How many girls have I seen,—­for ever together arm in arm,—­whispering their own, perhaps the secrets of all their neighbours;—­when in steps a young fellow of our cloth,—­or any other, it signifies not the colour,—­and down tumbles the tottering basis.—­Instead of my dear and my love, it is sly creature, false friend, could any one have thought Miss Such-a-one possess’d of so much art?—­then out comes intrigues, family-affairs, losses at cards,—­in short, every thing that has been treasur’d up by two industrious fair ones seven years before.

Don’t think me satyrical:—­I am nice;—­too much so, perhaps.—­The knowledge of such as constitute this little narrative, and some other minds like theirs, has made me rather too nice, as I said before;—­a matter of little consequence, as I am situated.—­Can I look forward to happy prospects, and see how soon the fairest felicity is out of sight?—­This afflicted family, Molesworth, has taught me to forget,—­that is, I ought to forget.—­But no matter;—­never again let me see Lady Sophia;—­never lead me a second time into danger:—­she is mortal; like Miss Powis.—­Lord Darcey! poor Lord Darcey!

If recollection will assist me, a word or two more of Mr. and Mrs. Powis.

Lady Sophia—­the deuce is in me! you know who I mean;—­why write I the name of Lady Sophia?—­upon my honour, I have given over all thoughts of that divinity—­Lady Mary I should have said, a few months after the nuptials of her friends, wrote to Mr. Powis, who was then at Barford Abbey, an absolute refusal, in consequence of a preconcerned plan of operation.—­Immediately after this, she set out with Mrs. Powis for London, whose situation made it necessary for her to leave Hillford Down.

You will suppose, on the receipt of this letter, how matters were at the Abbey:—­Sir.  James rav’d; even Lady Powis thought her son ill us’d; but, in consideration of their former intimacy, prevail’d on Sir James never to mention the affair, though from this time all acquaintance ceas’d between the families.

In order to conceal the marriage, it was inevitable Mr. Powis must carry his wife abroad;—­and as he intended to travel before the match was thought of with Lady Mary,—­his father now readily consented that he should begin his tour.—­This furnish’d him with an excuse to go immediately to town,—­where he waited ’till the angel that we all weep for, made her appearance.

But what, you ask, was Mrs. Powis’s excuse to leave England, without being suspected?—­Why, I’ll tell you:  by the contrivance of Lady Mary, together with Mrs. Whitmore, it was believ’d she had left the world;—­that she died in town of a malignant fever;—­that—­but I cannot be circumstantial—­Miss Powis, after her parents went abroad, was brought down by Lady Mary, and consign’d to the care of her grandmother, with whom she liv’d as the orphan child of some distant relation.