Have patience, Madam, and I will,

Well, their dress?—­Why their faces were dress’d in smiles of love:—­Nature’s charms should always take place of art.—­You see with what order I proceed.

Lord Darcey was dress’d in white richly lac’d with gold;—­Lady Darcey in a white lutestring negligee nounc’d deep with a silver net;—­no cap, a diamond sprig; her hair without powder; a diamond necklace and sleeve-knots;—­bracelets set round with diamonds; and let me tell you, her jewels are a present from my first Adorable;—­on the knowledge of which I discarded him.—­No, no, Mr. Morgan; you are not a jewel of yourself neither.—­Lady Darcey would have wore quite a morning dishabille, if the vain old Gentleman had not requested the contrary:—­so forsooth, to humour him, we must be all put out of our way.

There they are on the lawn, as I hope to live, going to invite in Caesar.—­Only an old dog, Madam, that lives betwixt this house and the steward’s.

Lady Elizabeth and Mr. Molesworth, Lady Sophia and Captain Risby,—­Oh, I long to be with you!—­throw no more gravel to my window.—­I will be dutiful;—­in spite of your allurements, I will.

I left them in the library, inspecting a very charming piece, just brought from Brandon Lodge, done by the hand of Lady 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.