little
temptation to be out. It is really too bad, and has been too bad for
a long time, much worse than any one 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. {161a} 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 {161b}--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 physicians I hope will order you to the sea, or to a
house by the side of a very considerable pond. {161c} Oh! it rains
again. It beats against the window. Mary Jane and I have been wet
through once already to-day; we set off in the donkey-carriage for
Farringdon, as I wanted to see the improvement Mr. Woolls is making,
but we were obliged to turn back before we got there, but not soon
enough to avoid a pelter all the way home. We met Mr. Woolls. I
talked of its being bad weather for the hay, and he returned me the
comfort of its being much worse for the wheat. We hear that Mrs. S.
does not quit Tangier: why and wherefore? Do you know that our
Browning is gone? You must prepare for a William when you come, a
good-looking lad, civil and quiet,