r three hours on the sofa, but to-day
he seems better--has more colour, and has been less silent. We go to
Leffingham Castle from Monday till Thursday, when I shall take him to
London for Hastings to decide whether it be fit for him to return to
Christchurch after the vacation, according to his own most anxious
wish. With my love to Mary Ponsonby and her daughter, and best
remembrances to James,

'Your affectionate nephew,
'ORMERSFIELD.'

The same envelope contained another letter of many sheets, beginning in
a scrawl:--

'Scene--Rose-coloured Pastor's Nest. Tables, chairs, books, papers,
despatch-boxes. The two ex-ministers writing and consulting. Viscount
F. looking on like a colt running beside its parent at plough, thinking
that harness leaves deep marks, and that he does not like the furrow.

'October 13th, 1847.--That correct date must be a sign that he is
getting into harness.

'Well, dear Aunt Kitty, to make a transition from the third to the
first person, like Mrs. Norris, you have in this short scene an epitome
of the last fortnight. Lady Oakstead is an honourable matron, whom I
pity for having me in her way; a man unable to be got rid of by the
lawful exercises of shooting and riding, and with a father always
consulting her about him, and watching every look and movement, till
the blood comes throbbing to my temples by the mere attraction of his
eyes. To be watched into a sense of impatience and ingratitude, is a
trial of life for which one is not prepared. My father and Sir Miles
are very busy; I hang here an anomaly, sitting with them as being less
in their way than in Lady Oakstead's, and wondering what I shall be
twenty years hence. I am sick of the only course of life that will
content my father, and I can see no sunshine likely to brighten it.
But, at least, no one's happiness is at stake but my own. Here is a
kind, cordial letter from Lady Conway, pressing me to join her at
Scarborough, make expeditions, &c. My father is in such a state about
me, that I believe I could get his consent to anything, but I suppose
it would not be fair, and I have said nothing to him as yet. On Monday
we go to Leffingham, which, I hear, is formality itself. After that,
more state visits, unless I can escape to Oxford. My father fancies me
not well enough; but pray unite all the forces of the Terrace to
impress that no