angel.</p> + <p>Our subjects turn'd more on the celestial than the terrestrial, till dinner was + serv'd up,—when I found that good <i>knight</i> which has been so long banish'd + to the side-board, replac'd in his original station.</p> + <p>How different <i>this table</i> from many others! where genteel sprightly + conversations are shut out; <i>where</i> such as cannot feast their senses on the + genius of a <i>cook</i>, must rise unsatisfied.</p> + <p>A similitude of manners between your <i>Ladyship</i> and <i>Lady Powis</i>, + particularly in doing the honours of the table, struck me so much, that I once or + twice call'd her <i>Lady Mary</i>.—Pray, Miss Warley, ask'd she, who is this + Lady Mary?</p> + <p>What could occasion her confusion!—what could occasion the confusion of Sir + James!—Never did I see any thing equal it, when I said it was Lady Mary + Sutton!—The significant looks that were interchang'd, spoke some + mystery;—a mystery it would be presumption in me to dive after. Her Ladyship + made no reply,—Sir James was eager to vary the subject,—and the + conversation became general.</p> + <p>Though autumn is far advanc'd, every thing here wears the face of + spring.—The afternoon being remarkably fine Lady Powis, Lord Darcey, and + myself, strolled out amongst the sweets.—We walk'd a considerable time; his + Lordship was all gaiety, talk'd with raptures of the improvements; declar'd every + thing he had seen abroad fell short of this delightful spot; and <i>now</i>, my dear + Lady Powis, added he, with an air of gallantry, I can see <i>nothing</i> wanting.</p> + <p><i>Nothing</i> wanting! return'd her Ladyship, sighing:—Ah! my Lord, + <i>you</i> are not a parent!—you feel nothing of a parent's + woe!—<i>you</i> do not hourly regret the absence of a beloved and only son! + Don't look serious, my dear Lord, seeing him somewhat abash'd, you have hitherto + tenderly loved me.—Perhaps I had a mind to augment your affection, by bringing + to your recollection I was not happy.—His Lordship made no reply, but, taking + her hand, lifted it respectfully to his lips.</p> + <p>Mr. Jenkings is this moment coming up the lawn. I see him from + window;—excuse me, my dear Lady, whilst I step to ask him how he does.</p> + <p>I have been accounting to Mr. Jenkings for not coming home last night. Good man! + every mark of favour I receive, enlightens <i>his countenance</i>.—The reasons + I have given him, I shall now proceed to give your Ladyship.</p> + <p>I said we were walking;—I have said the conversation was + interesting;—but I have not said it was interrupted by Sir James and Mr. + Watson, who join'd us just as Lord Darcey had quitted the hand of Lady Powis.—A + visit was propos'd to the Dairy-house, which is about a mile from the Abbey.—In + our way thither, I was full of curiosity, full of inquiries about the neighbourhood, + and whose seats <i>such</i> and <i>such</i> were, that enrich'd adjacent + hills?—The neighbourhood, reply'd her Ladyship, is in general polite and + hospitable.—<i>Yes</i>, said Sir James, and more smart young men, <i>Miss + Warley</i>, than are to be met with in <i>every</i> county.—Yonder, continued + he, live Mr. and Mrs. Finch,—very rich,—very prudent, and very + worthy;—they have one son, a discreet lad, who seems to promise he will inherit + their good qualities.</p> + <p><i>That</i> which you see so surrounded with woods, is Sir Thomas Slater's, a + <i>batchelor</i> of fifty-five; and, let me tell you, fair Lady, the pursuit of + <i>every</i> girl in the neighbourhood;—his estate a clear nine thousand + a-year, and—Hold, hold, interrupted Lord Darcey, in compassion to <i>us</i> + young fellows, say no more of this <i>redoubtable</i> batchelor.</p> + <p>Well then, continued Sir James, since my Lord <i>will</i> have it so,—let me + draw your eye, Miss Warley, from Sir Thomas Slater's, and fix it on Lord Allen's: + Observe the situation!—Nothing can be more beautiful, the mind of its owner + excepted.</p> + <p><i>That</i> house on the left is Mr. Winter's.—Chance!—<i>Strange + chance!</i>—has just put him in possession of an immense fortune, with which he + is going to purchase a <i>coronet</i> for his daughter.—The fellow does not + know what to do with his <i>money</i>, and has at last found an <i>ape</i> of + quality, that will take <i>it</i> off his hands.</p> + <p>In this manner was Sir James characterising his neighbours, when a sudden and + violent storm descended.—Half a mile from the <i>Dairy-house</i>, the rain fell + in such torrents, that we were wet through, before a friendly oak offer'd us its + shelter.—Never shall I forget my own or Lord Darcey's figure: he stripp'd + himself of his coat, and would have thrown it over Lady Powis. Her Ladyship + absolutely refusing it, her cloak being thick, mine the reverse, he forc'd it upon + me. Sir James a assisting to put my arms into the sleeves.—Nor was I yet enough + of the amazon:—they even compell'd me to exchange my hat for his, lapping it, + about my ears.—What a strange <i>metamorphose!</i>—I cannot think of it + without laughing!—To complete the scene, no exchange could be made, till we + reach'd the Abbey.—In this droll situation, we waited for the coach; and + getting, in, streaming from head to toe, it more resembled a bathing machine, than + any other vehicle.</p> + <p>A gentleman, who, after a chace of ten hours, had taken shelter under the roof of + Sir James, was, at our return, stamping up and down, the vestibule, disappointed both + in his sport and dinner, shew'd an aspect cloudy as the heavens.—My + mortification was scarce supportable, when I heard him roar out, in a voice like + thunder, <i>What the devil have we here?</i>—I sprang to the top of the stairs + in a moment,—there stopp'd to fetch breath; and again the same person, who had + so genteelly accosted me, said to Lord Darcey,—<i>Great</i> improvements, upon + my soul!—<i>You</i> are return'd a mighty pretty <i>Miss</i>.—What, is + <i>this</i> the newest dress at Turin?—I heard no more; her Ladyship's woman + came and shew'd me to an apartment,—bringing from her Lady's wardrobe a chints + négligée, and a suit of flower'd muslin; in which I was soon + equipp'd.</p> + <p>Lady Powis sent to desire I would come to her dressing room; and, embracing me as + I entered, said, with, an air of charming freedom, If you are not hurt, my dear, by + our little excursion, I shall be quite in spirits this evening.</p> + <p>I am only hurt by your Ladyship's goodness. Indeed, return'd she, I have not a + close heart, but no one ever found so quick a passage to it as yourself.—Oh! + Lady Mary, <i>this</i> is surely a <i>heart</i> like yours!—A <i>heart</i> like + Mrs. Whitmore's!—Was you not surpris'd, <i>my dear</i>, continued her Ladyship, + to be so accosted by the gentleman below?—Take no notice of what is said by Mr. + Morgan.—that is his name;—he means well, and never goes into any person's + house, but where his oddities are indulg'd.—I am particularly civil to him; he + was an old school-fellow of Sir James's, one whose purse was always open to + him.—Sir James, Miss Warley, was rather addicted to extravagance in the + beginning of his life;—<i>that</i>, in some respects, is revers'd + latterly.—I have been a sufferer,—yet is he a tender generous husband. + One day you shall know more.—I <i>had</i> a son, Miss Warley—Here Sir + James interrupted her.—I come to tell you, said he, that Lord Darcey and myself + are impatient for our tea.</p> + <p>O fie! Sir James, return'd Lady Powis, talk of impatience before an unmarried + Lady!—If you go on at this rate, you will frighten her from any connection with + your sex.—Not at all,—not at all, said Sir James; you take us for better + for worse.—See there, Miss Warley smiles.—I warrant she does not think my + <i>impatience</i> unseasonable.—I was going to reply, but effectually stopped + by her Ladyship, who said, taking my hand, Come, my dear, let us go down.—I am + fond of finding excuses for Sir James; we will suppose it was not he who was + impatient:—we will suppose the <i>impatience</i> to be Lord Darcey's.</p> + <p>Whilst regaling ourselves at the tea table, Mr. Morgan was in the dining-parlour, + brightening up his features by the assitance of the cook and butler.—We were + congratulating each other on the difference of our present and late situation, + declaring there was nothing to regret, when Mr. Morgan enter'd.—Regret! cry'd + he,—what do you regret?—Not, I hope, that I have made a good dinner on a + cold sirloin and pickled oysters?—Indeed I do, said Lady Powis:—Had I + thought you so poor a caterer, I should have taken the office on myself.—Faith + then, reply'd he, you might have eat it yourself:—Forty years, my good Lady, I + have made this house my home, and did I ever suffer you to direct <i>what</i>, or + <i>when</i>, I should eat?—</p> + <p>Sir James laugh'd aloud; so did her Ladyship:—I was inclin'd to do the + same,—but afraid what next he would say;—However, this caution did not + screen me from particular notice.</p> + <p>What the duce have I here! said he, taking one of my hands,—a snow-ball by + the colour, and feeling? and down he dropp'd it by the side of Lord Darcey's, which + rested on the table.</p> + <p>I was never more confounded.</p> + <p>You are not angry, my pretty Lady, continued he:—we shall know one another + better;—but if you displease me,—I shall thunder.—I keep all in + subjection, except the <i>muleish kind</i>, making a low bow to Sir James. Saying + this, he went in pursuit of Mr. Watson.—They soon re-enter'd together; a + card-table was produc'd; and we sat down at it, whilst they solac'd themselves by a + good fire.</p> + <p>My attention was frequently taken from the cards, to observe how it was possible + such opposites as Mr. Watson and Mr. Morgan cou'd be entertain'd by one another's + conversation.—Never saw I any two seemingly more happy!—The chearfulness + of the former augmented;—the voice of the latter at least three notes + lower.—This has been since explain'd to me by Lady Powis.—Mr. Morgan, she + says, notwithstanding his rough appearance, is of a nature so compassionate, that, to + people defective in person or fortune, he is the gentlest creature breathing.</p> + <p>Our party broke up at nine.—I sat half an hour after supper, then propos'd + returning to Mr. Jenkings's.—Lady Powis would not hear me on this + subject—I must stay that night at the Abbey:—venturing out such weather + would hazard my health.—So said Sir James; so said Lord Darcey.—As for + Mr. Morgan, he swore, Was he the former, his horses should not stir out for fifty + pieces, unless, said he, Sir James chooses to be a fellow-sufferer with Lord Allen, + who I have led such a chace this day, that he was forced to leave poor Snip on the + forest.—Saying which, he threw himself back in the chair, and fell into a sound + sleep.—About eleven I retir'd to my chamber;—a message first being sent + to Mr. Jenkings.—Instead of going immediately to bed, I sat down and indulg'd + myself with the satisfaction of writing to my beloved Lady Mary.—This morning I + got up early to finish my packet; and though I have spent half an hour with Mr. + Jenkings, shall close it before her Ladyship is stirring.</p> + <p>Your commands, my dear Lady, are executed.—I have wrote Mrs. Smith; and as + soon as I receive her answer, shall, with a joyful heart, with impatient fondness, + prepare to throw at your Ladyship's feet,</p> + <p>Your much honour'd,</p> + <p>and affectionate,</p> + <p>F. WARLEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_IV" name='LETTER_IV'></a> + <h2>LETTER IV.</h2> + <p>Lord DARCEY to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH.</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>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?—<i>Do</i> with her! said his Lordship; why, she is not more than + eighteen; let her go to school: faith, Flecher, that's my advice.—<i>Let her + go</i> to the devil after I am once sure of her, return'd the lover; and, whipping up + the horses; drove away like lightning.</p> + <p>Be serious—Answer me one serious question,—Is it not + possible,—<i>very</i> possible, to have a regard, a <i>friendship</i>, for an + amiable girl, without endangering her peace or my own?—If I am further involv'd + than <i>friendship</i>,—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; <i>for know</i>, she cannot + look without them.</p> + <p>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—</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>No! he will never consent;—I must only think of <i>friendship</i>.</p> + <p>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 <i>heavenly</i> after fifty.—The coach is + this moment going for Miss Warley;—it waits only for me;—I am often her + conductor.—Was <i>you</i> first minister of state,—I the humble suitor + whose bread depended on your favour,—not one line more, even to express my + wants.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Twelve o'clock, at night.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>I am, <i>&c. &c.</i></p> + <p>DARCEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_V" name='LETTER_V'></a> + <h2>LETTER V.</h2> + <p>The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to LORD DARCEY.</p> + <p><i>Bath</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Confound your friendships!—<i>Friendship</i> indeed!—What! up head and + ears in love, and not know it.—So it is necessary for every woman you think + capable of friendship, to have fine eyes, fine hair, a bewitching smile, and a neck + delicately turn'd.—Have not I the highest opinion of my cousin Dolly's + sincerity?—Do I not think her very capable of <i>friendship?</i>—Yet, + poor soul, her eyes are planted so deep, it requires good ones to discover she has + any.—Such a hand, George!—Such a hand, Darcey!—Why, Lady Dorothy + too has hands; I am often enough squeez'd by them:—though hard as a horse's + hoof, and the colour of tanned leather, I hold her capable of + <i>friendship</i>.—Neck she has none,—smile she has none! yet need I the + determination of another, to tell me whether my regard for her proceeds from love or + <i>friendship?</i>—Awake,—Awake, Darcey,—Awake:—Have you any + value for your own peace?—have you any for that of Miss Warley's? If so, leave + Barford Abbey.—Should you persist in loving her, for love her I know you + do?—Should the quiet of such an amiable woman as you describe be at stake? To + deal plainly, I will come down and propose the thing myself.—No sword,—no + pistol. I mean not for <i>myself</i>, but one whose happiness is dear to me as my + <i>own</i>.</p> + <p>Suppose your estate is but two thousand a-year, are you so fond of shew and + equipage, to barter real felicity for baubles?—I am angry,—so angry, that + it would not grieve me to see you leading to the altar an old hobbling dowager + without a tooth.—Be more yourself,</p> + <p>And I am yours,</p> + <p>MOLESWORTH.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_VI" name='LETTER_VI'></a> + <h2>LETTER VI</h2> + <p>Lord DARCEY to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH.</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i>,</p> + <br /> + + <p>Angry!—You are really angry!—Well, I too am angry with myself.—I + do love Miss Warley;—but why this to you?—Your penetration has already + discover'd it.—Yet, O Molesworth! such insurmountable obstacles:—no + declaration can be made,—at least whilst I continue in this neighbourhood.</p> + <p>Sir James would rave at my imprudence.—Lady Powis, whatever are her + sentiments, must give them up to his opinion.—Inevitably I lose the affection + of persons I have sacredly—promised to obey,—sacredly.—Was not my + promise given to a dying father?—Miss Warley has no tye; yet, by the duty she + observes to Sir James and Lady Powis, you would think her bound by the strongest + cords of nature.</p> + <p>Scarce a moment from her:—at Jenkings's every morning;—on foot if good + weather,—else in the coach for the convenience of bringing her with me.—I + am under no constraint:—Sir James and her Ladyship seem not the least + suspicious: this I much wonder at, in the former particularly.</p> + <p>In my <i>tête-à-têtes</i> with Miss Warley, what think you are + our subjects?—Chiefly divinity, history, and geography.—Of these studies + she knows more than half the great men who have wrote for ages past.—On a taste + for the two latter I once prided myself.—An eager pursuit for the former + springs up in my mind, whilst conversing with her, like a plant long hid in the + earth, and called out by the appearance of a summer's sun.—This sun must shine + at Faulcon Park;—without it all will be dreary:—<i>yet</i> how can I draw + it thither?—<i>Edmund</i>—but why should I fear <i>Edmund?</i></p> + <p>Will you, or will you not, meet your old friend Finch here next + Wednesday?—Be determined in your answer.—I have suspence enough on my + hands to be excused from any on your account.—Sir James thinks it unkind you + have not called on him since I left England;—hasten therefore to make up + matters with the baronet,—Need I say the pleasure I shall have in shaking you + by the hand?</p> + <p>DARCEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_VII" name='LETTER_VII'></a> + <h2>LETTER VII.</h2> + <p>The Hon. GEORGE MOLESWORTH to Lord DARCEY.</p> + <p><i>Bath</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Wednesday next you shall see me,—positively you shall.—Bridgman will + be of the party.</p> + <p>I propose an immensity of satisfaction from this visit.—Forbid it, heaven! + Miss Warley's opposite should again give me a meeting at the Abbey.—After the + conversation I am made to expect, how should I be mortified to have my ears eternally + dinn'd with catgut work,—painting gauze,—weaving fringes,—and + finding out enigmas?—Setting a fine face, Miss Winter is out-done by Fletcher's + Nancy.—A-propos, I yesterday saw that very wise girl step into a chaise and + wheel off for Scotland, begging and praying we would make the best of it to her + mamma.—Not the least hand had I in this affair; but, willing to help out people + in distress, at the entreaties of Lord Michell, I waited on the old Lady at her + lodging.</p> + <p>I found her in a furious plight,—raving at her servants,—packing up + her cloaths, and reflecting on her relations who had persuaded her to come to + Bath.—When I entered she was kneeling by a huge travelling trunk, stuffing in a + green purse at one corner, which I supposed to be full of gold.</p> + <p>Where is Nancy?—riling from the ground, and accosting me with looks of + fury;—Where is Nancy, Mr. Molesworth?</p> + <p>Really, <i>Madam</i>, that is a question I cannot positively answer;—but, to + be sincere, I believe she is on the road to Scotland.</p> + <p><i>Believe!</i>—So you would have me think you are not one of Fletcher's + clan.—But, tell him from me, running to the trunk after her purse, and shaking + it just at my ear,—<i>tell him</i>, he shall never be a penny the better for + this.</p> + <p>I took my hat, and looked towards the door, as if going.</p> + <p>Stop, Mr. Molesworth, (her voice somewhat lowered) why in so great a + hurry?—I once thought you my friend. Pray inform me if Nancy was forced + away;—or, if me went willingly.</p> + <p>You have no right, Madam, after the treatment I have received, to expect an + answer; but justice bids me declare her going off seemed a matter of choice.</p> + <p>Poor child!—You was certainly trapann'd (and she put a handkerchief to her + eyes).</p> + <p>I solemnly protest, Madam, I have seen your daughter but twice since she came to + Bath.—Last night, when coming from the Rooms, I saw her step into a chaise, + followed by Mr. Fletcher.—They beckoned me towards them, whispered the + expedition they were going upon, and requested me to break the matter to you, and + intercede for their pardon.—My visit has not answered its salutary + purpose—I perceive it <i>has not</i>. So saying I turned from + her,—knowing, by old acquaintance, how I was to play my cards, me being one of + those kind of spirits which are never quell'd but by opposition.</p> + <p>After fetching me from the door, she promised to hear calmly what I had to + say;—and, tho' no orator, I succeeded so well as to gain an assurance, she + would see them at their return from Scotland.</p> + <p>I left the old Lady in tolerable good humour, and was smiling to myself, + recollecting the bout I had passed, when, who should come towards me but Lord + Michell,—his countenance full-fraught with curiosity.</p> + <p>Well, George!—dear George!—what success in your embassy?—I long + to know the fate of honest Fletcher.—Is he to loll in a coach and + six?—or, is the coroner's inquest to bring in their verdict Lunacy?</p> + <p>A sweet alternative!—<i>As</i> your Lordship's assiduity has shewn the + former is the highest pinnacle to which you would wish to lift a friend, I believe + your most sanguine hopes are here answered.</p> + <p>Is it <i>so!</i>—Well, if ever Fletcher offers up a prayer, it ought to be + for you, Molesworth.</p> + <p>Vastly good, my Lord.—What, before he prays for himself?—<i>This</i> + shews your Lordship's <i>very</i> high notions of gratitude.</p> + <p>We have high notions of every thing.—Bucks and bloods, as we are + call'd,—you may go to the devil before you will find a set of honester + fellows.</p> + <p>To the <i>Devil</i>, my Lord!—That's true, I believe.</p> + <p>He was going to reply when the three choice spirits came up, and hurried him, away + to the Tuns.</p> + <p>A word to <i>you</i>, Darcey.—Surely you are never serious in the ridiculous + design.—Not offer yourself to Miss Warley, whilst she continues in that + neighbourhood?—the very spot on which you ought to secure her,—unless you + think all the young fellows who visit at the Abbey are blind, except + yourself.—<i>Why</i>, you are jealous <i>already</i>;—<i>jealous</i> of + <i>Edmund</i>.—Perhaps <i>even I</i> may become one of your + tormentors.—If I like her I shall as certainly tell her <i>so, as</i> that my + name is</p> + <p>MOLESWORTH.</p> + <p>[Here two Letters are omitted, one from Lady MARY to Miss WARLEY,—and one + from Miss WARLEY to Lady MARY.]</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_VIII" name='LETTER_VIII'></a> + <h2>LETTER VIII.</h2> + <p>Miss WARLEY to Lady MARY SUTTON.</p> + <p>From Mr. <i>Jenkings's</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Ah! my dear Lady, how kind,—how inexpressibly kind, to promise I shall one + day know what has put an end to the intimacy between the two Ladies I <i>so</i> much + revere.</p> + <p>To find your Ladyship has still a high opinion of Lady Powis, has filled me with + pleasure.—Fear of the reverse often threw a damp on my heart, whilst receiving + the most tender caresses.—You bid me love her!—You say I cannot love her + too well!—<i>This</i> is a command my heart springs forward to obey.</p> + <p>Unhappy family!—What a loss does it sustain by the absence of Mr. + Powis?—<i>No</i>, I can never forgive the Lady who has occasioned this source + of sorrow.—Why is her name concealed?—But what would it benefit me to + come at a knowledge of it?</p> + <p>Pity Sir James should rather see such a son <i>great</i> than happy.—Six + thousand a year, <i>yet</i> covet a fortune twice as large!—Love of riches + makes strange wreck in the human heart.</p> + <p>Why did Mr. Powis leave his native country?—The refusal of a Lady with whom + he only sought an union in obedience to his father, could not <i>greatly</i> affect + him.—Was not such an overture <i>without</i> affection,—<i>without</i> + inclination,—a blot in his fair character?—Certainly it was.—Your + Ladyship seems to think Sir James only to blame.—I dare not have presumed to + offer my opinion, had you not often told me, it betray'd a meanness to hide our real + sentiments, when call'd upon to declare them.</p> + <p>Lady Powis yesterday obliged me with a sight of several letters from her + son.—<i>I</i> am not mistress of a stile like <i>his</i>, or your Ladyship + would have been spar'd numberless tedious moments.—Such extraordinary deckings + are seldom to be met with in common minds.</p> + <p>I told Lady Powis, last evening, that I should devote this day to my pen;—so + I shall not be sent for;—a favour I am sure to have conferr'd if I am not at + the Abbey soon after breakfast.—Lord Darcey is frequently my escort.—I am + pleased to see that young nobleman regard Edmund as if of equal rank with + himself.</p> + <p>Heavens! his Lordship is here!—full-dressed, and just alighted from the + coach,—to fetch me, I fear.—I shall know in a moment; Mrs. Jenkings is + coming up.</p> + <p>Even so.—It vexes me to be thus taken off from my agreeable task;—yet + I cannot excuse myself,—her Ladyship is importunate.—She sends me word I + <i>must</i> come;—that I <i>must</i> return with Lord Darcey.—Mrs. Finch + is accidentally dropp'd in with her son.—I knew the latter was expected to meet + two gentlemen from Bath,—one of them an intimate friend of Lord + Darcey.—Mrs. Finch is an amiable woman;—it is to her Lady Powis wants to + introduce me.</p> + <p><i>Your Servant, my Lord</i>.—A very genteel way to hasten me + down—impatient, I suppose, to see his friend from Bath.—<i>Well</i>, + Jenny, tell his Lordship it will be needless to have the horses taken out.—I + shall be ready in a quarter of an hour.—Adieu, my dear Lady.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Eleven o'clock at night.</p> + <p>Every thing has conspired to make this day more than commonly agreeable.—It + requires the pen of a Littelton to paint the different graces which shone in + conversation.—As no such pen is at hand, will your Ladyship receive from + <i>mine</i> a short description of the company at the Abbey?</p> + <p>Mrs. Finch is about seven and forty;—her person plain,—her mind + lovely,—her bosom fraught with happiness.—She dispenses it + promiscuously.—Every smile,—every accent,—conveys it to all around + her.—A countenance engagingly open.—Her purse too, I am told, when + occasions offer, open as her heart.—How largely is she repaid for her balsamic + gifts,—by seeing those virtues early planted in the mind of her son, spring up + and shoot in a climate where a blight is almost contagious!</p> + <p>Mr. Finch is the most sedate young man I have ever seen;—but his sedateness + is temper'd with a <i>sweetness</i> inexpressible;—a certain mildness in the + features;—<i>a mildness</i> which, in the countenance of that great commander I + saw at Brandon Lodge, appears like <i>mercy</i> sent out from the heart to discover + the dwelling of <i>true courage</i>.—There is certainly a strong likeness + between the Marquis and Lord Darcey;—<i>so strong</i>, that when I first beheld + his Lordship I was quite struck with surprize.</p> + <p>Mr. Molesworth and Mr. Bridgman, the two gentlemen from Bath, are very opposite to + each other in person and manner; yet both in a different degree seem to be worthy + members of society.</p> + <p>Mr. Molesworth, a most entertaining companion,—vastly chearful,—smart + at repartee; and, from the character Lord Darcey has given me of him, very + sincere.</p> + <p>Mr. Bridgman has a good deal the air of a foreigner; attained, I suppose, by his + residence some years at the court of ——, in a public + character.—Very fit he appears for such an + employ.—Sensible,—remarkably polite,—speaks all languages with the + same fluency as his own; but then a veil of disagreeable reserve throws a dark shade + over those perfections.—<i>Perhaps</i> I am wrong to spy out faults so + early;—<i>perhaps</i> to-morrow my opinion may be different.—First + prepossessions—Ah! What would I have said of <i>first + prepossessions?</i>—Is it not to them I owe a thousand blessings?—I, who + have nothing to recommend me but being unfortunate.</p> + <p>Somthing lies at my heart.—Yet I think I could not sleep in quiet, was I to + drop a hint in disfavour of Mr. Jenkings;—it may not be in his <i>disfavour</i> + neither:—However, my dear Lady, you shall be the judge, after I have repos'd a + few hours.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Seven o'clock in the morning.</p> + <p>Why should I blame Mr. Jenkings?—Is not Edmund his only son?—his only + child?—Is he less my friend for suspecting?—Yes, my Lady, I perceive he + does <i>suspect</i>.—He is uneasy.—He supposes his son encouraging an + improper affection.—I see it in his very looks:—he must think me an + artful creature.—This it is that distresses me.—I wish I could hit on a + method to set his heart at rest.—If I barely hint a design of leaving the + neighbourhood, which I have done once or twice, he bursts into tears, and I am + oblig'd to sooth him like a child.</p> + <p>How account for this behaviour?—Why does he look on me with the eye of + fatherly affection,—yet think me capable of a meanness I <i>despise?</i></p> + <p>I believe it impossible for a human being to have <i>more</i> good nature, or + <i>more</i> good qualities, than Edmund; yet had he the riches of a Mogul, I could + never think of a connection with him.—<i>He</i>, worthy young man, has never + given his father cause for <i>suspicion</i>.—I am convinced he has + not.—Naturally of an obliging disposition, he is ever on the watch for + opportunities to gratify his amiable inclinations:—not <i>one</i> such selfish + motive as love to push him on.</p> + <p>A summons to breakfast.—Lord Darcey, it seems, is below;—I suppose, + slid away from his friends to call on Edmund.—Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings are + <i>all</i> smiles, <i>all</i> good humour, to their son,—I hope it is only I + who have been <i>suspicious</i>.—Lord Darcey is still with Edmund.—They + are at this moment under my window,—counselling perhaps, about a commission he + wants his father to purchase for him in the Guards.—I should be glad to see + this matter accommodated;—yet, I could wish, in <i>so</i> tender a point, his + Lordship may not be <i>too</i> forward in advising.—Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings have + such an opinion of him,—they pay such deference to what he says,—his + advice <i>must</i> have weight;—and they <i>may</i> be unhappy by giving up + their inclinations.</p> + <p>The praises of Lord Darcey are forever sounding in my ears.—To what a height + would the partiality of Mrs. Jenkings lift me?—She would have me think,—I + cannot tell your Ladyship what she would <i>have me think</i>.—My hopes dare + not take <i>such</i> a flight.—No!—I can perceive what their fall + <i>must</i> be;—I can perceive <i>it</i>, without getting on the top of the + precipice to look down.</p> + <p>I shall order every thing for my departure, according to your Ladyship's + directions, holding myself in readiness to attend Mr. and Mrs. Smith, at the time + proposed.</p> + <p>Oxfordshire I must revisit,—for a few days only;—having some little + matters to regulate.</p> + <p>The silks I have purchas'd for your Ladyship are slight, as you directed, except a + white and gold, which is the richest and most beautiful I could procure.</p> + <p>How imperceptibly time slides on?—The clock strikes eleven,—in spight + of the desire I have of communicating many things more.—An engagement to be + with Lady Powis at twelve hastens me to conclude myself</p> + <p>Your Ladyship's</p> + <p>Most honour'd and affectionate,</p> + <p>F. WARLEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_IX" name='LETTER_IX'></a> + <h2>LETTER IX.</h2> + <p>The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to LORD DARCEY.</p> + <p><i>Bath</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>What a sacrifice do you offer up to that old dog Plutus!—I have lost + <i>all</i> patience,—<i>all</i> patience, I say.—<i>Such</i> a + woman!—<i>such</i> an angelic woman!—But what has,—what will avail + my arguments?—Her peace is gone,—if you persevere in a behaviour so + <i>particular</i>,—absolutely gone.</p> + <p>Bridgman this morning told me, that unless I assured him you had + <i>pretensions</i> to Miss Warley, he was determined to offer her his + hand;—<i>that</i> nothing prevented him from doing it whilst at the Abbey, but + your mysterious conduct, which he was at a loss how to construe. —Not to offend + <i>you</i>, the <i>Lady</i> or <i>family</i> she is with, he apply'd, he said, to + <i>me</i>, as a friend of each party, to set him right.</p> + <p>Surely, Bridgman, returned I, you wish to keep yourself in the dark; or how the + duce have you been six days with people whose countenances speak so much sensibility, + and not make the discovery you seek after?</p> + <p>Though her behaviour to us; continued I, was politeness itself, was there nothing + more than <i>politeness</i> in her address to Lord Darcey?—Her smiles + <i>too</i>, in which Diana and the Graces revel, saw you not <i>them</i>, how they + played from one to another, like sun-beams on the water, until they fixed on + him?—Is the nation in debt?—So much is Darcey in love;—and you may + as well pay off one, as rival the other with success.</p> + <p>Observe, my friend, in what manner I have answered for you.—Keep her, + therefore, no longer in suspence.—Delays of this sort are not only dangerous, + but cruel.—Why delight to torture what we most admire?—From a boy you + despised such actions.—Often have I known Dick Jones, when at Westminster, + threshed by your hand for picking poor little birds alive.