I dread your coming to the Abbey.—­We that are here already, shall only, then, appear like pismires:—­but let me caution my friend not to think his head will touch the clouds.

What man can bear to be twice disinherited?—­Mr. Morgan’s estate, which the other day I was solely to possess, is now to devolve on the Honourable George Molesworth.—­But mark me:—­As I have been disinherited for you,—­you as certainly will be disinherited for Lord Darcey.

See what a man of consequence I am.—­Does Captain Risby say this?—­Does Captain Risby say that?—­Does Captain Risby think well of it?

Expect, George, to behold me push’d into perferment against my will;—­all great people say so, you know;—­expect to behold me preside as governor of this castle.—­Let me enjoy it then,—­let me plume myself beneath the sun-beam.

If to witness the honours with I am surrounded, is insufficient to fill your expanded heart;—­if it looks out for a warmer gratification; you shall see, you shall hear, the exulting parents?—­you shall see Mr. Morgan revers’d;—­Mr. Watson restor’d to more than sight—­the steward and his family worthy every honour they receive from this honourable house.

I hear my shadow.—­Strange, indeed! to hear shadows;—­but more so to hear them swear.—­Ha! ha! ha!—­Ha! ha! ha!—­I cannot speak to it for laughing.—­Coming, Sir!—­coming, Mr. Morgan!—­Now is he cursing me in every corner of the house;—­I suppose dinner is on the table.

This moment return’d from regaling myself with the happy family:—­I mean Sir James and Lady Powis, with their joyful inmates.—­Mr. and Mrs. Powis are set out for London.—­As an addition to their felicity, Lady Powis had a letter from her grand-daughter the instant they were stepping into the chaise.

For one hour I am at your command:—­take, then, the particulars which I was incapable of giving you by John.—­

I was sitting in the library-window, talking to Mr. Watson; the Ladies, Sir James, and Mr. Morgan, in the dressing-room, when I saw John riding down the great road a full gallop.—­At first I thought Lord Darcey had been dead; then, again, consider’d his faithful servant would not have come post with the news:—­however, I had not patience to go through the house, but lifting up a sash, jump’d out before he could reach the stable yard.—­Without speaking, I enquired of his face what tidings; and was answer’d by a broad grin.  I had nothing to fear from his message.

Well, John, said I, running up to him,—­how is your Lord? how is Mr. Molesworth?—­

Better, I thank God, Sir;—­better, I thank God!  With that he turned his horse, and was riding across the lawn.—­

Zounds, John, where are you going?—­where are you going?

Follow me, Sir;—­follow me (setting up a brisk trot).  If you kill me, I dare not deliver letter or message before we are at a distance from the Abbey.