My dear Caroline

Emma is in bed with a feverish cold, so I am glad of the opportunity of writing.¹ It is a good sign that you are able to write at all, but we grieve over the poor account which you give of yourself. You speak of your patience as almost exhausted, but I have been full of admiration at the wonderful endurance which you have shown in your long and terrible illness. I hardly ever heard of such long suffering. How I do wish we could hear a really better account.² You are right that we last met at Abinger, and a very pleasant remembrance I have of your little visit.³ We have a sick house here: Henriette has had much internal pain and we had D^r. Andrew Clarke here yesterday evening.⁴ He thank Heaven thinks nothing very serious is the matter, but says she has some fever and is fearfully weak so that he could not count her pulse. She is to eat every 2 hours at all cost, she has managed pretty well today in eating, and I have just left her with no pain and dosing. We were to have gone for 6 days to Erasmus today, for I want a change and rest, but of course this is all knocked on the head.⁵ Poor Etty wants to be at home and as soon as she can move she will do so, and we shall probably get one of the bed-carriages about which we wrote to you. Nothing can be nicer than Litchfield about her.⁶ George went back to Cambridge yesterday wonderfully well, and he quite recovered Malta which was an utter failure.⁷ We heard grand news this morning that Leonard will come home in latter part of May: he had the choice between then and late in Autumn, and could not resist the former,⁸ but as he begs in the