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!
Ten at Night, just come from the Abbey.
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 you; I grieve only that I go from them.—Oh God! why must my soul be divided?
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 important event at hand. She says if I go, it will, end in the destruction of us all.—What can she mean by an important event?—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 certain I shall return;—she is certain, when Mr. Powis and his Lady arrives, I must 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.
F. Warley.
LETTER XXVI.
Lord DARCEY to Sir JAMES POWIS.
London.