offer to me, the rooms being at a reasonable rent, and including the use
of an old servant, besides being infinitely preferable to ordinary
lodgings _in our case_, as you must perceive. As Gutch knew all our
story and the perpetual liability to a recurrence in my sister's
disorder, probably to the end of her life, I certainly think the offer
very generous and very friendly. I have got three rooms (including
servant) under L34 a year. Here I soon found myself at home; and here,
in six weeks after, Mary was well enough to join me. So we are once more
settled. I am afraid we are not placed out of the reach of future
interruptions. But I am determined to take what snatches of pleasure we
can between the acts of our distressful drama.... I have passed two days
at Oxford on a visit, which I have long put off, to Gutch's family. The
sight of the Bodleian Library and, above all, a fine bust of Bishop
Taylor at All Souls', were particularly gratifying to me; unluckily, it
was not a family where I could take Mary with me, and I am afraid there
is something of dishonesty in any pleasures I take without _her_. She
never goes anywhere. I do not know what I can add to this letter. I hope
you are better by this time; and I desire to be affectionately
remembered to Sara and Hartley.

I expected before this to have had tidings of another little
philosopher. Lloyd's wife is on the point of favouring the world.

Have you seen the new edition of Burns? his posthumous works and
letters? I have only been able to procure the first volume, which
contains his life--very confusedly and badly written, and interspersed
with dull pathological and _medical_ discussions. It is written by a Dr.
Currie. Do you know the well-meaning doctor? Alas, _ne sutor ultra
crepitum_! [_A few words omitted here_.]