—<i>His</i> was an + early point;—but for <i>Darcey</i>, accoutred with the breast-plate of honour, + even before he could read the word that signifies its intrinsic value,—<i>for + him</i> to be falling off,—falling off at a time <i>too</i>, when Virtue + herself appears in person to support him!</p> + <p>Can you say, you mean not to injure her?—Is a woman only to be injured, but + by an attempt on her virtue?—Is it <i>no</i> crime, <i>no</i> fault, to cheat a + young innocent lovely girl out of her affections, and give her nothing in return but + regret and disappointment?</p> + <p>Reflect, what a task is mine, thus to lay disagreeable truths plainly before + you.—To hear it pronounced, that Lord and Lady Darcey are the happiest couple + on earth, is the hope that has pushed me on to this unpleasing office.</p> + <p>Bridgman is just set out for town.—I am charg'd with a profusion of + respects, thanks, &c. &c. &c. which, if you have the least oeconomy, will + serve for him, and</p> + <p>Your very humble servant,</p> + <p>MOLESWORTH.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_X" name='LETTER_X'></a> + <h2>LETTER X.</h2> + <p>Lord DARCEY to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH.</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Bridgman!—Could Bridgman dare aspire to Miss Warley!—<i>He</i> offer + her his hand!—<i>he</i> be connected with a woman whose disposition is + diametrically opposite to his own!—<i>No</i>,—that would not have done, + though I had never seen her.—Let him seek for one who has a heart shut up by a + thousand locks.</p> + <p>After his <i>own</i> conjectures,—after what <i>you</i> have told + him,—should he <i>but</i> attempt to take her from me, by all that is sacred, + he shall repent it dearly.</p> + <p>Molesworth! <i>you</i> are my friend,—I take your admonitions + well;—but, surely, you should not press thus hardly on my soul, knowing its + uneasy situation.—My state is even more perplexing than when we parted:—I + did not then know she was going to France.—<i>Yes</i>, she is absolutely going + to <i>France</i>.—Why leave her friends here?—Why not wait the arrival of + Lady Mary Sutton in England?</p> + <p>I have used every dissuasive argument <i>but one</i>.—That shall be my + last.—If <i>that</i> fails I go—I positively go with her.—It is + your opinion that she loves me.—Would it were mine!—<i>Not</i> the least + partiality can I discover.—Why then be precipitate?—Every moment she is + gaining ground in the affections of Sir James and Lady Powis.—<i>Time</i> may + work wonders in the mind of the former.—Without his consent never can I give my + hand;—the commands of a dying father forbid me.—<i>Such</i> a + father!—O George! you did not know him;—<i>so</i> + revered,—<i>so</i> honour'd,—<i>so</i> belov'd! not more in public than + in private life.</p> + <p><i>My friend</i>, behold your son!—<i>Darcey</i>, behold your + father!—<i>As</i> you reverence and obey Sir James, <i>as</i> you consult him + on all occasions, <i>as</i> you are guided by his advice, receive my + blessing.—These were his parting words, hugg'd into me in his last cold + embrace.—No, George, the promise I made can never be forfeited.—I sealed + it on his lifeless hand, before I was borne from him.</p> + <p><i>Now</i>, are you convinc'd no mean views with-hold me?—You despise not + more than I do the knave and coxcomb; for no other, to satiate their own vanity, + would sport away the quiet of a fellow-creature.—Well may you call it + cruel.—<i>Such</i> cruelties fall little short of those practised by + <i>Nero</i> and <i>Caligula</i>.</p> + <p>Did it depend on myself only, I would tell Miss Warley I love, <i>every time</i> I + behold her enchanting face; <i>every time</i> I hear the voice of wisdom springing + from the seat of innocence.</p> + <p>No shadow of gaining over Sir James!—<i>Efforts</i> has not been + wanting:—I mean <i>efforts</i> to declare my inclination.—I have follow'd + him like a ghost for days past, thinking at every step how I should bless <i>this</i> + or <i>that</i> spot on which he consented to my happiness.—Pleasing + phantoms!—How have they fled at sight of his determin'd + countenance!—Methought I could trace <i>in it</i> the same obduracy which + nature vainly pleaded to remove.—In <i>other</i> matters my heart is + resolute;—<i>here</i> an errant coward.—No! I cannot break it to him + whilst in Hampshire.—When I get to town, a letter <i>shall</i> speak for + me.—Sometimes I am tempted to trust the secret to Lady Powis.—She is + compassionate;—she would even risk her own peace to preserve mine.—Again + the thoughts of involving her in fresh perplexities determines me against it.</p> + <p>Had my father been acquainted with that part of Sir James's character which + concerned his son, I am convinc'd he would have made some restrictions in regard to + the explicit obedience he enjoined.—But all was hushed whilst Mr. Powis + continued on his travels; nor, until he settled abroad, did any one suspect there had + been a family disagreement:—<i>even</i> at <i>this</i> time the whole affair is + not generally known.—The name of the lady to whom he was obliged to make + proposals, is in particular carefully concealed.—I, who from ten years old have + been bred up with them, am an entire stranger to it.—<i>Perhaps</i> no part of + the affair would ever have transpired, had not Sir James made some discoveries, in + the first agitation of his passion, before a large company, when he received an + account of Mr. Powis's being appointed to the government of ——. No secret + can be safe in a breast where every passage is not well guarded against an enemy + which, like lightning, throws up all before it.</p> + <p>Let me not forget to tell you, amongst a multiplicity of concerns crowding on my + mind, that I have positively deny'd Edmund to intercede with his father regarding the + commission.—A bare surmise that he is my rival, has silenced me.—Was I + ungenerous enough to indulge myself in getting rid of him, an opportunity now + offers;—but I am <i>as</i> averse to such proceedings as <i>he</i> ought to be + who is the friend of Molesworth, and writes the name of</p> + <p>DARCEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XI" name='LETTER_XI'></a> + <h2>LETTER XI.</h2> + <p>The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to Lord DARCEY.</p> + <p><i>Bath</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Believe me, my dear Lord, I never suspected you capable of designs you justly hold + in abhorrence.—If I expressed myself warmly, it was owing to your keeping from + me the knowledge of those particulars which have varied every circumstance.—I + saw my friend a poor restless being, irresolute, full of perplexities.—I felt + for him.—I rejoice now to find from whence this <i>irresolution</i>, those + <i>perplexities</i> arose.—She is,—she must,—by heaven! she shall + be yours:—A reward fit only for <i>such</i> great—<i>such</i> noble + resolutions.</p> + <p>You talk of a <i>last</i> argument—Forbear <i>that</i> argument.—You + <i>must</i> not use it before you have laid your intentions open to Sir + James.—<i>Neither</i> follow her to France.—What, as you are situated, + would <i>that</i> avail?—Prevent her going, <i>if</i> you + can.—<i>Such</i> a woman, under the protection of Lady Mary Sutton, <i>must</i> + have many advantageous proposals.</p> + <p>I understand <i>nothing</i> of features,—I know <i>nothing</i> of + physiognomy, if you have any uneasiness from Bridgman.—It was not marks of a + violent passion he betrayed;—rather, I think, an ambition of having his taste + approved by the world;—but we shall know more of the matter when I meet him in + town.</p> + <p>Stupidity!—Not see her partiality!—not see that she loves + you!—She will some time hence own it as frankly with her lips, as her eyes have + told you a thousand times, did you understand their language.—The duce a word + could <i>I</i> get from them.—Very uncivil, I think, not to <i>speak</i> when + they were <i>spoke</i> to,—They will be ready enough, I suppose, with their + <i>thanks</i> and <i>applauses</i>, when I present her hand to be united with her + heart. That office shall be <i>mine</i>:—<i>Something</i> tells me, there is to + be an alteration in <i>your</i> affairs, sudden as unexpected.</p> + <p>I go to the rooms this evening for the last time.—To-morrow I set out for + Slone Hall, in my way to London.—Here I shall spend two or three days happily + with my good-natured cousin Lady Dorothy.—Perhaps we may take an airing + together as far as your territories.—I shall <i>now</i> look on Faulcon-Park + with double pleasure.—Neither that or the agreeable neighbourhood round it will + be ever bridled over by a haughty dame.—(Miss Warley, forbid it.)—Some + such we see in <i>high</i> as well as <i>low</i> life.—Haughtiness is the + reverse of true greatness; therefore it staggers me to behold it in the former.</p> + <p>A servant with a white favour!—What can this mean?—</p> + <p>Upon my word, Mr. Flecher, you return with your fair bride sooner than I + expected.—<i>A card too</i>.—Things must be <i>finely</i> accommodated + with the old Lady.—Your Lordship being at too great a distance to partake of + the feast, pray regale on what calls me to it.</p> + <p>"Mrs. Moor and Mr. and Mrs. Flecher's compliments to Mr. Molesworth.—My son + and daughter are just return'd from Scotland, and hope for the pleasure of Mr. + Molesworth's company with eight or ten other friends, to congratulate them this + evening on their arrival.—Both the Ladies and Mr. Flecher will be much + disappointed, if you do not accept our invitation."</p> + <p>True as I live, <i>neither added</i> or <i>diminished</i> a tittle,—and + wrote by the hand of Flecher's Desdemona.—Does not a man richly deserve thirty + thousand pounds with a wife <i>like this?</i>—Not for <i>twice</i> that sum + would I see such nonsense come from her I was to spend my life with.</p> + <p>Pity Nature and Fortune has such frequent bickerings! When one smiles the other + frowns.—I wish the gipsies would make up matters, and send us down their + favours wrapp'd up together.</p> + <p>Considering the friendship you have honour'd Edmund with, I have no idea he can + presume to think of Miss Warley, <i>seeing</i> what he must <i>see</i>.</p> + <p>I shall expect to find a letter on my arrival in St. James's Street.—Omit + not those respects which are due at Barford Abbey.</p> + <p>Yours,</p> + <p>MOLESWORTH.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XII" name='LETTER_XII'></a> + <h2>LETTER XII.</h2> + <p>Lord DARCEY to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH.</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>I should be in a fine plight, truly, to let her go to France without + me!—Why, I am almost besides myself at the thoughts of an eight days + separation.—Was ever any thing so forgetful!—To bring no other cloaths + here but mourning!—Did she always intend to encircle the sun with a sable + cloud?—Or, why not dispatch a servant?—A journey into Oxfordshire is + absolutely necessary.—Some <i>other</i> business, I suppose; but I am not + enough in her confidence to know of what nature.—Poh! love!—Impossible, + and refuse me so small a boon as to attend her!—requested too in a manner that + spoke my whole soul.—Yes; I had near broke through all my + resolutions.—This I did say, If Miss Warley refuses her dear hand, pressing it + to my lips, in the same peremptory manner,—what will become of him who without + it is lost to the whole world?—The reply ventur'd no further than her + cheek;—there sat enthron'd in robes of crimson.—I scarce dar'd to look + up:—her eyes darted forth a ray so powerful, that I not only quitted her hand, + but suffered her to leave the room without my saying another word.—This + happened at Jenkings's last evening; in the morning she was to set out with the old + gentleman for Oxfordshire.—I did not attempt seeing her again 'till that time, + fearing my presence might be unpleasing, after the confusion I had occasion'd.</p> + <p>Sick of my bed I got up at five; and taking a gun, directed my course to the only + spot on earth capable of affording me delight.—The outer gate barr'd:—no + appearance of any living creature, except poor Caesar.—He, hearing my voice, + crept from his wooden-house, and, instead of barking, saluted me in a whining + tone:—stretching himself, he jumped towards the gate, licking my hand that lay + between the bars.—I said many kind things to this faithful beast, in hopes my + voice would awaken some of the family.—The scheme succeeded.—A bell was + sounded from one of the apartments; that opposite to which I stood.—A servant + opening the window-shutters, I was tempted to keep my stand.—A white beaver + with a green feather, and a riding-dress of the same colour, plainly told me this was + the room where rested all my treasure, and caused in my mind such conflicts as can no + more be described by <i>me</i> than felt by <i>another</i>.—Unwilling to + encrease my tortures I reeled to an old tree, which lay on a bank near;—there + sat down to recover my trembling.—The next thing which alarmed me was an empty + chaise, driving full speed down the hill.—I knew on <i>what</i> occasion, yet + could not forbear asking the post-boy.—He answered, To carry some company from + yonder house.—My situation was really deplorable,—when I beheld my dear + lovely girl walking in a pensive mood, attir'd in that very dress which I espied + through the window.—Heavy was the load I dragged from head to heel; yet, like a + Mercury, I flew to meet her.—She saw me,—started,—and cry'd, Bless + me! my Lord! what brings you hither at this early hour?—The real truth was + springing to my lips, when, recollecting her happiness might be the sacrifice, I + said, examining the lock of my gun,—I am waiting, Miss Warley, for that lazy + fellow Edmund:—he promised to shew me an eye of pheasants.—If you are not + a very keen sportsman, returned she, what says your Lordship to a cup of + chocolate?—It will not detain you long;—Mrs. Jenkings has some ready + prepared for the travellers.</p> + <p>She pronounced <i>travellers</i> with uncommon glee;—at least I thought + so,—and, nettled at her indifference, could not help replying, <i>You</i> are + <i>very</i> happy, madam;—<i>you</i> part with your friends <i>very</i> + unreluctantly, I perceive.</p> + <p>If any thing ever appeared in my favour, it was now.—Her confusion was + visible;—even Edmund observed it, who just then strolled towards us, and said, + looking at both attentively, What is the matter with Miss Warley?</p> + <p>With me, Edmund? she retorted,—nothing ails me.—I suppose you think I + am enough of the fine lady to complain the whole day, because I have got up an hour + before my usual time.</p> + <p>His tongue was <i>now</i> silent;—his eyes <i>full</i> of + enquiries.—He fixed them on us alternately,—wanting to discover the + situation of our hearts.—Why so curious, Edmund?—Things cannot go on long + at this rate.—<i>Your</i> heart must undergo a strict scrutiny before I shall + know what terms we are upon.</p> + <p>No words can paint my gratitude for worthy Jenkings.—He went to the Abbey, + on foot, before breakfast was ended, to give me an opportunity of supplying his place + in the chaise.—At parting he actually took one of my hands, joined it with Miss + Warley's, and I could perceive petitions ascending from the seat of purity.—I + know to what they tended.—I <i>felt</i>, I <i>saw</i> them.—The chaise + drove off. I could have blessed him.—May my blessings overtake him!—May + they light where virtue sits enshrin'd by locks of silver.</p> + <p>Yes, if his son was to wound me in the tenderest part, for the sake of <i>such</i> + a father, I think,—I know not what to think.—Living in such suspence is + next to madness.</p> + <p>She treats him with the freedom of a sister.—She calls him + Edmund,—leans on his arm, and suffers him to take her hand.—The least + favour conferred on me is with an air <i>so</i> reserved, <i>so</i> distant, as if + she would say, I have not for you the least sentiment of tenderness.</p> + <p>Lady Powis sends to desire I will walk with her.—A sweet companion am I for + a person in low spirits!—That her's are not high is evident.—She has shed + many tears this morning at parting with Miss Warley.</p> + <p>Instead of eight days mortification we might have suffer'd twenty, had not her + Ladyship insisted on an absolute promise of returning at that time.—Farewel + till then.</p> + <p>Yours,</p> + <p>DARCEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XIII" name='LETTER_XIII'></a> + <h2>LETTER XIII.</h2> + <p>Miss WARLEY to Lady MARY SUTTON.</p> + <p><i>From the Crown, at ——</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Here am I, ever-honour'd lady, forty miles on the road to that beloved spot, + where, for nineteen years, my tranquility was uninterrupted.—Will a serene sky + always hang over me?—It will be presumption to suppose it,—when + thousands, perhaps, endowed with virtues the most god-like, have nothing on which + they can look <i>back</i> but dark clouds,—nothing to which they can look + <i>forward</i> but gathering storms.—Am I a bark only fit to sail in fair + weather?—Shall I not prepare to meet the waves of disappointment?</p> + <p>How does my heart bear,—how throb,—to give up follies which dare not + hide themselves where a passage is made <i>by</i> generosity, <i>by</i> affection + unbounded.—Yes, my dear Lady, this is the only moment I do not regret being + absent from you;—for could my tongue relate what my pen trembles to + discover?—No!</p> + <p>Behold <i>me</i> at your Ladyship's feet!—behold <i>me</i> a supplicant + suing for my returning peace!—<i>You</i> only, can restore it.—Command + that I give up my preference for Lord Darcey, and the intruder is banished from my + heart:—<i>then</i> shall I no more labour to deceive myself:—<i>then</i> + shall I no more blindly exchange certain peace for doubtful happiness,—a + <i>quiet</i> for a <i>restless</i> mind.—Humility has not fled me;—my + heart has not fallen a sacrifice to title, pomp, or splendor.—Yet, has it not + foolishly, unasked, given itself up?—Ah! my Lady, not entirely unask'd neither; + or, why, from the first moment, have I seen him shew <i>such</i> tender, <i>such</i> + respectful assiduities?—why <i>so</i> ardently solicit to attend me into + Oxfordshire?—why ask, if I refused my hand in the same peremptory manner, what + would become of the man who without it was lost to the whole world?—But am I + not too vain?—Why should this man be Lord Darcey?—Rather one rising to + his imagination, who he might possibly suppose was entrapped by my girlish + years.—A few, a very <i>few</i> weeks, and I am gone from him forever.—If + your Ladyship's goodness can pardon the confession I have made, no errors will I + again commit of the kind which now lies blushing before you.</p> + <p>Next to your Ladyship Mr. Jenkings is the best friend I have on earth.—He + <i>never</i> has suspected, or <i>now</i> quite forgets his suspicions.—Not all + my entreaties could prevent him from taking this long journey with me.—His age, + his connections, his business, every thing is made subservient to my + convenience—Whilst I write he is below, and has just sent up to know if I will + permit a gentleman of his acquaintance, whom he has met accidentally at this inn, to + dine with us.—Why does he use this ceremony?—I can have no objection to + any friend of <i>his</i>.—Dinner is served up.—I shall write again at our + last stage this evening.</p> + <br /> + + <p><i>From the Mitre at ——</i>.</p> + <p>Past twelve at night!—An hour I used to think the most silent of + any:—but <i>here</i> so much the reverse, one reasonably may suppose the + inhabitants, or guests, have mistaken midnight for mid-day.</p> + <p>I will ring and enquire, why all this noise?</p> + <p>A strange bustle!—Something like fighting!—Very near, I + protest.—Hark! bless me, I shall be frightened to death!—The chambermaid + not come! Would I could find my way to Mr. Jenkings's room!—Womens voices, as I + live!—Begging!—praying!—Ah! ah! now they cry, Take the swords + away!—Take the swords away!—Heaven defend us! to be sure we shall be all + killed.</p> + <br /> + + <p><i>One o'clock</i>.</p> + <p>Not kill'd, but terrified out of my senses.—Well, if ever I stop at this inn + again—</p> + <p>You remember, Madam, I was thrown into a sad fright by the hurry and confusion + without.—I dropped my pen, and pulled the bell with greater violence.—No + one came;—the noise increas'd.—Several people ran up and down by the door + of my apartment.—I flew and double lock'd it.—But, good God! what were my + terrors, when a voice cried out, She cannot be brought to life!—Is there no + assistance at hand?—no surgeon near?—I rushed from my chamber, in the + first emotions of surprize and compassion, to mix in a confused croud, + <i>unknowing</i> and <i>unknown</i>.—I ventur'd no further than the passage. + Judge my astonishment, to perceive there, and in a large room which open'd into it, + fifty or sixty well dressed people of both sexes:—<i>Women</i>, some crying, + some laughing:—<i>Men</i> swearing, stamping, and calling upon others to come + down and end the dispute below.—I thought of nothing <i>now</i>, but how to + retreat unobserv'd:—when a gentleman, in regimentals, ran so furiously up the + stairs full against me, that I should have been instantly at the bottom, had not his + extended arm prevented my flight.</p> + <p>I did not stay to receive his apologies, but hastened to my chamber, and have not + yet recovered my trembling.—Why did I leave it?—Why was I so + inconsiderate?</p> + <p>Another alarm!—Some one knocks at the door!—Will there be no end to my + frights?</p> + <p>If one's spirits are on the flutter, how every little circumstance increases our + consternation!—When I heard the tapping at my door, instead of enquiring who + was there, I got up and stood against it.</p> + <p>Don't be afraid, <i>Mame</i>, said a voice without; it is only the chambermaid + come with some drops and water.—With drops and water! replied I, letting her + in—who sent you hither?</p> + <p>Captain Risby, <i>Mame</i>, one of the officers:—he told me you was + frighten'd.</p> + <p>I am oblig'd to the gentleman;—but set down the drops, I do not want + any.—Pray tell me what has occasioned this uproar in your house?</p> + <p>To be sure, <i>Mame</i>, here has been a terrifying noise this night.—It + don't use to be so;—but our <i>Town's</i> Gentlemen have such a dislike to + <i>Officers</i>, I suppose there will be no peace while they are in town.—I + never saw the Ladies dress'd so fine in my life; and had the Colonel happen'd to ask + one of the <i>Alderman's</i> daughters to dance, all would have gone on well.</p> + <p>You have an assembly then in the house?</p> + <p>O yes, <i>Mame</i>, the assembly is always kept here.—And, as I was saying, + the Colonel should have danced with one of our Alderman's daughters:—instead of + that, he engag'd a daughter of Esquire Light, and introduced the Major and a + <i>handsome Captain</i> to her two sisters.—Now, to be sure, this was enough to + enrage the best Trade's-People in the place, who can give their <i>young Ladies</i> + three times as much as Mr. Light can his daughters.</p> + <p>I saw she was determin'd to finish her harangue, so did not attempt to interrupt + her.</p> + <p>One of us chambermaids, <i>Mame</i>, continued she, always assist the + waiters;—it was my turn this evening; so, as I was stirring the fire in the + card-room, I could hear the Ladies whisper their partners, if they let strangers + stand above them, they might dance with whom they could get for the + future.—They were busy about the matter when the Colonel enter'd with Miss + Light, who though she is <i>very</i> handsome, <i>very</i> sensible, and all that, it + did not become her to wear a silver silk;—for what, as <i>our Ladies</i> said, + is family without fortune?—But I am running on with a story of an hour + long.—So <i>Mame</i>, as soon as the Colonel and his partner went into the + dancing-room,—<i>one</i> cry'd, Defend me from French'd hair, if people's heads + are to look like towers;—<i>another</i>, her gown sleeves were too + large;—a <i>third</i>, the robeings too high;—a <i>fourth</i>, her ruff + too deep:—in short, <i>Mame</i>, her very shoe-buckles shared the same + fate.</p> + <p>This recital put me out of all patience:—I could not endure to see held up a + picture, which, though out of the hands of a dauber, presented a true likeness of + human nature in her most deprav'd state.—Enough, Mrs. Betty, said I, now pray + warm my bed; it is late, and I am fatigued.</p> + <p>O! to be sure, <i>Mame</i>; but will you not first hear what was the occasion of + the noise?—The country-dances, continued she, not waiting my reply, began; and + <i>our Town's Gentlemen</i> ran to the top of the room, leaving the <i>Officers</i> + to dance at the bottom.—This put them in <i>so</i> violent a passion, that the + Colonel swore, if <i>our</i> Gentlemen persisted in their ill manners, not a soul + should dance.—So, <i>Mame</i>, upon this <i>our</i> Gentlemen let some of the + Officers stand above them;—and there was no dispute till after ten.—What + they quarrelled about then I don't know;—but, when I came into the room, they + were all going to fight;—and fight they certainly would, if they could have got + <i>our</i> Gentlemen down stairs.—Not one of them would stir, which made the + others so mad, that they would have pulled them down, had not the Ladies + interfered.—Then it was, <i>Mame</i>, I suppose, you heard the cries and + shrieks; for every one that had <i>husbands, brothers</i>, or <i>admirers</i> there, + took hold of them; begging and praying they would not fight.—Poor Miss Peggy + Turner will have a fine rub; for she always deny'd to her <i>Mamma</i>, that there + was any thing in the affair between her and Mr. Grant the Attorney. Now she has + discovered all, by fainting away when he broke from her to go to the other end of the + room.</p> + <p>I hope there has been no blood shed?</p> + <p>None, I'll assure you, <i>Mame</i>, in this house; what happens out of it is no + business of mine. Now, <i>Mame</i>, would you please to go to bed? By all means, Mrs. + Betty.—So away went my communicative companion. Being much tired, I shall lay + down an hour or two, then reassume my pen.</p> + <br /> + + <p><i>Four o'clock in the morning</i>.</p> + <p>Not able to close my eyes, I am got up to have the pleasure of introducing to your + Ladyship the Gentleman who I mention'd was to dine with us at the other inn. Judge my + surprize, when I found him to be the worthy Dean of H—— going into + Oxfordshire to visit his former flock;—I knew him before Mr. Jenkings + pronounced his name, by the strong likeness of his picture.</p> + <p>I even fancied the beautiful pair stood before me, whose hands he is represented + joining. It is much to be regretted so fine a piece should be hid from the + world.—Why should not <i>this</i> be proportion? The <i>other</i> portraits + which your Ladyship has drawn, are even allowed by Reynolds to be masterly.—Let + me therefore entreat, next time he comes to the Lodge, my favourite may <i>at + least</i> have a chance of being called from banishment.</p> + <p>The Dean was almost discouraged from proceeding on his journey, by hearing of your + Ladyship's absence, and the death of Mrs. Whitmore.—He was no stranger to what + concern'd me, tho' I could be scarce an inhabitant of Hillford-Down at the time + <i>he</i> left it.—I suppose his information was from Mr. Jenkings; I could see + them from the window deep in discourse, walking in the Bowling-Green, from the moment + the Dean got out of his chaise till dinner.</p> + <p>The latter expressed infinite satisfaction when I joined them; looking with such + stedfast tenderness, as if he would trace on my countenance the features of some dear + friend.—His sincere regard for Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore, and the gratitude he owes + your Ladyship, must make him behold me with a favourable eye, knowing how greatly I + have been distinguish'd by the two latter.</p> + <p>He had a stool put into his chaise; assuring us we could fit three + conveniently—We came from the last inn together, and are to travel so the + remainder of the journey.</p> + <p>After your Ladyship's strict commands, that I look on Brandon-Lodge as my home, I + shall make it such the few days I stay in Oxfordshire;—and have presumed on + your indulgence, to request Mr. Jenkings will do the same.—The Dean's visit is + to Mr. Gardener, which will be happy for me, as that Gentleman's house is so near the + Lodge.—I hope to see the tops of the chimneys this evening.—</p> + <p>My heart would jump at the sight, if I expected your Ladyship to meet me with open + arms.—Extatic thought!—unfit to precede those disappointments which must + follow thick on one another. Can there be greater!—to pass the very house, once + inhabited by—O my Lady!—Heaven! how will your and her image bring before + me past happy scenes!</p> + <p>If this is the Dean's voice, he is got up, early. The horses putting to, and + scarce five o'clock! Here comes a messenger, to say they are ready. So rest my pen, + till; I again take it up at Brandon-Lodge.</p> + <br /> + + <p><i>Brandon-Lodge</i>.</p> + <p>I never saw such general joy as appeared through the village at sight of the + Dean.—The first person who espy'd him ran with such speed into every house, + that by the time we reached Mr. Gardener's gate, the chaise was surrounded by a + hundred people.—Mr. and Mrs. Gardener stepping out, were saluted by the Dean. + What, our old friend! cried they.—What, our old friend!—Good + God!—and Miss Warley too!—This is a joyful surprize, indeed! and would + have taken me out by force, if I had not persisted in going to the Lodge.—Your + Ladyship is enough acquainted with these good people, to know they would part with + any thing rather than their friends.—I have not yet seen Miss Gardener: she was + gone on a walk with Miss West and Miss Conway.</p> + <p>The Dean showered a thousand marks of regard on all around him;—the meanest + not escaping his notice.—In this tumult of pleasure I did not pass + unregarded.—Your Ladyship and Mrs. Whitmore still live in their hearts; the + pure air of Hillford-Down will not mix with the cold blast of ingratitude.</p> + <p>May the soft pillow I am going to repose on, shut not out from my mind the load of + obligations which rest on it!—The remembrance is balm to my soul, either in my + sleeping or waking hours.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Nine o'clock.</p> + <p>Scarce out of my bed half an hour!—How have I over-slept myself! Mrs. Bennet + has prevailed on Mr. Jenkings to have some breakfast.—Good, considerate + woman!—indeed, all your Ladyship's domestics are good and considerate.—No + wonder, when you treat them so very different from <i>some people</i> of high rank. + Let those who complain of fraud, guilt, negligence, or want of respect from their + dependants, look in here;—where they will see honesty, virtue, and reverence + attend the execution of every command.—Flowers must be planted before they can + take root.—Few, very few endeavour to improve an uncultivated soil, + notwithstanding how great the advantage is to the improver.</p> + <p>I last night receiv'd pleasure inexpressible, by sending for the servants to + acquaint them of your Ladyship's returning health; and feasted on the satisfaction + they expressed.—In a moment all the live creatures were brought.—I am + satisfied, my Lady, if any of them die in your absence, it must be of fat.—My + old acquaintances Bell and Flora could hardly waddle in to pay their compliments; the + parrot, which used to squall the moment she saw me, is now quite dumb; shewing no + mark of her favour, but holding down her head to be scratched;—the turtle-doves + are in the same case.—I have taken the liberty to desire the whole crew might + be put to short allowance.</p> + <p>John said, he believed it was natural for every thing to grow fat here; and was + much afraid, when I saw the coach-horses, I should pronounce the same hard sentence + against them, desiring orders to attend me with the carriage this morning.—I + told him my stay would be so short, I should have no time for an airing.</p> + <p>The gardener has just sent me a blooming nosegay; I suppose, to put me in mind of + visiting his care, which I intend, after I have acquainted your Ladyship with an + incident that till this moment had escaped my memory.—The Dean, Mr. Jenkings, + and myself, were drinking a cup of chocolate before we sat out from the inn where I + had been so much hurried, when captain Risby sent in his name, desiring we would + admit him for a moment. His request being assented to, he entered very respectfully, + said he came to apologize for the rudeness he was guilty of the last night.—The + Dean and Mr. Jenkings presently guessed his meaning; I had been just relating the + whole affair, which I was pleased to find did not disturb their rest.—I assured + Captain Risby, far from deeming his behaviour rude, I was obliged to him for his + solicitude in sending a servant to my chamber. He said he had not been in bed, + determining to watch our setting out, in hopes his pardon would be sealed:—that + to think of the accident he might have occasioned, gave him great pain.