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 good-for-nothing:—in Mr. Powis's, the women-servants.—We lay fifty miles short of the Abbey, and the next evening reach'd it at seven.
We reach'd Barford Abbey, I say—but what shall I say now?—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 this neighbourhood.
Servants were posted at the distance of six miles to carry intelligence when we should approach.—I suppose in their way back it was proclaim'd in the village:—men, women, and children, lined the road a mile from the Abbey, throwing up their hats with loud huzzaing,—bells ringing in every adjacent parish;—bonfires on every rising ground;—in short, we were usher'd in like conquerors.—The coachmen whipp'd up their horses full speed through the park;—thump, thump, went my heart, when by a number of lights I discover'd we were just at the house.
What sensations did I feel when the carriages stopp'd!—At the entrance stood Sir James and Lady Powis,—the Chaplain,—Mr. Morgan,—Captain Risby,—you know their characters, Madam;—every servant in the house with a light:—but who could have stay'd within at this juncture?
The first coach that drove up was Lady Mary's. Out sprang Lord Darcey, Miss Powis in his hand; both in a moment lock'd in parental embraces.—Good heaven, what extasy!—I thought Mr. Watson and Mr. Morgan would have fought a duel which should first have folded Miss Powis in his arms, whilst Sir James and Lady Powis quitted her to welcome Lady Mary.—We were all receiv'd tenderly affectionate:—a reception none can have an idea of, but those who have been at Barford Abbey.
In my way to the house, I suppose I had a hundred kisses:—God knows from whom.—What can I say of Lord Hampstead's family?—what of Mr. Molesworth?—The general notice taken of him is sufficient.—Absolutely that charming man will be spoil'd.—Pity to set him up for an idol!—I hope he will not always expect to be worshipp'd—Mr. Risby too—Well, I'll mention you all, one after another, as fast as possible.—Let me see, where did I leave off?—Oh! we were just out of our carriages.—And now for the pathetics:—an attempt;—a humble attempt only.
Lady Powis, Lady Mary, and their darling, had given us the slip.—What could be done?—I mean with Mr. Morgan:—he was quite outrageous.—What could be done? I repeat.—Why Sir James, to pacify him, said, we should all go and surprize them in his Lady's dressing-room.—We did go;—we did surprize them;—great God! in what an attitude!—The exalted Lady Powis at the feet of Lady Mary;—Miss Powis kneeling by her;—she endeavouring to raise them.—I said it would be an attempt at the pathetics;—it must be an attempt:—I can proceed no farther.
To be sure, Mr. Morgan is a queer-looking man, but a great favourite at the Abbey.—He took Miss Powis on his knee;—call'd her a hundred times his dear, dear daughter;—and I could not forbear laughing, when he told her he had not wore a tye-wig before these twenty years. This drew me to observe his dress, which, unless you knew the man, you can have no idea how well it suited him:—a dark snuff-colour'd coat with gold buttons, which I suppose by the fashion of it, was made when he accustomed himself to tye-wigs;—the lace a rich orrice; but then it was so immoderately short, both in the sleeves and skirts, that whilst full dress'd he appeared to want cloathing.
The next morning,—ay, the next 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 first love;—at least, see 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.
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 melting sighs,—his tender protections,—his persuasive eloquence,—his air so languishing:—let me forget them all, 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.