CHAWTON, Thursday (March 13).
AS to making any adequate return for such a letter as yours, my dearest
Fanny, it is absolutely impossible. If I were to labor at it all the
rest of my life, and live to the age of Methuselah, I could never
accomplish anything so long and so perfect; but I cannot let William go
without a few lines of acknowledgment and reply.
I have pretty well done with Mr. ----. By your description, he cannot be
in love with you, however he may try at it; and I could not wish the
match unless there were a great deal of love on his side. I do not know
what to do about Jemima Branfill. What does her dancing away with so
much spirit mean? That she does not care for him, or only wishes to
appear not to care for him? Who can understand a young lady?
Poor Mrs. C. Milles, that she should die on the wrong day at last, after
being about it so long! It was unlucky that the Goodnestone party could
not meet you; and I hope her friendly, obliging, social spirit, which
delighted in drawing people together, was not conscious of the division
and disappointment she was occasioning. I am sorry and surprised that
you speak of her as having little to leave, and must feel for Miss
Milles, though she is Molly, if a material loss of income is to attend
her other loss. Single women have a dreadful propensity for being poor,
which is one very strong argument in favor of matrimony; but I need not
dwell on such arguments with you, pretty dear.
To you I shall say, as I have often said before, Do not be in a hurry,
the right man will come at last; you will in the course of the next two
or three years meet with somebody more generally unexceptionable than
any one you have yet known, who will love you as warmly as possible, and
who will so completely attract you that you will feel you never really
loved before.
Do none of the A.'s ever come to balls now? You have never mentioned
them as being at any. And what do you hear of the Gripps, or of Fanny
and her husband?
Aunt Cassandra walked to Wyards yesterday with Mrs. Digweed. Anna has
had a bad cold, and looks pale. She has just weaned Julia.
I have also heard lately from your Aunt Harriot, and cannot understand
their plans in parting with Miss S., whom she seems very much to value
now that Harriot and Eleanor are both of an age for a governess to be so
useful to, especially as, when Caroline was sent to school some years,
Miss Bell was still retained, though the others even then were nursery
children. They have some good reason, I dare say, though I cannot
penetrate it; and till I know what it is I shall invent a bad one, and
amuse myself with accounting for the difference of measures by supposing
Miss S. to be a superior sort of woman, who has never stooped to
recommend herself to the master of the family by flattery, as Miss Bell
did.
I will answer your kind questions more than you expect. "Miss Catherine"
is put upon the shelf for the present, and I do not know that she will
ever come out; but I have a something ready for publication, which may,
perhaps, appear about a twelvemonth hence. It is short,--about the
length of "Catherine." This is for yourself alone. Neither Mr. Salusbury
nor Mr. Wildman is to know of it.
I am got tolerably well again, quite equal to walking about and enjoying
the air, and by sitting down and resting a good while between my walks I
get exercise enough. I have a scheme, however, for accomplishing more,
as the weather grows spring-like. I mean to take to riding the donkey;
it will be more independent and less troublesome than the use of the
carriage, and I shall be able to go about with Aunt Cassandra in her
walks to Alton and Wyards.
I hope you will think Wm. looking well; he was bilious the other day,
and At. Cass. supplied him with a dose at his own request. I am sure you
would have approved it. Wm. and I are the best of friends. I love him
very much. Everything is so natural about him,--his affections, his
manners, and his drollery. He entertains and interests us extremely.
Mat. Hammond and A. M. Shaw are people whom I cannot care for in
themselves, but I enter into their situation, and am glad they are so
happy. If I were the Duchess of Richmond, I should be very miserable
about my son's choice.
Our fears increase for poor little Harriot; the latest account is that
Sir Ev. Home is confirmed in his opinion of there being water on the
brain. I hope Heaven, in its mercy, will take her soon. Her poor father
will be quite worn out by his feelings for her; he cannot spare Cassy at
present, she is an occupation and a comfort to him.