Miss Dickens.
Broadstairs, Wednesday, August 4th, 1847.
My dearest Mamey,
I am delighted to hear that you are going to improve in your spelling, because nobody can write properly without spelling well. But I know you will learn whatever you are taught, because you are always good, industrious, and attentive. That is what I always say of my Mamey.
The note you sent me this morning is a very nice one, and the spelling is beautiful.
Always, my dear Mamey,
Your affectionate Papa.
Mr. W. C. Macready.
Devonshire Terrace, Tuesday Morning, Nov. 23rd, 1847.
My dear Macready,
I am in the whirlwind of finishing a number with a crisis in it; but I can't fall to work without saying, in so many words, that I feel all words insufficient to tell you what I think of you after a night like last night. The multitudes of new tokens by which I know you for a great man, the swelling within me of my love for you, the pride I have in you, the majestic reflection I see in you of all the passions and affections that make up our mystery, throw me into a strange kind of transport that has no expression but in a mute sense of an attachment, which, in truth and fervency, is worthy of its subject.