I must not write more—­only my thanks afresh.  With our best regards.

I am very gratefully yours,
J.H.E.

[Written with a typewriter.]

TO MRS. JELF.

Taunton. December 23, 1884.

DEAREST MARNY,

My right arm is disabled with neuralgia, and Rex is working one of his most delightful toys for me.  He says I brought my afflictions on myself by writing too prolix letters several hours a day.  I’ve got very much behindhand, or you’d have heard from me before.  I must try and be highly condensed.  Gordon Browne has done some wonderful drawings for “Laetus.”  Rex was wild over a “Death or Glory” Lancer, and I think he (the Lancer) and a Highlander would touch even Aunty’s heart.  They will rank among her largest exceptions.  I can’t do any Xmas cards this year; I can neither go out nor write.  I hoped to have sent you a little Xmas box, of a pair of old brass candlesticks such as your soul desireth.  D. and I made an expedition to the very broker’s ten days ago, but when I saw the dingy shop choke-full of newly-arrived dirty furniture, and remembered that these streets are reeking with small-pox—­as it refuses to “leave us at present”—­I thought I should be foolish to go in.  D. knows of a pair in Ecclesfield, and I have commissioned her to annex them if possible; but they can’t quite arrive in time.  In case I don’t manage to write Xmas greetings to Aunty and Madre, give them my dear love; and the same to yourself and the Queers.  I am proud to tell you that I have persuaded my Admiral to put the Soldiers’ Institute on his collecting book of Army and Navy Charities; and when I started it with a small subscription he immediately added the same.

Dear Xmas wishes to you all, and a Happy New Year to Richard also from us both.

Your loving, J.H.E.

[In typewriting.]

TO MISS K. FARRANT.

Taunton. January 4, 1885.

DEAREST KITTY,

I should indeed not have been silent at this season if I had not been ill, and I should have got Rex to print me a note before now, but I kept hoping to be able to write myself, and I rather thought that you would hear that I was laid up, either from D. or M. I have not been very well for some time more than yourself, and I am afraid the root of this breakdown has been overwork.  But the weather has been very sunless and wretched, and I have had a fortnight in bed with bad, periodic neuralgia, which has particularly disabled my right arm and head—­two important matters in letter-writing.  It put an entire stop to my Christmas greetings.  I made a little effort for the nephews one day, and had a terrible night afterwards.  The lovely blue (china) Dog, who reminds me of an old but incomprehensible Yorkshire saying, “to blush like a blue dog in a dark entry,”—­which is what I do