* * * * *
HOMERTON, 27_th_ _Nov._ 1838.
MY DEAREST MOTHER,—The cake was delicious: it tasted of Blackdeep, and
the cross-over will be most useful. It will keep me warm on cold days,
and the love that came with it will thicken the wool. But, mother, it is
not a month ago since you sent me the stockings. You are always at work
for me. You are just like father. He gave us things not only on
birthdays, but when we never looked out for them. Do you remember that
week when wheat dropped three shillings a quarter? He had two hundred
quarters which he might have sold ten days earlier. He was obliged to
sell them at the next market and lost thirty pounds, but he had seen at
Ely that day a little desk, and he knew I wanted a desk, and he bought it
for me with a fishing-rod and landing-net for Jim.
My husband said he could not think of anything I needed and wrote me a
cheque for two pounds.
O! that you could come here, and yet I am certain you must not. My heart
aches to have you. In my day-dreams I go over the long miles to
Blackdeep, through Ware, through Royston, through Cambridge, through
every village, and then I feel how far away you are. I turned out of the
room the other day the chair in which you always sat. I could not bear
to see it empty. Charles noticed it had gone and ordered it to be
brought back. He may have suspected the reason why I put it upstairs.
My dearest, dearest mother, never fear that my affection for you can
become less. Sometimes after marriage a woman loves her mother more than
she ever loved her before.
It is a black fog here and not a breath of air is stirring. How
different are our fogs at Blackdeep! They may be thick, but they are
white and do not make us miserable. I never shall forget when I was last
in Fortyacres and saw the mist lying near the river, and the church spire
bright in the sunlight. The churchyard and the lower part of the church
were quite hidden.
What a mercy Jim was not trapped by Dolly, for I suppose it was she. Jim
is not the first she has tried to get. You are quite right. She might
have broken your heart, and I am sure she would have broken Jim’s, for
she is as hard as a millstone.—Your loving child,