An imperfect acquaintance with your text inclines me for the present to prefer “the Thames” amongst rivers, and the “West” among winds, and the “Thrush” among song-birds. So also “Deserts” to “Cornfields.”
Of course all the pieces which memorialise our dear Gabriel interest us.
And “Ah Sin” I like and sympathise with: and I fear it is only too lifelike. Shall I or shall I not say anything about “Madre Natura”? I dare say without my taking the liberty of expressing myself you can (if you think it worth while) put my regret into words.
Very truly yours,
Christina G. Rossetti.
“Though I cannot recall what I wrote, write I did evidently, and obviously also with eagerness to prove that, while I accepted her gentle reproof in the spirit in which she offered it, I held the point of view immaterial; and no doubt a very crude epistle it was in thought and diction....”
That summer my Poet and I were very happy receiving the congratulations from our friends on the approaching termination of our nine years of waiting. We were married on a Friday the 31st October 1884 at Christ Church, Lancaster Gate, and his friend Eric S. Robertson—Editor of The Great Writer Series, and afterward Professor of Literature and Logic at Lahore Government College—acted as best man. Mrs. Craik lent us her house at Dover for our honeymoon, and we also made a flying visit to Paris.
The end of November found us settled in a little house in Talgarth Road, West Kensington (No. 46): our relatives furnished the house for us and we began our new life with high hopes and a slender purse. My husband had £30 in his pocket, and I had an income of £35 a year.
Among the many kindly letters of congratulations came one from Mr. Addington Symonds.