aph ought to stamp for life,
and the cheering and interest it gave, no one but you can understand. I
wished for you, I know. It looks so poor in words.

'After the service, I laid hold of the urchin whose hearty stare had
most reminded me of Tom Madison, and gave him a shilling to guide me
back to Oakstead, a wise measure, for down came the cloud, blotting all
out like the Castle of St. John, and by the time I came home, it was
pitch dark and raining hard, and my poor father was imagining me at the
foot of another precipice. I was hoping to creep up in secret, but
they all came out, fell upon me, Lady Oakstead sent me tea, and ordered
me to rest; and so handsomely did I obey, that when next I opened my
eyes, and saw my father waiting, as I thought, for me to go down to
dinner with him, I found he had just come up after the ladies had
quitted the dining-room. So kind and so little annoyed did he seem,
that I shook myself, to be certified that I had broken no more bones,
but it was all sheer forbearance and consideration--enough to go to
one's heart--when it was the very thing to vex him most. With great
penitence, I went down, and the first person I encountered was the very
curate I had seen in my _mist_erious village, much as if he had walked
out of a story book. On fraternizing, I found him to be a friend of
Holdsworth. Lady Oakstead is going to take me, this afternoon, to see
his church, &c., thoroughly; and behold, I learn from him that she is a
notable woman for doing good in her parish, never so happy as in
trotting to cottages, though her good deeds are always in the
background. Thereupon, I ventured to attack her this morning on cottage
garniture, and obtained the very counsel I wanted about ovens and
piggeries, we began to get on together, and she is to put me up to all
manner of information that I want particularly. I must go now, not to
keep her waiting, never mind the first half of my letter--I have no
time to cancel it now. I find my father wants to put in a note: don't
believe a word that he says, for I am much better to-day, body and mind.

Goosey, goosey gander,
Where shall we wander,

Anywhere, everywhere, to remain still
'Your most affectionate,
'FITS GOSLING.'

Dear Aunt Kitty! One of her failings was never to be able to keep a
letter to herself. She fairly cried over her boy's troubles; and Mrs.
Ponsonby would not h