Faraday to Margaret Faraday   16 April 1815

Bruxelles: April 16, 1815

My very dear Mother, - It is with no small pleasure I write you my last letter from a foreign country, and I hope it will be with as much pleasure you will hear I am within three days of England. Nay more, before you read this letter I hope to tread on British ground, but I will not make too sure, lest I should be disappointed; and the sudden change and apparently termination of our travels is sufficient to remind me that it may change again. But, however, that is not at all probable, and I trust will not happen.

I am not acquainted with the reason of our sudden return; it is, however, sufficient for me that it has taken place. We left Naples very hastily, perhaps because of the motion of the Neapolitan troops¹, and perhaps for private reasons. We came rapidly to Rome, we as rapidly left it. We ran up Italy, we crossed the Tyrol, we stepped over Germany, we entered Holland, and we are now at Brussels, and talk of leaving it tomorrow for Ostend; at Ostend we embark, and at Deal we land on a spot of earth which I will never leave again. You may be sure we shall not creep from Deal to London, and I am sure I shall not creep to 18 Weymouth Street; and then <-> but it is of no use. I have a thousand times endeavoured to fancy a meeting with you and my relations and friends, and I am sure I have as often failed: the reality must be a pleasure not to be imagined nor to be described. It is uncertain what day we shall get to London, and it is also uncertain where we shall put up at. I shall be thankful if you will make no inquiries after me anywhere, and especially in Portland Place, or of Mr. Brande. I do not wish to give occasion for any kind of comments whatever on me and mine. You can be sure that my first moments will be in your company. If you have opportunities, tell some of my dearest friends, but do not tell everybody - that is, do not trouble yourself to do it. I am of no consequence except to a few, and there are but a few that are of consequence to me, and there are some whom I should like to be the first to tell myself - Mr. Riebau for one. However, let A[bbott] know if you can.

I come home almost like the prodigal, for I shall want everything.

...

I cannot find it in my heart to say much here to B[etsy] and R[obert], because I want to say it myself, and I feel that I am too glad to write it. My thoughts wander from one to another, my pen runs on by fits and starts, and I should put all in confusion. I do not know what to say, and yet cannot put an end to my letter. I would fain be talking to you, but I must cease.

Adieu till I see you, dearest Mother; and believe me ever your affectionate and dutiful son, | M. Faraday

‘Tis the shortest and (to me) the sweetest letter I ever wrote you.