I have scarcely a moment in which to tell you,—what, by the bye, I ought to have done a week since, and should have done, but that I have been too ill to write a single word that I could avoid,—that Sydney comes home the 17th; and therefore, as soon as you can resolve to come to us, tant mieux pour nous. It will make us both sincerely happy to see you, for as long a time as you can contrive to spare us; and I hope you will give us the satisfaction of seeing you quite well.
We have been a sad house of invalids here, but we are all cheering up at the prospect of Sydney’s return. The other day, poor little Douglas was lying on the sofa very unwell, while Saba and I were at dinner; and I said, “Well, dear little Chuffy, I don’t know what is the matter with us both, but we seem very good-for-nothing!” “Why, mamma,” said Saba, “I’ll tell you what the matter is: you are so melancholy and so dull because papa is away; he is so merry, that he makes us all gay. A family doesn’t prosper, I see, without a papa!” I am much inclined to be
* This letter is so complete and faithful a family picture, that I have not been able to resist the temptation to insert it. The joyous and joy-giving father, the tender and devoted wife and mother, the happy children, sensible of their happiness, are all placed before us in these few words.—Ed. |
| 72 | MEMOIR OF THE REV. SYDNEY SMITH. |
