Your letter, my dear Linden, would have been answered before, but for an occurrence which is generally supposed to engross the whole attention of the persons concerned in it. Let me see,--ay, three,--yes, I have been exactly three days married! Upon my honour, there is much less in the event than one would imagine; and the next time it happens I will not put myself to such amazing trouble and inconvenience about it. But one buys wisdom only by experience. Now, however, that I have communicated to you the fact, I expect you, in the first place, to excuse my negligence for not writing before; for (as I know you are fond of the literae humaniores, I will give the sentiment the dignity of a quotation)-- “Un veritable amant ne connoit point d’amis;” [“A true lover recognizes no friends.”--CORNEILLE.] and though I have been three days married, I am still a lover! In the second place, I expect you to be very grateful that, all things considered, I write to you so soon; it would indeed not be an ordinary inducement that could make me “put pen to paper” (is not that the true vulgar, commercial, academical, metaphorical, epistolary style?) so shortly after the fatal ceremony. So, had I nothing to say but in reply to your comments on state affairs (hang them!) or in applause of your Italian friend, of whom I say, as Charles II. said of the honest yeoman, “I can admire virtue, though I can’t imitate it,” I think it highly probable that your letter might still remain in a certain box of tortoise-shell and gold (formerly belonging to the great Richelieu, and now in my possession), in which I at this instant descry, “with many a glance of woe and boding dire,” sundry epistles, in manifold handwritings, all classed under the one fearful denomination,-- “unanswered.” No, my good Linden, my heart is inditing of a better matter than this. Listen to me, and then stay at your host’s or order your swiftest steed, as seems most meet to you. You said rightly that Miss Trevanion, now her Grace of Haverfield, was the intimate friend of Lady Flora Ardenne. I have often talked to her--namely, Eleanor, not Lady Flora--about you, and was renewing the conversation yesterday, when your letter, accidentally lying before me, reminded me of you.