“A MERE LOVE-LETTER.”
(July 21, 1822).
I perceive that if I give way to my thoughts, I shall write you a mere love-letter, just as usual, with not a particle of news in it: to prevent which I will constrain myself to a narrative of what has happened since I left you up to the present time, and then indulge my affection.
Yesterday was a day of events—little, but pleasant. I went in the morning to the Institution, and in the course of the day analysed the water, and sent an account of it to Mr. Hatchett. Mr. Fisher I did not see. Mr. Lawrence called in, and behaved with his usual generosity. He had called in the early part of the week, and, finding that I should be at the Institution on Saturday only, came up, as I have already said, and insisted on my accepting two ten-pound bank-notes for the information he professed to have obtained from me at various times. Is not this handsome? The money, as you know, could not have been at any time more acceptable; and I cannot see any reason, my dear love, why you and I should not regard it as another proof, among many, that our trust should without a moment’s reserve be freely reposed on Him who provideth all things for His people. Have we not many times been reproached, by such mercies as these, for our caring after food and raiment and the things of this world? On coming home in the evening, i.e., coming to Paternoster Row home, I learned that Mr. Phillips had seen C., and had told her we should not leave London until Monday evening. So I shall have to-morrow to get things ready in, and I shall have enough to do. I fancy we are going to a large mansion and into high company, so I must take more clothes. Having the £20, I am become bold....
And now, how do my dear wife and mother do? Are you comfortable? are you happy? are the lodgings convenient, and Mrs. O. obliging? Has the place done you good? Is the weather fine? Tell me all things as soon as you can. I think if you write directly you get this it will be best, but let it be a long letter. I do not know when I wished so much for a long letter as I do from you now. You will get this on Tuesday, and any letter from you to me cannot reach Swansea before Thursday or Friday—a sad long time to wait. Direct to me, Post Office, Swansea; or perhaps better, to me at — Vivian Esq., Marino, near Swansea, South Wales....
And now, my dear girl, I must set business aside. I am tired of the dull detail of things, and want to talk of love to you; and surely there can be no circumstances under which I can have more right. The theme was a cheerful and delightful one before we were married, but it is doubly so now. I now can speak, not of my own heart only, but of both our hearts. I now speak, not with any doubt of the state of your thoughts, but with the fullest conviction that they answer to my own. All that I can now say warm and animated to you, I know that you would say to me again. The excess of pleasure which I feel in knowing you mine is doubled by the consciousness that you feel equal joy in knowing me yours.
FROM HUSBAND TO WIFE.
Marino: Sunday, July 28, 1822.
My Dearly Beloved Wife,—I have just read your letter again, preparatory to my writing to you, that my thoughts might be still more elevated and quickened than before. I could almost rejoice at my absence from you, if it were only that it has produced such an earnest and warm mark of affection from you as that letter. Tears of joy and delight fell from my eyes on its perusal. I think it was last Sunday evening, about this time, that I wrote to you from London; and I again resort to this affectionate conversation with you, to tell you what has happened since the letter which I got franked from this place to you on Thursday I believe.
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