my intended marriage; and on hearing that Aubrey was then with him, I
resolved, in replying to his letter, to entreat the former to sound
Sir William on the subject I had most at heart, and ascertain the exact
nature and extent of the opposition I should have to encounter in the
step I was resolved to take. By the same post I wrote to the good old
knight in as artful a strain as I was able, dwelling at some length upon
my passion, upon the high birth, as well as the numerous good qualities
of the object, but mentioning not her name; and I added everything
that I thought likely to enlist my uncle's kind and warm feelings on my
behalf. These letters produced the following ones:--

FROM SIR WILLIAM DEVEREUX.

'Sdeath, nephew Morton,--but I won't scold thee, though thou deservest
it. Let me see, thou art now scarce twenty, and thou talkest of
marriage, which is the exclusive business of middle age, as familiarly
as "girls of thirteen do of puppy-dogs." Marry!--go hang thyself rather.
Marriage, my dear boy, is at the best a treacherous proceeding; and a
friend--a true friend--will never counsel another to adopt it rashly.
Look you: I have had experience in these matters; and, I think, the
moment a woman is wedded some terrible revolution happens in her system;
all her former good qualities vanish, _hey presto_! like eggs out of a
conjuror's box; 'tis true they appear on t' other side of the box, the
side turned to other people, but for the poor husband they are gone
forever. Ods fish, Morton, go to! I tell thee again that I have had
experience in these matters which thou never hast had, clever as thou
thinkest thyself. If now it were a good marriage thou wert about
to make; if thou wert going to wed power, and money, and places at
court,--why, something might be said for thee. As it is, there is no
excuse--none. And I am astonished how a boy of thy sense could think of
such nonsense. Birth, Morton, what the devil does that signify so long
as it is birth in another country? A foreign damsel, and a Spanish girl,
too, above all others! 'Sdeath, man, as if there was not quicksilver
enough in the English women for you, you must make a mercurial
exportation from Spain, must you! Why, Morton, Morton, the ladies in
that country are proverbial. I tremble at the very thought of it. But as
for my consent, I never will give it,--never; and though I threaten thee
not with disinheritance and such like, yet I do ask something in return