Mary Sutton.--Upon
my word, they have soon conn'd it over:--but I have not told you it is
the portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Powis;--my dear Dean too joining their
hands.--

God defend me! there he is, hopping out.--I wish he had kept
within.--Why, Sir, I should have been down in a moment: then we might
have had the most comfortable tete-a-tete.

Seriously, Madam--now I am _really_ serious--can you believe, after
beholding Lord and Lady Darcey, I will ever be content with a moderate
share of happiness?--No, I will die first.--To see them at this instant
would be an antidote for indifference.--Not any thing of foolish
fondness:--no; that will never be seen in Lord and Lady Darcey.--Their
happiness is not confin'd:--we are all refreshed by it:--it pours forth
from their homes like streams flowing from a pure terrain.--I think I
said I could not go to church:--no, not for the world would I have
gone:--I expected Miss Powis would be crying, fainting, and I know not
what.--Instead of all this fuss, not a tear was shed.--I thought every
body cried when they were married:--those that _had_, or had _not_
cause.--Well, I am determin'd to appear satisfied, however, if the yoke
is a little galling.

How charming look'd Miss Powis, when she smil'd on Lord Darcey!--On Lord
Darcey? On every body I mean.--And for him--But I must forget his
air,--his words,--his looks, if ever I intend to say love, honour, and
obey.--Once I am brought to say love,--honour and obey will slide off
glibly enough. I must go down amongst them. Believe me, Madam, I shut
myself up to write against intreaties,--against the most persuasive
eloquence.

This is the day when the Powis family are crown'd with felicity.--I
think on it with rapture.--I will set it down on the heart of your
dutiful and affectionate

E. Delves.

LETTER XLV.

Miss Delves to the same.

_Barford Abbey_

Surely I must smell of venison,--roast beef, and plumb-puddings.--Yes, I
smell of the Old English hospitality.--_You_, Madam, have no tenants to
regale so;--are safe from such troubles on my account.--Will you believe
me, Madam, I had rather see their honest old faces than go to the finest
opera ever exhibited.--What think you of a hundred-and-seven chearful
farmers sitting at long tables spread with every thing the season can
afford;--two hogsheads of wine at their elbows;--the servants waiting on
them with assiduous respect:--Their songs still echo in my ears.

I thoug