</p> + <p>Pardon me, Madam, addressing himself to me; and you, Sir, to Mr. Jenkings; if I + ask one plain question: Have <i>you</i>, or at least has not <i>that Lady</i>, + relations out of England? I have a friend abroad—I have heard him say his + father is still living;—but then he has no sister;—or a certain likeness + I discover would convince me.</p> + <p>Undoubtedly he took me for Mr. Jenkings's daughter:—what he meant further I + cannot divine.</p> + <p>Mr. Jenkings reply'd, You are mistaken, Sir, if you think me the father of this + Lady.—The chaise driving up that moment to the door, he shook him by the hand, + and led me towards it; the Captain assisting me in getting in.</p> + <p>I wish I could have satisfied my curiosity.—I wish I had known to whom he + likened me.—Perhaps his eyes misinformed him—perhaps he might have taken + a cheerful glass after the last night's encounter:—yet he resembled not a + votary of Bacchus;—his complexion clear;—hair nicely comb'd;—coat + without a spot;—linen extremely fine and clean.—But enough of + him.—Here comes the Dean, walking up the avenue escorting a party of my old + acquaintances.</p> + <p>Adieu! dearest honour'd Lady, till my return to Hampshire.</p> + <p>F. WARLEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XIV" name='LETTER_XIV'></a> + <h2>LETTER XIV.</h2> + <p>The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to LORD DARCEY.</p> + <p>London.</p> + <br /> + + <p><i>Was every any thing so forgetful, to bring no other clothes here but + mourning?</i></p> + <p>Really, my Lord, this favours a good deal of the matrimonial stile. Was you, + commenced Benedict, I should think you had received lessons from the famous + L——, who takes such pains with his pupils, that those whose attendance is + frequent, can, in, the space of three months after the knot is tied, bring their + wives to hear patiently the + words—<i>forgetful,—ridiculous,—absurd,—pish—poh</i>,—and + a thousand more of the same significant meaning.—I hear you, my + Lord:—<i>it is true</i>, I am in jest; and know you would scorn to say even a + peevish thing to a wife.</p> + <p>Why fret yourself to a skeleton about an absence of eight days?—How could + you suppose she would let you go into Oxfordshire?—Proper decorums must be + observed by that sex.—Are not those despicable who neglect them?—What + would you have said, had she taken Edmund with her?—Don't storm:—on + reflection you will find you had no greater right to expect that indulgence.</p> + <p>I have this morning had a letter from Dick Risby, that unfortunate, but worthy + cousin of <i>mine</i>, just returned from the West-Indies to take on him the command + of a company in Lord ——'s regiment. What a Father his!—to abandon + <i>such</i> a son.—Leave him to the wide world at sixteen,—without a + shilling, only to gratify the pride and avarice of his serpent daughter,—who + had art sufficient to get this noble youth disinherited for her waddling brat, whose + head was form'd large enough to contain his mother's mischief and his own.—In + vain we attempted to set aside the will:—my brother would not leave England + whilst there remained the least hopes for poor Risby.</p> + <p>I always dreaded Dick's going abroad, well knowing what a designing perfidious + slut his sister was, from her very infancy.—Her parents drew down a curse by + their blind indulgence:—even her nurse was charg'd not to contradict her; she + was to have every thing for which she shewed the least inclination.</p> + <p>Lord Eggom and myself being near of an age with our cousins, were sometimes sent + to play with them in their nursery; and, though boys of tolerable spirit, that vixen + girl has so worried us by her tyrannic and impatient temper, that we have often + petitioned, at our return home, to be put to bed supperless.—If sweet-meats + were to be divided, she would cry to have the whole; the same in regard to + cards,—shells,—money, or whatever else was sent for our + entertainment.—When she has pinched us black and blue,—a complaint to her + mother has been made by Dick, who could not bear to see us so used, though he was + obliged to take such treatment himself, the only redress we should receive + was—Poh! she is but a baby.—I thought you had all known better than to + take notice of what <i>such</i> a <i>child</i> as Lucy does—Once, when this was + said before her, me flew at me, and cry'd, I will pinch again, if I + please;—papa and mamma says I shall,—and so does nurse; and I don't mind + what any body else says.—I waited only for my revenge, till the two former + withdrew; when sending the latter for a glass of water, I gave <i>Miss</i> such a + glorious tacking, as I believe she has never tasted the like before or + since.—In the midst of the fray, I heard nurse running up, which made me hasten + what I owed on <i>my own</i> account, to remind her of the <i>favours</i> she had + conferred on Lord Eggom and her brother.—If such a termagant in her infant + state,—judge what she must be at a time of life when her passions are in full + vigour, and govern without controul!—I have just shewn the method of rearing + this diabolical plant, that you may not wonder at its productions.—I shall see + justice overtake her, notwithstanding the long strides she is making to escape.</p> + <p>Dick will be in town with us most part of the winter:—I have wrote him to + that purpose, and mention'd your name. He will rejoice to see you:—I have often + heard him regret your acquaintance was of so short standing.—Bridgman set out + for York the day before I arrived; his servants inform me he is not expected back + this three weeks.</p> + <p>I like our lodgings vastly; but more so as the master and mistress of the family + are excessively clean and obliging; two things so material to my repose, that I + absolutely could not dispense patiently with either.—This it was which made me + felicitous about taking a house; I am now so happily situated, I wish not to have one + in town whilst I remain a batchelor. Heaven knows how long that will be!—Your + nonpareil has given me a dislike to all my former slight prepossessions.</p> + <p>Lady Elizabeth Curtis!—I did once indeed think a little seriously of + her:—but <i>such</i> a meer girl!—Perhaps the time she has spent in + France, Germany, and the Lord knows where, may have changed her from a little + bewitching, smiling, artless creature—to a <i>vain, designing, + haughty</i>,—I could call a coquet by a thousand names;—but Lady + Elizabeth <i>can</i>-not, <i>must</i> not be a coquet.—Cupid, though, shall + never tye a bandage over my eyes.—The charms that must fix me are not to be + borrow'd;—I shall look for them in her affection to her relations;—in a + condescending behaviour to inferiors;—above all, when she offers up her first + duties.—If she shines here, I shall not follow her to the card-table, or + play-house:—every thing must be right in a heart where duty, affection, and + humility, has the precedence.</p> + <p>The misfortune of our sex is this: when taken with a fine face, we enquire no + further than, Is she <i>polite?</i>—Is she <i>witty?</i> Does she <i>dance</i> + well?—sing well?—in short, <i>is</i> she fit to appear in the <i>Beau + Monde</i>; whilst good sense and virtues which constitute real happiness, are left + out of the question.</p> + <p>How does beauty,—politeness—wit,—a fine voice,—a graceful + movement, charm!—But how often are we deceiv'd by them.—An instance of + which I have lately seen in our old friend Sir Harry. No man on earth can pity that + poor soul more than I do; yet I have laughed hours to think of his mistake. <i>So + mild—so gentle</i>—said he, George, a week before his marriage, I should + have said <i>execution</i>,—it is impossible to put her out of humour.—If + I am not the happiest man breathing, it must be my own fault.</p> + <p>What was my astonishment when I call'd on him in my way to town, and found this + mild <i>gentle mate</i> of his, aided by a houseful of her relations, had not only + deprived him of all right and authority in the <i>Castle</i>, but almost of his very + speech!</p> + <p>I dropt in about one, told the Baronet I came five miles out of my way for the + pleasure of saluting his bride, and to drink a bottle of claret with him.—He + was extremely glad to see me; and ventured to say so, <i>before</i> I was introduced + to the <i>Ladies</i>:—but I saw by his sneaking look, no such liberty must be + taken in <i>their</i> presence.—My reception was gracious enough, considering + all communication is cut off between him and his former acquaintance.</p> + <p>Scarce was I seated, before the old Dowager asked me, if her daughter had not made + <i>great</i> alterations in the little time she had been at the Castle.</p> + <p><i>Alterations</i>, Madam! I reply'd;—upon my honour, they are <i>so</i> + visible, no person can avoid being struck with them.—How could your father and + mother, Sir Harry, bear to live in such an wood? looking and speaking + disdainfully.—He smiled obsequious—hemm'd—trembled, and was + silent.—I hope, continued she, not to see a tree remaining near this house + before the next summer.—We want much, Mr. Molesworth, turning to me with quite + a different look and voice, to have the pleasure-ground laid out:—but really + her Ladyship has had so much to set in order <i>within doors</i>, that it has taken + off her attention a good deal from what is necessary to be done + <i>without</i>.—However, Sir, you shall see our design; so, my dear, speaking + to her daughter, let Sir Harry fetch the plan.</p> + <p>It is in my closet, returned her Ladyship, and I don't chuse to send <i>him</i> + there;—but I'll ring for Sally.</p> + <p>I had like that moment to have vow'd a life of celibacy—I saw him + redden;—how could he avoid it, if one spark of manhood remain'd?</p> + <p>The indignation I felt threw such a mist before my eyes, that when the plan was + laid on the table, I could scarce distinguish temples from clumps of shrubs, or + Chinese seats from green slopes.—Yet this <i>reptile</i> of a husband could + look over my shoulder, hear the opinion of every one present, without <i>daring</i> + to give his own.</p> + <p>I was more out of patience at dinner.—Bless me, says her Ladyship, how + <i>aukward</i> you are when I <i>bid</i> you cut up any thing!—the mother and + daughter echoing, <i>Never</i> was there <i>such</i> a carver as <i>Sir + Harry!</i>—Well, I vow, cry'd the latter, it is a strange thing you will not + remember, so often as I have <i>told you</i>, to lay the meat handsome in the + dish.</p> + <p>Good God! thought I, can this man live out half his days?—And, faith, if I + had not drank five bumpers of Madeira, I could not have stood the sight of his + fearful countenance.</p> + <p>He perceived I was distress'd, and whisper'd me as I mounted my horse,—You + see how it is, Molesworth; breeding women <i>must</i> not be contradicted.—</p> + <p><i>I do, I do</i> see how it is, return'd I; and could not for my soul forbear + saying, I shall rejoice to hear of a <i>delivery</i>.</p> + <p>This is the day when the important affairs of the m——y are to be + settled; the papers will inform you; but can a man in love have any relish for + politics?—Pray, divest yourself of that plague, when you attend the + house.—I should drop to hear you say you espouse <i>this</i> or <i>that</i> + cause, for the love of <i>Miss Warley</i>, instead of your <i>country</i>.</p> + <p><i>Next Friday!</i>—Well, I long to see you after a dreadful, dreadful + absence of <i>eight days</i>.—There is something confounded ridiculous in all + this stuff; nor can I scarce credit that man should pine, fret, and make himself + unhappy, because he is loosed from the apron-strings of his Phillida for a few + days.—I see you shrug;—but my fate is not dependent on your + prognostications.—Was it so, I know where I should be,—down amongst the + <i>dead</i> men;—down amongst the <i>dead</i> men.—</p> + <p>However, I would consent to be rank'd in the number of Cupid's slain, could I be + hit by just such a dart as pierc'd you.</p> + <p>Vulcan certainly has none ready made that will do, unless he sharpens the points + of those which have already recoiled.</p> + <p>But hold; I must descend from the clouds, to regale myself on a fine turtle at the + Duke of R——d's. What an <i>epicure!</i> Talk of feasting my palate, when + my eyes are to meet delicacies of a far more inviting nature!—There <i>was</i> + a time I should have been envy'd <i>such</i> a repast:—<i>that</i> time is + fled;—<i>you</i> are no longer a monopolizer of beauty;—can sing but of + <i>one</i>,—talk but of <i>one</i>—dream but of <i>one</i>,—and, + what is still more extraordinary, love but <i>one</i>.—</p> + <p>Give <i>me</i> a heart at large;—such confin'd notions are not for</p> + <p>MOLESWORTH.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XV" name='LETTER_XV'></a> + <h2>LETTER XV.</h2> + <p>Lord DARCEY to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH.</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>I envy not the greatest monarch on earth!—She is return'd with my + peace;—my joy;—my very soul.—Had you seen her restorative smiles! + they spoke more than my pen can describe!—She bestow'd them on me, even before + she ran to the arms of Sir James and Lady Powis.—Sweet condescension!—Her + hand held out to meet mine, which, trembling, stopt half way.—What + checks,—what restraint, did I inflict on myself!—Yes, that would have + been the decisive moment, had I not perceiv'd the eyes of Argus planted <i>before, + behind</i>, on <i>every side</i> of Sir James.—God! how he star'd.—I + suppose my looks made some discovery.—Once more I must take thee up, uneasy + dress of hypocrisy;—though it will be as hard to girt on, as the tight + waistcoat on a lunatic.</p> + <p>Never has a day appear'd to me so long as <i>this</i>.—<i>Full</i> of + expectation, <i>full</i> of impatience!—All stuff again.—No matter; it is + not the groans of a sick man, that can convey his pain to another:—to feel + greatly, you must have been afflicted with the same malady.</p> + <p>I suppose you would laugh to hear how often I have opened and shut the + door;—how often look'd out at the window,—or the multiplicity of times + examined my watch since ten this morning!—Needless would it likewise be to + recount the impatient steps I have taken by the road-side, attentive to the false + winds, which would frequently cheat me into a belief, that my heart's treasure was + approaching.—Hark! I should say, that must be wheels;—stop and + pause;—walk forwards;—stop again, till every sound have died upon my + ear.</p> + <p>Harrass'd by expectation, I saunter'd a back way to Jenkings's;—enquired of + Mrs. Jenkings, what time she thought her husband might be home; and taking Edmund + with me to my former walk, determined to sound <i>his</i> inclinations.—I waved + mentioning Miss Warley's name till we had gone near a quarter of a mile from the + house; still expecting he would begin the subject, which at this juncture I suppose + particularly engaged his attention; but perceiving he led to things quite opposite, I + drew him out in the following manner.</p> + <p>So you really think, Edmund, your father will not be out after it is dark?</p> + <p>I have not known, my Lord, that he has for many years; rather than venture, I + believe, he would stop the night at Oxford. Very composedly he said this, for I + watched his looks narrowly.—</p> + <p>Edmund, confess, confess <i>frankly</i>, said I; has not <i>this</i> day been the + longest you ever knew?</p> + <p>The longest I ever knew! Faith your Lordship was never more out: far from thinking + so, I am startled to find how fast the hours have flown; and want the addition of at + least three, to answer letters which my father's business requires.</p> + <p>Business, <i>Edmund!</i> and does <i>business</i> really engross so much of your + attention, when you know <i>who</i> is expected in the evening? Ah! <i>Edmund</i>, + you are a sly fellow: never tell me, you want to lengthen out the tedious hours of + <i>absence</i>.</p> + <p><i>Tedious hours of absence!</i> Ho! ho! my Lord, I see <i>now</i> what you are + at; your Lordship can never suppose me <i>such</i> a fool as to—</p> + <p>Fool!—My supposition, <i>Edmund</i>, pronounces you a man of sense; but you + mistake my meaning.</p> + <p>I do not mistake, my Lord; surely it must be the height of folly to lift my + thoughts to Miss Warley. Suppose my father can give me a few thousands,—are + these sufficient to purchase beauty, good sense, with every accomplishment?—No, + no, my Lord, I am not such a vain fellow;—Miss Warley was never born for + <i>Edmund Jenkings</i>—She told me <i>so</i>, the first moment I beheld + her.</p> + <p><i>Told you so?</i> what then, you have made pretensions to her, and she told you + <i>so?</i></p> + <p>Yes, my Lord, she told, me <i>so</i>.—That is, her <i>eyes</i>, her whole + graceful <i>form</i>, spoke it.—Was I a man of family,—a man of title, + with a proper knowledge of the world,—I would not deliberate a moment.</p> + <p>How comes it then, Edmund, that you are so assiduous to oblige her?—You + would not run and fly for every young lady.—</p> + <p>True, my Lord, it is not every one would repay me with smiles of condescension. + Suffer me to assure your Lordship, when I can oblige Miss Warley, my ambition is + gratified.—Never, <i>never</i> shall a more presumptuous wish intrude to make + me less worthy of the honour I receive from your Lordship's notice.—</p> + <p>This he spoke with energy;—such energy,—as if he had come at the book + of my heart, and was reading its contents. I knew his regard for my dear amiable + girl, and the danger of betraying my secret, or should have treated him with + unbounded confidence:—I therefore only applauded his sentiments;—told him + a man who could think thus nobly,—honour'd me in his friendship;—that + mine to him should be unalterable; call'd him brother; and by the joyful + perturbations of my soul, I fear I gave him some idea of what I strove to hide.</p> + <p>The curtain of night was dropping by slow degrees, when a distant sound of wheels + interrupted our conversation.—We stood listening a moment, as it approach'd + nearer. Edmund cry'd out,—They are come; I hear, Caesar's voice; and, taking a + hearty leave, ran home to receive them.—I directed my course towards the Abbey, + in hopes the chaise had proceeded thither, and found I had steer'd right, seeing it + stand at the entrance.</p> + <p>Mr. Jenkings did not get out; Lady Powis refused to part with Miss Warley this + night. Whilst I write, I hope she is enjoying a sweet refreshing sleep. O! + Molesworth! could I flatter myself she dreams of me!—</p> + <p>To-morrow Lord and Lady Allen, Mr. and Mrs. Winter, dine here; consequently Miss + Winter, and her <i>fond</i> admirer, Lord Baily.—How often have I laugh'd to + see that cooing, billing, pair? It is come home, you'll say, with a + vengeance.—Not so neither.—I never intend making such a very fool of + myself as Lord Baily.—Pray, Madam, don't sit against that door;—and pray, + Madam, don't sit against this window.—I hear you have encreased your + cold;—you speak hoarse:—indeed, Madam, you speak hoarse, though you won't + confess it.—In this strain has the monkey ran on for two hours.—No body + must help him at table but Miss Winter.—He is always sure to eat whatever is + next her.—She, equally complaisant, sends her plate to him;—desires he + will have a bit of the same.—Excessively high, my Lord;—you never eat any + thing so well done.—The appearance of fruit is generally the occasion of great + altercation:—What! venture on peaches again, Miss Winter?—Indeed, my + Lord, I shall only eat this small one;—that was not half ripe which made me + sick yesterday.—No more nuts; I absolutely lay an embargo on nuts,—No + more, nonsense: I absolutely lay an embargo on nonsense, says Molesworth to</p> + <p>DARCEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XVI" name='LETTER_XVI'></a> + <h2>LETTER XVI.</h2> + <p>Miss WARLEY to Lady MARY SUTTON.</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Once more, my dear Lady, I dispatch a packet from this place,—after bidding + adieu to the agreeable Dean,—Brandon Lodge,—and my friends in that + neighbourhood.</p> + <p>How long I shall continue here, God only knows.—If my wishes could avail, + the time would be short; very short, indeed.—I am quite out of patience with + Mr. and Mrs. Smith; some delay every time I hear from them.—First, we were to + embark the middle of this month;—then the latter end;—now it is put off + till the beginning of the next:—perhaps, when I hear next, it will be, they do + not go at all.—Such weak resolutions are never to be depended on;—a + straw, like a magnet, will draw them from side to side.</p> + <p>I think I am as much an inhabitant of this house as of Mr. Jenkings's:—I lay + here last night after my journey, and shall dine here this day; but as a great deal + of company is expected, must go to my <i>other</i> home to dress.—To-morrow + your Ladyship shall command me.</p> + <br /> + + <p>From Mr. <i>Jenkings's</i>.</p> + <p>Rejoice with me, my dear Lady.—You <i>will</i> rejoice, I know, you + <i>will</i>. to find my eyes are open to my folly.—How could I be so vain; so + presumptuous!—Yes, it must be vanity, it must be presumption to the + highest,—gloss it over as I will,—to harbour thoughts which before this + your Ladyship is acquainted with.—Did you not blush for me?—did you not + in contempt throw aside my letter?—Undoubtedly you did.—Go, you + said.—I am sure, dear Madam, you <i>must</i> let me not again behold the + weakness of that poor silly girl.—But this is my hope, you are not apt to judge + unfavourably, <i>even</i> in circumstances that will scarce admit of + palliation.—Tell me, my dear Lady, I am pardoned; tell me so, and I shall never + be again unhappy.—How charming, to have <i>peace</i> and <i>tranquility</i> + restor'd, when I fear'd they were for <i>ever</i> banish'd my breast!—I + welcomed the friends;—my heart bounded at their return;—I smiled on + them;—soothed them;—and promised never more to drive them out.</p> + <p>Thank you, Lord Allen;—again, I thank you:—can I ever be too + grateful?—You have been instrumental to my repose.</p> + <p>The company that dined at the Abbey yesterday were Lord and Lady Allen, Lord + Baily, Mr. Mrs. and Miss Winter.—This was the first day I changed my + mourning;—a white lutestring, with the fine suit of rough garnets your Ladyship + gave me, was my dress on the occasion.—But let me proceed to the incident for + which I stand indebted for the secret tranquility, the innate repose I now possess in + a <i>superlative</i> degree.—</p> + <p>When I went to Mr. Jenkings's to dress for dinner, Lord Darcey attended me, as + usual:—the coach was to fetch us.—I thought I never saw his Lordship in + such high good humour; what I mean is, I never saw him in such spirits.—To + speak the truth, his temper always appears unruffled;—sometimes a little + gloomy; but I suppose he is not exempted from the common ills of life.—He + entertained me on the way with a description of the company expected, interlarding + his conversation with observations tending to raise my vanity. Notwithstanding his + seeming sincerity, I was proof against such insinuations.—If he had stopp'd + <i>there</i>,—well, if he had stop'd <i>there</i>;—what then?—Why + then, perhaps, I should not have betray'd the weakness of my heart.—But I hope + thy confusion pass'd unobserv'd;—I hope it was not seen before I could draw my + handkerchief from my pocket: if it should, heavens! the very thought has dyed me + scarlet.</p> + <p>I am running on as though your Ladyship had been present in Mr. Jenkings's + parlour,—in the coach,—and at table, whither I must conduct you, my dear + Lady, if your patience will bear a minute <i>recital</i>.—First, then, to our + conference in the parlour, after I was dress'd.</p> + <p>My coming down interrupted a <i>tête-à-tête</i> between his + Lordship and Edmund. The latter withdrew soon after I entered;—<i>it look'd + some-how as if designed;—it vexed me</i>;—mean it how he would, <i>it + much</i> disconcerted me:—I <i>hate</i>, I <i>despise</i> the least appearance + of design.—In vain did I attempt to bring him back; he only answer'd he would + be with us instantly.</p> + <p>I was no sooner seated, than his Lordship placed himself by me; and fetching a + deep sigh, said, I wish it was in my power to oblige Miss Warley as much as it is in + hers to oblige me.—</p> + <p>My Lord, I cannot conceive how I have it in my power to oblige you. He took my + hand,—Yes, Madam, to make <i>me</i> happy,—for ever happy,—to make + <i>Sir James</i> and <i>Lady Powis happy</i>, you have only to determine not to quit + your native country.</p> + <p>Stop! my Lord, if you mean my going to <i>Montpellier</i>, I am + determin'd.—And are you <i>really</i> determin'd, Miss Warley?—his face + overspread with a dreadful paleness.</p> + <p>I am, my Lord,</p> + <p>But what are you determin'd? Are you determined to distress your friends?</p> + <p>I wish not to distress my friends: nothing would give me so much pain; but I + <i>must</i> go;—indeed I <i>must</i>.</p> + <p>He rose up;—walk'd about the room,—came back to his seat again, + looking quite frantic,—Good God! why should that sex practise so many arts? He + pray'd,—intreated,—left no argument untried.</p> + <p>I cannot picture his countenance, when I declared myself resolved.—He caught + both my hands, fixed his eyes stedfastly upon me.</p> + <p>Then you are inflexible, Madam?—Nothing can move you to pity the most + wretched of his sex.—Know you the person living that could prevail?—If + you do,—say so;—I will bring him instantly on his knees.</p> + <p>There is not in the world, my Lord, one who could prevent me from paying my + <i>duty</i>, my <i>affection</i>, my <i>obedience</i>, to Lady Mary Sutton: if due to + a parent, how much more from me to <i>Lady Mary</i>;—a poor orphan, who have + experienced from her the most maternal fondness? The word <i>orphan</i> struck him; + he reeled from me and flung himself into a chair opposite, leaning his head on a + table which stood near.</p> + <p>I declare he distress'd me greatly;—I know not what my thoughts were at that + moment;—I rose to quit the room; he started up.</p> + <p>Don't leave me, Miss Warley;—don't leave me. I <i>will</i> keep you no + longer in the dark: I <i>must</i> not suffer in your opinion,—be the + consequence—</p> + <p>Here we were interrupted by Edmund.—I was sorry he just then + entered;—I would have given the world to know what his Lordship was about to + say.</p> + <p>When we were in the coach, instead of explaining himself, he assumed rather a + chearful air; and asked, if my time was fix'd for going to France?</p> + <p>Not absolutely fix'd, my Lord; a month or two hence, perhaps. This I said, that he + might not know exactly the time when I shall set out.</p> + <p><i>A month</i> or <i>two!</i> O! that will be just the thing, just as I could wish + it.—</p> + <p>What does your Lordship mean?</p> + <p>Only that I intend spending part of the winter in Paris; and if I should not be + deemed an <i>intruder</i>, perhaps the same yacht may carry us over.</p> + <p>I was never more at a loss for a reply.</p> + <p>Going to France, my Lord! in a hesitating voice.—I never heard,—I + never dreamt,—your Lordship had such an intention.</p> + <p>Well, you do not forbid it, Miss Warley? I shall certainty be of your party:</p> + <p><i>I forbid it</i>, my Lord! <i>I forbid it!</i> What right have <i>I</i> to + controul your Lordship's actions? Besides, we should travel so short a way together, + it would be very immaterial.</p> + <p>Give me Leave, Madam, in this respect to be the judge; perhaps every one is not + bless'd with that <i>happy</i> indifference.—What may be very <i>immaterial</i> + to <i>one</i>,—may be matter of the <i>highest</i> importance to + <i>another</i>.</p> + <p>He pronounced the word <i>immaterial</i>, with some marks of displeasure. I was + greatly embarrass'd: I thought our conversation would soon become too + interesting.</p> + <p>I knew not what to do.—I attempted to give it a different turn; yet it + engrossed all my attention.—At length I succeeded by introducing my comical + adventure at the inn, in our way to Oxfordshire: but the officer's name had escaped + my memory, though I since recollect it to be Risby.</p> + <p>This subject engaged us till we came within sight of the drawing-room + windows.—There are the visitors, as I live! said I. Your Lordship not being + dress'd, will, I suppose, order the coach to the other door.—To be plain, I was + glad of any excuse that would prevent my getting out before them.—Not <i>I</i>, + indeed, Miss Warley, reply'd he:—Dress is never of consequence enough to draw + me two steps out of my way.—If the spectators yonder will fix their eyes on an + old coat rather than a fine young Lady, <i>why</i> they have it for their pains.</p> + <p>By this time the door was open'd, and Sir James appearing, led me, with his usual + politeness, to the company. I was placed by her Ladyship next Miss Winter, whose + person I cannot say prejudiced me in her favour, being entirely dispossessed of that + winning grace which attracts strangers at a first glance.</p> + <p>After measuring me with her eye from head to toe, she sent my dimensions in a kind + of half smile across the room to Lord Baily; then vouchsafed to ask, how long I had + been in this part of the world? which question was followed by fifty others, that + shewed she laboured under the violent thirst of curiosity; a thirst never to be + conquered; for, like dropsical people, the more they drink in, the more it rages.</p> + <p>My answers were such as I always return to the inquisitive.—Yes, + Madam;—No, Madam;—very well;—very good;—not + certain;—quite undetermin'd.—Finding herself unsuccessful with <i>me</i>, + she apply'd to <i>Lady Powis</i>; but alas! poor maiden, she could drain nothing from + that fountain; the streams would not flow;—they were driven back, by + endeavouring to force them into a wrong channel.</p> + <p>These were not certainly her first defeats, by the clever way of hiding her + chagrin:—it is gone whilst she adjusts the flower in her bosom,—or opens + and shuts her fan twice.—How can <i>she</i> be mortified by trifles,—when + the <i>Lord</i> of <i>her heart</i>,—the sweet, simpering, fair-faced, Lord + Baily keeps his eyes incessantly fixed on her, like centinels on guard?—They + cannot speak, <i>indeed they cannot</i>, or I should expect them to call out every + half hour, "All is well."</p> + <p>I admire Lord and Lady Allen. I say, I admire them: their manners are full of easy + freedom, pleasing vivacity.—I cannot admire all the world; I wish I + could.—Mr. and Mrs. Winter happen not to suit my taste;—they are a kind + of people who look down on every one of middle fortune;—seem to despise + ancestry,—yet are always fond of mixing with the great.—Their rise was + too sudden;—they jump'd into life all at once.—Such quick transitions + require great equality of mind;—the blaze of splendor was too much for their + <i>weak</i> eyes;—the <i>flare</i> of surprise is still visible.</p> + <p>It was some time before the conversation became general.—First, and ever to + have precedence,—the weather;—next, roads;—then + houses,—plantations,—fashions,—dress,—equipage;—and + last of all, politics in a thread-bare coat.</p> + <p>About ten minutes before dinner, Lord Darcey joined us, dress'd most magnificently + in a suit of olive velvet, embroider'd with gold;—his hair without powder, + which became him infinitely.—He certainly appear'd to great + advantage:—how could it be otherwise, when in company with that tawdry, gilded + piece of clay?—And to sit by him, of all things!—One would really think + it had been designed:—<i>some</i> exulted, <i>some</i> look'd mortified at the + contrast.—Poor Miss Winter's seat began to grow very uneasy;—she tried + every corner, yet could not vary the light in which she saw the <i>two + opposites</i>.—Why did she frown on <i>me?</i>—why cast such contemptuous + glances every time I turn'd my eye towards her?—Did <i>I</i> recommend the + daubed coxcomb;—or represent that her future joys depended on title?—No! + it was vanity, the love of grandeur,—that could make her give up fine sense, + fine accomplishments, a princely address, and all the noble requisites:—yes, my + Lady, such a one, Lord Darcey tells me, she has refused.—Refused, for what? For + folly, a total ignorance in the polite arts, and a meaness of manners not to be + express'd: yet, I dare say, she thinks, the sweet sounds of <i>my Lady</i>, and + <i>your Ladyship</i> is <i>cheaply</i> purchased by such a sacrifice.</p> + <p>When we moved to go into the dining-parlour, Miss Winter bow'd for me to follow + Lady Allen and her mother; which after I had declined, Lady Powis took me by the + hand, and said, smiling, No, Madam, Miss Warley is one of us.—If <i>so</i>, my + Lady—and she swam out of the room with an air I shall never forget.</p> + <p>Lord Darcey took his place at table, next Lord Allen;—I sat opposite, with + Miss Winter on my right, and Lord Baily on my left.—Sorry I was, to step + between the Lovers; but ceremony required it; so I hope they do not hate me on that + account.—Lord Allen has a good deal of archness in his countenance, though not + of the ill-natur'd kind.