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.