"I am going to the exhibition to-day, and will be thinking of little wife all the time. I have met with a quantity of very fine paper for etching, of French manufacture, and have obtained Macmillan's authority to purchase it for the text also. It will be a splendid publication. I feel greater and greater hopes about that book.
"Only forty-eight hours of separation from the time I write."
The day after:—
"Enfin il y a bien peu de chose à faire à mes planches, et j'espère que dans un jour ce sera terminé.
"J'ai beaucoup de choses à te dire mais ce sera pour nos bonnes causeries intimes. Je voyagerai toute la nuit de vendredi afin d'arriver samedi dans la matinée. Quand je pense à toi et aux enfants, à la petite maison, à la petite rivière et à tous les détails de cette délicieuse existence que nous passons ensemble, il me faut beaucoup de courage pour rester ici seul à terminer mon travail."
When my husband reached home, I was still in bed, and unwilling to let him come to me for fear of infection; but he would not hear of keeping away. "I never catch anything," he said gayly, "don't be anxious on my account;" and he insisted upon sleeping on a little iron bedstead in the dressing-room close to our bedroom, to nurse me in the night.
He soon recovered his usual health, with occasional troubles of the nervous system; but he had grown careful about the premonitory symptoms, and used to grant himself a holiday whenever they occurred. Having been told whilst in London that novel-writing paid better than any other literary production, he now turned his thoughts towards the possibility of using his past experience for the composition of a story. It would be a pleasant change from criticism, he said, and would exercise different mental faculties. Very soon the plan of "Wenderholme" was formed, and we entertained good hopes of its success.
In the month of September, 1866, the wedding of my sister Caroline took place quietly at our house, Mr. Hamerton being looked upon as the head of the family since the death of my father. Although he prized his privacy above everything else, he was ready to sacrifice it as a token of his affection for his sister-in-law, and went through all the necessary trouble and expense for her sake. She married a young man who had formed an attachment for her ever since she was fifteen years old,—M. Pelletier,—and they went to live at Algiers, where he was then Commis d'Économat at the Lycée. It was agreed that they should spend the long vacation with us every year.
There are a good many days of frost in a Morvandau winter, and the snow often remains deep on the ground for several weeks together; there was even more than usual in 1867, so my husband devised a new amusement for the boys by showing them how to make a giant. Every time they came home, they rolled up huge balls of snow which were left out to be frozen hard, then sawn into large bricks to build up the monster. The delight of the boys may be imagined. Every new limb was greeted with enthusiastic shouts, they thought of nothing else; and, perched on ladders, their little hands protected by woollen gloves, they worked like slaves, and could hardly be got to eat their meals. But how should I describe the final scene, when in the dark evening two night-lights shone out of the giant's eyes, and flames came out of its monstrous mouth?… It was nothing less than wild ecstasy. Their father also taught them skating; there was very little danger except from falls, for they began in the meadows about the house, where they skated over shallow pools left in the hollows by rain-water or melted snow; but when they became proficient, we used to go to the great pond at Varolles. As my husband has said in one of his letters, all that was very good for him.
In January, 1868, he left again for London, and felt but little inconvenience on the way and during his stay. Knowing that I should be anxious, he formed the habit of sending me frequent short pencil notes, to say how he was. I give here a few of them:—