FANNY.

MORTIMER STREET, December, 1845.

No, my dearest Hal, it would be impossible for me to tell you how sad I
am; and instead of attempting to do so, my far better course is to try
and write of something else.

My father still sits with maps and guide-books about him, debating of my
route; and though I told him the other day that I would be ready to
start at any moment he appointed, and that we both agreed that, on
account of the cold, I had better not delay my departure, he has neither
determined my line of march nor said a single word to me about my means
of subsistence while I am abroad.

This morning he said that he had not yet entirely resolved not to
accompany me; that if he could conscientiously do it, he should like it
of all things; but that he did not feel warranted in neglecting any
opportunity of making money. I think, perhaps, he is postponing his
determination till some answer is received from America about V----'s
tiny legacy to me.... But the very quickest answer to that letter cannot
reach England before the middle of next month, and it seems a great
pity to delay starting till the weather becomes so cold that we must
inevitably suffer from it in travelling.

I feel no anxiety about the whole matter, or indeed any other. I am just
as well here, and just as well there, and just as well everywhere as
anywhere else. And though I should be glad to see all those much desired
things, and most glad to embrace my sister again, and though I am
occasionally annoyed and vexed here, I have many friends, and am very
well off in London; and elsewhere, of course, I shall find what will
annoy and vex me. I am quite "content," a little after Shylock's fashion
at the end of the judgment scene. At the core of some "content" what
heart-despair may abound!...

I told you of my dining at Mrs. Procter's yesterday. She was quite
alone.... She showed me a beautiful song written by my sister, words and
music, a sort of lullaby, but the most woful words! I think I must have
inspired her with them, they threw me into such a state of nervous
agitation....

What a machine _I_ am shut up in! Surely a desire to beget a temperance
in all things had need be the law of _my_ existence; and, but that I
believe work left unfinished and imperfect in this life is finished in
another, I should think the task almost too difficult of achievement to
begin it here.

God bless