—I don't know how, but every time he look'd across the + table I trembled; it seem'd a foreboding of what was to follow.</p> + <p>He admired the venison;—said it was the best he had ever tasted from Sir + James's park;—but declared he would challenge him next Monday, if all present + would favour him with their company.—Lady Allen seconded the request so warmly, + that it was immediately assented to.—</p> + <p>What think you, said his Lordship it is to the <i>young</i> folks that I address + myself, of seeing before you a couple who that day has been married twenty years, and + never frown'd on one another?</p> + <p>Think! said Lord Darcey, it is very possible.</p> + <p><i>Possible</i> it certainly is, reply'd Lady Powis; but very few instances, I + believe—</p> + <p>What say you, Miss Warley? ask'd his Lordship: you find Lord Darcey supposes it + very possible.—Good God! I thought I should have sunk: it was not so much the + question, as the manner he express'd it in. I felt as if my face was stuck full of + needles: however, I stifled my confusion, and reply'd, I was quite of Lady Powis's + opinion.</p> + <p>Well, what say you, Miss Winter?</p> + <p>How I rejoiced! I declare I could hardly contain my joy, when he address'd himself + to her.</p> + <p>What say I, my Lord? return'd she; why, <i>truly</i>, I think it must be your own + faults, if you are not treated <i>civilly</i>.—The Devil! cry'd he.</p> + <p>O fie! O fie! my Lord, squeaked my left hand neighbour.—And why O fie! + retorted his Lordship: Is <i>civility</i> all we have to expect?</p> + <p>We can <i>claim</i> nothing else said the squeaker.—If the dear creatures + condescend to <i>esteem</i> us, we ought to consider it a particular indulgence.</p> + <p>And so, Miss Warley, cry'd Lord Allen, we are only to be <i>esteemed</i> + now-a-days. I thank God my good woman has imbibed none of those modern notions. Her + actions have convinced the world of that long ago.</p> + <p>Poh! my Lord, said Lady Allen, we are old-fashion'd people:—you must not + talk thus before Gentlemen and Ladies bred in the present age.</p> + <p>Come, come, let me hear Lord Darcey speak to this point, continued his Lordship. + He is soon to be <i>one of us</i>;—we shall shortly, I am told, salute him + <i>Benedick</i>.</p> + <p>On this Sir James threw down his knife and fork with emotion, crying, This is + news, indeed! This is what I never heard before! Upon my word, your Lordship has been + very secret! looking full at Lord Darcey. But you are of <i>age</i>, my Lord, so I + have no <i>right</i> to be consulted; however, I should be glad to know, who it is + that runs away with your heart. This was spoke half in jest, half in earnest.</p> + <p>In a moment my neck and face were all over crimson.—I felt the colour + rise;—it was not to be suppress'd.—I drew my handkerchief from my + pocket;—held it to my face;—hemm'd;—call'd for wine and + water;—which, when brought, I could scarcely swallow; spoke in a low voice to + Miss Winter;—said she had a poor stomach, or something like it.</p> + <p>Lord Darcey too was confus'd.—Why did I look up to him?—He was pale, + instead of red.—I saw his lips move, but could not hear what he said for more + than a minute; occasion'd by an uncommon noise which just then rush'd through my + head:—at length sounds grew distinct, and I heard this + sentence—<i>every</i> word is inscribed where it can <i>never</i> be + erazed—</p> + <p>Upon my honour. Lord Allen, I have never made proposals to any woman; and + <i>further</i>, it is a matter of doubt, whether I ever shall.</p> + <p>By this time I had lost all my colour;—charming cool—and + calm,—no perturbation remaining.</p> + <p>Nothing disagreeable now hung on my mind, except a certain thoughtfulness, + occasion'd by the recollection of my folly.—</p> + <p>Miss Winter's eyes sparkled, if it is possible for grey ones to sparkle, at the + declaration Lord Darcey had just made; and, of a sudden, growing very fond of + <i>me</i>, laid her hand on mine, speaking as it were aside,—Well, I was never + <i>more</i> surprized! I as <i>much</i> believed him engaged to a <i>certain</i> + young Lady,—squeezing my thumb,—as I think I am living.—Nay, I + would not have credited the contrary, had I not heard him declare off with my + <i>own</i> ears.—I see how it is; Sir James must chuse a wife for + him.—</p> + <p>To all which I only answered, Lord Darcey, Madam, is certainly the best judge of + his actions:—I make no doubt but Sir James will approve his Lordship's + choice.</p> + <p>After what I have related, common subjects ensued:—the cloth being removed, + I withdrew to the Library, intending to sit with Mr. Watson half an hour, who was + confined by a cold. He holds out his hand to take mine the moment he hears my + footstep.—I look on him as an angel: his purity, his mildness, his resignation + speak him one.—</p> + <p>Lord Darcey entered as I was about to join the company; however, I staid some + minutes, that my quitting the room might not seem on <i>his</i> account.</p> + <p>I am glad you are come, my Lord, said Mr. Watson; sitting with such a poor infirm + man has made Miss Warley thoughtful.—Upon my word, Sir, returned I, it was only + the fear of increasing your head-ach that me silent.—I never was in higher + spirits.—I could sing and dance this very moment. Well then, dear Miss Warley, + cried his Lordship, let me fetch your <i>guitarre</i>.</p> + <p>With all my heart, my Lord; I am <i>quite</i> in tune.—Taking leave of Mr. + Watson, I return'd to the company.—His Lordship soon followed. Again repeating + his request, in which every person join'd, I sung and play'd several + compositions.</p> + <p>Miss Winter was next call'd upon and the guitarre presented to her by Lord + Darcey.—A long time she absolutely refused it; declaring she had not learnt any + new music this year.—What does that signify, Miss Winter? said her mother; you + know you have a sweet voice.</p> + <p>Bless me! Madam! how can you say so?—To be sure, I should sing to great + advantage <i>now</i>.</p> + <p>Well, Nancy, you'll oblige <i>Papa?</i>—says the old Gentleman; I know + you'll oblige <i>Papa</i>,—stalking over to her on the tops of his toes.</p> + <p>Here the contest ended; <i>Miss</i> taking the guitarre, condescended to oblige + her <i>Papa</i>.</p> + <p>She really sings and plays well:—if her manner had been less affected, we + should have been more entertain'd.—The company staid supper, after which Lord + Darcey came with me home.—I made <i>no</i> objection:—of all things, I + would make <i>none</i>—after what pass'd at table. Fortunate event! how I + rejoice in my recovered tranquillity!</p> + <p>The thoughts, the pleasing thoughts of freedom have kept me from sleep; I could + not think of repose amidst my charming reflections. Happy, happy change!</p> + <p>It is past two o'clock!—At all times and all seasons,</p> + <p>I am, my dear Lady,</p> + <p>Yours invariably,</p> + <p>F. WARLEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XVII" name='LETTER_XVII'></a> + <h2>LETTER XVII.</h2> + <p>Miss WARLEY to the same.</p> + <p><i>From Mr. Jenkings's</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Sent for before breakfast!—Nobody in the coach!—Well, I am glad of + that, however.—Something very extraordinary must have happen'd.—I hope + Lady Powis is not ill.—No other message but to desire I would come + immediately.—I go, my dear Lady; soon as I return will acquaint you what has + occasion'd me this <i>early</i> summons.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Eight o'clock at Night.</p> + <p>No ill news! quite the reverse:—I am escaped from the house of festivity to + make your Ladyship a partaker.</p> + <p>My spirits are in a flutter.—I know not where to begin.—I have run + every step of the way, till I am quite out of breath.—Mr. Powis is coming + home,—absolutely coming home to settle;—married <i>too</i>, but I cannot + tell all at once.—Letters with an account of it have been this morning + receiv'd. He does not say <i>who</i> his wife is, only one of the best women in the + world.</p> + <p>She will be received with affection;—I know she will.—Lady Powis + declares, they shall be folded together in her arms.</p> + <p>It was too much for Sir James, he quite roared again when he held out to me the + letter,—I don't believe he has eat a morsel this day.—I never before saw + a man so affected with joy.—Thank God! I left him pure and calm.</p> + <p>The servants were like mad creatures, particularly those who lived in the family + before Mr. Powis left England.—He seems, in short, to be considered as one + risen from the dead.—</p> + <p>I was in such haste on receiving Lady Powis's message, that I ran down to the + coach, my hat and cloak in my hand.—Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings were talking to the + coachman.—I soon perceived by them something pleasing had happen'd.—They + caught me in their arms, and I thought would have smother'd me in their embraces; + crying out, Mr. Powis is coming home, my dear;—Mr. Powis is coming + home:—for God's sake, Madam, make haste up to the Hall.</p> + <p>In getting into the coach, I stepp'd on my apron, and fell against the opposite + door.—My right arm was greatly bruis'd, which I did not perceive till I drew on + my glove.</p> + <p>The moment I alighted, I ran to the breakfast-parlour; but finding no one there, + went directly to her Ladyship's dressing-room.—She open'd the door, when she + heard me coming. I flew to her.—I threw my arms about her neck, and all I could + say in my hurry was, Joy, Joy, Joy!</p> + <p>I am all joy, my love, she return'd—I am made up of nothing else. I quitted + her to run to Sir James, who was sitting in a great chair with a letter held out. I + believe I kiss'd him twenty times before I took it;—there could be no harm in + that surely.—Such endearments I should have shewn my father, on the like tender + occasion. He wept, as I have said, till he quite roared again.—I laid his head + on my shoulder, and it was some time before I would mention his son's name.</p> + <p>Lord Darcey held one of Sir James's hands: he was in the room when I enter'd; but + I declare I never saw him till he spoke. He is safe <i>now</i>,—after what + happened yesterday,—safe from any imputation on <i>my</i> account—</p> + <p>Very kind and very civil, upon my word! O! your Ladyship never heard such a fuss + as he made about the scratch on my arm.—I affect to look pleased when he speaks + to me, that he might not take it into his head I am mortified.</p> + <p>He must be the happiest creature in the world; I honour him for the grateful + affection he shews Sir James and Lady Powis.</p> + <p>Breakfast stood on the table: not a soul had broke their fast.—Her Ladyship + was here, there, and every where.—I was sadly afraid they would be all sick; at + length I prevailed on them to drink a cup of chocolate.—</p> + <p>Mr. Watson, good man notwithstanding his indisposition, got up at eleven.—I + met him coming from his apartment, and had the pleasure of leading him to the happy + family.—</p> + <p>His congratulations were delivered with such serene joy,—such warmth of + affection,—as if he had cull'd the heart-felt satisfaction of both + <i>parents</i>.</p> + <p>The word <i>happy</i> echoed from every mouth; each sentence began and ended with + it.—What the heart feels is seldom to be disguised.—Grief will + speak,—if not by the tongue, it will out;—it hangs on the features, + sallows the skin, withers the sinews, and is a galling weight that pulls towards the + ground.—Why should a thought of grief intrude at this time?—Is not my + dear Lady Mary's health returning?—Is not felicity restor'd to this + family?—Now will my regret at parting be lessened;—now shall I leave + every individual with minds perfectly at ease.</p> + <p>Mr. Powis is expected in less than a month, intending to embark in the next ship + after the Packet.—How I long to see him!—But it is very unlikely I + should; I shall certainly have taken my leave of this place before he + arrives.—By your Ladyship's permission, I hope to look in upon them, at our + return to England.</p> + <p>What genteel freedoms men give themselves after <i>declaring off</i>, as Miss + Winter calls it?—I had never so many fine things said to me before;—I + can't tell how many;—quite a superabundance;—and before Sir James + <i>too!</i>—But no notice is taken; he has cleared himself of all + suspicion.—He may go to town as soon as he will.—His business is + done;—yes, he did it yesterday.</p> + <p>I wish I may not laugh out in the midst of his fine speeches.—</p> + <p>I wish your Ladyship could see this cool attention I give him.—But I have + nettled him to the truth this afternoon:—his pride was alarm'd;—it could + certainly proceed from <i>no other</i> cause, after he has <i>declared off</i>.</p> + <p>I was sitting at the tea-table, a trouble I always take from Lady Powis, who with + Sir James was walking just without the windows, when Lord Darcey open'd the door, and + said, advancing towards me with affected airs of admiration,—How proud should I + be to see my house and table so graced!—Then leaning over the back of my chair, + Well, my angel! how is the bad arm? Come, let me see, attempting to draw off my + glove.</p> + <p>Oh! quite well, my Lord; withdrawing my hand carelessly.</p> + <p>For heaven's sake, take more care of yourself, Miss Warley; this might have been a + sad affair.</p> + <p>Depend on that, my Lord, for my own sake.</p> + <p>For your <i>own sake!</i> Not in consideration of any <i>other</i> person?</p> + <p>Yes; of <i>Lady Mary Sutton, Sir James</i> and <i>Lady Powis, good Mr. + Jenkings</i> and <i>his wife</i>, who I know would be concerned was I to suffer much + from any accident.</p> + <p>Then there is no <i>other</i> person you would wish to preserve your life for?</p> + <p>Not that I know at present, my Lord,</p> + <p>Not that you know at <i>present!</i> so you think you may one day or + <i>other?</i></p> + <p>I pretend not, my Lord, to answer for what <i>may</i> happen; I have never seen + the <i>person</i> yet. I was going to say something further, I have really forgot + what, when he turn'd from me, and walked up and down the room with a seeming + discomposure.</p> + <p><i>If</i> you are sincere in what you have said, <i>Miss Warley</i>; <i>if</i> you + are <i>really</i> sincere, I do pronounce—Here he burst open the door, and flew + out the instant Sir James and Lady Powis entered.</p> + <p>When the tea was made, a footman was sent to Lord Darcey; but he was no where to + be found.</p> + <p>This is very strange, said her Ladyship; Lord Darcey never used to be out of the + way at tea-time. I declare I am quite uneasy; perhaps he may be ill.</p> + <p>Oh! cry'd Sir James, don't hurry yourself; I warrant he is got into one of his old + reveries, and forgets the time.</p> + <p>I was quite easy. I knew his abrupt departure was nothing but an air:—an air + of consequence, I suppose.—However, I was willing to be convinced, so did not + move till I saw the Gentleman sauntering up the lawn. As no one perceived him but + myself, I slid out to the housekeeper, and told her, if her Lady enquir'd for me, I + was gone home to write Letters by to-morrow's post.</p> + <p>You have enough of it now, I believe, my dear Lady; two long letters by the same + packet:—but you are the repository of my joy, my grief, the very inmost secrets + of my soul.—You, my dear Lady, have the whole heart of</p> + <p>F. WARLEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XVIII" name='LETTER_XVIII'></a> + <h2>LETTER XVIII.</h2> + <p>Lord DARCEY to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH.</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Ruin'd and undone, as I hope for mercy!—undone too by my own egregious + folly!—She is quite lost,—quite out of my power.—I wish Lord Allen + had been in the bottom of the sea;—he can never make me amends;—no, if he + was to die to-morrow and leave me his whole fortune.—</p> + <p>I told you he was to dine here yesterday.—I cannot be + circumstantial.—He did dine here;—to my utter sorrow he did.</p> + <p>Oh what a charming morning I spent!—Tho' my angel persisted in going to + France, yet it was in a manner that made me love her, if possible, ten thousand times + more than ever.—Good God! had you seen how she look'd!—But no matter + now;—I must forget her angelical sweetness.—Forget did I say?—No, + by heaven and earth—she lives in every corner of my heart.—I wish I had + told her my whole soul.—I was going to tell her, if I had not been + interrupted.—It is too late now.—She would not hear me: I see by her + manners she would not hear me. She has learnt to look with indifference:—even + smiles with indifference.—Why does she not frown? That would be joy to what her + smiles afford.—I hate such smiles; they are darts dipp'd in poison.—</p> + <p>Lord Allen said he heard I was going to be marry'd:—<i>What was that to + him?</i>—Sir James look'd displeased. To quiet <i>his</i> fears I assured + him—God! I know not what I assured <i>him</i>—something very foreign from + my heart.</p> + <p>She blushed when Sir James asked, to whom?—With what raptures did I behold + her blushes!—But she shrunk at my answer.—I saw the colour leave her + cheek, like a rose-bud fading beneath the hoary frost.</p> + <p>I <i>will</i> know my fate.—Twill be with you in a few days,—if Sir + James should consent.—<i>What if he should consent?</i>—She is steeled + against my vows—my protestations;—my words affect her not;—the most + tender assiduities are disregarded:—she seems to attend to what I say, yet + regards it not.</p> + <p>Where are those looks of preference fled,—those expressive looks?—I + saw them not till now:—it is their loss,—it is their sad reverse that + tells me what they were. She turns not her head to follow my foot-steps at + parting;—or when I return, does not proclaim it by advancing pleasure tip-toe + to the windows of her soul.—No anxiety for my health! No, she cares not what + becomes of me.—I complain'd of my head, said I was in great pain;—heaven + knows how true! My complaints were disregarded.—I attended her home. She sung + all the way; or if she talked, it was of music:—not a word of <i>my poor + head</i>;—no charges to draw the glasses up going back.</p> + <p>There was a time, Molesworth—there was a time, if my finger had but ached, + it was, My Lord, you look ill. Does not Lady Powis persuade you to have advice? You + are really too careless of your health.</p> + <p>Shall she be <i>another's?</i>—Yes; when I shrink at sight of what lies + yonder,—my sword, George;—that shall prevent her ever being + <i>another's</i>.</p> + <p>Tell me you believe she will be <i>mine</i>:—it may help to calm my + disturbed mind.—Be sure you do not hint she will be <i>another's</i>.</p> + <p>Have I told you, Mr. Powis is coming home?—I cannot recollect whether I have + or not;—neither can I pain myself to look back.</p> + <p>All the world has something to comfort them, but your poor friend.—Every + thing wears the face of joy, till I turn my eyes inwards:—<i>there it is</i> I + behold the opposite;—<i>there it is</i> where Grief has fix'd her + abode.—Does the fiend ever sleep? Will she be composed by ushering in the happy + prospects of others?—Yes, I will feel, joy.—Joy did I say? Joy I cannot + feel.—Satisfaction then?—Satisfaction likewise is forbid to + enter.—What then will possess my mind; on recollecting peace is restor'd, where + gratitude calls for such large returns?—I'll pray for them;—I'll pray for + a continuance of their felicity.—I'll pray, if they have future ills in store, + they may light on the head of Darcey.—Yes, he can bear more yet:—let the + load be ever so heavy, he will stoop to take up the burthen of his + friends;—such friends as Sir James and Lady Powis have been to</p> + <p>DARCEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XIX" name='LETTER_XIX'></a> + <h2>LETTER XIX.</h2> + <p>The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to LORD DARCEY.</p> + <p>London.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Well, give me the first salute of your fair bride;—<i>and for your bride</i> + I'll ensure Miss Warley.—Why there is not a symptom but is in your + favour.—She is nettled; can't you perceive it?—Once a studied disregard + takes place, we are safe:—nothing will hurt you <i>now</i>, my Lord.—</p> + <p>You have been stuttering falsehoods.—From what I can gather, you have been + hushing the Baronet at the expence of your own and Miss Warley's quiet.—If you + have, never mind it; things may not be the worse.—Come away, I advise you; set + out immediately.—See how she looks at parting.—But don't distress + her;—I charge you not to distress her.—Should you play back her own + cards, I will not answer for the pride of the sex.—</p> + <p>Sir James's consent once gained, and she rejects your proposals, lay all your + letters to me on the subject before her.—I have them by me.—These cannot + fail of clearing every doubt; she will be convinced then how sincerely you have loved + her.—</p> + <p>You surprise me concerning Mr. Powis:—I thought he was settled in his + government for life;—or rather, for the life of his father.—However, I am + convinced his coming over will be no bad thing for you;—he has suffered too + much from avarice, not to assist another so hardly beset.—</p> + <p>Was not his settling abroad an odd affair!—If he determined to remain single + till he had an opportunity of pleasing himself, why did he leave England?—The + mortification could not be great to have his overtures refused, where they were made + with such indifference.—</p> + <p>As he has lived so many years a batchelor, I suppose there will be now an end to + that great family.—</p> + <p>What a leveller is avarice! How does it pull down by attempting to raise? How + miserable, as Seneca says, in the desire?—how miserable in attaining our + ends?—The same great man alledges, that as long as we are solicitous for the + increase of wealth, we lose the true use of it; and spend our time in putting out, + calling in, and passing our accounts, without any substantial benefit, either to the + world, or to ourselves.—</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>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.—</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>Yours,</p> + <p>MOLESWORTH.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XX" name='LETTER_XX'></a> + <h2>LETTER XX.</h2> + <p>Lady MARY SUTTON to Miss WARLEY.</p> + <p><i>German Spaw</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>No, my dear, <i>Lord Darcey</i> 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.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>When you mention'd your happy situation, the friendly treatment of Sir James and + Lady Powis, I was inclined to think for <i>many</i> reasons, it would be wrong to + take you from them;—<i>now</i> I am convinced, the pain <i>that</i> must + occasion, or the danger in crossing the sea, is not to be compared to what you might + suffer in your <i>peace</i> 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 <i>Hope</i>, my dear child, flatter you out of + your affections.</p> + <p>Do not think you rest in security:—tender insinuations from a man such as + you describe Lord Darcey, may hurt your quiet.</p> + <p>I speak not from experience;—Nature, by cloathing me in her plainest garb, + has put all these hopes and fears far from me.</p> + <p>I have been ask'd, it is true, often, for my fortune;—at least, I look upon + asking for my heart to be the same thing.—Sure, I could never be such a fool to + part with the latter, when I well knew it was requested only to be put in possession + of the former!</p> + <p><i>You</i> think Jenkings suspects his son has a <i>too</i> tender regard for + you;—<i>you</i> think he is uneasy on that account.—Perhaps he is + uneasy;—but time will convince you his suspicions, his uneasiness, proceed not + from the <i>cause you imagine</i>.—He is a good man; you cannot think too well + of him.</p> + <p>I hope this letter will find you safe return'd to Hampshire. I am preparing to + leave the Spaw with all possible expedition: I should quit it with reluctance, but + for the prospect of visiting it again next summer, with my dear Fanny.</p> + <p>At Montpelier the winter will slide on imperceptibly: many agreeable families will + there join us from the Spaw, whose good-humour and chearful dispositions, together + with plentiful draughts of the Pouhon Spring, have almost made me forget the last ten + years I have dragg'd, on in painful sickness.</p> + <p>The family in which I have found most satisfaction, is Lord + Hampstead's:—every way calculated to make themselves and others + happy;—such harmony is observed through the whole, that the mechanism of the + individuals seem to be kept in order by one common wheel.—I rejoice that I + shall have an opportunity of introducing you to them.—We have fixed to set out + the same day for Montpelier.</p> + <p>Lady Elizabeth, the eldest daughter, has obligingly offer'd to travel in my coach, + saying, she thought it would be dull for me to go alone.</p> + <p>It is impossible to say which of the two sisters, was it left to my choice, would + be my companion, as both are superlatively pleasing.—They possess, to a degree, + what I so much admire in our sex;—a peculiar softness in the voice and manner; + yet not quite so sprightly, perhaps, as may be thought necessary for some misses + started up in this age; but sufficient, I think, for those who keep within certain + bounds.—It requires an uncommon share of understanding, join'd with a great + share of wit, to make a very lively disposition agreeable. I allow, if these two + ingredients are happily blended, none can chuse but admire, as well as be entertain'd + with, such natural fine talents:—on the contrary, where one sees a pert bold + girl apeing such rare gifts, it is not only the most painful, but most absurd sight + on earth.</p> + <p>Lady Elizabeth, and her amiable sister Sophia strive to hide every perfection they + possess;—yet these I have just mention'd, with all others, will on proper + occasions, make their appearance through a croud of blushes.—This timidity + proceeds partly from nature,—partly from the education they have received under + the best of mothers, whose tenderness for them would not suffer her to assign that + momentous task to any but herself; fearing, as she has often told me, they would have + had a thousand faults overlook'd by another, which her eye was ever on the watch to + discover. She well knew the most trivial might be to them of the worst + consequence:—when they were call'd to an account for what was pass'd, or warn'd + how to avoid the like for the future, her manner was so determin'd and persuasive, as + if she was examining her own conscience, to rectify every spot and blemish in it.</p> + <p>Though Lady Hampstead's fondness for her daughters must cause her to admire their + good qualities, like a fine piece of perspective, whose beauties grow upon the + eye,—yet she has the art not only to conceal her admiration, but, by the + ascendency her tenderness has gain'd, she keeps even from themselves a knowledge of + those perfections.—To this is owing the humility which has fortified their + minds from the frequent attacks flattery makes against the unstable bulwarks of title + and beauty.</p> + <p>Matchless as these sisters appear, they are to be equalled in their own, as well + as the other sex.—I hope you will allow it in <i>one</i>, when you see Lord + Hallum: he is their brother as much by <i>virtue</i> as <i>birth</i>.—I could + find in my heart to say a thousand things of this fine youth;—but that I think + such subjects flow easier from a handsome young woman than a plain old one.—Yet + don't be surpriz'd;—unaccountable things happen every day;—if I + <i>should</i> lend a favourable ear to this Adonis!—Something whispers me I + shall receive his proposals.—An excuse, on these occasions, is never wanting; + mine will be a good one:—that, at my death, you may be left to the protection + of this worthy Lord.—But, first, I must be assured you approve of him in that + light;—being so firmly attach'd to my dear Fanny, to your happiness, my Love, + that the wish of contributing to it is the warmest of your ever affectionate</p> + <p>M. SUTTON.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXI" name='LETTER_XXI'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXI.</h2> + <p>Lord DARCEY to the Hon. GEORGE MOLESWORTH.</p> + <p><i>Barford Alley</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Five days more, and I am with you.—Saturday morning!—Oh that I may + support the hour of trial with fortitude!—I tremble at the thought;—my + blood freezes in my veins, when I behold the object I am to part from.—</p> + <p>I try in vain to keep out of her sight:—if I attempt to leave the room where + she is, my resolutions are baffled before I reach the door.—Why do I endeavour + to inflict so hard a penance!—Because I foolishly suppose it would wean + me.—Wean me <i>from what?</i>—From virtue.—No, Molesworth, it is + not <i>absence</i>;—it is not <i>time</i> itself can deaden the exalted + image;—it neither sickens or dies, it blooms to immortality,</p> + <p>Was I only to be parted from beauty, <i>that</i> I might meet again in every town + and village.—I want you to force me from the house.—Suppose I get up + early, and slip away without taking leave.—But that will not do;—Sir + James is ceremonious;—Lady Powis may deem it disrespect;—above all, Miss + Warley, <i>that dear, dear Miss Warley</i>,—if <i>she</i> should think me + wanting in regard, all then must be at an end.</p> + <p>Ha! Sir James yonder on the terrace, and alone! Let me examine his + countenance:—I see no clouds;—this is the time, if ever!—Miss + Warley not yet come up from Jenkings's!—If successful, with what transports + shall I run to fetch her!—<i>Yes, I will</i> venture;—<i>I will</i> have + one trial, as I hope for mercy.—</p> + <hr style='width: 45%;' /> + <p><i>As I hope for mercy</i>, I see, were my last words.—I do indeed hope for + it, but never from Sir James.</p> + <p>Still perplexed;—still miserable!—</p> + <p>I told you Miss Warley was not come from Jenkings's; but how I started, when I saw + her going to Lady Powis's dressing-room!</p> + <p>I was hurried about her in a dream, last night.—I thought I had lost + her:—I hinted it when we met;—that moment I fancied she eyed me with + regard;—she spoke <i>too</i> in a manner very different from what she has done + some days past.—Then I'll swear it,—for it was not illusion, + George,—her whole face had something of a sweet melancholy spread over + it;—a kind of resignation in her look;—a melting softness that droop'd on + her cheek:—I felt what it expressed;—it fir'd my whole frame;—it + sent me to Sir James with redoubled eagerness.</p> + <p>I found him thoughtful and complaisant: we took several turns, before I could + introduce my intended subject; when, talking of my setting out, I said, Now I have an + opportunity, Sir James, perhaps I may not have another before I go, I should be glad + of your sentiments in regard to my settling in life.—</p> + <p>How do you mean, my Lord; as to the choice of a wife?—</p> + <p>Why, I think, Sir, there's no other way of settling to one's satisfaction.</p> + <p>To be sure, it is very necessary your Lordship should consider on those + matters,—especially as you are the last of a noble family:—when, you do + fix, I hope it will be <i>prudently</i>.</p> + <p><i>Prudently</i>, Sir James! you may depend on it I will never settle my + affections <i>imprudently</i>.</p> + <p>Wall, but, my Lord, what are your notions of <i>prudence?</i></p> + <p>Why, Sir, to make choice of a person who is virtuous, sensible, well + descended.—<i>Well descended Jenkings has assured me she is</i>.</p> + <p>You say nothing, my Lord, of what is <i>most</i> essential to + happiness;—nothing of the <i>main point</i>.</p> + <p>Good-nature, I suppose you mean:—I would not marry an ill-natur'd woman, Sir + James, for the world. And is good-nature, with those you have mention'd, the only + requisites?</p> + <p>I think they are the chief, Sir.</p> + <p>You and I differ much, my Lord.—Your father left his estate encumbered; it + is not yet clear; you are of age, my Lord: pray, spare yourself the trouble of + consulting me, if you do not think of <i>fortune</i>.</p> + <p>Duty to the memory of my rever'd father, the affection and gratitude I owe you, + Sir James, calls for my obedience:—without <i>your</i> sanction, Sir, never + shall my hand be given.</p> + <p>He seem'd pleas'd: I saw tears starting to his eyes; but still he was resolv'd to + distress me.</p> + <p>Look about you, my child; look about you, Darcey;—there's Lady Jane Marshly, + Miss Beaden, or—and was going on.</p> + <p>Pardon me, Sir James, for interrupting you; but really, I cannot take any Lady on + recommendation: I am very difficult, perhaps <i>perverse</i> in this point; my first + attachment must be merely accidental.</p> + <p>Ah! these are the notions that ruin half the young fellows of this + age.—<i>Accidental likings</i>—<i>First love</i>,—and the devil + knows what, runs away with half the old family estates.—Why, the least thing + men ought to expect, even if they marry for <i>love</i>, is six-pence for a + shilling.—Once for all, my Lord, I must tell you, your <i>interest</i> is to be + consulted before your <i>inclinations</i>.