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I state the fact, and leave others to account for and moralize on it." Such, then, was the letter which Mr Mowbray wrote to his friend, Naresby, during the interval to which we formerly alluded. Several other letters he also wrote and despatched about the same time; but the purpose of these, and to whom written, we must leave the sequel of our story to explain.
But it's true, Naresby; and, ere another month has passed away, you will yourself confess it; for ere that period has come and gone, you will have seen her with your own eyes. "So much then for resolution, for the weakness of human nature. I thought nay, I swore, Naresby, as you know that I would, that I could never love again.
Yet will you as readily believe them, I daresay, as that I am to be how can I come out with the word! to be to be married, Naresby! Married! Yes, married. I am to be married I repeat it slowly and solemnly and to one of the sweetest and fairest creatures that ever the sun of heaven shone upon. 'Oh! of course, say you.
The list was the same as that on which the commissioner formerly went to work, except that the name of the Duke of Greenwich had been struck out, and two others added in his place, so that it stood thus: "Dukes of Doncaster and Stratford; Lords Coleman, Naresby, Skreene, Twisselton, Waltham, Wrexfield, Chelsea, and Lancaster; Sir Thomas Cope, Sir James Skipworth; Secretaries Arnold and Oldfield."
Would you believe me, Naresby, if I was to say, that the sea had ceased to ebb and flow, that the hills had become valleys, and the valleys had risen into hills; that the moon had become constant, and that the sun had forgotten to sink in the west when his daily course was run? Would you believe any or all of these things, if I were to assert them to be true? No, you wouldn't.
"DEAR NARESBY, The appearance of this well-known hand well known to you, my friend will, I daresay, startle you not a little. My letter will seem to you as a communication from the dead; for it is now upwards of two long years since you either heard from me or of me.
Doncaster, a dunce Stratford, a miser Coleman, a knave Naresby, non compos Skreene, the most corrupt of the corrupt Twisselton, puzzle headed Waltham, a mere theorist Wrexfield, a speechifier Chelsea, a trimmer Lancaster, deep and dark Sir Thomas Cope, a wit, a poet, and a fool Sir James Skipworth, finance and finesse Arnold, able and active and Oldfield, a diplomatist in grain.
Birth, Naresby, I do not value; and fortune I do not want. "Well, then, Naresby, my period of seclusion is now about over, and I return again to the world. Who would have said this two years ago? If any had, I would have told them they spoke untruly that I had abjured the world, and all its joys, for ever; and that, henceforth, William Mowbray would not be as other men. But so it is.
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