GRAYSMILL, September 20th.
Blessings upon you, my sweet dearest; your birthday is the day of
days to me. How could I live without you? I am purely selfish when I
wish you perfect joy and a long golden life; it is almost like
praying for fine weather! All the strings of my heart go towards
you, Constance Norris, and are knotted in your bosom. Be happy, be
well, my darling, else I suffer. We shall not be apart on your next
birthday, I think. I have evolved a marvellous scheme. Your mother
is still young, and a very handsome woman; why don't you marry her?
Really, it's a plan worth attempting; couldn't you persuade one of
your numerous admirers to transfer his affections? Then, Constantia
mia, we two could live together. We should mostly live abroad,
following the sunshine; but for a part of the year we should stay
here in England. Don't wrinkle up your dear nose! You will be every
bit as much in love with the country as I am, when once you know it
well. I wish I could show it you now; the woods are changing colour,
'tis a glowing world, and your lungs have never tasted such air as
blows on Graysmill Heath. You would be very happy in the woods in
summer; you could lie down and bring your face on a level with the
flowers, and I should sit by and love you. There would be little
sunbeams piercing the roof of leaves and twinkling about us, and
just enough breeze to clear your brow of curls. O Constance! Why are
we so far apart? Only one life, and then parted! But one must not
think of such things.
I send you a little ring that I found the other day in Miltonhoe;
there is a kiss on the red stone, don't lose it.
Blessings upon you, my heart of gold.