</p> + <p><i>Don't</i> be ruffled, Sir James; <i>don't</i> let us talk warmly of a matter + which perhaps is at a great distance.</p> + <p>I wish it may be at a <i>great distance</i>, my Lord.—<i>If what I + conjecture is true</i>—Here he paus'd, and look'd so sternly, that I expected + all would out.</p> + <p>What do you <i>conjecture</i>, Sir?—Yes, I ask'd him what.—</p> + <p>Your Lordship must excuse my answering that question. <i>I hope</i> I am + wrong;—<i>I hope</i> such a thing never enter'd your thoughts:—if it + has—and he mutter'd something I could not understand; only I heard distinctly + the words <i>unlucky</i>,—<i>imprudent</i>,—<i>unforeseen</i>.—I + knew enough of their meaning to silence me.—Shaking him by the hand, I said, + Well, Sir James, if you please, we will drop this subject for the present.—On + which the conversation ended.</p> + <p>What a deal of patience and philosophy am I master of, to be here at my pen, + whilst two old men are sucking in the honey which I should lay up for a winter's + store?—Like Time, nothing can stand before her:—she mows down all + ages.—Even Morgan, that man who us'd to look on a fine woman with more + indifference than a horse or dog,—is now new-moulded;—not one oath in the + space where I have known twenty escape him:—instead of following his dogs the + whole morning, he is eternally with the ladies.</p> + <p>If he rides out with my angel, for he's determin'd, he says, to make her a + complete horsewoman, I must not presume to give the least direction, or <i>even</i> + touch the bridle.</p> + <p>I honour him for the tender regard he shews her:—yes, I go further; + <i>he</i> and <i>Mr. Watson</i> may <i>love</i> her;—they do <i>love</i> her, + and glory in declaring it.—I <i>love</i> them in return;—but they are the + only two, of all the race of batchelors within my knowledge, that should make + <i>such</i> a declaration with impunity.</p> + <p>Let me see: I shall be in London Saturday evening;—Sunday, no + post;—Monday, <i>then</i> I determine to write to Sir James;—Wednesday, I + may have an answer;—<i>Thursday</i>,—who knows but + <i>Thursday!</i>—nothing is impossible; who knows but <i>Thursday</i> I may + return to all my hopes?—How much I resemble a shuttlecock! how am I thrown from + side to side by hope and fear; now up, now down; no sooner mounted by one hand than + lower'd by another!</p> + <p>This moment a gleam of comfort steals sweetly through my heart;—but it is + gone even before I could bid it welcome.—Why so fast!—to what spot is it + fled?—Can there be a wretch more in need, who calls louder for its charitable + ray than</p> + <p>DARCEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXII" name='LETTER_XXII'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXII.</h2> + <p>Miss WARLEY to Lady MARY SUTTON</p> + <p><i>From Mr. Jenkings's</i></p> + <br /> + + <p>Now, my dear Lady, the time is absolutely fix'd for our embarkation; the 22d, + without fail.—Mr. Smith intends coming himself, to accompany me to + London.—How very good and obliging this!—I shall say nothing of it to + Lady Powis, till Lord Darcey is gone, which will be Saturday:—<i>he</i> may go + to France, if he pleases, but not with <i>me</i>.—</p> + <p>When I received Mrs. Smith's letter, he was mighty curious to know who it was + from:—I found him examining the seal, as it lay on the table in Mr. Jenkings's + parlour.—Here is a letter for you, Miss Warley, a good deal confus'd.—So + I see, my Lord: I suppose from Lady Mary Sutton.</p> + <p>I fancy not;—it does not appear to be directed in the same hand with that my + servant brought you last from the post-office.—I broke the seal; it was easy to + perceive the contents gave me pleasure.</p> + <p>There is something, Miss Warley, which gives you particular satisfaction.</p> + <p>You are right, my Lord, I never was better pleas'd.</p> + <p>Then it is from Lady Mary?</p> + <p><i>No</i>, not from Lady Mary.</p> + <p>From Mrs. Smith, <i>then?</i>—Do I guess <i>now?</i>—You say nothing; + oh, there it is.—I could not forbear smiling.</p> + <p>Pray tell me, only <i>tell me</i>, and he caught one of my hands, if this letter + does not fix the <i>very</i> day of your setting out for France?</p> + <p>I thought him possest with the spirit of divination.—What could I do, in + this case?—Falshoods I despise;—evasions are low, <i>very</i> low, + indeed:—yet I knew he ought not to be trusted with the contents, even at the + expence of my veracity—I recollected myself, and looked grave.</p> + <p>My Lord, you must excuse me; this affair concerns only myself; even Lady Powis + will not be acquainted with it yet.</p> + <p>I have done, if Lady Powis is not to be acquainted with it.—I have no + right—I say <i>right</i>.—Don't look so, Miss Warley—<i>believe I + did flare a little</i>—Time will unfold,—will cast a different light on + things from that in which you now see them.</p> + <p>I was confus'd;—I put up my letter, went to the window, took a book from + thence, and open'd it, without knowing what I did.</p> + <p><i>Complete Pocket-Farrier; or, A Cure for all Disorders in Horses</i>, read his + Lordship aloud, looking over my shoulder; for such was the title of the book.</p> + <p>What have you here, my love?</p> + <p><i>My love</i>, indeed! Mighty free, mighty free, was it not, my Lady? I could not + avoid laughing at the drollery of this accident, or I should have given him the look + he deserved.—I thank God I am come to a state of <i>indifference</i>; and my + time here is so short, I would willingly appear as little reserv'd as possible, that + he might not think I have chang'd my sentiments since his <i>declaring off</i>: + though I must own I have; but my pride will not suffer me to betray it to him.</p> + <p>If he has distress'd me,—if he has led my heart a little astray,—I am + recovered now:—I have found out my mistake.—Should I suffer my eye to + drop a tear, on looking back, for the future it will be more watchful;—it will + guard, it will protect the poor wanderer.</p> + <p>He is very busy settling his affairs with Sir James:—three hours were they + together with Mr. Jenkings in the library;—his books all pack'd up and sent + away, to be sure he does not intend returning <i>here</i> again soon.</p> + <p>I suppose he will settle;—he talks of new furnishing his house;—has + consulted Lady Powis upon it.—If he did not intend marrying, if he had no Lady + in his eye—</p> + <p>But what is all this to me? Can he or his house be of any consequence to my + repose?—I enjoy the thoughts of going to France without him:—I suppose he + will think me very sly, but no matter.—</p> + <p>That good-natur'd creature Edmund would match me to a prince, was it in his + power.—He told me, yesterday, that he'd give the whole world, if I was not to + go to France.—Why so, Edmund?—I shall see you again, said I, at my return + to England.</p> + <p>Ay, but what will <i>somebody do</i>, in the mean time?</p> + <p>Who is <i>somebody?</i></p> + <p>Can't you guess, Miss Warley?</p> + <p>I do guess, Edmund. But you was never more mistaken; the person you mean is not to + be distress'd by <i>my</i> absence.</p> + <p>He is, upon my honour;—I know <i>he is</i>.—Lord Darcey loves you to + distraction.</p> + <p>Poh! Edmund; don't take such things into your head: I know <i>you</i> wish me + well; but don't be so sanguine!—Lord Darcey stoop to think of <i>me!</i></p> + <p>Stoop to think of <i>you</i>, Miss Warley!—I am out of all patience: stoop + to think of <i>you!</i>—I shall never forget <i>that</i>.—Greatly as I + honour his Lordship, if he conceals his sentiments, if he trifles in an affair of + such importance,—was he the first duke in the kingdom, I hold him below the + regard even of such a one as <i>I</i> am.—Pardon my curiosity, madam, I mean no + ill; but surely he has made proposals to you.</p> + <p>Well, then, I will tell you, Edmund;—I'll tell you frankly, he never + <i>has</i> made proposals:—and further, I can answer for him, he never + <i>will</i>.—His belief was stagger'd;—he stood still, his eyes fixed on + the ground.</p> + <p>Are you <i>really</i> in earnest, Miss Warley?</p> + <p>Really, Edmund.</p> + <p>Then, for heaven's sake, go to France.—But how can you tell, madam, he never + intends to make proposals?</p> + <p>On which I related what passed at table, the day Lord Allen dined at the + Abbey.—Nothing could equal his astonishment; yet would he fain have persuaded + me that I did not understand him;—call'd it misapprehension, and I know not + what.</p> + <p>He <i>will</i> offer you his hand, Miss Warley; he certainly + <i>will</i>.—I've known him from a school-boy;—I'm acquainted with every + turn of his mind;—I know his very looks;—I have observ'd them when they + have been directed to you:—he will, I repeat,—he will offer you his + hand.</p> + <p>No! Edmund:—but if he <i>did</i>, his overtures should be disregarded.</p> + <p>Say not so, Miss Warley; for God's sake, say not so again;—it kills me to + think you <i>hate</i> Lord Darcey.</p> + <p>I speak to you, Edmund, as a friend, as a brother:—never let what has pass'd + escape your lips.</p> + <p>If I do, madam, what must I deserve?—To be shut out from your confidence is + a punishment only fit for such a breach of trust.—But, for heaven's sake, do + not <i>hate</i> Lord Darcey.</p> + <p>Mr. Jenkings appeared at this juncture, and look'd displeas'd.—How strangely + are we given to mistakes!—I betray'd the same confusion, as if I had been + really carrying on a clandestine affair with his son.—In a very angry tone he + said, I thought, Edmund, you was to assist me, knowing how much I had on my hands, + before Lord Darcey sets out;—but I find business is not <i>your</i> + pursuit:—I believe I must consent to your going into the army, after + all.—On which he button'd up his coat, and went towards the Abbey, leaving me + quite thunderstruck. Poor Edmund was as much chagrined as myself.—A moment + after I saw Mr. Jenkings returning with a countenance very different,—and + taking me apart from his son, said, I cannot forgive myself, my dear young + Lady;—can you forgive me for the rudeness I have just committed?—I am an + old man, Miss Warley;—I have many things to perplex me;—I should + not,—I know I should <i>not</i>, have spoke so sharply to Edmund, when you had + honour'd him with your company.</p> + <p>I made him easy by my answer; and since I have not seen a cloud on his + brow.—I shall never think more, with concern, of Mr. Jenkings's + suspicions.—Your Ladyship's last letter,—oh! how sweetly tender! tells me + <i>he</i> has <i>motives</i> to which <i>I</i> am a stranger.</p> + <p>We spent a charming day, last Monday, at Lord Allen's. Most of the neighbouring + families were met there, to commemorate the happy festival.—Mr. Morgan made one + of the party, and return'd with us to the Abbey, where he proposes waiting the + arrival of his godson, Mr. Powis.—If I have any penetration, most of his + fortune will center <i>there</i>,—For my part, I am not a little proud of + stealing into his good graces:—I don't know for what, but Lady Powis tells me, + I am one of his first favourites; he has presented me a pretty little grey horse, + beautifully caparison'd; and hopes he says, to make me a good horsewoman.</p> + <p>As I have promis'd to be at the Abbey early, I shall close this letter; and, if I + have an opportunity, will write another by the same packet.—Believe me ever, my + dearest Lady, your most grateful and affectionate</p> + <p>F. WARLEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="END_OF_THE_FIRST_VOLUME" name='END_OF_THE_FIRST_VOLUME'></a> + <h2>END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.</h2> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="BARFORD_ABBEY_II" name='BARFORD_ABBEY_II'></a> + <h1>BARFORD ABBEY,</h1> + <h2>A NOVEL:</h2> + <h2>IN A</h2> + <h2>SERIES of LETTERS.</h2> + <h2>IN TWO VOLUMES.</h2> + <h2>VOL. II.</h2> + <br /> + + <p>MDCCLXVIII.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXIII" name='LETTER_XXIII'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXIII.</h2> + <p>Miss WARLEY to Lady MARY SUTTON.</p> + <p><i>from Mr. Jenkings's</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Oh what a designing man is Lord Darcey!—He loves me not, yet fain would + persuade me that he does.—When I went yesterday morning to the Abbey, I met him + in my way to Lady Powis's dressing-room.—Starting as if he had seen an + apparition, and with a look which express'd great importance, he said, taking my + hand, Oh! Miss Warley, I have had the most dreadful night!—but I hope + <i>you</i> have rested well.</p> + <p>I have rested very well, my Lord; what has disturb'd your Lordship's rest?</p> + <p><i>What</i>, had it been <i>real</i> as it was <i>visionary</i>, would have drove + me to madness.—I dreamt, Miss Warley,—I dreamt every thing I was + possess'd of was torn from me;—but now—<i>and here stopt</i>.</p> + <p>Well, my Lord, and did not the pleasure of being undeceiv'd overpay all the pain + which you had been deceiv'd into?</p> + <p>No, my angel!—<i>Why does he call me his angel?</i></p> + <p>Why, no: I have such a sinking, such a load on my mind, to reflect it is + possible,—only possible it might happen, that, upon my word, it has been almost + too much for me.</p> + <p>Ah! my Lord, you are certainly wrong to anticipate evils; they come fast enough, + one need not run to meet them:—besides, if your Lordship had been in reality + that very unfortunate creature, you dreamt you were, for no rank or degree is proof + against the caprice of Fortune,—was nothing to be preserv'd + entire?—Fortune can require only what she gave: fortitude, peace, and + resignation, are not her gifts.</p> + <p>Oh! Miss Warley, you mistake: it was not riches I fancied myself dispossess'd + of;—it was, oh my God!—what my peace, my <i>very</i> soul is center'd + in!—and his eyes turn'd round with so wild a stare, that really I began to + suspect his head.</p> + <p>I trembled so I could scarce reach the dressing-room, though just at the + door.—The moment I turn'd from him, he flew like lightning over the stairs; and + soon after, I saw him walking with Sir James on the terrace. By their gestures I + could discover their conversation was not a common one.</p> + <p>Mr. Morgan comes this instant in sight;—a servant after him, leading my + little horse.—I am sorry to break off, but I must attend him;—he is so + good, I know your Ladyship would be displeas'd, was I to prolong my letter at the + expence of his favour.—Yours, my much honour'd,—my much lov'd + Lady,—with all gratitude, with all affection,</p> + <p>F. WARLEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXIV" name='LETTER_XXIV'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXIV.</h2> + <p>Miss WARLEY to the same.</p> + <p><i>From Mr. Jenkings's</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Now, my dearest Lady, am I again perplex'd, doubting, and embarrass'd:—yet + Lord Darcey is gone,—gone this very morning,—about an hour since.</p> + <p>Well, I did not think it would evermore be in his power to distress me;—but + I have been distress'd,—greatly distress'd!—I begin to think Lord Darcey + sincere,—that he has always been sincere—He talks of next + <i>Thursday</i>, as a day to unravel great mysteries:—but I shall be far enough + by that time; sail'd, perhaps.—Likely, he said, I might know before + Thursday.—I wish any body could, tell me:—I fancy Sir James and Lady + Powis are in the secret.</p> + <p>Mr. Jenkings is gone with his Lordship to Mr. Stapleton's,—about ten miles + this side London, on business of importance:—to-morrow he returns; then I shall + acquaint him with my leaving this place.—Your Ladyship knows the motive why I + have hitherto kept the day of my setting out a secret from every person,—even + from Sir James and Lady Powis.</p> + <p>Yesterday, the day preceding the departure of Lord Darcey, I went up to the Abbey, + determin'd to exert my spirits and appear chearful, cost what it would to a poor + disappointed heavy heart.—Yes, it was disappointed:—but till then I never + rightly understood its situation;—or perhaps would not understand + it;—else I have not examin'd it so closely as I ought, of late;—Not an + unusual thing neither: we often stop to enquire, what fine feat + <i>that?</i>—whose magnificent equipage <i>this?</i>—long to see and + converse with persons so surrounded with splendor;—but if one happen to pass a + poor dark cottage, and see the owner leaning on a crutch at the door, we are apt to + go by, without making any enquiry, or betraying a wish to be acquainted with its + misery.—</p> + <p>This was my situation, when I directed my steps to the Abbey.—I saw not Lord + Darcey in an hour after I came into the house;—when he join'd us, he was + dress'd for the day, and in one hand his own hat, in the other mine, with my cloak, + which he had pick'd up in the Vestibule:—he was dreadfully + pale;—complain'd of a pain in his head, which he is very subject to;—said + he wanted a walk;—and ask'd, if I would give him the honour of my + company.—I had not the heart to refuse, when I saw how ill he + look'd;—though for some days past, I have avoided being alone with him as much + as possible.</p> + <p>We met Lady Powis returning from a visit to her poultry-yard.—Where are my + two runabouts going <i>now?</i> she said.—Only for a little walk, madam, + reply'd Lord Darcey.</p> + <p>You are a sauce-box, said she, shaking him by the hand;—but don't go, my + Lord, <i>too far</i> with Miss Warley, nodding and smiling on him at the same + time.—She gave me a sweet affectionate kiss, as I pass'd her; and cried out, + You are a couple of pretty strollers, are you not!—But away together; only I + charge you, my Lord, calling after him, remember you are not to go <i>too far</i> + with my dear girl.</p> + <p>We directed our steps towards the walk that leads to the Hermitage, neither of us + seeming in harmony of spirits.—His Lordship still complaining of his head, I + propos'd going back before we had gone ten paces from the house.</p> + <p>Would Miss Warley then prevent me, said he, from the last satisfaction! might ever + enjoy?—You don't know, madam, how long—it is impossible to say how + long—if ever I should be so happy again—I look forward to Wednesday with + impatience;—if that should be propitious,—<i>Thursday</i> will unravel + <i>mysteries</i>; it will clear up <i>doubts</i>;—it will perhaps bring on an + event which you, my dearest life, may in time reflect on with pleasure;—you, my + dearest life!—pardon the liberty,—by heaven! I am sincere!</p> + <p>I was going to withdraw my hand from his: I can be less reserv'd when he is less + free.</p> + <p>Don't take your hand from me;—I will call you miss Warley;—I see my + freedom is depleasing;—but don't take your hand away; for I was still + endeavouring to get it away from him.</p> + <p>Yes, my angel, I will call you <i>Miss Warley</i>.</p> + <p>Talk not at this rate, my Lord: it is a kind of conversation I do not, nor wish to + understand.</p> + <p>I see, madam, I am to be unhappy;—I know you have great reason to condemn + me:—my whole behaviour, since I first saw you, has been one riddle.</p> + <p>Pray, my Lord, forbear this subject.</p> + <p>No! if I never see you more, Miss Warley,—this is my wish that you think the + worst of me that appearances admit;—think I have basely wish'd to distress + you.</p> + <p>Distress me, my Lord?</p> + <p>Think so, I beseech you, if I never return.—What would the misfortune be of + falling low, even to the most abject in your opinion, compared with endangering the + happiness of her whole peace is my ardent pursuit?—If I fail, I only can tell + the cause:—you shall never be acquainted with it;—for should you regard + me even with pity,—cool pity,—it would be taking the dagger from my own + breast, and planting it in yours.</p> + <p>Ah! my Lady, could I help understanding him?—could I help being + moved?—I was moved;—my eyes I believe betrayed it.</p> + <p>If I return, continued he, it is you only can pronounce me happy.—If you see + me not again, think I am tossed on the waves of adverse fortune:—but oh think I + again intreat <i>you</i>,—think me guilty. Perhaps I may outlive—no, that + will never do;—you will be happy long before that hour;—it would be + selfish to hope the contrary. I <i>wish</i> Mr. Powis was come home;—I + wish—All my wishes tend to one great end.—Good God, what a situation am I + in!—That the Dead could hear my petitions!—that he could absolve + me!—What signifies, whether one sue to remains crumbled in the dust, or to the + ear which can refuse to hear the voice of reason?</p> + <p>I thought I should have sunk to see the agony he was work'd up to.—I believe + I look'd very pale;—I felt the blood thrill through my veins, and of a sudden + stagnate:—a dreadful sickness follow'd;—I desir'd to sit;—he look'd + on every side, quite terrified;—cry'd, Where will you sit, my dearest + life?—what shall I do?—For heaven's sake speak,—speak but one + word;—speak to tell me, I have not been your murderer.</p> + <p>I attempted to open my mouth, but in vain; I pointed to the ground, making an + effort to sit down:—he caught me in his arms, and bore me to a bench not far + off;—there left me, to fetch some water at a brook near, but came back before + he had gone ten steps.—I held out my hand to his hat, which lay on the ground, + then look'd to the water.—Thank God!—thank God! he said, and went full + speed, to dip up some;—he knelt down, trembling, before me;—his teeth + chatter'd in his head whilst he offer'd the water.</p> + <p>I found myself beginning to recover the moment it came to my lips.—He fix'd + his eyes on me, as if he never meant to take them off, holding both my hands between + his, the tears running down his face, without the contraction of one + feature.—If sorrow could be express'd in stone, he then appear'd the very + statue which was to represent it.</p> + <p>I attempted to speak.</p> + <p>Don't speak yet, he cried;—don't make yourself ill again: thank heaven, you + are better!—This is some sudden chill; why have you ventur'd out without + clogs?</p> + <p>How delicate,—how seasonable, this hint! Without it could I have met his + eye, after the weakness I had betrayed?—We had now no more interesting + subjects; I believe he thought I had <i>enough</i> of them.</p> + <p>It was near two when we reach'd the Abbey. Sir James and Mr. Morgan were just + return'd from a ride;—Lady Powis met us on the Green, where she said she had + been walking some time, in expectation of her strollers,—She examin'd my + countenance very attentively, and then ask'd Lord Darcey, if he had remember'd her + injunctions?</p> + <p>What reason, my Lady, have you to suspect the contrary? he returned—Well, + well, said she, I shall find you out some day or other;—but her Ladyship seem'd + quite satisfied, when I assured her I had been no farther than the Beach-walk.</p> + <p>Cards were propos'd soon after dinner: the same party as usual.—Mr. Morgan + is never ask'd to make one;—he says he would as soon see the devil as a + card-table.—We kept close at it 'till supper.—I could not help observing + his Lordship blunder'd a little;—playing a diamond for a spade,—and a + heart for a club,—I took my leave at eleven, and he attended me home.</p> + <p>Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings were gone to bed,—Edmund was reading in the parlour; + he insisted on our having a negus which going out to order, was follow'd by Lord + Darcey:—I heard them whisper in the passage, but could distinguish the words, + <i>if she is ill, remember, if she is ill</i>—and then Edmund answer'd, You may + depend on it, my Lord,—as I have a soul to be saved:—does your Lordship + suppose I would be so negligent?</p> + <p>I guess'd at this charge;—it was to write, if I should be ill, as I have + since found by Edmund,—who return'd capering into the room, rubbing his hands, + and smiling with such significance as if he would have said, Every thing is as it + should be.</p> + <p>When his Lordship had wish'd us a good night, he said to + me,—<i>To-morrow</i>, Miss Warley!—but I will say nothing of + <i>to-morrow</i>;—I shall see you in the morning. His eyes glisten'd, and he + left the room hastily.—Whilst Edmund attended him out, I went to my chamber + that I might avoid a subject of which I saw his honest heart was full.</p> + <p>On my table lay the Roman History; I could not help giving a peep where I had left + off, being a very interesting part:—from one thing I was led to another, 'till + the clock struck three; which alarm made me quit my book.</p> + <p>Whilst undressing, I had leisure to recollect the incidents of the pass'd day; + sometimes pleasure, sometimes pain, would arise, from this examination; yet the + latter was most predominant.</p> + <p>When I consider'd Lord Darcey's tender regard for my future, as well as present + peace,—how could I reflect on him without gratitude?—When I consider'd + his perplexities, I thought thus:—they arise from some entanglement, in which + his heart is not engag'd.—Had he confided in me, I should not have weaken'd his + resolutions;—I would no more wish him to be guilty of a breach of honour, than + surrender myself to infamy.—I would have endeavour'd to persuade him <i>she</i> + is amiable, virtuous, and engaging.—If I had been successful, I would have + <i>frown'd</i> when he <i>smil'd</i>;—I would have been <i>gay</i> when he + seem'd <i>oppress'd</i>—I would have been <i>reserv'd, peevish, + supercilicus</i>;—in short, I would have counterfeited the very reverse of what + was likely to draw him from a former attachment.</p> + <p>To live without him must be my fate; since that is almost inevitable, I would have + strove to have secur'd his happiness, whilst mine had remain'd to chance.—These + reflections kept me awake 'till six; when I fell into a profound sleep, which lasted + 'till ten; at which time I was awaken'd by Mrs. Jenkings to tell me Lord Darcey was + below; with an apology, that she had made breakfast, as her husband was preparing, in + great haste, to attend his Lordship.</p> + <p>This was a hint he was not to stay long; so I put on my cloaths with expedition; + and going down, took with me my whole stock of resolution; but I carried it no + farther than the bottom of the stairs;—there it flew from me;—never have + I seen it since:—that it rested not in the breast of Lord Darcey, was + visible;—rather it seem'd as if his and mine had taken a flight together.</p> + <p>I stood with the lock of the door in my hand more than a minute, in hopes my + inward flutterings would abate.—His Lordship heard my footstep, and flew to + open it;—I gave him my hand, without knowing what I did;—joy sparkled in + his eyes and he prest it to his breast with a fervour that cover'd me with + confusion.</p> + <p>He saw what he had done,—He dropp'd it respectfully, and inquiring tenderly + for my health, ask'd if I would honour him with my commands before he sat out for + Town?—What a fool was I!—Lord bless me!—can I ever forget my folly? + What do you think, my Lady! I did not speak;—no! I could not answer;—I + was <i>silent</i>;—I was <i>silent</i>, when I would have given the world for + one word.—When I did speak, it was not to Lord Darcey, but, still all fool, + turn'd and said to Mr. Jenkings, who was looking over a parchment, How do you find + yourself, Sir? Will not the journey you are going to take on horseback be too + fatiguing? No, no, my good Lady; it is an exercise I have all my life been us'd to: + to-morrow you will see me return the better for it.</p> + <p>Mrs. Jenkings here enter'd, follow'd by a servant with the breakfast, which was + plac'd before me, every one else having breakfasted.—She desir'd I would give + myself the trouble of making tea, having some little matters to do + without.—This task would have been a harder penance than a fast of three + days;—but I must have submitted, had not my good genius Edmund appear'd at this + moment; and placing himself by me, desir'd to have the honour of making my + breakfast.</p> + <p>I carried the cup with difficulty to my mouth. My embarrassment was perceiv'd by + his Lordship; he rose from his seat, and walk'd up and down.—How did his manly + form struggle to conceal the disorder of his mind!—Every movement, every look, + every word, discover'd Honour in her most graceful, most ornamental garb: <i>when</i> + could it appear to such advantage, surrounded with a cloud of difficulties, yet + shining out and towering above them all?</p> + <p>He laid his cold hand on mine;—with precipitation left the room;—and + was in a moment again at my elbow.—Leaning over the back of my chair, he + whisper'd, For heaven's sake, miss Warley, be the instrument of my fortitude; whilst + I see you I cannot—there stopt and turn'd from me.—I saw he wish'd me to + go first,—as much in compassion to myself as him. When his back was turn'd, I + should have slid out of the room;—but Mr. Jenkings starting up, and looking at + his watch, exclaim'd, <i>Odso</i>, my Lord! it is past eleven; we shall be in the + dark. This call'd him from his reverie; and he sprang to the door, just as I had + reached it.—Sweet, generous creature! said he, stopping me; and you will go + <i>then?</i>—Farewell, my Lord, replied I.—My dear, good friend, to Mr. + Jenkings, take care of your health.—God bless you both I—My voice + faulter'd.</p> + <p>Excellent Miss Warley! a thousand thanks for your kind condescension, said the + good old man.—Yet one moment, oh God! yet one moment, said his Lordship; and he + caught both my hands.</p> + <p>Come, my Lord, return'd Mr. Jenkings; and never did I see him look so grave, + something of disappointment in his countenance;—come, my Lord, the day is + wasting apace. Excuse this liberty:—your Lordship has been <i>long</i> + determin'd,—have <i>long</i> known of leaving this country.—My dearest + young Lady, you will be expected at the Abbey.—I shall, indeed, replied + I;—so God bless you, Sir!—God bless you, my Lord! and, withdrawing my + hands, hasten'd immediately to my chamber.</p> + <p>I heard their voices in the court-yard:—if I had look'd out at the window, + it might not have been unnatural,—I own my inclinations led to + it.—Inclination should never take place of prudence;—by following one, we + are often plung'd into difficulties;—by the other we are sure to be conducted + safely:—instead, then, of indulging my curiosity to see how he look'd—how + he spoke at taking leave of this dwelling;—whether his eyes were directed to + the windows, or the road;—if he rid slow or fast;—how often he turn'd to + gaze, before he was out of sight:—instead of this, I went to Mrs. Jenkings's + apartment, and remain'd there 'till I heard they were gone, then return'd to my own; + since which I have wrote down to this period. Perhaps I should have ran on farther, + if a summons from Lady Powis did not call me off. I hope now to appear before her + with tolerable composure.—I am to go in the coach alone.—Well, it will + seem strange!—I shall think of my <i>late</i> companion;—but time + reconciles every thing.—<i>This</i> was my hope, when I lost my best friend, + the lov'd instructress of my infant years.—<i>Time</i>, all healing + <i>Time!</i> to <i>that</i> I fear I must look forward, as a lenitive against many + evils.</p> + <p>Two days!—only two days!—and then, adieu, my dear friends at the + Abbey;—adieu, my good Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings!—and you <i>too</i>, my + friendly-hearted Edmund, adieu!</p> + <p>Welcome,—doubly welcome, every moment which brings me nearer to that when I + shall kiss the hands of my honour'd Lady;—when I shall be able to tell you, in + person, ten thousand things too much for my pen;—when you will kindly say, Tell + me all, my Fanny, tell me every secret of your heart.—Happy + sounds!—pleasing sounds! these will be to your grateful and affectionate</p> + <p>F. WARLEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXV" name='LETTER_XXV'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXV.</h2> + <p>Miss WARLEY to the same.</p> + <p><i>From Mr. Jenkings's</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Now, my dear Lady, am I ready for my departure:—Sir James and Lady Powis + reconciled to my leaving them;—yet how can I call it reconciled, when I tear + myself from their arms as they weep over me?—Heavens! how tenderly they love + me!—Their distress, when I told them the day was absolutely fix'd; when I told + them the necessity of my going, <i>their</i> distress nothing could equal but my + <i>own</i>.—I thought my heart would have sunk within me!—Surely, my + Lady, my affection for them is not a common affection;—it is <i>such</i> as I + hear your dear self;—it is <i>such</i> as I felt for my revered Mrs. + Whitmore.—I cannot dwell on this subject—indeed I cannot.</p> + <p>I almost wish I had not kept the day so long a secret.—But suppose I had + not,—would their concern have been lessen'd?</p> + <p>I would give the world, if Mr. Jenkings was come home:—his wife is like a + frantic woman; and declares, if I persist in going, I shall break the heart of her + and her husband.—Why do they love me so well?—It cannot be from any + deserts of mine:—I have done no more than common gratitude demands;—the + affection I shew them is only the result of their own kindness.—Benevolent + hearts never place any thing to their own account:—they look on returns as + presents, not as just debts:—so, whether giving or receiving, the glory must be + their's.