Neither your father’s scruples, nor the maxims of the world will lesson the ties which unite our hearts; of this be assured.——I am summoned, the coach drives up. LETTER IX. _In continuation._ It was not to the fault of the weather, my dear Lucy, that Miss Flint could attribute her return home with a head-ach; nor do I attribute my fatigue to the morning airing; but I begin to find out that I am not yet quite proof against provocations: read, and judge. The mistress of the vehicle with much cheerfulness received me into it, and observed most graciously, that it was time for Miss Cowley “to see a little about her.” In consequence of this intention she gave the servant his directions, and we proceeded not more than a mile, before “Miss Cowley” discovered that Tarefield-hall had not been more unfortunate in the lack of taste in its first projector, than it has been since in its lack of cheerfulness and contentment; for gradually descending from the heath, we came in view of the village, and a country, by no means unpicturesque. My attention to the valley in sight, through which meanders a branch of the river War, was interrupted by our approach towards a large house, which still wore the relics of Gothic architecture, and past magnificence. Upon enquiry, I learned that it was still called the “Abbey,” and was the residence of “_one Wilson, a farmer_.”—“What a striking monument it offers,” observed I, surveying the venerable mansion, “of the lapse of time, and the vanity of human greatness!”—“Yes,” replied Miss Flint, “it is enough to make one sick of this world, to see such a house in the possession of an _upstart_, who would have had his post in the stables had one of the “_Ingrams_” still been its master. But this family is happily extinct. _Happily_, I say, for I am certain they could not rest in their graves, if they knew who lorded in the Abbey at this day! But it is to be hoped these people will have their turn! I have heard they got this estate in a shameful manner! Wilson’s uncle I believe was an arrant rogue, and the beggar on horseback is exemplified in his heir.” This subject having considerably discomposed the placid features of my companion, I prudently dropped it; and she, pulling the check-string, bade the driver stop at Mrs. Snughead’s gate.