remember'd. Take care of yourself, dear, that we may both be well in the summer. I do not at all fatigue myself with writing, having merely to put a line or two here and there, a task which would worry a stout state of the body and mind, but which just suits me, as I can do no more. Your affectionate J. K. No. 28. MY DEAREST FANNY: I had a better night last night than I have had since my attack, and this morning I am the same as when you saw me. I have been turning over two volumes of letters written between Rousseau and two ladies in the perplexed strain of mingled finesse and sentiment in which the ladies and gentlemen of those days were so clever, and which is still prevalent among ladies of this country who live in a state of reasoning romance. The likeness however only extends to the mannerism, not to the dexterity. What would Rousseau have said at seeing our little correspondence! What would his ladies have said! I don't care much I would sooner have Shakspeare's opinion about the matter. The common gossiping of washerwomen must be less disgusting than the continual and eternal fence and attack of Rousseau and these sublime petticoats. One calls herself Clara and her friend Julia, two of Rousseau's heroines. They all [sic, but qy. at] the same time christen poor Jean Jacques St. Preux-who is the pure cavalier of his famous novel. Thank God I am born in England, with our own great men before my eyes. Thank God that you are fair and can love me without being letter-written and sentimentaliz'd into it. Mr. Barry Cornwall has sent me another book, his first, with a polite note. I must do what I can to make him sensible of the esteem I have for his kindness. If this north-east would take a turn it would be so much the better for me. Good-bye, my love, my dear love, my beauty Love me for ever. J. K. No. 29. MY DEAREST FANNY: Though I shall see you in so short a time, I cannot forbear sending you a few lines. You say I did not give you yesterday a minute account of my health. To-day I have left off the medicine which I took to keep the pulse down, and I find I can do very well without it, which is a very favourable sign, as it shows there is no inflammation remaining. You think I may be wearied at night, you say: it is my best time; I am at my best about eight o'clock. I received a note from Mr. Procter to-day. He says he cannot pay me a visit this weather, as he is fearful of an inflammation in the chest. What a horrid climate this is, or what careless inhabitants it has! You are one of them. My dear girl, do not make a joke of it; do not expose yourself to the cold. There's the thrush again— I can't afford it—he'll run me up a pretty bill for music - besides, he ought to know I deal at Clementi's. How can you bear so long an imprisonment at Hampstead? I shall always remember it with all the gusto that a monopolizing carle should. I could build an altar to you for it. Your affectionate J. K. No. 30. MY DEAREST GIRL: As from the last part of my note you must see how gratified I have been by your remaining at home, you might perhaps conceive that I was equally bias'd the other way by your going to town, I cannot be easy to-night without telling you you would be wrong to suppose so. Though I am pleased with the one, I am not displeased with the other. How do I dare to write in this manner about my pleasures and displeasures? I will tho' whilst I am an invalid, in spite of you. Good-night, love! J. K. MY DEAREST GIRL: No. 31. In consequence of our company, I suppose I shall not see you before to-morrow. I am much better to-day-indeed, all I have to complain of is want of strength and a little tightness in the chest. I envied Sam's walk with you to-day, which I will not do again, as I may get very tired of envying. I imagine you now sitting in your new black dress, which I like so much, and if I were a little less selfish and more enthusiastic I should run round and surprise you with a knock at the door. I fear I am too prudent for a dying kind of lover. Yet there is a great difference between going off in warm blood, like Romeo, and making one's exit like a frog in a frost. I had nothing particular to say to-day, but not intending that there shall be any interruption to our correspondence (which at some future time I propose offering to Murray), I write something. God bless you, my sweet love! Illness is a long lane, but I see you at the end of it, and shall mend my pace as well as possible. J. K. No. 32. DEAR GIRL: Yesterday you must have thought me worse than I really was. I assure you there was nothing but regret at being obliged to forego an embrace which has so many times been the highest gust of my life. I would not care for health without it. Sam would not come in- I wanted merely to ask him how you were this morning. When one is not quite well, we turn for relief to those we love: this is no weakness of spirit in me: you know when in health I thought of nothing but you; when I shall again be so it will be the same. Brown has been mentioning to me that some hint from Sam, last night, occasions him some uneasiness. He whispered something to you concerning Brown and old Mr. Dilke which had the complexion of being something derogatory to the former. It was connected with an anxiety about Mr. D. Sr.'s death, and an anxiety to set out for Chichester. These sort of hints point out their own solution: one cannot pretend to a delicate ignorance on the subject: you understand the whole matter. If any one, my sweet love, has misrepresented to you, to your mother, or Sam, any circumstances which are at all likely, at a tenth remove, to create suspicions among people who, from their own interested notions, slander others, pray tell me: for I feel the least attaint on the disinterested character of Brown very deeply. Perhaps Reynolds or some other of my friends may come towards evening; therefore, you may choose whether you will come to see me early to-day, before or after dinner, as you may think fit. Remember me to your mother, and tell her to drag you to me if you show the least reluctance MY DEAREST Girl : No. 33. I endeavour to make myself as patient as possible. Hunt amuses me very kindly-besides, I have your ring on my finger and your flowers on the table. I shall not expect to see you yet, because it would be so much pain to part with you again. |