will be glad to hear thus much of me, I am sure. We have just had a
few days' visit from Edward, who brought us a good account of his
father, and the very circumstance of his coming at all, of his
father's being able to spare him, is itself a good account. He grows
still, and still improves in appearance, at least in the estimation of
his aunts, who love him better and better, as they see the sweet
temper and warm affections of the boy confirmed in the young man: I
tried hard to persuade him that he must have some message for William,
{169a} but in vain. . . . This is not a time of year for
donkey-carriages, and our donkeys are necessarily having so long a run
of luxurious idleness that I suppose we shall find they have forgotten
much of their education when we use them again. We do not use two at
once however; don't imagine such excesses. . . Our own new clergyman
{169b} is expected here very soon, perhaps in time to assist Mr.
Papillon on Sunday. I shall be very glad when the first hearing is
over. It will be a nervous hour for our pew, though we hear that he
acquits himself with as much ease and collectedness, as if he had been
used to it all his life. We have no chance we know of seeing you
between Streatham and Winchester: you go the other road and are
engaged to two or three houses; if there should be any change,
however, you know how welcome you would be. . . . We have been
reading the "Poet's Pilgrimage to Waterloo," and generally with much
approbation. Nothing will please all the world, you know; but parts
of it suit me better than much that he has written before. The
opening--_the proem_ I believe he calls it--is very beautiful. Poor
man! one cannot but grieve for the loss of the son so fondly
described. Has he at all recovered it? What do Mr. and Mrs. Hill
know about his present state?

'Yours affly,