Are you not glad the cold
is gone? I find winters not so agreeable as they used to be "when winter
bleak had charms forme," I cannot conjure up a kind similitude for those
snowy flakes. Let them keep to twelfth-cakes!
Mrs. Paris, our Cambridge friend, has been in town. You do not know the
Watfords in Trampington Street. They are capital people. Ask anybody you
meet, who is the biggest woman in Cambridge, and I 'll hold you a wager
they'll say Mrs. Smith; she broke down two benches in Trinity
Gardens,--one on the confines of St. John's, which occasioned a
litigation between the Societies as to repairing it. In warm weather,
she retires into an ice-cellar (literally!), and dates the returns of
the years from a hot Thursday some twenty years back. She sits in a room
with opposite doors and windows, to let in a thorough draught, which
gives her slenderer friends tooth-aches. She is to be seen in the market
every morning at ten cheapening fowls, which I observe the Cambridge
poulterers are not sufficiently careful to stump.
Having now answered most of the points contained in your letter, let me
end with assuring you of our very best kindness, and excuse Mary for not
handling the pen on this occasion, especially as it has fallen into so
much better hands! Will Dr. W. accept of my respects at the end of a
foolish letter?
C. L.
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