I was between sixteen
and seventeen, which will naturally account for the characteristics of
these epistles.
BAYSWATER, May, 1827.
DEAR H----:
I fear you will think me forgetful and unkind in not having
answered your last letter; but if you do, you are mistaken--nor
ungrateful, which my silence, after the kind interest you have
taken in me and mine, seems to be. But when I tell you that besides
the many things that have occupied my mind connected with the
present situation of our affairs, my hands have been full of work
nearly as dismal as my thoughts--mourning--you will easily
understand and excuse the delay.
Do not be alarmed; the person for whom we are in black has been so
little known to me since my childhood, was so old and infirm, and
so entirely cheerful, resigned, and even desirous of leaving this
world, that few, even of those who knew and loved him better than I
did, could, without selfishness, lament his release. Mr. Twiss, the
father of my cousin Horace, is dead lately; and it is of him that I
speak. He has unfortunately left three daughters, who, though doing
well for themselves in the world, will now feel a sad void in the
circle of their home affections and interests.
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