Barford Abbey | Page 4

I find--No, I cannot find it
neither;--something tells me Lady Mary, my dear honour'd Lady Mary,
will acquit you.
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.
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.
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, though only in a dream.
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
F. WARLEY.

LETTER III.
Miss WARLEY to Lady MARY SUTTON, in continuation.
Barford Abbey.
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.
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 _prudently_;--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,--promise 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.
The old coachman, as we drove up the lawn, eyed me attentively,
saying to the footman, _It will be so, John, you may depend upon
it_.--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.
Angry with you, Sir!--angry with you, Mr. Jenkings!--is it possible!
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 this day wish you might look
your best.
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 smile, 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.
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.--
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 _Lady
Mary?_--Could I behold greater splendor than Lady Mary is possess'd
of!--What affection in another can I ever hope for like _Lady
Mary's!_--Thus was I arguing with myself,