29, KING STREET, ST. JAMES'S, January 14th.

I have not heard again from Bath, and so have answered your two
questions, dearest Hal, and will tell you what little I have to tell of
my installation in my new lodging here.

I read the _Times_, _studiously_, all the way up to town, and was alone
in my railroad carriage. As soon as we reached King Street, I sent Hayes
off to Orchard Street, to see for letters, cards, etc. On entering my
room (you will remember the upper front room, where we visited Lady
W---- together), I saw a beautiful white hyacinth, standing in the
window, and knew directly that Emily had sent it to me. I found, too, a
most kind and affectionate letter from her.... Fanny Wilson and Mrs.
Mitchell had called while I was away, and two gentlemen who had not left
their names--probably the Grevilles.... I don't like either my room or
my furniture, I am sorry to say; but I shall get attached to both in a
couple of days.... At a little after four, Henry Greville called and
stayed some time, telling me as usual all manner of gossip--among other
things that his brother Charles was supposed to be _the author of Jane
Eyre_! I wonder by whom?

Lord Ellesmere's gout is better, and they have been able to get him down
to Hatchford--their place near Weybridge. Henry Greville complained
bitterly of Adelaide's not writing to him about their new house in Eaton
Place, which she wants him to get papered and prepared for them--a job
he is very willing to undertake, provided she will send him detailed and
specific instructions, which he is now waiting for in vain, and in great
disgust at her laziness.... I worked at my translation of "Mary Stuart"
till bedtime.... It is impossible to say how much I miss you and dear
Dorothy, and how chilled to the marrow I felt when I had left the warm
and kind atmosphere of your affectionate companionship.... However, an
additional oppressive sense of my loneliness was the price I was sure to
pay for my week's happy fellowship with you and Dorothy. And, after all,
it was worth the price.

I wrote this much yesterday, dear Hal; and yesterday is over, and has
carried with it my cowardly fit of despondency, and I am already back in
the harness of my usual lonely life, and feel the galling on the sore
places of my spirit less; ... and every hour will bring occupation and
business (such as they are, as Hamlet very contemptuously observes), and
I shall have something to do--if no