, and are happy to find she continues to
mend, but her illness must have been a very
serious one indeed. When she is really recovered,
she ought to try change of air, and come over to
us. Tell your father I am very much obliged to him
for his share of your letter, and most sincerely
join in the hope of her being eventually much the
better for her present discipline. She has the
comfort moreover of being confined in such weather
as gives one little temptation to be out. It is
really too bad, and has been too bad for a long
time, much worse than anybody _can_ bear, and I
begin to think it will never be fine again. This
is a _finesse_ of mine, for I have often observed
that if one writes about the weather, it is
generally completely changed before the letter is
read. I wish it may prove so now, and that when
Mr. W. Digweed reaches Steventon to-morrow, he may
find you have had a long series of hot dry
weather. We are a small party at present, only
grandmamma, Mary Jane, and myself. Yalden's coach
cleared off the rest yesterday. . . .

I am glad you recollected to mention your being
come home. My heart began to sink within me when I
had got so far through your letter without its
being mentioned. I was dreadfully afraid that you
might be detained at Winchester by severe illness,
confined to your bed perhaps, and quite unable to
hold a pen, and only dating from Steventon in
order, with a mistaken sort of tenderness, to
deceive me. But now I have no doubt of your being
at home, I am sure you would not say it so
seriously unless it actually were so. We saw a
countless number of post-chaises full of boys pass
by yesterday morning[350]--full of future heroes,
legislators, fools, and villains. You have never
thanked me for my last letter, which went by the
cheese. I cannot bear not to be thanked. You will
not pay us a visit yet of course; we must not
think of it. Your mother must get well first, and
you must go to Oxford and _not_ be elected; after
that a little change of scene may be good for you,
and your physic