[saih-promo2002] And game: still these are

[McLay]

He feelings of men who cannot get at you but by cannon-shot, you may
congratulate yourself on having had as many fine things said of you as
would make an epitaph for a duke--and, I believe, with a sincerity at
least equal to the best of them. I write all this laughingly now, but
suspense makes heaviness of heart, and you cost me some uneasy hours, of
course. I send you none of _our_ news; as you will hear all in good
time, and communications on public matters might bring your messenger or
yourself into difficulties. You are alive, and in good hands; that is
the grand point. Your character is now in _my_ hands, and I shall take
care of it; I shall see you a general officer yet, if you have not the
greater luck to retire and live an honest farmer, sitting under your own
fig-tree and your own vine, with an unromantic spouse, and some
half-dozen of red-cheeked children. Farewell, we shall _soon_ see each
other." The last line evidently meant more than met the eye, and I was
now just in the mind to indulge in the fantasies of my fair
correspondent. They were like herself--a curious mixture of mirth and
melancholy. "Why I wished to write to you, or why I write at all--which,
however, I do decorously at the side of my father--are questions which I
have not taken the trouble of asking until this moment. But I am in
Switzerland, where no one has time for any thing but worshipping
mountain-tops, and falling down at the feet of cataracts. Whether it
would add to Mr Marston's satisfaction I cannot presume to say, but I
feel better, much better, than when I first came into this land of fresh
breezes and beauty of all kinds--the population, of every rank, always
excepted. If I were, like you, a philosopher, I should probably say that
nature gets tired of her work, and after having struck off some part of
it with all the spirit of an Italian painter, disd
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