I can hardly tell you how thankful I
was, dear Laetitia, when, after that dreary and almost despairing
interval of utter darkness, some gleam of daylight became visible to
him once more. I had feared that paralysis had seized the optic
nerve. A sort of mist remained for a long time, and indeed his
vision is not yet perfectly clear, but he can read, write, and walk
about, and he preaches _twice_ every Sunday, the curate only reading
the prayers. _You_ can well understand how earnestly I pray that
sight may be spared him to the end; he so dreads the privation of
blindness. His mind is just as strong and active as ever, and
politics interest him as they do _your_ papa. The Czar, the war, the
alliance between France and England--into all these things he throws
himself heart and soul. They seem to carry him back to his
comparatively young days, and to renew the excitement of the last
great European struggle. Of course, my father's sympathies, and mine
too, are all with justice and Europe against tyranny and Russia.
'Circumstanced as I have been, you will comprehend that I had neither
the leisure nor inclination to go from home much during the past
year. I spent a week with Mrs. Gaskell in the spring, and a
fortnight with some other friends more recently, and that includes
the whole of my visiting since I saw you last.
Pages:
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741