'Some wishes crossed my mind and dimly cheered it,

And one or two poor melancholy pleasures,

Each in the pale unwarming light of hope,

Silvering its flimsy wing, flew silent by--

Moths in the moonbeam!'

COLERIDGE.

The next morning brought Margaret a letter from Edith. It was

affectionate and inconsequent like the writer. But the affection

was charming to Margaret's own affectionate nature; and she had

grown up with the inconsequence, so she did not perceive it. It

was as follows:-

'Oh, Margaret, it is worth a journey from England to see my boy!

He is a superb little fellow, especially in his caps, and most

especially in the one you sent him, you good, dainty-fingered,

persevering little lady! Having made all the mothers here

envious, I want to show him to somebody new, and hear a fresh set

of admiring expressions; perhaps, that's all the reason; perhaps

it is not--nay, possibly, there is just a little cousinly love

mixed with it; but I do want you so much to come here, Margaret!

I'm sure it would be the very best thing for Aunt Hale's health;

everybody here is young and well, and our skies are always blue,

and our sun always shines, and the band plays deliciously from

morning till night; and, to come back to the burden of my ditty,

my baby always smiles.

I am constantly wanting you to draw him

for me, Margaret. It does not signify what he is doing; that very

thing is prettiest, gracefulest, best. I think I love him a great

deal better than my husband, who is getting stout, and

grumpy,--what he calls "busy." No! he is not. He has just come in

with news of such a charming pic-nic, given by the officers of

the Hazard, at anchor in the bay below. Because he has brought in

such a pleasant piece of news, I retract all I said just now. Did

not somebody burn his hand for having said or done something he

was sorry for? Well, I can't burn mine, because it would hurt me,

and the scar would be ugly; but I'll retract all I said as fast

as I can.

Cosmo is quite as great a darling as baby, and not a

bit stout, and as un-grumpy as ever husband was; only, sometimes

he is very, very busy. I may say that without love--wifely

duty--where was I?--I had something very particular to say, I

know, once. Oh, it is this--Dearest Margaret!--you must come and

see me; it would do Aunt Hale good, as I said before. Get the

doctor to order it for her. Tell him that it's the smoke of

Milton that does her harm. I have no doubt it is that, really.

Three months (you must not come for less) of this delicious

climate--all sunshine, and grapes as common as blackberries,

would quite cure her. I don't ask my uncle'--(Here the letter

became more constrained, and better written; Mr. Hale was in the

corner, like a naughty child, for having given up his

living.)--'because, I dare say, he disapproves of war, and

soldiers, and bands of music; at least, I know that many

Dissenters are members of the Peace Society, and I am afraid he

would not like to come; but, if he would, dear, pray say that

Cosmo and I will do our best to make him happy; and I'll hide up

Cosmo's red coat and sword, and make the band play all sorts of

grave, solemn things; or, if they do play pomps and vanities, it

shall be in double slow time.




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