I dare not wait any longer for a return of better spirits, _such_ as in which I should like to reply to my nephew’s dated February 22nd, and yours of May 19th, for I fear if I do not at least acknowledge the receipt of them, I shall not be gladdened again by such delightful descriptions of your health and healthful situation, and my nephew’s contentment with the successful progress he is making in his intended observations. At first, on reading them, I could turn wild, but this is only a flash, for soon I fall in a reverie of what my dear nephew’s father would have felt if such letters could have been directed to him, and cannot suppress my wish that _his_ life instead of _mine_ had been spared until this present moment; for what immense and wonderful discoveries have not been made within these thirteen years, chiefly by his own son, or son’s suggestion! [Sidenote: 1835. _Present of Constantia._] But I must stop here and turn to more earthly and indifferent subjects (though they ought not to be called indifferent neither), for in the first place I have to return my thanks for no less than three dozen of Constantia wine, but this I shall do but with a very bad grace, for ever since the 11th of May, when I received my nephew’s letter, I have been in the fidgets about the trouble he and his friends must have had before such a thing could reach me.... I feel more reconciled after unburdening myself of some of this weighty concern by making presents to all who love and esteem you so truly, and after setting apart a portion, according to Captain Müller’s advice, with which you may be treated when at your return you may perhaps visit Hanover again, there remains more than ever I can get through with, for I am very desirous to spin out the thread of my life till you return home. And I know it is a mistaken notion that old folks want more of what they call comfort than young ones. It is not very easy to find out what will convey comfort in general.... I, for instance, know of no other comforts like those I derive from yours and my dear niece’s letters. Her last leaves me nothing to wish for.... * * * * * You compliment me on having a steady hand, but if you were to see the blotting I make before I can make it hang together (when I am _composing_, as it were, a letter) you would not say so, and, after all, it will cause you some trouble to understand me, for the letter begins to my dear niece, and soon after I find myself talking to you.... SIR J. F. W. HERSCHEL TO MISS HERSCHEL. FELLHAUSEN, _Oct. 24, 1835_. DEAR AUNT,—