I trust your quick and long-taught mind as an
interpreter little liable to mistake me.
When you say, "We live in an orange grove, and are planting many
more," and when I think you must have abundant family love to cheer
you, it seems to me that you must have a paradise about you. But no
list of circumstances will make a paradise. Nevertheless, I must
believe that the joyous, tender humor of your books clings about your
more immediate life, and makes some of that sunshine for yourself
which you have given to us. I see the advertisement of "Oldtown
Folks," and shall eagerly expect it. That and every other new link
between us will be reverentially valued. With great devotion and
regard,
Yours always,
M. L. LEWES.
Mrs. Stowe writes from Mandarin to George Eliot:--
MANDARIN, _February_ 8, 1872.
DEAR FRIEND,--It is two years nearly since I had your last very kind
letter, and I have never answered, because two years of constant and
severe work have made it impossible to give a drop to anything beyond
the needs of the hour. Yet I have always thought of you, loved you,
trusted you all the same, and read every little scrap from your
writing that came to hand.
One thing brings you back to me. I am now in Florida in my little hut
in the orange orchard, with the broad expanse of the blue St. John's
in front, and the waving of the live-oaks, with their long, gray
mosses, overhead, and the bright gold of oranges looking through dusky
leaves around.
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