us too, and as we may think that Your Great Heart yearns towards the innocent charms of these little infants, let us try and think that it will have tenderness for us likewise who have been innocent once, and have, in the midst of corruption, some remembrances of good still. Sometimes I fancy that at the judgement-time the little one would come out and put away the sword of the angry angel. I think her love for us and her beautiful purity would melt the Devil himself--nonsense, you know what I mean. We have sent to Heaven a little angel who came from us and loved us, and God will understand her language and visit us mildly--why write you this mad stuff, dearest Mother? God bless you and all besides. I shall write G. M.:1 and thank her for her money and use it too.
Your afft.
W. M. T.
Sunday, Monday, December 1, 2 [1839].
MY DEAREST MAMMY,--Isabella seems to have written an enormous letter to Mary,2 and I suppose in all those pages and crosses has given you the whole news from Great Coram Street which amounts exactly to O. We have had a succession of pleasant yellow fogs: one to-day so bad that one can hardly see. We have led a tolerably sober and regular life, always up before nine, breakfast over by ten, books, books, books all day, until night when to my great consolation FitzGerald has been here to smoke a segar and keep me company until one or so.
Well, what else is there? Mrs. Brody3 has gone to visit her relations at Wapping,--from six o'clock until 10 last night Miss Thackeray roared incessantly,
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