Miss DELVES to the same.

Barford Abbey.

Lost my heart again! Be not surpriz’d, Madam; I lose and find it ten times a day; yet it never strays from Barford Abbey. The last account you had from me it was button’d inside Mr. Morgan’s hunting-frock: since that, it has been God knows with whom: sometimes wrapt in a red coat; sometimes in a blue; sometimes in a green: but finding many competitors flew to black, where it now lies snug, warm, and easy. Restless creature! I will never take it home again.

What think you, Madam, of a Dean for a son-in-law?

What do I think? you say. Why the gentlemen of the church have too much sense and gravity to take my madcap off my hands. Well, Madam, but suppose the Dean of H now you look pleas’d. Oh, the Dean of H! What the Dean, Bessy, that Lady Mary used to talk of: the Dean that married Mr. and Mrs. Powis.

As sure as I live, Madam, the very man: and to-morrow, to-morrow at ten, he is to unite their lovely daughter with Lord Darcey. Am I not very good, extremely good, indeed, to sit down and write, when every person below is solacing themselves on the approach of this happy festival?

I would suffer shipwreck ten times; ten times would I be drove on uninhabited islands, for such a husband as Lord Darcey. Miss Powis’s danger was only imaginary, yet she must be so rewarded. Well, she shall be rewarded: she ought to be rewarded: Lord Darcey shall reward her.

But is it not very hard upon your poor girl, that all the young smarts we brought down, and that which we found here, should have disposd of their hearts? All; even Lord Hallum, he who used to boast so much of freedom, now owns he has disposd of his.

But to whom? Aye: thats a question.

They think, perhaps, the old stuff will do well enough for poor me! Thanks to my genius, I can set my cap at any thing.

Why there’s something tolerable in the sound of a Dean’s Lady Let me see if it will do. “The Deans’s coach; the Dean’s servants.” Something better this than a plain Mr.

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.

This Miss Powis, this very dutiful young Lady, that I used to have set up for a pattern, now tells me that I must write no more; that you will not expect to hear from me ’till the next post. If I must take Miss Powis’s advice in everything; if I must be guided by her; you know who said this, Madam; why then there is an end of my scribbling for this night. But remember it is not my 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.

Thursday, twelve o’clock at noon.

Bless my soul! one would think I was the bride by my shaking and quaking! Miss Powis is Lady Darcey. Down drops my letter: Yes, dear Madam, I see you drop it to run and tell my father.

I may write on now; I may do what I will; Lord and Lady Darcey are every thing with every 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.

Let us hear no more of yourself: tell us of Lord and Lady Darcey

Have patience, Madam, and I will,

Well, their dress? Why their faces were dress’d in smiles of love: Nature’s charms should always take place of art. You see with what order I proceed.

Lord Darcey was dress’d in white richly lac’d with gold; Lady Darcey in a white lutestring negligee 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 jewel 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.

There they are on the lawn, as I hope to live, going to invite in Cæsar. Only an old dog, Madam, that lives betwixt this house and the steward’s.

Lady Elizabeth and Mr. Molesworth, Lady Sophia and Captain Risby, Oh, I long to be with you! throw no more gravel to my window. I will be dutiful; in spite of your allurements, I will.

I left them in the library, inspecting a very charming piece, just brought from Brandon Lodge, done by the hand of Lady Mary Sutton. Upon my word, they have soon conn’d it over: but I have not told you it is the portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Powis; my dear Dean too joining their hands.

God defend me! there he is, hopping out. I wish he had kept within. Why, Sir, I should have been down in a moment: then we might have had the most comfortable tete-a-tete.

Seriously, Madam now I am really 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 had, or had not cause. Well, I am determin’d to appear satisfied, however, if the yoke is a little galling.

How charming look’d Miss Powis, when she smil’d on Lord Darcey! On Lord Darcey? On every body I mean. And for him But I must forget his air, his words, his looks, if ever I intend to say love, honour, and obey. Once I am brought to say love, honour and obey will slide off glibly enough. I must go down amongst them. Believe me, Madam, I shut myself up to write against intreaties, against the most persuasive eloquence.

This is the day when the Powis family are crown’d with felicity. I think on it with rapture. I will set it down on the heart of your dutiful and affectionate

E. Delves.