</p> + <p>I fancy Mr. Smith will not be here 'till to morrow, his Lady having wrote me, he + intended spending the evening with an acquaintance of his about six miles from the + Abbey.</p> + <p>How I dread the hour of parting!—Poor Mr. Watson!—I fear I shall never + see <i>him</i> more.—Mr. Morgan <i>too!</i> but he is likely to live many + years.—There is something in this strange man excessively engaging.—If + people have roughness, better to appear in the voice, in the air and dress, than in + the heart: a want of softness <i>there</i>, I never can dispense with.—What is + a graceful form, what are numberless accomplishments, without humanity? I love, I + revere, the honest, plain, well-meaning Mr. Morgan.</p> + <p>Hark! I hear the trampling of horses.—Mr. Jenkings is certainly + return'd.—I hasten down to be the first who shall inform him of my + departure.</p> + <p>How am I mortified to see Aaron return without his master!—Whilst Mrs. + Jenkings was busied in enquiries after the health of her good man, I was all + impatience for the contents of a letter she held in her hand, unopen'd: having broke + the seal, and run her eye hastily over it, she gave it me.—I think my + recollection will serve to send it verbatim to your Ladyship.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Mr. JENKINGS to Mrs. JENKINGS.</p> + <p>"My Dear,</p> + <p>I dispatch Aaron to acquaint you it is impossible for me to be home till + Wednesday. Mr. Stapleton is gone to London: I am obliged to attend Lord Darcey + thither. I love his Lordship <i>more</i> and <i>more</i>.—He has convinc'd me + <i>our</i> conjectures were not without foundation.—Heaven grant it may end to + <i>our</i> wishes!—There are, he thinks, difficulties to be overcome. Let him + think it:—his happiness will be more exquisite when he is + undeceiv'd.—Distribute my dutiful respects to Sir James, Lady Powis, and Miss + Warley; next to yourself and our dear Edmund, they are nearest the heart of your + truly affectionate husband</p> + <p>JENKINGS."</p> + <p>I will make no comments on this letter; it cannot concern <i>me</i>,—What + can I do about seeing Mr. Jenkings before I go?—</p> + <p>Lord bless me! a chaise and four just stopp'd; Mr. Smith in it.—Heavens! how + my heart throbs!—I did not expect him 'till to-morrow: I must run to receive + him.—How shall I go up to the Abbey!—how support the last embrace of Sir + James and Lady Powis!</p> + <br /> + + <p>Ten at Night, just come from the Abbey.</p> + <p>Torn in pieces!—my poor heart torn in pieces!—I shall never see them + more;—never again be strain'd to their parental bosoms.—Forgive me, my + dearest Lady, I do not grieve that I am coming to <i>you</i>; I grieve only that I go + from <i>them</i>.—Oh God! why must my soul be divided?</p> + <p>Another struggle too with poor Mrs. Jenkings!—She has been on her + knees:—yes, thus lowly has she condescended to turn me from my purpose, and + suffer Mr. Smith to go back without me,—I blush to think what pain, what + trouble I occasion.—She talks of some <i>important event</i> at hand. She says + if I go, it will, end in the destruction of us all.—What can she mean by an + <i>important event?</i>—Perhaps Lord Darcey—but no matter; nothing, my + dear Lady, shall with-hold me from you.—The good woman is now more calm. I have + assured her it is uncertain how long we may be in London: it is only that has calm'd + her.—She says, she is <i>certain</i> I shall return;—she is + <i>certain</i>, when Mr. Powis and his Lady arrives, <i>I must</i> return.—Next + Thursday they are expected:—already are they arrived at Falmouth:—but, + notwithstanding what I have told Mrs. Jenkings, to soften her pains at parting, I + shall by Thursday be on my voyage;—for Mr. Smith tells me the Packet will sail + immediately.—Perhaps I may be the messenger of my own letters:—but I am + determin'd to write on 'till I see you;—that when I look them over, my memory + may receive some assistance.—Good night, my dearest Lady; Mrs. Jenkings and Mr. + Smith expects me.</p> + <p>F. Warley.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXVI" name='LETTER_XXVI'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXVI.</h2> + <p>Lord DARCEY to Sir JAMES POWIS.</p> + <p>London.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Even whilst I write, I see before me the image of my expiring father;—I hear + the words that issued from his death-like lips;—my soul feels the weight of his + injunctions;—<i>again</i> in my imagination I seal the sacred promise on his + livid hand;—and my heart bows before Sir James with all that duty which is + indispensable from a child to a parent.</p> + <p>Happiness is within my reach, yet without <i>your</i> sanction I <i>will</i> not, + <i>dare</i> not, bid it welcome;—I <i>will</i> not hold out my hand to receive + <i>it</i>.—Yes, Sir, I love Miss Warley; I can no longer disguise my + sentiments.—On the terrace I should not have disguis'd them, if your warmth had + not made me tremble for the consequence.—You remember my arguments <i>then</i>; + suffer me now to reurge <i>them</i>.</p> + <p>I allow it would be convenient to have my fortune augmented by alliance; but then + it is not <i>absolutely</i> necessary I should make the purchase with my + felicity.—A thousand chances may put me in possession of riches;—one + event only can put me in possession of content.—Without <i>it</i>, what is a + fine equipage?—what a splendid retinue?—what a table spread with variety + of dishes?</p> + <p>Judge for me, Sir James; <i>you</i> who <i>know</i>, who <i>love</i> Miss Warley, + judge for me.—Is it possible for a man of my turn to see her, to talk with her, + to know her thousand <i>virtues</i>, and not wish to be united to them?—It is + to your candour I appeal.—<i>Say</i> I <i>am</i> to be happy, <i>say</i> it + only in one line, I come immediately to the Abbey, full of reverence, of esteem, of + gratitude.</p> + <p>Think, dear Sir James, of Lady Powis;—think of the satisfaction you hourly + enjoy with that charming woman; then will you complete the felicity of</p> + <p>DARCEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXVII" name='LETTER_XXVII'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXVII.</h2> + <p>Sir JAMES POWIS to Lord DARCEY.</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>I am not much surpris'd at the contents of your Lordship's letter, it is + <i>what</i> Lady Powis and I have long conjectur'd; yet I must tell, you, my Lord, + notwithstanding Miss Warley's great merit, I should have been much better pleas'd to + have found myself mistaken.</p> + <p>I claim no right to controul your inclinations: the strict observance you pay your + father's last request, tempts me to give my opinion very opposite to what I should + otherwise have done.—Duty like yours ought to be rewarded.—If you will + content yourself with an incumber'd estate rather than a clear one, + why—why—why—faith you shall not have my approbation 'till you come + to the Abbey. Should you see the little bewitching Gipsy before I talk with you, who + knows but you may be wise enough to make a larger jointure than you can afford?</p> + <p>I am glad your Lordship push'd the matter no farther on the terrace: I did not + then know how well I lov'd our dear girl.—My wife is <i>so</i> + pleas'd,—<i>so</i> happy,—<i>so</i> overjoy'd,—at what she calls + your noble disinterested regard for her Fanny, that one would think she had quite + forgot the value of <i>money</i>.—I expect my son to-morrow.—Let me have + the happiness of embracing you at the same time;—you are both my children, + &c. &c.:</p> + <p>J. Powis.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXVIII" name='LETTER_XXVIII'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXVIII.</h2> + <p>Lord DARCEY to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH.</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Full of joy! full of surprize! I dispatch a line by Robert.—Fly, Molesworth, + to Mr. Smith's, in <i>Bloomsbury-Square</i>:—tell my dearest, dear Miss Warley, + but tell her of it by degrees, that Mr. Powis is her <i>father!</i>—Yes! her + <i>father</i>, George;—and the most desirable woman on earth, her + mother!—Don't tell her of it neither; you will kill her with + surprise.—Confounded luck! that I did not know she was in London.</p> + <p>I shall be with you in less than two hours, after Robert:—I send him on, + with orders to ride every horse to death, lest he should be set out for Dover.</p> + <p>Jenkings is now on the road, but he travels too slow for my wishes.—If she + is gone, prepare swift horses for me to follow:—I am kept by force to refresh + myself.—What refreshment can I want!—Fly, I say, to Miss Powis, now no + longer Miss Warley.—Leave her not, I charge you;—stir not from + her;—by our friendship, Molesworth, stir not from her 'till you see</p> + <p>DARCEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXIX" name='LETTER_XXIX'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXIX.</h2> + <p>The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to RICHARD RISBY, Esq;</p> + <p><i>Dover</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Oh Dick! the most dreadful affair has happen'd!—Lord Darcey is distracted + and dying; I am little better—Good God! what shall I do?—what can I + do?—He lies on the floor in the next room, with half his hair torn + off.—Unhappy man! fatigue had near kill'd him, before the melancholy account + reach'd his ears.—Miss Warley, I mean Miss Powis, is gone to the + bottom.—She sunk in the yacht that sailed yesterday from Dover for + Calais.—Every soul is lost.—The fatal accident was confirm'd by a boat + which came in not ten minutes before we arriv'd.—There was no keeping it from + Lord Darcey.—The woman of the Inn we are at has a son lost in the same vessel: + she was in fits when we alighted.—Some of the wreck is drove on + shore.—What can equal this scene!—Oh, Miss Powis! most amiable of women, + I tremble for your relations!—But Darcey, poor Darcey, what do I feel for + you!—He speaks:—he calls for me:—I go to him.</p> + <p>Oh, Risby! my heart is breaking; for once let it be said a man's heart can + break.—Whilst he rav'd, whilst his sorrows were loud, there was some chance; + but now all is over. He is absolutely dying;—death is in every + feature.—His convulsions how dreadful!—how dreadful the pale horror of + his countenance!—But then so calm,—so compos'd!—I repeat, there + can, be no chance.—</p> + <p>Where is Molesworth? I heard him say as I enter'd his apartment: come to me, my + friend,—<i>holding out his hand</i>—come to me, my friend.—Don't + weep—don't let me leave you in tears.—If you wish me well, + rejoice:—think how I should have dragg'd out a miserable number of days, + after—oh, George! after—Here he stopp'd.—The surgeon desir'd he + would suffer us to lift him on the bed.—No, he said, in a faultering accent, if + I move I shall die before I have made known to my friend my last request.—Upon + which the physician and surgeon retir'd to a distant part of the room, to give him an + opportunity of speaking with greater freedom.</p> + <p>He caught hold of my hand with the grasp of anguish, saying, Go, go. I entreat + you, by that steady regard which has subsisted between us,—<i>go</i> to the + unhappy family:—if they can be comforted; ay, if they <i>can</i>, you must + undertake the task.—<i>I</i> will die without you.—Tell them I send the + thanks, the duty, of a dying man;—that they must consider me as their own. A + few, a <i>very</i> few hours! and I shall be their own;—I shall be united to + their angel daughter.—Dear soul, he cried, is it for this,—for this, I + tore myself from you!—But stop, I will not repine; the reward of my sufferings + is at hand.</p> + <p><i>Now</i>, you may lift me on the bed;—<i>now</i>, my friend, pointing to + the door,—<i>now</i>, my dear Molesworth, if you wish I should die + in—<i>there fainted</i>.—He lay without signs of life so long, that I + thought, all was over.—</p> + <p>I cannot comply with his last request;—it is his last I am + convinc'd;—he will never speak more, Risby!—he will never <i>more</i> + pronounce the name of Molesworth.</p> + <p>Be yours the task he assign'd me.—Go instantly to the friends you + revere;—go to Mr. and Mrs. Powis, the poor unfortunate parents.—Abroad + they were to you as tender relations;—in England, your first returns of + gratitude will be mournful.—You have seen Miss Powis:—it could be no + other than that lovely creature whom you met so accidentally at ——: the + likeness she bore to her father startled you. She was then going with Mr. Jenkings + into Oxfordshire:—you admired her;—but had you known her mind, how would + you have felt for Darcey!</p> + <p>Be cautious, tender, and circumspect, in your sad undertaking.—Go first to + the old steward's, about a mile from the Abbey; if he is not return'd, break it to + his wife and son.—They will advise, they will assist you, in the dreadful + affair;—I hope the poor old gentleman has not proceeded farther than + London.—Write the moment you have seen the family; write every melancholy + particular: my mind is only fit for such gloomy recitals.—Farewel! I go to my + dying friend.</p> + <p>Yours,</p> + <p>MOLESWORTH.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXX" name='LETTER_XXX'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXX.</h2> + <p>Captain RISBY to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH,</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>What is the sight of thousands slain in the field of battle, compar'd with the + scene I am just escap'd from!—How can I be circumstantial!—where am I to + begin!—whose distress shall I paint first!—can there be precedence in + sorrow!</p> + <p>What a weight will human nature support before it sinks!—The distress'd + inhabitants of this house are still alive; it is proclaim'd from every room by + dreadful groans.—You sent me on a raven's message:—like that ill-boding + bird I flew from house to house, afraid to croak my direful tidings.</p> + <p>By your directions I went to the steward's;—at the gate stood my dear + friends, Mr. and Mrs. Powis, arm in arm.—I thought I should have sunk;—I + thought I should have died instantly.—I was turning my horse to go back, and + leave my black errand to be executed by another.</p> + <p>They were instantly at my side;—a hand was seiz'd by each,—and the + words Risby!—captain Risby!—ecchoed in my ears.—What with their + joyous welcomes,—and transported countenances, I felt as if a flash of + lightning had just darted on my head.—Mrs. Powis first perceiv'd the alteration + and ask'd if I was well;—if any thing had happen'd to give me concern?</p> + <p>Certainly there has, said Mr. Powis, or <i>you</i> are not the same man you + <i>was</i>, Risby.—It is true, Sir, return'd I;—it is true, I am not + <i>so</i> happy as when I last saw <i>you</i>;—my mind is disagreeably + situated;—could I receive joy, it would be in knowing this amiable woman to be + Mrs. Powis.</p> + <p>You both surprise and affect us, replied he.</p> + <p>Indeed you do, join'd in his Lady; but we will try to remove your + uneasiness:—pray let us conduct you to the Abbey; you are come to the best + house in the world to heal grievances.—Ah, Risby! said my friend, all there is + happiness.—Dick, I have the sweetest daughter: but Lord Darcey, I suppose, has + told you every thing; we desir'd he would; and that we might see you + immediately.—Can <i>you</i> tell us if his Lordship is gone on to Dover?</p> + <p>He is, returned I.—I did not wait his coming down, wanting to discover to + you the reason of my perplexities.</p> + <p>What excuse after saying this, could I make, for going into the + steward's?—For my soul, I could not think of any.—Fortunately it enter'd + my head to say, that I had been wrong directed;—that a foolish boy had told me + this was the strait road to the Abbey.</p> + <p>Mr. and Mrs. Powis importun'd me to let the servant lead my horse, that I might + walk home with them.—<i>This</i> would never do.—I could not longer trust + myself in <i>their</i> company, 'till I had reconnoitred the family;—'till I + had examin'd who <i>there</i> was best fitted to bear the first onset of + sorrow.—I brought myself off by saying, one of my legs was hurt with a tight + boot.</p> + <p>Well then, go on, Risby, said Mr. Powis: you see the Abbey just before you; my + wife and I will walk fast;—we shall be but a few minutes behind.</p> + <p>My faculties were quite unhing'd, the sight of the noble structure.—I + stopp'd, paus'd, then rode on; stopp'd again, irresolute whether to + proceed.—Recollecting your strict injunctions, I reach'd the gate which leads + to the back entrance; there I saw a well-looking gentleman and the game-keeper just + got off their horses:—the former, after paying me the compliment of his hat, + took a brace of hares from the keeper, and went into the house.—I ask'd of a + servant who stood by, if that was Sir James Powis?</p> + <p>No, Sir, he replied; but Sir James is within.</p> + <p>Who is that gentleman? return'd I.</p> + <p>His name is Morgan, Sir,</p> + <p>Very intimate here, I suppose—is he not?</p> + <p>Yes, very intimate, Sir.</p> + <p>Then <i>he</i> is the person I have business with; pray tell him <i>so</i>.</p> + <p>The servant obey'd.—Mr. Morgan came to me, before I had dismounted; and + accosting me very genteely, ask'd what my commands were with him?</p> + <p>Be so obliging, Sir, I replied; to go a small distance from the house; and I will + unfold an affair which I am sorry to be the messenger of.</p> + <p>Nothing is amiss, Sir, I hope: you look strangely terrified; but I'll go with you + this instant.—On that he led me by a little path to a walk planted thick with + elms; at one end of which was a bench, where we seated ourselves.—<i>Now</i>, + Sir, said Mr. Morgan, you may <i>here</i> deliver what you have to say with + secrecy.—I don't recollect to have had the honour of seeing <i>you</i> + before;—but I wait with impatience to be inform'd the occasion of this + visit.</p> + <p>You are a friend, I presume, of Sir James Powis?</p> + <p>Yes, Sir, I am: he has <i>few</i> of longer standing, and, as times go, + <i>more</i> sincere, I believe.—But what of that?—do you know any harm, + Sir, of me, or of my friend?</p> + <p>God knows I do not;—but I am acquainted, Mr. Morgan, with an unfortunate + circumstance relative to Sir James.</p> + <p>Sir James! Zounds, do speak out:—Sir James, to my knowledge, does not owe a + shilling.</p> + <p>It is not money matters, Sir, that brought me here:—heaven grant it was!</p> + <p>The devil, Sir!—tell me at once, what is this damn'd affair? Upon my soul, + you must tell me immediately.</p> + <p>Behold!—read, Sir—what a task is mine! (<i>putting your letter into + his hands</i>.)</p> + <p>Never was grief, surprize, and disappointment so strongly painted as in + him.—At first, he stood quite silent; every feature distorted:—then + starting back some paces, threw his hat over the hedge:—stamp'd on his + wig;—and was stripping himself naked, to fling his clothes into a pond just by, + when I prevented him.</p> + <p>Stop, Sir, I cried: do not alarm the family before they are prepar'd.—Think + of the dreadful consequences;—think of the unhappy parents!—Let us + consult how to break it to them, without severing their hearts at one blow.</p> + <p>Zounds, Sir, don't talk to me of breaking it; I shall go mad:—you did not + know her.—Oh! she was the most lovely, gentle creature!—What an old + blockhead have I been!—Why did I not give her my fortune?—<i>then</i> + Darcey would have married her;—<i>then</i> she would not have gone + abroad;—<i>then</i> we should have sav'd her. Oh, she was a sweet, dear + soul!—What good will my curst estates do me <i>now?</i>—You shall have + them, Sir;—any body shall have them—I don't care what becomes of + <i>me</i>.—Do order my horse, Sir—I say again, do order my horse. I'll + never see this place more.—Oh! my dear, sweet, smiling girl, why would you go + to France?</p> + <p>Here I interrupted him.</p> + <p>Think not, talk not, Sir, of leaving the family in such a melancholy + situation.—Pray recollect yourself.—You <i>ought</i> not to run from your + friends;—you <i>ought</i> to redouble your affection at this hour of + trial.—Who <i>can</i> be call'd friends, but those who press forward, when all + the satisfactions of life draw back.—You are not;—your feeling heart + tells me you are not one of the many that retire with such visionary + enjoyments.—Come, Sir, for the present forget the part you bear in this + disaster:—consider,—pray, consider her poor parents; consider what will + be their sufferings:—let it be our task to prepare them.</p> + <p>What you say is very right, Sir, return'd he.—I believe you are a good + christian;—God direct us,—God direct us.—I wish I had a + dram:—faith, I shall be choak'd.—Sweet creature!—what will become + of Lord Darcey!—I never wanted a dram so much before.—Your name, Sir, if + you please.—I perceive we shall make matters worse by staying out so long.</p> + <p>I told him my name; and that I had the honour of being intimately acquainted with + Mr. and Mrs. Powis.</p> + <p>He continued,—You will go in <i>with me</i>, Sir.—How am I to + act!—I'll follow your advice—We must expect it will be a dreadful piece + of work.—</p> + <p>Caution and tenderness, Mr. Morgan, will be absolutely necessary.</p> + <p>But where is my hat?—where is my wig?—have I thrown them into the + pond?</p> + <p>It is well the poor distress'd man recollected he had them not; or, bare-headed as + he was, I should have gone with him to the house.—I pick'd them up, all over + dirt; and, well as I could, clean'd them with my handkerchief.</p> + <p>Now, Sir, said I, if you will wipe your face,—for the sweat was standing on + it in large drops,—I am ready to attend you.</p> + <p>So I must <i>really</i> go in, captain.—I don't think I can stand + it;—you had better go without me.—Upon my soul, I had sooner face the + mouth of a cannon—If you would blow my brains out, it would be the kindest + thing you ever did in your life.</p> + <p>Poh! don't talk at this rate, Sir.—Do we live only for ourselves?—</p> + <p>But <i>will</i> you not leave us, captain;—<i>will</i> you not run from us, + when all is out?</p> + <p>Rather, Sir, suspect me of cowardice.—I should receive greater satisfaction + from administering the smallest consolation to people in distress, than from whole + nations govern'd by my nod.</p> + <p>Well, captain, I <i>will</i> go;—I <i>will</i> do any thing you desire me, + since you are so good to say you will not leave us.</p> + <p>But, notwithstanding his fair promise, I never expected to get him within the + doors.—He was shifting from side to side:—sometimes he would stand + still,—sometimes attempt to retreat.—When we were just at the house, a + servant appear'd:—of whom he enquir'd, if Mr. and Mrs. Powis were return'd; and + was inform'd the latter was within;—the former gone out in pursuit of us. We + likewise found the Ladies were with Sir James in the library. I sent in my name: it + was in vain for me to expect any introduction from my companion.</p> + <p>Mrs. Powis flew to meet me at the door:—Mr. Morgan lifted up his eyes, and + shook his head.—I never was so put to it:—I knew not what to say; or how + to look.—Welcome, Mr. Risby, said the amiable, unfortunate, unsuspecting + mother;—doubly welcome at this happy juncture.—Let me lead you to + parents, introducing me to Sir James and Lady Powis, from whom I have receiv'd all my + felicity.</p> + <p>You need not be told my reception:—it is sufficient that you know Sir James + and her Ladyship.—My eyes instantly turn'd on the venerable chaplin: I thought + I never discover'd so much of the angel in a human form.</p> + <p>Mrs. Powis ask'd me a thousand questions;—except answering <i>them</i>, I + sat stupidly silent.—It was not so with Mr. Morgan: he walk'd, or rather ran up + and down;—his eyes fix'd on the floor,—his lips in motion.—The + Ladies spoke to him: he did not answer; and I could perceive them look on each other + with surprize.</p> + <p>Mr. Powis enter'd:—the room seem'd to lift up:—I quite rambled when I + rose to receive his salute.—Mr. Morgan was giving me the slip.—I look'd + at him significantly,—then at Mr. Watson,—as much as to say, Take him + out; acquaint him with the sorrowful tidings.—He understood the hint, and + immediately they withdrew together.</p> + <p>Come, dear Risby, pluck up, said Mr. Powis:—do not you, my friend, be the + only low-spirited person amongst us.—I fear Mr. Risby is not well, return'd + Lady Powis.—We must not expect to see every one in high spirits, because + <i>we</i> are:—<i>our</i> blessings must be consider'd as <i>very</i> + singular.—You have not mention'd Fanny to your friends.</p> + <p>Indeed, Madam, I have, replied he.—Risby knows, I every minute expect my + belov'd daughter.—But tell me, Dick;—tell me, my friend;—all + present are myself;—fear not to be candid;—what accident has thrown a + cloud of sadness over your once chearful countenance?—Can I assist + you?—My advice, my interest, my purse are all your own.—Nay, dear Risby, + you must not turn from me.—I did turn, I could hold it no longer.—</p> + <p>Pray Sir, said Mrs. Powis, do speak;—do command us; and she condescended to + lay her hand on mine—Lady Powis, Sir James too, both intreated I would suffer + them to make me happy.—Dear worthy creatures, how my heart bled! how it still + bleeds for them!—</p> + <p>I was attempting some awkward acknowledgment, when Mr. Watson enter'd, led by Mr. + Morgan.—I saw he had executed the task, which made me shudder.—Never did + the likeness of a being celestial shine more than in the former! He mov'd gently + forward,—plac'd himself next Lady + Powis;—pale,—trembling,—sinking.—Mr. Morgan retir'd to the + window.—</p> + <p>Now,—now,—the dreadful discovery was at a crisis.—Mr. Watson + sigh'd.—Lady Powis eyed him with attention; then starting up, cried, Bless me! + I hear wheels: suppose, Mr. Watson, it should be Fanny!—and after looking into + the lawn resum'd her chair.</p> + <p>Pardon me, Lady Powis said. Mr. Watson in a low-voice; why <i>this</i> + impatience?—Ah Madam! I could rather wish you to check than encourage + <i>it</i>.</p> + <p>Hold, hold, my worthy friend, return'd Sir James; do you forget four hours since + how you stood listening at a gate by the road-side, saying, you could hear, tho' not + see?</p> + <p>We must vary our hopes and inclinations, reply'd Mr. Watson.—Divine + Providence—there stopp'd;—not another word.—He stopp'd;—he + groan'd;—and was silent.—Great God! cried Mr. Powis, is my child + ill?—Is my child dead? frantickly echoed Mrs. Powis—Heaven forbid! + exclaim'd Sir James and his Lady, arising.—Tell us, Mr. Watson;—tell us, + Mr. Ruby.</p> + <p>When you are compos'd,—return'd the former—Then, our child is + dead,—really dead! shriek'd the parents.—No, no, cried Lady Powis, + clasping her son and daughter in her arms,—she is, not dead; I am sure she is + not dead.</p> + <p>Mr. Watson, after many efforts to speak, said in a faultering + voice,—Consider we are christians:—let that bless'd name fortify our + souls.</p> + <p>Mrs. Powis fell on her knees before him,—heart-rending sight!—her cap + torn off,—her hair dishevell'd,—her eyes fix'd;—not a + tear,—not a single tear to relieve the bitter anguish of her soul.</p> + <p>Sir James had left the room;—Lady Powis was sunk almost senseless on the + sopha;—Mr. Powis kneeling by his wife, clasping her to his bosom;—Mr. + Morgan in a corner roaring out his affliction;—Mr. Watson with the voice of an + angel speaking consolation.—I say nothing of my own feelings.—God, how + great!—how inexpressible! when Mrs. Powis, still on her knees, turn'd to me + with uplifted hands,—Oh Mr. Risby! cried she,—can <i>you,</i>—can + <i>you</i> speak comfort to the miserable?—Then again addressing Mr. + Watson,—Dear, saint, only say she lives:—I ask no more; only say she + lives.—My best love!—my life!—my Fanny! said Mr. Powis, lifting her + to the sopha;—live,—live,—for my sake.—Oh!—Risby, are + <i>you</i> the messenger?—his head fell on my shoulder, and he sobb'd + aloud.</p> + <p>Lady Powis beckon'd him towards her, and, looking at Mrs. Powis with an expressive + glance of tenderness,—said Compose yourself, my son;—what will become of + <i>you, if</i>—He took the meaning of her words, and wrapping his arms about + his wife, seem'd for a moment to forget his own sorrow in endeavours to.</p> + <p>What an exalted woman is Lady Powis!</p> + <p>My children, said she; taking a hand from each,—I am thankful: whom the Lord + loveth he chasteneth.—Let us follow his great example of patience,—of + resignation.—What is a poor span?—<i>Ours</i> will be eternity.</p> + <p>I whisper'd Mr. Morgan, a female friend would be necessary to attend the + Ladies;—one whom they lov'd,—whom they confided in, to be constantly with + them in their apartments.—He knew just such a woman, he said; and went himself + to fetch Mrs. Jenkings.—Lady Powis being unable longer to support herself, + propos'd withdrawing.—I offered my arm, which she accepted, and led her to the + dressing-room.—Mrs. Powis follow'd; almost lifeless, leaning on her husband: + there I left them together, and walk'd out for a quarter of an hour to recover my + confus'd senses.</p> + <p>At my return to the library, I found Sir James and Mr. Watson in + conversation.—The former, with a countenance of horror and + distraction,—Oh Sir! said he, as I came near him,—do I see you + again?—are you kind enough not to run from our distress?</p> + <p>Run from it, Sir James! I reply'd;—no, I will stay and be a partaker.</p> + <p>Oh Sir! he continued, you know not <i>my</i> distress:—death only can + relieve <i>me</i>—I am without <i>hope</i>, without <i>comfort</i>.</p> + <p>And is this, Sir James, what you are arriv'd at? said the good chaplain—Is + this what you have been travelling sixty years after?—Wish for death yet say + you have neither hope or comfort.—Your good Lady, Sir, is full of + both;—<i>she</i> rejoices in affliction:—<i>she</i> has long look'd above + this world.</p> + <p>So might I, he reply'd,—had I no more to charge myself with than she + has.—<i>You</i> know, Mr. Watson,—<i>you</i> know how faulty I have + been.</p> + <p>Your errors, dear Sir James, said he, are not remember'd.—Look back on the + reception you gave your son and daughter.</p> + <p>He made no reply; but shedding a flood of tears, went to his afflicted family.</p> + <p>Mr. Watson, it seems, whilst I had been out, acquainted him with the contents of + your letter;—judging it the most seasonable time, as their grief could not then + admit of increase.</p> + <p>Sir James was scarce withdrawn, when Lady Powis sent her woman to request the + sight of it.—As I rose to give it into her hand, I saw Mr. Morgan pass by the + door, conducting an elderly woman, whom I knew afterward to be Mrs. + Jenkings.—She had a handkerchief to her eyes, one hand lifted up;—and I + heard her say, Good God! Sir, what shall I do?—how can I see the dear + Ladies?—Oh Miss Powis!—the amiable Miss Powis!</p> + <p>Mr. Morgan join'd us immediately, with whom and Mr. Watson I spent the remainder + of this melancholy evening: at twelve we retir'd.</p> + <p>So here I sit, like one just return'd from the funeral of his best + friend;—alone, brooding over every misery I can call together.—The light + of the moon, which shines with uncommon splendor, casts not one ray on my dark + reflections:—nor do the objects which present themselves from the windows offer + one pleasing idea;—rather an aggravation to my heart-felt + anguish.—Miserable family!—miserable those who are interested in its sad + disaster!—</p> + <p>I go to my bed, but not to my repose.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Nine o'clock in the morning.</p> + <p>How sad, how gloomy, has been the approach of morning!—About six, for I had + not clos'd my eyes,—somebody enter'd my chamber. I suppos'd it Mr. Morgan, and + drew aside my curtain.—It was not Mr. Morgan;—it <i>was</i> the poor + disconsolate father of Miss Powis, more agitated, if possible, than the preceding + night.—He flung himself on my bed with agony not to be express'd:—</p> + <p>Dear Risby, said he, <i>do</i> rise:—<i>do</i> come to my + apartment.—Alas! my Fanny—</p> + <p>What new misfortune, my friend? ask'd I, starting up.—My wife! return'd! + he!—she is in fits;—she has been in fits the whole night.—Oh Risby! + if I should lose <i>her</i>, if I should lose my <i>wife!</i>—My parents + <i>too</i>, I shall lose them!—</p> + <p>Words could not lessen his affliction. I was silent, making what haste I could to + huddle on my clothes;—and at his repeated intreaties follow'd him to his + wife,—She was sitting near the fire drowned; in tears, supported by her woman. + I was pleas'd to see them drop so plentifully.—She lifted up her head a little, + as I enter'd.—How alter'd!—how torn to pieces with grief!—Her + complexion once so lovely,—how changed in a few hours.</p> + <p>My husband! said she, in a faint voice, as he drew near her.—Then looking at + me,—Comfort him, Mr. Risby;—don't let him sob so.—Indeed he will be + ill;—indeed he will.—Then addressing him, Consider, she who us'd to be + your nurse is now incapable of the task.—His agitation was so much increas'd by + her words and manner, that I attempted to draw him into another apartment.