I am glad you are going to take her home; and, if you will take the trouble with Eliza and Ann, I am the very last to object.

Tom, I shall certainly assist at college; and, I am sure, the Doctor expects that I should do the same for Horace:  but I must make my arrangements, so as not to run in debt.

  April 9th.

I have wrote to the Duke; but, by your account, I fear he is not alive.  I write, because you wish me; and, because I like the Duke, and hope he will leave you some money.  But, for myself, I can have no right to expect a farthing:  nor would I be a legacy hunter for the world; I never knew any good come from it.

I send you a letter from Mr. Falconet.  I am afraid, they have made a jumble about the amorins.  And I send you a very impertinent letter from that old cat.  I have sent her a very dry answer, and told her, I should send the sweetmeats to you.  I always hated the old bitch!  But, was she young, and as beautiful as an angel, I am engaged; I am all, soul and body, my Emmas:  nor would I change her for all this world could give me.

I would not have Horatia think of a dog.  I shall not bring her one; and, I am sure, she is better without a pet of that sort.  But, she is like her mother, would get all the old dogs in the place about her.

  April 14th.

I am so sea-sick, that I cannot write another line; except, to say—­God Almighty bless you, my dearest beloved Emma! prays, ever, your faithful

  NELSON & BRONTE.

LETTER XLII.

  Victory, April 2d, 1804.

I have, my Dearest Beloved Emma, been so uneasy for this last month; desiring, most ardently, to hear of your well doing!

Captain Capel brought me your letters, sent by the Thisbe, from Gibraltar.  I opened—­opened—­found none but December, and early in January.  I was in such an agitation!  At last, I found one without a date:  which, thank God! told my poor heart, that you was recovering; but, that dear little Emma was no more! and, that Horatia had been so very ill—­it all together upset me.

But, it was just at bed-time; and I had time to reflect, and be thankful to God for sparing you and our dear Horatia.  I am sure, the loss of one—­much more, both—­would have drove me mad.  I was so agitated, as it was, that I was glad it was night, and that I could be by myself.

Kiss dear Horatia, for me:  and tell her, to be a dutiful and good child; and, if she is, that we shall always love her.

You may, if you like, tell Mrs. G. that I shall certainly settle a small pension on her.  It shall not be large, as we may have the pleasure of making her little presents; and, my dearest Emma, I shall not be wanting to every body who has been kind to you, be they servants or gentlefolks.

Admiral Lutwidge is a good man; and, I like Mrs. Lutwidge—­and shall, always more, because she is fond of you.