Nelson now had a free hand.  His wife was to have a generous allowance on condition that she left him alone freely to bestow his affections on the seductive Emma, whose story, retold by Mr. Harrison, shows Lady Nelson to have been an impossible woman to live with.  She made home hell to him, so he said.  And making liberal allowance for Emma’s fibbing propensities, there are positive evidences that her story of Nelson’s home life was crammed with pathetic truths of domestic misery.  Nelson corroborates this by a letter to Emma almost immediately after his wife’s ludicrous exit.  The letter is the outpouring of an embittered soul that had been freed from purgatory and was entering into a new joy.  It is a sickening effusion of unrestrained love-making that would put any personage of penny-novel fame to the blush.  I may as well give the full dose.  Here it is:—­

Now, my own dear wife:  for such you are in the sight of Heaven, I can give full scope to my feelings, for I dare say Oliver will faithfully deliver this letter.  You know, my dearest Emma, that there is nothing in this world that I would not do for us to live together, and to have our dear little child with us.  I firmly believe that this campaign will give us peace, and then we will set off for Bronte.  In twelve hours we shall be across the water, and freed from all the nonsense of his friends, or rather pretended ones.  Nothing but an event happening to him could prevent my going; and I am sure you will think so, for, unless all matters accord, it would bring a hundred of tongues and slanderous reports if I separated from her, which I would do with pleasure the moment we can be united.  I want to see her no more; therefore we must manage till we can quit this country, or your uncle dies.  I love you:  I never did love any one else.  I never had a dear pledge of love till you gave me one; and you, thank my God, never gave one to anybody else.  I think before March is out, you will either see us back, or so victorious that we shall ensure a glorious issue to our toils.  Think what my Emma will feel at seeing return safe, perhaps with a little more fame, her own dear Nelson.  Never, if I can help it, will I dine out of my ship or go on shore, except duty calls me.  Let Sir Hyde have any glory he can catch, I envy him not.  You, my beloved Emma, and my country, are the two dearest objects of my fond heart. A heart susceptible and true. Only place confidence in me, and you shall never be disappointed.  I burn all your dear letters, because it is right for your sake; and I wish you would burn all mine—­they can do no good, and will do us both harm if any seizure of them; or the dropping even one of them would fill the mouths of the world sooner than we intend.  My longing for you, both person and conversation, you may readily imagine (especially the person).  No, my heart, person, and mind are in perfect union of love towards my own dear, beloved Emma, the real bosom friend of her, all hers, all Emma’s.

    NELSON AND BRONTE.