—Your + intentions are kind, said she, Mr. Risby;—but I <i>must</i> not lose my + husband:—you see how it is, Sir, shaking her head;—try to sooth + him;—talk to him <i>here</i> but do not take him from <i>me</i>.—</p> + <p>Then turning to Mr. Powis,—I am better, my love,—don't frighten + yourself:—we must learn to be resign'd.—Set the example, and I will be + resign'd, said he,—wiping away the tears as they trickled down her + cheek;—if my Fanny supports herself, I shall not be quite miserable. In this + situation I left them, to close my letter.</p> + <p>What is become of poor Lord Darcey? For ever is he in my + thoughts.—<i>His</i> death will be an aggravation to the general + sorrow.—Write instantly:—I wait your account with impatience; yet dread + to receive it.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXXI" name='LETTER_XXXI'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXXI.</h2> + <p>The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to RICHARD RISBY, Esq;</p> + <p><i>Dover</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Say not a word of it;—no, not for the world;—the body of Miss Powis is + drove on shore.—If the family choose to have her brought down, it may be done + some time hence.—I have order'd an undertaker to get a lead coffin, and will + take care to have her remains properly deposited.—It would be an act of cruelty + at present to acquaint her friends with this circumstance.—I have neither + leisure or spirits to tell you in what manner the body was found, and how I knew it + to be miss Powis's.</p> + <p>The shore is fill'd with a multitude of people.—What sights will they gaze + on to satisfy their curiosity!—a curiosity that makes human nature shrink.</p> + <p>I have got three matronly women to go with the undertaker, that the body may be + taken up with decency.</p> + <p>Darcey lives;—but <i>how</i> does he live?—Without sense; almost + without motion.</p> + <p>God protect the good old steward!—the worthy Jenkings!—He is with you + before this;—he has told you everything. I could not write by him:—I + thought I should never be able to touch a pen again.—He had left Dover before + the body was found.—What conflicts did he escape! But as it is, I fear his grey + hairs will go down with sorrow to the grave.—God support us all!</p> + <p>MOLESWORTH.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXXII" name='LETTER_XXXII'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXXII</h2> + <p>Captain RISBY to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH.</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>My heart bleeds afresh—Her body found! Good heaven!—it <i>must</i> + not,—<i>shall</i> not come to the knowledge of the family.—At present + they submit with a degree of resignation.—Who knows but a latent hope might + remain?—Instances have been known of many saved from wrecks;—but her body + is drove on shore.—Not a glimmering;—possibility is <i>now</i> out of the + question.—The family are determin'd to shut themselves out from the + world;—no company ever more to be admitted;—never to go any where but to + the church.—Your letter was deliver'd me before them.—I was ask'd + tenderly for poor Lord Darcey.—What could I answer?—Near the same; not + worse, on the whole.—They flatter themselves he will recover;—I encourage + all their flattering hopes.</p> + <p>Mrs. Jenkings has never been home since Mr. Morgan fetch'd her;—Mr. Jenkings + too is constantly here;—sometimes Edmund:—except the unhappy parents, + never was grief like theirs.</p> + <p>Mr. Jenkings has convinc'd me it was Miss Powis which I saw at ——. + Strange reverse of fortune since that hour!</p> + <p>When the family are retir'd I spend many melancholy hours with poor + Edmund;—and from him have learnt the reason why Mr. Powis conceal'd his + marriage,—which is <i>now</i> no secret.—Even Edmund never knew it till + Mr. and Mrs. Powis return'd to England,—Take a short recital:—it will + help to pass away a gloomy moment.</p> + <p>When Mr. Powis left the University, he went for a few months to Ireland with the + Lord-Lieutenant; and at his return intended to make the Grand Tour.—In the mean + time, Sir James and Lady Powis contract an intimacy with a young Lady of quality, in + the bloom of life, but not of beauty.—By what I can gather, Lady Mary Sutton is + plain to a degree,—with a mind—But why speak of her mind?—let that + speak for itself.</p> + <p>She was independent; her fortune noble;—her affections disengag'd.—Mr. + Powis returns from Ireland: Lady Mary is then at the Abbey.—Sir James in a few + days, without consulting his son, sues for her alliance.—Lady Mary supposes it + is with the concurrence of Mr. Powis:—<i>his</i> person,—<i>his</i> + character,—<i>his</i> family, were unexceptionable; and generously she declar'd + her sentiments in his favour.—Sir James, elated with success, flies to his + son;—and in presence of Lady Powis, tells him he has secur'd his + happiness.—Mr. Powis's inclinations not coinciding,—Sir James throws + himself into a violent rage.—Covetousness and obstinacy always go hand in + hand:—both had taken such fast hold of the Baronet, that he swore—and his + oath was without reservation—he would never consent to his son's marrying any + other woman.—Mr. Powis, finding his father determin'd,—and nothing, after + his imprecation, to expect from the entreaties of his mother,—strove to forget + the person of Lady Mary, and think only of her mind.—Her Ladyship, a little + chagrin'd Sir James's proposals were not seconded by Mr. Powis, pretended immediate + business into Oxfordshire.—The Baronet wants not discernment: he saw through + her motive; and taking his opportunity, insinuated the violence of his son's passion, + and likewise the great timidity it occasion'd—he even prevail'd on Lady Powis + to propose returning with her to Brandon Lodge.</p> + <p>The consequence of this was, the two Ladies set out on their journey, attended by + Sir James and Mr. Powis, who, in obedience to his father, was still endeavouring to + conquer his indifference.—</p> + <p>Perhaps, <i>in time</i>, the amiable Lady Mary might have found a way to his + heart,—had she not introduc'd the very evening of their arrival at the Lodge, + her counter-part in every thing but person:—there Miss Whitmore outshone her + whole sex.—This fair neighbour was the belov'd friend of Lady Mary Sutton, and + soon became the idol of Mr. Powis's affections, which render'd his situation still + more distressing.—His mother's disinterested tenderness for Lady + Mary;—her own charming qualifications;—his father's irrevocable menace, + commanded him one way:—Miss Whitmore's charms led him another.</p> + <p>Attached as he was to this young Lady, he never appear'd to take the least notice, + of her more than civility demanded;—tho' she was of the highest consequence to + his repose, yet the obstacles which surrounded him seem'd insurmountable.</p> + <p>Sir James and Lady Powis retiring one evening earlier than usual,—Lady Mary + and Mr. Powis were left alone. The latter appear'd greatly embarrass'd. Her Ladyship + eyed him attentively; but instead of sharing his embarrassment,—began a + conversation of which Miss Whitmore was the subject.—She talk'd <i>so</i> long + of her many excellencies, profess'd <i>such</i> sincerity, <i>such</i> tenderness, + <i>for her</i>, that his emotion became visible:—his fine, eyes were full of + fire;—his expressive features spoke what she, had long wish'd to + discover.—You are silent, Sir, said she, with a smile of ineffable sweetness; + is my lovely friend a subject that displeases you?—</p> + <p>How am I situated! replied he—Generous Lady Mary, dare I repose a confidence + in your noble breast?—<i>Will</i> you permit me that honour?—<i>Will</i> + you not think ill of me, if I disclose—No, I cannot—presumption—I + <i>dare</i> not. She interrupted him:</p> + <p>Ah Sir!—you hold me unworthy,—you hold me incapable of + friendship.—Suppose me your sister:—if you had a sister, would you + conceal any thing from <i>her?</i>—Give me then a <i>brother</i>;—I can + never behold <i>you</i> in any other light.</p> + <p>No, my Lady;—no, return'd he, I deserve not <i>this</i> honour.—If you + knew, madam,—if you knew all,—you <i>would</i>, you <i>must</i> despise + me.</p> + <p>Despise you, Mr. Powis!—she replied;—despise you for loving Miss + Whitmore!</p> + <p>Exalted goodness! said he,—approaching her with rapture: take my + heart;—do with it as you please;—it is devoted to your generosity.</p> + <p>Well then, said she, I command <i>it</i>,—I command <i>it</i> instantly to + be laid open before me.—<i>Now</i> let it speak,—<i>now</i> let it + declare if I am not the bar to its felicity:—if—</p> + <p>No, my good angel, interrupted he, dropping on his knees,—and pressing her + hand to his lips;—I see it is through you,—through you only,—I am + to expect felicity.</p> + <p>Before Lady Mary could prevail on Mr. Powis to arise, Sir James, whom they did not + expect,—and who they thought was retir'd for the night, came in quest of his + snuff-box;—but with a countenance full of joy retir'd precipitately, bowing to + Lady Mary with the same reverence as if she had been a molten image cast of his + favourite metal.</p> + <p>In this conversation I have been circumstantial, that you might have a full view + of the noble, disinterested Lady Mary Sutton:—you may gather now, from whence + sprang her unbounded affection for the incomparable, unfortunate Miss Powis.</p> + <p>You will not be surprised to find a speedy marriage took place between Mr. Powis + and Miss Whitmore, to which none were privy but the Dean of H——, who + perform'd the ceremony,—Lady Mary,—Mrs. Whitmore (the mother of Mrs. + Powis),—Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings.—Perhaps you think Lady Powis ought to have + been consulted:—I thought so <i>too</i>; but am <i>now</i> convinc'd she would + have been the wretchedest woman in the world, had she known her son acting + diametrically opposite to the will of his father in so material a point.</p> + <p>To put it out of the power of every person intrusted with this momentous secret to + divulge it,—and to make Mr. Powis perfectly easy,—each bound themselves + at the altar where the ceremony was perform'd, never to make the least discovery + 'till Mr. Powis thought fit to declare his marriage.</p> + <p>What an instance have I given you of <i>female</i> friendship!—Shew me such + another:—our sex are a test of <i>their</i> friendships.</p> + <p>How many girls have I seen,—for ever together arm in arm,—whispering + their own, perhaps the secrets of all their neighbours;—when in steps a young + fellow of our cloth,—or any other, it signifies not the colour,—and down + tumbles the tottering basis.—Instead of <i>my dear</i> and <i>my love</i>, it + is <i>sly creature, false friend</i>, could any one have thought Miss Such-a-one + possess'd of so much art?—then out comes intrigues, family-affairs, losses at + cards,—in short, every thing that has been treasur'd up by two industrious fair + ones seven years before.</p> + <p>Don't think me satyrical:—I am nice;—<i>too</i> much so, + perhaps.—The knowledge of <i>such</i> as constitute this little narrative, and + <i>some</i> other minds like <i>theirs</i>, has made me rather <i>too</i> nice, as I + said before;—a matter of little consequence, as I am situated.—Can I look + forward to happy prospects, and see how soon the fairest felicity is out of + sight?—This afflicted family, Molesworth, has taught me to forget,—that + is, I ought to forget.—But no matter;—never again let me see Lady + Sophia;—never lead me a second time into danger:—she is mortal; like Miss + Powis.—Lord Darcey! poor Lord Darcey!</p> + <p>If recollection will assist me, a word or two more of Mr. and Mrs. Powis.</p> + <p>Lady Sophia—the deuce is in me! you know who I mean;—why write I the + name of Lady Sophia?—upon my honour, I have given over all thoughts of that + divinity—Lady Mary I should have said, a few months after the nuptials of her + friends, wrote to Mr. Powis, who was then at Barford Abbey, an absolute refusal, in + consequence of a preconcerned plan of operation.—Immediately after this, she + set out with Mrs. Powis for London, whose <i>situation</i> made it necessary for her + to leave Hillford Down.</p> + <p>You will suppose, on the receipt of this letter, how matters were at the + Abbey:—Sir. James rav'd; even Lady Powis thought her son ill us'd; but, in + consideration of their former intimacy, prevail'd on Sir James never to mention the + affair, though from this time all acquaintance ceas'd between the families.</p> + <p>In order to conceal the marriage, it was inevitable Mr. Powis must carry his wife + abroad;—and as he intended to travel before the match was thought of with Lady + Mary,—his father now readily consented that he should begin his + tour.—This furnish'd him with an excuse to go immediately to town,—where + he waited 'till the angel that we all weep for, made her appearance.</p> + <p>But what, you ask, was Mrs. Powis's excuse to leave England, without being + suspected?—Why, I'll tell you: by the contrivance of Lady Mary, together with + Mrs. Whitmore, it was believ'd she had left the world;—that she died in town of + a malignant fever;—that—but I cannot be circumstantial—Miss Powis, + after her parents went abroad, was brought down by Lady Mary, and consign'd to the + care of her grandmother, with whom she liv'd as the orphan child of some distant + relation.</p> + <p>Whilst Mr. and Mrs. Powis were travelling through Italy, he apply'd to his friend + the Lord-Lieutenant,—and by <i>that</i> interest was appointed to the + government of ——. It was here my acquaintance with them commenc'd: not + that I suspected Miss Glinn to be Mrs. Powis, though I saw her every + day.—<i>Glinn</i> was a name she assum'd 'till she returned to England.—A + thousand little circumstances which render'd her character unsuspected, I want + spirits to relate.—Suffice it to say,—the death of Mrs. Whitmore;—a + daughter passing on the world for an orphan;—and the absence of Lady Mary + Sutton;—made them resolve to hazard every thing rather than leave their child + unprotected.—Alas! for what are they come home?</p> + <p>Nothing is impossible with a Supreme Being.—Lord Darcey <i>may</i> + recover.—But why this ray of hope to make the horrors of my mind more + dreadful?—He is <i>past</i> hope, you say.—</p> + <p>RISBY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXXIII" name='LETTER_XXXIII'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXXIII.</h2> + <p>The Honourable George Molesworth to Richard Risby, Esq;</p> + <p><i>Dover</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Risby, I am lifted above myself!—I am overcome with surprise!—I am mad + with joy!—Is it possible!—can it be!—But Lord Darcey's servant has + swore it;—yes, he has swore, a letter directed in Miss Powis's <i>own</i> hand, + lay on the counter in a banker's shop where he went to change a bill: the direction + was to Lady Mary Sutton:—he has put many for the same Lady into the + post-office.—I <i>run</i>, I <i>ride</i> or rather <i>fly</i> to town.</p> + <p>You may jump, you may sing, but command your features before the + family.—Should it be a mistake of John's, we kill them twice.</p> + <p>If I live to see the resurrection of our hopes, John shall be with you + instantly.—On second thought, I will not dispatch this, unless we have a + bless'd certainty.</p> + <p>Molesworth.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXXIV" name='LETTER_XXXIV'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXXIV.</h2> + <p>The Honourable George Molesworth to the same.</p> + <p><i>London</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Are you a mile from the Abbey, Dick?—Are you out of sight,—out of + hearing?—John, though you should offer to kill him, dare not deliver letter or + message 'till you are at a proper distance.</p> + <p>Miss Powis lives!—Restore peace within the walls.—As I hope to be + pardon'd for my sins, I have seen, I have spoke to her.—She + lives!—Heavenly sound! it should be convey'd to them from above.—She + lives! let me again repeat it.—Proclaim the joyful tidings:—but for + particulars have patience 'till I return to the man, to the friend my life is bound + up in.—I have seen him in every stage. Brightest has he shone, as the taper + came nearer to an end.—The rich cordial must be administered one drop at a + time.—Observe the caution.</p> + <p>Molesworth.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXXV" name='LETTER_XXXV'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXXV.</h2> + <p>Captain Risby to the Honourable George Molesworth.</p> + <p><i>Barford Abby</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Well, Molesworth,—well—I can go no farther;—yet I + <i>must;—John</i>, poor faithful <i>John</i>, says I <i>must</i>;—says he + shall be sent back again.—But I have lost the use of my fingers:—my head + bobs from side to side like a pendulum. Don't stamp, don't swear: they have a few + drops of your cordial more than I intended.—It operates well.—I long to + administer a larger potion.—Could you see how I am shifted—now + here—now there—by the torrent of joy, that like a deluge almost drives + reason before it;—I say, could you see me, you would not wonder at the few + unconnected lines of</p> + <p>Yours,</p> + <p>Risby.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXXVI" name='LETTER_XXXVI'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXXVI.</h2> + <p>The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to RICHARD RISBY, Esq;</p> + <p><i>Dover</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Darcey bears the joyful surprise beyond imagination:—it has brought him from + death to life.—</p> + <p>Hear in what manner I proceeded;—You may suppose the hurry in which I left + Dover:—I took no leave of my friend;—his humane apothecary promis'd not + to quit him in my absence:—I gave orders when his Lordship enquir'd for me, + that he should be told particular business of my <i>own</i> had call'd me to town + express.—It happen'd very convenient that I left him in a profound sleep.</p> + <p>Away I flew,—agitated betwixt <i>hope</i> and <i>fear</i>:—harrass'd + by fatigue;—not in a bed for three nights before;—nature was almost wore + out, when I alighted at the banker's.</p> + <p>I accosted one of the clerks, desiring to speak with Mr. or Mrs. Delves<a + id="FNanchor_A_1" name='FNanchor_A_1'></a><a + href='#Footnote_A_1'><sup>[A]</sup></a>:—the former not at home, I was + immediately conducted to the latter, a genteel woman, about forty.—She receiv'd + me politely; but before I could acquaint her with the occasion of my visit, the door + open'd, and in stepp'd a pretty sprightly girl, who on seeing me was going to + retire.—Do you want any thing, my love? said Mrs. Delves. Only, Madam, she + replied, if you think it proper for Miss Warley to get up.</p> + <a id="Footnote_A_1" name='Footnote_A_1'></a><a href='#FNanchor_A_1'>[A]</a> + <div class='note'> + <p>The name of the banker.</p> + </div> + <p>Miss Warley! exclaim'd I.—Great God! Miss Warley!—Tell me, Ladies, is + Miss Warley <i>really</i> under your roof?—Both at once, for <i>both</i> seem'd + equally dispos'd to diffuse happiness, answer'd to my wishes.</p> + <p>I threw myself back in my chair:—the surprise was more than I could + support.—Shall I tell you all my weakness?—I even shed tears;—yes, + Dick, I shed tears:—but they were drops of heart-felt gladness.</p> + <p>The Ladies look'd on each other,—Mrs. Delves said in a tone that shew'd she + was not without the darling passion of her sex,</p> + <p>Pardon me, Sir; I think I have heard Miss Warley has <i>no</i> brother,—or I + should think <i>your</i> emotion I saw him before me.—But whoever you are, this + humanity is noble.—Indeed, the poor young Lady has been extremely ill.</p> + <p>I am not her brother, Madam, return'd I.—It is true, she has <i>no</i> + brother;—but <i>she has</i> parents, <i>she has</i> friends, who lament her + dead:—<i>their</i> sorrow has been <i>mine</i>.</p> + <p>I fear, Sir, return'd she, it will not end here.—I grieve to tell you, the + Miss Warley you speak of is not with me;—I know nothing of that Lady:—my + Miss Warley has no parents.</p> + <p>I still persisted it was the same; and, to the no small gratification of both + mother and daughter, promis'd to explain the mystery.—But before I began, Miss + Delves was sent to desire Miss Warley would continue in bed an hour longer, on + account of some visitors that had dropp'd in accidentally.</p> + <p>Soon as Miss Delves return'd, I related every particular.—I cannot tell you + half that pass'd;—I cannot describe their astonishment:—but let me + <i>tell</i> you Miss Powis is just recover'd from the small-pox;—that this was + the second day of her sitting up:—let me <i>tell</i> you <i>too</i> her face is + as beautiful as ever.—On mature deliberation, it was determin'd, for the sake + of Miss Powis's health, she must some time longer think her name Warley.</p> + <p>I din'd with my new acquaintance, on their promising to procure an interview for + me with Miss Powis in the afternoon.</p> + <p>It was about five when I was admitted to her presence.—I found her in an + elegant dressing-room, sitting on a sopha: her head a little reclin'd.—I + stepp'd slow and softly: she arose as I enter'd.—I wonder not that Darcey + adores her, never was a form so perfect!</p> + <p>My trembling knees beat one against another.—My heart,—my impatient + heart flew up to my face to tell its joyful sensations.—I ventur'd to press her + hand to my lips, but was incapable of pronouncing a syllable.—She was + confus'd:—she certainly thought of Darcey, when she saw his friend.—I + took a chair next her.—I shall not repeat our conversation 'till it became + interesting, which began by her asking, if I had heard lately any accounts from + Barford Abbey?—Lord Darcey, Madam, I reply'd, has receiv'd a letter from Sir + James.</p> + <p>Lord Darcey! she repeated with great emotion.—Is Sir James and Lady Powis + well. Sir?</p> + <p>His Lordship, reply'd I, awkwardly, did not mention particulars.—I + believe,—I suppose.—your friends are well.</p> + <p>I fear, said she sighing, they will think me an ungrateful creature.—No + person, Mr. Molesworth, had ever <i>such</i> obligations to their friends as <i>I + have</i>—This family, looking at the two Ladies, must be rank'd with my + best.—Their replies were polite and affectionate—Can you tell me, Sir, + continued she, if Lord—here her face was all over crimson—heavens! I + mean, if Mr. Powis and his Lady are at the Abbey?—Why did she not say Lord + Darcey? I swear the name quiver'd on her lips.</p> + <p>I answer'd in the affirmative;—and sitting silent a moment,—she ask'd + how I discover'd her to be still in England.—I said by means of a + servant:—true enough, Dick:—but then I was oblig'd to add, this servant + belonged to Mr. Delves, and that he accidentally happen'd a few hours since to + mention her name whilst I was doing business in the shop.—She was fond of + dwelling on the family at the Abbey;—on Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings;—and once + when I mention'd my friend, when I said how happy I should make him at my + return;—pleasure, the most difficult to be conceal'd of any sensation, sprang + to her expressive eyes.</p> + <p>I suppose she will expect a visit from his Lordship.—If she is angry at + being disappointed, no matter: the mistake will be soon clear'd up.</p> + <p>The moment I left her, I stepp'd into a chaise that waited for me at the door, and + drove like lightning from stage to stage, 'till I reach'd this place;—my + drivers being turn'd into Mercuries by a touch more efficacious than all the oaths + that can be swore by a first-rate blood.</p> + <p>I did not venture into Darcey's apartment 'till he was inform'd of my + return.—I heard him impatiently ask to see me, as I stood without the door. + This call'd me to him;—when pulling aside the curtain he ask'd, Who is + that?—Is it Molesworth?—Are you come, my friend? But what have you + seen?—what have you heard?—looking earnestly in face.—<i>I</i> am + past joy,—past feeling pleasure even for you, George;—yet tell me why you + look not so sorrowful as yesterday.—</p> + <p>I ask'd what alteration it was he saw:—what it was he suspected.—When + I have griev'd, my Lord, it has been for you.—If I am now less afflicted, you + must be less miserable.—He started up in the bed, and grasping both my hands in + his, cry'd. Tell me, Molesworth, is there a possibility,—a bare + possibility?—I ask no more;—only tell me there is a possibility.</p> + <p>My Lord,—my friend,—my Darcey, nothing is impossible.</p> + <p>By heaven! he exclaim'd, you would not flatter me;—by heaven she lives!</p> + <p>Ask me not farther, my Lord.—What is the blessing you most wish + for?—Suppose that blessing granted.—And you, Risby, suppose the + extasy,—the thankfulness that ensued.—He that is grateful to man, can he + be ungrateful to his Maker?</p> + <p>Yours,</p> + <p>MOLESWORTH.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXXVII" name='LETTER_XXXVII'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXXVII.</h2> + <p>Miss Powis to Lady Powis.</p> + <p><i>London</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Think me not ungrateful, my ever-honour'd Lady, that I have been silent under the + ten thousand obligations which I receiv'd at Barford Abbey.—But indeed, my dear + Lady, I have been <i>very</i> ill.—I have had the small-pox:—I was seiz'd + delirious the evening after my arrival in Town.—My God! what a wretch did I set + out with!—Vile man!—Man did I say?—<i>No</i>; he is a disgrace to + <i>manhood</i>.—How shall I tell your Ladyship all I have suffer'd?—I am + weak,—<i>very</i> weak;—I find myself unequal to the task.—</p> + <p>This moment I have hit on an expedient that will unravel all;—I'll recall a + <a id="FNanchor_A_2" name='FNanchor_A_2'></a><a + href='#Footnote_A_2'><sup>[A]</sup></a> letter which I have just sent down to be put + into the post-office;—a letter I wrote Lady Mary Sutton immediately on my + arrival here;—but was seiz'd so violently, that I could not add the + superscription, for which reason it has lain by ever since.—I am easy on Lady + Mary's account:—Mr. Delves has acquainted her of my illness:—like wise + the prospect of my recovery.</p> + <a id="Footnote_A_2" name='Footnote_A_2'></a><a href='#FNanchor_A_2'>[A]</a> + <div class='note'> + <p>This was the same Lord Darcey's servant saw on the counter.</p> + </div> + <p>Consider then, dear Lady Powis, the inclos'd as if it was address'd to + yourself.</p> + <p>I cannot do justice to the affection,—the compassion,—the tender + assiduity I have experienc'd from Mr. Delves's family:—I shall always love + them; I hope too I shall always be grateful.</p> + <p>God grant, my dear Lady;—God grant, dear Sir James, that long ere this you + may have embrac'd Mr. and Mrs. Powis.—My heart is with <i>you</i>:—it + delights to dwell at Barford Abbey.</p> + <p>In a few days I hope to do myself the honour of writing to your Ladyship + again.—One line from your dear hand would be most gratefully receiv'd by your + oblig'd and affectionate</p> + <p>F. WARLEY.</p> + <p><i>P.S.</i> My good friends Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings shall hear from me next + post.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXXVIII" name='LETTER_XXXVIII'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXXVIII.</h2> + <p>Miss Powis to Lady MARY SUTTON.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Oh my dear Lady! what a villain have I escap'd from?—Could your Ladyship + believe that a man, who, to all appearance, has made a good husband to your agreeable + neighbour upwards of twelve years, and preserv'd the character of a man of + honour;—could you believe in the decline of life he would have fallen off? No, + he cannot have fallen: such a mind as his never was exalted.—It is the virtues + of his wife that has hitherto made his vices imperceptible;—that has kept them + in their dark cell, afraid to venture out;—afraid to appear amidst her shining + perfections.—Vile, abandon'd Smith!—But for the sake of his injur'd, + unhappy wife, I will not discover his baseness to any but yourself and Lady + Powis.—Perhaps Mrs. Smith may not be unacquainted with his innate bad + principles;—perhaps she conceals her knowledge of them knowing it vain to + complain of a disorder which is past the reach of medicine.—What cure is there + for mischief lurking under the mask of hypocrisy?—It must be of long standing + before that covering can grow over it:—like a vellum on the eye, though taken + off ever skillfully, it will again spread on the blemish'd sight.</p> + <p>How am I running on!—My spirits are flutter'd:—I begin where I should + end, and end where I should begin.—Behold me, dearest Madam, just parted from + my Hampshire friends,—silent and in tears, plac'd by the side of my miscreant + conductor.—You know, my Lady, this specious man <i>can</i> make himself vastly + entertaining: he strove to render his conversation particularly so, on our first + setting out.</p> + <p>We had travell'd several stages without varying the subject, which was that of our + intended tour, when I said I hop'd it would conquer Mrs. Smith's melancholy for the + death of her brother.—How did his answer change him in a moment from the + <i>most</i> agreeable to the <i>most</i> disgustful of his sex!</p> + <p>My wife, Miss Warley, with a leer that made him look dreadful, wants your charming + sprightliness:—it is a curs'd thing to be connected with a gloomy + woman:—</p> + <p><i>Gloomy</i>, Sir! casting at him a look of disdain; do you call mildness, + complacency, and evenness of temper, <i>gloomy?</i></p> + <p>She is much altered, Madam;—is grown old and peevish;—her health is + bad;—she cannot live long.</p> + <p>Mrs. Smith can never be <i>peevish</i>, Sir;—and as to her <i>age</i>, I + thought it pretty near your <i>own</i>.</p> + <p>No, no, Madam, you are quite mistaken; I am at least five years younger.</p> + <p>Five years, Sir! what are five years at <i>your</i> time of life!</p> + <p>Come, come, Miss Warley, laying his huge paw on my hand, and in a tone of voice + that shew'd him heartily nettled;—even at <i>my</i> time of life I can admire a + beautiful young Lady.—If my wife should die,—<i>old as I am</i>—men + <i>older</i> than myself, with half my estate, have married some of the finest women + in the kingdom.</p> + <p>Very likely, Sir;—but then it is to be suppos'd the characters of + <i>such</i> men have been particularly amiable,—No man or woman of honour can + esteem another whose principles are doubtful.</p> + <p>This was a pretty home-thrust; it put him more on his guard for the present; but + had he behav'd like an angel, I must have hated him. He was <i>very</i> respectful, + <i>very</i> ceremonious, and <i>very</i> thoughtful, 'till we arrived at the inn + where we were to stop the night; and had so much art not to seem displeas'd, that I + refus'd giving him my company at supper, under pretence of + indisposition.—Indeed, I was far from well: a child which I had seen a few + hours before fresh in the small-pox, a good deal disconcerted me.—After fixing + on my room, not to appear suspicious, I went down at his request, to eat a bit of + cake and drink a glass of wine, before I retired for the night.—I had scarce + swallow'd it when he left me, as he said, to speak to the drivers. I wished him a + good night as he went out, and took an opportunity a few moments after to go to my + chamber.—When there I lock'd the door, and sat myself down to undress; but I + began to be greatly alarm'd by something that mov'd under the bed.—Judge my + surprize,—judge my horror,—on taking the candle and examining, to see + there a man!—But how was that surprize,—that horror increased, on + discovering, him to be the vile Smith!—I gave a loud scream, and ran towards + the door; but had not power to turn the key, before he caught me in his + arms.—</p> + <p>Be calm, Miss Warley, cried the monster;—hear what I have to + say.—Suffer me to tell you, that I love you to distraction;—that I adore + you.</p> + <p><i>Adore</i> me, vile man! said I, breaking from him:—leave me this + instant—begone:—leave me, I say, instantly.—Again I scream'd.</p> + <p>No, by heaven! he reply'd, I will not go 'till you have heard and pardon'd + me.—Here I stand <i>determin'd</i> to be heard:—<i>hear</i> me, or this + moment is my last.—With that he drew out a pistol, and held it to his + breast.</p> + <p>And <i>dare</i> you, said I, collecting all my resolution,—<i>dare</i> you + rush into eternity, without one virtue to offer up with your polluted soul?—I + pronounc'd these words with steadiness.—<i>He</i> trembled, he look'd like a + criminal at the hour of execution.—Letting the pistol drop from his hand, the + base dissembler fell on his knees before me.—Nobody hearing my + cries,—nobody coming to my assistance, I was oblig'd to hear, and pretend to + credit his penitential protestations. God knows how my ears might have been farther + shock'd with his odious passion;—what indignities I might have + suffer'd,—had I not heard some person passing by the door of my + apartment:—on which I ventur'd to give another scream.—The door was + instantly burst open; and whilst an elderly Gentleman advanc'd towards me, full of + surprize, the detested brute slipp'd away.