Best wife in the world, here I am in London; for I found it quite
impossible to draw any more breath in that abominable Liverpool
without allowing myself a momentary escape into better air. I could
not take Julian with me; and so I disposed of him, much to his own
satisfaction, first with the Brights, then with the Channings; and I
have now been here more than a week, and shall remain till Thursday.
The old boy writes to me in the best of spirits; and I rather think he
can do without me better than I can without him; for I really find I
love him _a little_, and that his society is one of my necessities,
including, as he does, thyself and everything else that I love.
Nevertheless, my time has been so much occupied in London, that I have
not been able to brood over the miseries of heart-solitudes. They have
found me out, these London people, and I believe I should have
engagements for every day, and two or three a day, if I staid here
through the season. They thicken upon me, the longer I remain.
To-night, I am to dine with the Lord Mayor, and shall have to make a
speech!! Good Heavens! I wish I might have been spared this. Tomorrow
night, I shall dine in the House of Commons, with a member of
Parliament, in order to hear a debate. In short, I have been lionized,
and am still being lionized; and this one experience will be quite
sufficient for me. I find it something between a botheration and a
satisfaction.
Oh, my dearest, I feel that my heart will be very heavy, as soon as I
get back to Liverpool; for thy cough is not getting better, and our
dear little Rosebud has been ill! And I was not there! And I do not
know--and shall not know for many days--what may have since happened
to her and thee! This is very hard to bear. We ought never, never, to
have separated. It is most unnatural. It cannot be borne. How strange
that it _must_ be borne!
Most beloved, I have sent down to Liverpool for Elizabeth's talisman
and medicine-bottles; for Mr. Marsh is now in London, and perhaps he
will be able to take them to thee. I fear, however, that they will not
reach me in time to be delivered to him, and I shall be afraid to
trust them to any but a private conveyance. If they come, I hope thou
wilt give them a fair trial, at least, if the weather still continues
cold and wet. What a wretched world we live in! Not one little nook or
corner where thou canst draw a wholesome breath! In all our
separation, I have never once felt so utterly desperate as at this
moment. I _cannot_ bear it.
Everybody inquires about thee. I spent yesterday (Sunday) at Mrs. S.
C. Hall's country-seat, and she was very affectionate in her
inquiries, and gave me this very sheet of paper on which I am now
writing--also some violets, which I have lost, though I promised
faithfully to send them to Madeira. Dear me, I wish I had a little bit
of sentiment! Didst thou ever read any of her books? She is a very
good and kind person, and so is her husband, though he besmeared me
with such sweetness of laudation, that I feel all over bestuck, as
after handling sweetmeats or molasses-candy. There is a limit of
decorum which ought not to be over-stept.
I met Miss Cushman, on Saturday, in the Strand, and she asked me to
dinner, but I could not go, being already engaged to meet another
actress! I have a strange run of luck as regards actresses, having
made friends with the three most prominent ones since I came to
London, and I find them all excellent people; and they all inquire for
thee!! Mrs. Bennoch, too, wishes to see thee very much. Unless thou
comest back in very vigorous health, it will never do for us to take
lodgings in London for any considerable time, because it would be
impossible to keep quiet. Neither shall I dare to have thee come back
to Liverpool, accursed place that it is! We will settle ourselves in
the South of England, until the autumn, and then (unless Elizabeth's
talisman works miracles) we must be gone. The trip to Scotland, I
fear, must be quite given up. I suppose, as regards climate, Scotland
is only a more intensely disagreeable England.
Oh, my wife, I do want thee so intolerably. Nothing else is real,
except the bond between thee and me. The people around me are but
shadows. I am myself but a shadow, till thou takest me in thy arms,
and convertest me into substance. Till thou comest back, I do but walk
in a dream.
I think a great deal about poor little Rosebud, and find that I loved
her about ten million times as much as I had any idea of. Really,
dearest wife, I have a heart, although, heretofore, thou hast had
great reason to doubt it. But it yearns, and throbs, and burns with a
hot fire, for thee, and for the children that have grown out of our
loves. Una, too! I long unutterably to see her, and cannot bear to
think that she has been growing out of her childhood, all the time,
without my witnessing each day's change. But the first moment, when we
meet again, will set everything right. Oh, blessed moment!
Well, dearest, I must close now, and go in search of Mr. Marsh, whom I
have not yet been able to see. God bless thee! I cannot see why He has
permitted so much rain, and such cold winds, where thou art.