my earnest thanks to send you, I should have
written this week to beg you to convey a message to Mr. Hawthorne.
Mr. Chorley writes to me, "You will be interested to hear that a
Russian literary man of eminence was so much attracted to the 'House
of the Seven Gables' by the review in the Athenaeum, as to have
translated it into Russian and published it feuilletonwise in a
newspaper." I know you will have the goodness to tell Mr. Hawthorne
this, with my love. Mr. Chorley saw the entrance of the Empereur
into the Tuileries. He looked radiant. The more I read that elegy on
the death of Daniel Webster, the more I find to admire. It is as
grand as a dirge upon an organ. Love to the dear W----s and to Dr.
Holmes.

Ever, dearest Mr. Fields, most gratefully yours, M.R.M.

1853

Swallowfield, January 5, 1853.

Your most welcome letter, my very dear friend, arrived to-day, and
I write not only to acknowledge that, and your constant kindness,
but because, if, as I believe, Mr. Bennoch has told you of my
mischance, you will be glad to hear from my own hand that I am
going on well. Last Monday fortnight I was thrown violently from my
own pony-chaise upon the hard road in Lady Russell's park. No bones
were broken, but the nerves of one side were so terribly bruised
and lacerated, and the shock to the system was so great, that even
at the end of ten days Mr. May could not satisfy himself, without a
most minute re-examination, that neither fracture nor dislocation
had taken place, and I am writing to you at this moment with my
left arm bound tightly to my body and no power whatever of raising
either foot from the ground. The only parts of me that have escaped
uninjured are my head and my right hand, and this is much. Moreover
Mr. May says that, although the cure will be tedious, he sees no
cause to doubt my recovering altogether my former condition, so
that we may still hope to drive about together when you come back
to England....

I wrote I think, dearest friend, to thank you heartily for the
beautiful and interesting book called "The Homes of American
Authors." How comfortably they are housed, and how glad I am to
find that, owing to Mr. Hawthorne's being so near the new
President, and therefore keeping up the habit of friendship and
intercourse, the want of