The Fells Farm, September 25th.
Five months since I writ a word! And how much has happened in them—so much that I could never find time to set it down, and now I must do it just in a few lines.
I have been married six weeks. Father shook his head with a smile when Ephraim first spoke to him, and said his lass was only in the cradle yesterday: but he soon came round. It was as quiet a wedding as Sophy’s, and I am sure I liked it all the better, whatever other people might think. We are to live at the Fells Farm during the year of Ephraim’s curacy, and then Father thinks he can easily get him a living through the interest of friends. Where it will be, of course we cannot guess.
Flora has writ thrice since she returned home. She says my Uncle Drummond was very thankful to have her back again: but she can see that Lady Monksburn is greatly changed, and the Laird has so failed that he scarce seems the same man. Of herself she said nothing but one sentence,—
“Waiting, dear Cary,—always waiting.”
From Angus we do not hear a word. Mr Raymond and Annas are to be married when their year of mourning is out. I cannot imagine how they will get along—he a Whig clergyman, and she a Tory Presbyterian! However, that is their affair. I am rather thankful ’tis not mine.
My Aunt Dorothea has writ me one letter—very kind to me—(it was writ on the news of my marriage), but very stiff toward my Aunt Kezia. I see she cannot forgive her easily, and I do not think Grandmamma ever will.
Grandmamma sent me a large chest from London, full of handsome presents,—a fine set of Dresden tea china (which travelled very well—only one saucer broke); a new hoop, so wide round that methinks I shall never dare to wear it in the country; a charming piece of dove-coloured damask, and a petticoat, to wear with it, of blue quilted satin; two calico gowns from India, a beautiful worked scarf from the same country, six pair pearl-coloured silk stockings, a new fan, painted with flowers, most charmingly done, a splendid piece of white and gold brocade, and a superb set of turquoise and pearl jewellery. I cannot think when or how I am to wear them; they seem so unfit for the wife of a country curate.
“Oh, wait till I am a bishop,” says Ephraim, laughingly; “then you can make the Dean’s lady faint away for envy of all your smart things. And as to the white and gold brocade, keep it till the King comes to stay with us, and it will be just the thing for a state bed for him.”