A venerable pair with joy next to phrenzy caught her in their extended arms, as the door open'd. My kind, my dear, ever dear friends, said the lovely creature,—and is it thus we meet? is it thus 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.—
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 guess our subject, Madam;—but I declare, whilst listening to Mr. Watson, I thought myself soaring above earthly enjoyments.—
Sir James, who had follow'd Lady Mary, soon return'd with her Ladyship, Miss Powis, Lord Darcey, and, what gave me heart-felt pleasure, the steward and his wife;—an honour they with difficulty accepted, as they were strangers to Lord Hampstead's family.—
Who says there is not in this life perfect happiness?—I say they are mistaken:—such felicity as I here see and partake of, cannot be call'd imperfect—How comes it that the domestics of this family so much surpass those of other people?—how is it one 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.
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 suspicious.—Few fathers would, like him, 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 much caution!—with an anxiety which the most sordid miser watching his treasure, could not have exceeded! and for what?—Why lest involuntarily she might enrich his belov'd son with her 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.
Just return'd from the steward's, so cramm'd with sweet-meats, cake, and jellies, that I am absolutely stupified.
I must tell you who led Miss Powis.—Lord Darcey, to be sure.—No, Madam; I had the favour of his Lordship's arm:—it was Edmund.—I call him Edmund;—every body calls him Edmund;—yes, and at Lord Darcey's request too.—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 such honour, presenting the hand of his belov'd.
I wish I could send you her look at that moment; it was all love,—all condescension.—I say I cannot send it.—Mortifying! I cannot even borrow it.
Adieu, dear Madam!—Adieu, dear Sir!—Adieu, you best of parents—It is impossible to say which is most dear to your ever dutiful and affectionate
E. DELVES.