Don Quixote might and would serve his lady in most
preposterous fashion, but I am sure he would have chosen a lady of
merit. He imagined her to be such no doubt, and drew a charming
picture of her occupations by the banks of the river; but in his
other imaginations, there was some kind of peg on which to hang the
false costumes he created; windmills are big, and wave their arms
like giants; sheep in the distance are somewhat like an army; a
little boat on the river-side must look much the same whether
enchanted or belonging to millers; but except that Dulcinea is a
woman, she bears no resemblance at all to the damsel of his
imagination.'
At the time of these letters, the oldest son only was born to them.
In September of the next year, with the birth of the second,
Charles Frewen, there befell Fleeming a terrible alarm and what
proved to be a lifelong misfortune. Mrs. Jenkin was taken suddenly
and alarmingly ill; Fleeming ran a matter of two miles to fetch the
doctor, and, drenched with sweat as he was, returned with him at
once in an open gig.
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