He said
recently, "The worst that can befall a man is to stop thinking of God
and begin to think of himself; if trials make us self-absorbed, they
hurt us." Well, dear, pardon me for this outpour. I loved you--I love
you--and therefore wanted you to know just what I felt. Now, dear,
this is over, don't think you must reply to it or me. I know how much
you have to do,--yes, I know all about an aching head and an overtaxed
brain. This last work of yours is to be your best, I think, and I hope
it will bring you enough to buy an orange grove in Sicily, or
somewhere else, and so have lovely weather such as we have.
Your ancient admirer, [Footnote: Professor Stowe.] who usually goes to
bed at eight o'clock, was convicted by me of sitting up after eleven
over the last installment of "Daniel Deronda," and he is full of it.
We think well of Guendoline, and that she isn't much more than young
ladies in general so far.
Next year, if I can possibly do it, I will send you some of our
oranges. I perfectly long to have you enjoy them. Your very loving
H. B. STOWE.
P. S. I am afraid I shall write you again when I am reading your
writings, they are so provokingly suggestive of things one wants to
say
H. B. S.
In her reply to this letter Mrs. Lewes says, incidentally: 'Please
offer my reverential love to the Professor, and tell him I am
ruthlessly proud of having kept him out of his bed.
Pages:
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533