A Letter to Nathan Attford -- April 24th 1891

 Dearest Mr. Attwood,

I am writing you today from the seashore! Yes, the Essex seashore. This is my first time being upon it, being more familiar with the Western coast & even Southern France than it. But it is lovely. Cold, being still April, but still lovely. Much better than the Zeeshore, in any case. I might be thought mad for for dragging a wicker chair to an isolated area along that, even more so while wearing a bathing costume and carrying a small lap desk. But here I just must seem like someone on holiday wishing to write home. It is not exactly a holiday, but when I am not needed I can certainly take time to try and enjoy what little I can.

Last night I woke, and went for a foolish barefooted walk along the beach. I know how foolish it was to go out in the middle of the night, barefoot, in just my nightshirt and robe, but I still did. I pocketed a seashell, and I even stood in the waves, letting them lap about my toes. It was so cold! I was shivering by the time that I came inside, and my niece met me and-even at 5 years old-had the sense to ask where my shoes were. I adore her; I feel the need to exclaim. Even if she does remind me of my [scribble] spouse so. The same bright green eyes, and auburn hair. So smart, and gentle. I adore Robert as well, but he is often more interested in reading, or playing with Hattie to want to spend time with me. Which reminds me! Mr. Coppercrow suggested purchasing them children's velocipedes, and I did so. We went riding around Haverhill, and attempted to make it back to Elise's parents'. I had to stop and carry Flora, but Robert had the energy to make it all the way, and to spend several hours after just going around the road in. I could not help but be proud of him.

Elise is also seemingly doing somewhat better. She at least has more spirit about her. I am still planning on leaving very late tomorrow night, in any case. First to Cambridge to visit the memorial, and then taking several trains far to the West. I hope to be back in London by Friday or Saturday. With hope Bar will also be back as well. 

All the best, and be mindful,

---Cassius

A Letter to Narcisa -- April 24th 1891

My dearest Narcisa,

I am writing you a letter today from the seashore! I have just finished writing a letter to Nathan from this same exact chair, and I think I might venture to stay in it as long as I am allowed. I am even wearing a bathing costume! It is navy, and if I had reason, I would consider bringing it back down with me. But do not worry! I am still being respectable, and have secluded myself away from most prying eyes while in it. Lounging in a chair, in a bathing costume, by the sea. But it is only spring, and I am freezing, my legs and arms all goose-pimpled, and despite the lovely chair, I may have to go back inside soon. I apologise if this writing is shaky because of it.

We have moved to a place called Walton-on-the-Naze, as the sea air is supposed to be good for one's health. It has made me feel better, so I hope that it helps poor Elise. She has seemed to improved somewhat since I first saw her, and a new doctor has been attending her. I hope that she recovers, and the worry and fear in Robin is all too familiar, edging on to the grief of losing one's spouse, each day she is ill. But this is a letter from Above ground, and I should not be writing on anything but good or strange things.

So you may go back to picturing me, sprawled out in this comfortable wicker chair, in a navy bathing costume, trying to look relaxed even while alone, and yet shivering. Flora, Robert, Hattie and Robin have gone off to swim-swimming machines are rather silly, I might add-and I have carried this chair all the way down the beach to be alone and write. Perhaps I will go swimming tomorrow, but for now the sun hitting off the water is lovely, even if the air is still rather cold.

Lastly, I wish to tell you that you do not need to be 'strong' for me. I said that I would miss you "smile, or not", and if you had, or even if I had, cried, I still wish I had tried harder to see you the day I left. I think once again we were being fools. It is not being 'brave' to not cry, and it certainly was not brave for me to rush out of your bed in the morning to not upset you when you on waking. But also you should know that Nathan did come to see me off, I was not alone, and I plan for you to be one of the first people I see Friday or Saturday.

---L****