You and I differ much, my Lord.—­Your father left his estate encumbered; it is not yet clear; you are of age, my Lord:  pray, spare yourself the trouble of consulting me, if you do not think of fortune.

Duty to the memory of my rever’d father, the affection and gratitude I owe you, Sir James, calls for my obedience:—­without your sanction, Sir, never shall my hand be given.

He seem’d pleas’d:  I saw tears starting to his eyes; but still he was resolv’d to distress me.

Look about you, my child; look about you, Darcey;—­there’s Lady Jane Marshly, Miss Beaden, or—­and was going on.

Pardon me, Sir James, for interrupting you; but really, I cannot take any Lady on recommendation:  I am very difficult, perhaps perverse in this point; my first attachment must be merely accidental.

Ah! these are the notions that ruin half the young fellows of this age.—­Accidental likings—­First love,—­and the devil knows what, runs away with half the old family estates.—­Why, the least thing men ought to expect, even if they marry for love, is six-pence for a shilling.—­Once for all, my Lord, I must tell you, your interest is to be consulted before your inclinations.

Don’t be ruffled, Sir James; don’t let us talk warmly of a matter which perhaps is at a great distance.

I wish it may be at a great distance, my Lord.—­If what I conjecture is true—­Here he paus’d, and look’d so sternly, that I expected all would out.

What do you conjecture, Sir?—­Yes, I ask’d him what.—­

Your Lordship must excuse my answering that question. I hope I am wrong;—­I hope such a thing never enter’d your thoughts:—­if it has—­and he mutter’d something I could not understand; only I heard distinctly the words unlucky,—­imprudent,—­unforeseen.—­I knew enough of their meaning to silence me.—­Shaking him by the hand, I said, Well, Sir James, if you please, we will drop this subject for the present.—­On which the conversation ended.

What a deal of patience and philosophy am I master of, to be here at my pen, whilst two old men are sucking in the honey which I should lay up for a winter’s store?—­Like Time, nothing can stand before her:—­she mows down all ages.—­Even Morgan, that man who us’d to look on a fine woman with more indifference than a horse or dog,—­is now new-moulded;—­not one oath in the space where I have known twenty escape him:—­instead of following his dogs the whole morning, he is eternally with the ladies.

If he rides out with my angel, for he’s determin’d, he says, to make her a complete horsewoman, I must not presume to give the least direction, or even touch the bridle.

I honour him for the tender regard he shews her:—­yes, I go further; he and Mr. Watson may love her;—­they do love her, and glory in declaring it.—­I love them in return;—­but they are the only two, of all the race of batchelors within my knowledge, that should make such a declaration with impunity.