This is one great relief and
happiness. Another, for which I feel even more grateful, is that
William's eyes have gained so much by their long rest, that even
the doctor is surprised at the progress he has made. He only puts
on his green shade now when he goes out into the sun, or when the
candles are lit. His spirits are infinitely raised, and he is
beginning to talk already of the time when he will unpack his
palette and brushes, and take to his old portrait-painting
occupations again.
With all these reasons for being happy, it seems unreasonable and
ungracious in me to be feeling sad, as I do just at this moment.
I can only say, in my own justification, that it is a mournful
ceremony to take leave of an old friend; and I have taken leave
twice over of the book that has been like an old friend to
me--once when I had written the last word in it, and once again
when I saw it carried away to London.
I packed the manuscript up with my own hands this morning, in
thick brown paper, wasting a great deal of sealing-wax, I am
afraid, in my anxiety to keep the parcel from bursting open in
case it should be knocked about on its journey to town. Oh me,
how cheap and common it looked, in its new form, as I carried it
downstairs! A dozen pairs of worsted stockings would have made a
larger parcel; and half a crown's worth of groceries would have
weighed a great deal heavier.
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