A JOKING LETTER
January 3rd, 1871.
To Miranda.
Your humble servant, the writer, is in good health and spirits, but is growing so deeply devoted to the delights of her own sweet society, that she is somewhat alarmed, and fears that on your return she may be found to have lost the power of speech.
To such tremendous reactions does Nature at times lead us!!! The circle of interest grows also narrower daily, (barring Walmer Street). She cares for nothing and nobody beyond her reach, while she sits in her beloved arm-chair.[[65]]
Entre nous, however, I think there is still somewhere some little tenderness in her heart for her respected and absent relatives.
I don’t know how to sign myself, my persons being hopelessly now in a jumble; so beg you with your ordinary penetration to discover
The Writer.
14, Nottingham Place, W.,
April 24th, 1871.