The gardener has just sent me a blooming nosegay; I suppose, to put me in mind of visiting his care, which I intend, after I have acquainted your Ladyship with an incident that till this moment had escaped my memory.—­The Dean, Mr. Jenkings, and myself, were drinking a cup of chocolate before we sat out from the inn where I had been so much hurried, when captain Risby sent in his name, desiring we would admit him for a moment.  His request being assented to, he entered very respectfully, said he came to apologize for the rudeness he was guilty of the last night.—­The Dean and Mr. Jenkings presently guessed his meaning; I had been just relating the whole affair, which I was pleased to find did not disturb their rest.—­I assured Captain Risby, far from deeming his behaviour rude, I was obliged to him for his solicitude in sending a servant to my chamber.  He said he had not been in bed, determining to watch our setting out, in hopes his pardon would be sealed:—­that to think of the accident he might have occasioned, gave him great pain.

Pardon me, Madam, addressing himself to me; and you, Sir, to Mr. Jenkings; if I ask one plain question:  Have you, or at least has not that Lady, relations out of England?  I have a friend abroad—­I have heard him say his father is still living;—­but then he has no sister;—­or a certain likeness I discover would convince me.

Undoubtedly he took me for Mr. Jenkings’s daughter:—­what he meant further I cannot divine.

Mr. Jenkings reply’d, You are mistaken, Sir, if you think me the father of this Lady.—­The chaise driving up that moment to the door, he shook him by the hand, and led me towards it; the Captain assisting me in getting in.

I wish I could have satisfied my curiosity.—­I wish I had known to whom he likened me.—­Perhaps his eyes misinformed him—­perhaps he might have taken a cheerful glass after the last night’s encounter:—­yet he resembled not a votary of Bacchus;—­his complexion clear;—­hair nicely comb’d;—­coat without a spot;—­linen extremely fine and clean.—­But enough of him.—­Here comes the Dean, walking up the avenue escorting a party of my old acquaintances.

Adieu! dearest honour’d Lady, till my return to Hampshire.

F. WARLEY.

LETTER XIV.

The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to LORD DARCEY.

London.

Was every any thing so forgetful, to bring no other clothes here but mourning?

Really, my Lord, this favours a good deal of the matrimonial stile.  Was you, commenced Benedict, I should think you had received lessons from the famous L——­, who takes such pains with his pupils, that those whose attendance is frequent, can, in, the space of three months after the knot is tied, bring their wives to hear patiently the words—­forgetful,—­
;ridiculous,—­absurd,—­pish—­poh,—­and a thousand more of the same significant meaning.—­I hear you, my Lord:—­it is true, I am in jest; and know you would scorn to say even a peevish thing to a wife.