XXIX. My dearest Fanny, Though I shall see you in so short a time I cannot forbear sending you a few lines. You say I did not give you yesterday a minute account of my health. Today I have left off the Medicine which I took to keep the pulse down and I find I can do very well without it, which is a very favourable sign, as it shows there is no inflammation remaining. You think I may be wearied at night you say: it is my best time; I am at my best about eight o’Clock. I received a Note from Mr. Procter[47] today. He says he cannot pay me a visit this weather as he is fearful of an inflammation in the Chest. What a horrid climate this is? or what careless inhabitants it has? You are one of them. My dear girl do not make a joke of it: do not expose yourself to the cold. There’s the Thrush again—I can’t afford it—he’ll run me up a pretty Bill for Music—besides he ought to know I deal at Clementi’s. How can you bear so long an imprisonment at Hampstead? I shall always remember it with all the gusto that a monopolizing carle should. I could build an Altar to you for it. Your affectionate J. K. XXX. My dearest Girl, As, from the last part of my note you must see how gratified I have been by your remaining at home, you might perhaps conceive that I was equally bias’d the other way by your going to Town, I cannot be easy tonight without telling you you would be wrong to suppose so. Though I am pleased with the one, I am not displeased with the other. How do I dare to write in this manner about my pleasures and displeasures? I will tho’ whilst I am an invalid, in spite of you. Good night, Love! J. K. XXXI. My dearest Girl, In consequence of our company I suppose I shall not see you before tomorrow. I am much better today—indeed all I have to complain of is want of strength and a little tightness in the Chest. I envied Sam’s walk with you today; which I will not do again as I may get very tired of envying. I imagine you now sitting in your new black dress which I like so much and if I were a little less selfish and more enthusiastic I should run round and surprise you with a knock at the door. I fear I am too prudent for a dying kind of Lover. Yet, there is a great difference between going off in warm blood like Romeo, and making one’s exit like a frog in a frost. I had nothing particular to say today, but not intending that there shall be any interruption to our correspondence (which at some future time I propose offering to Murray) I write something. God bless you my sweet Love! Illness is a long lane, but I see you at the end of it, and shall mend my pace as well as possible.