All my neighbours far gone in liver complaints and buried in bile, so that I have kept aloof from all, when they did not want me, and we are so very, very quiet here, I almost fancy I must be grown deaf, for I suppose the world is still in a bustle, and going on. No letters, no murder, no crimes.
What a retention of correspondence this cessation of franks seems to have caused: when shall we see our wholesome days again?
Emkins, Holland will never do. Why? When, shall I see you? Why can’t you stay where you are? Your brother George is like an âme en peine; he can’t abide nowhere. I suppose you will like the junket, you Beast.... So you have your Grantham.[130] It is all very well we should allow those sort of people to love us, etc. but they must be kept in their place. How little I saw you in Town, and then you think it my fault and that I won’t dine with you. You don’t know, you cannot know, how I have been bothered about it, not by Aunt alone. In short, there is a bother in our celibacy, that as there is no one to speak as one having authority, the whole herd think they have a right to have a pull at one’s tether, and pin one down to their own fancies....
Emmy, only think Danford is going to-day! A woeful day that such a Dan should go.
There’s been a grand inventory to do, and glass and china, etc. Aunt was aghast at the mortalities among the rummer glasses. He denied having crackt their noble hearts, when, oh Providence! oh, juste ciel! their glassy relics rose in judgment, and from the cupboard called for vengeance. There lay their bottoms, which, like the scalps of his enemies, had accumulated in evidence of his deeds. His wen grew pale when he thought of his wages. “Conceive his situation!” What a climacteric! Good-bye, write to me much and often, but if you don’t, never mind, for I know what London is.
I do long to see Matthews,[131] so provoking the animal won’t begin his pranks before we leave London.
April, 1820.
...Poor Aunt gets no worse, but I see no great amendment.... I assure you, Emmy, I take great care of myself; we only sit up every other night, and my spirits are quite good. I am screwed up like a machine, and get through day and night very quickly indeed. I eat and drink and laugh and don’t let myself think.
You must come again, when you can, to see me, Emmy. I have no scruple in asking you to come and see me in the fullness of my dullness, out of the fullness of your gaiety, because when we get together, we get into our element, my darling. Your visit quite refreshed me the other day. I send you some flowers to brighten up your room, and you will put them into the Christening bowls, which lie about your tables.
April 30, 1820.