“Please inform the Mortimer family and friends that all's well.
Your's truly,
C. Sparkle.”
Then handing the laconic epistle to Mortimer—“I trust,” said he, “you will now be a little more at ease.”
Mortimer eagerly examined the letter for the postmark, but was not able to make out from whence it came.
“I confess,” said he, “I am better satisfied than I was, but am yet at a loss to judge of the motives which have induced them to pursue so strange a course.”
“The motive,” cried Tom, “that may be easily explained; and I doubt not but you will find, although it may at present appear a little mysterious, Sparkle will be fully able to shew cause and produce effect. He is however a man of honour and of property, and most likely we may by this time congratulate you upon the change of your Sister's name. What a blaze it will make, and she will now most certainly become a sparkling subject. Hang it, man, don't look so dull upon a bright occasion.
“To prove pleasure but pain, some have hit on a project, We're duller the merrier we grow, Exactly the same unaccountable logic That talks of cold fire and warm snow. For me, born by nature For humour and satire, I sing and I roar and I quaff; Each muscle I twist it, I cannot resist it, A finger held up makes me laugh. For since pleasure's joy's parent, and joy begets mirth, Should the subtlest casuist or sophist on earth Contradict me, I'd call him an ass and a calf, And boldly insist once for all, That the only criterion of pleasure's to laugh, And sing tol de rol, loi de rol lol.”
This mirth of Dash all's did not seem to be in consonance with the feelings of Mortimer, who hastily took his departure.
“Come,” said Tom to his Cousin, “having gained some information respecting one friend, we will now take a stroll through Temple Bar, and have a peep at Merrywell; he may perhaps want assistance in his present situation, though I will answer for it he is in a place of perfect security.”