the fifth twice over. And remember,
please, that I am to read, besides, the 'Soul's Tragedy,' and that I
shall dun you for it presently. Because you told me it was finished,
otherwise I would not speak a word, feeling that you want rest, and
that I, who am anxious about you, would be crossing my own purposes
by driving you into work. It is the overwork, the overwear of mind and
heart (for the feelings come as much into use as the thoughts in these
productions), that makes you so pale, dearest, that distracts your
head, and does all the harm on Saturdays and so many other days
besides.

To-day--how are you? It _was_ right and just for me to write this
time, after the two dear notes ... the one on Saturday night which
made me praise you to myself and think you kinder than kindest, and
the other on Monday morning which took me unaware--such a note, _that_
was! Oh it _was_ right and just that I should not teaze you to send me
another after those two others,--yet I was very near doing it--yet I
should like infinitely to hear to-day how you
are--unreasonable!--Well! you will write now--you will answer what I
am writing, and mention yourself particularly and sincerely--Remember!
Above all, you will care for your head. I have been thinking since
yesterday that, coming out of the cold, you might not have refused as
usual to take something ... hot wine and water, or coffee? Will you
have coffee with me on Saturday? 'Shunning the salt,' will you have
the sugar? And do tell me, for I have been thinking, are you careful
as to diet--and will such sublunary things as coffee and tea and cocoa
affect your head--_for_ or _against_! Then you do not touch wine--and
perhaps you ought. Surely something may be found or done to do you
good. If it had not been for me, you would be travelling in Italy by
this time and quite well perhaps.

This morning I had a letter from Miss Martineau and really read it to
the end without thinking it too long, which is extraordinary for me
just now, and scarcely ordinary in the letter, and indeed it is a
delightful letter, as letters go, which are not yours! You shall take
it with you on Saturday to read, and you shall see that it is worth
reading, and interesting for Wordsworth's sake and her own. Mr.
Kenyon has it now, because he presses on to have her letters, and I
should not like to tell him that you had it first from me.... Also
Saturday will be time enough.

Oh--poor Mr. Horne! shall I tell you some