‘Dear Mr.
Rogers,—I have long been wishing to write to you, and have
suffered day after day to pass by, thinking that you would be not a little
tormented by notes of condolence; which, however, I do not intend mine to
be—for I have not the least doubt that you will be just as happy upon
your sofa in your quiet drawing-room (with a little companionship from your
once despised pensioners, the sparrows outside) for such time as it may be
expedient for you to stay there, as ever you were in making your way to the
doors of the unquiet drawing-rooms—full of larger sparrows
inside—into which I used to see you look in pity, then retire in all
haste. I am quite sure you will always—even in pain or
confinement—be happy in your own good and countless ways: and so I am
only writing to you to thank you for making me happy too in the possession of
the two volumes which I found upon your hall table the first time that I came
to inquire for you, and which make me some amendment even for not being able to
see you, since the kind inscription of them enables me now to read them as if
every line in them were addressed to myself—with special purpose and
| 372 | ROGERS AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES |
‘Believe me ever, dear Mr. Rogers, respectfully and affectionately yours,
