no fears for the event.

I do not say, all I wish; and which, my dearest _beloved_ Emma--(read
that, whoever opens this letter; and, for what I care, publish it to
the world)--your fertile imagination can readily fancy I would say:
but this I can say, with great truth, that I am, FOR EVER, YOUR'S

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LETTER XLVII.


Victory, May 27th, 1804.

MY DEAREST EMMA,

Yesterday, I took Charles Connor on board, from the Phoebe, to try
what we can do with him. At present, poor fellow, he has got a very
bad eye--and, I almost fear, that he will be blind of it--owing to an
olive-stone striking his eye: but the surgeon of the Victory, who is
by far the most able medical man I have ever seen, and equally so as a
surgeon, [says] that, if it can be saved, he will do it.

The other complaint, in his head, is but little more, I think, than it
was when he first came to Deal; a kind of silly laugh, when spoken to.
He always complains of a pain in the back part of his head; but, when
that is gone, I do not perceive but that he is as wise as many of his