to your
page
—do you suppose I delivered it? or did you mean that I should? I did not of course.
Then your heart, my poor Caro (what a little volcano!), that pours
lava
through your veins; and yet I cannot wish it a bit colder, to make a
marble slab
of, as you sometimes see (to understand my foolish metaphor) brought in vases, tables, etc., from Vesuvius, when hardened after an eruption. To drop my detestable tropes and figures, you know I have always thought you the cleverest, most agreeable, absurd, amiable, perplexing, dangerous, fascinating little being that lives now, or ought to have lived 2000 years ago. I won't talk to you of beauty; I am no judge. But our beauties cease to be so when near you, and therefore you have either some, or something better. And now, Caro, this nonsense is the first and last compliment (if it be such) I ever paid you. You have often reproached me as wanting in that respect; but others will make up the deficiency.
Come to Lord Grey's; at least do not let me keep you away. All that you so often
say