Benjamin Flower at Cambridge to Eliza Flower at Dodbrook, Sunday, 10 Nov­ember 1799.

                     Cambridge Nov. 10.  1799

My Dearest Eliza

   On Friday evening, soon after I had written my note, and sent off your paper, I retired to rest, much fatigued with business, and my mind tho’ more calm than it had been for some days past, still agitated.  I awoke yesterday morning soon after six, after a night of refreshing sleep.  I lay reflecting on my pillow, on past events, and after an hour of religious meditation, I found my soul something like that described by the Psalmist—“as a weaned child.” I endeavoured to resign all that was dear to me in this world to the will of heaven.  I went down to breakfast, and appeared in the family in better spirits than for several mornings past, prepared in some degree for an unfavourable, but hoping for a favourable letter.  When my letters arrived, the size of yours at first sight confirmed my hopes, but as soon as I had opened it, perceiving only one side of your paper filled, and the rest a trackless waste—I trembled, you can scarcely therefore conceive, as I will say, you only can conceive—the inexpressible delight I received on reading the 3 or 4 first lines, in which the cause of your brevity was so satisfactorily explained, and the account of your health more favourable than I expected.  My heart bounded with gratitude to heaven—May your sovereign healer complete your restoration!  

   As soon as I had read your letter, so often as almost to get it by heart, and had received the congratulations of our family (Miss Jennings was very sensibly affected) I turned to my map, found out Sherford, travelled there in my imagin­ation, and seated myself by you in the family of your worthy, old-English hospit­able friends.  I hope you may shortly receive the same compliment I once received at a farmer’s in my youthful days.  At the commencement of winter I rode my father’s horse about twenty miles from London, where it took up its quarters annually in a straw yard.  Soon after I had sat down to dinner with the family, I was pulling away pretty lustily at a pigeon pye—my good friends urging me on after I had filled plate after plate.  I exclaimed—Well—Do not I eat like a farmer?  Oh no Sir replied the good woman of the house (a woman you will say smart as well as good) I think if you go on a little longer, you will eat like a gentleman.  How is that?—As much as two farmers!  When my Dear Eliza shall I hear such an account of you!

   We have had two or three tolerably fine days, and I think I see you trotting away, behind your good friends.  Your being able to walk without fatigue is likewise a good sign.  In your answer to this pray be particular with respect to every one of the symptoms of your disorder.  You I hope have kept entirely free from your first complaint the disorder on yr lungs.  Have you quite done with the next, next in danger—the horrid shiverings, which Miss J- said she did not at all like, and thought the worst symptom about you.  Do you daily get rid of your fever.  Does your appetite encrease?  You cannot be too particular on this subject.  I shall indeed expect a letter from Mr Holman in reply to that I wrote to him on Thursday.   To come to the last question.  Dare you with safety think of returning, and have you fixed any time for the purpose.  If so be particular in mentioning the way you propose, and the places you intend stopping at, and be sure to write me a line at every stage.

   You are indeed a most curious calculater, when you talk of my writing to you “at the rate of a letter a week.” If you have not destroyed my letters, you will find I calculate more correctly when I say I have written you three times on some, and four times on other weeks to say nothing of Newspaper notes.  Remember likewise, I am not ill, and you are.  If I have a cold now & then, my tough constitution is sure to get the better of it, and indeed I have nothing that materially affects me, except your absence & the unfavourable accounts of your health.  Notwithstanding your exclamation, your sister Mary, was quite right in sending her Love to me.  She very properly considers me as her Brother, and therefore ought to send her love.  Pray give mine in return, but tell her at the same time, I expect she will shew her affection in something more than words, and when you write to me again, take a Patagonian sheet, write so much and no more than you can with a due regard to your health; then give it her to finish.  Tell her likewise that I should be glad to see her at Cambridge either with you, or at anytime you may contrive it together, and perhaps I shall see and get some worthy young fellows to detain her, whose love will be worth her having.  Mind and deliver these messages—Na Dad na—You see I have not quite forgotten the Devonshire dialect.

   I intend by this Post to send your last letter to Miss Gurney, as I am sure it will give pleasure to her as well as to others of your London friends.  You have left me room enough to write a line on one page, and for a direction on the other.

   Last Thursday I had a London acquaintance with his wife to spend a day with me on their Journey.  I attended the latter to see some of the Colleges.  Some of my Neighbours seeing a Lady have hold of my arm, immediately concluded it was you, and Miss Jennings very shortly had one and another call to invite you to come & see them.  I suspect it was half over the town that my Lady was come.  My spirits were so low all that day that I could not enjoy the joke. 

   How differently do I feel, now, from what I have done for this week or ten days past.  I cannot but hope that your last illness was occasioned merely by the conversation of the brute, for so I will always call her, whoever she is, that used you so ill at Tiverton.  That your complaint on your Lungs is entirely removed and that you will shortly by getting rid of your fever and recovering your strength, be able to return, and to journey without fatigue.   I have so fully expressed myself respecting your much wished for return, that I will not repeat any thing on the subject.  Indeed much as I do wish it, I beg you will not set out a day sooner than you, and I will add those who may be the best judges, may det­ermine upon with perfect safety.

   How charming will be the hours when we shall converse over past trials and past mercies, the various events of our variegated lives.  Surely, my Dearest Love, Providence has happiness in store for us of a superior nature to what he allots the generality of mankind.  Our veins have nothing low, ignoble or base in them.  If you had possessed both the Indies you could not have been dearer to me than you now are or have reigned more completely in my heart.  Tho’ we are not above a constant dependence on Providence, to prosper our endeavours, yet I have no fear but with his blessing we shall possess those true riches, which bring “no sorrow with them.” May Gratitude to God be ever in the most lively manner impressed on our hearts, and may it be expressed in our life, in our death, and to all Eternity.

   Adieu, my Dearest friend, my best beloved Eliza, and rest in perfect assurance of the eternal affection of

                                                     Your  B.  Flower

Miss Jennings desires I will not forget her kind Love.

Text: Timothy Whelan, ed., Politics, Religion, and Romance: The Letters of Benjamin Flower and Eliza Gould, 1794-1808 (Aberystwyth: National Library of Wales, 2008), pp. 187-89.