and such baby's ware; and all this out of £300 a year! But Thomas expects to make a great deal by his farm.
We have got the most charming country-house you can imagine: it is quite shut in by trees, and so retired, that, though only thirty miles from London the post comes to us but once a week. The roads, it must be confessed, are execrable; it is winter now, and we are up to our knees in mud and snow. But oh, Eliza! how happy we are: with Thomas (he has had a sad attack of rheumatism, dear man!) and little Bobby, and our kind friend Dr. Bates, who comes so far to see us, I leave you to fancy that we have a charming merry party, and do not care for all the gayeties of Ranelagh.
Adieu! dear baby is crying for his mamma: a thousand kisses from your affectionate