—This Gentleman, my good deliverer, + was no other than your Ladyship's banker, who when he was acquainted with my name, + insisted on taking me to Town in his own coach, where he was returning from a visit + he had made at Salisbury—I did not ask, neither do I know what became of Smith; + but I suppose he will set out with his wife immediately for Dover.—Thank God! I + am not of the party—How I pity poor Miss Frances Walsh, a young Lady who, he + told me, was waiting at his house in Town to go over with them.—I am but just + arriv'd at Mr. Delves's house.—Mr. and Mrs. Delves think with me, that the + character of the <i>unworthy</i> Smith should not be expos'd for the sake of his + <i>worthy</i> wife.—The family here are all amiable.—I could say a great + deal more; but my head aches dreadfully.—This I must add, I have consented, at + the tender intreaties of Mr. and Mrs. Delves, to remain with them 'till a proper + opportunity offers to throw myself at your Ladyship's feet.—My head grows + worse;—I must lay down my pen.—This bad man has certainly frighten'd me + into a fever.</p> + <p>[The following lines were added after Miss Powis's recovery]</p> + <p>I hope, my dear Lady, before this you have Mr. Delves's letter;—if so, you + know I have had the small-pox.—You know too I am out of danger.—How can I + be thankful enough for so many escapes!—This is the first day I have been able + to hold a pen.—I am permitted to write no more than the name of your honour'd + and affectionate</p> + <p>F. WARLEY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XXXIX" name='LETTER_XXXIX'></a> + <h2>LETTER XXXIX</h2> + <p>Captain RISBY to the Honourable GEORGE</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Will all the thanks,—all the gratitude,—the parents + blessings,—their infinity of joy, be contain'd in one poor + sheet?—No:—Was I to repeat half,—only half of what they send, you, + I might write on for ever.—One says you shall be their son;—another, + their brother;—a third, that you are a man most favour'd of heaven—but + all agree, as a reward for your virtues you are impower'd to heal + afflictions—in short, they want to make me think you can make black + white—But enough for the vanity of one man.</p> + <p>I dread your coming to the Abbey.—We that are here already, shall only, + then, appear like pismires:—but let me caution my friend not to think his head + will touch the clouds.</p> + <p>What man can bear to be twice disinherited?—Mr. Morgan's estate, which the + other day I was solely to possess, is now to devolve on the Honourable George + Molesworth.—<i>But mark me</i>:—As I have been disinherited for + you,—<i>you</i> as certainly will be disinherited for Lord Darcey.</p> + <p>See what a man of consequence I am.—Does Captain Risby say + <i>this?</i>—Does Captain Risby say <i>that?</i>—Does Captain Risby think + well of it?</p> + <p>Expect, George, to behold me push'd into perferment against my will;—all + great people <i>say</i> so, you know;—expect to behold me preside as governor + of this castle.—Let me enjoy it then,—let me plume myself beneath the + sun-beam.</p> + <p>If to witness the honours with I am surrounded, is insufficient to fill your + expanded heart;—if it looks out for a warmer gratification; you shall see, you + shall hear, the exulting parents?—you shall see Mr. Morgan revers'd;—Mr. + Watson restor'd to <i>more</i> than sight—the steward and his family worthy + every <i>honour</i> they receive from this <i>honourable house</i>.</p> + <p>I hear my <i>shadow</i>.—Strange, indeed! to hear <i>shadows</i>;—but + more so to hear them swear.—Ha! ha! ha!—Ha! ha! ha!—I cannot speak + to it for laughing.—Coming, Sir!—coming, Mr. Morgan!—Now is he + cursing me in every corner of the house;—I suppose dinner is on the table.</p> + <p>This moment return'd from regaling myself with the happy family:—I mean Sir + James and Lady Powis, with their joyful inmates.—Mr. and Mrs. Powis are set out + for London.—As an addition to their felicity, Lady Powis had a letter from her + grand-daughter the instant they were stepping into the chaise.</p> + <p>For one hour I am at your command:—take, then, the particulars which I was + incapable of giving you by John.—</p> + <p>I was sitting in the library-window, talking to Mr. Watson; the Ladies, Sir James, + and Mr. Morgan, in the dressing-room, when I saw John riding down the great road a + full gallop.—At first I thought Lord Darcey had been dead; then, again, + consider'd his faithful servant would not have come post with the + news:—however, I had not patience to go through the house, but lifting up a + sash, jump'd out before he could reach the stable yard.—Without speaking, I + enquired of his face what tidings; and was answer'd by a broad grin. I had nothing to + fear from his message.</p> + <p>Well, John, said I, running up to him,—how is your Lord? how is Mr. + Molesworth?—</p> + <p>Better, I thank God, Sir;—better, I thank God! With that he turned his + horse, and was riding across the lawn.—</p> + <p>Zounds, John, where are you going?—where are you going?</p> + <p>Follow me, Sir;—follow me (setting up a brisk trot). If you kill me, I dare + not deliver letter or message before we are at a distance from the Abbey.</p> + <p>I thought him mad, but kept on by the side of his horse 'till we came to the gate + of a meadow, where he dismounted.</p> + <p>Now, Sir,' said he, with a look that bespoke his consequence,—have patience, + whilst I tie up my horse.</p> + <p><i>Patience</i>, John! (and I swore at him) I am out of all <i>patience</i>.</p> + <p>With that he condescended to deliver your letters.—I rambled with surprise + at the contents, and fell against a hedge.—John, who by this time had fasten'd + his steed, came up to me just as I recover'd my legs;—and speaking close to my + ear,—'Twas <i>John Warren</i>, Sir, was the <i>man</i> who found out the Lady; + 'twas I was the <i>man</i>, Sir.</p> + <p>I shook him heartily by the hand, but for my soul could not utter a + syllable.—I hope you are not ill, Sir, said the poor fellow, thinking me seiz'd + speechless.—</p> + <p>No, John;—no, reply'd I; it is only excess of pleasure.—You are a + welcome messenger:—you have made your fortune, John Warren, and please your + honour, has made his dear Lord happy;—that is more <i>pleasurable</i> to him + than all the riches in the world.</p> + <p>You are an honest, good creature, John.</p> + <p>Ay, Captain; but was it not very sensible to remember the young Lady's + hand-writing?—Would a powder-headed monkey have had the forecast?</p> + <p>Oh very sensible, John;—very sensible, indeed!—Now go the + Abbey;—ask for my servant;—say you was sent by Mr. Molesworth to enquire + for the family; but do not mention you have seen me:—I shall return by a + different way.</p> + <p>John mounted immediately, and I walk'd full speed towards the house. I found Mr. + Morgan taking long strides up and down the dining-parlour, puffing, blowing, and + turning his wig on every side.</p> + <p>Where have you been, Captain? I have sent to seek you.—Lord Darcey's servant + is without;—come to enquire how things are <i>here</i>.—I would not let + them send his message up;—but I have been out myself to ask for his + Lordship.</p> + <p>Well, Sir, and what says the servant?</p> + <p>Says!—Faith I hardly know what he says—something about hopes of + him:—to be plain, I should think it better if <i>hope</i> was out of the + question.—If <i>he</i> and all of <i>us</i> were dead—But see John + yourself; I will send him to you.</p> + <p>As he was just without the door, I drew him back,—and turn'd the + key.—</p> + <p>Come hither, Sir;—Come hither, Mr. Morgan:—I have something of + importance to communicate.</p> + <p>D——n ye, Captain, what's the matter now? (staring.)—I'll hear no + more bad news:—upon my soul, I'll run out of it (attempting to open the + door).</p> + <p>Hold, Sir; why this impatience?—Miss Powis <i>lives!</i>—Will you run + from me now?—Miss Powis <i>lives!</i>—With that he sent forth a horrid + noise;—something betwixt howling and screaming.—It reach'd the + dressing-room, as well it might:—had the wind sat that way, I question if the + village would not have been alarm'd.—Down ran Sir James and Mr. Powis into the + library;—out jump'd Mr. Morgan.—I held up my hand for him to + retreat:—he disregarding the caution, I follow'd.—Sir James was inquiring + of a servant whence the noise had proceeded.</p> + <p>It was I, said Mr. Morgan, rubbing his sides, and expressing the agitation of joy + by dumb shew;—it was I, beating one of my damn'd dogs for running up + stairs.</p> + <p>If that is all, said Mr. Powis,—let us return to my mother and wife, who are + much hurried.—Away we went together, and the affair of the dog pass'd very well + on the Ladies.</p> + <p>I sat musing for some moments how to introduce the event my heart labour'd to give + up.—<i>Every</i> sigh that escap'd,—<i>every</i> sorrowful look that was + interchang'd, I <i>now</i> plac'd to my own account, because in <i>my</i> power to + reverse the scene.</p> + <p>Addressing myself to Mr. Powis, I ask'd if he knew Lord Darcey's servant was + below.—He shook his head;—No, he answer'd.—Then it is all + <i>over</i>, Risby, I suppose in a low voice?—I hardly wish for his <i>own</i> + sake he may recover:—for <i>ours</i>, it would be selfish.</p> + <p>He was not worse, I reply'd:—there was hope,—great hope he would do + well.</p> + <p>Blessings attend him! cried Mrs. Powis.—tears starting afresh to her swoln + eyes;—then you really think, Mr. Risby, he may recover?</p> + <p>If he does, Madam, return'd! he is flatter'd into life.—Flatter'd! said Mr. + Powis eagerly;—how flatter'd?</p> + <p>Why, continued I, he has been told some persons are sav'd from the wreck.</p> + <p>Up they all started, surrounding me on every side:—there seem'd but one + voice, yet each ask'd if I credited the report.</p> + <p>I said I did.—</p> + <p>Down they dropp'd on their knees, praying with uplifted hands their + dear,—dear child may be of the number.—Though nothing could equal the + solemnity of this scene, I could scarce command my countenance, when I saw Mr. Morgan + standing in the midst of the circle, his hat held up before his face, and a cane + under his arm.</p> + <p>As they rose from their knees,—I gave them all the consolation I thought at + that moment they were capable of sustaining;—and assur'd them no vigilance + would be wanting to come at particulars.—I was ask'd, if there was any letter + from Mr. Molesworth?—When answer'd in the affirmative,—the next question + was, if it related to what I had just disclos'd?—I equivocated in my reply, and + withdrew to write the few unconnected lines sent by John.</p> + <p>After he was dispatch'd, I return'd immediately to the hopeing,—fearing + family.—Mr. Watson was sitting amidst them:—he seem'd like a Being of + purity presiding over hearts going to be rewarded for resignation to the Divine + will.</p> + <p>He heard me as I enter'd: he rose from his seat as I came near him, and pressing + one of my hands between both his, whisper'd, I have seen Mr. Morgan.—Then + raising his voice, You are the messenger of joy, Mr. Risby;—complete the + happiness you have begun:—all present, pointing round, are prepar'd to receive + it.</p> + <p>Here drops my pen.—I must not attempt this scene:—a Shakespeare would + have wrote it in tears.</p> + <p>How infinite,—how dazzling the beauty of holiness!—Affliction seems to + have threaten'd this amiable family, only to encrease their love,—their + reverence,—their admiration of Divine Omnipotence.—Blessings may appear, + as a certain great man remarks, under the shape of pain, losses, and + disappointments;—but let us have patience, and we shall see them in their own + proper figures.</p> + <p>If rewards even in this world attend the <i>virtuous</i>, who would be + <i>depraved?</i>—Could the loose, the abandon'd, look in on this happy mansion, + how would their sensual appetites be pall'd!—How would they hate,—how + detest the vanity,—the folly that leads to vice!—If pleasure is their + pursuit, here they might see it speaking at <i>mouth</i> and + <i>eyes</i>:—<i>pleasures</i> that fleet not away;—<i>pleasures</i> that + are carried beyond the grave.</p> + <p>What a family is this to take a wife from!—Lord Darcey's happiness is + insur'd:—in my conscience, there will not be such another couple in + England.</p> + <p>Preparations are making to welcome the lovely successor of this ancient + house;—preparations to rejoice those whose satisfactions are scanty,—to + clothe the naked,—to feed the hungry,—to let the stately roof echo with + songs and mirth from a croud of chearful, honest, old tenants.</p> + <p>I often hear Mrs. Jenkings crying out in extasy,—My angel!—my sweet + angel!—As to the old gentleman and Edmund, they actually cannot refrain from + tears, when Miss Powis's name is mention'd.—Sir James and her Ladyship are + never easy without these good folks.—It has ever been an observation of mine, + that at an unexpected fortunate event, we are fond of having people about us who feel + on the same passion.</p> + <p>Mr. Morgan is quite his own man again:—he has been regaling himself with a + fine hunt, whilst I attended Sir James and my Lady in an airing round the + park.—After dinner we were acquainted with all his losses and crosses in the + dog and horse way.—He had not seen <i>Filley</i> rubb'd down this + fortnight:—the huntsman had lost three of his best hounds:—two spaniels + were lame;—and one of his running horses glander'd.—He concluded with + swearing, as things turn'd out, he did not matter it <i>much</i>;—but had it + happen'd three weeks since; he should have drove all his servants to the + devil.—Enough of Mr. Morgan.—Adieu, Molesworth!—Forget not my + congratulations to your noble, happy, friend.</p> + <p>RISBY.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XL" name='LETTER_XL'></a> + <h2>LETTER XL.</h2> + <p>The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH</p> + <p>to RICHARD RISBY, Esq;</p> + <p><i>Dover</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>All is happiness, Dick!—I see nothing else; I hear of nothing else.—It + is the <i>last</i> thing I take leave of at night;—the <i>first</i> thing I + meet in the morning.—<i>Yesterday</i> was full of it!—<i>yesterday</i> I + 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.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>The following short epistle I receiv'd from Mr. Powis, as I was setting off for + Town.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Mr. Powis to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH.</p> + <p><i>London</i>,</p> + <br /> + + <p>"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</p> + <p>J. Powis."</p> + <br /> + + <p>The more I know of <i>this</i> family, the more I admire them.—I <i>must</i> + be their neighbour, that's certain—<i>Suppose</i> I petition for a little spot + at one end of the park; <i>suppose</i> you throw up your commission; and we live + together two snug batchelors.</p> + <p>Darcey vows he will go to Town next week.—If fatigue should cause him to + relapse, what will become of us <i>then?</i>—But I will not think of that + <i>now</i>.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>MOLESWORTH.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XLI" name='LETTER_XLI'></a> + <h2>LETTER XLI</h2> + <p>The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to the same.</p> + <p><i>London</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Build in the park, and live batchelors!—Pish!—A horrid scheme!—I + give it up.—Over head and ears, Dick!</p> + <p>Last Monday arriv'd at his Lordship's house in <i>St. James's-Square</i>, the + Right Honourable the Earl and Countess of Hampstead,—Lord Hallum,—the + Ladies Elizabeth and Sophia Curtis.</p> + <p><i>True</i>, as I hope to be sav'd;—and as <i>true</i>, that Lady Elizabeth + and Sophia <i>are</i> blooming as angels.</p> + <p>Three times have I sat down, <i>pen</i> in my hand, <i>paper</i> folded, yet could + not tune my mind to write one word.—Over head and ears! I say.—</p> + <br /> + + <p>Past one in the morning!—All silent! Let me try if I can scribble now.</p> + <p>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 + which <i>you</i> and I have so lately witness'd.—But <i>this</i> is a subject I + shall not dwell on.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>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, <i>whose</i> mild + eyes,—<i>whose</i> elegant deportment, told me <i>Loves</i> and <i>Graces</i> + had put a finishing stroke to the great work of <i>virtue</i> and + <i>humility</i>.—Lady Mary Sutton,—yes, Lady Mary Sutton too was there: + she advanc'd towards me, Miss Powis in her hand.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>If ever I wish'd to shine, it was then—I would have given the world for + eloquence;—nay, common understanding.—The former I <i>never</i> + possessed:—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.</p> + <p>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 enchanting <i>did</i> they + look!—how enchanting <i>did</i> they 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!</p> + <p>Risby, thou art a fortunate fellow: Lady Sophia speaks of thee with esteem.</p> + <p>The sweet syrens—<i>syrens</i> only 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!</p> + <p>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.—</p> + <p>A spirited conversation ensued, in which the cherub sisters bore away the + palm.</p> + <p>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 what <i>must</i> be 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 in + <i>Pall-Mall</i>:—I bow'd, and answer'd both for his Lordship and myself.</p> + <p>We shall rejoice, continued she, to congratulate your friend on his + recovery,—looking with peculiar meaning at Miss Powis.—I think by + <i>that</i> look there will be an interview between the <i>lovers</i>, 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;—<i>so</i> + good night, Dick.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Twelve o'clock at noon.</p> + <p>Mr. and Mrs. Powis this moment gone;—Lord Darcey dressing to meet them in + <i>Pall-Mall</i>.—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, <i>you</i> know + nothing of <i>life</i>; you are <i>dead</i> and <i>buried</i>.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>MOLESWORTH.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XLII" name='LETTER_XLII'></a> + <h2>LETTER XLII.</h2> + <p>The Hon. GEORGE MOLESWORTH to the same.</p> + <p><i>London</i></p> + <br /> + + <p>The day of days is over!</p> + <p>I am too happy to sleep:—exquisite felicity wants not the common supports of + nature.—In such scenes as I have witness'd, the <i>soul</i> begins to know + herself:—she gives us a peep into futurity:—the enjoyments of this day + has been all her own.</p> + <p>Once more I regain the beaten path of narrative.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>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?</p> + <p>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!</p> + <p>The Ladies stood to receive us; Miss Powis supported between her mother and Lady + Mary;—<i>she</i> all graceful timidity;—<i>they</i> all 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.</p> + <p>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, <i>You</i>, my dear, must make <i>our</i> returns of + gratitude to Lord Darcey;—giving him her more than passive hand, which he + press'd to his lips with fervor, saying, <i>This</i> is the hour my soul has flown up + to petition—Dearest, best of women! tell me I am welcome.</p> + <p>She attempted to reply;—it was only an attempt.</p> + <p>She does bid you welcome, return'd Mr. Powis;—her <i>heart</i> bids you + welcome.</p> + <p>Indeed, said she, I am not ungrateful:—<i>indeed</i>, my Lord, I am not + insensible to the obligations you have laid me under.</p> + <p>As these words escap'd her, you must certainly take in the whole countenance of + Darcey.</p> + <p>By this time we were seated, and Lady Mary return'd to the company.</p> + <p>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—</p> + <p>Friendship, my Lord (reply'd she, interrupting him); you may command my + friendship.</p> + <p><i>Friendship!</i> (retorted he) Miss Powis, starting up:—is that <i>all + I</i> am to expect?—Can I accept your <i>friendship?</i>—No, Madam, the + man who would have died for you aspires to more than <i>friendship</i>;—he + aspires to your <i>love</i>.</p> + <p>I am no stranger, my Lord, return'd she, to the honour you intend me;—I am + no stranger to <i>your</i> worth;—but I have scruples;—scruples that seem + to me insurmountable.</p> + <p>I never saw him so affected.</p> + <p>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.—<i>What scruples?</i>—Tell me, Miss + Powis, I conjure you.</p> + <p>You have none, my dear child, said Mrs. Powis. You have none, Fanny, said Mr. + Powis, but what his Lordship can remove.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>Why <i>then</i> my Lord, resum'd she—<i>why</i> endeavour to gain my + affections, yet hide your preference for me from the <i>world</i>;—even from + <i>myself?</i>—Think of the <i>day</i> Lord Allen dined at the + Abbey;—think what pass'd in a walk preceding <i>that</i> you set out for + town:—on both these,—on many others, how mysterious your + conduct?—If you thought me worthy your regard, my Lord, why <i>such</i> + mysteries?</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>She went on.</p> + <p>From whence can I suppose, my Lord, your embarrassments proceeded, if not from + <i>some</i> entanglement grown irksome?—No; before I can promise <i>myself</i> + happiness, I must be first satisfied I do not borrow that <i>happiness</i> from + <i>another</i>.</p> + <p><i>Another</i>, 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'd <i>another!</i></p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>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 your <i>scruples must</i> be over.</p> + <p>And do you, said she, my tender, my indulgent parents, rising and throwing herself + into their arms;—do you say it is in <i>my</i> power to complete your + felicity?—<i>Will</i> confessing a preference for Lord + Darcey;—<i>will</i> declaring I wish you to prefer him to your + daughter;—will <i>that</i> complete it?</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>What innocence in the look of Miss Powis, when she greatly acknowledg'd her + heart!—How reverse from <i>this</i> innocence, <i>this</i> greatness, is the + <i>prudish hypocrite</i>, who forbids <i>even</i> her features to say she is + susceptible of love! You may suppose a profusion of friendly acknowledgments fell to + <i>my</i> share; but I am not vain enough to repeat them.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>If you go back to Lady Mary's dressing-room, you will find nobody + <i>there</i>:—but give a peep into the dining-parlour, and you will see us just + set down at dinner;—<i>all</i> smiling,—<i>all</i> happy;—an + inexhaustible fountain of pleasure in every breast.</p> + <p>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;—<i>a hint</i> I 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.</p> + <p>Next Tuesday prepare, as governor of the castle, for a warm + siege.—<i>Such</i> a battery of eyes,—<i>such</i> bundles of + darts,—<i>such</i> stores of smiles,—<i>such</i> a train of innocence + will be laid before the walls, as never was withstood!—No; I shall see you + <i>cap-à-pée</i> open the gates to the besiegers.—Away goes my + pen.—I write no more positively.</p> + <p>MOLESWORTH.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XLIII" name='LETTER_XLIII'></a> + <h2>LETTER XLIII.</h2> + <p>Miss DELVES to Mrs. DELVES.</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>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 I <i>must</i>—my duty, my affection, every + thing says I <i>must</i> sit 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!</p> + <p>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, <i>she</i> is + heavenly <i>too</i>;—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 was <i>last</i> in your thoughts.—Dear Madam, how can you think + so?</p> + <p>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 + little <i>good-for-nothing</i>:—in Mr. Powis's, the women-servants.—We + lay fifty miles short of the Abbey, and the next evening reach'd it at seven.</p> + <p>We reach'd Barford Abbey, I say—but what shall I say <i>now?</i>—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 in <i>this</i> neighbourhood.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>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?</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>In my way to the house, I suppose I had a hundred kisses:—<i>God knows from + whom</i>.—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 not <i>always</i> expect to be worshipp'd—Mr. Risby + <i>too</i>—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.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>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 to <i>tye-wigs</i>;—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.</p> + <p>The <i>next</i> morning,—ay, the <i>next</i> morning, 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 my <i>first</i> love;—at least, <i>see</i> Mr. + 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.</p> + <p>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 his <i>melting</i> sighs,—his <i>tender</i> + protections,—his <i>persuasive</i> eloquence,—his air <i>so</i> + languishing:—let me forget them <i>all</i>, 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.</p> + <p>A venerable pair with joy next to phrenzy caught her in their extended arms, as + the door open'd. My <i>kind</i>, my dear, <i>ever</i> dear friends, said the lovely + creature,—and is it <i>thus</i> we meet? is it <i>thus</i> I 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.—</p> + <p>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 may <i>guess</i> our subject, Madam;—but I declare, whilst + listening to Mr. Watson, I thought myself soaring above earthly + enjoyments.—</p> + <p>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.—</p> + <p>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 of <i>this</i> family <i>so</i> much + surpass those of <i>other</i> people?—how is it <i>one</i> interest 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.</p> + <p>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 be + <i>suspicious</i>.—Few fathers would, like <i>him</i>, 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 so + <i>much</i> caution!—with an anxiety which the most sordid miser watching his + treasure, could not have exceeded! and for <i>what?</i>—Why lest involuntarily + she might enrich his belov'd son with <i>her</i> affections.—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.</p> + <p>Just return'd from the steward's, so cramm'd with sweet-meats, cake, and jellies, + that I am absolutely stupified.</p> + <p>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;—<i>yes</i>, and at Lord Darcey's + request <i>too</i>.—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 to <i>such</i> honour, presenting the + hand of his belov'd.</p> + <p>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 borrow + <i>it</i>.</p> + <p>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</p> + <p>E. DELVES.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XLIV" name='LETTER_XLIV'></a> + <h2>LETTER XLIV.</h2> + <p>Miss DELVES to the same.</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i>.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Lost my heart <i>again!</i>—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.</p> + <p>What think you, Madam, of a <i>Dean</i> for a son-in-law?</p> + <p>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 of + <i>H——!</i> What the <i>Dean</i>, Bessy, that Lady Mary used to talk + of:—the <i>Dean</i> that married Mr. and Mrs. Powis.</p> + <p>As sure as I live, Madam, the <i>very</i> man:—and + <i>to-morrow,—to-morrow at ten</i>, he is to unite their lovely daughter with + Lord Darcey.—Am I not <i>very</i> good,—<i>extremely</i> good, + <i>indeed</i>, to sit down and write,—when every person below is solacing + themselves on the approach of this happy festival?</p> + <p>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, yet <i>she</i> must be <i>so</i> rewarded.—Well, she + <i>shall</i> be rewarded:—she <i>ought</i> to be rewarded:—Lord Darcey + shall reward her.</p> + <p>But is it not <i>very</i> hard upon your <i>poor</i> girl, that <i>all</i> the + young smarts we brought down, and <i>that</i> which we found <i>here</i>, should have + dispos'd of their hearts?—<i>All</i>;—even Lord Hallum,—<i>he</i> + who used to boast so much of freedom,—now owns he has dispos'd of + his.—</p> + <p>But to whom?—Aye: that's a question.—</p> + <p>They think, perhaps, the <i>old</i> stuff will do well enough for poor + me!—Thanks to my genius, I can set my cap at any thing.</p> + <p>Why there's something tolerable in the sound of a Dean's Lady—Let me see if + it will do.—"The <i>Deans's</i> coach;—the <i>Dean's</i> + servants."—Something better this than a plain <i>Mr.</i></p> + <p>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.</p> + <p><i>This</i> Miss Powis,—<i>this</i> very dutiful young Lady, that I used to + have set up for a pattern,—<i>now</i> tells me that I <i>must</i> write no + more; <i>that</i> you will not expect to hear from me 'till the next post.—If I + <i>must</i> take Miss Powis's advice in everything;—if I <i>must</i> be guided + by <i>her</i>;—you know <i>who</i> said this, Madam;—why then there is an + end of my scribbling for this night.—But remember it is not <i>my</i> + fault.—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.</p> + <br /> + + <p>Thursday, twelve o'clock at noon.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>I may write on <i>now</i>;—I may do what I will;—Lord and Lady Darcey + are <i>every</i> thing with <i>every</i> body 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.</p> + <p>Let us hear no more of yourself:—tell us of Lord and Lady Darcey</p> + <p>Have patience, Madam, and I will,</p> + <p>Well, <i>their</i> dress?—Why <i>their</i> faces were dress'd in smiles of + love:—Nature's charms should always take place of art.—You see with what + order I proceed.</p> + <p>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 a <i>jewel</i> of 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.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>Lady Elizabeth and Mr. Molesworth, Lady Sophia and Captain Risby,—Oh, I long + to be with you!—throw no more gravel to my window.—I <i>will</i> be + dutiful;—in spite of your allurements, I <i>will</i>.</p> + <p>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.—</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>Seriously, Madam—now I am <i>really</i> serious—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 + that <i>had</i>, or had <i>not</i> cause.—Well, I am determin'd to appear + satisfied, however, if the yoke is a little galling.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>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</p> + <p>E. Delves.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="LETTER_XLV" name='LETTER_XLV'></a> + <h2>LETTER XLV.</h2> + <p>Miss Delves to the same.</p> + <p><i>Barford Abbey</i></p> + <br /> + + <p>Surely I must smell of venison,—roast beef, and plumb-puddings.—Yes, I + smell of the Old English hospitality.—<i>You</i>, 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.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>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;—<i>so</i> + clean,—<i>so</i> warm,—<i>so</i> comfortable, that to see them at this + moment, one would suppose they had never tasted of poverty.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>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.</p> + <p>Here comes Mrs. Jenkings.—<i>Well</i>, what pleasing thing have you to tell + me, Mrs. Jenkings?</p> + <p>Five hundred pounds, as I live, to be given to the poor to-morrow from Lady Mary + Sutton.—</p> + <p>What blessings will follow us on our journey! I believe I have not told you, + Madam, we set out for Faulcum Park on Monday.—<i>Not</i> to stay:—no, I + thank God we are <i>not</i> to stay.—If Lord and Lady Darcey were to inhabit + Faulcum Park, yet it would not be to <i>me</i> like Barford Abbey,—Barford + Abbey is to be their home whilst Sir James and Lady Powis live.</p> + <p>Lord Hallum wants me to walk with him.—Not I, indeed:—I hate a + <i>tête-à-tête</i> with heartless men.—On second thoughts, I + will go.</p> + <p>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, + my <i>dear,—dear</i> Dean!—Need I say more?—Will you not spare the + blushes of your happy daughter,</p> + <p>E. DELVES.</p> + <hr style='width: 65%;' /> + <a id="FINIS" name='FINIS'></a> + <h2>FINIS.</h2> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Barford Abbey, by Susannah Minific Gunning + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BARFORD ABBEY *** + +***** This file should be named 13314-h.htm or 13314-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/3/1/13314/ + +This eBook was produced by Jonathan Ingram, Josephine Paolucci and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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