its aspects, that all
trial is sent to teach us better things than we knew, or than we did,
before. There is nothing for which God's mercy appears to me more
praiseworthy than the essential essence of improvement, of progress, of
growth, which _can_ be expressed from the gall-apple of our sorrows. To
each soul of man the needful task is set, the needful discipline
administered, and therefore it doesn't seem to me to require much
investigation into mere circumstances to accept my own trials. They are
appointed to me because they are best for me, and whatever my apparent
impatience under them, this is, in deed and truth, my abiding faith....

But it is past two o'clock in the morning. I am almost exhausted with
packing and writing. Seven letters lie on my table ready to be sealed,
seven more went to the post-office this afternoon; but though I will not
sleep till I bid you good-night, I will not write any more than just
that now. My fire is out, my room cold, and, being tired with packing, I
am getting quite chilled. You must direct to me to the care of Edward
Sartoris, Esq., Trinita dei Monti, Rome, and I will answer you, as you
know. I will write to you to-morrow, that is to-day, when I get to
Bannisters; or perhaps before I start, if I can get up early enough to
get half an hour before breakfast.

Good-night. God bless you. I am unutterably sad, and feel as though I
were going away from everybody, I know not whither--it is all vague,
uncertain, indefinite, all but the sorrow which is inseparable from me,
go where I will, a companion I can reckon upon for the rest of my life
everywhere. As for the rest, if we did but recollect it, our next minute
is always the unknown.

Ever yours,
FANNY.

BANNISTERS, Saturday, December 20th, 1845.
MY DEAREST HARRIET,

My last words and thoughts were yours last night; but this morning, when
I hoped to have written to you again, I found it impossible to do so; so
here I am in the room at Bannisters where you and I and Emily were
sitting together a few weeks ago,--she on her knees, writing for a fly
to take me to the steamer to-night, and I writing to you from this
place, where it seems as if you were still sitting beside us. Emily
won't let me send you your little square ink-bottle for Queen's heads,
but says she will keep it for you, so there I leave it in