For this last time—­but it must not, shall not be the last—­Let me hear, the moment thou receivest this—­what I am to be—­for, at present, I am

The most miserable of Men.

ROSE, AT KNIGHTSBRIDGE, FIVE O’CLOCK.

My fellow tells me that thou art sending Mowbray and Tourville to me:—­I want them not—­my soul’s sick of them, and of all the world—­but most of myself.  Yet, as they send me word they will come to me immediately, I will wait for them, and for thy next.  O Belford, let it not be—­But hasten it, be what it may!

LETTER V

Mr. Belford, to Robert Lovelace, Esq. 
Seven o’clock, Thursday evening, Sept. 7.

I have only to say at present—­Thou wilt do well to take a tour to
Paris; or wherever else thy destiny shall lead thee!——­

John Belford.

LETTER VI

Mr. Mowbray, to John Belford, Esq. 
Uxbridge, Sept. 7, Between eleven and twelve at night.

DEAR JACK,

I send by poor Lovelace’s desire, for particulars of the fatal breviate thou sentest him this night.  He cannot bear to set pen to paper; yet wants to know every minute passage of Miss Harlowe’s departure.  Yet why he should, I cannot see:  for if she is gone, she is gone; and who can help it?

I never heard of such a woman in my life.  What great matters has she suffered, that grief should kill her thus?

I wish the poor fellow had never known her.  From first to last, what trouble she has cost him!  The charming fellow had been half lost to us ever since he pursued her.  And what is there in one woman more than another, for matter of that?

It was well we were with him when your note came.  Your showed your true friendship in your foresight.  Why, Jack, the poor fellow was quite beside himself—­mad as any man ever was in Bedlam.

Will. brought him the letter just after we had joined him at the Bohemia Head; where he had left word at the Rose at Knightsbridge he should be; for he had been sauntering up and down, backwards and forwards, expecting us, and his fellow.  Will., as soon as he delivered it, got out of his way; and, when he opened it, never was such a piece of scenery.  He trembled like a devil at receiving it:  fumbled at the seal, his fingers in a palsy, like Tom.  Doleman’s; his hand shake, shake, shake, that he tore the letter in two, before he could come at the contents:  and, when he had read them, off went his hat to one corner of the room, his wig to the other—­D—­n—­n seize the world! and a whole volley of such-like excratious wishes; running up and down the room, and throwing up the sash, and pulling it down, and smiting his forehead with his double fist, with such force as would have felled as ox, and stamping and tearing, that the landlord ran in, and faster out again.  And this was the distraction scene for some time.