And again (Forncett, June 1793), she writes to the same friend:
"I have strolled into a neighbouring meadow, where I am enjoying the
melody of birds, and the busy sounds of a fine summer's evening. But
oh! How imperfect is my pleasure whilst I am alone! Why are you not
seated with me? And my dear William, why is he not here also? I
could almost fancy that I see you both near me. I hear _you_ point
out a spot, where if we could erect a little cottage and call it our
own we should be the happiest of human beings. I see my brother
fired with the idea of leading his sister to such a retreat. Our
parlour is in a moment furnished, our garden is adorned by magic;
the roses and honeysuckles spring at our command; the wood behind
the house lifts its head, and furnishes us with a winter's shelter
and a summer's noonday shade. My dear friend, I trust that ere long
you will be without the aid of imagination, the companion of my walks,
and my dear William may be of our party.... He is now going upon a
tour in the west of England, with a gentleman who was formerly a
schoolfellow,--a man of fortune, who is to bear all the expenses of
the journey, and only requests the favour of William's company. He
is perfectly at liberty to quit this companion as soon as anything
more advantageous offers. But it is enough to say that I am likely
to have the happiness of introducing you to my beloved brother. You
must forgive me for talking so much of him; my affection hurries me
on, and makes me forget that you cannot be so much interested in the
subject as I am. You do not know him; you do not know how amiable he
is. Perhaps you reply, 'But I know how blinded you are.' Well, my
dearest. I plead guilty at once; I _must_ be blind; he cannot be so
pleasing as my fondness makes him. I am willing to allow that half
the virtues with which I fancy him endowed are the creation of my
love; but surely I may be excused! He was never tired of comforting
his sister; he never left her in anger; he always met her with joy;