You must look at them, and it will need
all your eyes to understand them, for they are a mass of confusion.
They are all within two miles of Wellington, and some of them rather
like--Ellen's sketch of me especially. During the last six months I
have seen more "society" than in all the last four years. Ellen is
half the reason of my being invited, and my improved circumstances
besides. There is no one worth mentioning particularly. The women
are all ignorant and narrow, and the men selfish. They are of a
decent, honest kind, and some intelligent and able. A Mr. Woodward
is the only _literary_ man we know, and he seems to have fair sense.
This was the clerk I bought the stone-blue of. We have just got a
mechanic's institute, and weekly lectures delivered there. It is
amusing to see people trying to find out whether or not it is
fashionable and proper to patronise it. Somehow it seems it is. I
think I have told you all this before, which shows I have got to the
end of my news. Your next letter to me ought to bring me good news,
more cheerful than the last. You will somehow get drawn out of your
hole and find interests among your fellow-creatures. Do you know
that living among people with whom you have not the slightest
interest in common is just like living alone, or worse? Ellen Nussey
is the only one you can talk to, that I know of at least.
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